Stuart James - Apartment 6

A relationship with Meagan was out of the question, a no-go zone, a dip your hand in a bowl of piranha fish, a drive to the centre of a cyclone. He knew this. Claire was his future, his life. As she sat in front of him, telling him how she felt, he was more confident than ever.

After she finished her coffee, Claire stood, fighting the buzz of the caffeine and struggling to stem the adrenaline rush. ‘Wow, that’s strong coffee. I need to go. Will you walk me to the car?’

Oliver stood, and helped Claire into her coat, then he walked her down to the car park and out onto the street.

At her car, Claire turned towards him. ‘Look, it’s your call. I’ve said what I needed to say. It’s up to you what happens next.’

Oliver reached forward, pulling his ex into him, holding her close, not wanting to let go. ‘I’ll call you, okay.’

She smiled, pleased with his response.

Oliver waved as her car pulled onto the road; unaware that Meagan was watching.

Meagan had stayed hidden in the cupboard under the stairs, praying Rob wouldn’t find her. She listened to the front door open and Rob leaving apartment six. She pulled her phone out and tapped a message to Oliver. She stared at the screen until her eyes became blurry, waiting for a reply. A few minutes later, she repeated the message.

Please, Oliver. You need to help me. Rob’s attacked me again. I have no one else to turn to.

She slowly opened the cupboard door, crawling on her hands and knees, wincing in pain. A stream of blood was running along the right side of her face and dripping onto the floor.

Meagan held onto the door handle, pulling herself upwards so she stood, bent over. She quickly checked the front door, moving towards it, making sure it was closed, pushing her face to the spyhole.

Her phone beeped, the screen lit up with a new message.

Meagan wiped the side of her face with the back of her hand, inspecting the red liquid. ‘Shit.’

She thought about the last week, how great her husband had been, how he’d changed, becoming a caring, loving partner, looking out for her. Now this. Meagan read the message.

Hey babe, going to the club, then a game of poker with the guys. I won’t be back until early tomorrow. Rob.

She read the message a second time, unable to make him out.

Once she’d cleaned herself up, Meagan took her jacket from the coat stand, turned off the lights and headed out onto the street.

Meagan needed fresh air to clear her head and think about her next move so she started walking to Oliver’s apartment.

Meagan decided she needed to seduce him again, make him want her so badly he’d have no choice but to try again to kill Rob.

As Meagan approached the tall building, she saw a couple holding each other on the street to her right side. The woman pulled away slowly from the clinch, lust in her eyes, moving her right hand forward, caressing the guy’s face. He was like a puppy, indulged and drowning in the glory of self-worth.

Meagan watched as the woman kissed him gently on the cheek, asking him to call her, then she stepped into the car, her long legs majestically sweeping into the vehicle, her stare sultry as she casually closed the window, smiling, beaming, oozing sex appeal.

As the car pulled away, Meagan stumbled backwards, pushing her arms out to break the fall. She crouched, watching Oliver standing, a grin on his face, bouncing his door keys in his hand like a juggler practising for a first performance.

He looked upwards muttering something, an act of thankfulness, then went inside.

Meagan stood watching long after Oliver had left, wondering why he’d do this now.

Slowly, Meagan crossed the street, crouching below the car park barrier, moving around to the back of the building, keeping out of sight. On the fourth floor the light came on. She saw a figure standing by the glass, wiping condensation, sipping on a drink, turning away, the light going off and the blind dropping.

Meagan waited for what felt like hours, drowned in emotion, her life in turmoil, unsure of her next step, but she had to do something.

If Oliver had changed his mind, it was up to her to change it back.

Meagan lay in bed with the window slightly ajar, welcoming the fresh breeze entering the room. She turned over slowly onto her side. The sheet was stained with her blood and she could feel the sticky blotch which had formed on her cheek.

The bed on Rob’s side was made and pulled up. He hadn’t been home. She glanced at the alarm clock: 8.27am.

As she heaved herself upwards, she heard footsteps on the stairs, moving towards her. Meagan wanted to hide, but there wasn’t enough time.

Rob appeared at the door a couple of seconds later as Meagan pretended to sleep. He stepped inside, balancing on one leg as he removed his boots, sniffing and muttering to himself.

He ripped the blanket back forcefully and got in beside Meagan, still in his shirt and pants. Rob placed his arm around his wife, and a few seconds later he was out cold, sleeping off the effects of his long night.

Meagan waited a few minutes, easing the blanket back, hoisting her frame upwards and out of bed.

She took her clothes from the chair by the dresser and crept downstairs, through the kitchen towards the bathroom at the back of the apartment. She turned on the shower, removed her underwear and closed the door behind her, twisting the lock. As she stood under the steaming hot water, letting it splash on her skin, pushing her hands through her long black hair, she thought about her childhood, the death of her mother. She thought about her father thrown to the ground and cuffed, taken from the house and after the trial, locked away in a cell for the rest of his days. He’d taken the blame, shouldered the responsibility, shielding his young child to protect her.

Meagan had been too young to really understand what happened that night. She had poisoned her mother to help her sleep, to ease the pain she suffered, day in, day out. The little girl had watched her mother fight this beast of a man she’d chosen to spend her life with until it’d broken her.

Neighbours had found her aunty in a cupboard at the back of the farmhouse, bound and gagged, a quivering, neurotic wreck, asking over and over again where her sister and niece were. After a handful of sessions with a psychiatrist, Anne stepped up to the mark, taking Meagan in, looking after her.

Meagan had to change her life. She was unable to take the abuse anymore. She was determined not to end up like her mother.

The bathroom was full of steam. Condensation formed a dense fog on the glass. Meagan’s body was raw where she had scrubbed her skin with a flannel and from the extreme heat of the water.

She turned off the shower, reaching for a towel which hung over the door, drying herself, shaking her legs to rid them of excess water. She stepped onto the mat, inspecting for watermarks or footprints. Everything was dry.

Meagan stepped into her fresh clothes and gently unlocked the bathroom door.

She picked up her phone, which had been charging on the side of the kitchen unit, then filled the kettle with cold water and switched it on, covering it with a towel to stem the noise.

Meagan looked at her messages: an ad from a mobile company, a one-month free trial for a local gym, and a restaurant offering half-price food for collection. There was nothing from Oliver. She pictured the two of them last night; him and the other woman, holding each other, embracing, unable to let go, her pulling away, then Oliver standing, watching her get into the car.

This can’t happen. I won’t let it; he’s with me now, that’s how it goes, I’m afraid. We have plans; you’re not going to ruin it. He’s started something and needs to finish it. You can’t crouch on the block, eyeing your opponents, listening for the gun, then walk off halfway up the track. It doesn’t fucking work like that, Oliver.