Good morning, Internets! It’s Thursday, so that means it’s time for a brand new free story.
Today’s story is THE LIAR. My short story website informed me it’s the 28th post, which means THE LIAR is the 28th short story I’ve posted in as many weeks. That’s over half a year’s worth of free fiction, with more to come. *g* Cool beans! I hope you guys are having as much fun reading as I am writing.
Published by Thunder Valley Press
Copyright 2011 by Annie Reed
The steady rise and fall of his chest against her bare back soothed her, and the champagne tickled her nose. Or was it the bubblebath? Marie took another drink from the crystal flute. She never drank champagne, but she would never have another opportunity.
Candlelight softened the alabaster ceramic tile on the walls and the plain white of her tub. Flames glinted off the crystal and made it sparkle, and warm jasmine-scented water enveloped her. The soft guitar of a William Ackerman song drifted in from the living room. The moment was perfect enough that she almost forgot.
Almost, but not quite.
Marie closed her eyes and leaned her head on Brian’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss this.”
Soft lips touched her temple. “Not much time left,” Brian said.
“I know.” She turned her head and nuzzled his neck, eyes still closed. “You were my favorite.”
He chuckled. “Liar.”
Yes, she was a liar.
She sighed and put the glass down on the cold bathroom floor and rose from the empty tub.
Her bedroom was dark, the shades drawn against the afternoon sun. Marie clicked on the bedside lamp. Michael moved underneath the comforter, his eyes still bleary and unfocused from sleep.
“Why don’t you crawl in?” he asked, holding the covers up for her.
She finished rubbing her bath-wet hair and let the damp towel drop to the carpet. “It’s tempting,” she said. She pulled a sweater over her head and sat on the edge of the bed to put on her jeans.
Michael dropped the covers. “I hate goodbyes,” he said. “It is goodbye, isn’t it?”
She concentrated on her shoes and socks. “Yes,” she said. She could feel his eyes on her. Michael’s hazel eyes, soft and expressive. She closed her own, remembering. Imagining.
“Time is running out.” He swept damp hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear, his touch gentle. “I wish I could stop it.”
She wanted more champagne, yearned for alcohol and oblivion.
“You were my favorite,” she whispered.
(read the rest of the story here)