Saturday, 27 July 2013

Can I talk to you about this later?

Writer’s Block

In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.

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He grabbed her by the upper arm, stopping her from moving away from him. In the crowd she suddenly moved against the flow of students going to class.
“Hey?” she demanded.
He looked around and tried to pull her backwards with him.
“Stop it! What do you want?” She hauled her arm out of his grasp.
“You said we’d talk later.”
“I did not.”
His head drew back as if she had slapped him. “You did. You said ‘can I talk to you about this later?’ And it’s later. Way later.”
She had hoped that he wouldn’t remember. “I don’t want to talk about it, now.”
“Why not?”
She pursed her lips and didn’t answer him.
“I’ve got time now and so do you. I know you have no classes until eleven.”
“What? You read my uni timetable now?”
“No, don’t you remember, last week? You told me you were free on Friday morning.”
“Thursday night,” she said.
“Jeez... don’t tell me you forgot that.”
That was indeed the problem. She hadn’t forgotten and she could barely think of anything else. She had been trying to avoid him all week as a result.
“What’s wrong? You’re avoiding me. You won’t even let me touch you.” He shuffled his body in closer to hers. “After what we did,” he whispered. He brushed her hair away from her face.
She inhaled and closed her eyes. This was going to hurt; it was going to hurt so badly.
She shifted her bag on her shoulder and took a step back away from him. She couldn’t do this if he was touching her.
“Oh, that,” she sneered. “I try to do that every Thursday night. It’s bar night and I get a little horny with a few drinks under my belt.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Pfft. You don’t even know me. And you were drunk.”
The look of betrayal on his face pained her.
“Not that drunk. I know something weird happened. That was not normal sex,” his voice had dropped to a whisper. “And you said you would tell me what it was. Later.”
“I-I can’t.” She shook her head. “Just leave it alone.”
She turned and she hurried away from him. She risked a glance back and he was still standing there looking gutted. He saw her look back and she knew he wasn’t going to leave it alone. She had made a big mistake, chosen the wrong guy and underestimated him. She would probably have to move.
© AM Gray 2013

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