I called Ella, I had to speak to someone, I was going out of my mind.

‘How did it go?’

‘She was sweet,funny,cool and just sweet.

‘That’s exciting, when are you seeing her again?’

‘Nothing planned yet, I told her to get in touch if she wants to see me again. I’ve been struggling to be honest. It’s been so hard for me to get my confidence back since…’

‘I know honey, just take it slowly.’

‘Who am I kidding, she’ll soon see me for what I am, I should cut it off now.’

‘Come on now, if it’s meant to be, it will happen, but whatever you do don’t contact her first, let her come to you.’

‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for this dating game.’

I hung up the phone and jumped in the shower, I have my upholstery class tonight. I’ve got to present my latest project to the group. It is an old rocking chair I’ve covered in tartan, zips and safety pins. I call it my ‘Punk Rocker’. I put my forehead to the shower wall, the scolding water on the back of my neck was bliss, loosening the gnarled muscles and numbing the anxiety for a while.

                                      Brighton Upholstery

 

I was late for class, I couldn’t focus, Samantha’s face felt like it had been burnt into my mind’s eye, her words looping inside me like she was sown into my inner monologue. How long will she wait to contact me? What if she’s out with someone else? Should I send her a message? What if she doesn’t answer?

My boss has been in my face again today, he says my eye is off the ball. It’s a fucking call centre, does he really think I’m in any way motivated? I just need to get through to next month, then I’ll hand in my notice, go self-employed with the upholstery. It’s time I did something I want for a change.

It’s been four days, she’s not getting back in touch now is she? I still can’t get her out my mind though. When I closed my eyes in bed last night I could picture her cheeky smile and mousy hair falling into her eyes. She’s fucking gorgeous …how can I shake free of her? It’s like an illness.

Today’s Friday, I left my phone at home ‘cause I’ve been itching to text her. I’ve left the whole weekend free just in case. We’ve been told to go for the jugular today which in plain speak means selling people insurance they can’t afford and will never need. I hate this job.

I took an hours toil to get home early. My front door was unlocked, I never forget to lock it, just shows where my head’s at. Walking down my hallway my heart was going crazy, my phone was in the kitchen on the breakfast bar. It was the longest walk down my hallway I’ve ever taken. Sickly bile in the pit of my stomach is fighting its way up my alimentary canal, I’m a mess and I feel stupid for feeling this way.

                                                              rawpixel.com

 

Please let there be a text… please. I picked up the phone, my hand was shaking, I swiped the ivory screen which was dripping wet but it lit up like a winning lottery ticket.

‘New message from Samantha.’

I punched the air…Yes!…thank you, thank you!

I clicked open his text, there were no words, just an attachment with a picture.

‘Click to open attachment’

I pressed the link and waited for the picture to slowly download.

It was a picture of Samantha naked, legs spread with a phone sticking out of her…

‘My phone! What the fuck.’

I dropped the phone and ran for the door as I noticed something else.

She was sitting on tartan.

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