On the Bank of River Rubicon

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What just happened? What did I do... but I didn’t have a choice; it’s all her fucking fault! Whore!”

***

It was a bright cold day, with temperatures barely above freezing. Olivia pulled up the zipper on her parka and stood next to the car still shivering. Her breath turned into mist in the frigid air as she mouthed “Hello!” to the other parents waiting at the school gates. A group of teenage boys stormed out of the building, laughing and jokingly mocking each other with their uneven voices. Olivia’s gaze followed them as they walked away from the school towards the town centre. There was a barely noticeable frown in the corner of her neatly groomed brow.

“Mum!” a much younger curly haired boy called out as he ran towards her. Olivia was brought back from her thoughts by the sound of the familiar child's voice.

“Over here, darling! Come give mummy a hug!”

The boy eagerly wrapped his arms around his mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Olivia adored her son. It had been an IVF journey from hell, and it had cost her far more than she ever would have anticipated, but it had been worth it.

“Go on then, sweetheart. Get in the car, it’s cold out here,” she said as she gently shuffled the boy up on the back seat. “Do your belt up, now there’s a good boy.”

“Where’s your brother then?” she muttered to herself as she got in the driver’s seat. Olivia peered over the wheel in the direction of the school building, expecting her eldest to drag his feet through the door at any moment. Her face hardened when the teenager appeared at last, opened the passenger side door and hoisted his bag into the footwell. She only gave Tate a nod to acknowledge his presence, and he ignored her altogether, instead turning around to give his little brother the attention: “Hey scamp, how’s it going, did you get up to any mischief today?”

Alex grinned conspiratorially, giggling back at Tate. It was a laughter filled with just as much love as he had shared with his mother a mere moment earlier. An unexpected current of envy ran through Olivia's insides, ending up in her heart where it lay festering for the rest of the drive home. When they got in, Tate went upstairs and remained there for reminder of the afternoon while little Alex helped his mother unload the shopping and prepare dinner.

They cooked Chicken Alfredo which was to be followed by fresh berries and French yoghurt. Olivia took great care to cook proper meals from scratch every day and in the process educate her son about nutrition, all of which was meticulously recorded on her iPhone. When they were done, she chose three photos which she then posted on her Instagram profile - one of the pasta bobbling in the pot, one of Alex setting the table and one of them carefully cleaning the berries together. The post was accompanied with cooking instructions and several hashtags: #dinnertime #influencer #boymom #healthyfood #homecookedmeals #singlemother. As always, she paused briefly when she added the last one, resentful of what it represented. She hit “upload” nonetheless, unable to oppose just how effectively that word had resuscitated her dwindling online career after her husband Malcolm got caught cheating and the wholesome #traditionalfamily she had paraded on social media until then was no more.

Tate had dinner upstairs in his room. There were no photos of him in the post, much like there hadn’t been any photos of him on Olivia’s social media for at least a year. As she and Alex ate at the table, Olivia watched the likes and comments pour in. She was satisfied with the engagement, enjoying the adrenaline kick the spotlight gave her far more than she enjoyed the chicken on her plate. It however took only one comment to ruin her mood.

@instamomlife: “Where’s your other son? We never see him on your Insta anymore. He was such an adorable boy!”

Olivia pursed her lips but chose not to engage. What was there to say after all? Tate had aged out a while ago and was no more interested in being on her socials than she was in including him. There was the occasional photo to hush busybodies like @instamomlife, but overall mother and son were in rare agreement on this matter.

This Random Stranger on the Internet was right of course - Tate had indeed been the most adorable boy. Chubby cheeks, constant blush, curly hair and long lashes. He looked like a cherub when he was little but somehow all the features that had made him a beautiful child had turned him into an unattractive teenager.

Olivia sighed, remembering how it all started years ago. She was among the first wave of “Mum Bloggers”, sharing healthy child friendly recipes, exercise routines, parenting advice and travel tips on her page. A trim and slim young mother living in a beautiful home in a lovely small-town in rural England, with an adorable son and a handsome husband - what’s not to love, what’s not to envy! Her profile grew and so did her income. It became quite addictive and for a while it felt like she really did live the life she had created on the pages of her shiny blog. Malcolm owned a successful construction company, and she didn’t really need the money back then, but it sure came in handy when she found herself a single parent.

