20th Feb 2018,
Star Gardens Estate
Damn! I usually hate how I always forget to lock my own doors. Living at the ground floor always sucks. The network is usually pathetic. I hate the bloody neighbors. The bloody kids who shriek and scream at the yell of their voices while they play. The bloody kids who call me uncle just to finesse me out of my playstation games. And I have to play cat and mouse games to have the games returned.
I seldom interact. I rarely attend the residents meetings within the apartment. I enjoy my own company. I love being alone. I’m never in healthy relationships. I’m a damaged soul. I love dark and shady dingy places. Well I hear them call me, “that freaky guy”. But my door has always welcomed all manner of women and bottles. From hookers, to virgins, to no stringies, to whiskeys and vodkas. Damn. They make me puke.
I’m trying to call Cindy. She a fine lady. Reason to why these women from the apartment really hate me. Well I just don’t have time for them. Sorry sweethearts away games have much more vital points. Plus I wouldn’t want to end up in some house with a knife sticking out of my ribs. Too many cases of domestic violence. Cindy is the whole package. She half a Mozambique and Tanzania. What are they even called anyway. But she never comes through.
I’m in Vescon. In some nice bar, which has nice waitresses. So my pal decides we should go watch Manchester United versus Chelsea. Ain’t no football fan. But heck I went because it was a new joint and of course I’d see women just to pull my mind out of Cindy. Gaddamn woman always stood me up.
Phone rings. Fuck. It’s that goddamned Cindy lady. I didn’t want to pick up the phone. Shit I picked instead of disconnecting.
Cindy: Sorry. I couldn’t pick your calls.
(In my Head: Yeah, Yeah, Perhaps you were busy blowing someone else off)
Cindy: You still mad at me?
Me: Yeah, will talk later. I need to focus on the game.
Cindy: I have a show in that club your in.
Me: You a stripper?
Cindy: Fuck off. Its a decor I’m doing for a birthday party which will be held later.
I supported Chelsea. We lost. My bet goes down the drain. Manchester fans are busy celebrating. I’ll drink more whiskey. The outcome was bound to be the same. Either win or lose. My pal has a way of finessing these fine women. Heck, I don’t know how he manages to make them sway to his side.
Across the table sits a guy of old age. He’s holding onto his gadgets. He is surrounded by beautiful women. I could tell the women were way younger than I. Probably 19 – 20 years of age. Their giggles, energy, vigor, code of dressing could give away their aura. Mr. Old guy is busy throwing drinks to every one.
Old guy: You look abit reserved son.
Me: Not really, my team lost.
Old guy: Too bad, a beer would do good?
Me: Nah, Only Whiskey. Care for a joint of sudden death? ( I fish out a cigarette and take a long drag)
Old guy: I’m past that age. I came only to revisit my past life. Since I only have little time left.
Me: You dying of a terminal illness?
Old guy: Let’s have a toast to more life.
The club is full of young women. I never say goodbye while leaving. I learnt that from my Irish friend. I fish out another cigarette and light it up. I head towards the exit.
Across the road, there was another club full of life. Well I just wanted a different environment. Maybe I’ll just pop in to see how it looks like then I head home.
The place is full. I manage to find a table somehow. I order a bottle of Passport Scotch Whiskey. I convince myself I’m not drunk (chuckles),(only if I could add an emoji).
I scan the place around. I see ladies gyrating their bottoms with energy. Though their boyfriends are just into one dance. Odi dance. Some are drunk. Some dance alot. Though I figured one sane person.
She looked gorgeous. She had dark lips. I could tell she wasn’t a seasoned smoker, from the way she smoked. From the way she handled her liquor, one would know she is not an amateur. She donned in a nice black mini dress which slightly exposed her nice thighs. A fallen angel perhaps? She flirted alot. Giving mixxed signals. But I wasn’t interested that much.
Outside of the club the night nurses were in their business. Damn! Hadn’t been laid for quite a while. Well most of my fixtures never come through. Hiring an escort did feel weird to me.
Her: Hi, I’m Elpina. I noticed you noticing me. (She streetches her hands)
Me: Hi, Elpy. I’m Jack. The freaky guy.
Elpy: Mind if I join you?
Me: No Worries.
Elpy: Never seen someone who is so adamant on doing his whiskey alone.
Me: I prefer it that way.
Elpy: Really? Or is it that you too damaged to let someone in. And the voices in your head can’t tell you to stop.
Me: Perhaps. All I know is that I’m never in healthy relationships. Sleep is for the weak. Being normal and okay is just not my thing.
Elpy: You an engineer or a tech guy?
Me: None. Tonight I don’t want to speak of my career.
Elpy: A toast then. (She removes her bottle of vodka).
Me: Toast to differences.
Elpy: Toast to unhealthy relationships.
Me: Toast to pitty shags.
Elpy: Toast to Dangerous nights and waking up in different towns.
2340hrs – Homebound.
Our bottles are almost done. My packet of cigarette is almost done. It’s time to go home. I check out my phone. 16 missed calls from Cindy. I’ll call her tomorrow morning. She’s used to standing me up. Tonight I won’t waste it.
I say bye to Elpina and proceed towards the exit.
Elpy: Can I give you a ride home?
Me: Sure, so long as I don’t end up in a ditch.
Upon the parking lot. Well chwee chwee goes the alarm. It’s a two doored Landrover Defender, complete with bucket racing seats. I’m much more fascinated with cars and machinery.
She reverses out of the parking lot like a rally driver. A daring one she is. All I need is to get home. She drives like a maniac. Twice I had to step on immaginery brakes. In less than twenty minutes we arrive at my apartment. I hold my cool. We tip the watchman so that Elpy won’t find her car devoid of side mirrors by the time its morning. It’s a profitable business.
0040hrs – Garden Estate.
Elpina is totally drunk. The vodka is taking an effect on her. She has been constantly on her phone talking to someone. I honestly didn’t want to engage myself in boyfriend drama.
Elpy: Sorry, Boyfriend drama.
Me: Wouldn’t want to be part of it either.
Elpy: God, you just look like him. I hate how you guys resemble.
Me: Look like who?, I think you’ve had one too many.
Elpy: You look like him, the guy I screw over but doesn’t want me. Yet my fiancée loves me and I don’t feel him.
Me: That sucks. The people we want are usually never there for us. And the people we claim to have, well we never have time for them.
She gets up from the couch, and unhooks her bra, throws it carelessly. She walks a few steps and picks her handbag. She removes something from her handbag.
(Pointing her gun at me)
Elpy: Why don’t we be lonely together? Why don’t we always get what we always want? Why is it so hard to forget him? Why do I have to find some one who resembles him
(Baaam! Baaam! Baaam) Goes the gun. An eerie silence falls between us. It was a Beretta with a silencer.
For a moment I’m stunned. Then it hits me, I can feel the warm blood ooze out of my body, from my stomach, chest. I can feel blood from my own mouth. I choke on my own blood. Why, why did this have to happen? For a moment I felt at peace. I didn’t scream. A pleasant smile played across my lips.
Elpy: Sorry love. I can’t have my past hang around me. Meet You on the other side.
Just like that, she fishes out a cigarette and lights it up, and places it on my bloodstained lips.