“C’mmon darlin’. You know you want it,” Rupert slurred. His drunken. lecherous eyes undressed her.
Charleen felt the coldness invading her body, starting at her head and working its way down inch by inch until she stood, frigid beside him. “Don’t touch me!” She moved away, planted her legs akimbo, putting her hands defiantly on her hips and stared at him in defiance.
“Charleen me darlin’ , c’mmon. You know you love me.” He lurched towards her arms outstretched in an embrace she avoided.
“Leave me alone. I don’t love you and I’ll be long gone before the thaw sets in.”
In response to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. The photo is courtesy of Dale Rogerson