WITHDRAWAL SYNDROME

I am almost over her.

And then I see her being caressed by another man. His dry, filthy fingers fidgeting, then fearlessly flirting with her pale flawless skin. He is not apologetic about it. His two fingers seducing the rest of her body closer into his lips. Slowly. Under the dim lights I can imagine her innocent whiteness turn into a guilty blush. She knows I am watching. I look away. And I imagine hearing him suck the life away from her naked body.

I was never in love with her. I do not know why I look away. I can feel her eyes calling at me, while her breath is one with his. She mocks me.

The motherfucking temptress.

She giggles loudly. Reminding me of the sounds she made when it was my fingers running down her naked skin. She flaunts her laughter. Louder than when it was my lips that slowly sucked her sweet soul.

“Tired of making other girls miserable?” She laughs.

I reply with a silent “Fuck you.”

She had a point though. It was all the same to me—to me, she was just one of them. They were all the same. I’d summon her, already naked. And then it was the same routine. She had a love affair with my two fingers. I’d turn her on; light her up until she’s red in embers. Then, the foreplay of her skin and my fingers. Then, a kiss. Then another. And another. And slowly, I inhale her breath. I breathe in her soul until she expires and has nothing more to give. And then I’d ditch her. And leave her lifeless and consumed by the floor. If it were a cold night, I’d pick up another one. And I’d leave them all lying naked on the floor, dry and dead.

Then, twenty days ago, I just decided to quit her.

And now she mocks me. I realize, you need not fall in love with her to feel jealousy.

I steal a glance. She catches me, and she smiles. I extend my fingers, summoning her nakedness. I imagine my fingers flirting once again with her flawlessness; my lips are wet again from her kisses.

But she does not come. Another man’s fingers clothe her nakedness. Another man’s lips breathe in her youth and her life—right in front of me.

I take a deep breath and bite my lip. I stare at the man’s fingers holding her.

The man looks at me, and smiles: “Twenty days? Congrats, pare!”

I smile back at him. I stare at his fingers as he ditches her into the ashtray.