by Matt Shaw
13.
“What a fucking cunt.”
My outburst didn’t shock me. I’m often caught unawares by such occurrences when I am feeling upset or bad about something. And this is one of those occasions. I pull my car up to the side of the road - I fear I may have an accident if I carry on at the moment.
Just need to give myself a little time.
A little time to calm down.
Even so...
What a fucking cunt. Sam. Sam. That fucking cunt, Sam.
This is his fault.
All of his fault.
If it weren’t for him, getting back on the scene - her mind would never have been confused and her thoughts wouldn’t have been poisoned against me.
That fucking cunt.
If it weren’t for him, right now, Susie and I could be a proper couple. But, no, he had to ruin it. He had to ruin everything.
That fucking cunt.
I’m glad I killed him.
Fucking glad.
If I could - I’d do it all over again. Bring him back to life some how, just to see the look on his face as I plunge the knife back into his puny little chest. I can’t help but let out a little laugh.
Unexpected but pleasant.
Brought on by remembering the look on that fucking cunt’s face when I did stab him. Looking back, I wish I had a camera. Memories don’t last forever. Sure, the basics of the memory can last years - and sometimes even a lifetime - but not the exact memory. No, they often get turned around and slightly distorted as the time goes on. I don’t want this one to get distorted; the look on his face.
A proper Kodak moment.
Mental note to self - if I’m ever going to kill anyone again, make sure I have a camera to hand.
Even so, I can’t believe how that little thought has just completely turned my mood around. I feel a little calmer now.
Thanks, Sam.
It’s nice to know that, although you ruined my relationship with Susie.... it’s nice to know you’re trying to make amends, even in death. So... Thanks.
Fucking cunt.
I laugh again as I drive away from the side of the road, where I had previously pulled over to. I’m still not exactly happy but at least I feel calm enough to drive.
I just can’t believe the damage he did in that short amount of time.
Was it even a short amount of time?
Now my mind is wondering as to whether she was really single when we met up for the evening. Was she single? Was he already on the scene? Had she broken up with him recently and so, even though technically she was single, he wasn’t quite out of her mind yet?
It’s not important.
No.
I have bigger things to think about. More important things to worry about.
Like, how am I going to make this right? How am I going to fix this? Make good, my relationship between Susie. I can’t give up on her, even though it’s the logical thing to do.
I don’t want to give up on her.
We’ve been through too much together.
We’ve been through too much together and, deep down, I know we’d be perfect together.
Besides, I think I love her.
I cringe.
I realise how stupid that must sound but I can’t help my feelings.
I think I love her.
I think I love her.
I love her.
I guess that’s why it hurts so much - the fact she can’t even be civil to me as a ‘friend’. It was her that suggested friendship so... why wouldn’t she accept a lift from me? Why wouldn’t she want me, a friend, to pop over to her house to see her when I hear she is feeling low?
The more I think about it....
.... I think, maybe.... maybe she doesn’t want to stay as friends? Maybe she said that hoping I’d just drift away in my continuing search the find the right woman.
She doesn’t really know me very well....
But she will.
She just needs time.
In time she’ll get to know me and, in time, she’ll realise I’m perfect for her.
I just need to keep her away from outside interferences.
Keep people like that fucking cunt away from her. I won’t let someone like him come between us again. I’ve learnt my lesson. I won’t fall into the same trap again.
Ever.
It will just be the two of us.
Me.
Her.
Me and her.
No one else.
Hmmm, easier said than done.
I guess I have some work to do.
* * * * *
There’s no work I am qualified to do, as I tap through the touch-screen computer in the job centre. Absolutely nothing. Five screens worth of jobs - nothing.
If I come back in a couple of days and stumble across my old job, I think I’m going to cry. I wonder, should I re-apply for it if it does come up?
No.
Don’t give them the satisfaction.
Besides - I hated it there.
I turn away from the computer screen and look towards the office clerks’ desks; all occupied by the job centre staff and people such as myself.
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...”
