Betrayal Has a Name(a really short story)

A Woman's Face
Photography of woman’s face by John Rocha

 

Patsy swung the door open hard. Not caring that it banged against the chalky, white cheap wall of her studio apartment. Not caring that some friends and family were eyeing her with strict concern. She took herself out of there and fast needing to be the first to reach her friend Alista.

“Wait,” a firm touch and clasp of his warm hand, grasped her elbow as she tried to take that last step. Jonathan’s eyes roved over her body. A tingle broke through her, beginning from her arm where he touched her and pooled in her belly. Where warm, illicit feelings stirred.

She removed his hand quickly with a pop of her hand. “What do you mean wait?” She spat. “Let me go to her. She’s my friend.” Every word was enunciated, hard. Like each nail driven into wood. Meant to close the deal and seal the truth.

But they were both liars and Patsy knew this bone deep.

Now it was Jonathan’s turn to frown. He looked at the short, cute girl wearing the gray pullover hoodie and whose sweatpants never looked better on another girl. Her body was perfect and her small face even more perfect. Her lips always begged for his kisses. How is it that I ignored this girl in high school? Not only is she incredibly hot, but so sincere. “I think we passed that line two days ago- don’t you think?”

Patsy bit her bottom lip. Even had the decency to look nervous and guilty. She looked up at Jonathan. His eyes, were trained on her lips. Now she remembered. Never did he look into her eyes when they would all hang out together. He always looked at her lips. And when she spoke, he always backed her opinions. Her, Alista, Jonathan, and Coby were the best of friends since high school.

Jonathan dated Alista, the pretty pianist with the big, chocolate eyes. He dated Alista all four years of high school.

High school was over now.

Now, they were deciding on college, jobs, and ultimately if there really was a pot of gold at the end of relationships. They both knew they shouldn’t hurt Alista anymore. Alista has been hurt enough. By her family, this sudden accident and now this…

“We have to see her. She is at the hospital. I’m done with…with this.” Patsy crossed her arms over her small breasts, watching as Jonathan licked his lips.

What have they done?

What have they done?

Jonathan wrapped his arms around her. Not caring who may see them. “I told you before,” he whispered. “And I’ll say it once more. You have always been the one for me. Maybe if we tell Alista the truth, it won’t be as hard for her to take later.”

Patsy shoved him hard and made it all the way to her car door and was about to pull it open when once again Jonathan’s arms wrapped about her. She forgot how fast he was, being a former track runner and running back for their high school football team.

Her phone buzzed.

His rang- had a stupid ringtone.

Both rang at the same time.

She pulled hers out of her pocket. Alista’s cousin’s face bloomed all over it, causing a knife to stake its way into her chest.

Jonathan showed her his screen. Alista’s mother was calling him.

It is moments like these where it is inappropriate to think of the late day showers with Jonathan’s muscular, powerfully built body pressing hers into the cool tiled wall, grunting, groaning, praying her name aloud.

Or in the morning, with her body spooned with his. Excited and tortured by his teasing lips.The cries of near pain and ecstasy as Patsy realize he was indeed a very, very experienced lover which caused her to nearly lose her voice. Probably one delicious reason Alista stayed with him.

The reason Patsy should have left him alone.

“I want you, Patsy. Let’s tell them the truth.”

Cold prickles marched down her neck like ants. “I don’t want to take this call.” She swallowed. “I don’t want to tell any truths.”

“It could be bad.” Jonathan agreed.

This time it was just his phone buzzing.

Alista’s mom again.

*************

Stay tuned for the conclusion on Friday/Saturday! For more short stories visit My Flash Walk Fiction Page!

Copyright 2017 Erica Jean Smith

 

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