meaner than my demons | zach&mae
zachary-hassan.
Zachary wishes he could say that it’s completely unusual for him to pull shit like this, but sometimes he doesn’t have an option but to wish that the person he’s had sex with just simply disappears from his sight. It has to do with the fact that he’s rarely ever completely comfortable with the fucking itself, does so more for the other person’s sake than his, but also because he gets overwhelmed, being around people he doesn’t care about for too long. This entire thing had a purpose and it’s alread been fulfilled - or it will have been, as soon as word reaches the person he’s trying to taint’s ear, so it becomes pretty pointless for him to keep Mae around. “I’m sure it won’t take you too long to do either,” Zach says, dismissively.
However, something he’s learned from sharing a room with Wren for an entire year was to admire people’s beauty. He might not be attracted to them, but he can’t help the way his eyes scan people’s bodies, especially when they are naked, admiring the lines and the flaws, every little piece of their body that they don’t usually pay attention to. It helps that he’s buzzed, taking deep pulls of the joint in his hands as he watches Mae getting dresses. She’s gorgeous, Zachary dares to say, and most men would find intimidating for a woman to be taller than them, but he doesn’t mind it. Aesthetically pleasant, it’s what Mae is, and Zach can’t help that his eyes don’t dart away from her. At least not until she’s completely clothed, turning around to, quite possibly, swear the last generation of his family. She might as well, Zachary thinks. All those fucking bastards deserve it, anyway.
“Do you really care to know, love?” Zach asks, bringing the blunt to his lips and taking a deep drag before stubbing it out on the ashtray next to his bed. The boy stands up, scratching his belly and walking towards his closet, reaching for clean boxers. “Truth is that the point of you being here is already missed. So it’s not like I need to keep you around for much longer.”
Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe the smart thing to do here would be to go ahead and leave, but nah -- she’s asked her question, and she’s going to get the answer. Her gaze doesn’t waver from him, even when he calls her love and fuels fire within her that she quite often forgets is even there, even when he’s no longer facing her and digging for something to cover himself with. His reply is nothing short of predictable, but it’s no less disappointing ; in response, she nods once, twice, and with a click of her tongue, she turns to face the mirror above the dresser ( just about where she’s stood ) and go about the rest of her getting ready -- reapplying a coat of lipstick. It’s in doing so that she begins talking, mostly watching her reflection carefully so as to not smudge -- but she’s something of an expert at quick fix ups, so she’s able to spare a couple of glances at the little bits of him that she can still see through the reflection.
“Alright. Good to know. It is not any loss for me, anyhow -- you are certainly no pleasure to be around outside of the sack -- I will leave in a moment. Hate to break it to you, but your need to have me out of the way so hastily does not come before having myself together.”
