Day 306 – 50 Shades of Shit

I’m getting a bit sick of writing parts of stories lately. So I thought I’d write a multi-million pound piece of trash.

Word count: 798

A letter by the front door. Ella gasped. Could it be? Could it really be? Oh my, she said. Oh gosh.
Six long months of waiting, staring, of idle flirtations, of desperate glances, short dresses and tight tops; perhaps the day had finally come? It would be all too perfect. The first day of summer: the still-fresh petals of spring’s blossom basking in the sunshine. Ella had been beyond waiting. Her every day surrounded him; her every thought was of him; every dream encompassed her desires for him and every morning she would be determined for him.

Ella was a nobody in Ted’s company. Ella was just the office worker bee. She did her job, went home and sat back and watched television. She was young; fresh out of university. She had only just moved out of her parents’ house. She knew nothing of the outside world. It scared her. All those raucous parties; those alcoholic drinks and loud music in clubs: it all scared her senseless. She wanted to be protected. Ted was just the man to do it

Ted changed home offices about seven months ago. Originally hailing from New York, he decided that London might better suit him. He wore smart suits and had dazzling eyes to match. Their intense stare besieged any girl’s they met. Ella was suckered the first time she saw him. Her heart fluttered like a butterfly when he had walked into the office the first time. She thought she spied him looking her that time, but there was nothing for weeks after that. For all that time she felt such a worthless caterpillar. But soon, perhaps now, he would turn her into a magnificent, beautiful butterfly.
She lied awake most nights thinking of him. She was a virgin. She imagined what it would be like to be with him. Her skin on hers; his lips everywhere on her body. It would be magical, however it was. Sometimes her nightly musings would slip into her dreams and she would tingle for hours in the morning after. The chance to be with him, the chance to kiss him, to have that glowing smile in the morning after. The morning after: oh how she dreamed about the morning after. She would find herself drifting off at working yearning for the morning after. It was love. This was love. For the girl who had never been kissed, never been touched, never been flirted with or asked out on a date; this was love. This was what life was worth living for.
Love, oh how she had wondered what it felt like. Tingling in her insides. Sparks of electricity. She swore she was connected to a two hundred vault supply when she was near him. The world sunk beneath her feet – was she Wendy from Peter Pan?
Oh gosh, she reappeared in the present world. The letter at the front door still there, still unopened. What form of love letter might it be? She looked to the end of the road to catch him spying on her from a nearby car, behind a bush or simply appearing out of thin air like Harry Potter out from an invisibility cloak. Alas, no, that was not to be.
The evening air chilled her, despite the warmth. Perhaps she was excited. Her nipples shrunk, she could feel them do so. She probably should have been wearing a bra. But if he was here, it would be easier this way, right?
Oh my, Ted, I love you, she practiced whispering under her breath. Could it be a ring in there? Could it be a declaration of love? Anything was possible. All the waiting was worthwhile. All those secret little love letters she had written to him anonymously. He finally was admitting the truth: that they were soulmates, inseparable.
She picked up the letter daintily; she was the vulnerable little girl she should be. The writing on the letter was – it made her heart melt. She unfolded the envelope, wanting to savour every second of this salacious moment.
She opened it.
Her heart stopped.
Life stopped.
The world stopped.
Time stopped.
Nothing mattered any more.
Darkness could have fallen, she would not have noticed. The sun would have exploded, she would not have cared.
Inside the letter there was something brown. Something wet and brown; smelly and brown. She almost wet herself. Stuck into the brown substance was a little folded note. She withdrew it from the envelope. It was smeared with brown at the bottom. She read it.
Time stopped further, if it were possible.
Stay the fuck away from me and my family and stop sending those fucking creepy love notes. You’re a psycho. You go near me again, I will call the fucking police you weirdo. – Ted.

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~ by S.G. Mark on August 8, 2012.

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