You Break Up With Me, You Break Up With Yourself

Oh, how unapologetic. You can almost feel the nausea building up inside. “I still reminisce about that night, you know.” Pharita walked slowly and stood side by side with you leaning against the walls. Your sigh is visible to her even when she’s facing straight forward.

So is your grimace. You don’t bother trying to hide any of the uncomfortableness. “I thought you said it would be the last time.” You knew she didn’t mean it. She’s a bad liar. She has been from the very fucking start. The smile that follows her lies, too. Malicious.

“You don’t want to make this a regular thing.” Still, Pharita is looking down at the floor, as if trying to look hesitant about what she’s going to ask eventually. “No,” It’s cold outside; you would’ve escorted her to either of your places if you loved her.

When you loved her, to be more precise. “ You don’t.” You’ve been through two winters with Pharita. You thought no warmth could replace hers. No coldness couldn’t replace hers either, it turned out.

What you despise is that she keeps talking about that night. The night when she called your phone, the night she came over to your studio to meet you.

It is yet to be opaque in your head the moment she put her lips on yours. It felt so illegal you didn’t want to pull back. Her lies might’ve dirtied her name, but that body, the physique, her face—those lips—never left her. Never left your mind, even though you did your best to reject.

“You need to leave, Pharita.” You say this, yet being dangerously uncertain about whether you’ll be able to turn down the temptation to lay your hands on her flesh one more time.

It’s to the point where you’re beginning to think that you’re no different. Should’ve cut her out from the first place. The first time you met her after the breakup was catastrophic. You helplessly fell for the trap.

“You can’t keep doing this. Find another guy that’s dumb enough to-”

“Don’t say you didn’t miss how good I made you feel in bed.” She then turns to face you, leaving you no space to move or think. She’s unforgivable enough to attempt to lock lips with you once more; you’re dumb enough to let it happen.

You tried to say no—technically, you said no. All she gives you is things to struggle with. You get the feeling that if you go further than this, the mourning you suffered definitely would go in vain. You frown at the look of yourself. Then you pull her deeper into your arms, probably into your naked soul.

The way she lets out a lengthy, satisfied moan sheerly disgusts you. It’s as if you lost, not once but twice.

******

Four months is a long period of time, especially without Pharita. You didn’t want her near you, or, you thought so. Hate to admit that you actually spent a few nights crying.

You felt deceived; you might’ve found out what people call toxic is.

Deceived?

“ Hey.”

It’s nothing more than a cheap comedy. “…hey.” Probably as cheap as her words, and yours. Because what you told yourself, what you carved into your own heart was to never let her near you ever again. That provided, it should’ve been the easiest choice to hang up and block her number when she called you.

“Been a while.” You pick up. For a few seconds, you forgot to move a single muscle. On your way home it seemed like the world around you came to a halt. The way she said ‘ Been a while.’ was obnoxiously calm. So calm it left you speechless.

Several seconds of absolute silence reminds you that you just dramatically stopped walking. Your eyes squeeze shut as you agonize over whether to just hang up and end it.

“Why did you call me?” Questions beget more questions. You just picked up her call, and failed to hang up while you could. Then you yourself started a conversation that could lead to misery.

“Why did you pick up?” Suddenly you remember how sweet she used to sound. But that was until she bittered your heart with her lies. To think she did all that to sleep with someone else, you couldn’t stand the hatred.

The way you can’t just put the phone off of your ear and end the call makes the hatred spread over to yourself. It’s like how toxins take over your whole system. “Are you outside?” You know—sometimes you don’t even notice—it’s ruining you, but you can’t stop it.

You still refuse to reply. How vulnerable can a human being be? “Pharita.” How weak does one have to be to still drown in the remnant of love for the one who had literally ditched you. It’s a rotten love. Spoiled love that is indistinguishable from regret.

You answered the call because you wanted to. Needed to. You knew Pharita was toxic. But drugs aren’t just toxic; they’re addictive. You don’t do drugs to wreck yourself and die, but you still do it knowing it will someday. You realized that the hatred for her was an ugly mixture of misaimed loathing towards yourself.

