Author: blacksouledbutterfly (me)
Summary: I always knew you would be the one to make me cry....
Author’s note: okay, so I am kinda making them whore/male whore like but if you have ever been deeply in love and you break up with someone and they are like your soul mates and it shakes you down to your very soul, you would understand that you look for comfort in different people in all the wrong places and with all the wrong ways. Anyway, enough with that. On with this chapter.
I feel like I have been dubbed the town slut.
I remember when I was back at school and your stupid friend Crabbe made a comment about me probably doing both Ron and Harry even though that was completely ridiculous and would have been even if I weren’t seeing you.
But he called me a slut and now I feel like I am.
I have been having sex with so many different men.
But none of them can replace the feeling of just being near you.
I had promised myself after Charles that I would stop.
I didn’t want to be a slut.
I have a daughter to think about, and I have a life I have to try to learn to live, but now, things have changed.
I quit my job as a secretary.
With all my late nights I couldn’t keep up at work and I quit and Cassie was disappointed but she told me that I was her friend and if I thought that was what was best, than I should do it.
And I did think that was best, and Cassie arranged it so I could still leave Danica at the daycare when I was at my new job.
And I was a stripper.
I can just imagine what you would think about that.
I can imagine that infuriating smirk, that sneer, the harsh laugh and your drawling voice saying, “Looking to turn everyone on, Granger? Looking for an orgy?”
And I would ask the bouncers to make you leave, but you would be right and I would hate you even more.
I became what I became because I needed to.
And one night, two weeks after I started, Charles showed up.
I was walking home, which a lot of us do since we live nearby, and Charles was there, waiting for me, and he smiled.
I gave him a small smile and we drove back to his apartment.
I wanted to use him to replace you, but you were not one to be replaced, not your words, touch or smell. The sound of your voice was my enemy and I craved it. Somehow I always knew you cared for me. You let that show through. I found that sleeping with Charles wasn’t helping me.
I was the slut now.
I know you would think me a crazy slut if you knew I acted the way I was, and you would be right, because the so many days after I called in sick and spent most of the day in the bath trying to wash away my shame but it clung to me like a second skin.
I am depressed. I am alone.
I am on a bed of thorns.
And people do not abandon their bed of thorns for even a moment.