Lady-killer

"This is for you, madam," he declares, "I will take my leave now, if you don't mind. My job has now been finished here."

Camilla picks the flowers, then she grins contentedly, and she briskly swerves toward me. "I told you, Alice, I told you! Just look at what Ian has sent me! He is undoubtedly the sweetest guy that this whole world has ever seen," she cries turbulently, squirming and skipping repeatedly.

There is not much that I can do for her apart from grinning. "Ian is an angel, Camilla. How I wish that all guys in the world were like him."

Rapid tears soak her green eyes, enhancing their already exquisite glitter. I have never seen her this extremely happy! They (her tears) employ her alongside-nose angles as their get-away course, and as they journey down her slick-skinned face, they trail every single pattern of her narrow nose with unwavering exactitude. She pecks the flowers, holding them tightly in her arms, and then she softly murmurs, "I love you, Ian, and I swear that God alone comprehends how much I love you."

Rita attempts to lodge the flowers on a table when a small piece of white folded paper slips away. My numbed gaze accompanies it as it gently floats toward the floor. She takes note of this and she fetches it quickly. Her narrowed eyes pore over the unrolled slice of paper, her lips budging in the same breath: "You are ten times more beautiful than these roses that I have sent to you. Ever since that very day I first laid my eyes on you, I have never fought against falling in love with you. I swear to God and to myself: I will not ever rest in the arms of Morpheus—not until I have cuddled you here in my loving arms. This is where you have your rightful place, Alice; from the mysterious guy who is infatuated with you."

Camilla stiffens all of a sudden. Shock zaps out of nowhere with lightning swiftness and it unmercifully flogs me. For a moment, I cannot move—neither can I pull any of my muscles. I finally heal from this frightful state of shock and I move toward her and snatch away the perplexing letter. Up to now, she still has not made the slightest move. Her eyes have frozen fully open and her tongue hangs out of her stretched mouth.

My eyes question what they see. I close them, then I rub them, and I open them again. The message remains clear and unchanging:

YOU ARE TEN TIMES MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN THESE ROSES THAT I HAVE SENT TO YOU. EVER SINCE THAT VERY DAY I FIRST LAID MY EYES ON YOU, I HAVE NEVER FOUGHT AGAINST FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU. I SWEAR TO GOD AND TO MYSELF: I WILL NOT EVER REST IN THE ARMS OF MORPHEUS—NOT UNTIL I HAVE CUDDLED YOU HERE IN MY LOVING ARMS. THIS IS WHERE YOU HAVE YOUR RIGHTFUL PLACE, ALICE; FROM THE MYSTERIOUS GUY WHO IS INFATUATED WITH YOU.

No, no, no! This cannot be happening again! Who is sending me these flowers? I can't understand all this. Could it be those ruffians who once tried to rape me? I don't think so. They have no idea about where I stay, because if they truly knew this place, I would have been a dead woman by now—they would have burst in here late at night and fulfilled their every dirty wish. It can't be them. There definitely is another culprit behind this!

Camilla stirs at long last: She crashes on the sofa beneath and she presses her eyes to blink rapidly. I sigh in relief, glad to realize that she is still latching on to her life.

I plonk beside her and grip her arm gently. "Camilla, I am so sorry."

"It is okay, Alice. Let us not talk about this, alright? I don't want to discuss anything that has recently happened."

"I will respect your wish."

Two hours later, we travel to school in her Ford. We are both silent; there is not even a slight sound pealing to shatter our awkward muteness. I bend toward the dashboard and play some music. The first track is a love song, with slow but rich rhythms. Camilla grimaces while the lyrics are being sung out. She speedily swerves and wipes out a few tears that have fled her hurt eyes. Grief pours into my heart. I can't bear to see her like this. I immediately switch the track and a tumultuous pop song that lacks any romantic stuff follows. Finally...this feels a lot much better. I breathe in and collapse into my seat.

My classroom is half deserted. It accommodates fifty-four undergraduates in grand total and the chairs always fill up. My watch displays 9.50. Today's class was supposed to begin at 9.40. I am ten minutes late, yet I am wondering what the hell is going on here. Rita is seated on her usual chair, slothfully munching spiced pop corns while she flips through Facebook on her tablet. I take a seat alongside her and then I throw her an overjoyed smile.

"Rita, how are you?"

She stirs toward me and scratches my cheek with her cordial lips. "I am okay, sweetheart, and how are you feeling today?"

