by Meghan Phillips
I wanted him to be afraid of how much he wants me, so I filled up the bathtub with cold water, iced myself pale. Stuck grass clippings and leaves to my still-damp skin. Put on the flippers and goggles from our trip to the Caymans. Texted him to meet me by our condo’s pool.
I bought a tuxedo shirt and a high-necked cape. Snapped plastic fangs over my canines. Painted my lips blood red and slicked back my hair. Made him throw out all the garlic and hide his mother’s crucifix. Hid until the sun set in a refrigerator box that I’d found by the dumpster.
Once we tried the creation scene from Frankenstein but it got too confusing. He kept calling me Frankenstein, even though he was the doctor and I was the monster.
The first time we made love he called me “honey” when he came. He hasn’t said it since.
Meghan Phillips is the fiction editor for Third Point Press and an associate editor for SmokeLong Quarterly. You can find her in real life in libraries around Lancaster, PA, and on Twitter @mcarphil.
Photo Credit: Diya Chaudhuri