Whitey Winn

New Comers Part 2

The way the night was going, it was not going to end soon.

You leant over to Whitey who was still, talking to bloody Iris.

"hey, I'm going to head home, I'll see you tomorrow?"

He shifted his attention to me, eyes focusing on the glass of wine in front of him.

"You sure love? Do you want me to walk you home?"

You shook your head. Last thing you wanted was for fricken Iris to think you were jealous or controlling.

"No, no I'll be ok. I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded solemnly, leaning over to place a soft quick kiss on your cheek, hand rubbing your shoulder smoothly.

You managed to make some excuse about needing to prepare for the coming school days and excused yourself.
It had been hell. The whole night. Iris had been sitting there, twirling her perfectly golden hair, smiling her all-to-perfect smile, connecting with Whitey like she'd known him all her life.

Your skin felt on fire, the bubbling feeling in the pit of your stomach only growing as she laughed an all-to-perfect laugh. It was irritating how perfect she was. perfect clothes, perfect smile, perfect hair, perfect everything! God! She even liked hunting, she seemed to have more in common with Whitey than you did.
What did you have to offer? A teacher living in a rickety old house, could barely shoot a gun and, now that you thought about it, you didn't have a lot in common.

You hadn't even noticed the cold when walking home you were that jealous and angry, which was new for you. You were never the jealous type, even when you were younger. What was it about Iris that rubbed you up the wrong way?

Your door swung open squeakily, cold air gushing into the your small home, not that you really cared, you were thinking too much into your own head. You shuffled forward, aiming to reach your counter top to fumble around for matches and your candle. Thankfully your shaky fingers managed to find and grasp them, retrieving them and opening them hurriedly.
the thought of Whitey and Iris sitting, talking, the blatant flirting.
The match snapped in your fingers as you attempted to strike it.

"shit..."

You muttered to yourself. You took another one out and struck it against the side of the box. This was successful and a burst of flame lit up the small space. I reached for the candle rested on the wooden surface, bringing it up to the flame and waiting for the wick to catch.

Who did she think she was? waltzing in, flirting with YOUR man, parading around how "interesting" and "unique" she was. God how you wanted to just punch her.
You flicked the dim lamp on by your bed, setting the candle down angrily.
You reached behind your back to undo the strings on your dress. Your fingers fumbled with the ties, pulling the bow undone and shimmying out of the navy blue garments, the material pooling around your feet, leaving you in your white under dress. You slipped you feet out of your boots, kicking them to the end of your bed.
You sat down on you rickety old bed, a little squeak leaving the old wooden frame, the feathered mattress sinking under your weight.
Should you have left? What if that was a mistake. What if Whitey left you for her? Couldn't blame him, it's not like you had money, or respectable clothes or anything compared to her.
You started to regret leaving, all sorts of thoughts filling your head.
Did Whitey fancy her? Maybe he didn't realise she was flirting with him. It wasn't like there were many women in the town, or woman suited for his age so you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't realise what was going on.
You flopped down on your bed, sighing deeply and looking at your ceiling, mapping out the many indents and makings in the wood. Who would've thought that one night could put you in such a foul mood.