The rain hasn't stopped for three days. Water fills the gutters, pouring off the roof in thick torrents onto the street outside the woman's window. She watches it for a minute, then turns back to her newspaper. Her husband is at work for the day, editing the movie she'd been filming only a few days before. She sits in her kitchen now, waiting for him to return. She glances around the small space. Old fashioned and impractical, she can surely afford more. But she likes it this way. It helps her to forget her life and the people who want it.
"Alya," says a young woman standing next to the counter. "Do you want a cup of cider?"
Alya shakes her head and yawns. "No thanks, Mariel, just get me a coffee. The rain is making me tired."
Alya lowers her newspaper and sets it on the table. Mariel brings over two steaming cups of hot liquid and sets them on top of the paper.
"You've been reading the paper again, haven't you?" Mariel says disapprovingly.
"It's something to do," Alya says with a shrug.
"You've heard about the murders then?" Mariel asks.
Alya nods, but already her mind is wandering.
"Creepy, right?" Mariel says. She pulls out the white metal chair with a screech and sits down.
"Yeah," Alya says. "I don't really know much about it; we were filming when the latest one happened."
"Tom's latest movie?"
"Yeah." Alya rolls her eyes. "Something about drugs and money, like that hasn't been done before."
"Don't be so hard on him," Mariel says. "Anyway, I could always go for a good action movie."
"We'll see what you think when it comes out," Alya says. "It's pretty bad; I'm not going to lie."
"At least you got to hang out with- what's his name? Jack?"
"You mean James Anderson?"
Mariel squeals. "He's so dreamy! And an amazing actor!"
"Yeah," Alya says, resting her chin on her hand. She rolls her eyes. "Dreamy."
Mariel hesitates. "Well, he definitely seems nicer than Tom-"
"Mariel," Alya says.
"Alya, I want you to know that I support you in your decisions, but-"
"Mariel," Alya says, louder this time.
"But as a divorce lawyer, I've seen situations just like yours and-"
"Mariel," Alya says. "We're not getting divorced."
"Alya, you can't stay in a relationship like this-"
"How would you know what our relationship is like? How would you know what's it's like to come home every night only to find that he's gone and you have no idea where he went? How would you know what it's like to have him constantly threaten to take away your job if you don't do what he says? How would you know-" Alya's voice breaks.
"Alya-" Mariel says softly. Her eyes are cold and haunting, filled with the memories of one too many unhappy marriages.
"I think you should leave," Alya says, breaking her gaze away from Mariel.
"Alya, please-"
"Mariel," Alya says.
Mariel slams the door shut on her way out. Alya stands in the kitchen watching her go. She has no doubt that she'll return.
Alya sighs. It didn't used to be this way. She and Tom used to be in love, like all lovers once were. She picks up an old framed photograph off of the counter and wipes the dust off of it with her sleeve. Tom and her on their wedding day. She clutches the photo to her chest, wishing she was back in that moment. She still remembers the huge white wedding cake with the fake flowers and the tiny bride and groom adorning it. She still remembers the crystal wine glasses and the deep red table runners that she had picked out herself. She still remembers the way he had looked at her that night, full of kindness and longing and-
Love. Oh, how she misses love.
The front door clangs shuts as her husband walks in. Alya sets down the photograph.
She clasps her hands together and smiles weakly. "Tom."
"Alya," he says, not even glancing at her.
Her smiles fades. She realizes now how long it's been since he really looked at her. Images of James appear in her head, but she shakes them off. "How was your day?"
He sighs, finally meeting her eyes. "Not great. I had a doctor's appointment."
He's lying, and she knows it. She's read through his texts when he leaves his phone out of the coffee table. She's seen the shiny gold wrapper from her dresser sticking out of his back pocket whenever he goes to one of his "appointments." She's seen the way he hesitates right before he lies to her face. Maybe deep inside, he feels bad for her.
"Oh? How was it?" she says, playing along.
He runs a hand through his hair. "I've been diagnosed with liver cancer."
It's a good lie. With the amount of alcohol he drinks, she wouldn't be surprised if it were true.
"I've got to go to chemotherapy, but the closest clinic is three hours away," he rambles. "So I'll be gone for a few nights. Is that all right with you?"
She pastes a smile on her face. "Well, as long as you're getting treatment..."
His face relaxes into a smile and he pulls her into a hug. "Thanks, babe. I knew you'd understand."
"I'm going to miss you," she whispers, her voice muffled by his shirt.
"I know," he says. "I'll miss you too." He breaks away from her. "I've already packed and all my stuff is in the car." She wonders how long he's been planning this. "I'll see you in a few days. Be good while I'm gone."
"I will," she whispers. "I love you."
She locks the door after he's gone. She rests her hand on the wood and leans her forehead against it. A tear slowly drips down her cheek.
I love you too, she adds for him, because she so desperately wants it to be true.
YOU ARE READING
Psycho #OpenNovellaContest
General Fiction"I want to help you," the man next to her says. She shivers as the hand rests on her thigh again. But this time, she doesn't push him away. He lowers his voice to a whisper, so quiet that not even the microphones can pick it up. "People do strange t...
