Junkmail

One hand leaves my neck and hits my face again and again, her other hand joins in and she begins reigning punches against me. Hitting everything and anything, my face, chest, shoulders, stomach. I crumple against the wall, hands held up feebly in defence as she continues her attack. Screaming obscenities at me as she goes, screaming about how I belong to her and how I'm not going anywhere.

Eternity could've passed by the time she'd finished, slumped against the back of the sofa looking down at me in disgust "Clean yourself up." She spits out, I can taste blood pooled in my mouth, my cheeks feel warm and wet and I'm not sure if it's blood or tears causing the strange sensation. "Dinners nearly ready." And with that she leaves me alone, in a pathetic mess on the floor.

There isn't part of my body that doesn't ache, my throat burns with every breath I force myself to take, I can already feel my face begin to swell and bruise as I stare at the brown suede of the settee in front of me. I need to get up, I need to move, and I need to leave. Now.

I can buy new clothes, I count to ten in my head and attempt to push myself up. I don't get far before my shaking limbs give out on me and I'm crouched on all fours, shoulders slumped and head hanging low. I close my eyes, ignoring the rising panic I feel building inside of me, I close my eyes and count to ten again, taking deep and painful breaths. I remind myself that I'm alive, I'm ok and I'm going to get out of here. I won't let panic consume me, I won't give up and stay here for her to do this to me again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... I push myself up so I'm kneeling on the hardwood floor, my knees aching slightly, I grip the back of the sofa and close my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose, feeling the air fill my battered lungs and burn my swollen throat. Exhaling slowing through my mouth, tasting the blood that's swirling around my tongue. I need to stand up and I need to leave. I repeat this to myself like a mantra, over and over again whilst I find the strength to force myself up.

One more breath, and then I do it, I push against the sofa with all my strength and force myself to my feet. I sway on the spot, my vision momentarily blurry, I take in my surroundings, the furniture, the patterns on the wall paper and force myself to focus.

I move quickly, quicker than I should, I make my feet carry me with haste to the door, picking up my bag and pulling the door open quickly. The air outside tastes thick and humid, and I struggle to breathe as I clumsily dig around my bag for my car keys. Fingers finding them, I pull them out and unlock my car, I see Becca in the hallway as she makes a beeline for me.

I quickly open and close the drivers door behind me, locking it as I struggle to slide the key into the ignition; almost dropping the fucking things as I go. Becca is slamming her palm against my window, lips curled back as she snarls at me, she's screaming words I can't make out through the rushing sound in my ears and the throbbing in my head. The car starts and I throw it into reverse, with one last look at the woman I've spent the last seven years of my life with, who, as she spits and screams and curses at me through the glass of the car window; is barely recognisable. I reverse out of the driveway and onto the road behind me.

A million and one questions fire off in my mind at once, where do I go from here? Hospital would probably be a good place to start, but I don't want them calling the police. I should go to my new place, run myself a bath and assess the damage that psycho has done to my face.

The sounds of my laboured breathing fills the car, I ache everywhere. My lungs burn with every difficult breath I take, my throat feels constricted, my head throbs with every tiny movement the car makes over the uneven surface of the road beneath its wheels. I can feel panic begin to set in as I continue to fight for air, my chest tightens and my vision begins to spot as I feel the onset of a panic attack.

Pulling the car over I push myself out of the drivers seat as quickly as my pained body will allow me to and lean against the cool metal of the door. Hot tears warm my clammy cheeks and I screw my eyes tight shut, blocking out the soft light of the summer evening. "You're safe, you're alive, it's ok" I mutter to myself, over and over again, breathing in as deep as I can. Splaying my hands out against the car door, feeling the smooth texture beneath my fingertips. "The car is real," I whisper, I strain my ears and listen to the sounds around me, soft bird song and the sound of soft breeze rustling the leaves of the trees that line the street. "The sounds around me are real," I open my eyes and focus on a lamp post directly across from me, "The lamp post is real," I repeat this process, a method given to me by a past counsellor. It grounds me and calms me down when I feel as though the world around me is burning.

