Men hurt too.

A subtle chill ran down his spine. He wasn’t sure if it was because of her frigid eyes or the snow hugging the thin glass window. Probably both.

“Close the door,” she softly ordered, ghostly even, as if her voice would harm him if she spoke any louder.

He nudged the door with his shoulder, failing to look nonchalant and relaxed. He had seen the corners of her mouth twitch like this before, felt her rage scratching his fleeing heart.

“Don’t just stand there. Come here,” her tone sounded suffocating, as if every word wrapped itself around his limbs like chains.

Numbly, he shuffled towards her. Eyes closed  as she dropped her old lover’s name longingly.

“You’re just not like him…” she closed her seconds of torture with her head up straight.

The moment he was in her reach, she reached for his hand, pulling him closer to her demandingly.

“He never came home this late…he wanted to be with me,” she whispered against his flustered skin, lipstick staining his trembling lips.

He stuttered a confused sorry, tears welling up in eyes that had seen how this ended before. It didn’t seem to matter how hard he tried to never disappoint. He figured that somehow, he was never really enough of the man he really wanted to be. A proud man, understood, loved.

He had never been that kind of man. Ever since his mother refused to hold him. Ever since no one in school asked him to be on their team. Ever since he thought he deserved to be hurt by the one he shared a bed with.

“It hurts when you don’t wanna be with me…so let’s make the hurt even,” her gentle fingers gripped his hair, pulling his head back brutally.


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