How not to interpret love

“Hannah… I’m sorry about last night. I can’t tell you how bad I feel; how I manipulated you..” It had taken a lot of courage to speak to her. He’d already sacrificed too much  but the look in her eyes was one of bewilderment and trepidation; not horror and betrayal.

“What?” She asked, taking a step away from him. “It is Mark, isn’t it?” She didn’t even wait for him to answer, just looked at her two friends and shrugged. Luckily they were all alone in the office kitchen. The friends grimaced back. “I'm sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was in London with.. “ She gestured to the two ladies next to her. “All weekend…”

Doug backed off, bewildered. He tried laughing at his stupidity as he inched his way to the door. One of the other girls asked if he was alright and as he opened the door he heard the other say, “so that’s the weirdo.”

He didn’t even bother going back to his desk. Something was very wrong. Hannah should have been angry; livid with him; but she wasn’t even the least bit inquisitive. She was, however, bound to talk to the rest of the office now about their encounter. Doug  was already seen as strange; an oddball recluse and this would compound it; possibly even leading to gross sexual misconduct!

But Hannah knew nothing about it. Doug had heard that severe trauma could bring on a form of amnesia but surely that was only in the films? He had to get home; find the web-page with the Incantation on and try to understand what had gone wrong?!

He walked to the train station, finally managed to get the ticket into the machine -for some reason his hands had started to shake, He stood on the platform and then realised his legs had become spongey as if the bones had been taken out He managed to sit on the seat and not make it look like he was drunk. The platform was still wet from an earlier shower and there was steam coming off the rails, leaving a gritty ozone smell behind. 

There was a muffled and nasal retort as another high-speed train was coming through. Doug had spent so long at various stations he could tell where all the ‘joins’ were in the announcement. There was some poor voice-actress who had to read out every time and every place name; and some key phrases; and then the computer put them together as and when the need arose. 

When the announcement halted Doug counted to seven before the train doppled past. The sub-sonic crash mili-seconds before the train bulleted through; each window offering a possible glimpse into the stations present and future. For a split second Doug thought he saw Hannah standing next to him, dressed similar to how she was last night: green, flowing trousers; a white blouse with lacework around the buttons and cuffs; her hair long and straight… But when he turned around there was no one there. There was one other thing; it was the glimpse of her smile. It seemed knowing and malevolent.

Whilst on the train home a similar thing happened travelling through the tunnel which bisected the South Downs. The new trains felt so exposed now. Gone were the cramped but discreet seating with the static-producing seats and cumbersome doors. Now everything felt open plan and no one felt safe to look up from what they were doing. Everyone seemed to suffer from agoraphobia. But there was plenty of glass dividing the seats now; not the wooden barriers separating one bank from another; but this created lots of reflective surfaces, and when the train delved into the tunnel the lights flickered and he saw again Hannah’s form, flickering in various windows. But Doug knew Hannah drove to work and would never have taken this particular train anyway as it went in the opposite direction to her home.

He finally got back to his flat, constantly checking around him and paying particular attention to shop windows and their reflections, but nothing untoward happened. As he thought, the flat was a complete mess. The kitchen was pretty untouched but the rest of it looked as if it had been burgled! It had been a wild weekend; tentative at first but increasing in intensity as it had progressed; and there had been no end to Hannah’s desires for him. He turned his Chromebook on, entered his password and found the web page with the text he had spent the whole previous week researching about:

“Animum tuum mihi vinculo perpetuo carnis ligo.”... ok, well that meant: “I bind your heart to me in eternal passion.” He read further. “Veni ad me, pulchra desiderii inferni.” well, even that was pretty easy to decipher: “Come to me, beauty of my desire.” and the last bit; “Devoret me totum spiritus ardens amoris.” which meant: “May you be consumed entirely by your devotion to me.” And on Friday he had finally made the translation; or at least he had found a website to do it for him. The hardest part would have been trying to find things intimate to Hannah in order to bind her to him, however the text also said that it wasn’t necessary as long as you had their photo which you could hold up to a mirror whilst reciting the spell. 

It was also customary to masturbate whilst chanting and thinking of the object of desire; then anointing not the photo but the reflection of the photo with the split semen.  The results wouldn’t necessarily be instantaneous but within 24 hours, which gave Doug a chance to have a scrub-down and make himself presentable.

Part of him was still worried that he had taken things this far. He was a ‘regular guy’; lonely, bordering on desperate, if he was being honest with himself; but had never wanted to do anything immoral. He had a shaky grasp of occultism and used to enjoy reading copies of ‘The Unexplained’ magazine as a child. 

And he would never have considered Hannah as a particular love-interest had it not been for the Christmas party. It had been the first one he’d ever been to and was shy; barely talked to anyone and hadn’t danced all night… That is until Hannah offered him her hand for the last slow dance of the evening. It was obvious that she was more than a little drunk, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Doug finally agreed. He understood how Carrie felt during her first dance at the prom in the film of the same name; it felt as if the world was revolving around him and Hannah, and no one else existed. Her hair smelled of lavender and his hands around her waist felt exquisite. He couldn’t sleep that night and became infatuated with her… but she never remembered the dance and would never meet his eye again whenever they shared a lift or stood in the office kitchen.

So Doug became desperate. To have been given this chance, even such a small one; only for the happiness to be snatched away again, and not even remembered, was almost too much for him to bare. And it was then that he recalled the love potions; it would be possible to bind her to him, for just a little while so she could understand how much she truly loved him… and that maybe he wasn’t such a weirdo after all.

And he was so sure he’d gotten the incantation right…. It seemed perfect at first. The day afterwards he was browsing in his local bookshop, in the New Age section, and suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and Hannah was beaming at him as if he were a long lost friend. “I didn’t know you had an interest in ‘weird shit’!” She remarked. Doug was bemused and totally out of his comfort zone, didn’t know what to say. “That’s what I call all this occult stuff: weird shit." She continued. "It helps to keep a sense of humor about things. Take things too seriously and you don’t know how messed up you'll become…”

She talked for ages about manifesting destiny and ‘The Secret’ before asking if he wanted to have a coffee. He could only agree and was literally swept off his feet by her. Doug couldn’t believe how well the spell had worked! There was no initial hesitancy, which had been his first quandary: how to initiate contact with Hannah, but she was doing all the heavy lifting here; it was amazing. Coffee turned into supper, which turned into a shared taxi back to his place and a nightcap… followed by the most intense and passionate lovemaking he had ever experienced. None of the films he’d watched had ever girded him for the sheer depth of desire he felt for her; all of which seemed to be reflected tenfold in her.

