The flick of my lighter echoes the emptiness in my apartment. Sizzling of singed rolling paper replaces it as I inhale deep, filling my lungs. Her words linger.

‘You’re perfect, it’s me. I promise.’ 

Yes, I am.

I’m the one she begged to fuck her like the dirty slut she is, who made her body perform. Like it’s meant to. 

Who still tastes her on my bottom lip, like yesterday's leftovers. 

The perfect rainy-day fuck. 

I thought this one was different. 

Slouching against the headboard on top of messy sheets, I sigh while downing three fingers of whiskey, “Her loss.”