Thomas

 

Family. The word made me retch. I fought back the heaves as I struggled for composure.

Seeing Grace’s pretty smile as she pondered some beautiful imaginary future was enough to set me reeling, my appetite spoiled for the morning and then some. As I stared down from the wrought iron railings I was becoming so accustomed to, I considered it may well be spoiled for life.

The boys were down there, digging an ambitious pit of sand in their bid to build a fortress on a mountain. In the face of my pitiful unease, I felt the strangest desire to help them.

But no man does that. No man can do that. Not in times where everyone fears everyone, with good reason.

People’s intentions are rarely for the good.

I could imagine them having children, the Fosters. I could imagine it here, in this quaint little haven on the coast, with their coats buttoned high and their wellington boots slapping along the front in bad weather. I could imagine Brett teaching them to kick a ball on the sand, and Grace spreading out a beach mat big enough for the whole family, dusting down their feet before heading back up for a warming Sunday dinner, should they ever get that nebulous chef vacancy filled by somebody half decent.

And then, in some fit of absolute idiocy, I imagined myself heading down here for a long weekend to spend time with the bunch of them. Some grotesque excuse for an uncle who’d always bring them generous gifts from the city and spoil them with more ice cream and donuts than would be in any way acceptable.

It pained. Stabbing like a dagger of broken fucking dreams. Of what I’d told myself was an impossible illusion worth nothing, and yet found here. A beacon of genuine possibility in this beautiful little piece of bliss in the middle of nowhere.

I pulled my coat collar higher and headed down onto the sand, daring to skirt close enough to those little boys’ antics that I could hear their animated discussion. Higher, higher, make a moat! A moat!

I’d dug myself a moat so deep it was untraversable. I’d left Polly on the other side, her sad face calling through the years, begging for passage. And now she was gone.

I walked for hours, through the morning and then through lunch, heading beyond the outcrop at low tide and onto the wide open beach beyond. I stared at the sweet cottages on the clifftops, wondering who lived up there, so precariously high in this glorious space. I stared at the horizon, and the never-ending crashing of the waves. I stared into myself, and the pit of despair I’d compounded for a lifetime. For the quest I’d pursued without fruition, its ultimate goal already buried six foot deep.

And I wondered how the holy living fuck I was going to escape from this place and be able to breathe back in my old stagnant life.

I craved Grace’s warm arms around my neck. Brett’s ridiculously grudging smile as he delivered an extra helping of toast on my breakfast plate. I craved the laughter of the offspring the pair of them may be lucky enough to have one day. The sight of Christmas wrapping discarded across the dining room floor as their kids dug into their presents with Christmas carols playing on the TV.

And Polly.

I craved Polly.

I craved her with every drop of blood left in my cold, hard veins.

Resisting the urge to message her took every scrap of my restraint, my ugly core still bleating loud enough to shy away from the one constant light in my dark sky.

When my mobile phone buzzed in my hand I caught a breath, but it wasn’t her. It was Grace. A superficial text that would have meant nothing to most men, but to me it meant everything.

We’re having honeycomb ice cream sundaes after lunch. Do you want one?

I tipped my head to the clouds above, unable to hold back the smile.

And then I replied.

I want your sweet little cunt, Grace. Spread wide and pounded hard. I want to see you squirm as you struggle to take two. I want your gaping asshole weeping cum down your pretty thighs.

I waited. Puffing on yet another cigar as I contemplated what the fuck her response would be.

When it came it was every bit as beautiful as her.

Honeycomb ice cream first though, yes? I’m not sure my gaping asshole is up to another pounding without a sugary warm up. x

A kiss.

She ended with a kiss.

And that ended me.

I stubbed my cigar out on the rocks, and decided to face my future.

Fuck knows how hard a road lay ahead, but I’d never once shied away from a challenge in my life.

I wasn’t about to start now.