Cole's Girl

Cole held firm despite the throbbing old football injury, the dozens of strangers gawping. One knee numbing against damp pavement, both arms stretching an open ring box to grey sky. He waited.

The laws of science had fled. Every second warped into hours and memories filled them. On the same patch of pavement outside Harlequin’s nightclub, Cole had gone outside for air when a fight spilled after him. Bouncers had hands on blokes still clambering to throw punches and insults, bolstered by their mates joining in. They’d trapped and dragged randoms along in the crossfire. It was a noisy, brawling storm spiralling outward. He tried keeping his distance until he saw her. Petite, almost fragile, her face full of tears and terror. She was pleading with a massive, bloody-nosed thug gripping her arm. There was no thinking involved; he acted.

Come on Ellie, there are two options, he thought.

“Yes, yes,” she said, accompanied by clapping onlookers. 

“Yes, you’ll marry me?” Always best to confirm; communication is essential to marriage. On his feet, Cole guided the ring onto her finger and kissed her. The shoppers, paused for the show, now enveloped them inside business as usual.

“How could I not? You’re my hero, after all.” Ellie smiled up at him, the way she had that night. He loved the way her feelings played out on her face. She had a vulnerability, an emotional honesty. All his previous partners were deceitful, manipulative, kept things from him, but not his Ellie.   

#

One of a gazillion bridal magazines masked the bottom of her face. It didn’t matter. The way she kept peering over the top and the hyperactive jiggling of the pen in her fingers told him she had a question. Something she’s desperate to ask but doesn’t dare.

“Out with it, trouble. What now? You want piglets in three-piece suits instead of bridesmaids?” Cole said.

“Anyone would think I’m bridezilla,” she dropped the magazine to her chest, beaming at him. “I keep thinking about your family. Are you sure you don’t want them there? I know you said you’re not close, but we could fix it. You’ve met mine. They’re hardly perfect, but they just want me to be happy. Yours must be the same?”

I could morph species and mum would still treat me like a fifteen-year-old reprobate, incapable of change. The thought seized him, didn’t want to release. “I told you; I don’t enjoy talking about it. Are you hearing me, listening? Do you need me to break it down, talk slower, louder, what?”

Her face dropped; body pushed back into the sofa.

“Look, Ellie, my mum’s a snob. I don’t want her pointing out flaws in the way you dress, or how you talk, that you don’t have a degree, what your dad does or whatever.” It was for the best. Now, she can stop obsessing, move on.

#

“Do you love me?” Cole had waited an hour, rehearsed what he’d say. Seeing her stood in the doorway, laughing at his question, it vanished. He repeated it. Stayed silent, relying on her need to fill it.

“You know I love you. I’m marrying you.”

“Maybe not. You’re not who I thought you were. You were supposed to be different, not like every other bitch who's gone behind my back, taken me for a ride.”

Cole grabbed it from his back pocket, slamming it onto the table.

“It’s negative,” Ellie said, her eye contact with the pregnancy test and not him.

“So, what? This isn’t something you keep secret. It’s not your decision. You suspected we were pregnant, bought a test, took it in our bathroom and hid it. And I was clueless. What else are you lying about?”

“Nothing. I didn’t think you’d want to know. In my head, it was about periods. This level of closeness is new to me. I’m learning. Please, I’m still me.”

“Our trust needs rebuilding. No more locked doors, no chance to hide anything,” he said, wrapping her in his arms.

#

Flattening the red fabric over her hips, Ellie looked up through long eyelashes. Doing her best impression of an animated baby animal, all eyeballs and innocence, Cole thought.

“So, what do you think? Do I look, kind of, okay?” She said, arms flapping.

He knew the hesitant, anxious look was an act, trying to pretend his opinion mattered. As if she didn’t know, every man’s eyes would look at her body in that dress. An attempt to manipulate him, after she’d bought the damn thing.

“You always look beautiful to me,” said Cole. I’m no woman’s pawn.

Ellie smiled back at him, twirling around. “It’ll look better with heels and the right makeup, hair. But you reckon it’s okay, don’t you, for your work’s party, I mean? I don’t want to show you up or anything. I want to make a good impression.”

“Indelible. On the men.” Turning the volume up on whatever rugby match was on TV, Cole glued his attention to it. Aware of her hovering; her lips shaping around a thought he never received. A haze of red swept back up the stairs. Clever girl.

#

The moment her heels hit the foot-well, Cole slammed the passenger door. Sound system triggering with the engine, he punched the power button and Bruno Mars cut off mid-lyric. ‘You’re amazing, ju—,’ the song they’d been singing along to when they arrived at the party. How could they have been so tuned to each other three hours earlier, then this? Was she testing him, seeing how much shit she could pull and he’d tolerate?

“I don’t understand Cole, what did I do? Please talk to me. What’s wrong?”

