DECEMBER 22, 2022
800 Word Story ~ The Things We Do For Love
This is the last entry for the 800 Word Story series! Author Bill Kirton and I have written solos for this final prompt. Hit Bill’s link to read his story called “Copycat.”
Many thanks for following the series and offering your encouraging comments over the last two years!
I hope you enjoy my take on this peculiar prompt.
Prompt: “I put tulips under all the pillows and then I set fire to the house.”
The Things We Do For Love
“I put tulips under all the pillows and then I set fire to the house.”
His quizzical expression pleases me. “Why tulips under the pillows first?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’m sorry it isn’t. Please enlighten me.”
I roll my eyes as far back into my head as possible and sigh loudly. “Tulips … because he gave them to me, and in every colour too—red, yellow, orange, purple, pink, white. Each time I took the flowers, I said thank you. He knew they weren’t my favourite, but he didn’t care. Tulips were convenient. He picked them up at the store on the way over.”
“I see.”
“And tulips are cheap,” I add, “just like he was.”
The corners of his mouth curl ever so slightly. Amusement or disgust? I can’t tell. I’m happy not to have to go into a lengthy explanation of why tulips bore me. They are ordinary.
“You wanted him to know it was you who burned down his house?”
I tap an index finger against my temple. “You got that right.”
“That’s pretty awful, don’t you think?”
“He had his fun.”
“Yes, but—”
“Look, he knew I did it, but he couldn’t come after me without exposing himself. There’s no need to feel sorry for him.”
“You’re scary, you know that?”
His fear excites me, so I lean over and kiss him gently. He responds at first but then pulls away. “Be honest with me, Jill. Should I be afraid?”
“Of me?” I cast my eyes downward and smile. Despite his apparent discomfort, there’s no hiding his arousal. “That was ten years ago, and I’m sure he had fire insurance for his precious summer house. Besides, you’re different, so don’t worry about it.”
+++
As it turns out, he’s not that different after all. Six months into the relationship, he’s just more of the same. Men. They want you until they don’t, until the tryst becomes more than they can handle. I know the signs all too well. Our regular meetings become less regular for a multitude of reasons—an urgent business trip out of town, a family function he can’t get out of, and the worst of all—his wife suspects something, so we must cool it for a while.
It’s never the wife’s fault, this much I know. Her only misdeed is marrying a cheating man who uses her as a convenient excuse.
I lose interest when he can’t find a way for us to be together, when he blames his wife, when he lacks imagination. The fire incident was ten years ago, but there’ve been other incidents since. I don’t feel a need to tell him this. No reason to give away all my secrets.
+++
“Jill, what the fuck did you do?”
It’s the first I hear from him in almost two weeks. I place the cell phone on my desk and switch him to speaker. “Well, hello to you too.”
“Don’t play games with me.”
I take an extra breath. “I’m not the one playing games. You said you’d be gone for a week and would call me the minute you got back. It’s been twelve days.”
Silence, then I hear his ragged breathing. “You’re sick. I know you’re responsible for what happened to Bella.”
“You know this even though you’ve been out of town all this time?”
“A neighbour saw you lurking around my house.”
This startles me. “Really? Your neighbour must have seen someone else. Why would I want to do anything to your darling Bella?”
“Because you’re a psychopath, that’s why!”
“Does this mean the love affair’s over?”
“You bitch.”
Casually, I hit the red phone icon to end the call, in no mood to take his verbal abuse. I can understand his anger though.
While seated in my fully-loaded Herman Miller Aeron, I stretch out my legs and rest them on the desk. I love the chair’s beautiful shade of grey called Mineral. It’s become one of my most prized possessions. I’m sure I’d be upset if anything happened to it.
He loved Bella, and I’d grown fond of her myself—stubby little thing, all muscular and powerful. I didn’t want to harm her, but he forced my hand. I did go to his house, but I’m sure no one saw me. I knew where he kept her, so I walked to the back. It was dusk, and she looked dirty, hadn’t been taken out in days. Too bad she wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile.
I approached from behind and when I crouched down beside her, I pulled out a serrated knife. With one quick jab, I sliced into the left rear tire. As quickly as I could, I repeated the process with the other three tires.
His precious Bella. I keyed my initials into her for good measure.