Name: Lex
Title: Untitled Khari Short
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Notes: I wrote this in July 2005 as an exercise to get back into writing "Trenton Murder Mystery." It was actually inspired by the song "Mr. Brightside" by the Killers. The next chapter that I post of TMM will be the last I have already written. I plan to start writing again within the next few days and have a plan to post the first of the newly composed chapters by 12/11/06.
Untitled
It wasn't that he was stalking her. He'd never stalk her. He just sometimes drove by her apartment and it just happened to be mostly at night when he'd get a craving for some ice cream. Really, the easiest way to get to the Quick-e Mart on the corner near his apartment was to drive across town and circle around.
They'd only had one date...well, not a date. It was coffee. They'd had one coffee and then she'd freaked out because he'd carried a gun and walked out on the best thing he'd had since the bleached blond with the huge...brains. What was her name? Candie? Maybe she wanted to get together with him. They could go for dinner and then maybe drive by Her house where they'd sit and talk about how special She was and Candie would declare him the biggest waste of time she'd had in years. Even in his daydreams he was a loser.
He needed a hobby. Some minor distraction to help in the mourning process of the thing he'd lost that he'd never really had. How sad was this? He, a grown man, mourning the phantom of a relationship that wasn't. What would the psychologists call him? Crazy, yea, that's the word. Maybe if he drove by one more time it would get better? Maybe not.
In his dreams he would see her looking out of the window and realizing her mistake in leaving him. She'd wave him into the house and they'd collapse on the bed for mind-numbing, marathon, sex. They would both quit their jobs as a result of this lifealtering sex. Had he mentioned the sex? In reality, she would most likely be calling the police if she spotted him outside. No matter. He was a professional. He could pursue this guilty peeping passion without fear.
The bitch of it was that he rarely saw her on these late night excursions. Her windows did not sport the gauzy curtains of his dreams. They were thick and heavy. Brocade, maybe. What? He was no moron, he watched "Trading Spaces." He would imagine her moving around her apartment. He'd gotten the blueprints so knew the layout. Not that he was a perv. He didn't even do it himself. He got someone at the company to do it for him. Sometimes in his daydreams she'd be moving around. Making coffee and humming. Maybe wearing that white coat of hers and nothing else. Sometimes he would imagine her entertaining. Their friends, naturally. They were a very popular couple down at the country club. He laughed at himself. Most likely it would be workmates. He didn't know many couples. She would know quite a few. They would drink wine which he'd surreptitiously nurse - the body is a temple, you know - and she would flutter around like a social butterfly. She was good with people from what he knew of her...well, she'd been good with him.
He'd laugh a himself and put the car in gear. Dreams and just what they're meant to be...less than real. One day he'd stop doing this. Stop pulling up across from her apartment just waiting for a glimpse. Hoping that one day there would be a second chance. Life doesn't work that way. No one gets to play it again. Well, no one but Dr. Who...and wasn't one of those new episodes on tonight? Time for a trip to get ice cream.