|
This Member is currently Banned
Join Date: Mar 2012
Location: Dundee
|
Reviews Requested- Contains upsetting material - Lily (New Short Story)
Such a slender, fragile neck. That’s the thing I remember about her when I lie awake, smoking heavily but unable to sleep, watching the hours slip silently by and waiting for oblivion so I can finally rest. In the hot, stifling darkness I recall every second I spent, breathing in her scent, watching her breathe slowly, steadily, deliberately. My pale, delicate wildflower whose skin was as cool and smooth to the touch as the petals of the night blooming flowers that grew in the shadowy undergrowth of the woods near her home. She loved those woods dearly, especially at night, where the air was still and quiet. I remember how she led me, expertly and quietly, through the trees to a clearing where they blossomed like a thick blanket of fresh snow- a white, winter wonderland that never thawed. I remember the moonlight that illuminated her bare white flesh and the shudder as I traced my hands up her abdomen at first with pleasure, and then with repulsion and fear as she watched the light leave my eyes and I gripped that wonderful neck of hers- crushing her voice box so that only her startled eyes and chocked whispers could plead with me and tell me of her fear. I felt the blood course strongly in my hands as she squirmed beneath me, her pulse fluttering rapidly like a frightened rabbit’s. I kissed her soft, gaping mouth one last time before promptly snapping her neck.
***
“Dude, get up!”
“urgh.. **** off!”
I hate mornings. There is something about the light that is intolerably bright, at least for someone who spends as much time in the dark as I do. My flatmate’s voice is pounding into my head like a pneumatic drill- deafening and constant- which I suppose is what I get for swallowing three quarters of a bottle of vodka the night before. I grumble and pull the stained, dank bed sheets over my head, willing myself back into black, peaceful oblivion- where there is no pain and, more importantly, no irritating flatmate.
“Come on, we need to go soon.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get up soon.”
“Stop being a ****ing prick and get up!”
I suppose I should do as he says. I should get up. After all it is my friend’s wedding today and I should be there for him- at least to goad him if nothing else. He’s been a friend of my flatmate and I’s since we were in high school and unfortunately the poor bastard has managed to get his balls caught in the vice-like grip of Stephanie Wilson whose soon-to-be swelling belly as landed him in a life-long hell of matrimonial and parental responsibility. Or “bliss”- as so many of my more “settled” friends liked to call it.
“You’re aware we’re meant to be at the church at 11, right?”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Yeah, and I shouldn’t have to be, you dick!”
The throbbing pain in my head suddenly intensifies as something heavy collides with my skull and I curse loudly, sitting bolt upright and instantly regretting it as my stomach lurched and I was forced to grab the waste bucket where vodka and remnants of last nights’ kebab was quickly deposited. Once I had emptied my stomach, I glance at the shoe now resting on my bed and then up at my immaculately dressed friend who glared intensely at me and then disapprovingly at my room, or at least what used to be a room, it more closely resembles a landfill site now. I followed his gaze and instantly felt ashamed. The drawers were left half open and they contained no clothes - instead they resided in a heap near the door, where even I’m not sure which items were clean and which weren’t. Empty beer bottles, scribbled on pieces of paper, old well-read and torn books lay discarded on my desk. The scattered remnants of tobacco and weed and food crusted plates rested on every surface. It was shocking really. He pushes aside a pizza box with his foot (God forbid he actually opens it- I dread to think what might be living in there) and picks up the remains of the bottle of vodka sitting at the end of my bed. He didn’t need to say anything. I could read it in his face that he was pissed off. He walks over to my desk and places it there before staring at me-
“You’ll be ready in half an hour, right?”
I nodded, “Yeah, of course.”
***
The wedding was a typically civil and traditional affair. A white, virginal bride (Ha!) with pattering cherubs dressed in peach chiffon scattering rose petals at her feet as though she was Flora herself summoning the blooms of spring with every step she took. Despite my distaste of her methods at catching and keeping a husband, I couldn’t help but notice the way Luke (the dear old groom) looked at her throughout the ceremony that caused my heart to simultaneously swell and contract (a very odd sensation I assure you). It was the deep, profound love in his eyes and pure pleasure etched into his features that caused the vines of jealousy to wrap itself around my chest and stomach- he was happy, so very happy, and here I was- grumbling and sulking. A loner standing sheepishly in the aisles with my obsessive compulsive flatmate being the closest thing to a missus I ever hoped to have. He certainly nagged like one any way. I shouldn’t be like this. I should be happy for him. I am happy for him. He deserves to be happy after all the Hell he went through with his Dad so why this indignant sense of injustice? I found myself wishing I was in my friend’s place with a woman (ideally with a more curvaceous ass) holding each other’s hands tightly as we exchanged vows and enjoyed the bright beginning of our new life together. Jesus Christ, I’m being pathetic. I don’t need anything or anyone. But still… it would be nice to be loved by something. I played my part: I smiled and congratulated them over dinner, toasted many happy returns and agreed with all manner of strange elderly women that it was indeed “a very beautiful ceremony”, but come the first dance, I’d had enough love and joy to make me sick of it for a year. It was at that opportunity when the lights were dimmed and all eyes were on the bride and groom that I slipped to the bar and I found myself face-to-face with the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.