Once I'm calmer I climb back into my car and take one last soothing breath, it may not have been easy, but I'm free and that thought alone loosens the imaginary fingers I feel gripping my chest. I start the car back up and maneuver into the traffic, I know what I need to do, what I want to do. I just hope I'm not too late.

Ella -- June 28^th

10:14 [SC] -- Ella, answer the phone we need to talk.

I've been getting messages like this for the last two days, and I've ignored each one of them. I have nothing to say to the woman that was happy to fall into bed with me, tell me about how shit her relationship was, but then goes and gets engaged not a month later. Nope, not happening. Not interested. I knew I should've stayed well away from anyone with that amount of baggage, the walls are up and I won't be making that mistake again.

I should block her number and make a clean break, but I can't seem to bring myself round to doing it yet. What if I was to just answer one call? What harm could it do?

I watch as my phone does another obnoxious dance across the desk and shake my head, no. I'm doing the right thing, she can go and be happy with Becca. I'll meet someone else, and it'll be as though the last few months never happened. They shouldn't've happened, and we certainly shouldn't have slept together.

Fuck her, I've spent the last two days moping around the flat and the office feeling sorry for myself. But today, I woke up and now I'm just pissed. Pissed that she made me fall for her that way, pissed that Becca had the audacity to call me and tell me to back off after agreeing to marry the woman that cheated on her. Well fuck them both, they deserve each other.

I seethe at my desk for the next few hours, my phone continues to ring and I continue to ignore it. Accompanying the homicidal thoughts I'm having towards Sophie and her fiancé, ugh, even imagining the word makes me want to smack her in her smug mouth. I've only ever seen a photo of Becca, but it doesn't stop me from imagining what it would be like to go to town on that bitch and show her how we do it this side of the border. These thoughts are accompanied with the idea of calling my ex, we ended on good terms and she's been calling me a lot recently wanting to "catch up" I'm tempted to take her up on it.

If we end up fucking then so be it, it'll be a decent way for me to get Sophie out of my system and then maybe I can move on and be happy with someone else. Despite myself I wince at the thought, as angry and as hurt as I am, I don't want to imagine a life without Sophie in it.

I bury that thought and push that feeling of longing I've been living with as deep as I can, I don't want to think of that. I just want to get this done so I can leave and go home to get drunk. Jesus, I'm pathetic. Drinking alone on a weekday, throw in a cat or twelve with that idea and I'm well within the stereotype of the spinster I'm fast turning into.

The drive home drags, traffic everywhere, roadworks springing up out of nowhere and it feels as though every fucking idiot imaginable is driving in front of me. I stop off on the way to buy wine and cigarettes, cursing myself for picking this fucking habit up again.

Kicking my shoes off at the door, I head straight for the kitchen; shirking my coat off in the process and draping it across the back of one of the kitchen stools. Pouring myself a glass of wine, I take a long sip and close my eyes as I relish the way the crisp liquid tastes. It's a sad state of affairs when the best part of your day is the company of a bottle or two of wine.

I fall into the sofa and switch the television on, flicking mindlessly through channels, I can hear my phone ringing again. I don't even need to look to see who it is, I don't want to talk to her. I have nothing else to say to the woman, so I sit here and grit my teeth as I let it ring out.

My eyes are fixed to the flat screen in front of me, I don't know what it is that I'm watching, my concentration is elsewhere. I'm so tempted to call her back, to just give her a chance to say whatever it is she's so desperate to say. But the time for that would've been before she and Becca decided to get married. The time for talk has passed, and I'm not even sure what I'd say to her even if I were to answer.

A hammering at the door startles me from my reverie, I'm contemplating ignoring it so I can stay in my own bubble of rage and self-pity. But, when whoever it is bangs again I figure they're not going to fuck off until I answer. It's probably Mrs Phipps from upstairs forgotten her keys again, poor dear is getting on a bit now and I keep a spare for her for when she forgets and ultimately locks herself out of her apartment.

I open the door slowly, peering out around the heavy oak door and into the hallway, anxious in case it's someone I don't know. The person waiting for me is the last person on earth I'd expect to see, and I'm so mad with myself I could spit. Despite the hurt, and the anger I've been feeling my heart stops when I see her. It drops to my stomach however when I see the bruises and her swollen features.