She left sometime in the early morning and the flat was a mess. He was far too tired upon getting up, and he ached as well - his groin felt numb with overuse…. 

But he racked his brains about this morning: Hannah had no recollection of what had happened. What was going on? He read the Latin again, and then re-translated words. Something was wrong and he couldn’t figure it out. He copied the Latin and pasted it this time into Google Translate and what he saw stunned him completely:

“Animum tuum mihi vinculo perpetuo carnis ligo - I bind a spirit to myself for eternal flesh.

“Veni ad me, pulchra desiderii inferni. - come to me, beautiful-demon of the abyss.

“Devoret me totum spiritus ardens amoris - May I be consumed entirely by a devastating spirit."

This wasn’t a love spell that he’d created -the fact that there wasn’t anything to bind Hannah to him should have been the obvious clue! The only rational conclusion was that he had created a Tulpa…. A thought form made entirely of his lust; and because he had anointed this reflection it had taken the form of Hannah. This meant that he actually hadn’t forced the real Hannah to do anything! He hadn’t coerced her in any way; no psychological mind-fucks and, more importantly, no statutory rape; which was the worst case scenario had things come to light.  Doug was so relieved by this that he actually turned the Chromebook off, walked to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee.

Consequently, when he met 'Hannah' in the same section of the bookstore later on that day he was relieved and more than a little turned on. It helped that she was dressed far more provocatively than Hannah ever would, almost as if she knew that he had seen through her disguise now.

Hannah had been everything that he had ever lusted after in a woman. She was tall, thin without being anorexic, long straight black hair and high cheekbones which elevated her smile to the divine. This 'Hannah' was wearing long trousers and a tight, white blouse which was semi-translucent and showed off her shapely breasts. Again they were not overly large but perfectly in proportion to the rest of her. She also wore circular glasses that only helped accentuate her almost cherubic looks. However there was now a glint of erotic intent, the likes he had never witnessed in anyone before, and he felt his loins girdle in anticipation.

"I know someplace we can go where we won't be disturbed." The Hannah-Tulpa whispered in his ear; her breath warm and sensual. He nodded and couldn't believe it when she took him by the hand and led him out of the bookstore. 

The observant ones in the store saw a strange gesture; a rather flustered man holding his hand out in an almost effeminate manner; sporting a blush as red as his distended bulge in his jeans, as he walked out the store alone.

Doug was in a trance; her touch was divine and sent tingles down his spine. Things became hazy then; he couldn't seem to remember how he got into his car; let alone driving into the country or even parking outside the remote cabin he now found himself in. He felt lightheaded; the tingling sensation he'd noticed earlier had become 'pins and needles'; his tongue felt odd and he had a distinct coppery taste in his mouth similar to blood. He was also lying in a makeshift bed, completely naked... But it was less of a bed, more of an old mattress in the middle of the empty floor; but there were strange signs that had been drawn on the walls around him, and even on the ceiling. None of them looked even vaguely like writing of any kind; more like pictograms or glyphs. He looked at his stomach and initially thought similar had been painted there as well; but as he touched them he was horrified that they had been carved into his flesh somehow. The skin hadn't been cut exactly but it was painful to touch, almost as if he had bled through the skin.

He was frightened now. He tried to get up off the mattress but was horrified to find he didn't have the strength. His body just wouldn't obey him any further, and he then saw Hannah standing in the far corner of the room just staring at him. She was almost completely in shadow, but how long had he been trapped there? He could barely discern her naked outline from the darkness that surrounded her except her stomach looked distended and her breasts sagged more than he remembered. But what really chilled him was, not only the way she licked her engorged lips with her serpentine tongue, but the way her eyes glowed a malevolent orange.

"Ah good." She almost hissed. "You're awake again."

"This can't be happening." He moaned. "I created you." The Hannah-thing laughed throatily at this.

"Oh, you are funny. You have far more entertainment value left in you. I think I might have to let you live a while longer.. Let's see how long you can hold out and I'll try not to let my own passions get the better of me." She walked towards him and with every step he felt his fear rise until he could bare it no longer. With a whimper of shame he lost control of his bladder and micturated onto the mattress. The Hannah-thing shook her head, almost for his own embarrassment and knelt down by his side. She lent over and kissed him on the forehead, as one might a child before, moving down to his cock. She looked up at him and winked, before taking his still moist member in her mouth. To his dismay he couldn't help himself. The utter fear from before was replaced by an erection filled with self-loathing and bile. Had he been able to Doug would have thrown up or at least try to knock her away, but with ever gesture and movement of her mouth he felt himself drift away into oblivion. He hoped and prayed that this would be the end of his nightmare....

...But that was no to be the case for upon his awakening he found himself back in his own bed. The bed-sheets and mattress were damp and he felt as if he was hung-over after a weekend of drinking heavily.... He managed to get off the bed and stagger into the bathroom before looking in the mirror at his haggard reflection. He was beside himself with shock. There were still red lines that covered his ample stomach like a macabre etch-a-sketch, but this time they had been scored by blade of some kind; a lot of them had even scabbed over.

What the hell had been happening? What was it that he had summoned for it could not have been a Tulpa. Tulpa's were a manifestation and responded to your thoughts and desires. They could not harm you, or at least so Doug thought. But that... thing had almost drained him completely; using his own passions against him. In the back of his mind something was triggered and he went back to the website again to re-read that text he had mistranslated the first time.

“I bind a spirit to myself for eternal flesh; come to me, beautiful-demon of the abyss. May I be consumed entirely by a devastating...." This wasn't poetic or an analogy of some kind, he had actually bound himself to be consumed by a devastating spirit and that meant one thing... He had inadvertently summoned a succubus. Succubi were female demonic spirits who devoured men's life force, normally through sexual acts, and he had willingly succumbed to its powers and through the markings on his chest he was now hers for as long as she desired him; or for as long as he could survive. Soon she would grow tired of him and drain him completely... but what could be summoned could also be banished, surely!

He couldn't rely on the website from which he found the original text; he doubted its origins entirely now. That might not have been a case of it being an accidental mis-translation; it might have been a deliberate attempt to trap the unwary and he had fallen for it. He had no choice but to visit the occult bookstore again, but he would go with protection.

