The Dead Weight, Page 2

An hour in, his eyes were still glued to the television. The movie was over. So was the film after that. But he couldn't let her catch him watching the clock or pacing or biting his nails or hovering over the phone or calling Bonnie's house to see if she'd arrived safely.

  No.

  Instead, she would catch him sleeping. Why not? It was a great way to show how not bothered he was, not bothered at all. So, he cuddled up with a bland book and drifted off to sleep...

  Neil had never realised how hard it was to fake sleep. It wasn't relaxing. It wasn't peaceful either because of his tinnitus. It was just three hours of boredom.

  Time to have some fun.

  Greg was throwing another party. His girlfriend was away for the weekend, so no better time to have a one night stand or two.

  "Great, come over!" Greg shouted down the phone. "Bring whatever. Just show, aight?"

  It was a long drive to Greg's house. Sure it was only ten minutes away, but, unintentionally, he'd gone the wrong way. Where he'd turned left, he should've turned right. When he should've gone straight ahead, he drove round the roundabout, down the coast, past Rocky Forest and over the bridge to the edge of town. It was a coincidence that Bonnie lived opposite where he'd parked.

  Maybe he should've stayed in the car. He should've driven away, anywhere but there. He should've, and he could've, but he didn't.

  Outside Bonnie's front door, he shivered. He reached out to knock, but his hand refused, so he rested his head against the door and wept. Icy tears slid down his cheeks and pooled on his lips. He bit down, tasting salt and blood. Then he reached out again. This time his hand followed orders - barely. Even if Bonnie had been standing right beside him, she wouldn't have heard the sorriest, most pitiful excuse for a knock.

  At least his other hand was dependable.

  The left hand reached under the plant pot beneath the living room window and pulled out a key. It slid into the lock and the door opened. The warm radiator by the door pulled him in while the chill outside quietly shut the door.

  "This was more than a fling...This was an affair," Neil's girlfriend wept. "Can you love two people at once? Love as in, you know, in love, not family or friend or pet love?"

  He tensed up, trembling with anger. His eyes followed her voice upstairs to the ajar door ahead.

  That was Bonnie's room.

  Step by step he approached the door. There was a red glow around it, and the flicker of candlelight. The sound of smooth r'n'b flowed down to meet him halfway up. The singer's deep tone effortlessly carried every heartbroken lyric.

  "Neil didn't say anything at all?" Bonnie's said in her usual monotone, deep voice. "Not surprised at all. Warned you about him ages ago."

  "Yes, but I thought it was jealousy talking. I mean, you haven't dated since..."

  "It's been six years, five...no, six months, two weeks, three days and a couple of hours." Bonnie sighed. Even that was monotone.

  "I thought you were over it. God, babe! You hid it so friggin' well!"

  Neil reached the top step and paused. He clamped the left hand over his mouth, smothering his chattering teeth. Then his heart started racing, and then his chest tightened until he could barely breathe. All he could do was count to ten whilst hoping for the best. Best case scenario? He wouldn't pass out.

  "I wanted to tell you but then you met Neil. Didn't wanna be a Debbie Downer, you know? I wanted to be a good friend...Just a good friend."

  He tiptoed closer to the door and peered inside. The women were lying on the bed in their lingerie. His girlfriend's silky, red underwear was new to him. The lace, might-as-well-be-transparent bra made his groin ache. Bonnie's tatty, brown panties had seen better days. Much, much better days.

  "Who's better in bed?" Bonnie asked, and pulled her closer. Then they were spooning. "Go on. Be honest."

  Neil smiled proudly. He knew it was him. Each time he caught her with another man, he learnt something new. By now he knew every trick in the book, enough to make a pornstar blush.

  "I dunno..." His girlfriend tried to pull away but Bonnie got on top of her. Now she was pinned down, but she wasn't fighting Bonnie off.

  Surely their breasts hurt like that?

  "You know who," she mumbled.

  "Say it..." Bonnie's head lowered until their lips were locked. "Say it," Bonnie murmured.

  His girlfriend pulled away, gasping for air. "He was the best lover I ever had," she cried, "...until I had you."

  His mother was right: You always have more to learn. When you stop learning, you stop growing.

  But to truly learn, you have to apply. He couldn't apply. He couldn't do what Bonnie was doing. She and Bonnie came together in ways he and she couldn't. He couldn't do that. Or this. She'd never moaned like that before, or had she? He couldn't remember.

