Kath Carter

“She smiled and he abruptly looked away. Was it really necessary for her to smile? It was bad enough that she wore the tightest black button down dress she could find. It hugged every sensuous curve, sheathing her like a second skin. It pulled tight over her breasts each time she stretched her arms. She just had to wear that dress today of all days. The day they had to work late. The day he was alone with her in the office. It was the middle of autumn for goodness sakes. She could have at least worn something longer, something less revealing?”
― Jacqueline Francis

“He shut his eyes and grabbed the hair at the back of his head. The pain had not eased. It had just intensified.”
― Jacqueline Francis

“I don’t love her!” he shouted. His voice echoed through his empty apartment. He stood and toppled his coffee table, its glass top shattering as it hit the floor. He kicked the sofa several times then went on a full rampage through his lavish apartment. Every ornament got a taste of his wrath. Curtains were ripped off the railings. Paintings were hit off the wall. Vases were flung across the room. Nothing was exempt from this riotous frenzy. Loud banging. Damaged furniture. Cracked glass. Everything that was whole and complete needed to be destroyed. Everything needed to feel the same way he did.
Broken… Shattered…
“I don’t love her.” He collapsed hopelessly into the mess he created, not caring about the jagged pieces of glass that pierced his skin. “I don’t love her.” He shut his eyes but the tears streamed down his cheeks regardless. “Love isn’t this painful.”
― Jacqueline Francis - The Journal

“The virus seemed to be thriving on his misery, relentlessly tearing through his insides.
Every day it made its rounds through his body. It started at his fingers, making them itch to touch her until he could almost feel her fleshy lips beneath his thumb, the silky strands of her hair sliding through his fingers. It would then move up to his arms, creating an urge to hold her, an urge that could not be fulfilled.
Next it went for his eyes, causing him to see her everywhere, in every little thing. He would see her in the kitchen, making coffee. He would see her cuddled up on the sofa, watching T.V. He had to blink several times before he realised that she wasn’t really there. It would then move to his heart, ruthlessly choking it until it was so heavy and so sore, he could feel the pain of losing her in every beat.
And then, finally, just as night fell, it would attack his brain, invoking images of her.
Thoughts and memories and dreams. He could not take much more. It was slowly driving him insane. He could not break out of these shackles.”
― Jacqueline Francis