Butter Pecan 7, FOTD: Howl
Title: Howl
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Butter pecan 7 (dark), FOTD (ululate: to howl, as a dog or a wolf; to wail; as, ululating jackals), butterscotch, rainbow sprinkles, malt (crooked_loss's trick or treat: He stared at me and I felt a change/ Time meant nothin', never would again!), pocky chain, cookie crumbs (some parts of Gravity), cherry (introspection).
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: She howled when she first found out.
She howled, when she first found out. Screamed and shouted and wept, struck out at herself and the walls and her husband.
She'd known already, of course, somewhere in her soul. She'd known the truth. How could she not have known, with her husband staying out at all hours and frequently overnight, with all those pictures and stories of him and a young beautiful girl at parties? She hadn't let herself acknowledge it, because that would mean acknowledging... everything, but she'd known.
And then the proof, the incontrovertable, incontestable proof, and she could ignore it no longer, and she howled.
--
Allen probably thought he was doing her a favor, but she knew he only wanted to see her reaction. Jackal. All of them were jackals, feeding on her misery and fear. She'd seen the gleam in his eyes when he spread the pictures out. Seen the hunger.
Not that there was anything in those pictures that Farid couldn't explain away if she asked. She could go to him, still, and tell him of the horrible rumors, begged him to tell her it was all a lie, and he would, and she could go on believing that it was.
She didn't.
--
Instead, she went to the house.
It was a pretty little house, red tile roof, beautiful garden. The woman who lived here clearly loved it. Fatimah thought, in another life, that they might have been friends.
She flinched back when the door opened, when the woman there-- merciful Lord, the girl, so young-- looked sleepy-eyed out at her, tousled and contented, the look of a woman who had just been well-loved.
Fatimah had once worn that look. Had once howled Farid's name in joy, as this girl must have done last night.
It hurt so much she could barely breathe.
--
She said things, then, that she was not proud of. She called the girl a whore, called Farid a bastard, called down curses on both their heads and finally broke down weeping, sobbing, howling in the doorway as her world collapsed around her.
How could he? How could he? What had she ever done for him but loved him, worshiped him even, borne him children and cared for his home and been a silent, loving, endlessly supporting presence in his life? How could he?
What did that girl have that she didn't?
How could she possibly have failed so completely?
--
She considered many things, in those days. Changing the locks and leaving her husband's belongings on the lawn. Leaving her children and driving away. Taking her children and driving away.
Taking her children and driving into the sea...
She didn't, in the end. In the end, she stopped howling, stopped weeping, found a cold, cruel clarity at the center of herself. In the end, she let him back in when he returned haggard-faced from the girl's house and explained nothing. In the end, she accepted his silence, and his lies.
But she never trusted him again.
And she never howled.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Butter pecan 7 (dark), FOTD (ululate: to howl, as a dog or a wolf; to wail; as, ululating jackals), butterscotch, rainbow sprinkles, malt (crooked_loss's trick or treat: He stared at me and I felt a change/ Time meant nothin', never would again!), pocky chain, cookie crumbs (some parts of Gravity), cherry (introspection).
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: She howled when she first found out.
She howled, when she first found out. Screamed and shouted and wept, struck out at herself and the walls and her husband.
She'd known already, of course, somewhere in her soul. She'd known the truth. How could she not have known, with her husband staying out at all hours and frequently overnight, with all those pictures and stories of him and a young beautiful girl at parties? She hadn't let herself acknowledge it, because that would mean acknowledging... everything, but she'd known.
And then the proof, the incontrovertable, incontestable proof, and she could ignore it no longer, and she howled.
--
Allen probably thought he was doing her a favor, but she knew he only wanted to see her reaction. Jackal. All of them were jackals, feeding on her misery and fear. She'd seen the gleam in his eyes when he spread the pictures out. Seen the hunger.
Not that there was anything in those pictures that Farid couldn't explain away if she asked. She could go to him, still, and tell him of the horrible rumors, begged him to tell her it was all a lie, and he would, and she could go on believing that it was.
She didn't.
--
Instead, she went to the house.
It was a pretty little house, red tile roof, beautiful garden. The woman who lived here clearly loved it. Fatimah thought, in another life, that they might have been friends.
She flinched back when the door opened, when the woman there-- merciful Lord, the girl, so young-- looked sleepy-eyed out at her, tousled and contented, the look of a woman who had just been well-loved.
Fatimah had once worn that look. Had once howled Farid's name in joy, as this girl must have done last night.
It hurt so much she could barely breathe.
--
She said things, then, that she was not proud of. She called the girl a whore, called Farid a bastard, called down curses on both their heads and finally broke down weeping, sobbing, howling in the doorway as her world collapsed around her.
How could he? How could he? What had she ever done for him but loved him, worshiped him even, borne him children and cared for his home and been a silent, loving, endlessly supporting presence in his life? How could he?
What did that girl have that she didn't?
How could she possibly have failed so completely?
--
She considered many things, in those days. Changing the locks and leaving her husband's belongings on the lawn. Leaving her children and driving away. Taking her children and driving away.
Taking her children and driving into the sea...
She didn't, in the end. In the end, she stopped howling, stopped weeping, found a cold, cruel clarity at the center of herself. In the end, she let him back in when he returned haggard-faced from the girl's house and explained nothing. In the end, she accepted his silence, and his lies.
But she never trusted him again.
And she never howled.