A droubble by EwanL

The car door slammed. She looked at the clock: 10 past 2. It would take him ten minutes to walk up the stairs. No-one took the lifts; ex-soldiers, runaways and demented people lived in them. The stairs were too cold, even for desperate teenagers. Julie dropped her cigarette into the mug and listened for the hiss.

She looked around the flat, at the broken chairs. At the space where the dining table had been. From the sofa she could see the cheap mirror beside the front door. Julie stood up and smudged some green eyeshadow on the mark above her cheek. Her overcoat was over the back of a dining chair. Might as well put it on, she thought. She checked the pocket, let out a sigh,and winked at her reflection.

Dale came in, weaving only slightly. One side of his mouth turned up, one side down.

'Hey, Babe, early tonight, inn' I, eh?'

He was. So she nodded.

'Cuppa tea? Kiss?'

'Not tonight,' she replied.

She spotted the tic in the skin under his left eye and stepped back. His punch missed, momentum took him round in a full circle. All the way onto the knife in Julie's hand.

Published on 02/03/15