Wolf Like You

A short story about someone who takes and never gives, never able to be satisfied

I let the water linger on my skin, watching it bead up and drip down my arm. How gentle it touches, how short a time it stays in one place.

Unlike you.

Always rough, always overstaying your welcome. But I’m too nice to ask you to leave. Because I’m afraid if I do, you’ll never come back. So I let it happen—over and over, watching you get your fill while I stay starving.

You’re a wolf behind that calm demeanor and you know it. You circle round and round, waiting for the moment I make like sheep and let you in, stealing what’s mine but never giving me anything of yours.

How helpless it feels and how draining it is to always give and give but when it’s my turn to want and to need, you’re never there. You never show up. You never ask if I’m okay. Even when I plead with you to show you care, you refuse to display an ounce.

Never a complaint from my lips yet you still leave. Years of silent suffering to have the outcome be the same as my nightmares.

You’ve left yet you’re still here. I see you across the way, but you dismiss my presence like dead prey. The years of my life spent with you and only you now mean nothing.

I see you stalk the streets, looking for your next victim. I can’t help but smile, knowing I’m no longer one of them. The threat of your sharp fangs at my neck and your fatal claws on my heart no longer hold me back.

Moving forward, your belly will always remain empty, unable to be satisfied. The sweltering desert heat will always keep you wandering in search of relief. And your cheating heart will always keep you curious about something that doesn’t exist.

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