I'll get fired.
Whisper, "Mr Pillay."
"A FUCKING SAMOOSA GAVE THAT TO YOU?"
I nod.
"THROW THEM AWAY."
I shake my head. I'm too afraid to speak.
"Get out."
I stare at him, incredulous.
"I said GET OUT."
Wiping away tears, I get out of the vehicle with my bag and my flowers. I watch as Gary speeds away into a blinding sunset. I breathe with difficulty and become aware of the danger I am in. Moving briskly, I begin the long walk to the bus depot.
I got home sometime after eight o’clock. The night cloaked me with depressing black ink, saturating into me with its darkness, so very dark, and I wasn't completely convinced the locks wouldn't be changed by the time I get home.
What was I thinking? Armageddon exploded when I walked in with those flowers. I was a lying, cheating whore, who was secretly dating other men behind his back.
Cue: Atomic bomb. He blew up for hours.
Cue: Nuclear demolition. The tears a torrent of seeping misery.
Cue: monsoon flood. Is it so hard to believe that someone would give me flowers without fucking me first?
My eyelids are swollen from crying, and I stare at the object of my pain. I now hate those flowers. Giving it more thought, who in their right mind sends flowers as a romantic gesture? ( Here, have something pretty and watch it die. Not exactly a good omen for a relationship ... oh ... and Gary doesn't do romantic.)
Then he goes through my bag looking for evidence of my soliciting. I want to vanish as he gloats, wielding a phone number.
Oh shit.
"Whose number is this?"
"A friend."
He's way too close, pushing the paper up to my nose to emphasise that I can't deny its existence.
"A male?"
I shake my head.
He glares further, I shrink away from the baleful glare. Convulsions begin when he picks up the phone and dials the number. I am so afraid I feel like I'm going to vomit. Gary's outrage is transparent when a male baritone answers the call. I can hear it from here.
Gary disconnects, turning his body to face me, quivering in a foetal position in a chair a few feet away from him. He's radiating waves of aggression. I can taste it.
He picked up his keys and left. I cried all night. I didn't sleep. He came home at around 4 a.m. and didn't even acknowledge me. I stayed in the lounge all night. Smoking, crying, blowing my nose. It was over. And I had done nothing wrong.
Chapter 11
Uncomfortably Numb
I’m dressed for work and about to leave to catch the bus, when he approached me. He still seemed stern, but now exuded mild anxiety.
"Where are you going?"
Duh. Isn't it obvious? "To work."
My voice is husky, my throat is raw. I have an evil fairy with an ice-pick doing incessant damage to my brain. Light hurts my eyes. I've tried my best to hide my despair behind make-up.
"Aren't I taking you?"
I stare at him. He's offering me the floatation ring after the flooding and capsizing of my precarious ship. The dam bursts, and I blurt, "I love you."
He doesn't miss a beat this guy. One moment of weakness, "One condition."
I nod. Name your price, I'm going cheap.
"You destroy those fucking flowers."
I nod and agree. He smiles the evil ‘I'm going to do bad things to you' smile. His demeanour instantly morphs, and he's happy as a junkie on a high.
How do men manage to plot a flower execution between 4.00 a.m. and 6:30 a.m.? He took me straight to Chapman's Peak drive and pushed me to the edge of the rock overhang, overlooking the ocean with a sheer drop. Waiting for me to throw them. I stare at the pretty flowers in my hands and hesitate. It seems such a waste to destroy the ceramic bowl too. Can't I keep the bowl?
He rips them from my hands and hurls them like an expert baseball pitcher, "For fuck's sake woman!"
I feel pretty sad about their extreme death. I don't feel right. Something inside is missing. I'm feeling oddly emotionally numb, and return to the transportation capsule to go to work. Sullenly, I observe the early morning divers pulling on
Whisper, "Mr Pillay."
"A FUCKING SAMOOSA GAVE THAT TO YOU?"
I nod.
"THROW THEM AWAY."
I shake my head. I'm too afraid to speak.
"Get out."
I stare at him, incredulous.
"I said GET OUT."
Wiping away tears, I get out of the vehicle with my bag and my flowers. I watch as Gary speeds away into a blinding sunset. I breathe with difficulty and become aware of the danger I am in. Moving briskly, I begin the long walk to the bus depot.
I got home sometime after eight o’clock. The night cloaked me with depressing black ink, saturating into me with its darkness, so very dark, and I wasn't completely convinced the locks wouldn't be changed by the time I get home.
What was I thinking? Armageddon exploded when I walked in with those flowers. I was a lying, cheating whore, who was secretly dating other men behind his back.
Cue: Atomic bomb. He blew up for hours.
Cue: Nuclear demolition. The tears a torrent of seeping misery.
Cue: monsoon flood. Is it so hard to believe that someone would give me flowers without fucking me first?
My eyelids are swollen from crying, and I stare at the object of my pain. I now hate those flowers. Giving it more thought, who in their right mind sends flowers as a romantic gesture? ( Here, have something pretty and watch it die. Not exactly a good omen for a relationship ... oh ... and Gary doesn't do romantic.)
Then he goes through my bag looking for evidence of my soliciting. I want to vanish as he gloats, wielding a phone number.
Oh shit.
"Whose number is this?"
"A friend."
He's way too close, pushing the paper up to my nose to emphasise that I can't deny its existence.
"A male?"
I shake my head.
He glares further, I shrink away from the baleful glare. Convulsions begin when he picks up the phone and dials the number. I am so afraid I feel like I'm going to vomit. Gary's outrage is transparent when a male baritone answers the call. I can hear it from here.
Gary disconnects, turning his body to face me, quivering in a foetal position in a chair a few feet away from him. He's radiating waves of aggression. I can taste it.
He picked up his keys and left. I cried all night. I didn't sleep. He came home at around 4 a.m. and didn't even acknowledge me. I stayed in the lounge all night. Smoking, crying, blowing my nose. It was over. And I had done nothing wrong.
Chapter 11
Uncomfortably Numb
I’m dressed for work and about to leave to catch the bus, when he approached me. He still seemed stern, but now exuded mild anxiety.
"Where are you going?"
Duh. Isn't it obvious? "To work."
My voice is husky, my throat is raw. I have an evil fairy with an ice-pick doing incessant damage to my brain. Light hurts my eyes. I've tried my best to hide my despair behind make-up.
"Aren't I taking you?"
I stare at him. He's offering me the floatation ring after the flooding and capsizing of my precarious ship. The dam bursts, and I blurt, "I love you."
He doesn't miss a beat this guy. One moment of weakness, "One condition."
I nod. Name your price, I'm going cheap.
"You destroy those fucking flowers."
I nod and agree. He smiles the evil ‘I'm going to do bad things to you' smile. His demeanour instantly morphs, and he's happy as a junkie on a high.
How do men manage to plot a flower execution between 4.00 a.m. and 6:30 a.m.? He took me straight to Chapman's Peak drive and pushed me to the edge of the rock overhang, overlooking the ocean with a sheer drop. Waiting for me to throw them. I stare at the pretty flowers in my hands and hesitate. It seems such a waste to destroy the ceramic bowl too. Can't I keep the bowl?
He rips them from my hands and hurls them like an expert baseball pitcher, "For fuck's sake woman!"
I feel pretty sad about their extreme death. I don't feel right. Something inside is missing. I'm feeling oddly emotionally numb, and return to the transportation capsule to go to work. Sullenly, I observe the early morning divers pulling on
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