After rummaging through his drawer of keepsakes Doug found some crystals: Hematite;  black tourmaline... but had he really been a scholar and not in so much of a rush he would have realised that the crystals he now had on his body were obsidian and spessartine, and were the worst he could have chosen.

On the walk to the bookshop he was aware that every reflection now looked like the Hannah-thing; she was watching him with amusement; a cold but patient glint in her eye. There was nothing he could do, she knew... He walked into the bookshop like one demented and didn't see the people in his way, just had his eyes on the occult section; but which book? He was desperate. Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder and the saleswoman stood behind him. He tried explaining what book he was after without trying to sound like he was totally demented.

"I'm.., researching a story on... how to create a succubus... and how to banish one... Is there a book for that?" He asked.

The woman thought for a second. She was old, smaller than him and looked like she would have been happier reading a Mills & Boon romance story than recommending a book on etheric parasites, but after twenty seconds she pointed to a thin and neglected title. Doug picked the book out and read the cover: "Removing the shadows". He went to the checkout and tried to find the woman who made the recommendation, but there was no one there. By the time he'd paid for the book he'd forgotten all about her.

The book was very thin and had only one sentence in Latin to banish a succubus. The rest of the book had been explaining why summoning such an entity was never a good idea, and it just made Doug more frightened for his soul and his sanity. 

He needed to break the mirror in which he had made the earlier incantation, and use it to score a circle around his own cock and balls, very carefully -the aim was not to cut into his flesh but to draw a circle of protection around his groin; a symbolic act. He had never been so careful in his life; the circle took ten minutes to complete and he was shaking by the end of it. After re-arranging pieces of the broken mirror around him he read the words out loud three times:

"Ut umbram auferas, corpus ipsam interfice!" He had taken extra time to translate this and knew that it meant: "To banish the shadow, murder the true body."  That could mean only one thing... The true body meant the original object of his desire: Hannah. She had to die.

The next day he tried to make himself presentable; it was going to be his big day; a chance to free himself from his man-made purgatory, He couldn't look in any mirrors as that was where she dwelled now, spying on his every move... and through any reflections. He had smashed all the mirrors in his flat; pulverized them into so much dust and flushed that reflective ash down the lavatory. He had taped up all his windows and smeared any metallic surface so there was nothing she could travel through.  It was going to be difficult travelling to work but he knew that if he went when it was busiest, and stood in the middle of the train, among the crush and shut his eyes he should be fine. He hadn't washed in days; the water itself could be used against him. He urinated into the sink and defecated into buckets which he emptied in the middle of the night. Other commuters found it difficult standing on the train next to him, due the stench and his very unkempt nature. He made it into the office but had forgotten its mirrored windows on every floor. He had to make a run for it, stumbled up the steps and barely made it through the sliding doors  into the lobby. The receptionists didn't recognise him and tried their best to stop him, but he managed to duck into the opening lift and pressed the buttons repeatedly for the 4th floor.

She was there, reflected back at him; taunting him to infinity in the mirrors of the lift. She was barely recognisable as Hannah now, barely even human and  his own reflection had been warped into the visage of a madman.

"You're mine... Just surrender yourself to me and it will be as pleasurable as it is quick." She hissed in his every ear. The lift doors finally opened with a hopeless sibilant.  He knew that reception had called security to find him, and they knew what floor he was on now, so it was only 

a matter of time that they caught up to him. He ran to the door of his office but stopped short when he realised he hadn't brought his identity card; it was an electric keycard and he couldn't get into the office without it. He could hear the guards panting up the stairs, saw the other lift coming up after him; so he had a matter of minutes.

Just then the miracle happened and the door to the ladies toilets swung inwards and Hannah stepped out, gasping at Doug's shabbled ravings. It had to be now! He lunged at her; hands grasping her throat, pushing her back into the toilets. She couldn't scream, could only claw at his calloused, grubby hands; rake the flesh of his face but he wouldn't let go. He didn't hear the security behind him, just felt a blow on the side of his head which stunned him. Hannah then regained some of her wits and kneed him in the groin, exactly where he had carved the circle only a couple of days before. He fell hard and was restrained by the guards.

"Don't.. please don't... don't you see, I have to kill her! She's killing me; she's killing me! Don't you understand!"

The police arrived minutes later and placed him in handcuffs, took him down in the lift again; one of them a police-woman. She became a vehicle for the succubus who gloated at Doug through the reflection.

"Poor mortal. Ut umbram auferas, corpus ipsam interfice..." She said and chuckled throatily. "You never were any good at translation were you? It didn't mean kill the true body... Silly boy.... It meant: To remove the shadow, destroy the entity itself."

Doug shook his head slowly and felt it as a tickle at first; slowly building in intensity as he realised his folly. By the time he had reached the lobby again his body was racked with uncontrollable laughter. Hannah could hear the laughter even from where she was sitting in the office kitchen; being consoled by friends of hers. 

"What the hell was that about? Who was he?" Her friend asked. Hannah replied, after a second:

"I just don't know.. I have no idea at all!"

The gulls are not your friends

“Come with me if you want to love.” It wasn’t the greatest chat up line, and sounds like a Hollywood cliché now, but to a very naïve villager two weeks shy from home, it sounded mysterious, dramatic and everything my 16 year old heart had wanted to hear. I was also more than a little turned on.  In the late ‘60’s it was possible to be more open with yourself and others,hence the reason why I moved to Brighton. I knew that no one in my family would ever understand; they had their fixed, Victorianly rigid ways of behaving and seeing themselves. The ‘60’s were an anathema to them and had I come out to them I would have been disgraced and expulsed as a leper. Far better to bite the bullet and move away of my own free will. No note, no apology, no word of explanation –whatever heartache my leaving created (and I very much doubted there would be any) would be nothing compared to what I had been subjected to since my apotheosis. 

Realising myself was the most important thing in my life and I knew that living in Brighton would best suit my transformative needs. Even in the late ‘60’s Brighton was known for its gay scene. Once you avoided the Mods and Rockers, who frowned heavily (at least on the surface) on anything pertaining to the ‘fag’ scene, there was a certain degree of freedom. I had learnt to hide my proclivity, as had most of us; as much as I admired Quintin’s audacity I did feel he had some kind of death-wish (if not a degree of sublimated self-loathing).
Although the Sexual Offences Act had made things slightly easier for us the general public’s attitude to us was still the same, if not worse. Decriminalising homosexuality was akin to waving a red rag to their bullish demeanours. I remember a discussion at a local bar when a burly Welshman drunkenly stated:
 ‘Of course, it could never happen in Aberystwyth!’. I struggled hard to keep my mirth contained. Upon relating this to another chap at the Spotted Dog he simply replied,
 ‘Oh, really. Perhaps you should have told him that Aberystwyth is actually advertised as the Brighton of West Wales! Shows how much he knows, eh?’

