craving him, but it’s for the best that I step away.
“You should answer, Sammy. After our conversation last night––”
“I know, I know…please, Jessie. I’m not ready for that step––I don’t trust myself–– Please.” I clasp my hands together in supplication.
She sniggers loudly, and finally shakes her head. Directing her long manicured index finger at me while narrowing her bright green eyes, she mutters pointedly, “You owe me one, Kennedy.”
I blow her a kiss of gratitude, and dart to the edge of the hallway at the right side of the apartment door that leads to my bedroom.
Eavesdropping won’t get you anywhere; my subconscious mocks, flicking through her glossy magazine. I wave my hands dismissively in her direction to shoo her away, and resume listening.
Oh, my. Mr. Wentworth sounds genuinely concerned when he talks about my safety. I have never witnessed anybody be that concerned––that tense over me. Well, apart from Jessie, but that is a different matter.
Jessie peeks over her shoulder toward my direction. I throw her a wide-eyed, hurry-up-glare, and she disappears––stepping into the hall––and closes the door slightly behind her. Great, now I can’t hear a solitary thing––it’s maddening. No matter how hard I strain my ears, how tightly I narrow my eyes, and purse my lips together––regardless of how hard I concentrate, all I can hear is silence.
“What the Hell was all that about?” I jeer when Jessie come back inside and closes the door securely behind her. She gapes at me and shakes her head in profound disapproval. “What?”
“That man––” she stares at me with sombre, big eyes while pointing towards the apartment door. “––was worried sick about you, Sammy. You didn’t see the unease in his eyes when he was talking about you. He looked reassured when I told him you were okay.”
Impervious of her indication I collect our cups from the dining-table and finish what I was in the process of doing before we were disturbed by the unwelcomed visitor, when Jessie halts me and frames my face with her hands. I sigh to myself, fully aware of what is about to come next–– Oh, Jessie, how I love you…but by, God, you go on and on sometimes.
“Sammy…he took the time from his weekend to travel out here, just to make sure that you were okay––you don’t just do that for anybody. I think he is a genuine guy, who doesn’t make a habit of doing what you two did last night. Give him a chance,” she implores.
“I would very much appreciate, if we could have a nice cup of coffee, forget about that incident”––I raise my right hand in a curt gesture–– “and go back to enjoying the movie, and recover what is left of our Saturday.” I make no attempt to suppress the sardonic tone in my voice.
Removing her hands from my face, she drops them to her sides, and curls her mouth in a sad but compliant grin.
I appreciate that Jessie is trying to help, but, I need to do this for me––not for her. I welcome her insistence, but shouldn’t I be the one who needs to display this intensity of enthusiasm?
It’s been five years; five long years that I have maintained my perspective––to ensue no more agony, no emotional suffering––to refuse anyone the chance to discard of me and my emotions. I rest my hands on the edge of the kitchen worktop––bearing my weight through my arms. I tap my fingertips against the cool, white counter and watch the objects shimmer and fade into oblivion. Only my thoughts weave and spiral through my mind.
I exhale loudly as I slowly concede my defeat.
Could I even trust another man in my life? The mere contemplation of the last man I trusted––who I gave myself entirely to––leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and my blood torrid through my arteries. Could I allow myself to become that vulnerable again?
This isn’t something that will happen overnight, Samantha. Stop fretting over it, and bloody enjoy
“You should answer, Sammy. After our conversation last night––”
“I know, I know…please, Jessie. I’m not ready for that step––I don’t trust myself–– Please.” I clasp my hands together in supplication.
She sniggers loudly, and finally shakes her head. Directing her long manicured index finger at me while narrowing her bright green eyes, she mutters pointedly, “You owe me one, Kennedy.”
I blow her a kiss of gratitude, and dart to the edge of the hallway at the right side of the apartment door that leads to my bedroom.
Eavesdropping won’t get you anywhere; my subconscious mocks, flicking through her glossy magazine. I wave my hands dismissively in her direction to shoo her away, and resume listening.
Oh, my. Mr. Wentworth sounds genuinely concerned when he talks about my safety. I have never witnessed anybody be that concerned––that tense over me. Well, apart from Jessie, but that is a different matter.
Jessie peeks over her shoulder toward my direction. I throw her a wide-eyed, hurry-up-glare, and she disappears––stepping into the hall––and closes the door slightly behind her. Great, now I can’t hear a solitary thing––it’s maddening. No matter how hard I strain my ears, how tightly I narrow my eyes, and purse my lips together––regardless of how hard I concentrate, all I can hear is silence.
“What the Hell was all that about?” I jeer when Jessie come back inside and closes the door securely behind her. She gapes at me and shakes her head in profound disapproval. “What?”
“That man––” she stares at me with sombre, big eyes while pointing towards the apartment door. “––was worried sick about you, Sammy. You didn’t see the unease in his eyes when he was talking about you. He looked reassured when I told him you were okay.”
Impervious of her indication I collect our cups from the dining-table and finish what I was in the process of doing before we were disturbed by the unwelcomed visitor, when Jessie halts me and frames my face with her hands. I sigh to myself, fully aware of what is about to come next–– Oh, Jessie, how I love you…but by, God, you go on and on sometimes.
“Sammy…he took the time from his weekend to travel out here, just to make sure that you were okay––you don’t just do that for anybody. I think he is a genuine guy, who doesn’t make a habit of doing what you two did last night. Give him a chance,” she implores.
“I would very much appreciate, if we could have a nice cup of coffee, forget about that incident”––I raise my right hand in a curt gesture–– “and go back to enjoying the movie, and recover what is left of our Saturday.” I make no attempt to suppress the sardonic tone in my voice.
Removing her hands from my face, she drops them to her sides, and curls her mouth in a sad but compliant grin.
I appreciate that Jessie is trying to help, but, I need to do this for me––not for her. I welcome her insistence, but shouldn’t I be the one who needs to display this intensity of enthusiasm?
It’s been five years; five long years that I have maintained my perspective––to ensue no more agony, no emotional suffering––to refuse anyone the chance to discard of me and my emotions. I rest my hands on the edge of the kitchen worktop––bearing my weight through my arms. I tap my fingertips against the cool, white counter and watch the objects shimmer and fade into oblivion. Only my thoughts weave and spiral through my mind.
I exhale loudly as I slowly concede my defeat.
Could I even trust another man in my life? The mere contemplation of the last man I trusted––who I gave myself entirely to––leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and my blood torrid through my arteries. Could I allow myself to become that vulnerable again?
This isn’t something that will happen overnight, Samantha. Stop fretting over it, and bloody enjoy
Similar Books
