Unrestrained Desires

Chapter 4- Wine And Whining

I made my way down to the platform, my heart beating a little faster than usual and my cheeks flushed and bright. The train pulled in just as I got to the bottom of the stairs and with my headache diminished and the fluttery feeling in my stomach still very much apparent I began to think that today might not be the disaster the morning had destined it to be.
The train screeched into the station and I boarded my usual empty carriage. I stared at the scenery flashing by and my mind drifted back to Sarah and Johnathan, who apparently didn’t board the return train at this time either. Or maybe they switched it up and sat in the fifth carriage on the way back. With that neon pink cardigan this morning I have learned to expect the unexpected. I wondered what their son looked like; would he have a scraggly beard like Johnathan? Sarah’s borderline offensive fashion taste? I smiled to myself, whoever he was; he certainly hadn’t been given the easiest start to life. The train pulled in and I made my way back home, slipping the key into the lock and delicately removing my shoes in mournful silence. Totally ruined. They had been a treat from Robert, although I would never tell anyone this. Cindy would kill me if she new I still wore them. He had said I needed an appropriate pair of shoes to work in the law firm and splurged put on these. They weren’t amazingly beautiful, but their sheer worth made them irresistible. Plain white and sensibly heeled, they weren’t much to look at to the untrained eye. But me and every other financially comfortable Londoner could see the little emblem pressed into the leather and the trademark gold clasp on the buckle. These puppies came in at over a grand a pop. I placed them begrudgingly behind the umbrella stand and sighed standing up.
Checking my phone, I responded to Cindy’s concerned response and told her to come round at eight. That gave me four hours; I lingered in the hallway wondering what to do with my spare time. I stared down at the files in my arm and my head throbbed. Deciding that I could persuade myself I was sick I dropped the files by my martyred shoes guilt free and plodded upstairs. Slipping out of my suit I put on my cotton pyjamas and slippers and hobbled back down the stairs to make myself a low sugar hot chocolate. Clutching the warm mug to my chest I decided to run myself a bath. It was a rarity to own a bathroom large enough for a bath in central London, let alone a foot claw antique one. Robert hated it when we were together, but I couldn’t quite find it within myself to part with it. The notion of relaxing was lost on him.
I added a lavender bath soak and turned the heat up high, smiling to myself that he could no longer winge at me for occupying the bathroom for so long. Despite despising my apartment, he refused to let me sleep over at his place. So, he used to turn up every night, find something to complain about, and then rinse and repeat (not literally of course, getting in the bathtub would have melted him like the wicked witch). The evenings usually ended in dissatisfying sex. Robert had never made me orgasm. I didn’t really blame him, no one I had been with had managed it so far. It was his lack of trying that infuriated me. Once he had realized that it wasn’t something he would be able to do, he just stopped trying. That’s what you get for being with an over-achiever I guess; they’re just give up if they fail.
He was so boring in bed, missionary every time. It was like I was only there to satisfy his needs. Like I could have just been anyone. I suppose in the end that is what happened. Stupid Susan. Stupid Robert.
I slipped into the bath, releasing a hiss as the sore areas of my feet met the scolding water. They soon dulled down and I submerged myself. The warm water soothing my body. As Robert slipped out of my mind, I was drawn back to my encounter with the shoemaker. What was his name?...Daniel?...no… Nicolás. Very interesting. My mind skipped back to his clothes; dirty and crumpled. He obviously didn’t put a lot, if any effort into his appearance. I wondered if this negatively impacted his business and concluded that it must, which was why he obviously couldn’t afford nice clothes. What a vicious cycle to be stuck in. On the one hand, it was admirable to start your own business up but if you can’t even dress yourself, how do you expect people to trust you with their shoes? I certainly wouldn’t entrust my heels to him.
He did have a nice face though. Under all the grime he was conventionally attractive. Strong masculine features, even despite the shoulder length hair that obscured his face. My mind drifted back to the strong feeling of his hand wrapped around my ankle undoing the strap of my fallen shoe and brushing my fingertips when he passed it back to me. An unprecedented tickle of electricity snaked its way down my abdomen to between my legs, leaving behind a warm and fuzzy feeling. God, I am in need of a hook up- this is getting ridiculous.
Heaving myself out of the water, the cool air hit my body hardening my nipples and eliciting a small shiver from me. Sighing with annoyance I enveloped myself in a large fluffy towel and padded to the bedroom. Pulling my pyjamas on, I suppressed the warm tingly feeling that had somehow managed to remain throughout the harsh cold of the air. To be aroused thinking about someone touching your hand was pathetic, especially when that person couldn’t even dress himself. I vowed to ask Cindy if she knew any men that were actually achieving something with their life that I could go out for a drink with.
