Peter Sandling

Hot Water

 

I thought I’d lost her at one point through the market but spot her entering the local tube station. I run across the road. I know the trains go north and south so she only has two ways to escape. As I reach the middle of the stairs I see her. The woman who has destroyed my life. I instinctively move my right hand to touch the scald scar on my left cheek. Being drawn in completely by her beauty had negated any caution in me with only regret and anger left to fester. This trauma and evil needs to be exorcised. She needs to be punished.

I see her brush her long auburn hair back with her hand in a casual playful manner. I try unsuccessfully to blot out the vision of her naked, tanned, slim figure sitting astride my body making me shudder with pleasure. Her cries and gasps of breath as she called out my name in passion still causes lines of perspiration to trickle inside my shirt collar.

What a fool I’ve been. Manipulated and stripped of everything. It had all been deliberate, pre-planned, cynical. Not only had she taken what was mine but unbeknown to me my sister’s inheritance, using her as she had me. How many others had fallen foul of this degenerate. To think I loved her so much. When I angrily confronted her she responded by throwing boiling water in my face.

The tube station is full. I slowly work my way towards her. She stands in front of me, her toes protruding over the yellow safety line. I can do this. I have no thought of the future, my life is over. I look at the nape of her slender neck and see the small rose tattoo. One little push and the wait will be over. The train is entering the station, it’s now or never. If I lose her on the train or in the crowd I may never fulfil my revenge. I move my shaking hands instinctively towards the middle of her back. I see the driver at the front of the train as it rushes towards us. Suddenly she turns and I look into those beautiful brown eyes.

“Hello Lewis, not today,” she says and moves past me. I think about following her but the knife she’s pushed into my stomach causes me to collapse to the floor. I watch her moving through the crowd and hear somebody scream as my vision darkens.

 

About the Author

Peter is a short story writer and a poet who runs one of the writing groups on Canvey Island and is an active member of another. He likes to try out different styles and recently has been experimenting with different voices.

Published 17 August 2016