It’s roughly four in the morning when I wake up. I can’t even remember falling asleep, I must have been exhausted. I rollover and look at my Italian. I force myself closer to him. I run my fingers against his warm skin and breath in his smell. I feel desperate to make him hold on to me, but my advances in my dark room are ignored. I think to myself, in one week he’s leaving to go back to Italy. I panic for a few minutes before forcing myself to fall back to sleep. I feel alone even though I have a man a few inches from me.
My 8AM Saturday alarm goes off. As we wake, it’s brisk in my room. The window is cracked open from our activities the night before. I watch him. He opens his eyes and we look at each other for a second before I look away, shrugging myself closer to him. He doesn’t move to wrap himself around me like he used to. Maybe he’s not that into me anymore, I think to myself.
I touch him, feeling his arousal, I advance my actions…
He doesn’t waste time. I know he has to go. He gets up to take a quick shower. I have to force myself not to grab at him to keep him next to me. I roll over to where he was laying, not taking my eyes off him. The sheets are still warm from his body heat and it gives me a comforting effect, yet sadness and loneliness slowly wash over me. It’s the same depression that has filled me all season. I watch him wrap my towel around his body. I cover myself by pulling the bed sheets around me, as if to protect myself. I’m wishing it was him, not the sheets, keeping me warm and safe. But I close my eyes as he exits my room. I feel empty, like he’s leaving me behind. Wrapping my arms around myself I force my body into a small ball. I try not to want him to the degree I’m currently feeling. I pull the covers tighter around me and drift back to sleep.
I feel him kiss me, I open my eyes and look up at him. I ask for another, he obliges. This is the first time I don’t walk him out of my apartment. I stay in bed trying to hold onto the feelings I get from him and convincing myself I’m fine.