Sometimes I just look at him, when our eyes meet, it kills me that I don't know what it is. One thing for sure he always has his thoughts somewhere else, always so distant. He's never really with me as much as I like him to be. But, I want to feel as close to him as I can, I want to please him so much, I want him to stay on me till his sweat forms a layer on my bare skin, I want to be drenched in his scent, I want to be a part of him. He doesn't know that, even if he does, there isn't any room for me. This is it. It has to be it.

The first time T and I had sex, I was too drunk to remember how it went exactly.

I remember waking up, crusty eyed from last night's mascara, feeling the unfamilar sheets and recalling how cold the room was. I never ever sleep with the A/C on. I turn over and I see that he is already awake.

He didn't look so bad. I must have liked something about him last night. Then he said something to me which I didn't quite understand. God, he was so European. I get it now, I must have liked his accent.

I had to do the morning thing, pee and brush my teeth. I don't usually use people's tooth brushes but considering the fact that my mouth might have explored areas far more private then his toothbrush, I really couldn't bother anymore. I scan for clothes and I only see my runched up thong lying somewhere a few feet from me. I decided to brave the A/C.

We didn't talk too much. I remember trying to leave his apartment twice only to have him shag me somemore. By the afternoon, we exhausted his condom supply.