There was that through eyelashes ploy again, twinned with a pathetic, crackling voice. She can certainly play the victim. He couldn’t look at her, not without anger tightening his jaw, making his teeth feel two sizes too big. Every curve visible in that skin-tight dress, flaunting herself. Images of Randall, his senior, dribbling over her and Ellie playing to it, scrummaged in his thoughts, distracted him from the road. Nobody dances, giggles, gives someone full attention and eye contact, unless they’re willing to take it further.

“Cole, please slow down.”

What an act. Gripping the door, pressing herself into the corner, taking up the least space possible.  

“Telling me how to drive now? Last time I checked, it was you that failed her test twice.”

Ellie shook her head, opened her mouth. He watched her in the mirror, daring her to speak, give him more ammunition. Instead, he saw victim-mode intensify, and she sobbed the rest of the journey.

#

“I can walk or get the bus; it’s not raining and I don’t mind. You work so hard; enjoy your day off.”

“Why don’t you want me to drive you?” Cole looked up from his phone.

“I do. I just don’t want to be a burden.” 

‘Cattywampus,’ something his mother used to say when something felt squiffy and she would have known given his dad had more affairs than he had gambling debts. The memory had a sidekick, a wriggling, squirming sensation in his stomach. Ellie had a full face of makeup. For a night class on feminist literature, unlikely. He knew it. She’d been distant, apologetic since her performance at the party, but he’d let himself excuse it as embarrassment.

“You’ve made quite an effort for a lecture. How about we don’t waste it on a bunch of crusty, hairy, bra burners and go out instead?”

“I, we said, my four friends from class I told you about, we were going for a drink after. To discuss the assignment. I said I’d go, they’re nice. Jenny, she’s funny, I thi—”

“Well, if you’d rather spend time with them. It’s dark though, you don’t want to be all dolled up on the bus, might send the wrong message. Where are you going after?”

“Close to campus, but I don’t think we’ve fixed on a place yet.”

That’s convenient. “Careful, you’ll get inundated by twenty-somethings with beer goggles and mummy fetishes.”

#

Class finished at nine. They were supposedly going to a nearby bar. It was nine-thirty and still no message. He’d told her to text the location. How did he know she even went to class? If there was a class? He dropped her on campus, watched her go inside a building, but that meant nothing. She could’ve come back out, met anyone, got a taxi. On each of her socials, the most recent post was yesterday lunchtime. Randall’s were private and his X was a running football commentary; didn’t mean they weren’t doing it. Unable to focus on anything else, he monitored her insta.

His phone chimed. Letting it ring three or four times, “hey you, where are you?”

“Can you pick me up please, sweetheart, if you’re not busy? I’m on campus. They went to a club, but I told them I couldn’t be out that late. I stayed back to talk to my tutor about the assignment instead. The signal’s crap inside, so I couldn’t call first because he was waiting.”

“Who was waiting?” No way a bloke teaches that man-hating shit.

“My tutor, he had office hours. Three other students queued with me.”

#

When he heard the shower, Cole went to the hallway. Shit, jacket, or bag? Full of makeup, receipts, chewing gum, the original silica sachet; she’d never notice a button-sized silver disc. Cole dropped the air-tag at the bottom of her bag. Everywhere she went, he could find her within ten feet. Now she couldn’t hide anything.

And he could intervene, protect her. Ellie was sheltered, naïve, and she didn't understand what other men were like.

#

Where are you?

You said you were going to see your brother. That was three hours ago. When are you coming back?

I showed up to surprise you after your yoga class, but you weren’t there! Guess romance is dead.

Missing you. What time will college be finished?

I’m going to be late. Randall’s being an ass and needs me to stay on. I’ll be starving by the time I get home.

Hey. I was passing the fitness club and cancelled your membership. You’ve not been for weeks. It’s a waste of my money. Plus, I can think of other ways for you to burn those extra calories.

Every night this week, you’ve been home later than me or in a shitty mood. When was the last time I even saw you naked? How about I come home to the Ellie I fell for? Not the one who sulks about in sweats. Oh, and dinner would be nice! LOL.

You genuinely did it. I’m in disbelief here. I said nothing, wanted to see if you’d leave the house. Still, cannot believe you wore hooker boots to work. Any chance of two for one on bjs later?

Unless you want everyone thinking you’re a slut, get your ‘friend’ to un-tag you in that photo. You’ve got more tits than face.

That bitch from college, the one with the moustache, called by the house. It doesn’t happen again. This is my house; I pay for it. Sort it, or else.

You lied to me. Are you fucking around? If you’re not home in thirty minutes, I’ll come and drag you out.

#

Twenty-three minutes; that distance took no more than fifteen on foot. She’s trying to piss me off.

Even the way she moved irritated him, closing the door like it was a bomb being defused, footsteps testing the carpet before they committed.

“Who is he?”

“Cole, when would I be seeing anyone? You message me thirty, fifty times a day. I tell you everything, I’m trying to do better. Please trust me.”

