© April 2015, Jo Simmonds
No-one is in the lift today. No-one is dead. A used condom and a wet plastic carrier bag lie next to each other at the bottom of the stairs. The doors close.
“What do ya think ya doin’?”
“Where ya goin’?”
“Me Nan’s flat.”
I put the four bags of shopping down by the lift. Whack the button. Nothing happens.
“You’d rather be with ya Nan than me?”
“What did I do, babes? Tell me what I did wrong, yeah? We can sort it.”
“Just eff off.”
“Don’t talk to me like that … Sasha!”
He pushes me against the lift. I knew it were a mistake coming inside without witnesses.
“Ya think ya can just walk away from me? You’re so fucking wrong ya cunt. I’ll tell everyone ya little secret. Ya won’t get anyone else.”
I stay quiet.
“Ya so lucky I’m fucking ya. Ya need your head seeing to, ya know that?”
If I move. If I talk. He’ll fight me. I have to allow him his anger. I nod.
Yes. I’m very lucky Matt. So lucky.
I cry. His mood changes.
“How did it go yesterday at the hospital?”
I wipe my eyes. Matt unwraps an ‘Everyday Value’ bog roll off the top of me shopping bag and gives it to me.
“Alright. The hormones are kicking in like crazy.”
“I so wanna shag ya. Ya doin’ great, girl.”
Yeah. Really great. I force a smile.
“Hmm. Looks like Sash is here to stay. No more Ash.”
“Look, ya wanna grab a bite to eat? Put all this in ya Nan’s kitchen then go Maccy D’s?”
I’m still wiping my eyes. Today has been another whirlwind. Just like a proper girl.
“Nah Matt. I wanna see me Nan. She’s still got the lurgy.”
He kisses me full on and his tongue piercing clanks against me teeth.
“I’ll text ya.”
He finally leaves and I wait for a few minutes just to make sure.
I pick up the shopping and make my way up to my secret flat for the final time.
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Jo Simmonds has flash fiction published in The Next Review and 101 Words. She is autistic but can’t play piano.
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