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A Greater Price
by, Cassandra
In this case of love, hate and revenge, that is exactly what happened. She saw something she never thought she'd see, never wanted to see. His hands on her back, running through her hair, touching someone else in the way she thought was reserved for her alone.
The feelings she felt at that moment were beyond indescribable. Not only anger and pain at seeing the man she loved with someone else, but also awe at the way he moved, and the way his hands, despite touching another, knew where and when to touch, how to please, how to excite. She was seeing him in a way she never had before. She was seeing him from the outside.
She feels her heart break as she stands, unable to tear her eyes of the image before her. An image that would be forever ingrained in her mind. Her ring burned on her finger, the once seemingly innocent gem now glaringly bright. She has an odd notion to cover it, lest the light alerts the inhabitants of the room to her presents.
She turns her back slowly, the war being waged in her mind and heart continuing. Her mind demands she turn and shout, to insist on a reason, an answer to why she wasn't enough. Her heart wins out, telling her to go. Words spoken in anger are the last thing they need now.
She walks quietly, avoiding the telltale creaks in the floor she knows so well. She keeps her eyes focused ahead, willing herself not to look at the pictures on the walls. Willing herself not to look back. The past is in the past, and it's time for her to look ahead.
At the door she pauses, listening for some clue that they heard her, that he heard her. But there are no footsteps behind her, no lull in the noise down the hall. Her past remains oblivious to the fact that she's walking away.
She's found that out the hard way. The phone is constantly ringing, he's constantly asking why she left, why she's walking away. It hurts to keep it inside, but she loves him to much to blame him for what he did. She's not the kind to guilt trip, to rub people's mistakes in their faces. But right now all she wants to do is tell him where to shove it.
She stands in the corner; her eyes squinted against the flashing lights. She sways to some silent tune, griping her half empty cup in her hand. She's been standing in the same place for what seems like hours, and what's left of her drink is long since warmed.
Her glare is sharp as it flits from couple to couple on the dance floor. The jealously that's usually tampered down comes up to the surface, thanks to the two drinks she'd had before this. She's not drunk, just buzzed enough to let go of everything that's been holding her back. She's wound up tight tonight, and anything might set her off.
Her body language is clear, and most of the inhabitance of the club heeds the message. There are few though who are either brave or suicidal. Their looks are quickly quelled. Their gestures are pointedly ignored. Out of the few brave souls that try, only one persists after the initial rejection.
His lines, though tried and true, receive a sharp retort. Each move he makes is easily counteracted. She's not trying, but she finds herself raveled in a game on cat and mouse, playing hard to get with a perfect stranger.
The rush she feels quells the guilt eating at her mind. This may not be like her, but she's enjoying this flirting game. She loves the adrenaline running through her veins. It's the thrill that she's doing something she shouldn't be that keeps her there, exchanging witty jibes with this dark eyed stranger.
His hand rests on her arm, and she makes no move to remove it. Ten minutes in and she's way over her head. But she keeps laughing, flashing a smile at this stranger. In her mind she knows what this is leading to, and her heart is fighting like hell to walk away. But her mind wins out this time, she doesn't protest when he takes a step closer into her personal space.
The pounding in her head is nothing compared to the pain in her heart. The regret pierces like a double sided sword. The stranger's bed creaks as she sits up, a bed she barely remembers getting into. An eye for an eye backfired this time; she's the only one hurting still.
She traded something important for an illusion of vengeance against someone who will probably never know. The jokes on her, she's the very thing everyone always thought she was now. She hasn't cried at all, not even after what he'd done. But as she's sneaks out of this stranger's house, the tears at free-falling down her cheeks.
She walks aimlessly; she really doesn't know where she is or where she's going. Literally or metaphorically. She's lost in pain, anger, and regret. Maybe if she'd just confronted first, and shut out later she'd be in a lot better shape. But no, she had to do the noble thing, at least in her mind. So here she is, feeling like she should have been handed twenty bucks before she rolled out of the bed.
She'd never felt like this before. Maybe it's because the only other times she's done this was with someone who loved her, not someone she picked up at a club. She blames herself for this now. Maybe they could have work through what happened if she'd acted like an adult tonight. But now, there's really no hope of ever fixing this, not after what she'd done.
An eye for an eye, and a heart for a heart. Only she's got just one heart to give. And it's her heart on the line here. In the long run taking matters into your own hands just ends up hurting you. In trying to make someone else pay, you'll just pay a greater price. A price you may not be ready or willing to pay. She found that out the hard way.
