The cupids.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

The 9th fling | 3

She was thrilled to see him, though he did not see her. She quickly turned around and started the first step. Then drew the second. The third step was a sketch of clumsy rush. She sped a little. Slow again. She believed she wanted to say something, or was it a shout? Was it, ‘wait?’ or ‘Greg!’ or ‘dear!’? She was confused, but excited, so she sprinted.
When she reached home, Greg wore nothing but a piece of white clean towel, wrapped neatly around him. Alice stood there, her face eager, but she didn’t make a sound. Could it be that she was astonished by the irresistible tanned body of his or simply because she missed him so deeply, thus did not have any idea where or how to begin?

Greg’s brown eyes pierced through Alice’s and the only thing that was gradually changing was the lines on Alice’s face. They grew weaker. “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing Greg emotionless. Greg shrugged his shoulders and said, “I need a bath.” “I know something is wrong,” Alice insisted on talking, “do you want to talk about it?” By the time she finished her part, Greg was already in the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
Later that night both of them settled in the living room. The tele was on, but inaudible. Greg was flipping through Men’s Health, humming in accordance to the music on the radio, while Alice stealing glances at him and sighing, knowing that he would never talk to her. She leaned against the sofa, sluggishly, trying to make sense. She knew she did not do anything wrong, but there was something missing; and it would be a whole lot worse if she remained silent. So she spoke again, “Greg, tell me what happened. Had I done anything bad to you?” The air still. “Greg?”
Greg finally answered, “ah, yes. You did nothing.”
“Wait. What? I don’t get it.”
Greg sighed. No sign of enthusiasm.
“Then? Why are you not talking to me?” Alice retorted.
“I don’t love you anymore.”

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