text: I’m sat at the far end of a dirty bar, sipping from my pint glass trying to read the suds at the bottom like a fortune teller. I feel a pair of red hot eyes on me. I dare not look up from the glass in case it’s the heavy at the other end of the bar. Maybe he doesn’t like what he sees, maybe he fancies giving his wife a night off tonight and beating a stranger like a case of eggs instead, blow off a little steam. As it happens, it’s a beautiful red head sat alone at a floating table a few metres away. I succumb and look up and her eyes catch mine and pierce right through the iris, looking beyond and somewhere inside me. I’m drunk and my motor skills are fuzzy now, but I fumble for the stool next to me and usher for her to join me. As she walks over, her dress flows off her like cigarette smoke from a burning hot ember. “You look like you’ve had a bad day” she smirks as she sits beside me. She’s not wrong I guess, although I have a feeling she’s about to make this bad day worse in her own special way. “Starting to feel like a bad life, honey” “Tell me about it then, make me feel better about my own shitty life.” The left side of her mouth curls up as she speaks and then she takes a sip of her drink. Looks like whiskey, two rocks of ice and a dash of soda. “I don’t even know your name, maybe I don’t want to spill my guts to a stranger” “It’s Courtney” and she grabs the back of my head and pulls it towards hers, kissing me as my stool almost topples beneath me. “And now I’m no stranger, I’d say we’re quite intimate.” The back legs of my stool land with a shudder on the tiled floor. I sit there, quiet for a moment. “So?” she enquires between pursed lips as she goes to take another sip. I laugh lightly and turn back to the dregs of my drink and sigh into the stale beer. “Just an ex wife holding on to a couple of things.” “What sort of things?” “I suppose a few years back I was hiding a devil inside me that lay a firm hand on her from time to time. I’m not proud of it, hell I still beat myself up about it. I got sober for a bit, that helped. But she couldn’t let it go. Maybe she shouldn’t. I don’t know.” I drain the last drops from the glass and usher the bartender to pour me another. Courtney stops him before he reaches the tap. She looks at me for a moment, her eyes full with sympathy and something else - I can’t quite put my finger on it. ”You want to stay here?” She asks. It’s clear there is a right and a wrong answer. We climb the stairs in her apartment building, marble finished and wide enough to fit a family of four. She pulls her keys from her clutch bag and before she puts them in the door her palm is on the side of my face and she kisses me. This time it is soft and gentle and for a brief moment after she looks me dead in the eye and I feel a warmth I’ve not felt in years. It lasts only a few moments. “Have a seat.” She gestures to the black leather sofa in the middle of the apartment and I perch on the arm, cautious about getting too comfortable. Liaisons are precarious, I assume little. As she’s fixing us a drink, she calls from the kitchen. “Tell me about her. What was her name?” “You don’t even know my name.” I hark back. “I don’t think I want to know your name. It’s easier that way.” She’s now back in the room holding two short glasses of stiff whiskey. She hands me one. The glass is cold to touch but the drink burns and I grimace “So, tell me about her.” “Okay” I take another sip and feel each drop slide down my throat, already I feel the full weight of my eyelids as the alcohol enters my system. “We met when we were thirteen. She moved into the house next door. My mum used to make me walk her to school, I guess she didn’t like the idea of the poor girl next door not having any friends to play with while I rode my bicycle up and down the street with Eddie and the guys. Made her feel good about herself I guess. Anyway, as we got older we became close and eventually it just made sense. She was always nice, good to me, good to the kids. But I guess after twenty years, we just liked the idea more than we actually liked each other. We separated last year. Haven’t signed the papers yet, but that bitch wants everything. Doesn’t even want me to see the kids. Yeah I hit her, and I don’t know if she deserved it, but it was years ago and now she wants everything I’ve got.” The whiskey has hit me now. I can feel the blood flowing through my body, circulating the alcohol, carrying it straight to my head. My hands feel cold and my grip on the glass feels weaker. Courtney is watching me intently now. She notices every twitch and every bead of sweat. “...” I try to speak but a strained breath is all I can manage. The glass slips through my fingers and shatters on the hard wood floor at my feet. I slip backwards and my position on the arm of the chair is compromised as I topple to the floor. My legs are weak now and struggle to find a grip on the floor as they slip through the puddle of whiskey and shards of glass. Courtney stands above me showing no signs of concern. The corners of her mouth turn upwards as my body stops responding to the neurons firing at full capacity, desperately willing my my arms, legs, anything to just do something. All I can do now is look helplessly at the woman stood over my lifeless body. The walls and furniture are fuzzy now. My periphery begins to blur into shapes and colours and features are hard to pick out. Though my view is hazy, the fiery head of hair on my assailant cuts sharply through it all and as she stares into my eyes and past my iris in the same way she had done only a couple of hours earlier, I knew hers would be the last face I saw. Just as quickly as it had deteriorated, my vision clears and I can see things like crystal again. But what I see now confirms my fear. I look down on the red head and my helpless body lies at her feet. I watch as she reaches for a cushion from the sofa, plush and the colour of blood, and presses it down against my face, obstructing the air. I can see into my own eyes, I’m still alive, but there is no coming back. She pushes down harder. Courtney begins to speak but all I hear is a faint muffle as if she were in the adjacent apartment. I watch her mouth move and try to piece together the shapes with the rhythm I can just about make out. “Victoria says ‘hello’, she won’t be needing you to sign those papers after all.