qualiteabullshit-blog

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Tango

He tried calling her, for a minute the dial tone rung in his ear as his heartbeat started to deafen him. He knew that this was the final sign, the last straw in their relationship. For the past year they had been growing further and further apart. Should they have waited a little while longer for marriage? Maybe. Maybe he should have expected this from the start. Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted her as much as he did. He thought that if he loved her, with everything he had, with every fault of hers, that she would return the favour. Clearly, she had a different thought process. What he knew for certain was that things had to end. But how do you end a 3-year marriage, a 5-year relationship? They had savings, a dog (the only thing that seemed to love him unconditionally now), they were about to get a mortgage for a house in an area far too nice for them. His hands were shaking, his vision was blurry, he couldn’t concentrate on his work. The only thing that grabbed his attention was the swirling pool of hate and jealousy spinning around in his gut. His biss walked by his desk, noticing that he wasn’t doing any work.

“Hey, have you got those returns done yet?”

“Uhh no, sorry Dave, I’ll uhh, I’ll get right on them.”

“Is everything ok?”

“Not really no, no. Not at all.”

Dave nodded to his office, at the back of the room with a door and cheap wooden interior. He sunk into the plastic/nylon cushioned chair, trying to decompress the ever growing tension in his head.

“What’s up?”

“Its nothing you need to be worried about.”

“Connor, its affecting your work. I’ve known you for ten years, you’ve worked here for 5, not once in that period did you fail to do your work. Now, what’s going on?”

“She’s cheating on me.”

“Oh god fucking dammit, seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ve been distant the past year, I thought something was up. I caught a glance at her phone and she had a text from some random guy, I couldn’t read what it said.”

“So she’s texting some guy, hardly grounds to accuse her of cheating.”

“Dave I found a pair of boxers in our room that definitely didn’t belong to me.”

Dave sighed, rubbing his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that wears Calvin fucking Cliens?”

“Well not that I’ve given much thought to what pants you wear, but you don’t. What else?”

“I tried calling her a few minutes ago, she didn’t pick up.”

“Maybe she’s busy?”

“Watching Jeremy Kyle? Sure, she’s busy doing something. Or someone.”

“Go.”

“To the house?”

“No to tescos you fuckwit, yes to the house. The only you’ll find out is if you catch them.”

“I don’t think I can stomach it.”

“If you don’t I will.”

He pondered this, it wasn’t a horrible idea. But he never liked people doing his dirty work. He had to find out for himself.

“No, I’ll go. This might take a while.”

“Take the day off. Call me if you want to get a drink. Or a few.”

 He pulled up outside the house. The lights were on, the tv blaring some bulllshit at nearly full volume. He didn’t want to go in, for once in his life he didn’t want to be proven right. But he had to, for his own mental and emotional health.

He walked into the living room to a startled wife curled up in the corner.

“…Hey hon’, you’re home early.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling well so Dave let me take the day off. What you been up to?”

“Umm not much tidying, watching some-“

“Uh babe where did I leave my jeans?” A man with enough fake tan to cover the cast of Made in Chelsea walked in, teeth as white as the cocaine he probably took, just in his underwear. The same underwear he had found earlier.

“Oh hey bro, you just be Carrie’s roommate.”

“Roommate?”

“John I can explain.”

“You’ve got till the end of the day to pack your things. Anything left behind, gets sold or burnt. We’re done.”

“Woah bro, what’s going on? Why you so pissed off?”

“I’m her fucking husband you fucking tangoed prick.”

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

5 Pints

“This is all the sun’s fault.”

“Barry, you can’t say that for everything.”

“Why not? If it weren’t for the sun we wouldn’t have any plants or food, we would fail to exist.”

“And by extension, it’s the reason there is a figurative mountain of vomit in the sink and 14 Harp cans beside it, yes?”

“Precisely.”

“By that logic it’s also the reason we have crippling student debt, but you can’t exactly tell the bank that can you?”

“I dunno, I think I could make a great case for it.”

“You are a right twat you know that?”

“A hungover twat” He corrected.

“I’m surprised you’re even alive, or have insides for that matter.”

Simon inspected the ant hill of (he hoped) human digestive juices putrefying in the sink.

“Has the Uni got in contact with you yet?”

“What, about the noise complaint?” Barry peeled himself off the sofa, shielding his eyes from the previous night’s escapades and

“No not that, just thinking they might want to use you in some biological studies. ‘A study on the escape velocity of 4 kebabs and a case of beer’ might be a good title. “ He said, in his best Brian Cox impression.

“3 kebabs. Maybe a burrito, not sure, it was all just a blur of cholesterol and bad decisions.”

“Well whatever it is, clean it up, we’re going out in 30 minutes.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, what time is it?”

“5:30. PM, before you ask.”

“Oh Christ. I’m not going to make it. Leave me to die here in peace.

“You’re going. You already promised Kate you would be there.”

“Shit I did. Right, time to do what I do best. Cleaning up after things I could have easily prevented. “

While Barry wrestled with a bottle of Domestos and a rather sorry looking mop, Simon went upstairs to get ready. Kate said she would be bringing a friend, and he had been single for long enough, even if it was a rough break up. But that was months ago, and apparently, this new girl was cute. Sometimes when a friend who is a girl says their friend is cute, it doesn’t normally end well. However, he had seen a few photos of her, and his judgement was the same. While Barry cleaned up with the efficiency of a pigeon escaping a bottle bank, Simon prepared as best he could for meeting someone new.

6pm rolled on, and Simon and Barry had managed to get to the bar in time. Once in a blue moon there was a bouncer on, and today it seemed to be a lovely shade of navy. He stood the same height as he was wide, similar to a barrel of whiskey with plenty more punch.

“Evening fellas, in for the night?”

“We’ll see, depends how the match goes.”

Barry kept his head low, desperate not to catch the bouncer’s attention.

“Why do you look so shifty all of a sudden?” Simon asked.

“Look, I may or may not have asked him last night if he was an extra in the hobbit, I’m not sure.”

“Jesus Christ Barry, you can’t just ask people that.”

They went to the bar, ordered two pints of whatever was cheapest, and looked around for friendly company. “There’s Kate, in one of the booths. She’s got us decent seats for once. “

They wandered over past eager fans and armchair pundits, to their sanctuary for the night. The two women sat on one side, the two men on the other.

“You’re finally here, I thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“Yeah well this prick didn’t exactly help.” Simon replied.

“I’m sure he didn’t. Where are my manners? Simon, this is Chloe. Chloe this is Simon.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Simon.” Chloe said, in an accent so Northern English it could be considered fake. It was charming, he thought.

“The pleasure is all mine Chloe. “He smirked.

As the drinks flowed, so did the goals. The crowd ‘ooed’ and ‘ahhed’ and booed and cheered. Barry was enthralled with the match, so to keep himself busy, Simon tried his best to entertain Kate and her charming companion.

Chloe stood 5 foot nothing tall, with long, curly locks of brown hair, seemingly untameable by even the best hairdresser, but she seemed to have a decent grasp on it. Her smoky eye shadow accentuated her piercingly green eyes. A small button nose and thin lips helped complete her cute aesthetic. While he was certainly enjoyed her physical appearance, he relished in her wit and humour.

“What’s the difference between Jesus and a picture of Jesus?” She asked him.

“I’m not sure. What?”

“It only takes one nail to hang a picture.” She could barely get it out of her mouth before she burst into a fit of laughter, her eyes becoming little lines from her squinting, yet were open enough to let that mischievous sparkle in her eye shine.

They shared more laughs and drinks, quickly becoming engrossed in each other’s company. There was something in her that he wasn’t sure about however. At times, she seemed withdrawn, not wanting to participate in conversation, keeping her cards close to her chest. Then other times you could hardly get a word in. She had a vague sense of mysteriousness about her. He liked mysteries.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is that blood?” Simon asked Barry.

“No?”

“That’s not a question that should be answered with another question, Barry.”

“Look, it could be jam, it could be blood, it could be prune juice.”

“I don’t know what’s worse.”

“Well I’m allergic to prunes so it might not be that.”

“Yeah, solid deduction there, fucking Sherlock Holmes.”

Simon walked around the remains of Barry’s bedroom. In every space that had enough space for him to place a foot, there was also a stain that was maybe the reason for the space.

“Barry, you need to tidy up a bit.”

“Simon, you need to go away. Leave a dying man in peace.”

“Certainly smells like there’s a dying man.”

“Yeah sure. Anyway, how’s Chloe?”

Simon tried to act surprised by this question, however he had been anticipating it for the past 3 days. She was always on his mind, but was he occupying hers? He wasn’t sure.

“She’s fine.”

“Fine? You seemed to be a big fan of hers the other night.”

“What do you mean?”

“While I do tend to get completely smashed Simon, I have the memory of an elephant. You wouldn’t stop going on about her when we were waiting for our chips.”

“She wasn’t there was she?”

“Thankfully no.”

“Great, I won’t seem like such a stalker.”

“You, worrying about what people think about you? Never in my life. “Barry sarcastically remarked.

“Oh shut it. Look, I need you to clear off tonight, she’s coming over.”

“Oooh are you gonna try to impress her with your best Gordon Ramsey impression?”

“Yes, although hopefully with less swearing. Can I count on you to be gone?”

“Yeah of course.”

That was one less thing he had to worry about, striking one entry off list of possibly thousands. Why did he have to invite her to dinner? He just had to let his mouth run away from him, rambling on about how he loved to cook. While it wasn’t a complete lie, he never really cooked for anyone other than himself. He vaguely remembered her saying she liked Italian food, so he tried his best to make up a nice three course meal that wouldn’t be too difficult to make. Bruschetta to start, steak for the main course, then some tiramisu. Some light acoustic playlist on Spotify, a bottle of red wine, it had all the makings for a romantic evening. He put on one of his shirts, one that didn’t really fit him right but would get a few compliments on a night out. Dark jeans and his casual dress shoes would complete the ensemble.

 As he was putting the finishing touches to the bruschetta, there was a knock at the door.

“Hey!”

“HI, come in, come in.“

He was worried what he thought of his outfit.

“You look nice!” She said.

This was now the best shirt in the world, he would die in this shirt. This shirt would be known as ‘The greatest nice shirt’.

