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All Hers...

By David BrandyPublished 7 months ago 2 min read
Photo by A. L. on Unsplash(draft with actual unsplash photo broke, unsplash not working on this draft))

I watch her with the mallet as she pounds the chicken breasts to an even thickness, while I prep not only the oven, but the stove top. So many steps. She moves so smoothly, so in her element, because she is.

Nothing here is mine, not this city, not this house, and right now... I don't feel like I'm mine either. Just a piece of her puzzle, a fish in her stream. I do what I am told, I live in her parameters.

Carefully, I crack an egg on the countertop, the movement is practiced, controlled. The egg is for one of the two bowls I am prepping for the chicken to be dipped in, damn it there are so many steps. I remember when things were simple. When it was just me, making this many dishes for a single meal was unheard of.

She is washing her hands behind me now, I know she is going to go feed the cat right after. How do I know this? Because it's 5:30 and that is the exact time she feeds the cat. Even the cat has become accustom to her schedule and waits at 5:28 sharp by his bowl.

I feel the wake of her passing behind me and glance at the chicken to find it coated with flour and seasoned with salt and pepper. She didn't say a word to me and she knows that she doesn't have to. I am nothing but a cogged wheel.

I obey, taking each piece of chicken and dipping it into the egg, then it gets coated in the breadcrumb and cheese bowl. The perfectly pounded meat then goes into the precisely one and half inch oil filled pan and I start the timer for exactly two minutes. Damn it, I'm as bad as the cat.

My thoughts drift and a warning rings through my mind. A warning from my best friend, if we are even friends anymore. He could see it, that she was a prison, and in a sense, I could see it too. Only, I wanted to be locked up, her bars felt safe, now I am beginning to see the lock on the door for what it is. Has it been too long? Will he forgive me?

The anger inside me bubbles up like the bubbles in the oil and makes it to my face, at exactly the wrong time. I notice her staring at me a second too late. Her face goes from shocked, to afraid, then she turns red. I can see her fists clenching, wishing there was more chicken to pound.

This is the moment that I wish I walk out. The moment that time freezes and I can see the fight we are about to have. I hear the doors slam, the cat hide, the muffled sobs. The moment we both know...

I have my first real thought of being me again. It is the most amazing and terrifying feeling I have ever had, because it means I am restarting. A clean slate, an actual emptying of my life, because when I became hers, all that was mine had to go. In that sense, I restarted then, so this fight, this ending, it's okay...

I have restarted before.

Short StoryLove

About the Creator

David Brandy

My very first story crafting was an imaginary game that me and my two younger brothers would play when I was 12. My love of storytelling manifested itself quickly. Today I am a husband, father, and business owner.

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Comments (3)

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  • Joe O’Connor3 months ago

    Also- Fight Club right? The picture seems like a recreation of the ending shot. Greeeat film.

  • Joe O’Connor3 months ago

    This is well-written, and the suffocating atmosphere comes across cleverly in little ways. “Just a piece of her puzzle, a fish in her stream.”- says so much in so few words. Nicely done:)

  • Rachel Deeming4 months ago

    I feel the tightness here. So well done. I hope he gets out.

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