I Didn't Think It Would Hurt To Think Of You

A month had passed and still he was mooning over Georgina.

The stabbing pain in his heart had lessened somewhat and was now just a dull ache, but even a passing thought that reminded him of her made him wince.

The first week he could not bring himself to leave the house. The first three days, he'd remained, steadfastly, in his bed, crying until there were no more tears.

After that, he ventured out, at night in the beginning, treading the streets of the seaside town until his feet bled and the pain in his blisters was greater than that in his heart.

It was his fault. This was what hurt the most. He would never forgive himself for his idiotic actions. He refused to justify himself with the amount of alcohol he had drank, although it was a factor. Approaching his ex in that bar was a mistake he'd regret forever. Their drunken kiss was inevitable and although she initiated it, he responded and was just as much to blame.

He told Georgina the following day. He could not stomach the guilt, he'd vomited as soon as he woke up and it wasn't just the rum that contributed to his sickness.

She finished him there and then. He couldn't blame her. A girl like Georgina didn't need to stick around with an idiot who'd share a drunken snog with a girl he'd dated for a little over a month. She would have her pick of dozens of potential replacements.

In many ways, theirs was the classic teenage romance. Their relationship had even started with the cheesy 'my friend fancies yours' line - his mate Steve doing the honours with her chip shop colleague Jo - moving rapidly through cinema dates, bus shelter fumbles and their inglorious first night together, his parents next door, their movements under the covers stilted as they tried not to disturb them.

He hauled himself out of bed and sat on the end with his head in his hands. He started each day in this manner now, wishing he could turn back the clocks to before that night, before the life he'd mapped out in his head with Georgina had been wiped out due to his own stupidity.

The situation was compounded by the fact they couldn't avoid each other. This place was too small for that. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt for college and headed for the door. He was already late.

No sooner had he locked the door and turned, she was in his eyeline. Her bright, blonde hair reflected the winter sunshine. His heart panged again. Suppressing the urge to dart back inside, he took a deep breath, plastered his most sincere look on his face and called her name.

She blanked him and he trudged to class staring at the floor, promising himself that if he was ever with a girl as lovely as her again, he would do nothing to screw it up.

This story was inspired by the song 'I Didn't Think It Would Hurt To Think Of You' by The Heartbreaks.

Your Ex-Lover Is Dead

This was without a doubt the most awkward drive of his life.

After 30 years in the trade, there wasn't much that Terry hadn't seen before. But the atmosphere in his cab right now was toxic.

The couple had got in the car five minutes ago and barely acknowledged each other's existence in that time. Terry could tell there was a history there. Working in this business, you got a sixth sense about this kind of thing.

He'd seen all sorts over the years. On occasion he'd had to split rowing pairs up, fearing their arguments would boil over into violence. He'd seen famous businesswomen changing from their office clothes into something more suitable for the evening on the back seat. One time, he was sure a couple's passionate kissing had moved to another level. He tried not to look on those occasions, but he was only human. Another time, a drunken man had thrown up all over the back of his head. It took weeks to get the smell out of his hair.

The woman was touching her face self-consciously, trying to catch the eye of the man, who was doing his best to ignore her. In situations like this, Terry often found himself wondering about the lives of his passengers. Often, they wanted to talk and he got to hear all about them. For some reason, people saw taxi drivers as a cheap type of therapy. He didn't mind, but he usually preferred the silent types.

That way his mind could wander off and imagine what they got up to, what their job was, where they were going and who they were meeting.

Terry was sure this couple had not seen each other for a while and were probably hoping they never would again. He noted the body language: the man, dark and well-dressed, was curled up by the window. The blonde woman, wearing a sparkly top and jeans, was more open, legs pointing towards the man, chin pushed up, defiant.

But still they were silent. Terry thought he'd try the old trick of clearing his throat, asked to check the route. But he got only a gruff, one-word answer from the man. If anything, he'd made it worse.

This tale would be unresolved. Terry let them out at the station and took the man's money, straining to hear their goodbyes. But there was just a brush of a hug between the pair before they each walked off quickly.

Terry drove off to find his next passenger, and his next story.

This story was inspired by the song 'Your Ex-Lover Is Dead' by Stars.

Call Me Maybe

He clocked her at about midnight. She knew all the words to a rare Pulp b-side he often dropped into his set to sort out the proper cool kids at his club night.

It was always a challenge to get people to dance in this place. He noticed only a handful of tracks would ever do the trick - Song 2 by Blur and She Bangs The Drums by The Stone Roses among them - so he would use these sparingly. People were far more interested in taking advantage of the cheap liquor to pay attention to the tunes he was spinning.

Although he loved DJing, the thrill of seeing people enjoying his music was starting to dim. But there were other perks. Free vodka was plentiful and he met plenty of girls.

She'd given him a couple of uncool thumbs-ups at some of the tracks he'd played earlier and he'd feigned indifference. Stand-offishness was his move, he preferred to wait until all parties were suitably lubricated before showing his hand.

It didn't often work, but his awkwardness around the fairer sex left him light on options.

This time, however, it seemed to be doing the trick. She intercepted him on his way back from the gents and introduced herself. She was Lauren. She was taller than she seemed on the dancefloor and in her heels was towering over him, but he liked that. Her dark hair was cut so it fell in sharp waves across her face and he liked that too. Her Midlands accent was distinctive and he even liked that.

They chatted about The Cure for a while. The Cure were always a safe choice for a first conversation: everyone likes The Cure.

Eventually her friends beckoned her back to the bar and she reluctantly left him, he promised to play In-Between Days for her and he assumed that would be that.

But as he was packing up his stuff at the end of the night, she appeared again at his elbow.

"I suppose you get this all the time," she started, nervously. He didn't. "But can I give you my number? I'd love to see you some time."

And with that, she pressed a piece of paper into his hand, pecked a quick kiss on his cheek and swished out into the night.

He grinned.

This story was inspired by the song 'Call Me Maybe' by Carly Rae Jepsen. And a little bit by High Fidelity.