Image by ome Willem from Pixabay

Secret Women’s Business

Sonya sat in her Audi Q5 parked on the side of the road. The key in the ignition was set to accessories so she could have the seat warmer on. This function wasn’t available in her last Audi and it took her a little while to realise that no, she hadn’t peed herself, it was the seat and there was no need to panic.

Muted orange light filtered through the sunroof from the streetlamp above.

Steve would be furious if he knew where she was and what she was about to do.

She tried so hard not to, but she had to go, anything to stop her stomach from twisting whenever she looked in the mirror. Whenever she saw her reflection, she thought of Jason.

Sonya hadn’t seen Jason in eight weeks. Eight ridiculously long weeks. Time had no meaning anymore. Time doesn’t matter in a global pandemic.

She had been so good, staying at home, only going to the shops, “I’m saving lives by watching Netflix all day!” she posted on Facebook with a picture of a fat cat on a couch.

Her neighbour and over-the-fence drinking companion, Lucy, added Sonya to a private group on Facebook two weeks ago. At first, she was horrified; how could these women go outside for non-essential purposes? There were rules and they were put in place for a reason. But her ethics loosened as they uploaded their photos to the group; all smiles, teeth-filled smiles, happy smiles. She wanted that smile on her face.

Blue light from her phone lit her face as she scrolled through the new messages of support from the group.

“You MUST see him *smiley face, smiley face*”

“Steve is a dick *eggplant*”

“DO IT *flexed bicep, thumbs up, kissing face*”

The dash clock changed to four zeroes.

One block away she saw headlights FLASH twice. Her hand trembled as she flashed hers three times.

Sonya turned the car off, put on Steve’s black Louis Vuitton beanie, and got out of the car.

She reached a low-set brick house. The BUZZ of a remote-controlled garage door. A beam of light grew, just like that bit in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Sonya thought. She hurried into the garage as it BUZZED closed behind her.

There he was.

She tried to hold back a tear but a couple of them escaped and rolled down her cheeks.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, you should,” she almost forgot the sound of his voice.

Sonya began to sit down on a black leather chair but stopped, “It’s wrong. Steve will—”

“Steve is a dick.”

She sat in the chair and pulled off her beanie.

“I look hideous!”

Jason pulled out a shiny pair of scissors from the custom-made leather work-belt around his waist.

“Not for long.”

She smiled that smile.

 

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