To Have Your Cake and To Eat It

This story is written in a Flipped Perspective point of view: Mai, Phillip, and April. Enjoy!

April had worked beside him for about six months, and during that precious time she’d grown to love him. She had applied to every photo studio she knew, and even some she hadn’t believed to exist, hoping for someone, or anyone, to accept her as an intern. She was ecstatic when she finally received an acceptance letter, a simple business card, with his sporadic signature and the date she started. April had arrived, her first day, at Phillip Photography. Phillip, shed'd love to call him Phil, paced with elation, his ebony hair cut short with a messy but cute “just woke up” look. He was tall and built, not massive, but with definition. She thought his shirt looked tight, as if too small. Infatuated , she noticed it hiked up, exposing corded muscles and solid abs that rippled. His face was angular, but not thin, and dusted with a modest shave. He was perfection and she knew it. She beamed a dimpled smile towards him, and he cast a hello, his camera and tripod crowding his hands. He started to prattle, his voice a light baritone, soothing to the ears. As he spoke, she brimmed with affection and optimism, which in return greeted friendship and understanding; consequently, he never discouraged her advancements.

He rambled on about her internship; her work hours, what she was to do (something about the reflectors), and finally, she remembered a handshake and “let’s get started,” before she snapped from her reverie. That day having faded, she was now positioning the lights, covered with reflectors, for an “important guest,” he had hinted. The last few sets of illuminators were almost in place when her heartache walked through the door. She was beautiful, a flawless angel for a quintessential man, with long, curled, luscious hair cascading to the girl’s shoulders, framing a face as pure as rain, heavily outweighing her own straightened, highlighted hair that rested airily against her chest, contouring her “nerd” glasses. Unlike her own slender stature, petite height, and mediocre frame, this woman formed curves in every right place, height reaching to his neck, and a pristine frame. She was a rose that bloomed in May. April knew, at that moment, who this woman was, and what it meant for her future with him. She met the girl with a mumbled “welcome,” his hug tearing at her emotions, ripping like a dull knife. Her mood ceased to improve as the shoot progressed and, awkwardly so, ended. They departed, his arm rapped around the woman’s bare shoulders. She didn’t hear nor process his next request; all she could touch was bleeding rage, all she could see was flowing betrayal, and teetering, a heart of blood red glass, in danger of falling, falling, falling…in danger of fracturing, splintering, and dissipating to dust.

                                                                * * * * *

            Working alone is hard, and only a year and a half into the business made it even harder. The past six months had been bearable, all because of Mai. Their paths, as if by fate, crossed at the café off the junction of Bane and Marie Street. He a photographer, she a model, and for every reason too: Mai was tall, extravagant, and gorgeous. Silken, brunette hair bounced upon her shoulders, dancing with every step she took. Her rounded hips swayed, swooning passerby’s attention, then swatted away with a click of the heel and an accusing glare. That same day he willed her to his studio for a brief trial and a luxurious date. It went well, awe-fully well, for she was fantastic, with natural talent and indigenous beauty. Phillip requested a formal photo shooting in six months. “Until then,” Mai had whispered. “I can’t wait,” he cooed, and they parted with a subdued, breathy, blown kiss.

In his mailbox perched a letter; shocked, as it's a request for an internship. Eager to lighten the load, he replied with a scrawled signature and tomorrow’s date. Through the months he taught, over the months April learned, and from the months a relationship blossomed. She had grown close to him, he could sense it, but he didn’t grow close in return. “A simple friendship among coworkers,” he thought was a confirming, comforting, and self-sufficient answer. Phillip already loved someone in his life: an angel suited for the drab of a man he considered himself to be.

The morning was luminous. A nervous start for the “important client” he had spoken about. His intern seemed ecstatic, as if the breeze that wafted across the street, wafted into her heart, kindling a spark ablaze. As if on cue, the wind blew in, the door oscillated from Mai’s arrival. Sweeping straying curls from her face and removing the opaque sunglasses from her high cheekbones, she sauntered in. A smile boasted from April’s face, then fell like an anvil, dismayed when he proceeded to embrace Mai. Distressed, he introduced the two, wondering what resentment had blotted the fluorescent atmosphere. Her refulgent hello clashed with a dull and mumbled, “welcome.” Tension built, and then shattered, as he started the photo shoot. Her pictures were flawless, and his intern’s grief didn’t improve. Ending awkwardly, he led his angel to the door, calling behind him about a “date” he had urgently to attend. As they left, Mai looked back, her adoration to her destruction of crimson glass, shattered like dust about the floor, a broken heart fragmented, lying beside April’s feet.

Author's Note

Revised version of "A Devil in Disguise." All comments welcome!