Ophelia walked alone into her townhouse. She had just settled herself on
the living room sofa when there was a knock at the door. Eric. She knew who
it was. Should she let him come in? No, she really shouldn't, but she had
to guilty a conscience to let that happen. She opened the door and it was
Eric. Big surprise she thought. He was there with his dashing smile, a
single lock of blonde hair in his face, and holding a bouquet of flowers.
"Please don't run away this time," he begged.
"You really can't take a hint, can you?"
"Ophelia, darling," Eric was beginning to look desperate, "I love you. What does it matter who I eat lunch with?"
"Wait." she had only heard part of the sentence. "You love me?"
"Yes," he replied, "don't you love me?"
"I need some rest," she couldn't say those three words if her life depended on it. "I-I-I'll call you in the morning."
"Well, here then," he handed her the flowers. "Those are for you."
"Thank you."
"Good night?"
"Good night."
Eric walked away cold and lonely. He had tried his hardest to make up, but Ophelia had gotten so shaky when he said he loved her. Most women went weak in the knees when he said that, but he had never truly loved them. Did he really love her? Eric was as confused as Evan or Ophelia that night.
"I think I could cry right now." he whispered to himself.
Ophelia leaned against the closed door smelling her flowers. She had left Evan to avoid falling in love and now she was doing it all over again. Or was she? Did she just make Eric love her when she truly wanted Evan all along? Ophelia's mind ran wild with thoughts. She walked slowly to the kitchen and put the flowers in a vase of water. The more she thought of the night's happenings, the more her head began to hurt. She took a Tylenol and climbed the staircase to bed. She was mentally drained. She was awake enough to remember her make up this time. She didn't want a repeat of the night before. She looked up into the mirror. Ophelia looked pathetic. As she climbed into bed, her eyes began to water. Ophelia, again, cried herself to sleep.
As Ophelia was shutting the door, Evan was walking Amelia to her door. No, he hadn't made it to the outreaches of Paris. Amelia had kept an eye on her watch the entire night.
"Evan," she said, "you seemed a little distant tonight."
"I did?"
"At first, you just seem preoccupied," she began, "but after we ran into Ophelia you just got downright lost in thought."
"I'm sorry." Evan knew deep down he had been, and his apologies weren't as sincere as he had intended.
"Evan," she stopped and turned to him, "I don't think you love me. Just please tell me I'm wrong."
"You're wrong," Evan's heart told him he was lying. "I'm just stressed out with knowing what we're about to go through with this play. And then we run into our lead actress and she's having a fucking mental breakdown."
"I know," Amelia replied. "I know, but we have each other. Now why don't you come upstairs and I'll relax you."
Evan smirked, "Alright."
Ophelia rolled out of bed with an aching headache. She groaned the entire way to the bathroom. She looked into the mirror. Ophelia was not feeling well, and she knew it. She bathed and dressed, however, and took the bottle of Tylenol with her to the playhouse.
Evan awoke early. He held Amelia in his arms close to his body. He kissed her on the neck and forehead and laid his head upon hers. His mind raced back to what was in stashed inside his script. If anyone found, especially Amelia, he'd be done for. He regretted ever writing it. He would show it to a select few just for the reviews to see how his skills had improved, and then he would burn it. Evan could no longer bare the thought of it. He kissed Amelia on her forehead once more and got out of bed.
Evan picked up his clothes off the floor and changed as Amelia began to stir, "Hey honey. What's the rush?"
"I just remembered something," he replied. "I have to go immediately."
"What is it?" she sat up as curiosity took over her.
"It's nothing," he replied. "It's nothing."
"Alright, well I love you."
"I love you, too," Evan leaned over and kissed her. "I'll see you at rehearsal!"
Evan slammed the door shut before Amelia could even speak, "Goodbye."
Evan ran down the streets to his little apartment. He ran up the staircase and burst open the door. His script laid next to his typewriter. He snatched it up. He knew it was inside the script, but Evan had an irresistible urge to check just in case. Yes, it was still there. He smiled at his own randomness to double-check something he knew of already.
As he walked into the playhouse, he looked for Amelia. No sign of her. Good. He took another look around. Ellen! He dashed up to her.
