Random snippet...may become something longer for aphyw?
“What are you going to do now?” Emma towered over the desk, shoulders thrown back, the light of righteous anger illuminating her face.
“What am I going to do?” Ms. Redoux chuckled, crossing her legs. She leaned an elbow against her desk, and looked up at Emma, her painted lips twisting up in a smug smile. “Nothing. I am going to do nothing, Ms. Peeters.”
Emma blinked dumbly, staring down at the petite woman in front of her.
“Nothing?” she echoed. “But I have evidence of your laundering right here! You’ve used the company to further your own illicit gains! I can report you to the police, to INTERPOL! I have evidence this is not contained to Belgium alone!”
“But you won’t,” Ms. Redoux said calmly, smiling contentedly to herself as she turned away from Emma. Emma felt unsteady on her feet, as if someone had jerked a rug out from underneath her.
“What makes you think that?” she demanded. Ms. Redoux stretched one leg out and propped her heel up on the desk. Emma could see the lacy top of her thigh-highs, seam neatly against the back of her calf as always. She had never seen Ms. Redoux in even the slightest state of dishevelment.
“Because I know you,” she purred, tilting her seat back. “Come here, Emma, let me tell you something.” She beckoned her with a crooked finger, and Emma came around to lean in and hear what excuses Ms. Redoux had to pour out. Before she could react, Ms. Redoux’s hand flew out and seized her tie, pulling her in much closer. “I know you, dear,” she said in a sweet, low voice. “And you won’t report me. You won’t see me go to jail.” The smell of her perfume swirled around Emma’s head, and so close up, she could see flecks of darker blue against the light of Ms. Redoux’s eyes.
“How can you be sure?” Emma’s voice was suddenly much quieter, and anger at herself flared in her breast. She was allowing herself to get caught up in Ms. Redoux’s games, again!
My thoughts are often with you and I pray this letter finds you in good health. It has been months since I last had word from you, and I am beginning to grow concerned for you well-being. Life has been ever so dreary without your sense of humour to look forward to every week.
I must apologise, yet again, for the hostility surrounding our last meeting. Please understand I meant no ill by my words, though I must stand by what I said: I cannot accept your offer. I wish things were different, but as matters stand, accepting such a proposition would not be wise.
I do, however, value your friendship. How tragic would it be if a few foolish words uttered under the influence of alcohol would tarnish it forever! I hope you see the truth in what I am saying, and that you are not offended by my crude language.
I eagerly await your response. Seeing you again would warm my heart; perhaps we could arrange to meet in the near future?
Affectionately yours,
Your closest friend, Lucille du Lac”
Manon laughs, bitter, scornful. She is tempted to throw the letter into the fire. Let it burn, she thinks! Let the flames consume the emotions that eat away at her heart. Let it all turn into ash, to be swept away with the first gust of wind.
A sob erupts from her lungs. The original rejection had hurt enough, but this query, this demand they remain friends after all she had said, pushes her into a well of misery. Such a foreign feeling for a person such as she, for whom happiness colours her vision and echoes off every word she utters. Part of her, the logical side she often ignores, understands Lucille’s thoughts. Society doesn’t approve. Society will never approve. Why run the risk of discovery if it would harm them more than do them good? Romance is fleeting, it would be foolish to think otherwise. Surely she should forget the love she feels, as Lucille has, and accept her offer for friendship?
Her shoulders sag. She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. What should she do? What can she do? She wishes things were different, yet until society decides to change, she has no choice but to conform to its rigid ways.
Collecting her thoughts, she reaches for a pen and begins to write, her heart breaking a little more with every word.
