From some other where did I recognize Aerosmith's Steven Tyler singing my favorite love song.
"You like me?" The sound of his voice that had been low and the utterance of words smeared with disbelief swirled in my head; it further dizzied my state of mind were it not already in its most distraught condition.
I wasn't bothered by the soft rock that filtered through my ear as it help soothe the quivering of my being held under his gaze. He loomed over and hands firmly grasping my shoulders, only then did I bring my eyes to his face.
His face, how ever close, was a blur of confused grey eyes, furrowed brows and ruffled black hair. I recognized the storm that raged as the one that had long been brewing.
The taste of alcohol that did linger in my mouth was bitter and I licked my lips to releave of the sensation and with the complete loss of wits, truthful words spilled like the wine that on father's fine silk table cloth:
"It wounds me so that you find the need to ask."
It seemed as though I regained of possession of my wits at the halt of my sentence, just as the song had ended.
YOU ARE READING
Cup's
短篇故事For Curtis Paisley, days pass like bland, monotonous paragraphs of plain thought and narration; till a strong gush of storm and gray eyes flipped through the pages almost aimlessly, before finally settling to the paragraph of his appearance... and w...