“It’s cold outside.” But still, abhorrence is what a betrayed love eventually turns into. What makes you feel even more helpless is that you are sure you’ll be giving in to whatever she offers. And you know she won’t offer you anything safe.

“ Pharita.”

“I’m actually near your place.”

Last winter was the last one you shared with Pharita. You still vividly remember that one day when it snowed heavily. You two made a lot of snowmen. It was only a few inches shorter than her, which made it easier for her to cuddle while taking pictures with it.

You are not sure if you ever want to consider it thankful to have such beautiful memories. Heartwarming, wholesome, but that’s what highlights how cruel her betrayal felt.

You thought she loved you just as much as you loved her. Pharita and you made a perfect pair—so perfect once when you were blinded by her you thought it was spiritual. Then she enlightened you that everything has an end regardless of your will.

It all happened within just a few months. All of the night-and-day differences. It went from hot cups of coffee to throat-burning alcohol. From a scarf around her neck to tattoos and piercings. The contrast was clear. It was so sharp you felt it stinging from the very inside of your heart.

What still remained solid were the nights you spent for each other. The true nakedness—of your bodies, of your souls and of your sensations—could never be breached by anything fake. You could always tell it without any doubt because she always moaned for more.

It was perhaps the only thing that she wanted to have no end, while for you it was one of many. But even when you were touching each other, you believed that it was romantic, not sexual. A physical expression of love, not lust. Which didn’t last so long, unfortunately.

“Did you miss me?” Yet she chose to come toxic as never before. You were trying not to say ‘yes’ on the phone but you found yourself almost shouting it. People don’t change. You still love her. So desperately you would probably forgive everything she’s ever done if you could feel her lips on yours.

“Pharita, I need to hang up. I can’t be doing this forever.” But she is with no intention to stop. Rather, it seems like she wants to step on and see how it would end up, because calling you alone must’ve been the point of no return. And you picking up helped yourself make it to the point of no destination, tragically.

One of so many things you fear is that you couldn’t detect any sign of hesitation from her voice.

“…Did you miss me?” You can find no clue of hesitation on her face, either. The decision to ever dress up and meet you on a freezing night like this itself is a vivid proof of determination and need, come to think of it.

Think?

Her hands are already climbing up your sleeves to your forearm for a subtle clench. It reminds you of how hard you had to hold yourself from everything you didn’t want to do. It’s a dilemma, an irony, a paradox: a demolition of your mind. You could’ve said you’d forget everything you had seen and be together again. But even when her shameless ‘ sorry ’ was closer to a mere sigh than a farewell, grabbing her arm and hugging her again was the last thing you wanted yourself to do.

“Because I did.” All you see is her innocent smile without any hint of seduction, as if what her fingers are doing is all she needed to vaporize your willpower to resist. She makes you feel like you didn’t want to reject at all in the first place. “You won’t say no, will you?” To hear her whisper love in your ears one last time. To touch her pulsing chest, to taste her leakage of pleasure for the last time.

To feel her for the last time. You even start to hope that there was no such thing as the last time. You find it impossible for your gaze to stay anchored to a single point. “Pharita, you really should–”

“Is it still set to your birthday, the doorlock?” But from somewhere deep inside, you feel disgusted. Utter grossness. And maybe anger. You sense that if you lose it, there will be no bailing out. And you sense that you are on your way to losing everything.

Pharita entwined her leg around yours, trapping itself between your legs and the brick wall. You try to act fed up, surprised that you have to act that way. Perhaps the disgust has been toward yourself. Raging at what she did to you, but hesitant to push her away unlike what you told yourself more than a million times.

“You don’t want to do this.” You look away from her luring gaze and you are already out of breath. Something is strangling you from the very inside and you might know what that could be. “Oh, yeah?” Her voice is low, airy and hot. You see her breath vanish into the cold air.

Her fingers never leave your forearm alone as she approaches half a step forward, slightly pushing her breasts against your ribs. “What do you want, then?” She notices your eyes unable to settle between her own eyes and lips and gives you a small victorious smirk. Then you feel her whole body pushing upon yours a little more.

