Tales of Devia

Katherine took a sip from her styrofoam cup as she calmly watched the bustle of the crowd in the coffeeshop. The shop was filled with a blend of people, from nine-to-fivers on their laptops to high school teenagers with backpacks and chiming cellphones. Typical Perkins evening, she thought.

Her attention was drawn to the door as a middle-aged man with white hair entered the coffeeshop. The raucous chattering in the shop was reduced to a low murmuring as the customers turned their attention to the man. His stance was intimidating. He isn't even tall, Katherine thought as he located and walked towards her. What he lacked in height he made up for in a frightening aura. He reached her table and took a seat without asking for an invitation. She watched him as he placed his hands on the table and folded his fingers. "You're avoiding me." He began "What did I do, Katherine?" His English was thick with a Russian accent, but Katherine could decipher his words due to practice.

"Frank, you must understand that we're over. You should forget me and move on. The things I saw you do... I cannot live with that." "That doesn't stop us. You know how I feel for you, my dear Kat." He placed one of his hands on hers. She stared at his long, tapering fingers on her hand and instinctively flinched, remembering how those fingers had felt on her body, the lines of passion they'd drawn on the most intimate parts of her. Being with him was a terrible mistake she would never live down. "Whatever happened between us," she said tremulously "happened months ago, and I would like it to be buried there."