aggressively, painfully.
He couldn’t have her.
“John, where are you going?”
Gabriel glanced back at Molly, who had sat up in her bed, her hair disheveled, her face anxious. She was pretty and enthusiastic,and he’d had her twice that night, a desperate attemptto soak his senses with pleasure and forget. Eradicate the horrific memory of Anne, mutilated and still, from his mind.
But Molly was getting clingy. “I’m going home.”
“No!” She leaped off the mattress with a dexterity that was impressive given she was naked and tangled in bedsheets.
Gabriel hastened to pull his trousers on, head pounding, hands shaking. He needed a drink. His own bed. Now that he had sated his physical needs, the sound of Molly’s voice grated on his nerves, and he wanted to be alone with his absinthe,wanted to climb to a higher place, then crash down into his bed and sleep until he could find the strength to open his eyes and start this all over again.
“Spend the night, Johnny. I’ll make it so worth your while.” Her fingers slid across his chest and her mouth came toward his.
Turning his head to avoid her lips, he reached for his shirt. It was smothering, this kind of attention, devotion. She hadn’t seemed such an emotional sort when he’d taken up with her, more out of convenience and opportunity than any real interest.
“No, I’m going home.”
She burst into tears, loud and wet, and he was appalled. Molly stood there, stark naked, her rosy breasts heaving up and down, her hands reaching for him, eyes pleading. “Say you’re coming back tomorrow.”
“I don’t know.” He shoved his arms into his wrinkled shirt-sleeves.“I don’t know.”
This had clearly been a mistake. He had only been seeing Molly for a week, and sporadically at that. He hadn’t expected her to get the wrong idea. He was not interested in dramatics, in a permanent sort of arrangement. It had only been two months since Anne’s death, and he wasn’t ready to attach himselfto another woman.
He suspected he had loved Anne.
Her hand grappled with his arm. “Promise me you’ll be back tomorrow. I can’t go a whole day without you, I just can’t.”
The vehement statement was so odd, Gabriel found himself pausing to glance down at her tear-streaked face, her dark brown hair tousled and sticking to her cheek in disarray. “Why on earth not?”
“Because I’m in love with you,” she said passionately, leaning her lower body flush against his. “I have to have you.”
Gabriel reared back in horror. There was nothing about him worth loving. Not one thing.
He had done nothing to encourage, to deserve, such exaltedemotion.
“You’re not in love with me. The very idea is ridiculous.” Gabriel stepped into his shoes, dodging her fingers, as she got a grip on his waistband.
“I am! You can’t say that I’m not. I will die if you don’t come back tomorrow.”
That overwrought and childish proclamation, that mockery of life and death, disgusted Gabriel. Breaking free, he moved forward, not wanting to touch Molly, not wanting to use force to hold her back, but needing to get away. “You’re not going to die, and it’s offensive to me that you would suggest such a thing in light of what we have all endured in grief for Anne.”
But the chastisement had no effect on Molly. She threw her head back in defiance, pulling her hair off her cheek, chin thrusting up. “I’m glad Anne is gone. If she hadn’t died, you never would have come to me. And all I want is you.”
Gabriel grabbed his coat and fled, slamming the door behindhim on her tears, his heart pounding. The encounter had been illogical, but he was too raw to decipher it.
He’d go home and have a drink.
Everything always made more sense after a drink.
Mrs. Jane Gallier
117 Esplanade Avenue
New Orleans, Louisiana
Mr. Jonathon Thiroux
34 Royal Street
New Orleans, Louisiana
17 December, 1849
My Dearest John,
I know it is somewhat improper for me to be
He couldn’t have her.
“John, where are you going?”
Gabriel glanced back at Molly, who had sat up in her bed, her hair disheveled, her face anxious. She was pretty and enthusiastic,and he’d had her twice that night, a desperate attemptto soak his senses with pleasure and forget. Eradicate the horrific memory of Anne, mutilated and still, from his mind.
But Molly was getting clingy. “I’m going home.”
“No!” She leaped off the mattress with a dexterity that was impressive given she was naked and tangled in bedsheets.
Gabriel hastened to pull his trousers on, head pounding, hands shaking. He needed a drink. His own bed. Now that he had sated his physical needs, the sound of Molly’s voice grated on his nerves, and he wanted to be alone with his absinthe,wanted to climb to a higher place, then crash down into his bed and sleep until he could find the strength to open his eyes and start this all over again.
“Spend the night, Johnny. I’ll make it so worth your while.” Her fingers slid across his chest and her mouth came toward his.
Turning his head to avoid her lips, he reached for his shirt. It was smothering, this kind of attention, devotion. She hadn’t seemed such an emotional sort when he’d taken up with her, more out of convenience and opportunity than any real interest.
“No, I’m going home.”
She burst into tears, loud and wet, and he was appalled. Molly stood there, stark naked, her rosy breasts heaving up and down, her hands reaching for him, eyes pleading. “Say you’re coming back tomorrow.”
“I don’t know.” He shoved his arms into his wrinkled shirt-sleeves.“I don’t know.”
This had clearly been a mistake. He had only been seeing Molly for a week, and sporadically at that. He hadn’t expected her to get the wrong idea. He was not interested in dramatics, in a permanent sort of arrangement. It had only been two months since Anne’s death, and he wasn’t ready to attach himselfto another woman.
He suspected he had loved Anne.
Her hand grappled with his arm. “Promise me you’ll be back tomorrow. I can’t go a whole day without you, I just can’t.”
The vehement statement was so odd, Gabriel found himself pausing to glance down at her tear-streaked face, her dark brown hair tousled and sticking to her cheek in disarray. “Why on earth not?”
“Because I’m in love with you,” she said passionately, leaning her lower body flush against his. “I have to have you.”
Gabriel reared back in horror. There was nothing about him worth loving. Not one thing.
He had done nothing to encourage, to deserve, such exaltedemotion.
“You’re not in love with me. The very idea is ridiculous.” Gabriel stepped into his shoes, dodging her fingers, as she got a grip on his waistband.
“I am! You can’t say that I’m not. I will die if you don’t come back tomorrow.”
That overwrought and childish proclamation, that mockery of life and death, disgusted Gabriel. Breaking free, he moved forward, not wanting to touch Molly, not wanting to use force to hold her back, but needing to get away. “You’re not going to die, and it’s offensive to me that you would suggest such a thing in light of what we have all endured in grief for Anne.”
But the chastisement had no effect on Molly. She threw her head back in defiance, pulling her hair off her cheek, chin thrusting up. “I’m glad Anne is gone. If she hadn’t died, you never would have come to me. And all I want is you.”
Gabriel grabbed his coat and fled, slamming the door behindhim on her tears, his heart pounding. The encounter had been illogical, but he was too raw to decipher it.
He’d go home and have a drink.
Everything always made more sense after a drink.
Mrs. Jane Gallier
117 Esplanade Avenue
New Orleans, Louisiana
Mr. Jonathon Thiroux
34 Royal Street
New Orleans, Louisiana
17 December, 1849
My Dearest John,
I know it is somewhat improper for me to be
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