One Night Stand by Dawn K. Caunce

Second Place Winner!!!


One Night Stand 

by Dawn K Caunce

Woken with a start, I look over to the other side of the bed and see the indentation of where my one-night stand has been lying. The sheet feels warm to touch. My head was now pounding and my lips, cracked and sore. What possessed me? Okay, so he was on the same flight, and his aunt lived in my village. However, this did not mean we should end up in the sack together. ‘Stupid, stupid girl,’ I could hear my mother saying. ‘You could have been murdered and lying in a ditch.’

Image by vbagiatis

The alcohol, my mouth felt dry and hoarse as I remembered the alcohol, lots of alcohol. Oh god! He must be downstairs. I grab my robe from the back of the door, wrap it around my naked body, and walk out onto the landing. "Ben?" I shout down. Bacon! I am sure I can smell bacon. I convince myself it will be as it is in the movies, where the hunk prepares a hearty breakfast with nothing on but a cheeky grin. "Ben, good morn . . . ing," I said sleepily as I reached the kitchen. But no Ben. I check the lounge, no Ben. I even look outside at the back, but still no Ben.

Four hours later, I finally realized Ben was not coming back. Feeling utterly ashamed, I showered, dressed and decided to go into the local village for some supplies.

"How could he do that to me?" I was livid. "Maybe he was embarrassed and thought he had taken advantage? Or worst still, married." My mind raced. 

A short drive later and I reach the village shop. Now where’s my list? Rummaging in my bag I pull out a crumpled piece of paper.

"Alice my dear, how was your trip?"

Oh no! Mrs Beagle, Ben’s aunt of all the people. I’ll try to ignore her.

“Alice? I said how was your flight?”

It was no good she had headed me off at path. “Well, it was certainly different," I said sheepishly.

"Different my dear?"

"Hmm, I met your nephew on the plane home."

"Nephew? John? You can't have my dear. He is in New Zealand, wheel chair bound."

"Not John, Ben." I was just about to start spouting off; when I caught sight of Mrs Beagle’s face, she looked unsteady. "Mrs Beagle here take my arm," I tried to steady her. She felt cold and clammy to touch. Her face looked insipid.

"Ben?” she repeated looking up into my eyes searching after the truth.

"Yes, Ben," I said. “Blonde roughly good-looking type, tanned." I felt a crash to the floor as a carrier bag dropped from her hold onto the pavement.

"Mrs Beagle what is it?" I said bending down to pick up the food items.

"Ben died last year in a plane crash. Such a waste,” she said stifling back the tears. “Perhaps you should lay off the wine my dear."