Poison

“Maybe a decade explaining the crazy is better than a decade living without it,” he said, and his words thumped me deep.

There was only one person on this planet responsible for the decade living without it, and he could go and get fucked. I spun to scorch his stare with mine, wishing my clit believed a sliver of the spite the rest of me was such good friends with.

“I’ll be living without it for more than a damn decade this time around,” I told him. “It was a splurge. A stupid splurge. That’s all.”

“I can still taste your pretty cunt,” he said, and I hated him. I hated the way he licked his lips and kept that smirk at full volume. I hated the way he was bursting for more without even breaking a sweat. I hated the way he had me on fire, even though my heart was ice cold and seething.

I hated the way his cock was hard and my mouth was watering.

I hated the way I was fluttering like a weak little heartbreak with jelly legs.

“Get me to the train, please,” I said, and he held my stare for a few long seconds before getting to his feet.

“Sure.”

He kicked aside his strewn shirt and pants and grabbed some jeans from his drawer. I cursed myself for watching as he pulled them up, and cursed myself harder when his eyes met mine in the mirror, catching me in the act. I got the hell out of there and found his bathroom at the bottom of the landing.

My heart was panging weirdly as he burst right on in while I was taking my morning piss, that same smirk on his face as he checked out my pussy as I peed. He loaded up his toothbrush and got to work, and I couldn’t stop that pain at the familiarity. His presence was so matter of factly at ease with mine. I knew his movements by heart, even after all this time. The way he tilted his head as he washed his hands up and smoothed down his beard. The way he cleared his throat and shoved his toothbrush back in the holder.

“Know when the trains are?” he asked, and I forced myself not look at him, just kept my eyes on the toilet roll and wiped myself dry.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Just get me to the station, please.”

“No breakfast?”

“No thanks.”

I prayed he wouldn’t play on my favourites. That he wouldn’t offer me his speciality poached eggs and fried mushrooms, and his smile across the breakfast table.

He didn’t.

“I’ll get ready to roll, then,” he said, and my heart dropped.

Disappointment.

I hated myself in that moment almost as much as I hated him.

I found my phone downstairs on the kitchen counter, blinking with low battery and a whole ton of missed calls and texts. Mum. Nicola. Vicky.

Shit.

No doubt they all thought I was spasming somewhere, with no idea of my own name.

Again, I hated myself for letting them worry like that, all for the sake of getting my clit sucked by an asshole.

I was ready to leave and petting his dogs when he joined me downstairs. He was so much more casual today; a regular t-shirt that he buried under a regular coat and grabbed his shoes from the rack. He let the dogs out, then grabbed up his keys and tossed a glance in my direction, heading down the hallway and holding the door open for me to step out.

I hated myself a whole load more for just how much my tummy churned at the knowledge that this was really it. Goodbye forever. So long for another long decade, and hopefully loads more of them to follow.

He took my cases and dumped them in the back of his truck, then climbed on in as I clipped my seatbelt up.

We didn’t speak. No small talk. No laughter. No grinning memories of an epic night together. Nothing but the countryside rushing past outside the window and Lydney train station getting closer.

Until we were there.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything, just dropped on out of the passenger seat and grabbed my cases before he had a chance to.

Please God, don’t try to hug me goodbye or wave me off.

Luckily, he did neither.

I wanted to thank him before I went, but the words burnt my throat too hard. I wanted to at least throw him a smirk and a hell, that was a fuckathon, but I couldn’t. I just pushed my feet to walking a step at a time on stupid heels, feeling like an idiot as I made my way to the platform.

He didn’t join me, and I was grateful.

I had enough battery in my phone to fire off some don’t worry, sorry, be back soon messages to the blinking contacts, then shoved the handset back in my bag as the next train pulled up at the platform. I took a seat and a breath along with it, resolving afresh that this was really it. No more Lydney train station and no more Lucas Pierce.