Choices

Note: Bloody in many parts - Part 8

The next few days that followed the joyride were clouded by conflicting mix of emotions in varying degrees. Bloody’s voice played over like a broken record inside my head. The touch of his hand lingered on like a persistent second-hand smoke clinging to my clothes. I could see his face on every blank space inside the building, in the movies I saw and even on my dinner plate. My stomach would twist and turn at the thought of seeing him at the end of the day. I had gone totally nuts that a good slap on my face would be appreciated. Or anything that would wake me up from this long bad but sweet dream.

My office table was an exact replica of the current state of my mind – a virgin forest inhabited by a dangerous snake hissing “Can I see you tomorrow night? Everyday? Please?” The invitation was laid out in the open and the only answer needed was a sound yes. That would mean free rides everyday, holding hands behind the clutch, sneaking around and kissing when no one was looking.

Even if that sounded like pot, I somehow relished the thought of giving in and taking the plunge. Although I had never been into this kind of sticky situation before, stealing him away was never a problem. I was confident I could do it. He liked me for one obvious reason that I was different in his world of sameness.

But since I had been wired to listen to reason, I had to weigh down my options between right and wrong. I already had imagined what the consequences of my actions would be like in the future. A revengeful wife would hunt me down. The brewing scandal would keep people buzzing for years. And the unimaginable damage the word “kerida” can do to my self-worth. Will he be there for me when the going gets tough? Was he worth even a grain of sacrifice?

I was torn between living on the dot and on the line, the now and forever, the good and bad. Bloody woke me up from a long deep sleep to the other side of reality that showed my propensity for evil. But in the grand scheme of things, no matter how I shut my guard down, I remained that conscience-stricken person. There wouldn’t be everyday for Bloody, neither a tomorrow night.

Or maybe I really should consider changing my soap brand.