Addicted to Love (part 1) by: Sara Eie DeSter

     

           

 5:20 AM reads the clock on the side table that sat next to a plaid couch.  Little ringlets of smoke floated to the ceiling as the man sitting on the couch continued to make more with his cigarette.  Boredom.  All he wants is for time to stop.  He wants to sit and relax with the woman he loves watching movies, talking, laughing, and holding her.  Instead he is watching the minutes tic by without a care. Tic.  He takes the drag of his cigarette and exhales another ringlet of smoke.  As this one rose to the ceiling, it took the disguise of a halo hovering his head before completely disappearing.  Tic.  He watches the last bit of ash fall from the cigarette and onto his suit.  He sat there for a minute then brushed the ash off then stood up.  As he stood, he stretched to get all the kinks out and then he straitened his suit.  Tic.  He looked to the side table and grabbed his train ticket and his pocket watch and shoved the ticket into his pocket then turned to his watch.  He ran his thumb over the cool gold metal and opened the lid.  Tic.  Inside the lid was a picture of his girl.  The girl he was going to make his wife.  He was going to ask her tonight but was called to a business meeting for work.  Tic.  Not only was work killing him with all the business meeting out of town but his girl was too.  Her anger toward him made his soul wither and burn like the ashes from his cigarette.  Tic.  He turns back to the table and picks up a black velvet box.  Inside of it laid a ring made from rose gold and adorned with diamonds around the band and sat protected by a red cushion.  It was for her.  Tic.  Everything he did was for her.  Why couldn’t she see that?  Tic.  The struggle day in and day out.  Tic.  The sleepless nights.  Tic.  The early mornings.  Tic.  They were for her.  Tic.  He brushes tears back furiously and shoves the watch into his pocket.  He then takes the box in his hands.  He weighs his thoughts of stress and love and then pushes it aside.  Tic.  He gently placed the box into his top suit jacket and trudged over to the front door and picked up a small suitcase.  The suit case was brown and heavy but not as heavy as his heart.  He reached for the round, brass door knob and then he stopped.  Taking his hand off the door knob, he looked back toward the stairs and waited as though he was expecting someone to run down and stop him from going.  After the brutal reality poisons his mind, he turns back to the door and opens it.  When he was though the threshold he closed the door behind him and trekked off into the cold dawn.

                                                                  The End