The Drought (The hilarious laugh-out loud comedy about dating disasters!) Page 3

  And there was my problem – Sophie. We had never seen eye-to-eye. In the three years we had been at university, I had only ever met her best friend Sophie once, and it was clear from the start that she didn’t like me. To be fair, that was partly down to Stacey. Sophie was slightly older than Stacey and I, and during the course of our first meeting she had asked me to guess her age. Getting a woman’s age wrong is never a good thing at the best of times, so I decided I was going to play it safe and say she was the same age as me. But at the last second Stacey lip-synced the number 30 to me, so I went with it.

  “You think I’m 30?” Sophie growled at me as Stacey giggled. “Do you have shit in your eyes? I am 24, you cocky little twat.”

  From that moment on I think it is fair to say Sophie hated my guts, and it was only when we returned to London I started to notice the influence she held over Stacey, especially after they decided to flat-share together. Maybe it was because she was older, but Stacey literally hung on every word she said, and that combined with Sophie’s obvious disdain toward me, definitely had an effect on our relationship.

  I noticed Stacey drank more around Sophie, and in her drunken state, Stacey started to pick fights with me over the most pointless of things. I tried to avoid confrontation as much as possible, telling Stacey that we would sort things out in the morning. But with Sophie in her ear egging her on, she’d go on and on, to the point where I would get pissed in an attempt to drown out her constant whining. Eventually I'd succumb to the goading and we’d have the most explosive rows. She’d end up in tears and I’d have to apologise. For weeks she would emotionally blackmail me by reminding me of the night I made her cry. And I'd apologise again.

  Back at university, Stacey was quite happy to sit and read while I watched a game of football on the television, but with Sophie throwing in her two pennies worth that all changed.

  “Sophie doesn’t understand the point of watching football matches when you don’t even support either of the teams playing,” Stacey now whined at me.

  “You love football more than you love me,” Stacey screamed at me during one particular heated debate on the subject.

  “Correct,” I stupidly responded. “Now go and collect your prize in Scotland and leave me in peace.”

  Stacey was furious. She grabbed the remote control from my grasp, and informed me: “This is my flat so we’ll watch what I want to watch.” I tried to grab the control back from her but she wouldn’t release it from her grip. Eventually I grabbed my coat and declared I was leaving, only for Stacey to launch the remote control at my head, causing it to break on impact.

  The football argument surely has to be one of the most common and annoying debates girlfriends insist on having with their boyfriends. Let me try and clear this one up right now, and I speak for men up and down the country when I say this – we like football. End of. There is no mystery. No need to send Scooby and gang in to solve this one. Girls like mind-numbing rubbish like the E! Entertainment channel, while men watch things that matter, like sport.

  Although in saying that, I didn’t tend to put up too much of an argument when Stacey used to insist on watching Girls of the Playboy Mansion. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out why.

  In recent months Stacey’s personality under Sophie’s watchful eye had transformed her completely. The girl I had fallen in love with at university was slowly becoming a stranger to me, and that was the most difficult thing to take.

  *

  It had been about 20 minutes since I’d left the boys at the Greasy Spoon to make my way to Stacey’s flat. I turned on to her road and my mind started to race. Was this really the end? Three years was a long time to be with someone, and I wanted to make sure in my mind this was the right thing to do. I wanted to reassure myself that I had done everything to make this work.

  I tried to think about the good times, but then my mind would be clouded with recent events. Her behaviour last night was just another in a long line of recent performances that had drawn me to the conclusion our relationship was a bit like watching England at the World Cup: it starts with a lot of promise but inevitably it ends in tears and disappointment.

  I hit the buzzer and waited. The door opened and her flatmate Sophie stood in the doorway in her white dressing gown and green socks, a scowl on her face. Her big wild hair looked even more untamed than normal, and her eyes told me in no uncertain terms that she was not going to make this easy for me.

  “She doesn’t want to see you,” Sophie greeted me in her own charming way, arms folded across her chest. She had always insisted on sticking her nose into our relationship. At least she was being consistent I thought to myself.

  “A pleasure as always Sophie, you are looking radiant this morning,” I sarcastically responded. “Can you tell Stacey I’m here please?”

  “You have got some nerve turning up here after what you put that poor girl through last night.”

  “And you look like you haven’t bleached that moustache in quite some time,” I couldn’t help myself. I leaned over her and started to shout. “Stacey! We need to talk.”

  “If you think I am going to let you in here...”

  “It’s okay,” Stacey’s voice interrupted and cut Sophie off mid-sentence. Stacey appeared from behind her flatmate, opening the door wider. There they both stood – my nemesis and my significant other, whatever the hell that meant. “I’ll take it from here,” Stacey said. Sophie cut me one final look, and I met her gaze full on. She then squeezed Stacey’s hand as a way of telling her to be strong. Sophie moved away from the door but couldn’t help herself as she mouthed the words, “I’m watching you”, pointing at her eyes with her two fingers and then pointing them back towards me, before returning back to the darkness from whence she came.

