“Again.” I demand, and he does, pulling out the entire length before slamming himself back inside of me, hitting that sweet spot again.  “Fuck Wyatt, again.  Harder.”

“Oh yeah,” he grinds out between thrusts, pushing my body further and further towards the edge.  I can feel my orgasm building, my toes tingling as my legs begin to flex and tighten around his hips.  I start trembling from head to toe as he pushes on, pounding into me harder and faster.

“Keep going, please,” I beg, my orgasm so close I’m panting with each word.  I clench the tight muscles in his back, his shoulders rippling with the effort to hold himself up and drive into me relentlessly.  I can feel him trembling, a light sheen of sweat coating his body as he slides against me over and over again.  He dips his head to pull my nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth lightly against my sensitive flesh.

“I need you to let go.  I can’t hold on much longer,” he fires at me, and his words spur me on.  My body bows, rising off the couch as I tip over the precipice, my eyes slamming closed from the intense pleasure.  My body rides the waves of its own accord, my hips bucking beneath his as Wyatt finds his own release, pumping rhythmically into me.  And for a moment, I am lost.

Although, it is fleeting.

We lie together on my couch, slick with sweat as our breathing begins to return to normal.  Wyatt pulls himself out of me, and crosses the room into my bathroom without a word.  I sit up and pull my clothing back on before he gets back, curious about his quiet demeanor, yet at the same time receding within my own walls.

When he returns, he dresses and sits down beside me, tossing his arm around my shoulders and begins drawing light circles against my arm.  We sit silently together.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, after he’s been quiet much longer than usual.  He’s usually one to get done and leave a few minutes later.  I can’t remember a time he’s lingered around like this.

He keeps drawing circles on my arm, and I give him a moment, knowing he heard my question.

“Do you ever think about turning this into something more?”

Damn.  I so don’t need this right now.  A bitchy reply tries to claw out of my throat but I swallow it down.  I don’t need to hurt his feelings but he deserves the truth.  We always said if the lines started to blur, everything would stop.  And this is seriously crossing the line of casual sex.  “Honestly?  No.  I don’t think we could ever be more.”

“Why not?” he demands, turning his body to face me.  “We get along, we’re great together, and the sex is amazing.  What more is there?”

“There’s a lot more, actually.  You and I, we’re different people.  We want different things out of life.  In the whole time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you as more than what we are now.”

“And what’s that?” he questions, “A convenient fuck?”

I can’t ignore the look of hurt on his face.  ‘Well yeah,’ I want to say, but I don’t.  It’s not my intention to hurt him, but I thought we were clear on what we are.

“You and I both know this has just been a distraction—for both of us.  You have your shit going on, and I have mine.  This life isn’t it for me.  I have plans to leave here, and I know you don’t.”  He looks at me with frustration and hurt written all over his attractive features.

“So what?  If you leave, then we’d be done.  It’s that easy.  Why won’t you try?”

“What’s the point?” My own frustration is fueling my emotions, and I’m exhausted; I want him gone.  “If we only plan to stay together until I leave, what’s the point of being together at all?  I’m sorry, Wyatt.  You’re a great guy, but I just can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”  He asks, leaning forward to brush his fingers across my cheek.  I pull back from the contact.

“Won’t,” I respond coldly, frustrated with his game.  His ice blue eyes take on a new fire I’ve never seen in them before.

“Who else are you fucking?” he spits at me, his hands gripping my thighs.

“What?” I sputter back, incredulous at the implication.  “Nobody but you, but that wouldn’t matter anyway since I’m not dating you!”  The loose control I held over my inner bitch snaps.  Nobody talks to me like that.

He squeezes my legs tighter, and I’m certain I’ll have bruises tomorrow, but I sit still, knowing the flames are burning down.  He’s going to go; I can see the resolution on his face, his eyes now like glowing embers.

“You’re just enjoying being a little slut too much to be tied down with me.”  His words have me jumping out of my seat and backing away.

“Get the fuck out,” I command, willing myself not to cry.  He stands up, jamming his arms into his coat.  Thank God, he’s leaving.  “And don’t ever come back.  This is over,” I add.  He gives me one last glowing sneer before he yanks my door open.

“We’ll see about that,” he mutters before slamming the door loudly behind him.

Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, I feel worse now than I did earlier.  Dragging my heavy, tired body to my bed, I pull the comforter over my head, burrowing down with no intention of coming out tomorrow either.

It’s after noon when I wake up the following day and finally decide to drag my ass out of bed.  Still smelling like Wyatt and sex, I start the shower to wake myself up.  I spend an unusually long amount of time soaking in the hot water, relishing in the relaxing effect it has on my muscles.  Spending so much time lying in bed the past two days has my body tense and stiff, and this is the closest thing to a massage I’ll ever get.

I’m more agitated than I was yesterday, and after a moment of contemplation, I stick my dripping hand out of the shower towards the vanity.  Pulling open the left hand drawer, I find the implement I seek.  Resting my back against the cool, wet tiles, I lower myself to sit on the shower floor.

The adrenaline from the anticipation is enough to lighten my mood.  This week is all culminating into one giant clusterfuck of emotion I can’t identify.  Mr. Ryan.  Mrs. Marsden.  Wyatt.  One person can only take so much before seeking an out.  This is my out.  My relief.  My escape.  Closing my eyes, I relish in the cool metal blade gliding across my skin.

One.

Two.

Three.

Done.

The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh.  Gazing down, I watch the red swirl intricately with the water as it sluices down my body before disappearing down the drain.  Rinsing away my emotional pain.  I’m filled with relief as cleansing as sucking in a lungful of fresh air.  Staring unseeing into the depths of the drain, my mind once again silenced.  Until the water starts to turn cold.  I turn it off, dry my body, and clean up my arm before replacing one pair of sweats with another.

After dropping my dirty clothes off in my laundry basket, I pull my phone off the charger where I left it last night before I fell asleep.  I have two missed calls and three missed text messages.

Ignoring the phone calls, I look at my messages first.  Two are from Emerson and one is from Kelsey.  I tap Kelsey’s name first.

Checkin in to see if you’re doin okay.  I’m workin with you saturday so we can chat then.  Call me if you need anything.  She sent it around ten o’clock last night.  Scanning the timestamps, I can see Emerson’s text are both from this morning.

Where the hell are you?????

Are you okay? Why are you skipping two days of school, are you mad at me? Text me back when you get this

I’m a horrible friend.  I didn’t think to let Emerson know I wasn’t going to be at school; although, I don’t ever remember really making that conscious decision for myself last night.  Feeling guilty, I type out a quick reply to both my friends, grateful they both cared enough to check in on me.

Since today is Friday and I’m already skipping school, grocery shopping sounds like a perfect way to pass the time.  I can’t remember the last time I had a decent meal and it’s not as if I have anything better to do.