Semua Bab Wake Up Sexy : Bab 61 - Bab 70

Funerals were a thing of past; it has been relatively a long time since I attended one or even thought about what to say on such a traditional ceremony. As I put on the suit, and began to knot my tie, I remembered Mrs. Cavelli asked me to speak a few words in honour of John while we were leaving her apartment last night. I was startled with her request because who in their right minds would want the cause of their misery to be the man who bids farewell to her beloved husband? A tribute! Oh, fuck me, Lord! But again, she's a Cavelli, being with John might have had tremendous impact on her. I could say this with confirmation for he's changed me inside and out or that's how I see the reality of my situation. There's a sign of guilt seeping upwards from my gut to my heart and kidnapping me for a vicious setback. All things aside, today isn't about me but the Cavelli family yet I can't push aside this gnawing pain of having a part in ending the story of my friendly therapist. I wished for h

The ride to the graveyard was sweaty and tense; my hold on the steering wheel tightened as I accelerated on dripping streets of New York. The city caught under the thunderbolt, the crowd strode in colorful raincoats, some walking under the umbrella, and others taking shade wherever they could yet their faces confounded with varied emotions. The ones I might know but not experience in the current scenarios; or the peace, which never reaches my eyes even if that's the only thing I want most. I side glanced at Serena who was busy tapping on her cellphone. I peeped a glance and spotted her chatting on the group of restaurant. "Are you discussing about the wedding feast to be held after two days? I have suggestions to make," I pitched in an authoritative and affirmative manner. Serena swivelled her head to my side, eyed me with apprehension before she got back to her activity. I didn't probed her further but she herself established, "Your area of expertise is more of finance and less of

Patience wasn't my strong forte as far as I have analyzed myself in therapy sessions. With my troubling relationship and life, I learnt to practice tiny bit of it with the help of Serena who had been my rock, and the only time an enormous amount of rage has consumed me was when I felt that I have lost everything for worse. Right now, gazing at Mrs. Cavelli's accusatory face, I am succumbing into the cycle of venomous detestation for the lady who I admired until last night. It took one report for her to flip sides and to place me under a legal scanner of attempt to murder. How life swings in a few hours is really a story to write and read; for now, I opted to pay attention to the funeral ceremony. The Graveyard has gone abruptly silent after my outburst. Those white hairy men and women looked at me with their mouths agape, Serena and Nathan stood there speechless to even show a reaction. Putting an end to the discussion or my public assassination, Mrs. Cavelli asked the priest to start

Poking the flash at his face, the man confirmed my guess, revealing his dusky face, and a godly smirk of victory lurked at the side of his mouth. He appeared to have cracked the passcode of an Egyptian kingdom and now was marching ahead to claim the throne! Hooting and howling inwardly, calm or silent on the exterior. "Logan," I murmured, genuinely not feigning surprise to bump into a cop in this thunderous weather. "It's Detective Logan for you," he corrected. "So, what are you doing here at this time? I think you said your goodbyes earlier? Didn't you?" His tone sharp and accusatory, hit me in my ears more than the lightining which struck right at the popping minute. I felt a shudder and the droplet cascading down my spine; the dewy droplet got lost in my waist but the chills followed down, getting locked in my knees and they wobbled. I have never been certain about my situation before as I have been then when Logan's eyes lit up in fascination watching me maintain my balance on

The phone comes alive again and the sound of stones pelting against each other reached my ears. I opened my eyes and gawked at the screen showcasing another barn: Alina came in the view, bruised and teary-eyed; hands tied behind, while she snuggled in a corner with that tiny hope lurking in her eyes for the kidnapper to leave her alone. Opposite her, the stone holder and cutting machine hurled the edgy balls outside. They were far enough from Alina but soon the distance would be covered if she wasn't rescued on time. "Help," she whimpered; her lips shivered and she pushed herself against the thin pillar with tattered paint. "Stop the machine," beseeching, I once again got back to working on trimming the ropes. I barely succeeded. Each layer underneath kept on tighter and firmer; the mist surrounded the room covering my sight of Mrs. Rodriguez who broke into incoherent laughter and later, it got shrilling and chaotic. Her dusky face lit up with wrinkles of the old age yet there was