“Thank you. You look.. amazing.”

This was an understatement, but he didn’t want to seem to eager. She wore a dark navy dress, in perfect contrast with her viciously green eyes. She wore high high-heels, yet still managed to be just a smidgen smaller than him.

After eating their three beautiful courses, they retired to the living room, wine and an acoustic playlist following them. They talked and talked, every subject that came to his mind exhausted and without breath. She didn’t seem to struggle though. What was a once shy girl, barely able to say more than a sentence, was now able to carry a conversation with a rock. As she rattled on about her favourite books, he was mesmerised with her. Maybe there was something here that would last. It’s too early to tell, he thought, but that didn’t stop him contemplating it.

“Can I ask you something?” She asked.

“Of course.” He wasn’t sure what to expect.

“What do you think the Labyrinth is?”

He certainly wasn’t expecting that.

“You mean like the labyrinth in Looking for Alaska?”

“Ok, that was just a test to see if you’ve read it, but yeah.” Her small, cheeky smile emerging again.

“Well, I think it is the emptiness that people feel. We all have this void in us that we try to fill, so we run around the Labyrinth trying to find something to fit the space. Maybe its religion, or friends and family, or maybe something more sinister like alcohol or skinning people. We all are trying to fill this gap, maybe as a distraction from the rest of life’s troubles. “

“That interesting.” She said.

They sat in silence, one that had become more and more comfortable as the evening went on.

“What do you think it is?”

“Pretty similar to Alaska’s interpretation. We spend the majority of our lives trying to escape suffering, escape the labyrinth, and sometimes it becomes too much of a wild goose chase. Then it

 overwhelms us, we become lost in its maze, and we can’t find any way out. When that happens, we find the only way out of it. Death.”

Simon was taken aback by this. They were having a perfectly pleasant evening, and she had made it dark and twisted. He liked that. He liked this darkness that was in her. Her mystery was slowly being unravelled, and he liked what he saw.

  The wine had run out, but it wasn't the sort of evening to encourage binge drinking. It was the sort of evening that wants you to have fun, but not go overboard, and by the end of it will be there to wrap you up safe in a warm blanket. They had moved to the sofa, lit only by the small lamp on the coffee table. The sofa was there since Barry and Simon moved in, worn out from its previous owners, now reduced to the sleeping arrangements of whoever ended up in the house that night. Or for Barry when he leaves his keys in the front door.

 They sat beside each other, in perfect view for the other. As the night had progressed, they were each falling for the other, and did not want to be caught. He looked at her and saw many things. A new person to know, to cherish, a new life to begin. He was giddy at the thought, but didn't show it externally. He tried to be as relaxed as possible, even if he wanted to just grab her and kiss her right then and there. It wouldn't be appropriate, he thought. He was worried that she wouldn't like him, that she didn’t feel the same way. But her eyes told a different story. She was transfixed on him, only moving her gaze from his eyes to his lips. He was always cautious to make the first move, in case it went horribly wrong, but this time, he was sure.

 "Can I tell you something?" He asked.

"Sure, what is it?"

"I like you."

"I like you too."

There was an awkward pause, one less comfortable than the others.

"I guess this is where I say some cheesy or smooth line and then kiss you."

She let out a small laugh, not wanting to break her gaze or her smile.

"Well, we could just skip the formalities."

"Yeah, maybe we could."

  He awoke to another dull, grey Sunday. Rain was pelting down on the skylight, of which he forgot to pull the blinds over. This was a slightly different Sunday however, because he had a guest. He slept with Chloe, and he wanted to make it perfectly clear that they did not have sex. They did make out though for what seemed like ages at the time. But now she was in bed, with him, on a gloomy afternoon. He lay back down beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist and her arms. He traced his thumb over her bones, a tactile feeling he had come to crave. He moved up her arms, and up to her wrists, his thumb being met by small, raised lines stretching longitudinally over her arm. Scars. Scars from not being loved enough, from being entrenched in darkness. While he loved the dark side of her personality, he knew it would have its costs. While his thumb began to learn their shapes, he let a single tear roll down his cheek. How cruel does the world must be to drive someone, so capable of compassion and warmth, to the cold reaches of harming themselves? He never understood why people did it. Then again, he could count himself one of the lucky ones to have not experienced anything like depression or anxiety. He was curious to know what was going on inside her head. He wanted to go in, have a look around its dusty bookshelves and hidden passages, get lost in its mazes.

 By now he was fully awake, and feeling a tad restless. He usually gets up as soon as he wakes, to get some food and some tea, but it felt like a waste of a moment to leave so soon. So, he sat up on his bed, and ran his fingers through her soft, curly hair, maybe a little bit too roughly, causing her to finally wake up.

 She flipped around, and looked up to him.

"Did I say you could stop?"

"Well I was only doing it to wake you, and I think I succeeded in my mission."

"Well Houston we have a problem, I'm not fully awake, so get back to your mission."

"I could go back, or I could make us some tea."

"Actually, that would be swell right about now."

He got up from his bed, feeling her eyes following him around the room. He didn't mind being perved on a little bit, he would do the same.

While rooting around for a jumper, he asked

"How do you take it?"

"We're still talking about tea, right?" She said cheekily and with a wink.

"Yes, still about tea." He said, slightly oblivious to the innuendo.

"Milk and one sugar."

He went downstairs to prepare their morning brew. He retrieved two mugs from the cupboard, a plain white one, and his favourite one. A light blue one with thin edges, just about big enough for a digestive. He brought the hot cups of joy to the room and handed her the blue one.

   “What the fuck is that?” Simon said, examining Barry’s current attempt at ‘modern fashion’.

“Its five different Hawaiian shirts stitched together.”

“It’s a god damn monstrosity.” Chloe said.

“Before we even get to the why, how the hell did you get five Hawaiian shirts?”

“Primark were trying to get rid of them, not many people buy them in October so I thought I may as well snatch a few up.”

“For good reason. How much?”

“£10 for the lot.”

“Not bad, still a bit much for looking like a berk.”

“Also when did you become such a good seamstress?” Chloe asked.

“Well when you’re broke and have a rip in your jeans to rival the San Andreas Fault, you learn to fend for yourself.”

The three of them sat down at the island in the kitchen and ate the muffins Chloe had made that morning. He loved her being in the house, she was constantly baking or cooking something delicious, the scent of her efforts making the house a much nicer place to exist in. His waistline however, was not as thankful.

“So what are you two love birds up to today?” Barry asked.

Not sure, maybe just go around town for a bit.” Simon replied.

Just as he said that, his phone buzzed with a notification.

“Hey, its been a while. Wanna catch up?” the message read.

He hadn’t spoken to her in over year, not since the breakup. Yet here she was, trying to get into his life again. He knew if Barry found out he would go crazy, maybe rightfully so. But he didn’t want Chloe to find out.

“On second thought, something has come up in work, I’ve got to go for a few hours. You don’t mind staying here, do you?”

“That’s fine, I’ll just read for a bit. I hope it isn’t anything to serious. “

He couldn’t bear to lie to her, but it was a necessary evil.

“No I don’t think so. I’ll see you later.”

He kissed her goodbye, hoping there was slightly more meaning in it than normal.

“What, no kiss for me?” Barry remarked. “You can kiss my ass if you want.”

 They met in the café just on the corner, beside the cinema. Now you would think it was a bit hipster, back then it was just trendy. Filled with a mismatch of furniture, it felt cosy but spacious at the same time.  A long table lined the front window, accompanied with wooden stools with copper legs. In the corners were smaller tables, next to old bookshelves filled with books no one here has read, but likes to say they’ve read. Large wing-backed armchairs sat beside them, waiting to be occupied by some sorry soul wanting their caffeine fix.

It was where they first met, where they went on their first date, the café where she told him about her cheating on him. It brought back painful memories that were now flooding his brain. Maybe now he could get some closure. He pulled up a stool by the window, and watched the world go by while he waited. They used to sit in the corner, away from prying ears, in their own little alcove away from it all. Here was more open though, he thought there would be less drama sitting here. And besides. If being here was flooding his head with painful memories, sitting in that unchanged armchair would feel like a tsunami.

“Hey.”  She said.

“Hi.” He said.

She looked as gorgeous as ever. Her eyes as strikingly blue as they were when they first met. Her perfect smile bringing out her little dimples by her cheeks. She wore a light tan leather jacket with a white shirt underneath, contrasting well with her golden-brown skin. She’d been away somewhere, not that he cared.

“How have you been?” He asked.

“I’ve been alright, ups and downs I guess. You?”

“I’m good”

“Good, that’s good.”

An awkward silence reared its head. It lingered, poisoning the air with tension and hatred. What was she doing here? What was her goal in all this?

“Jessica, what the hell are we doing here?”

“Something has come up, and I need help with it, but I don’t know who else to turn to.”

“What about Sarah, or Kristie? Your two best friends?”

“You don’t understand Simon, after everything came out about us, everyone abandoned me.”

Part of him was glad to hear that. She broke his heart, betrayed him, so she deserved punishment for it. He was still sympathetic. He knew what it was like to be completely alone. Before he met Barry, he was never a sociable person. Sure, he had friends, but no one he really connected with. He knew how horrible that felt.

“So what’s going on? What do you need help with?”

“Things haven’t been working out with John.”

John. The bastard she cheated on me with. He could never make her feel the way that John did, her attraction to him so strong that it overrode her feelings for him. And now she was sitting in front of him, asking for help.

“Why the fuck do you think I would help with that?”

“Because I have no one else to turn to. I know It was a bit far fetched, but Jesus Simon, we were together for 5 years, we’re bound to still care about each other. “

“You threw those 5 years away when you decided I wasn’t good enough for you.”

He was seething, how does she still think he was wrapped around her finger, primed and ready to bend to her will?

“So what the hell do you need?”

“I just need somewhere to stay for a few days, I need to get away from him.”

“Why, Prince charming not so charming is he?”

“Si you don’t understand. “

He used to love the way she said his name, like a calming melody across his ears. Maybe he still loved it.

“So help me understand, then.”

