Abigail

I try with everything in me to stick to the plan.

I try to let that one wild night fade into memory and start living my new life with a full heart.

I’m still smiling with colleagues. Still giving my all to my ever increasing workload. I’m still calling my parents and letting them know I’m doing just fine.

But it’s not enough.

I should’ve deleted my profile like I promised. I should’ve drawn a line in the sand and moved on from our one crazy night in the shadows.

I wish I could.

I think it’s the monotony that’s killing me slowly. Wake up, shower, head to work. Smile at the same faces, pretend I’m just another girl in the office, make sure I offer a round of coffee at least once every day.

I try to break it for myself. I go out twice for drinks after work in that one next week alone. I start watching TV shows as though I might have an interest in continuing them.

It’s all a lie.

All I want is more of the monster.

My monster.

All I want is another night with his breath on my neck and his terrifying cock inside me.

He doesn’t log in and I stop expecting him to. The sliver of hope that he’ll come looking for me has long dulled to nothing by the time the weekend comes back around.

And then, late on Friday night after a couple of glasses of wine, the crazy in me notches up another gear.

I feel the insanity churning in my gut as the idea hits me.

If he won’t come looking for me…

I have nothing to go on and I know it. I’ve got a deactivated profile which listed Malvern as his location and nothing more. He could’ve been lying about that.

The nightclub could be miles from anywhere he knows. He could have scoped out my route on street view for all the sense my scheming makes.

He could be living miles away and I could be a distant memory. He could be regretting ever agreeing to meet me.

But I need to know.

It scares me how much I need to know.

So I make a decision.

A batshit crazy, based on nothing concrete whatsoever decision.

And then I sleep.

For once at least this week, sleep comes easy.

 

* * *

 

Phoenix

 

Life without Serena is bullshit tough.

Cameron is restless, back to wetting the bed at night, and I feel a dick for ever sending her away.

I feel a dick for taking Cam into work every day and trying to amuse him with a laptop full of cartoons. I feel a dick for being in work at all.

But the world keeps on spinning, and I keep on spinning with it.

It feels like shit. This whole fucking week feels like shit.

I take the speech therapist outside the therapy room on Friday morning and fight the urge to slam the prick into the wall.

“He can speak,” I hiss. “My sister heard him.”

The asshole nods. He fucking nods at me. “That’s entirely plausible, yes.”

“Plausible? You’re telling me that’s fucking plausible?”

I could tear his head from his body when he sighs. Shrugs. “Trauma is difficult to treat, Mr Scott. Cameron may be choosing not to speak. There’s little we can do about that. There’s nothing physically wrong, it’s the emotional condition we are working to understand.”

My eyes burn. “You’re the speech therapist. Make him speak.”

He laughs a little, until he sees how serious I am. “I can’t make him speak, Mr Scott. With all due respect, maybe you should be talking to his counsellor.”

And I do.

I talk to everyone who’ll hear me before the day is done. His doctor, his child psychologist, the bereavement counselling service. They all say the same bullshit thing.

In his own time.

Slowly, slowly.

This is a complex situation, Mr Scott.

A complex situation in a sea of the same old fucking bullshit.

I’m struggling to keep it all afloat. Floundering in the riptide. I work my ass off, just like every other week, and dedicate the rest of my time to Cameron. I take him everywhere I go. I try everything I can think of to get him to speak to me.

And in the end, I achieve nothing.

The business is still chugging long, just as it was before. Cameron is still the same mute boy who wets the bed at night. Serena is still gone. Mariana is still dead.

And I’m still drowning. It’s a slow death, slipping deeper into the icy depths of monotony. It’s water torture, one cold drip at a time, stripping my soul from my bones.

My demons are screaming at their bars and I don’t even have the freedom of running up the hills to keep their cries at bay.

By the time Friday evening finds me I’m as exhausted I’ve ever known. Cameron is asleep on the sofa at my side, his cartoons still blaring on screen as I stare numbly at the wall.

My phone is on the coffee table, calling me, begging me to reach out to my black swan, but I don’t.

I can’t.

I jump a mile as the handset starts vibrating, my heart thumping like crazy at the irrational thought that it could be her.