As if on cue, the doorbell pierced the silence of the apartment filling it with chirpy annoying music. I pulled my socks on and hopped downstairs, excited to unburden my day on Cindy, she had an amazing talent of always being able to cheer me up, twisting depressing stories into amusing life lessons. I swung the door open to reveal Cindy clutching not one, but three bottles of wine. I laughed at her, instantly feeling better. “More room without your box of tools?” I quipped, glancing at the wine. “Well, I didn’t know who died so I thought I’d need all the arm space I could get. The nail stuff just didn’t make the cut” she teased, slipping past me and into the living room. She put the wine gracefully down on the coffee table and flounced over, enveloping me in a big typical Cindy hug. I wrapped my arms around her and smiled. “Now, you’d better tell me what’s going on so I can call off the air raid” she announced, stepping back and flopping onto the sofa.
I took place next to her and poured the wine generously into the glasses I had gotten out before. I drove into the start of my story, explaining the incident with Sean and the nice pile of files that was sat unfinished in my hallway opposite my ruined shoes. Snuffling when I recounted checking out of work early. She nodded along, scowling at Sean and refilling my glass when it ran dry. Two and a half bottles later and I was emphatically gesturing to the blister forming on my little toe, whining when I poked it a little too hard. She went into the kitchen to get another bottle of wine and I traipsed out to retrieve my shoes from the hallway, cradling them to my chest. She bounced back in with the bottle and plonked back down on the sofa. She swung her head round, “Listen Eff, Sean is just…just…a pillock okay? He’s nowhere near as good as you and that why he plays all these stupid little mind games with you. Just because he doesn’t understand where he should fit into the hierarchy it doesn’t mean like he gets to act like he is above you. You’re going to go in tomorrow and put your head down and let your work speak for you. You’re miles better than he is! He knows it too. Just try your best to ignore him. Maybe one day you’ll be his boss and you can shove him around all day for a change”.
Empowered by her speech, I nodded enthusiastically and sat up straight swallowing the last of the wine. The heels rolled off my lap, clattering on the expensive hardwood I had put in last week and interrupting the holler of solidarity about to come out of my lips. I bent down to pick them up but a wave of dizziness hit me and I teetered over to the side. Cindy snorted and pushed me back upright, dipping down gracefully to pick up my heels. She started at the tea stain matted into the suede with distaste and fingered the grate marks scrapped into the sides, fingers coming to rest on the broken heel. She whipped her head round towards me, “Did he push you over? Did you trip? Because I swear to God if that prick hurt you, I will personally come to work instead of you tomorrow and go straight over his puny little head.” She started muttering to herself while a giggle tore itself from my mouth.
She glared at me, “It’s not funny. I will. I swear”.  “I know” I reassured, watching her furrowed forehead smooth itself out again. “He didn’t push me over, my foot got stuck in a grate at the train station and it broke”. She started at me for a minute and burst into hysterical laughter. I glared at her, snatching my shoes from her as she doubled over clutching her stomach racked with laughter. “My poor shoes. Cindy! It's not funny!” this only seemed to spur her on and I slouched down on the sofa in defiance as she carried on oblivious. “Its just after that day, you couldn’t expect it to get any worse, and then it just did” she spluttered out. I started to smirk and then giggle, until eventually we were both rolling around on the sofa crying happy teers in fits of laughter.
“How did you manage to free yourself then? Hulk out in the train station and snap the heel off?” she choked out, gesturing to my weak arms. I crossed them over my chest in irritation and admitted I had help from a guy. She perked up at this, always wanting me to sleep with any guys I know. Last week she told me she thought that the barista in Starbucks called my name in a way that made her think he wanted to settle down. She was a helpless romantic, and a little delusional. “Who? Did you know him? Is he cute? Do I know him? I bet I could find him if you got his name? Alisha from the salon is really good with this type of thing, this one time she managed to find a guy who used the ATM before me in oxford circus just based on his coat, honestly, I bet you this woman could find him-“
“CINDY!” I cut her off. She looked up startled, resembling a child who got carried on drawing and was now scribbling all over the walls. I smiled and explained the whole thing, scrunching up my nose when I described his filthy attire and oil smeared appearance. She seemed unfazed, persevering with her initial line of enquiry. “Yes, but was he hot?”, she waited. “I…I guess you could say he was-““OH my god!!!!!!!” Cindy squealed. “You got rescued!!!!!!!!!! Oh it’s just like a movie” she gushed, waving her hands about with excitement, no doubt planning how she would weave this story into her maid of honor speech at our wedding. I pursed my lip trying to contain the laughter bubbling up at her absurdity. “Well, I doubt I’ll be seeing him again, I told him I wouldn’t take him up on his offer to fix the shoes, plus I couldn’t go for coffee with him, someone could have seen” I said indignantly. She scoffed at me and continued in a drawl about how he could be the love of my life and how she had a ‘feeling’ until we were both just muttering incoherent sentences at each other and occasionally laughing. I looked at the clock and yawned. Cindy pushed herself upright and straightened out her ruffled hair. “I guess I better get going” she said with a smile. Grateful for her friendship I pulled her in for a giant hug and thanked her for letting me vent all night, promising to return the favor at some point. I showed her out and closed the door. Deciding I would tidy up tomorrow I went upstairs and crawled into bed, I was physically exhausted, but my mind was racing. I turned the light off and left the curtains open, letting the soft streetlights illuminate my room with shadows.