Flawed Beauty

  Flawed Beauty

  Ernesto H Lee

  Copyright © Ernesto H Lee 2021

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

  ISBN – 13: 979-8530372889

  Cover art by Spiffing Covers

  Sunshine

  Something I said recently got me thinking a lot about the true definition and meaning of the word Sunshine and what it might mean to others. So, let me ask you a question. Is your own personal definition of Sunshine adequately illustrated by either of the dictionary examples below?

  Sunshine (noun) – the light and heat that comes from the sun. The Cambridge Dictionary.

  Sunshine (noun) – A location on which the suns rays fall. Your

  Dictionary

  Or like me, do you prefer to think of it a little less scientifically? Oh’ you do? Then how about this example?

  Sunshine (informal British) – Used as a friendly or sometimes threatening form of address. E.g “Hand it over, sunshine.” Oxford Languages

  Too aggressive or a misuse of the word perhaps? I agree.

  My own personal favorite is a mash up of a dictionary definition and a slight but important twist of my own

  Sunshine (noun) – Someone or something (such as a person, condition or influence) that radiates warmth, cheer or happiness – no matter the time of day or weather condition. Merriam-Webster & Ernesto H Lee

  M, you are my warmth, my cheer, my happiness. But most importantly of all, you are my everlasting sunshine.

  Ernesto H Lee

  13th July 2021

  Preface

  Shreya Singh and her friends are not Irish. Nor do they have the slightest hint of an ancestral family connection to Ireland. What’s more, I suspect if they were asked to locate Ireland on a map, some if not all would struggle to pinpoint the Emerald Isle with any degree of accuracy.

  Today, though, none of these facts matter in the slightest.

  Because on St. Patrick’s Day, it is universally accepted that you don’t need to be Irish to partake in the celebration.

  And you certainly don’t need a claim to Irish heritage as a justification for getting well and truly off your face.

  This year is no exception, and giddy from the free-flowing drinks on offer at The Starry Plough, Shreya and her friends are understandably reluctant to leave when the handsome young barman calls last orders.

  “Come on now, ladies. Drink up, please. Some of us need to be up early in the morning.”

  Praneeta Singh is Shreya’s cousin, her best friend and her confidante. She is also the most flirtatious of their group and is quick to live up to that well-deserved reputation.

  Pouncing on the barman’s comment, she deftly twists its perfectly innocent meaning into something altogether more risqué. “Is that right, handsome? I do love it when a man gets it up early in the morning.”

  Then she turns to Shreya with a mischievous grin. “I certainly wouldn’t say no to him getting up me in the morning. Or anytime in the afternoon, evening, or at night, for that matter,” she adds in a sudden fit of the giggles.

  Turning her attention unashamedly back toward the object of her lust, she winks and asks, “What do you say, handsome? You up for a jump tonight?”

  Ciarán O’Dowd has only been pulling pints for a few months, but he’s heard it all before. And then some.

  Unfazed and unembarrassed by the young woman’s teasing, he politely declines the offer of drunken casual sex with a well-practiced and almost convincing look of disappointment.

  “That’s tempting. It really is. But I’m sorry, love. You’re just not my type.”

  “Not good-looking enough?” Praneeta asks hopefully.

  “Oh, no. You’re a stunner,” Ciarán replies, smiling. “It’s not that at all.”

  Beaming from the compliment, Praneeta flutters her eyelashes and rattles off, “So what then? Too tall, too short, too fat, too thin?”

  Laughing at each question in turn, Ciarán shakes his head before offering a small glimmer of hope. “One more chance, beautiful?”

  Shaking her own head from side to side and comically raising her hands, Praneeta is partway through asking “Too Indian?” when the smiling young barman laughs again and loudly interrupts her.

  “You’re too female, love!”

  Mouth agape with feigned disappointment, Praneeta slowly shakes her head. “You mean to tell me, you would prefer the company of a big hairy guy over a gorgeous girl like me?”

