Inner Turmoil

You absolute bastard.

I was doing perfectly fine before you showed up. I was adequate, relaxed, distilled with the mundane.

And you have the absolute audacity to change that. Who gave you the right?

You don’t even know what you’re doing to me. Five seconds in the same room as you and I can see it all:

The late night phone calls, the sound of your low laugh shaking me beneath my sheets. Your eyes trained on my lips, daring me to lean in for more. The secrets, the inside jokes, the teasing and prodding and challenging. The feeling of your rough hand sliding in between my-

No, absolutely not. Uninvited and unwelcome.

Except you’re not, are you? Uninvited. I practically engraved an invitation for you.

I was the one who would decide to pull you in and whisper in your ear, who would fight with bared teeth and curled claws to ask you to collapse under the weight of my wanting. You were all too eager to say yes. I’ve always been told I’m too much, but maybe I’m just enough for you.

But who are you? A friend of a friend, destined to be in my life.

Standing slightly apart from it all.

I see it all before us, the future laid out after a moment’s glance, and even I barely understand. It will take years for the height of this introduction to culminate between us, and yet I feel it breathing down my neck like it can’t wait to sink into my spine.

You make your way across the kitchen to say hello, and I feel the future etching itself onto my skin, pulling at the hem of my dress, spitting in my drink and ripping at my hair. I feel Fate laughing in my ears as it whispers over and over:

You never stood a chance, pretty girl.

I didn’t. People don’t survive a tumble with their destiny; kill or be killed, and here you are, knife in hand, Fate’s personal assassin ready to strike.

You reach out to me, the cold condensation from your drink still dripping from your long fingers. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

I take your hand in my own, and know that I’ve already lost.