  Just like he couldn't remember going back downstairs.

  He sat at the kitchen table and closed his eyes. And wept.

  He had cried before, but never like this. Snot clogging his nose so much he could barely breathe. The shakes making his head twitch over and over again. Heartbeats skipping, teasing him with death. He wished for a heart attack, but it never came.

  He found himself opening drawer after drawer. So much cutlery, but eventually he found the knife set. His right hand reached for the butter knife, but his left chose to be a butcher.

  Back at the table, he raised the butcher blade overhead. After several practise runs, he took a deep breath and raised the knife for the last time.

  His phone rang. He let the answering machine answer.

  "Hey, it's Greg. Look, the chicks are real drunk now. Clothes are gonna come off. Get over here!" Girls were giggling in the background. "Okay, that was heartless. Look, I just want ya to move the fuck on. Cut 'er loose! Drop the dead weight! She's holdin' you back. Really, you could do better. Much better."

  Neil lowered the knife and rested it on the table.

  "You ever thought that maybe she's the one who's the problem? Maybe she's the one who's gotta change?" Greg huffed. "Why not just let her go?"

  A life without her would be nice.

  No more chasing her lovers. No more her. No more loans to buy her things. No more her. No more heartbreak, sleepless nights, calling Bonnie's to beg his girlfriend to come back. No more her. No more them.

  It'd be like she didn't exist anymore.

  With the knife by his side, he went to the front door. Neither hand let him out.

  But, how on earth could he avoid her in such a small town? Cross the street? Divert her post? Quit his job? And what about the gossip? His girlfriend had a girlfriend! One day, Bonnie might be the wife. Then they could adopt. He'd have children - little Bonnies and mini versions of her - to avoid. Even later, grandchildren, making sure the pain and shame lasted until he died, and after that.

  So, Greg, in Neil's opinion, was right. A life without her would be nice.

  But a world without her would be better.

  "Get me a drink, would ya?" his girlfriend called. "Not too much. Don't wanna get fat."

  "Ha! You're skinnier than me."

  Neil dove into the living room and closed the door. He pressed his back against it, willing her to enter, willing her to step into the darkness so he could strike her neck.

  She stopped outside the door and placed a hand on the knob. It turned slightly and the door opened a crack. She peered inside, only visible from the neck up. He raised the knife, keeping his eyes on her white skin. Slowly he rose from the floor and swung.

  But her head wasn't there. He checked the floor. Wasn't there either.

  Back in the hallway, one foot on the stairs, Bonnie called her name. "Did you close the living room door?"

  "Yeah. Jayne's in there. Keeps her from perving when I get some."

  "Cool!"

  Bonnie went in the kitchen and stopped by the knife drawer. She pulled it open, her eyes widening. "She's so untidy," Bonnie muttered. "Maybe the OCD'll rub off on her. God, I hope so."

  The knife tremblin
g in his grasp, he slipped out of the room. He left the door ajar, just in case he had to hide again. Upstairs, the flames beckoned. Downstairs, Bonnie. His eyes shifted up and down and up. Then, on tip toes, he crept upstairs.

  Step by step, he edged closer to Bonnie's room. Through the open door, he could see her bushy hair sprawled on the edge of the bed. Her hands beat an invisible drum in time with the soulful tune flowing from the speakers. She sighed happily and rolled onto her back. He crouched slightly now her eyes were to the ceiling.

  And there it was. That smooth chocolate-brown neck he'd caressed and dressed with expensive jewellery. And there it was. The perfect opportunity for revenge. And there it was. Skin, flesh, blood, bone. That was all that stood between him and freedom. Freedom from her, Bonnie, pain.

  With her gone, he could be Neil again. No, not the cowardly, weak man he saw reflected in her eyes. The Neil he was before they met.

  And all he had to do was behead her. And run. And keep running.

  Would they know it was him?

  He thought back to his car parked outside. If she had the chance to scream, the neighbours might look outside. His unfamiliar, dark car would hold their attention. It would lodge itself into their memories and linger until being stirred by a police officer, an officer who knew how to ask the right questions.

  His thoughts shifted to the plant pot, the knife drawer, the knife. He trembled at the thought of them finding his fingerprints everywhere.

