Weekend Freewrite 3 - White Tulips

---

I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house. Each of his pristine, white tulips charring to a dirty black. I didn't need his forgiveness. I had never apologized because I wasn't sorry. I knew what I was doing. I loved it.

The moment we met in the gallery, he thought he had me pegged. Bored wife. Mousy and plain, using another's art to color my dreams. I would welcome the attention. The thrill and anticipation. Giving in. He'd transform me, fill me, and I would happily give him anything.

My favorite game. Breaking their confidence. This time my toy was a thief, of hearts and of money.

I've never claimed to be good. Well, innocent.

I wondered if, when he found me, he'd try to show me mercy? Try to reason with his mark? Would I be able to keep a straight face?

The heat of the fire crackled in the air and I laughed at his arrogance that I would melt. I don't melt, I burn.

I remembered the day my thief came to the gallery. I cheated on my spouse and it wasn't the first time. Full of certainty and daring my thief of hearts sidled up to me and extolled on the beauty of the fire extinguisher. My laughter surprised me. Humor wasn't often used well. Most men that looked like him went for the dark, romantic charm. Poetry and wine. My thief had chosen the interesting mask of a jester.

Too bad for him, I wasn't a fool.

We talked of beauty and appreciation. How investing in art took finesse and patience.

That night, in my office, we drank from each other. Riding rough on the desk and sliding softly in the chair. My thief was talented and inventive, but my heat wasn't from him. It was never from any of them.

Through the eye of the camera that we'd placed, I had felt the gaze. My audience of one. My husband.

After the fire, I sat on my porch swing, drinking tea and swaying gently. The drip of water from my showered hair trickled down my neck. My husband was on the floor, doing the thing he does with the newspaper, making origami boats. Our entire marriage, he had never torn one. His hands were works of art, the most beautiful in the world.

"So, he forgave you for not leaving me?"

"After he cried and said that he felt used. That for two months he's waited and I've been selfishly breaking his heart.
It's funny how fast he forgave me once I mention a divorce settlement."

My husband turned around and waggled his eyebrows. "How did you like the flowers?"

I lost it. Peals of laughter rang out and tears streamed down my face. "Every time, none of them ever go for anything else?"

"Not in my flower shop."

---

photo via pixabay

---

For the 5 Minute Weekend Freewrite 3 - by @mariannewest

Head on over and enjoy some fun with a fantastic community!

---

Thank you for reading!