Fatigue

Slapping her ass, she looked sadly back at me as we awkwardly existed together for the last time. I felt a twinge of guilt over leaving her. It was costing me her light colored eyes, her giant ass in tight shorts, and all the good pieces of furniture. Yet, in the grey between certainty and despair, I held my ground, trusting the choking urge that what I was doing was the best thing for both of us, because I knew I could not give her what she needed or deserved.

Belle Two was dangerously young and fragile, yet could have possibly been one of the best things to ever happen to me. But everything got so mechanical and so trivial so quickly, and she was right, I was all hung up still over Belle Number One, whom I didn't even bother referring to as "number one", because the original is usually better than the sequel, although in this case it was not true and I knew it, but still didn't care. Poor optimistic Belle Number Two, silently tolerating my habits and lifestyle despite not understanding or participating, it was like she was on the sidelines watching without knowing the rules, while I ran back and forth, diving for bad passes on a muddy field with no grip. Night after night, climbing narrow wooden stairs to our city apartment, I'd face her hopeful eyes, eager and anxious to please me anyway and anyhow, if not to make me happy than just to get me to stay at least another day, because we both knew it was true--I saw it in her eyes every morning when I rolled over to take a shower and drink my coffee and whiskey, I saw it in her eyes when I came home every night and she seemed surprised that I was back again--we knew it was all slipping away,

"Anything you want." She had told me just to get me to stay, offering up her body to me. What kind of sadness comes to be when not even kinky sex will keep a young man home?

And it made me sick and ugly inside. I had to turn away my eyes whenever she tried to tell me that she loved me, that she had grown to need me, to rely on me. I could not even rely upon myself, I could not even love myself, and I did not want the burden, the weight of another life which I would bungle and balance.

I could still hear the rising panic in her voice echoing in my head whenever a heavy decision had to be made, making me sore and tired. And fatigue can change so many things.

Regards, Esortnom