She was slouched insouciantly over the bar, chatting casually with a middle aged fat barman whose leering eyes kept straying to the low neckline of her navy silk dress, she seemed fully unalarmed by the pervert’s gaze, either that or she was completely oblivious to his motions as he topped up her wine glass with liquid gold.
“Thank you Sir, how much do I owe you then?” She smiles slyly and pushes her dark painted nails through her tussled, mossy brown hair, exposing a beautiful, pale and slender neck.
“Oh don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”
He glances back to her neckline, a poorly hidden half smile crinkles his withered skin and he begins to open his mouth to say something else but she interrupts-“Oh thank you, Tom, you’re such a gentleman. Times are tough nowadays and a girl has to look after her purse after all.”
She smiles broadly before promptly turning on her heel, swaying her hips as she walked away from the stunned barman- providing the ogling old man with one more impossible thing to dream of or, more likely, wank to. I stood in awe as she strode towards me, and her startlingly blue eyes caught my gaze and I found myself blurting out, “Know the barman well then?”
She stopped several paces from me, and glanced back to the overweight pervert before turning back to meet my gaze and smiled. Her smile was different from the one she used against the barman- it was genuine and strangely sweet.
“Yeah… he’s my old boss. He’s a complete sleaze. Normally, I don’t… do that sort of thing to get drinks, but I’m skint this month and there’s no way I’m spending this tired affair sober.”
She half smiles and I found myself grinning like a soft-headed moron, “I know what you mean.”
I stared at her. She truly was beautiful- small, pale and fragile looking- with large striking eyes and a perfectly formed, full mouth. Her midnight blue dress tucked in beneath her breasts to accentuate her tiny waist before flowing over full, womanly hips before stopping just below her knee, revealing pale shapely calves…
She coughs and shifts awkwardly in her heels and I found myself feeling incredibly warm and stifled by my shirt collar.
“Er so… who do you know here?”
“I ah… I’m a relative of Steph’s… sort of her cousin.”
I raise my eyebrows, “Sort of?”
“Well yeah, her step dad is my uncle so… I’m a step-cousin I guess.” She rocks back on her heels slightly, cradling her glass of wine in her small, delicate fingers and looking awkwardly around the room.
“Er…” She began cautiously, “Do you want to maybe… grab a table and have a drink with me? I’m feeling a little exposed.”
I followed her gaze, and looked around the room. There was no one around us for at least several metres and I spotted a couple of my mate, including my flatmate, sat at a booze laden table laughing and watching us.
“Yeah, why not?”
“Awesome, I’ll just be in the corner.” She smiled that beautiful, warm smile and inclined her head towards the shadowy alcoves idyllically situated near the bar, “See you soon.”
Before I even opened my mouth to ask her name, she had turned and flounced into the dark, her hair and dress flowing behind her like deep, running water. I half laughed to myself, astounded, before wandering to the bar. The lecherous barman was still standing there, polishing glasses and watching the bridesmaids intently as they giggled amongst each other.
“Double scotch please.”
“Six-fifty” he replied gruffly. A smile was clearly only offered to members of the opposite sex.
“Jesus, that’s expensive, sure you can’t knock the price down a bit?”
“Six-fifty.”
He glares at me with such murderous intent that I instantly drop my gaze (lest he was tempted to smash the bottle of scotch he had lifted off the shelf over my head) and I began to scrounge my pockets for cash. I awkwardly deposit a handful of coins on the counter, and he counted them expertly before pushing over a glass of clear, fluid amber. I thanked him quickly and turned back to the alcoves where I saw the strange, solitary beauty sat deep in thought. Her chin was resting gently on her pale fingers as she stared out into the darkness and, in that eerie, artificial half-light, she carried an air of such sombre gravity that she momentarily transformed into a pale, ethereal spectre, lost and wandering, forever waiting for a lover that was long departed and would never return to her. Yet as I approached, she glanced up at me and her melancholic hypnosis was shattered by a warm hearted smile that exuberated in sincere happiness to be in my presence and wrapped me in a glow of comforting affection. I smiled warmly in return and sat opposite her on a precarious and unsteady stool in which we conversed, oblivious to the vulgar festivities that were ensuing before us, and remained entrenched in our own quiet world of conversation until the music finally stopped and the drunken stragglers, including ourselves, were herded out of the hotel doors. As she was stepping into the taxi I recalled that I had failed to get her name and number in which she smiled, pulled out a short pencil of eye liner, and briskly wrote on my arm in quick, bold strokes before climbing into the back of the car.
Her name was Lily.
|
