Echoes of a Line

Some type of way

Song: Meddle About-Chase Atlantic "Cause it's not just a figure of speech you got me down on my knees, it's getting harder to breathe out. We only met each other just the other day but you already got me feeling some type of way"

We only met three days ago.

And already, the memory of your touch haunts me like a secret sin. The way your fingers pressed into my skin—hard enough to leave marks, soft enough to make me ache for more. I feel the ghost of it every time I close my eyes.

I'm addicted.
And you don't even know it.

Day One: You walked into the room with that careless kind of confidence, the kind that makes everyone else disappear. You lit your cigarette without asking, lips curling around it like a promise. I offered you a lighter—didn't expect you to take it. But you did.

That night, your voice was low and rough, teasing me with words I couldn't fully catch, but wanted desperately to. You said you weren't the type to stick around. I didn't believe you, but something in your eyes warned me I should.

Day Two: Your kiss was nothing like I imagined. It was fierce. Like you were claiming something, but not telling me what. Teeth grazing my neck, breath hot against my skin, and hands that slid beneath my shirt like they were searching for a truth I didn't know I had.

We didn't say much after, but the silence between us was loud—full of things we both wanted but couldn't admit. You pulled me closer, whispered my name like it was a secret you were afraid to share.

And now, Day Three.

I'm on my knees, not just a figure of speech anymore.

The cold floor presses into my skin, but I don't care. I'm dizzy from wanting, from needing you to come back. From the ache your absence leaves behind.

It's getting harder to breathe out, like my lungs have forgotten how.

Your message said, "Be there soon."

No apology, no explanation.

Just that raw, electric promise.

When you walk in, dripping rain and dark desire, my whole body reacts before my mind can catch up.

You close the door with a soft click and don't say a word.

Instead, you pull me up by the collar, fingers sharp and possessive, lips crashing against mine like a storm I've been craving. Your mouth tastes of whiskey and something wild—danger wrapped in silk.

Your hands explore like you're memorizing my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You press me against the wall, every inch of you claiming space, invading mine. The heat between us makes the cold air disappear.

"We only met each other just the other day," I breathe, voice trembling but desperate, "but you already got me feeling some type of way."

You smile—a dark, knowing smile that tells me you've been waiting to hear those words.

"Good," you murmur, teeth grazing my jaw,
"Now, don't stop."

I won't.

Because falling apart with you feels like the only way to feel alive.