  Smiling, Ciarán shrugs. “What can I say? I’m as gay as the Sugar Plum Fairy.”

  Nodding knowingly to himself, he then adds, “Now that I think about it, I’m probably gayer than the Sugar Plum Fairy.”

  “And it’s not just a phase you’re going through?” Praneeta asks with obvious and growing disappointment.

  “No, I’m quite certain, sweetheart. Tits and fanny are not for me. I’m definitely more into cock.”

  “You and me both,” Praneeta says and laughs hysterically. “It’s a definite no, then? You’re going to send me home hot and horny?”

  “I’m sorry,” the barman replies sadly before offering her a possible solution. “If it helps, I could grab you a carrot or a cucumber from the kitchen?”

  “Now, there’s a thought,” Praneeta smirks. “If only those things came with batteries.”

  Flashing her friends an impish grin, she turns hopefully back to Ciarán with a cheeky suggestion of her own. “I’ll pass on the carrot, but what do you say to a quick knee-trembler in the ladies? I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  Mildly amused by her cousin’s hopeless desperation, Shreya chuckles to herself, then stands up to fasten the belt on her jacket. “For God’s sake, girl, leave the poor guy alone, and let him get on with his work.”

  Apologizing to the barman, she says, “Sorry about my cousin. She’s a mild-mannered accountant by day but turns into a total slut after a couple of glasses of wine.”

  Feigning offense at the comment, Praneeta playfully prods her cousin in the thigh. “Oy, ya cheeky cow. I’m not a slut. I just happen to have a high sex drive, and I’m not shy about saying what I want. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  Smirking, Shreya raises her eyebrows. “Like I said, you’re a slut. Come on, girls; it’s late and we all have work in the morning.”

  Sensing an opportunity to slip away, Ciarán returns to the bar with a tray of empties, leaving the girls with a few more minutes to finish their drinks.

  Still reluctant to leave and refusing to concede defeat so easily, Praneeta wobbles unsteadily to her feet. Pointing to Shreya, she loudly shouts across the bar, “Oy, handsome. What about this one then? Isn’t she gorgeous? Five minutes in the sack with her and I guarantee you’ll be batting for the other side again.”

  Blushing, Shreya ushers her giggling best friend towards the door. “God, Neeta, you’re a bloody nightmare when you’re pissed. Come on. Let’s get a kebab before they close up for the night.”

  “Last chance,” Praneeta shouts. “She’s a part-time model. Last chance before it’s too la—”

  Finally managing to pry the persistent young woman’s hand away from the doorframe, Shreya laughingly urges, “Out, ya nutter.”

  . . . . . . . .

  The rest of the gang order takeaway and soon leave, but with something other than food on her mind, Praneeta encourages her cousin to sit down and keep her company.

  While Shreya enthusiastically tucks into her kebab, Praneeta barely touches hers, preferring instead to engage in twenty minutes of ever-more provocative banter with one of the cute young guys serving behind the counter.

  Full to bursting, Shreya pushes the mangled r
emains of her lamb doner to one side and loudly declares, “That’s it. I’m stuffed, and I’m knackered. Are you coming, bitch?”

  Completely preoccupied with her swarthy young Turk, Praneeta either hasn’t heard the question or has deliberately chosen to ignore it.

  Laughing, Shreya loudly bangs her hand on the tabletop. “Oy, slut. If I can get your attention for a moment, please. It’s getting late and I asked if you were coming?”

  “Um, actually, I think I might hang on here for a little while longer,” Praneeta replies without breaking eye contact with her crush for the night.

  It’s a look Shreya has seen many times before. Praneeta has her beer goggles on, and in this scenario, there is little chance or hope of her changing her mind.

  Regardless, Shreya still has to ask, “Really, babe? You sure about this?”

  Nodding confidently, Praneeta smirks. “Oh yeah, I’m sure. That bit of Turkish delight over there is just what the doctor ordered.”

  Turning to face her cousin for a moment, she smiles reassuringly. “Go on, babe. You grab a taxi. I’ll be fine here.”

