Her lips come into contact with the edge of her glass as she slowly tips it back. The sweet taste of apple juice slips between her lips. She smiles for the first time today. Angel always liked warm apple juice since she could drink it quicker, plus she never let go of her childhood memories.
Her paint brushes were sitting on a nearby table as she took her first break of the day. A peanut butter sandwich sits on her lap. She's been nibbling on it since she started work, but now she can finally eat it full force. Her mouth wraps around it, eating about a quarter of the sandwich in one bite.
She wipes the corners of her mouth and stares at the painting she's been working on.
It was simple paw prints on a hardwood floor. The dusty paws leave a trail into the bedroom, where a pair of slippers sits beside a bed, one foot being slid into them.
She smiles about when she first thought of the painting. It was a memory of her's from when she was younger and had just gotten her first pet, a little smoke colored kitten that she named Bagel. She lets out a low chuckle remembering the day.
The little kitten jumped up onto the kitchen counter where some flour had been sitting from the previous day when she made cinnamon buns. The flour stuck to the kitten’s paws and Bagel thought it was the funniest thing that she left a trail when she walked.
Little kitten foot prints were all over the house. Angel had to chase the kitten down, give her a bath, then lock the pour thing in the bathroom until she could clean the mess that had been made.
Bagel was so disappointed to see her foot prints had been cleaned up that she sat in a corner for an hour. That's when Angel had had enough of the down trotted kitten.
More flour was brought out and placed on Bagel's and Angel's feet. They ran around the house together at eight am. Until her mother had woken up and yelled at them. It was the weirdest day for her. How did she know that her mother would wake up early on a Sunday?
Angel takes another bite of her sandwich. The painting is almost done, which makes her sad. She doesn't want to sell this memory, but she needs the money.
The shuffling of her bare feet on the hard wood floor takes over the room as she searches for her camera. It sits in the case in a corner, underneath her naughty Mrs. Claus outfit from Christmas.
She tosses the outfit aside and takes a picture of the half painted painting. The color only goes down halfway, in diagonal sense. The kitten's footsteps are only pencil lines at the moment, but she'll take another picture once it's finished.
Her laptop dings, which causes her to turn her head towards the image of a dog's butt. She lets out a small sigh and lands in her office chair.
"What is it Roger?" she asks the man on the other end.
"Angel honey, I was just wondering if you've completed that painting with the kitten," Roger responds in his most business man tone.
Angelina moves her chair to the side so Roger can see the half finished painting.
"You're done already? It looks great!" Roger exclaims, causing Angel to move back in front of the camera.
"Actually I'm not done yet. It's half painted Roger. Do you think it'd sell for more like this?" she asks him while glancing over her shoulder at the painting.
Roger nods excitedly like a child on Christmas morning, which causes her to glance into the corner where her costume still sits. Her cringe must be noticeable as Roger's face twists into a look of concern.
"What's has happened my dear girl?" he asks as he leans closer, his hands under his chin. He watches her closely, looking for any hint. Then he sees it. The dark circles under her eyes are screaming at him, but he was too lost in her eyes. He shakes the feelings off quickly and leans back, getting comfortable.
"I-it's Alfred," she stutters. Her voice cracking as she says his name. Roger's mind searches for all the possibilities. He can't think of anything that would break her this much.
"What about Alfred?" Roger asks, almost hissing his name.
"He's staying in Hong Kong..." she trails off as she says the words she hasn't wanted to accept.”They really need him at the office there. Plus there's a No Family policy since they stay at the building. I really miss him," she finishes.
Roger thinks about her words. They simply don't add up. He leans in closer.
"Is that what he said?" Roger asks with a wondering tone. She nods her head and stares back with confusion lingering in her eyes.
"I've worked for that very office in Hong Kong was I was younger. 23 years old to be exact. Never once did they make me sleep in the late night quarters or told me I couldn't allow my sister to visit since she came with me, protecting her little brother. It simply doesn't add up that he can't have you there. He wouldn't be able to sleep there all the time," Roger drones. Angel tunes out after a while.
Her thoughts take over. Why did he lie? Did he not want her anymore? She breaks out in a nervous sweat. Her thoughts didn't make sense after a while, turning into a big scribble.
"An?"
Angelina's eyes flick up towards the screen. Roger's eye is magnified on her screen as he peers into the webcam.
