The Great Ex-Scape

by Jo Watson

  Dear Diary,

  Okay, not forever. I’m back with news. It’s positive, I think. A step in the right direction, sort of.

  I went out tonight without Matt. This is a first for me, I think my entire social life for the last couple of years has centered around Matt. Anyway, I met this guy called John. I could see he was good-looking. He had all the right ingredients for it; sexy smile, brooding dark eyes and carefully tousled hair. The only problem was that I wasn’t attracted to him. I know that sounds like an oxymoron. But since meeting Matt, I haven’t felt attracted to anyone else. I can still appreciate an attractive man but upon meeting one, but there is never any loin-stirring or heart-fluttering or things like that. John is also a writer, but a sports writer, so we chatted and ranted and raged about editors for a while and the strange world of publishing. Then, we had some drinks, climbed onto the dance floor and before I knew it, we’d pinned each other to the wall of the nightclub.

  The kiss was good, technically speaking. Everything moved as it should, no excessive tongue and teeth and spit that covers your chin. His kissing technique was solid, a definite 8 out of 10. But I felt nothing while kissing him and all I could think about was kissing Matt. I even closed my eyes at one stage and imagined it was Matt—I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit this, even to myself. How could Matt not remember that kiss? I know I’m harping and have been for years, but seriously?

  I won’t go into too much of the sex details with John. It happened once. I wouldn’t write home about it. And yes, I did close my eyes and imagine Matt a few times . . . and yes, I know how pathetic that makes me sound.

  Anyway, I’m thinking of asking Matt and Sam out on a double date with John and me. Maybe seeing me with someone else might make something inside Matt’s head click.

  And who knows, maybe John will become the man of my dreams and I will love him and marry him and one day laugh about this, about how ridiculously in love I thought I once was with Matt.

  Okay, I am not putting you away just yet. I want to record how this plan of mine pans out.

  So definitely more later . . .

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  My head was thumping when I finally managed to pry my eyes open. My mouth was drier than the Sahara Desert, and my eyes were stinging as if someone had come in the middle of the night and stabbed them with little pins and then filed them with sandpaper too. I rolled over, and my stomach lurched. Oh, God!

  I swung my legs off the bed and tried to stand, but I could barely feel my feet. In fact, did I even have feet? It felt more like I had large cement blocks strapped to my legs than actual things that could be walked on. Finally, I was up and standing, swaying from side to side as if being pulled in different directions by a million invisible hands. I took a step, and my head thumped even more.

  Another step. Another thump. I looked around the room. Everything looked strange, and for the briefest moment, I didn’t know where I was. And then it all came back to me and with it all, a wave of nausea crashed through me like an unstoppable tsunami. I tried to stop it. I tried to cover my mouth and make it go away but . . .

  I was so classy right now! Hunched over the toilet bowl, gripping the sides of it with my hands and wishing I had a third hand to hold my hair back. When it was all over, I flushed the toilet and collapsed onto the cold bathroom floor.

  How much had I drunk last night? I lay there looking up at the ceiling as little pieces from the night before came back to me in bursts. Facemask man had been there. Wait . . . his name was Alex. Hadn’t there been a fire too? I raised my hand to my face and something caught my eye.

  “What the hell!” I sat up straight and stared at my hand. There was a ring on it, on the ring finger. Had I gotten married last night? I crawled out of the bathroom in a state of panic. How? When? Who? Was it facemask man? Oh God, please tell me Réunion island wasn’t like Vegas and you could drive through and buy McDonald’s while an Elvis impersonator married you? That had not been in the inflight brochure!

  I scrambled to my feet, walked over to the mirror and looked at myself. As if looking at myself like this might bring back memories of the night before. I could remember the bartender. I could remember us telling him our stories of woe, the fire, burning things, police and then . . . everything went blank. I stepped closer and scrutinized myself. What was that thing on my neck? I moved my hair away and looked at what seemed to be a giant mosquito bite. Had I gone bashing through the swamps last night?

