Authors: Poppet
I shut the gate and lock it. Then smile sadly at him. He looks as though someone just grabbed him by the throat and started squeezing. I close the door and lock it.
Shaking, I switch off the lights and move to my bedroom with my smokes and an ashtray.
I huddle on my bed, light a smoke and start crying uncontrollably.
Chapter 26
Sob
Nothing happened. I sat through the night, sleeping with one eye, and one ear, open. The longer I pondered it, the more convinced I became that Gary was going to have me bumped off the planet. And if he was going to have it done, being afraid wouldn't change that fact. So, by the time I arrived at work, I had resigned myself to an early death, taken with a double, and neat, helping of paranoia.
"You look ill. Are you okay?"
Tired, I smile at Selene, "I didn't sleep well. Gary drama."
That gets her undivided attention and she drops the cards in her hand that she was about to file and gives me a piercing brown-eyed stare, "What happened?"
Briefly I outline the course of events to her.
She leans back with a smirk flirting over her lips, "Stuff Lindsay. It's about time you found someone else."
I love her. Girl power support is just what I need. I'm dreading seeing Lindsay.
"Problem is, I don't even have his phone number."
Shaking her head, Selene chuckles. "How blonde are you?"
I'm embarrassed, and grin back stupidly. Ted and Lindsay arrive together.
She throws a cool glance my way, sans greeting, but Ted chuckles evilly as he deliberately saunters past my chair. Pausing briefly to murmur into my ear, "Good weekend?”
He doesn't wait for an answer as he swaggers to his desk, throws himself into his chair and casts an infuriating and knowing smile at me.
Does that mean he's spoken to Professor Kiss and knows? Did he say good things for me to have Ted's transparent approval? I push it from my mind. Work is work and I'm tired, and have a long payday ahead of me.
Just after lunch my phone rings.
"Stefanie speaking, how may I help you?"
"Well, that all depends on how far you're willing to go."
"Pardon?"
Who is this?
"Don't play shy with me. I'm missing you."
My heart speeds by increments as I wonder if this is Mr Perfect. People sound so different on the phone. "Are you?"
I'm playing it safe.
"We were interrupted and I wasn't finished with you or the ice-cream."
My heart bungee jumps across the office, "So when can I expect the next rendezvous?"
"We'll see. I like surprises."
I have an awfully mortifying blonde moment, "How do you have my number? I don't have yours."
Silence.
Hmm, not good.
"You're joking, right? Ted and Lindsay work with you."
My cheeks flood bright pomegranate, "Just teasing."
Ted starts laughing as my cheeks begin radiating. Belatedly, I realise that he put the call through to me.
"Later babes."
And just like that, he's gone. And I
still
don't have Mr Perfect's phone number.
Shayne sits opposite Ted, and he's been watching the silent interaction. God! I overhear him speaking to Ted.
"What's going on with you two?"
Oooh, Mr Suspicious is on duty.
Ted laughs and pretends to shuffle papers. Finally he stares with unfeigned "fuck off Shayne" written across his face, "It's a private joke."
Shayne pushes up his spectacles and scrutinises me. Great. Now he thinks I'm screwing Ted as well. I stare back, feeling cheaper than chewing gum, as he flicks his gaze to Lindsay, and thinks he understands why she didn't greet me.
Go on! Jump to conclusions. You know you can't help it.
I sigh heavily. When will this day end? Maybe a bullet with my name on it is a godsend and not a curse. Being stalked by the angel of death is tiring. I just want to go home. Bullet or no bullet.
One thing I do, now that I'm Gary-free, is treat myself. I pass up the lift home from Selene in order to go to the florist on my way home. I buy St Joseph's lilies every payday. Or tulips. Sometimes both. I don't have a garden to grow my own bulbs, so I buy these as a treat. Call me a hypocrite. After purchasing my flowers, I take a languid stroll home past Rondebosch common, savouring the waning day. Each time I do this, I get a knot in my stomach when I have to pass Gary's garage and his road.
I've got droplet-forming, hot Chinese takeaway in a stretching plastic bag in one hand. A bouquet of stunning flowers in the other, but I hesitate as I reach his road and carefully peer around a tree to see if he's home, before walking down to my road. My heart stops as I voyeur like a cheap thrill-seeker, as fate kicks me in the heart. His
car is poised at the front door. And he's opening the door on the passenger side for someone. I squeeze myself behind the tree and hold my breath, almost afraid that he will sense me with his preternatural vibe sensors. I watch tentatively, as he helps a girl about my height out of the car. She's voluptuous, with very blonde hair. Without equivocation, the hate resurfaces.
Fucker
.
Why do men do that? Open doors for women, if it won't last? He never ever opened my door for me. Not once. Scowling, I feel tears splintering my eyeballs with cactus-like prickles, as I watch him wrap a sexy arm around her waist and pull her close. Intimately they stroll inside together. GASP. I hadn't realised I was still holding my breath.
My anger gauge reaches close to warp pressure as I stalk into the road and storm home.
Why?
Why does he want me dead if he's obviously moved on? He's the one who dumped me, for ‘an old friend’. But now that I'm anywhere close to happiness, I must die? That's so unfair. It's deranged.
…
Pause …
How long will it take me to accept that he's a psychopath?
… Play ...
The pleasure of the flowers, not cooking and the prospect of a surprise visit is lost as I reach my home. Every parked car is cause for paranoia. All traffic meandering nearby makes me hold my breath; my eyes focus unwaveringly, until the threat has passed. I almost run to my door and fling myself inside, hands shaking, fumbling with the keys to lock the security gate behind me.
