Nikki dabs her eyes, mascara long gone. Days gone, really. Every time she thinks she’s dried up, the words and memories flood back in. She drops the Kleenex, reaches for another.
Partly she is heartbroken for the lost years, partly she is embarrassed. Embarrassed that she believed him. Through the lies, she kept believing. Hoping. Wishing. She never has been lucky, in anything really. A life of missed chances and playing it safe. Always one number off. Yet she has clung to the dreams of a love-starved heart, the toss of dice she gambled her everything on. She bet it all.
From the beginning, he says the sweetest things. She never believes him but it strokes her ego. That someone actually feels that way about her. Sees her that way. Six months in, an indiscretion. Another year, two more. And again. He says it is all innocent. She wants to believe. Oh, she wants to.
Now, she sits in the dim light. A pile of crumpled damp rags at her feet and a head full of broken promises and half-truths echoing over and over in her ears. She is as cold as the Alps. As lonely as a coyote in the desert. As lost as a highland lamb. Directionless and isolated, Nikki dabs her eyes, looks out the window, and stares and stares and stares.
tara caribou | ©2020
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