“I should have known from the start. When I talked about you, or our relationship, he would get really angry. Like, tip over tables and scream type of angry. At first I thought it was just a touchy subject, like you should never talk about your exes with who you’re dating. But it didn’t get better. If I didn’t wash something properly, it would set him off. He is just this bomb of rage with the shortest fuse. Two nights ago, we were in his house, and I said a passing remark about something to do with him, just taking the piss you know? He throws another tantrum, then he.. he…”

She was starting to cry now, and as he saw the tears roll down her once rosy cheeks, her past betrayals melted away. She needed him, not in the same capacity as she once did, but that didn’t matter. None of it did.

“Hey its ok, everything is going to be ok.”

He didn’t know that. He didn’t know what was going to happen. But maybe a few lies would help her feel more calm, maybe she needed some certainty in her life.

She rolled up the sleeves on her jacket, revealing the dark bruises across her wrists.

“Jesus Jessica. Did he do anything else to you?”

“No, that’s it.”

Whether he believed her or not, he knew he had to help her.

“We have a spare room. You can stay there for a few days. Just until you get yourself sorted.”

“Si thank you, thank you so much.”

She embraced him, she was wearing the same perfume she was all those years ago. It was almost sickly sweet now, hinting at a future life that was never going to be reality, at a life he thought he had under control. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this to Barry and Chloe, but it was something he felt he had to do.

 Jessica went back to her hotel room. She could only afford to spend a few nights there, so she packed light, in case things didn’t work out. In the meantime, Simon called Chloe.

 “Hey babe, how’s things?”

“Hey, I miss you, when are you coming home?”

“I miss you too. I’ll be home soon. Listen Chloe, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Oh shit, what is it? You’ve bought another new set of knives? Or a new TV?”

“No, nothing like that. I didn’t go into work today, I lied. I met up with my ex from a year ago. Nothing happened, she just needs my help with something. I should have told you in the first place, and I don’t know why I lied. But she needs somewhere to stay for a few days. I tell you the details later. Again, I’m really sorry for lying to you.”

“Hey its ok, its ok. Is she in trouble or something?”

“Abusive boyfriend.”

“Jesus, ok. When is she coming over?”

“Wait, so you’re ok with her staying?”

“Yeah of course I am. She needs your help, I’d expect you to help her.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Yeah you mentioned once or twice, bone head. Now, when is she coming over?”

“Today, she’s just getting her things now.”

“Ok, should I tell Barry?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll do it. Thanks for being so understanding.”

“Its ok, I’ll see you in a bit then?”

“Yeah, hopefully. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Jessica was now beside him, suitcase in hand, just about catching the end of the conversation.

“Who was that?”

“My girlfriend, you’re going to meet her today.”

“Oh, ok.”

He could tell she was disappointed. Maybe she was hoping this would rekindle their relationship, but the fire had long gone out. He wasn’t planning on giving her any hope; meeting Chloe was part of that plan.

  Jessica had been in the house for three days now. She was settling in well to the household, she had taken a few days off work and was helping around the around the house as much as she could. Barry originally objected, but once Simon tells him about her situation, he was fine with it, assured that it was not a permanent thing and that it was only for a few days.

Simon arrived home from another dreary day at work, and was greeted to a sight he hadn’t seen in 2 years. Jessica was plating up a delicious meal for him and the others. He was thrown back to that golden era of their relationship. When their future was intertwined, stretching far across the horizon. He turned when he entered the kitchen and saw his other future, sitting on the sofa, embracing a mug of tea. Even if he missed what he had with Jessica, he loved what he had with Chloe. No stupid arguments, no stupid compromises, she had been with him through thick and thin, he only hoped she was willing to go through more. He worried that he had overstepped some boundaries with letting Jessica stay, but Chloe seemed fine with it. If it was bothering her, she wasn’t saying.

Chloe got up to greet him.

“Hey, how was work?”

“Oh awful as always.”

They exchange a quick kiss, him unsure if they should do that in front of her.

“Do you still work at the same place?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah, still the same job too.”

“Maybe things haven’t changed much.”

He didn’t like what she was hinting at.

“I’m gonna go shower before dinner.” Chloe said, winking as she made her way out of the kitchen.

He gave her a look, saying with his eyes that he’ll be there soon. He left his bag down by the sofa, but when he turned around, he was greeted with Jessica in the way of the door.

“I missed you.”

“Jess, what are you playing at?”

She gets closer, running her fingers along the collar of his shirt.

“Just a quick kiss, just for old times’ sake.”

“For fucks sake Jess, no. We’re done.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

“I don’t care if she doesn’t know, this is not happening.” He was close to shouting now, but he didn’t want to worry Chloe. She always did that.

“Just get out my way.”

He pushed her away, and made his way upstairs. He walked in to his bedroom, where Chloe was getting ready, wearing just a dressing gown and with her hair tied up in a bun. It was an untameable mass of curls, her hair, yet she always seemed to be in control of it.

“What’s up? You seem annoyed” She said. How could she always tell, he wondered.

“Oh its nothing. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Just as they were about to kiss, three large bangs had rippled their way through the house.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked, unsure of where he expected an answer from.

He ran downstairs, joined by Barry in yet another Hawaiian disaster of a shirt.

“Stop trying to make it happen.” Simon said.

“I am at the forefront of post-modern fashion.”

“Post-modern shit more li-“

Three more bangs echoed from the front door.  Jessica came out the kitchen to see what was happening, even if she knew.

“Simon, don’t answer that.”

“If someone is banging on my door I want to know who the hell it is.”

“SI seriously, don’t answer it.”

He was already at the door, and opened it to be greeted by what looked like a watsit jacked up on steroids.

“Where the fuck is she?” The Watsit asked.

“First of all, who the fuck are you?”

“John, get the fuck away from here.

So this was John. The person she left him for. He seemed like quite the catch.

“Look, I think you should leave.”

“And I think you should shut the fuck up.” “Barry, call the police.”

“I’m not leaving here without her!” The Watsit had become the same shade as a prune, clearly frustrated that his demands were not being met.

“Well I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

“Oh fuck off would you?” John said, and as he said it, he swung for Simon’s head, connecting a clean punch across his jaw, knocking him out.

He woke up 4 hours later, with a headache from hell and someone’s hand in his. He gave it a quick squeeze, just to make sure he could still feel anything. He felt a squeeze back. He opened his eyes, wanting to see Chloe by his side, but instead, it was Jessica. He pulled his hand away, revealing a long IV drip trailing from his wrist.

“Where is Chloe?”

“She’s just getting some snacks. She loves to eat, that girl.”

“Jessica, unless you want to tell me what happened, shut the fuck up.”

“I think the others might be more willing to help.”

She got up from the light blue armchair beside his hospital bed, storming off down the corridor. Chloe and Barry came back a few minutes later.

“Oh thank god you’re awake!” Chloe said, running to his side

“That was some punch. “Barry said.

“You say punch. Why do I feel like he had a few other goes?”

“That maybe because he did. He layed a few into your chest I think. I managed to wrestle him to the ground like the good friend I am and return the favour. Luckily the police arrived shortly after that.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t arrest you for some crime you’ve yet to stand trial for.”

“I’m a bit of an idiot, but I’m not a criminal.”

They laughed, while they did he saw Jessica through the little window in the door. She didn’t look happy. Maybe he didn’t react the way she thought he should have. He didn’t care.

Friday night. Simon and Barry had taken themselves off to the pub. Chloe would have joined, but her depression was bad that day, so she stayed in for the night with Jessica. They had become good friends over the course of her stay. They would talk about books and film, something Simon was never really interested in. He was glad she had someone to talk to when he wasn’t there, he worried about her being lonely. Truth be told, he was more worried with her being alone with Jessica.

“So you woke up and she was holding your hand?” Barry asked.

“Yeah, weird, isn’t it?”

“I’ll be honest, she seems crazy.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to think that.”

“Look, I’m all for her staying until she’s back on her feet, but she pulls any of that shit infront of me, I’m gonna have some words to say about it.”

“And I’ll let you say them.”

They drank their weekly stress away.

Chloe had sat down in front of the TV, ready to browse through the Netflix catalogue for the 7th time that day. Her depression had become a bigger issue over the past few weeks, slowly dehabiltating her. She felt like doing nothing at all, even if it was so unfulfilling. The only good part of her day was seeing Simon, but at least she had that.

“Hey, why the long the face?” Jessica asked, sitting down beside Chloe.

“I’m just not feeling the best, that’s all.” Her default excuse.

“Do you often feel like this?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Ah its just all in your head isn’t it? You’ll get over it. Sure, there’s way more people worse off than you.” She said, in a matter-of-fact manner.

Of course its in my head, where else would it be Chloe thought. She didn’t seem to grasp how horrible it can be. Yes, so many people had it worse off than her, that’s what made her feel worse. Here she was, in a lovely home, with central heating and enough food to feed 5000, living with one of her best friends and someone she adored, and who adored her back. How lucky she was. Yet despite all that, here she was, wishing the world would swallow her up, leaving not a trace of her existence. Here she was, unable to do the things she loved, to love the people she loved, over a few misfiring chemicals in her brain. She was beginning to like Jessica, that was slowly eroding.

“Well if only it were that simple. Anything you want to watch?” Desperately trying to move the conversation on.

“Actually, I was thinking we could talk.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, something happened in the hospital that I thought you should know about.”

“Why, did Simon say something funny when he woke up?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well what is it then?”

“Well, he opened his eyes a bit, and looked around the room. When he saw me sitting by his side, he said ‘Jess’, I said ‘yeah?’, then he said ‘I love you.’”

Chloe was enraged. She knew she shouldn’t have let her into this house. But maybe this was proving all of her insecurities right. Maybe he didn’t want to be with someone who had no ambition, no drive, no love for life. Maybe when he saw Jessica, he knew what he could have instead. She was on the verge of tears, barely able to contain herself.

“I know it’s hard to hear, I just thought you should know. I don’t want it to be a shock when it happens.”

At that moment, Simon came back from the pub, looking for his wallet.

“Hey, just getting somet- Wait, what’s wrong?”

“You fucking tell me.” Chloe shouted.

“Woah, what the hell is going on?”

“She told me about what happened at the hospital.”

“Right I see. Jessica, could you give us a moment?”

