Skip to content

Something you wore today

3 May, 2012

Today’s May fiction challenge entry. I admit I am short of time today so i have posted an edited highlight of something I wrote a while ago. Sorry.

Lucy takes a deep breath and, running her hand lightly over the contours of James’ ribs, she looks silently at his face as he sleeps. Slowly, she lifts a foot, and lightly caresses it against his. His breathing stops briefly, her foot pauses. His breathing returns, and he turns onto his side, his back to her. For a few seconds, she snuggles against him, her arm around his waist, his pronounced ab muscles, she feels the warmth of his body against hers. She kisses his shoulder, strokes his hair lightly and climbs out of bed. As she makes her way to the door, she collects the clothes passionately scattered across the floor, and carries them to the bathroom. She shuts the door silently, and switches on the light. The clothes are placed carefully on the floor as she pours a glass of water, and takes a couple of light sips. She is still unused to the feeling of weight on her finger, and the ring taps against the glass.

Less than a month ago she had accepted his proposal, had agreed that she would be faithful to him for the rest of her life, and for the first time in her life she had been completely happy. For the first time, she had known she had made the right decision. As her Dad said, when you know, you’ll know. Lucy knew. She Knew. But barely two weeks later, there had been Cameron, an old flame, the One Who Got Away. A random meeting in the bar at the gym after her pilates and his football. There was an exchange of news and gossip, a connection, another drink, a walk to the car, a kiss, a lift, a coffee, a couch, a condom.

Taking a towel from the rack, she drapes it over the side of the bath as a barrier against the chill of the porcelain, and she sits uncomfortably. She takes another sip and picks up the pile of clothes, separating them, dropping her own into the wicker basket in the corner, and folding his in a neat pile. As she picks up the FCUK t-shirt, she grips it tightly, and holds it to her chest, closing her eyes and feeling the light cotton against her bare skin. She lifts it to her face and breathes deeply, and as she inhales James far into her lungs, she begins, silently, to cry.

Leave a Comment

Speak Your Brains!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Not Your Average Mom Blog

I am not just a mom, I am a writer too.

The Mum Poet

My head is a suitcase full of unorganised treasures waiting to be formed into narrative.

J. E. Kennedy

Fantastical Fiction


❤️ welcome to my secret blog ❤️

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.

Neil MacDonald Author

A writer's journey

ART So Provident

Art that provokes

fabricating fiction

Louise Jensen - Writer -

Claire Fuller

Writing and art


from a Southampton Old Lady

This, that and the other thing

Looking at life through writing and photography

Silverstein Potter

and other fictitious ramblings: A blog by J. W. Nicholson


Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!


Looking at Infinity

Pen 'n' Tonic

Simply writing when inspiration strikes.


An eccentric blogger with a pen and a thousand ideas

%d bloggers like this: