I Am A Virgin - S01 E16

Story 3 years ago

I Am A Virgin - S01 E16

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 16

I admire the man that can only be described as a sex god before my eyes. He looks extremely attractive in casual black jeans and tight white t-shirt which hugs his perfectly toned muscles. I’m busy drinking in his familiarity that I do not notice the elegantly dressed woman sitting opposite him.

She’s wearing a red strapless cocktail dress which shows off her amazing shoulders and long neck. The dress also accentuates her perfect full chest.

Even from all the here, I can see through the outlines of her chest. The way she pushes her shoulders back effectively making her breast probe in full view, shows that she knows what she’s got and she’s not afraid to flaunt it.

Her outfit brings out her shiny 60’s styled wavy blonde hair which makes her look even more beautiful she can be Marilynn Monroe, herself.

From all the way here I can pretty much tell they’re involved in a somewhat private conversation from the way they gaze at each other.

What’s even more heart-breaking is the carefree laugh I hear coming from Jeremy as he leans both of his elbows on top of the clothed table.

From the body language that can be easily read, one can tell that these two are not just on the first date but they know each other well.

My brain wonders if it’s Cassie, the girl who cheated on him. If it’s not her, then from now I’ll be calling her Monroe.

“Are you waiting in line?” A man behind me asks. He studies me as if I am some sort of freak.

I tear away my gaze from the perfect looking couple–whom you could crop out of a 60’s movie–and stare upon the concerned looking man.

“No. Sorry.” I move out of his way.

I notice that I hadn’t been the only ogling at the attractive looking couple. A few women are ogling at Jeremy whilst a few men have their eyes fest on Monroe’s chest.

Men! I think only to distract myself from the piercing stab that is tugging at my chest.

I exhort myself not to think about what I have just witnessed with my very own eyes. I urge my feet to walk away and ignore the gut wrenching twist of my chest.

I think I’m still in shock when I find my head glancing back at their table thinking that I might’ve just imagined the whole thing.

Just as I turn, I catch Jeremy’s head turning as well and our eyes lock in a millisecond. I promptly look away before he can recognize me and then I sprint out of the automatic doors.

The cold air hits me as soon as I step outside and I will my feet to run as far away from this place as possible.

It’s already dark outside so I half walk, half run to the bus stop because I’m now fully aware that I’m entering the dark parts of the streets.

I concentrate on keeping my feet moving and on my surroundings in an attempt to ignore the twisting pain that’s slowly wrecking me.

Don’t think about it. Not now. I urge myself. I run toward the bus stop, thankful when the bus comes just as quickly. I concentrate on giving the bus driver my bus fare and then I go sit on the window sit, right at the back, away from civilization as usual.

Once there, I finally succumb to the tears that are threatening to overwhelm me.

You’re pathetic coward, Leyla, simply pathetic.

I brought this on myself so I don’t even know why I’m crying. Do I think that highly of myself to have thought Jeremy would what? Chase me?

Don’t be ridiculous.

Why would he chase me? I am nothing to him but a girl whose intentions had been to sleep with him for money. After all I’m way in a lower class than him, why would he waste his time to chase a poor girl who is a nonentity in this world?

There you go again, wallowing in self-pity. We’ve been here before Leyla, many times just accept that you’re nobody and deal with it. My inner voice makes an appearance.

Of course he will continue with his life, it’d been just casual f-----g after all.

And here I am thinking that we had shared something more than just sex, here I am just realizing that I’d over analysed his actions when he had said he wanted to help me. I’ve over analysed everything including my whole feelings towards our whole affair.

I get off the bus near the shabby sorted buildings and practically run to Greta’s apartment. I’m acutely aware of the darkness, you never know what danger lurked in these streets.

I am about to enter the building when I hear my name being called.

The reason my feet root to the ground is not because of recognizing my name. No. An unknown stranger would’ve called my name and I would’ve still kept on running, especially when in this part of town.

The reason I stop is because that voice has been engrained on my head so thoroughly that I can even recognize it a mile away.

“Leyla!” His voice calls me again, closer now.

The hairs on my skin stand as every pore of my body relishes the sultry way his voice sounded. On his lips my name is a caress, as if it’s that delicate and the tone of his voice is a mixture of anxiety and what… relief?

“Leyla?”

I can feel him now, I can feel that tension between us radiating a meter away. I freeze in spot.

Then I tentatively turn around to face him.I catch the instant sight of relief passing through his face as he observes me.

My heart does a double flip at the sight of him, even though I last watched him twenty minutes ago.

