The porcelain teacup was stained with trails of the soaked, filtered paper filled with dark green leaves.
She gently placed her plump lower lip against the rim and languidly sipped the bitter blackish hot liquid. The swift arousal from the heavy-scented white fog that entered my lungs shook me. After I devoured the nicotine, I released the few remaining smokes that my veins could not take to my nose.
Her sweet vanilla scent drifted around the small space of the café and intruded my nostrils. I forced down a howl. The toffee skin I wore began to itch for her body. The lust-filled scent she exuded was already enough to set me on edge.
Honestly, I had no problems with taking her to the nearest bathroom and throw her into a raw, hard, and flesh-pounding hell. With her, though, there would be a lot as she was already married. I had not seen any of their faces—her husband’s family—after I stormed out from the riot they caused. I could still hear my stepmother’s moans and calls and feel my father’s sick punches to my face.
But worst of all was the lavender reaction the woman before me expelled. I had told me I did not stick with anyone, but she still insisted. It was not my fault anymore. The searing pain of the flames truly loved to burn me as she got her revenge through a marriage. With my brother, yes.
She fiddled with her silky, cream-touched hands and bit her pale, pink lower lip. She met my eyes and the shallowness I felt trembled me. If I would have the opportunity, I would painfully kill this woman.
“How are you?” A xylophonic timbre coiled around the strings of a wooden violin asked.
Even the few heads of the customers turned to me—some openly stared with annoyance and others just plain curiosity. I was back in my hometown after three years of running and I had not done then what I was doing now. I had bitter tears spiraling down to my cheeks from my stomach spasms.
I did not stop. I continued until I felt, once again, all the pain of what happened three years ago, the anger of what occurred after, the sorrow of between, and the death of someone I used to know.
I did not know if it was good that I heard what my laugh sounded, but what I did know was how blissful it was that I felt empty inside.
WORD COUNT: 419
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