“Fucking Malcolm!” she thought to herself with bitterness as she cleared the table. He of course tried to deny the affair and when he no longer could, he blamed Olivia that it had happened in the first place, accusing her of letting herself go after Alex was born. The IVF had been horrific, the pregnancy hard and the birth even more so. Her recovery and losing the extra weight took far longer than it had with Tate. After their marriage fell apart Malcom told her he never even wanted the second child and that Olivia had only done it for the blog, and that frankly she should have given that damn thing up long time ago as it took focus away from him. As he was the breadwinner, her real job was to look after the home, not chase fame online like a common whore. That was not what he had signed up for!

She had been in a bad place but missing the revenue from the blog, and the validation, she got herself back in shape and started posting on Instagram where all the former bloggers found a new home. It was infinitely better - so many more people, so much more engagement! Her new angle - single yet 100% committed mother - brought in a whole new following. They loved Alex and they loved her, but they did not love pre-teen Tate who got far fewer likes than his “cute as a button” little brother, so Olivia shifted the core focus to her youngest.

Tate became withdrawn and lonely. At school he was teased for his social media past, his baby pictures a constant source of mockery. At home he felt neglected, as if now that the strangers didn’t love him, he was no longer worthy of his mother’s love either. He started to resent her for the rejection.

Olivia switched on the dishwasher and tucked Alex into bed. When the child was asleep, she knocked on Tate’s door: “Are you awake, we need to talk.” She entered after hearing a grunt that sounded like a “Yes” and the two of them spoke for twenty minutes. When Olivia came out, a sense of tread had turned into a knot in her gut.

A week earlier Tate had requested to spend more time at his dad’s house. Olivia had primary custody, but Tate wanted it to become 50/50 and Malcolm agreed with his son, having likely instigated it in the first place. The boys' father took little interest in his youngest, but Tate was close to his dad plus Malcolm lived closer to the school, so an equal share made some sense. Olivia hesitated at first, nervous of the influence her ex-husband would have on their impressionable son but the relief it would bring into her own life was certainly appealing. The relationship between mother and son had soured and she had no idea how to deal with Tate, once so agreeable and now so angry and hateful.

Malcolm called her earlier that day and she agreed to trial the arrangement for a year. After she had relayed the news to Tate, Olivia laid awake until the early hours questioning her decision, aware she’d likely have little success going against her ex-husband.

The next morning Tate got up before anyone else, packed a few things and left the house with his dad who was already waiting outside in his car. Breaking the promise to his mother, Tate would never again spend more than a night at a time in her house.

****

“Would you like anything else?” she asked me with a smile in the café that first time. Her name tag said Mandy.

Girls don’t usually smile at me unless it’s their job in which case they smile at everyone indiscriminately. I said “No” and she walked over to the table next to mine, offering the old lady with an ugly dog the same smile, thus proving my suspicions and in the process extinguishing any hope. When she came over later to clear my table and bring the bill however, she smiled again. Hmm… maybe! I went back the next day to make sure. Same thing.

It soon became a daily routine, and a few weeks later she knew my order by heart – black coffee with a ham and cheese sandwich, mustard on the side. One time I followed her home after her lunchtime shift. She lived near the university building, and I realised then she was a student. Not just a waitress, a student. I wasn’t overly keen on that. Some chicks think they’re smarter than you just because they go to university. Women can’t be smarter than men, that’s a fact. I didn’t go to university, dad said it’s not necessary for me - I was meant to work alongside him, be a proper man. He was right of course.

I didn’t expect to run into her elsewhere, let alone at this dive bar tonight. She’s here with her friends. One of them is wearing a dress cut so low I can almost see the outline of her enormous nipples. The other one has a blue streak in her hair. They both look like whores. Mandy is dressed nicely but why is she here? She’s too sweet for a place like this.

I was sitting alone by the bar when they first arrived. The girls scanned the room and Mandy looked right at me, and then right past me. She hadn’t the foggiest who I was!

