Thursday (Her Story).

Thursdays. She would head over to his place for a drink or two, and then they’d fucked. It wasn’t some arrangement which was agreed upon. It just so happened that every single time she was there, it was a Thursday. Eventually, it just became a habit.

She didn’t really like hin, but it wasn’t that she disliked him either. She was attracted, but he never really showed any active interest in her life that made her think he was actually interested in her as a person and not just a fuck buddy. So she didn’t bother to give him anymore attention that was warranted. To her, it was almost always an act driven by sheer pleasure, by the need to feel physically wanted. She knew that she reigned in the bedroom, that there was nowhere else or nothing else that could make her feel as powerful, and as powerless.

He would always ask for her to stay the night, and she would always agree, even though she was suffering from insomnia and didn’t tell him. So every Thursday night, after he had fallen asleep, she would get up and go to the kitchen to get herself a drink, followed by a smoke at the balcony.

She was always careful when moving around his house at night, afraid of waking him, but today she was preoccupied. She supposed that the clatter of dishes would wake him, but he didn’t seem to make any attempt at waking up to find out what’s happened. So in her usual ritual, she grabbed the ashtray on the dining table and sat by the balcony.

As she sat, puffing away, she knew that somehow, in the middle of the night, he would get up and watch her from the shadows, unsure whether or not to break her reverie. She often ignored him, pretended that she didn’t notice him, and he would often go back to bed on his own after awhile.

She wondered if he wondered why she did this so often. She wondered if he knew that while she would often imagine him as someone else, someone she had often wished was the one asleep in that bed, who was the one she was fucking, who would be waiting for her with open arms to go back to bed once she was done.

But he wasn’t.

And he’ll never be.

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11 Comments

  1. Fiction or reality…doesn’t matter…
    This post is brilliant…gets you thinking…I think, in a way its true about every relationship, you know…however serious or passing…we all wish the person with us was someone we always wished to find..wished to be with…had all those qualities you like…treated you the way you want to be treated…i guess we all make do with what we get when we dont get what we want…
    Been a reader of your blog for quite some time, actually…first comment !

  2. Hey Mr H! Thanks for visiting and leaving a comment =)
    Yes we all have been there haven’t we. Sometimes the yearning more than others. Sometimes we can almost successfully replace the person we’re with with the one we want to be with. Sometimes we can only hope =)

  3. this is like the mirror of.. someone’s post
    except it’s the female version.

  4. If you are wondering who I am, I’m PL who commented on your blog before. Not being anon anymore.

    How I wished he would tell me to stay.

  5. Dylan: eh, i wrote the first one la you bodoh =P

    XPG: sometimes staying isn’t the best thing to do

  6. how i wish i can read peoples’ thoughts. then i wouldn’t need to cloud my mind with my own versions of what they think. doesn’t that make this world so much simpler?

  7. We all know the outcome each time yet we continue to indulge in the emptiness after. A sentimental fool perhaps … in everyone of us. 😛

  8. Tooth Fairy: sometimes, the truth hurts in ways you don’t want it to

    Skorpios: hmmm, fool indeed =)

  9. hmm.. i knew it was familiar somehow.. =P
    mwahahaha

  10. somehow this post breaks my heart.. 😦

  11. Dylan: haha bleah

    thalia: could have been anyone =)


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