 It was in the Curtain Club where I met Saul though. I sat by the bar, nervously nursing my Babycham when he crept up behind me and whispered huskily into my ear. “Come with me if you want to love” before nibbling my earlobe. That alone surprised me as there were strategically placed people who had been hired specifically to stop that kind of thing from happening.  The ‘60’s may have been permissive if you were straight but there were strict rules still forbidding men even dancing close together! And if two men so much as touched on the dance floor they were quickly separated. 
Saul was a Gold Card holder though, which allowed him to queue jump… and coupled with his size and demeanour few people could make him do anything against his will. He wasn’t a bully –there were plenty of butch, muscly Northerners, brash and belligerent, to fill that criteria- he just knew how to get his own way. He was manipulative but no one seemed to mind that too much –those that objected were seldom seen again. I was flattered by the attention but shocked that anyone could be so bold. 
Saul sat down next to me and ordered a ‘Shirley Bassey’ before asking: 
“Which are you, boy? Bitch or butch?” His voice was deep and masterful, suede covering a granite interior. The pink, raspberry monstrosity was plonked down in front of me and I’d taken a sip as he asked me the question and nearly choked on the sweetness. 
“Neither.” I snapped. 
“Ah, a bold boy, eh? Just a bijou chicken then. Ripe as a charver should be.” 
 “I’m not a fucking whore.” I snapped back loudly, ready to throw the contents of the glass over him. “Keep it down, keep it down, lad, eh?” He hissed. “Don’t get your knickers twisted. You are a bona boy though, aren’t you?” 
“Would I be here otherwise?” 
“You’d be surprised, lad… I’ve seen many a police try to make solicitations, lead unsuspecting chaps out to the alley where his friends are awaiting only to jump on the poor dilly..” I blanched at this. I knew that that sort of thing happened but thought that the Curtain Club was beyond it.. being a supper club. Lord, how naïve I was! “I can tell you’re not police, son. Sorry to cast such aspersions on your fine character. Let us start over, yes? My name is Saul.” He held out his large,ring adorned hand out to me as if he was royalty (and I suppose he was at the time). 
 “Yes… I know who you are.” I replied, feeling my Adam’s apple vibrate with the words. I tried not to blush. “My name’s Les.” 
“My fame precedes me, fantabulosa! Fresh of the bus and he knows me already. Do you like; what you see?” I didn’t have to think before answering, but I didn’t want to seem too eager. I had clocked him upon the first time I entered the club. 

The Curtain Club was situated under the Queen’s Hotel, on the Kings Road side. I felt a little lost the first time I entered, star-struck upon finally reaching Brighton and making connections so quickly in The Spotted Dog. It was easy to mark those people of the persuasion –we had our own language! (Saul dallied with it but only managed to mangle it further). Pretty soon I had been felt up and prospected before being led through the Twittens to the Curtain Club. I wasn’t prepared for the entrance fee but duly paid it; it was a ‘supper club’ after all.  The entrance fee got you an inedible and indigestible meal but also meant that the establishment could serve alcohol and play music up until one in the morning. Upon paying the entrance fee I was led through the arcade-like foyer and down the steps. On the right was the small bar where quiet music played and sweet nothings were whispered, but to the left was the dance floor. This was where I first saw him. 
He wore a fitted grey two piece tweed suit, a peach paisley tie and polished shoes and he just swayed out of time to “Whiter Shade Of Pale” with another man. He seemed both wraith like but powerful; a bodybuilder physique, lantern jawed but his movements were serene, dreamy. He seemed totally unaware of the other man he danced with. 
“You’ll do.” I replied and hoped that my gamble paid off. I was a quick learner (or so I thought) and knew that I was being tested. I was pretty sure that Saul wanted me, now I was to know for sure. He clapped me on the back just as the rest of the bar took a collective in-breath. I had no idea who I was getting involved with. I’ve asked myself since whether I would have changed my tactic had I known any differently, and I honestly don’t know. 
 “I like your spirit, Les! By God, I’ll do, will I? Let’s drink to it, shall we?” “How about a proper drink? Whiskey?” I replied, not wanting to take another sip of that concoction. “Why not… and then after the drink maybe something a little more?” 

He took me upstairs. He had a permanent suite at the Queens, overlooking the sea and he took me three times that evening. He must’ve known I was cherry for I did a poor job at hiding it, but the first time he was gentle; loving almost –if that was possible in such a man. I knew I wasn’t his first, and probably not his only, but he made me feel as if I was. The second time was mutual lust, I was spurred on by his desire of me and the newfound freedom that I found. We collapsed in each other’s arms on the bed, sated –or at least I was. He just lie there, staring intensely out the window. He must have waited for me to be asleep –oh, he could be patient when he wanted to- and before I knew it he had tied my hands and feet to the bed. I woke up splayed out like a sacrifice, face down, and he was sitting on the chair by the bed, watching me. I was afraid but knew that it would do no good; something told me the more afraid I became the worse it would get for me. 
“You’re mine, see? You promise to be mine?” He said, flat like an automaton; none of the charm that won me over just a short while ago. There was an intense look, a coldness I’d never seen before in a person and I could only nod. “Good. And because you’re mine we’ll seal it.. I’ll brand you as mine and you’ll never be anyone elses.” 
He took out his cigarette lighter from one pocket and a knife from another. He unfolded the knife and held the blade over the naked flame of the lighter until it glowed red hot. “If you love me you’ll not scream out. If you love me then this won’t hurt at all.” He said and marked me as his own. I didn’t scream. Afterwards he was loving, kissing his brand before taking me violently; making me his own in body and soul. I didn’t resist. 

