Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Then, he steps right over me and makes his way down the aisle. That fucker. He’s gone to rub one out.
But to my horror, about a minute later Cindy gets up too, her nipples clearly aroused as she tucks her shiny blonde hair behind her ears.
“I’ve got to stretch my legs,” she says in an innocent tone. “Excuse me.”
But Cindy doesn’t try to climb over me, Carol, and Danny. Instead, she goes out the other way which is good because I probably would have tripped the bitch on her way by. Holy fuck. Is this really happening?
But after ten minutes have passed, neither Carl nor Cindy have returned to their seats. Am I really going to have to go out and look for them? I twist in my chair to tell Carol my plan, when suddenly a movement near the back of the theater catches my eye.
I have to clamp my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming out loud because Carl isn’t in the bathroom, and neither is that slut Cindy! Instead, the two of them snuck to the back of the darkened theater and are now sitting in the back row. Or more accurately, Carl’s sitting as Cindy rides him like a bucking bronco. To my horror, it seems that the pretty blonde is completely nude, her golden hair spilling down her back as she grips my boyfriend’s shoulders with ecstasy. Her head falls back and I see Carl’s eyes squeezing shut, his face taking on a look of concentration. Even in the dark I can tell he’s furiously pumping his hips, fucking her as his mouth goes to her neck in an open-mouthed kiss.
Then Cindy throws her head back, her lips parting for a wail, but Carl quickly slaps a hand over her mouth. It’s too late though. A long, reedy, “Oooohhhhh!” permeates the theater, and you’d have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to notice. What the hell is wrong with them? Did they really think I wouldn’t see this; that everyone in here wouldn’t see? Well, fuck them. Taking a deep breath, I get up and pull my jacket on. Then, like a dignified Egyptian queen, I step over my friends and walk up the aisle, pretending not to see Carl and Cindy. Not that they’d notice. From the corner of my eye, I can tell that Cindy really is completely nude, her big breasts bouncing and jouncing as Carl gives it to her especially hard. Then, they both shudder violently, surely reaching orgasm.
Fuck that. I keep my head up high and stalk out, even if my eyes are filling with tears. My breathing is labored, but I make it all the way to my car before bursting into ugly, brutal sobs. What the hell? How could that have happened? Have they no shame?
But logic gets the best of me, and I reach into my purse, digging out my phone. Then pulling up Carl’s name, I fire off a quick text message.
“We’re over.”
As soon as I hit send, I drop my phone into the cup holder and lose the thin hold on my emotions. I let out another ugly half-wail, half-moan before dropping my head to my steering wheel as another sob claws its way from my throat. I cry until my throat feels raw and my eyes run dry. Then, I wipe my face and drive myself home, still hiccuping the entire way. Evidently, I went to see a horror movie, and instead I got a real-life horror show with my ex-boyfriend as the monster who broke my heart.
2
Jemima
* * *
It took every ounce of strength I have not to call out from work this morning, but I refuse to let Carl and Cindy win if they see that I took a day off. So here I am at the reception desk in the main lobby of the Wilshire. It’s gorgeous actually because the Wilshires spared no dime when it came to their hotel. There are quartz countertops, crystal chandeliers, and white leather sofas in the reception area. Even the guests that have come in this morning have been elegant and charming, with their expensive clothes and refined manners. Meanwhile, I’m wearing a ton of concealer to hide the puffy dark circles from a long night of crying into my pillow.
But a job is a job. Forcing a fake smile, I help the Wilshire’s guests check in and get their luggage order. A few women have smiled gently, as if they can see through my overly chirpy, forced happy attitude. After all, it’s pretty clear this is the fake-cheerful-employee charade.
But it’s incredible that I’ve already been at work for a few hours, since seven this morning in fact. It feels interminable, but I soldier forward with the plastic smile on my face. After all, if I’m being objective, I have to acknowledge that this really is a good job. The Wilshire Hotel is a great place to work, and the owners take care of us, their employees. The hotel is always busy, but we get plenty of breaks, and there are a lot of perks like free breakfast and plenty of vacation days. I’m just a little heart broken and crabby this morning, so I’m mentally stressed, even if no one around me knows it.