  My stomach suddenly growled at me. It screamed at me, begging me to put something in it other than tequila. So I had a shower, brushed my teeth—twice—grabbed some clothes that didn’t smell like smoke and tequila and headed for the breakfast area.

  The food was spread out in front of me in colorful rows, and I went straight for the carbs. Croissants, bread and pastries and all the things I knew would absorb the remaining alcohol that I could feel lurking in the pit of my stomach. I was desperate for them! So desperate that I would have inhaled their sugary, floury goodness right in if I could have. I grabbed a table in the far corner away from everyone else, no need to inflict myself upon people and scare them, and sat down.

  “Coffee?” A woman came up to me and asked as I’d just finished shoving the first of the custardy Danishes into my dry mouth.

  “YES! Please.” I almost screamed this through a full mouth of crumbs. She looked at me like I was a little mad for a second and then rushed off to get the coffee. I hoped it would be strong. Very strong. The kind of strong where the spoon stands straight up. I went back to my carb fest and was just about to shove an entire croissant into my mouth when he stepped into the room. I watched him. He looked fresh and clean and perfect. Like a newly cut bouquet of dewy spring flowers. A ray of warm bright sunshine, an effing rainbow arched across a once-stormy sky! Why did he look like that?

  He glided effortlessly into the room with a smile on his face, nodding politely at people as he went. Was this my new husband? Just as I thought that, he caught my eye, smiled at me and waved.

  Shit! What the hell had I done last night? I closed my eyes quickly, reaching deep into the dark recesses of my still-groggy mind, trying desperately to draw an image out, especially the one that would explain the rock on my finger, but couldn’t find a single one. When I opened my eyes again, Alex was sitting across from me. Still smiling.

  “Hi,” he said, as if he was totally fine this morning. As if I had been the only one drinking.

  “Hey,” I managed wearily.

  “You don’t look great.” He looked at me and then reached up and put his hand across my forehead in a very medical fashion . . . oh wait, something was coming back to me . . . he was a doctor! A proctologist. He’d fixed my knees last night! God, that was sweet. Is that why I’d married him?

  “Mmmm, I think I had way too much to drink,” I said.

  “Me too.”

  “You look fine, though.” I eyed him. He did look fine. In fact, he looked more than fine. Had he been this good-looking last night? Possibly another reason I’d married him? Had I fallen for the hot doctor bit and, oh shit, did we have sex? The thoughts whirled through my mind crazily.

  “Here.” He pulled a handful of pills out of his pocket. “I brought them for you in case you needed them.” He dropped them onto the table. Pink, red, blue and a yellow and white one.

  “What are they?” I eyed the colorful things suspiciously.

  “Just a mix of vitamins and minerals. They kill a hangover, fast. You can trust me, I’m a doctor, remember?” He smiled at me. Killer smile.

  “Okay.” I took the pills. Normally one shouldn’t take pills from a virtual stranger, but there was something about him that just set you at ease.

  “So, great news,” he said, putting his elbows on the table and leaning in.

  “What?” I asked, as I swallowed the last of the pills.

  “I remember the kiss!” He held his hand up for a high-five and I stared at it blankly.

  “Uh . . . what kiss?”r />
  “You’re joking, right?” he said.

  “No.” I shook my head. “To be honest, it’s all sort of fuzzy after the bonfire, uh, and why were we burning things on the beach, by the way?”

  “Burn, baby, burn,” he said, and I shook my head. “The article in the magazine? How to get over your ex!”

  “Aaaaah! Yes,” I said as I remembered writing Matt’s name on a serviette and burning it.

  “It felt amazing,” he said.

  I nodded as the memory of the feeling came back to me. It had felt rather good, actually. Despite my non-belief in such things like that.

  “You really don’t remember the kiss?” He sounded disappointed. “The one you asked me to do.”

  “I asked you to kiss me?”

