Cruel Poetry by Vicki Hendricks

Author:Vicki Hendricks [Hendricks, Vicki]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Top Suspense
Published: 2014-01-07T00:00:00+00:00

Jules opens her eyes to sunlight. She closes them. Too bright. She reaches for the curtain to pull it closed without looking. Fog is starting to clear from her brain and she recognizes the hangover, headache and a nauseous stomach. She remembers Richard. She props her hand under her head and looks across at the table. Not there. Thank god. He must have gotten up and left. She feels sorry for him and hopes he made it home alive.

Then she remembers Renata. Confusion and fear wash over her. Did they make love? What counts as making love to a woman? She remembers touching Rennie’s breasts--and her lips and tongue. Warmth comes over her, becomes nauseating heat. Her head is too heavy to lift, but she reaches under the sheet and finds herself naked.

She hears movement on the floor and glances to the side. Richard is sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“Jesus! What are you doing here?”

“I’m not Jesus, but I must have been crucified. Do you have a gun?” Using the table leg for support, he climbs to his feet. “I’d really feel a lot better if you would shoot me.”

“Christ! Why are you on my floor?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not Christ either.” He rubs his hand down his face. “I don’t have enough sense of humor to keep this going.”

Jules is clutching the sheet up to her neck since she has no clothing nearby. “Can you just leave so I can go back to sleep. I can’t hold my head up much longer.”

“I’m thinking this is Friday, right?”

Jules thinks. “Yeah. Pretty sure.”

He sits down hard on a chair and looks at the clock. “After ten! Jesus, I missed my comp class.”

“I would forgive you,” Jules says, her voice hoarse, “but I’m not Jesus either.” She starts to laugh, but it hurts.

Richard gives no sign of hearing her. “Can I use your phone?”

She points to it on the dresser. “Local calls only. Make it fast. First, though, I need to get my clothes and go to the bathroom.”

He turns his back to Jules and motions for her to go ahead.

She doubts he’d bother to look anyway. His eyes are trained on Renata, past, present, and future. Jules gets up and drags the sheet, covering herself, picking up her shorts and shirt on the way. She passes a section of newspaper on the sink with pieces of broken glass on it. Moments return to her memory. She looks at her heel. Ugh. She shuts the bathroom door and groans at herself in the mirror.

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