The Ladybird Beetle

Enjoying their cigarette break after an intense lovemaking session, they laid on their backs staring at the ceiling while the mild music playing in the living room sounded so distant. She strokes his hairy chest as she always does while he stares at his cigarette eating itself to inexistence. The sight of the shrinking cigarette and the ticking clock on the wall facing him gave him an unpleasant notion of time that he rarely gets. He shrugged it off with another puff and reached to the glass of wine on the night table.
Breaking the peaceful moment, she screamed and yelled pointing at the part of the ceiling that faces the window,” Oh my God! A bug ! A bug!” Where? I can’t see it; he said squinting, before he realized he needs to put his glasses on. He now can clearly see an orange moving dot on the white ceiling. Come on! It’s a ladybird beetle, he responded, apparently amused by the little scare she caused.
- I don’t care. Kill it now, she said in a commanding tone and a frightened face. He loves ladybird beetles, so he quickly tried to think of a compromise. He wouldn’t kill his little friend bug, but he needed to calm down his mistress.
He grabbed a piece of paper and gently stretched it in the bug’s path. As he walked to the door to set the bug free, childhood memories crowded his mind. Green pastures, blue sky, and kids collecting insects and bugs and chasing butterflies all day long. But, the freezing cold outside as he opened the door interrupted his string of thoughts and warm memories. He shook the envelope to release the little bug, which whizzed around the lamp next to the door looking for warmth. The sight gave him some assurance the little bug will be alright. He shut the door and made his way back to the bedroom. Concrete everywhere; The little bug has no green trees or bushes to stick around for, he thought to himself. Yet, the fact the he didn’t end up killing the bug and that he was the hero who saved his mistress from the mighty bug made he feel good about himself.
An hour later, as he walked out of her apartment, he bent down to tie his shoe laces. To his surprise he saw the ladybird beetle on the floor frozen to death. He felt a peculiar taste in his mouth. It must be the taste of guilt I hear about, he said to himself with his eyes to the ground. He didn’t know whether it was the guilt he felt for leaving the ladybird beetle in the freezing cold or for betraying Loubna, his wife and mother of his children. He spits a couple of times on the stairway down from her apartment, but the taste accompanied him to his house for the remainder of the evening.