"Sophie, what the fuck happened?" Smooth Ella, really smooth.

She doesn't wait for me to invite her in, she simply breezes past me like she owns the place and shoves her hands in her jean pockets as she waits for me to re-enter my own living room. In this light I'm able to get a better look at her, one of her eyes is barely open its so swollen and bruised, her nose has been strapped up; probably broken. There's a cut on her forehead running straight through one of her brows, her lips are swollen and split. She looks a mess, but she's here. With me, and I can't help but feel a little elated by that fact. The thrill is quickly doused when I remember just how pissed I am with her, so instead of throwing myself at her like I want to, I cross my arms over my chest and set her with the most belligerent look I can manage. "We need to talk." She states matter of factly, I can't help but roll my eyes at her. That's the understatement of the fucking year if I ever heard it.

I shrug my shoulders before moving past her to the sofa, falling into it I cross my legs and pick up my glass of wine whilst making a gesture with my free hand "So let's talk then."

I watch her pace up and down in front of the mantelpiece, she's clearly nervous about something. I want to put her out of her misery, but I'm still mad, and I can't deny that I enjoy seeing her suffer a little. Even if I do feel guilty at that seeing as she's clearly been through some shit since we last saw one another. "I left Becca," this instantly grabs my attention, but in the interest of remain nonchalant I stay slumped against the soft pillows behind me and just watch her. "She freaked, and did this..." she gestures to her face and down her body. "I've been trying to call you, but you did a fucking disappearing act." Her pacing stops and she moves to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of me, she leans forward and winces slightly as she moves, one of her hands comes up to rest against her ribs.

On instinct I lean forward and set her with a hard stare "I stopped taking your calls when you got engaged."

Sophie's expression changes from pained to confused in the blink of an eye "What are you talking about?" She sounds tired as she speaks, her fingers pinch the bridge of her nose, now it's my turn to be confused.

"Becca called me, she said to back off because the two of you were getting married. I was just doing what she asked and backed off..."

Sophie stands quickly and glares down at me "You didn't think to try and speak to me directly? You just took her word for it? She's a psycho Ella! Why would you believe her?"

What. The. Fuck? I stand from the sofa and square my shoulders out, ready for the confrontation I can feel this becoming "First of all, you are a guest in MY home, so don't raise your voice at me. Secondly, put yourself in my shoes Sophie, I didn't know what was going on, you asked for space. I was trying to give you that, then I get a phone call to say you were getting married. Imagine how I felt!"

Sophie steps away from me, her fists clenched at her sides, "That's not the point! You should've tried harder..."

"I should've tried harder?" I shout, rage burning through me at the audacity of the woman standing before me, "You've got to be fucking kidding me?" I walk to the other side of the room, standing directly across from her, and stare her down the best I can "The last time I saw you, you had just left here after a full night, and a pretty full morning of fucking me. You said you were going home to 'clean house'" I mimic quotation marks on my hand to really drive the point home. "I never expected you to come running straight back to me, but I didn't expect the kind of brush off I got. I still spoke to you, I tried to be your friend, I wanted to be your leaning post. But you pushed me away," I cross my arms across my chest defensively, holding myself tighter in a vain attempt to stop myself from falling apart. "Then Becca calls me and says you're getting married, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to tell me what you want?" She snaps back at me, "I haven't heard from you in days. I've tried to call you to tell you what had happened, but you've been ignoring me." Sophie takes a step closer to me, her eyes burning into mine despite one of them being almost closed. I can taste her anger as it charges the air, mingling with my own hostility and leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

"What do you mean what do I want?" I snap back, "I thought I'd already made that clear, I wanted you!" I take a breath and run my fingers through my hair, "I knew the situation Sophie, you were attached. I was happy with friendship, but that changed!"

"You're not answering the fucking question Ella! Tell me what it is you want!"

"I wanted you! How could you not fucking tell?" I shout, raising my hands in frustration, "All I wanted was you! I kept telling myself not to let it happen, to not get involved with someone who has so much baggage. I've done it before, I've been cheated on before. Fucking hell, I have practically no self-esteem and trust issues like you wouldn't believe. But," and I take a calming breath before continuing "I only ever wanted you."