That was one of only a handful of times that he became violent towards me, though he ruled me with a velvet fist. He only had to change his intonation or gesture a certain way and people knew that his mood was about to shift and left him alone. We were in a café on the seafront when one of the waiters misread the situation. 
“Your bill, sir?” The waiter had said as Saul put his coat on. 
“You’re new here, I take it?” He replied, always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. 
“Yes, but I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.” The waiter replied imperiously. Saul called this type of person a Jobsworth Johnny; much akin to the security guard taking ownership of the whole property, this man was too wound up for his own good. 
“Put it on the tab.” Saul growled. 
“I hardly think so, Sir. This isn’t a pub, this is a respectable establishment.” Things happened too quickly to establish cause and effect. 
One minute the waiter was squaring off against Saul, a scrawny 5ft bootlicker against the goliath; the next he was writhing about on the floor, blood pouring from his lacerated face; broken bloodstained crockery strewn around him lik china snow. Saul led me outside quietly whilst the rest of the patrons looked on in horror. No one did anything to stop us; they knew Saul, knew what happened to those people who crossed him. It was just a shame no one had told the waiter. 

 A week later I found myself working at the exact same tea shop as there was now a vacancy. Saul felt that a job would do me good; build my character; he didn’t want people to think that I was sponging on him and he would always be assured quality service when he visited. I was treated with almost religious awe and forbidden to do anything demeaning like washing the dishes or sweeping up, regardless of how many times I asked. 
The fear was that Saul would find out and take offense so I was promoted to Head Waiter, much to the chagrin of the previous chap, Donald; but what could he do? Anyone who made a complaint against Saul wasn’t heard from again and pride over a job is no reason to risk your life. It did mean that I was isolated from my fellow workers regardless of how many times I tried to make friends with them; they all thought I was trying to gather information on them for Saul and either went out of their way to be nice to me or ignored me completely.
Every night he would meet me outside in his Bentley, calmly straddling the double yellow lines knowing that no one would ever ticket his car. He’d always ask how my day went and I’d lie convincingly. I was consistently tipped over and above the usual amount by the customers and quite often gave the money to beggars I’d pass in the street, sickened by the prospect –this was not money I had earned, it was a form of tithe. One evening Saul raised this with me on the journey home. 
“Why do you give your hard earned money to those fuckers that’ve never worked in their life?” I couldn’t figure out how he knew what I’d been up to unless… 
“Have you been following me?” I asked, shocked that he had resorted to such Machiavellian tactics, especially when I had given him no reason to resort to such things. 
 “It’s necessary.” He replied simply as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “More for your safety than anything. I worry for you.” Saul worried about nothing and for no one… or a least that had been the case up until recently.  I was never allowed to read newspapers while living with him; we never talked about what he did for a living. All I knew was that he was some kind of entrepreneur, a promoter of talent and a risk taker –he told me that on our second ‘date’. 
Working at the cafe, however, allowed me the chance to read other peoples newspapers when they’d finish with them. From that I managed to figure out what kind of entrepreneur Saul really was and why people were so afraid of him. Recently though there had been a new business concern, a rival promoter had set up shop and threatened his status quo. 
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” I said, trying to placate him. 
“People could use you to get at me… I couldn’t allow that.” 
“How do you know that for sure?” I replied. 
“That’s what I’d do.” 

So he had me followed. I suppose I should have taken offense at that, but honestly I couldn’t. I was doing nothing wrong and despite all I’d learned to the contrary I did actually love him –I saw a side of him that few people even dreamed existed and that made me feel special. He rarely raised a hand to me…. So I saw this as just an extension of his caring. But I also saw it as further proof that he was becoming more paranoid and, though he would never admit to it, afraid.  His once stable business was crumbling. Saul was fast finding out that strength and will were not enough; his competitors had something that far outstripped his bullyboy tactics. They were ruthless and didn’t care how they gained power –there was nothing they wouldn’t do. His business associates were deserting him in droves, more with every week that passed and there was nothing that Saul could do.  He was too rooted in the old fashioned ways of crime, still held to a creed that this new generation spat on –there was no way to reason with people like that. The last time that I saw him he was gaunt, his once lantern jaw and butch physique seemed scarecrow thin and the fire had dimmed in his eyes. 

He woke me in the very early hours of the morning, there was a sea fret blanketing the town, lulling it to a false sense of security but Saul used it for cover. He hushed me out of bed and bade me to get dressed –my suitcase was already packed waiting for me. We left through the side door, carefully watching every shadow. I knew enough not to talk, the fear in his eyes spoke more than either of us could say. 
Despite all this I felt safe; whatever happened I was with him and all was right in the world. It was only when we were in the car driving inland that he finally talked to me. His voice was coarse, broken. 
“You’ve got to forget about me. You’re gonna forget about me. Whatever we had, whatever we were going to have it’s all gone now but I’m damned if I’ll let them take you away from me. I’d rather die.” I looked at him, the shock now registering. “I’m not going to, but I need you to be out of it. I can’t protect you and do what I need to do…. So I’m going to send you away, see. No one else knows where you lived so you’ll be safe… and when this is all over I’ll come for you. You’ll have to get the train from here to Lewes and then back home, but it’ll be safer dropping you here. No one would ever think to look for you here.” 
He dropped me outside Southease train station, in the middle of nowhere at 5 in the morning. I was wrapped up warm but felt cold from his haunted look. “I will come back for you, you’re the only one.” And he was gone. 

I got home safely. The family made a fuss of me, despite me coming out to them. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, it seems –but I missed Saul terribly. I told my family nothing of what went on with him and no one pushed me too hard. The time with Saul had changed me, I was no longer guilty of my secret and managed to walk tall. Every day I checked the newspapers to find out if anything had happened to him. There was a lone stabbing outside the Queens Hotel about two weeks after, but no names were mentioned; sources put it down to a lovers tiff gone wrong; but I never saw anything else…. And I never heard from Saul again.

Just like yesterday

There’s always someone who your head says “no way, uh huh; this spells trouble” but your heart just trips over for. It sends an itch that just can not be scratched and it’s not just a desire born of a physical relief but a deep seated yearning.

Dean had never thought of himself as incomplete but after seeing Eve for the first time realised exactly what that meant, and how completely empty his life had been up. But, to be fair, he was only 8 at the time.

When it happened to him again at 16 there was one big complication. He had been brought up to respect  -up to a point- other people religious and cultural beliefs. He had none himself; like his mother and father, he felt unencumbered by the weight of puritanical dogma or sullied by secular sin. They saw life as it was, not through hellfire tinged glasses; so falling in love with someone like Eve was totally doomed, ridiculous in the extreme.

