Tevun-Krus #25 - Romantic SF

It Was He Who Killed Her - by @AngusEcrivain

A/N: It should be noted, and indeed it is because that's what I'm doing right now, that this piece is not entirely original. I wrote it a couple of years ago as part of CupidsCorner's RSD II, which was hosted by the wonderful Nika_Yaya. Now though, this is the only place you will find this piece. You will notice, of course, that it's a futuristic reworking of a rather famous opera.

 

She loved him, of that she was in no doubt. Her heart belonged to him and whether he wanted it or not that would forever be the case. When he was not there, standing by her side with his arm linked in her own she felt empty, lost, as if a piece of her was missing, and the fact she knew he would make her whole again upon his return did little to quell those painful feelings.

She had loved him from the first day she laid her eyes upon him. He had looked so handsome that day, just as he had every day since. His crisp Fleet uniform in all its grey and black glory accentuated the most attractive of his features; the chiselled jaw, defined cheekbones and those bright blue eyes, sunken slightly, a result of months of Cryostasis travel at a time.

Another result of that was that he was far older than he appeared. Whilst physically he looked to be in his early thirties, she knew him to have lived for far longer than that, almost one hundred Earth years.

She knew the dangers of loving a man who travelled vast distances across space in such a way. She knew that anything could happen, that all it took was a misplaced bolt or a knick in the hull to go unnoticed and she would never see the man she loved again.

But she was his wife. That was what wives were supposed to do, to love their men unconditionally, to ensure that their men knew they were loved. Just because their marriage was written into the contract of the apartment he kept that did not mean she should love him any less than a woman wed to a man in a more traditional fashion and regardless, she could not have loved him less if she had tried.

Her only regret was that she had never been able to give him any children, that he had no heir to carry on his name and proud family tradition of serving in the Space Corps. He insisted time and time again that it did not matter, that he was happy enough knowing that he had a woman who loved him waiting patiently for his return to the Beta Base and even though she aged at a much quicker rate than he did, due to the fact that she did not travel across the stars, every time he saw her he told her how beautiful she was. She would smile, the lines and wrinkles of her face different and more prominent every time.

And when they made love, especially on the night of his return, she felt like the most beautiful woman in the Galaxy. The care he took, the time to make sure she felt as good as he did, the effort he put in... She would love him still without all of that but it was most definitely a perk that she enjoyed incredibly, multiple times.

She had no shortage of suitors, either. It was well known amongst those Space Corps personnel who resided at the Beta Base either permanently or temporarily, that she was married to him however that did not stop the propositions, the offers of sometimes vast amounts of money for the use of her body. Every time though, she politely turned those offers down. Her heart belonged to him, as did her mind, her body and soul. She could not imagine touching another man, let alone laying with one.

***

It had been almost three years since he had last been to Beta Base, the longest time she had spent apart from him since their marriage. She was nearing her sixtieth year and she knew that when he walked through the door and swept her off her feet, he would not look a day over thirty-five. He would tell her that he loved her and gently touch his lips to hers, and then carry her through to the bedroom and lay her upon the bed. He would take the time to set the correct mood. Candles would be lit and music would play. Then he would undress her. She would already be in ecstasy and she knew those feelings would grow tenfold before he was even close to entering her.

She could wait no longer. Three years of spurning advances and turning down vast sums of money had been long enough. She quickly dressed and picked up her keys, locking the door on her way out. She took the elevator to the ground floor and as those doors opened she saw something that made her heart, just for a moment, stop beating in her chest. She touched her palm to her breast, just to make sure it started beating again.

Her man, her husband. John Smith, the man she loved and adored with every single ounce of her being, was in the midst of an embrace with another woman. Her hand was resting upon his right buttock and running in circles around them were three children; two girls and a younger boy.

She did not know what to think. John was yet to see her. Should she make her presence known or should she slip quietly upstairs, back to their apartment?

Too late! Their embrace over he turned and their eyes locked. She had tears in hers and his were wide, pleading with her not to say a word. She respected that plea for she loved him, even though he had another woman - another wife, she assumed, if their embrace was anything to go by - and she had been able to give him children, she loved him. Clearly the other woman had not spent several years in the shadow of the Beta star, had not been made sterile by its abnormally high levels of radiation.

She turned and ran into the open elevator, stabbing blindly through tears at the buttons to take her to the correct floor.

With tears of pain, anguish and anger that her husband could have hurt her in such a way, she ran towards the door to the apartment in which she resided, that they shared when he was planet-side, the apartment that contained their marital bed upon which so many once fond memories had been created.

Her heart was racing, beating so loudly that she thought it might break through her rib cage and out of her chest. It was all she could do to fumble the door key into the lock at the third attempt, rush inside and slam the door behind her.

She was at a loss as to what to do. The man she loved had broken her heart, torn it in two, shredded it into tiny, minuscule pieces right before her very eyes.

As her breathing slowed and yet still tears streamed down her cheeks, she realised what must be done. Without him, without the love of her life, the only man she had ever loved... Without her John, she could not live.

Without John Smith she did not want to live.

The pistol she kept in the drawer beneath the cutlery tray would suffice. John would pay for what he did to her. For the remainder of his unnaturally long life he would know that although she pulled the trigger, it was he who killed her...