“How do I deserve to be treated?” She leaned forward a little bit and the top of her dress parted. I didn’t want to stare but I could see she had on white underwear.
I didn’t know what to say to that. I tried for bluster, but nothing I could think of would come out right. I tried for smarmy but saying ‘I’d treat you like a princess’ seemed the wrong thing to say. It was a trap for me and I didn’t know what to say.
She saved me. “I don’t think you’d treat me like that.”
I looked up at her through my eyebrows. I thought I probably look coquettish. It wasn’t the look I was going for.
“You know I wouldn’t.”
“I thought so. I don’t want to talk about Joe anymore.”
She smiled at me then and I knew everything would be fine. She put her glass down and reached over for me. She took my head in her hands and pulled me forward. I didn’t resist. She pulled me closer and kissed me on the lips. It was a chaste kiss. There were no tongues. She held it for a moment then let me go.
My heart stammered. I didn’t know what to do.
Harry did. “I just want you to hold me.”
I could manage that. I held her for the longest time. We hugged each other for what must have been an hour. She laid against my chest and I stroked her hair.
Time passed and it was beautiful. Eventually she said, “Take me to bed.”
I didn’t argue. My legs shook on the way down the stairs. She held my hand all the way.
*
We got into the bedroom. I felt foolish, standing there with no socks on, a pair of jeans and a grey sweatshirt. They were the only things I had that were clean. She looked too beautiful for me. I didn’t know what to do with myself.
“Put some music on,” she said.
I fumbled around with a couple of CDs until I thought I’d found something suitable. I didn’t really have any idea what was suitable. I stalled for time. My butterflies were back, tearing at my peace of mind, telling me I was doing the wrong thing. My confidence was shot and I felt clumsy and foolish at the same time. What was I thinking? Being in the bedroom with Harry? I wasn’t good enough, I couldn’t do it…
She reached out and touched the back of my hand. My mind went blank and I could suddenly feel my heart pounding in my chest.
I put Coldplay on the CD player. I figured by track five, I’d be finished anyway.
“Joe hated Coldplay. Reckoned they’re sissy.” I didn’t want to talk about Joe. We were both standing at the foot of the bed.
“Really? I thought Joe’d like Coldplay. Like a big pair of cohones that can crochet. All light and warmth and grannies in dark ball sweat corners…”
I caught her looking at me, and stopped myself. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Sometimes I talk too much.”
Harry unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to the floor. “Sometimes.” she said.
She stood in her underwear and high heels in front of me.
It took a long time before we were naked. They were some of the best hours of my life.
Eventually we came together. I wondered what it would be like to get caught in an unsuccessful attempt at the ‘sticky plum’ position. We didn’t have sex. It was more special than that. It lasted for a long time and afterwards we talked. We talked long into the night. About everything and nothing. She fell asleep in my arms and I felt almost whole.
Perhaps she just wanted comfort. I could live with that.
*
She slept, snoring quietly, with her hair fanned out on the pillow. I lay there, propped on an elbow, watching her sleep with a head full of skid-mark thoughts.
I could’ve told the police about the note but I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
Men forget everything because they don’t talk about it. Women remember. Talking is just another way of remembering. That’s why I won’t talk about it anymore. Not to you, not to her, not to me.
Reb got away with it. I got what I wanted, thanks to him. My soul be damned.
*
I lay there, staring at the orange tortoise shell that lives behind my eyes, until I tired of it and fell to sleep with Harry in my arms. I woke up in the night and she was gone. I didn’t go back to sleep.
I started writing again.
*
A Week Saturday
Apres Prem
I’ve been writing this for a week. I didn’t heard from Harry until tonight.
I spent the days waiting, writing it all down to get it straight in my head. I spent my nights sleeping.
Harry’s coming over tonight. She called me the day afterward and said she needed time to get her head straight. I said I understood but really I was hurting. I wanted her so badly I could feel her lying next to me in bed even when she was gone. I threw myself into writing to distract me from the ache.
This is my confession. I’ll die when she gets here. Again, as I do every time I see her. Every time I see her I die inside as she opens up to me and I shut off that secret part and smile and tell her:
Everything’s going to be alright. Everything’s going to be alright.
For one beautiful moment that night I felt like a sword had been pulled from my chest and my heart beat. I had my chance at freedom. I missed the lesson and I’d do it time and again.
For love.
- End –
About the Author
Craig Saunders is the author of many novels and novellas, including Deadlift, A Stranger's Grave and RAIN.
He lives in Norfolk, England, with his wife and children, likes nice people and good coffee. Find out more on Amazon, or visit:
www.craigrsaunders.blogspot.com
www.facebook.com/craigrsaundersauthor
@Grumblesprout
Author’s note
The people in this story aren’t, entirely, fictional. They live and breathe in my head. That’s as real as anyone gets.
The place is made up. It was made up somewhere else, and I moved it and made it mine, so that doesn’t count. It’s pretty much like Manchester. If you’ve never seen it, how do you know it exists?
It’s probably quantum.
I started writing this in a manic episode. I'm still bi-polar - you don't get better from that. But this was written ten years ago, and I deal with things more sensibly now - I don't do drugs, for a start. That helps. Don't do drugs, kids.
During my episode, one of my favourites (I still look back on those days with a kind of old age glee at the exuberance of youth and a lack of medication), I was a willing participant in a private experiment to see how much marihuana (my preferred spelling) I could smoke, how little sleep I could get, and how much whisky I could drink. My results are here, in these pages.
Thanks should go out to Death in Vegas, particularly for Soul Auctioneer. I think it made this story what it is, like it somehow leaked through my consciousness. The barriers were pretty thin at the time.
I tried to stick to the idea of writing a novel in a week. It took a little while longer, but not by much. The bones were done in a week. I’ve tweaked and added to it since, but this is pretty much what I came up with. I hope you like it.
Suffice to say, the manuscript took some heavy editing.
Craig
The Shed
2014
Also by Craig Saunders
Novels
The Dead Boy
Left to Darkness
Masters of Blood and Bone
Damned to Cold Fire (previously published as 'The Estate')
A Home by the Sea
RAIN
Vigil
The Noose and Gibbet
A Stranger's Grave
The Love of the Dead
Spiggot
Spiggot, Too
BLOOD DRUGS TEA (previously published as 'The Gold Ring')
The Devil Lied
Novellas
UNIT 731
Death by a Mother's Hand
Days of Christmas
Flesh and Coin
Bloodeye
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br /> Deadlift
A Scarecrow to Watch over Her
The Walls of Madness
Insulation
Short Story Collections
Dead in the Trunk (Vol. I)
Angels in Black and White (Vol. II)
Dark Words (Vol. III)
The Cold Inside (Vol. IV)
Writing as Craig R. Saunders:
The Outlaw King (The Line of Kings Trilogy Book One)
The Thief King (The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Two)
The Queen of Thieves (The Line of Kings Trilogy Book Three)
Rythe Awakes (The Rythe Quadrilogy Book One)
The Tides of Rythe (The Rythe Quadrilogy Book Two)
Rythe Falls (The Rythe Quadrilogy Book Three)
Beneath Rythe (The Rythe Quadrilogy Book Four)
BLOOD DRUGS TEA (A Dark Comedy Novel) Page 19