by Matt Shaw
A sign of the times as I turn to the waiting area and fail to spot a seat that isn’t occupied. I really shouldn’t have walked out of my job.
Too late.
It’s done.
I’ve already walked out. I can’t just walk back in with an apology.
Or could I?
Maybe I should give it a try. At least, if I’m turned away, I can say I tried.
No. It’s a stupid idea.
Don’t dwell on it. It’ll only plague my thoughts.
I walk over to the corner of the room and what appears to be the end of the queue and patiently wait my turn to see one of the staff-members.
My first time in the job centre.
The most depressing building I’ve ever been in.
14.
By the time I would have finished this house; it was to be the nicest place she would have ever seen. The sort of house where she could envision a perfect future with the man she loved. The perfect house. Perfect for her. Perfect for us.
And in time...
Perfect for our family.
Even perfect for our dog.
Well...
Too bad.
I raise the crow-bar, taken from the corner of the garage, and bring it down hard on the posh dining room table - a few heavy swings and it’s already starting to look like match-sticks. The bigger pieces, I also stamp on, snapping the wood in to smaller chunks.
The banging, the crashing, the smashing...
This is actually good fun.
The cabinet is next, as I swing the crow-bar into the glass doors covering the room in tiny glass shards. A different angled swing of the crow-bar makes short work of the shelves within the cabinet.
This is really good fun.
Mirror on the far way also shatters into tiny fragments with one heavy swing.
The noise that one made....
... that one was the best one yet.
With each swing I feel more of the stress, poisoning my body, drip out of my sweat glands. I should have taken this hobby up years ago. It’s much more fun than making everything look nice and clean.
At this rate, by the end of the day - they’ll be nothing in this house. Nothing in this house to distract her from ‘us’. Nothing to get in the way of our beautiful relationship.
After making short work of the dining room table’s chairs, I drop to my knees exhausted and survey my handiwork.
Mental note to self - order a skip.
An apology.
It felt weird, round her house. A Strained start to our relationship.
I should apologise.
Say sorry for showing up at her place, uninvited. Show her that I can see how this wasn’t the right thing to do. Show her that I’ve learnt and won’t do it again. More importantly, show her I listened.
The perfect man.
I nod - agreeing with myself.
It’s a good plan.
I reach down to my pocket and pull my mobile phone from it.
A quick, non-intrusive text.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Hopefully she’ll reply and we can take it from there.
Start building bridges.
Hi. Sorry I upset you this morning.
Didn’t mean any harm. Hope ur ok x
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
We’ll see how she responds to that and take it from there.
There’s no rush, though.
So much to do, in the house now. Effectively starting again. It would be fine if I were doing it from scratch but, I need to clear out the old stuff first. Get rid of anything and everything that may distract her from me.
I have a lot of work ahead of me.
Some people might be annoyed by this - starting again but not me.
No.
I can see the bigger picture.
I can see where all this is leading to and - I’m excited.
Speaking of starting again, though, I’m going to need new furniture. Nothing elaborate. Nothing fancy. Nothing that may take her thoughts away from me.
Basic furniture; the cheap stuff.
White walls.
No paintings, no pictures - nothing.
When she’s living with me. When we’re a couple. Properly, I mean. When that time comes; we can go out and make the place ours. A little flutter of excitement in my stomach as I picture our future shopping trips.
This is going to be great.
And convincing her I am the man for her... when it’s just the two of us... well, convincing her won’t be hard. Not when I have her to myself with no outsiders getting in the way of it.
Yes.
This really is going to be great.
* * * * *
I wonder if restraining orders work. Or whether they just upset the person that receives them to such an extent, they feel forced into doing something stupid. The man clearly has issues.
I wonder how far he’d go.
No.
I don’t want to think about it.
I have enough on my plate to deal with, at the moment.
I close the text message down and throw the phone to the far side of the lounge, where it safely lands on the sofa.
How did my life get to this?
I shouldn’t have walked out on Sam. Peter would have got the message if Sam was still around. And if he didn’t -
Well, he would have got the message.
I wonder, would Sam do me the favour of scaring Peter off for me? After how I spoke to him, I doubt it. He’d probably find the whole situation funny. Besides which, I’m not entirely sure as to whether Peter would be scared off by Sam.
If I ignore him, I’m sure he’ll go away eventually.
Or show up again?
Round my house.
Uninvited.
For fucks sake what have I got myself into this time? I should never have told him my address - especially for a first date. You just.... You just never think of things like this happening to you. You always read about it happening to other people.
Never you...
