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October 12, 2010

A gloomy Tuesday after the long holiday weekend.

How about a short story?

This one is one of my favorites. I’ve tweaked it for a few short story markets but have not made a sale yet. I give it to you, my peeps, and hope you will enjoy it. Drop me a comment and let me know what you think.


            The phone rang.

            I fought my way out from fuzzy tendrils of sleep and glanced at the bright red numbers on the clock. 3:00am. A chill squeezed down my spine when I reached for the receiver.  Calls past the witching hour always brought darkness. Accidents, sickness…grief, desperation..


            “It’s me.”

            His familiar voice ripped through my haze and left a bloody path of memories in its wake.  Oh, God, it was happening again. He was happening again.  My body tensed as if to ward off a blow.  I fought for breath and let out a squeak of my former voice. “Why are you calling?”

            “I missed you.  It’s been a long time.”

            Five months.  Two weeks.  Nine days.  Endless hours.  But I was different now.  I’d learned about myself and what I really wanted, needed from a man.  How many times had I shut the door on him and his empty promises?  Tonight, I needed to turn the lock and stand firm.  The final test had arrived.

            “I don’t want you to call me anymore.”

            His tone deepened to a dark, heavy pitch.  Steel sheathed in velvet that always wrapped me in a cocoon of warmth.  “God, I’ve thought about you.  Tried to get you out of my mind and go on with my life.  I know I promised not to call, but I needed to hear the sound of your voice.”

            “I’m sure there are plenty of other women who are dying to hear from you, even at this time of night.”  Bitterness leaked through, even though I strived for cold and breezy. How long had I convinced myself I could share him?  After all, he always came back.  We were soul-mates, or so he told me. There was no other explanation for the sweet hum in my bloodstream when he spoke, or the memories that struck hard and deep in the night.

            “I’ve never loved another woman.  Remember when I first told you how I felt?”

             A sticky Indian summer night.  Sneaking around the college campus and peeking into dorm rooms to catch an update of the Yankees play-off game.  His hands on my body as he stroked by back under my t-shirt and pushed me against the old oak tree.  Rough bark biting against soft cotton, his breath a warm rush over my lips as I heard dim shouts of “Go Yankees!” echoing in the distance.  Rain dribbled through the breaks in the leaves as the storm caught and held, soaking both of us. Piercing blue eyes held a mixture of experience, wisdom, and hidden pain as he looked into mine and said the words. I love you.  Funny, how every part of my life led up to that moment.  A turning point, a path less travelled.  I knew who he truly was and ignored the warning, believed I could change him like the long line of women before me.  But I gave the words back and he shouted his victory and swung me around.  My hair dripped in my face, my sneakers sloshed in the mud and I wondered if I’d ever be the same again. This man held a part of me – this lone self-described warrior who questioned the rules of society and dared to be different. I wanted to be his mate, the final one standing. I thought of marriage and happily-ever-after even as the other affairs continued; his pleading and begging for forgiveness and his warning that he’d always told me the truth. How could he be in the wrong when I’d known who he was?  How could I challenge his basic right to be his own man and use my grief as a weapon? He vowed to always come back.  And he had, but after so many times he’d come back to nothing but a shell of who I used to be – an insecure, scared little girl who couldn’t enjoy him because I always waited for the day he left.

            “I can’t go back anymore.”

            I was different now. The last time I walked into his art class, I waited for him to acknowledge my presence.  Our secret affair was always a double edged sword, especially around the other students. We played a game – he would catch my eye and nod, reassuring me I belong to him.  When he helped another student, he sensed my presence and always stopped to confirm my importance. That fateful day, his gaze had been riveted to the willowy blond as she splashed color on the canvas. Long elegant fingers wrapped around hers as he showed her how to hold the brush. He leaned close and whispered something in her ear, and her laughter danced in the air and shattered through me like a sunbeam on an icicle.

            And I knew. I knew I was trapped and would always be trapped.  I left then, ran away and refused to answer his calls.  I rebuilt my life on truth, stability, reality. 

