Recovery

Content warning: references to sexual themes



'Blood spurted across the white laboratory floor as the crocodile ripped Geoff's calf muscle from his leg.'

Wow, what a book there is only so much gore I can take in one sitting. I can read it again when I am brain dead, clinically bored in work. It is not a book I can curl up on the sofa with.

I will get up, do a little bit of housework, not loads, obviously, I am sick after all, and then pick another book, a bit of chick lit should do the trick. I have yellow jaundice so on enforced leave from work. I am waiting to wake up like Marge Simpson. I have already got the hair sorted, just need a blue rinse. The only symptoms are my eyes look a bit watery and I am tired, but I have not turned yellow yet. I will strip the bed nothing like sliding in between fresh clean sheets. I grew fond of this when Jason left, one of the pros of being single, the bed to yourself. Why did I have to start thinking of Jason? Sweet, poetry loving, a male that fancied me, Jason. I have not been able to burn all his offerings yet. I was his muse for a time. His first one with my name was 'Sara My Reason for Living.' I have heard his latest is called 'Sara My Reason for Dying', the bleeding cheek but I think he is right now, something did die, who wants to have sex with their friend and roommate.

I hear the roar of an engine. It sounds like it is going to burst in through the front door. I look out the window and this huge motorbike is in next door's garden. Its rider in no way cowed by its size, the bike seems to fade into the background as I stare at the man stepping off it. He has not removed his helmet, but his leather clad thighs and muscled tattooed arms have me riveted. He is the total opposite of what I go for but that is exactly why I'm looking. I have decided to step out of my comfort zone lately, to help me get over Jason. Too much alcohol and late nights, are the reasons I am imprisoned at home, right now. I was a cuddle up in pajama's, eating takeaways type with Jason. I had put it down to his artistic temperament, that I retired first, that he needed the time to write. It never dawned on me that he just did not want to bed me.

He told me before he left that he used to wait for my snores to sneak in and get some sleep himself. I digress, back to the present and Mr. Leather.

I am willing him to take off the helmet, so far everything about him screams of sex. Ripping clothes off, smash me against the wall, hard, sex. The opposite of sex with Jason, oh he can get lost and leave, he is invading my fantasies now. I am biting my lip waiting, excited, slowly he takes it off, the helmet that is, but he can take anything of, and I gasp. His hair so closely shaven, almost but not quite a skinhead, a goatee and I think I catch the glint of a piercing or two. Oops, I jump back away from the window as his gaze looks upward. I never got to see his eyes just as well I am already hot and bothered.

I return to the window and sigh. He is gone. I will risk a walk to the shops later, escape quarantine. I am apparently contagious. Mrs Barry knows, everything, about everyone. She will fill me in. What to wear? You never know who I could bump into.

I climb aboard my bike, a nifty two-wheeler the most dressed up I have been in months. I've skin-tight jeans on. Well, they were loose before living in coupledom. High heels, makeup, hair is already bleeding sticking to my lipstick. Who knew how difficult it is to cycle in high heels? The slightest breeze is causing my eyes to water, which makes my mascara run. Mrs Barry rushes out to greet me. She has not been able to pummel me for information for a while. I must seem like fresh meat.

"Hello, Sara dear. Come on in."

"Thanks."

"Here's a tissue, you look like you've been crying. Is everything okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine a bit windy out there, got into my eyes."

"Hmmm, well you should have worn your helmet."

I wasn’t going to tell her how I was more worried about how my hair looked when I was leaving than my personal safety.

"True, I was wondering if you had the latest copy of 'Ireland's Own', I like to dabble in writing, they've a competition on this month, I think."

"Fair play. I can barely write my name."

"Oh, Mrs. Barry I bet you could, you might be able to help me with something else."

"If I can, of course I will."

"I noticed someone at Mr. Brown's yesterday. Do you know if he's renting."

" Yes, I think I was told he was a lecturer, philosophy, or such like.”

"Oh really, the person I saw didn't seem the type, more like a heavy metal fan."

The doorbell chimed to let her know she had another customer.

I knew before she came back in, they were male, she was giggling like a schoolgirl, twirling her hair.

"Sara, you won't believe it. This is your new neighbor, Paul."

I am afraid to turn around in case anything I see is a pale imitation of what I had spent all morning fantasizing about, how disappointing that would be, and I must be so scarlet that I could light up the whole room with my face alone.

"Hello, Sara. A pleasure to meet you."

