An Argument Between Two Lovers #14

Written by Jaime Campbell
Friday, 20 April 2007
He stood rooted by the window, an oak of worry now paralysed, stood waiting for those soft almond headlights to just swim around the corner. Ease on into the street. Their street. He stood rooted by the window as if tied, wired to the clock like they were twins sharing the agitation. Each extra tick, each extra second firing another charge of worry that bounced back through his every nerve, his every sinew, each additional moment a hymn in length until those two warm headlights would sneak back in around the corner to catch him unaware, finally pulling up to the safe stop below. Because it was raining out there. Wind and rain, and she was out there in her first cheap car that misted up with condensation. With a heater that didn’t quite work and the wipers old and tired but still they hung on, smearing the windscreen to gel. Like looking through tears. And she’d only been driving a few weeks, still nervous in traffic in this her first winter and she had over forty miles to ride back and he just wanted her home now, he just wanted her back and to know she was safe, that he could stop worrying. His mind now torn paper, screwed up into a ball. Kicked around. Because last night they argued. Last night they fought. Words thrown like barbs, twisted retorts, shots fired across the ring from red corner to blue. Seconds counting to the end of round four, gloves held up for the standing count and one point deducted for hitting below the belt. A left. Then a right. Defensive jabs to cover the eyes, cover the mouth but in the chilli seed heat a sucker punch is thrown, aimed at her heart to cause damage. Cause pain. Attack. Defend. And when she awoke, she dressed to leave. She left, simply went. No make-up on, no breakfast goodbye. Leaving him alone again on the sofa, fully clothed yet finally sleeping. The night before still sour in memory, old milk stirred around in good coffee until the beans sour. The taste still there but fading. Fading now as he stood by the window waiting, an oak of worry just wanting her home. Wanting her safe. Desperately wanting to see her again. To hold her. Stroke away the threads of hair from her eyes. Eyes like clear water and he just wanting to whisper the soft almond word, “hello.” Did you enjoy this article? Please share it! Storyclash tags: Short stories new fiction new writing storyclash literature literary fiction short story writing publish your stories