The Great Ex-Scape

by Jo Watson

  “What?” he asked.

  “I write articles just like that,” I said. “And look at me, I’m a total mess. You wouldn’t take relationship advice from me if I was the last person on Earth, would you? And, news flash, those things are all totally made up too. It’s not like we’re experts. Take my many literary works of genius on the G-spot, for instance. I mean, just how many ways can you set about finding the thing? It’s not like you need GPS coordinates. It’s not like you’re going to get lost on your way down there . . .” I cleared my throat and put on an official-sounding voice with an American accent, like the lady from Google Maps. “At the belly button, go south. If you reach the knees, you’ve gone too far!”

  Alex’s eyes widened in recognition, he clicked his fingers together and then flipped one of the other magazines open and held the page up for me. I tried to focus my boozy eyes on the words.

  “The Good Girls’ Guide To The G-Spot,” I read out loud. “Exactly! I mean, how many articles can there be on it? Does anyone have anything new to say about it? The only thing that could ever be potentially newsworthy about the G-spot is if it moved out of its current location and settled inside the belly button. Now that would be an article!”

  I waved my arms in the air passionately. “None of those things work. You should not believe everything you read in magazines, trust me.”

  “Well, I’m here because of what I read.” He pointed at step two of the Ten Ways To Get Over Your Ex article and started reading. “ ‘Jump On A Jet Plane. Stop wallowing in pity on your couch. You need a change of scenery. Why don’t you book a ticket for an exotic trip abroad? Treat yourself to sun, sand and cocktails, and maybe even a cute Swedish masseuse.’ ” He stopped reading and looked up at me. “Hence I’m here. Although, I’m not totally sold on the Swedish masseuse.”

  I laughed and shook my head at this poor misguided man. “These things don’t work,” I said again, tapping my hand on the magazine. “Okay, what does the next one say?” I pulled the magazine away and started reading. “ ‘Number Three. Burn, Baby, Burn.’ ” I rolled my eyes. It was the kind of title I would have come up with. I continued. “ ‘It’s time to light that match and get rid of everything that reminds you of him. That photo you’ve been keeping in the back of your wallet or that item of his clothing that you’ve been secretly hanging onto. And if you don’t have anything, write his name down on a piece of paper and toss it into the flames! As you watch the smoke rise up, imagine him disappearing into the sky and never coming back again.’ ”

  I looked at Alex blankly. “Are you kidding me? That would never work.” I slapped the magazine closed and dropped it onto the bar counter with a thud.

  “How do you know if you haven’t tried it?” Alex asked.

  “That is a terrible argument,” I quickly jumped in. “I don’t need to try something to know it’s not going to work, just like I don’t need to buy that belt that you wear that promises to freeze your fat off from the shopping network to know it’s a waste of money and will not freeze my fat.”

  “I dare you.” His eyes twinkled. “Write his name on that serviette over there and let’s take it onto the beach and burn it.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “Serious as piles.” He grinned. “Colorectal humor there,” he said with a silly, adorable smile. He passed me his green highlighter and pushed a serviette into my hands.

  “Okay, you do it too though,” I said.

  “Deal.” He extended his hands and we clumsily shook them. Such smooth hands . . .

  We both wrote their names on the serviettes and then walked towards the sea, away from the lights of the bar, until we were in relative darkness.

  “You go first,” I said, starting to laugh at the ridiculousness of what we were about to do.

  “Okay.” Alex held the serviette out and flicked the lighter that he’d borrowed from the barman. He raised the flame to the serviette and it caught fire and started to burn.

  “My turn,” I said. I took the lighter from him and lit mine as well. I suspect mine might have gotten soaked in alcohol, because it burst into dramatic flames.

  I squealed in fright and then dropped it. It blazed angrily on the sand. “Oh my God.” I picked up my shoe and smashed it into the flaming serviette. It exploded and little bits of red glowing material burst into the air. “Wow, that feels quite . . .” I did it again. Harder.

