No Flowers
Creative Fiction

By: Levi Blackman : She dressed up for the occasion. It had been well over a year since she had dated anyone, and this one seemed a bit special. He looked nice in the suit she sees him in at work, and he was nice and all. Maybe she could have something to hold on to for awhile.

His Volvo pulled into her drive way. He honked for her to come out. One last look in the mirror to make sure her face still held the symmetry she work hard to create a few moments before. “No flowers,” she wondered. Well, he was late anyways and maybe he had flowers waiting for her. She grabbed her purse and ran out the door.

He opened the door for her. That was nice, but no flowers. The car had a stale smell to it, but not an unpleasant one. He hoped in the driver’s seat and threw the car into drive. His eyes were a tired red around a dark brown. His hair looked horrible, but it made him sexy.

He drove fast down back alleys and side roads until they arrived at the club. Not once did they hit traffic, something she though wasn’t possible when traveling downtown. He parked his car and let her out. They went into the club.

The club had too many party lights. Everyone drank too much and couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They danced together and it was fine, but soon others started whispering things in the guy’s ear. He would smile and give them a look and this worried her. She quickly blew it off; she could take any of these bitches.

One of the drunken girls walked over to him, and this time instead of a smile, he ran and hugged her, yelling about how it has “been a long time,” and “it’s so glad to see you.” It all made her sick. She didn’t know what to do with herself.

He wanted her to go with him and the other girl someplace else.

“Just one drink sweetie, and then we can go someplace nice to eat.” He said.

She followed him into a garage across the street and the girl found a car. The now seeming sober girl opened the doors. They got in, her taking a quite seat in the back, feeling more disconnected. She drove fast around curves and on busy highways. She flew in and out of the cars in a smooth fashion. He lit a joint and passed it back to her. She took a hit and felt a little more relaxed but still confused about this strange date.

They arrived at the woman’s apartment and went up a flight of stairs. Inside it smelled of shampoo and cat box. They started taking shots of whisky while she drank something mixed with orange juice. She watched them interact, how their hands would slide over each others when grabbing the next glass, the bottle to pour.

He offered her to join in a romp in the hay.

“Romp in the hay?” she asked.

He fell over drunk and laughing.

She left in a fit of rage. She couldn’t believe that this man she had so much respect for would do something so horrible to her. Who does this man think he is doing bringing this other girl into this?

She hadn’t cried in a long time, and the feeling she felt had a harsh newness, with a familiar undertone.

About the Author

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