  “Well, you wanted someone to kiss you and remember it in the morning. Which I do, by the way.”

  “Shit, I’m so sorry, I don’t really know what I was thinking. I can’t remember that at all.”

  “Well,” suddenly the color in Alex’s cheeks warmed a bit, “the kiss definitely remembers you.” He pointed at me.

  “Huh?” I looked down to where his finger was pointing.

  “Sorry . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” His voice tapered off and he was definitely blushing now.

  “What?” I touched my cheeks and my neck and shoulders, looking for the thing he was pointing to, and then I clicked.

  “Nooo,” I gasped and placed my hand over the red mark on my neck. “You gave me a hickey?!” I hissed at him.

  “Hey, it takes two to tango,” he said defensively.

  I rolled my eyes. “I can’t suck my own neck,” I said sarcastically.

  “Sure, and I can’t do this to myself either.” He turned and lifted the back of his shirt up to reveal an unmistakable trail of fingernail marks.

  “Oh my God! Did I do that?”

  He nodded and dropped his shirt.

  I leaned in even more and lowered my voice to a quiet whisper. “Did we . . .? I mean, we did just kiss, didn’t we?” Could all of those marks really have come from kissing alone? That seemed unlikely.

  Alex smiled at me. “As far as I can remember,” he joked.

  “This is no time for jokes: did we or didn’t we?” I asked.

  “We didn’t,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be sure?” I asked, feeling a little panicked now.

  Alex’s smile faded suddenly. “Val.” He leaned across the table too and we were almost touching now. “I would never go to bed with someone when we were that inebriated. Ever.”

  “Oh.” He suddenly looked very serious and I totally believed him. “Well, good,” I quickly added. “But why do I have a ring on my finger then?”

  The seriousness on Alex face melted away and he smiled again. “You suggested I propose to you.”

  “I what!” I half shouted this.

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, it was a fake proposal. You really don’t remember any of that, do you?”

  “Sorry. I don’t.”

  Alex shrugged his shoulders and then sighed. “Well, that’s a pity,” he said. “But if you don’t mind, can I have the ring back?” He held his hand out.

  “Oh God, of course. Yes!” I was suddenly overcome with embarrassment and pulled the ring off as hard and fast as I could. I passed it over to him and he looked at it momentarily before slipping it back into his pocket. We sat in silence for a while and then Alex finally broke it.

  “So, you really, really, really don’t remember that kiss?” He sounded coy.

  “No. I really wish I did though.” Judging by all the marks we’d left all over each other’s bodies, it must have been one passionate kiss!

  “You’re the first person I’ve kissed since my breakup,” he said almost under his breath as if I wasn’t meant to hear it.

  I picked up another pastry and popped it into my mouth. “Thanks for those pills, I already feel better.”

  “Sure. What are doctor friends for, if not free pills?” He reached over and gestured to one of my pastries. “Do you mind?” he asked politely before taking it.

  I shook my head silently as he took the food and popped it into his mouth.

  “So about last night,” he said, some powdered sugar sticking to the side of his face. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yes?” I asked tentatively.

  “Well, we both felt better for the burn, baby, burn thing.” He paused and raised a brow at me, as if waiting for me to agree with him.

  “True. And?” I said, urging him to continue.

  “I was thinking, why don’t we go through the list together? Why don’t we do all the things on that list and get over our exes?”

  “You’re serious?”

  He looked at me blankly, matter-of-factly. “Very.”

  “Nope.” I shook my head right back. “That’s just, just . . .” I searched for the right word, “silly!” Was that really the only word my writer brain could think of?

  “But doing one made us both feel better, what about the others? Maybe if we go through them all, we’ll be over them by the end of it.” He folded his arms and sat back in his seat.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow for South Africa, though.”

  “Postpone the flight.”

  “I have work,” I moaned.

  “The G-spot is not going anywhere soon, as you pointed out last night. And if you stay, I’ll tell you about a whole other spot that you can write about if you like.”