“Thank God, I found you.” He breathes a sigh and suddenly in a few strides he engulfs me in his arms.

This takes me by surprise for a moment as I stand there with my face pressed on his chest, however, it’s his scent that is my undoing from my dazed state.

That undeniable scent of his triggers my response and makes me sag in his arms. My hands start snaking around him, returning the hug.

“Je-remy,” I hiccup his name.

The tumbled emotions from the crying earlier still hasn’t quite left my system.

Jeremy tenses when he hears my chocked up attempt to say his name. He slowly frees me from his hold and then moves his hands to cup my face.

“God, Leyla you scared the crap out of me.” A fleeting emotion passes through his eyes, those intense blue grey eyes that have haunted my thoughts for the past thirty eight hours or more.

I close my eyes feeling my heart slowly constrict.

“Are you well? Did anything happen to you? You had me so worried!” He splays his hands on my head, my face, my shoulders, my waist, as if to reassure himself that I am here and alright.

Why does it take him to be this close to me to make me forget that I left him; that I’ve just seen him with his supposedly ex and that I’m meant to forget about him?

The answers to these questions, I haven’t a clue yet but for now–to save myself–I had to continue on like his presence hadn’t affected me at all.

“Why are you here?” I finally ask.

He frowns at me, his hands on my face slacking and I take that as a cue to back a step away from him.

Immediately, I lose the warmth from his bodily contact but I try my best to not let that derail my hard expression. I try my hardest to put on a straight face, but inside my body is yearning for him, for his touch.

“I saw you…At Cavelli’s and you ran. Why did you run?” He says as he frantically runs his hands through his hair, in a somewhat exasperated gesture.

“You seemed pretty preoccupied.” I shrug, trying to route for nonchalance.

He presses his lips together as he frowns at me and I feel out of sorts for a moment.

Why is he scrutinizing me like this?

“I was having casual dinner with an old friend.” He shrugs. The frown on his face aimed at me, breaks me.

So it was Cassie after all. Oh this hurts. Why does it hurt when I am the one who brought this on myself?

“For an onlooker, I wouldn’t say it was casual.” My anger flares as I glare him.

He glares back. “Why are you angry that I was just eating dinner with someone?”

I continue glaring at him as if his question doesn’t affect me.

“Not just asomeone!” I hiss.

He presses his lips in a tight line.

“Leyla, the last time I checked you’re the one who left me, so why do you care if I have a dinner with another woman?” He continues.

My expression falls as realization dawns.

“I…I don’t.”

“You’re jealous!” His face complete changes as he realizes.

Stupid! Stupid! Why do I always have to wear my heart on my sleeve?

His expression completely changes to one containing that playful smirk as he sees my reaction. It is that wry smile that warms my heart again.

“I’m not.” I fail at a comeback.

“Yes, you’re not. Why would you be when you’re the one who left me.” He agrees with me, shrugging.

“Why did you leave, Leyla?”

I press my lips together to hold myself from spilling my guts out to him.

What I would give to complete fall in his arms again and just tell him! I wanted that easy option.

Instead of replying his demanding question, I simply counter with my own.

“Why did you follow me here?”

“Dammit Leyla, stop asking me what’s obvious and just answer me!”

“What’s obvious? What is so obvious is that we are completely two different people from different backgrounds, Jeremy. What’s obvious is that I realized it sooner that we could never work, whatever we had, it was just that and nothing more. So I had to…I had to leave.”

“Leave? Why? Because you were scared? Tell me, what exactly are you scared of, Leyla?” His voice is reprimand, and his eyes scorch grey–from anger–on mine, demanding me for an answer.

I’m scared of you, of this, of what you do to me right now. I think my answer.

However, I shake my head and break my gaze from him. I fold my arms around me, now aware that it is getting a little bit cold. I also know that I am doing this to subconsciously protect myself from him. I fear he can read right through me. I fear he can see how much I want him at this moment.

My heart can’t stop this ridiculous throbbing against my chest and the fact that he is mere inches from me, making me feel his bodily warmth and smell his tempting scent, doesn’t help either.

“Dammit, Leyla answer me!” His bellowing command shocks me for a second.

But upon seeing my reaction he sighs deeply and runs his hand through his chestnut brown locks. This makes my hands itch to do the exact same.

I close my eyes, holding myself tighter as I rid of these urges.

“Answer me, please. What are you afraid of?” He asks softly this time around.

“I’m–” My reply is cut short when a familiar screeching voice call his name.

F**k!!