“Your mystery solves me,” he’d said to her.
Tall fucking order, she thought to herself.
Barely able to
manage her own life; incapable of coping with the minutia of its ins and outs
herself, now she’s to solve its mystery for someone else?
She raised from the bed, strode across the room nude and wet;
slowly dressed – putting her stockings in her purse. She grabbed a smoke from the
crushed pack on the nightstand, flashed him a quick glance over her shoulder
and slipped out the door – leaving him.
Hard and confused.
Mystery solved.
Maybe he knew that her colorful fasades and depth of characters would feed him eternally, I could be way off the charts on that but I doubt it. "La fleur noire fleurit au soleil."
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