Flash Fiction Contest: Ariel Waits

He had not been expecting a letter. Which was why he was careless and left it out for someone else to find.

"Are all husbands as hateful as you?"

My best friend said that to her husband of twenty-five years. Stella waved the letter in his face, accusing him of the adultery he was obviously committing and he threw her infertility in her face. Say we will not be that way, my darling.

Promise me we won't hear the reverberations of our screams echo through the walls years later. I don't want to be like her, Stella and her perfect husband. I don't want the world to stare at us in awe and envy, all the while knowing deep inside that it's all just some foolish facade.

Promise me that I will not lie awake at night stretching the folds of my skin into points waiting for you to return to me. That I will not sit in the middle of the floor, barefoot, thinking of your demise in your extended absence. I don't want to sit and wait, staring at the wine that seems a little too red and the sleeping pills that seem far too tempting.

Promise that I will not have to question your truthfulness, your patience, yes, even your faithfulness. Promise that I will never have to worry that you won't come back to me. We can be ourselves, two in one, if we really try. We will fit together cleanly, and smoothing the roughened edges will not be as painful as I thought.

I don't want to try to force you to me, to watch as pieces of us are chipped away as we push and struggle to stay together, only to shove each other away in tears. I don't want to watch you storm away screaming, leaving me to smooth the bed clothes. I don't want to wait for two hours, then drive downtown only to see your Cavalier parked in front of the closest strip club. I don't want to be forced to drive through my tears, putting everyone around me at risk from the car's swerving angles.

I don't want to wander around our home, occasionally seeing you floating around the corridors. You in one room, I in another, strangers to each other in our own home. Promise me we will not be that way, my darling.

Be with me, a part of me and all through me, but do not stand too near or too far away. I don't want to lose myself in you or your shadow. We will stand between this unspoken void, one foot on either side: one bare, the other covered. We can support each other when the blisters become too much and the weight is too hard to bear. That is, unless the pressure of all these promises is already too difficult to handle.