Fifteen Feathers - pt. 3

- Part 1 -
- Part 2 -
- Part 3 -


Katya had a plan. Everything felt wrong, but she could ride this out. Today was her birthday, she was thirty three for god’s sake. Thirty hadn’t been this bad. Being dumped had never been this bad. This was the first time she’d been dumped since being thirty, though. Nine years of her and Larry, gone. There was nothing she could do about that, but whatever jerk was putting those envelopes through her door. That she could do something about.

She wondered if they’d been dosed in something, but it didn’t feel like drugs, and it kicked in way too fast. She admitted she was making that judgement as a veteran of the club scene, not through any medical proficiency, but still, she couldn’t believe there was anything that could have such a violently hallucinogenic effect so quickly and so briefly. There had definitely been plenty that left her feeling this crappy the next day.

She was sat in the hallway, her back against the wall, her knees pulled up, waiting by the letterbox. Selina, as much of a friend as a boss, had agreed to give her some short notice holiday to ‘get her head sorted out’. If Selina could see her now, hiding out of sight, ready to pounce and wrench the door open, she would definitely think Katya needed it. What a way to spend her birthday.

She had met Selina the same night she met Larry. And Selina had always been there for her, looked out for her; kept her on the straight and narrow... lot of good that had done, Larry had left her anyway. Maybe she should have had some fun when the opportunities had presented themselves. Uck, she had to stop thinking about him.

She nearly shrieked as the letterbox coughed up two slim, white envelopes. Damn sneaky postman, she hadn’t even heard him come up the path. Must be more vigilant. She flipped the envelopes, bank statement, not even worth looking at, she was depressed enough already, and a water bill, both wadded out with commercial bumph, telling her to spend more and wash less, or vice versa.

She picked up her tea cup, then remembered it was empty. She should have prepared a thermos... Yes... and sat on the floor, in her hallway, with tea cup, thermos, sugar bowl and tiny jug of milk; maybe a small plate of bourbons. Yes, that was what being an adult was about. Crazy picnics in your own hall. Although, she hadn’t found any other occasion to use that little ceramic jug with the floral pattern her mother had bought her as a moving-in present. Were they still called jugs when they were that small? Or were they boats, like gravy.

A milk boat, was that a thing?

She decided that making bad jokes probably meant she was starting to feel better.

Then her heart leapt into her throat as she heard a footstep outside. Her eyes snapped to the steel rectangle of the letterbox, and as soon as she saw a triangle of black begin to push through it she was up and grabbing for the latch.

She yanked the door open. Her head swam from getting up too fast, but that was definitely...

“Larry.”

Her tall, dark and handsome. A scratch over six foot, perfect for her to rest her head on his broad chest. Scruffy, coal-black hair – over-styled and amazing, somehow not gunky despite the amount of product he put in it. Deep eyes, hypnotic pupils that were dark to the rim with just the slightest ring of reddish brown; like looking into a well you could fall down forever. That lop-sided smile, more to the left than the right; the trick was making him break into a full smile, not easy, but so rewarding...

She opened her mouth to say more, but couldn’t work out what to say first. She stared at the black envelope in his hand.

His left eyebrow arched in an exquisitely curved circumflex, an accent to the half-smile, a change in nuance.

“Happy birthday, Katkin.”

That voice. Low, untroubled, a purr with just the tiniest curl of a growl. Got her right there, every time.

He proffered the envelope.

“It’s for you.”




- Part 4 -