"I had a few depressing issues to encounter at home."

She hands out a box of pop corns to me—her eyes dilating in the same breath. "Really? Have these pop corns please."

"Thank you, honey. But before I disclose my dilemma to you, tell me what is going on here? Why is the class still half-empty? The lecturer hasn't arrived up till now, has he?"

"Rumor is it that all lecturers have been called to an urgent meeting by the Dean. Our class supervisor recently announced that our Basics in Pharmaceutical Technology tutorial has been postponed to 10.40. That is why numerous students are still loitering outside. I stayed here to update my Facebook wall."

I put on a grief-stricken scowl.

Rita laughs irrepressibly. "Now tell me what happened at your place?"

"Someone sent a midget to deliver a sheaf of flowers at my doorstep; and these flowers were meant for me, just imagine!"

"Really? That is so romantic, Alice. No one has ever done that to me. You are such a lucky girl, do you ever realize that?"

"You think that this is romantic and that I am also fortunate? I don't see things that way, Rita."

"Okay, now tell me who this lovey-dovey guy is?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

"What?"

"You have heard me precisely."

"How am I supposed to know him, Alice? You are charging me with a crime that I did not commit."

"Common sense tells me that you and Raymond are playing this nasty game on me and I'm not enjoying it one bit."

"Hang on there, my friend. What evidence do you have to prove that Raymond and I are the ones responsible for this scheming?"

I show her the two love letters that I have received so far. She skims them briskly and then she stares back at me in awe. "That is my proof," I say humorlessly.

She sniggers. "Don't play dummy with me, Alice. You make it sound as if my name and Raymond's are scribbled on those two pieces of paper. Is that proof enough to verify what you are saying?"

I surrender. "I don't know what to think anymore, Rita. I don't know who I should pin my faith on and who I should mistrust. I feel like everyone is selling me out."

"You can always trust me, sweetie; you must always pin your faith on me. Believe me: Raymond and I could not arrange such a thing. We simply cannot! There is someone else out there who is playing these annoying pranks on you."

"Enough of this subject now. Can we please talk about something else?"

"Absolutely."

"You haven't let me know when I am finally going to meet him."

Rita throws me a half-smile. "Thus far, he hasn't told me when he is planning to meet you. It will be very soon, I think."

"Is he good-looking?"

"He is ten times more attractive than Christopher, trust me."

I cringe. Why does she consistently have to mention that bastard's name? Anyway, I can't envisage anyone being ten times more handsome than him. I want to laugh right now but I restrain myself from accomplishing this.

"Do you have any photo of him which you can show me?"

Rita singles out a disconsolate face. "I regrettably don't have his photos. He does not even have a social media account. I am sorry, sweetie."

I nod composedly. "It's okay."

Classes conclude. I am assembling my books and my stuff back into my bag when Rita leans over and mumbles softly, "How about us having another tasty snack at MacDonald's, Alice?"

I shake my head in staunch denial. "I am avoiding to run into that imbecile again. I beg you not to say his name out loud. Right now, I just want to go home and loosen up."

"Come on; don't be stubborn for nothing! Chri—I am sorry. That jerk's hideaway is not the MacDonald's. You can find him anywhere, even at your house."

"I don't want us to quarrel over this, okay? Take me home now or else I will walk there on my own."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Rita salutes me, bowing down; I slap her cheek flirtatiously the instant she straightens up.

A couple of minutes thereafter, she pulls up her posh Nissan Dart in front of my house. Yellowish lights beam in nearly every room. I have a sneaking suspicion that Camilla is presently home and that she is furthermore reveling in someone's company. Could it be Ian? I have no idea. Her car isn't outside, which implies that she has already parked it inside our garage. I can't spot Ian's automobile either. It cannot be him. He always comes here with his vehicle and he perpetually leaves it in front of our house.

"Thank you for everything, Rita. I wish you a very safe and sound journey."

Her chilly hand strokes my cozy cheek. "You are evermore welcome, dear. Goodbye."

The chilly breeze dashes my body's warmth to pieces the instant I scramble out of her comfortably warm car. I race to the door, shuddering violently. The weather was sunny and enjoyable before nightfall emerged. While the sky was blackening, an unrelenting wintry breeze surfaced, and till now, it is tossing trees from side to side and hurling their detached leaves everywhere. I shove the door open and speed into the entryway. Rackets of laughter fill up the living room. I stand amazed for a little while, questioning whom Camilla has brought home tonight.

