‘Are you ok honey?’
Your hands come up in front of your eye line, aiming for the handle of the cabinet above your head. Your right hand first grasping the handle and then pulling it, first towards and then away from yourself.
The left hand is then reaching in, taking hold and extracting the chopping board nestled within.
Turning your body, the board is laid down onto the counter, your gaze drifting to the onions and garlic sat alongside one another a short distance away, various items of cutlery and implements further along the counter.
Settling the board down, your left hand rises back up, pulling another board out and laying it down too. Your right hand closes the cabinet up, before dropping down to bring one of the gas hobs you’re standing in front of to life.
You hear a noise behind you, the scrape of a chair being drawn forward.
Turning around expecting your wife or your housemaid Maria, you’re greeted by the sight of the very last person on earth that you want to see.
Erica Martinez, dressed as if on a dinner date, a sexy, form-fitting silk dress contours around her body as she sits right across from you. In her hand, a glass of wine.
She sees the look on your face, and throws a quick glance behind her, checking that no one else is there.
Turning back to face you, she’s speaking as she does so.
‘No te preocupes babe. I didn’t see anyone either, that puta Maria isn’t anywhere if that’s what you’re getting at.’
She tilts the glass of wine towards you, before sitting up and craning her neck round, casting her gaze over your shoulder towards what you’re working on.
‘So what you making?’
You blink in a double take. This can’t be real.
How is she here? What? Where’d she get the wine? Where’s Maria?
These thoughts ricochet around your head, spinning already from the sight before you.
Another blink. You’re suddenly facing the counter top again.
In one hand you hold a wooden tenderizer, while laid out on one of the boards is a pair of chicken breasts.
‘I’ve never had schnitzel before Papi. You making me it for me though, a little piece of your homeland, it’s so special. Esforzándose por mí…’
This cannot be real.
Snapping your head round so quickly you feel a tinge of motion sickness, your eyes see Erica right where she was, sat perched on one of the bar stools across the other side of the island countertop.
The wine glass held in her hand is half empty now. There’s candles lit too, the flickering light catching off the ring she’s sporting on her left hand.
She laughs at the confused expression you’re sporting, an unsettling sound that breaks the spell somewhat.
‘This is all I’ve been after Hans. Time alone. Tu y yo… un dia….our child…’
You nod at the wine glass, the words escaping your lips, the first thing that comes to mind.
‘I thought you said you weren’t drinking, no?’
‘This?’
She looks inquisitively at the glass held in her hand for a moment, then back at you, shrugging her shoulders.
‘Hans baby, this isn’t what it seems.’
Another blink. Again, you’re facing back to the counter, this time with the tenderizer held up, ready to swing down.
‘Besides, you went and fukking stamped all over things, so, I can drink what I want.’’
You bring the tenderizer down onto the chicken, almost wincing from the force you’re putting into the effort.
‘Not that it’s Reposado.’
A purring sound follows, setting the hairs at the back of your neck on edge.
Adjusting your grip on the handle and raising it back up again, your head rotates round to face her.
She’s looking at you through her glass, holding it up, judging it and most likely, you too.
‘This better not be what you feed that bitch Hans, I deserve better.’
‘You think you do?’
The next impact lands as if to punctuate your query, the sound of it akin to a gun going off.
‘Si Papi. I do. And until recently, so did you too. You’re just too fukking stupid to see it. Still pretending that bitch means something.’
You both smile at one another, equally forced as the tension rises in the air.
Scheiße.
The tenderiser back down again with just as much force as the last blow.
‘Nein, kleiner teufel…’
Turning back your attention to the chicken, you adjust it on the board, slamming the tenderizer down onto another part of it now. Behind you, your can hear the giggles at your name for her. You could swear the shadows from the candles loom ever larger too.
‘What you’ve put me through, jah…’
‘Oh papi…’
Slam.
‘... you had your chance. You took it.’
Slam.
‘You then lead me on…what I put you through?....this is your fault.’
Slam.
You turn to look back at her.
‘So ein Misthaufen… das ist some reach Erica.’
Closing your eyes for a second, you open them up onto a changed scene.
