His eyes opened to an oh-so familiar setting. After a few minutes of routine morning stretches, scratches, and eye rubbing, he finally realized that he was in fact home and in his own bed for a change. Although it should have been comforting, he felt that something was missing. And although his head was still pounding, hinting to what he had indulged in the night before, the void he thought of was real. He looked to his right only to find the other end of the queen-sized bed empty, the sheets ruffled a bit suggesting that someone had slept there and in a hurry to leave neglected to fix the sheets. It was then that he came to the realization that she was the something missing.

His lips curled up into a halfhearted smile as her face entered his mind. She was a beauty; the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. And he had done more than that with girls—too many to count on one hand…or two. He wasn't perfect, and he had made his fair share of mistakes, but there was nothing he could do to remedy that now. He closed his eyes, envisioning her oceanic blue eyes and her long, dark lashes. He could almost smell the sweet aroma emitting from her long, wavy blonde locks. Vanilla? He guessed.

Next, he focused on her cherry red lips. They were soft and smooth. He couldn't help but crave their taste. He continued to watch as the image of them teased and taunted him. He had been so close, and yet so far away. She was within his reach, but he just could not reach far enough.

Hating the feeling he got thinking of her, he forced his eyes open, banishing her face from his mind. She was gone and he didn't want to think of her anymore. Throwing the covers to the side, he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, making his way to the door and into the hallway. First, he walked into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and casually throwing them to the floor, not caring where they fell. He stepped into the shower and turned the knob, closing his eyes as the cool water fell from the showerhead onto his skinny frame. He ran his hands through his hair, scrubbing desperately to rid his thoughts of her.

When he had finished, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. He walked back into his room and pulled on a clean pair of boxers, gray sweats, and his black zip-up hoodie, leaving it unzipped. Running his hands through his hair again, he tried to comb it as best he could and left it to air dry. Then, he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he paused for a moment to take in all of its various contents. Deciding he wanted scrambled eggs, he reached for the carton and pulled it out, gently kicking the door closed behind him.

As he started cooking his breakfast he couldn't help but get flashbacks from that morning when he had prepared the same meal for the two of them. They had met at a casino in Vegas. Something about her—the way she carried herself so well—caught his eye. She was his own shot of heroine; one dose and he was hooked for life. They had danced the night away; the two stars of the party scene. And when he kissed her, it had felt unreal.

Maybe it was the way her lips molded onto his. Maybe it was the way she bit his bottom lip as if she never wanted to pull away. He wasn't sure and was certain that he never would be. The effect she had on him was indescribable and no words could ever do it justice. The smell of burning eggs brought his attention back to the stove. Quickly, he turned the flame off and sighed as he examined the eggs that were now garbage. He didn't mind too much though. He wasn't really hungry anymore anyway.

Walking over to the garbage can, he pulled up the lid and scraped the contents of the frying pan into the trash. He then set the pan down in the sink and decided that the fresh morning air might help him clear his mind. He walked over to the front door and slid on his sneakers, not caring if he bent the backs of them. Opening the door, he took a step outside letting the brisk air gently crash against his skin. He closed the door and locked it. Then, he turned his back to the house and stepped down the porch steps, making his way down the driveway and onto the street.

As he passed the row of houses on his block, he couldn't help but become envious of all his neighbors. Most of them were families, both large and small. These were people who had others in their lives that truly cared about them and loved them; people who would never abandon them. It had been a long, long time since he had experienced what family felt like. He just wanted someone there. For once, he wanted someone looking out for him.

But those dreams were long dead. He was on his own, left to fend for himself in a world of corruption and people who were only concerned with tearing down the weak in order to build themselves up. It was a dog-eat-dog world, but he had gotten used to it all; or he thought he had. It seemed that there was still a void in his life that he was trying to fill. That one person he could trust to be by his side every time he looked over his shoulder. And with that thought crossing his mind, the image of the Vegas girl exploded in his head.

He hadn't gone to Vegas in search of "the right girl" or any girl for that matter. He had gone simply for the escape that it offered him. It was just a twist of fate that she stumbled into his life that night and had given him a thrill that he thought he already knew much too well. It wasn't until she came along, though, that he realized he had been clueless all along. Never having tasted the sweet pleasure she presented. If not for that incredible morning after, he would have guessed it was the alcohol to blame for this unreal feeling.

Thinking about her seemed to drive him absolutely mad. He soon became overwhelmed with the feeling of loss and wanting. Stopping in the middle of the road, he fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. He hadn't been aware of the tears welling up in his eyes, stinging them as they slid down his cheeks. He had never before felt so broken and so alone. He sat there and allowed himself to cry, not caring if anyone saw him.

He wished he could go back to that night. The night when he had held her close to his chest, his arms wrapped around her securely, never wanting to let her go. He remembered their bodies molding into one another perfectly and their breathing humming in the same rhythmic tune. He wanted her so badly. He needed her. But she didn't need him.

It was this revelation that allowed him to stop his crying and open his eyes. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He had walked a lot further than he thought. Getting back to his feet, he brushed himself off and wiped his eyes dry. Silently, he turned around and started making his way back home. His mind was blank; his thoughts were silent.

When he had finally returned to his front porch, he took a seat at the top step. Getting a chill from the slight breeze blowing his way, he zipped up his hoodie and crossed his arms against his chest. Once again, he thought about his Vegas girl. He had not forgotten the impulse that had brought him back home. She didn't need him. All this time he had torn himself apart searching for her, thinking about her, craving that feeling that she had given him. But it had all been in vain.

The fact of the matter was that she was gone now. Probably off with some guy who didn't deserve her, but would suffice until she moved on to her next victim. Her mind was completely washed clean of him, he was sure. In all likelihood, she didn't even remember his name or what he looked like. But, he guessed it just didn't matter anymore. She had moved on and it was time for him to as well.