I turn and meet the most fabulous eyes, hazel with a tinge of green. The longest eyelashes, no amount of mascara I could use would match their length and thickness. I feel myself melting and to hide my discomfort, answer brusquely, grab my magazine, and run out. Two men in one day, geez. What is wrong with me? An early mid-life crisis? Desperate for attention from a man, any man, for flips sake. Sara, you need to cop on, fast.

Cycling home as fast as high heels allow, I can feel myself cringing. Me finding him attractive pushed me over the edge. Mother's right I am going to end up surrounded by cats, cats, and vibrators, I’ll rename myself Pussy Galore. That reminds me my mother's due with my shopping she will freak if she sees me out. No sign of her car, great.

I remove any make-up and tie up my unruly hair, which means grab a mop of curls and twist a band round it. Looks okay, I will pass. So have I got two dishy new neighbors, oh, just my luck, there probably together. The hells angel and philosopher, cool mix, which means I have not a hope. Paul had to be the lecturer, clean shaven, no piercings, and a suit. All these strange happenings might help me pen a story. Jason and I met in a Creative Writing Workshop, which he took more seriously than I did. He wanted to get published, not self-published but agented, successful, and fast. Sara, for fuck’s sake, does every thought have to lead back to Jason. It is time to let go.

I am jolted out of my musing by mums’ arrival. She means well but drives me batty at times. She sweeps in flowers and comics in hand. She runs around and starts cleaning the already clean house, administering doses of motherly advice as she goes.

"Hello, darling. How are you?"

"I'm fine, mum and you?"

"I'm great, run to the boot and get the shopping my arthritis is playing up."

I am overcome with guilt often experienced when mum is around.

"Okay, mum, I will but sit down and I'll make tea."

"Thanks that will be nice, but shopping first, there's stuff in there for your freezer."

"Okay but will you sit down, I insist. Take the weight of your feet. I’m getting tired just looking at you."

I go out and she has thought of everything, right down to the copy of Ireland's Own, with a post-it attached 'write, something dear, it will keep you occupied, and you're good.' I do not deserve her.

I have my keys in my mouth and am laden with bags when I push myself back in through my front door.

I hear my mum tittering.

Who on earth is she talking to? And what about?

"Ah, here's Sara now, I am sure she 'll be delighted. Paul has brought you some food."

"Here, let me help. Mrs. Barry filled me in on your illness, so I made some nutritious chicken soup. She also said you have a weakness for chocolate, so I got you a bar or two."

I am speechless. I look over at my mum and I think she is hyperventilating.

"How did you get in?"

"I slipped over the dividing wall and rang the bell, sorry, I didn't realize you were out at the car. I seem to not be able to control myself Sara, I cannot help startling you. Your mum kindly let me in."

I am blushing from my hairline to my toes. I have realized the gorgeous man, and the biker is the same person. He looked completely different in a suit. He is standing here in a t -shirt and jeans. Those beautiful eyes from earlier are smiling at me. "Sara, I hope to be a good neighbor, so anything you need, just let me know."

"Sure, thank you, and vice versa."

"I'll leave you and your mum. I have taken up enough of your time. Enjoy the soup. Don't bother walking me out, see you around Sara."

"He likes you; I can tell, and you like him. It is about time you moved on. Jason is long gone and good riddance to him."

"Mum, he's been neighborly."

"Sara you'll be sneaking around with him long before you tell me."

"Okay, mum, keep on dreaming."

"Well, Sara I'm going now because you're going to decide what you'll be wearing when you next meet Paul and sorting out your hair."

She winks and plants a kiss on my cheek, already picking her wedding outfit, I bet.

When I am sure she has gone I let out a high-pitched squeal. I think there is a spark. I must find the match and light it soon, because if I do not explode, I’m going to implode.

***********************

The next day I wake up to a note on my hall floor. It is an invite to Paul's for dinner at eight. It states that we are both too old for game playing and that he finds me sexy as hell. He doesn’t care if I’m contagious, he’ll catch anything I’m giving. Knock anytime from half seven onwards.

I am not offended in the least by the assumption that I just will. I am already picturing myself in my little black dress.

Sara, you are wanted, desirable, let the good times begin. This musing is interrupted by the rain tip-tapping against the windowpane. I go outside and let it soak me. For a while I thought rain was synchronized with my tears, now I giggle out loud as I think naughtily, at least I’m getting wet.