The Redhead

The Redhead

by

P. A. Matthews

         “Stop staring at me! Didn’t anyone ever tell you it is rude to stare? Yeah, I’m talking to you, don’t you dare ignore me!”

         I watched her bore holes in me with those green lasers she called eyes; eyes that flickered with coy amusement as sidled up to men and rubbed her body on them like some retarded cat. Her eyes had lost their amusement now, honing on me with distinct malice, making my words grow stale on my tongue.

         After what I’d seen tonight, I was ready to claw those green orbs from her head and eat them hardboiled for lunch. She never should have stuck her tongue in my husband’s ear while her hands slowly moved below the beltline. I’d show her what I could do with a belt. The sound of breaking glass didn’t draw my attention away as I blocked out all background noise.

         She had enough cleavage and leg length to make men want to do her in public, even some women scoped out those breasts with an unusual hunger. Were they as disgusted at her antics as I was?

         “I don’t like you giving me silent treatment. No one makes a pass at my husband and lives, do you understand me?”

         She never spoke aloud; instead, her mouth spit silent words of profanity that flew at me like bats from hell. Each word enunciated was formed by lips painted glossy red, as if she’d eaten live prey and smeared the kill’s blood in a sensual act upon them. The red stood out against her pale skin, the blood looking viscous and warm, oozing from puffy lips she’d plastered on my husband. He smiled when she did it, commenting her lips looked ripe enough to eat, and eat he did.

         I caught the vicious look she shot while taunting him to explore, pulling him into a darkened booth to ensure a modicum of privacy as I stood transfixed. Impotent. Her last silent words rang like a bell in my head.

         “Looks like he’s up for action, why don’t you watch and learn what real adults do. I bet you like watching, gets a frump like you off, doesn’t it?”

         Watching did do something to me. I vowed, while she slid his hands between her thighs, I’d remove that smug look from her makeup-laden face if it was my dying act.

         Her mass of ringleted red hair flew and quivered while they did it, his head snapping backward from the pleasure. She glanced my way, her devilish eyes dancing with knowledge she’d given him a wild ride, while I silently watched my new enemy. I looked at my hands covered in freely flowing blood, the glass breaking making sense now. I rolled the glass stem against the shards in my palm. This would work. She’d die—now.

         I lunged, stabbing her in one eye, screaming obscenities that consumed me as I watched. I stabbed until I felt the stem shove into brain, and then started on her other eye.

         Suddenly my husband grabbed me, holding me as he removed the stem. Copper pennies rolled across my tongue from blood spatter.

         "Oh Iris, what did you do now? The ambulance is coming, don’t struggle, you’ll bleed more."

         I felt him wrap my curls around his fingers as I struggled to look, my eyes blind, pain searing my optic nerve. “She can’t have you. Did I kill her?”

         “No Iris, you stabbed yourself in the eyes with our bathroom mirror. I thought we had fun tonight. We’ve never had sex in public, and then all I saw were your beautiful green eyes and that body coming after me with untold desires. Don’t you know you’re everything I could ever want? Iris, you are my life."

The End