Ellen was a tall, slender, and beautiful woman. Her long flowing golden locks fell to her chest. Her eyes were blue and luring. Her face full. She was beautiful without make-up, more so with.
"Ellen," he said. "I have something for you to read."
"Oh, good morning Monsieur Evan," she greeted him.
"I'm dreadfully sorry for my rudeness, good morning."
Ellen giggled, "Quite all right. Now, what do you have for me today?"
"This," he handed her a lengthy letter.
She sat and read for a while and when she finished she was nearly teary- eyed, "It's lovely! If a man gave this to me, I'd be weak in the knees. It's for Amelia, no?"
"No." he confessed.
"Do you still fancy that Ophelia woman?"
"Oui." his confessions were beginning to sound like obsessions.
"Hm." Ellen sighed. "I wish I knew what to say, but I truly don't. Are you going to give it to her?"
"Never!" he screamed. "You saw what happened when I got the job as the writer here, she'd flip out again!"
"Perhaps."
"I'm going to burn this," he decided. "I just wanted to know what you thought of it."
"Because I'm your best friend or because you just wanted to know you need to give it to her?"
"Both?"
"Not an answer."
"Then I choose because you're my best friend."
Ellen sighed, "Fine. Have it your way. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go visit the powder room."
A voice came from behind him, "You know, if I were the jealous type I'd say you two had something going on."
It was Amelia, "You know she's my best friend."
"Yes, I know," she replied. "That's why I said 'if.'"
Evan smiled. He took Amelia by her arm and they began the rehearsal. If it was long and treacherous enough for the cast, it was the same for the poor writers. Hours went by. After the director began to get restless, he dismissed them early.
"Thank God," Amelia declared. "If any rehearsal goes like this again, I'll kill myself."
"Please don't," Evan took her in his arms and kissed her.
Ophelia had a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach as she saw them kiss. She looked down at the ground and back up to Eric. She felt guilty about shutting him out the night before. "Eric!" she called.
She rushed up to him, "Eric...I'm sorry about last night."
"It's okay," he assured her. "I completely understand."
"You do?"
"Totally."
"Thank you, I was just being jealous," she reached up and kissed him and the feeling consumed her stomach again. What was bothering her?
"Please don't run away this time," he begged.
"You really can't take a hint, can you?"
"Ophelia, darling," Eric was beginning to look desperate, "I love you. What does it matter who I eat lunch with?"
"Wait." she had only heard part of the sentence. "You love me?"
"Yes," he replied, "don't you love me?"
"I need some rest," she couldn't say those three words if her life depended on it. "I-I-I'll call you in the morning."
"Well, here then," he handed her the flowers. "Those are for you."
"Thank you."
"Good night?"
"Good night."
Eric walked away cold and lonely. He had tried his hardest to make up, but Ophelia had gotten so shaky when he said he loved her. Most women went weak in the knees when he said that, but he had never truly loved them. Did he really love her? Eric was as confused as Evan or Ophelia that night.
"I think I could cry right now." he whispered to himself.
Ophelia leaned against the closed door smelling her flowers. She had left Evan to avoid falling in love and now she was doing it all over again. Or was she? Did she just make Eric love her when she truly wanted Evan all along? Ophelia's mind ran wild with thoughts. She walked slowly to the kitchen and put the flowers in a vase of water. The more she thought of the night's happenings, the more her head began to hurt. She took a Tylenol and climbed the staircase to bed. She was mentally drained. She was awake enough to remember her make up this time. She didn't want a repeat of the night before. She looked up into the mirror. Ophelia looked pathetic. As she climbed into bed, her eyes began to water. Ophelia, again, cried herself to sleep.
As Ophelia was shutting the door, Evan was walking Amelia to her door. No, he hadn't made it to the outreaches of Paris. Amelia had kept an eye on her watch the entire night.
"Evan," she said, "you seemed a little distant tonight."
"I did?"
"At first, you just seem preoccupied," she began, "but after we ran into Ophelia you just got downright lost in thought."
"I'm sorry." Evan knew deep down he had been, and his apologies weren't as sincere as he had intended.
