They had been living there for two years now. Mary had inherited the place after her parents died and moved in with Frankie. Pretty great people, the parents: We spent twenty good years together, before infection took them.
I don’t think Mary and Frankie were bad people, per say. They were young, full of hope. I am even told they loved each other very much. Sadly, moving in took its toll on them. I took my toll.
Quickly, the couple started to struggle financially. Of course, Frankie attributed Mary losing her job to the grief of her parents’ death. Still, I did mention to her how she was the one bringing the money, now.
Mary stayed home, most days. There, alone, forced to focus on chores, she started to think. I talked to her too, sometimes. I would point out how Frankie had started drinking, how she would come home later and later as time passed. At times, she’d go out gambling.
Eventually, the fights started.
Tonight was one of those fights. As soon as Frankie came home, I knew it would be grand. The curtains were closed, a single bulb illuminating the kitchen. I liked that set up. It made everything look more dramatic and it heightened emotions.
What was the fight about this time? Ah, yes. Frankie was late and drunk again. And yet, Frankie retorted, dinner wasn’t ready. The dishes weren’t made, the bin was full.
“It’s always ‘Frankie do this, Frankie do that’, with you. I’m sick of it! All you ever use your hands is to pull down that fucking lever! And worst of all, you still have the guts to lie about how much you lost?!”
“Like you’re any saint”, Mary spat. “You’re drinking half your wage every night!”
“Yeah well, that’s the only way I can deal with you, these days!”
Oh, this was delectable. They had resisted giving in for quite a while lately, which meant the fight was releasing all emotions bottled up. Rage and frustration, pouring from the two lover’s hearts, raw and untamed. I slightly turned up the heating, which caused Frankie to start sweating. She was impressive, draped in the dim light of the kitchen’s bulb. I felt a twinge of fear oozing from Mary. The fight had escalated.
“I’ll kill you!” Frankie shouted, stomping heavily toward Mary.
“Oh please, I dare you.”
Frankie grabbed a knife and swung it wildly toward the love of her life. “Don’t think I won’t. I’ve had enough of your shit!”
“Then do it!”
For a short moment, I felt something new. A rush of anger, not directed toward each other, but rather more directly toward me. Was that even possible? In any case, it didn’t last long. The fight was getting physical, which is always the best part.
“It’s not my fault the pipings were so old they flooded the basement!”Mary shouted. Indeed, that was older than them both. I might have helped, though. I suppose dropping a brick on a pipe can turn it leaky. All and all, those created nice little fights, and the resentment could still be felt now. “And it’s not my fault if you get home so late that dinner is already cold, or that you’re too drunk to find it in the fridge!” That was true as well. I suppose, though, that me moving the dinner around didn’t quite help finding it either.
“Fuck you, Mary!” Woah there, that swipe was awfully close to Mary’s face, wasn’t it?
“No, fuck you Frankie. The house wouldn’t be so filthy if you didn’t always track mud in. You never take your boots off. And you’re snoring at night? You wonder why I always wake up after you! Don’t get me started on your friends-”
The clap echoed across the entire house. The following silence was probably deafening to an outside ear. I suppose I could have deescalated the fight from this point on. I could have whispered to them how sorry they should feel. I could have let them embrace and cry, if only for the moment.
Instead, I further increased the room’s temperature.
Mary jumped Frankie. She tried to reach for the knife, her long nails digging into Frankie’s hand. Frankie slammed her fist onto Mary, toppling her across the counter. A new emotion started to ooze from the girls: murderous intent. Oh, this was bad. Mary charged at Frankie, sending them both to the floor. Frankie punches back. As the two got more into the fight, a maëlstorm of emotions twirls around the kitchen. At this point, I realized it wasn’t safe, and that I should’ve stopped them. Yet, I was gluttonous. I couldn’t help myself but keep them going, voraciously drinking all of those emotions like a starved beast.
Mary had her hands on Frankie’s. She was trying to turn it, and push it toward her. At this point, even if I had the will to - which I didn’t, I couldn’t do anything anymore. She growled: “You’re just some Neanderthal, bumbling your way through life. You’ve never even satisfied me.”
Frankie screamed, Mary let go. As Frankie’s strength was no longer opposed, the knife plunged into Mary.
Anger immediately subsided, like some spell being broken or some spring being sealed. On Frankie’s side, it was immediately replaced with sorrow and dismay. On Mary’s side, however, something else appeared. Yet again, a rush of hatred was directed toward me, like she knew I was there. She drove the knife, and drove it further and further in. As it pierced through her back, she slumped on the side.
My my my, what a waste. I’ll have to start everything again from scratch.
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