Filed under: writing
The barn was located on the edge of the cornfield and the dull thud of the bass in the background was doing nothing to distract from the terrible itch being caused by the haystack I was sat on. We sat in the dark, Anthony and I. Or Tony, as he was to his friends. Tony was a senior, and on the football team. He pushed the silver flask of liquor he’d taken from his father’s study into my hand.
“It’ll loosen you up.” He’d slurred. “It’ll relax you.”
I took a large swig, and winced as the sour liquid flooded my throat. Moving his other hand further up my thigh, he grinned through the darkness “You’re beautiful.”
His hand then found it’s way into my pants; he was awkward and in some kind of rush. Inexperienced for a boy of his age. His lips on my neck and chin felt wet and slimy. Laying back, I began to look around the barn. It was in a state of disrepair. My glowstick jewellery lit up my forearms, and my glow in the dark watch face informed me I was already an hour and a half late to go home. I pushed him away and sat up. His sudden look of confusion was quick to change into a frown when he realised I wasn’t going to put out.
“What the fuck, bitch, you frigid or some shit?”
I tried to argue, “I’m late home. I.. I really have to leave.”
“Yeah, right.” He scoffed, rebuckling his belt.
I reached out to grab him; to apologise and as I did, I lost my balance and landed in a pile at his feet.
“Frigid little bitch.” he hissed, and spat in my hair before turning to leave and rejoin the rest of his senior friends.
I sat alone in the barn for a while, trying not to cry. Five minutes ago I was beautiful, and now? Now I was a frigid little girl, with spit in my hair.
My father picked me up from the local gas station. We drove home in silence. He didn’t ask where I’d been, or why I was late and I didn’t ask why the car smelt of booze and cheap perfume.
Filed under: writing
sipping the complimentary champagne aboard a tin can full of other peoples recycled breathe wasn’t helping my anxiety. four hundred strangers, crammed into a vehicle that denied the law of physics. i’d already taken my sleeping tablets but the label stuck to the back of them, informed me that it’d be a good fourty minutes before they kicked in. so for fourty minutes, i was left with nothing but my paranoid thoughts and a complimentary bag of peanuts. it seemed everything on this flight was complimentary. pillows, blankets, champagne, nuts, even the air stewards’ manners. all smiles and neckerchiefs. i just needed to relax.
passport? check, check and triple check. it was in the front pocket on my rucksack which was sat in the aisle seat to my left. the window seat to my right was also empty. given the choice of aisle or window seat, i would always take the aisle. somewhere close to the emergency exits, if preferable. and anyway, looking down on the world made me feel queasy. maybe that was just a side effect of my sleeping pills.
Filed under: writing
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. Fuck.”
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 knew the touch of her lips better than I did. It knew how Delilah tasted of the cheap whiskey that masked her breath.
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.
