by Canterbury Soul
He knew it. It was no longer an embrace. She was merely placing her arms round his waist. As his Harley took them down the road to her home, he knew he was just running after the wind. This route he had travelled the last three years had become strangely unfamiliar.
She opened the door, uttered, “Coffee?” and disappeared into the kitchen. He looked around and noticed nothing abnormal. Yet, he sensed estrangement in this house they had made love countless times. He sat on the couch, realising he had to make a decision soon.
She handed him the coffee and sat opposite him, never looking into his eyes.
“This coffee is cold.”
“I thought you like it this way.”
“I like it this way only with ice.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll change it.”
She crossed her legs and sipped her coffee. He picked up his and drank it. He had no choice now. He withdrew his gun from his bag quietly and questioned, “Seeing someone now?” She said nothing.
“Planning to ditch me?”
“I’m in love with someone else.”
“How could you?” He pointed his gun at her.
BANG! He collapsed, clutching his bullet-hit leg. He felt woozy and was losing his vision. He had been drugged.
“Because she never likes cold coffee,” a young lady spoke as she walked to him with a pistol. He was aghast to see his own daughter before she put another round in his head. The lovers began working on their cover-up.