STEAM. SKIN. WATER.
The shower is the best place to think. Except you're not privileged with the delicacy of choosing your own thoughts. It's like your brain doles out the worst scenarios. Placing it front of the slide on purpose just to torment you and right now, as scenes of Sre and Xaver's car porno flashed through her mind, she doubted if a jab from Lucifer's pitchfork on her arm would sting as much as her thoughts did.
Sighing, Sreya turned off the water and grabbed a towel, proceeding to wipe her damp flesh dry. Threading barefoot, she walked the short distance from the bathroom to her bed and was about to curl herself beneath her duvet when she heard a crashing noise downstairs. Loud enough to scare her. Loud enough to stir her neighbour's cat.
Grabbing her red robe, she sheathed her naked body and snatched the hockey stick behind her bedroom door. She'd forgotten to put it in the store room and was glad she hadn't.
A geriatric leaking ceiling. Rusty water pipes. Religious wallpapers. Hanging crucifixes. A small Bible with yellowed pages. A handmade crown of thorns. Dim candles. The stagnant smell of bleach, lust and charred flesh. A now empty table where the last victim had been housed...A woman's throaty moans pierced the air. A man's deep grunts reverberated, balancing the woman's shrill pleas, levelling her gasps. The religious fanatic was touching himself now. His sharp eyes trained on the video playing on his desktop as his calloused palms stroked his engorged member with vigour. His grotesque pale skin, marred with scars the number of stars was coated in sweat that seemed to catch the light from the candles and sparkle. She'd been distracted. They'd been in the kitchen. He'd set the cameras. Now he watched.He watch
"SO HE'S ENGAGED"Sreya groaned loudly as she buried her face in her palms. She already felt bad and her mom's disapproving glare wasn't helping."Ugh. I know, I know. He's taken. But I didn't mean for it to happen...."Freya shot her daughter a look, "I know you, Sreya. You don't do something unless you want to".They were seated across each other in the kitchen. A pouting Sreya in her signature red robe, black curls tousled and wild. Her elbows were propped up on the counter, shoulders drooping as Freya voiced her disapproval. She looked like a ten year old at a candy store being told she can't have any candy.Then quietly, "Okay, I wanted to, but—"Her mother raised a manicured finger, "Tah tah tah tah tah. No buts. You're better than that. Just because you have a thing for Ice cream doesn't mean you should lick them all just because they breathe and smell nice. Have a corn chip instead".Sreya made a whiny sound.
GLASS CYAN EYES watched slender fingers turn the leaves of a book; once.Twice.Thrice.The cool blue orbs ceased their study of the phalanges and moved on to the slim soft arch that denoted the wrist, down the forearm, arm, the sheathed curve of the shoulder girdle, neck and then the facial muscles of their owner.Thick mass of curly jet-black hair was pulled up in a messy bun with stray curls framing a soft angular face. Forehead creased into a frown, chocolate brown eyes stayed glued to a creamy coloured page, its words filtered through slightly large reading glasses slipping down to rest on the bridge of its owner's nose.Xaver wondered how anyone could look so fucking beautiful by 9 in the morning."Adding 'laxity' to Sreya Dronian's long list of fascinating attributes. Check", he announced loudly.Unceremoniously startled, Sre's body jerked , the act
SREYA FELT XAVER hesistate, his unwavering gaze holding hers.Steeling herself, she straigtened her spine and gave him the 'go ahead' look."A conversation about Crystal wasn't want I intended when I accepted your offer for coffee, Dronian"."But she's a conversation I want to have right now. So", She shrugged."Fine". He leaned back from the counter, folding his arms in front of him whilst looking her straight in the eye. "She's my fiancée. A fact, I'm guessing, you're already aware of"."How did you guys meet?""Our families set up a date".Everyone knew the Kirkgarde's thrived from arranged marriages."When?""When I was 18"."Did you like her then?"He paused, as if thinking about it for the first time, "No"."Do you like her now?"No h
A ONE HOUR dance practice for the wedding. And Xaver wasn't the least bit interested yet his Black Bugatti was smoothly pulling up in the parking lot.Passing through the entrance to the building, he tugged his tie loose and made quick work of removing his suit jacket, the frown on his forehead deepening a notch. Might as well get shit done with.The building was as large as a warehouse with the inscription "R. Dargenti Studio" boldly suspended above. The walls were a warm mix of nude and a deep brown. The Dargentis were as influential as they were Proud. Just like the Kirkgardes, their's was old money. A family business started years ago when Rosita Dargenti, a single mother of two, broke and helpless, discovered her love for dancing and choreography. An art which her children and those after them also seemed to take an interest to. I mean, who wouldn't when they were making that much bank.The Dargenti
SREYA CLOSED HER eyes and took a deep breath. Her heart was racing and she had a thick lump in her throat. Fisting her hands, she fought the urge to hit something.Standing in the theatre with a few doctors, Sre ignored the fact that everyone was staring at her, the silence from the heart monitor a steady reminder that they'd lost the patient. Releasing the breath she'd been holding, she began to pull her blood-stained gloves off and muttered a weak, "Cover him up".As she made quick work of washing her hands, she thought of the best way to tell the patient's wife that they couldn't save her husband. This was the most draining part of her job..having to announce a loved one's death. Lost in her thoughts, Sreya hadn't noticed Brenda Morgan's — a co-worker and friend— presence behind her.
AFTER THEY'D EATEN, Xaver literally kicked Sreya out of the kitchen to go rest, insisting on doing the dishes alone.When he was done, he walked to the living room to see Sreya cross-legged on the floor with a photo album he reognized sitting on her lap. When she heard him, she looked up, "Well, Look what I found"."I said 'rest', Sreya. And my definition of rest means sprawl on the couch and do nothing", Xaver countered as he joined her on the floor. "We clearly have distinguishable definitions of rest", she bit back as her eyes returned to the photos. "Okay, Your mom is on a whole new level of gorgeous. She'd make a straight woman biseuxal", Sre observed as her finger touched a photo of Clara in one of her many charity events.
Years ago in Tales. °^°Sreya's hands and clothes smelt like coffee. Or maybe it was the night air doing it's diurnal task of spreading the aroma of the caffiene emanating from the Coffee Bar she worked at, she really couldn't tell which. It was a little after nine on a Wednesday night and the moon already had one eye open, just awakening from it's slumber when the sun governed the day. It's bright light cast shadows on Blueberry Lane in Tales, unmasking the silhouettes of familiar figures roaming the streets and caressing the rooftops with bright light. Standing outside the coffee bar she worked at, Sreya's chocolate brown orbs eyed the milk white Swan that sat on her coffee; the art of frothed milk and espresso. To different groups, the Swan symbolizes a lot of different t