I'm not Her

I find myself sitting across from him on my bed with the door locked. It's just the two of us. Talking. Laughing. Having fun. Just like how we always are. Happy. But sometimes, he frustrates me with his careless actions. Sometimes, he makes jokes of things that shouldn't ever be joked about. Don't say things you don't mean, "I would kiss you except, I have a girlfriend." And don't make things awkward when it would only ruin what we have.

But in my room, he kisses me. He runs butterfly kisses down my throat. I could feel the moisture of his lips. And I know that it's wrong. So terribly wrong. So I struggle to resist. I end up crying in front of him. Saying words that aren't meant to escape my mind and my lips:

Stop treating me as though I'm her. Stop telling me to do the things she would. Don't tell me to paint my nails in your favourite colour. When it's also hers. Stop monopolising me. I'm not your girlfriend. If I was, I would be heart broken.

And he's standing there, with no words to utter. I don't give him a chance for pretty words or excuses. He tries to comfort me and calm me down. But it's too late:

Don't touch me. Don't touch me the way you touch her. Stop protecting me as though I'm precious. And God dammit. Don't kiss me. Ever. When you don't love me.

I run off into the bathroom and lock the door. I can hear the throbbing of his hands as he punches the door repeatedly. It won't open. And I slide down onto the cold tiles, whispering:

I'm not her. I'm not your girlfriend.