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Viewer Discretion: graphic imagery and some sexual content.
Phone.
The phone continues to buzz its staccato rhythm in my ear. My fingers twitch around the filter of an unlit cigarette. The phone rings again, distant, impersonal and lonely.
Sylvia, where are you?
When the image comes to my mind, it is clear and frighteningly real.
In the small apartment bathroom, the shower curtain is drawn and steam billows out around the edges. The curtain hangs still and the sound of the water is strangely constant. I feel the steam condensing on my face as I reach out; my hand unwillingly grasps the edge of the curtain and pulls it back revealing the horror within.
A small, strangled sound escapes my throat.
The water falls, dancing on the brown skin of Sylvia lying in the tub. She is beautiful and horribly broken. She lies almost full length in the tub, leaning on one arm which is bent under her body. Her head is turned to look upwards and her eyes are open, dark and misted over in death. On her forehead is a vicious indentation the size and shape of the bathtub faucet. The blood oozes from it, dark, to mix with the dancing and spattering water to form a small rivulet across her face and running out the drain. One leg is twisted backward at an obscene angle from the force of the fall; a broken and bloodied, jagged stump of femur protrudes from the meat of her upper leg.
She is gone. I’ve lost her.
Sylvia...
I retry the number. The connection is made with a click and the line echoes back the distant ring uselessly.
Sylvia, please pick up.
I feel damp perspiration materialise on my forehead and a single drop meanders down my back causing me to shiver.
The stampeding horse that is jealousy erupts in my mind.
Her bedroom is draped in shadow and on the bed two heaving bodies play out their ritual.
She is atop some faceless man who quivers with pleasure and excitement beneath her narrow body. Her arms are extended in front of her, supporting her weight against his shoulders. Her fingers are pressed deep into his flesh. Her movements are slow and languorous as she grinds her hips against his. In the pale darkness, her small breasts bob gently with the movement of her body and her back glistens with the sweat of passion.
No. Please. Sylvia. We’ve tried so hard.
In my mind the possibilities continue to accumulate when I jump at the electronic squeal that erupts from the phone beside me.
“Yeah!” I exclaim.
“Hi lover,” her voice is a low purr. “I just got out of the shower, and I was thinking about you. So, you gonna get some wine and come over to keep me company? I’ve missed you all day.”
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This story is about how we sometimes torture ourselves by dwelling on useless eventualities which bring nothing but distress. Hope you liked it. Cheers!
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| Blog Comments
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Jealousy is such an ugly monster. It is one emotion I have purposely and dutifully tried to purge from my soul.
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Posted by Pauligan
on 2008-01-22 19:33:01
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Honestly, BDSM! Why Do we all do this to ourselves!
I feel you, Pauligan, I've done a good job of finally slaying the green monster (helps having someone you truly trust)...but the first scenario! I'm still workin' on exercising the worry-wart in me...pretty sure I got it from my grandmother...I'm getting alot better at not letting my overactive imagination paint pictures I really don't want to see though....:)
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Posted by Shannon
on 2008-01-23 00:30:12
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i know that feeling, i do it all the time
wonderfully written as usual xx
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Posted by missmarie
on 2008-01-25 17:25:11
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I know I have let my imagination get the best of me when I worried. Nicely written :)
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Posted by alleen
on 2008-01-29 13:26:49
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| Views: 112
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