"Back up Rog," Angel sighs. He does as he's told.
"We should go and track him down. What do you think An?" Roger asks with a mischievous smile. Angelina groans in return, not in the mood for one of Roger's adventures.
**
A groan escapes his tired lips as her warm ones snake their way up his neck and stop just below his ear. They nip and tug on his earlobe and he groans again and rolls onto his stomach, refusing her invitation.
"Come on Al, you were at work all day and I'm lonely," she purrs into his ear. He simply swats her away.
Kisha moans his name, which causes him to growl and sit up. "Will you shut up and go to sleep?" he asks in an annoyed tone. She moans his name once again and he stands up, stomping out the door.
He ends up in his modern kitchen, his laptop open in front of him as he scans through the photos of Angelina and him. The tears in his eyes grow until they're pouring down his cheeks like a pair of waterfalls.
His heart is slowly breaking looking at the pictures. Why did he let himself fall in love that night? He shouldn't have drunk, but he couldn't resist.
He knows he should tell her the truth now rather than later. But he can't bring himself to do it. It would break his heart more, and her heart will simply be broken into billions of pieces. He needs to do it now though before it's too late.
He opens up his email account and scrolls through the drafts, searching for the one he wants. After opening it, he copies and pastes it into a Microsoft document.
He then erases the entire email and starts fresh.
Dear Angel,
Is it still appropriate for me to call you that? I don't think it is, but I'm still going to, because that's what you were to me, an angel. A fallen angel to be more precise.
You were different from the other girls. Nothing affected you. You didn't cry when you had a broken nail. I guess you didn't cry about anything back then.
Your tears are back now. That could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on how often they come into use. I hope they don't fall often.
I remember how you used to love the rain. Do you still sit outside on your spiral staircase whenever it rains? Do you still curl up in your window seat with a Taylor Swift CD and a good book? Have you changed out of those lovable habits?
I hope you haven't. I fell in love with those little things of yours. It made you different.
My favorite memory was the day you walked back from the workshop in the rain. You were drenched down to the bone and shivering. I wrapped you in a towel and set you near the fire place. My heart would always race whenever you reached your hands out to warm them. I thought you were going to burn them in the flames like you used to.
I was so paranoid some days whenever you stayed late at the office or I had to stay late. It always went through my mind that you may be some where's dead. You own marks showing the struggle you didn't get through.
I'm happy you don't flinch whenever you paint because your cuts are opening again. You haven't cut in what feels like forever, but maybe you have. I haven't seen you in what feels like forever.
I'll tell you the truth, so if you want to know why I'm really staying here in Hong Kong open the attachment, but if you don't then simply delete this email so you don't catch yourself wondering.
I won't bother you anymore since I want you to be happy. I'd be happy if you bothered me though. I'd be glad that you took a moment in your day to learn about my current life. I doubt you do though.
Anyways, that's all I had to say.
I'll never forget you,
Alfred James Williams
One attachment: The Truth
Sent to Angelina Simmons
He quickly closes his laptop at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"If you're too tired for sex, how aren't you too tired for work?" Kisha, his beloved, asks. Her words are slightly slurred.
Alfred frowns. He never liked Kisha when she's drunk. She isn't very capable of holding her liquor and becomes an emotional wreck.
He pushes his laptop into the center of the counter and turns to look at her.
"I just remembered I had a meeting in the morning so I wanted to check the time," Al replies smoothly. He's getting too good at lying.
He stands up and walks into the living room, Kisha following a few steps behind. Al flops onto the couch to sleep. Kisha straddles his side and stays there.
Al tries pushing her off, and succeeds. This causes her to cry out in pain and rush off to the bedroom. Alfred moans, knowing he'll regret the action in the morning. It doesn't matter to him now though.
He simply wants to sleep and forget. He had to sit through the day thinking about his actions, but Angel could have gone to sleep. He knows she probably didn't though.
She's letting herself forget now while she's at work instead of when she could have been sleeping. She's funny like that.
Alfred stares at the ceiling a little while longer wondering if Angel will actually read the email. He wonders even more if she'll want to know the truth.
Of course she will. She hated being lied to, so this is probably the same as all the other times he's tried a white lie. This isn't a white lie though.
His heart is racing as he finally falls asleep.