She woke up moaning quietly. The scars from yesterday still burned on her skin, the red marks that ran on her body sting and made her make a face as she climbed out of her bed. A quick look to the mirror. She was still naked. The memories from last night made her smile, close her eyes and let her fingers run through her coffee brown hair, flash a dashing smile to her reflection before she tiptoed to the kitchen.
Empty.
All empty.
She was alone.
She didn’t want to admit that it was a light sting of disappointment in her chest that hurt. No. It was just because of the bruises. Bruises hurt. Feelings didn’t.
The tea was still hot when she poured it down to the flowery tea cup, a couple of drops sliding down the side of the cup and staining the white tablecloth – she was too tired to care. The tea. It was Lady Gray. She let out an amused snort. Of course. The freshly baked cinnamon buns she had smelled even before she had set a foot in the kitchen. They were still warm too. It couldn’t have been long ago since the other one had left. And she massaged her temples and tried to assure herself that the little pain in her chest didn’t have anything to do with disappointment. She was used to lying to herself. But this was different. It was difficult.
After the fourth cup of tea and the fifth cinnamon bun she was crying.
Yet admitting nothing.
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti