He looks at her profile quite stealthily, the way a thief would barge into someone’s abode in the middle of the night, searching for something that he can take for his own. Perhaps, he wanted those lips grazing on his, matte red lipstick or not, it doesn’t matter. A flash of white directed at his general direction would suffice but she smiles the way a girl would who is aware that she is beautiful and blatantly proud of it and can’t even be bothered to grace him an icy stare. Frankly, just a glimpse would be enough to trigger that tingling somewhere on his nether regions. He feels cheated yet it doesn’t feel right because where he is is not where he is supposed to be. What he feels is not in the right place. So, overriden with guilt, he ended what he had with the other girl, who is really not the other girl. Just one of them, or so he prefers to believe. After all, someone can be willingly turned into no one or just about anyone depending on someone’s preference at a given point in time. The lesser she knows, the lesser the pain perhaps. But she knows that he knows that she somehow knows and he doesn’t care and she knows that. Or he does but what difference does that make? We are all born not to give a shit. Or at least that’s what he prefers to believe.
So the main girl, who isn’t really the main girl, unbeknownst to him (or perhaps he knows) can’t get enough of anyone and an imagination she quite has. She feeds his with a myriad of possibilities, sometimes with that knowing smile pretending to not know about his predicament, or for most of the time, that aloof stare, those wet lips slightly parted, pretending to be a virgin in this game of subtle seduction. There is a hint of excitement running through her flesh everytime she sees him, talks to him, but it’s the same with another, and then another, and yet another. Insatiable, she is like no other hot-blooded female— quite averse to what she is trying to portray, which is a cross between a stoic and a domineer. Or perhaps a sweet thing, just a sweet, pretty little innocent thing she could be. He is drawn, almost blinded, but such is a man overcome by desires as powerful as the groin of Eros, rendering him incapable of reason. She holds that power and she intends to use it like an armour, pretending to be a shield, disguised as an armour, I guess one would suppose that it’s the other way around, but it can be however one prefers it to be.
She intrigues him, and he, her. Pretty soon, someone is making the first move and it’s not her, though she is beyond tempted to do so. Maybe she will. Or he will. Then the waiting game will be over.
And then reality sinks in. Life is just a game, he would say. So on to the next because such is how it is— just a game. He almost always wins.
You know what they say. No one in this life gets away with anything.