WARNING: This short story may not be suitable for younger readers, as it contains adult themes and adult language. You have been warned.
Away With the Fairies ~ A Short Story
She sat in one of his t-shirts, oversized and comfortable, her bare legs stretched out in front of her on her single bed.
Books flanked her either side, but forgotten now as she watched the little TV at the end of the bed.
The show wasn’t memorable or engrossing, but she watched on, lost in it now. Anything was better than reading her course books, or dealing with the atmosphere in the room. Sometimes just saying very little saved her a lot of grief.
He was sat at her desk, messing about on her computer. He’d been relaxed, wearing her pyjama bottoms. The last time she’d looked at him, he had been transfixed with whatever he was looking at online, chewing and sucking his index finger in that way he did when he was concentrating.
So the TV had taken away her attention; both happy not to talk and maintain a reasonably comfortable silence.
She did not notice him move at all, either out of lack of attention, or being so used to him being around her. Several decades of the same person being in your world will eventually do that, she had once surmised. Either way, she didn’t see him.
The top of her head felt like it had been cracked with a lump hammer.
Her vision wavered, flickered for a moment, her gut twisted, her breathing stopped, her neck stabbed with pain as the muscles reacted to the sudden impact.
It took her a split second before she looked up to see him glaring down at her. Wide green eyes flared in barely contained fury.
“You never fucking listen to me, do you?” he spat through squat, square, dirty teeth.
“YOU NEVER FUCKING LISTEN TO ME YOU FUCKING BITCH!”
Her heart thumped out of rhythm; her blood turning into a sickening slick of ice.
Oh God, please not again oh God, please not again, oh God please not again…
“Please” she whispered and then she uttered his name like it was the incantation that would bring out in him his better side. The side she had once known so well when they had been little children together. Yet it was for nought and that piece of him now long dead she had learnt, much to her despair.
She was broken down to the marrow to know that what she had fallen for was little more than a façade, wheeled out when it suited him, especially when he saw her look too longingly at the door. But that nice guy act wasn’t him, not the real him.
She had fallen in love with the façade, the fiction, the mirage, the bait… she couldn’t bear this growling lout that loomed above her now.
Her muscles tightened – she was breathing too fast now and everything suddenly smelled metallic.
He was unmoved by her words and unsympathetic to her tears.
“Fucking die you evil dirty slag”, he sneered.
In the moments that followed, she only wished she could have obliged him.