It has been a long time since I have written for the
Mid-Week Blues-Buster, due to a mixture of chronic pain in my right arm and the song not quite inspiring me. But as this song prompt for last weeks was from the Smiths - and a famous one at that - I had to give it a shot, being as they were such a huge band through my teenager. I really enjoyed writing the piece, and efforts brought me a 2nd place win, so enjoy!
The prompt song this week was:
The Smiths - What Difference Does It Make?
He blinked his eyes open, the crack in the curtain
confirming it was daylight even though the darkness in his soul hadn’t lifted.
Within seconds his mind was crowded with the memories of the night before, the
dancing, the laughing, the snogging and later the daffodils.
He looked on the floor and saw the petals there, the yellow
so vivid in the rays of sunlight pushing through. He followed the trail they
made to the bathroom, her black and white checked shirt crumpled in the corner
like a marker at the half open door, giving a clue to what lay beyond.
An image flashed in his mind and he flinched. He was sure he
hadn’t done it; it had to be his overwrought imagination. It might have been
what he felt like doing when she had told him, but he hadn’t put those thoughts
into action…surely.
His eyes traced the frame of the door as he recalled her
pleading words.
“I didn’t mean to Jas, I really didn’t. It was just the heat
of the moment, just a kiss. Please forgive me Jas, you must!”
He’d watch the tears fall from her eyes as he stood there in
the nuddy by the bed, about to jump in, about to fulfil all his desires and
hers.
He’d thought he’d heard a whisper of it earlier at the bar,
but he’d laughed it off. It couldn’t have been his Linda, she wouldn’t have done
that.
But when they’d got home her sullen mood had kept killing
the spark he was trying to kindle, until the crushing confession came.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. But he
hadn’t done anything, had he? Other than show her forgiveness. He’d filled each
thrust with his desire for revenge, driving it home. Her moans had been good
moans…hadn’t they?
His eyes betrayed him again, returning to the bathroom door.
There was only one way to find out.
His toes met the wooden floorboards with trepidation, and
they creaked his way across the room, maybe trying to speak to him, to warn him
it wasn’t a good idea.
He hovered in the opening, his eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight
reflecting off the stark white tiling. He pushed the door further, letting it
swing open. Her kick-pleat black skirt lay strewn under the basin, and her
under things were huddled in a pile next to the toilet. He peered over the edge
of the bathtub and shuddered. The long-legged hairy spider might not be able to
climb the enamel sides, but it could still give an unsuspecting person a
fright.
She wasn’t there.
He slumped, retreating out of the bathroom and falling back
into bed, scuffing the daffodil petals as he went. He buried his head into a
pillow, relieved but annoyed at the same time.
She burst through the door, tray in hand.
“I thought I heard movement. I made us some tea.”
He peeked out from the edge of the pillow as she sat down on
the bed, his black and white shirt billowing round her thighs, but not quite
covering everything.
“You alright Jas?”
He reached out an arm and put a hand on thigh.
“Yeah Linda, I’m alright.”
“You’re not still angry about last night?”
“I thought I showed you I wasn’t?”
She grinned. “Yeah you did.”
His hand crept up her thigh. “Do you need me to show you
again?”
She paused, her eyes sparkling. She put the tray on the
floor. “Yeah go on then.”
As she snuggled under him, his mind flashed images again and
he wondered if he would have the nerve to make them memories rather than dreams
this time.
