A black, heavy cloud hung low above the man's bowed head, the skin between his eyebrows tight with concentration, and frustration.
His large hand gripped the pen gently yet he wrote on the white lined paper aggressively, as if he was mad at it.
On...
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
"You need to go to confession,"
I snapped my eyes to the brunette that sat across from me in the grey armchair. She wore a lilac sweater today, ont op of a white dress.
"Why?" I asked her, and she blinked her beautiful brown eyes at me twice before she smiled her wonderful smile at me, and shattered my soul.
"You swear so much,"
"Eh? I'm just passionate,"
She giggled, and spooned Rocky Road ice cream into her mouth, "Passionate about cold ice cream, ay?"
I lifted a shoulder, "I told you I don't eat ice cream. Fucking cold and too sweet,"
"That's the whole point of ice cream,"
We watched each other for a moment. In silence. Her eyes moved between each of my features, looking at me. Staring me down. If was magnetic; the way she silenced me. The way she made me sit in silence and not speak and barely move.
"Tell me," she whispered softly, picking at her ice cream.
"Tell you what?"
"Something about you," was her reply, so innocent, so soft. Her curiosity was genuine. She waited for me to begin. Waited for me to tell her something she doesn't already know.
"Tell me what you want to know, bunny,"
She hummed, seemingly deep in thought as she looked at the white ceiling. "Where did you grow up?"
"Here," I said, "in England. Birmingham. I went to high school in Small Heath,"
She frowned with her mouth, "Your accent is so thick," she commented, gently so as to not cause offense, "but it disappears when you speak Italian,"
I shrugged, "That's just how it is,"
Daisy-Lee nodded her head, "What did you do after school? University?"
I shook my head, and lit a cigarette, "No," I fixed the cuffs on my shirt, "I joined the military,"
Her interest, bright and sparkly, was piqued, "Oh? How many years did you spend in the army?"
"Seven."
"What did you do?"
I caught her gaze for my next reply, so as to watch her reaction more closely, "I was a sniper,"
She stayed quiet, wanting me to continue but I only speak of I'm asked a question.
"Why did you leave?"
I inhaled deeply, "Because my father died,"
And that was that. She knew I would not answer anything further. She didn't ask either. She watched me, quietly. Looked at the cigarette in my hand, looked at my face, looked at my shirt. Looked at all of me. Saw me. Noticed me.
