by Matt Shaw
Yes.
Definitely a coincidence.
I’m not clingy.
Even so, I can’t get out of my car. I’m dying to go in. I’m dying to see her... and get my milk. It just feels wrong. It feels as though I’m spying on her - seeing what she is up to.
I am.
No.
I’m not.
I’m here for milk. Just milk. Everything else is a coincidence.
I kill the car’s engine and pull the key from the ignition. I should just go home but I need to see her. The more I think about her text, the more it vexes me - the lack of kisses. A distinct lack of emotion and feeling. Why?
When I text her, I put kisses.
I wonder if she put kisses to whoever was texting her all night. Why couldn’t she have just left her phone off - would have stopped all this worrying.
I watch other customers walk into and out of the store.
It could be any one of them... the mystery texter. Sneaking in to see her whilst she is working, hoping to blend in with other customers so they can go unnoticed by her bosses. Unnoticed by... me.
I’ll go in.
I open the door and climb from the car, slamming the door shut before locking it with the key. I don’t even have to talk to her. She doesn’t even have to know I’m there. Hell, she probably isn’t even working. No guarantee she is working this shift; she could have had her hours changed again.
No guarantee at all.
I start walking towards the supermarket’s door and stop suddenly when I spot her leaving. I duck down behind my car. I don’t want her to see me. I don’t want to appear clingy or desperate.
Did she even see me?
I peer over the bonnet. She’s not looking over. She’s just stopped by the doors - what’s she doing? She’s looking from side to side - is she waiting for someone? The text pest. I knew something was up yesterday.
I fucking knew it.
I should just get in my car and drive off; drive off and never see her again. The cheating whore.
Stop it.
It could be entirely innocent.
Last night - the text messages could have been innocent.
One more peep.
She’s talking to someone. Who? A man. Dark hair, slim.
A weakling.
Bad complexion.
Dark, greasy hair.
He must be a stranger asking for directions, or something. She wouldn’t be interested in someone like that. He looks dirty; like he hasn’t bathed or washed since forever. Definitely someone lost, asking for directions. He’ll go soon.
I watch a little longer, from the safety of behind my car.
He isn’t going.
She leaned forward and kissed him in the cheek.
What the hell was that?
Look away. You don’t need to see this.
No.
They’re laughing now. Was it a funny kiss? Something funny to laugh about?
The runt is holding his hand out towards her and smiling. She is smiling back - who is he? I feel a stab in my chest as she takes his hand and he leads her across the car park towards what must be his car - a crappy little Ford Escort.
Last night - was she just playing with me?
Was she playing with my feelings?
Cunt.
The runt is a gentleman. He’s holding the passenger door open for her and she’s smiling as she goes to get in. What the Hell? He slammed the door before she could climb in. Perhaps I’m worrying for nothing - he’s laughing at her and she looks far from impressed.
Why’s he shaking his head? He takes hold of her wrist and pulls around to the other side of the car and opens the door - gesturing for her to get in. She’s shaking her head now. I wonder what they’re saying.
He’s leaning into the car now. Getting something, by the looks of it. What’s he doing? She’s as confused as I am.
What’s that?
Learner plates?!
She’s laughing but still shaking her head. I’d rather she continued the shaking of the head and stopped laughing. I like it more when she looks angry with him. Go back to looking angry, dear.
He’s walking around to the front of the car, with the L-plates, and sticks one to the bonnet. Must be one of the magnetic ones. I didn’t see him peel any stickers off.
Not that I give a fuck.
To the back of the car, now, and he does the same to the back bumper. I look back to front of the car now and she’s smiling the brightest smile I’ve ever seen from her. Another stabbing feeling runs through my chest as she points to the driver’s seat - must be asking permission to get in because he’s nodding at her now.
Don’t do it, Susie. Don’t go with him. Enough is enough now. Go back to the Supermarket... do some overtime. Do anything. Anything but....
She’s climbed into the car and he’s closed the door behind her. He runs round to the passenger seat and climbs in. The door closes on both the car and my relationship.
It’s over.
I climb into my own car, unable to take my eyes off Susie and the runt. Was he the one that was texting all night? Who is he? Maybe he’s an old friend. It’s not as though it was a proper kiss. Friends kiss like that. I’ve seen it---
He’s kissing her now. Properly.
Another stabbing from within my chest.
Friends don’t kiss like that.
The Ford Escort slowly moves away from the car parking space and promptly stalls. I can’t help but snigger through my tears of anger. She should have asked me to teach her - I wouldn’t have let her stall.
Wait.
I won’t let her stall.
It’s not over.
Clearly I am better than he is. I’m the better person. Whoever he is, he’s not going to take her away from me. Susie and I were meant to be together. There isn’t a chance in Hell he is going to take her away.
I fire up my own engine and start to follow as Susie finally manages to pull away without stalling - heading towards the car park’s exit. I wonder, maybe I should just drive into the back of them - like an accident - forcing them to stop? She’d climb out, see me and panic that she’s been caught out. I’d play it cool, of course, apologise for hitting them and offer to pay for damages - I wouldn’t even act mad that I’ve seen her with another man. Just hand over my details, climb back into my car and drive off. She’d do the same - probably stall again knowing the runt - and then she won’t be able to stop wondering what is going through my mind. She’ll start wondering whether I’m not keen on her. She’ll start wanting me more because she’ll be worrying that I don’t want her.
You act like you really want a woman and you drive them away.
You act like you don’t want them, within reason, and you pull them closer.
A tried and tested method.
Have you ever tried dumping a girl you don’t like just for her to get even more clingy? They text constantly and resort to non-stop ringing when you refuse to answer their pathetic texts.
