Today's post comes from an exercise in my writing class in which Cara the Needy turned up. This was the homework piece then we did some follow on scenes from it in class. I'm not sure if it will go any further at the moment but I liked the clopping so thought Cara's neediness would be good for my N post.
She woke me up again. Always the attention seeker, even when she came home very late and I had been in bed for hours she would clip clop around in her heels on the wooden floors, backwards and forwards past my door until I woke up and went out there. Sometimes, if I had been in a heavy sleep, as I rose through my dreams to the beat of her feet, drab horses would appear, heads down as they toiled along grey, cobbled streets. Then I would open my eyes and be in her spare room, the weight of her expectations heavy on me as I lay there wishing she would just go to bed.
I suppose it’s my own fault. When I first moved in I was new to the city, keen to make friends, so when she clopped around in those early weeks I wanted to get up and hear her stories. But now I know things I’d rather not, and she’s turned out to be the kind of person I don’t really care to spend my time with. This morning she was pouring out her latest tale of woe before I’d even managed to get a cup out of the dishwasher, let alone pour coffee in it.
'Oh Adam you wouldn’t believe what happened to me at work yesterday.'
She then told me about another one of the seemingly hundreds of complete lechers that work at her company who had said perverted things to her. The first time I heard one of these tales I was suitably horrified but now I’m immune to them. It seems she can go nowhere without a member of the opposite sex making improper sexual advances. In meetings, at her desk, on the tube, in the supermarket, at the gym; you name a place, she’s definitely been propositioned there.
I think it’s sad that she feels the need to make this stuff up. I mean, I’ve been living in her house for quite a long time now and have never found myself desperate to pounce on her, or talk dirty to her, so I find it difficult to accept that every other man she encounters is compelled to throw caution to the wind and do exactly that. On a daily basis. Although to be fair she does bring quite a number of them home, maybe two, sometimes three a month, very occasionally four. Some I meet at breakfast, others I don't meet at all. So she's not making it up completely, just embellishing it for some reason.
As I sat there at breakfast today though, listening to pervert tale number three hundred and forty-two, something inside me snapped.
'Cara please, can I have my breakfast just once without tales of your sexual exploits accompanying it?'
'Adam! They are hardly exploits, I get harassed.'
'Yes, you said.'
As I thought it would that got rid of her and she flounced off to get ready for work. Yet tonight she has woken me again. But I’m not going out there and if she doesn’t stop clopping around soon, I’m going to shout at her.
'Stop making so much noise.' I’ll yell at the top of my voice.
I’m not putting up with it anymore.