Possible Second Chance

✞ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕚𝕩: 𝔸𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖✞

Heartbreak after making love to each other and most of all, giving his virtue to his one-of-a-kind rara avis and her disappearance spoke volumes.

He genuinely loved her with his entire heart and their feelings for each other drastically changed through the night. From the Monsignor and the patient, having dinner for the old time's sake to the lustful lovers that was clearly impossible with a few exceptions.

Compunction with a waterfall of questions, sprinkling in his mind and kept questioning himself was it worth. Was it worth giving his virtue to the former pious sister of the church?

Was it worth having a coq-au-vin dinner with her? Was it worth allowing her to make a dinner for both of them on a small scale? Was it worth even raising the topic of Friday night?

The intoxication had already ebbed out from his frail skeleton so the alcohol dwelt out of his blood.

Did the former nun opt somehow to bamboozle him and alluded him somehow to release her or at least a handful of patients? Did she have any secretive intentions? Were they part of her plan for escaping Briarcliff?

Moreover, the aspiring Monsignor didn't have any benevolent and solid intentions of arranging her release soon unless the court proved her innocence and collected more evidence behind Frank's brutal homicide.

Which wasn't committed by her both bare hands that aren't capable of murdering anybody except in self-defense and endangering her life. Even having coq-au-vin dinners or friendly conversations with the former licentious jazz nightclub singer didn't change the fact of keeping her behind the dull walls of the infamous asylum.

In the meanwhile, the British aristocrat bleated a grunt under his breath, concluding that his garments and boxers were discarded on the floor and no attire hugged his tall figure. Furthermore, his chestnut hair was scruffy and his chocolate brown orbs, glinting misery, heartbreak, frustration and solitude scanned the clock on his left side's nightstand, reading approximately six and a half o'clock in the morning.

It was high time for him to get up and get ready for the day. Crystalline, translucent tears rimmed his chocolate brown jewels after blinking a handful of times for a split second, sniffling until discovering on the other nightstand a plain note and recognizing ideally whose manuscript belonged to. It was Jude's, of course.

By judging her manuscript, it was exquisitely and intelligibly written even through her swiftness and hasting to pour every impulsive thought, consequently constructing with it a sentence until it forms an intelligible paragraph lastly. His pale-pinkish lips were twisted in a pensive pout after retrieving his discarded ecclesiastical garments which were forming his work uniform and dressing up himself, progressing with the preparation for the ready.

Subsequently, he approached the nightstand and snatched with childlike inquisitiveness the note, perusing it through the elapsing seconds, ticking as an antique clock in his whirlpool of thoughts and his coffee brown jewels surveying warily the text.

To my darling Timothy,

Good morning! I would like to apologize for dumping you on the same bed where everything happened last night. From the old good friends we used to be up to lovers and giving your virtue to me delightfully. I wish I could be the first person you've ever woken up next to. First and foremost, if you are about to blame yourself for why you're alone on the bed, it is actually my fault. I am still a patient and the guards will start looking for me through the halls and it's going to be not only my fault for not being in my ward, but also, you know. Hopefully I didn't upset you at all.