тєars ín тнє raín (wєєknd ғan-ғíc)

夜明けまで (Till Dawn)

Valerie:

One week later...

I was tired ... Tired of waiting ... Tired of being ... Tired of loving ... Tired of living.

I was expecting myself to learn from my past mistakes and not have such an infatuation with a man that I met just a week ago, but here I am once again. A cycle that never seems to end. Like them, fall for them, obsess over them, get broken because of them. Repeat when needed.

All guys were the same. I can't believe I was hoping Jacques wasn't like everyone. But considering I met him in a strip club, a place where women are treated as inferiors, entertaining for the betterment of males' attitudes, the hope was very thin. That first night I knew there was something about him. He said so too. But how could I know of such a thing? Hell I barely know him. All I know is his name and his nickname. I don't know his occupation. I never asked because I thought it would be irrelevant to me. I don't care for it because I wouldn't let his occupation override the undeniable feeling I had for this mysterious man.

I loved his mystery. I was in love with his mystery. But that was all I was in love with. Not with his lies, not with his doubts, not with his money, not with his country self. The only thing keeping me alive when I was with him was his mystery.

This mystery only did harm to me. Did I mistake his lies for mystery? When he said I was special, yet treated every other girl like me? Only mysterious people work like this, right? They work in lies. And if it wasn't lies, it was keeping to himself. Random outbursts that resulted in us fighting. Fighting over what? I didn't know why he got so angry, and this made me angry as well. I wanted to know what he was thinking, wanted to know why he was so mad at times, wanted to know his mystery. And no matter how much I fight him for it and how he much he fights me to deny it, it always ends the same.

Sex. One thing I didn't mind from Jacques. Hell it was the one thing that wasn't confusing about him. He was straightforward with it. He fucked me without love. Just lust and our bodies yearning for more. I loved this type of sex because no one was left broken. Only pleasure. And afterwards he was gone before the sun started to rise from the east side of California.

I enjoyed him leaving. I enjoyed sulking in my thoughts, surrounded by fear of death and love. But it got tiring. I was tired of thinking of things that may not happen yet or may not happen at all without a cost. Death was something that was of course definite, but the date was soon itching closer as she was soon to arrive. Maybe she will be caring and let me go. Maybe she will make me continue to do her deeds while sparing my life. Or maybe she will kill me right then and there. I was tired of waiting for this to happen. But I knew it will happen. Nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. I was so wrong ... So wrong.

I wished for the wrong path and it came to me without hesitation. I was regretting the situation I was in and the situation I got into 10 years ago. These are times where I think I regret those situations more than the very own tattoos I have. The regret was immeasurable.

I was tired. Tired of waiting ... Tired of being ... Tired of loving ... Tired of living ...

----

It was another night of great sex. And while I laid down in the apartment I bought not too far from the person who made my legs weak every time, I looked out the window to my right and saw the darkness of the morning sky. He would be gone by the time the sun rose. He always did. It was our routine. Get drunk or faded, have amazing sex, and while I laid down tired out, he went to the bathroom and washed his neck before he left leaving me to just close my eyes and let myself think and fear.

This time it was different. This time he stood laying down next to me. This time he held me in his arms tightly.This time we watched the sun rise together.

This time I didn't correct him. When I would usually brush him off and let him know what we had was nothing but sex and irregular times of friendship, I let him stay. This time he didn't wash his neck, he left soft kisses on mine. This time I didn't quickly get up and make my way to the kitchen. When I would usually get up in order for my body not to get used to his touch at this time in the morning and not have to rely on in order to sleep, I let myself stay.

It was wrong for me to let ourselves do this to each other. It was selfish for me to let ourselves do this to each other. I knew of the consequences that would evolve from this. It wasn't his strong arms keeping me from getting up and telling him to go. It was my heart.

And now each night I will expect that call from him when he was alone. And when I do get that call, I will expect him to stay through the night. I will allow my denial to keep me alive and make me believe that he will stay through the night. And when he doesn't, I will feel numb, hurt, and dumbfounded, when I should've known this was going to happen. He will leave because this won't happen every night.

But tonight was different. We laid together and watched the sun rise.

Here came the sun and I was in his arms.

----

Late update, but hoped you liked.

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