Warning: The following story contains strong language.
Get Published on Female First
She always got the tap end. However hard she tried to beat him to the tub he’d always creep up on her and magically appear in his bubbly throne. Prick. Laying back with a smile on his face and a can in his hand. Absolute prick. That familiar cold drop of water on the neck; dripping every few seconds apart...
Drip...
Drip...
Drip...
Prick...
Prick...
Prick...
An uncomforting tap on the back. Even if she ran the bath herself after a long day in work he’d somehow sneak in before her. It used to be a romantic thing; having a bath together. A bottle of wine, bubbles and a back massage. Now she’d rather smash a bottle of wine over his head.
What had he even been doing all day that he couldn’t have bathed earlier? He infested himself amongst the bubbles and floating candles. The scent of lavender slid down the tiles and clung to their skin. She started wondering whether she should just give up on bathing; become really unhygienic and so repulsive that he might give up his throne for once. But it never seemed worth it. He reached for another can on the floor beside the bath. The water swished from side to side and spilt over onto the floor tiles. They exchanged a glance. The bath momentarily turned into a Jacuzzi. Bubbles abruptly surfaced from under the water. He had let one loose. The cute ducks wearing bonnets printed on the tiles even looked discontented. He glugged down some more beer and burped. Not bathing for a few days suddenly seemed like the most amazing idea in the world. Or maybe she could fit in the sink..?
Drip...
Drip...
Drip...
BURP!
Prick...
Prick...
Prick...
“Pass us... another can... en is it love?”
“Get it yourself they’re right next to you! I’ve been working my ass off all day”
“They’re closest... closest... to your side!”
“How many have you even had? You can barely talk!”
“Just a few... chuck us one over!”
“How many is a few? It’s only 6 o clock in the afternoon!”
“4 or 5...”
“You’re an absolute joke Mark! I’ve been in work since 5am just to come home to you pissed in the bath tub!”
“I haven’t pissed in the bath Claire!”
“For Christ sake... When are you going to get a job I’m sick of this!”
“I’ve got a job... I’ve got a job...”
“What’s that then eh? Testing Tesco’s finest stumpy’s day in day out?”
“Looking after the kid ain’t I..!”
“Lilly’s been over my Mum’s for the last three days because you can’t be trusted!”
“Three days? Nah, I’ve been looking after her Claire!”
Suddenly aware that she’s naked, screaming in a bath tub, Claire gets out of the bath, concealing her bits, as though she’s in the presence of a complete stranger, and hastily wraps herself up in a towel off the radiator. In a flicker of candle light she’s gone. He stares at the dripping taps and glugs more beer.
He was starting to look like a cartoon character; wearing the same clothes every day. Homer Simpson. She couldn’t even bare to look at him any more. A drunken waste of space; Precious space. If she really thought about it she couldn’t even really remember what he looked like. His face just a pixelated blur of pale skin and black stubble. A grubby t-shirt and a pair of boxers in a slouched position; un-combed hair and a beer can permanently attached to his hand as though it was an extension of his body. A deformity. What went wrong? How did he end up like this? They were both such bright young sparks; full of life and love. Now he’s just another stain on a white t-shirt in the laundry pile that she’ll have to wash off by hand.
“Wake up Mark! Mum’s dropping Lilly off now you have to look after her for the day!”
“Wha... turn the fucking light off Claire... what time is it for fuck sake?”
“It’s 8.30! I’ve got work in an hour so you have to be awake when Mum gets here to let Lilly in! I’ve left you a note on the table and there’s plenty of food in the fridge for her...”
“How about a fry up before you go en love..?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!! Get up and get dressed Lilly will be here soon..!”
He’s sleeping again. It’s 2 in the afternoon and Jeremy Kyle is playing in a loop in the background. Lilly is sat playing with some dolls at he bottom of the sofa. Claire’s at work waiting tables. A man shouts at her for giving him the wrong order. She apologises and rushes back to the kitchen. Mark begins to stir. He reaches for a can. They are all empty. He starts shouting for Claire to get one from the fridge then realises she’s not there and hisses at the clock. Lilly laughs at Mark. Mark glances over at Lilly momentarily then resumes him default position.
Claire apologises to the angry customer and has to give him a refund from her own tips. She goes out for a cigarette break smokes away the words she was thinking of saying to the customer. Mark drops back off to sleep entangled in the sofa...
The next day he’s sleeping again. It’s 10 in the morning and birds chirp away outside the window. Claire’s at work cleaning the toilets. She rolls up her sleeves and puts on some rubber gloves ready to tackle the left over’s of someone’s pissed up night on the town. Mark’s in the bath. Lilly is playing in the living room. Mark doesn’t stir. He slips under the bed of bubbles. Claire scrubs away at the toilet seat flinching at the smell. All that’s left is a slight stain on the pan she can’t quite scrub off.
Mark’s under the water. Claire sweats over the stain. Mark sleeps in his watery grave. The last bubble of air surfaces and bursts. Lilly toddles into the bathroom. She pushes the door open. The tap drips another ever lasting drip and glares down at Mark as though weeping. Claire takes off her gloves, flings them in the bin and admits defeat by the stain. Lilly laughs ‘Night night Daddy.’