She’s been back a week. And by god has it been the slowest, worst week of my life.
I’ve spent the majority of it out of the house, out of the way, and though the benefit of it is I’m not seeing my mother, I’m also not seeing Dominic either and my nerves are starting to fray.
The way she was the night she got back, the way she was looking at Dominic, talking to him, it makes me feel so angry and so jealous and I hate that I’m becoming that person.
And if I’m honest there’s a tiny part of me that’s scared Dominic will change his mind, that he’ll see my mother paying him attention and he’ll remember all the good times, all the happy times, he’ll remember what they were and he won’t want to lose it.
If I admit it, I’m scared he’ll forget about me.
So I’ve spent every waking hour buried in my degree work, focusing on a dissertation that’s not even due in for another two months and yet I’m almost done. Almost finished.
I guess I should be grateful. It’s the last bit of coursework and while all my classmates are starting to panic because they haven’t even started, I’m already getting mine reviewed on its first draft.
But that’s also the reason I’m home now. Because I can hardly work on something while my professor is going through it with a fine tooth comb.
I’m sat, in the snug, working on something I’ve not looked at in a long while. It’s a story I wrote, a novel, except it needs a lot of reworking and I guess now I have the time to do it. If I can get it done, if I can get it into something that I’m happy with, I might even have the balls to send it off to some literary agents and perhaps, just perhaps, I might be able to achieve my dream of being a writer.
Although I doubt it’ll be that easy. Most writers get a heap of rejections before they finally get somewhere. But that’s okay. I’m used to rejection. I’m used to criticism and I know long term, if I keep pushing, eventually I’ll make it. Because something in my gut tells me that.
“Hey.” Dominic says and my heart jumps at his voice.
I look up at him, running my eyes over his body before I can stop myself.
“Hey.” I say smiling.
“You’ve been away a lot.”
I nod. “I’ve been working on my dissertation.” I say. “And hiding too.” I admit.
He sighs sitting down. “I thought so. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For this. For complicating this.”
“You didn’t do this. It was us. Together.” I state.
He nods. “I was hoping to see you. I was going to message you. I got you something. An early birthday present.”
“What?” I say pulling a face. My birthday isn’t for another month. It’s not just early, it’s ridiculous.
“I thought it might be a way to cheer you up too.”
“I’m not sad.” I say.
“No?” He teases leaning in and as his lips get close it’s all I can do not to kiss them. He must see the way I’m looking at him because he smirks for a moment. “I miss you.” He says.
“I miss you too.” I say and then suddenly he is kissing me, his hands are wrapped in my hair and I’m throwing my laptop aside falling on top of him, grinding my hips against him.
He groans, his hands running up my leggings and grasping my ass.
“Fuck.” I hear him say.
“Will you?” I say lifting my head.
“Right now?” He says.
“Yes. Fuck me. Prove this wasn’t all in my head.” I say before I can keep the words down.
“Of course it isn’t.” He snaps but he’s pulling my leggings down anyway, freeing his dick and thrusting into me so quickly, so forcefully, my eyes practically roll back.
“Oh god.” I moan. I don’t even know where my mum is, if she’s in the house, if she’s even home. Hell, if she walked in on us now I don’t think I’d care, I certainly wouldn’t stop. I’d be fucking Dominic anyway, showing her exactly what we are to each other.
It’s like I’ve lost all control. Like I’ve gone mad. Maybe I am the whore I think I am. Maybe I am the slut Timothy called me but right now all I know is I need Dominic.
I need him in this moment.
I need him more than life itself.