            “I won’t ask you to go back,” he said.  I want us to go forward.  I’m ready for a commitment now.  I can’t sleep.  I spent New Year’s Eve alone this year, imagining you here with me.”

            Two years ago.  Frank Sinatra singing of blue umbrella skies as we slow danced in the candlelight, stopping to feast on a delicious array of cheeses, crisp crackers, tangy olives.  He made martinis and tipped the glass over my lips as icy vodka bubbled into my mouth and burned the throat. Then his lips followed, his tongue thrusting inside my mouth while he stripped me naked in the living room in the dark. 

            “Do you remember?” he urged.  “Do you remember my promise?”
            I will always come back to you.  Lying under a blanket on the carpet, limbs entwined, his words were more a punishment, a life sentence, than a lover’s promise. The reflection in the mirror was no longer me, already a shadow of the girl I believed I was, slipping away.

            Silence settled over the line until I forced the words out. “I have to go.”    

            “Not yet.” He talked then.  Instead of fighting, explaining, defending, he just talked.  Like I remembered so well – conversation stripped bare without niceties or hidden barriers. He wanted to change. He realized I was his true soul mate. He was no longer afraid of being with one woman. I was his future, his destiny, his true North.

            I listened for a long time, warm in my bed, safe in the dark. Listened as his voice wove a familiar spell of longing and completeness, and then he fell silent, waiting.

            My mind took up the old battle with my heart. I’d been strong these past months, living alone with the knowledge I would never be with him. Now, the faint hope arose, a tiny flicker as the past pulled at me like the heady scent of cognac to an alcoholic.  He never promised me faithfulness before; had never ventured into the idea of marriage or forever. How sweet it was to be in love!  How dull and gray and sobering the world was after heartbreak – like a long lonely road of nothingness, stretched ahead, with just the mantra of pride and strength pushing me forward.  I wanted to be strong for me, for my family, for my therapist. I wanted to pass this test but God, how long had it been since my body was pleasured by his lips, my mind drunk on his conversation, my life full again?  The anticipation of every minute, every phone call, until the world faded away under the stinging blue of his eyes. 

            The day we met replayed in slow motion in my mind.  The young girl I had been, seeking out an art class with the dream of setting the world afire. Twenty years my senior. Long dark hair touched his shoulders to mimic a modern day pirate.  Stinging blue eyes full of secrets and knowledge turned to mine as he said my name, and I knew. I knew he was the one, despite my snobbery at romance novels and love at first glance across a crowded room.  It was so much more than that – the feeling that another part of you had finally been found, my breath fuller, my vision more clarified and sharp, as a vampire might look back at her human life which had been fuzzy, my life shifted to Technicolor and I never wanted to go back. 

            He took a long time to approach me on a personal level. I stalked him with my youthful exuberance and passion. His fingers lingered over mine when he corrected my brush stroke. He sought me out after class with endless excuses, and we spoke of art and passion and dreams. He kissed me in the middle of the  work room. The scents of paint and cleaner and his musky smell filled the air. His lips gently took mine, but tenderness turned bold and he took me there on the floor – surrounded by white canvas and spilled paint and bright sun. He penetrated my body with bruising force, and I took every thrust and shuddered against him, complete. Drunk, alive, I moved into my second life.  He became my friend, my mentor, my confidante, and finally, my lover. 

            He became everything that kept me from a real life.

            I broke.  My whisper tore out of my mouth. “Please, don’t.”

            He knew.  Pride long gone, I waited and prayed for him to let me go. Wanted to crawl back under the rose colored comforter, sad but safe.  I begged God to spare me this one last time, wrangling mental bargains as I waited for my lover’s answer – closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, angry for giving him so much control.

            “I need you.” He paused. “Let me come up.”

            The words fell hard around me, then shattered into silence.  I took a ragged breath and for once, clearly saw the road in front of me.  How many times had I excused my behavior on reckless passion, or alcohol, or rash impulsiveness?  Tonight, I was stone cold sober.  If he came up, the cycle would start again.  He would ruin me, cut me into pieces, and leave me crawling for the door.  I’d feel alive again – food salty and sweet against my tongue, colors bright and vivid attacking my vision. But the payoff would be deadly.

