We met at my book launch about a year ago. He introduced himself as a writer too, though he was from a foreign country. I guess that must have been why I had fallen so stupidly and deeply in love with him. We had our first date at Café Crystalis. It felt like heaven. He was so wise and manly. He had this aura that made one feel free and unjudged. I told him a lot of things, things I wouldn’t ordinarily tell others; from how much I missed going to the beach as I’d been busy, to how I do not like wearing contacts but had to because my friends said I looked ugly with my glasses on. He had all the right replies ready. Such sweetness and charm!
He came to pick me up from work that evening. Said he had a surprise for me. He was wearing the leather jacket I had bought him for his birthday. I remember that night vividly. He had driven to the beach. I was so excited … and touched too. What a man! In my head, I had already ‘found a love for me’. It was late and we seemed to be the only ones there. It was so romantic. We had wine and then we made love. The wind seemed be to totally in support of our union as it was having a field day with our hairs then he stared at me with those eyes I was so madly in love with and he said, “You have such lovely hair.” I was blushing hard. My head was starting to feel really light. “It looks so beautiful in the wind, fancy how it would look when wet.”
I think I drifted off right about that time. I woke up to the sound of crashing waves. I realized that I was at the edge of the water and that I could not move. My muscles felt paralyzed. I turned the only part of my body that felt alive—my head—and I saw him. He was standing far away but I could see his face. He was smiling. The bastard was smiling!
I didn’t have any time to even access the situation. A big wave was coming and there was no way I would survive it. I looked at him with pleas in my eyes. My tongue refused to budge. And then he turned and walked away.
Being stuck on the beach wasn’t the best feeling. I was going mad. I watched people come to the beach everyday but I couldn’t talk to anybody; they couldn’t hear me. At first I used to scream but I’ve given up on that too. I don’t have much of a choice.
And just when I thought I’d never see him again, here he was, right in front of my eyes wearing the same leather jacket. He was with a lady. I think I recognize her. Oh yes, she’s a writer too. A well-known one. She’s laughing. They’re laughing. The bastard seems happy. This scene seems oddly familiar. I can hear him. He’s saying something. Something about how great her hair looks in the wind…
Oh my! Help! There’s about to be another murder!
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