Edge of Sink (freewrite)

She doesn't look down. Instead her eyes fix on the stain on the edge of the sink. She must do everything that she can to keep her eyes on that one stain, because she does not want to look down, she knows what she will see there. She's known for quite a while, though he hasn't.
She knew when she bought the test, what it would show. She remembers reading the instructions on the back of the box, standing so alone in the store aisle. And she remembers seeing the two straight lines and thinking 'yep, that's me'.
But no. She must not think about that,s o she focuses on the sink. Her sink is a bit dirty. Not filthy, but you know, not clean. And she can't remember dirtying it. She's been quite absent lately. And she wonders if it was her who left that stain there. Perhaps it was her dad or Julia. Oh-so-perfect Julia whom her father seems to love more than her. More than he loved Mum, anyway.
Mum. Mum. Mum.

How the fuck is she going to tell him? He doesn't want this. He's made it very clear, from the very first second that this was not what he was looking for. And once, she thought the same way, she thinks – staring at the edge of the sink – of the fun they used to have, of the nights she danced on the bar, naked and happy and more than a little bit drunk. And Alex catching her in his arms and kissing her neck. Alex, who was so relaxed and free and happy whenever he was with her.
Oh, Mum, I'm in big trouble now.

Ray hugs the sidewalk and waits. It's cold down here, but they said they'd meet in the bushes behind the house. Where the hell is he? Johnnie said this would be easy, that they would be a quick in and out, get the gold, triumph. Johnnie made it sound so poetic, so very brave, more like Robin Hood than some gangster junk, which is what it really way. Ray felt pathetic waiting for his patner-in-crime.
Johnnie had told him that he'd watched the house for quite a while now. The dude was always at work, there would be plenty of time, he only got back around seven. And the hottie was always out with her girlfriends, doing whatever these rich bitches do. Johnnie sure had a few ideas about that. And then, there was the girl, Alice. Ray remembers Alice well. They went to school together, until he dropped out. She was always nice to him. Ray didn't like what Johnnie had to say about her. That she was a whore, that she slept around, that...Awful things.
Ray is getting nervous, as he feels the shadow of the sun descend from his body. It's getting colder now. Where the hell is Johnnie? He said he'd be here, he said it'd be fine. He must've been caught up or something. Ray thinks how he'll confront Johnnie when he gets here. Yell at him. Scream. But that's all such a lie. He knows he doesn't have the guts. He'd never stand up to Johnnie .
He looks at his watch. Oh, shit. It's ten to seven. If it's going down, it's happening now. He knows that if he ditches this job, Johnnie will kill him. Even if it was Johnnie's job to do the actual robbing.
Ray was only supposed to be the lookout. Even so.
Ray pats his back pocket, feels the cold weight there, and gets going.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'
Laura will kill him. They were supposed to meet for dinner at eight and he figured he'd go by the house, shower, maybe trim his beard a bit. He's really been putting in the hours, and doesn't look his best.
Hands, he thinks, soft beautiful hands touching his foamy cheek. Smiling. Bright, white teeth, and high cheekbones. Happy cheekbones. She used to love watching him shave. But Richard can't think about that, it just wouldn't do. He's stuck in traffic, it's almost eight.

And he tries to hold them back, the memories, but it doesn't work and the little girl runs into te bathroom and her mother picks her up and they both laugh at him, all foamy, kinda like Santa Clause.
That's a laugh. Santa. He's been a really bad Santa, lately. Hell, he doesn't even know what Alice is doing. Isn't Santa supposed to know? If the kids are naughty or nice?
At least, his own kid. He's gotta know that. But he doesn't and hates himself for it. He's been so busy with work, drowning himself, as well as images of her, in stacks of papers. He'd hoped to fuck it all away with Laura, who was young and beautiful and so...pure. So free of life's...shit. Nothing bad had ever happened to Laura, which is what Richard saw in her in the first place, he supposes. But fucking it all away didn't seem to work, so now he's trying a different approach.
He arrives at the house at twenty to eight and focuses on Laura. Dinner. It's all alright.
He enters the house and rushes to the bathroom. And he doesn't get there. He is stopped, mid-track, by the blood running down the stairs. And he screams – he thinks, he doesn't hear, but he must have screamed. And he rushes towards the door of the bathroom, which is open.
But it's too late. A gun has gone off. A gun that was never meant to go off. It was all just for show, wasn't it, Johnnie? No one was supposed to get hurt. No one was supposed to be home.

But you were late, Johnnie. You all were.

Today's prompt was 'late'. I admit I went over with this one, it didn't take 5, it took about 15. Hey, I got an early start on the weekend freeewrite, eh? Sorry, I know it was supposed to be 5, but I just saw the whole thing unfold when I saw the prompt. I couldn't resist.

Thank you for reading,

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