They sat down at the corner table and a little while later a group of guys joined them. They clearly all knew each other. The boys looked like they were university students too, all smug and full of themselves. One of them focused his attention on Mandy and she flirted back. Dad says that deep inside all women are just whores, willing to sell themselves for attention, for gifts. All goes to the highest bidder.

Moving in with dad five years ago was the best decision I ever made. No one has ever supported me like he did, understood me. He got me through school (Fuck, everyone was such a wanker in that place!) and then through all those mind-numbing COVID-lockdowns. I would have ended up a shit little beta like Alex if I didn’t get out of mum’s house in time. Dad did the right thing leaving her, and then getting me out of there, too. Women like her don’t deserve good men like us.

“I’m good thank you. Do we know each other?” she stares at me with a blank expression chicks usually put on when they’re turning you down. She has walked over to the bar to order a drink, and I had, in a moment of bravery, asked her a basic: “Hey, how’s it going?”

She doesn’t seem to recognise me at all. “Black coffee and ham and cheese sandwich, mustard on the side?” I stutter, having lost all the confidence I had just a moment ago.

“Excuse me?”

“The café on Main Street? I come every day... for lunch,” my voice tails off in the end.

“Oh, that place. You know, I speak to a lot of people there every day. I can’t remember everyone. Sorry.”

Her tone is still cool with me but when she addresses the barman, she’s sweet as sugar: “Can we have six jaeger bombs over there at the corner table? Thank you!”

Then she walks away, having got what she came for. She’s no different to all the other girls who are only nice when they want something. I look like an idiot, certainly feel like one. The anger is building up. Her friends are snickering when she gets back to the table. They must have noticed my pathetic attempt to hit on Mandy, who they clearly think is out of my league. They of course have no idea she’s been leading me on for a long time. She set me up, humiliated me in a public place. Bitch!

I stay in my seat for five more minutes and then move to a small table at the far end of the room, out of their line of sight but in a good position to observe. They stay for several hours. I watch them get more and more drunk. Flirt. The girl with a low-cut top now actually has one of her nipples sticking out. I feel sick. Dad always said to avoid whores like that, used up even before they get started. Gross.

When the group stands up to leave, I follow them. They have no idea I am still at the bar, probably haven’t given me a second thought. Outside a taxi collects the girl with the big boobs and one of the guys. Another picks up the two boys but not before the one who had been flirting with Mandy makes out with her. She melts in his arms, clearly enjoying herself. I feel sick. And angry. I mean, who wouldn’t be – she’s been lying to me this whole time! Pretending she’s interested so she can then humiliate me. Stupid bitch!

The boys leave and the blue haired girl heads to the bus stop. Mandy is left on her own, waiting for her taxi. I walk up to her. She’s startled. “Can I help you?” she snaps at me while her eyes search for the bouncers at the front of the bar. So, now you need other men to protect you. More men to be used. Hypocrite.

“You don’t need to be scared. It’s me, Tate.”

She takes a step back. There’s a look of fear on her face, of repulsion. The latter makes me even more angry.

“Why did you pretend that you like me? Was it so I’d keep coming back to the café, spend money, give you a tip? Or so you could humiliate me?”

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about, or who you even are! What is the matter with you? Leave me alone please.” Under her breath she utters: “Loser”.

That does it. I push my face right in front of hers and start shouting: “Who the fuck are you to call me a loser. You disgusting whore! Women like you are worthless! You lead me on, and then you make fun of me like I’m fucking beneath you. ME! Beneath YOU? Fuck that! You don’t deserve a proper man. No. YOU deserve everything else that’s going to happen to you!”

I am filled with unbearable anger which I have lost all control over. I have been dominating her with my body and shouting, in the process pushing her to the back of the parking lot. She doesn’t even realise she’s out of earshot when I pull out a knife from my pocket and she lets out a scream. I stab her in the abdomen. She’s in shock after that and doesn’t make a sound.

There’s a moment where I could still stop but I choose not to. I stab her again. And again. I hold my breath throughout and keep stabbing, even after I know she’s already dead. Only when I am done, I am no longer angry. I look at her face again, lifeless and dull, covered in blood.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What just happened? What did I do... but I didn’t have a choice; it’s all her fucking fault! Whore!”