Sunday, June 26, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
LOVE LETTER (5)
Where the devil is she?
It's almost 2.00 in the morning and she's not home yet!
Clayton muttered to himself as he got up to fill another glass of whisky -
his fourth one for the night.
He looked at the clock above the mantel and peered out the window
several times in the last hour looking for signs of her return.
There was absolute silence in the streets below.
His impatience, irritation and annoyance grew by the moment.
What game is she playing, this impetuous woman.
To be out with that... that .. imbecile Nicki - with his flashy sportscar
and ugly face! Hah!
Clayton took another deep gulp of the golden liquid hastily;
the burning sensation seared not only his throat but his brains as well.
It was just the sedative he needed to calm his wayward thoughts.
He was sure the man was up to no good but she wouldn't listen.
She'll regret it. Let her burn herself if she wants to play with fire.
They deserved each other!
No, she will not get any sympathy from me, this impossible, stubborn woman.
Clayton declared pompously. He chuckled wickedly at the thought of her grovelling.
But ... why must she look so deliciously desirable....?
It was as if she had deliberately put on that dress to provoke and tease him.
Oh, how he hates her .... and wants her at the same time.
But now she is out dancing with Nicki - that no good sweet talking braggart
Italian playboy!
Clayton's deranged mind went on overdrive and the more he thinks about
them together, the more his blood boils.
If he so much as touch her, I swear I'll kill him Let him try!
Even in his wretched drunken stupor, he could think of nothing else but her
bewitching eyes and seductive smile.
She drives him crazy with desire.
But why should he care?
She means nothing to him.
In just a few more days she will be gone and ... out of his life. Thank God!"
The tormented man consoled himself.
He slumped onto the sofa by the fire-place, exhausted
His head throbbing mercilessly, adding to his trouble.
Clayton looked at his watch again. Another hour had gone by.
I will lock the door and go to bed. And even if she comes home,
I will not let her in. Let her freeze to death!
He resolved.
But what if she then follows that Italian playboy home?
There's a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was going mad.
His knuckles clenched and turned white as it curled round the whisky glass.
He squeezed harder and the pressure caused it to break and at once
shards of glass bit painfully into his skin; blood dripping heedlessly on to
the parquet flooring.
Damn him ... damn her ... damn them both ...
He cursed under his breath.
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