The Watch
by Nina
Entry 2005 Fireside Stories
The ticking of his wristwatch rang in her ears like a jackhammer in the silence that enveloped the room. It felt like miles between them and the front – she accredited this to the fact that they sat together in the last row, if only because she didn’t want to admit that it might have been because the truth was starting to get to her. But she didn’t want to think about it, about that looming truth like a romantic, enticing demon hanging over her head. Not here, anyway; anywhere else, it would have been fine. The truth would have made her so happy she’d want to run out and nail the first person she saw, regardless of gender, consequence, and convenience. It never took a lot to make her feel this way, really, but at least it would be better than this nervousness, this impatience for it to all be over. It always was.
“Do you recognize this note?”
She ran her hands down her legs, smoothing away the wrinkles in her dress, gripping her thighs and digging her fingers into them. Why did they need to ask so many questions? Weren’t the answers obvious enough already? At least she’d already returned from the front – they would have no further reason to subject her to such humiliation. She was lucky they were so stupid, so oblivious to the truth that flew like butterflies around her stomach. They should have been able to see it, to see through her skin, and to see the way her very skin was soaked. Her hands were stained with his blood, but he’d deserved it. Just like this man beside her deserved it, him and his watch. God she wished it would shut up. It was hard to hear over. What if someone said something, and she couldn’t hear it, and wouldn’t be able to slip away until it was too late? And then she’d have their accusing eyes on her. But none of them understood.
The red fabric felt like creamy waves. He’d bought this dress for her as a gift – she hated it. It only seemed right, though, to wear it now. To make her look unsuspicious; made her look like she was mourning. No one should ever have to mourn that bastard, she thought; it made her sick to see the young, beautiful women he’d made into his harem crying to themselves, scattered randomly throughout the room. They didn’t love him, miss him, though. She knew it. They missed his money, and hated themselves for not meeting him sooner, like she had. But now, with him dead, they’d get nothing. It amused her; she was bitter. She hated them all, but at the same time, loved them.
It would be days later, after they’d found her innocent and convicted her only sister, that she’d have one of these women all to herself. They were walking up to her apartment when they were approached by the man with the watch.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
The woman in the red dress, who wasn’t at this time wearing said dress, stared at him. The girl on her arm was confused; she didn’t know who this man was, or what he was talking about. But as she’d only met the older brunette a few times, she figured that this was quite alright. But the brunette ignored the man with the watch, and led her husband’s supple playmate up the stairs and inside the building before returning to the man to offer him a few choice words and something to shut him up. It was raining, so she made it quick.
The next morning, as she took out the heavy trash, the girl still asleep in her bed, the woman thought about whether it was all worth it. But as she did, her eyes fell upon something gleaming on the pavement. Getting closer, she saw it was that same, annoying, ticking watch the man had worn. She kneeled down to pick it up, holding it to her ear. It was still ticking. The remedy was this: she stood, tossed it to the ground, and trampled on it with her black, stiletto heels. When she was done, satisfied and sure that the thing could no longer be working, she went back inside. But even as she climbed the stairs up to the building, she could still hear it. She laughed, and it was a sort of twisted, ironic laugh. It seemed as though that that romantic demon, that truth, was wearing the watch. Just like how it spoke with the voice of her husband.