Tales of Fake

It was 11:57 p.m. and all she could think about was him. She lay in bed and tossed and turned, trying to push back the memory of his voice, his thrust, his touch. She needed not to feel him there. The walls were closing in on her and she felt empty. Why had she done it? Now she could do nothing but regret it. If she would’ve been able, she would’ve gone back a week or so and changed it. She wanted nothing more but to change it. She loathed him now. She hated him for making her lose herself like that and throw her away the moment after. She felt like rubbish, literally: single-serving. At least now she knew and she had decided: she wasn’t going to let anybody in her heart anymore. She was done with trying. She’d push back the need of feeling special to someone and trade it in for something that’d hurt less.