Micro Monday, Fictionalised Flash, Prompt Story
Too Late to Say Forever
I watch him up at the bar. His long, dark corkscrew curls halfway down his back. Took him years to grow. The years he was with me.
Vic’s late.
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
I sip my wine and recall the reasons why we’d split up…
I’d cheated on him. But I knew even if I had remained faithful he was too weak-willed and easily led for us to create a solid future together. Two peas in a pod. So I had to move on. I needed to be grounded. My new partner could do that…
“Sorry, gorgeous.” Vic sits down and his pale blue eyes twinkle in the dim light of the bar.
One way or another I never fail to forgive him. Right from the start that has been the template of our friendship.
“Did you get the tape?” He asks. “I think it included all our songs.”
“Yeah. It did… Thank you. Though the memories made me cry.” I’ve always been honest with him. I even told him when I cheated. It was just the once. Then I felt ashamed and we went our separate ways.
Reaching over he clasps my arm instinctively. My mouth becomes dry. Pulling away I take the last sip of wine and hand him the glass.
“Another. To make up for you being late.” I command, my pulse quickening.
I watch him up at the bar. His long, dark corkscrew curls halfway down his back. Took him years to grow. The years he was with me.
My eyes begin to fill with tears wondering if our relationship had meant to last, and I’d got it wrong. Every day I miss him, and often marvel over the familiarity and bond we had… no, have — between us.
He returns to the table with a bottle.
“It’s lunchtime you know!” My words chastise him for being indulgent, but my heart leaps because once again I get to enjoy his hedonism.
Ignoring my words he pours us both a large glass, and we chat about fun times. Giggling. Every minute becoming a little more tipsy and high on thoughts of our past.
As I talk I throw my arms around, gesturing.
“I love your hands. So feminine. Such long fingers. And it’s great that you hardly wear any make up. I can see your skin.”
He’s comparing me to his girlfriend. She likes to wear heavy foundation. His compliments make me feel a little uncomfortable. Guilty. Should we be sitting here talking like this?
Leaving the table I search for the toilets at the end of the bar. The light’s very gloomy but I find the ladies and open the door.
Once inside I splash my face with cold water and comb my hair, informing ‘my reflection’ in the mirror that, it will soon be time for us to go home — no matter how much she’s enjoying Vic’s company.
With a toss of my blonde waves I exit the bathroom and turn into the corridor to head back to the tables.
What the…
Vic is waiting outside. He traps me up against the wall, his body heavy on mine. His hardness pressing my thigh.
Then, looking me directly in the eyes he exclaims,
“Never... Never underestimate my love for you.”
Momentarily his lips taste mine and then as if it never happened he disappears, and I’m alone, out of breath. Shock and elation cruise through my veins. I’m painfully aware I can no longer trust either of us without a chaperone. I have to leave right now.
At the table I gather my things when suddenly he appears, back from the men’s room.
I rescue my bag from the floor, down the last drop of wine and stammer, “I’ve, erm… Got to go.”
“Don’t…” He pulls me close for a hug and I melt.
This was written for the latest prompt but is a fictionalised tale taken from my past and peppered with artistic licence.
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