It’s not. Of course it’s not.

Serena’s number flashes up.

I ignore her for the hundredth time this week, but she calls back, then calls back again after it.

“What?” I bark when I finally relent enough to answer.

Her sobs knock me sideways. “Please, Leo. Please just let me see Cam. I understand you’re angry. I get it. But please let me see that little boy.” She pauses, and in that moment of self-hatred I wish I’d have been in that fire until the end. “I miss him so much,” she whispers.

And he misses her.

I wish I could tell her I do too.

“You can see him,” I offer. “When?”

Her sobs take her breath. I wait. “Tomorrow?”

I clear my throat. Hold everything back. “Sure,” I say. “Morning?”

“Please.”

I look at my sleeping boy, and I know it has to be this way. “See you in the morning,” I tell her.

And then I hang up.

I carry Cam up to his bedroom and kiss his head as I tuck him in. “At least you won’t have to tolerate another morning in the office, champ,” I whisper.

We can’t go on like this. Not any of us.

Somehow, at some point, we all need to start living again.

Me, Serena, Cam…

Even Jake.

I guess that’s why I find myself out in the yard at gone midnight.

I guess that’s why I take the cover from the pool and start the clean-up process I’ve been putting off for months.

I guess that’s why I make the decision that I either need to refurbish our old burnt-out premises for real or let them go.

I guess that’s also why I fold Cameron’s baby chair up and put it in the utility room, and why I decide that tomorrow is the first day of his new life with new possibilities.

Mine, too.

 

* * *

 

Abigail

 

My nerves are jumping right through me as I take the car into Malvern on Saturday morning. It feels a ridiculous idea in the daylight, but not ridiculous enough that I’m not parking up in the station car park at barely past ten.

I was worried I wouldn’t find my bearings, but as soon as I step away from the station I know exactly where I’m going. I cross the road, just as he told me to. I follow the street through the industrial estate, just like he told me to.

I don’t know what I’m looking for in this direction. Too many buildings and they all look the same.

I reach the nightclub so quickly it takes me by surprise. It looks so innocuous in the summer sun. There’s no sign of life whatsoever.

No sign that this was the place I finally brought my fantasy to life for real.

The way back is the real test. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I have nothing to ask a passing stranger. No photo prompters other than the shot of his monster cock saved to my phone. Somehow I don’t think I’ll be using that one.

I navigate by streetlights, recalling every glow of light I found solace in. I’m reaching a bend in the road when I see the one that sets my heart thumping.

I remember the ping of metal in the road. The sound of footsteps behind me.

My belly flutters and my clit sparks, senses on high alert as I position myself underneath it.

Here. He was here. Right here.

I scan the surrounding buildings in the daylight.

A refrigeration company, a furniture importer, an IT support company.

I keep going.

The headquarters of a local housing association, a removal firm.

No and no.

And then I see a dip in the tarmac. A dip and then a kerb.

I remember tripping, correcting myself on shaky legs… and then him. At my back.

I keep walking until the next business comes into view. Scott Brothers Logistics. It’s big. Set back from the road.

Trucks.

The tarmac turns to gravel on the driveway, and I remember the crunch under his feet.

I feel like an idiot as I head closer, my cheeks burning when I notice they’re open for trading on a Saturday morning.

Fuck, I feel like a fucking crazy.

And then I see the shutter doors. My whole body trembles.

I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot, which is ridiculous. Totally ridiculous.

I’m staring up at them when a voice calls out.

I start so hard I gasp, and I’m staring dumb with wide eyes at the man who comes over.

Hoping… praying…

But it’s not him. Of course it’s not.

This man is too short. His hair is cropped all over. He’s carrying a clipboard and there are no tattoos to be seen.

“Can I help?” he asks, and he’s so friendly. So nice.

“Sorry?” I ask, as though I haven’t heard his question.

“You looking for something?” he asks. “Need a pallet moving?”

I smile at the absurdity, then shake my head. “No,” I say. “Sorry, I just…” I decide half-honesty is the best policy. “I was clubbing last weekend, I lost my shoe. Shoes.”

“Like Cinderella,” he laughs. “Sorry, haven’t seen any glass slippers lying around.” He looks down at my feet. “Must’ve been quite some walk home.”

