Fourth of July.
Haven't written in a while.
I pecked his lips numbly as he wrapped his arms around my body. I forced myself to giggle when he kissed my nose. I smiled when he said "I love you" and I let the words slip nonchalantly through my teeth. I let him touch me, kiss me, hug me, fuck me. I let him love me down.
He's a good kid, and I don't want to break his heart. How would he feel if he knew that I don't care for him romantically at all, but instead just want to spare his feelings?
I pretend he's someone else when we fuck. He calls it "making love." It's just fucking. Nothing special. There is no two-way, passionate love. If it is love, it is one-sided and pitiful. He is pretty good at fucking, though, I'll give him that.
Or at least, I think he is. I've only been sober about a quarter of the times that we have sex. And last time, I definately was not. Nor was he.
But I will be for a long time, considering that two drunk teenagers had crazy hot sex two weeks ago, resulting in this... collision of sex cells in my uterus.
Now I fucking cannot wait to dump him. But it will kill him, once he finds out that his baby is in my belly. Maybe if I say I got drunk and cheated? Does he even remember the night when we did it? Maybe if I cry a little bit.