Unsaid Threats

Triggering for those who are emetophobic

I sit down on the worn-out chair, the leather squeaking underneath me.

Debating on whether to cross my legs or keep them straight, I decide against crossing them, my clothes feeling particularly uncomfortable today.

She sits opposite me, her eyes furtively glancing at me, waiting for me to start talking.

Her body has little to no curves, her face is lined with wrinkles and her yellow skirt is the same colour as her skin.

Yes, she is ugly and highly unattractive.

Then what did Roy possibly see in her?

I pick up the cup of tea she has offered me, the burn in my hand a pleasant respite from the pain in my stomach.

Taking a small sip, I resist my urge to gag at the tasteless, watery liquid which is supposed to be tea.

It sticks to my throat, coating it thoroughly and leaving me feeling disgusted.

“Who are you, ma’am? And why have you come here?” says the woman, her face a picture of fake innocence.

She knows exactly who I am.

Albeit we’ve never met, she must have seen at least a photograph of me when she came to our house.

“I’m Roy’s wife, I believe you are a friend of his.”

At these words, her face is wiped clean of any emotion at all.

She carefully places her cup of tea down on the coffee table and smiles as much as she possibly can.

“How may I help you, ma’am?”

“Firstly, stop calling me ma’am dearie. Call me Alycia. A friend of Roy is a friend of mine,” I say, smiling a smile so wide it threatens to split my face in half.

She looks afraid.

Good.

“So, Sierra, I thought I’d come over just to get to know you a little bit. Seeing how close you are to Roy, I thought we could become friends too.”

She looks like that is the last conclusion she would have arrived at.

However, she nods and picks up her cup of tea again.

“How did you guys meet?” I ask, sounding genuinely interested.

She clears her throat, smiling and frowning alternatively.

“We, uh, we worked together for a bit on a project and became good, uh, good friends,” she mumbles, unable to look into my eyes.

“The best of friends, am I right?” I smile at her, hoping she can see the glint in my eyes.

She gulps nervously and agrees with my statement.

“Let me get straight to the point Sierra.”

She almost drops her cup in fright at my words.

However, she regains her composure and places it on the table once again, not trusting her shaking hands.

I give a second or two to put on her expressionless face again.

Licking my dry lips and clearing my throat, I try not to let her know how nervous I really am.

“I’m sure you know how friendly Roy is,” I begin, carefully looking at her face.

She tilts her head in confusion as if she’s not quite sure about what I mean.

Oh, she wants to make this difficult.

Sure, I can play this game.

“Well, he is very friendly. And I think that these days, he’s getting overly friendly. What do you think?”

I’m sure that if there was tea in her mouth at that moment, she would have spit it out. But she doesn’t say a word at all, almost as if she wants me to confirm what I’m talking about.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, waving away my statement with a flick of her hand.

“He’s friendly, yes, but just the right amount of friendly,” she says, almost cringing immediately after saying it.

I cringe too, suffering secondhand embarrassment at her poor attempt at lying.

Trying to appear friendly, I laugh a little and she laughs with me.

I stop all of a sudden, returning to the point.

“I’m afraid you’re not quite getting the point honey,” I say, and she looks at me, her emotions threatening to slip through the mask of expressionlessness.

“I think he’s being too friendly these days, with people he doesn’t know well enough.”

She’s not ready to admit it yet.

“I think that he is not doing a good thing at the present. He’s making too many mistakes.”

She is starting to break.

“His first mistake was thinking that I’m stupid.”

She picks up her cup of tea, now gone cold and holds it in her hands.

“His second mistake was leaving the door unlocked a few days back.”

She drops the cup, the tea spilling on her skirt and leaving a large stain, the cup falling to the ground and breaking to a million tiny pieces.

“Oh love! What have you done? How could you be so clumsy?” I say, looking for a rag to wipe off the tea.

She may be my husband’s mistress but that doesn’t mean that I have to forget all human decency.

I help her stand up without stepping on the glass, digging my fingers into her hand as tightly as I can to leave a mark, and she winces.

When she looks at me in shock, I only smile and lead her to the bathroom to get herself cleaned up.

She comes back, with a different skirt on, this time a green one the colour of vomit.

It looks surprisingly similar to the colour I expect my vomit to be after returning home.

I make a move to leave, and she heaves a sigh of relief.

“I hope you’ve gotten the hint, Sierra. I don’t want my husband to be too friendly with anyone, especially if that someone happens to a person other than his wife. If that is the case, I will be very sad,” I say, pouting in disappointment.

“Well, it has been an absolute pleasure talking to you sweetie, I hope that you get a new job soon, and make me really happy by taking it.”

I squeeze her shoulder as I pass by her, the bony nature of it taking me by surprise.

She looks at me in absolute terror, and I know that she has understood everything.

Smirking to myself, I open her door and leave.

It takes not more than a second after the door closes for me to throw up in one of the potted plants in the corridor.

I predicted the colour almost perfectly, I would say.