In Her Words(3)

By: J.S Ellis


Anyway, as they were looking at me, I raised my eyebrows as if to challenge them. They looked away and started mumbling to one another. I’m pretty sure they were talking about me. One seemed to be trying hard to stop himself from laughing. I snatched another three bottles of wine from the shelf, paid and left. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. What was so funny? Was it me? Oh, I don’t know. I just feel weirded out by the whole thing.





11th January

Evening,

Diary,

‘Sophie? Have you forgotten about me?’ Sylvie asked

‘No, of course not. I was going to call...’ I said, as I clutched the phone with one hand, and scrubbed my dinner plate with the other

‘What are you doing tonight?’

‘Nothing much... Richard’s away.’

‘Perfect! It’s been a while since we had a girly night out. Want to meet up for a drink?’

‘Sure, but I can’t stay late, Richard is coming home tomorrow morning.’

‘Okay, I’ll pick you up at 9 o’clock.’

Sylvie and I have been friends for fifteen years. She owns a modest boutique selling vintage clothes. I do her accounts, and in return, she pays me with old clothes. Sylvie is a beautiful woman with long, shiny black hair, blue eyes, and olive skin. She looks like an Arabian princess. She’s recently been through a painful divorce. Her husband cheated on her, but she’s now ready to mingle again.

I better go and get ready before she gets here. What on earth shall I wear?





12th January

Morning,

Diary,

Woke up this morning with Richard yelling at me, “What are you doing still in bed? This room stinks of alcohol.” he said

I buried my face under the pillow.

‘Leave me alone!’ I cried.

‘Come on, get up!’ he said, tearing the pillow away from me.

‘Don’t shout, I have a headache!’

‘Great welcome home Sophie. Cheers,’ Richard growled, as he stormed out of the bedroom.

What did I do last night? I force my brain to remember, but I can’t recall a thing. I dragged myself out of bed, and everything around me began to spin. My ears rang like church bells, and my left cheek throbbed like mad. My mouth tasted metallic and of blood.

I couldn’t even remember getting into my pajamas. Did I change? Or did someone help me? My head felt like it was caving in. Everything hurt! As I got out of bed, I had to balance myself against the wall. Even my thighs ached. The worst hangover of my life!

I could smell something sweet and pungent, but I couldn’t see where it was coming from. The buzzing in my ear got louder.

I managed to hobble down the corridor slowly to stop myself from being sick. Richard’s suitcase was in the hall. He stood by the counter, studying the ashtray full of cigarette butts, and an empty bottle of wine on the floor. I’ve been so careful until now, how could I have been so stupid. He towered over me, waiting for an explanation. His brown eyes bore into mine. I collapsed into the armchair and pressed my hand to my head to try to ease the throbbing.

‘What is this? Is this what you been doing while I was gone? Smoking and drinking?’ he chided as he brushed his hand through his salt and pepper hair.

‘Don’t shout!’ I said, pressing my fingers deeper into my temples.

‘This is my apartment, I shout how I see fit!’

An intense sick feeling started to rise up. I placed my hand on my belly. Richard glared at me. I couldn’t make it to the bathroom, it all poured out of me onto the living room floor, a grotesque puddle smelling like acid.

‘Dear God! You’re a walking disaster, there should be a fucking tornado named after you.’

‘Please, don’t.’

My stomach churned again, in pain.

‘I can’t be here and witness this, you better clean that up.’

The front door slammed and rattled through the room.

I’ve spent the last couple of hours racking my brain about last night. We went to a lounge bar called The Yellow Bar, a quirky hole Sylvie suggested. The decor was eclectic and charming. I remember a small fish tank, various chaise lounges, old vinyl LP’s, and arty pictures on the walls.

‘I need new experiences, new horizons, and new orgasms,’ Sylvie said.

I sipped on my martini cocktail. My hands clutched to the glass as if someone was going snatch it away from me. It tasted that good.