Page 50 of Isolation

At the very least, I can deceive my mind into thinking this is my choice to find my own oblivion. I rather be the one making this decision than have the decision be forced upon me.

So, I choose the lesser of the two evils.

Milo’s mouth moves from my ears back to my face.I have barely relaxed my shoulders when a pair of lips slam against mine, and a hand goes around my waist, pulling me to him.

Milo’s hand lands in my hair, sifting through them roughly. He breaks the kiss and quickly walks over to shut the bedroom door.

Less than ten seconds.

That’s how long it takes him to close the door, come back, and collide his lips back on mine.

I can barely breathe with his tongue exploring my mouth so greedily. He is kissing me like he hasn’t kissed me in years.

Hurried.

Urgent.

Demanding.

Milo shuffles my body backward and pushes me onto the bed. He kneels on the floor to slide my leggings down, coming back up to pull my shirt over my head.

Milo leans in again to kiss me, letting me feel his erection pressed against my thigh.

The panic comes back again. I can try to convince myself otherwise, but this isn’t my choice.

Far from it.

I am not in control in any way.

Milo has fucked me more than once since I moved back. None of those times were my choice either, but somehow this is worse.

He pretended to be my friend.

He pretended to give me the façade of a choice, when in reality I have no rights.

It’s a false truth. Oxymoron.

Articles of clothing are flying everywhere till I am lying naked on the bed. Milo amplifies his kisses, his tongue exploring my mouth and his hands shaping my body. He licks his way down to my breast.

His words surround me.

“You are so beautiful.”

“You taste so good.”

“I missed this.”

There is a shortness of breath in each sentence. A tremor resonating with the words. My own insides twist with each false syllable. Each letter. Each alphabet. It feels like a heavy slab of marble is sitting on top of my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Milo, stop,” I blurt out before I can block the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I gasp for oxygen.

Milo is frowning with a genuinely concerned look on his face. “Hey, it’s okay,” Milo lifts up and brushes the hair off my forehead. “What happened?”

I can’t breathe. I should be able to. There is no scientific explanation for why I cannot.