Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
The whole night he has avoided kissing me and I thought it was because he didn’t want to, but this kiss is hot and full of a kind of wild desperation. Like a condemned man who decides to gamble his life on a game of Russian roulette.
His tongue invades my mouth and I suck on it.
He pulls away from me and we stare at each other. His eyes are blazing and his jaw is clenched so tight I feel a spark of fear. Before I can ask him what is wrong, he turns away and walks out of the shower cubicle.
Wrapped in his bathrobe I venture cautiously into the bedroom. He is not there, but he has brought my clothes up and laid them on a throne-like red velvet armchair. I dress quickly. He has also put a hairdryer out and I use it. I pick his hairbrush and run it through my hair. It feels strange. I have never used anyone else’s brush in my hair before. Probably because I’ve never been allowed to stay at a friend’s for a sleepover, or pajama party.
Stepping in my shoes I go downstairs. He is in the living room, holding a glass of something amber.
‘Thanks for bringing my clothes up,’ I say shyly.
He lifts the glass in my direction in acknowledgment of my words.
‘I guess I should be going.’
‘I’ve called someone to take you back,’ he says quietly.
‘No, that won’t be necessary. I really should call a taxi.’
‘You’re either leaving with my guy or you’re not leaving at all. Take your pick.’ His voice is hard and unyielding.
‘Look, if I happen to meet someone I know, it is better if I am in a taxi. I don’t want to get anybody in trouble.’
‘Don’t worry. Sam will be driving a taxi.’
‘Oh, is he a taxi driver?’
‘No.’
‘Right.’
‘Do you want a drink?’
I shake my head. ‘I want to keep my wits about me.’
He nods. ‘Good idea.’
‘I’ve had a … really good time. Thank you.’
He drains his glass and pours himself another. He downs that one too and stares at me as he does it.
‘What time is Sam coming?’ I ask, fidgeting nervously.
‘Soon.’
‘Okay. I’ll have a glass with you.’
Silently he pours us both a drink and brings mine to me.
‘We should drink to something.’
He raises a cynical eyebrow.
I raise my glass. ‘Here’s to happy lives for both of us.’
‘Happy lives,’ he echoes, an odd edge to his voice.
We knock it back. He turns away from me and walks towards the bottle.
‘What will you do today?’ I ask into the awkward silence. He is so distant, so cold, it is impossible to imagine that it is the same man who licked ice cream off my body while I giggled like a schoolgirl. Or the man who came into the shower and kissed me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever had.
He shrugs. ‘Sleep. You?’
Talk about short answers. I can play the same game. I grimace. ‘Boring stuff.’
His phone vibrates and he goes rock still. Something happens inside my body when I watch him pick it up and put it to his ear.
‘Yeah, she’ll be out now,’ he says.
I want to touch him. I want to kiss him. I want our goodbye to be different. I feel … oh, God … I can’t …
I don’t want to leave him.
Nine
Noah Abramovich
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqpAgMxhx30
Run
Once the taxi has driven off, I close the front door and walk into the living room. The house feels like a fucking tomb. No wonder I never come here. This is a family home. It is meant to be filled with the sound of a woman and children. Not this deathly silence.
I have the urge to smash something. I pick up the glass I left on the coffee table and throw it blindly. It crashes into the wall and smashes with a resounding noise. Then the silence returns. I press the heel of my palm into my forehead. Damn it. Damn it.
This can’t be fucking it.
No fucking way.
I stride to the bottle of cognac and pour myself a large measure. I drink it so fast the liquid burns my throat, but on an empty stomach it is finally starting to dull off the sharp edges. I sit down on the couch and pour myself another. Tasha Evanoff. My limbs feel heavy and dead. I grasp the bottle by the neck and take a long swig.
Ah, fuck it. She’s just a woman.
There is a Chinese saying. People are like a finger in water. Take the finger out and the water closes over seamlessly. Not even the memory remains. No matter how important they seem to be their absence doesn’t count a damn.
I look at the dent in the wall. It is some kind of specialist paint or shit. I’ll have to get that annoying designer back in here. A thought crosses my mind and I go into the kitchen. I stand at the doorway and look at the counter smeared in ice cream. I see her again, spread out on my dark granite completely coated in the oozing sweetness, squirming, laughing, a creamy sticky mess.