Brad
Fuck, fuck, fuck! I just shirt-fronted the Amazonian Gazelle. That’s one way to make myself memorable, I s’pose. I watched her hobble away. Even limping, she was graceful. And, those legs … those legs were a fucking dream. I wanted them wrapped around me. Dirty bastard. I smacked my hand against the back of my head for allowing my thoughts to sink into the gutter.
I’d seen her before. She always had her head down when she ran, like she was being chased by the devil. Until today, she’d kept her face hidden behind the hat and glasses. Freed of the barriers, I was struck by the kind of beauty she presented. Eyes almost black, with long thick lashes. Chicks had to stick on falsies if they wanted eyelashes like that. She had an exotic beauty no man could resist. The way her body moved was mesmerizing. Her deep brown, curly hair flowed out through the back of her cap, swinging from side to side as she ran. Yeah, I wanted to see her hair on my pillow, but it was more than that.
She intrigued me. I’d passed her on the path, as she was mucking around with her earbuds and muttering to herself. Strange behaviour for anyone, I guess. I wanted to know what was going on in that head of hers, as much as I wanted to bury my face in her skin, her hair and in the heaven between her legs.
Must be time to head home. I was losing my grip on reality.
Standing in my bathroom, I stripped out of my sweaty clothes, and dumped them in the corner somewhere near the hamper. I adjusted the spray to cold, hoping for lukewarm water, at least. The middle of summer didn’t offer much reprieve from hellfire temperatures. You’d think I’d be used to it since I grew up on The Capricornia Coast. But, today, the heat made me think of sweat and long legs, dark hair, and brown skin. It was no good. She was inside my head. I couldn’t stop my brain from going there. My body couldn’t help but respond to my thoughts. She was beyond gorgeous.
I couldn’t believe I’d knocked her on her arse. I’d nearly choked when she got up on her elbows and knees, waving it at me.
I pushed my arousal down until it hurt, needing to punish myself for my lack of control. I was such a sick bastard. She didn’t like me touching her. And why would she? I was no one to her. Well, now I was the guy that probably fractured her tailbone. Awesome. That thought effectively got rid of my boner.
I squirted some soap onto a washer and roughly dragged it over my skin as further punishment. Doing the same with the towel, before walking back to my room, naked. I purposely avoided looking at the photos on the hallway wall because I was already feeling like shit. I know I should take them down to make it easier on myself, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to torture myself. I made myself look at those photos every morning to remind me of how I’d failed. How I didn’t want to fail again.
Exactly like I’d just done. Again.
Bloody pathetic. I had this stupid feeling that I needed to get to know this woman, maybe protect her or some shit. Don’t ask me why, I have no fucking idea. The thought just came to me and embedded itself in my brain. I was crazy for a woman I’d never met, until now. She was the only one that lit my darkness and I didn’t even know her. I doubted she’d want to stop and talk to me in the future … and that thought just made me want to go and have a bottle of bourbon.
Today was a bad day. I started to lose hope again. Sitting on the edge of my bed with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, I desperately tried to ignore the emptiness of the house. The emptiness of my soul. My thoughts shifted to figuring out how to fill it.
Adrenaline or alcohol, what’ll it be?
And the winner was … alcohol.
Throwing on a singlet and shorts, I headed to the kitchen. The sooner I got to that bourbon, the better. The feel of the burn as I poured it down my throat, and the sweet, dulling of the senses. To get rid of the loneliness, normally I thought of her, focusing on becoming a man worthy of someone like her. Now, I just thought of her limping as fast as she could to get away from me.
I just fucked up my chances.
Ronnie
The relief I felt when I got out of the car, and off my butt, was tremendous. An animalistic keening escaped the confines of my chest as the pinch of pain receded. I knew the bone was broken. I felt the sickening click vibrate up my spine when I sat in the driver’s seat. Luckily, the trip from South Bank to the suburb of West End—where I rented a room—was short.
The flat was on the fifth floor; exactly halfway up the modern, charcoal coloured, concrete structure. I skipped the stairs and headed for the elevator. My keys jingled as I hastily unlocked the door. The throb of pain in my backside was intensifying. I just wanted to take painkillers, have a shower, and curl up with an ice pack strapped to my rear end.
Two steps into the wrought iron and glass themed living room, and the smells of leather polish and glass cleaner assaulted my senses, adding a headache to my
