Broken Seals

I’ve had a lot of action. Most of it from the same person, but every now and then I get fresh with someone else. So, I’m not complaining.

I know it sounds bad, like I get around. But it’s not like I was the only one for her either. She had multiple partners, dozens even, and those are just the ones I knew about. Sometimes I could still taste them on her. She never took pains to wipe them away. It’s like she wanted me to know. No. I’m giving myself too much credit. It’s like she didn’t care whether I knew or not. And did that bother me?

Yes. Fine. I’ll admit it did. So did I like when I got to play with others? Well, I pretended to. I pretended like I didn’t care either, that I could rub against whoever, because it would be pathetic for me to only want one person. Especially one person who didn’t only want me.

She was beautiful, with black hair that shone red in certain light. Her eyes were full of mystery and mischief. Most importantly though, her lips. I didn’t care when they were rough. I loved them when they were cut. I loved them for all their imperfections, which varied day to day. Those lips were the same but forever altering, so the one set was all I needed.

Some days they tasted like Spearmint, some days like honey. I did my best, though, to cover it all up with my classic, undying brand. Cherry.

It was hard not to recoil back into my shell every time I heard someone near her ask, “Do you have chapstick?”

Sometimes she lied. I loved her for her lies. Or maybe she forgot I was there. I like to think it was the former. Sometimes she shared me. I never agreed to it because I only wanted her. And oh, the way she’d diminish my life after doling me out by rubbing me against her thumb or her pants.

I’ll tell you about the worst day. At this point, I was in the corner of her room. Hairs from her dog as well as her own dander had been coating me for a while now. Maybe I was unappealing from the outside. They say the inside is what really counts. And I was keeping that part of me safe from my external environment. I was sealed tight. Nothing could get in. Nothing could hurt me. Except her.

She was mulling about the room, finally getting around to folding the clothes that had been sitting on the chair in the corner opposite me. I almost thought they were forgotten too. She’d stop and take a sip of water, always placing the glass carefully on the coaster. And I knew the angle from that coaster. I knew I was in her peripheral. She could see me. It just didn’t matter. I’d always be there waiting, and she knew that.

She rolled a few sweatshirts and then paused, sitting on the bed. Scrolled on her phone. And you can say this next part was mindless as the rest of her lackadaisical activity that day. It wasn’t. She slipped her hand into the deep pockets of her ex boyfriend’s sweatpants and pulled one out. Not just any one. A cherry chapstick. Its outside was shiny. I wanted to shrink further into the corner, roll under the bed, anything to avoid bearing witness to what followed.

The cap came off with a snap, breaking its virginal seal. A cherry chapstick, previously unused. Then, she screwed it up by its bottom, just a little, like she once had with me. It was just peeking over its plastic shell. You already know what happened next. She rubbed it all over her mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. She knew I was watching. This chapstick filled her cracks and did the things I could easily have done if she’d just given me another chance.

Why did she have to do it in front of me? I would’ve rather been thrown away. Ignorance is bliss and I was painfully aware.

The worst part is, I still long for her to use me. And maybe she will. When she’s desperate enough, when nobody else is there for her, maybe she’ll grab me from the corner, wipe me off, and twist me from the bottom. I’m stupidly ready to be remembered, even if it means being cast off again. I just need one more time.