murder by magnum

You’re standing in front of her apartment, waiting for an Uber that will never come.

It’s not coming because you did not order it. You did not order because in the time it would have taken for you to be assigned a driver, something else would have happened. And honestly, you did not want to linger in her apartment a second longer than necessary.

Luckily for you, at that point your phone had vibrated. So you had picked up whatever was left of your dignity, thrown on your clothes and raced out of there, claiming your ride had almost arrived. So you raced out of the apartment, moving with the same speed but a different urgency than the one you came in with.

And now, standing in front of her apartment, you wonder if it was worth it.

No, you actually do not wonder. You know the answer; of course it isn’t. It wasn’t. That was not the idea when you left the office three hours earlier, ‘to get a drink’. No one can blame you for that; it was getting increasingly difficult to go to a house that was losing its warmth faster than a room with the door open during the rainy season. So you tagged along. Just a couple of drinks.

And the more you drank, the easier it was to stare at her boobs, offered so generously from the fitted blouse she was wearing. It was pretty obvious to everyone in the office that she’d set her cap for you – but it didn’t matter to you. You knew better. Or so you told yourself and anyone who cared to listen.

But with the increase of the bottles on the table came a decrease in your caution and common sense. You were awed that she was able to keep up with you bottle for bottle. Naturally, ‘awe’ became something else, something primal – and you were slobbering over her chest not too long after your eighth bottle. Of course, you had to play gentleman and make sure the ride taking her home took her home.

Then it was the most natural thing for her to invite you in…and down. And up. And down again…

It was the drink – you stopped. You hadn’t sunk so far that you won’t take responsibility for your slipup. It had nothing to do with the drink. It was you. ALL YOU. Sure, she helped you along the way…but still…..

Your frantic eyes try to pierce the street corner, searching for a kiosk from where you can buy Tom-Tom or Baba Blue or one of those mints to freshen your breath. You scrub frantically at your lips, trying to erase her lipstick. Stinging pain from your lip and a bright red spot on your handkerchief is indication that you may have been trying to scrub off more than that.

For an idle moment, you wonder how you fell this far. Six years of celibacy – eight years of sleeping with the same woman. Gone down the drain in one moment of indiscretion. A moment of thoughtlessness. Sure, things were not the same way back then – but you are supposed to fight. Make an effort. Preserve the things that matter.

Are you not?

You realize you’re still standing in front of the apartment you hurried from minutes ago, looking right and left like a haunted man. You should be going home, you think – except you really don’t know where that is anymore.

Go home to what – TO WHO?

You cannot stay where you are – you know that much. So you start to move your tired feet, knowing fully well whatever is supposed to be waiting at home for you is dead.

Murdered by Magnum.