Eve was not only Christian but from a very distinct branch that somewhere along the line had snapped off completely and now bordered on being known as a cult. The Reverend Gerry King had a devout following, mostly from devout young women, most of whom frequented the various youth groups of the area, and the school where Dean went.

When Dean had moved to the area as a child he had gone to the “Sunday School” that the Rev. ran for a few weeks and it was there that he’d first met Eve, and was totally smitten in the way that only young boys can be. This was not arousal but something more akin to a Spiritual knowing, a genuine flow of pure emotion, which Eve seemed to share.

Dean had been offered a chance to be indoctrinated into the scholarship programme that Rev. King offered; to become closer to God, but by that time Dean’s parents had heard more stories about King and forbade him to go. Worse, he could no longer see Eve at all.

Eve was not allowed to go to school at that age –she was deemed far too vulnerable to brainwashing or so the Rev. thought- and so Dean did his best to forget all about her.

Years passed, as they do. Though there had been other girlfriends none seemed to hold a candle to the feeling he had for Eve. Being nearly an adult complicated matters with sex rearing its ugly head. He was no fool, he understood about what was happening to his body, the hormones now raging, but understanding and living it were two completely different things. He was both liberated and intimidated by his new found freedom. He was not blessed with good looks but knew how to hold himself, how to speak to women and make them feel at ease and special.

It should have been easy for him to reap a bountiful harvest and it wasn’t for a lack of offers; women found Dean desirable; but he found that he could not go through with the consummation. It felt wrong to manipulate them with such ease; the women seemed too pliable, too willing for debasement. In a way he saw his ability to manipulate the women being similar to Rev. King. Dean often wondered whether King had seen some of the quality in him that he wanted to mould and call his own.

Ten years later – a balmy day; first class on a Wednesday morning.  The door to the English class opens unexpectedly and Dean’s world gets blown apart. Ten years passed by but it might well have been yesterday when Eve walked into the classroom again; and back into his life. Just like yesterday.

The classroom paled into insignificance as he saw her. She stood at the front of the class as the headmistress spoke to Mrs Slough, the English teacher. Eve seemed aloof, so disconnected to everything else; the world still had not touched her.

Her hair was still long; pure lines of silk, a burnt coffee colour and seemed to contrast to her pale complexion; salt & pepper freckles, a light dusting. She was still quite thin but was now clearly a woman. He felt himself blush as she surveyed the classroom and for the briefest of moments their eyes met. She seemed not to notice him, looked beyond him, even, to the world outside.

Heart sinking, he cursed himself for being a fool; ten years had passed, after all, and she had moved away; built a new life for herself. But what had made them come back? And did this mean that her whole family had moved back?

The questions were answered later that evening. Dean had not been able to meet Eve at all during the day; circumstances always seemed to get in the way. At the end of every class Eve would hurry away, not wanted to spend time with anyone or trying to make friends. She saw it as a futile exercise, and was probably right. The gossip mill had already gone into overdrive, but Dean wanted no part of it, so he was surprised when Eve was the subject of the dinner table.

“We heard that Eve King is back at your school, Dean. Is she in any of your classes?” Dean’s mother asked.

“Yes, English. How’d you know?”

“The whole clan, the whole Family have moved in, strangely enough, back into their old place. It’s stayed derelict for all these years.”

“Maybe they own it?”

“That would make sense…” Dean’s father replied. “But you’re going to stay away from her though, aren’t you?” This was the first time his parents had laid down the law like this.

“Well; I was going to re-introduce myself if the chance came; but why should that be a problem? What have you against her anyway?”

“It’s nothing against her, per se. Well; you were too young when they moved away the first time… but there were always rumours that Rev. King wasn’t a Rev. at all; just a leader of a cult. Worse still, there were even rumours that he’d molested several children in his ‘parish’; maybe even his own. You can imagine how horrified we were found this out; and you can see why we stopped you going to the Sunday school!”

“When you’re a child then you see things that way…” His mother interjected. “There’s no thought of anything but the purest of reasons. Words such as ulterior motives or grooming have no meaning…”

Dean felt sickened to the stomach. He wanted to go back to those times. It wasn’t that he was ignorant of this news; everyone had been talking about it at school; but to hear his own parents worry that he might have become a victim.. and worse still, that Eve could still be… well, it was almost too much for him.

He excused himself from the table and went upstairs to his room. Lying on his bed he thought of the angel he had known all those years ago and wept knowing that it was no longer so.

The next day he tried blanking it all from his mind. His parents were right, it wasn’t a good idea to get involved. It was obvious that she was too mired into the fundamentalist Christian lifestyle. The Rev. had taken a new ‘hands-on’ approach to the religion, standing on street corners, shouting his message of hate to anyone who could hear it; with the rest of his family by his side.

The message was far more extreme. Love was there but only if you fit certain criteria. The homosexuals, the coloureds and even the Brexiteers were condemned to hell. God loved all the others and all could be saved, even those of colour, if they sacrificed.

That was the term he used –it meant turning your back on everything you had known before and becoming part of the family of Christ.

Eve could be seen every weekend, with her father, arm in arm; passion flooding her face; whilst at school she kept herself alone and cut off, nothing showing. She only spoke when she addressed the teachers; and if anyone dared make fun of her then she would retaliate, her voice drowning out the laughs until they retreated, intimidated by the frenzy and fervour coming from her. It wasn’t long before they all left her alone.

And so did Dean for the most part. He couldn’t reconcile what his parents had told him with  what he saw on a daily basis. It broke his heart to see her, he wanted so much to take her in his arms, make her snap out of the religious stupor she was in. She was hurting so much, but just couldn’t see it. Oh, how he wanted to be the one to save her.

He knew how ridiculous it sounded; knew of his tendency to rescue first and ask questions later. Equally he knew that no good could come of any relationship with her, no matter what his heart (or cock) said otherwise; so he kept away.

And all went well for another three weeks until one Friday afternoon.

“It is you, isn’t it, Dean?” The voice from behind took him by surprise. He was sitting in the library during his last free period of the day. (he never understood why he wasn’t allowed home early; he could just as easily read or study at home and proved just how ridiculous college treated the students. “We talk to you as adults” said their prospectus, but treated them as children, Dean wished that he’d never gone to college; he just got suckered by their promotional campaign. No one at his school offered any other alternative; it was either go to college or you’re on your own…) He was so lost in thought he never realised that she was standing behind him.

