It’s Complicated, Not.

A plume of white smoke filled the room as he took a long, thoughtful drag of his joint and exhaled deeply. She lounged in the wicker armchair on the balcony, cradling a glass of Pink Moscato, and her bare feet were neatly propped up against a stool as she stared at the distant lights across the dark water.

What am I doing here? She kept thinking over and over.

Her heart had been massacred a few nights ago, her body had been robbed of decency and her soul had been raped and tossed into the gutter like the gum wrapper that gets stuck to the bottom of the shoes on the streets of L.A.

He squatted in front of her; a joint pressed between his thin lips and a glass of Whiskey in his large hand. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of a body that could bend steel and the kind of a face that could make panties wet.

He was a one-night-‘em kind of a guy, and the dangerous gleam in his eyes confirmed it. He was young, wealthy and with enough connections to catapult his firm buns into the upper society. He fucked girls for breakfast, lunch and dinner – love was foreign to him.

She was heartbroken, confused, and livid.

He cupped her chin and slammed his mouth against hers. His kiss was potent, enough to get her high. He parted her lips, blew the smoke in her mouth and covered every inch of her face and neck with sloppy, urgent kisses.

She knew what he wanted, but her heart said no.

She felt ashamed; she couldn’t play the game. She was no player, and her heart was at stake. She pushed him off, disgusted with herself, snatched the purse off the counter and stormed down the hallway.

He shouted her name and awkwardly adjusted his sweat pants as he hurried after her, and grabbed her hand.

He told her she was a fool for believing in love. He tried to make her stay, even fed her lies that could have made a weaker girl cave in, but she shook off his grip and told him she pitied him. Yes, he was young and had money to spend, but he was lonely and he coped with his pain by surrounding himself with phony-ass friends, boatful of weed and the type of alcohol that cost an arm and a leg but tasted like shit.

He stiffened and told her she couldn’t have everything she wanted before he slammed the door in her face. His words stung and they left her hollow and bruised. She braved the cold night in a flimsy dress, cried on the way to her car and promised herself that despite the pain it’ll cost, she’ll search out her soul mate.

He had to be out there – somewhere across the dark water, where the sparkly lights shine brighter than diamonds.

 

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It’s Complicated, Not.

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