Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2197917-A-Story-Called-3
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Emotional · #2197917
A short story told in three different points of view.


She could not believe that this was happening. She and Andrew were the perfect couple. Everyone said it, they both knew it. They were true soulmates and belonged together. So why was everything falling apart over something so small.

Andrew said, ‘No’. He did not want to meet her parents, not yet.

“But why?” Trish asked. “They’re not monsters! They only want to meet the man that I’ve decided to spend my life with.”

“I’m not a specimen to be examined,” Andrew said, kicking at the chair leg. “And we both know that they won’t like me, won’t find me good enough for their princess.”

Trish laughed. She couldn’t help it. “The last thing they think of me as being is a princess, and they’ll adore you, just like I do. Come on, for me? We’ll be back here in a few hours and it will all be behind us.”

“Nope. Sorry, but I’m not interested in being put under anyone’s microscope.”

“Not even for me? Andrew, I’m asking you for me, not them. I need you there beside me, holding my hand.” Trish knew she was almost begging, almost pleading with him. Why couldn’t she explain that it was no big deal? It was just for a meal. Her Mom was dying and just wanted to meet him first, to be reassured that her little girl was being taken care of.

“I’m sorry, Trish, but I can’t. Not today. Put them off a week or so then maybe I’ll feel different.”

Angry now, Trish turned on him. “I CAN’T! You know that! In a week she might be dead! You stay here, stick to your principles, but I am going anyway.” She spun on her feet, giving him no chance to respond, and stormed out of the door, leaving it to slam behind her.

The house that they shared was in the middle of nowhere. Half an hour’s walk and she’d be with her parents. Fuming, she thought about Andrew. He was the one that was being unreasonable, not giving an inch. A couple of hours, that was all that she was asking for.
She walked along the road, head down and feeling dejected, rejected. She didn’t know why she hung her head; there was never any traffic, no one to see the tears, so why bother to hide them.


I hate it when she looks at me, all teary eyed. I feel so cruel, so callous, so selfish. But I can’t help it. I’ve met her parents in the past, a long, long time ago now, and I can’t help wondering if they’ll remember. Will they look at me and see that ten-year-old that had been led astray by his older brother and had drunkenly thrown something at their door.

Let’s face it! There are not that many people living round here and memories seem to last forever. Trish thinks I’m being mean but I just want to keep what we’ve got safe and sound. I don’t want to give them the chance to change how she sees me.

“Nope. Sorry, but I’m not interested in being put under anyone’s microscope.”

She’d not liked that at all. How I wanted to reach out and pull her towards me, hold her close and explain the way I felt. But then she threw her mother’s illness at me and that hurt, drove some of the compassion I was feeling away.

Even though I knew she was upset with me I let her walk away.

She couldn’t have gone far, I still had the chance to change my mind and go along with it. I could still make Trish happy. And what was the chance of them remembering anyway? Unless they remembered my name there was no similarity in my looks. Was there really any point in delaying it?
Trish had taken her phone. I dragged my fingers through my hair, pulled on my jacket then went out of the door. I’d give her a ring. Tell her I was one my way. With my longer strides it would not take me long to catch up with her.

I pressed the fast call button. It rang once, twice, and she answered it.

“Trish, I’m sorry, okay. I’m on my way.”

“Thanks, Andy. You’ve no.....”

Trisha’s words are cut off by a squeal of brakes, an horrific thump and the sound of the phone hitting the ground.

I run, ice cold shards of fear stabbing at my heart. The phone is in my hand and I can hear a voice. A man’s voice is saying, “Shit, no! What have I done?”

Before I get to the corner I know exactly what I’m going to see. I’m down on the ground, holding Trish. I can’t hurt her, cause her any more damage. My darling Trish, my one true soulmate.....she’s gone and it’s all my fault.


One second the road was clear, the next she was there, directly in front of me. There was no way in heaven or hell that I was going to miss her. I slammed my foot on the brakes, pulled the truck out of gear. It slowed but nowhere near enough, and I was losing what little control I had over it completely.

The impact when it came was hard, too hard. I was just glad for a moment that she had not been crushed beneath on of the wheels.
Instantly, I phoned it through. It was that or give in to panic and rive away leaving her one the road. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t hide from what I had done. I’d never have been able to live with it. The guilt, the shame.

And then he arrives, throws himself down with her. I don’t know what to do, what to say. Is he going to turn on me? I would, if I was him, but he doesn’t even look towards me.

God, I feel so sick, shaky. I move away and vomit up my breakfast, then sink down to the ground, my head in my hands. It can’t be true! I’m dreaming....this whole thing has never happened. But moving my hands I see the truck, turned sideways; I see him, I see her.
In the distance I can hear the sirens. They fill me with dread, fill me with relief. I’d not been drinking, not taken any drugs; I’ve no fear of their tests. The police, the paramedics, the fire brigade at the back.

The police approach me, take me off to the side with a paramedic there to check me out. Shock, he says. I’ll need to go to hospital, but I want them to know, to hear it from me. “She walked out in front of me! I had no chance of missing her!” And then, truck driver or not, the tears come when I hear her pronounced dead.

He is howling, sobbing, not blaming me but himself, only quietening when they sedate him. They put her body in one ambulance, him in another. Don’t make me sit with him, I silently beg. And the police maybe hear my thoughts as they take me in the back of the squad car.

If I could just replay one minute.........
© Copyright 2019 hullabaloo22 (hullabaloo22 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2197917-A-Story-Called-3