Her thigh between yours feels so soft and you are convinced you aren’t built for rejecting her. Her flesh is warm, even through your pants. On the inside you wanted her back, but on the outside you acted angry. Pharita brings her lips closer and closer to yours in the span of seconds.

“ I think you want to fuck me.” You immediately grit your teeth as she unveils what you unknowingly but so obviously want. It is as if she wants to see you lose it. And if that’s true, it is working, aimed at the very bottom of your composure.

You somehow lose any willpower to even resist or dive deeper; it could be considered a good sign, since you don’t sense the flame inside you spark even when her tongue is invading every corner of your brain. There might still be a chance to pull back. It’s just a kiss and both of you are fully clothed.

The cold air visualizes how hard you two are panting into each other’s mouth. It sends you back to when you two were new to each other. The first winter was freezing —freezing enough to emphasize how warm she was. Sex wasn’t in the list of why you fell for her.

Pharita and you lived in a melodrama. One of those boring ones with no antagonists. Snowmen, warm hands, hot coffee and matching pairs of gloves and beanies. It was after all these that a loving kiss that led to sex happened. It was cold. So cold your noses and cheeks got strawberry-red. So cold you let her hands inside your pockets while locking lips and tongues.

It was the corruption that devoured her that disappointed you. You can’t tell since when, but someday her crave for physical love began growing obsessive. You really should’ve sensed the red light blinking.

It was a hard-earned peace. Telling yourself constantly that this is for you to grow up as a man, from an unguided boy blinded by love, by Pharita. It stings how she bites your lower lip. It hurt more when you saw her getting railed in pronebone in your room, in your bed, in your soaked sheet.

******

It’s nothing more than an addiction now. Seeking for the sensation with empty eyes, empty emotion. “Didn’t you need a night like this?” It has been days since the things she asks for in bed came to you as overwhelming. What you cherished was how soft you two were, locking eyes, lips and fingers. Just the right warmth without any concerns of getting burnt.

What makes you torn now is that Pharita has been trying new things; you hate it, but you can’t stop it. “Like what?” She leaves you a smirk before bending down to get rid of her underwear. Almost everything has changed about her: how she dresses, how she undresses, how she touches you, and how she touches herself. Yet her body never fails to stun you.

“I got a new piercing.” The smirk stays on her eyes as she tilts her head to look up at you. A piece of metal on her left nipple subtly shakes as she sits on the edge of the bed. Speechless, you just follow her on the bed. You hate that she’s turned away from what you visioned you two to be like. You hate that you’re irresistibly turned on by the look of it.

You hate that you don’t actually hate it, and it looks like you surrender yet again to her. Uncomfortable, really. But Pharita pulls your pants down and the inconvenience is gone. Your back is flat on the mattress already. Her torso is lined up with your body already.

“Do you like it?” Pharita crawls up and smothers her tits on your face as you wrap her naked back with your arms. It’s like her seduction is the anesthesia to your reason, stimulant to the animal inside you.

(You weren’t like that; you never slapped, never throttled, never even thought about manhandling her. It all started when she started.)

You don’t want to call it an unleashed beast, because you’ve never put a leash on anything so far. It is more like Pharita opened another pair of eyes, another set of nerves. You’d rather call it a newborn beast. And what is the most dangerous about a newborn is that it grows.

You already feel your heart race. It pounds into your head, makes your cock throb. “Didn’t it hurt though?” You lay her down next to you before hovering over her. A little pinch on the pierced nipple makes her purr with a lipbite. “Actually, it felt good.” The atmosphere is being saturated with all the sex appeal she emits, and you’re breathing all of it in.

“It felt just like you’re biting on it.” A playful smirk emphasizes the word ‘bite’ as if she’s pleading you to. You’re half naked with your top still on. A dark green knitted vest over a white shirt. You won’t like it if it gets wet or the buttons rip off. The coat that was previously on has been on the floor for quite long.

You aren’t sure about anything. Something is keeping you from freely indulging her. It’s not her, vividly. But at the same time it’s her. From a lover from a soap opera to a girl with a pierced nipple. The animalistic you would say it’s an upgrade.

