She Would Be Meeting Me

If you’re receiving this, you previously subscribed to my writing on Substack. I’m on Ghost now. I also went fully anonymous on Substack. A few friends, welcome to the other side of me. It's Hawtorn V. Rabot, HVR, though a few of you know my real name.

Content note: Disturbing themes and violence.

The sky was clear. The clouds were pink. The creek could be heard, but it wasn’t loud. Only the squeaking of the shoes would be loud as someone walked through the marsh. 

Squish.

Squish.

Squash.

I sat under the tree on a blanket. A picnic basket. Wine. Pillows (just in case).

She would be meeting me.

I curled up and I waited.

It was the day of phones, but not the smart kind. They were bar phones, black and white, where people paid for text messages.

She would be meeting me.

She was everything I ever wanted. Needed. Hoped for. And more. We’d been together for years. We did everything together. Always.

She said we needed to meet. 

We always need to meet.

I offered the meadow by the marsh and creek.

I didn’t dress for the occasion. I had on a coat, button up, and loafers. I would go nowhere near the marsh. This outfit cost more than I had. Thanks, MasterCard. 

I lay down and waited.

I peered at my phone. Nothing. I played the three bit Tetris. The sound was much like Game Boy. I got bored. I tried to sign into AIM. This version had it. It was as slow as it could be. I might as well have used dialup. I finally signed on. She wasn’t on. Not even an away message.

She would be meeting me.

I rolled over and grabbed the book by the basket. I had only just started it. Something about beating someone up and singing in the rain? It seemed interesting enough.

I lay back. Grabbed the pillow. It came in handy. I got to where the man's weird eye was held open, but I got too comfortable.

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Squish.

Squash.

Squash.

Squish.

Squish.

Squash!

I woke up out of breath. I looked around, but it was pitch black. Not a light on to be seen. I found the moon and some stars. I heard footsteps through the marsh. I tried to find the sound, but I had no light.

I stopped and waited.

The sound was gone.

I glanced at my phone. No missed calls. It was after 9 pm, and there were no texts. I couldn’t get a signal for AIM.

She said we needed to meet.

We always needed to meet.

It was too dark to see or do anything.

I lay on the blanket and went back to sleep.

I woke up when the roosters crowed. I slept well, believe it or not. I got up and stretched, and then I ate the picnic.

I glanced at my phone. No calls. No texts. I was able to get on AIM. She wasn’t on. No away message.

I stood up, and my loafers made squish sounds.

What?

I looked at my loafers. I was covered in mud. 

How did that happen?

I saw footprints and mud leading towards the marsh and creek. I followed cautiously. 

Sunlight flashed off something in a footprint. Her watch. I ran to that footprint. I dropped to my knees and dug into the mud beneath it. 

Nothing. 

I threw myself into the marsh and felt around for anything else. I reached and kicked. 

Nothing.

I walked back to the tree. I sat on the blanket. I grabbed the book.

And fell asleep.

I woke up and the sun was cooking. It was scorching. This had been fun, but I didn’t need this. I packed up my picnic and bag and made the half hour hike to the trailhead.

When I got to the trailhead, I found my car.

And hers.

I ran to her car. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I pulled and pulled, but nothing.

I peeked in through the window. It was like it always was. 

I panicked. I grabbed a rock and smashed the window. I opened the door and unlocked all the doors. Thanks, power locks. 

Spotless. Pristine. Like always.

I popped the trunk. As per usual, a gym bag and a spare tire.

I walked back. I searched the hike for any sign or clue. Nothing.

I ended up back under the tree.

I was tired. I leaned against the tree and sat. I still had the picnic basket in hand. I opened it up. The food was gone, but the wine was there. I picked up the bottle and drank it straight.

I set the bottle down. My hand was wet, though I hadn’t spilled any wine.  I moved my hand close to my face.

It was…

blood?

I took another swig.

I felt around the bottle and looked some more.

More liquid. Blood. With matted hair attached.

I gasped and dropped it.

I started panting.

The
walls
were
closing
in
on
me!

I closed my eyes. 

