Fiction: Midnight Stroll, Pt. 2

Author's Note: I've literally no idea where I am going with this. Or should I say I've no idea where the plot bunny is taking me? If there is one, that is. This experiment literally entails me sitting down in front of the laptop, opening up the story and starting to write. I don't want to overthink it, I just want to write, feel the words flow out of me and see what the result is. That's how I write best. At the moment I'm highly inspired, mainly by one of my favourite singers, and maybe the excitement of my upcoming trip to Germany, as well as Ireland, has something to do with feeling this inspired to write, write, write. I did some of my best writing while living in Ireland, though a lot of it was never actually published, so maybe the prospect of being able to return for a few days has opened the creative flood gates. Either way, it feels bloody good and utterly right. I really missed this. I might turn into a reclusive once more, but if it means I get to write to my heart's content I'm willing to put everything else on the back burner. Everything but exercising that is. And of course work. The latter pays the bills. Anyways, enough of my mindless ranting, here's the next part of my story.

If you missed it, here's Part 1.
Part 2:

Against my better judgement, I get up and move away from the bus stop, determined to check out how far away I am from completely spiralling out of control. If I’m insane enough to wander the streets at a time when everyone else chooses to stay at home, then I’m most definitely insane enough to check out who’s watching me from across the street. Who knows? Maybe you have developed some voyeuristic tendencies since I last saw you. I’m quite certain, whoever is hiding in the dark, is not who I want it to be and I do realise that should I be forced to defend myself from some lunatic, I’ve absolutely nothing on me to aid me in what will without a doubt become a desperate act of self-preservation. You should really stop watching Criminal Minds! I chastise myself. The only lunatic around here is me. I’m not walking towards a serial killer, chancing upon his latest victim. I just suffer from delusions of grandeur, an overactive imagination and severe lack of sleep. All in all, just another day in the madness that has come to manifest itself as my life.

I’ve finally reached the other side of the street and as predicted there’s nobody lurking around by the corner. Well, that’s not quite true. A stray dog yelps at my sudden appearance and dashes off, putting as much distance between it and me. Well, isn’t that just fantastic. Even stray dogs aren’t interested in keeping me company! Considering that I cannot remember when I last brushed my hair, I must indeed look a fright. Clearly just my eyes playing cruel tricks on me. Even my own brain is working against me, giving me a flicker of hope, when there is none. I should really find something better to do with my time.

Sod it, I’m going home. My sudden change of tune is so unlike me yet is exactly something I would do and say. My reason for leaving home in the first place was because I couldn’t stand being cooped up in a place that seems to perpetually get smaller. Now, I can’t seem to get back home fast enough. I’m practically falling over my own feet in my hurried attempt to get home. Home. Hah! Another good one. Don’t they say home is where the heart is? Well my heart is certainly not inside those blasted four walls I call home. If I had to pinpoint a place, I’d say it’s right here on this street. Then again, I’ve recently become rather intimately acquainted with this street and I have yet to locate my heart anywhere. It’s probably with the blasted person who is to blame for my current predicament. Very well done, you. Aren’t you proud of yourself? Not only did you have the indecency, I should say, to waltz into my life, then spectacularly waltz out again but you also took something that wasn’t yours to take in the first place. Thief. In every sense of the word. And oh, look, now it’s lashing from the skies. As if I haven’t had enough bad luck recently… Somebody up there must be seriously pissed with me to bless me with so much misery.


“Here,” Startled by an unfamiliar voice, I look up and straight into the most beautiful brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Corny, yes, but true. Although I’m pretty much already soaked to the bone, the unexpected offer of some shelter from the wet is welcoming.
“Thanks,” I mumble, pretty sure my face resembles a tomato. Judging by the heat I can feel burning in my cheeks I must be redder than red.
“No big deal,” He shrugs and smiles. I want to melt into the ground. My legs suddenly feel like jelly and I have to repeatedly remind myself to get a grip. This is not like me. I do not melt at the sight of handsome strangers, or gorgeous brown eyes, or sweet smiles, or random offers of kindness.
“Didn’t think it would rain today,” I explain the absence of my umbrella, though I’m not exactly sure why I feel the need to justify myself.
“Neither did I,”
“Well you’re clearly better prepared than I am,” I smirk.
“I always have a backup umbrella in the office.” He grins. “Excuse me for being so direct, but since you’re already soaked, may I recommend a hot cup of coffee? If you drink coffee, that is. If you do, there’s a coffee shop just down the road.”
For a moment I consider my options. On one hand, I’d love to get home and peel myself out of these wet clothes, but on the other hand I’ve no idea when my unreliable mode of transportation – otherwise known as public transport – is going to show and I’m also strangely intrigued by this handsome stranger.
“I’d love to accept your invitation but I’m afraid you’re going to kidnap and sell me.” I put Prince Charming right on the spot and want to melt again when he laughs heartily.
“I just finished a gruelling 48-hour shift,” he points at the tall building behind him and a vaguely register that he pointed at a hospital, “I can assure you the only thing that’s on my mind is a very strong coffee. And maybe a chat with you, if you’ll indulge me.”
Deciding to throw caution into the wind, I find myself accepting the unexpected invitation and we stroll down the road to the promised coffee shop. About two hours and two cups of coffee each later, my cheeks hurt from all the laughing I’ve been doing. Turns out my knight in shining armour’s name is Jamie and he’s a surgeon at the nearby hospital. He’s here on loan for three years with one down and two more to go, hails from Ireland – which I’d guessed based on his accent –, has a wicked sense of humour, an unhealthy obsession with coffee, good wine and food, doesn’t normally chat up random women at bus stops – something he made a point of repeatedly assuring me and I secretly feel flattered to be his first – doesn’t get much free time, and can’t get used to the hectic lifestyle and never-ending overtime his job requires of him. On top of that he has admitted that Hugh Grant movies are his guilty pleasure. I have, in return, divulged my name and what it is I do. Despite Jamie repeatedly pestering me, I have yet to confess my guilty pleasure but have confessed to an illicit affair with chocolate muffins and cheesecake. By coffee number three I’m feeling all jittery and my clothes are dry again, though somewhat uncomfortable to wear. Still, Jamie isn’t only good company but also extremely easy on the eyes. Combine that with me being practically drunk on coffee – or high on handsome, I’m not quite sure – and chances of me going home range between slim and non-existent. Coffee turns into dinner and dinner turns into Jamie being the perfect gentleman when he offers to pay for my cab home.