“Sure, I’ll be upstairs.” Winking as she walked by. What did she do now?

“Chloe, what did she tell you?”

“She told me that you said you loved her, not me.” She said, her words struggling to get through the tears.

“Oh god fucking dammit.” He was furious, how could she lie about this? What was she trying to gain?

“Chloe, that did not happen. I woke up, she was holding my hand, I pulled away and told her to fuck off. That’s it. “

“So you do love me?”

“Yes, of course I love you.”

“I just thought you had enough of me, that you were sick of me being a depressive bitch.”

“I can never get enough of you. I love you every bit of you, even if some of it is a bit broken.”

“I love you too.”

They embraced, Chloe sobbing into his chest. He just got that jacket, but it was worth the sacrifice. Now he had to deal with Jessica.

He went upstairs, where she was waiting on his bed.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Jessica, get the fuck out. I don’t care if you end up staying on the streets, just get the ever-living fuck out of here.”

“But, I thought with her out of the picture, we could be together again. Just like the good old times.”

“Really? You think I would drop a girl that I’m in love with, who treats me far better than you ever could, just because you came waltzing back into my life? No, that’s not happening, and it’s about time you realised that. Jesus Jessica, I knew you were mental, I didn’t think you were this bad.”

“Simon, please, just let me stay a few more days, I swear I’ll-“

“Get. The Fuck. Out.”

Simon and Chloe watched from the sofa as she packed her things. Traveling light has its advantages, at least when you get kicked out for being a crazy bitch you can do so in a timely manner. 10 minutes is all it took, before she was out the door. Barry was coming home when he met her on the street.

“You’re off in a hurry.”

“Oh piss off.” She stormed off into the night, as fast her heels would let her.

“Nice to see you again!”

He arrived to a home he had become used to, one that was different, changed for a few days, before settling back to its natural resting point. It was just the three of them.

“So did I miss much while I was gone.”

They looked up at him, then at each other, and smiled.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

5 Pints Part 7

 His desk a graveyard of hobnobs and cuppas, he looked across the battlefield and saw the corpses of old and rotten ideas. Scrunched up in an undignified manner, he couldn’t get one idea to stick. He was sick of waiting for one good idea to come along, he was going to force it out, even if it killed him. Sadly, it had pulled a few good punches, so he lay his head down and waited from something else to spring up to the stage of his attention. This article was going to longer than one night, who even cares about locally sourced cappuccino cups anyway? Maybe he was at the wrong magazine, or in the wrong industry all together. He fantasised about giving everything up, moving to a cabin in the woods or the mountains, just living off the land and off the grid. Now was not the time, things were good here.

He went downstairs to the kitchen. Chloe was there, baking some brownies, dancing to Bruno Mars. He was beginning to get better at telling the good days from the bad. During the bad days, eh would feel helpless. He’d try his best to understand what she was going through, but it all seemed so… wrong. The bad days were accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and despair, crushingly low self-esteem, and a hatred of all mankind. He tried hugging her, kissing her, hoping that any affection would help her feel better, but in the end, it was time that was the best healer. These episodes would last a few days, and when they ended, it was like the sun had come back into her life of eternal winter. She had a spring in her step, she hummed and sang, even if she wasn’t any good. It was a sight to see, and he was glad every time he saw it. Today was a good day. He lurked in the door way, her unware of his presence. She did this little dance while sifting the flour, he couldn’t help but let out a giggle. She turned around like a frightened deer.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.”

“How’s the wiritng going?”

“Ehh its not going well, I need a break from it all.”

“I’m sure you figure it out, you always do.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, before returning to the task at hand.

“Wanna help?” She asked, while adding what seemed like a disproportionate amount of coco powder.

“Well I could give it a go I guess.”

He never liked baking. Cooking he could do. Throw a few things in a pan, add some seasoning then bam, you’ve got a meal. But baking was more like a science, one wrong measurement or badly followed procedure, and you’ll end up with a pancake when you were looking for a Victoria sponge.

“Just grease the pan, will you?”

“Now that I can do.”

They had been in a relationship for a year now, their anniversary fast approaching. He couldn’t think of what to get her, or what to do for her. He just hoped she felt well enough to feel happy. That’s all he ever wanted now, anything to make her feel safe and content. But right now, he was greasing a pan for her. Maybe that is all she needed, someone to be there, to help any way they could.

Barry came home from the gym, something Rachel had suggested a few weeks prior. He left a bundle of energy, he returned a panting, sweaty mess.

“My… Legs.. Are… Dead” He said in betwwen sharply inhaled breaths.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Simon asked.

 5 pints Part 8

 Three years they had lived in that house. Simon didn’t think it was a good idea at the time, eh thought it was another crazy idea from Barry. It was only meant to be a temporary place, until he and Jessica felt like it was the right time to find their own place. That time never came, maybe for the best.

“Is that everything?” Barry asked.

“Yeah I think so, did you remember the box full of dead babies?” Simon replied.

“Yup its right next to the box of dead hookers.”

“As long as they don’t mix that’s fine.”

“You two are fucking gross.” Rebecca said.

“Yeah, you both know you’re meant to keep them refrigerated.” Chloe said.

“Ah I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Simon said.

As Simon loaded the last box, filled with Chloe’s vast amounts of books, he started to feel light headed, his view of the world was being turned on its head.

“Hey, are you alright?” Barry asked. He wasn’t alright. He was passing out.

Over the next few hours he came in and out of consciousness. He was on the ground beside the van, then he was in the ambulance, then in hospital. He didn’t dream, he didn’t hallucinate, it was almost like he was teleporting to these different places. He woke up after what he assumed was a few hours. Chloe was by his side, holding his hand. Not having enough energy to speak, he squeezed it, giving her as much assurance as he would that he was fine.

“Oh thank god you’re awake! I wasn’t sure you would make it.” She said, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept in days. Maybe that was right.

“Hey, how long have I been out for?” He asked.

“3 days.” Chloe said.

“What the hell, what happened?”

“We don’t know, you just passed out outside the house, the doctors said you might have a head injury or something, I don’t really remember. “ She said. She sounded frustrated, almost helpless.

“Hey, its alright. “

“Don’t say that, we don’t know yet.”

“Ah Simon, you’re awake. I’m Doctor Shard. “

Shard was a tall man, almost exceedingly tall, bowing his head to get through the relatively small door frames. He wore thin glasses that he pushed up with this middle finger. His hair was black and neatly combed to the side. He had a reassuring voice, he had to in the place he worked in.

“Uhh hi.” Simon said.

“Simon, do you have any memory of getting here?”

“Bits and pieces. Nothing from the past few days. “

“Ok, that’s to be expected. Have you had any serious injuries over the past few months.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What about the fight with John?” Chloe asked.

“Well yeah, but they didn’t find anything wrong with me when I was here.”

“Ok, interesting. I’m gonna put you through some tests, just to make sure that everything is fine.”

“Ok, thank you Doctor.”

Over the next few hours he was under examination, he had an MRI scan, something he had only seen in TV shows and movies, tt was surreal to actually go though one. He had his memory tested, who was the prime minister, what year was it, who he was, the usual questions that you would ask someone who has a major head injury. He was put back into his room, with Chloe still there, like she was a part of the furniture.

A few more hours had passed, and Doctor Shard returned with the test results.

“Hi Simon. I was wondering if we could talk alone for a second.”

“Look, anything you tell me, she is going to know at some point, so you might as well do it in one go.”

“Ok, fair enough. From your results, it seems like that fight you got into caused a lot more damage than previously thought. I’m going to be blunt about it, you basically have a blood clot in brain. The reason you passed out was because it was stopping almost all of the oxygen in your body to go to your head.”

“Jesus Christ. How come it didn’t show up the last time I was here?”

“We didn’t test for it.”

“Well shit. “

“Is it serious?” Chloe asked.

“Yes, very. We need to operate as soon as possible. There is only one slight problem.”

“Well what is it? It can’t be worse than what you’ve already said.”

“Well it is. The operation is very risky. There’s a 60% chance you will make it.”

“Right, ok.”

He was face to face with his own mortality. The way he saw it, he was going to die anyway from this clot, so why not die trying to get rid of it? He agreed to the surgery. Before he went under anaesthetic, he grabbed his notebook from his bag and wrote a few things down.

“Chloe, I need to talk to you.”

“Ok, what’s up?”

“If I don’t make it, if something goes wrong in the surgery or it just doesn’t work, there is a notebook in my bag that I want you to read. “

“I don’t really want to think about that right now.”

“I understand, just don’t forget about it ok?”

“Ok, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He was curious of last words. What a coincidence it seemed that people would say such brilliant things when death came knocking at the door. While what might have been his last words were not smart, or sarcastic, or wise, at least they meant something to someone. At least he meant something to someone. He was wheeled off to the operating theatre, his life in the hands of some guy with a scalpel. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave Chloe behind. He didn’t want it all to end so abruptly. He thought of every regret he had in his life. Why did he have to let Jessica stay in the house? Why didn’t he just tell her to go to the police about John? Maybe he wouldn’t be in this situation if she didn’t turn up. Maybe he wouldn’t be fearing for his life.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Pissing down memory lane

Another Friday night alone. He cracked open his sixth beer of the day and sat down on the sofa to enjoy another evening of bad decisions and regrets. He had gotten used to this, it had almost become a ritual. Get out of work at around 5, swing round the off-licence to grab a case of beer, maybe some whiskey if he was out. For most people this was a once a week type of deal, a way of destressing after a hard week at work. Not for him. It was now a daily occurrence, the cashier even joked about giving him a loyalty card, and would always have what he wanted ready for him. He hated being that predictable to someone he didn’t know. He wanted to stay mysterious, to appear as some guy just getting a few things. He wanted to be an extra, while the main star was saving the day. But he couldn’t bring himself to find another place. Besides, this one was only a 5-minute walk away, so when he eventually ran dry of his preferred poisons, he could easily restock. He always said to himself that he would stop.  “I don’t need this to function, to live my life, to deal with what I’ve done in the past. I can quit anytime.” He convinced himself. Of course, it was just bullshit he said to make himself feel better. “I can quit any time.” “I’ll sort all this out next week.” “I can move on from them.” These lies where repeated in his head or to the ones that cared about him, which there were very few of now, nearly every day; he could never bring himself around to the fact that nothing was changing, nothing was improving.