  Slightly annoyed, Shreya tuts, “Yes, I’m sure you will be.” Standing up, she adds, “I think I’ll walk, though. It’s a nice night, and I could do with some fresh air to clear my head.”

  Completely unconcerned and once again preoccupied, Praneeta barely registers that she is still speaking.

  “Okay, well, have a good night then,” Shreya says sarcastically. “And be careful, please.”

  “Oh yeah. You too,” Praneeta mutters.

  Turning toward her cousin, she lasciviously licks her lips and grins. “I’ll give you all the juicy details in the morning.”

  . . . . . . . .

  Outside, a dozen or so half-cut guys and girls are milling around noisily chatting or eating their takeaways next to the taxi stand. All seem either unconcerned or oblivious to the fact that there are no taxis in sight and that there hasn’t been one arriving to collect a fare for at least thirty minutes.

  Shreya passes them smiling and quietly says to herself, “Just as well it’s only a fifteen-minute walk.”

  To her left, a disheveled figure clutching a half-empty bottle of cheap-looking vodka is huddled tightly into a shop doorway.

  The nondescript, dark-colored clothing and hood pulled low over the face give little clue to their identity. This is of little concern to Shreya, though. The homeless and drunkards in this part of town are an all-too-common sight. With no more than a sideways glance and keen to get home, she barely breaks her stride until a screamed obscenity brings her to a shocked and sudden standstill.

  “Dirty fucking slag,” the voice growls again. This time, however, it is calmer and more deliberate in its delivery. Trembling slightly, and struggling to believe what she has just heard, Shreya cautiously turns and asks, “What did you just say to me?”

  The drunk from the doorway is now standing fully upright on the pavement. To Shreya’s surprise, however, they are facing away in the opposite direction. Nervous and unsure of herself, she quietly asks again, “Excuse me, but did you just say something to me?”

  Seemingly ignoring her a second time, the drunk’s growing anger and aggression is now unmistakably directed toward the young people at the taxi stand.

  The worst of the venom is reserved for the women. “And what the fuck are you ugly bitches looking at? You’re no bloody better than I am. You might think you’re God’s gift to man, but you’re all fucking ugly inside.”

  What follows is some mostly unintelligible grumbling and a large swig of vodka before the bottle slips from the drunk’s hand. It smashes on the pavement, and seemingly unconcerned at the loss, the drunk curses again at no one in particular before stumbling unsteadily away.

  Relieved to know now that the first insult probably wasn’t aimed toward her, Shreya turns for home. She has been walking for less than five minutes when she is startled by a loud cough.

  Not far ahead, a solitary figure is leaning menacingly against a streetlight, staring at her and smoking a cigarette. At first glance, they resemble the same abusive drunk from earlier, but the stance and bearing of this person is completely different. This person appears scarily sober, and a feeling of distinct unease causes Shreya to tremble slightly.

  Turning away, she crosses the street and quickens her pace. “Ignore him, girl. It’s just an idiot trying to scare you.”

  Watching her progress carefully, the stranger waits until she is fifty yards ahead before straightening up and taking a last long drag on the cigarette. Casually tossing it aside, they cross the street and fall in behind the young woman.

  Although no obvious attempt is made to close the gap between them, Shreya is unable to shake the feeling of unease nagging away at her. Three times, she furtively glances over her shoulder. Three times, the stranger is still there, but each time, no closer than before.

  Desperate not to panic, she calmly offers herself some reassurance. “It’s only a guy going home after a night out. Don’t overreact, girl. It’s only a guy on his way home. Just like you. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Less than a mile from home, Shreya comes to a narrow alleyway she often uses as a shortcut. It runs between a parallel row of back-to-back, red-brick terraced houses and using it cuts between three and four minutes off the usual walking time.

  Keen to get home, but still concerned she’s being followed, Shreya nervously glances over her shoulder for a fourth time. To her obvious and very great relief, the stranger is now nowhere to be seen. Feeling like a fool for worrying unnecessarily, she turns down the alley and slows to a more normal pace.

