Category Archives: Fiction

A Conversation without Words

Her arms are crossed tight over her chest. Her eyes flash. He takes a step back. His eyes dart from side to side. Her lip is curled back so her teeth are bared. I take a step back too even though I know she can’t see me.

The wind takes up her hair before whipping it back into her face. She brushes it away with her knuckles. He tries to speak but his mouth remains a perfect O as she raises her hand and smacks him across the face. He watches the ground. He doesn’t turn the other cheek. A single tear spills. I want to hold him, to tell him I love him, that everything will be okay, that it couldn’t be helped, that we never intended to hurt her. But I shouldn’t be here so I watch on in silence.

Her hands fly up to her mouth and she begins to shake and sob. He moves towards her. She utters one word, which freezes him in place. Finally, she allows him to speak. He talks and talks, streams of words I wish I could hear. She sinks down on the step and lowers her face to her hands. He looks around before gently sitting beside her. She doesn’t look up. Is she crying? I can’t tell.

He edges slightly closer. Soon, his thigh is pressing against hers and he puts his arm around her. Her head falls onto his chest. Her whole body shakes. Her face is wet and red and all scrunched up. I feel upset for her, at what we’ve done, at the line we’ve dared to cross. But it will all work out for the best. You can’t help who you fall in love with.

My eyes are drawn to his fingers as he moves them towards her face. He tilts up her chin with his big hand. He says something. She won’t look at him. He says something else. There is an urgency in the set of his face, in his eyes, his eyebrows, his mouth. She looks up slowly, then his face is on hers. Their mouths clash and push open. Their hands are in each other’s hair, on each other’s faces, in each other’s clothes.

It ends as suddenly as it’s begun. She pushes him, gets up and runs. This time, it is he who puts his face in his hands. I don’t move towards him. I cannot embrace him now. I walk away.

Sometime later – it could be an hour or a quarter of a day – he lets himself into my apartment. I hear him trudging up the hallway. My breath locks. He enters the living room, eyes downcast. “How did it go,” I can’t help asking. “It was hard but it’ll be okay. She’ll get over it.”

I stare into his face. I look at his lips – the ones that have kissed hers and mine and hers again. His left cheek is redder than his right. I stare and stare. I have nothing more to say to him.

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The Strangeness of Strangers

I’ve just added a Fiction section to the blog. Hope you enjoy the first entry…

She comes with a spasm and thumping feet. And suddenly, she’s crying; all teeth and lips turned inside-out, with wrinkled forehead and scrunched-up, leaking eyes. In this moment, he sees everything she hadn’t wanted anyone to see.

Her mascara zigzags down her face. She thinks it’s waterproof. He doesn’t tell her otherwise. She’ll know when she next looks in the mirror. Plus, he likes the way the smudged charcoal emphasises the light green of her eyes. He prefers it to the previously controlled sweep of eyeliner. However, the total abandon she’s just displayed has made him uncomfortable. He wanted to fuck her, not find out what’s wrong with her.

“Sorry,” she breathes into his neck. She doesn’t want eye contact so she holds him tight. He’s still on top of her. His chest is squashing her breasts. He doesn’t ask her if she’s okay. He hopes his presence is enough. He’ll tell his mates he got the ride but only after they drag it out of him. He’s not a total asshole.

He wants to leave. Or at least roll off her. But he’s been raised better than that. He will make sure to thank her and take her number. She hopes he’ll ask to see her again. Not because she likes him. Because she’s a woman. And if he doesn’t call, she’ll feel used and rejected. She used and rejected him as soon as she orgasmed. She just doesn’t know it.

She smoothes the hair at the back of his neck. He doesn’t have a secure job. And he isn’t as toned as she’d like. Neither is she but she’s criticised herself for long enough. It’s someone else’s turn. He longs to leave. She aches to be left alone but hopes he wants to stay. So they lie there hugging, pretending a closeness they think they should feel after bumping genitals.