DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #174 - where have the good times gone?

'Y'know who I'm talking about'. He growls, as he moves on looking for whatever he's looking for, I don't know, in the drawers of the vanity table. And I giggle at his demeanour, because I reckon he ain't even trying to stay faithful to his prank anymore, at this point. He was making stuff sound like he was looking for a 'he', now he's looking for a 'who', a human I think, in some tiny tiny drawers ... how silly is this? Sean is so cryptic, such a good actor, and to say it in a very Jessica way, he's also such a silly fucking goose. He's probably trying to deceive me with his chaotic ways, he's probably looking for my vibrator because he wants to put it to use with me again, because it's become a staple in our kinky endeavours, and he's probably used his brute force to turn me on... but although his brute force hasn't turned me on a bit, just given me the closest to a panic attack, I wouldn't say no to naughty time before going to bed. With or without my vibrator, perhaps. I'd take everything he has to offer and call it a bargain.

'Oh, I get it... you're pretending to be me that night at the party! You're so funny, love!' I chuckle, turning things on the humorous side, although he's still opening all drawers and emptying them on the floor, in desperate search of my vibrator. Or at least so I think. With all this relentless searching, with all that effort, with all that dedication, he's reminding me of myself of that night at Cuntrell's party, when I was on a scavenger hunt expedition to find the super mysterious Sean with the Honda Four. He's passionately searching, I was passionately searching too, back in the day... and if I remember well, the outcome of my search was the best fucking night of my life. Tryna get my hopes up, aren't you, Mr. Honda Four? What you gonna do to me, as soon as you find my bright pink, vibrating seven incher? I can give you an idea, if you're open to suggestions, and you don't just wanna do things your own way like your usual... put it in my mouth while you do whatever you want to me with the real thing. I wasn't thinking about sex, but now I am, and it's all your fucking fault.

'Welcome back, my prankster! I missed you sooo much! Did you have a good night with the guys?' I speak, again, when I catch the hint that he ain't gonna say one word to save his life. Everything that once used to be in the drawers is now on the floor, now he's looking for my vibrator under the armchair, because it was on an armchair that we used it the last time... but it was three hotels ago, and it's ahead of me how can't he remember it. Somehow, he realises that looking under the armchair won't lead to the vibrator (it's in my suitcase, habibi!), and he just sits on it. More like, he falls lifeless on it, and I sit on his lap, facing him and slightly rubbing his hair. Okay, I was thinking about sex, I still am, but I'm sitting on something totally soft (and that's odd, given that he was thinking about sex too), and I'm feeling like I did a bad thing, asking him how his night out with the guys went. Because he's looking at me like he's totally done with me, and he's even rolling his eyes back to make a statement about that.

Still, I don't let his offish, extra cold reaction discourage me, and I attempt to put my lips on his, to give him the kiss I've been anticipating all night long. And I say 'attempt ', because as soon as my lips get anywhere close to his, he pulls away from me, throws his head back, and grunts in my face in pure pissed offness. It's official now, I simply don't have one clue what's happening here, and why he's being like this. Ain't he the same guy who was giving me fucking cuddles in the hot tub this afternoon? More cuddles than I would've liked to get and was expecting to get, to be honest to a fault? Why is he so cold and distant now? Again, how many drinks were involved in this? Wondering because I got close enough to his lips to almost touch them, and man, they smelled like a fucking rotten liquor distillery. 

'Cut the crap. I ain't feeling the kisses'. He grunts, and at his words, oh so painful to me but at the same time so damn unmistakable, I stand up from his lap, and I refrain from even looking at him, because I'm too afraid he may try and guillotine me under his stare again. Never once since I've been dating Sean I've heard him tell me he wasn't feeling the kisses, never once he's subtracted himself when there was to kiss me. I legit thought he was the champion of kissing, smooching, making out for hours in a row, not necessarily for double ends, but just for the pleasure of it ... this is new for me, new for us, hence I'm puzzled. Feeling like the guy who's on the armchair now, holding his face between his palms and cursing under his breath, ain't the one I fell in love with and would take a flying bullet for. And what puzzles me even more, it's that it ain't clear if his offish behaviour is entirely to blame on the alcohol in his system, partially so, or not even a little bit. What if I've done a bad thing to him without even realising it? What if it's all my fault, and I just can't see it? Come on... Sean would never be offish with me. He loves me and I love him twice as much, if not more. I've seen him at his worst, and he's always made some space for me by his hip, no matter how scruffy and angry he was feeling. He's seen me at my worst, and he's never left me alone with my problems. I still haven't repaid him for the time he calmed me down from a terrible panic attack at some night club in Denver... why ain't he letting me do my own thing now that he'd need me so much? Am I his girlfriend for a reason, or just to be complimented when someone sees me under his arm?