The Degradation

Chapter 5

In "Othello" William Shakespeare wrote: "Jealousy is the monster that conceives and gives birth to itself."

He forgot to specify that it makes its way deep under the skin. Jealousy is the beginning of destruction. It makes you completely crazy. - Harry

***

I can't do this. No. Oh, fuck. I feel myself a complete jerk, because for ten minutes I'm in front of the veterinary clinic, but didn't dare to get out of the car. And the worst thing is that I saw him through the glass door of the waiting room, so he saw me, too. And in the end, I don't have the most inconspicuous car in the world. Red Lamborghini cabriolet not so often drives around the streets. I'm being an asshole. Exactly, I'm an asshole. I'm tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as it might help. It's not complicated. I'm opening the door. I'm out. I'm closing the door. I'm going. I'm going inside. I'm approaching him. I'm thanking him. I'm asking why he did it. I'm thanking him again and leaving. It's easy. But probably it is not as easy as it seems, because I'm still sitting in my car. Like an idiot. I hard sigh, to be honest, I don't understand why it's so difficult for me to thanks him. And damn, I could just leave, I didn't ask him to help me, he came himself. Well, I'm starting to knock on the steering wheel again. He worries me. What happened two days ago at the festival worries me. I can't stop thinking about it. Looking through this scene in my head again and again, but I can't understand why he did it. I searched a hundred times for an excuse, but I couldn't find anyone reason why he had to come to my aid. Especially if to consider that as awfully I behaved with him. He had no reason to help me. But he did it. And where did he come from anyway? Because I thought about it too, I didn't notice him anywhere before he found me in the middle of the mirrors. But then there were a lot of people, and I didn't really peer. So, I'm going to stop knocking on the steering wheel, because I'm gonna ruin the upholstery. I'm closing my eyes, inhaling deeply, and going out. Apparently, the fact that I sat in the car for fifteen minutes like the last idiot made me angry because I opened the door too abruptly. I'm going to the reception and leaning on it. His head is down to the computer, and he spoke before I could say anything.

"Hello, Louis."

And even if he didn't raise his head to look at me, I notice his smug smirk. Okay, so he's not just going to be polite and pretend he didn't see how long I was standing in the parking lot? Now, I don't want to thank him, I don't want at all. But I can't just walk away! And, of course, I'm saying the first thought that came to my mind:

"How is the dog?"

I'm clenching my teeth. No way, seriously? "How is the dog?" is that a joke? I haven't asked anything about the dog since the night when I hit it. Nothing worse than this to think it was impossible. Mentally I swear myself, but he's smiling even wider. Well, okay, enough, I want to make him eat his damn smile.

"Are you asking me: "How is the dog?"

Fine, he wants to humiliate me even more? I'm mad because I'm making an idiot of myself in front of him again.

"Yes."

He's still typing on the keyboard before he turns to me. I see him trying not to laugh.

"He's fine."

"That's good."

He's very amused by this situation, and I'm clenching my teeth harder.

"He was adopted more than a month ago."

He accepts in the last words. So he doesn't just want to humiliate me, he wants to bury me alive? I seem to be helping him dig a hole.

"Good people?"