The Script

The alarm goes off, trilling me awake. I leave the warmth of the sheets and her. She stirs, mutters something that might be words. I walk through to the bathroom, passing the photo of us smiling on a beach, I can't remember which one. We look happy. We might still be, we never ask. The light in the bathroom is bright enough to see by, so I don't switch on the blinding overhead. Maybe a dimmer bulb would work?

I piss away another night's drinking. My head's as full as my bladder's now empty. I need sleep, but the booze isn't working. Maybe if I lie down it'll come. I go to the bedroom, passing the photo of us on the beach in Cornwall. We were happy then. It's still too dark, I need the daylight, it chases away the dark thoughts.

I hit the snooze button a third time. I check my phone. There's a message from her. It always makes me smile, but a holiday romance is never a good idea to keep going, although it's nice to keep in touch, and she is keen. It was a happy time. Maybe we should meet again. I stir at the thought, but bat it away. Cornwall was a year ago. I've got other fish to fry.

Coffee, I need coffee! The run was good, the smoothie's buzzing. Weekend's coming, and so is she. A nice two days of fun, although I'm a bit worried about the 'We need to talk' text. I hope it's not signalling a desire to get more serious. I'm happy with the way things are, it's like revisiting the holiday once a month. Still, for now the daylight's in full swing and it's off to work.

I could walk to work another way, but I can't help myself. I can't stop looking in either. I can't help but hope she'll come out as I pass. I think about the photo of us on that holiday. I wonder if she still has it hanging on the landing. How could we have gone from being so happy to this? I've got some time to kill so I'll head to the cafe to get my head together.

The waitress looks like her. Same hair, the same tilt at the corner of the mouth. I wonder what would have happened if I'd have had the guts to go for it, Pete said she was a good lay. Maybe I should get in touch, but it was a year ago, she probably won't even remember me. She might be happy to chat though. Maybe tomorrow.

She's blocked me. First she stopped answering my messages and now this. She doesn't get it, we found something on that beach. A spark, I know she felt it too, you can see it in the photo. Fucking bitch led me on, but she doesn't realise the truth. I could make her happy. I just need to make her see that. I think I need to go there, she'll understand if it's face to face.

Everywhere I go I see her. Every girl has her face. A reminder of her as she was. Before me. Before I did what I did. But she deserved it. I was the only one who could have made her happy, she rejected me, so she had to go. I had to do it. It broke my heart but you have to do what's necessary, don't you? But now every day's the same, like I'm trapped in a photograph, a single moment in time.

That's what life is. A trap. Fate is fate, the script is written, and there's nothing we can do about it.