Saturday, February 24, 2007

dramatica

She felt that stabbing pain again. She almost wished that her heart would stop beating.

She wanted to drown her sorrows, but in what? She opened the door of her refrigerator. In the half-empty bottle of Arbor Mist?

Her phone rang. She let the machine pick up. Her best friend was leaving a message. "Hey girl! It's me, I have some serious urge to scope out the hotties tonight. Call me!"

The person she really wanted to call was him. You know, just have a chat, like normal, you know? But things were a little less normal now. He was probably with her. She let her mind settle on him, though she knew that she should not. She knew where he was--he was prancing around with that little slut.

She stopped herself. No, that would be wrong to say. Neither of them are sluts. They were both basically good people. That did not stop her, however, from having a small desire to put arsenic in their kool-aid.

Yeah, she was a little bitter, but didn't she deserve to be? This was completely unfair. They were once so close and she was once so sure that something beautiful would blossom out of their friendship.

Something that involved a diamond ring and forever. Something that involved soft, slow love making at the close of the day. Something that involved them together.

And now that was not an option.

It's not like it was completely one-sided. He totally led her on. They would always flirt back and forth and sometimes, the sexual tension was unbearable. She probably would have been happy for them if it weren't for those penetrating eyes of his that seemed to gaze deep into her soul every time he looked at her.

She knew that she should be a friend to him and also to his new slut girlfriend, but she just wasn't ready for that.

She looked up to her ceiling from where she sat on her plush, cream colored sofa. "I thought we had this all worked out, God! I know that I should believe that You have something better out there for me, but I don't want something better than him. There is nothing better than him!"

She heard only silence in response. She huffed and stood up abruptly, knocking her bible to the ground. She regarded it for a moment and considered opening its burgundy leather cover to the black and white and red that it contained.

She knew she should; she knew that the right answers were in that book.

She didn't open it. She left it there, on the floor.

She got dressed. She took off her lounging clothes and put on a tight-fitting pair of jeans, a black halter that showed off her exquisite back as well as her exquisite breasts.

She called her best girlfriend and made plans to meet at the club. The right answers may not be on the dance floor or in the cosmopolitan that she was sure to order, but it would appease her for just tonight.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Your fiction isn't as good as your flower pics :)

Tiffany said...

yeah, i know

Anonymous said...

That's only because your flower picks are super duper.

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