The Love Affair

Chapter Six

There was just no way my fingers could allow me to delete it. It was just so authentic. I was drawn to the character; the character I knew was becoming to resemble him.

After Pete had left, I continued to bleed life into the story producing the beginnings of a love affair between two people, completely dangerously in love and hopelessly attached in commitments of their own. A questionable resemblance I tried to doubt was where I had invested paragraphs into the protagonist's conflicting feelings, her struggle with overcoming that unhappiness that had held her captive, and dispersing when he appeared. I had the characters set in the city, neighbours within an apartment complex, incidentally coming into contact with each other within the lift shaft. The last eleven pages or so I had written through my episode of insomnia last night, were the middle parts of my story, something I undeniably felt wicked for writing after the thirst had appeared from that interaction with him.

I didn't know what I was trying to attempt. Was this actually going to be a story, or just my guilt wanting to speak of my tempatation? I wasn't sure but I was confident I didn't want to throw it away.

I decided to stop. I needed to. I was afraid of what I was investing into. Instead I opted to head onto my twitter, uploading my tweet and answering mentions I'd received. After all, sticking to Pete's advice was essential.

The door-bell rang. I got up, rolling down my sleeves of my baby blue jumper heading for downstairs. I was hoping it was the postman needing a signature for a parcel he couldn't just leave on the doorstep. Or maybe, Nick was finishing half hour early, instead of five, and he'd forgotten his keys. But that was a ridiculous suggestion knowing that I had saw him earlier, take his keys from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. The more I pleaded to myself hoping that the other soul stood on the opposite of the door was someone else, the more I knew I was kidding myself. It had to be him.

I held my breath. Exhaling then as I opened the door inwards revealing the desirable specimen I'd secretly hoped was there. He was smiling broadly, wearing blue basketball type shorts along with a black t-shirt and black trainers. I didn't know what to say as I stood there sheepishly glancing anywhere expect him. How was I supposed to take this? The man had flirted un-bashfully with me, and told me something I hadn't expected to flee his lips. I felt like a tomato, blushing red as I recalled those words aloud in my head. It was making me feel more anxious by the seconds.

"You should probably go," I meekly suggested, looking towards the grey granite step ahead of me.

"Ouch," he replied, mockingly holding his hand across his chest, fisting it into a ball grabbing the t-shirt's material along the way. "I wasn't expecting that. I'd only come to check up on you. Feeling any better?" he added, a growing devious smirk torturing my view once I dared to look up.

"I—I'm fine," I affirmed, clenching my fingertips onto the frame of the door, readying to shut it. "So..bye—" I began to move it until his foot stepped into the way preventing my ability to close the door. I was stunned.

"C'mon, you can't tell me you're not going to invite me in, Rose?" he said frowning a little as I bit the inner right side of my cheek.

"I don't think I should. You said and did something inappropriate. I'm a married woman, Shane," I objected, feeling less spite in myself at the courage I was taking to follow the right morals.

"Inappropriate in what context? Sure, inappropriate for a married woman but you aren't really, Rose. You're not married," he replied, shaking his head with that same calm and collected manner. He was making no sense.

"What---how does that make sense? Of course, I'm married. I have a ring on my finger." I held my left hand up illustrating my point.

"But you're not. You're unhappy, Rose. I know that," he said, wetting his bottom lip.