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This diary entry is written by blowiethedolphin. ( View all entries )
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(happy with) this loveCategory: WRITING YEAH
Saturday, 12 May 2012
09:23:04 PM (GMT)
idk some writing i did a while ago but only just typed up today
it’s part of a chapter for a story i’m writing??
Lenny turns the shower on, feeling dead mopey and sorry for herself.  She points the
shower head into the bath and washes all the residual dirt, pubes and bits of skin
down the plughole. The corners of her mouth sag into a miserable pout. She thinks
about crying and she thinks about eating all the food left in the cupboards and she
thinks about going back to her mum’s house to have a good, long bitch about
brainless boys, but in the end it’s a lot easier just to run a bath.
She strips off, standing on tiptoes to admire the reflection of her tiny tummy in the
bathroom mirror. As the baths fills with water and the air fills with steam, Lenny
twirls her hair impatiently and scratches a spot on her chin. She already wishes
Glenn would come home. She feels extra silly now she’s on her own and her
stomach’s all wibbly-wobbly with worry that her boyfriend doesn’t love her any
more. What a stupid thing to argue about. She can hear a little angel on her shoulder
telling her to stop being such a baby, to call Glenn and say “I love you please
come home!” On her other shoulder though, a mini devil-Lenny whispers that Glenn
should be the one to apologise and that he’ll come home soon to gush over her and
smother her in lots of make-up kisses. She doesn’t know what to do so she settles
for sinking into steamy bath water and stewing in her own self-pity.
Half a mile down the road, and six storeys up in the sky, Glenn’s in Alexandra
Court, biting his nails outside Jack’s number 22A door. After tap-tapping and
knock-knocking and bang-banging on the door for a full five minutes, it would appear
that Jack is not home (stupid rich bastard out enjoying all the social and financial
benefits of his new found small-scale fame) and Glenn doesn’t know what to do. He
doesn’t really want to be by himself. He thinks about going home to say sorry sorry
sorry to Lenny and he thinks about going to the pub and he thinks about going to gay
Tony’s house and risking the chance that Tony might want to put things up his bum.
In the end he flops down on the pissy steps leading up to floor six and holds his
heavy head in his hands. He feels the same as he did when he ran away from home aged
nine but couldn’t find a mate’s house to sleep at so he’d had to camp out in
the shed. Should he go back to Cavendish Court? But what if Lenny’s still angry and
she kicks him out? What if, even worse, she’s gone off to her mum’s house and
taken all her things and left a note on the kitchen counter that says “I hate you
Glenn, you’re dumped”?
He clenches his fist around the staircase banister like a baby holding the bars of
his cot, feeling nauseous and clingy. He sniffles a bit into his jacket and shivers
because it’s cold on the stairs, not to mention lonely and depressing.  The
fluorescent light above his head flickers and buzzes. He can hear someone laughing in
one of the flats down the corridor; everybody in the world is happy except him.
Bottom glued to the floor, Glenn sulks on the step for forty-five minutes but
there’s no phone calls from Lenny, though he checks his phone every thirty seconds.
No Jack coming up the stairs to sort him out either and no kindly strangers offering
to take him for a drink. At twenty past eleven he stands up in a huff, trails back
down the staircase and into the chilly treacle streets. Hands in his pockets, his
legs take him not up the hill back home, but down towards town and the late night
buses and girls in dresses with smokers outside pubs and vibrating clubs and noisy
bars and police cars around people starting fights under neon lights and tramps in
the underpass lying on bits of broken glass from a smashed bottle of Becks next to
used Durex outside the vandalised phone box  near the town’s tallest tower block
and an abandoned shopping trolley in a dark back alley where a girl called Lydia
gives her boyfriend chlamydia watched by a taxi driver as he waits for a fiver from a
drunken blonde who can hardly stand as she gets out by the bus station under the Ursa
Major constellation (which you can’t see because the city lights are too bright)
and Glenn’s walking past in the cold December night.
Glenn keeps his eyes on the floor as he shuffles through the city into the bright,
tungsten lights of a McDonalds. The lady at the counter is scowling at him before
he’s even spoken and he mumbles his order so quietly that she asks him to repeat
himself three times before she understands what he said. Glenn looks at her with sad
eyes and wonders if she’s got a great pair of tits under the lumpy McDonalds
uniform. But then he thinks of Lenny’s tits and Lenny’s smile and all of lovely
Lenny’s lovely bits and he realises he doesn’t really want anyone else but her.
Back in Cavendish Court though, Lovely Lenny doesn’t feel very lovely. She’s got
out of the bath all pink and pretty and sad and sleepy, staring at her phone as she
pulls on polka-dot pyjamas. Glenn still hasn’t called her and now the imaginary
angel and devil have been replaced by the mental image of her boyfriend (less hairy
and chubby than in real life) bending faceless girls into all sorts of rude
positions, snogging their faces off and having a fab time. It turns her stomach to
think of it. She just wants him back home. Curled into a ball on top of the bed
covers, she dozes off with horrible scenarios playing over in her brain.
The door goes at ten to one and she jolts awake. She calls out “Glenn is that
you?” into the dark flat and a muffled reply of “yeah” makes her heart flutter
like she’s fifteen again. She stands up as Glenn shuffles into the bedroom. Holding
out a paper McDonalds bag, he says “I got you a Happy Meal,” and she says
“I’m sorry, I love you!” and he says “I’m sorry, I love you too!” The
Happy Meal is dropped on the floor as Lenny throws herself at Glenn. They have a kiss
and a cuddle and both say sorry sorry until there’s nothing to be sorry for any
more. Glenn smells like pissy stairs and greasy chips and Lenny’s a bit sweaty from
her bath but both of them think “how lucky I am!” twirling in each other’s
They drop onto the bed all lovey-dovey, dizzy and delirious. Lenny munches on her
Happy Meal (Glenn remembered that fish fingers are her favourite!) while Glenn plants
sloppy kisses on her cheek. They discuss having passionate make-up sex but it’s
late; Lenny’s sleepy and Glenn has work in the morning. They fall asleep all sweet
and tangled in each other instead, with synchronised breathing and soppy smiles on
their faces.

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