She looked around the vacant house. The new, extravagant house was barely furnished. Its insides were hollow. It was built entirely in stone with high end Italian porcelain and Velux windows. Its state mirrored the country it in which it presided, a holiday home built in the good times, the Celtic Tiger, when sunsets never came and the horizons were always in reach. Alone, she sat, as if she was contemplating the past, present, and future. This luxurious house was a privilege, and now she tried ardently to squash the lurking traces of doubt that questioned whether it had since become a burden.
Her eyes hardly left her watch, only breaking the locked stare in running intervals to vacillate from glances out the window to notification checks in her phone. The music that filled her senses from the Bose headphones she wore drowned out the noise outside. The gusty howling of wind sounded too much like a car was pulling up. This tormenting tease mocked her viciously. She’d only arrived at the house a few hours ago, just in the nick of time to catch the look of disdain from her father. She was a dirty stop-out. Now, dressed and pressed in fresh makeup and clothes, she waited impatiently to again take flight, a flight on a plane that was never going to come.
“Just walk in whenever you’re here. I’m in back. Dad went to Killarney,” was the text that had been sent over two hours ago. As the clock rounded the next hour, she resigned to her bedroom away from bedroom determined to sleep away the present and pause her disappointments. If only there were a way to lie down in beds without messing up perfect hair, she might have actually attempted to follow through with such threats. Instead she resorted to vacuuming. This would help conciliate the currently strained familial ties with Daddy.
How could she have been such an eager fool? She cursed the decision to have him drop her home. She never should’ve let him out of her sight. Why did she need to be so high maintenance that she had to go back to freshen up? This wouldn’t be the first time he’d stood her up. She knew exactly what he was capable of, and she knew better than to possess such unmerited hopes like him actually following through with his word. They’d spent the past twenty-four hours together. He’d dropped her home to prim and check-in with her father, and in the car ride home, he’d realized he was over it. She wasn’t worth the 17 miles between them. He’d called in to a friend or two, and was too busy having fun catching up with them to be bothered with coming to collect her.
This was it. This would be the last straw. It had to be. She had no excuses left for him. She’d sworn him off a thousand times before, but this was it. She broke three cardinal rules against her doctrine every time she breathed his name. No, this would break the camel’s back, and shotgun in hand, she was going out to finally put the wretched beast to rest. Goodbye, my third love, I must let you go. And then there was a knock at the door.
The Pillows Smell Like Dust by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.