Positive. Positive. Positive. All three sticks were
positive. Her hand immediately reached for her phone to text him, but she
stopped it. No, this will have to wait. She washed her piss-covered hands and
headed back to her table.
Last month, her mind had been swimming in happiness
and alcohol. Her John, her dearest adorable John, was painting a perfect
picture of the future. “Let’s get a house in the suburbs. We will have a studio
where I can concentrate on drawing. We’ll have a garden for our kids to play
in. I’ll be a perfect house husband. I can drop the kids to the school, draw
while they’re away, pick them up in the afternoon. Maybe all that will inspire
me to finally crap out a great graphic novel….” His face returned to the usual
taciturnity, but his eyes were still lost far beyond the horizon. “Come on,
John, I’ve just got a raise, not a promotion; not yet. Besides,” she climbed on
him intoxicated by his lips, “if we need to have babies, what are we doing here
on the beach?”
She called for another Americano. She decided she did
not want monosyllabic responses again. No, not today. Both
in graphic novels and in real life, John communicated more with facial
expressions. Today, she especially wanted to communicate with him.
The tiny bell attached to the door chimed, and her
eyes met John’s: they betrayed irritation, but only the mild kind of irritation
one has on minor interruption of routine. She retaliated with a smile. He
kissed her and sat across her.
“So, what’s the urgent news?”
She wondered if her decision would significantly alter
that expression.
It left me gasping for more, more, more! Tantalising stuff !
ReplyDeletethank you @turboprof! I'll try to post one each week.
ReplyDeleteExcellent beginning, and in a special day ;)
ReplyDelete