Taken for Granted — A Confession He’ll Never Forget

She knew he would come home late — he always did.
Some nights he blamed work, other nights he blamed the world.
But tonight, she decided, she wouldn’t wait in silence.

The soft light of the bedroom spilled across her bare shoulders as she sat on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but the perfume he once said drove him mad.
She heard his keys fumble in the lock — the tiny sound that always brought hope and disappointment all at once.

When he stepped in, she didn’t greet him with words.
She just looked at him — eyes half-lidded, thighs crossed, one finger tracing lazy circles on her neck as if to remind him of everything he used to crave.

He dropped his bag — stammered something about a long day — but she wasn’t here for his excuses.
She stood, walked up to him slowly, pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “You think I’ll always be here. You think I’ll wait.”

Her hands found his shirt buttons, but her eyes told him this wasn’t forgiveness — this was a warning.
He wanted to speak, but she pressed a finger to his lips. “No talking. Just listen.”

She pushed him back against the wall — the cold echo of the door rattling as her mouth found his.
Her kiss was deep but distant — like a fire burning out of control just to prove it can still burn.
She bit his lip, tasted the faint trace of salt and guilt, then pulled away just enough to meet his eyes.

“You think you can take me for granted?”
He tried to answer — she kissed him harder, hands moving lower, punishing him with the softness he no longer deserved.
Her nails left tiny crescents on his back, sharp reminders that what was his could slip away any moment.

She pulled him down onto the bed, straddling him with a slow, cruel smile.
Every roll of her hips said: This is mine. But it won’t be yours forever.
When she was done, she slipped off him like silk sliding off a warm body — leaving him breathless, used, and more alone than before.

She didn’t say goodbye.
She just grabbed her purse, her keys, and her pride — and left him there, stripped of excuses, staring at the empty door.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

✍️ "Weak in the Knees"

 He had me against the wall before I could say his name — fingers digging into my hips like he’d paid for the right to bruise me. He kissed me like he was angry, tongue sliding against mine until I gasped — that sound he loved, the one that made his grip tighten. By the time he slid his hand between my thighs, my knees were gone — soft, trembling, useless. I whispered don’t stop but I didn’t need to. He wasn’t going anywhere. He knelt right there, lips on my inner thigh, mouth making promises my body already believed. And when his tongue finally found me — hot, slow, devastating — my back hit the wall and I heard him laugh into my skin. “Weak in the knees for me, baby?” All I could do was moan — and give him everything he’d come for.
Read more

✍️ Somebody’s Shoulder Is About to Give Up

 Somebody’s shoulder is tired. Not from lifting weights — but from carrying everyone else’s silence. She smiles like she’s fine, but she’s tired of being the strong one. The listener. The fixer. The one who holds everyone together — even while she’s falling apart. She answers texts when she’s the one who needs comfort. She claps for others even when no one claps for her. She gives. She bends. But she’s starting to break. You’d never notice. Because she hides it like a pro. But if you look closely, her eyes say: “I need someone to carry me now.” Somebody’s shoulder is about to give up. And the saddest part? She’ll still ask you if you’re okay — while she's quietly drowning.
Read more

I get jealous over someone who isn’t even mine.

It’s embarrassing, honestly. Feeling jealous over someone who hasn’t promised me anything. Someone who owes me nothing. Someone who might not even like me back the way I like them. But here I am — getting irritated when I see their name pop up with someone else, getting quiet when they don’t text back on time, overthinking when they post something that doesn’t include me. I act unbothered. I pretend I’m cool. I respond with “lol” and emojis like my heart isn’t acting stupid. But inside? I’m burning. Not because they’re mine but because I wish they were. I know it’s foolish. I know I have no right. But feelings don’t wait for permission. They attach themselves quietly, softly, and then violently — especially when you try to ignore them. Jealousy without entitlement is the worst kind. Because you suffer silently, pretending you don’t care, while hoping one day they’ll choose you so you can finally stop lying to yourself.
Read more