Sophie closes the distance between us and grabs the tops of my arms tightly, her fingers digging into the muscle painfully as she looks down. Her nostrils flare out and her mouth is twisted into a tight line. "And now Ella... What do you want now? Is it me? If so have me. If not just say so and I'll leave." She shakes me slightly as her body and her grip pushes me backwards, her feet stepping forwards, moving me until I feel the cool brick wall pressed up against my back "Just tell me, what do you want?"

"You're hurting me..." I complain, trying to force my arms from out of her vice like grip, Sophie doesn't loosen her fingers from my arms she just continues to stare icily down at me. "Jesus fucking Christ!" I shout, frustrated and tired of running around in this endless circle, "You just don't get it do you? I want you, just as much now as I always have. I want to fucking hate you, I don't want to be involved with someone who slept with me despite having a girlfriend at home. A girlfriend of seven years? No. I don't want to want you Sophie. But I do, I want all of you." I take a pause and grit my teeth "And I fucking hate myself for it!" I spit out.

Sophie doesn't speak again, she just stares at me and time stills as we stand looking at one another, Sophie's eyes blinking down as she stares at me intently, my eyes travel over her face. As mad as I am, I've missed this face. I don't think about my next move, one by one I wrestle away her grips on my arms, she fights me but reluctantly drops her hands to her sides. Her eyes don't leave mine, the anger in them doesn't dissipate but I imagine the hostility in my own is screaming back at her.

I can feel the heat from her body wash across me as we stand breast to breast, our hips pushing against each other. I've craved this, her closeness, her touch. To think an hour ago I was coming to terms with the thought of never seeing her again. But now here she is, in my front room, her presence is intoxicating. I want to hate her, to scream and shout and throw things but I don't; instead I tangle my fingers in her hair tightly and pull her face down to mine.

I meet her lips aggressively, I want to pour every ounce of frustration and hurt and need into this kiss. I need her to see that despite how much I want to fucking hate her right now, I can't. Despite myself I'll never hate her, her mouth moves angrily against mine. She's kissing me fiercely, the world could be burning outside for all I care, right now, here with her. That's all that matters, I close my teeth over her bottom lip and bite hard, shivering when I hear the low groan that omits her.

I think I've re-split her lip because the coppery taste of blood teases my tongue when I run it across her bottom lip, I find myself not caring as I tighten the grip I have in her hair and pull her mouth away from mine. "I want you," I rasp out, my voice low and husky and barely recognisable as my own.

Sophie smirks at me, her stained crimson lips pulling back to expose her perfect teeth. She gives me a predatory glance and I have to fight my knees from buckling. "You know," she purrs, her blue eyes still cold and distance despite the lust filled gaze I'm getting, "you're cute when you try to take control, but there's one thing you should never do."

"And that is?" I prompt, shivering when her nails dig in hard at the top of my back, feeling the sting through my shirt as she rakes them down roughly to my arse, cupping it and pulling me harder against her.

Sophie leans forward and rests her lips against my ear "never try and top a top."

Sophie -- June 28^th

I'm mad, shaking with rage kind of mad. But I'm so turned on right now I think the Lord Mayor's procession could march through the kitchen and I wouldn't give a toss. I was gentle the first time we were together, but now, I'm not in the mood for gentle. I want to fuck her as hard as she'll let me, I want to pour all this frustration I have into making this maddening woman scream herself hoarse. I want her sore.

I have her pinned against the wall, my eyes hold her gaze as I stare her down, my fingers creep up the front of her shirt slowly; fisting my hands into both of her collars and pausing for just a second, gauging her reaction. Giving her the chance to say no, to tell me to stop.

I take her silence as a green light and pull at her shirt collar, hearing the satisfying sound of tearing material and buttons hitting the floor and various surrounding surfaces. I hear her sharp, surprised intake of breath and I have to fight to suppress a giggle. My eyes rake over her body, her taut stomach tenses as her breath comes in rapidly. My gaze falls to her pert breasts, encased in a pale blue lace that's so thin it leaves little to the imagination. I can make out vague lines of her tight nipples as they strain against the fabric.