The Fiance

The Fiance

I thought I'd be happy. I thought by now, my life would be acceptable and calm. No bad blood, no regrets. I could go forward knowing that I have nothing to fear, nothing in my way and no one to hold me back.

But no.

I am a scared man. 36 years old, a blue hybrid car (not even that nice) and a apartment that which whenever I enter, feel repulsed and sickened at the mere sight of. I sit in my hybrid, surrounded by a sea of rain outside in the murky night sky. I sit there, looking through the car window. A row of houses. Posh, expensive and classy. Something you would think only a millionaire could afford. I grab a cigarette and take a draw. A quarter of my stress gone. I lay back in my leather car seat, with my thoughts and feelings circling in my mind. I can't face her. I bloody can't do it. Those eyes. They're like poison. Witch eyes from someone who has something evil stirring in her mind. But i know what she's thinking now.

"Where is he ? Where ? I'll kill him when he comes back."

Finally, I have no other time left. I open my right car door. The rain drips and drops on my black gel hair. Before I'm fully out my car, my hair is wet. The outside of my car is wet. More hideous than when its dry. No time though as I run across the street. Passing two houses before I reach mine. A single light on the top right window. She's awake. She's waiting and hungry for pray. A gulp in my throat. A ray of terror strikes me. I'm trapped. She's in fury. I slowly walk through the rain. By now my suit is wet. My suitcase too. Every step I take, I feel more vulnerable. Alone and afraid of what is about to come next. I stand face to face to the door. It's green. I hate green. Its an echo color. I hate the woods. I reach for my keys. I grab the smallest one. With one turn, the door slowly opens. It creaks. It always creaks.

My house. Posh, classy, not my style. Its my fiance all over this house. White is her favorite color and the walls are bathed in it. I slowly move up the stairs. Turning my to the right, I see my living room. Glass infested, the lights are off. The Kitchen across from the front door is small and bathed in dark. But then I focused my eyes upstairs. As I reach the top, I can see three closed doors. The Bathroom, A Clothes room and Our Bedroom. The Bedroom is the last door along the hallway. Its surrounded in shadows. Like a door to a deadly lair or a lost forgotten past. But I always notice it. I always have to enter it. By now, my face was shrouded with fear. Every step I take, my masculinity begins to fade. I hear her moving behind the door. Her heels on the wooden floor boards. A shiver of terror crawls down my spine. I'm almost in tears. I can't do it. I cannot move. She'll hurt me like she did before. But there is no choice. I know that if I don't open the door, it will make things worse. I reach for the handle, push it down and the door glides open. My masculinity is stripped bear.

There she stands. Black night dress, black long curly hair, makeup only goths would wear. A fowl face of fury engulfs her face. She is angry and at me. The room is white, as is the whole house. A desk full of her makeup sits next to the door against the wall. The curtains closed shut, are fire red. There is a small wardrobe beside the bed. Its black, and one door is open with various hangers of dresses and long coats. I focus my attention back to her. She now looks more angry and slowly walks towards me.

"Do you have any idea what time it is ?" She hisses.

"I told you to be back by 8, you didn't listen.". Its like a command the way she says it.

I just stand there scared and petrified. I feel like a little boy. That's how she speaks to me sometimes, like a little boy whose been very naughty. She takes my suitcase from my hand and places it on her desk. She always does that. Its a sign of power to her. I do nothing, just stand still as she glides around me like a predator circling its prey. She comes up close behind me. I can smell her strong scent of perfume. She kisses me on the cheek as she makes her way through my pockets. She takes my phone and keys. She tosses the keys in a black bowl, which contain other sets of keys. There's about five there. If one is missing, she freaks. She looks through my phone. Checking if I have anything from other woman. She then puts my phone in a drawer. That's the last I'll see of that today.

"Next time be back on time." She commanded.

You shouldn't need a job with the money I'm getting."

My Fiance was a bank manager and was making twice as much money I was. I was just an office worker and she was right. I didn't need the money, but I needed the space. But she liked to remind me, at times even demand me, to drop the job.

"I mean someone needs to keep this house clean. Plus its like you don't have any friends. You have me."

I let out a fake smile. She smiles back, in a evil sort of way. Like a Disney villain, only with more poison to the lips. She leans in for a kiss. I have no other choice but resist. Its a good few seconds before she lets go. She then slowly removes my jacket and tosses it on the floor. I just watch. What else can I do ? I finally move towards the bed. I sit on my half, next to the window. The blinds are shut, so I can't see the rain pour down the window, but hearing it is quite enough for me. I start to undo my tie. Its a tie I loathe. She picked it out for me. Its too tight for my taste. I told her I didn't like it, but try arguing with her, you'll never win. As I whip it off, she is combing her hair in the mirror on her desk, A good distance away. She starts unbuttoning her dress and very soon its off. Floating to the floor like a dark feather. Now she sits there in her underwear. Black bra and boxer shorts. Very manly. She isn't a very womanly person.

She notices me staring.

"Do you mind ?" She says with a offended expression. Like I had harassed her in a way.

I turn away. She hates it when I look. Thinks its weird. I focus on unbuttoning my shirt. I take it off, looking down at the wooden floor. Its cold. My feet are freezing through my socks. I slowly pull them off and it just makes them colder. Its like torture to me. I let out a sigh. I get a quick glance at her. She is still sitting brushing the strokes of her hair. I quickly return my gaze to my feet. Through the corner of my eye, I see her stand up, still in her undergarments making her way slowly towards the bathroom. The door to it was on her side of the bed. It was small. A sink, mirror and a bath on her right hand side. I gaze at her body as she brushes her teeth. But she spots me through the mirror. She gives a seething look. I turn away, sweating and slightly scared. I lie on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Its perfect. A Sea of white. There is not one fault in the masterpiece that it is. I sit there with my thoughts swimming away. I begin unbuttoning my shirt. I do it quietly as to not draw her attention. Sometimes, she unbuttons it for me, like a mother undressing her small child. I feel vulnerable and helpless when she does. But she remains in the bathroom, wiping her makeup away. Like sweeping a pile of dirt from the corners of the lair. Her face is plain and normal. Rarely do I see her with no makeup. She looks nice, not nasty. But don't let beauty fool you. She is still black to the core. My shirt slides off my skin. Barely a hair on there. She makes me shave every week. She hates hair, makes her feel sick. I feel like puberty hasn't hit me. The skin feels cold and lifeless and makes me feel like I'm not growing as well as feeling like a reptile. I begin stripping off my belt. She arrives back to the bed in a black dressing gown. It covers her body from me, as though I'm the bad person. She slides onto her side of the bed, gazing at me as I begin pulling down my trousers. As they slip away off the bed, I lie there. I wear nothing but my briefs. She hates me in boxers. I remember the first time we had sex and she groaned.

"I hate you in boxers. Let me buy you your underwear, I have great taste"

At the time, I thought it was cute, but now i feel like I'm 4. All my friends tease me for it and yet when I try on her boxers, she calls me a perv and slaps me for it. I still feel the sting from the last one. I cried. My masculinity has been locked away and I feel like a barbie doll. Groomed to suit her taste, clothes picked out for me in which I cannot bear to wear, but must otherwise her tongue will cast me a bad person, manipulating my way of life so she herself can be happy. If only I could go back, to that day and make it all different. The night in which I was blind to her methods, her manipulation, her forthcoming plans. But now I lie under the covers, stripped of my clothes, my manhood and freedom. My Fiance stares at me, kisses me goodnight, dims the light and darkness surrounds me like a river of fear. Till tomorrow that is.