Copyright © 2014 by Curtis Couch
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Chapter 12
“Do you have something to say to me?”
Sarah saw the pale blue eyes watch her in the mirror.
“What about?”
“Mike.”
“We’re in love.”
The prima donna snapped the brush she was holding.
“You’re in love?”
“Yes.”
Tatiana pushed her chair back, stood up. She walked over to Sarah so that she was inches from her.
“Really?”
“I didn’t believe it myself. I thought he loved you, but--” She looked at Tatiana who grew more and more like a viper. “Ben said Mike had spoken otherwise. He said that I should go to Mike’s room, and tell him how I felt.”
“Ben put you up to it?”
“No-no. I wanted to. He just - gave me the confidence to make a move, you know?” Tatiana didn’t flinch.
“I went to his room, and we consummated our love.”
Tatiana struck her across the cheek.
“What happened next?” Tatiana said as if she hadn’t just slapped her.
Sarah quivered, “I haven’t heard from him. I tried going back, but Ben says he needs a little time.”
She embraced Sarah like a mother would a child, caressing her she said, “I loved you, watched out for you. I helped you didn’t I?”
“Yes.” Sarah cried.
“And you’ve betrayed me like this.”
“I’m sorry Tat, I don’t know what I was thinking – I love him.”
“You’re going to leave now.” Tatiana went to the door, and opened it. “Don’t speak to me, and don’t dare even look at me.”
“Tat, think about this. What else could I have done?”
The prima donna turned her eyes on the corps girl, “You could have not fucked my boyfriend.”
When Sarah had left, Tatiana slid her back down against the wall until she was sat on the floor. She began to weep, choked. It felt like her heart had been taken from her chest, and then mutilated before her eyes.
***
The Waldorf-Astoria cut the New York skyline; inside the final round of games was taking place. Mike, theoretically, could win the tournament, but it was a long shot. He needed to win, and for other results to go his way. He played with all the verve of a dead man. It had been that way since he’d fucked Sarah. His results - that earlier had blossomed - once again rotted away. His alcohol intake spiked.
Mike sat in a chair, a chessboard in front of him, a game half finished. He was in the midst of a 30-minute think. But not about chess, about his life. He thought of how he’d been the architect of his own downfall. How he’d been given the most splendid woman. A woman who could’ve extricated him from his predicament with the mob, loved him, and made him happy. He thought about how he’d thrown all that away for a quick romp with a minor. Having not been under the influence of any duress, or substance - other than his own hormones - Mike knew he had only himself to blame. No excuses.
YOU ARE READING
Tatiana
Historia CortaMike is a gifted chess player, but he's long since given up on life. He doesn't see the point in doing anything anymore. It isn't until he meets a pre-eminent ballerina - Tatiana - that he finally begins to understand. But it is perhaps too late. Co...