“I was sure that you didn’t recognise me.” He replied, turning to face her. She was far more beautiful than he ever remembered her.

“I didn’t realise it was you until someone pointed to you in conversation.”

“I hope it was something nice.”

“Oh; of course! It’s only me that gets bad press; though I can’t imagine why.” That stumped Dean, he didn’t want to say anything that would be offensive to her; equally he didn’t want to say anything stupid. She laughed at this, actually laughed out loud, good naturedly, at his indecisiveness. “You ARE sweet; after all these years, Dean. Still thinking of others, not wanting to hurt their feelings. No doubt you know all about my family.” Dean just nodded once. “And you still talk to me?”

“Well… that’s just your family…”

“And me… but it shouldn’t get in the way of us though. I just wanted to say that to you, Dean. I just wanted to say hi, and you still hold a place for me…I haven’t forgotten you.”

She walked away then, leaving him baffled. Other people were still staring at him as she left. This was unheard of; the religious nut actually having a conversation with someone. Dean had to walk out himself, the stares were too off putting.

That night: Dean said nothing to his parents. He wasn’t sure what happened himself. Eve’s words were obscure and seemed contradictory to how she was perceived. His feelings for her were now reignited, stronger than ever. Being that close to her was intoxicating and things were about to go up a notch.

A sharp retort of “Welcome To The Jungle” woke him up that evening –his mobile was ringing. No one knew he ever had a phone, let alone rang it (it was for emergencies only!). It took a few seconds to find it before he could answer it.

It was Eve.

“Can we meet?”

“Yeah… sure; I guess… where?”

“The old place.”

This was proof that she did remember the childhood days indeed! The old place… he’d almost forgotten himself!

His Grandfather had been the school caretaker and knew the grounds better than anyone and even knew of this little oasis. No one else knew it existed.

There was a small stream that ran alongside the school for a bit, most inaccessible, except at this one little spot. Eve and Dean spent hours there as children, just talking; and now they were going to meet there again after all this time. It didn’t feel weird at all….

Eve was there already, waiting for him; lying on the sloping bank, barely discernible in the dark. He felt his heart race at the knowledge that she was there for him. She patted the ground next to her and he lie there by her side, not daring to look at her.

If he closed his eyes then it would’ve been like none of the surrounding years had happened, they were still at that wonderful, innocent age; very much in love. That was why he kept them open, staring out at the sky.

He suddenly realised just how precarious a situation he was in.

“I didn’t know whether you’d come.” She said, breaking the ice; whispering the same way she’d done as a child; but she was anything but now.

“Of course I would.. but you knew that.. How did you find my number though?”

“The family has its ways…” A chill slithered down his spine. “Don’t worry; no one else knows that I’ve contacted you. They think I’m at the cinema.”

“Really?” This sounded quite preposterous considering what Dean knew of the Rev.’s views.

“Don’t sound so surprised! We keep up to date on current films for our own ends. Not only to satirize and deride them, but we can also use the knowledge to tempt people into our church. Father is wanting for the church to expand here again, find a new flock.”

“Is that why you’ve contact me?” The penny dropped.

“Hardly…” And missed… “what.. you thought I was going to use my feminine whiles to entice you into the church?” She started to laugh, much to Dean’s dismay. He was very confused now. “Wait..” She continued, “you still came though. Ha!! You must have it bad, Dean.. you poor boy!”

“How can you tell them about the film if you haven’t seen it then?” He said to change the subject fast.

“You really are naïve, aren’t you? YouTube? Wikipedia? IMDB? I can swat up before I talk to them!” It was obvious really, he thought..

“What did you want to see me about then?” He asked finally.

“Do I need a reason?” She replied. “I just wanted to see if there was still the connection there. We always used to have one.. and it’s something that I miss.. kind of. Someone who I can just be myself with –whoever that might be. Would that be ok? We don’t have to really talk about anything, if you don’t want to. I won’t try to convert you, but if we can meet up a couple of times a week it would be aces. It would mean a lot to me, Dean.”

She found his hand in the dark and squeezed it gently, sending waves of electricity through him. “Of course.. I’d like that.” He replied, barely able to get his words out.

“Thank you.” She looked at her watch and placed her hand on his to push herself off the ground. As she stepped over him he smelt her perfume: lavender, just as she always used to wear. “God speed my sweet friend.” She said and was gone in the night. Even though the air still had a chill to it, his hand felt warm. Yes, he did have it bad…

All during school she ignored him; he was just another face in the crowd, which puzzled him at first, but the more he thought about it the more it made sense. By seeing him in the evenings she was going against the family; the whole church! She was living a secret by seeing him so she couldn’t risk acknowledging him whilst at College. He smiled to himself; he was her guilty secret! (and to a certain degree she was his too) He doubted that anyone else would understand the dichotomy in her, they would see her and just see the fundamentalist, but was that who she really was? Why had she chosen him to be the one that saw the other side of her? Was she her ‘real’ self when they were together? He had to find out.

“Are you asking me if I’m schizophrenic for Christ?” She laughed quietly, aware that there were peoples back gardens less than 20 feet away.

“Not exactly.” Dean replied.

“You’re asking me, then, whether I’m still a religious nut or by seeing you, am I showing signs of branching out on my own?”

“Kind of… I guess…”

“You’ve not really thought this through, have you?” He shrugged. He thought he had, but Eve had a way of turning arguments inside out. She probably got that from her father.

“I don’t see that I’m doing anything wrong, Dean. We’re not committing a grievous sin by talking… Dad might get a little upset, but everything’s a sin with him! But that’s how I ended up here, if you think about it! There’s his way and then the way that others should follow… Sometimes..”

Dean looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing.. I don’t need to be dredging that stuff up, there’s no need. You’re good, y’know that? You’re good with getting people to open up. I feel that I could just talk to you.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Not yet… everything comes to those who wait, Dean.”

“No… it really doesn’t.” Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that. She was quick to pick up on his subtext.

“Why, I didn’t know that you still thought of me that way. Still, I thought it was just a childish crush.” Dean turned away.

“Yeah; well.. so did I. Now I find myself lying on the banks of a stream, holding hands with you beneath the stars.”

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

“Don’t, Eve. I’m as confused enough as it is. It’s easier for me to think of us as just friends… most of the time.”

“So you don’t want to kiss me then?”

He turned to her in astonishment. The streaming light sparkled on her skin, making her look ethereal and more beautiful than ever.