  Alex joined in, swatting at the paper and banging his shoe in the sand, trying to put out the still-burning embers.

  “This feels quite—” he started, but I cut him off.

  “I know.” This felt fucking good!

  Finally, when all the flames were out and all the flying bits of red paper had settled, we both stood there looking at each other, out of breath.

  “Let’s do it again,” I suddenly said, diving into my handbag and pulling out the secret photo I kept of Matt in my wallet. For a moment I thought about burning the diary, but couldn’t. I wasn’t there yet.

  “Okay.” Alex riffled through his wallet and also produced a photo. He lit the photo and held it in his hand as the flames grew bigger. It was dark, and the light from the flames lit up a portion of his face. This man was really good-looking, and nice and fun. It was hard to imagine anyone not wanting to marry him; okay, well, there was that problem with the clothes.

  It was my turn now. I took the lighter and looked down at the photo of Matt. God, I loved this photo of him and I’d spent a long time staring at it. He’d gone to get passport photos done and I’d seen them lying on his desk and had pocketed one. I flicked the lighter and held the flame a little way away from it, reluctant to set it on fire.

  “Do it,” Alex urged.

  I nodded, and slowly, slowly brought the flame up. The second the flame came into contact with the photo, it immediately engulfed it. And soon, it looked like Matt’s face was peeling off. I stared at it as the flames obliterated it in front of my eyes and a strange feeling whacked me in the gut. I inhaled sharply and then dropped the photo to the floor, where I watched it curl, burn and finally disappear into the sand.

  “That felt . . .” I paused, almost frightened to say it out loud. “Good.”

  “I know,” Alex said with a kind of reverence in his voice. And then, with great excitement, he said, “Let’s burn it all!”

  Suddenly, he ripped the black leather jacket off and threw it to the ground. “I hate this thing,” he said, looking at me. “She bought it for me. She said I dressed boringly. She wanted me to be more ‘edgy,’ whatever that means.” He threw some sloppy air commas around and I laughed. Partly in relief, as finally this odd outfit was making sense. She’d dressed him!

  “Wait, get some sticks!” He ran off excitedly towards a pile of driftwood and grabbed some pieces. I did the same and soon we were piling the sticks together to create our very own bonfire.

  “Here.” I ripped a few pages out of one of the magazines and scrunched them up, putting them under the sticks.

  “This is fucking fantastic!” Alex said excitedly as the paper, and soon the sticks, started burning. And then, he took his shirt off too.

  “I can’t tell you how much I hate this thing!” He held the shirt over the flames and all I could now look at was his body. It was very obvious that this man had seen the inside of a gym recently, that’s for sure. “For the last six months she’s been trying to dress me like a Kiss band member,” he said, “and I did. I did it because she wanted me to, I even pierced my ear, and then she went and left me for a rock star.”

  I tore my eyes away from his body and looked into his eyes. “A rock star?”

  He nodded, taking the earring out. “Yes. An actual man who sings in a rock band. Apparently, I’m not fun enough. Apparently, I’m too much of a nice guy. Apparently, I’m not cool enough.”

  “Drop them.” I pointed at the offensive shirt and earring. “Set them on fire. Burn, baby, burn!” I almost yel
led this last part, getting swept away in the moment. He dropped it, and the shirt burst into flames.

  I watched as the smoke billowed up into the dark night sky. There was something so cathartic about it all. Watching it rise up into the air, twisting and flapping in the breeze and then finally disappearing out of sight completely as it melted into the darkness. “Give me that highlighter again.” I held my hand out for it.

  I tore out more of the magazine paper and proceeded to write Matt’s name over and over and over again. I threw the pieces of paper into the fire and delighted in the sight of the flames immediately incinerating them. The flames leapt onto the paper like a pack of hungry animals, devouring it in seconds with a hiss and a crackle and pop. The sounds and smells of the burning paper were strangely intoxicating.

  “Fuck it,” Alex said. “Let’s burn everything.” And then suddenly, without warning, he unzipped his jeans, pulled them off—taking the ring box out of his pocket—and tossed them onto the pile.

