BRYSON’S HOME
Bryson pulled at his shirt, chugging down a glass of wine. He seemed weary as the phone rang persistently, and there wasn’t any response. It eventually went through after the fourth trial. “What the hell, Chantelle? Where are you?” Chantelle muttered something that wasn’t clear to him. “Can you speak up, please?”
“It took me a while to finish what I was doing. I will be home soon, " she replied.
“How can you respond to that so casually when you left home with an unknown man? What the hell do you think you are doing?” he questioned, glaring hard at the dining table.
“I'm sorry, Mr Moore. I'm on my way.” Chantelle sounded tired.
Bryson sucked his teeth and ended the call. His hand gripped the glass a bit too tightly. He had gone out to prepare the cravings he promised her
