Keep your eye on the sky

The drug has taken effect now and I think I see in your face that you suspect what is happening.
But it’s too late.
I help you off your stall and lead you out of the bar. The barman raises his eyebrows.
“Drank too much, too quickly”, I say. He offers to help but I say it’s OK, and he doesn’t push it. If it was the other way round, if you had succeeded in drugging me, would he have insisted on intervening?
I hope so, but can’t be sure.
After all, you’ve done it before.
“Keep your eye on the sky” i whisper in your ear as we stagger together into the parking lot. You do not know the significance.
You do not know that my sister had a poster on her bedroom wall of a wary duckling watching the sky as a bird of prey circled high above. “Be like her, Lisa,” my sister whispered to me, before she died. “Watch for predators”.
And I do.
I watch.
I watched you.
I watched you drug my drink.
I distracted you.
I switched our drinks.
You did not keep your eye on the sky.
You did not see the predator, circling above you.
There are no CCTV cameras in the parking lot. I knew you would have selected the bar carefully. I let you fall to the floor and search your pockets. Your phone is not password protected. I take the permanent marker pen out of my hand bag, and I tear your shirt open. I write “I drug women and rape them” on your chest, and using your phone I take photos and upload them to your profile on Facebook and all your other social media accounts.
I make sure I tag your wife, and your boss.
And then I leave.

The End of the Road Cafe

“We’re stopping, here,” Gemma said, pulling into the parking space, shutting off the engine.
Without looking at her passenger she knew Ian was pulling that face: the one he always made when confronted with something that didn’t fit into the narrow little box of his world. She knew he was staring up at the rustic handpainted cafe sign and the sculpture of a triumpant woman on the roof. To Gemma, there was something free about the sculpture. Something powerful in her stance.
She knew what Ian would say before he spoke.
“It’s… a bit artsy, isn’t it?” Ian drooled the world “Artsy”, and Gemma felt the irritation build inside her.
The road trip had not gone as planned. Far from pulling them together as a couple, it had exposed (at least to Gemma) the faults in their relationship.
Gemma realised she didn’t want to look at Ian, that if she looked one more time at his smug, self-righteous face she would have to admit that far from loving him, she did not even like him.
Gemma took a deep breath and turned to Ian.
“Stop complaining,” she said. “And get out of the car.”
He stared at her for a second before unclicking his seat belt and opening the door.
“Don’t forget your wallet,” Gemma said.
“But, it’s your turn to p-”
“Just take your wallet,” Gemma said.
Ian reached into the glove compartment and took his wallet out, stuffing it into his jeans pocket with a sniff.
As he slammed the door, Gemma wound down the passanger window, and started the car.
“I’ll send your stuff to your mother’s,” she said, before pressing down on the pedal and pulling off at speed.
In the rear view mirror she could see Ian emerging from a cloud of dust, looking as lost and hopeless as she knew him to be.

 

This story was inspired by a photo I saw on Tsu. You can see the photo, and my original post here