Getting his hands on you felt damn near impossible these days, and the thought of it clawed away at any sanity he had left. When had Kaiser ever ached like this? When did he ever leave voicemails, desperate in a drunken haze? When did he start watching the clock on his nightstand, counting down the minutes until he could see you again? There was nothing consistent about you, absolutely nothing. Except the way you always left him wanting more. Every time you showed up, saying things you’d never dare to say in daylight, you hooked him all over again.

It was never supposed to end up this way. Kaiser never went to bars, didn’t care for them. One drunken night, one night stand, it was something he thought he could move past with ease. But no, you didn’t work like that. You lingered in a way that made his head spin, feeling nauseous, like your perfume was the only thing that could cure the sickness churning inside him.

The routine never changed. Every weekend, he’d book some random hotel room after a week without you. You’d show up, take him for everything he was worth, then leave him hanging, aching for the next time you’d come back around. You never contacted him when you were away, never answered a single call, which made him feel even crazier. Why didn’t you ever stay?

Sunday night had finally wrapped up, check out time was at noon the following day but it seemed you were already leaving, pulling on a sweater that Kaiser had let you borrow. You weren’t even looking at him, and that was the worst part. No eye contact, not even a glance, despite the purple marks spread across your neck. His marks. And still, you wouldn’t spare him a second look.

Does this feeling flow both ways?

Kaiser felt pathetic, he yanked your wrist towards him, a little harshly. “Why don’t you ever stay? Why are you always in a rush?”

He hadn’t even intended to start this discussion now; he didn’t want his weakness coming to light, didn’t want to face the fact that he was crawling back to someone over and over again.