Creative Writing,  My Writing

Just A Little Bit of Your Heart

I know I’m not your only, but at least I’m one’

Waking up slowly and burrowing your head back against your pillow, and also into the duvet, you can already tell that the other side of the bed is empty. Throwing an arm to your side helps you realise that it’s also cold. It usually always is, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment creeping in.

Blindly searching for your phone on the bedside table you’re unsurprised to discover that it’s nearing noon. You always sleep better after these nights. The usual thoughts pass through your head, the main one always being at what point did he decide to extract himself from the bed and leave. The answer can sometimes be figured out with a simple Google search.

This morning is one of those times.

Several pictures were taken at around 11:30pm of him going into some club about 15 minutes from your apartment building. Then there are countless more of him leaving at 3am with someone described as an ‘unidentified blonde female friend’. She’s pretty, tall and slim and clutching his arm like he’s the only thing keeping her upright. Maybe he is. Or maybe he isn’t. Either way it highlights to you yet again that he has always had a type and you have never fit in with it.

The rational part of your brain tells you that you can’t take what you’re seeing at face value. The media have always been obsessed with painting him as someone who uses people as a means to an end.

But you’ve never been very rational when it comes to him.

So you think what everyone else is probably thinking, and on top of that you feel jealous. An overwhelming sort of jealousy that makes you want to bury yourself under your duvet and never surface again. It makes you want to ignore every text he sends you ending in a wide range of emojis or that ever terrifying x. It makes you want avoid his phone calls because every time you hear that voice it melts your insides and is the one thing you apparently won’t say no to.

It’s the kind of jealousy that makes you wish you were tall and blonde and a little bit prettier because maybe then he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be associated with you. He wouldn’t double back on himself to make sure he wasn’t followed when he comes to see you. Or always insist that you spend time together inside the walls of your apartment. Or sneak out at a time where it couldn’t even remotely be connected to any kind of walk of shame and he knows he won’t be confronted by you because you are asleep. Every single time.

And if you were then maybe, just maybe, then you would be enough for him.

Because despite your better judgment and the voice in the back of your head, that over time you have gotten better at silencing, telling you you’re worth more than what you accept, you fell for him and the scraps of affection that he deemed acceptable to give you. Somehow you’ve convinced yourself that’s enough, although you know that if you were to say that out loud to any of your friends they would laugh at you and tell you all the reasons why you are worth so much more. And your only response will be ‘but it wouldn’t be with him’. Like you said you’ve never been rational when it comes to him.

So you click out of the internet and throw your phone onto the other (his) side of the bed and get up. Go through the motions of getting ready for the day. You try to avoid thinking about the light in his eyes when you open the door to him. Or the way the muscles move in his back when you run your hands down it. Or the fact that sometimes you can convince yourself that he looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars up there with it. Because if you think about it on days like today then you remember that you are not the only one that feels and does things with him.

No matter how much you try and convince yourself that you are.


It’s not that in the process of getting ready you had convinced yourself that last night would be the last time that you did this, but when you head out to your living room you see his hat on the sofa from where you had thrown it across the room so you could get your fingers through his hair you know it won’t be. You’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s one of his favourites and he’s going to want it back. You are going to have to see him again, even if it’s just to return it, and you know it won’t only be that.

And then because you’re irrational, and maybe even a little bit stupid, you convince yourself that he did it on purpose. That he wants to see you again, because he couldn’t possibly have just forgotten about it while he was sneaking out of your apartment in the dark.

You hear your phone showing signs of life in your bedroom and when you lean over to retrieve it you catch a scent that is all him as it clings to his pillow (even though he is hardly on it). And upon unlocking your phone you read:

Hey, I’m bored and maybe a little bit hungover. Wanna hang out? X’

That terrifying x causes a flutter in your chest and before you can tell yourself all the reasons you should say no and cut the cord tethering you to him you respond:

‘Yeah, sure. I’ll make brunch xx’

‘I heard a little love is better than none’

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