Throw it away

I care, though I wish I didn't care.
I stare at ten longer fingers, two pale wrists, firm lower arms,
of course, the left one's stronger.
The man's left handed
and now, in my head, I'm picturing him wanking.
The smut that whirls round in my mind!
I'm ashamed.
It sweeps me up in a tornado of nothingness
of thighs and of heat and of eyes closed tight.
Regret.
The early morning drink that I must
swallow whole
with two pieces of weetabix and a bowl of milk.
"Are you okay?"
"Of course."
It's a whisper, it's a whisper because I know it's a lie.
I'm frightened.
I'm frightened that tomorrow this will all be a drunken memory.
He's stroking my arm, his breath is on my neck.
It has been so long.
Saying no to anyone right now would be like saying no to cigarette that's been put under my nose.
I groan
and he notices, recoils and then goes further.
He laughs.
A shocking, wicked, cruel laugh that makes me feel so cheap and easy.
I suppose I was
but again, my animal instinct, it had been what felt like decades since someone had looked at me that way.
Just slow down.
I've said too much
zip this up, lock it and lose the key.
Please, before the key finds me and I am left alone with a box of secrets and two empty hands.
I forgot, you did that already.
You're not here.
You're nothing but a memory.
A hazy, drunk regret
hanging from my eyelashes like each dripping tear,
and it's sincere, I'm not writing this for teenage angst or some credit.
I don't care about comments or 'congratulations'
I just want you to know how much this hurts.
How much I conceal in my foundation and mascara and lipstick for you.
I want you to appreciate it, understand it and throw it away.
Today was just a bad day, I'll be fine again tomorrow
because you're not here.
Nothing but a memory.
A hazy, drunken regret.
The smallest tear hanging onto my eyelash.
I have to let this go.
Tequila, make me forget.