But you view it as a decadence. It’s an addiction, and sadly but realistically, you understand her since she still has got the one you felt the tingle inside for. You’re on the course, maybe. On the course to the realization that the one you used to know is for the past, and it is a foreseen future that she is leaving you.

It’s not just a flying-by thought, it’s been growing and haunting you. It gave birth to millions of dilemmas. “Babe, you tell me this time,” It is as pointless as it looks, since there is no solution and there will be an only outcome.

“You fuck me, or I ride you.” It’s a mind trick, a simple one. Because she’s asking you to choose while half of your cock is already being consumed by her wet folds as she mounts on your crotch. Your hands find her breast with the piercing and the waist on the other side. It’s a shame that you complain about her becoming lusty and your hands land on her body like a habit.

Under that motion must lie the filthy side of yours, too. A few months ago, the nights you shared were full of pillow talking and movies. You found the calmness of it lovely. You thought Pharita was the one with that atmosphere.

“You ride me.” She thumps down on you, which makes you gutter out any air left in you. Helps stop feeding your brain the air it needs, helps the uneasiness from all the concerns stop poking you. Both of your mouths are open with no breaths and it stays that way for a while.

The stimulation coming from her grinding hips accumulates. You feel the metal piece on her tit has gotten warm in your palm. Her hands on your stomach slightly push down as she raises her hips once more. Your eyes are seeing the most majestic face you’ve seen put on the most desirous smile. Your body is taking all the sensations at once and is barely holding on.

Her moans sound the same as when she cums—she might’ve actually did, you don’t know—and you know she’s not making anything up when the moans are low and guttural. Those unintentional, almost accidental screams that only you can force out.

Pharita sits down deep again before suddenly upping the pace to half a second. It still feels half the rate at which your heart is punching. The smacking sounds are so loud her moans are stifled that she’s trying to hold back.

Her arms give up so she collapses upon you. Her forehead lines up with your nose, her teeth with the side of your neck. You feel her nipples pushing down on your ribs. Her ankles are hooked beneath your thighs as both your legs are locked by hers. She then hums into your collarbone at the rhythm of the pounding.

Your palms find the back of her head and her ass each as if those are their scripted positions. Not only scripted, but also rehearsed and filmed. You can’t neglect the chemistry, really. It’s your fear and desire.

“You’re going too fast, Rita.” She takes a mouthful bite of the side of your neck and begins slurping on it. It makes you grip her hair harder. Her saliva ticklishly runs down to your nape, probably touching her own hands on the sheet. It’s an unaffordable boost to your nervous system, on top of the selfish speed she’s rocking her ass on your cock.

“I’m not fast enough. It’s not fucking enough.” The closer you get, the faster she goes. Her intentions are clearly not her orgasm, but yours. It surely is by far the hardest to take, since this is the first time you are experiencing this kind of rabid sex. First time for something this pornographic. You feel somewhat stuck in between love for her and the urge for her body.

“Inside me. Do it deep inside me.” You squeeze her ass cheeks as hard as you try to hold back. It feels sick. But sick only because it’s so good. It’s like eating an overly sweet caramel. You can’t ignore the guilt that comes from it. There must be consequences.

Look how it is: her soft tits smothered on your chest, her candy voice slurring nastiest profanities right into your brain, a handful of her cheeks in your hands and above all, there’s this needy girl’s insides preying on your release. All of this at once, overloading your senses relentlessly for minutes so far.

A stream of clean liquid begins to gush out from her hole to your testicles and all over the bed. Pharita nevertheless keeps on pushing herself deeper down on you. The only clue of her climax is that she is almost biting your skin off of your neck, that her whole body spasms irregularly, and that the yelp she let out is hitting your eardrum from the inside.

“ Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fu– ” It is too late when you find out that all the water she squirted was merely a premonition of a back-arching orgasm that soon hit her with a literal splash. Her toes catch the underside of your legs as they curl into a clench. Her back arches, and you see a strand of her drool that links her tongue and your neck.

You have never seen her cumming this hard. It’s a profound impact on you to see her so wrecked like that. “Are you okay?” You lay her on her back as you sit up between her spread legs.

