The Blonde Butcher

Chapter Six

Tom always looks so beautiful in the morning. He is literally picture perfect. Perfect. How did I get so lucky? How could I be so naïve? I agreed to marry the first man I met without knowing who he really is. Lately, he's been different. Angry. Why is he so angry? When I ask why he's angry he gets even angrier. It's a losing battle. Instead of pestering him with questions, I decide to make him breakfast. Bacon flapjacks smothered in maple syrup, his favourite. I hop out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth before gazing into the mirror. I stare at my reflection as if it were challenging me. I look a little harder. Who am I? What have I done with my life? I snap back to reality, close the bedroom door and move to the kitchen. I plug in my phone, scroll through my playlist and press 'Shuffle'. I'm not much into modern music, I prefer the golden oldies, the classics.

"The very thought of you..." the sound of Nat 'King' Cole's magnificent voice fills the air.

I'm entranced by the music. Time for work and play. I get all my ingredients and do my best not to make too much noise.

"I see your face in every flower," I sing aloud, "your eyes in stars above."

I hear the toilet flush. He's up. I better hurry up.

I scurry to the stove and grab the pan with the bacon. I neatly place the bacon on top of the fresh flapjacks and drown them in maple syrup. Tom opens the bedroom door. He looks half asleep.

"Good morning, baby!" I sing to him. He waves his hand.

"Mornin'.

"Hope I didn't wake you. I wanted to surprise you wi..." he stops me.

"It's fine. What's for breakfast?" he looks at me with one eye closed.

"Your favourite! Can't you smell it? I giggle.

"Sure."

I give him his breakfast and wait patiently for my thank you. He stares at me blankly with bacon hanging from his mouth and maple syrup dripping down his chin. "What?"

I sigh, "Nothing. Enjoy." I walk to the bedroom and say, "I'm going to take a shower."

"Okay!" he shouts back with a mouth full of food.

I walk to the mirror and stare at the person staring back. Who am I? What am I doing with my life? Tom loves me, doesn't he? Of course, he does. Men just have a harder time showing affection than women. My father struggled too. This is just a rough patch, I'm sure.

My lifeless blue eyes pierce through the facade.

I am not happy.