Nicole placed the scarf on the couch when she entered the apartment. It was smoldering red, the kind that makes your heart beat just a little bit faster. She had to admit, it was nice scarf. She took her boots off, placed her purse near the door. She peeled her jacket off her warm skin, and walked over to the sink of the “kitchen.” Her eyes never left the red gift draped on her couch. She had seen him walking down the street, but she hadn’t noticed him walk in. She heard the bell, but it didn’t register that anything of interest had happened. He asked for a coffee—it was he. She remembered him from the bar, she also remembered him ignoring her completely.
“Want a scarf?” his voice was gruff, but somehow wrapped up in velvet at the same time.
He caught her off guard, but he didn’t see that.
“Thanks,” conjuring up just enough boredom in my voice to hide the surprise that I felt. It wasn’t until he was out of the shop with his back safely to me that I chanced a small smile. I scooped up the scarf and walked to the back. It was soft as much as it was red. Scarf in hand, she sat on the metal chair facing the mirror.
She looked at herself in the mirror with the scarf cradled in her arms. She’d gone out the other night because she couldn’t stand the steady hum of things left undone. Watching the red cover her hands in the reflection, she reflected on the useless night that had been her attempt at an escape; she only made things worse. The steady thud of the bass in the club had only exasperated her thoughts. She watched everyone, taking her time to make sure that she got each and everyone of them. Each had their own agenda to attend to, not one of them was paying her any mind. They saw her and they moved on, one more memory in that vast expanse of things forgotten.
The other day she almost had it, she’d been so close. Just as soon as the solution had come to her it had gone, on the floor with the rest of the wine that she had spilled in her brief realization. She had fallen to her knees and cried. Hands on the floor, in the pool of things she would never understand. She knew what she wanted to do, but somehow she knew that that wasn’t the answer. She hated this. She looked into her eyes, searching, in vain. Giving up, she lay her head in her arms, forehead in the pool of the simple scarf.
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, she tried to hold them back—she couldn’t. Lost tears fell from her eyes and stained the scarf under her. As soon as she these insults on the clean fabric, she stopped.
She fixed herself before she raised her head to look at herself in the mirror. Again? No more crying, this is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. Take a step back, what have you missed?
She didn't know much now, but she knew that she shouldn't be sitting here. She got up with the intent to see a "friend."
She made her way to apartment 212--Molina.
“Want a scarf?” his voice was gruff, but somehow wrapped up in velvet at the same time.
He caught her off guard, but he didn’t see that.
“Thanks,” conjuring up just enough boredom in my voice to hide the surprise that I felt. It wasn’t until he was out of the shop with his back safely to me that I chanced a small smile. I scooped up the scarf and walked to the back. It was soft as much as it was red. Scarf in hand, she sat on the metal chair facing the mirror.
She looked at herself in the mirror with the scarf cradled in her arms. She’d gone out the other night because she couldn’t stand the steady hum of things left undone. Watching the red cover her hands in the reflection, she reflected on the useless night that had been her attempt at an escape; she only made things worse. The steady thud of the bass in the club had only exasperated her thoughts. She watched everyone, taking her time to make sure that she got each and everyone of them. Each had their own agenda to attend to, not one of them was paying her any mind. They saw her and they moved on, one more memory in that vast expanse of things forgotten.
The other day she almost had it, she’d been so close. Just as soon as the solution had come to her it had gone, on the floor with the rest of the wine that she had spilled in her brief realization. She had fallen to her knees and cried. Hands on the floor, in the pool of things she would never understand. She knew what she wanted to do, but somehow she knew that that wasn’t the answer. She hated this. She looked into her eyes, searching, in vain. Giving up, she lay her head in her arms, forehead in the pool of the simple scarf.
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, she tried to hold them back—she couldn’t. Lost tears fell from her eyes and stained the scarf under her. As soon as she these insults on the clean fabric, she stopped.
She fixed herself before she raised her head to look at herself in the mirror. Again? No more crying, this is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. Take a step back, what have you missed?
She didn't know much now, but she knew that she shouldn't be sitting here. She got up with the intent to see a "friend."
She made her way to apartment 212--Molina.
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