Flicker From View

The last twenty-four hours had been some of the worst she ever experienced. She’d gone from living happily in New York with her boyfriend of five years, to catching him in bed with a model he was using for his latest sculpture series. It was a devastating blow that left her throwing whatever she could get her hands on. She didn’t care if she struck him or the panic stricken art student. They were both fair game. They should’ve known better than to fuck in the apartment, let alone the bed they’d shared for so long. But they hadn’t thought things through. They’d been stupid and impulsive, and now they were paying the price. The young woman frantically tried to dress herself, and Sebastian – oh, Sebastian, he tried to appease his hysterical girlfriend. There was a part of him that believed things could be salvaged. If only she heard him out, everything would be as it had been, but there would be no appeasing her. He’d ruined himself in her eyes. His character would forever be flawed, and as a writer, that spent so much time obsessing over morality and honor, she would never forgive him.

So she threw her fit. She broke him as he’d broken her, and then she stormed off with only a change of clothes and laptop stuffed in her bag. She’d never wanted to move to New York. The city had never called to her, which was strange, since most writers seem to swear by it. But New York hadn’t been for her. Whenever she visited for work or for Sebastian, she was left longing for Venice, but regardless of that she made an effort to move in January, because she wanted to have her happily ever after. She’d been so blinded by love, by her foolish romantic sensibilities, that she’d decided to finally take the plunge by following him, but after a few short months of cohabitation, it blew up in her face. And now she was left alone, standing in the doorway of her little makeshift cottage, after having had a one night stand with a stranger she’d never see again.