Flash Fiction (Number 3)

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“Welcome back Mr Jackson,” the bespectacled receptionist smiles at me then tenses a little when she sees Dawn is by my side. I can’t resist slipping my arm around her waist, pulling her closer. Glitter falls from her tangled ringlets, a reminder of what we did less than a hour ago.

I never thought that I would have gotten married, it hasn’t appealed to me before. I’ve met loads of women, some of them have been great: intelligent, athletic, pretty and flexible. But I’ve never really regretted leaving any of them. The only time I’ve ever really wished I had longer with a woman, or thought about them after we split up is when Dawn left me. She draws me out of my thoughts, with a laugh as she leads me into the lift. “Where were you Mr Jackson? You seemed to be miles away,” she leans against the opposite wall, curiosity in her big eyes.

“Oh just a few hundred yards.” I laugh as she flushes a light red. “Mrs Jackson,” the words don’t feel strange, much to my surprise as I’ve spent my life avoiding responsibility. I finally get what my dad used to talk about, when he talked about my mother: that she completed him, made him feel whole for the first time.

“That still feels strange,” she smiles “Being Mrs Jackson,”

“Well you have a lifetime to get used to it,” I assure her as I tighten my grasp on her slender waist, giving her a brief squeeze. “I’m not planning on letting you go again,” I can’t bear the idea of not having her in my life.

“Not going anywhere,” she whispers, her hand tracing the long scar that I received during the time that she wasn’t in my life, before she leans up to kiss my cheek, her lips lingering on the raised skin. “I love you,”

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