Married to the Devil

I tiptoed to the living room and stood there in the dark. I was scared. What do I do… Do I call Henry? My heart was in my throat. The living room was dark, and I could only see the back of the person standing. Whoever was in this apartment right now either knew the password to the door lock, or the person just guessed that the code was my birthday.My eyes found the lamp on the display shelf. It had a heavy ceramic base that was solid enough to take someone out. I moved toward it without breathing, pulled the cord from the socket, and wrapped both hands around it.The figure was closer than I expected. It was definitely a male because he was tall and had broad shoulders. I raised the lamp as I walked slowly towards the person, but not too close.Just then, the figure turned quickly. “What are you—”I paused. That voice seemed familiar. It was a voice I could recognise even in my sleep. I slowly lowered my arms and ran toward the light switch and turned it on.It was Henry. He stood i

I tried to calm myself and control my breathing, but I couldn’t. I walked slowly out of the bathroom. It was like I was having a panic attack. I tried to slowly breathe again.I needed to ask him. I was not sure if this was just a business trip. If that was the ticket for the business trip, then it was definitely not a normal business trip. I slowly walked outside to see if he was still there. I couldn’t run. By the time I was outside, he had already gone. I could see the faint trail of dust at the end of the driveway where he had driven off. I stood there on the lawn for a moment, the morning air cool against my skin, and then I sat down on the front step and cried quietly to myself. I walked slowly back into the bedroom and reached for my inhaler on the dresser, pressed it once and waited. The tightness in my chest loosened just enough for me to think straight.I had cried over Henry before; silent tears in the bathroom, muffled sounds into a pillow late at night, but this felt dif

Chris was standing behind a couch in the living room. He was looking at the phone in his hand while holding a bag in the other hand. He was a compact, well-dressed man in his early forties who always looked like he was running fifteen minutes behind on six different things simultaneously. I could see sweat break out on his face. He had double eyelids, clear skin, and shiny eyes. He looked up when I walked in.“Oh… hi… Quinn. Good thing you're back.”I looked around the apartment, waiting to see Henry pop out from somewhere. Maybe he was in the room. “Hi, Chris”. I was about to go to the room to find Henry when Chris stopped me“Ermmm…can you please help me with something before you go inside?”I stared at him for a while. “What’s that?”He quickly rushed to open his phone to read out whatever was on it. I stared blankly at him. “Something is going to be delivered here tomorrow, but I won’t be able to come pick it up for Henry before the weekend. Please can you bring it along to the a

The message request was still open on my screen when I finally accepted it. I don't know why I hesitated. Maybe because the other two comments had already told me exactly what most people thought of what I was doing, and I wasn't sure I had the emotional capacity to read another insult directly in my DM. But the comment felt a bit different from the hostility in the other comments. I thought about how the person just wanted a direct request to respond to my post privately, but I also worried about being insulted or verbally attacked in the inbox.I opened it and saw the message: “hi!” with a small grey text at the top that read: you accepted a message request from @pinkpen0. I stared at it for a moment, waiting to see if the other person would type. A few minutes passed, but still nothing. I left there to go prepare for work. When I got ready for work, I still saw no response. I was almost late for work, so I left the house. By the time I got home, the person had still not sent me a f

I woke up on Friday with my phone already buzzing against the mattress. For a second, still half caught in sleep, I thought it might be Henry, and my chest did that stupid thing before I remembered better. It wasn't Henry. It was a message from the stylist he had mentioned, a woman named Rosa, asking to confirm my measurements for Saturday and letting me know she already booked three gown options.I typed back a short reply and set the phone down on my chest, staring up at the ceiling above me. Its timorrow where I sit beside Henry on a red carpet in a dress some stranger had chosen for me, smiling for cameras while in my phone is a folder of things that could unmake his entire career, and yet Henry is not beside me.I got up because staying in bed only gave the thoughts more room to grow. I made coffee and stood at the kitchen counter drinking it slowly, watching the light change outside the window. For a moment I imagined a version of this week where none of it was happening. A vers