  It was at this point I was able to really look at Stacey for the first time. She had her brown hair clipped back away from her face. She was wearing the Little Miss Naughty T-shirt I’d bought her. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked like she had been crying all night. My heart sank. Despite everything, I still had feelings for her and didn’t want to see her like this, especially when I knew that I was the cause of the hurt.

  “You’d better come in,” she said avoiding eye contact. She led me upstairs to her bedroom. She sat down on the bed as I closed the door. I turned back to her. The TV was on in the background, but the sound had been muted. The clothes she had been wearing from the previous night were strewn across the floor.

  “Are you okay?” I hesitated to sit down on the bed next to her.

  “What do you think?” She sniffed, wiping her nose with a tissue. “You left me alone on New Year’s Eve.”

  I was willing to let that one go, deciding it would be best not to drag up the who was right and who was wrong argument.

  “And you obviously never gave me a second thought by the smell of you,” Stacey said wrinkling up her nose at me. “You smell like a brewery. I hate it when you get drunk and turn into that person.”

  I bit my tongue to stop myself responding with what I really wanted to say. I didn’t want this to descend into a slanging match at such an early stage. I sat down beside her on the bed and took her hands in mine.

  “I’m sorry for what happened last night. The last thing I wanted was for us to end up having a row.” I stroked her hands.

  “It’s a bit too late for that now,” she pulled her hands away from me and stared me straight in the eye for the first time as her tone reverted to one of bitterness. “You made the choice to go and hang out with your friends without me.”

  She really knew how to push my buttons. She had this annoying habit of being able to lull me into a false sense of security and just when she had me where she wanted, she would unload. I felt the rage slowly start to build up inside me, but again I took a deep breath.

  “That’s not really fair,” I tried to reason with her. “I tried talking you into coming to the party. You were the one who told me to go. You said some pretty
harsh things. What did you want me to do?”

  “Not leave me on New Year’s Eve,” she snapped back. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. What’s happened has happened. You had a good time – at least one of us did.”

  “But you were screaming at me to leave you alone,” I could feel my voice starting to rise. “What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Don’t shout at me. This isn’t my fault,” she paused. “You did this,” she said jabbing her finger into my chest, her eyes narrowing at me accusingly.

  At that moment I could have exploded. I think the only thing that stopped me was that I was still nursing the hangover from hell, and didn’t physically have the energy to rise to the bait. However, Stacey obviously had no problem forcing the issue.

  “You don’t give me the same level of attention like you used to,” she continued with her verbal attack. “But you have no problem spending time with your mates.”

  “That is ridiculous,” I protested. Stacey had unrealistic expectations that our relationship should continue in the same vein as it had done during the first 12 months; an expectation Sophie had no doubt drilled into her to create this wedge. But I managed to restrain myself again; somehow I knew pointing that out would not help the situation.

  “Is it?” Stacey fired back at me. “I suppose you think it's ridiculous that Sophie and I smashed up your PlayStation last night as well then?”

  “Come on Stace, we can sort this...” I paused, suddenly taking in what she had just said. “You smashed up my PlayStation?” And it was at that moment I noticed the broken pieces of my beloved games console sitting in Stacey's bin.

  “This is worse than that time you ruined my birthday,” Stacey suddenly blurted out, moving my attention away from the bin and back to her.

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This was the same story she had been throwing in my face for nine months. The power of restraint was obviously not a strong point for Stacey.

  The story of the night in question wasn’t my finest hour. I had drunk myself into oblivion to block out the boring inane chit-chat I was being forced to endure at the hands of her dry work colleagues. I have very little memory of the night. All I remember is waking up the next morning to discover a wall of pillows separating Stacey and I.

  Dazed and confused, and after much begging and pleading, I finally managed to coax Stacey into telling me why she was giving me the cold shoulder.

  She explained how we had arrived back at her flat and proceeded to have what she described as “incredible sex.” She told, in great detail, how she moved on top of me and proceeded to deliver her best impersonation of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. And just as she was about to explode in pure unadulterated pleasure, it happened.

  I was snoring – so loudly that I snorted like a pig.

  Stacey tapped my face a couple of times to rouse me, but it didn't work so she hit me instead. Apparently I responded with 11 words that would haunt me for the rest of our relationship: “Get off me. You're too heavy and I’m trying to sleep.” I topped it all off by pushing her off me and rolling over. And farting.

  I knew I was in trouble, and for weeks I did everything I could to make this up to Stacey. I bought her flowers, took her out for dinner, and even took her away for the weekend, but nothing was ever good enough.

  Nine months on and she was still using this against me. I was starting to think she had made the whole thing up just so she could bring it up whenever we had a disagreement or row. I even tried using man logic but that didn't help things; it just made it worse. I would tell her that anything that happened over six months ago is inadmissible in an argument. And when I was feeling particularly brave I would inform her that all comments and actions become null and void after seven days.

  “That was nine months ago,” I pointed out the obvious as I had done on numerous occasions.

  “You ruined my birthday, and now you have ruined New Year.”

