Sebastian Westbrook is the pseudonym for an unassuming young undergrad from the UK, just starting his adventures in writing. He enjoys RPG video games a little too much and spends more time on them than he should. When he can peel himself away, he reads fantasy fiction in the main, but also enjoys the horror genre, particularly movies.
YOU’RE MY BABY
by
Sebastian Westbrook
I’m leaving Cassandra.
Just two minutes until New Year, then I will do it. Two minutes, and I am going. I’m not putting up with this anymore. It’s over. I’ve suffered enough, and I’m finally getting out of this. She can spend the night in our apartment but I’m out of here. I’ve put it off for far too long. It seems fitting to go on the stroke of midnight: exactly a year since our first kiss and shared cocktail, and when she uttered those words: “You’re my baby.”
I thought I could change her, but she’s still insufferable. I’ve been thinking about this since our summer vacation. The whole time, she wouldn’t stop whining. The hotel wasn’t good enough, the food in restaurants took too long, she hated anything we did and every time we went anywhere, she accused me of staring at some other girl.
It didn’t stop there. As the year wore on it got worse, like our relationship was rotting. While we were watching a movie at Halloween, she put razor blades in my popcorn as a “Halloween trick”. I did wonder why she got two separate bowls. Her excuse was she didn’t like it sweet. “I’m sweet enough, my baby.” She laughed when I sliced a finger.
On Bonfire Night, she tied a bunch of my stuffed animals to fireworks. They were sentimental, from my childhood, but she just said I was “too old to have stuffed toys, baby.”
Christmas was the worst by far. I didn’t get a single gift, and what’s more, she had the gall to complain about what I got her, either because the items weren’t expensive enough or because they were ‘thoughtless’: she already had something similar or better. She put everything she received in a cardboard box and reversed the car over it. Accidentally, apparently. “Whoops, baby.” Just no gratitude for the time and effort I put in when she didn’t lift a finger.
Speaking of time and effort, that’s something only I’ve ever given in this relationship. Sure, it seemed like we were in it together in January, and at Valentine’s I was offered some sliver of affection, but since then… it’s like she’s feeding off me. She just sits about and eats, sure. She might even weigh double what she did when we first met. But that’s not it: it’s like I’m being drained. “More, baby.”
She’s unemployed too, so she lives here rent free, putting a hole in my wallet with her frivolous purchases. She just mooches off me instead of looking for a stable source of income.
It’s like I’m life support.
I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell her how I really feel about her – everything I’ve been holding back in the fear of causing an argument – and then I’m going to leave, never to return. I’ll stay with my family until I find a new place. She’ll not be able to pay the rent here so she’ll soon be pushed out.
I’ll cut her off. Phone number, social media, address: all change. I’ll finally be free of this witch. No more of her emotional torture. I refuse to be passive. New year, new me. No more “baby”.
The clock strikes twelve.
I feel a sense of dizziness and nausea. The room is spinning and I want to throw up. I fall to my knees as my head begins pounding. I can feel my heart beating in my ears. My whole body burns and my eyes feel dry. I collapse to the carpet, breathing heavily. Something isn’t right. What’s happening to me?
I manage to get back onto my knees momentarily with assistance from the arm of the settee. That wasn’t so bad. My eyes are watering to make up for the dryness before and I feel a slight chill, but other than that, the other symptoms are dying down. I’m not sure what just happened, but I’m glad it’s over.
I stand up again. Now where was I? Right, Cassandra. Time to…
What was I going to do again?
She’s here, shuffling through from the kitchen, slab-like forearms resting against her protruding stomach, a glass of her special cocktail in a chubby hand. I remember the foul brew from last year. It had tasted off but I was so drawn into the glamour of a potential new relationship that I drank the stuff with her. Not now though.
Her deep-set eyes narrow. “Cocktail, baby?”
I want to say no, but suddenly my mouth is on the steel straw and I’m sucking up. I can’t place the taste but it is vile.
Yet I’m getting another mouthful.
She leers at me over the top of the glass. “You don’t want to leave me, baby. The year’s just begun. We’re starting again, just seconds old.”
I step back, and take in her full physique. She is immense, bountiful. Perfectly sculpted curves.
Beautiful. A goddess.
Suddenly I feel like I want to believe her. January is so full of promise. February, romance. March is the start of spring. This year could be…
I lean in and drink some more, and she plants a wet kiss on my forehead.
“You’re my baby.”