fff#55

thanks to the purgatorian for another great fff starter. this week: "she never would have done it if she hadn't got drunk..."

she never would have done it if she hadn’t got drunk… at least that’s what i tell myself; i’ll have to be ready with a better story when everyone else starts to ask questions. i had promised to protect her at all costs: name and dignity included. she was my world; my air, food, and drink – if it came to it, i would take the fall for her. the makeshift story i’m already developing has to wait and i force it to the back of my mind in an attempt to deal with the situation in front of me. i had already sent her to bathe and needed now to figure out how to dispose of the bloody corpse. i flash to a movie clip; someone feeding the remnants of a body to a pen of starving pigs – clearly not an option. trying to come up with something practical, i hear the water stop in the next room so i light the post-shower-spliff rolled to accompany my reassurance that everything would be okay. taking my second strong hit, i walk it to the bathroom and offer it up in front of her dripping wet body. i catch a fleeting smile as she brings it to her lips. i wrap the towel around her, pulling her close and gently kissing her forehead. as i head toward the bedroom for the car keys, i tell her “dry off and get dressed. i’ll be right back.” “thank you. i love you.” “i know. it’ll be alright. i’ll be right back.” outside, i quickly survey the terrain. i sneak into the car and stealthily pull it into a parking spot closer to the house. i walk back and she meets me at the door, still damp but clothed, and hands me the spliff. i take a quick hit and hand it back. “thanks babe. you okay?” “no, but i will be.” in this dire moment, the blanket that covered and comforted us so often in the past would now serve that same purpose in a different way. i heave the blanket, weighted with its stiffening contents, over my shoulder, carry it out to the trunk and set it in. i go back for her, not fond of her coming for the trip, but knowing she wouldn’t want to stay home alone. we creep to a halt on the bridge. the water that runs beneath us has a reputation for being so disgusting that no one dare go near it if possible. the blanket streams through the darkness and hits the water with a low thump, about the same tone as my car door closing when i return to the driver’s seat. i give her another reassuring look and we return home in a silence which follows us the whole way to the couch. “i love you, you know?” “i know.” “i’ma roll another spliff.” i knew the marijuana would help her sleep. she passes out in my lap before it’s half gone. “sweet dreams, love.” i whisper, just in case she can still hear my voice. i spend the rest of the night working on her alibi and mine, wondering if the stories would hold up; knowing that if it comes to it, i’ll take the fall for her.