She was beautiful.
From her curly auburn mop, whose tendrils bounced tantalisingly with the slightest tilt of her pale, delicate face; to the flirtatious twist of her elegant ankles as she danced around him, winking a joyful, sky-blue eye in promise of what was to follow.
God, how she bored him.
He watched distantly as she went down on him, red hair aglow in the glorious blaze of light snaking in from the gaps in the blinds, like a sunset on the beach that waited patiently outside for the true romantics.
What was he even doing here?
He sighed, and she mirrored it in Alice-through-the-looking-glass fashion; a misguided, unintentional parody of his complete lack of enthusiasm. He could disillusion her easily, now, if he could be bothered. Which, of course, he couldn’t.
Escapism. What a joke.
Hop on a plane, sure. Travel to the outer end of nowhere, immersing yourself in sun, sea, sand and anonymity. Slap a smile on your face; let the banter dribble out of your mouth; hop, skip, jump and entertain to your heart’s content as everyone you meet cascades into laughter, accepting you unquestioningly for who you appear to be, in exactly the way that you hoped they would.
How cruel, then, to discover that you actually despise them for doing so.
She rose, smiling. He forced a smile back, focusing on the tiny, cute gap between her front teeth.
There it was. The emptiness.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
And he watched, unmoving, as she collected herself, flung her head back and drew breath, looked at him as she exhaled and smiled again. And left.
And he sighed.
Because the truth of it is that you can’t, simply can never escape the fact that you continue to be you.
