Different Shades of the Same Color

It was like a scene out of a bad reality show. The awkward tranquility of the evening surrounded them both, comforting their every step as the gentle waves made an uncommitted attempt to touch Natasha’s bare feet. The full moon beamed down on Cliff’s face, causing an angelic glow in his eyes, as he gently clasped her fingers and guided her along the water’s edge. Her heart should’ve raced as he droned on about the significance he had in her life; actually, it did, but for entirely the wrong reasons. Was this the moment she was supposed to be living for? Having a reflective evening walk along the beach with a saint, someone who claimed to have all the answers? Was she supposed to cling onto his every word like some kind of pathetic fool? Was she supposed to be grateful at his meager and uncreative attempt to shake up her world? Clifford Rook gave – what he thought to be – a compelling explanation, but she simply couldn’t listen. Nothing he said fit what she had in mind for the future. She felt herself blocking his proposal – although, to be fair, it felt more like a strong suggestion than a request. Natasha Parsons felt numb. What he suggested felt more like a trap: as if the walls were closing in on her and she was feverishly attempting to find the door to get out. It made her angry and resentful. It frustrated her. However, attempting to explain this was to no avail. Apparently she just ‘wasn’t herself’ these days: the days since her accident.