by Matt Shaw
Holding her close to my own body, I start the short walk back to my drive, and home. I’m glad I caught her when I did - already I can feel my back starting to hurt.
I think I’ll start giving her smaller portions...
I quicken my pace to get to the drive. If need be, I can put her down for a while when we get there - to rest up. It’s rare that cars come down here but, even so, I don’t want to risk being seen with her... not like this.
At least on the drive - it will be harder to spot us if someone drives past.
Not much further to go.... and I cross the threshold to my property.
A sigh of relief but I don’t put Susie down, for a rest. If I do, put her down, it will be even harder to get going again. Just keep going - ignoring the aching in the muscles.
As my feet keep moving forward I can’t help but wonder if I should just drop her in a bush and run ahead to fetch my car.
Might be easier.
No.
Stupid idea.
Besides, with every new thought I’m having - I’m even closer to the final destination. And thinking about the many thoughts that are flying through my mind - she’s just made it more awkward for us to have guests around for dinner in the future.... now we only have three chairs.
She didn’t really think that one through properly.
I get to the house and push the door open with my foot before carrying her over the threshold.... again.
My mind skips to our future; I wonder, will I ever have to repeat this process with her wearing a wedding dress? A tired smile creeps onto my face.
This will all be worth it, in the future. I’m sure of it.
Quarter of the way up the stairs now - I forgot how hard this was. If I ever find myself in this position again, I’m dragging them up the stairs. It has to be easier than this.
Has to be.
It doesn’t matter.
I don’t plan to do this again.
I’m sure she would have learnt her lesson. She won’t try anything a..... whoa....
My legs feel numb.
Nearly at the top but I don’t think I’m going to make it these last few steps. Not without a little rest. The same routine as before, when I had to unlock the front door... I turn, slightly to the wall and rest against it.
The idea is simple in my head - I lean on the wall and let go of her legs so I still have the bulk of her weight - the idea is just to give myself a little rest. A little break before we carry on.
In execution - it’s a little more tricky. I find it hard to move towards the wall, to lean, due to the lack of space on the step. I try and shuffle my feet but, again, it’s harder than it sounds.
Maybe I should just carry on.... I’m nearly there.
No.
I can’t.
Just take a side-step towards the wall, it really isn’t as far as you think it is...
I move my right foot, without realising the shoe-lace is firmly underneath my left foot.... My heart flutters wildly as I lose my balance. Think fast - grab the bannister. Stop myself from -
Fuck....
In my panic I let go of Susie and she slips past me, down the stairs - hitting every single step on the way down. Every step looking painful but the worst bump was the final one at the bottom of the stairs.
A bump accompanied by a massive crack.
Fuck.
What was that?
I freeze.
She broke the floorboard? Is she really that heavy?
I hope so.
A bit more of a pause before I walk down the stairs to see the damage done..... Jesus.... I think I know what cracked.... her arm. Her arm is bent at an angle no arm should ever bend to.
She’s going to feel that in the morning.
Another wave of panic sets in.
She will feel that in the morning.
I can’t fix this.
She’s going to be in agony.
Don’t be a pessimist.
You can fix this.
This is perfectly fix-able.
Just take hold of her arm and give it a yank; straighten it.
A sharp tug later and another loud crack.
Fuck.
It looks even worse now.
If she wasn’t going to feel it before.... she is definitely going to feel it now.
I don’t think over the counter painkillers are going to help with this one.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!
I feel tears dwell in my eyes once again.
I can’t fix this. At the same time, I can’t leave it. She’ll be in agony. I don’t want to see her in any pain. Ever. But, I can’t take her to the hospital. I can’t. She’ll tell them everything. She’ll tell them about me and how I took her.
Kidnapped her.
She definitely can’t go to the hospital.
The tears start to roll down my cheek.
Shit.
I know what needs to be done...
It has to be done....
23.
I’ve laid her on the garage floor, where I dragged her.
She looks peaceful; laying there... a sleeping Angel.
Well, other than the strangely twisted arm.
A sleeping Angel with a broken arm.
Part of me wants to give it another tug - just to see if I can crack it back into place but another part of me thinks it’s pointless to even try; probably end up making it worse again. Leave it be. Just do what needs to be done.
I know what needs to be done.
I know.
I just don’t want to do it.
A range of emotions are flowing through my body with what feels like an almost fatal dose of adrenalin. My heart pounding so hard, it feels like it’s going to either explode or bust through the wall of my chest. Obviously I’m feeling sad what for needs to be done. Part of me believes I can fix it. Part of me knows I can’t. Part of me blames myself for dropping her down the stairs but another part of me blames her - if she didn’t try to run - we could well be on our way to our Happy Ever After.