He looked around his house, and only saw reminders of them. The kitchen where she lovingly prepared beautiful meals that only looked grey and boring to him. The fireplace where they used to sit and talk about everything and nothing. The corner where he would tell stories to her, listening to the music that was her laugh. The television where he would sit in front of, basking in its cold but inviting glow, while she nattered away about something unimportant like his drinking or his unemployment. He wished he could go back to those times, and shout at his former self for being such a blissful idiot. He took what he had for granted, he didn’t know what he was about lose, until it was taken from him. He missed them both so much. But they were gone forever.

 His endless relationship with the bottle started 3 years ago. His depression was getting worse and worse. He had lost any care he had for anything, but this didn’t leave him as a fun free-spirited person. It left him with a husk of a life that he used to love. He looked at his wife and new born daughter with nothing but contempt and disdain, seeing their love through cold, dead eyes.

“Carrie didn’t love me really, she’s just a baby, she has no concept of it. “

“Kirstie was only here because of the kid, if things were any different she’d be gone, just like the rest of them.”

Every day he would say these things to himself, despite his wife and disproving them every time. Kirstie tried to help him in every way she thought she could. She took care of the baby, looked after the house, cooked and cleaned for him every day, gave him a shoulder to cry on when he needed it. But he never took her up on the offer, instead he receded into himself, consoling himself through mindless television and a cold bottle. She tried to convince him to see someone about his depression, something he had struggled with since the beginning of their relationship. A doctor, a therapist, one of his friends, anyone that he could talk to and get help. He never did, always saying that they wouldn’t care, that they would tell him to just man up and deal with it by himself. It’s what he had to do for everything else in his life, why not this as well?

Over time she had grown tired of trying to help him. Nothing was working, and she was starting to slip into the same lifestyle. She was unsatisfied with the relationship, with his attitude towards everything. He wasn’t interested in Carrie, he only saw her as a burden on his wallet and a portable shit machine. Whenever she tucked Carrie into bed for the night, she would sing her a lullaby, hoping that her dreams would be better than the life that had been handed to her. She looked at her peaceful face, as she twitched and fidgeted in her blissful state. She wasn’t going to grow up to be a healthy and happy child here, Kirstie knew that, but what could she do? She cared about Tim too much, and didn’t dare to think of what he would do to himself, or to her, if she tried to leave.

 Four beers down, he was starting to feel nostalgic. Walking through the house, he walked into Carrie’s room. It was unchanged from the incident, only dustier and filled with reminders of what had happened. He cast his mind to that day. Kirstie had left to do something, he wasn’t listening. He was too busy watching the news, seeing the world slowly burn around him. She mentioned something about the kid but he guessed it meant check up on her soon. Five drinks down that night, he nodded off while Newsnight was on, a task achievable by almost everyone. He woke up suddenly to see a report about the Chilcot Report and a sudden realisation he hadn’t checked on Carrie. Something had felt off. She was usually crying or screaming, not loud enough though to not be drowned out by the tv. He walked into her room to be met with nothing but silence. Walking slowly to her crib so as to not wake her, he peeked over to see her sleeping peacefully. But something was wrong, she wasn’t moving. He poked her back, nothing. He shook her, nothing. He turned her around, and saw her once beautiful brown eyes, now wide open, cold, and lifeless. She had turned over in her sleep and suffocated herself with her own blanket. He panicked, trying to resuscitate her, trying to get some life back into her. But it was hopeless. Kirstie arrived back half an hour later, to see an ambulance and police car outside the house. She saw the paramedics carry a stretcher to the ambulance, and her husband outside talking to a policewoman.

“What’s going in?” she asked.

He started to cry, he looked like he had been crying for hours. “I’m sorry babe, I’m really sorry.”

“Where is Carrie? Where the fuck is my baby daughter?”

He looked towards the ambulance, then towards the ground.

“No, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. What the fuck did you do Tim?”

She wasn’t sure where to be angry or distraught. She figured a mixture of both was a good place to start.

  On to the whiskey. He had run out of beer and decided that if this night was going to continue, he needed something stronger. He filled the glass to a level best described as too much for a human to handle. The smell, that which used to singe the back of his nose and make his stomach ache, now filled him with a warm comfort he had come to rely on. He walked back down the hall to the main bedroom. He let his fingers rub along the wall, tracing the dents left by the stretcher. Not much had changed since she left. Much like Carrie’s room, all the photos and paintings were still in the same place, only the dust level had changed. He picked up the photo that he had kept by his bedside since they moved in. Kirstie was in her beautiful white wedding dress, and he had managed to stuff himself into a tuxedo. They looked at each other with a gaze not seen in recent months, with smiles that had since faded into obscurity. He pressed his thumb over her face on the photo, stroking it like he used to. Tracing her cheekbones, he felt closer to her in those moments than ever before. Or after. He put the photo back, face down on the bedside table, before the torrent of emotion inevitably overcame him.

He looked for a jacket or a coat in his wardrobe. He was behind on his bills, electricity and heating being replaced as life’s necessities by beer, whiskey, and more beer, so he needed to wrap up warm during the night. He found his old leather jacket, the one he used to wear when going out during uni. It was still in good shape, despite being the victim of a few drunken fights and maybe a kebab or two being thrown at it. He missed those days, the simple times when he could roll out of bed, into some maybe clean clothes, and go out and enjoy his life. There no real responsibilities, no worries, the only reason he had to be up in the afternoon was to go out again. He led that life style for a few years, as any student does. Sure, he fell behind on his work, but somehow, he always managed to work something out and still do well. He wished the same could be said for everything in his life. It wasn’t until he met Kirstie that he changed. For a while anyway.

 They were at the pub, for the third time that week, and it was only a Tuesday. They decided to have a quiet night, as quiet as the three of them could manage. John suggested the pub quiz, something which took the fancy of both Tim and Chris. They were good at pub quizzes. Scratch that, they were excellent. For the first half, they were always the ones on top, the three of them spreading their knowledge thick over nearly every subject. The second half however, was a different story. John always decided that some shots would help liven things up, and if drinking let them be this successful, surely even more of it would help. However, it only led to a few arguments and uncertainty over whether Pope John Paul II was a member of the Led Zepplin.

“I swear he was, he played bass for ‘em didn’t he?” slurred John.

“That’s John Paul Jones you muppet. Now go get us another pint before you start sprouting off more shite. “ Replied Tim.

“He probably thinks Tony Blair was a member of the sugar babes.” Remarked Chris.

“Honestly the amount of times their line-up has changed I’m surprised none of us have been asked yet”

 This night was no different. Things had started off well, a few easy questions on sport and politics, which Chris and John took care off, leaving the music questions to Tim.

“Next question, “The quiz master announced, “Who topped the UK singles chart with the song Shut uppa-“

Just as he was about to finish, Tim was suddenly distracted by a life changing event walking through the door. It had come dressed in dark blue, skin tight jeans, with a black leather jacket and hair of a similar shade. Stunning was a word he would have said, if he could speak English at the time.

“OI prick, what’s the answer?” asked John.

“Uhh what was the question again?”

“Who sung ‘Shut upp your face’?”

“oh, Joe Dolce I think. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He hurried off across the pub, trying to find where this woman had sat down. He looked everywhere, upstairs by the pool tables, downstairs by the main bar. He couldn’t find her, and to soften the defeat, he pulled up a stool by the main bar, and asked for another pint.

“Pint of Guinness please. “

“Make that two.” Out of nowhere, the girl with the raven black hair had appeared beside him.

“I didn’t take you for a fan of Guinness” he said.

“And I didn’t take you for the stalker type. But here we are”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh please, I saw you with your jaw nearly on the floor when I walked in, I figured when I saw you running around this place like a headless chicken on speed that you were looking for me. “

“Guilty as charged.”

The bar man handed them their drinks, each paying for their own.

“How about a toast?”

“To headless chickens? “ She said.

“To headless chickens.”

Over the course of the night they talked and drank and laughed and drank some more. She wasn’t just a pretty face. She had a wicked sense of humour, almost morbid at times, and he had completely fallen for it. Not that her face was anything to ignore. Her sharp, thin lips in a shade so red that made her skin look even paler than it was. He wasn’t one to notice eyebrows on a woman, but hers were a different matter. And her hair, the deepest shade of black, like a void he wanted to get lost in. There was no escaping her, and he was more than happy to be trapped.

 He returned the jacket to where it lay, beside shoes boxes filled with other forgotten memories, totems of a life he wanted back. But there was no getting back of something he had thrown away so foolishly. There was no chance of her forgiving him. No chance of having her back in his arms.

 He stumbled out of the bedroom and back into the hall. He stopped to take notice of the frames hanging on the wall. His degree in engineering, their wedding photo, a picture of him holding Carrie moments after she was born. It pained him to look back at these memories and see all the opportunities he had wasted over the years. He took both for granted, how could he be such an idiot?

 1 year before the incident

Tim was heading home from another dull day at work. The company was desperately trying to get hold of a new contract, and so they were halting any new development being done across the plant. He spent his days playing solitaire, browsing the same sites he always visited, seeing the same posts he had seen 5 seconds earlier. It was beyond tedious, mind-numbing even. The only good part of his day was heading out of the gates, towards his home, which was only a 5-minute drive away. He looked forward to smelling what Kirstie had decided to cook, but as he walked into the flat, he was met with nothing but the smell of scented candles. Silence had fallen over the home. He sat his bag down by the door, hung up his coat, and walked through this alien feeling place.

“Hi, we need to talk.” Kirstie said. She was sitting on the sofa, looking like a ghost. Sure, she naturally had pale skin, but she looked almost anaemic.

“Hey babe, has something happened? What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Just come and sit down for a bit.”

He sat down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder, desperately trying to comfort her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well I don’t really know if something is wrong or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, look at this.”

She handed him a long plastic device, he thought it was something an alien would use to probe someone. Except it wasn’t quite something like that. It was a pregnancy test.

“Uh ok, what does it say?”

“Oh come on, you’d think I’d look like this if it was negative? I’m fucking pregnant!”

