Teacup Story – The Morning After

The Morning After – It had been a turbulent night. Both for literal and metaphorical reasons. It meant that Helen liked to take a moment to consider where her life was at. (Genre – General, Rating – 15, Warnings: Language)

Helen picked up the glasses from the night before, washing them with a methodical manner which was almost soothing to her cracking hangover.

It was just wine. Wine and a bit of fun. Nothing more.

James was still upstairs, in bed. Helen wasn’t sure what this made them now. She didn’t really want to think about it.

She continued to wash up the glasses.

The party had been fun, she had to admit that. Ian hadn’t turned up, but then he was an unreliable son of a bitch so it was pretty much off anyway.

She placed the clean glass on the washing up dresser and picked up her mobile from the desk.

20 notifications on whatsapp. Three missed calls. Two texts.

She put her phone down and signed, picking up the next champagne flute and dunking it into the warm water. The warmth was soothing, the bubble itchy, and the glass was not really that important anyway.

She had called it off, after some encouragement from Jemma and a few glasses of wine. If she was honest with herself, the number of “go get fucked” messages she had sent Ian were probably considered a bit over the top, but he deserved it. He had stood her up and let her down more times than she could shake a stick at.

It wasn’t that Ian was bad per-se. He was just alright. Not great. Alright.

Her phone buzzed again, another message from Ian. Helen placed the champagne flute on the side and picked up her phone and tapped on the screen to open up the messages.

Helen scrolled down the ones at the bottom, ignoring the most recent ones. It would never do to read a story out of order.

17:55pm, 21st January 2017

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? You can’t just fucking drop me like that! I said I had other stuff on, for fucks sake. It’s not my fault your’re such a fucking party animal.

17:58, 21st January 2017

Look, I’m sorry babe. I’m just stressed. I’m just annoyed.

18:30 21st January 2017

Babe, Babe can you call me?

18:31 21st January 2017

Babe?

19:59 21st January 2017

Babe, why are you not relying? What have I done? I love you babe.

20:45 21st January 2017

Babe. Babe. There are photos on Facebook. Babe.

21:37 21st January 2017

I’m drunk and I can’t type. Babe can you call me. Babe.

22:03 21st January 2017

Fucks sake, Darren said you were kissing James. Fucks sake,babe. We haven’t even been broken up for more than 24 hours. Can’t you give me a chance?

23:59 21 January 2017

I guess this is it. It was alright I suppose. If you’re ove me that’s that.

Helen shut the app before she finished reading the diatribe and put the phone on the counter.

“Anything the matter?”

James’ voice almost made Helen scream in shock.

“Fuck me, you sneaky bastard,” she said, turning around.

“Sorry,” James shrugged. He still had the post sex hair that hung over his face in a way which was mildly alluring.

“Not your fault,” Helen said, picking up another champagne glass and nodding to her phone, “Ian,”

James shrugged, padding his way across the kitchen and pointing at the kettle.

“Tea?” He asked.

Helen almost laughed. It was such a small gesture, but one which Ian would never had done. He was just too much of self centred arsehole.

“Yes,” she replied, “White, no sugar.”

“Yes ma’am,” James said, giving her a mock salute and taking the kettle off the stand and sticking it under the tap.

“Stealing your water, sorry,” James said, with a grin.

“Go for it,” Helen replied with a smile.

James filled the kettle, humming to himself as he did so. Helen smiled as he placed it on the stand and clicked the light on.

“Which one is cups?” James said, gesturing to the cupboards.

“Top left,” Helen said, placing the campagne flute on the rack and reaching for the collection of wine glasses which also stood on the side. The problem with 30th birthdays were that everyone was old enough and rich enough to bring alcohol in significant quantities,

“Cheers,” James said, taking out the cups.

Helen’s phone buzzed again.

She placed the glass she had finished washing on the drying up rack, and picked it up.

One message from Ian Peterrson

Helen tapped on the message to open it.

10:47am, 22 January 2017

Well you can go get fucked.

Helen looked up at James humming as he tried to find two matching mugs in Helen’s ecletic mix of drinks ware.

Yeh, she thought, as she tapped the “Block” button on her phone, you can go get fucked Ian.

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