• The Victory Lap

    by  • September 27, 2012 • Short Fiction • 0 Comments

    Vicki could hear the young boy’s laughter through the door and hoped he wouldn’t walk in. Drifting off back to sleep, she wondered if things could get any more awkward.

    A thud startled her back awake. It sounded like a door slamming and the apartment was now quiet. She listened for a moment and then checked her phone. It had been nearly an hour since she’d heard the doorbell rang and run back into the bedroom to hide. Nearly an hour. How had she slept through all that?

    Credit: 3 0 d a g a r m e d a n a l h u s

    There was a message from Ben. Vicki opened it:

    We’ve gone for breakfast. Please make sure to lock the door on your way out.

    Reading it over a couple times, Vicki thought about how the words might seem curt and rude out of context. But it was a text message. How else could he have put it?

    Vicki sat up in the mess of sheets and felt the mercury swirl around the wall of her skull and settle into her brain stem. She winced. Her mouth was dry and her breath tasted like last night’s shooters. She braced her hands against the mattress and hoisted herself up onto her feet. The mercury shifted and settled again. Vicki sighed.

    She listened by the bedroom door and gently opened it. The apartment was empty and the coast was clear. She walked to the kitchen. Dirty glasses and empty beer cans littered the counter. She found a coffee mug in the cupboard and poured herself a glass of water.

    Back in the bedroom, she looked for her earrings and a sock that was still missing. She’d been trying to track it down when the doorbell had rung. Still no luck. She shrugged. At least the earrings would be an excuse to see him again, she thought.

    *****

    The sun outside was bright and warm, and the mercury in her head began to expand. There was a depp around the corner and Vicki bought a bottle of water before starting her walk home. It was just after ten and she wondered if Farah was up. She wanted coffee and breakfast. She wanted to brag, so she dialed Farah’s number.

    Credit: Steve Bissonnette

    “Hello?” her friend croaked on the other end.

    “Sorry, did I wake you?” Vicki asked.

    “It’s only ten o’eight,” Farah said. “You know you did.”

    “I just wanted to see if you still wanted to do breakfast,” Vicki explained.

    “You just wanna gloat,” Farah teased.

    “What’s wrong with that?” Vicki asked.

    “Well, at least one of us getting some,” Farah repined. “Yeah, sure, let’s meet for breakfast. I’ll need half an hour to get ready,” she said.

    “That’s cool, it’ll take me at least that long to get there. I just left Ben’s place.”

    “Walk of shame!” Farah exclaimed.

    “Whatever…” Vicki retorted. “He’s cute and he isn’t a total stranger, so what’s to be ashamed of?” she rebutted.

    “Yeah, you’re right,” Farah conceded. “If I was single, I would’ve hit it. So how was it?”

    “A little drunk and sloppy,” Vicki admitted, “and this morning, really awkward.”

    “What do you mean?” Farah asked.

    “Ugh,” she sighed, “his kid got dropped off early, and I was still looking for my clothes when the doorbell rang. I had to hide in his room until they left.”

    “Oh my gawd!” Farah laughed.

    “Yeah, even after they left, I still couldn’t find my earrings.”

    “Whatever, gives you an excuse to see him again – if you want to, that is. Do you want to?” she asked.

    “Yeah, I dunno… I think so… I’ll have to see… Do you think he’ll call?”

    “I don’t know,” Farah said. “Probably. Ben’s not a douche. I’m known him a long time. He’s an all right guy.”

    “Well, if I don’t see him again, I’m tasking you with getting my earrings back,” Vicki said.

    “Yeah, that’s cool,” Farah agreed. “Okay, so let me get ready and I’ll meet you at the café in half an hour?”

    “Sounds good,” Vicki said. “See you soon!”

    “Later,” Farah said, and the line went dead.

    Vicki passed a café and went in. She ordered a double latte and went to the end of the counter to wait for it. The barista was a few years younger than her and not her type, but he was cute. He had a sleeve on one arm and stretched ear lobes. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

    Credit: avlxyz

    “Rough night?” he asked.

    “Something like that,” she smiled.

    “So what happened? You fall down the stairs or something?” he asked.

    “What do you mean?” she asked.

    He gestured toward her collarbone. Vicki hesitated. She looked around for a mirror. There was a hickey on her neck and a bruise on her shoulder. They were both large and colorful. She gasped, thought about it and then smiled at the barista again. “Yeah, rough night,” she shrugged.

    “Well, here you go,” he smiled, sliding her latte across the counter.

    “Thanks,” she said.

    There was another mirror over the creamer station and Vicki took another moment to examine her battle scars. They were large and conspicuous, but they looked good on her. Farah was going to tease her about them all through breakfast, and she’d probably have to cancel dinner with her parents tonight, but she was proud of them. She’d earned them. They’d been worth it. Nothing to be ashamed of.

    About

    Kris Romaniuk is a writer and novelist based in Montreal. He is the author of the satirical travel memoir, Rum Socialism and a collection of short stories called Portraits. He is currently working on a serial novella that he's publishing here on this blog. You can find out a bit more more about Kris here.

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