The Last Leg

I watch her slide her fork laden with lasagna into her mouth and chew away at Jay’s leg. Munching on a slice of sweet pepper, I look at Fiona’s mouth opening and shutting and the movements of her jaws as they bite down on the flesh of the man we both once had and I think about the days and nights I’ve spent imagining him and her wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing at me.

There’s a knock, then a ring from my front doorbell. We stop and look at each other.

“Think it’s for me,” Fiona says dropping her cutlery on her plate and wiping the greasy purple lipstick from her mouth with a piece of kitchen paper. “It’ll be Mic, my fiancé,” she says, her eyes bright with excitement. “I asked him to pick me up from here. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

I get up to follow her and met them in the hallway.

“Mic,” Fiona says, opening her hand in my direction, “Meet Les – my dearest and best friend.”

The smell of the aftershave, I’d brought Jay back from Dubai − his special scent, almost knocks me out in the hallway.





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)