II
852 Words
It was evening, the day had passed in a flash, even though it had risked a lot this time. Luckily, his friend Bruno was saving his a*s. He was too distracted thinking about her, so much he was about to get himself killed.
He couldn't make these mistakes.
He drank another glass of cheap wine. It tasted like a cap, but it was useful to the cause. Deep down, he never drank for the taste.
He thought of his breath that morning, his heart accelerated to see her smile at him.
He grabbed the neck of the bottle again and thought that life had been gripped in a choking bite, making him dirty and bluished his skin once again.
Lie down on the ground asked God who would stand by his side.
He was expecting him the usual night, a continuous déjà vu in his life, a pain he knew but he never made him cry anymore.
One day, one day had lasted a year. The sky was cloudy and the streets full of mud, the priest almost intimidated a sermon he wouldn't see. He ran away.
He couldn't handle that stage, so he preferred loneliness. He remembered the stinging cold that pinched his cheeks and freezing his heart. Inside he had started building his own safe house.
He had no words, no more for himself and no more for others.
His little Rose died in his powerless arms. She wasn't there with him anymore. All he had left was a trivial memory of a brother too busy to spend time together.
So why would he pray to a God now? What life did he give him? A life had taken it and left injuries that couldn't close.
He took his family, all of it.
Maybe it was the lack of someone to turn to who had brought him to have all that ego. He grew up alone.
She was wondering if little Rose saw him, she knew she wasn't like she wanted him, but life kicked him, and then you can only decide whether to strengthen yourself or let you weaken. And now he cried like a kid, but he fought like a warrior.
He still drank. More.
He closed his eyes and in front of him he imagined this morning's smile, red lips like cherries and pink cheeks like peach flowers, today he had managed to live a little more. It was on Friday, he couldn't feel it, maybe because he was lighting up by his light, maybe because the memory of her sewing up shreds of her soul.
But for every happy memory, there was one ready to knock it down. Like nights waiting in front of those soup dishes that got colder and colder. Then he finally stopped waiting. He only had one to ask. Parents' explanation about their abandonment. Why didn't they show up all the time?
Not even a goodbye.
He ran out of bottle.
>
She recognized Agnés's voice, raised her head and saw her as malicious as ever.
She was beautiful, beautiful and s****l, the perfect muse of a cursed poet, the woman everyone would like to have tried at least once.
Her eyes betrayed her dreams, so that he knew what she expected from him. He wouldn't let you down.
She stood up to the ruined wooden counter and came so close to her back. He looked at her face and saw nothing but desire. He chinessed her hips and kissed her with transportation, unworthy, for a public place.
>
He let her drag her up the stairs that crawled at every step of their way into the usual room.
She pushed him to the bed to put him in and he enjoyed the scene of her slowly stripping.
For Agnés it was exciting to die to have those green eyes on her looking at her with desire and impatience, she would strip so sexually just to get that craving look on her self more and more.
...
The blond let himself go by his side, the girl smiled happy. Both were satisfied.
Agnés got up to get the dirt off her and Adrien watched her walk n***d through the room.
> He looked at her with a look that left very little to the imagination and a smart smile that was returned,
> He went back to his bed and laid his head in his chest.
> Churches by carrying his arm around the girl's back.
> Honest smile.
>
> Said tenderly enjoyed.
> He smiled funny and posed it on top, ready to start again.
- Writer
