Secrets
Susan stretched on the bed. God, this felt good. It made her feel so guilty, yet it was so exciting. She rolled this way and that, enjoying the feel of the sheets on her naked body, and ended up on her belly. She closed her eyes.
She didn’t hear his footsteps, but she felt Zayan touch her back, slowly slithering down her spine with two dancing fingers, and reaching further. Susan sighed and rolled again to meet him.
++++
Zayan was loading his car as she settled the account. She couldn’t help but feel excited for everything. Their affair was secret: neither family would understand them. They had been having their escapades for some time now.
They knew that in the end they’d get caught, and the mere thought made Susan shiver. But they had already talked it over: they’d cross that bridge when they reached it. And they’d face their stubborn families however it was needed. They had each other, and it was enough.
At times Susan felt they were behaving like teenagers, and had once told Zayan so. Zayan had replied they were not so old yet they didn’t remember what being a teenager was, and cited her musical tastes as a proof, and then he had proceeded to show her how he could also “behave like a teenager”. Susan had laughed and enjoyed his attentions.
In the end, they had decided to leave their smartphones home when they had their nightly meetings. It all added to the clandestine nature of their relationship. It was just a night, after all, and if anything happened, one could always claim they’d forgotten to charge their phones. And that way nobody could trace their phones together in the same place for the night, Zayan had said, always the police procedural fan. Susan had rolled her eyes and kissed him, telling him that in order to find them together, all someone would have to do was, well, go and find them together. Not that difficult.
They had laughed and made love again.
++++
The early morning sun shone brightly as they drove back home, enjoying the warm within Zayan’s car. He liked to have soothing music on the radio, and Susan just allowed herself to relax. He liked driving and she liked watching him, his brown skin, his dark eyes, his serious face when he drove, taking every detail of the road in. That was Zayan all over.
The music stopped for the hourly news bulletin. God, they’d spent almost 24 hours disconnected from the outside world, instead concentrating on each other. Susan smiled again thinking of last night. And this morning.
“What was that?” Zayan said suddenly, and turned up the volume.
“… still have only an estimate for the number of injured in last night’s attack, but witnesses claimed it to be ‘at least one hundred’, and possibly more. The most terrible aspect is that most of them are children and teenagers, together with a number of adults who had been waiting in the foyer of the Manchester Arena at the end of the concert…”
Zayan braked and veered off suddenly, scaring Susan. She looked at him, and he pointed.
“The phone box! Hurry!”
The red phone box stood, alone, by the side of the road. They had often joked about it being there, a symbol of an older age.
Susan ran towards it and got in, fumbling in her pockets for some small change. The door opened again and Zayan handed her some pennies. She inserted them and dialed. She was already crying.
“Mum! Mum, it’s me, Susan! Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m alright, I’m alright! I just heard about it! Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t there, I wasn’t at the concert! I’m alright, I’m alright!”
She broke down in tears. Zayan held her.
~~~~
This is my accompanying entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: May 29–June 4, 2017 at the Writer’s Discussion Group on Google+. I am responsible for creating the prompts for the Exercise, so I don’t take part, but I still like to write a story each week.
Before I actually sat down to write this, I had a completely different direction where I wanted the story to heed. But this idea struck and, as any writer knows, when that happens, all you really can do is put it down on paper. Or screen, as it is.
Three nights ago London suffered another terrorist attack, Kabul less than a week ago. I hope this stupid spiral of violence in the world ends.
