Fiction

He walked round into the club behind Mr.Smith’s chair, that is rather wider than that place, but still less frequented to be used for such glamorous entrance. It is always like that when Sid is coming to a room, LOOKING perfectly ordinary AT the first glance, yet enough charismatic to drag everyone’s attention at the same time, but than again sat right beside me. “I can’t…”
I whispered to him, and then, suddenly everything came pouring out. I wasn’t really talking to him, but to myself and all the time, he was so divine. He, with his endless time, patience and passion yet probably gone by the evening end in the last drink that he drank that night.
“O yes you can…let me give you useful advice”, He said.
“If you have a mouth full of feelings, and you can’t do anything to stop it, because of the rose face full of tears and emotions and you feel burning inside screaming to get out, use a straw to drink drinks, especially if they’re fruity and exotic. Scientists have found that a straw delivers liquid to the back of the throat, so when you swallow the drink more quickly, you are leaving less time for sugars and acids to attack teeth. That is if you of course, want to have such a nice and shiny teeth as I have.”
He had beautiful and shiny teeth indeed, so shiny that his head sometimes looked as bright light sunshine itself, especially if he drinks couple more.
“Beside that is emotionally effective, it’s healthy just as well”,
He was talking in middle of the sips of his drink. He was also using a straw, moving his hips in the motion of the club music.
“I know that you are casual type of person but take my advice, if you think to get the job as waitress in this pub you must get an other clothing, something tight and sexy, otherwise you won’t get this job. Being sporty or not, you must learn to manipulate with your apparent sexuality in other people’s eyes. Do you understand what I’m trying to say.” I could swear that he’s eyes loved me endlessly, at that peculiar moment, that as he walked away from me on the other end of the pub.

The next morning, house was as deadly cold as it was quiet, since that my flatmates left earlier in the morning. I slipped out of bed, urged my feet into warm slippers yet I could feel still the chill of the floor through them. The summer wind was going mad outside, came from the sea. I put on some clothes, than lit a small handy flashlamp, The storm coming from the sea, made morning dark. Than the gallery was in darkness, there was no light down stairs, and house looked empty no matter of the more than few flatmates in the house. As I passed the door next to mine, I heard the trap door. I stood there a moment, wandering if I dare set foot in the room once more after the last night. This room was empty the evening before, but the whole freaking night; it sounded as someone was physically there. When I came in to check if there was someone in the room, the whole furniture from the room was up side down, as someone had a battle for life there. The other flatmates swore that they were sleeping soundly, heard nothing and of course done nothing in this room. My heart was pounding wildly, as I ran back to my room, trying to get some sleep, after all, I could be dreaming the noise, but not what I’ve seen when I came in.
As I was standing in the hall, in front of the doors, reason told me not to, but curiosity impelled me. I turned the knob, and surpassingly the door opened. Than I paused holding my little handy flashlamp high, seeking out anyone alive who might set upon me. I sensed no presence, heard no further sound, but sounds came from outside and moved into the bedroom where I opened the closet doors, checking them carefully. There was nothing there, not even the cat who might make strange sounds. The furniture was placed as it was before.
I returned to the sitting room and went directly to open the door, hoping that some of my flatmates will be there.

There were some binoculars by the window, and there was no mistake, the long hair and the clothes were hers. It was definitely her, looking at my direction and I was surprised when she gave me tiny shudder.
Behind her, path and roadway had been washed down by the sea water which still oozed from Mr.Smith’s garden…I ‘ve put the cattle for the coffee on, with sugar, beside two cups…
When the light came on, I realised that I was in the strange bedroom. In a one spare moment that looked as daze of happiness, I re-did his face and staggered downstairs. I heard the footsteps that grew closer, then stopped outside. Panic got over me, I bolted across the room, crashing into more furniture, trying to find the window. Then I heard someone silently opening the door, than equally closing it behind….

We arrived in darkness and rain. Manoeuvring cars blocked the approaches to the house, and we were forced to scurry head down through the deluge to the shimmering entrance. I wasn't sure how I felt about this. To my impressionable mind programmed by a hundred TV dramas, in the next more considered moment, I realised that irrespective of appearances, it was a sensible precaution that I would be foolish not to take opportunity. Approaching to the house, I went through a pantomime of normality masking the commotion that I was feeling as I was approaching. I avoided his cottage and drove straight to the house and forced myself to go inside and turn on the water heater, to pour myself a drink and sit by the window as if I intended to have a quiet evening. I even convinced myself that I would be satisfied by going upstairs to our old bedroom and focusing my specially purchased binoculars on the stretch of see beyond the ferry where the white yacht was still standing. But the stillness of the scene, the complete absence of life on board was both, at that moment, a torment and a challenge. It was then that I gave up all my emotional self-possession and drove off in search for him...

There he was standing inviting me for the party at the Hotel; his hands were very inviting.
The reception was a nightmare. Party was held in three huge gardens and I have never felt more lonely. There was a strange assortment of people there. Everywhere you looked ravishingly pretty women had emerged from their butterflies studding, jamming cigarettes into their scarlet lips, and knocking back champagne. WE were just a Hollday makers.