(BDYBIS) Fiction: Strawberry Cremes

Whoever said “Life is like a box of chocolates” is a moron, pondered Nigel as he quaffed his final strawberry crème. It was his final chocolate. In fact that was his final thought, well I am assuming it was. It might have been “What is Miranda doing in the car?” or “Surely she’ll stop in a minute” perhaps “Oh my god she’s not stopping”

You see I killed Nigel. Or rather the impact of my car on his cheating head did. Even as girl who wasn’t supposed to know anything about cars I was always impressed at the styling of the front end of the BMW Nigel had brought for my 25th. Shame to dent it really. But needs must as the devil drives and I was driving like Satan Schumacher.

Nigel was a very powerful man, that’s what attracted me to him in the first place I guess, cliched I know. Women and powerful men, but it was true. Besides I was 19 and he was quite charming in a straight forward way. Made me feel like a woman as opposed to feeling like a runner up prize, as the boys my age did. He proposed on our third date, Rome no less. I said yes of course, who wouldn’t. The ring he’d got me was beautiful, with a diamond bigger than the apartments of most of my friends. I exaggerate of course, but not by much.

I married him when I was 21. Nothing fancy this time, Nigel said that “weddings are for people to show off to their friends, the honeymoon is just for us.” I remember not agreeing with him at the time but as soon as we arrived at our honeymoon destination all that was forgotten. We had jumped aboard a helicopter which took us to a small island, with white sand and palm trees. The surroundings were simply stunning, waste of money really as neither of us saw the outside of bedrooms for very long.

Those were the highs.

As soon as we touched the tarmac of home, Nigel was on the phone doing “business.” He was away more often than home, I missed him. Like a fool. He was away in Malaysia for my 23rd birthday I didn’t see him in the flesh until I was 24. We argued on the phone and by video conference, during these conferences I felt as though I was just another business deal. That fucking hold music, hold music. I wanted to talk to my husband and I got Pan Pipes.

I am a young woman. I have needs. Needs that Nigel wasn’t fulfilling. Yes it’s great having all the money, but I was feeling like a runner up prize again. No I was nowhere. So I was pleased last week when he flew in for my 25th and gave me the car. He didn’t stay, had business to attend to. I drove home, alone. When I got home I heard the video conference stuff making it’s normal metallic ring. Was Nigel sorry that he’d left me alone on my birthday? I smiled.

As I pressed the button to answer the video call, the screen sparked up into life. Nigel was there. That bastard was there. As was my sister, laying on her back, with her legs in the air on Nigel’s board room table. She was very pleased about his way of doing business, she must have dialled the call by mistake. I hung up, well would you want to watch your sister being impaled by your husband. Who incidentally hadn’t touched me for years.

That was a few weeks ago.

Revenge will be sweet.

Today is Nigel’s birthday, I’ve brought him some strawberry crèmes.

By David Wilmot from Wimbledon, United Kingdom (Belgium Chocolates #2) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

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(BDYBIS) Fiction: Strawberry Cremes

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