Flash Fiction February - Next Time Number 5
This flashfic is inspired by a prompt posted on 28th February 2022 by the Writer’s Digest to write “an ending that doesn’t end”. This story is just over 500 words. Enjoy!
I managed to kneel on the only part of the garden tile that was uneven, and even though my kneecap cried bloody murder and my thigh shook from the stabbing pain, I held the ring steady as I looked up at my girlfriend."Will you marry me?”
I tried to judge her face, to read those stormy eyes and petite nose and the star-struck flurry of freckles on each cheek that I always loved to try and wipe away, but the jabbing nobble on the tile ate away at my mind. And I itched to get up.
“Rachel? Honey?”
For the first time, I realised she was looking down at her phone. And my heart sank.
You know what this means.
Rachel pulled an apologetic face. “God, Jake, I’m sorry.” She put down her phone, set her hand over the ring box and started to pull me up by my wrist. “But I have to cut our date short again. Its work and its urgent.”
I put on my best smile and closed the ring box, quietly reeling it back into my chest, ready for the next opportunity to slide it into my pocket. “Its alright. I know how it-”
“It that a ring?” Rachel tilted her head, eyes wide. She started to reach for me, for the box, and then she looks up at me. “Wait, why were you on the floor?”
I laughed and gently took her grasping hands by the wrists, giving them back to her. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You need to get to work.”
She eyed me suspiciously but let me steer her towards the sliding glass doors, towards her stout-faced mansion.
As she was slipping on her boots, she turned to me and said, “We’ll talk about this when I get back.” She jabbed a stern finger at me. Her brows furrowed in mock determination.
If you come back.
Trying not to sigh, I said, “Of course, Rachel.”
The box was already tucked away in a kitchen drawer. But as I leaned in to kiss her forehead and stroke back the loose whisps of blonde hair crowning her head, I didn’t feel relieved. “But first, London city needs its Crimson Butterfly to come to its rescue.” I nudged her towards the door, in all her red-cloaked glory. “Go on. Get going.”
She reached up and cupped my cheek in one hand while kissing the other. “I can always trust you to be understanding,” she said with a dazzling smile.
My chest ached.
I watched her leave, shooting upwards with the blearing whir of metal cables and the flap-thunk of her heavy cloak. My weightless hands closed the door and slid the bolt into the lock.
Next time, Jakey, I thought as I picked up her discarded slippers.
But this was next time. This was next time number 5.
And as I stood in the hallway, wondering where to go for the rest of the evening, I thought maybe it was time for a never again.
28/02/2022
To Be Proofread . . .