"Evan," she stopped and turned to him, "I don't think you love me. Just please tell me I'm wrong."
"You're wrong," Evan's heart told him he was lying. "I'm just stressed out with knowing what we're about to go through with this play. And then we run into our lead actress and she's having a fucking mental breakdown."
"I know," Amelia replied. "I know, but we have each other. Now why don't you come upstairs and I'll relax you."
Evan smirked, "Alright."
Ophelia rolled out of bed with an aching headache. She groaned the entire way to the bathroom. She looked into the mirror. Ophelia was not feeling well, and she knew it. She bathed and dressed, however, and took the bottle of Tylenol with her to the playhouse.
Evan awoke early. He held Amelia in his arms close to his body. He kissed her on the neck and forehead and laid his head upon hers. His mind raced back to what was in stashed inside his script. If anyone found, especially Amelia, he'd be done for. He regretted ever writing it. He would show it to a select few just for the reviews to see how his skills had improved, and then he would burn it. Evan could no longer bare the thought of it. He kissed Amelia on her forehead once more and got out of bed.
Evan picked up his clothes off the floor and changed as Amelia began to stir, "Hey honey. What's the rush?"
"I just remembered something," he replied. "I have to go immediately."
"What is it?" she sat up as curiosity took over her.
"It's nothing," he replied. "It's nothing."
"Alright, well I love you."
"I love you, too," Evan leaned over and kissed her. "I'll see you at rehearsal!"
Evan slammed the door shut before Amelia could even speak, "Goodbye."
Evan ran down the streets to his little apartment. He ran up the staircase and burst open the door. His script laid next to his typewriter. He snatched it up. He knew it was inside the script, but Evan had an irresistible urge to check just in case. Yes, it was still there. He smiled at his own randomness to double-check something he knew of already.
As he walked into the playhouse, he looked for Amelia. No sign of her. Good. He took another look around. Ellen! He dashed up to her.
Ellen was a tall, slender, and beautiful woman. Her long flowing golden locks fell to her chest. Her eyes were blue and luring. Her face full. She was beautiful without make-up, more so with.
"Ellen," he said. "I have something for you to read."
"Oh, good morning Monsieur Evan," she greeted him.
"I'm dreadfully sorry for my rudeness, good morning."
Ellen giggled, "Quite all right. Now, what do you have for me today?"
"This," he handed her a lengthy letter.
She sat and read for a while and when she finished she was nearly teary- eyed, "It's lovely! If a man gave this to me, I'd be weak in the knees. It's for Amelia, no?"
"No." he confessed.
"Do you still fancy that Ophelia woman?"
"Oui." his confessions were beginning to sound like obsessions.
"Hm." Ellen sighed. "I wish I knew what to say, but I truly don't. Are you going to give it to her?"
"Never!" he screamed. "You saw what happened when I got the job as the writer here, she'd flip out again!"
"Perhaps."
"I'm going to burn this," he decided. "I just wanted to know what you thought of it."
"Because I'm your best friend or because you just wanted to know you need to give it to her?"
"Both?"
"Not an answer."
"Then I choose because you're my best friend."
Ellen sighed, "Fine. Have it your way. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go visit the powder room."
A voice came from behind him, "You know, if I were the jealous type I'd say you two had something going on."
It was Amelia, "You know she's my best friend."
"Yes, I know," she replied. "That's why I said 'if.'"
Evan smiled. He took Amelia by her arm and they began the rehearsal. If it was long and treacherous enough for the cast, it was the same for the poor writers. Hours went by. After the director began to get restless, he dismissed them early.
"Thank God," Amelia declared. "If any rehearsal goes like this again, I'll kill myself."
"Please don't," Evan took her in his arms and kissed her.
Ophelia had a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach as she saw them kiss. She looked down at the ground and back up to Eric. She felt guilty about shutting him out the night before. "Eric!" she called.
She rushed up to him, "Eric...I'm sorry about last night."
"It's okay," he assured her. "I completely understand."
"You do?"
"Totally."
"Thank you, I was just being jealous," she reached up and kissed him and the feeling consumed her stomach again. What was bothering her?
