My Husband - By Onuoha Fay Claire


 I awake to the bubbling sound of a teapot building up steam somewhere in the house. The kitchen, precisely. David's in there, I guess. My husband. The covers are drawn up. Hues from the morning sun slips through the window into the room, illuminating all the dim crevices of our bedroom. My nightgown and bra is all wound up in a tangled mess on the ground.

I toss and turn wearily on our matrimonial bed, fighting this tiny urge to stand up and go pee. My ears pick up faint tap-tap sounds coming from the window opposite ours. Mr Steele, our next door neighbour, must be going at it again. Still struggling with indecision, I wriggle lazily out of bed. Visions of the previous night’s escapade live-streams into my mind. The way he pushed into me as he held me in place like he was trying to tame a wild tiger. The way our bodies synched in symphonic heaves as wanton screams escaped my lips, as thrusts after thrusts consumed my essence. Then the plunges became ragged and rough just at the exact time Steele began his midnight yoga exercise, pattering loudly as his feet shucked and creaked on the wooden floor, the noise travelling over to our bedroom even when our window was shut tight.

It got to David. The sensual fire extinguished from his eyes like they’d been doused in cold water. He pulled out when he realised the hurt I was trying to repress. I wanted him to continue, but he declined. We’d slept off unsatisfied and frustrated. A disgruntled lady it made me. I understand David’s intention to cool off with a cup of tea. Heck, I need some too. Maybe I’ll just walk naked to the kitchen to go get it. It sure will stir up something belonging to David. But as arousing as that may sound, I need to pee. I twist the toilet’s doorknob.

Movements from the window piques my attention as the toilet’s door swings open. I turn to look. I see him alright. Steele. Facing the window and engaging in another feat of pantomime moves, Steele is moving up and down the sides of the window. Earphones plugged in. Eyes closed. But there’s another figure behind him, masked and moving close behind Steele. Might be another of his students, I guess.

My assertion changes immediately I see the glinting blade in his raised left hand. I struggle to scream but find to my dismay that my voice is gone. He slashes once. I blink in horror and utter panic. A thin line appears across his neck where the blade slit. The lines begin to thicken. Red crimson pools out in streaks.

No! No! No!

Slowly, Steele’s head rolls off his neck.

“DAVID!” I yell for my husband. “DAVID! DAVID! DAVID! DAVID! DAVID! DAVID!”

The masked figure moves to the window, and leans on the pane. Slowly, he removes his mask. No! Jesus, NO!

"Yes Dear?” My husband replies, facing me from Steele’s window.

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