And I feel angry.
I feel angry that I’m going to miss out on my Happy Ever After with her because of this. Anyway, stop thinking about it. Stop putting it off.
What needs to be done.
It’s not going to get any easier, the longer you leave it.
If anything, it’s going to get harder.
Just do it.
I kneel down on the floor, next to my sleeping Angel and stroke her face. Never mind her arm, her face looks sore too. I lean forward - a soft, tender kiss on her forehead...
A kiss goodbye?
I put my left hand over her mouth and clamp her nostrils with my right hand - stopping any air getting in or out. For the third time today, my eyes start to well up. I hate the feeling of eyes welling up - it makes me feel less of a man. It makes me feel weak.
At least it’s peaceful for her.
I lean over her body and whisper, “This is your fault.”
And it is her fault.
Why did she have to try and run from me? I was so kind to her.
Things could have been perfect between us - in time.
Why did she have to be so impatient?
I look to her chest to see any sign of movement. There’s still some movement to be seen. Shallow but.... still movement - her heart is still beating. I don’t move my hands. Just a bit longer.
Come on Susie.
Come on.
Let go.
Another kiss on the forehead.
“I would have loved you forever,” I whispered - unsure as to why I was actually whispering. She wasn’t hearing me.
The chest is still moving.
Jesus Fucking Christ - how long does this take? I’d go and Google it but then I’d have to start again. Come on, Susie... Give it up already. Who would have thought her heart was so strong. Still slight movement to be seen.
Fuck this.
&nbs
p; I let go and rush to the garage wall where the tools are hanging - a shovel being the first that I come across. This will work. Back over to Susie and I line the shovel up with her neck.
I was trying to do this nicely.
I was trying to be humane.
Kind.
Gentle.
I can’t afford to run out of time.
I can’t afford for her to wake up. I don’t want to see her in pain. Not this sort of pain, anyway. I’m not a monster.
I lift the shovel up, high into the air, and bring it down on her neck as hard as I can; the edge of the shovel cutting her neck wide open; the force not being enough to decapitate her but - with the blood pouring out - it won’t be long before she’s dead. Even so, I lift the shovel up high, again, and bring it crashing back down.
This time, I hear the edge of the blade hit the concrete under her body; her head no longer attached. I don’t need to worry about Susie waking up now. I stop and drop the shovel, looking down at her dead body.
I don’t know why but I drop to my knees and let out the loudest scream I’ve ever screamed before - a scream filled with anguish and sadness. I loved her. I did.
I loved her.
I killed her.
No.
Don’t think like that.
She killed herself.
The moment she ran from you.
She killed herself.
Even so...
... I feel empty.
I feel lost.
Alone.
All I’ve done for her. All I changed for her. A waste.
I did it all for nothing.
She was The One. She was my woman, my lady... my Princess. I love her.
I loved her.
I wipe the tears from my eyes.
I’ll never find anyone like Susie. Ever.
Well... not ever.
I’ll find someone else.
Eventually.
I’ll find someone else - after a suitable grieving period.
I wonder, what is a suitable grieving period? Couple of hours? Longer? Shorter?
I need to Google it after I’ve cleaned the mess up.
I frown as another feeling eases it’s way through my body. At first it sneaks into my system, almost without me realising it but... I feel.... I feel calmer. All this time, with Susie, I’ve been getting myself more and more stressed. More wound up. All this time I haven’t been myself but now - now she’s passed away.... I feel like my old self again.
A smile creeps across my face.
Maybe it was the scream? Flushing the poisonous thoughts and emotions from my body? Maybe it’s just that Susie had pushed me into a darker place - all the worrying I was doing about us being a couple - a proper couple going for a Happy Ever After... our own slice of Heaven.
Now she’s gone...
Now she’s gone there’ll be no more stress, no more anxiety, no more worry.
I can’t help but feel bad that we came this far before I realised that...
... Maybe she wasn’t the one for me after all.
I’m not sure what I feel.
Maybe I’m just in shock and, when I’m alone tonight, everything will come back to haunt my thoughts and I’ll miss her again and regret all of this... I don’t know.
I don’t know the answers.
Whatever...
There’s a saying I heard years ago...
‘You just need to get back on the horse.’
Clear her up - bury what I don’t want and freeze what I’ll keep.
And then...
