WARNING: This story may not be suitable for younger readers as it contains adult themes and adult language. You have been warned.
The Anglerfish’s Pretty Light ~ A Short Story
“Beech!” he cried, whisking her up off her feet and whirling her round.
She hadn’t expected it at all, but his mood had been rather chipper that day for some reason. So often had she been forced to tread on egg shells around him, that any signs of a good mood were met now with suspicion and surprise.
As he set her down onto her feet once more, she smiled warmly up into his large green eyes. There was a hint of affection this time and she prayed silently that at last, he meant it.
“I love you Mrs Woo Woo”, he purred her pet name as his lips found hers.
Her heart ached. Why couldn’t he be like this all the time? He had been at first, after all.
“I love you too, Wabby Woo” she replied softly, smiling with love and gratitude.
“Listen baby” he began, holding her close. “I’ve been invited out by all my friends to the bar. Can I have some money please?”
“Money? I’ve not got much left until the end of the month, I have to pay for our food and-“
He stepped back and his face clouded over with an expression she had become familiar and afraid of.
“Okay” she said, giving in. She was bone tired of this routine now, all waned and wasted.
“Am I coming too?” she asked, but her words were no longer important to him. She had agreed to the money.
“What? Oh no, you’re not invited. It’s just me and my mates” he muttered, looking towards the building where the friends lived. She followed his gaze and knew full well they had been her friends for two years longer than they’d been his. He’d only latched onto them a month ago.
It viciously ripped at her heart when she recalled why it was he’d ingratiated himself – she wasn’t the complete idiot he took her for. She was up for renewal and he’d already spied her replacement.
“I’m your fiancée. Surely I-“
He shot her another look that told her he didn’t care and that she needed to shut up now.
She reached into her bag instead and busied herself with finding her purse; anything to face away from him so that he did not bare witness once more to the tears that were desperate to flow.
Crocodile tears he called them. Fake tears he would say. Manipulative bitch, he’d call her. So she kept them to herself as she knew the truth of them.
They flowed so often now, that she felt her whole being being carved by them; water hacking out a river bed as it moved through the landscape, searching, ever searching, for the sea.
She handed him her blue and green bank card; he knew her PIN number already by heart. She then watched as he wordlessly walked off in the direction of the cash machine.
As the grabbing cold of the February wind made his knee-length leather jacket flap and flail about behind him as he strode off, she finally let those tears fall.
Each one hot on her marble cheek, each one a stab at her breaking heart, each one a wordless plea to the disappearing figure in black: “please, just love me as I do you”.