Witchy Woman
Smart and independent somehow didn’t equate to common sense in Heather’s life. She realized too often that she was hopeless when it came to paying attention to details. She was always so busy assessing the depth of everything around her that she usually missed what was in front of her. Shaking her head at the keyboard, she asked herself why.
“Why would I touch the keys with greasy hands?” she mumbled.
It was a question she asked herself at least three times a day.
Her greatest trigger for an internal argument was when she lost her keys or spilled something on herself. Each day, she pitched at least one fit after losing something important or making an unnecessary mess.
Heather tried to look away from the keyboard but her conscience forced her eyes back. The keys were wet and shiny and the mouse pad had a grease stain in the shape of a finger.
She looked at the remnants sitting on the table beside her and made a face at them. The sandwich was the source of the grease and she immediately shifted blame to the clerk who sold it to her. He had suggested the hot Italian sub and she had ordered the largest one they made. He should have told her it would be so greasy. Heather went to the counter for napkins and returned with an apple pie instead.
She dropped the pie onto her table and started collecting the trash she had accumulated when she noticed a man staring at her. He sat in the corner, easily noticeable by his blond scraggly hair. She could tell he was incredibly tall from his sitting position and she sensed he felt out of place in the bookstore. Heather offered a small smile in response to his stare. He returned the grin and waved with one hand.
Deciding her horizons had been broadened enough, she decided to go home and take a nap. Heading home had nothing to do with Billy, she told herself. If he came over, she wouldn’t let him in anyway. She reminded herself that if she felt her resolve weaken, she could just envision his wife.
Heather had never seen her but had long ago created an image of her. In her mind, Billy’s wife had long dark hair and deep brown eyes. Her complexion was perfect and her body was both fit and curvy. In Heather’s reluctant thoughts, the wife is always crying because she’s just discovered her husband is a cheating bastard.
Heather closed her eyes to block out the thought of the woman whose life she had ruined. The fact the poor woman didn’t even know about the destruction was the worst part. Billy’s wife thought she was married to the greatest man alive and lived in complete ignorance of his secret life.
Heather justified the relationship for a long time but found she could no longer ignore the feeling the affair was somehow damaging her soul. She had begun to lose interest in the things that had always given her pleasure and she knew from experience that was a sign of trouble.
Boredom had always been Heather’s most dangerous enemy. It was when she lost interest in everything else that she began to seek out the chaos. Boredom led to compulsions and compulsions led to passionate reunions with old lovers or dangerous new meetings with strangers. Other times, she hid snugly inside a bottle of pain pills. Either way, whenever she got to the point of desperation, she stopped following the laws and rules that usually governed her.
The phone rang and Heather couldn’t grab it fast enough.
The caller had marked the call private. That meant it was either the Attorney General’s office or it was Billy. She hoped shamelessly it was the latter.
“Hello?” she asked slowly.
Her eyes landed on the clock and it read 11:11. The coincidence amused her, as usual. The number came up so often she had included it in her license plate.
“Hey, baby.”
Heather always had the same reaction hearing his voice. She was consumed with excitement, frustration and shame but the drama always provided a great diversion from her internal anxieties so she had allowed it in her life. At least, she had until recently.
“Hey,” she responded.
She felt like a goofy school girl and cursed herself for allowing him to have such an effect on her. Her relationship with Billy existed on a different level altogether, one she couldn’t explain to even herself.
“Are you ready for me?” he teased.
She could hear the sex dripping from his voice and her libido hit the speed it needed to turn itself on. Heather told herself to be firm and clear with him. She would tell him not to come.
“Always,” she answered instead. A soft whimper of shame escaped her throat.
“I’m on