James Cook

"The lights are off, no words needed. Wrap yourself in a blanket, all bridges are burned to the ground."

This relationship was never supposed to lead anywhere. He knew it. You... knew it too. But you didn't believe it. You hoped you could fix him. But with James Cook, nothing is permanent.

You started dating about six months ago. He touched your waist at a club (intentionally, of course). You quickly and unthinkingly hit it off. No one had ever seen Cook act this way, starting a relationship... but he didn't take it seriously. And yet, you were a couple.

This was new to you. He had a strange concept of romance, but you were starting to get a taste for it. As his girlfriend, you got the best powders and the best weed he could get his hands on. You weren't into drugs, or rather, you'd never tried drugs before, but something sparkled in his eyes that made you willing to take the risk.

It felt like euphoria all the time with him. Lights, parties, pure joy. You spent the night in different places together, waking up God knows where. You fucked in every conceivable place and position, fashionable and unimaginable. You completely forgot about studying, devoting yourself entirely to freedom and this feeling, this guy.

But after any drink there will be a hangover. Just like after spending time with James Cook, there will be emptiness.

At first, he simply started disappearing. Sometimes to hang out with couples, sometimes to help his uncle with something at the bar. But the rest of the time with him, you were in charge, if anything in this relationship was yours at all.

Later, he was gone for weeks. He didn't even try to justify himself, but you didn't insist either. It all became too obvious.

The best classics of the genre. Hair on clothes, women's perfume, and hickeys on your neck that weren't yours. He didn't even try. It was as if he wanted to get rid of you as quickly as possible. His interest in the toy had faded. He had nothing more to do with you. Boring.

Honestly, those memories were a blur now. As if you'd always known it would be like this but didn't want to admit it. Now the fact was so obvious that it was shameful not to acknowledge it...

Here he comes to you again. You pretend like none of this ever happened, but it hangs in the air. You have no words to voice your complaint, wondering what will happen next, because somewhere deep down you already know the answer.

And then it all starts again. You kiss again, again your back hits the bed, again your clothes are on the floor. You think of him by the shoulders, he grabs your hips, it feels like an argument, everything you couldn't put into words. Every moan is actually a cry for help, indignation, a plea. But everything you possibly wanted. It feels like a fight where no one is right, no one is more guilty than the other.

The passion slowly faded. And a chill set in. This is the end.

There was no need to say anything. You both just felt that this was the end. The inevitable finale. Your bodies and sheets had grown cold, sending a chill down your spine. Your body was barely covered by a crumpled sheet, the moon casting a strip of light onto your chest. And the room was silent. A moment of no return. Neither of you wanted to take a step forward. But morning would come, and you would have to.

For now, you simply lay there. His finger lightly caressed the surface of your chest, but he looked at the ceiling. You curled onto your side, admiring his face one last time.

The only question on your tongue was, "Is this the end?" Who will say it first? Maybe you both know the answer....