Sudden Betrayal

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
While aboard a train, a woman resists the temptation to cheat on her husband.

Submitted: December 17, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 17, 2015



Sudden Betrayal

By Joseph Logsdon

The train traveled through the night, its only purpose being to evoke as much misery as humanly possible. Anne slept in the cold compartment, a room that had been rented precisely for her. She was restless, in a state of endless anxiety, tormented by the fact that her marriage was slowly falling apart. The bed was frozen and uninviting, hardly the right temperature for a woman of her sensibility. Her dreams were filled with horrific images, nightmarish thoughts that refused to be silenced.

Her slumber was ended by a loud knocking sound. Someone, most likely her husband, was standing behind the door. Anne opened her eyes, startled, disturbed, beyond nervous. Her ability to speak English, far from perfect, proved to be a great handicap. Given her French background, there seemed to be very little she could do to improve. The knocking got louder and louder, the sound of urgency overtaking any chance of getting a decent night’s sleep. The door seemed to be calling to her, begging her to answer an unavoidable question.

She reached for the door, in pure denial of her own sinful nature. Part of Anne wanted to believe that it was her husband, desired to believe that she was a good woman, someone who could never lie to her partner, who could never betray everything moral and good, while the other part of her, the corrupt part, wanted to believe that it was another man, the same man that had been pursuing her for weeks. Anne turned the knob, and her heart, long since broken, suddenly became blacker as she stared into the face of Sam, a man so warped, so full of darkness, that nothing seemed to repel his corruption.

“What you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I’ve been waiting all night, praying that you would see the light, at least long enough for us to get out of here. It’s a funny thing, the line between lust and love. It’s what we want, how much we want it, what we’ll do to get it. The real question is, how much do you want it?”

“Me don’t want, I mean, I don’t want anything. Leave me alone, or I get my husband, make him come beat you up,” she hissed.

“You make me laugh; Jack couldn’t beat anyone up, I’m sorry to inform you. He’s weak, certainly not man enough to handle you. Out of curiosity, why did you even marry him? He’s an old man, almost twice your age, about ready to croak. I know you’re attracted to me; don’t bother denying it. You’ll come around, once you get to know me properly, that is,” Sam stated, closing the door behind him.

“It doesn’t matter what me feel, I mean what I feel, or, to put it another way, what I want. He my husband, that all I know, all I want know. I will, won’t, leave him, not for anything,” she grunted.

Tears were in her eyes, painful tears of heartbreak, anxiety, fear. She pounded against his chest, on the edge of sanity. Sam grabbed Anne’s arms and pinned her against the wall, an overwhelming amount of lust in his eyes.

“Don’t, I implore you, don’t do this to yourself. You need guidance, support that only I, your only hope for a better future, can provide for you. Won’t you let me take care of you? I’m everything he isn’t, everything he wants to be, all the things he will never be. You know this to be true, is all I’m trying to say,” Sam uttered.

“He good man, the perfect husband. I love him, more than most people realize,” she cried.

“Are you, be honest now, satisfied with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he replied.

Anne briefly paused, hesitant to respond to an unavoidable question. She turned her eyes towards the window, her heart sick with fear, her mind plagued with an overwhelming sense of doubt. It was all too much for her, too much for anyone.

“He sick, supposedly because of old military injury, what was clear mistake. He can’t do good with me, through no fault of his own. I restless, in need of companion, in need of comfort, all the little thing that most woman receive,” she cried.

“What’s the harm, I wonder, in succumbing to your desire, just for one night?”

Their eyes met, swiftly followed by their lips, passion being the dominant theme of their troublesome love affair. Anne pulled away from him, ashamed of herself, of what she had done, what she planned to do. It was her lust, that unyielding feeling of pleasure, compiled with guilt, which finally broke her spirit.

“No, please, don’t do this,” she begged, doubt in her voice.

“Just relax, no need to get upset,” he whispered.

He kissed her again, not allowing for the slightest sign of resistance. He overwhelmed her morality, all of the things she stood for, what she had fought for, hoped for. Anne moaned loudly and passionately, hungry for flesh, for contact, for him. Their passion drove them to a state of ecstasy, bliss, contentment of a wide variety.

The following morning, Anne awoke from her deep sleep. As was to be expected, Sam was gone, nowhere to be found. She sat on her bed, unaccustomed to the rotation of a moving train. The sun peered through the window, in almost complete emotional contrast with the distraught expression on Anne’s face. She wanted to make amends, but for some reason, didn’t feel any sense of regret. She was empty, completely devoid of compassion, love, or substance.

Sam softly opened the door. He gazed at Anne, the expression on his face one of happiness and satisfaction. Anne looked up at him, still surprisingly aroused by his presence. There was a look of satisfaction in her eyes, and somewhere within the depths of those eyes, rested her deepest desires. 

“I have some bad news,” he announced.

“What is it?”

“Your husband, where do you think he is?”

“We sleep separately, have been for year. What wrong?”

“Jack’s dead,” Sam announced.

“Dead? How? Why?”

“Apparently, I guess last night, he fell off the train. It’s a tragedy, for you especially,” he stated.

Anne gasped, utterly shocked by what she had heard. She grabbed her chest and heaved forward, held her breath, somehow aware of all negative feelings. She knew that her passion for him, by some bizarre turn of events, had ultimately resulted in the death of Jack.

“You did it, killed Jack,” she remarked.

“What makes you think that?”

“He never let that happen to him, not unless someone, that person being you, push him,” she cried.

“Even if I did, aren’t you glad that he’s dead? I mean, face the music, you’ve wanted him gone from the beginning,” he accused.

“That insane, really insane,” she screamed.

“Don’t bother lying to me, it won’t do you any good,” Sam hissed.

Anne gazed at her hands, finally coming to terms with her true feelings, emotions that had been dormant for years. She no longer felt ashamed of her wicked nature. Anne gazed at Sam, more lustful than ever before.

“Oh, who I kidding, I glad he dead. I hated, no, loathe him. He old, disgusting, nothing like you. He deserve it, every bit of it,” she declared, embracing Sam.

“That’s my girl: cold and ruthless,” Sam chuckled, kissing her passionately.

The End









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