"Camilla, good evening," I call out before terror straightens up my hair. Oh my God! We have highly special guests tonight—Chris and his two blond lovers! Which one is his authentic girlfriend between the two of them? I scowl in dissatisfaction. Philanderers like him don't date one woman at a time; they juggle ten girls at the same time; and they do it without any speck of fright or mortification.

"Alice, my outstanding angel, welcome back home, honey," Camilla asseverates happily, "Please meet Christopher, my classmate. These two beautiful blondes here are his playgirls—which he adores to call them. Guys, this is my colleague, Alice Nigel. She is from New York but she does not know one bit concept related to modeling."

The four concurrently contort with feverish laughter.

Chris addresses me, "Alice, I am happy to meet you for the third time, darling."

"Aha!" Camilla exclaims, "So you two have met before, haven't you?"

"It is not like we had a date or a one-night stand, Camilla. I will tell you the whole story, but first you must finish lecturing me here."

Camilla is all smiles. "Alice, please treat yourself with a tasty salad that I have put in the microwave for you. We have already had dinner."

Chris winks at me and he moreover blows me a hasty kiss. I give him the 'don't-dare-me' look before I proceed to my bedroom. What does he think that I am—a slut? He has probably misconceived me for one. I am not a prostitute and I will never ever sell myself to him or anyone—even if I was told to choose either that or to get burnt until I am nothing but consummate ash.

Once I am inside my room, I fasten the door and take off all my clothes, except for my T-shirt bra and thongs. I comb my closet for anything terrific that I can put on tonight. My silk nightdress will do the magic for me. No, I am not aiming to seduce that moron called Christopher! I'm not as despicable as those two girls who chill out with him everywhere he goes! How much does he pay them to have sex? Is it enough to make up for two semesters' tuition fees? What can one except from crappy girls like them in any case? They will prostitute themselves to any man, even for an inexpensive three-dollar cup of coffee!

I turn back into the living room looking gorgeous in my long sleeveless nightgown. My loosed hair hangs anywhere if feels like dropping. If I look left, threads of fine dark hair dive on my right. If my eyes dash to the right, a great mass of far-reaching hair tumbles on my left. I habitually crave to groom my hair this way. It makes me feel more beautiful like I am a goddess who wields unexcelled control of everything that she undertakes.

Chris' meddlesome eyes do not withdraw from me while I scoff my food. What is he staring at? I have not suddenly become the most beautiful woman in this entire world, have I? If he yens to make sheep's eyes at someone, then he must ogle those two playgirls who accompanied him here—or he can scour for images of the hottest girls alive on Google. I clear my throat, hoping that this will warn him not to keep staring at me, but it coaxes him into ogling me nonstop. I surreptitiously hunt for ways that I can utilize to drive away his unwelcome gaze.

How about poking fun at him? Yes, that sounds very brilliant! I am going to humiliate him until he eventually quits admiring me.

I sneak a hurried look at him. His tireless eyes are still pinned on me—on my face to be precise. I grimace at him as though he is hard-featured in appearance. My mouth slumps open and my tongue wiggles out. My thumbs press my earlobes and my fingers flap mischievously at him. I am laughing mutely as I perform this. I have set my sights on provoking him, which I achieve so easily.

He hauls one of his playgirls and he pecks her hair unceasingly. His lips brush their way down to her cheek, where he snuffles, and then he loudly reflects, "You smell so amazing, Christina. What fragrance do you spray on your hair?"

Her flattered gaze bolts on his face and she smiles gaily at him, temporarily caressing his lips using hers. My goodness! What am I seeing here? Is that a lust-driven kiss or what? It is true then...that these idiots go to bed with each other and they are so shameless...they can even undress in public! Holy shit! What rubbish is going on here?

"Stop it, guys," the neglected blond reprimands, "I become jealous whenever I see you two kissing. You owe me a kiss, Christopher. There is no way I will let you kiss Christina but fail to kiss me as well." Closing her eyes, the girl squeezes her lips together and she buckles forward to Chris. My God! He is not going to kiss her also, is he? I can't believe what my two bare eyes are seeing here!

Chris' lips brush the girl's. She moans shrilly, wrapping her hands around his neck and then compressing him stoutly. He pulls back instantaneously. Swells of soreness intensify within me. Tears escalate in my lacrimal glands, and before long, they leak into my eyes. Damn me! I turn away and rub them out with my trembling hands. Why am I feeling this way? Is it true that I am really falling in love with him? No, no—never! He is an indecent womanizer who is not even worth a single tear of mine. I am strong and I will pull through all this. I definitely will.

