Revenge

It's strange how I feel nothing now.

I come here most nights, just to stand and watch - I'm not capable of
anything else these days. Recently it has turned cold but I'm still
wearing the same clothes which served me throughout the summer. I don't
feel the cold - even though people hurry past me wrapped snugly in long
overcoats, insured against the winter. In fact I don't feel much of
anything.

I wonder if they'll be in tonight. I wonder if tonight will be the
night they see me. I really hope so. I need them to see me.

It all started so wonderfully, way back in those distant University
years. I was a virgin when we met - an anomaly in my second year class
in those pre-AIDS days of free love. I had told myself I was saving it
for the right woman but the truth was that I just didn't have the
social graces necessary for romantic encounters, nor the cynical
aloofness needed for a series of one night stands.

I watched with a mixture of smugness and jealousy as my flatmates
paraded a succession of nymphets through the threadbare rooms we had
rented. Then I met her.

It wasn't exactly an auspicious meeting. I had my head down a lavatory
bowl at a party, trying desperately to get rid of a mixture of
Guinness, cheap whiskey and even cheaper wine before it had time to
embarrass me further. She came in to use the toilet. I moved over to
the wash hand basin and she did her business and left. That was it - I
had met my future wife.

Not that either of us knew at the time - in fact it was a month before
I met her again, this time in one of the coffee bars. We had a laugh
about our first encounter, discovered we had friends in common and I
asked her out for a drink. For the rest of out time at University we
were inseparable.

I wonder if they'll be in there tonight. Some nights I don't see them,
the room stays dark and I stand until the dawn moves me on. On other
nights they're close enough to touch me but of course it was
impossible. They couldn't see me and I am incapable of touching. I
believe I cried but no emotion reached my heart.

Even back then I could see potential problems, but in my happy stupor I
glossed over them. I'll give you an example. I had gone away on a field
trip - just one week away from her. They say absence makes the heart
grow fonder. Yet another clich? with no resemblance to reality.

I returned from the trip to find she'd slept with two of my flatmates
in my absence. Oh, of course I forgave her. I would have forgiven her
anything in those days. I prided myself on my tolerance but although
her face showed signs of remorse that was all it was. The look never
reached her eyes.

I can look back dispassionately now. My present condition allows no
anger, no tears.

We were using each other as props - me to show that I was capable of
holding down a relationship, she to have a warm body to cuddle up to
until a better one came along. It didn't seem that way to me at the
time though - at the time I was like a lamb being led to the slaughter,
lost in a state of what I thought of as love.

Look. There they are. See how her eyes sparkle as he unbuttons her
blouse? See how his hands rove over her buttocks, those glorious
buttocks which are as tight and firm, now as they were all those years
ago? See the wet mouths, sucking and biting even before they reach the
bed?

Oh, it should pain me to see them like this, but all I want is for them
to see me, to see what I have become. Because of them, because of their
adultery.

We were married in the summer after leaving University. At the time it
seemed like the happiest day of my life - the sun shone, the choir sang
and my family smiled. Looking back on it all I can remember is her
standing beside me for the photographs, her long hair continually
blowing into my face when caught by the wind. In some of the pictures
it looks like it is trying to strangle me.

After the honeymoon we moved to London, me for a job in a large oil
firm she for a post in an advertising agency. It was around this time
that things started to go wrong and I think it best if I slow down and
look at proceedings in more details.

They are down to their underclothes now. See how her nipples are
visible through the sheer black of her bra? See the firm suppleness of
her stomach as she arches her back? She never did that for me. Our
lovemaking was always furtive, always taking place in the dark with the
lights out.

Look, they are both naked. See how close in colour and build they are,
like a pair of Greek Bronzes? See how they move towards the bed hand in
hand? They must see me this time.

I first started having suspicions towards Christmas time that year. We
had both been working late to establish ourselves in our new jobs and
this had led to long working hours.

Most nights I arrived home well after ten, only to find she still
hadn't arrived. When she did, she was always too tired for
lovemaking.

We threw a party for New Year, inviting friends and work colleagues to
come round and be sick on our carpets. I watched her closely all night
and soon spotted that most of her attention was going to one particular
youth. He was athletic, I'll give you that - a bit taller than me,
about a stone lighter and with muscles in all the right places.

As the evening wore on I got drunker and her actions seemed to mock me.
Publicly, and at great length, I accused her of having an affair - an
accusation she denied vigorously. What she couldn't deny was the look
in her eyes. I knew.

She's on top now. Look at how her body glistens with sweat as she rides
him along to his orgasm. See how her breasts are still firm? See how
her hair bounces in rhythm. Here?I'm over here?you must see me?you
must.

I started spying on her. Oh, I'm not proud of it - but what is a man to
do. I began leaving work early and waiting outside her office for her
to leave. Most nights she was still working tell well after nine - but
on other occasions I lost her in the crowd as she left the office at
five o'clock. When I asked her later how her day had been she only told
me that she had been working late. But I knew. Oh yes, I knew.

I began searching her handbag. It was easy to do it discreetly as she
had taken to going to bed before I did, leaving me alone with the
television, my whiskey and her sordid little secrets.

His letters were not what I would call literature, but they were
certainly vivid. I think I went a little mad for a while reading the
first one. Its one thing suspecting that your wife is being unfaithful,
but quite another when you not only find out, but you find that
sexually they are doing things you never even dreamt about.

The night I found the first letter was the closest I came to killing
her but I found I didn't have the heart for it. I crept out of the
bedroom with the knife unused in my hand, returned to the whiskey and
drank the whole bottle before falling asleep on the sofa.

Look, he's on top now. See how her long legs clasp around his buttocks?
Look closer, you can see how her knuckles are getting whiter as she
grasps the bedclothes. Listen. Faintly, but there it is, the gasps of
pleasure, getting louder, getting faster, always getting faster.

Its nearly time for them to see me.

It was in his letters that I heard about their plans. I was finally
able to set my trap. She had arranged for him to visit when I was away
on business and, judging by the letter, they intended spending all
their time in bed.

I left that morning, carrying my overnight bag to prove that I was
actually going to be away.

I waited. Several hours later he arrived, walking brazenly up to the
front door and letting himself in with a key. I mentally counted out
their actions in my mind - kiss, fondle, strip. That was as far as I
got. My mental viewfinder was unable to show me any further.

I let myself in quietly and padded softly up the stairs, trying to
avoid the creaks I knew to be lying in wait.

Yes, they were in the bedroom. In my bed.

Doing it.

I don't know what I intended to do, only that I had to stop them. My
golf clubs were at the top of the stairs - where I had left them that
morning.

After choosing a driver I pushed open the bedroom door.

They didn't even have the decency to be embarrassed.

Look closely. They look like any other couple lying in bed together.
But you can see it if you look. They've just finished. I can smell it,
the odour of the rut - I can see it glistening on their bodies - I can
sense it in their posture.

Look, their heads are turned this way. They WILL see me this time. They
WILL.

The police said I killed them. They said it was a crime of passion.
They said that the balance of my mind was disturbed. But how can that
be? Since they let me out I've seen them here, through the window,
every day. They flaunt their bodies at me, pretending not to see
me.

But this time they will.

They will see me.

I have a knife and I will have my revenge.

Copyright William Meikle 2001
http://www.willie.meikle.btinternet.co.uk