I watch her walk in and out of the house every day but she doesn’t seem to notice I’m there.

I know if she just gave me a chance that I could help, but sometimes it’s like she purposely avoids me. If she only let me: I could carry some of the burden and make her forget the pain.

People call me manipulative for reaching out at her worst times, but I think if she realizes I love her at her worst that deserve to be there at her best. I just have to be patient.

I caught her looking at me before she left the house today. She didn’t think I noticed the hesitation in her judgement or the longing in her eyes, but the chemistry I felt was undeniable.

I knew I had to calm down before I ended up popping my own top, but the thought of her rapid pulse and dilating eyes kept coarsing through me the same way I wanted to coarse through her.

I have a good feeling about this.

The sound of the door swings open and startles me; a siren of cries bouncing off every wall in the house. Before I can even get a chance to comprehend what’s happening, I feel a hand clasp around me.

“Finally.”

I mutter to myself as she presses me to her lips and consumes me the way I always new she would.

And as she calms down and we finally drift off to sleep together, I can only I pray nobody pumps her stomach this time.