The last day
The day happens as it always happens. The clock beeps. Six am on the red LCD display. I am naked atop red satin sheets, half-asleep, wishing I could stay in bed. Surveying the room, remnants of last night’s festivities were apparent. There was an empty champagne bottle on the dresser with two empty glasses. The black and white embroidered bra from La Perla was strewn carelessly on the carpet He was gone. Dragging myself out of bed and into the shower, I wondered if he would ever call again. We had been having an affair for quite some time now. At first, it was just a fling. Michael was a managing director from an overseas branch of the bank I worked at. There was something foppish about him, the way his black, wavy hair framed his cheeks. His sharp blue azure eyes with its penetrating gaze. He was never a rough and tumble man. Always smart in his tailored Italian suits, he would wear discreet cufflinks with his initials on it. M.A. Michael Amara.
“This is the last time.” He said last night. His face was pained, suppressing an urgency of some sort. “No more phone calls.” He whispered. As I brushed my teeth, I pondered about the finality of the statement. Was it really true? We both knew that it would end someday, but like addicts, we needed just one more fix. Dressing in a fiery red pantsuit, I grabbed a pill bottle next to the bedroom cabinet. It must his headache pills. I took one and headed downstairs. A little woozy and somewhat dizzy, I downed my orange juice. No more champagne cocktails, I promised myself.
It was a frosty morning outside. A veneer of snow spread like icing on the windshield of my car. Lethargically, I took a cloth from the glove compartment and wiped off the snow. I feel so tired, as if a cloud was forming over me. I must to go to work. It will take more than half an hour with the winter traffic. As I am driving, a feeling of heaviness grows. I can’t move my legs. The brakes! Please stop the brakes! My mind is panicking but my body is inert. The car is rolling down a hill. I see a truck towards me. We crash. At first blackness, then light as I float up from the wreckage.
Looking upon the scene, I see Michael standing by the crosswalk. Then I realized what had happened. I was poisoned. Controlled by his wife’s immense fortune, Michael had too much to lose. For an addict like him, cold turkey was the only solution.
