It’s been a while since I posted something, it’s not like I was busy or anything, I just didn’t feel like writing or reading, but as they say better late than never so here I am with a new story. Actually it is an extension an older story called “Hidden Intetions”, but don’t worry you don’t have to read it if you haven’t because this story stands well independently too. In any case if you do wish to read it here is the link.
DISASTROUS DESIRES
He was standing there looking at the picture, completely mesmerized by his own creation. Oh what a face he wondered looking at the portrait, and those eyes , so expressive yet so mysterious, as if telling the whole story but holding back the climax. The art gallery was filled with people, his paintings were a huge hit, most of them had already been sold, it was beyond his expectation, after all this was only his first exhibition. The painting that generated the most buzz was the very painting he was so lost in, the girl in the painting was the woman he loved, this was his special gift for her, no matter how much people were ready to pay for it, he rejected all the offers, it was because of her that this exhibition was held in the first place. She was the one who had encouraged him to pursue his passion or else he would still be doing his boring accounting job. He still couldn’t believe how he could be so lucky to have someone like her in his life, and this portrait was his way to show off to the world what he had and no matter what they did he was never going to let her go.
She was looking at the knife, watching the blood on it’s blade gave her a strange satisfaction, she knew she was not supposed to indulge herself in such a way but she could not help it, she barely escaped the last time, no matter how much she wished she was not going to kill again she had promised herself, she had a killer’s desire but she lacked a killer’s brain, she knew if she ever dared to kill again she would surely be caught, so she had to control herself for her own sake, moreover she was in a fulfilling relationship, he loved her madly and she knew he would never cheat on her like her ex- husband. She was busy preparing a fancy meal, it was time for celebration, the exhibition was a success and both of them wanted to celebrate it alone, in a rush to finish the preparation she had cut her finger and now she was completely engrossed in it. She knew what she had to do next. She took out a cane and started hitting herself with it, this is the only way she knew to distract herself from the fantasy and get back to reality. He had often asked her about these injuries, she lied to him that her ex-husband used to physically abuse her.
It was a night of double celebration for him. She did not know it yet but a year ago on this very day he had seen her for the first time and had fallen in love with her instantly. She had come to his accounting firm because his firm did the accounts for her husband who was apparently murdered. He took it as a sign, the universe had given him a chance and he had to make the most of it, a year later they were together and his life had already changed forever. He decided he was going to ask her to marry him, no other day was better suited to do this, he had always been sure he was going to do it and now that he was successful there was no point in waiting. He stopped at the jewellery store and bought a beautiful diamond ring for her.
Something was wrong, no matter how many times she hit herself with the cane, the feeling refused to die. It had been more than an year since she had killed her husband, the desire was too strong, she felt her sane self being swallowed by it, she knew there was no point fighting it anymore. It was too late, she no longer had any control over herself. She went back to the kitchen picked up the knife and waited for him to return.
He could not wait to get back home, there was too much excitment, he drove the car as fast as he could. Ten minutes later he was there. He put the ring in his pocket, took the bottle of champagne he had bought and went toward the door.
