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A/N: What's your picture-perfect home look like?
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If my situationship didn't live in another country, I'd be deep in his garden.
Not as a gardener or anything like that, but lurking, and hiding under the cover of the greenery as I surveyed the area, both gatekeeping his house—watching everyone who dared to enter his premises—and peering into his window to ensure that he wasn't texting anyone else. Maybe that was toxic, but I didn't care.
He was mine.
He belonged to me.
But that didn't change the facts. Right now, I was stuck here, in the land down under, while he was in Paris, surrounded by pretty girls and croissants. I didn't know which one I envied more—probably the latter, but every time I opened my phone to find no text messages from him, I grew more bitter. I thought back to his window that I should be standing outside of.
Did I love wrong?
I wasn't sure but things always seemed to go south somehow. My mind was a prison of a place, filled with incriminating thoughts. If he wasn't texting me, who was he texting?
He must be texting someone.
Never mind that logically I knew he was busy or sleeping. After all, it was 12:52 am there, but my mind was wrapped with the poisonous thought.... Who was he sleeping next to?Who was comforting him in my absence? It didn't matter that it had been less than two days since I saw him. And despite the image of another woman with him only being a delusion inside my head, it seemed like an inevitable truth – if not today, or tomorrow, someday. Someday, he would have someone else resting beside him in his bed, kissing him and making him smile when their name popped up on his phone.
