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[ It was a handsome, rich man, closing a string of pearls around her neck, his hands lingering for too long, lowering themselves too low. No one saw the blow coming, not until it was too late, the man on the floor, the young boy making a ruin of his face.

She was too mortified to find out if he survived, her white dress stained with his blood when she knelt down to his side. After that everything became a blur - she only knew that the man was taken away, and that for once her voice became raw with screams that had nothing to do with their bed.

I won't forgive this, she had cried out, and from then she had refused to see him. Her tears she kept for herself, miserable and bitter and the only company in her now too big bed, a little more of his scent vanishing with each passing day.

It's been two weeks now - and she's lonely.

She stands under the hot shower a little too long, barely bothering to take the excess from her curls before stepping out, moving back to the bedroom naked and dripping. She's lonely, and no matter how much she tries, no shower or bath will warm her.

To see him there feels much like a punch to her chest, and she shudders. ]


... Please leave. I have nothing else to say to you still.

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Oruha

February 2017

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