Scraps (Scomiche)

Wrong

It's not supposed to be like this, and you know it. You can tell yourself that nothing wrong is happening, that your eyes are just curious, even if they linger on him for longer than it should be considered safe. But you can't help it. You just can't stop watching him.

Which is almost laughable, because you have been watching him for so long that you should be tired by now. You should need just one second to take in every detail of his face before losing any interest - and still, there's always something that captures your gaze. Always something different in those features that you've come to know so well - in ways that you never thought would happen.

You gulp down the last sip of champagne in your glass, feeling the sour taste of the liquid scratch your throat, the fizz always making your mouth itch. You hate these business dinners, because you hate having to mingle and pretend like you care about whatever small talk reaches your ears; pretend like you're not feeling extremely awkward in your fancy clothes. You want your tank top back, the comfort of your sweats, the casual look of the snapback placed on your head.

You feel trapped in the classy jacket that drapes perfectly around your shoulders, trapped by the roaming look of appreciation that women and men send your way. Trapped by the thought that your presence here is not necessary at all, and yet you couldn't say no - too guilty to even think about it.

More than anything else, anyway, you feel trapped as you realize once again that you're surrounded by so many people, and yet your eyes are only drawn to him. They always are. No matter if he's in front of you or just on your screen - smiling at cameras that try to capture his beauty without really being able to. His mere presence is enough to cloud everything else, making you lose the already loose grip on your self control. Making you forget where you're standing and what's your role.

You watch as yet another man approaches him, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and wearing a blinding smile while offering him a glass of wine. You shouldn't be surprised, and still the sight makes your stomach clench. You tighten your grip around the glass, almost afraid that you will end up breaking it, the jealousy twirling in your stomach a familiar companion. You hate feeling so upset, and even more so because you know that you have no right to feel like this.

You know that he's not yours. You know that he will never be.

No matter how many times you'll wrap your arms around his small frame and your lips will wander all over his body, bruising the porcelain skin to create the illusion that you're leaving your mark behind. You're not, don't fool yourself. Even if your name sounds lovely from his plump lips as you sink inside of him, or he looks at you like you're the anchor of his world, his eyes gleaming as he reaches the bliss you provide. No matter how many times you will pretend that his heart is beating because of you, that there's a meaning behind his actions.

He's not yours. You're not his.

And you shouldn't want to be. Because you're supposed to be in love, and faithful to that love. Because your boyfriend trusts you to be.

You almost laugh out loud at that thought, your hand shooting to grab another glass of champagne from the waiter walking around. You take a sip of liquid to swallow down the guilt you're feeling, hoping that it will relax you enough to make the whole evening more bearable. Albeit, to be completely honest, you're not so sure that there is something that will make you more comfortable. You still have no damn clue what you're doing here.

You sigh, spinning the glass around, your eyes fixated on the liquid, forcing yourself to not look up, knowing that if you do, your gaze will automatically fall on him. And yet, you do it anyway. You raise your head, ashamed of the way your heart races as you find him already looking at you, his dark eyes cutting a hole inside your being. He doesn't smile, doesn't motion for you to start moving, but you do it, unable to stay away from him any longer, not when he's finally acknowledging your presence.