Unfinished

I am not Natalie. It is essential that you believe this. What I am about to tell you didn't happen, except that it did happen, somewhere, to someone other than me. It happened to Natalie.

It was November, one of the coolest months of the year and Natalie's chest moved up and down rhythmically and her eyes fluttered in time as she lay sleeping in her bed.

Edward knew this was how she slept, he was prepared for the usual flinch when it came at 3am. He smiled when she began to sleep-scream, small muffled yelps escaped her dusty pink lips. He climbed down from the window ledge and smirked to himself. This had been a productive night.

Natalie had arranged to meet with Edward on several occasions. They had become close and although Natalie was attracted by his beautiful face, chiselled features, dark hair and deep, rousing voice, something in her had always told her to keep her distance.

It was a Saturday, Natalie, Alice and Sarah were shopping. Natalie had a date with Edward later that night.

“You know, this is going to sound odd, but he reminds me of Bateman”

“Natalie, you idiot, no-one’s actually like Bateman in real life,” her friend Alice chipped in.

“He called me ‘Restaurant whore’ the other day”

“Can’t you take a joke?” Alice retorted.

“Who’s Bateman?” Sarah asked.

“Haven’t you seen ‘American Psycho’?” Alice replied.

“No.”

“Well, that’s him – he’s in that.”

They burst into fits of laughter.

“I mean, no-one’s like that in real life,” said Sarah.

“No,” the others agreed.