Why now? They didn’t have any savings, Kirstie was struggling to find work as a freelance painter. Strangely enough in this economy people didn’t really want to buy a wannabe Salvador Dali’s paintings. The firm was cutting down on employees, and he felt his name was next on the list.

“We’re going to have a baby!” He exulted.

“Wait, so you’re not mad?”

“No of course not, why would I be? This is wonderful! “

“Oh thank god, I was worried you wouldn’t want it and just leave me or want to get rid of it or or… “

“Hey, calm down. It’s alright, everything is going to be alright. Great, even. “

He kissed her forehead, and pressed his against it, looking into her eyes, that always helped ground her in reality. She had troubles with anxiety in the past, but he had seen enough of it to help her when it peaked. They spent the rest of the night planning for the new baby. Picking out names, looking at carriers and cots, fantasising over what their future was going to be like.

  He was back in the living room now, in the spot where they had that conversation. He longed for the times when he was hopeful for the future, where every major point in his life wasn’t met by cynicism and blind hate. He missed the times where they would cuddle on the sofa, hands intertwined while they watched the world either burn or flourish, depending on what they were watching. She would endure the times when he watched engineering documentaries or music shows, and he would endure whatever drivel she used to watch. Later they would spend the evening not on the couch, but putting Carrie to bed, watching her slowly drift off into an eternal slumber. Even if she was going to be up 5 hours later wanting fed or had crapped herself. Still, it was nice.

 3 Months Before the Incident

“Mr Monroe, they’re ready to see you.” The Nurse said.

He had been waiting outside for what felt like an eternity. He didn’t want to see the procedure, he had been scarred before in high school during science class. He walked through the sterile corridor, and was met with a sight he wouldn’t forget. His beautiful wife, holding his beautiful daughter. He marked that day in his head as the day he would change. He was going to work harder, stop drinking, finally get his life together. If not for him, for the people he cared for the most, a list now one entry longer.

“How are my two girls?”

“Well this one wants a gin but I guess morphine will have to do. And this one has already screamed her little lungs out.”

“Can I hold her?”

“Yeah of course. “ She smiled, glad to be able to rest properly, glad that her best friend was finally here.

He wrestled control of the bundle of blankets being handed to him. But now he was finally holding is baby daughter.

“She’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, I’m so proud of you. “

She looked up at her knew family, eyes barely able to stay open, and let out a smile.

He looked around the now dimly lit living room. Night had fallen over the city, the room now only lit by the streetlamps and the rare passing car. He could make out the outlines of the bits of furniture. The mantel piece, where another wedding photo sat. A toy bear, given to Carrie a few days after she was born. It never left her side. He wanted to keep it, as a reminder of her. A reminder of when he thought everything was going to be fine. What a fool, he thought.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Well fuck

This was a bit different than usual. He was used to the internal, chronic sadness that was with him for what seemed like forever. He was used to the buzzing from anxiety and stress, the voices and sounds in his head running away with every sane thought he had. But this was new. This feeling of pain, this feeling of grief for a life he was building in his head but that had faded away in a matter of seconds. In a way, it was nice. It was nice, for the short period of time that it existed, to have something to smile about, to fantasise about. To have some glimmer of hope to grasp on to. Even if it was gone, its effect still clung on for dear life. The dream was dead, but the person he dreamed about was still alive, and still willing to talk.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Talky talk

The winter that year was mild, most days I didn’t need a coat for the walk to work. It turned quickly however, and soon snow was falling on the streets, while everybody lost their collective minds. Who knew some frozen water could cause so much chaos?  On the walk to and from work I saw no less than 3 major accidents. Countless people were left stranded in the snow drifts of 20cm in height. You’d think it was the apocalypse, everyone running out to buy bread, water and Starbucks.

I walked into the living room, she was huddled at the edge of the sofa, wrapped in a hoody and fluffy blanket, silently dozing away. I wanted to join her, to be part of the same warmth as her. But I was afraid, of more rejection, of feeling even more unwanted. I went to the kitchen, filled the kettle, and prepared tow mugs. A plain white one for me, and her Paddington Bear mug with one and a quarter sugars.

“Hey, you’re home early, “ she said, her voice creaking from her nap.

“Dave let us out because of the snow, I might have the day off tomorrow as well.”

“Movie day?”

“Maybe, I might try and fix a few things around here. The oven still isn’t working properly.”

I took the teabag out of her mug and threw it into the bin with a bit too much force that what was needed.

“You ok? You seem, I dunno, frustrated.”

I didn’t want to tell her now. I didn’t want to talk about it ever, really. But I had to, for my own sanity. Maybe for hers too.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Her smiling eyes reduced to a frown, her posture returned to its normal slouch. The room was silent for a minute too long before either of us spoke.

“Well, what is it? Something at work?” She asked, hopefully.

“Its us Karen. It’s something with us.”

Tears were forming in her eyes, glistening in the light of the kitchen and the snow from outside. Maybe she did care. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

“I love you, I really do. And I know you love me, I try to tell myself that every day. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. “

“What do you mean?”

“You know I’m a bit of a physical person, cuddling you and holding your hand are as close to ecstasy as I’ll ever need. But often when I feel like doing those things, I feel like you would rather not. I don’t know, maybe I’m being paranoid. “

“No, you’re not. “

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed it too.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I’ve just always been like this I guess. “

“So it’s not because you’re physically revolted by me?”

“Jesus, no. Far from it.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

The Beast Returned

The beast had returned. Its claws sharper than ever. It was always patiently waiting, waiting for the perfect time to pounce back onto his shoulders, digging its claws his eyes while it whispered horrible nothings in his ear. “You’re broken. You’re faulty. You’re unlovable.” While he knew that this wasn’t his reality, he couldn’t help but feel that it was. What if he was hated by everyone? What if he was just a burden? A weight on the people that cared about him, even if he couldn’t convince himself of the fact. These were hardly original thoughts, and that’s the thing that bothered him the most. These thoughts had plagued him for years, yet they seem to have come to a crescendo in the past few days. So what was it about? Why had the beast returned to prey on him?  He had put up walls I the hopes that it would be deterred, but soon the cracks started the show, and his defences had fallen. It crept in under the cover of night and stress, stalking and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. So when did it strike? When he was home, alone, not doing anything fun or special, feeling left out when everyone else was living their lives to a fuller extent than him. Before he went to bed, where not even the soothing sound of thunder and rain to calm the storm in his head.  When he tried to get his life together, when he tried to just get on with his day. He tried to keep busy, to occupy himself, to distract himself from its roars and hisses. But there’s only so many things you can tidy, only so many ways you can re-organise your room. So in the lulls of the day it would scream and kick until it got its way, until he was in the corner wishing for it all to end, whishing he could see the end. It would leave after maybe a few days, leaving a trail of destruction, and he would sit there, wondering if it was that bad at all.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Sick

I'm sick Sick of not being good enough Or at least thinking I'm not Sick of being little brother "cute", not "hey I want to kiss you" cute Sick of being ill Sick of being anxious, depressed, lonely Sick of feeling worthless Sick of being me

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Old Wounds

They sat down in front of the silver screen, like they had done nearly every night they spent together. The warm fire crackled and spit, basking the dark woods and thick carpets with a warm orange glow. Their withered arm chairs sat like stone thrones, immovable and constant. Their lives had winded down to short trips to the shops and the post office to get their pensions. They had had enough excitement for one lifetime, they were looking forward to evenings like this, with a cup of tea in one hand and the sudoku in the other.

“Karen, did you lock up?”

“No, not yet dear. I must have forgot to after the walk.”

“Eh its ok, I’ll go and do it now.”

As he walked to the front door, he peered outside to check the front garden. The summer dew glistened in the street lights, a small hedgehog waddled along beside the rose bushes. He worked hard to earn this plot of land he called home. As he turned the key to lock the door, he noticed a silhouette move from down the road, towards the house. It was limping, dragging its left foot across the ground as it tried its best to run. Drops of blood painted the road, their periodicity increasing as the shadowy figure made its way close to the house. While his vision had deteriorated in his old age, he could clearly make out the long hair bobbing side to side. The white or yellow dress, down to just above her knees, speckled with blood and dirt. She was now just a few feet from the front lawn, crawling onto the grass towards the door. He could now hear her breathing, her blood curdled breathing, at a quickening pace and echoing from the street. She was now a foot away from the door.

“Help. Please, help me,” She whispers, for it was all she could muster.

He opened the door, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her into the hall, knocking over the umbrella stand in the process.

“What the hell is going on?” Karen asked.

“Just help me carry her into the kitchen.”

They hauled her to a dining room chair, her injuries becoming more apparent in the bright lights. Her left eye was swollen purple, her right caked in dried blood. A gash that would rival the grand canyon spanned across her forehead. Blood from a cut on her thigh began leaking on to the yellow cushion of the chair, a tear in her dress outlined where the attacker must have struck.

“Dear, can you hear me?” Stephen asked.

She nodded her head, her right eye lid wincing at the pain in her neck.

“You… need to.. lock.. the door.” Her words barely escaping her mouth through the swelling and the blood.

As Karen went to lock up, Stephen began questioning her, handing her a glass of water and a bag of frozen peas.

“What happened to you?”

“My boyfriend. We were having a fight, then he just… turned on me. He got a knife and slashed at my leg before he started beating me. I managed to throw a glass in his face before running away.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear him come out of the house. “

“It’s ok, you’re safe here. Karen, could you phone John?”

“Whose John?” the girl asked.

“A friend of ours, he was high up in the police force here. He’ll take care of things. “

“Ok… ok.”

“The house is locked up, John is on his way with some deputies.”

“Thank you. Thank you both so much. “

“It’s no problem. “

Over the course of the evening, she revealed much of her past to the couple. Her name was Ciara, she was 27, studying biomedical science at the local University.

“Wait, I recognise you from somewhere, “Karen exclaimed, “When did you start your course?”

“Just last year. I’m in my second year.”

“Well isn’t this strange, I was one of your lectures.”

“Karen O’Neil? I thought I recognised you!”

“I’ll leave you two to catch up. I’ll be upstairs.”

