Her Poker Night

She hid her cards--did not want to play anymore. It was a bad night for her. She sighed resignedly while closed her game, and drunk her sparkling wine in one full gulp.

She hated tonight's game. It ruined her mood.

Slowly, yet desperately, she smoked her slim cigarette. Unwilling to remove it from her bright red lips too fast--it was better to delay reality and her loss. After dramatically blew the smoke upon the gentleman beside her, she pushed all of her coins--did not really care about the money. She just hated that she took the game by heart, it wounded her pride severely. 

She left the table rather grumpily, and unceremoniously threw her half full cigarette to the nearest ashtray on the table. 

Her anger was burnt, especially after she stole a cynic glance to his table.

A table full of girls pinning after him. He, of course, was just greedily raking all the coins--showed off his victory. Girls were touching him flirtatiously, ready to please him in any way they could get from him. And that bastard of course smiled like a Cheshire cat--soaking all the fake adoration. She bet he was so ready to enjoy his glamorous night with money and girls and other artificial pleasure.

She had to restrain herself from spitting to the casino's expensive carpet. She was disgusted. Disgusted by her bad luck that night and his satisfactory smile. But most of all, she was disgusted by how much he was still affecting her.

One could not bear anymore wounded dignity, she left the room hastily. Ready to end the night and swallowed by her craziness--craziness of falling with the master of poker.