{"id":166,"date":"2011-03-18T09:00:58","date_gmt":"2011-03-18T16:00:58","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/?p=166"},"modified":"2011-03-18T20:32:20","modified_gmt":"2011-03-19T03:32:20","slug":"moving-day-killing-friends-5","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/moving-day-killing-friends-5\/","title":{"rendered":"Moving Day – Killing Friends 5"},"content":{"rendered":"

For Reaia Greenberg<\/em><\/p>\n

Reaia could only stare at the ceiling, struggling to force air into her lungs. The floor was cool against her warm back but she took no pleasure in it. This was what death felt like.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d asked her husband, Jeff. He carried a large box labelled \u201cKITCHEN\u201d and stared down at her.<\/p>\n

\u201cDying\u201d, she answered trying to wipe the sweat from her face. Her entire body hurt.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on\u201d he said, \u201cthere are only a few boxes left and we need to have the truck back in an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n

‘What about them?\u201d she nodded towards her three, sweat-covered, friends sitting at the kitchen table.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt’s too late for us\u201d said Ryan with his head resting on the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe heat has already killed me\u201d whined Mark in the seat next to him.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe if you dressed properly, the heat wouldn’t hit you so hard\u201d, Eric said, bringing attention to Mark’s usual outfit of layered black clothes.<\/p>\n

\u201cShow some respect for the dead, man\u201d Mark replied.<\/p>\n

Reaia sighed in annoyance and pushed herself to her feet. After brushing the dust from the dirty hardwood floor off of the seat of her beige cargo pants, she braved the heat of the scorching summer’s day and made her way to the moving truck to tackle the remaining boxes.<\/p>\n

As much as she believed that moving was an activity that should be reserved for the deepest level of hell, Reaia had been looking forward to this move and the start of her new life. Jeff and his friends had started up a web development company many years back. The whole ordeal was hard on their relationship. Jeff had spent the majority of his time at the studio leaving Reaia with many quiet nights alone at home. In the end, the company had put together a new social media site that took the internet by storm. Within a few months, their user base was in the millions. Facebook had become obsolete so they fought back with the only weapon they had: their chequebook. Jeff’s company was quickly sold and everyone involved was financially set for life. Reaia and Jeff immediately sold their tiny condo and bought a house.<\/p>\n

She regretted not hiring movers. Reaia had never been the type of person to hire someone else to do what she felt she could do herself but moving on the hottest day of the summer was forcing her to question her judgement \u2013 and her sanity.
\n
\nShe reached into the truck and grabbed one of the boxes that Jeff had moved closer to the door for easy access. The weight of the box took her by surprise. She hadn’t braced herself for such a load and, stumbling, she lost her grip on the handles. Thankfully, two large hands gripped the box, preventing it from crashing to the ground.<\/p>\n

Once the box was safely rested, Reaia looked up into the face of her saviour. He was a young man, early twenties, with a handsome face and a spectacular body. He smiled at her with a smile that would make a woman’s underwear peal itself off to avoid drowning.<\/p>\n

\u201cTommy\u201d he said extending his hand for hers.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo\u201d, she answered, \u201cI’m Reaia\u201d. Tommy chuckled and moved his hand to his chest.<\/p>\n

\u201cI meant my name is Tommy\u201d, he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, of course\u201d, Reaia laughed, \u201cthat makes more sense. I’m Reaia\u201d.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah you said that already\u201d Tommy said with a wink. \u201cI live just next door and thought I would give you a hand\u201d. Reaia shook off her embarrassment and thanked him. Together, they took the final boxes into the house where Reaia introduced Tommy to Jeff and their friends.<\/p>\n

\u201cGreen Ranger\u201d Mark said after learning Tommy’s name.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry?\u201d asked Tommy.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was the name of the Green Ranger from Power Rangers. ‘Tommy’\u201d, Mark said. \u201cDid you summon your Dragonzord to help with the move?\u201d he grinned and elbowed Eric in the ribs.<\/p>\n

Nobody laughed. Nobody said anything. Reaia ordered pizza for everyone.<\/p>\n

—————<\/p>\n

Sitting in a room full of boxes, Reaia rested her aching body. She basked in the silence of the empty house. Jeff had gone for drinks with the guys to celebrate the move. They’d invited her along but she politely declined and, instead, chose to indulge in a glass of wine while reading her book: \u201cThe Vegetarian Myth\u201d by Lierre Keith.<\/p>\n

Strangely enough, Reaia found her thoughts drifting towards Tommy. During dinner, he had been making eyes at her. She would never admit it, but she’d returned a smile or two. She wasn’t really interested in him of course, she was happily married to Jeff, it was just nice to have someone take notice. It made her feel young again. It wasn’t fair for her to string him along though. The next time she saw him, she would clear everything up.<\/p>\n

Reaia closed her book and moved towards her bedroom to ready herself for a well deserved night’s sleep. She stopped when she heard a knock at her door. She looked down at her iPhone. The digital clock told her it was just after eleven. She cautiously made her way to the door \u2013 gripping her phone like a weapon. Peeking through the tiny window, she saw Tommy standing by the door in the rain holding a single flower. She felt a mixture of relief and guilt as she opened the door with a smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi\u201d, said Tommy. He glanced at his feet and then into her eyes while offering her the flower.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, Tommy\u201d, she said. The guilt was overwhelming now. She needed to clear this up right away. \u201cI think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding\u201d. Tommy knew what she meant immediately and it was evident in his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh\u201d, he said. He was soaking wet from the rain. \u201cWell, do you mind if you break my heart inside? It’s a little wet out here\u201d. He forced a smile. Reaia stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him.<\/p>\n

\u201cTommy\u201d, she said, \u201cI’m sorry, I think I’ve led you on..\u201d She was promptly silenced by Tommy’s mouth as he kissed her. She pulled away and put her hand to her lips. She began to say something but was interrupted when Tommy pushed her hard against the wall. He kissed her again, forcing his tongue into her mouth. Her head screamed for her to stop, to push him off, but she didn’t. She kissed him back.<\/p>\n

Tommy moved his hand to Reaia’s waist. This was wrong. She whispered a weak sound of protest. He moved his hand up her body.<\/p>\n

\u201cStop\u201d, she said, louder this time. \u201cI can’t do this Tommy\u201d. Tommy moved his hand to her neck, still trying to kiss her. She turned her head and tried to move away. Tommy wrapped his fingers tightly around her throat, pressing her firmly to the wall. Reaia began to panic, she couldn’t breathe. She tried to fight him off. She scratched at his face, drawing blood, but it didn’t phase him. He moved both of his hands to her throat and stared directly into her eyes. Everything went dark.<\/p>\n

To be continued..<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

For Reaia Greenberg<\/em><\/p>\n

∼ Continue Reading ∼<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8,19,14,10,4,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-166","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-flash-fiction","category-killing-friends","category-requests","category-shorts","category-stories","category-thriller"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/166","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=166"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/166\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":170,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/166\/revisions\/170"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=166"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=166"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.marklidstone.com\/TheWriter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=166"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}