DAVE

The words she said to me last night sent my body into overdrive, and my brain shut down completely. It was as if someone had poured gasoline over a fire I was barely keeping under control. My blood was thumping so loudly in my ears I could barely hear myself think. Her words looped in my head like a broken record, cruel and unrelenting, each repetition sharper than a stab with a burning knife.

“Stupid.” She had called our relationship stupid. Was that really what our little secret meant to her? All those stolen moments, the whispered confessions, the nights I spent replaying every smile, every kiss she ever gave me. All the fucking hot sex, I gave to her, mindblowing head, having my twelve inches cock ride her butthole softly. Was it all that meaningless to her?

If only she hadn’t been so harsh and so utterly heartless. Maybe I could’ve shown her more than that just how much I care about her and how far I was willing to go to keep her happy. Maybe I could’ve explained myself and made her see what I see in her. But no, she had to take the low road, and I’m left standing here in the wreckage of whatever we had, trying to figure out how it all went so wrong, and what I didn't keep in control.

I doubt I’ve ever cried in my life. Not when I scraped my knees as a kid, not when I lost my dog, not even when mom got into that car accident when I was little, not even when I knew I was having a stepdad. But as I stood there replaying her words, I felt the sting of tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. My throat tightened and my chest burned with an ache I couldn’t shake. She had pulled a trigger I didn’t even know existed. And I was here acting like a finished man, at least for her.

She really went too far this time. Stupid? That’s what she called it? That’s what she thought of everything we shared. Every laugh, every touch, and every stupid little thing she does that made me think, for just a moment, that maybe she felt the same way. She didn’t just reject me, she tore me apart with surgical precision, leaving no part of me untouched by her contempt. Not like I don't have thousands of girls in my corner, trust me, I do. Girls chase like just like the way bees run after honey but she was the only girl I've ever loved in my entire life.

The anger bubbling inside me needed an outburst. I couldn’t stand still; I couldn’t even sit down. My hands were shaking so badly I clenched them into fists, desperate for some kind of release. My gaze fell on the bottle of pills sitting on the table. A guy gave them to me weeks ago, swearing they were really effective in getting high after a bad day. I never planned on using them, I told him I’d quit all that.

But tonight, the temptation was too strong. I grabbed the pack, twisted the cap open, and popped two pills into my mouth before I could think twice. He told me never to take more than one at a time, but what did I care? I just wanted the noise in my fucking head to stop. I wanted to shut out the part of me that wanted to run back to her, to fall to my knees and beg her to change her mind. I swallowed the pills dry and slumped onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

I could feel my brain already outgrowing my head but it wasn’t enough. The wrath and heartbreak, were still all there, simmering just below the surface. I stood up abruptly, pacing the room like a wild animal looking for what to feed on. My hands itched for something, anything to hit. Without thinking, I swung my fist at the wall, the effect sending a sharp bump of pain up my arm. But the pain felt good. It felt real and welcomed, like something I could control.

I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter, poured myself a glass, and downed it in one gulp. The burn in my throat was a welcome distraction, so I poured another and another. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth glass, I lit a cigarette, watching the smoke curl lazily into the air. My mind was a chaotic mess of anger and longing, each emotion fighting for dominance.

By morning, I looked like hell. My knuckles were bruised, my head was pounding, and the taste of whiskey still lingered on my tongue. I knew I couldn’t avoid her forever, though, so I dragged myself to breakfast.

She was already there, sitting at the table and scrolling through her phone like nothing had happened. I hesitated for a moment before taking the seat beside her. Gently, I reached out, placing my hand on her lap.

She shoved it away like I was something dirty. The scorn in her glare was like a knife to my chest, but I tried again, this time resting my hand on her arm.

“Don’t,” she snapped, standing up abruptly and carrying her plate to the kitchen without looking back at me.

I stared at her retreating figure, my stomach twisting painfully. She hated me. She hated me so much she couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as me.

By yesterday, I had officially become an addict— an addict to her rejection, her cruelty, her ability to turn me into someone I barely recognized.

And then there was Mike. The thought of her going out with him made me want to punch a hole through the wall all over again. He didn’t deserve her, he didn’t even know her the way I did. But a small, pathetic part of me hoped she’d listen to me, that she’d obey my warnings, even if she didn’t trust me.

After the breakfast that was more like playing with a meal, I finally gave up trying to make her see reason. I retreated to my room, slamming the door behind me and collapsing onto the window seat. Lighting another cigarette, I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dance in the air. From my window, I could see her through the thin curtains as she got ready.

She moved with a kind of grace that made my chest tighten, even now. Her hair fell in soft waves down her back as she brushed it out, her fingers working quickly and efficiently. She slipped into a dress that hugged her figure just right that I wanted to grab her soft ass and bend her back over for a nice doggy. But my heart ached at the sight of her. She was beautiful, so painfully, impossibly beautiful and she wasn’t mine any longer.

Every movement she made felt like a slap in the face, a reminder of everything I’d lost. I hated her for it, but I hated myself more for still wanting her.

I flicked the cigarette out the window, watching the ember fade as it fell to the ground. I couldn’t keep living like this, caught in the in-between of love and hate. If she thought she could just walk away from me, she had another thing coming.

I was desperate to have my sister back, but I didn't want to be a simp.

I’d get back at her, one way or another. She’d regret every hateful word, and every icy glare she threw at me because no one would love her like I do. And when she finally realized what she’d thrown away, she’d come back to me, begging for her brother’s cock in her in her pussy. Mercilessly.

And when that day came, I’d be ready.