My foot presses down on the accelerator and I slowly begin to gather speed.
Wait.
Stop.
Slow down.
My foot switches to the brake and my car slows a little.
I don’t want to give her whiplash.
We’re heading down the main road now, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through her mind...
* * * * *
Who is this asshole behind me and why does he insist on driving so close to my tailgate. Can he not see the L-Plates or is he just choosing to ignore them?
“Ignore him,” said Sam - sensing my concerns over the following driver. “Just concentrate on what’s in front of - change gear...” I change gear, “concentrate on what’s in front of you.”
I wish I knew what was in front of me. I’ve missed Sam and the Sam that’s picked me up from work - he’s the fun Sam. He’s the Sam that I loved once upon a time... No, he’s the Sam that I love. I love him. The fun, the laughter, his cheesy grin - ev
erything that I love and missed about him. Meeting up with him again was a good thing to do.
“Turn right up here,” he said, “I’ve got something to show you.”
I reach down for the indicator and flick the lever, turning the indicator on as instructed.
“Start braking,” he said. I gently put my foot down on the accelerator. “Okay, brake harder,” he continued. Was that panic in his voice? I press harder on the accelerator and we more or less stop. The car behind me must surely be inches away from my bumper now. I wonder what’s going through the idiot’s mind.
* * * * *
Fuck me, that was close.
9
She’s been inside the house for over an hour now. I don’t even know why they even had to drive a car here - it’s only around the corner from the supermarket where she worked. They could have easily walked that.
Her secret lover, I wonder, does he even know what a carbon footprint is?
Probably not.
Probably has other things on his mind; like how to steal another man’s girlfriend.
Not that she was my girlfriend.
But she could have been.
I should just go. No woman is worth this. It was obviously never meant to be.
Go.
Go home.
Gather your thoughts, get over it, go and find someone else. I shrug to myself and take hold of the key that still sits in the car’s ignition. Fuck her.
I don’t turn the key.
The car’s engine doesn’t spit into life.
Why should I go? Why should I allow her to get away with treating me like a mug? Who does she think she is? She’s lucky I’m not a monster otherwise I’d have no option but to hit her; show her you can’t treat me like that.
The bloke, though...
A smile spreads across my face and I turn the car key. The engine spits into life and I pull away from the pavement. I don’t need to see her leave the house. I know what needs to be done and now isn’t the time.
This also proves my theory - outside interferences ruin the ‘potentially perfect’. I just can’t believe that they’re ruining our chances before we’ve even become a proper couple! Still, it’s not too late to fix this. I will fix it.
Soon.
* * * * *
“I’ve missed you, babe.”
I can’t help but feel I’ve made a mistake as I watch him from the relative comfort of his bed; he’s standing in the doorway of the en-suite bathroom - cleaning himself, rather unromantically, with a wet-wipe.
“Tissue?” he holds a wet-wipe in my direction.
I can feel his semen trickling out of me. A wet-wipe seems pointless. I feel as though I’ve let myself down. This is exactly what happened last time; he heard I was with someone else, got in touch, promised me that he had changed, won me back with his charm and then disappointed me - again - by proving nothing had changed. How did I end up here? How have I learnt nothing?
He ran back into the room and jumped, naked, back onto the bed, next to where I lay - also naked; my clothes thrown, mixed with his, on the already cluttered floor.
“We’ll get it right this time, babe. You know what they say, third time’s a charm.” He leant over and pressed his hand between my legs, “And I definitely missed this!”
I shuddered. Already he’s becoming the asshole I originally left. The fun, sweet man turning into the ignorant male chauvinistic pig. Why do I always fall for the act?
“Give it a couple of minutes and I’ll go again,” he said as he leant back down on his pillow and shut his eyes.
Get out of there, Susie. Get dressed and get out of there. I don’t move, though. I just lay there, a cold wetness underneath me, looking at him. Why do I find it so hard to ignore him - I should never have let him back in my life, after I originally left him. He must think I’m easy.
Look at me.
I am easy.
A fucking slut.
I hate myself.
I sit up.
“Where you going?” he asks. I look at him - he hasn’t even opened his eyes.
“I have to go.”
“Go? No, you don’t. Lay back down; I told you - give me a couple of minutes and we’ll go again. See if I can finish you off.” He laughs.
Seriously - what have I done.
“I have to go.”
I climb from the bed and start moving around the bedroom, picking up my various items of clothing, “I really have to go - I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong, babe, why you getting your knickers in a twist?”
I step into my panties. They should never have come off in the first place.
I really do hate myself.
“This was a mistake,” I tell him truthfully.
“What the fuck are you talking about? You had fun didn’t you?”
Not really.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to keep him calm. His temper was another reason I left him originally. I don’t need to see that again.
Or feel it.
“Ah well,” he said, “do as you please. You think your new boyfriend will be impressed that we’ve just fucked?”
I put my bra on, “What?”
“You think he’ll be pissed?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your new boyfriend - do you think he’ll forgive you when he finds out?”
I step into my trousers, speeding up now just so I can get out of the house, “I don’t have a boyfriend. Not you. Not anyone.”
He laughs, “Especially when he finds out about us.”
I pick up my top and throw it over my head, “Do what you want, Sam, I don’t care. I’ve had one date with Peter...”
“Oh, Peter, nice name....”
I ignore him, “I’ve had one day with Peter and already decided, before I saw you again, that he wasn’t for me. So you do whatever you need to do...”
“Well, you’re a catch so I think he’ll be pretty upset you don’t want to see him anymore. I know, I’ll tell him about us just to help him get over you. You know - a lucky escape. He could have ended up with a right slut.”
