I flagged down a cab with your dead weight on my arm. It had started to rain and you looked up, opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. Rain ran down your face, dragging your mascara. You looked like a painting.
You lived alone in your parents’ old flat. I fished keys out of your bag while you made heaving noises by the hedge. As soon as I had the door open, you bolted for the loo where everything made a dramatic exit. I stroked your back though I doubt you even knew I was there. You flushed the toilet and crawled to the living room, where you lay on the carpet and closed your eyes. I stood over you for a while.
I told you to take it easy on those margaritas, but you liked the sweet of the strawberry and you felt sexy licking salt off the rim. I like it when your edges blur and I see myself laughing in your lake eyes. You winked at a cute guy sitting at the bar. When he sent over margaritas, I said, go ahead, but you said, no, not tonight, it’s your birthday. You raised your glass and mouthed thank you, then turned your back on him. I wanted to tell him he was lucky.
You were on your fifth when you let slip that Jonathan from media was trying to get into your pants. He stole a kiss and cupped your breast by the photocopier. How did you find out that I fancied him? I never told anyone from the office, and when a group of us hung out, I didn’t let on. I was friendly yet indifferent to him. Jonathan never made a move.
I left your keys on the hook by the kitchen and locked the door on my way out. I didn’t realise that it was so late, or so early. I watched the sun stretch its golden limbs above its head as I sat on your front steps and finger-punched Jonathan’s number on my mobile. He was half asleep when he picked up and mumbled: who’s this? I hung up. I wish I had your balls. Next, I booked a flight for Hong Kong.
I looked back towards your door, at a small nick near the bottom in the shape of a heart. You made that when we were ten. I knew you were lying about Jonathan. You rubbed your hand across your mouth, smearing your lipstick; that always gave you away.
This week’s word prompt is ‘drunk’
Photo by James Lontoc
Thank you for your like
As always Sheldon
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Quite beautiful. Too many lines to pick out. Undeserved and unrequited love all around. One is a harlot and one is forever a bridesmaid.
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Thanks, dysfunctional friendships are quite common with women but less so with men, I think.
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Mine is perpetually dysfunctional.
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Really. Wow, maybe my theory is sexist.
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Probably not.
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Double like
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cool.
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I liked the imagery and flow. Is there some unrealized love potential for the friend or some unconfessed feelings?
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I do hint at it, don’t I? It’s very subtle. I’m glad someone asked. 🙂
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I wont kick her out of the closet.
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haha!
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Fantastic work, babe!
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Thanks! My posts are not complete til I hear from you. 🙂
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Been caught up in life stuff, but I am doing my best to check in when I can. This piece was a pleasant surprise! I always search for your face in the crowd my dear 🙂
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Please get published? I’ll buy and read. For real.
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Aw, for real? Thanks Tony. 🙂 🙂 🙂
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Completely bloody yes! Just don’t get someone to do a shitty looking cover for it though… 😛
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Definitely. Have someone in mind. 🙂
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I’m thinking perhaps Sarah Goodreau. Her work is amazing. 😉
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Haha!
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I feel as though her blurry edges will be the end of her…
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She needs to find the happy medium between being prickly and all over the place. Some just need more time to figure this out… 🙂
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Is this your site too ?
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It’s a group blog that I write for once a week, Wednesdays. There’s some good writing here too…
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Oh good to know. I added it to my follows.
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Thank you!
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I hope she called Jonathan again.
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of course she didn’t.
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Reblogged this on listentothebabe and commented:
new smoke-long story on Conceited Crusade.
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“As soon as I had the door open, you bolted for the loo where everything made a dramatic exit.”
Great description! Ha,ha!
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I think vomiting is a dramatic event, and one that I consider myself an expert at. That isn’t terribly sexy at all, is it? Haha.
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