A Moment of Fragrance
Wednesday 11th;
10: 42 am.
The warmth of the sun lands onto the floor and radiates up into the air of the office. It amplifies the pleasant aroma within.
“Are you done with your coffee, sir?”
“Are you done with your coffee, sir?”
He doesn’t look up. He continues to write in his notebook. His writing is runny with large loops, and his long, gloved fingers rest on the pen lightly, as if the pen were writing on its own and he was merely supporting it.
The coffee is removed from the office.
11:47 am.
Wanda rummages in her bag; she pulls out a mirror. Bringing it closer to her face, she angles it and traces a faint scar on her jaw, pulls out a make-up kit and conceals it some more. I don’t look. She doesn’t like it when I look.
11:57 am.
Mr. Bentley leaves his office for lunch.
Mr. Bentley leaves his office for lunch.
11:58 am.
Wanda trots out.
Wanda trots out.
12:00 pm.
His office is empty. The large window is open. A glass paperweight sits on the papers on his desk. His laptop is in sleep. The skull models fix their eyeless sight onto the wall opposite them. The black dahlias swing in the gentle breeze. The smell of ethanol is faint. I empty the small bucket of trash. I cannot find the bitter ingredient.
His office is empty. The large window is open. A glass paperweight sits on the papers on his desk. His laptop is in sleep. The skull models fix their eyeless sight onto the wall opposite them. The black dahlias swing in the gentle breeze. The smell of ethanol is faint. I empty the small bucket of trash. I cannot find the bitter ingredient.
12:43 pm.
His hand runs along the edge of my desk. “Asya,” he says softly, “Have you had lunch?”
I look up from the screen and nod, “At 12:30 pm, sir.”
He looks thoughtful. His gaze flicks to Wanda’s empty desk. He leaves into his office.
I breathe in the lingering smell of cologne and commit it to memory.
His hand runs along the edge of my desk. “Asya,” he says softly, “Have you had lunch?”
I look up from the screen and nod, “At 12:30 pm, sir.”
He looks thoughtful. His gaze flicks to Wanda’s empty desk. He leaves into his office.
I breathe in the lingering smell of cologne and commit it to memory.
08:22 pm.
Paco Rabanne. 1 million.
The bottle is lost in my sheets. The fragrance fills my bedroom. I’m tame; I’m weak; I’m at its mercy.
Paco Rabanne. 1 million.
The bottle is lost in my sheets. The fragrance fills my bedroom. I’m tame; I’m weak; I’m at its mercy.
08:33 pm.
It’s not enough.
It’s not enough.