A Valentines Dinner - a short story by Berni Albrighton

 “Dinner is in one hour. Get washed, put this on. And do something about your hair, you look a mess”

Her eyes were struggling with the light.

He was wearing a red jumper and his hair was greased back, that's all she could make out before he left, locking the door behind him.

She followed his orders and when finished, looked in the small broken mirror.

The  red lipstick, encased in a luxurious gold tube,  looked hideous against her pale skin.

He insisted she wore it, and wouldn’t look at her otherwise.

The bruising on her neck and arms were fading, now barely visible.

Pain seeped throughout her body, and her bones, ancient under her young skin, jutted out as a reminder of the cramped conditions she was being kept in.

The door opened and he led her to the dining room.

Small framed images of young women sat on the mantelpiece. 

Their eyes followed her.

“Stay alive” they silently pleaded.

A perfectly cooked chicken took center place on a table which was set for two. 

Red candles, their flames dancing, appeared to mock her captivity.

He looked at her in disgust.

“You should be fuckin grateful that I even bother with you” 

He walked out.

She could hear drawers opening and closing.

He was banging things down on a surface.

Then something crashed to the floor.

“Bastard” she heard him shout.

An overwhelming need for freedom surged through her body and she calmly picked up the knife which he had carelessly left unattended.

As he approached the room she moved quickly from behind the door, stabbing him in the neck. 

Falling heavily, his head banged hard on the side of the table.

Ignoring the sickening thud, she concentrated on  retracing her steps back to the room with the broken mirror.

Once inside she picked up the gold tube and immediately returned. 

He hadn't moved.

The sound was now a low pleading groan.

Kneeling down she held him firmly under the chin and yanked his face around to meet hers.

The knife was still in her other hand.

She laid it down on the carpet.

 His eyes stared, pleadingly.

Twisting open the gold tube she gripped his face 

and wiped the vivid red lipstick across his mouth. 

“Now who looks a fucking mess?” she laughed.

Then the tears came.

The anger, the indignation, the shame.

Grabbing the paperweight from the sideboard, she smashed it down into his face.

She didn't know how many times she struck him but she became aware that the noise from him had stopped.

There was only the sound of her breathing, loud and fast, it permeated the silence.

After a while she stood and eased her exhausted body into a chair.

A painful hunger clawed at her stomach, reminding her that it had been a long time since she had eaten proper food.

Wiping the knife on the heart shaped napkin she carved into the chicken and ate as if her life depended on it.