I’m late! I’m late! I’m sorry guys, there was a bit of an issue with my usual editing process and I couldn’t get this out on my usual Saturday.
I hope you forgive me :(.
But, to make up for it, I have a massive treat for you. A story that took many hours to craft and refine, and is so big that it will take three parts to tell it.
It’s the story of a woman and a not so ordinary dating app.
I call it:
My phone lit up in my hand, and the dating application icon bounced twice.
“We know,” it said.
The words were faint. The sound almost unheard. But I looked at it and scoffed in my head. I doubt they really knew; I’d covered up everything perfectly.
“Doesn’t matter. We still know.”
I deactivated the phone and put it away in my purse.
The crossing light up ahead blinked, and I walked away from the area, heading for my car. I didn’t want to meet with him. He looked so washed-out and docile from the window. Not worth the time it would take. Not worth the effort required. Fuck what they wanted.
I walked down the street, absentmindedly fishing around in my purse for the car keys. Before I found them, though, I felt the phone ring. The light flashed from within the recesses of my designer bag.
I picked it up and activated it, hoping the guy was calling me. Just to know he wanted me. You take the ego strokes when you can.
But no, it was that number. I put the phone back.
My car, a red sleek thing, turned bright with front lights when I clicked it on. Something ran away into a nearby alleyway. Some disgusting rat no doubt. The city was full of them.
I slipped into my seat, making sure the cocktail dress I’d squeezed myself into didn’t ride up. Not that anyone would look into the car, but comfort was comfort. And it wasn’t a cheap dress to buy.
Why I’d used it for that schlepp back at the sushi place, I will never know. Always my best I suppose. Someone’s always watching, they say.
I inserted the key into the ignition and the car roared to life. Who said girls can’t love the hum of a powerful car? It’s all in how your parents raised you, and my father drilled in me the benefits of a good vehicle.
I flicked on the radio, and it hummed. Not the usual music I wanted, but instead this low buzz. Like a fly trapped in the house, but you don’t know where.
“We know Sasha.” The voice was sing-song. Masculine and breezy.
At that same moment, the car sputtered out and refused to go. I pushed my foot down, and the engine gave a wheeze.
“Dammit,” I said–more than once. “Every time with this shit!”
My dress rode up and I had to shove it back down. I breathed heavily and could feel a headache blooming.
“We know what you did Sasha.”
“Like hell you do,” I said and shoved open the door. I hooked my hand on the top of the car, and used it for leverage. My heel caught the crack of the sidewalk and I stumbled forward.
When I looked around in embarrassment, I saw a kid and a man standing and staring with concern. I flipped them both the bird and trudged back toward the sushi restaurant.