.... And then get back out there. Get back down to the supermarket.
If indeed I feel calm now because Susie wasn’t the one for me...
.... It means....
The One is still out there waiting for me to find her.
And I will find her.
I’ll find my One.
As I stand up, I take hold of Susie’s pretty head and kiss her on the forehead.
“I’ll miss you.”
At least she won’t go to waste.
And another positive to come from all of this - I’ve learnt I need to make some changes to the house to ensure it doesn’t end badly again. A few changes to guarantee that, when I find The One, I won’t lose her.
Not again.
No.
I smile.
The more I think about it....
... Susie was the practice run.
Young Susie.
I turn Susie’s head to the side and whisper in her ear, “You’ve been a great help.”
~ END
A FRESH START
PREVIOUSLY
“Come upstairs, you look tired. If you still want to leave in the morning, I promise I won’t try and stop you,” said Peter.
“Okay. I am tired.”
I stand up and limp up the stairs to the main bedroom.
I open the door and smile at him. He smiles back and pats the bed next to where he lays, inviting me to rest with him.
“I missed you,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I limp into the room with my thoughts fuzzy and my head heavy. I climb onto the bed with Peter and cuddle into him, resting my head on his lap – letting him stroke my hair.
“You’ll feel better in the morning,” he comforts me.
“I hope so.”
Tomorrow will be another day.
We’ll wake up together; I’ll make us some breakfast and then carry on scraping at the bricks with the cutlery. I doubt he’ll help me but at least he’ll talk to me as I work. At least he’ll keep me company and who knows – maybe, one day, I’ll manage to ease enough bricks from the wall to climb out. Failing that, part of me hopes that maybe some squatters will stumble across the house and break in – looking for a new home.
Someone, one day, has to find us.
“Good night, Peter.”
“Good night, Vanessa.”
I close my eyes.
Despite my racing mind, my eye-lids close and I feel unconsciousness creeping over me - numbing my body, quietening my thoughts....
A
FRESH START
MATT SHAW
1.
A weird dream!
I open my eyes and focus on my surroundings.
No weird dream.
Sadly.
I sigh a heavy sigh and roll to my side and my heart skips a beat as my vision focuses on Peter staring right back at me from his side of the bed.
“Morning,” I say - I guess.
Nothing.
He doesn’t answer.
Not even a ‘Good morning, Vanessa’ out of common courtesy. No doubt still upset from the previous night. I don’t know him very well, I wonder how long he holds a grudge for.
No.
I don’t even want to second guess it.
I don’t care.
Not much longer to go now. Surely. I keep telling myself not much longer to go anyway. Not much longer to tolerate his stubborn mood swings and unpredictable nature - worse still, his child-like silent treatment.
I thought it was us women that were supposedly guilty of giving people the silent treatment?
Not important. What is important is the fact that there isn’t much longer before I am out. Away from him once and for all... I can’t wait.
The more I think about it, the more excited I get.
I’m so close.
I can almost taste the freedom now - the outside air.
I’m excited.
More excitement than I have felt for a long time.
The sheer thought of a fresh start filling me with a sense of hope I had long since given up on.
No clock in the house.
He had said we don’t need a clock. Time wasn’t important, he said - not when we had each other. Well - what about now? What about now it was just me?
Just me in this God-forsaken house.
I could have been asleep for an hour. Maybe two?
Maybe I slept through the whole night?
/> The bricked windows block out any hint as to whether it’s day or night outside.
I feel better after my sleep, all things considered. Still tired, though. Still tired. I could lay in bed for hours - at least, I could if he wasn’t here. He’s starting to smell.
“And who’s fault is that?”
I jump at the sound of his voice and turn to look at him.
He hasn’t moved.
Still.
Just in my mind. It’s all in my mind.
“Fuck you!” I hiss at him.
For the briefest of moments, I swear I can see a smile creep onto his face.
A flash of a grin and slight twinkle in one of his lifeless, dull eyes.
Another trick of my mind; my tired, stressed mind.
“Fuck you!” I spit again - a verbal reminder to both of us that I won.
I won.
Vanessa won.
He lost.
I killed him.
A smile creeps onto my own face as I climb from the bed. As soon as my feet touch the floor, I fall forward onto my knees with a scream - forgetting, briefly, about my swollen ankle.
“No, fuck you!” he laughs.
I flash him a look. He’s still staring at me. Before I get up, I reach over the bed and take hold of one of the pillows and throw it at his face - covering his head to stop him from watching me.
Stupid.
