People talk of love at first sight, but I think that’s idealistic. Real relationships require a mutual commitment to stick at it and do so with respect. Coming home to the same person every night is not always going to be a bed of roses. You have to sacrifice all those freedoms that go with being single and be ready to make different choices. Painful choices.
I met my fiancée on the bus to our local college where we’re both enrolled in the humanities, although my attendance record is not the best. Recognized her because she lives next door in an apartment she shares with a stranger. I’ve read about people who claim to communicate purely with looks and smiles, but never thought it possible. Meeting my girl changed all that. Still, I don’t believe it was love at first. We had to get to know each other and that takes time and maturity.
Have you ever made love and in doing so experienced pure enraptured ecstasy? Perhaps that little pleasure has been yours to treasure, okay, but have you obtained those dizzy heights without having barely touched your partner? This is the bond my girl and I share. For the umpteenth time, I caught sight of her on the bus, but everything changed when I brushed against her and literally shook with the thrill of it all.
That was three months ago. For hours last night, I crouched on the floor, my ear pressed to the wall, listening to her and the stranger. Not sure what they were doing exactly, but he sure grunts a lot. Still, he does help out with the rent. Does it make up for that kid who plays in the garden? It must be his and my girl feeds and clothes him. The books aren’t balancing. We’ll have to talk about this, my girl and me, how much longer we’re going to tolerate having this boorish oaf living in the building.
This morning he tried a weasel move, giving me a smile and a hello. The more I consider his duplicity the closer I come to dealing with him by way of drastic measure. We’ve put up with him for long enough. Christ knows, I’ve been patient. I was just in the garden and peered over the fence. The kid is playing with a teenage girl who we organized to look after him while me and my girl are in college and the stranger is at work. I’ll leave the kid out of things. Probably the girl too. They can wait it out in the basement. No it’s the stranger I want.
Around 5 pm he’ll be home. I’ll be waiting for him. When my girl rocks in she’ll stumble across his corpse and what’s more she’ll have some explaining to do. Something tells me we’re in for a long night, but this must be done. She created this dilemma, not me. All I’m doing is cleaning up her mess.
This story won the recent Erotomania contest on the scribophile website. The size limit was 500 words–hence the brevity of this piece!
3 thoughts on “Erotomania”
Every climax is a tiny birth, and a tiny death, and as you age, a coin flip will tell which comes first and which last…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ve dumped the Scribe. Alex’s draconian “I’m the dictator and you’re my serfs” crap were the last straw. (FYI — not that you’d notice.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
So much censorship on scrib , you know I got my first strike/warning thing yesterday? Not that I care but 2 more and I’m banned from the forums for awhile. Stay in touch won’t you? Do you do Facebook?