The Virginity Monologues

When I walked out of the James Blunt concert last night, I had a missed call on my phone.

From Scott.

No message. Just a missed call.

I really genuinely didn't care that much about his absence in the last few weeks, until I saw that. I didn't call him back, as much as I was dying to. I wanted desperately, to call him and beg him to please, just be a good guy for once in your fucking life, so I can come over there and you can make the heaven and the earth move for me again, like you always do. I wanted to call him back and scream at him for being such an asshole who can't have the decency to be responsible for any of his actions.

I wanted to kiss him until we couldn't breathe. I want to again experience the absolute comfort and safety that I've only ever found when wrapped up in his arms.

I wanted him to tell me that he was sorry and that he would never do it again and mean it.

But mostly, I wanted to feel numb. I wanted to rid myself of all the longing that just seeing his number produces in me. I wanted to not want to call him back. I wanted to stop fucking hoping already that he's going to be the man I want him to be.

Labels: Scott