Slamming the door in rage, fear, trepidation and relief, my eyes sting as I allow what I just witnessed, to fully hit me. I don't want him but it still hurts like Russian eye-drop torture, to see him with another me.
I hate you!
I fling the flowers onto the closest sofa, kick off my shoes, determined to reach for red wine and a cigarette. Instead, I form a human puddle of misery as I sink to the floor and allow myself to feel the pain of betrayal.
Sob.
From now on I'm calling Gary, Fuhquim.
Fuhquim.
Fuhquim
.
Fuhquim.
Chapter 27
Mr Melt
BANG BANG BANG BANG! THUMP!
I jump, jolted rudely from my miserable reverie as my front door threatens to leap out of the frame. Night has fallen and I creep with anxiety to the door, and sneak a swift glance through the peep hole.
Damn
. I forgot to buy a bulb and it's so dark out there it could be anyone.
Taking a deep breath, I brace myself to face the Mob. Some huge, shaved, bald man, with a gun
and a silencer, probably already lined up to the spy hole to shoot me clean in the eye, through the brain, dead. I unlock the door, ready for the release of emotional torture called life. I take a last deep breath, tears left unshed, causing my eyes to sparkle, and open the door.
"THANK GOD."
Sigh.
"Hi, Neville."
He still seems frantic. Waiting with obvious impatience for me to unlock the security gate, which I do. He bolts through it, locks it swiftly, and slams the door behind him.
I stare at him in the enveloping anticlimax of silence.
He runs a hand down my arm. "I was so worried. I couldn't drive here fast enough after work."
Death is overrated. Who cares if I die? And why does this male always have to
touch
me.
"Neville, stop worrying about me. I'm fine. Gary's probably just stuffing with my mind. He knew one of you would tell me. He's probably getting a diabolical kick out of this."
I am so good at pretending to be in control and fine.
Cue song: Feedback. ‘Fallen’.
Neville notices my food, cold, still in a bag on the floor next to the couch. He sees the flowers, follows the shoes, my bag; he scowls.
"I'm not stupid. I can see you're upset."
He flicks the lounge light on, blinding me momentarily, and before I can sidestep him, he's fucking hugging me again.
SHOVE.
"Would you like some coffee?" I query casually as I use the momentum to walk into the kitchen.
"No. Stefanie, tell me you're okay."
Repulsive shiver as he slides his hand down my spine. He always stands too bloody close to me. I feel suffocated and step back, away, towards the fridge.
"I'm fine. I just had a crap day, that's all."
"What happened? Did he phone you?"
Yes, he did. Mr Perfect did phone me. Secretive smug grin. But I know he's referring to Fuhquim.
"No. Why would he?"
I stare at Neville, wondering just how bright he is anyway. "Neville, you don't seriously think Gary's going to phone me and say, ‘Hey ex, I hate you. You're going to die for dating’?”
Those chipmunk cheeks expand as he realises how stupid that sounds. He chuckles and wraps an arm around me, "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
Stop
touching
me.
I move away and start boiling the kettle. Moving as much as possible so he can't get a hold on me. He's like a leech. If he could he'd tapeworm me and be a permanent parasite.
"I think I will have coffee. So, how are you?"
Then he smiles the predator smile and suggestively mumbles, "Hmmmm?" as he ‘affectionately’ runs his hand down my arm again, lingering the hand in my waist.
An uncontrollable spasm of repugnance runs through me. His eyes alight, misreading it for eager anticipation. He steps closer, breathing all over me as he looks down at me suggestively.
I can't do this. This is
not
happening.
I step away, "Please stop touching me."
Scowl, as he folds his arms.
Inwardly, I sigh and roll my eyes. Why do I always attract the fuckheads? Do I seem desperate? I loathe being alone with guys who give me the creeps. Of all of them, Neville is the one who chooses to defy Fuhquim and stay friends with me. Just my luck.
"I appreciate the concern Neville, but you don't have to keep reassuring yourself that I'm alive. As you can see, I am fine!"
I storm around making coffee, wishing he'd
just
go
.
Ding Dong
He moves before I can, and answers my door, looking at me as he opens it, "You should replace this light bulb out here."
Like I don't
know
that? Thanks for implying I'm an idiot and possibly retarded.
Oooh! A dreamy voice floats into the kitchen, "Er. Hi! Is Stefanie home?"
I get the daggers glare from Neville as he picks the gate key up to let Professor Kiss in.
YAY. My hero! Rescuing me from being alone with Mr Creepy.
Neville does the alpha male thing, blocking Marty's entrance into my modest home, extending a hand in passive aggression, assuming the ‘I'd like to disembowel you’ stance, "I'm Neville. You are?"
Marty smiles, looking down on shorter Neville; I'm watching it all from the kitchen, my innards leaping with glee like trampoline girls, "Marty!"
He says nothing else, but shakes Neville's hand, then catches my eye. I can see that he's finding this funny and I beam back at him, which causes Neville's cheeks to infuse with a dark angry red.
Neville pushes for information, "I'm an old friend of Stef's."
Marty doesn't indulge him. "Nice to meet you." He strides past Neville into the kitchen, and swoops me off the floor, my legs dangling in a bear hug. I whisper quickly into his ear, "Please don't leave me alone."
He lets my feet touch the ground, leans a hand onto the kitchen counter, and mentions casually, "Why aren't you ready yet? We're going to be late."
My blood cells run amok in silent rioting as I play along. "What time is it? I forgot. I won't be two secs. I'm just going to put jeans on."