Rebecca S. Pyne
What part of ‘it’s over’ do you not understand? No you can’t come round to talk. We’ve said it all so many times and I never want to see you again even if I live to be a hundred. No. I won’t change my mind in the morning. This time I mean it and nothing you can say or do will alter how I feel about you. I feel nothing except a desert where my heart used to be. How dare you act like you are the injured party and say it wasn’t your fault?
Of course it was. Nobody forced you to sleep with her – no one forced you into it. You wanted her and I hope that you will be very happy together. Did you know she is married with two kids and a fancy bit on the side? You deserve each other but she will dump you even quicker now your money is running out. Thank you, by the way, for buying me that Porche I always wanted. On your Gold Card of course – the one you forgot to cancel. Did you know I could forge your signature? Now you do. The same goes for our joint bank account, closed and reopened at another bank in my name only.
Oh- by the way, I mention this only because it seems like as good a time as any; I may have a very interesting chat with the police about that locked box you used to keep in your boot. Last time I looked it up, possession and supply of a Class A drug is a very serious offence. They will throw the book at you especially when I give them your carefully written list of customers, names, addresses, everything down in black and white damning you with every glorious word.
Don’t think about coming after me; I know too much and knowledge is power.
My little black book rests safely enough in its bank safety deposit box, together with the sound of your own voice. Do you remember that time you told me what really happened to your brother and his wife?
That unfortunate ‘accident’ that involved an icy road and a car engine that had been tampered with. I taped every incriminating word as you damned yourself.
In the event of my death, guess what goes straight to the police? That’s right, Darling. And it couldn’t happen to a nicer person. I just thought you ought to know before you do something you might later regret.
REBECCA S. PYNE lives in rural West Wales near the University town of Aberystwyth. Previous work has appeared in (or is in press): Scribble, Apollo's Lyre, New Cauldron, Delivered, Dark Distortions, Twisted Tongue, Albedo One, Countryside Tales, Coin News, Pen Cambria, Crimson Highway, Country Smallholder, Country Quest, Picture Postcard Monthly, SALT, Stitches - the Journal of Medical Humour, 55Fiction, Flash Shots & World War II Magazine.
"This story," says Rebecca, "was originally written for someone going through a bad break up. In this case, revenge was definitely best served cold."