Chaos

Chaos created great things. That theory doesn't apply to love...

On a Christmas night, he was watching his wife bringing the gifts to the kids. She was twisting her hips walking in that small perfect dress. This was a perfect picture. The lady was discussing with some aunt, smiling with her perfect smile, sometimes raising her eyes to give him a sad look and kept looking interested in the discussions. She was gorgeous. He had another glass of wine. He didn’t know if the wine was warming his feelings or some Christmas spirit that was opening his heart again but he couldn’t stop staring at her. Her curves were his. All that he gave her while giving her his child’s. She was such a woman. All that one day he ever dreamt of. Sip of wine. He felt some passion. Was it love again? What happened to them? She bent over to pick up a box; he had a hard on. He returned her a smile for the first time in years.

Later that night he was watching his wife giving him a blow job. Not bad for an old bitch. He had that small thought for the blonde girl; the chaos girl. He felt guilty a little. Sip of wine. He felt better. After all a man can fuck his own wife? Why couldn’t he? Had he ever promised anything? No. His dick was stronger than ever. He slowly put his finger in her. She was so wet! He guessed it was because she hadn’t had sex for so long. He felt sorry for her. He put his dick in her. She almost collapsed when he slipped his dick in and whispered something he didn’t get. He grinned a ‘Yes, me too’. He hated her and loved her at the same time. Getting in and out of the bitch, he had that last thought for the chaos, chased it and came in his wife.

On a Christmas night, thousand miles from there, a girl woke up in the middle of the night. She couldn’t breathe anymore; her lungs were like pressed in her little body. She crawled outside the room so she wouldn’t wake anybody up. She knew it. Her soul has been torn at that same moment. A soul shared with someone who gave up on her. Her heart exploded and she started sobbing. Why? Why again? Would she be able to be strong again? Didn’t she give up years ago? Why then has she opened her heart again? Isn’t a scar, when opened up to many times, one day just stop healing? Was it that time? That night, no magic operated for the blond girl, or maybe a little when she felt asleep before asking herself too many questions... The next morning her mom found her on the floor, hold her and never asked what happened. That was all the love she got.