The room was cloaked in shadows, the distant glow of city lights seeping through the curtains of the upscale hotel suite. You lay sprawled across the sheets, the remnants of the night clinging to your skin like a second layer. Miko stood at the edge of the bed, a vision of elegance framed by the dim light, her demeanor shifting into something cold and detached as she pulled on her clothes.
“Will this be the last time?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. It was a question you asked every time, knowing damn well what the answer would be. Miko had a way of making promises she never intended to keep, and yet here you were, part of her revolving door.
She didn’t respond, instead lighting a blunt with an air of indifference, the flicker illuminating her features momentarily. She took a long drag, exhaling slowly as she sat on the edge of the bed, her body language closed off.
“Qué? Don’t feel like talking?” you shot back, propping yourself up on one elbow, irritation bubbling beneath your skin.
“I don’t feel like talking to you,” she replied flatly, her eyes avoiding yours.
“So saying dirty things in my ear isn’t talking? Fucking me isn’t talking?” you challenged, feeling the familiar mix of anger and frustration rise within you.
Miko remained silent, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the walls of the room.
“Right,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Famous Young Miko gets what she wants and walks away without a second thought.”
“If you’re so hurt about it, why do you keep accepting it?” Miko finally replied, her voice sharp, the edge of annoyance creeping in.
You turned your head to glare at her, frustration boiling over. “I could say the same about you,” you shot back, your tone defensive.
“I’m not hurt,” she insisted, though the slight quiver in her voice suggested otherwise.
“Yeah, right. You come running to me every time you’re upset, just to fuck your feelings away.” Your words cut through the tension, puncturing the bubble of denial she’d built around herself.
Miko flicked the ash from her blunt against the wall, the sharp sound echoing in the silence as she stood up to wash her face in the bathroom.
“The least you could do is show some respect,” you called after her, your voice laced with resentment.
“I do respect you,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the sound of running water.
You rolled your eyes, turning away from her. “Respect? This isn’t respect. This is a transaction.”
After a few moments, Miko emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and falling into her eyes. She slipped under the covers next to you, instinctively seeking warmth.
“It’s always the same, Vicky,” you said, your voice low and tinged with disappointment, frustration bubbling up alongside the familiar ache.
“I know…” she mumbled, sounding almost defeated, her voice barely above a whisper as she curled up behind you.
The weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air, a reminder of the cycle you both found yourselves trapped in. You lay there, the familiar ache of disconnection gnawing at your insides, knowing this wouldn’t be the last time. It never was.
