Flash Fiction By Jo Ayker
The house was quiet when I got back from work. I put my briefcase down next to the door, taking my time walking into the living room. No one was there. I loosened my tie as I made my way to the bedroom. I could see from the threshold that it was also empty, and it was perfectly arranged. Lisa was gone. I made myself take a long breath. When it came out, it was almost a sigh of relief. I realized I must have been half expecting this.
Last night I laid my hand on her. Only the second time in our six years of living together, to my defense. But the first time was just three weeks ago.
I hadn’t been drunk when I hit her. At least not this time. There was just an overwhelming anger that blinded me. No more than two seconds, probably. But when I came out of it, I saw Lisa on the floor. Her face was hidden by her dark hair, but I had seen a glint in her eyes that I somehow knew wasn’t tears.
I got a beer from the fridge, then went inside the bedroom to inspect it more carefully. All her clothes were gone, so she wasn’t just staying in a hotel, or with a relative, which as far as I knew she didn’t have any after her parents died. Lisa was gone for good.
It ain’t no thing, I told myself when I eventually walked back to the living room. She didn’t seem to take anything that wasn’t hers, valuable or not. I flopped on the couch, feeling exhausted. Maybe it was good riddance. I thought about the freedom that was to come. I could have parties at home at all hours, which Lisa always disapproved of, she said the noise gave her a headache. It was then that the quietness of the house truly registered.
No, she wouldn’t.
I got up from the sofa with terrible dread and almost trembling legs, and walked to the corner of the living room, where Lola always lay bathing in the sun. She was gone. The only thing left was the empty dog bed, on which lay a note with Lisa’s familiar handwriting.
You don’t deserve a bitch.
I crumpled the note. What worried me was that Lisa never liked dogs much. It made no sense that she would take the trouble bringing Lola along. I looked around the house, paying more attention this time. Some of Lola’s toys were gone, but her food and treats were untouched.
I considered its implications. Maybe she took the toys to allure Lola to go with her, and she planned to get rid of her, one way or another, to get back at me. No. Lisa wouldn’t do that. Maybe she just wanted company. I recalled the time she gently cleaned Lola’s face when she was scratched by the neighborhood cat. But I also remembered the time she yelled at her so loud for messing up the guest room that Lola fell down the stairs in her haste to avoid the mop.
It was getting dark outside and I still hadn’t reached a conclusion. Lola hated darkness. She might have been six years old but she had never spent a night without me since we got her. Was she cuddling with Lisa now to fight off loneliness, or was she wandering in unfamiliar streets, after being abandoned? Did Lisa hurt her because she hated me, or worse?
Then I understood. I finally got the message. This was my punishment. The uncertainty itself. The constant guessing. The knot in the chest that came with not knowing.
Imagining what was happening to Lola must felt similar to imagining when and where the next blow came from.
I sunk back down on the couch in despair. I don’t know how long I stayed like that before a light and rumbling outside the house brought me out of my daze. My heart lifted. Lisa’s Land Rover was back. Lola was back.
It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t a car, but lightning and thunder. Then the rain began to fall.
Bio: Jo Ayker currently works as a bank auditor in Beijing after having studied math in upstate New York and forensic science in London. Her stories have been accepted by The Yard: Crime Blog and Close to the Bone.
Read more Flash Fiction at The Yard: Crime Blog
Travel to Beijing Beijing Travel Guide. Amazon Affiliate Link