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If I don’t give myself a purpose, I think I might collapse from the soul-deep ache.
With a head full of steam, I stomp into the bedroom and start ripping clothes out of my drawers, throwing them into the center of the bed. That’s when I see it—the little stain of virgin blood left by my darlin’. A scrape of sound leaves me and I fall to my knees, kissing the red mark, trailing my fingers over it reverently.
I only allow myself to bask in the memory of her hymen ripping around my cock for a few minutes and then I’m back to packing, dropping toiletries onto my stack of clothes. I don’t have an overnight bag, on account of never going anywhere, so I wrap everything in the bloody sheet and throw it over my shoulder, tearing out of the house like a man on a mission.
That’s exactly what I am.
On my way into the town about twenty miles yonder, I call the veterinarian and ask him to send out a farm hand to tend my fields and animals until I return. Then I stop at a place I’ve never been before. The flower shop. I’ve never had a woman of my own, but every man knows that flowers solve problems. If she left, there’s a problem, so I sure as hell better bring some roses with me to the city.
When I walk into the flower shop, there is a little old lady behind the counter. Her eyes widen at my entrance and she slowly sets down the pen she’s been using to do a crossword puzzle. “Why, hello young man. What can I do for you?”
“I need…”
I trail off, looking around the store. Holy hell, there are at least fifty different kinds of flowers. Who the hell knew? What if roses are the wrong kind?
“I need to get my woman back.”
“Oh, honey.” Much to my relief, the woman collects a big piece of cellophane and begins walking around the shop, collecting various flowers from the different pots. “Why did she leave?”
“I don’t know,” I shout, unable to feel my legs.
“Well, you seem like a nice boy. I’m sure you’ll resolve the issue.”
“How can I resolve a problem if I don’t know what it is?” I rake a hand over my head. “She was happy when we fell asleep last night. I think.”
“That’s the thing about us women. Sometimes we look and sound perfectly happy, but on the inside, it’s a whole other story.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“Yup. A woman can’t just come right out andtellyou what she wants. That would be too easy. You have tofigure it out, son.” She laughs merrily, as if she isn’t telling me a bunch of godawful facts. “Sometimes she doesn’t evenknowwhat she wants.”
I need to sit down.
But there’s no chair in sight, so I pace instead.
“There is some good news, however,” says the lady, her eyes sparkling. “All women love flowers. You can’t go wrong there.”
“Even a city girl?” I ask. “Maybe she’d want…coffee instead?”
Very carefully, the woman sets down the bundle of flowers and folds her hands at her waist. “Son, please don’t take this the wrong way.” She looked me over, top to bottom. “But I hope you’re not going to court a city girl dressed in dirty overalls and no shirt or shoes.”
Not once has my attire registered with me.
It does now.
The old lady is right. I can’t go to the big city looking like I just wandered out of the mountains. Since I don’t know where she lives, my plan is to find her at the boutique where she works. Le Chic is what she called it. What if I walk in there and embarrass Bianca?
I swallow hard. “What do you suggest?”
“I was hoping you would ask.” Grinning, she slides a phone out of her pocket, taps the screen a few times and hold it to her ear. “Harold, come on down to the shop. Bring that old suit of yours and my sewing kit.”
7
Bianca
Idon’t feel so good.
I’m not sick. At least, I don’t think so.