            My mind whirled. Two paths flashed before me; beckoning, tempting.  I knew all of this and made my decision.

            “Come up.”

            I replaced the receiver and went out to meet him.

❤️ Leave a comment → 


  1. Paige Morgan says:

    Amazing! We have all been in that spot, maybe not to that severity, feelings for someone we knew would end in disatser. Maybe this is the beginning of a novel…

    I have written a short story that I have never shared. You have inspired me, I am going to set up a place for it on my blog and will post it.

    • jennifer121 says:

      HI Paige – I am so glad you dropped by and liked the story. You have an incredible writing talent – post it and let the world hear your voice. Hmmm, what an interesting idea you had…novel…I will think on this!

  2. That is an interesting story and I agree that this could be the send off for a novel. I really wanted her to tell him to get lost.

  3. Paige Morgan says:

    Jennifer – you inspired it and I have posted a short story: “Her Life” http://slightlyoffbalanceblog.com/short-stories/ Let me know what you think.

  4. Liz says:

    Hi Jen!

    Woooo….the readers anticipation of her decision throughout the story was done so well. LOVED the line – He became everything that kept me from real life – WOW.

    Thanks for sharing!

    • jennifer121 says:

      HI Liz, Thanks SO much, I am glad you enjoyed it. Am waiting on another story for LASR. I haven’t seen you in so long – are you coming to the November writer’s meeting?

  5. […] reading the short story of a Writing Mama, I decided to go out on a limb and post one of my short […]

  6. Liz says:

    I’ve been meeting to revise a short story for LASR as well – you know a woman’s world reject from ages and ages ago – lol

  7. Wendy Marcus says:

    Great story, Jen. I could really feel the woman’s inner turmoil. I wanted her to tell him to get lost too! But we don’t always do what we should.

  8. Great story. Yes, definitely send it to LASR. Or maybe TWRP. They have rosette things. I don’t know how short, but short.

    But yes, I’m with Janet and Wendy. It’s a booty call. “Get lost” is not exactly the two words to him that I have in mind!

  9. Wow!
    Is there a continuation of this somewhere? *sigh*

  10. Lauren Elizabeth says:

    He doesn’t deserve her! I would tell him to do more than just get lost if I was her!

    • Jennifer says:

      HI Lauren! I’m so glad you enjoyed the short story!! Thanks for commenting – sometimes a character needs to keep making mistakes until she knows she needs to move on. I wanted to show that struggle since we have all been there and it’s completely human!

  11. Jessica says:

    I loved it… I got all excited and then it was over 🙁 lol I understand where the other girls are saying its a “booty call” but I guess Im a hopeless romantic at heart. He might have changed and it could be something great. Even though they usually realize it when its too late and the girl moved on. I really hope this could turn into something that we can read because Im interested in their future. Pray and hope he’s learned his lesson. If it turns into a book, I’d read it. 😀

    • Jennifer says:

      SO happy you loved the story! In my mind, they’re meant to be together…so I hope it worked out for them too! Hmm, will have to think about extending it into a novel!!

  12. Jen says:

    Whew … I think I held my breath from start till finish. I so relate with her and have given in to the man I love over and over till we found our happiness together! I just completed the marriage series and I’m so in love with that whole family! I can’t wait for Juliette’s story!!

  13. Jennifer Kominczak says:

    Wow… I sooo want to know what happens next!!!! The romantic in me would like to see that he has changed and proves his love for her because it sounds like she is broken or almost there – and all by his doing. But who could resist the love of your life? Oh lordy – This needs to be a novel!!!
    Love all your books!

    Jennifer ;o)

  14. Pam S. says:

    Loved it! I’ve loved all of your books that I’ve read so far! They just pull me in and I feel like I just know the people in them!

  15. Twisa says:

    Love this. Could be the start of a novella…hopefully with the same guy .

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