⠀⠀My employer is good to me, surely, in more than one way. Though I find myself sitting on a bland and flaccid couch, not entirely caring about its surface, and rather, the face of a new person altogether.
⠀⠀A face I'm not exactly sure I'd be privileged to view again.
⠀⠀I'll set a brief examination of last night's events, so you understand the magnitude of my confusion, curiosity, and last yet not least, desperation.
⠀⠀
⠀⠀"Petronillo?" said a voice at the back end of the connection, a honeyed pure tone that only she held.
⠀⠀I felt my heart beating forth my amygdala, as my breath left my existence completely. When I regained my honor - a few seconds onwards the conversation - I managed a small and quite simplistic "Hi," a clearing of throat. "Hi, Alba, how. . . How are you?"
⠀⠀Some months prior to this, I had disengaged from our relationship, in order to fully serve the company's head. My attempts at befriending the lost soul had never faltered, but she seemed perfectly opposed to the idea of ever seeing me again.
⠀⠀"I'm good," she breathed softly, as if she - much like myself - hadn't expected to ever hear the other's voice again. "How are you?"
⠀⠀After some rumbling in words regarding to our lives and how they'd put up 'till now, and some small talk dotted with pinpointed hints of laughter at some memories, she suddenly grew quieter, until she reached a quiet state altogether.
⠀⠀"Alba? Is there something wrong?"
⠀⠀Her voice inhaled, exhaled, and left me hanging, as she let out a small, almost unnoticeable sob and cut off our lines.
⠀⠀
⠀⠀Albaricoque had never cried, never hinted at her having the magnificent pleasure of doing so - I'd recreated the ambience just yesterday, imploring God to keep her in good health. Her choosing of demonstrated weakness perturbed me in infinite ways, and much more as she hadn't returned any of the sixteen calls that had transpired between that time and now, almost twelve hours forth.
⠀⠀My digits softly turned the numerals to her id, and the contraption pulled emotionlessly towards my ear, where dulled tones resonated against my eardrums.
⠀⠀one
⠀⠀two
⠀⠀three
⠀⠀four
⠀⠀"Hello?"
⠀⠀"Yes, yes? Who is this?"
⠀⠀"Albaricoque Dunno, can I help you with something?" It was not her voice.
⠀⠀It was not her voice.
⠀⠀"Is. . . Is Alba alright?"
⠀⠀A secondary cut on their end, sentimentality appointing a loss of words.
⠀⠀I need not hear any more.
⠀⠀A cut on my end.
⠀⠀
⠀⠀There was a promise undone, severed chords you had to knit back together. . . So many things you will not cherish as I do. You said you owed me a dance. . . You said you owed me a dance. . .
⠀⠀You still owe me my dance, I'm coming for you, love, I'm coming for you.
⠀⠀
⠀⠀- Flightless Bird, American Mouth.
YOU ARE READING
You Are Our Incentive
Romance[ Y A O I ] [ Y(ou) ] There's a child, weeping in my arms; that is exactly how I picture the man that refuses to show me his salty ocean, and still lets me run a tender tongue over his rolling tears. [ A(re) ] What we are, what they are, is a mere c...