You’re sat across from Erica now. There’s another wine glass that’s appeared and they’re both full. Your food, well… it’s gone. No, wait, it’s been eaten. Scraps are on the plate in front of you, but…
How…?
‘This place, this could be a proper home Papi. But no, there’s no laughter here, just this awkward bitch cramping you and sucking the joy out the place. There’s no excitement…and that’s what a man like you needs, una mujer excitante como yo’
Grasp onto that. Your mind flashes back to what you were saying a moment ago… but it can’t have been a moment, surely…
You ignore her for a second, eyes roaming over the table before you.
The evidence of your own eyes is saying that time has passed. Your gaze falls to your left wrist, no watch… that’s unusual, but occasionally you do take it off… up next to the wall mounted clock… which isn’t there. A blank space where it would be is what greets your vision.
‘Me? I want it, I take it.’’
Your gaze falls back to Erica. You swallow, whetting your throat.
Deal with the here and now.
‘Erica…’
‘Hmmm, call me… call me ‘mein schatz’ Papi, now that it’s just the two of us here.’
That wicked look she has as she says this hardens your resolve now.
‘Erica.’
A twinge at the neck and at the corner of one eye. She didn’t like that.
‘Erica, you’re not here’
Her glass comes down onto the table.
‘Vete a la mierda, one glass and you’re f*cked. You need to up your intake Papi. You should come out with me next time, get some drinks down you, maybe I’ll drink from your straw.’
She winks at you as you hold your tongue. The silence gets awkward.
She looks like she’s about to speak, but you cut across.
’This is a dream Erica. Or a nightmare. You’re not here. I’m somewhere else.’
‘Oh you’re right papi, this is a nightmare. One you don’t get up from anytime soo…’
’Oh please, if that’s meant to frighten, I’ve heard far scarier from far more dangerous people…’
Another quick glance around, the walls around the room seem distant, the setting intimate, the candles seeming a little brighter now.
You purse your lips a second, half tempted by the wine, but no, words first.
‘That first point, strikes a chord, jah?’
She’s looking at you now, the smile’s still there but with an edge to it now. Her sultry gaze sharpens as she steps closer.
‘What are you getting at there?’
She’s changing tack.
‘Don’t play dumb.’
She takes a drink from her glass, eyes fixed on you before pulling it from her lips, licking the corners of her mouth as she sets the glass down.
‘I’d never play dumb with you Hans!’
‘You’ll play games and destroy people’s life though?’
She acts coyly to this, taking her finger and rubbing the edge of the glass, eyebrows arching up momentarily as well.
‘All’s fair in love and war. We were meant to be Hans. That was love. Then you ruined things. Now it’s war.’
You shudder at this, revulsion coursing through you.
Once again, your eyes flicker and close, reopening to find another changed scene.
This time Erica is sat in one of the high backed leather chairs. Though it’s the wrong room, they’re not set up in the kitchen. Your confusion still reigns at this point and you take a second to adjust.
‘Papi, what are you reading?’
Right. Focus.
You take in the view. You’re in your study. One wall entirely taken up by a bookcase, filled from corner to corner and floor to ceiling. Books in your native tongue as well as in English.
She’s gesturing at one that’s laid out on its cover, alongside her on the small table next to the chair.
She’s leaning down, plucking it up and turning it over.
‘Stephen King.’
She turns it back over, reading the blurb on the reverse.
‘Oh I’ve heard of him!’
She’s looking pleased. You grimace, though she takes it as you being pleased with her.
‘It’s a psychological tale, where one woman’s derangement and possessiveness causes the writer to lose his…’
Again, she cuts across you. That twisted smile growing ever wider as she speaks.
‘Heart?’ His heart to the woman?’
You look at one another for a few moments, not moving, not making a sound. You could hear a pin drop.
‘Nein Erica, his leg, he loses his leg.’
She looks disappointed and disinterested in equal measure. You carry on though, venom beginning to coat your words. You’re across from this person that’s been causing you so much pain and anger these past few months, nevermind the confusion over what’s going on, let rip.
‘He loses his leg because this psychotic b*tch traps him and keeps him under lock unt key. She hooks him on drugs and mutilates him. Like you tried to mutilate my wife. You, you’ve broke into our home… you’ve stolen something that was never yours, and why? Because you’re f*cking mad, that’s why.’
