Free Adam & Eve (Eve's Room) by Lilian Love

 
     
     
     
     
    Eve’s Room
    Part one: Adam & Eve
     
    Copyright   © 2012 by Lilian Love
    All right reserved. Except as permitted under the US copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted by any form or by any means or stored on a database or retrieval system, without prior written consent of the author.
     
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, loca les or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
     
    ♥
     
     
     
     
    1.
     
     
    He was charming, and all charming men believe they’ll become rich, until they turn thirty, realise they’re wrong, and lose all their charm. Luckily I met him before he turned thirty.
It w as summer. The sun shone in through my window and I woke to the sound of birds singing on the rooftop. It was like I fell asleep in my room and woke up in a Monet painting. Even my pastel blue walls looked like they’d been gently brushed with meaning in the night. I checked my watch. Almost midday. Who cares, it was the holidays. I kicked off my sheets and showered, leaving the bathroom door open so I could see the view from my window (I lived on the top floor of an old stone house on the edge of town, beyond the house were endless fields and woodlands . I’d occasionally stroll out there with a book of poetry or novel I was studying for class to re ad under the shade of an oak tree. Yes I’m pretentious, but who hasn’t been since Freud invented the ego?). While drying myself with a SpongeBob towel (I have no idea how or why it appeared in my cupboard) I poured a glass of water over the herbs on my windowsill before slipping into my favourite summer dress; a £2 fashion miracle from a charity shop in France.
The fridge was empty except for a half carton of Tropicana , a lemon and a lime. I’d been starving myself for nearly three days on the citrus detox (a squeeze of lemon or lime juice in a glass of water   five times a day, nothing else) and found it curious that the hungrier I grew, the more the men I fantasised about became ambassadors of indulgence; pastry chefs, chocolatiers, French bakers, even a McDonald’s worker. My stomach was groaning and I had to fix my subconscious with a decent breakfast.
    I slipped on some sandal s and skipped downstairs. I bade good morning to Mrs Henley and her little scottie dog Daisy (Mrs Henley, who didn't have a first name as far as I could tell, lived below me. She was a lovely old lady who would always leave a jar of jam on my doorstep whenever she made some ).
The air outside was dry and the sun was hot on my shoulders. The town was already busy; girls and gentlemen (there are no men in my town, just gentlemen— they’re like men but with better fashion sense and impeccable manners) cycled by, chatting merrily to one another as baguettes rattled around in the baskets on the front of their bikes. I strolled along the cobbled street lined with bushy oaks and followed a stray cat through the ancient archway, past the abbey, and into the graveyard. It chased a butterfly, then gave up and rubbed itself fondly agains t the base of an old tomb stone before curling up in the shade.
     
    2.
 
    The café— Annabel’s — was on the oldest street in town. My best friend Alice worked there. And she made the best coffee in the world.   Annabel’s was small and cosy with vases of fresh wild flowers on each table. As usual the cafe was filled with the scent of warm bread and coffee and an orchestra was playing quietly on a retro radio on the end of the counter. I was the only person inside; everyone else was sitting at the pavement tables enjoying the sun. When I entered, Alice was scribbling something down in a notepad, but the moment she sensed my presence she looked up, dropped her pen, ran around the counter and hugged me excitedly. I swiftly pulled her over