He was gone this morning when I came back to the hotel. I thought he might've gone off with some bloke, one of these funny American men who like tools so much they say "screw" when they mean shag. But his bags were gone, even the nice things I bought for him that he hated were missing.

I tried to creep in silent as a mouse, so that he'd sleep and not ask me where I'd been. He never has come right out and questioned me about being faithful. It's not like it's some secret but we don't talk about it. But fuck, he's gone and left and there's a sick heavy feeling in my stomach and I know he's really done.

He made the bed, the sod. The cover is hideous, bilious green, and I can't even see an imprint in the pillow from his head. It's pristine, as though he were never here. The silence is loud, buzzing in my ears, and I have to throw the ugly lamp across the room to hear something, anything. It makes a fine *smash* but then there is silence again. I'm on my feet, jumping with nerves, looking for a fucking hint of where he's gone, but there is nothing.

The shag was good, sexy accent and great ass but it's making me sick remembering it, and I have to run to make it to the bathroom before I purge the night's vodka and orange juice. So fucking healthy, Americans. They've got to have juice with their alcohol. Vitamins, and that.

Fuck, Vince is gone. I must stop thinking that thought, it makes my stomach lurch. Yesterday in the jeep he stared out the window for hours, with a funny look on his face. I thought he looked sad. I did ask but he just told me he was thinking about all sorts and I should just shut it and let him think. I suppose I made fun of him a bit, but I didn't think it was important. Vince has put up with far worse from me.

I think what is bothering me most is the lack of a scene. I always imagined that one day Vince would get tired of me shagging everything that moved. He was supposed to get all masterful and black leather and lay down the law. Makes me hard as a rock, thinking of him like that. He's supposed to hold me down and fuck me into submission, and smile tolerantly when I don't change completely, because he knows he can keep me satisfied. That's how I imagined it, not this.

Not him wandering off in Who the Fuck Knows, America, with no money and no credit cards. Not creeping away silent and invisible while I was distracted. Was it because of the bloke from last night? Or was the wanker planning to leave me? Did he plan this in advance? Just wait until I buggered off to give me the slip?

What was he thinking, that we'd get married and adopt a dozen babies? It's not my fault I'm handsome and blokes are always wanting to shag me. He know what I'm like, he should have stopped me. He's good in bed, he could have just dragged me off and shagged me himself when other men came around. I'd have let him, eventually.

Maybe he'll come back after he's had a good cry, then. He always has before. Maybe I'm better off without him, always looking out the window like a sad clown. Fuck Vince and his straight man's attitude. Let him come back, see if I notice. He'll have to go a long mile to make up for this. He made me sick, actually sick.

I can have anyone I want, I'm rich as fuck and every man jack wants me. Fuck Vince. I wish he'd come back just so I can tell him to piss off again. It's not like I haven't been looking out for him the whole time we've been here. I've paid his way and taken him wherever he wanted to go. Shagged him silly and even let him have me. So he can just piss off.

Fuck off, Vince.

Why aren't you here so I can tell you that?

~