The Watch

Sara's boyfriend, Seb is changing. She is pained by what she sees and decides to confront him.

As they padded through the rain, soaked, dripping wet, she clung to his arm. She was slightly frustrated, tired even more so, half resenting him for dragging on this escapade for far too long, way past its expiry date. Sure, bags hung from her arms, albeit soggy and torn, but they were shopping bags: Armarni, Ted Baker, Selfridges, Louis Vuitton. Shouldn’t she be happy, ecstatic even? Shouldn’t it be enough? Shouldn’t it change everything? It didn’t, she still felt the bitter cold, her cheeks still ached, her nose still ran and her fingers were still numb. She wanted nothing more than to go home

“Last one,” he cried, and she let out a sigh, one exaggerated and framed by the November air.

A mist formed in front of her face, of which he was oblivious to. Dazed by the superficial trance today’s events had put him in, she shuddered at the fact that it was becoming an all too regular occurrence, and she seemed to be the only of the pair who realized this, that was bothered by any of it.

He’d spotted a small boutique, one that stocked all of his newly acquired favourite brands. Some items were supposed knock-offs, but of course she knew better than to believe the bare-faced lie told to consumers. They were little less than full price, and obviously, to anyone who had half a brain, the few pounds that were ‘knocked off’, were spent travelling to the deepest depths of the middle of nowhere, making wrong turns and getting off the bus a stop too late to locate the damned things.

They stepped in and onto the cheap lino flooring, clearly the shop owner was a frugal one, cutting corners, scrimping and saving purely to ensure that other areas of his life were unrealistically enhanced. This was so that out of pure pretension, he could sport the same clothes, this exact same gear her sold on to his similarly ostentatious customers.

“Alright”, Seb called out to a small Asian man who was weighed down by far too much silver jewelry, that he later markedly made a point of being platinum, and was sat, perched on an old wooden stool. His face, displaying sheer boredom, rested sullenly in his upturned palms. He grinned at Seb, upon acknowledging him.

Seb strobe over to him, wet, leaving a trail of tiny puddles on this man’s Lino, his jeans clung to his ankles.

As if it had all previously been arranged, the small Asian man pulled a tray of watches from underneath the till. Elaborate watches, the kind you you would see in the Sunday Times ‘Style’ magazine. Certainly not the kind that should have been gracing Seb’s wrist, or vice versa, she thought. She watched on, fascinated by it all. Surely Seb was just wasting his and her time? There was no way he could afford anything on that tray.

Perhaps he was window shopping, planning ahead. Perhaps he had come here for an inspirational boost.

“Eight seventy? Come on bossman, you’re gonna have to do better than that”, heckled Seb.

“Eight bills. What do you say” he continued.

The small Asian man, Bossman, shook his head.

“Eight fifty. That’s the best I can do for you my friend.”

Ben clutched the watch, clunky thing, but modest in comparison to the others, which were diamond encrusted and gold plated in places an average  person would think unnecessary.

Seb pulled a wad of notes from his satchel, smooth, pressed, crisp. As he did so, Sara winced. She didn’t like what was coming and her blood began to boil. She was simmering.

In a quick and silent exchange with the small Asian man, bar a few nods, Seb had parted with his cash and was now the proud owner of a brand new Michael Kors watch. A timepiece way above his own means, one that stretched his budget by a long shot.

Once they were back out into the drizzle, treading through soggy cardboard and avoiding puddles, Sara began to speak, her blood still resting somewhere near boiling point.

“What was that about?” She questioned.

“What was what about? Don’t you like it, babes? I could have got you one as well, you need to speak up, Sara.”

“No, I didn’t want one, Seb. I want to know how exactly you can afford it. What makes you think you can afford that watch?”

“Sara, did you not just see that I had more than enough for it? For all of this? Relax, I’ve got it under control, babe, you know I always have.”

“For crying out loud, Seb, WHAT have you got under control?” She shrieked, a little louder now, drawing attention to them both, eyes glancing in their direction, darting from one of their faces to the other, and then back again.

“All I see is you spending. Spending money, countlessly, without a care, but I never, ever see where this money is coming from. Ever”

“What does it matter where it’s coming from” he replied, maintaining his composure, calm, more than she could manage for herself.

‘Of course it matters, Seb. I need to know that I’m not wearing goods, dirty goods, that have been bought with money that is not rightfully yours. And what’s with all of this stuff anyway, huh? Louis Vuitton? Since when were you ever into any of this? Since when? You never liked any of this, expressed any interest in it until recently. This isn’t you. It wasn’t you, Seb, what’s happened?”

“You’re being ridiculous, Sara. You wanted a watch, didn’t you? This is what this is all bout, isn’t it? You’re upset that I didn’t offer to buy you a watch like mine. Why didn’t you just ASK for one for crying out loud?!”

‘I DON’T WANT A WATCH SEBASTIAN. I DON’T WANT A BLEEDING WATCH.” She screamed, at the top of her lungs. They now had more of an audience, despite the drizzle.

“I want to know what has happened to you. I want to know where on earth you’ve gone, where you’re hiding, because THIS?” She hissed at him, full of disgust, holding her Ted Baker shopping bag at arms length as if it housed the remains of a ten-day old animal carcass.

“This is not you, it’s not me and it’s not you. Ted Baker, Seb? Really? And Ralph Lauren?” She mocked, eyeballing him, scrutinizing his attire. He shrunk back into her over-sized puffer jacket, sheepishly.

“It’s a f*****g t-shirt, Seb. You’re parading around in a seventy pound T-shirt. It does the exact same thing as all of your other fifteen pound t-shirts. The ones that don’t have a small black smudge you have to literally be within arms length of you, with a clear view to know is a man atop a horse. The EXACT same things, Seb.”

“You’re being hysterical, Sara. You don’t know what you’re saying. Let’s go and find a pub, I’ll buy you a drink. Yes. I’ll buy you a drink, it’s what you need. It’s been a long day, I understand that, and I’m not the easiest person to shop with. Come on darling, what do you say?” he tried, trying to diffuse the situation, break up the show they had put on for the passers-by.

“Unbelievable.”

Sara had had it, she had heard enough. Hurling all of her bags a good distance from where the pair stood, she groaned, and one toppled over and spilt its contents out into a puddle, which had begun to form a small Lake in it its own right, nearby. Water spread across delicate, pale blue satin and tears streamed down her face, painting inky streaks across skin more delicate than the soaked blouse. Pain spread across her face and she began to sob. Amidst all these expensive, designer goods, she no longer recognized her own boyfriend, her best friend, and the heartache she now felt, everything she was watching, had watched  of him slip away, was priceless.

Author's Note

Just something I knocked out on the tube :3

Reviews

[InkSlinger]

Was waiting for the punch... but a good solid writing, well thought out, well written. Many times when writing short stories, or flash fiction one tends to leave out the minor details that solidifies the structure of the work, I was rather impressed that you were able to pack this with so many details without making it feel like a burden to read.