I saw Cecile in the corner. She was drinking wine and wearing a sundress. She always wore a sundress when she wanted to fake happiness. I guess I noticed that too late.
I watched her bring the glass to her ruby lips and recalled all the times I had caressed them with my own. I heard her soft voice whisper, “You're a wonderful kisser, Jack.” I felt my spine tingle the way it had that night. I wish I had told her I loved her. Somewhere along the way, I forgot. And somewhere along the way, she remembered. But by then it was too late.
She ran her fingers through her long, red hair. I wondered if it still smelt like watermelon. Or perhaps her fragrance of choice changed as her men changed. Jack is watermelon, Peter is lavender, and Mark is sunflower.
She turned towards me. I looked away quickly. When I looked up again, her leafy green eyes were locked with those of a man across the room. But he, too, turned away quickly. He was too clever to fall victim to her fly trap. I wasn't. I would do it again, if I could.
I would give anything to be consumed by her body one more time. She used to take my breath and drink it like water. When she did, everything was perfect for a few moments. I cherished those moments. Little did I know, while I sat in nirvana, she was thinking about the breath of other men. Peter's breath and Mark's breath. She would leave the next morning with lavender perfume or sunflower perfume. By the time she got back to me, the smell would fade, and she would spray watermelon perfume on just for me. Just for Jack.
It would take a year and a half for me to find out about Peter and Mark. I begged her to choose me. She chose none of us.
When I met up with her again a year after she left, she told me she wanted to try again. I told her no. I regret it. I really could have been with her for the rest of my life, if it wasn't for Peter and Mark. They made her realize she could do a lot better than me. I had been so lucky. It just took her a while to realize that.
I watched in silent reverence as she gracefully moved her hair around her shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it made my heart race. The man from across the room approached her. He was handsome, and he carried himself in such a way that she couldn't possibly resist him. He had turned away to tempt her, not because he didn't want her. He played the game as well as she did. I felt sick.
He held out his hand, and her slender fingers slid into the open spaces. As they walked out, I heard the name “Mark,” and I smelt her sunflower perfume. She turned back to me at the doorway and smirked before leaving. My stomach turned. I had watched my true love leave three times.
I turned to my wife. “How's dinner, dear?”
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