“Look at the state of you. Hair all over the place, you look like you dressed in the dark. This is post-shag Ellie. I know, remember. Who is it? Randall?”

“Who?”

“Stop the act. I see you, Ellie. I always have eyes on you. This morning, you said you were going to the library after work. But I know. I know Ellie. You weren’t on campus, you were in town,” he said, taking a swig of his lager and slamming the bottle back on the glass table. It sloshed over the white-veiled face of the bride on her wedding magazine.

“It’s the medical library, by the clinical psych building on Bishop Street. I swear. Here,” she opened her bag, rifling around, “look my library identification. It has the two libraries listed and their numbers. Phone them. I swiped in; there’ll be a record.”

He inspected the card. “That’s a terrible photo. Your face looks chubby. Were you there alone?”

“Yes. I mean, I went there myself, but there were people inside. I didn’t talk to or sit next to anyone. The woman on the information desk was opposite me the whole time. We can go now, ask her. Please don’t be mad, I should be more specific so you don’t worry. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

“I’m worried this course is taking up too much of your time. Maybe it’s beyond you? I mean, you seem to find it way harder than others. It’ll only get tougher. And there’s the wedding to consider. That’s a lot of multi-tasking.”

#

Strong and intense, the label said. Fifteen quid on coffee beans with an aftertaste like he’d licked clean a communal microwave. Cole rejected the cup; picked at breakfast and watched the app on his phone. She’s got to be joking, no way. Pushing the toast away, appetite swallowed, he stormed upstairs.

“Change.”

Stood at the mirror brushing her hair, Ellie was in the same position he’d seen on the camera feed. Somehow, she looked worse. The skirt was too short, and the top was so plastered to her breasts it could pass as body-paint. She turned, staring at him.

“Are you stupid? Change your clothes. You’re not going out like that.” Why was she forcing him to raise his voice? It wasn’t complicated.

“What? Why? I mean, there’s nothing. I’ll be late,” Ellie said, looking herself up and down.

“I don’t understand what you don’t understand. You look like a filthy slapper. Is that what you want people to think? That you don’t respect yourself or me.” This is fucking infuriating. Cole snatched her arm, yanked the hairbrush from her grasp, and hurled it at the wall. Holding both wrists, he pulled them to the button of her skirt. “Take off these clothes. Now or I’ll strip you myself.” Shoving her hands away, he moved to the bed, throwing a shoe box and her jewellery case crashing into the wardrobe doors.

Ellie stumbled from his push, her hands shaking, tears cutting through makeup. Her eyes darted from him to her hands, back and forth. Every movement he made; her body jerked. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

Stood in her underwear, arms wrapped around herself, she asked, “what do you want me to wear?”

“I don’t care what you wear, you’re not a baby. Grow up, stop crying and dress yourself in something that doesn’t scream, I get paid by the hour.” Cole scrolled his emails, couldn’t focus on the subjects or senders, but needed the distraction for his fists and thoughts.

Pulling trousers and a big polo-neck from the wardrobe, she held them up. “These, okay?”

Squeezing his eyes tight, fighting the stabbing pains in his jaw and head, Cole nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet. Giving up on the emails, he watched her dress.

“There, that wasn’t difficult. I’m taking you and picking you up. Behave like a child, I’ll treat you like one. Fix your face; it’s a mess. I’ll be downstairs.”

#

Cole banged on the front door of the address he’d followed his air-tag to. “Ellie, get out here.”

Barking stopped, and the door opened on its chain. I knew the moustached bitch was bad news.

“I know she’s in there. Tell her to come out or I’m coming in,” Cole said, getting on the doorstep and shoving the door against the chain.

“Ellie isn’t here, Cole. Her family was worried about her. But you know that, don’t you? Stopped her getting their messages, sent messages to them pretending to be her. You need professional help.”

“What’s wrong, jealous because no man will screw you? That’s funny, is it?”

“I suggest you go back to your empty home. We’ve already phoned the police. Here, this is for you,” she said, passing him an envelope through the gap.

“What’s this, some pitiful letter from her? She’ll come back begging. She’s incapable of looking after herself.”

“Ellie wants nothing more to do with you. Once the police are finished, no other woman will want anything more to do with you. That’s your door key and crappy engagement ring. Technically, it should include the air-tag from Ellie’s bag, but we’re giving that to the nice police officers arriving imminently. Now get off my property.”

It felt like his skeleton was expanding, trying to force its way out of his body. No thinking, he acted. Kicking the door hard enough, it snapped the chain, smashed into moustache’s face, knocking her to the floor. Cole wanted to stamp on her, to keep kicking and kicking until he’d ground her into the tiles. As his foot sailed toward her, a big black dog charged, snarling at him. Leaping, the dog’s jaws clasped around his thigh, and Cole screamed.

“Good boy,” said Jenny. “He’s a retired police dog. They’re trained to hold scumbags in place until uniforms come. You may want to stop that pathetic squirming; it makes him assert dominance.” 

The End