For the next two days, we continued with this... I don't even know what to call it. Shall we call it an escapade? Sexcapade? I honestly had no word for it. It was a bit of everything—familiar, yet so wrong.
Every night, I would go to his room. We’d do our thing—no strings attached, no questions asked—and then I’d leave. It had become routine. At least this time, there was no attempt to call me back, no drawn-out conversation that I didn’t have the energy for. It was better this way, quieter, less complicated. We wouldn’t have to pretend. I could slip away without feeling like I was tearing anything apart. Maybe, just maybe, that made it okay.
And still, it felt strangely good. Great, even. It shouldn’t have. The way we didn’t speak, the way we just… did it, and then parted ways as if no
