欧美专区小说区

Those were two important people she had been waiting to call, and when they finally did, they just suddenly ended the call, not even saying goodbye.

She took the glass of wine on her table and placed it back on her lips, drinking the remaining liquid until there was nothing left. Then, she leaned her body on the couch, holding the empty glass in one hand and the phone in the other.

After the phone remained silent, she threw it to the side of the couch, rendering it useless. She thought they were never going to call.

“Who needs them?” She uttered in her slurry words, pulling herself up into a sitting position and grabbing the bottle of wine to pour it into her glass.

But, on second thought, she decided to grab the bottle instead, leaving the empty glass on the table. Who needs etiquette when she drowned in her misery?

She chugged the wine, letting the small mouth of the bottle touch her lips. Then, she drank from it, filling her mouth until she could hardly swallow it.

.....

“Well, they could both rot in hell.” She shouted in the room, hoping they could hear her. Then, she repeated it, seeing the phone not far from her, screaming it to the top of her lungs.

After releasing the pressure building inside her, she raised the bottle again to her mouth and drank a mouthful, hoping that it would finally drown her, away from her thoughts.

But it only fueled what was already circulating in her mind.

His face floated in the forefront of her mind. His voice echoed in her ears like a broken record. He left her without fighting for her, without making her feel that she was at least important to him.

She never wanted to put him on the spot, but she wanted to hear some hope that this relationship or whatever the two of them were doing would at least lead to something.

But he left her without any assurance that he was coming back. Then, he called, remembering that moment clearly in her mind.

How happy she was that he called?

She thought that he realized that he could not live without her. He came back to grovel at her feet, begging her to take him back again. But he only called for a second, listened to her, and probably slammed the phone on the wall upon hearing her voice.

She could recall that she had never heard his voice, only that crashing sound. It was so loud that she had to remove the phone far away from her ears. Then, the line went dead.

“Am I that unlovable?” She raised her eyes to the ceiling, expecting someone to answer her. But silence enveloped her. She was alone.

She took another mouthful, knowing too well that she was drunk. Or was she? She guessed she was, but then again. She was not.

She stood up from her seat, only to learn that she could hardly balance herself. She had no choice. She fell back on the soft cushion. Then, her hands landed on her phone. The one that she had already thrown away.

With new courage coming from her intoxicated state, she took it and dialed his number. She would let him know what she thought of a man like him. He was a coward, a spineless coward.

“Answer your goddamn phone.” She hissed at the receiver, waiting for the call to connect, but it did not.

The operator told her that he was unavailable.

Of course, he was not available for her, remembering that he had smashed his phone. She was an unnecessary nuisance in his life. He would not want anything to do with a woman like her.

She was damaged goods as his father, the great Count Wellington, thought of her. She was nowhere near a good candidate for his son, a noble prince of their lovely country, while she was a lowly reporter who had a terrible record with men.

“He was probably right.” She whispered to herself, convincing herself that she should be glad that it was over between them. If she loved him, she should set him free.

His father was right. She could not offer a man like him anything that would benefit him. At least she was saving him from the scandals associated with her name.

If the press researched through her past, they would dig enough about her life. They would find several skeletons in her closets and a few dirty laundries in her laundry basket.

“Eida, are you in here?” A familiar voice drifted in the air. Was she hallucinating or dreaming? But she was still drinking, so she could not be sleeping.

She held the bottle into her mouth and drank from it again, hoping to extinguish the voice. She did not want to deal with her either. The guilt was just too much.

“Eida, what are you doing?” The voice asked again. Then an image appeared in front of her.

She squinted her eyes to look at her, but it was a blur. Her eyes seemed to be impaired by a white mist roaming around her. How could a cloud enter her apartment when the windows were closed?

She ignored her illusion, not wanting to give it another thought. She was about to drink again in the bottle, but the unwanted delusion snatched it away from her hands.

“Give my bottle to me. If you want to drink, get your own.” She snapped to the image standing in front of her.

“Eida, you need to sober up.” The voice calmly spoke to her. Then, she knelt before her, right between her spread knees as she sprawled on the cushions.

She knew her voice, but she refused to acknowledge her. It would seem she was not an illusion, but she was here inside her apartment with her.

Suddenly, she closed her eyes, not wanting to look her in the face. She was still ashamed after what happened. The last thing she wanted was to hurt her.

She thought it would be easy to face her if she was not alone, but now, she was here. She had no idea what to say. Sorry seemed to be not enough.

What more could she do to earn her forgiveness?

But was there anything else she could do? Because, at this point, she believed betraying her friend’s trust was unforgivable. All she could do was hide from her and never show her face again.

“Eida, I am not mad at you.” She continued, sitting beside her on the couch, facing her. “I understand now what happened.” She could feel her hands as they gently stroked her hair.

“You don’t know what you are saying, Amelia.” Slurring her words as her hands moved to touch her friend’s face. She needed proof that she was not a figment of her imagination, but her hands would not steady, or was it her eyes as she kept missing her target.

Still, she could not fathom whether this was just a sweet dream or a terrible nightmare, just waiting to happen.