Clamors of laughter bore into my ears. The giggling carries a chiefly girlish peculiarity. I stir to check who is laughing at me. Of course, I am not stupid enough to fail to grasp that these sarcastic giggles are purposed at me. My aching eyes glimpse Christopher's playgirls convulsing frantically. He asks the girl he is just from kissing, "Did you find satisfaction in my kiss, Evelyn."

Evelyn's hands gently caress his cheeks while her tongue slowly tastes her lips. "Of course, Your Highness. Will you please kiss me again?"

"Not now, my angel. Let me pay close attention to what Camilla is explaining to me here. Pediatric Neurosurgery is a very challenging topic and I have never grasped it completely."

"Okay, Your Highness. We will kiss more after you guys finish studying. Do you promise to fulfill this?"

"I promise, baby. More kissing will follow after my lectures are ended."

Kissing? Does Chris think that kissing is very romantic? I certainly don't think so. How can he date two unabashed whores at the same time? I better go to bed right now and spare myself further agony.

I stand up angrily; I am about to storm away when Camilla suddenly yells my name. My head swings round and I steal a rushed look at her. "I am now going to sleep, Camilla. I have a headache that is tormenting me seriously. What do you want to say to me?"

"I have a certain friend who is throwing away a party at the university tomorrow. Ian will take me out for dinner at Queen's Motel, which implies that I won't be able to show my face there. He has already shelled out a lot of cash and the motel's personnel have refused to make any refunds to us. All their coming nights are fully booked, suggesting that we cannot adjourn our meal to a later date. I am begging you to put in an appearance at Mary's celebration on my behalf."

That is ridiculous! Why didn't she notify me beforehand? I have already made arrangements with Rita to stop by a nightclub tomorrow at 8 and it won't be possible for me to show up at that damnable party of hers!

"Camilla, Chris and Evelyn have been given invitation cards to Mary's party. I am the only one who was left out. Why don't you surrender your card to me? I have lots of gift that I would like to give away. Please, just give me your card. You know that I can't stand to be separated from Chris. I don't want to miss out another opportunity of making love to him."

Holy Christ! Did she just mention 'making love to him'? I nearly lose my consciousness. Merciful Lord, please help me! Why are all these cruel temptations coming my way? Why me of all the people in this entire world?

"Christina is right, Camilla. You must hand over your card to her. I don't have any new dress to wear to that party, and I also don't have any gift to carry there with me. You know that I am not a filthy rich kid. You guys hail from well-to-do families. My dad is a struggling electrician and my mom is jobless. That is all I have to say. Good night." I do my damnedest to arrest my tears, but I am a poor match against this emotional heaviness that I am contesting with.

Once I am inside my room, I break down. Boundless spouts of tears drench my gown splash after splash. What wrong have I committed in order for me to become worthy of this suffering? Is this a punishment from God or the devil? At this point, all thoughts and wisdom have neglected me. I don't know what to do next.

My telephone vibrates with a noisy knell, prompting me to jump up speedily. I nab it with a tremulous hand and Rita's excited voice bursts out of the handset, "Honey, how are you doing? I am missing you already."

I urge myself to smile and feign that everything is okay. "Rita, I am fine and how are you? I miss you too, darling."

"You don't sound okay to me. Is everything alright there?"

"Everything is fine, sweetheart. What latest gossip have you got for me?"

Someone clears his throat abruptly—a man by all conceivable means. I overhear his violent coughs before there follows a minute of odd silence.

"Rita, are you in the company of any man?"

"No, sweetie. I was about to ask you the same question."

I begin to feel that someone is pricking up his ears to our conversation. Who could it be—Christopher? I will not allow myself to contemplate him tonight. Wrinkling my forehead, I shirk from everything that will bring him back into my memory. He is dead and non-existent to me. "Let bygones be bygones, Rita. Now tell me: What latest dirt do you have to dish tonight?"

"It's about Raymond, darling. He has proposed to meet you tomorrow. And I am so delighted that you guys are finally going to meet each other. Can you believe that he has invited the two of us to patronize a party with him? He is the function's anchorman and he has already given me two VIP cards. I am really happy, Alice. I don't think that I will be able to sleep tonight."