I looked across the room and that's when I saw her.
She was a lopsided mouth and awkwardly placed hands. I was already embarrassed for her, stuffed in the corner at a party where she doesn't belong with people she doesn't understand.
I looked away. I sipped my drink. And I checked my watch. I promised I'd be there at seven and I was already fashionably late. I know she sees me; I also know she's too nervous to approach me.
I dreaded our interactions as much as I craved them. It wasn't too late to turn back. She would understand. She always did.
My feet sank into the plush carpet. I enjoyed my agonizing walk across the room. The silent dents my shoes made in the carpet seemed to drown out every clinking glass and chattering human in the room. I was thankful, but my walk ended all too soon.
I stood before her and already I felt exposed. I felt naked, just as I knew we would be soon. She looked up at me with her pitiful doleful brown eyes. I never understood how eyes were windows into the soul; hers were blank.
"Vera, how lovely you look and how nice to see you," I lied.
She thanked me gracelessly. Toothy and mumbling. Would she like a drink? No. Of course not; I know she doesn't drink. Would she like to take a seat on the sofa and chat? Alright, yes. Always so reluctant. Well, has she had enough of the party? Would she like to come home? Yes. Pathetically eager.
I offer her my arm. Nod my obligatory goodbyes to the hosts of the party. She blushes and looks away although I doubt they suspect anything.
We're nearly to the door when,
"I left my bag on the counter. One sec. Sorry!"
I smile reassuringly. I can be cold unwittingly sometimes, but I don't want her to be afraid tonight. Vera is such an unfitting name for the gangly pale girl teetering away from me. She is anything but the truth. She is lies and deceit to me, but a drug of which I can't let go.
We are in the car. It's cold outside and she doesn't have a jacket. No doubt she was expecting to wear mine. I offer it to her. I don't want her to be afraid tonight.
I start the engine and we're off. Before she can make the silence awkward,
"Turn on the radio. 95.3."
If I'd been any less stern, if I'd given her a choice, she would have tried to judge what I wanted to listen to and never made a decision. Besides I knew it was something we would both enjoy.
Classical strings filled my the space between us. She was instantly pacified. Her one merit is her cello. She's gifted with the thing.
She struggled to vocalize. She opened her mouth, hesitant to break the air. I was tempted to provoke her, but I waited.
"Are we going to Moor Wood?"
"No. Sylvia is gone this week. Japan. We'll go to my place."
She was nervous. Going to my place was scary for her, but she would never object. It was frustrating and I liked to toy with her.
"Is that alright?" I asked.
"Yes, of course!" She responded immediately.
I felt her glance at me as we pulled into my driveway and then into my garage.
Once inside, I hung my coat up and offered her a drink yet again. Yet again she refused.
She seemed lost and I let her flounder while I turned on the lights and poured a drink for myself. She settled awkwardly beside the counter and watched me.
I took my time and swished my drink around. I looked at her.
She was beautiful. I won't deny it. Slender and tall with dark wild hair. She had huge eyes. She had red lipstick on. If anything, she dressed well. She picked things that complimented herself. But she was already growing self conscious under my stare.
I smiled again to reassure her.
"To the bedroom?" I offered.
"Alright." Still nervous. Still afraid.
I took her to Sylvia's and my room. She walked directly to the bed and sat down. She was too nervous to make the first move, although we both know the next two hours of our lives have been inevitably planned. She sealed her fate when she agreed to leave that party with me.
"I love you" I heard her say. I smiled and walked over to her.
"I know darling," I whispered into her ear and leaned forward to kiss her neck.
It had only been a month since we started seeing each other, but she was already convinced she loved me. I traced her collar bones. I unzipped her dress. I laid her back on my bed and laid beside her. Sex is good. You'd have to do a hell of a lot wrong to mess it up.
Her fingers find their way to the buttons on my shirt. If I hadn't done this with her multiple times before, I would have thought she was a virgin. Every motion is wracked with unsureness. After letting her undo three buttons, I pin her hands. She's grateful. I finish taking off my shirt and slide my arm under her lower back. She arches to help me. I slip the dress off of her completely and brush my lips against her stomach.
I feel a tinge of regret for what I've resigned myself to. This will be our last night together.
The sex was good. Like I said, you'd have to do a hell of a lot wrong to mess it up. She moaned and gasped at the appropriate times. I lay beside her and indulged her want to be close to me for a few minutes before I got up to offer her a cup of tea.
"Yes, thank you. That would be great. I'm going to shower quickly while you do that."
I walked to the kitchen. Chamomile and hot water. But those weren't the most important ingredients.
I could hear the water running in the bathroom down the hall still when I grabbed the cyanide capsule from the back of the cabinet above the refrigerator. I imagined her hot wet body in my shower and broke the capsule in her cup. I waited for the water to boil and poured it over the capsule. Almost as an afterthought, I dropped a teabag in the cup.
"Be careful. It's hot. You might want to wait a minute."
She sat on my bed in a towel. "Okay, thank you" she smiled.
I mused about how ironic that that only thing she'd take comfort in all night was the thing that would kill her.
She took my advice and put on her clothes before sitting down on to sip on her tea.
I waited for her to finish and took the cup back to the kitchen.
"I have to be at work very early tomorrow morning," I hinted. "Would it be alright if I took you home now?"
"Yes, that's fine." She knows this routine very well. She knows she cannot spend the night, although she's never asked. She never even bothers with a spare set of clothes. But she does cherish every moment I let her spend with me.
As we drive to her home I ask her to turn the radio to any station she likes. One last chance to make a choice, really. She doesn't take it. She insists on listening to what I want.
"Leave it on the classical station. This is fine," I reply.
We pull up to her house and I park the car. I won't walk her to her door like I normally do. Nothing will matter in the morning anyway.
"Have a good night," I say as she opens her door. I let her know that she doesn't get a goodbye kiss, or a goodbye at all with those words.
I watch her walk to her door and fumble with her keys. I wonder if she'll play the cello tonight or just go to bed.
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