I’m starving, I realize, sitting there waiting for you to arrive. I’m hungry for you. My blood almost claws out of my skin with its eagerness. I’m restless. So fucking restless. I can’t focus, not even on you, just the lack of - of anything - and how every cell in my body is screaming for it to be filled. NOW.

The phone goes ignored. If I answer one more call I’ll lose the fragile grip on my patience. I turn it off when it starts to ring again a second later.

I’m blinking rapidly, pacing - have you seen those addicts coming down from a high? It’s something like that, and it eats at me.

I try to sit and end up standing again. I can’t explain why it angers me, but suddenly its there in my mind. My temper has awoken with a vengeance and I feel it rush through my body like fire in my blood. I grit my teeth and my brows knit together.

My palm runs along the back of my neck and I feel the tightness of the muscles. I suck in a breath and let it out slowly. Slowly.
…. ….
So, in a manner this is my apology, my love, for just how hard my fingers dug into your arm when I saw you. For not kissing you first, but instead dragging you out of that fucking room and into the hallway.

I shoved you against the wall and heard your head hit the drywall - I didn’t care, I followed you in and allowed you no space for breath before I raped your mouth, tore at your lip, clawed at your shirt. I heard your cry against my mouth, but I still dug my fingers into your thighs and I know my nails scored your hose and the skin above your hose.

I left a mark on your neck, that one you had to hide this morning with makeup and clothing. Two half circles. I saw the bruise. I saw your skin, pink from being worn by the stubble on my cheek.

I don’t think the stain is going to come out of your shirt. Or out of mine.

However, I’m only sorry for not kissing you hello…. first.