Filed under: writing
“She exhaled cigarette smoke directly into my face. I didn’t mind. I never mind. Her breathe had a slight hint of cheap whiskey, and somehow, I could still smell her perfume. Maybe because I hadn’t showered today, and washed away her smell or maybe the fact she soaked herself in the stuff every morning before leaving for work. It was a sickly smell. Like her personality. Sickly.
Sickly like the sweets we used to eat when we were kids, remember? You remember the ones? We couldn’t get enough of them, and then, after we’d gorged ourselves, it would be weeks until we could even stand the sight of the wrappers they came in.
See, it was the same with Delilah. I craved her when I wasn’t with her.
“I can’t stand it Del. I.. Oh god, my nose is bleeding. Come back? I hate it, I hate you. No, I love you. Bye.”
The messages I left on her machine were often garbled and left after I’d finished half a bottle of vodka, or forced several lines of cocaine up my nose. Fucking Del was always better when I wasn’t sober.
Infact, anything involving her was better when I wasn’t sober. The arguments, especially. I’d beg her to stay, even though I knew I couldn’t stand to have her around for much longer after sex. Maybe I was just lonely. Or maybe I was trying to convince her, and more importantly myself that I did care for her on some level. That when I uttered those three words just before climax, I actually meant them. Bullshit, of course it was. I didn’t love her and she didn’t love me, but where was the harm in pretending? So I’d beg her to stay, and she’d start to get restless and begin to dress, muttering excuses under her breath in the way that she did. Then the arguments would start as I began to rack up another line of coke.
“You’re high. You’re always fucking high.” She’d hiss. And then the yelling would start.
“So what. You’re always drunk.” I’d spit. She’d light a cigarette, and slam the door behind her.
Of course I’d call her. Four, maybe five times. Each time leaving a message that she’d delete before listening to. It was almost routine, the way Del and I.. well, the way we happened. Like the powder I forced up my nose, and rubbed into my gums; she was addictive.
Her glass sat beside the bed, next to the window. Rimmed with a bright red lipstick smear, it would sit and almost mock me. The glass
knew the touch of her lips better than my own. It knew that Delilah tasted of the cheap whiskey that masked her breath and of the waxy red substance that stained the glass’s side.
Filed under: writing
His phone was blinking on and off, brash music growing louder to wake him up. He grumbled; his hand searching around blindly to turn it off, and as he did, he rolled over to face her, smiling softly. Even his eyes were smiling. Her back ached and her arm was dead, but she wouldn’t have changed this moment in time for anything.
Filed under: writing
Their breath and cigarette smoke hung in the icy air, and she was rambling; like she always did when she was nervous. Digging her hands deeper into her pockets, she dared to look at him. He was beyond perfect to her. Even though it was impossible, and disheartened – she knew it; she wanted nothing more than for this night to last forever. He had a dimple in his cheek when he smiled, she’d noticed.
He looked cold, and was stood stiffly; his shoulders hunched forward as he took a pull on his cigarette. The smoke curled round his fingers, as he tapped the ash into a puddle by their feet. She swallowed, and opened her mouth to speak. Before the words could even reach her tongue, he spoke her name. As she looked up, he pushed his lips against hers and they kissed. The kiss she’d wanted for three years. The kiss she’d waited for. He tasted of beer and smoke, just the way she liked it. Her face burned red as he broke the kiss, and finally she spoke.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment.”
He grinned, “I’m pretty sure I do.”
Settling into the back of the car, his hand found hers and their fingers entwined. He squeezed her hand, and she felt reassured. She’d never felt as safe, and excited. She’d dreamt of this moment, thought about it over and over when she’d lay in bed, alone, with just his voice at the end of a phoneline keeping her company. The driver was silent, and his radio was hushed, as they talked quietly about nothing in particular, and the thirty minute cab journey flew by in a matter of moments.
They climbed out of the car, and stood in the road for a minute as the cab grew further and further into the distance. The unkind glow of a streetlight reflecting on a puddle, the air was still. This was such a stark contrast to the city she’d left no less than a few hours ago. It was silent. No buses or cars whizzing past; no lairy drunks singing or dogs barking. Silence. Even with the odd streetlight, it seemed darker here. The houses were cloaked in black, not even a porch light lighting up the front garden, or a tv casting an eerie blue glow out through bedroom curtains. It was almost unfriendly and she shivvered; a mixture of nerves, excitement, fear and uncertainty. He smiled at her and his arm slipped around her shoulders as he guided her through the cosy streets.