  Then he started gasping for air. He walked back to the stairs, trying to see any shoeprints. He smoothed down his hair, hoping he hadn't lost any incriminating strands. He dabbed his sweaty brow before any drop touched the carpet.

  "What're you doing here?" Bonnie hissed.

  He spun to face her, but no one was there. She was still downstairs, shooing the dog into the living room. He looked around for a place to hide. The bathroom? The spare room? The bedroom?

  "Neil?" Bonnie whispered. "What the...What the..."

  He quietly went downstairs, careful to keep the knife behind his back. She approached him with her usual eerily blank expression. He backed away, the blade digging into his back. Luckily the tough puffer jacket cushioned his body.

  "What you got back there?"

  She forced him into the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

  "Show me, Neil, or I'll scream."

  He banged into the table, knocking the knife from his hands. It slid across the table and dangled over the edge. She grabbed it and slid her finger over the sharp edge. Then she popped her bloody fingertip into her mouth and sucked. There was a hint of smug on her face.

  "You were gonna kill her, weren't you?" Bonnie laughed. "What happened? Didn't have big enough balls?"

  He ran for the back door, but she grabbed his hood and flung him onto the table. She dug her elbow into his stomach and pushed down harder and harder.

  "If you ever come 'round her again I'll kick your arse, got it?" She pressed down harder until he nodded. "Pathetic! You don't deserve her." She spat in his face before pushing him off the table. He landed on his face and lost a tooth on the tiles.

  "Get out," she hissed. "If you come here again..." She clenched her fists. "I'll kill you."

  He turned over and looked deep in her eyes. He felt that she meant it.

  Neil pulled himself up and headed for the front door, Bonnie breathing down his neck along the way. He took one last look upstairs before stepping out into the nightly chill.

  Bonnie appeared in the living room window, Jayne beside her. The long-haired, brown daschund whined as he walked away, Bonnie's glare pushing him down the garden path.

  Back in the car, he fought back the tears. He reached for the door handle but Bonnie's stare shook him. Tears welling in his eyes, he pulled away from the kerb and cruised down the street. He turned left twice and drove down the alleyway behind Bonnie's house. Back there he watched the bedroom window, his stomach turning when the lights went out.

  It was time.

  He ran round the block and crept up the path. He fished the key from his pocket and opened the front door a crack. For a moment he listened out before slipping inside.

  He could hear them from downstairs. The moaning. The groaning. The giggling. The bed creaking. Someone fell on the floor. More laughter. No wonder they didn't hear him moving upstairs.

  Inside the bedroom, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the butter knife. He couldn't remember picking it up. He raised it overhead and stood over the bed. By now they were both asleep, curled up together. Bonnie's head was resting on his girlfriend's, their hands clasping each other's. Even their breathing was in sync, their breasts rising and falling in harmony.

  It made him heave.

  He pointed the knife's round tip at his girlfriend's chest. With enough force it would go in. It might take several attempts, but he could do it.

  But Bonnie would hear her scream. Then what?

  Bonnie could defend herself, he knew that. His swollen jaw was a constant reminder. If he stabbed her in the back, his girlfriend would wake up and run.

  Quickly he motioned two throat cutting movements, but it wouldn't be so easy when they woke up. And would a blunt butter knife do the job?

  Probably not.

  In tears again, he shuffled back downstairs, glancing back at her for the last time.

  Jayne met him at the bottom. Her little paws rested on his trainers and her fluffy tail wagged, sweeping the carpet. When he knelt down to stroke her head she licked his fingers, her breath minty fresh.

  "Woof!"

  He patted her once more before heading to the kitchen.

  She followed.

  In the kitchen, he put down some dog treats and waved goodbye. She whimpered, giving him puppy dog eyes. He shooed her away but she ran in circles and skipped back over, her tongue hanging out.

  He brought her a glass of water and sat beside her while she drank. When she was done, the glass near empty, he tipped the rest down the sink and put the dirty glass back in the cupboard.

  He waved again. She rested her tiny head on his shoe, smiling. He couldn't help but smile himself.

  It was true that she had paid for Jayne. It wasn't true that he didn't care for the dog. He never kissed her on the mouth like his girlfriend did, or played with her in the mud, or walked her on rainy days, but he loved her all the same.

  The dog trotted by and nudged the door with her paw. He pushed it open and, side by side, they strolled down the back garden. She hopped onto the passenger seat and he strapped her in. After one last look at the bedroom window, they sped off into the night.