Before going to his office, he went into the living room and turned off the television. On his way, he looked out the front window to see if John had arrived yet. He was met by the blank stare of a man, in a blue shirt covered in blood, with a knife the length of his forearm and the width of a house brick. The blade glinted in the yellow street light, with a crimson hue it shook in time with the man’s breath. Stephen was frozen with fear, he couldn’t break the stare with the man with the knife. Before he knew it, the man was walking slowly to the door. With every step he took across the lawn, Stephen’s heart rate increased. By the time he could move his feet, he was just steps away from the front door.

“Ciara! I know you’re in there!” The assailant shouted.

“Just go away Doug, you fucking mental!”

“Oh I’m not going anywhere.”

Before they had time to find refuge somewhere in the house, Doug began chopping away at the door, breaking the frosted glass and punching his way to find the door handle. They ran upstairs to the office, locking the door for all that it was worth. While they hid by the bed, they could hear the thundering footsteps echo through the house. Each step up the stair case brought him ever closer to the door separating them. Kicking down the door, he stood there, with a menacing smile and a crazy look in his eyes.

“Honey, just come back,” he said through his teeth. “We can talk this through.”

“Just leave me and these people alone, Doug.”

“No, I won’t do that Ciara. I’m not leaving until we settle our differences.”

He began walking towards them. Stephen ran up to him, in the hopes that he would stop and reconsider. But he was not here to reconsider. With one swift movement, he lifted the blade and stuck it into Stephen’s chest. Blood poured out of his mouth, dripping on to the thick carpet below. Twisting the blade, Doug looked into Stephen’s eyes as he drifted off.

“Oh my god, Stephen! Stephen!” Karen shouted through the tears.

“I’m just showing you what happens when you get in my way. No hard feelings.”

He removed the knife, and as he did, Stephen’s body lost the will to stand up, and fell to the floor. Karen ran over to him. Putting her hand on his neck, she propped his head up so she could see him, and console him.

“Just stay with me, dear. Don’t go. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh shut it, you stupid bitch. He’s dead.”

“Doug! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Right now, I’m thinking of ways I could cut your throat. Across or down the middle, so many choices. “

“How the hell did I fall for you? You monster.”

“I’m a pretty good actor I guess. Now let’s go?”

“No. I’m staying here until the police arrive.”

“And they’ll be here any minute!” Karen added, mascara now streaming down her cheeks.

“Shut it!” he said, slapping her across the face. He grabbed Karen by her hair and pulled her up on to her feet. Facing her away from him, he placed the knife carefully against her throat.

“Ok, Ciara. Last chance. Come with me, or the old wench gets to see her entrails.”

“No…just..Don’t do it. Ok, I’ll come with you. Just let her go?”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

As Ciara walked slowly towards him, he didn’t ease his grip in Karen’s hair.

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind.”

He pressed the knife on to her neck and kept pushing. While she screamed for mercy, the knife pierced her vocal chords, and continued on its path until her head was severed. Ciara dropped to her knees, whaling with despair and fear.

“Why?! Why would you do that?”

“I was just curious, is all. Now, shall we?”

He held out his hand, now red from his previous crimes. She hesitantly grabbed it, and followed him outside. As the reach the perimeter of the front garden, three police cars, with all lights but no sirens, pulled up outside the house. While the police got out of their vehicles, she pushed away from him and ran towards her saviours.

“Just fucking shoot him already!” she screamed.

In about the same time it took Doug to take the lives of the elderly couple, the police fired three shots into his chest and legs. He would ever receive a trial, or a proper sentencing. But he would never harm another person again.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

I’ll miss you

I’ll miss you.

I’ll miss having you around.

I’ll miss our midnight walks and early-morning talks.

I’ll miss our impromptu sleepovers.

i’ll miss our little chats over sandwiches and tea

That I tried so hard to make just right

Just so your day was a little bit nicer.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Time

How cool would it be to slow down time? To have an epoch that's all mine. 10 minutes turns into 10 hours Maybe I'll get something done. How heavily it would be To walk around and see Everyone frozen in their tracks What I could do behind their backs It's all up to me. But that's not why I would do it To get up to mischief Or to steal a biscuit. No. It would be to get 5 more minutes in bed To spend a little more time In a moment that where I felt at my prime To relish in a memory To have sensory Deprivation To have just a little time Where there were no responsibilities Just my own tranquility. What I would do if I had more time.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

I’m not in a good place right now I could really do with a hug But I don’t want to bug Anyone in case It ruins their day or week. I know they’ll care But what use is talking about it If no words could fix what’s wrong What if what’s wrong is not fixable at all And I’m just driving myself up the wall.

I’m not in a good place right now It’ll not last forever. As long as forever isn’t next week.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.”

― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

What If

What if he said yes

What if she said no

What if he asked her

What if he didn’t bother

What if he just lay there, staring at the ceiling

What if it wasn’t working, and he wasn’t healing

What If they knew what was happening

What if they didn’t care

What if it turned out alright

And it wasn’t as bad as it seemed

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Janet Part VI

She sat in the oversized pilots chair, gazing out as the stars streamed by the cockpit. Her race had only dreamed of seeing such a thing. They don’t even know that this was possible, or even know that it was out there.

“Hey, we should be coming up on them now. You ready?”

“Probably not, but we’re here anyway.”

“This is going to be strange, both physically and mentally. They’re going to ask a lot of questions. “

“Shouldn’t I be saying this to you? You’re the alien here!”

“True, but I’m not the one that’s been missing for 3 years. Now get off my seat.”

Reluctantly, she moved over to the co-pilots chair. Kron flicked at a myriad of switches, buttons and latches as the stream of stars slowed to a trickle. Soon, the Sun same into the view, its glaring light almost blinding her. As the light became brighter and brighter, a small dot with a bluish haze started to appear from the void. As the dot became a sphere, the details of it became much clearer. For the first time, she could see the dark side of her planet, an entanglement of street lights, marking were humans had decided to settle, and the paths made along the way. There were no thick lines separating the countries, no territories owned by one being. In that dark, empty cosmos, we were just a sphere of water and dirt, waiting for the next big adventure. Today, it was coming to them.

The ship shook violently as they entered the atmosphere, the windows glowing orange from the heat. After a few minutes, the shaking reduced to a tremble, the glow receded from the windows, leaving a view of the Atlantic Ocean. As they sped across the ocean surface, Kron pulled a lever to gain more altitude. The city stretched out before them, a jungle of concrete and steel. Soon, they were over the suburbs, near Janet’s home.

 The thrusters blasted fallen leaves into the air as they approach the lawn. The for-sale sign shook side to side, until they finally touched down. The landing bay door opened just a few feet away from the front porch. The garden was untended, the paint fading in the sunlight. She took her first steps down the ramp and smelled the familiar signs of home. While similar to the atmosphere on Alpha, she could notice the 10% in the oxygen. She quickly became feint, and light headed, reaching out to grab the railing by the side. Slowly, she approached the end of the ramp, until she took her first step on Earth in 3 years. She was finally home. As she neared the porch, the front door swung open, with her father running out close behind it.

“Janet?” her father asked

“Dad!”

She ran to him, embraced him, tears flowing down his and her face.

“Where’s mom?” she asked.

“Margret, she’s home!” he shouted into the house. Her mother slowly appears from the shadow of the doorway. Her tearful eyes glinted in the hot summer sun.

“It’s really you?”

“Yes, it is mom. I’m so sorry.”

“Where the hell have you been? Where have you been all these years?” raising her voice. The curiosity of the neighbours had already been captured, she now had their attention.

“Mom, it’s a long story. Really long. “

“Well we’ve time.” She replied.

“Before all that, there’s someone I want you to meet. “

She guided her parents on to the ship and lead them to the cockpit.

“Mom, Dad, this is Kro-“

“What the hell is-“

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Her mother screams, dropping to the floor almost instantly, her skin as pale as a glass of milk.

“Margaret, wake up.”

She lazily opened her eyes to see her husband, her daughter, and Kron staring back at her.

“How long have I been out for?”

“About 5 minutes Ma’am,” Kron said, his ever-booming voice startling her mother to her feet.

“Who- what are you?”

“My name is Kron, I am a pilot from the Alpha Centauri system,”

“He brought me back here,” Janet added, in the hopes it would help win over her parents.

“You’ve not come very far then,” her father said.

“My dad is an astrophysicist.”

“What’s that? I’m still not fully accustomed to your language.”

“He studies space and the stars.”

“More so on the larger scale of things. Galaxies and the like.”

“Well I’ve probably got a few things to show you on this ship that you’ll like.”

“Why don’t I take mom inside while you two talk about… whatever.”

Putting her mother’s arm over her shoulder, Janet guided her mother to the kitchen. She had aged so much since last seeing her, crow’s feet arching away from her eyes, valleys of time etching their away over her forehead.  She was weak, far weaker than before. They took a tea at the table in their usual spots, Janet facing the living room, her mother on the opposite side.

“I’m sorry for leaving.”

“You better be. Do you know what hell your father and I have been living in? “

“Look, don’t talk to me about living in hell.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do you think I left in the first place?”

“You left? You weren’t taken?”

“No mom, I wasn’t. It was my decision to leave. It was my decision to get away from this place. “

“Why would you want that? I thought you were happy.”

“How could I be happy with you over my shoulder all of the time, trying to get me to ‘do my best’? I wanted something new, something different. Something that wasn’t here.”

Her mother looked at her, like she was a stranger in her own home. Through tear soaked eyes, she looked at her daughter in a new light.

“But you didn’t have to leave, you could have just talked to us.”

“And then what? It would just be you, overbearing as always, pressuring me to enjoy my life, or whatever bullshit you would say.”

“Don’t curse, young lady!”

“I’m not so young now, am I? What am I, 19, 20 now?”

“20. You’re 20 now.”

Her mother slowly got up from her chair, and went over to the sink to get a glass of water. She stayed standing, looking out over the untended back garden.

“There was a lot of press here. A lot of accusations. I was called a murderer, a sadist, accused of killing you and hiding your body somewhere far from here. I had to go on national television and beg for your safe return. “

“I didn’t really think of that.”

“Of course you didn’t. You never think of us.”

