Make Believe Wife

With a wave of frustration rising in me, I find my old clothes. My boots are by the door and my old stuff got washed last night. I pull on my fish nets and throw on my skirt and stretchy top, shrugging into Dad’s jacket. In the bathroom I spike up my hair and make heavy, dark lines of makeup down my face.

I glare at myself. Get out there, bitch. Show the world how tough you are.

I’ve done this hundreds of times, but today this does nothing for my confidence. When I leave the apartment, I feel like a cowering kitten, not a stalking panther.

When I hit the street, I have a moment of panic. Just a few days cooped up in that apartment and I feel like I’ve got some kind of claustrophobia. People rush by me too quickly; the sounds are too loud. I start walking and it feels like every set of eyes on the street is judging me. I can see their faces turning to me to deliver their displeasure.

This really freaks me out.

Because I’m used to this. I’ve always felt like the odd one out, people staring, people pointing. I’ve reveled in it. I’ve been the bad bitch, the crazy one, the one that no one will go near. Scaring up the ‘normies’ is all part of the fun.

Today it’s not fun.

I want Helen by my side, holding my hand. I want to hear her laugh and focus more on her than on the others walking down the street. When she was with me, I didn’t feel adversarial to the rest of the human population. I didn’t feel like I fitted in, either, but none of that mattered anymore.

Because I had Helen.

Walking down the street alone makes me feel like I’m seventeen again and I’ve got nowhere to go. There was some money left in Dad’s accounts that the state took to cover his funeral. They sold the house to pay other debts and gave me a few grand. I had to get a government agency to speak for me because they didn’t want to turn the funds over to a minor.

There was no one else. No custodian, no family, no close friend. Just me and Dad.

Then he was gone. Crashed his bike in the rain. Over.

The last time I felt like this was the first time I ever walked down the street alone. Every day after that got a bit easier, but it took me years to get there. I don’t want to have to do all that work again. If I can just get back my old feeling, then I’ll know I don’t need Helen. I’ll be fine.

But I just want to cry. My arms are wrapped around my chest, my fingers gripping at my upper arms. I see a greasy café not far down the street and I remember I stopped in there once. It has a bar at the back and rough types come and go. My kind of place. Or at least, it used to be.

I wander in and I notice the stares. These aren’t like the stares of the normies. It’s the opposite and its terrible.

Now the freaks are looking at me like I don’t belong.

Paranoid, paranoid. You’re just paranoid.

I need more, I need to prove that I’m still the same Roxy. If I can just get back that emotional detachment then I can stay, I can be Helen’s wife!

I walk into the bar. I try to hold my head up and my back straight, daring everyone in the room with my eyes. Instead I shuffle along, hands on my backpack straps while I stare at the floor. This is no good. I’m going to get rolled.

I stand at the edge of the bar, not wanting to take a stool. I gaze at the alcohol and think about getting a whiskey. My stomach flips at the mere suggestion and I find myself thinking about Helen’s herbal tea collection.

“Hey there.” A big, deep voice rumbles right next to me.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me.” I mutter at him, more than a little annoyed.

“Hey, baby. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“I don’t need friends.”

“Everyone needs friends! I bet you’re thirsty. How about I get you a drink?”

“Not thirsty.” I start to move away when the jerk wad grabs my arm.

“Hey. I’m trying to be nice. Are we going to have a problem here?”

I think about who I used to be. The girl that existed just days ago. She’d be slapping his face, screaming at him and kicking for good measure.

I just want to cry. I want Helen. I want to be safe in her apartment with my body between her hands and her rope.

That’s the only place I’ve ever felt safe.