The Unlucky Turn by Mark Twain 364
Half an hour later.
Milford lay in bed, feeling lightheaded, but his body was burning up. He tugged at his tie, frowning deeply as he tried to clear his head. But the heat grew more intense, as if something was burning in his blood, making his breathing heavy.
“Milford…”
A soft female voice sounded in his ear. He snapped his eyes open to see Tamara sitting by the bed. She was wearing nothing but a sheer nightgown, the neckline open to reveal a large expanse of pale skin.
“You… what are you doing here…”
Shouldn’t Tamara be in her own room?
His voice was impossibly husky. Seeing Milford in this state, a look of satisfaction slid through Tamara’s eyes. She leaned in close, her fingers gently stroking his chest, her tone soft. “You’re drunk. I was worried about you…”
Her breath was right against him, carrying a faint scent that nearly snapped Milford’s reason. “Get out… Tamara, don’t make me hate you!”
He gritted his teeth.
But Tamara only intensified her efforts, pressing her entire body against him, her red lips brushing his earlobe. “Milford, we’re husband and wife… It’s okay. I belong to you anyway.”
Tamara’s voice was light and gentle. Milford’s mind was already hazy from the alcohol, and now the drug Tamara had given him was taking effect. As her lips grazed him, the last string of his sanity finally snapped under the strain.
The next morning, harsh sunlight poured through the gap in the curtains. Milford snapped his eyes open, his head splitting with pain. He instinctively turned over, only to touch warm, soft skin.
Tamara was lying beside him, her hair messy and the blanket slipped down to her waist, revealing shoulders covered in ambiguous marks.
Milford’s pupils shrank. He was instantly awake. “Tamara!”
He shot up into a sitting position, his face looking terrible.
Tamara seemed startled awake by him. She opened her eyes slowly, looking confused at first, then as if remembering something, her eyes instantly reddened.
“Milford… You’re awake…”
Her voice was choked with sobs.
“I don’t know how things turned out like this. I tried to resist you yesterday because I know you don’t like me. But I wasn’t strong enough compared to you…”
12:59
Tamara’s weak, weeping accusations filled his ears. Milford’s temples throbbed as he tried to recall the previous night. His memory was blurry, but he vaguely remembered that he seemed to have… indeed lost control. He clenched his fists, his voice icy. “I was drunk last night.”
Tamara lowered her lashes, tears falling silently. “I know. I don’t blame you.”
Her look of aggrieved endurance only made Milford more irritable. He took a deep breath and spoke coldly. “It’s already happened, and I can’t shirk responsibility. But I have one requirement. While the investigation regarding Yvonne is still ongoing, you absolutely cannot get pregnant right now! Tamara, you know what I mean!”
Tamara trembled, looking up at him with wounded eyes. “You… you really don’t want me to carry your child that much?”
Milford’s face was expressionless. “There shouldn’t be a child between us.”
Tamara bit her lip hard. After a long silence, she whispered. “…Okay, I’ll listen to you.”
She nodded obediently, but the moment Milford turned to go to the bathroom, her gaze instantly
turned cold.
12:59
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