News

Postcards

Like Tears >

Short Stories

Novellas

Novels

Poetry

Writing Guides

Rants

Raves

Fans

About

There wasn’t much sun on the sill that afternoon, high up in the sky above the bustling city street. And it was windy too. Jeff placed the flower pot there anyway, carefully, as though it were made of brittle glass. He turned it slightly and backed up a step, admiring it. The flower stood tall in the dull grey light, shivering only slightly in the gusty breeze. It was stiff, rigid, starchy. Its three white petals bowed their faces toward him, somewhat sad. He smiled, as though he might cheer them up.

“There, Daisy. A little sun for you. How about some water?”

He tipped the old plastic measuring cup slightly and water spilled onto the already damp earth. The fallen petals floated for a moment before settling back onto the soil.

“Two year anniversary soon, Daisy. I’ve made her something special. See?”

Jeff held up a small painting. A daisy in a pot stood proud and tall in a sunbeam, its stem and leaves a lush green, its petals a vibrant white against the blue sky in the background. It looked happy, like it had taken a breath and would sigh with contentment.

“Pretty good, hey? Think she’ll like it?”

Daisy hung her head, not moving. A gust of breeze nearly freed another petal.

Jeff left for the restaurant with the painting under his arm.

Tammy was looking off out the window, her cheek upon her hand. Jeff kissed her and sat down.

“You look amazing, sweetie. Absolutely amazing. You put flowers to shame. Truly.”

Tammy only sighed, not looking up. She toyed with her fork, lifting its handle off the table with a downward push of her fingertip on its points, turning it slightly, this way and that.

“A gift for you. Finished it yesterday.”

Tammy looked. Another painting. Another flower.

“Nice.”

“Glad you like it. You’re gonna run out of room on your walls pretty soon.”

“Probably.”

She took it from him and dropped it on its edge, leaning it up against the leg of her chair.

“What you having, darling? I feel like fish. You like fish?”

“No.”

“Think I’ll have the pasta then. Pasta’s always good.”

Jeff had pasta. Tammy had salad. She merely poked at it with a fork.

“You look amazing, darling. Did I tell you that? Absolutely gorgeous.”

“You got sauce on your chin.”

“Silly me. Thank you.”

The sex was nice. It always was. He worked her over from head to toe with kisses and caresses, with all the care of an artist on a canvas, adoring every inch of her with lingering appreciation. He got her warm. Not hot, but warm enough. When he entered her, his size made her moan. The slight sting of it woke her again and she moved beneath him. His motions made her squirm; he had a way of swooping in and hitting her in just the right spot. He never failed to get her off. But she never opened her eyes once, and when he grunted at her about how wonderful she was, she turned up the volume on the radio beside the bed and shut her eyes tighter.

She climaxed. He did not. He rolled off of her, smiling, happy as a flower in the sunshine.

“Love you, darling. I’m so happy to be with you. Your satisfaction means everything to me.”

A branch knocked against the side of the house, over and over, waving in the now heavy breeze. It distracted her from Jeff’s rambling. She didn’t hear a word he said for the next ten minutes. She turned her back to him, hugging herself, wanting to be alone.

She remembered Shaun screaming so hard her ears hurt when he pulled out and sprayed his goo all over her shuddering nineteen-year-old body. She remembered churning upward into his aim, trying to catch it all with a struggling whimper. She gasped for breath when he finally released her throat and cried out again when he yanked hard on her hair, tugging her head into the path of his last few spurts. He was finished, and he dropped her to the bed like a rubber doll.

“Goddamn, you look fuckin’ sexy like that. Dirty little bitch. Fuck yeah…”

When she looked in the mirror a few minutes later, there were three white strokes across her cheek upon a bright pink handprint where he’d slapped her. Her eye makeup had run down her cheeks. Her hair was everywhere. Her heart was still pounding. Her body tingled all over with the blurring combinations of pleasure and pain.

Sexy. Fuck yeah.

She swiped one slimy streak from her face with a fingertip. It was salty, like tears.

A few days later she’d met the artist, the sweetest guy she’d ever known her entire life, and she finally found the courage to leave Shaun, after five long years.

“Don’t buy me fresh cut flowers,” Jeff told her on their second date. “A cut flower is a dead flower. Buy me a potted flower. It’ll last forever.”

On a window sill a few blocks away, high above the city street, another one of Daisy’s petals dropped to the earth. Two remained.

Tammy was craving salt.

›