“I…” He started to speak but she moved closer, turned herself over to him and looked into his eyes. She moved to kiss him softly but deeply. He felt lost in her tenderness; all time synchronised with her heartbeat. All that existed for him was the feel of her skin against his, her tongue passionately probing his own; their souls becoming one; the scent of her hair. He was intoxicated with her.

It was over far too quickly. As soon as she withdrew she kissed him lightly on the forehead before getting up and leaving. Touching his cheek he realised it was slightly damp, putting it to his lips it tasted slightly salty as if she’d been crying.

It was another week before she contacted him again. In a way he was glad, it gave him a chance to sort his feeling out. He knew that this could only end in more tears, probably his; and she would never leave the church. He wasn’t even sure he could ask that much of her.

He had to be careful around her now. The kiss had woken all sorts of feelings, made him feel truly alive and stoked up a passion he’d never felt before. He was afraid of it.

The text was only two words: Tonight – 8ish.

She was already lying by the bank again when he got there. She didn’t even look at him when he sat down next to her. This time there was more of a distance between them and the silence was overpowering. There was so much that he wanted to say to her but he didn’t know where to start, so he just sat there.

He turned to look at her and initially thought she was shivering with the cold but then realised she was crying again.

“What’s wrong?” He asked her.

“You must think I’m a tramp.”

“What??” Was all he could think to reply.

“Kissing you like that. I’m nothing but a hypocritical tramp.”

“Christ no.”

“Is an interesting choice of words, Dean.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I understand any of this. None of it makes sense, just what I felt when we kissed… but I’ve been told that’s wrong.”

“But it felt so right… I do know what you mean, but I don’t think badly of you at all.”

“I doubt myself… I scourged myself after seeing you; vowed I’d never see you again because of the thoughts I had.”

“Scourged?”

“But here I am again. I just want you to hold me. Would you?”

He turned and laid next to her; felt the pressure of her hands on his back and her kiss was more yearning, searching for something he didn’t know whether he could give.

Nothing more was said until she left. Words made it real, confused things more. When she turned to leave she said two words. “Thank you.”

For weeks they met, kissed by the stream and whilst they were together nothing else mattered, but when they were apart Dean felt confused, unsure of what was going on. Was this actually a relationship or just a friendship? What was he to her?

Summer was now almost upon them and it was warmer now in the evenings. He’d noticed that whilst she was around him her clothes were looser, less buttons on her blouse were done up, showing him more than what was healthy for his imagination.

When they kissed she would often lie on top of him now, her hair flowing over him, her breasts pressing on his chest and it was impossible for her not to notice his erection against her.

Finally it became too much for him; he had to understand what he meant to her. He pushed her off and sat up.

“I’m sorry… I need to know, Eve, what’s going on between us?”

“How do you mean?”

“Cut the crap, Eve… please; just tell me.”

“What do you think, Dean? What do you want it to be?”

“Those are two completely different questions and you know it.”

“Do you think I’m being unfair?”

“More than a little. You know how I feel for you.”

“I can, every time I lie on top of you. It’s nice.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Can’t I enjoy how I make you feel?”

“Is that all it is? Is this just a tease? Do you enjoy turning me on? Knowing I can’t do anything about it?”

“Who says you can’t do anything about it?” Don’t you want me?” She licked her lips suggestively, sending shivers through his body. It took every ounce of his will power to turn away. She laughed and then placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s because I know you won’t take it too far that I enjoy spending time with you. I get a chance to be me in a way I can’t with anyone else.”

“Then that, to me, IS being hypocritical.”

“If that’s what you think…” She got up and left him. He didn’t try to stop her. Why was he even bothering with this? It was torture –tease and denial, yet he was as guilty as she was. It was like some childish game they were still playing but there were no rules and more was at stake.

One week passed and then two. On the third week Dean was almost relieved; he felt a little guilty about that, but his head felt free from confusion. Without temptation he could live his life normally. By the end of the third week he barely thought about Eve at all. And then she texted him and like a fool dog on heat he dropped everything and went to her.

She wore a very demure white blouse, a long pleated skirt and looked as if she’d just come back from church.

He sat next to her and said nothing and for ten minutes neither of them spoke a word. Then she leaned over to him and kissed him lightly on the lips, then ran her tongue lightly over them, knowing that was a sensitive spot to him. He gasped and she used that moment to slide her tongue further in. It was a kiss to lose himself in and Dean felt exactly that; he felt lost to her. She moved to his neck and he could feel her breath in his ear.

“I’m getting married.” She whispered.

He pushed her away, shocked by this confession. “What? Why?”

“It’s Father’s wish. It’s why we moved back here.”

“It’s what? You’ve known about it all this time? So why go through this.. all of this with me? Just what have I been for you? A diversion?”

“My saviour. One I hoped would deliver me from this if I pushed your buttons enough, but you’ve been more puritanical than my own family! I wanted you to want me, Dean, but you haven’t.”

“How can you say that? Don’t you know what you do to me? How I feel towards you?”

“So you’ve repeatedly said, but unlike Father you’re just words. You’re not a man of action. I mean, can you imagine anything beyond this? What we’re doing now? It’s still just a childhood fantasy come to life for you. I doubt you’d actually fight for me, should it come to it, and it probably would have… so what are you going to do about it now, Dean? Rail and thunder against the inhumanity; about how badly I’ve treated you? What have you done for me? You’ve never tried to talk to me, just let me make the first move the whole time…

“And now I tell you that I’m getting married but you don’t try to stop me but think about how it’s going to affect you!”

Dean just stared at her, not knowing what to do or say. She was right; he had been so confused about his own feelings that he’d just been passive the whole time.

“I almost thought you were the one to save me from this. I entertained the thought of going all the way with you and telling Father about it. He would have beaten me and excommunicated me but I would have done it for you if I knew that you’d stand by me and look after me. But I know that’s an impossibility. It’s asking too much of you; I can see that now. My time to break free will come, but not now and not with you.

“I’m sorry about that, I truly am, but it’s down to you. I won’t be seeing you again.”

She didn’t even kiss him good-bye, she was just gone. For a few minutes he pondered what she said. Part of him was sorry about what had happened; she was right after all. He sighed and looked to the stars.

Suddenly he smiled to himself: she was right after all… All sorts of shit would have hit the fan if they had gone all the way… Phew, he thought… dodged a bullet there then!