The aftermath bliss seems to have wrecked her system, but not completely. Chest up, her skin is hot and red. Mouth agape for air needed for recovery, breasts heaving up and down in sync with her ragged breath while her eyes never leave yours. Her hands fondle her own tits as the fingers play with her nipples.

“I said ‘fuck me’. Fill me up.” It’s a cursed spell. Almost feels like a trigger pulled inside your head. Pharita might be a possessor of the sexiest ‘fuck’ you’ve ever heard.

Being strict with yourself feels rather useless when it comes to her naked body pushed onto yours. Wet sounds everywhere, her tongue forces yours to duet with it and she sucks whatever air that’s left for you to squeeze out a groan as her ass thumps down on your crotch.

The pitch of her panting sound rises as the pace at which her body rams down on yours de-orbits out of her hand. From the slightest spasms of her wet inside to the vivid shakes of her chin due to the brutal bite on her lower lip, it’s a sign that she’s blinded as of now. Even deaf, maybe.

But what is so sure is that all her other senses—taste, touch and olfactory—are taking up the leftover capacities of them. Her head is buried deep in your neck soon after as her moans heat your blood running through your throat. It overheats your brain easily and helps you feel the beat of your heart in your head.

“You’re just so good at this. Too –” Her tongue stops forming words just to lick and suckle on your lower chin. The smacking sounds have turned wet and squelchy and Pharita is having a feast on your face. You’ve never felt this dirty. You have never felt this shameful.

You’ve never felt this heavenly, this hot and this fucking good. Your orgasm spurts deep inside her gripping pussy, threatening to mark her wavering womb as yours. Your toes grip and drag the sheet underneath while your fingers are pinning her ass down on you as Pharita tries to keep pistoning.

It is beyond your abilities to keep breathing. Thinking is gone, too. “Too fucking good to be true.” That was what she gave up murmuring to make you cum, but unfortunately it leaves your brain as soon as it enters. To be honest, nothing even enters your brain and it is like you are just floating around the haze she gifted you.

Pharita lets go of your cock and crawls up a bit to feed you her tits. Her hands are put beside each side of your head for support, the pierced side of her breast is pushed on your face as it cuts off air again. Her feet find your still-tweaking cock and begin a half-baked, no-look footjob.

It’s the moment where the balance breaks. Where the seesaw tilts, where everything becomes a silent tug of war. It was always mutual, even the way you two mixed bodies in bed. Now you find yourself receiving overwhelming lust from her. It’s like you’re trying to jump in higher gravity. Invisible, yet it holds you down.

You’re lethargically letting her do anything, however. “It tastes good, doesn’t it?” The overstimulation is damaging your sanity, backed up by the softness and the heat of her tit pressed down on your face. She positioned it perfectly for the nipple to be between your lips as it stifles your breathless groan. Your fingers are desperately reaching deeper into the mattress, same as your toes.

Soon your soul is splattered all over her feet and lower back. It hits you like waves, spurt after spurt. Those waves are single-handedly drowning you. You feel it in your guts that this will be irreversible.

“I love seeing you cum so hard like this.” You have come a long way from just a simple “I love you” to this. Is the one that loved you as you are gone? Thinking about it only makes your head congested, even worse when you’re recovering from an unexpected blissful sex.

******

“What do you mean it was too much? You loved it.” She gives you a light scoff. “It’s never too much, baby. I just like you that much.”

“ Don’t be like you’re different, I know you’re just the same.” It runs you over like a truck. Your pupils shake looking at her. It might be easy to just admit and enjoy, but you still feel something off. It’s an endless conflict. You cherish the romantic, pastel-tone days with Pharita. You can’t say you hate how vibrant and bold colored your relationship has been the past few days.

“You like me that much too, right? We’re the same.” You’re in a cafe with her. Her brown hair is magically running down her shoulders, complementing the beige knit that shows off her curves. You love the way she never misses to stun you.

“I’ve said it a thousand times,” She leans back on the chair she is seated on. Your head is so complex with so many thoughts it feels empty.

“ You break up with me, you break up with yourself.”

******