Her father and Kron had come into the house from their chat together. They seemed to be in high spirits until they walked into the kitchen.

“So what are you two talking about?” Kron asked

“Oh just… stuff. I’ll put the dinner on,” her mother said

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Guess

“How are you?”

“Ok, I guess.”

It was a guess. He didn’t know how he was. He barely remembered what happened yesterday, never mind if he felt sad or anxious or afraid. Everything had a haze over it, like Vaseline over a camera lens. Days merged into days, weeks into weeks, when all of a sudden he’s at the tail end of the year without anything to show for it. In the past week, there were no emotional traumas, no sudden bouts of sadness or despair. There were just days of… nothing. Nothing exciting. Nothing fun. Nothing of any note whatsoever. His life was becoming stale. He tried to give it some fresh air, in the hopes it would breath some life into it. But like a rock being dragged along by a currant, it had to stop after a while. Then the haze would return. People’s faces would be fuzzy, his memory becomes unreliable. He’d wish he could sleep for longer, to let mornings become afternoons, but the nightmares stopped that. Visions of terror, grief and occasionally affection filled his unconscious mind. He only had a few weeks left, then everything would change. Again.

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

12 6 word stories

She said she loved him, once.

What if just left now?

“Who are you?” “I don’t know.”

“Who’s that?” “It’s your son.”

“Why do you hate me?” “Reasons.”

“What happened?” “You, thats what happened.”

A hearfelt goodbye. An empty promise.

“Teabag in with the milk.” “Die.”

“I'm worthless” “You're priceless to me.”

“Just listen to me.” “Get out!”

He never thought it would last.

“Whats wrong?” Put the kettle on.”

[qualiteabullshit-blog]

Janet Part V

Kron came bursting into the room, panting for breath. He’s a pilot, she doubted they got much physical exercise.

“Umm, hi. What’s up?” Janet asked.

“Hi… There’s a thing… tomorrow…,” He said, throwing up as many words as he could between each shallow breath.

“Slow down a bit, would you?”

He took a seat by the bed, in an armchair much too small for him. She sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“The exhibition party is leaving for earth tomorrow.”

“Just to get more tea? Seems like it’s a bit much.”

“No it’s not just for tea Jan. It’s similar to what we and Filan were doing when we got you.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re bringing back more kids. “

His breathing returns to normal as hers quickens.

“I thought you only brought back one at a time?”

“Yeah, that’s what usually happens. But Leader is… dissatisfied with the progress she’s making with you. She thinks maybe bringing more back at once will help speed up things. “

“Misery loves company, I guess. So, what’s the plan now?”

“Well, my first thought was to maybe hitch a ride on the transport, hide in the cargo hold or something.”

“I’m sensing a rather large but coming at the end of that sentence.”

“Your but sensing abilities are unmatched. There’s a problem. There are only enough spaces in the hypersleep chambers for the two pilots and two passengers. One of the passenger spaces is being taken up by a diplomat that we’re sending to set up communications between our planets.”

“Ok, so we’ll stay in the cargo hold or something. What’s the big deal?”

“We’d be hiding for two years Jan.  And we can’t move or else the alarms will be set off. Who knows what will happen to us then.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We steal the ship.”

“I’m guessing that is a lot harder than it sounds.”

“Well I had to spend two hours last night studying English just so I could say that, so it’s probably about the same.”

“You know, maybe stealing it isn’t such a bad idea. At least I wouldn’t have to put up with you and your snark for the entire journey.” “And I wouldn’t be millimetres away from your smelly pits. “

A silence filled the room, one more comfortable than the others. While they had only known each other for a few weeks, they trusted one another like no one else. They were each other’s only hope of escaping this place.

“Ok, let’s do this. When do we start?” Janet asked.

“How about now?”

“Don’t we need to pack?”

“You didn’t exactly bring much with you. “

“Yeah you’re right. Just let me grab a few things. “

She walked over to her dresser, pushing around some papers, hoping to find something she wanted to salvage from this trip. She grabbed the letter to Josh, and another piece of paper taped to the mirror.

“New pieces?”

“Kind of. Ok, let’s go.”

 She shoved the two pages into the left pocket of her jumpsuit, a dark shade of blue that day. She promised to herself that she would never wear them again, so as to never remind her of her time here. They walked down the hall, towards the East entrance of the building, where they ran into FIlan.

“Hey, where you guys going?” Filan asked.

“Uhhhh to the gardens. It’s a nice day and Janet wanted to see them.”

“But you’re meant to be meeting with the Leader in 15 minutes.”

“Well I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Filan looked Kron dead in the eye. He knew what was going on. He pulled them aside to the edge of the lobby, as people entered and exited, getting on with their day’s work.

“What are you planning Kron?”

“We have to get out of here, FIlan. You know what Leader is going to do to her when she’s not compliant. “

“Yeah I know. So what’s the plan?”

“I’m not telling you unless you’re in. “

“Of course I’m in, she’s a nut job. And besides, Janet is the only one I’ve liked so far.”

“Despite your cold exterior, you have a warm heart. “ Janet said.

“Two hearts actually. “

“Who cares? Look, we’re going to take a B-88 transport from the depo and try our best to get around security. Hopefully we’ll be long gone before they realise what’s happened.”

“Ok, for once you’ve actually thought this through. It’s not going to be another Browbil incident is it?”

“Why what happened at Browbil?” Janet asked.

“I’ll maybe tell you later. And no, it isn’t. This must work. “

“Ok, I’m in. We’ll take my ride to the depo.”

While in the craft which Janet guessed you could call a car, apart from the wings, thrusters and lack of any controls, she saw a view of the city that she never even knew existed. She saw people, regular people, going about their day. Arguing on the sidewalk, walking hand in hand with their lovers, playing with their kids in the parks. She had spent all this time demonising them, thinking that they were morally unjust for keeping her there, that she didn’t even start to think of what the rest of them thought. For every Leader, wanting to get their next high, there was a Kron. People who only wanted to see good done to other people, to see their family happy and healthy.

 They arrived at the depo, where a security guard put his hand out to stop the vehicle.

“Mr Filan, good to see you. May I ask what the purpose of this unexpected visit is?” He said, in an accent she could only describe as both interesting and unnerving.

“Juse, good to see you too. Janet here wanted to have a closer look at some of the transportation we use between systems. Is that alright?”

“Ah Janet, I’m glad to have finally met you. That poem on adults and their failure to understand your troubles really got me going.”

“Uh thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you too. “

“Please, go on through.”

The barrier was lifted, and they carried their way on to the hangers.

“You knew that guy?” Kron asked.

“God no, you think I’d associate myself with those sorts? I read his name tag.”

They continued towards the hanger, where the chariot of freedom sat waiting for them. A B-88 transport, capable of supporting 4 crew members for multiple years in the deepest parts of space without breaking a sweat. It was slightly bigger than the transport Janet was on when she first came here, but the layout was supposedly the same.

“It looks great,” she said.

“It’s a pile of trash,” Kron said. “But it’ll do.”

“You two go on board, I’ll stay here and keep a look out.”

Kron made his way to the cockpit, Janet joining him in the co-pilots seat. He started the launch procedure, flicking switches and pressing buttons at much too great a pace for her to keep track of. He heart was in her throat, pumping the adrenalin through her body. This was it, this was the plan finally taking place. As much as she hated home, she was itching to see her blue planet again.

“Transport B-88-A, please report your status.”

Kron fumbled with the speaker controls, clearly stalling for time while he tried to think of something to say.

“Uhh Control, this is B-88-A, we’re just performing some maintenance.”

“There is no maintenance scheduled for your craft.  “

“Uhh something came up.”

“We’re sending a patrol to you.”

“There is really no need for that sir.”

“Tough luck we’re sending one.”

The speaker clicked as Control ended their communication. Getting away from this planet wasn’t as simple as they would have liked to think.

“Filan we’re going to have company.  A patrol is one their way.”

“Well that’s fantastic. Thank god I brought this.”

From his coat, Filan produced a rifle the same size as the ego of a psychopath. With a long barrel and an alarming blue glow, it was clear he was predicted this would happen.

“What the fuck FIlan, where you did you get that?” Kron exclaimed.

“I know a guy. Just get ready to launch ok?”

As he turned around, the patrol had arrived, surrounding the entrance of the hanger.

“Please stand down and relinquish control of the craft,” the commander said.

“You two, go now!”

“Aren’t you getting on board?” Janet asked.

“There’s no time, just go!”

He opened fire at the patrol. Flashing beams of purple plasma streamed their way towards the soldiers, vaporising them instantly. As they returned fire, the B-88-A’s engines finally fired up. They took off leaving behind the fight beneath them, leaving behind the planet she wished she never saw.  

“Kron, this is Filan. Did you take any damage?”

“No we didn’t, thanks to you. Why did you do that?”

“I’m a bored pilot who wished he had something better to do. This was something-“

His transmission was cut off. They looked down to the hanger to see his limp body sprawled across the concrete.

“We have to back to get him!” she shouted.

“We can’t”

“Why not?!”

“Because if we go back we’ll be dead too. He knew what he was doing.”

“How can you be so heartless?”

“Janet I’m not being fucking heartless, I’m being logical. You don’t think it hurts me to the core leaving him there? He has been my co-pilot for 10 years. Of course I want to go back, but we can’t. We have to get the hell away from this place as fast as possible. OK?”

She sat in silence, looking out at the depths of space, looking at a point of light that might be her home.

“OK.”

Kron fidgeted at the controls, trying to activate the hyperdrive as fast as possible. Janet left the cockpit and went to the left side of the ship, and sat down by a window. She pulled out the pieces of paper she had saved from her room. The letter from Josh, with its ripped edges and fading lipstick, and another piece she was working on. “An ode to all things green.” She wrote it as a reminder of a place that isn’t just grey walls and itchy jump suits. A reminder of a place full of vivid colour and wonder. She looked out towards the rest of the universe, contemplating the many manifestations of life that could be out there. Maybe there was a planet where cats were the dominant species. Maybe there was one that had oceans made of molten diamond. She knew for certain that there was planet, a pale blue dot in the canvas of the galaxy, with a bunch of weird and wonderful creatures that she had come to miss. She was now heading towards that planet. She was now heading home.