Rules: Feel free to join my daily prompt challenges by writing a story of 500 words or less centered around the prompt word. If you write it on your own blog, please, link back to mine. My main playground is erotica and romance but you can write your story in any genre.
Prompt word: #Spring
Photo Source and Credit: Pinterest
Triggers: Fluff, romance. (I mean, given my standards that could pass as romance, I guess.) Mentions of drug abuse, cutting, and miscarriage.
“It’s getting late, can I at least walk you to the bus station?”
Ann was putting her old spring coat when his smooth, honey-like voice caressed her ear.
It was Wednesday, a notoriously slow night for Pulp, the bar where she was singing three times a week, between her music tutoring at the local college. That gig hardly helped her pay even half of the rent or her cat’s food.
Ann looked at his handsome face and charming smile. He always offered to accompany her to her place. She always said no. He’d still resurface every evening with the same hope in his eyes. The same quiet and caring request.
She fastened her belt and hid behind her veil of caramel hair.
“Why do you ask when you know the answer?”
He shrugged.
“I always tell myself it’ll be the last time. Then I hear your siren voice.” He reached out to touch her. Ann didn’t shy away and bit her tongue when his long fingers stroked her wrist.
“It’s just a walk, Ann. I love it when you’re around. It calms me to hear you sing and feel your presence. I want to keep it for a little longer.”
She stared down at her old shoes, focused the quiet creaks of the wooden floor.
“I can’t believe you actually heard me sing over that band’s racket.”
“That’s why I love it. It’s the highlight of my shift.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and used the same smooth voice that made women order more cocktails. “I adore spring nights in the city and… I want to share them with you.”
“I’m not sure I can offer much to anyone anymore,” Ann uttered.
“… you’re wrong.” His caress was a petal sliding down her body.
“I’m a failed singer, divorced and I barely make the ends meet.”
“You keep coming back to that place even if it’s a dirty hole with an awful band because you can do what you love. You haven’t given up. Also, Ann…”
He pulled her closer.
“I’m not a perfect golden boy who never took a wrong step.” He pulled the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a round, ugly scar at the crook of his elbow. “I’ve been clean for a year but this little token will never fade away. Still…”
Ann shivered when he reached out to touch her lips.
“I won’t let that define me. So… Would you accept that walk after you know my dirty secret? If you say no, I won’t ask ever again.”
Ann lifted her long skirt, parted her legs and ran fingers down the row of healing cutting scars that marred her creamy inner thigh.
“I… after I had my miscarriage…”
He stopped her and pulled her skirt down before he kissed her.
“You can always tell me later. We’d better keep track on each other.”
Half an hour later they walked out of the bar and the light spring rain enveloped them in its gentle embrace.