Come Home

He was out again tonight. Who knew what her name was this time? She sure as hell didn't. She didn't want to know her name, or where she was from, or what she looked like. She didn't want to know about the random girl he was going to have fun with tonight. All she cared about was when the debauchery would be over and he would safely return to the safety of their bedroom, of their sheets and her arms.

It was the last thing she could take. She hated nothing like she hated being made to feel like an idiot. She ran her hands through her long hair and squeezed her eyes shut. The the streams running down her cheeks were soon joined by another one, trickling down the side of her face and onto her lips. The smell of the iron made her open her eyes and realize she had reopened a cut that had barely closed. She put her cellphone down and sat on the black, leather couch. She pulled her knees to her chest ignoring the water that was now sliding down her rosy cheeks. The wet drops caressed her lips and fell down into the cleavage of her shirt. The room suddenly seemed colder, the candle light seemed dimmer, the music seemed off tune, the night seemed larger and she... well... she seemed alone.

"Damn it!" she muttered as she smashed her hand into the innocent glass from the coffee table and sent it spinning into the wall.

"I miss you" said the text message she received. His number was memorized by now, the name was carved in her brain so deeply that she turned when someone called his name.

"I miss you too." she replied. "Come home."