Epilogue

Kimberly didn’t know how she felt. She was getting drunk every other night, didn’t matter she was out or in. If she couldn’t get her hands on the booze she was smoking weed or taking pills in whatever form and shape they came. All she knew was that in the past few weeks she watched a guy she just met jump in front of a moving construction truck, and  her boyfriend thrown off a balcony to his death. One was still alive, not allowed visitors yet, the other was six feet below while the perpetrator, his supposed best friend, vanished after strangling his girlfriend the same night. Was she drowning? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t feel and she couldn’t care. But she lived and she screwed.

Unable to bear the snoring of another drooling beardy slob in the long list of men she has woken next to, she turned to her side and shook him.

“Get up! You should go.”

“What?” He slurred from his slumber. “What do you mean?” He rubbed his eyes, looking confused. “Why?”

“You have had your fuck,” she said.

“What?” He looked around. “Did I do something? I thought you had a great time?”

“This has nothing to do with that.” She got out of bed stark naked, gathered his trousers and underwear and flung them his way.

“Okay,” he sat up, making placating gestures, grabbed his trousers rummaged through the pockets. He sighed. “Can I get a cigarette?”

She grabbed a box from her nightstand and handed it to him, got into bed. He lit the cigarette and had a few puffs in silence.

“Why do you want me gone so early anyhow?”

She stared into the air. Silent.

He got out of bed , put on his trousers and gathered a shirt he wore over the wifebeater and shoes. As he reached the door he turned. “Can I have your number at least?”

“You can’t pretend to even know me the next time I see you.”

He nodded, ruffling his hair with the cigarette hanging from his mouth.  “Understood.”

As he shut the door behind him, she listened as he walked down the corridor, into the kitchen, through the front door and out the gate. Then her senses hovered over the street, listened to the students walking home from clubs, the cars, the barking dog and the noise from the raucous nightlife in the CBD. Struck by the contrast of the stillness in her room and the vibrant night burning away outside, she became afraid again, afraid of the absence shimmering in her room. Being split by the burning vacancy and the black in the air.

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So I’m curious, do you want this story to become a thing? Like a serial?

Anyway, feel free to leave your thoughts.

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