Alice Monologue

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As I gaze out the window of my living room, I welcome the warm rays of the sun to soak my skin. Such a rare occurrence to see the sun in December. The tranquillity that imbues the room intrigues me, even the traffic below has subdued, and I have to gaze into the street to believe it's still there.
A light tapping on the front door draws my attention away from the road. Ordinarily, I would ignore the intruder, especially when Alice isn't home, but today, I mosey over to the door to welcome the guest.
My hands rise to cover my mouth as I behold him standing there before me, garbed in his usual attire, a red plaid shirt and grey pair of sweatpants. “Mr Thompson,” I whisper.
The wrinkles around his mouth and eyes deepen as his smile emerges. …show more content…

“You'll believe you can love him, but he's not the one.”
I furrow my brow. “Who are you talking about?”
“Be careful with him, he is not what he seems.”
“Who, Mr Thompson?”
With gentleness, he uncovers my hand as he lifts it to his lips to leave a tender kiss behind. “Dear Eva, your true love is near.”
My bedroom replaces the heavenly scene when I open my eyes. I remain on my back as I gaze up at the ceiling, and draw the comforter under my chin. Tonight, the pale moon filters through my window, casting shadows around my room. My gaze focuses on the oval shadow produced by the light shade on my ceiling, while my mind replays Mr Thompson's words. “You'll believe you can love him, but he's not the one.” The only man I'm falling in love with is Angelo, is the warning about him?
An eerie glow filters through the darkness. As it mingles with the moonlight, it casts ominous, green shadows across the ceiling, expelling the serenity I experienced with Mr Thompson. I stretch across my bed to retrieve my phone from my night stand to abolish the eerie glow, to find two messages waiting for me, both from John.

I can't wait for Wednesday …show more content…

“It's very similar. I suppose I should come clean, that first dress belonged to Alice, but now I have my own.”
“Blue suits you, it matches your eyes.” He reaches out a tender hand to glide his fingertips along the side of my face and under my chin, leaving behind the gentle warmth which I wish to capture before it fades away.
“It matches your tie,” I say. Though it sits perfectly on his shirt, I adjust the knot of his tie nonetheless.
A stabbing in my heart forces me to acknowledge our inappropriate behaviour. Consequently, I retract my hand, cupping it to my chest with it's behaving twin. On the ride to the club, I promised myself I wouldn't allow him to flirt with me, yet here I am, flirting right back. I avert my gaze, staring down at my hands, and reprimand myself for our flirtatious interaction. “Wait one second,” I gaze back up at him, “you called me Angel, again. Why?”
“Why not?”
“I mean, why Angel?”
As he leans in close, he tucks my hair behind my ear. The heat radiating from him warms my chest, while his fragrance imbues my nostrils, leaving me light-headed. His soft lips caress my earlobe, causing my eyes flutter closed while my hands fall heavy at my sides. “Your perfume,” he

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