This story was originally submitted for the April Fools contest, hence the theme. I hope you enjoy it!
***
Sarah waited three long hours for Kyle to knock at her door, during which time she ate half of the dinner she had prepared for them and drank two-thirds of a bottle of merlot, but he never showed.
Didn't answer his phone.
He'd promised to come over right after a quick pint at a goodbye send-off for one of his coworkers.
Sarah wasn't clingy, and she wasn't prone to dramatics, but finally she decided to search him out at the Owl and Thistle, worried that he'd gotten drunk with the boys and wouldn't be able to make it to her flat just down the block, let alone his.
She changed out of the dress she'd bought for the occasion and into a sweater, jeans, and running shoes. She put on her black wool jacket, tucked her hair up in the green stocking cap she'd finished knitting the previous week, and ran down her stairs and out the front entry.
A light drizzle had started outside, little more than a wet mist in the air, but it made her squint into the dark as she jogged up the road to the pub.
Tempting though it was, Sarah didn't plan to storm in and be
that
girlfriend
who made life hell for her man because he had friends. It was hard enough being a 'Yank' in London, and all of the preconceptions that went with that, even if she was only
half
Yank.
They'd been dating for a month and she wanted to make it work with him, hence the dinner and everything afterwards. She'd planned the evening down to the very last minute, wanting it to be special for both of them.
So much for special
, she thought, trudging through the wet night.
She stepped just inside the Owl and Thistle which bustled with a late dinner crowd. Kyle's group was easy to spot in the back corner by the dartboards. Unlike everyone else, they were loud and drunk.
It was only 8:00. On a Wednesday.
It took a minute for Sarah to find Kyle because he had a girl sitting in his lap, some tart who looked like she was about 15 but dressed like she'd been a hooker for a decade.
Much to her own surprise, Sarah's first thought wasn't,
You fucking bastard.
It was,
Is that what he really likes?
She knew she should leave, walk right out and not look back, but she couldn't make her feet move. She felt sick and, yes, the first tinges of anger. How. Dare. He.
Just when she managed to turn herself back toward the door, Kyle called out, "Hey Sarah! Come back!'
She ignored him.
He caught her just outside the pub and scowled at the weather, as if she'd forced him out into it against his will. "Where are you going?"
"Home. Alone. Goodbye, Kyle. Don't call me again."
Sarah turned away, but he spun her back around with a tight grip on her arm. "Let go," she snapped, jerking away.
"What? Did you see Lissa in there?" He smiled dismissively, turning the charm on full force. "She's just playing around. It's April Fools, you know."
"It is?"
Guess that explains what a fool I've been.
Kyle saw an opening and went to work attempting to dig himself out of his hole. "We were kidding around. Lissa was having a bit of fun with all of the guys, not just me. I didn't do anything wrong."
"No? Then go back and play some more. Have fun. Happy April Fools to me."
His face hardened slightly. "Don't be a bitch, Sarah. I already told you it was all in fun. I only want you, love." He raised a hand to touch her cheek, but then pulled back. "Christ, it's cold and wet out here. Come inside and have a drink, will you?"
Sarah tilted her head as if considering. "I don't think so. Have a nice life, asshole."
She turned and Kyle didn't stop her. Dumb shit was probably more concerned about getting his hair wet than making her understand. Not that there was anything to understand. Sarah didn't suffer fools, which was the main reason she was still a virgin in her early twenties. Nice to have seen this side of him before she gave him something she couldn't take back. It was the nick of time, really.
But how long could the list of unworthy boyfriends possibly be?
Sarah gritted her teeth against the unanswerable question and jogged a ways down the sidewalk before darting between parked cars to cross to the other side of the street.
Just as her shoe landed in the open street, she heard a car horn and was spinning off the front left fender. She was thrown back onto the street and her head knocked into the tire of a car parallel parked on the curb.
Fucking hell! Could it get any worse? April Fools, my ass!
The driver strode toward her, a man in his early thirties with dark hair and an average face, though it was hard to tell by the street light. He knelt on the wet road at her feet. "Christ, I'm so sorry! Are you alright? Of course you're not alright. I'll call for help." He pulled a phone from his pocket, but Sarah held up a hand to stop him.
"No, really, I think I'm fine. You weren't going very fast."
"Visibility is bloody rotten. Damned rain."
In spite of just having been hit by the man's car, she smiled. "It
is
rotten, isn't it? The accident was my fault, I wasn't looking. And I really am okay." She pushed herself up, and stood, taking inventory from head to toe. Her head seemed to be fine and she didn't have any broken bones. "I think I twisted my ankle a bit, but it's not too bad." Would be fine with an ice pack, anyway.
The man stood next to her, much taller, probably 6'2" and slender. Jeans peeked out under his expensive looking overcoat, and he was much more handsome than she'd thought initially. Or, maybe it wasn't that he was so handsome, but that his concern was genuine.
Behind his car, other impatient drivers honked their horns, angry at his inadvertent blockade.
He glanced back at the line of headlights. "The natives are restless," he said. "If you won't let me talk you into a trip to hospital, can I offer you a ride home at least?"
"Uh..." Even with Sarah's aching ankle, years of stranger danger still caught up with her. "I'll be ok. I don't know you."
He reached out a hand. "I'm Owen and I promise I'm not a danger to you. Well, not anymore." He winced slightly. "If I don't clear the road, the lady in the Toyota is likely to put us both in hospital."
"I'm Sarah," she said, taking his hand, aware that her face was actually heating in spite of the cold spring evening. "I guess I don't need to ask which car is yours."
**
Owen followed her directions and looped around through the neighborhood to get to her flat. His heart was still racing because,
fuck, he'd run down some poor woman in the street.
A Yank no less. Actually, he'd just nicked her, but shit. He wasn't even supposed to have been in Crouch End, was just dropping off some paperwork to a client and had gotten turned around in the system of one-way streets.
The silence contributed to his guilt, so Owen asked, "Do you live by yourself?" Then realized it was precisely the kind of question a predator would ask. "No, I'm sure you don't. Girl like you probably lives with friends," he said, and realized he was probably just making it worse. His heart just wouldn't slow down enough for him to think clearly. It was disconcerting. Unusual.