  Taking her phone from her handbag, she quietly mutters, “Bloody Praneeta will wet herself laughing when she hears about this.”

  Head down as she walks, Shreya starts to type a message. “Hey babe. Don’t laugh, but I think I might have just pissed my pants. Seriously, I thought some creep was foll—”

  Behind her, a terracotta flowerpot suddenly and inexplicably falls from a wall. The sound of it splintering into a hundred pieces reverberates in the close confines of the alley like the demented wail of a banshee.

  Shreya is now petrified and shaking like a leaf, and the cell phone slips from her hand. Fighting the urge to run and her overwhelming sense of dread, the frightened young woman forces herself, instead, to turn toward the source of her fear. Aside, however, from a few specks of light visible in the homes either side of her, Shreya can see no other obvious signs of life, and the alley, once again, appears quiet and still.

  Regardless of this, that feeling of dread in the pit of Shreya’s stomach feels all too horribly real. Wiping the onset of a tear from the corner of one eye, she nervously stutters, “If this is someone’s idea of a joke, then it’s not fucking funny.”

  Emboldened by the lack of a response or reaction, she adds a little more assertively, “I mean it. If this is someone’s idea of a joke, I’ll call the police, or I’ll scream. This is not bloody funny.”

  Out of nowhere, a flash of black leaps from the top of a wall. Once more panic-stricken, Shreya lurches backwards and crashes heavily onto the cobblestones lining the alley. Her surprised shriek, although loud, is prematurely stifled by the impact of her fall. Winded and dazed, her heart is now beating out of her chest in utter and absolute terror.

  It only starts to slow slightly when Shreya spots a mangy-looking alley cat disappearing into the yard directly opposite the one it just came from.

  Unsure of whether to laugh or cry, she slowly pushes herself to her feet and brushes herself down, cursing herself once again for her stupidity. “You’ll be seeing bloody ghosts next. And for God sakes, get a taxi next time, you dumb cow.”

  Remembering her phone, she carefully bends and fumbles for it in the late-night gloom of the alley. Moonlight momentarily glints across the screen, and tutting, she says, “There you are,” before extending her arm to scoop it up.

  She is taken completely by surprise when a gloved fist slams
sickeningly into the side of her head. A second gloved hand moves quickly to cover her mouth. Ignoring her muted and pitiful howls, the hooded stranger drags her painfully by her hair into the overgrown backyard of a deserted terrace.

  Forced onto her back, she struggles for a few seconds to break free, but pinned down by powerful knees and rendered silent by the strong hand squeezing her throat, Shreya knows that physically she is no match for her captor. Praying that cooperation might be her salvation, she stops struggling and instead pleads longingly with her eyes.

  Nodding approval of her concession, the stranger smiles before slowly raising the previously unseen object in their right hand. Illuminated by the moon overhead, the matte-black steel of the hammer head is both foreboding and utterly terrifying. Knowing beyond doubt that her life is now at stake, Shreya tries desperately again to escape and cries out, “Nooo, please. No—”

  The hand around her throat moves quickly again to cover her mouth. Her sneering abductor waves the hammer ominously back and forth and slowly shakes their head. “Not another word, girl, or I will cave your skull in. Do you understand me?”

  Utterly petrified, Shreya nods frantically, and the stranger lowers the hammer before calmly saying, “That’s good. I’m going to take my hand away now. But you don’t say a word unless I ask you to. Understood?”

  The strong hand is gently removed from across Shreya’s mouth. Gasping for breath, she hungrily gulps at the fresh night air but is careful not to take her eyes off her captor for a second. Watching her in silence, the eyes that look back at her eerily communicate that her fear and discomfort are somehow exciting and satisfying to her attacker.

  Unnerved by this and the silence, Shreya unwisely tries to speak. “Please, I’ll do anythi—”

  Two strong hands around her throat quickly and painfully stifle her words. “I warned you, bitch. Not a word unless you’re asked.”