  “I’d rather not learn about any more spots, thanks. We women have enough already.”

  “Oh, this isn’t a women spot!” He grinned at me. “I’ll even let you quote me in your groundbreaking article that shall revolutionize the sex lives of all couples in the world.”

  “I don’t want to know about that,” I said, trying not to imagine where this spot was, although I had a pretty good idea already.

  “Come on,” he urged, reaching over and grabbing both of my hands. “Say yes like you did last night.”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head.

  “You’ve got nothing to lose,” he said with a huge smile. Wow. He really did have the kind of smile that could knock a woman off her seat. He let go of my hands and then got up. “Think about it, Val,” he said and started walking away. “And if you change your mind, I’m in room ten.”

  “Where are you going now?” I called after him.

  “Shopping for new clothes.” He gestured to the Metallica shirt he was wearing and I gave a visible cringe. And then he exited the dining room with one last wave at me. I stared after him in thought.

  I couldn’t, could I?

  I sat at the edge of the beach where the grass met the sand, looking out over the sea. The sand was fine and powdery white. The beach was dotted with palm trees, as one would expect for such tropical surroundings.

  Could I really stay and work my way through a “getting over your ex” list with a man I didn’t even know? I grabbed some sand and opened my hand, letting it run through my fingers and fall back down to the ground. I didn’t really have anything to rush home to, and I was definitely going to have to move when I got back, what with Matt and Sam living next door. The idea of going back didn’t exactly appeal to me, but the idea of going through a breakup list with someone just seemed so bizarre.

  My phone buzzed in my bag and I pulled it out. And when I was done reading the message with tears streaming down my face, I knew what I needed to do.

  Sam: I hope you’re happy! You totally ruined my, MY, engagement party. I trusted you. When Matt first introduced me to you, I didn’t like you. But I tried. I tried to be nice to you and this is how you repay me. By completely embarrassing me in front of all my friends and family. I should have seen you for who and what you are—you’ve been trying to steal my fiancé this whole time from right under my nose. I warn you, DO NOT EVER come near Matt again. Your friendship with Matt is officially over, and he agrees with me. D
on’t ever think you will see him again.

  Dear Diary,

  Matt thinks it’s great that I’m dating someone. So does Sam, for that matter. She seemed more than thrilled that I’d introduced John to them. I wonder if she suspects how I feel about Matt? She must, mustn’t she?

  Everyone else thought the date was amazing, including John who has—get this—actually made plans to hang out with Matt some time. The two really hit it off; it was rather revolting to watch the start of the bromance blossoming, to be honest.

  Anyway, I will not be going out with John again. It did not have the desired effect and I think Matt wouldn’t care if I was staying in and having hot gangbangs all day with male porn stars with eleven-inch dicks. (Note to self; possible article about porn star penis—God I hate that word. Who has the biggest, whose is the most famous, etc? could be fun.) Anyway, I digress . . .

  John and I will definitely not be going out again, and I am still pining for Matt like an idiot. And basically, I hate myself for it.

  Later . . .

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Let’s do it!” I barged in the second he opened his door without even asking. “Let’s go through the list and get over them together. I mean, why not?” I started pacing his room, wound up with energy like a spinning top.

  “Like you said, we have nothing to lose. Besides, Sam just sent me a message and I can’t face going back to Jo’burg. What would I say to people? Or worse, what would people say to me? Let’s just do thi—is—” I stopped pacing and talking when I saw him.

  “Uh . . .” I mumbled. I’d forgotten for a moment what I was meant to be saying. I was looking at an extreme makeover. Gone were the punk rock clothes, replacing them were smart casual shorts, a simple white T-shirt, a pair of nice-looking sandals. There was no trace of eighties rocker in sight and I stared. Good-looking was an understatement. He looked at me curiously, as if waiting for me to speak again, which I guess he was, considering I’d so abruptly lost my train of thought.