  I looked up from the fire and my jaw swung open as he stood there in his underwear. My sight was a little blurry right now. And granted I was finding it somewhat hard to focus on objects for too long, but I squinted my eyes together to try and get a better look at his body. And it was worth the effort. The warm color of the flames illuminated his torso, casting shadows and highlights on him in all the right places. He had the kind of abs I write magazine articles about, the kind of chest men probably spend their lives bench pressing for, the perfect amount of manly chest hair in just the right spot and . . . I blinked a few times, as my eyes strained and finally I could no longer focus.

  “God that feels good,” he said. He looked over at me and put his hands on his hips. I nodded at him stupidly. He was almost naked now, apart from those tight boxer brief things he was wearing, that didn’t leave much to the imagination, I might add. And then suddenly, a loud whistle pierced the air. We both turned at the same time to find a policeman staring at us.

  “No fires on the beach!” the policeman yelled and moved towards us.

  “Shit!” I looked at Alex and then, as if we were both thinking the exact same thing, we ran!

  12 April

  Dear Diary,

  I have thought about it overnight. And this will be my last entry. I want to assure you that this has nothing to do with you, it is all me. Well, it’s all Matt to be honest. I can no longer write about him like this. This book is a record of our relationship—or lack thereof—and I have to stop it. I have to move on. I have to do something to get over Matt, and soon, because I do not know how much more my heart can take.

  No more later. Goodbye. Forever.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  We ran as fast as we could down the beach, laughing hysterically as we went. Alex was in his underwear, which only made the whole thing funnier. This was not how I imagined a doctor behaving. Somehow you always thought of doctors as superhuman, people that were separate to us mere mortals. Not half-naked, drunk arsonists that ran away from the police.

  “Stop!” the policeman shouted at us, and we picked up speed. The sand was soft and uneven, and this, coupled with my stiff knees and not-so-sober mood, meant that instead of running, I was swaying clumsily from side to side as I went. Alex grabbed me by the arm and increased his running speed. I could barely keep up.

  “Where should we go?” I asked in between massive breaths.

  “Hotel!” Alex made a sharp turn and left the beach, and then, without warning, he pulled me to the ground and crouched behind a bush.

  “Shhh,” he said, trying not to laugh.

  I nodded. We both covered our smiles and tried to push the laughter down as the confused-looking policeman ran past us. We watched him go and as soon as he was out of sight, we looked back at each other and burst out laughing again. Even in my current state I knew this was going to be one of those moments that only appears funny when under the influence of serious amounts of alcohol. This was the kind of moment that, when I woke up sober in the morning, I would seriously facepalm at.

  Once our maniacal laughter had tapered off and our breathing returned to normal, we started walking back to our hotel together.

  “Where’s your room?” he asked when we finally got there.

  “Number five.”

  We walked into the fancy reception area and Alex gave me a little shoulder nudge. “Act normal,” he whispered.

  “You’re in your underwear,” I pointed out.

  “I know.” We both smiled and waved as we walked past the receptionists. One looked up and gave us a strange look, but then looked back down quickly. As soon as we were clear of them, we glanced at each other again and laughed. We ran down the corridor together towards my room. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun, without Matt.

  “This is me,” I said as we arrived at my room. I leaned against my door. My legs were a bit shaky, my kneecaps felt like they were sloshing around in their sockets and my feet felt like they were floating just above the floor. I was that drunk! And I was sure it wasn’t pretty.

  “Number five, hey,” he said slowly. He was swaying slightly and his cheeks were so flushed that it looked like he was sunburnt. He leaned forward, supporting himself with an elbow against the wall.

  “That was fun.” His eyes drifted over me, as if he was unable to focus properly. I felt the same way.

  “It was fun!” I repeated. “And I’m so hungry,” I suddenly said without thinking. “I wanna get into my room and raid the minibar and lie in a sea of chocolates and eat them all and not care that each one costs the same as a month’s salary. That’s what I want.”