When I opened them, and she was on the blanket with me. She spoke, but her voice

e c h o e d

I couldn’t even comprehend what she said. I just knew her voice.

She went from kind to not kind.

Her tone and expression

C

H

A

N

G

E

D

and her eyes took on a 

L I F E

of their own.

“We never were what you think we were." Her words hurt me.

“But I love you, and we’ve been together for so long –”

“NO! I was your friend since you had none. I never wanted this level of whatever you think we are!”

“Then why are you here at this picnic?”

I opened my eyes. I grabbed my book. I noticed writing inside.

She loves me.
She loves me.
SHE LOVES ME.
SHE LOVES ME NOT.
SHE LOVES ME!
SHE LOVES ME NOT!
sHE LovEs ME
SHe beTteR lovE ME!
If not?
SHe loVES mE.
SHe bETteR
loVE ME.

I flipped through the book. It was on the entire first half of the pages. I tried to flip the second half, but my eyes closed.

“Why are you here at this picnic?”

“I said we needed to meet.”

“We always need to meet.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wanted you to pick the place so it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

“What?”

“This. Our friendship, whatever you think we are, is done.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s done.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

My eyes opened. I flipped to the other half of the book.

If she doesn’t love me,
she’ll regret it.
If she doesn’t love me,
she’ll regret it.

If she doesn’t love me,
she’ll regret it.
If she doesn’t love me,
she’ll regret it.

If she doesn’t love me,
she’ll regret it.

I flipped to the last page. It was covered in blood.

I gasped and shut my eyes.

“It’s not a breakup since we were never together.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, you took some kindness and –”

“Don’t say that!”

“Friends, and we’re through!”

“You led me on!”

“No! I told you friends many times. Many times!”

I put my head in my hands and cried. She came in to pat my back. “You’ll be okay, but you need to figure this out.” I yelled louder. “I’m not holding or comforting you anymore.” I sobbed. 

“Fine, whatever, I’m leaving.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. She started to walk away. “Goodbye,” she said, and she turned.

The bottle of wine came out of nowhere.

It smashed into the back of her head.

Only it wasn’t thrown.

It was in my hand.

I watched her on the ground.

She wasn’t breathing. 

She was still.

I cried some more.

Why

did

she

make

me

do

that?

I

loved

her

more

than

anything.

I sat on the blanket. I grabbed the back of the book in my panic. I wiped my hands on the last page. I thought and thought. 

I stood up. I put my love on my shoulder, and I carried her to the base of the marsh.

I looked at the pink clouds. The sky was clear. “Hey, love, it’s a beautiful day. Just for us.” I held her in my arms and pointed.

Then I dropped her in the marsh.

“I’m singing in the rain,” I began, just like the book. Maybe it was the movie. I wasn't sure.

I washed my hands in the base of the marsh, and I went back to the blanket. I sat down.

My eyes shut.

Her hands clawed out of the marsh. She was covered in mud, water, dirt, and grass. The rasp of her breath was louder. She tried to speak but no sound came out.

She started on hands and knees. A few steps. Then she pushed herself up, and she walked gingerly. Carefully.

Squish.

Squash.

Squash.

Squish.

Squish.

Squash!

It woke me up. She saw me stand up, and she froze.

“My love. You wanted to meet!” I lit up. I always light up around her. I walked closer, but she put up her hands. 

She was PLEADING with her hands.

I moved closer, and her rasping got louder. She went to the fetal position and let out a cry. 

Of sorts.

I picked her up, stared into her eyes, and she was afraid.

She mouthed “please.”

She made me do it. 

I don’t like it.

I didn’t want to.

But she made me do it.

I had to finish it.

I carried her to the creek. I kissed her forehead and held her close. I loved being close to her. I dropped her in, and I held her under. I noticed her watch was missing.

Oh.

I walked away afterwards, went back to the blanket, and fell asleep.

I saw the page covered in dry blood.

I walked back out to the creek.

There she was.

At the bottom.

I went back to the blanket.

I opened the book. 

I closed my eyes.

She would be meeting me.

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This piece is in response to the Sunday Scaries prompt by Conor MacCormick, Labyrinthia Mythweaver, and Mat Bryant.