– 4 –
Peter was lying lifelessly down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Then as if somebody put life into him suddenly, he got up, went in the living room, sat on a rocking chair, and started staring at nothing.
Peter wasn’t always like that. Broody, quiet man who liked locked doors that nobody could come through. And he wanted darkness in his room. So did Jack, but for different reason. Peter wanted darkness because he wanted peace and quietness; these only came with night. He wanted to lock the big mad world outside so that he could think. Brood.
Presently, he was brooding on why Rose didn’t look at him when he waived to her from the car. She was looking at Linda. Was Linda more important to her than he? And she didn’t look very happy. She looked sad. Was she sad because he was leaving? He cheered up a bit at this thought. That she could be sad at him leaving. But she also looked disappointed when he walked in the door. She didn’t look happy to see him. It was almost like she was regretful that he came. Why? He always felt so cheerful when he met her. Why doesn’t she feel happy to see him?
Or does she? What about that look in her face every time he looks at her lovingly? She blushes! He was positive he made her blush. The look in her eyes told it all. The way she would maintain her gaze and then lower eyes…
He got up from the rocking chair. The last few positive thoughts were enough to bring him to life. His woman wanted him. That gaze and that blush! But still…. why would she not feel happy to see him? Why? What’s…?
‘O Rose, what’s bothering you? You know you only have to say it once, my doll. I’ll give my life for you… Was that Jack bothering you? It must be that Jack.’
He felt suffocated all of a sudden. He needed some air… some fresh air…. And his sight needed a change of scene as well. He made for the balcony of his flat. It was dusk when he sat in the rocking chair. It was night now. In the dark, he could just make out the path to the moon light shimmering through the cracks in the door to the balcony. When he locked himself in, he put the curtains down on the windows. Only that crack bothered him, whenever he looked that way.
He didn’t like looking at full moon. Full clear moon… and the sea. At night, they felt like two of the enemy’s closest confidants… laughing at him and mocking him; constantly rubbing it in. He couldn’t look at full moon and the sea underneath and not think of what could be… What could be overwhelmingly, breathtakingly beautiful was just a reminder of what could be…
‘O Linda, put some sense into her. I’d give my soul to you, Linda,’ he murmured, staring at the deep abyss up.