  Suddenly any guilt I had felt slowly started to evaporate. The Stacey I had met at university was no longer the same person. She was never going to change, and in a strange way I felt relieved.

  “We can’t carry on like this,” I said after taking a deep breath.

  She opened her mouth but the words wouldn't come out. After all this time even Stacey was exhausted from the constant fighting. She looked at me and I could see tears starting to well in her eyes. “I know,” she said letting her guard down.

  Something hit me in my chest. It was an ache I had never experienced before. I could feel a lump in my throat. This was really it. We hugged each other, and held on tight. We both knew this was goodbye. I pulled my head back and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She stroked my face and a small smile appeared through her tears. I looked into her eyes and saw the Stacey I had fallen in love with three years ago. We kissed.

  Things moved on to the next stage pretty quickly. So quickly that we were in danger of losing some teeth as our lips clashed together. She reached straight for my belt buckle and started to unzip my fly. She pulled my jeans down to my knees and arched back on to her bed. She didn’t seem to notice my complete lack of underwear and I decided it wasn't the best time to explain why I had gone commando. I pulled her thong down and she let out a moan. Her moans became louder and louder as she demanded I thrust harder. I would have loved to have obliged, but I was really feeling the effects from the previous night’s drinking and began to lose steam quickly. I made one final thrust and lay on top of her, breathing heavier than I really should have been after just one minute and 57 seconds. I lifted myself up and slumped beside Stacey on the bed.

  I slowly began to catch my breath. Staring up at the ceiling I started to think how that was the last time we’d ever make love to each other. Not that I would have called that making love. In fact, does any man actually call it making love? Please can we never mention that I referred to sex as making love? It was a goodbye shag. The type of thing couples need to do one last time before they finally go their separate ways. Almost like a well done for giving the relationship a go. You get to leave things on a positive note. Not that I would normally consider one minute and 57 seconds a positive, but I think we both appreciated what had just happened. After three years it was time for us to walk off into the sunset in different directions. A two-minute memory in our back pockets.

  “I’m glad we sorted this out,” Stacey said cuddling up to me. “I forgive you.”

  What did she say? I started to panic. She thought this was make-up sex, not goodbye sex. I cursed myself for being so stupid. Goodbye sex would have been tender and soft, something we could both take away and remember. And longer than 117 seconds. We just had classic animal, aggressive make-up sex. This was awkward.

  “But I thought that was goodbye sex...” I said it out loud without even thinking.

  “What?” Her tone was more anger than shock.

  “I thought... I mean...” I stuttered and stumbled.

  “Get out!” She screamed so loudly I was sure the Russians on the space station could hear her. I tried to explain again, but suddenly the door to her bedroom burst open and there stood the wild-haired Sophie, holding a baseball bat. “I fucking warned you!” she screamed at me.

  Sophie launched at me, swinging the bat with a crazed look in her eye. I dived across the room as she smashed the bat into the pillow where my head had been lying just seconds before. I still had my jeans around my ankles so I could only hop and shuffle towards the door like a penguin.

  “Get him!” Stacey shouted. What the hell happened to forgiveness?

  Sophie was up off the bed in a flash and swung for me a second time, this time crashing the bat into the door frame as I ducked and headed toward the stairs. Sophie was right behind me and as I took the first step on to the stairs I lost my balance and tumbled head first, landing in a heap at the front door.

  Sophie stood at the top of the stairs looking down on me like raging bull. She started down the stairs toward me. Frantically I drag
ged myself up and grabbed for the door latch, pulling it open just as Sophie threw herself on top of my back.

  We rolled out onto the pavement, my jeans still swinging around my ankles. The bat went flying off to one side as we hit the floor. I tried to make a run for it, but she grabbed the top of my jeans. Scrambling to my feet I turned to push her away but she grabbed hold of my testicles and squeezed tightly.

  My face went purple and then a shade of green. I tried to scream but couldn’t get the sound out. I kicked her in the shin and she fell back clutching her leg. I crumpled to my knees in a heap, the colour slowly returning to my face. I sluggishly pulled my jeans back up and looked up to see Stacey now on the doorstep.

  “Sophie! He is getting away,” she cried out to her pit bull.

  I pulled myself up and leant against a car, still doubled over in pain. Sophie was now back on her feet and had retrieved the bat. She swung it above her head like a cavewoman swinging her hunting club, and moved quickly towards me. I ducked at the last spilt second, and heard the glass from the passenger seat window shatter, setting off the car alarm.

  “You crazy bitch!” I screamed, still trying to catch my breath, but had to quickly roll to safety as she attempted another bat attack which crashed into the tarmac.

  This time I took off as fast as I could. Sophie made chase for about 50 yards before giving up and standing in the middle of the road; the bat raised above her head. “If you ever come near her again I’ll kill you!”

  I didn’t look back. I kept running until I was certain I was clear and free. And that pretty much brought the curtain crashing down on the most meaningful relationship I’d had in my life up until that point.

  It would also prove to be the last day I would have sex for a very long time.