FRIDAY's SNIPPET- When Life Goes Pop

Friday, 1 November 2013

The familiar tract we all know... the beginning of the end...

I suppose it could be the booze amplifying my suspicions of them together?
Oh, I don’t know … maybe he was that all along, a charlatan all this time and I’m only now beginning to see him in his natural habitat.
An awful retching cough from upstairs pulls me out of my reverie. I crouch down even further from the window sill. Ah yes, the aftershave! I suppose my actions are no better or logical than a girl shielding herself from the monsters under the bed. And the monster has surfaced. I remain still, listening intently for the heavy footsteps to bundle down the stairs.
We live (or cohabit would be a more accurate description of the true situation) in a duplex. It’s not that glam but hey, this is London, and we have two very small floors and not just the ‘very typical’ squalid studio room. Piers’s father is generous that way. Probably why I fell for Piers in the first place: digs that didn’t need fumigating every month, no damp in your treasured wardrobe. A lot less has appealed and swayed women on a budget at university!
I hear the screech of the window getting shoved open against its stubborn (badly painted) sill.
It must smell rank in there by now.
Then I hear some movement on the creaky floorboards in the bathroom. He’s definitely on the move.
Maybe I should sit at the kitchen table drinking my coffee; he might want to apologise for his behaviour last night. Yeah, like that will ever happen.
On second thoughts I slink further down the wall, hiding from the noises coming from above. A few minutes pass, then the sound of a hurried elephant trundling down the rickety wooden stairs as though the place was on fire.
The wind blows, briefly eddying around the makeshift roof hideaway, playing havoc with my hair. I pin it down, shoving it behind, using the wall to trap it. To be honest, I’m not sure why I’m avoiding him. I hear the door suddenly slam and I jump. Did he think I was out? Or did he think I was in?
This arrangement is obviously going to Timbuktu. When two people can’t communicate on a basic level of ‘Good morning, how are you feeling?’, it’s time to stare the dog in the face.
Weren’t we supposed to be spending some quality time together today? He was going to spoil me rotten, shopping, lunch, dinner, cocktails, the works.
Hmmm … someone’s writing on my mental wall, and I don’t mean Facebook.
Deciding I’ve done enough thinking for now I climb in from the balcony and shuffle to the bathroom.
I catch a glimpse of my hung-over face in the mirror. Yikes! This will take more than five minutes to rectify. I set about the task armed with a big cosmetics bag.

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