Villainous Impression

The roses were prefect. The lush petals enveloped each other like a love letter and smelt of angel kisses. I am overexaggerating that one, flowers all smell like stems to me. But anyway, they looked beautiful. I had gotten out my old dining room furniture which had been stuffed in the attic for coming on three years now, you see I don’t usually bring people home, unless they are special. Special people are hard to come by these days, you get the ones who are too clingy, the ones who prefer to look in a mirror than at you and then there’s the ones who use it as a boast. But my love was perfect. The tablecloth was a bit musty, a few moth bites dappled the linin, but they were quickly covered up by a candle and some plates.

The gel in my hair had begun to seep down my forehead- I was very nervous. I ran my hands through the sweaty locks which clung to my head as if they could sense danger. My hair could tell when something would go wrong, it was not useful as you may think because if my hair looks bad it means something is wrong. Therefore, I have a bad day and I look bad doing it. But no. this was not going to be bad. I will propose to her like I had rehearsed. The ring I bought couldn’t compare to my love for her, I wasn’t the richest man in the world, but my heart was fuller than any wallet or bank account.

Now I was starting to panic. My armpit hair was stuck to the inside of my shirt like a seaweed. I will just ignore it, it is nerves, that’s all. A last spritz of spearmint breath spray, quick glance in the mirror and toilet trip, I was ready and waiting for her feeble knock on the door.

1…2…3…

“knock knock”

There it was. I quickly shoved my Bambi slippers underneath the sofa and hurried to the door. I composed myself for a few seconds before jarring the door and peeping my eye out.

“Who dares enter my domain?” I hollowed in my best villainous voice. No reply. “I eat those who trespass on my land!” I bellowed. Chuckling to myself I flung the door open to my beautiful girlfriend. The look on her face was apparent. She didn’t quiet get my humour on villainous impressions, but I loved it when she put up a fight.

I showed her in and like a gentleman took of her coat and offered her a drink. I am not a big wine man myself, but I had gone to Waitrose a day or two before to buy the best wine I could find as last time my £5 wine from ASDA was not quite up to par. I popped the top off and poured it theatrically into two glasses and sat down beside her at my table. The smell of my spaghetti was lurky in all the corners of the room, diffusing through the air and soaking into my clothes. It was such a good smell. I make a mean spaghetti, so good that I make it every time she comes around. Her kind words are always so praising that I think she secretly wants it all the time.

I was about to offer her another glass when she finally piped up and said something. “we need to talk about something” she mumbled. I am not stupid, so I know when things are going to take a turn for the worst. When girls say, “we need to talk” they either have a juicy piece of gossip or they are about to tell you the classic “its not you its me”. My hair was practically plastered to my head by this time and I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“I feel that I have been a bit distant lately and I think it’s because I just don’t feel the spark anymore” she whispered slowly. You could tell it was painful for the words to be forced out, but that didn’t make me any sorrier for her. I tried to reason with her. I told her I would stop with the impressions, the spaghetti, the hair. I lied a bit there; it is not as though I could fix my sweaty glands. But nothing worked. She apologised, gave me a tenner for the wine (like that was going to cut it) and gave me one last peck on the cheek before gliding out of the room, the front door, and my life.

4 years later.

I held it in my hand. She looked stunning. All in white, hair in bun and a bouquet of flowers just like the ones on my dining room table. For the past four years I had never seen her happier. Her job was paying well, her cooking had improved, and she had a wonderful husband. What more could she ask for?

I was standing in the corridor admiring the pictures which littered the walls and the cabinets. She always did love to display her life in snapshots. The room to the right was the bathroom and the room to the left was the master bedroom. Where the master and his wife should sleep. I was tired, for you see it was around 2 in the morning when I finally arrived. I had had a very busy day at work and finally I just gave up and decided I needed to leave.

The door handle was cold to the touch, the window curtains behind me were billowing and the shards of window lay scattered on the floor beneath my feet.

I had had such a bad day. A bad four years more like. I needed something to cheer me up, I needed a bit of light-hearted fun.

“come out my dear” I growled in my most menacing tone. “or I will have to come in and get you” I sniggered to myself as I turned the door handle of the bedroom. I jarred the door and peeped my eye through the crack. “I can see you. Don’t hide from me”. No reply. “I will have to come in now”

I flung the door open. A scream like a banshee rushed over my head. It was her, my love. She looked beautiful in her silk nightie and fluffy slippers. I held her picture in my hand, she had looked just as beautiful on her wedding day. Look how happy she had looked. Why wasn’t she this happy now? I was home.

BANG!

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I heard my wife scream from upstairs. I rushed up the staircase as quick as I could. The window had been broken, the pictures had been jumbled and the door to my bedroom was wide open. I sped down the corridor to find my wife petrified and in front of her a man who I had never seen before. In his hand he held my wedding picture and in the other he held a hammer. I had no hesitation. I grabbed the gun off the wall and fired one shot straight through the back of his head.

His limp body fell to the floor. Our wedding picture shattered into pieces and my wife stared at me in horror. Tears streamed down her face as she ran to hug me.

I asked her what had happened. Who was this man?

I presumed she had known who he was by the hurt which scared her face. She never answered, but from that day on it has left a villainous impression on her.