Story IX
Claire and Sarah had been a couple, not long after Sarah had started her career as an investigating officer. Claire had asked her out for a drink one evening and after a few glasses had boldly seduced her. Not quite what Sarah had expected. It had been her first time with a woman.
They had been together for a few months, but Claire was factual, intellectual. She liked long silences and quiet evenings at home. After a while Sarah started going out alone, looking for thrills, challenges, competition.
She needed to live on the edge. She loved darkness and felt most alive between 2 and 4 a.m. It had been just a small click in her head one night. She was hanging out a the wrong bar, drinking whisky cola to drown an edgy feeling of uneasiness. Flirting too much. She went home with the blonde tart sitting next to her. At 7 a.m. in the morning Claire had called. "Where are you? I just woke up and you aren’t in bed?"
She hardly remembered anything about the night, except that the sex was lousy and she had been uncaring and rough. She never could handle hard liquor very well. It turned her into a destructive egomaniac.
Claire had come to get her. It was awful and embarrassing. The smell of sex all over her. And all she could do was trying not to vomit in the car.
Claire hadn’t said anything to her for a while. Then: "You have to leave. I can’t handle this. I wish I could, I’m sorry."
The whole thing had made her so sad. Still did.
"So why are you telling me all this about Claire, Sarah?" Marie Rose looked at her with her terrible questioning shrink look and Sarah snapped out of her reverie.
"I don’t know." She stared at the carpet and the legs of Rose’s chair and felt even more embarrassed.
"Maybe I’m just feeling lonely."
They had been together for a few months, but Claire was factual, intellectual. She liked long silences and quiet evenings at home. After a while Sarah started going out alone, looking for thrills, challenges, competition.
She needed to live on the edge. She loved darkness and felt most alive between 2 and 4 a.m. It had been just a small click in her head one night. She was hanging out a the wrong bar, drinking whisky cola to drown an edgy feeling of uneasiness. Flirting too much. She went home with the blonde tart sitting next to her. At 7 a.m. in the morning Claire had called. "Where are you? I just woke up and you aren’t in bed?"
She hardly remembered anything about the night, except that the sex was lousy and she had been uncaring and rough. She never could handle hard liquor very well. It turned her into a destructive egomaniac.
Claire had come to get her. It was awful and embarrassing. The smell of sex all over her. And all she could do was trying not to vomit in the car.
Claire hadn’t said anything to her for a while. Then: "You have to leave. I can’t handle this. I wish I could, I’m sorry."
The whole thing had made her so sad. Still did.
"So why are you telling me all this about Claire, Sarah?" Marie Rose looked at her with her terrible questioning shrink look and Sarah snapped out of her reverie.
"I don’t know." She stared at the carpet and the legs of Rose’s chair and felt even more embarrassed.
"Maybe I’m just feeling lonely."
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