Come Back to Me

Paul Westgate

Vodka, Straight up

Stillness. The woman’s hands are relaxed in her lap. She gazes unseeing at them. Her thumbs start to move.

I was angry, very angry. I’d missed the meeting and it had upset all my plans. You were always so good at that sort of thing. I know the reasons but that wasn’t any excuse was it? I just didn’t think you’d let me down. Angry face. I over‑reacted and you left. I know, I’m a bitch. But you’ve always come back before. I didn’t expect you to be gone forever. Confused face. You don’t have to punish me anymore. I want, I need you back. You were always there for me. The last thing I saw at night, the first thing I looked to in the morning. Sad face. We were always together, always at each other’s beck and call, even waking me from sleep with an urgent demand. Cheeky face. I tried stupid things hoping you’d ring; like washing my hair, having a bath, going to the loo – you always seemed to want my attention at those times. Smiley face. I thought we could go back to how it used to be – maybe we could watch a film, hear some music, play some games, call some friends. Just like before. Please don’t do this to me. I feel so alone. All my friends are your friends and without you they don’t call. I don’t know what’s happening anymore, who’s where, with whom, what’s being said, nothing. I can’t work, can’t eat. I have no voice now, no life. Crying face. Wake up! Please wake up! Please, please, please come back to me.

Stillness. The woman’s hands lie relaxed in her lap. She gazes unseeing at them. Her thumbs start to move.

I was angry, very angry…

About the author

Paul is an enthusiastic but sporadic writer. He lives in Essex and works in London and uses the two train journeys each day to read books, sleep and, occasionally, to think up stories; sometimes these are even written.