  Alex laughed again. “Such a rebel. You know what I want?” He leaned even further against the wall.

  “What?”

  “You know, when you go down on one knee you really expect the person to say yes, right?” He swung his arm about. “But no! My only memory of the whole event is this horrible NO!” He shook his head. “When a guy is down on one knee, can’t you at least say yes? I wish I could erase that part and have a different memory of the whole proposal.” He looked sad for a moment, but then looked up at me and forced a brave smile.

  “I know,” I said, as something that seemed so brilliant and logical dawned on me. “Propose to me, and then I’ll say yes and then that will be the last memory of proposing that you have.”

  “YES!” he half shouted. “That’s brilliant.” (We were that drunk!) And then, before I knew it, he was down on one knee. He opened the ring box and held it out in front of me. The massive rock glistened in the overhead lights and almost blinded me.

  “Will you, Val . . . uh, what’s your full name?”

  “Valeria Svetlana Iv—”

  “Sorry, what?” He cut me off. “Svetlana?” he asked, a smile washing over his face.

  “Shall I give you a few moments to make a joke, a lot of people do when they find out my middle name. And I’ve heard it all before . . . sounds like a porn star’s name, et cetera!”

  He shook his head. “I can see it, though. You have that whole hot Russian thing going for you.”

  “Hot Russian thing?”

  “Icy blonde hair. High cheekbones. Piercing blue eyes. Also looks like you could wrestle a bear in the snow if need be.” He momentarily looked like he was about to fall off his knee and onto the floor.

  “Okay, okay. Just get on with my proposal,” I said, straightening myself up, trying to look pretty for my fake engagement.

  “Will you, I’ll just go with Val, make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” He smiled up at me in a very goofy manner.

  “Yes! Yes!” I brought my hands up to my face like those women who win Miss Universe do. “Yes, I will,” I replied excitedly. “Oh my God!” I fanned myself dramatically, still thinking of Miss Universe. “I can’t believe this is happening. Oh my God, it’s a dream come true and it’s so much better than world peace.”

  And then, he took my hand and slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly
and I stared at it. It was strange to have something on that finger, after all these years of nakedness. Alex stood back up.

  “How was that?” I asked, quite proud of my dramatic acceptance performance.

  “Great,” he gushed like he really meant it. “I know it sounds weird, but that felt really good! Thanks!” He laid a big hand on my shoulder. “Anything you want to make you feel better?”

  “Yes,” I said without even thinking. “You know what I would like?” The world was spinning more than ever now and the walls were tilting.

  “What?” Alex moved closer to me and smiled. “What would you like? Tell me.”

  “I’d love someone to kiss me, and then remember it in the goddamn morning. Is that too much to ask? Is it too much for a girl to kiss a guy and want him to remember it in the morning?”

  And then, without warning, his lips were on mine. They were hard and demanding. I opened my mouth, wrapped my arms around him and pulled him closer. He fell over me, his body pressing into mine, pushing my back into the door. The kiss became frenzied and uncontrollable. His hand came up to the nape of my neck and he grabbed it possessively, holding me in place as he explored every corner of my mouth. In the back of my mind, far, far back, a little sober voice whispered at me . . . “Val, what the fuck are you doing?” But I was far too turned on to listen to it. So instead, I lifted my leg and wrapped it around him, letting him fall further into me. He grabbed my leg as his lips left mine and explored my neck. I threw my head back, almost giddy with lust as he ran his tongue up my neck, sucked it and bit my earlobe. I ran my hands over his naked back. I dug my nails into it when his lips came back up to mine and devoured me.

  “What the?” A voice suddenly stopped us and we bolted apart.

  “Shit!” I said, as I looked into the faces of an older couple who were now staring at us. “Sorry, I . . .” I looked at Alex and we laughed again. I flung my door open, while Alex raced down the corridor and disappeared around the corner, still in his underwear. I threw myself onto my bed, the room spun rather fast and then, suddenly, everything went black.