Abby
I bolt upright in my bed, woken up by loud music thumping through my bedroom walls.
“What’s happening?” I murmur to myself.
I’m confused by the sleepy state I’m in. Reaching out I check my alarm, it still has an hour and even the Sun hasn’t woken up yet to show its face. I want to go back to sleep, but the music doesn’t let me.
I groan in annoyance. He’ll wake up the whole building with this and if he keeps doing the loud music thing the landlord will kick us out. He can’t keep having these teenage tantrums with loud music, even if he doesn’t have inspiration or sex.
I bite my lip, feeling uncomfortable with the memory of my dream and the way I came while imagining him. I should be angry at myself for losing control and being a slave to my body’s desire. I should be ashamed of myself that I experienced an orgasm I have never felt before with the image of him, but I’m neither angry nor ashamed. To my horror, I’m aroused. Yes, I’m embarrassed that I’ll need to face him after thinking of him in a way that I’ve never thought of anyone before, but I’m also feeling an itch, a tingling sensation with the idea of seeing him.
The music changes and brings me back to the moment. Now, it’s like an army trying to demolish the building with heavy metal music.
I quickly put on my pajama pants, blushing at the fact that I was so exhausted I couldn’t even cover myself last night. Shaking my head and placing an angry look on my face before leaving my room I barge into his room without knocking.
As soon as the door opens I forget what I came in here to say. My synapses aren’t working properly as I stand there. Things are making sense one by one while I look at him.
He doesn’t realize I’m in his room.
He doesn’t see me standing a few feet away from him.
He is painting.
… fully focused on whatever he’s painting on the canvas in front of him.
… naked.
… hard.
… beautiful.
And I am panting.
… aroused.
… panicked.
I run to my room as fast as I can, closing my door behind me and leaning on it for support. My mouth is dry, my heart is running a mile a minute, my body tense, and I feel myself getting wet and swollen. I’m throbbing all over and I’m terrified of it. The image of his nakedness won’t go away. My breathing doesn’t turn normal. I’m hot. I’m sweating.
I open my door and head straight to the bathroom. When I look at myself in the mirror I see that I’m red all over my face and neck.
Getting rid of my clothes, I step under the water and let it cool my body down. My heart rate slows down a little, the tension in my body leaves, but the itch inside me stays. It makes me feel empty, hungry, in need and I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling any of it, but I don’t know what to do about it. It’s like I’ve opened a door without noticing and now everything is flying out.
When I get out of the shower, wrapped in my towel I force my head to look ahead of me instead of where his room is located.
He’s changed my life.
He’s changed my daily routine.
He’s messed with my body.
And I can’t help but wonder what else he can do to me if I let him. I can’t shake the dream, how good it felt to imagine him above me, how good it felt to imagine him touching me.
And I don’t like it.
I don’t like that my body wants him even though I don’t want it to.
I don’t like the sudden doubts blooming inside me.
Because I don’t even know if he wants me.
The music is still playing loudly when I put on my clothes and grab my books to leave the apartment. Today is my day off, there’s no class and no work; but I can’t face him today. There’s no chance I’ll be able to look into his eyes without praying for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Even though he knows nothing. Even though he didn’t realize it, even though he didn’t have any idea how I moaned his name I feel as though he would be able to see it written all over my face.
Groaning and shaking my head at the fact that my mind keeps bringing it up and rubbing it in my face, I walk to the door quickly. The moment I open the door the bell rings.
A guy smiles after looking me up and down.
“Hi, Abby,” he says, smiling as he adds more y’s at the end of my name than is necessary.
“Who are you? And why are you here this early?” I snap at him. I’m already over the edge to leave the apartment as fast as I can and here he is prolonging my escape.
“I’m Alex, Brant’s friend. And I didn’t know there were visiting hours,” he chuckles.
Do I really look like I’m enjoying his joke?
“And maybe I couldn’t wait to meet my lucky asshole of a friend’s amazing new roommate,” he says in that way that men use to hit on women.
He’s inappropriate and I haven’t even gotten my daily tea yet.
“Tell your friend to turn the music off. He’ll get us kicked out. And next time when you visit choose a more appropriate time,” I snap and walk past him.
I don’t like this Alex guy. He’s already on my ‘bad’ list for being in the right place at the wrong time.
And I don’t like Brant. No… I definitely don’t.
I just want…
Sex.
A hot, passionate, make-you-scream-my-name, good old fashioned fucking.
I shudder and walk faster to my usual morning spot for tea.