"What d'you say darling? How's tonight sound?" Bryson asks me. His index and middle fingers are stroking my cheek, and he's standing crazy close. His brown eyes are enough to tear my soul apart to shreds and the way that his brown hair makes his features complete are enough to drive me up-the-wall crazy.
I gulp down the lump in my throat. "Y-yeah. S-sure," I stutter.
He smirks down at me as he gazes impassively into my blue eyes. "I'll pick you up at 7." And with those words, he walks away, and he leaves me standing outside, frozen- literally considering it's -3 degrees out here.
After finally regaining my composure, I race back into the house and try to figure out what to wear. I honestly don't know if I'm ready for tonight. I can feel the anxiety building more and more with each second that passes and each thought that occurs. What if I'm doing this for all of the wrong reasons? What if it's not good or fun? What if I'm not good? What if he doesn't like me? What if- just, what if.
I try to find a comfortable spot on the bed as he lies me down beneath him, but I don't think that I can. The mattress feels old and very worn out, which makes me wonder if I've ever been the first girl in his bed. I probably haven't though. My mind is racing with thoughts similar to the ones before, but mostly about the fact that this is really happening and I feel as if even if I were to say no, I wouldn't be able to stop it.
His lips are on mine, moving in sync with each other. His hands are travelling down my sides to my hips. His length is strained with his pants, but I can feel every bit of it as he grinds his hips into mine.
Bryson moves his lips from mine and trails them across my cheek and up to the spot just beneath my ear. He clamps his teeth down on my ear lobe, making me moan, before he trails his lips back down my cheek and onto my jawline. I move my hands from the sheets on the bed and slip them between our bodies, placing them on his chest. My fingers curl slightly into his shirt as he moves his lips down from my jawline and across my neck and collarbones.
He pulls away, as breathless as I am. This is all such a new experience to me and every bit of it is captivating, but I feel as though it won't last forever. He's hovering over my body, glancing down at me impassively. Hell, I can't even get an emotion from his eyes- there's nothing there but lust. Before I can process everything and tell him no, he smirks down at me and kisses me again.
Moments later, all of our clothing lies together in a heap on the floor, and my virtue is being taken away from me. After we are finished, we lie together in the bed, and he holds me as he plays with my fingers. But the words that come from his lips make me want to vomit and cry, both at the same time.
"I think we should break up." There was no emotion laced with his words, nor could I see any in his eyes, but they were there, completely impassive.
"Wh-what?" I manage to squeak out. I can feel the lump in my throat and the tears want to fall, but I try my hardest to remain strong, which is something that is very hard considering I'm an emotional person.
His emotionless attitude makes me want to vomit more than his words do. It's not really his words that are making me sick; it's the fact that the words are said after he's taken away my virtue. I was someone who wanted to wait until after marriage or until I found that "special someone," but Bryson being Bryson and always saying the right words at the right time, I thought he was special. So of course, I gave my virginity to him. I was so naive to think that he could have been anything special. I really have been very naive. There's that saying that goes something like "don't hate the player, hate the game." Well if you've ever played a game before, you would know that the game has nothing to do with the losing outcome; it's the players that make the outcome as is.
The tears that once threatened to fall have found their way back to bay, and all that I want to do is scream. I want to scream from the rooftop at the world, at myself, at him. I want to fight him, but there's nothing to really fight with- he's not worth it. I mostly just want to blame myself for not being able to realize this before, but I can't find the strength within me.
I shuffle around the room and pull my clothes on before stepping into my shoes. After I'm fully clothed, I run my fingers through my hair, tearing away any tangles that have occurred, and any evidence of my just-fucked hair. I walk towards the door and pull it open, turning around just before I leave. "Oh, and by the way- fuck you." And with that, I leave. I don't hear his reply and I don't turn back around as I make my way down the stairs and out of the house. The only unfortunate thing about tonight- besides my loss of virtue- is the fact that I don't have a ride home, and again, it's fucking freezing outside.