“It was.” I find I’m laughing back. “Sorry, this is… crazy.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” he says. “You got a phone number?”

I’m too far embedded in the pretence to back out now. “Sure,” I say, and reach in my handbag for a pen, but he beats me to it. He hands me his clipboard and plucks a pen from behind his ear with a flourish.

I scrawl my mobile number with Abigail over the top. “They’re black. High. Satin.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know if anything turns up,” he says.

I feel like such a fool as I walk away. I’m laughing at my own stupidity as I abandon this crazy errand and opt to head back to the car. Yet, I’m already considering using the cock picture after all before I drive off anywhere.

Needs must.

And I definitely have needs.

 

* * *

 

Phoenix

 

Jimmy has a smile on his face when he brings the forklift truck back inside. He climbs down and flashes his clipboard to a couple of the other guys. They laugh.

I don’t give a shit what they’re joking about, just keep on checking generator stock with my head down.

He seeks me out anyway.

“Ain’t seen a glass slipper, have you, boss?” he asks.

“A what?”

He holds up his paperwork. My heart fucking thumps as I see Abigail scrawled on the top. A mobile number.

It can’t be.

“Some girl lost her shoes here. Was looking for them outside. Pretty thing she was. Wouldn’t mind finding them just so I can give her a call.”

My demons go fucking wild, rattling their fucking cages. I’m already staring beyond him to the open door as he tells me these glass slippers are high and black.

“Satin, she said.”

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him, and I’m off in a beat.

She’s already out of view when I reach the street. No sign of her in either direction.

I pull my keys from my pocket and jump into my truck, knowing full well she can’t have gone far.

I reach her at the end of the estate, just as the street heads down toward the station. I know she must be parked up in the same place.

She looks just as stunning as I remember, wearing a simple red summer dress with her black hair shining in the sun. She’s wearing sandals with open toes. Barely any makeup.

Her walk is hurried but easy. Her head is high.

And I want her.

Oh fuck, how I want her.

My resolve shrivels to nothing. I need this too much to turn back.

I locate her car in the car park long before she arrives – the same red Mini Cooper I watched her get out of last weekend. I pull up into the nearest space for a clear vantage point, with no fucking idea what I’m going to do when she gets here.

Her shoes are still in my glove compartment. I consider handing them over, just like that. Asking her out for a coffee. A walk.

A hunt in the darkness.

Anything.

I’m still debating my approach when her car alarm bleeps. I’m still tripping over my options when she slips into the driver’s seat and pulls away.

It’s instinct that makes me follow her. My cock is throbbing hard by the time she pulls into a petrol station and I pull in after her.

She fills up and I do too. There’s a fuel pump between us and she remains oblivious.

I love how oblivious she is.

She’s ahead of me in the queue and she has no idea. I can smell her coconut shampoo as she stares straight ahead.

She’s close enough to touch. To taste.

I fight the urge to hoist her from her feet and abduct her in plain daylight. It takes everything I have not to call her name.

Two cashiers become free at once. She steps up to the counter and so do I.

I hand my card over just as she looks away. She crouches and picks up a packet of fruit sweets from the display stand.

And then she registers my shadow.

Her eyes move up slowly, from my boots to my eyes.

Hers widen. Mine hold firm.

She doesn’t know me, but she thinks she does.

Some deep part of her knows she does.

The cashier hands my card back across the counter and I take it.

My black swan’s mouth drops open as she sees the back of my hand.

The picture. Of course.

I sent her the picture.

She drops her sweets with a gasp. They literally tumble right out of her fingers. They crash to the floor and I’m straight down after them.

“Butter fingers,” I say with a smile. Her hands are shaking as I give them back to her.

Her whole body is shaking.

“Miss?” her cashier asks, but she doesn’t move. “Miss, if you could pay for your fuel…”

She stutters, fumbles.

I smile at her beautiful awkwardness.

And then I clear my space in the queue.

“Wait!” she calls, but I don’t respond. “Wait, just a minute!” she calls again, and I look back in time to see her frantically keying in her PIN number.

And now it’s my turn to hear her frantic footsteps behind me as I step out through the door.