Maybe I should call Jackie. Tell her how weird Peter is being. Mind you, I’m surprised she isn’t already round here; her shift ended over an hour ago. I would have thought I would have been her first port of call, after work, just to get the gossip as to what happened.
I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before there’s a knock at my door.
Mustn’t forget to look through the curtain, first. Make sure it’s not Peter again!
No, I’m fine.
It won’t be him.
Not after this morning.
Not after the last text message he sent. He couldn’t be that stupid.
Where the hell is Jackie?
I walk over to where I foolishly threw my mobile phone and scroll through the contacts until I find Jackie’s name. One click on the keypad later and it’s ringing....
15.
“You’re a bitch!”
“Thanks for that.” Jackie, the one straight-talking constant in my life. “And how am I a bitch?”
“I had to stay on, last week, when you walked out. And I’ve been pulling double-shifts since, to make up for the store being short staffed.”
“They’ve made you do double-shifts?”
“Well, no.... I volunteered it. More money. But I’m still tired! And it’s still your fault!”
“You didn’t need to volunteer! No one forced you to do it!”
“Technically my credit card bill forced me to do it but if you hadn’t walked out I would never have had the choice presented to me....”
“So, if you think about it, your out of control spending habits forced you into the double-shifts....”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she smiles.
“So, how have you been? What have you been up to?”
“You mean other than wondering where my supposed best friend has been?”
“I told you, you forced me to do double-shifts!”
/> I laugh but move the conversation away from the circle in which it’s headed, “I’ve been fine - signed on, eventually, and just hunting for jobs.”
“And how’s that going?”
“It’s not. There’s nothing out there...”
“Nothing?”
“Well, nothing that I want to do.”
“I know of one job...”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!”
“I’m not coming back.”
“Oh, go on... it’s not the same without you. It’s boring! I’m sure Phil would take you back in a heart-beat.... you should see the dross he has been interviewing. They all look as though they lack the mental capabilities to stack a shelf, let alone operate a till....”
Phil was the store manager. Right from the moment I met him, I always felt uneasy around him. Every time I turned around, I’d see him standing near-by just watching me. Sometimes he was doing nothing else at the time so he would literally just be there, in the middle of the store.... looking at me. It used to freak me out.
“I’m not coming back....”
“You know Phil would take you back....” She adopted a silly voice, “He fancied you..... You’re his special girl....”
“Oh shut up! That’s disgusting.”
“So what are you going to do then?”
“Sponge off society for the rest of my life, claiming benefits?”
“Okay, you realise that, at some point, they’ll expect you to get a job, right?”
“I know... and I will. I’m already bored with being sat at home....”
“Oh, my heart bleeds for you.”
“Quit your job too! Be a lady of leisure, you could spend your time round here with me.”
“I’m sure the other half would be really happy about that.”
“He might be. He’d probably enjoy it, the thought of us...”
Jackie laughs, “Yes, he probably would but, sorry, I prefer cock.”
“Jackie!” It was my fault she stooped that low but, even so, it still surprised me. I should have known it was a mistake to even hint at something like that. Jackie’s mind was always a split second away from anything sex related.
“So what was the voicemail message all about anyway?” she asked, thankfully taking the conversation back into ‘normal’ territory. “You sounded upset.”
“A week ago.”
“What do you mean?”
“I sounded upset a week ago and, a week later, you only just get around to asking what’s wrong. Some friend you are!”
“I told you, I’ve been busy.... besides.... I’m here now, aren’t I?”
After I practically had to beg her to come over.
“I suppose,” I mutter, trying to keep the peace. After all, she’s here now, no need to harp on about it taking a week to return my call. I’m just thankful it wasn’t an emergency.
“So what was it all about?”
“A bit of everything, I guess - Peter showed up here, the day I walked out.”
“I wondered if he would...”
“You told him?”
“I didn’t tell him to come round your house, if that’s what you’re asking. But, I did tell him you had walked out. He was being weird - just walking up and down the aisle, like he was looking for your check-out. You know, he didn’t even buy his shopping?”
“He walked out with it?”
“No, as soon as he found out you’d just walked out - he did the same. Pushed his trolley to one side and just left. Like a man on a mission. Phil was fuming; your boyfriend had a trolley full of frozen stuff he just abandoned....”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“So what did he want?” I noticed she ignored the comment about him not being my boyfriend.
“Just to check up on me. Make sure I was okay.”
“Well, that’s sweet....”
“It was weird. He was weird. I didn’t like it.”
“He just wanted to make sure you were okay, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s sweet. Have you seen him since?”
“No.”
“So that’s another man you frightened off?”
