Got too confident with the deep stuff after three double vodkas. One gag too many and his nice work blazer caught the lot. He was sweet about it. I still took an Uber alone and vaped in shame.
-
-
Thought the partition was up. It was not. Got loud in the Uber from Stratford, then caught the driver’s eyes in the mirror. He did not speak. The five-star rating vanished by morning. Fair.
-
Got excited, got loud, and the wrong bloke’s name left my mouth. Last week’s one. He stopped. I tried to laugh it off like I am funny. I am not that funny. He put his jeans back on.
-
After-work drinks with that fit guy from accounts. Got back to his mate’s empty office sofa feeling smug. Mid-stride I clocked the blood. His beige cushions. My promotion. I have never moved that fast.
-
Phone face-up on the bedside. Mum. Live. Full chest-up shot of him and a bit of my hair. I dived under the duvet. He answered. I died. She now thinks I am “that girl from work.” I am.
-
Full face because I came from work and refused to look mid. Woke up and his white pillow looked like a crime scene. He said nothing. I offered to buy a new one. He said don’t bother. I did.
-
Showing off on the sofa like I owned the place. One housemate came back early for her keys, froze in the doorway, and just said “oh for fuck’s sake Cat.” Door slammed. I still finished. Obviously.
-
Went back to his after the pub, feeling cocky. Opened the wardrobe for a towel and there it was. Full clown face. I screamed, grabbed my shoes, and left him standing there in socks. Never again.
-
Riding him in the flat, feeling like a goddess, then the Ikea slats just surrendered. We hit the floor. Housemate banged the wall. I still tried to keep going. Pride is a disease and I have it.
-
I was doing my best work and he tapped my shoulder like a builder on a break. “Two seconds babe.” Lit up. Blew it at the ceiling. I sat there with my mouth open. The romance was deceased.