It’s all coming out now. Incoherent to some degree but said with the force of someone brought to the very brink these past few months.
She looks at you.
‘I’m not mad.’
You’re tilting your head back, laughing.
The scene changes.
Erica’s still in the same seat, only this time, her arms and legs are bound to the respective parts of the chair.
‘I like it when a man takes control. It makes me so fuking wet!’
She smirks and licks her lips suggestively, eyes boring into you.
‘What are you going to do?’
Excellent question. What are you going to do?
‘I’m here. I’m yours papi. That b*tch is long gone, let me make it a night to remember.’
She has a point.
It’s just not the point she thinks she’s making.
You smile at that, it’s almost predatory in nature, corners of your mouth lifting up and your own eyes narrowing.
‘Oh papi’, she’s almost groaning now, gyrating in her seat, anticipating what comes next.
‘Well, jah…’
You look downwards and glance at your left hand as you feel a weight in your grasp that wasn’t there a second ago.
This must be a dream.
If so…?
‘I can do whatever I want to do.’
You both smile at one another. This time, neither party is forcing it.
She squirms, clearly excited.
‘ Yes! I can’t wait. Do whatever you want to me! Give it to me Papi!’
‘Du wirst diese worte zurücknehmen wollen.’
You hold up a lighter.
Another blink. Another scene.
‘Why Papi? Why?’
You don’t answer, you just stare at the flames licking around her feet.
‘What do you mean? Take those words back?’
Silence is your answer.
She practically screams out the same question, as the flames start to flicker up her legs.
‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN?’
You’re staring at her emotionlessly. This, it’s this that’s making her apocalyptic with rage. The flames? It’s like she’s not registering them at all.
‘TELL ME WHAT YOU MEAN!’
The flames rise in tune with her voice and she starts laughing, throws her hear back before coming forward again staring dead at you then singing “Purple Rain” by Prince out loud.
‘I CAN FEEL THE HEAT….THE HEAT BETWEEN ME AND YOU….’
She’s trailing off, her mouth still going, spit flying from her as she screams the lyrics at you.
Silence.
It’s like your world’s been paused.
Wait. Something at the edge of your hearing?
You turn to face away, your ears twitching, trying to focus on that sound… it’s there, right there… what’s being said…?
You snap back into reality. The flames licking around Erica’s feet fade into the sight of the fire pit crackling away, fed not with your tormenter, but by the wooden logs you’d spent the morning chopping.
A gentle nudge from your wife, sat next to you has you turning your attention onto her.
(Hans): Entschuldigung mein schatz… I was lost in thought.
You flash her a smile, as reassuring and confident as you can make it.
(Hans): What were you saying?
(Vanessa): I was just asking if you were warm enough honey.
(Hans): Jah, you?
(Vanessa): Hmm… I wouldn’t say no to another.
Her foot taps the pile of logs at her feet.
With a mock groan of frustration, you reach down and pick one off the top. Getting yourself closer to the fire pit, you continue to act the frustrated and irritated other half, much to both of your enjoyment. It’s a well played part, has to be done.
The log is placed in the pit, the flames almost immediately licking around it, darkening the wood and causing crackling to be heard as the pit adjusted to this new weight and fuel source.
Gazing into it for a few moments, you blink once, then a second time.
The setting doesn’t change. The only thing that differs each time are the flames as they continue to grow now that the fresh log has been fed to it.
(Vanessa): Hey, mister…
You feel your wife lean in, in her hands a mug of hot chocolate. The flask in between your chairs loosing steam into the air with as much vigor as the fire in front of you.
(Vanessa): Saved you some while you were day dreaming.
Accepting the mug, you lean in too, planting your lips upon hers.
(Hans): Danke meine geliebte.
She smiles at you and raises her own mug to her lips, taking a sip.
Her eyes are magnetic.
The fire, forgotten. What you’d been dreaming of… or was it a waking nightmare? One for the shrinks, of that you were confident.
Here in the now though. You, your wife, nothing else mattered. Beyond tonight, that would remain the case. Nothing was going to change that.
Raising your own mug up, you clink it against hers before taking your own sip.
-End-
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