Tuesday Tales and More Than a Picture (pic prompt)

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.

A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to a picture prompt. We have 300 words to get your attention. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, Steal My Heart.

Enjoy!~





I loved Marty more than I’d ever loved a romantic partner. My heart kept falling for him when my head fought so valiantly against the passion. So good in word and deed, I forgot so many times just who his father was. Sitting next to him, in this moment so painful, so intense, the craving stayed away, liberating me from the staunch grip of common weakness. Hope replaced fear, pushing me through the excruciating rhetoric this human garbage spouted to me over his cup of coffee with extra milk.
When he produced this alleged map, my focused changed. The meeting was no longer about me, it was, in fact, about victims who didn’t get away. The few who had the most unfortunate lot as the target of a psycho. I would never know the true reason I survived, maybe the truth didn’t matter. But, these girls mattered, they mattered a whole hell of a lot in a picture bigger than any frame could house.
The heat from Marty’s body comforted the chill seeping down into my bones. I pretended he was my knight, my protection, my support in a vastly unpleasant scene. Who knew inside a crowded room so much evil permeated the nooks and crannies. Everyone around laughing, joking, being carefree, full of the future. This excrement chose the place, probably because he stalked his prey here, or at least close by.
I concentrated, trying to discern a plausible reason for this Willoughby’s coming clean. Not once did he apologize. Not once did he admit he was wrong. Not once did he project remorse. In fact, the asshole attempted to justify his sick predilections.   Did I hear this right? No way in hell, or I suppose his way washell. The room became stuffy, I couldn’t breathe well, my head got dizzy. I blacked out without falling over. I needed to do something, I called the cops. The next thing I know, this filthy pedophile slumped over the table, while I’m on the phone screaming at them to just get here. He needed to be punished, he didn’t deserve the easy way out. You mother fucker, sit up! “Yes, get here quickly, dammit, this guy just ate God knows what and he is almost foaming at the mouth. He might have killed someone and he is hiding it! Send everyone- the cops, firemen, swat team, paramedics, but, they need to be here now! Do you fucking understand me? Am I not important?” I rambled on and on, ignoring the chaos surrounding our table.
Swiping the map away from me, it accidentally landed on the floor. What if someone steps on it? Holy hell, I gotta get down there. Barely talking to the nine-one-one operator, I sat guarding the map, waiting on the rescuers to finally show up. At some point Marty joined me, literally validating my position. He could never speak to me again the rest of my life, I’d still be inexplicably honored. This man I coveted, loved, craved- he joined me, validated me in a juncture so important, I don’t think I could ever describe the bliss. We may never see each other again, and I could live in peaceful submission.  
When the police showed up, I realized more than one “someone” finally listened to me- in walked the people who would make this right. I might have cried again, I’m not sure.  
Now, they just had to find the missing. I pray to God this vermin didn’t lead us on some wild insane tangent. With soulless men, such as Horace Willoughby, you could never assume truth.  


Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of this picture Tuesday Tales Main Page