“Fuck you!” I never frighten the men off. They get bored with me and eventually leave me, Sam being the exception, but I never frighten them off. Peter was the first bloke I actively went out of my way to avoid and we weren’t even dating so that doesn’t count as a real boyfriend.
“Has he been in touch? Or tried?”
“No - the last text was later that same day; he sent me a text message to say sorry for coming round uninvited.”
“Well, there you go then.... he was just being sweet.”
“I guess.”
“Did you reply?”
“No.”
“And what about Sam?”
“What about him?”
“Has he been in touch?”
“No. That’s weird too - it’s like he has just vanished from the face of the planet. He’s never made it that easy when I’ve left him before. Normally he texts me, or calls me, until I agree to meet up with him again.... but, no, this time.... nothing.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. Jackie has probably lost count the amount of times Sam and I have broken up and got back together again. She’s probably sick and tired of hearing about it.
“You miss him, don’t you?”
I cringe. I know how pathetic it is. I know he’s not good enough for me. I’m better than everything he has to offer - even in my current jobless, penniless predicament, I’m still better than everything he has to give.
“I give up with you two,” Jackie continued.
“I can’t help it.”
“Have you tried calling him?”
“No,” I pause for less than a split second, “and I won’t. I’m not interested. I’m taking this whole mess I am in as a fresh start....”
“Not the best of starts.... no boyfriend, no job.....”
“It can only get better.”
“You’ve jinxed yourself now! You realise that, right?”
“I don’t believe in any of that, I’ll be fine.”
* * * * *
She’s hardly left her house, this past week.
She’s definitely had the time to answer my text message. A friendly apology for stepping out of line - unanswered. Shows she hasn’t forgiven me. She’s going to be hard work, I can tell.
Worth it, though.
Totally worth it.
Unless - unless, maybe she didn’t get the text message? I don’t get reports from my network provider telling me if messages have been read, let alone delivered so maybe it failed. Should I send another one? After all, if she replies straight away, this time, at least I’ll be ready for her.
Take her back to my house, show her what I’ve done to the place.
I hope she likes it.
That’s stupid.
It’s practically empty.
There isn’t anything not to like about the place.
I won’t text, not yet.
Soon.
I need to watch her for a little while longer. Make sure she really is as isolated as she appears. I hope so, it will make it easier when she suddenly vanishes. Like Sam. No one has missed him yet. At least, not that I’ve seen in the papers or News programs, I tend to watch in the evening.
If Susie’s life is as quiet as it appears, she’ll disappear with no one bothering to look for her. Other than her work colleague - I forget her name.
I wonder, maybe I should kill her first. Before I take Susie, kill her blabbermouth friend.
No.
Foolish.
I’ve been lucky with Sam, so far. Dear Sam.... resting in pieces in my freezer.
He’ll make a fine Sunday Roast for Susie, some day.
I laugh to myself.
Besides, thinking b
ack to her work colleague, if I kill her - I think half the men in the town would notice - going by the impression I get of what sort of character she is. A slut of the worst kind.
The sort of ‘lady’ that gives others a bad name.
Another laugh.
I should kill her. Do society a favour. Save them from the diseases she no doubt passes around whenever she lays with another man. Whore.
And yet - it appears she’s Susie’s only friend.
All the time I’ve been watching - I haven’t seen anyone else come and go.
Her mother; she said her mother was taking her to the job centre. It must have been a lie. When I heard that, I feared she had a close relationship with her mother but I haven’t seen her once and I’ve been here, one and off, for every day.
I don’t like that she lied to me but I’ll forgive her this once.
I wonder, would a punch in the mouth make her realise lies are evil?
I told a lie when we first met.
I told her I was shopping for other people. An act of kindness. A necessary lie.
For what little good it did me.
Still, I’ll watch her for a while longer. Just in case she had more visitors during the times I wasn’t able to sit outside and look in on her life. By varying the shifts, with which I look upon her house, I have more chance of catching people coming and going. It’s important I get this bit right.
It’s a shame I don’t have CCTV. I could set it up, outside her house, constantly recording to ensure I never miss anything. Pointless, it’s a waste of money. I’ll get her all to myself soon enough and won’t have a use for the cameras. Watching the place in shifts - that’s my best option.
16.
Another full week has passed and she’s only left the house twice; once to go to the job centre and the other time for what appeared to be a walk - perhaps done just to get out of her house, as opposed to any real reason. Maybe she was going a little stir crazy, sat in there, all alone.
She won’t be alone soon.
It’s almost time.
I’m still happy she’s the one. The more I watch her. The more I want her. She is the one for me, without a shadow of a doubt.
I’ve been waiting for this moment, for what seems, forever.
