And as her breath caught the wasp of his freshly lit cigar, the swirl of smoke filled her senses with a sudden rush of realization. Her hands crawled to her sides to hold on to him. He was not there. Not close by to feel her. Her dewy eyes shot open. Panicked, she rose and saw him. Seated right beside the mirror... a stare from behind his spectacles reflected her image just as well as the cold mirror surface.
And in that candid. Plain. Unemotional, reflection. She saw herself.
A brutally blunt reflection it was.
A brutally blunt reflection it was.
She stared. Not able to decide what struck her harder. The icicles that his gaze rode at, or the utter lack of abandon they seemed to mock at!
Her pores broke out in sweat, and this time it was not the heat of passion that had triggered that cold trickle down her body. Her eyes squinted, as her awareness began to drown beneath a surging wave of regret.
'Maybe" ... "just maybe" ... "I was wrong. After all!" was the last thought she remembered before suffocating on that smoke.
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