Flash Fiction: Walk of Shame
She couldn’t sit and stall any longer. With every passing second, the meter ticked on and the cabbie got ticked off.
“Keep the change,” she said as she paid the driver with the last of the cash she had on her, feeling his dark glare when he realized his tip amounted to twenty cents.
He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance when he started talking in his native tongue, a tongue that smelled of curry and onions and assaulted her sensitive nose and stomach. She couldn’t get out of the cab fast enough.
Standing on the sidewalk in the bright light of day, cum stains between her thighs, fuck-me pumps in one hand and house key in the other, she counted the slabs of concrete leading from the sidewalk to the front door.
Fourteen.
Fourteen paces to get to the door. Fifteen paces to get out of the eyesight of her neighbors leaving for work and kids leaving for the school bus.
He said it was going to be a night she’d never forget.
Too bad she couldn’t remember his name.
©Jayne Marlowe, 2015
