This is the sequel to People Like You, so go read that first
It had been months since you had met the enigmatic Alfred F. Jones in the seedy bar your friends liked to frequent. Things had fallen into a routine of sorts. You would work, and go about life like normal. At night, if he failed to pick up some drunk skank at a bar, he would call you. You would let him in, and he would kiss you, and by the time you woke up in the morning, he was gone, no trace that he had ever been there in the first place.
At first, you greatly enjoyed this arrangement. You got some great sex with no strings attached, and he got a bed partner for the night, but unease slowly crept into your mind. On the nights he didn’t call, you wondered who he was with. You began to feel dirty, used, and worst of all, unwanted. You were his back up plan, nothing more. You hated it, hated the feelings you were getting, because you knew what they meant.
You had fallen in love with him.
It was not a good thing. He was dangerous (but that’s what attracted you in the first place), a playboy (you knew about it but you still let this...relationship of sorts to continue), and he didn’t care about you. That’s the part that hurt the most. He didn’t care. People like him didn’t go for people like you unless it was for a prank or if they thought it would be an easy lay (as if). You always came across as tough and rebellious, but it was all just a ploy you had put up to keep the outside world out. To keep yourself from getting hurt.
You glanced up from your rum and coke, the blood red numbers on the clock proclaiming the time to be just about half past two. If he didn’t get a girl, you would be getting a call. You took a deep breath and a drink, preparing yourself for the conversation you had to have. You couldn’t keep doing this. It was going to kill you eventually, sleeping with him but knowing that you were never going to be his first choice.
The song Temporary Bliss by The Cab sang out from your cell phone, signalling the incoming call was from the person you dreaded hearing from but at the same time loved to hear from. You raised the phone to your ear and hesitated for a second before accepting the call, greeting him with a sleepy, slightly drunken “Hello?”
“Hey doll, I’m outside. Mind lettin’ me up?” he asked, cocky as ever, voice tinged with lust. You took a deep breath before releasing the answer you had been planning for a couple of day now.
“No,” you said. There was a pause, as if he was trying to comprehend what you had just said.
“What was that, doll? Cause it sounded like you said-”
“That’s exactly what I said!” you growled.
“Why the fuck not?”
“I... I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be your little fuck toy you turn to when no other drunk hussie will let you in her pants.” you snapped, and when he tried to respond to your onslaught, you harshly cut him off. “You don’t give a damn about me, so why should I let you in and let you sleep with me and toy with my emotions?”
“Wait a second, what the hell are you talkin’ about?” he asked, his mind obviously not processing what you were saying.
“Don’t come back, Alfred,” you said, a note of finality in your voice before you hung up the phone, polished off the drink, and went to bed. You did the right thing, you kept telling yourself.
Now if only you would believe it.
Alfred’s Point Of View
He stared at the phone in his hand, blinking letters spelling out that the call had ended, wondering what the fuck had just happened. He had come over, ready for the usual routine, and she flipped out at him! A twinge of what might have been hurt flashed through him, but he stomped it down and wrote it off as disappointment over not getting any tonight.
He glanced up at her apartment window, only to see the light go out. He contemplated calling her and demanding to know what that was about, but he figured she was already asleep. Despite what she thought, he cared. Somewhat. In his own way.
“Good ridance,” he grumbles, walking away. Caring was a disadvantave.
A week later, and it became clear that something was very wrong. He would go to bars, countless bars, searching for girls, but somehow none of them seemed right. One was too skinny. One was trying too hard. One was wearing too much makeup.
He didn’t get it. He would never have passed up an opportunity for sex, as long as the girl was hot and there was protection (because he’d be damned before he was forced to pay child support). Now...nothing. Sure, most tried to flirt with him, get his attention, practically give themselves to him, but for some odd reason he didn’t care.
So here he was, drinking a bottled water at the same seedy bar he met ______ at, and wondering what happened. Then it clicked. His game had been thrown off because he didn’t have ______ as a fall back anymore. If he got rejected, or if he didn’t find anyone, he would turn to her. Although he found himself going over to her place more often than not as the months progressed. He would get up early and leave so he wouldn’t overstay his welcome and disturb her morning routine.
The more he thought about it, the more he could see things from her point of view (these revelations were made reluctantly, of course. He hated compromises). But something in the way she accused him of toying with her emotions required more thinking than some of the other things she said. Emotions. How could he be toying with those if it was a mutual friends with benefits relationship?
Maybe she fell in love with him. It was a likely possibility, but one of the reasons he kept her at arms length was because he felt something change, about a month or so ago, and he stomped it down like any other unwanted emotion inside of him.
He got up and began walking, baseball bat by his side, deep in thought about what he should do. She said she didn’t want to see him again, but maybe he could make it right... What the hell was he thinking? Did he really want to give up the life he lived for one chick with a rebellious streak?
He looked up at ______’s apartment building, the destination his feet had instinctively taken him to, and he had his answer. He took out his phone and dialed her number, watching a shadow move in the window, and an emotionally drained “I thought I told you not to call me again.” greeted him.
“You never said anythin’ about visiting, doll.” he replied, watching the window, leaning on his bat. With a rusty creek, the glass pane slid upwards and ______’s head poked out.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she called down to him, a wide range of emotions flashing across her face before settling on anger.
“Wanted to see you. Although now I wonder why, you seem to be in a rather shitty mood.” Alfred flashed her a smirk, and received a glare in return. “Come on doll, don’t be like that. At least I’m not drunk.”
“You don’t drink you stupid vegan. I’m calling the cops,” she growled before moving to pull her head in.
“I’ll be long gone doll. I just wanted to talk.”
One of her neighbors, a little old lady, opened her window and screamed in a nasally voice “Just kiss and make up all ready! Kids these days...” before shutting the window. Turning his attention back to ______, his smirk widened at the sight of her beet-red face.
“Sound like a good idea?” he called up to her.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, I-I just can’t do this anymore. It’s not worth it.” she said before retreating back into her apartment, ending the call, and turning the light out, leaving Alfred on the sidewalk wondering just what he should do to get her back.
I can't keep sleeping in your bed
If you keep messing with my head
I can't keep feeling love like this
It's not worth temporary bliss