Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
The windows blocked most of the sounds of the late evening out, so she sobbed in silence for a minute. The crumpled up plastic money notes sat on the coffee table where she had tossed them, emptying them from her jacket pocket when she walked in the door. Too shamed to give the money to the taxi driver. Instead she paid for the ride home with her credit card.
They had gone out for dinner, and had sex afterwards.
When they were done, he had checked the time on his Mickey Mouse faced smart watch, and politely made the excuse that he had to get up for work early the next morning. She took the hint and said, ‘I’ll guess I will get a taxi home.’ He jumped out of bed in a hurry putting on the sweat pants conveniently hung on a hook near the bed with his dressing gown. Who hangs up track pants anyway? She had thought, while scrambling for her own pieces of clothing laying in the sheets and on the floor.
He left the room, and her to her re-assemblage of her carefully picked out outfit for the evening, when he returned he informed her that the cab was on its way.
She hadn’t expected to stay the night, she wasn’t really sure what her plans to get home were, they had wine with dinner and cocktails before, and she didn’t bring her car because she expected to be drinking. She hadn’t really planned on going home with him and ending up in a Cab to some random place on the outskirts of the city where his apartment was though.
If only she had asked where he lived before they got into the Taxi. She may have thought a little bit harder, or longer about going back to his place for just one more drink.
She walked out of the bedroom with her heels in her hand, and sat on his couch to put them back on her feet. He was in the kitchen drinking a glass of water. She wanted him to offer her a glass, something. Anything other than this perfunctory process he was undertaking now that the deed was done.
She tried to make some small talk about the trip home being a little longer then she thought it was going to be. Where they had dinner was close to the train station – and she had the option on catching one of the late trains, but now she was too far away to justify going back. When he didn’t respond she asked him directly, wanting to break this silence and out of interest, ‘What are your plans during the week next week? Maybe we should have dinner or go to a movie?’
She didn’t want this to be the first and the only time, she didn’t do one night stands, and this was quickly morphing into something that felt like she had just been used a little.
“I’m pretty busy” he said ‘but I’ll text you or something.’
Her shoes now on, she stood up. The ‘ or something ‘was going to be him likely ghosting her. She knew, but she didn’t really know, because she didn’t want to think negative things before it had even ended, but this didn’t feel like the parting of respectful lovers.
‘I had fun’ she said – reaching into the last moments of his company before the Cab came, and looking for reassurance ‘ Yeah, it was’ he said.
The headlights of a car stopped outside, and he glanced out the window ‘Cab’s here’ he said, opening his front door, and lead her down the building stairs, and she followed in her dress and coat, clutching her handbag.
They approached the taxi, and his presence on the street with no shirt and shoes announcing to the world that they had just had sex, and he was sending her home in a taxi.
‘It was brilliant’ he said, thrusting some plastic cash at her. ‘For the cab’ She looked down at the notes in her hand, she wasn’t sure if it would cover the whole cab fare home but it was enough to make her feel like she was being paid.
‘Oh, I didn’t expect ‘ she started
‘Look no worries, we went halves on dinner’ he cut her off.
‘I guess this is bye then’ she said, now even more uncertain, and feeling worse.
He kissed her coolly on the cheek – and she stood there wanting more, a touch, a hug, some kind of reassurance that what she had just done – they had done, wasn’t cheap and dirty.
In the Cab back to her place she checked her Facebook and Instagram posts to see what everyone else had done that night, until finally she clicked on his Instagram looking for a photo they had talked about over dinner and a food festival he went to, so she could get a better look at this fantastic dessert he had flashed at her on his screen. They had followed each other over dinner while eating and talking – getting to know one another through telling the stories behind their pictures, learning about each other.
“No posts yet” appeared on his profile page, she was puzzled, no posts yet, but she had seen them. He had hundreds, she tried clicking again, and nothing changed. She googled on her phone ‘ how can I tell if I have been blocked on Instagram’ and it explained the screen she was looking at now.
She had felt in her jacket pocket for the money and crumbled it up.
