How Did You?

Another story based on prompts courtesy of Be Kind Rewrite‘s Inspiration Mondays. Head on over there and give it a shot.


She wanted to ask how he got in here, but that was just sleep fogging up her thinking skills. She could see the moonlight slashing in across the room from the open window. And knew he had climbed the trellis.

It was their first construction project as a couple. He was in charge of cutting and holding the wood together. She drilled pilot holes and screwed the pieces together. They drank beer and laughed and swore and wiped sweat away from their brows and felt like adults.

The ivy they planted never realized it was a climbing plant and now the wooden lattice leaned naked against the wall. Stalks and shoots spread out from the foot and across the lawn.

He sat on the edge of her bed, looking at his hands. She noticed he was wearing the leather driving gloves her mother bought him for Christmas three years ago. Her mind made a flip book of happier, shared moments. She could almost hear the braaaaaaap sound as both of them sat in silence.

The wind snuck in and billowed out the curtains framing the window. For a moment she imagined a chapel train slithering down the aisle. He cracked his knuckles and maybe let out a sob.

The cool night air licked at her bare shoulders, she shivered as goosebumps rose across her back.

And still no one said anything.

He sat motionless at the foot of the bed, taking short shallow breaths. It seemed like he was trying to make up his mind. She bunched the covers to up over her chest, in some kind of childish attempt to create a shield from monsters.


7 thoughts on “How Did You?

  1. Lots of emotions. It was like she wasn’t sure if he was going to hurt her or not. Climbing in the window kinda creepy, but reliving those good memories made it seem like she was battling herself. Or I don’t really know what I’m talking about.

    I should’ve just gone with “nice work”.

  2. Oooh, now this is fascinating. Childhood sweetheart climbs in your window, of course you’d be torn between fear and longing. Is he in trouble? Has he gone crazy? Or is he here because he misses me just as much?

    Love it.

  3. Am I the only one who thinks he was there to kill her? Okay, maybe my mind turns to the macabre too easily – but the gloves were what cinched it for me. Why would he be wearing gloves? No fingerprints.

    Regardless of intent, it was a great read.

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