Hello all!

This weeks blog is a short story that I submitted for an assignment back in November. It was inspired by author Raymond Carver. I thought I’d share it with you all (now it’s been graded to say; it’s not complete and utter rubbish!). I haven’t had chance to do my professor’s suggested edits, so this isn’t as good as it can be, but I hope you enjoy it anyways (I’ll make sure to do them if I ever enter it in to a writing competition).

BUT before I go on with the story I just want to say I hope you all have a Very Merry Christmas on Wednesday, and have a lovely week ahead x

This photo was taken last week at the Portishead Marina at a food festival where Mum kindly bought us both a mulled cider with a shot of rum… it was DELSIH!

Tell me what happened

December 20th 2017: the day I fell in love with Stephany Emma Miller. Last Friday marked the three hundred and sixtieth day I had known and loved her.

     Stephany Emma Miller was the most beautiful girl you could ever lay eyes on. She had luscious brown hair, a smile I still daydream about all day long, and the most adorable laugh. I am the luckiest man alive to have had her in my life.   

     On that Friday, it was almost a special anniversary. Almost a year since I decided Stephany Emma Miller was the girl for me. I thought to myself, she deserves a gift. I wanted it to be perfect, like her. I wanted it to be special. I wanted her to love it. It had to be something to impress her. I wanted to buy her the perfect gift so she’d know I really care. Then I could give her the look of: See I make good boyfriend material, right?  

     I couldn’t see Stephany Emma Miller on Friday until she finished work. She worked at a garden centre. We used to work there together.  

* 

“I’ve got on the record here that you got asked to leave your job,” one of the faces interjected across from me.   

“It was mutually agreed,” I said, as I held my empty cup of water to stop my hands from shaking.

*  

I knew she got off at seven on that Friday evening and then would be meeting Jenny for ‘Friday night girl’s night’ so I figured I’d see her when she got back to our home (technically it’s her home as she’s the one who pays the rent, but I go there enough to make it ours).  

*

“It’s not your home though, is it?” the face sat across from me said.   

“No” I agreed “She pays the rent”  

He looked to the other face sat across from me and they shared an eyebrow raise that I could see in the mirror behind them. I could tell that what I said is not what they meant.   

“Please continue, Mr Carrion”   

*

While I waited for Stephany Emma Miller to get back (after giving up on the gift hunting), I cooked myself dinner at ours, well hers. I waited on the sofa for her and wrapped myself in her scent that clung to the navy blanket, dotted with little white Christmas trees, she had left out. From there I watched the sunset from her window. Her three days behind advent calendar sat behind me, I figured she wouldn’t mind if I ate day thirteen. As it got late, I occupied myself by looking at her photo albums, I hadn’t seen one of them before. I saw a nude photo of her and her ex-boyfriend wearing Santa hats. I improved it by folding him out of it, and tried to put the image of her with another man out of my head.  

     She eventually got in at 01:16 AM. I could tell she was drunk. She clattered through the door, making two delayed thudding noises which sounded like they could be her heels being tossed off as quickly as possible. She walked right past the lounge, where I was sat waiting to be a loving boyfriend to her. She went to the kitchen where I heard the tap run for a brief moment, and then silence for a few seconds, before a glass was slammed on the counter tops. I then heard her go into the bedroom and shut the door behind her.   

“Goodnight to you too” I muttered to myself.   

     Five or so minutes later I wandered in quietly knowing she will be fast asleep. It was nights like Friday that she could dose off quicker than blowing a candle out, and sleep like a log all night long. She hadn’t even made it under the covers or put her pyjamas on.  

At least this time, she wiped her make up off, I thought.   

     I found her red pyjama set, that included a tight vest top and shorts, and changed her into them. I tucked her under the duvet and climbed into bed next to her. Despite the alcohol lingering on her she still smelt good. She smelt like her: My sweet Stephany Emma Miller.

     I watched her gentle breathing like I did most nights but Friday night I found it especially calming that it put me to sleep instantly.   

*

I paused. I looked at the disturbed faces across from me.   

“Mr Carrion, please continue” one of the faces said.  

I nodded, but failed to find my words.   

“- Mr Carrion, I need you tell me what happened next”  

*

I woke up to an elbow being jabbed in my ribs. I sat up slowly and looked at Stephany Emma Miller who still looked so peaceful in her sleep. I checked the time. Stephany’s alarm was about to go off. It did a second after I slowly and carefully climbed out of her bed.   

     Stephany screamed. 

     She pulled the duvet closely around her like a protective shield. She moved further and further away from me.   

“I’m sorry. Do you not remember last night? I guess not, you were pretty drunk-”  

She looked at me dumbfounded; she was still pulling the duvet around her. I felt a pain in my chest.  

“- I was waiting for the last bus home when you walked past me, you said hello and we had a chat. When my bus said it was cancelled you said I could stay over at yours. I said no at first and said I’d just walk you home, but you insisted”  

Stephany looked slightly less dumbfounded.  I could see that she was thinking it over in her head, deciding that it was a plausible claim that I could have walked her home.   

“I should go” I said “I’ll leave you my number and maybe we could go on that date I asked you out on three hundred and-” I corrected myself “-almost a year ago.”   

“umm – okay?” Stephany Emma Miller croaked.   

*

I looked back to the faces watching me. They were looking at me for more: I didn’t really know any more.   

“What happened next” the other face said,   

“I left” I said truthfully.   

“What happened to Miss Miller?” His hands stupidly pushed the photo of Stephany Emma Miller on the table towards me as if I might’ve forgotten who she was.   

“I don’t know. I left.”   

“Had you seen her again since?” the first face asked, 

“No” I lied.