“It’s so different from home.” she muttered, and he nearly laughed.
“There’s even a graveyard,” he pointed across her. “Ooh, spooky!”
She bit her lip and smiled as she continued to watch her footsteps, worrying too much that she’d trip over her own feet. Closing the door silently behind her, all too aware that it was gone two in the morning, she followed him tentatively up the stairs. Her heart was in her mouth; the lengths she went to just for human contact.
Filed under: writing
totally unfinished.
Filed under: writing
I had grown tired of her antics, the wrist cutting and the pill taking. There were only so many times I could sit aside her in the ambulance as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Last week had been the final straw when I returned from work and found her cradling a bottle of bleach on the bathroom floor. Three hours of persuasion and reassurance it had taken me to convince her that it was okay to pass me the bottle. Three long hours. We slept on the bathroom floor that night. To anyone else, I must seem cold-hearted and unfazed by all this. But after years of the same mood swings and ‘bad days’, suicide attempts and counselling sessions, you just learn to deal with it. You wouldn’t understand though. See, no one does. Not the doctors, or the paramedics, the counsellors, or therapists. Not even her parents or friends. No one. I do love her, I do, don’t get me wrong. The girl I met on the number nine bus is still in there, somewhere. But if she was going to continue with these cries for help, then help was what she needed. I was at breaking point.
When I’d told her over dinner that evening that I’d run out of options, and in the morning, I’d be taking her back to the hospital, she’d flipped. The meal I’d lovingly prepared was launched at the wall, plate and all. Spaghetti and sauce edged towards the carpet threatening to leave a bright orange stain. I refrained from the urge to rush to the kitchen to fetch a cloth, knowing it would only upset her more.
“You’re supposed to love me!” She screeched as she swept her glass of water to the floor.
“What do you mean you’re tired?” She spat as she picked up her fork and pressed it into her wrist.
“Exactly this, Rebecca.” I gestured towards the fork at her wrists and began to pick the pieces of broken china from the floor.
“You hold me to emotional ransom every time you have a ‘bad day’. I need a break. You think I don’t get upset too?”
“You need a break?” She hissed. I bet the neighbours were loving this, I mused.
“If you loved me as much as you say you do..” she began to raise the fork away from her wrist.
And that’s when I snapped.
“That’s just it! I don’t. I don’t love this side of you at all. I lost the side I loved when you lost our baby.”
As soon as I’d said it, I’d wanted to retract that statement, but it was too late. She fled from the dining room and out onto the street. Fuck. I’d clenched my fist too tight whilst holding the shards of the dinner plate and ribbons of crimson crept out from between my knuckles. I couldn’t drive with a bloody hand, so I moved to the kitchen to bandage it before grabbing my car keys from the drawer and headed out after Rebecca. My hand was stinging and all my thoughts kept drifting back to the mass of cold spaghetti that was currently congealing on my carpet. And as I searched each side of the high street for her, I noticed a small crowd gathered outside the library, looking towards the sky.
“For fucks sake..” I muttered under my breath, as I slammed the car door. Yep, that was Becky alright, stood atop the tall public building. I could just make out her fiery red hair. Storming into the library, I raced up the three flights of stairs, unaware of the librarians on the phone to the authorities already. She’d be sectioned for sure, after this stunt. I burst through the door to the roof, why in God’s name was it unlocked? Surely they would have accounted for suicide attempts and kept it securely bolted – if not welded, shut. Why did the library need access to the roof anyway? They dealt in books! However, now was not the time for those questions, as Rebecca was slowly making her way towards the edge.
“Don’t jump.” A voice from below now echoed up to us. “For your sake, and all the bystanders. We can help you.”
I was right. The people with the loudhailers had arrived, just like they would’ve done in the movies. Loudhailers and a crowd, people trying to offer advice, and reasons to live. Finally, Rebecca broke the silence.
“I didn’t think I’d actually do it, you know James.” She crouched and peered over the edge slightly. My heart lurched and for a second, I thought she’d tumble forward.
“I just can’t go on like this anymore.” Turning to look at me, her mascara had bled yet she was smiling ever so slightly. She stood again and took a deep breath. Why don’t you come away from the edge? I said gently. She told me she just wanted to stand for a while, being so close to the sky made her feel peaceful for once in her life.
I took a step closer, my heart was beginning to race now. Out of all the stupid things she’d done, this topped them. I took a deep breath. I hated heights.
“Becks.. please.. You’ll fall.” I ventured, reaching my hand towards her for her to take.
“It’s flying, silly.” She took a final step forward. “Not falling.”
