Steve
— Steveeeeeeeee...
The scream that comes from somewhere in the house is so loud and shrill that I'm sure some vein has burst in my brain and I'll probably be scarred forever.
I look up from my notebook, where I'm checking some crucial numbers from DBS's annual balance sheet, and pin it to the basement door, startled as if the voice calling me is some hellish being ready to eat my brains out and then drag me by foot to the hell.
My heart even slows, and my forehead swells with sweat, tight and sticky.
Please, please... Just one more hour...
“Steve, where are you? The scream repeats, now dangerously close, and an irritated growl comes from the back of my throat.
No, I cannot have been found.
Not there in my hiding place.
But my deepest fear comes to fruition when I hear the doorknob move. Without thinking, I drag myself on all fours through the dusty, dark basement, through the clutter of furniture, boxes, and knickknacks that have never been tidied up, holding my notebook precariously in one hand, until I manage to sneak behind a pile of boxes. A beam of light invades the basement.
— Steve? The voice is now a whisper, less menacing, but I know it could be a decoy.
I hold my breath, feeling like I'm in a bad horror movie, when I hear footsteps coming down the stairs.
I close my eyes saying a prayer, and I'm not even religious. “Please, God, don't find me here. I just want to have a peaceful night working in silence.”
“What the fuck are you doing?
I open my eyes to find my wife hovering above me, her hand on her hip and a confused, disbelieving expression clouding her face.
For a moment I want to grab my laptop and run upstairs. Get in the car and drive without looking back. Or I could pretend I've developed some sort of second personality and now my name is Edward and I have no idea who he is. Or maybe start crying like a child caught in the act after hiding where it shouldn't.
— Steve? – she repeats now annoyed. "Didn't you hear me call you?" Are you deaf?
Yes, deafness is a good thing too. Maybe I should start making sign languages or invent one.
'What are you doing hiding here?' - She continues. "I've been looking for you for half an hour!" I already thought I had been abducted by ETs! She looks around. “This basement is a mess! Look at these boxes! They should have been fixed a year ago! And we talked about the renovation, remember? Why haven't we done it yet? It would be amazing to make a guest house! Oh mom and dad would love it, I might even let my mom make an altar to the goddess here.” I laugh, starting to rummage in a box above my head. — Look, Steve, Penelope's first stroller... Oh how beautiful! This reminds me that we need to buy a bigger cart. She's getting pretty heavy. Is it normal? What if she is developing childhood obesity? And if she's one of those kids she's going to get really chubby and get bullied on the playground, and then when she's a teenager she might be like Princess Diana, with an eating disorder. This is very serious, Steve! Did you see the episode of The Crown? Poor thing... Also with that fake prince and that Camila. Where have you seen yourself have a wife and mistress? Steve, if you do this to me I'll cut off your penis, you know, right? And I don't even mind going to jail! Maybe they'll even do a series with me... Hey, can you hear me? She kicks me in the shin and I realize I have my head between my knees trying not to hear the machine gun of nonsense coming out of Natasha's mouth. — Steve! Stop ignoring me! She insists in a plaintive voice. And suddenly she's kneeling beside me, holding my head and staring at me in panic. “My God, are you okay? Is sick? Are you really deaf? I was kidding, but maybe water got in her ear when we had sex in the bathtub yesterday, oh my God, I left my husband deaf...
“Natasha, for God's sake, stop being absurd! I finally manage to free myself and stand up.
Natasha stands up too and her gaze goes to the notebook in my hand.
"Wait... were you working here?" She glares at me now.
Okay, here we go.
“Yes, I was,” I reply defiantly. What the fuck.
- I don't believe! What did we get together? No more work here at home! Steve, you broke the rules! Is that why you stuck here in the dark basement like a criminal?
I roll my eyes, pulling away and heading up the stairs.
“I need to work without you complaining in my ear.
“Of course I was going to complain. “Natasha follows me out of the basement. — We agreed that we would no longer work from home!
"I know, but I need to check those numbers!"
I walk into the kitchen and put the laptop on the counter.
The kitchen smells of spices and I feel my stomach growl.
"Um, what are you making for dinner?" — I lift the lid of the pot and Natashagive me a slap on the hand. "Hey, are you crazy?"
"Remember what we agreed on?" If I went back to work here I wouldn't cook for you anymore! So don't eat! She places herself between the pot and me with open arms. I start to laugh, opening the fridge.
“Stop being ridiculous.
- Ridiculous? You are ridiculous! Besides, you forgot that we agreed today that you were going to hold the Christmas lights outside! Christmas is just a week away, Steve! And you didn't even help me set up the tree!
“You rode it and it looked beautiful. — I get a beer from the fridge.
It wasn't in my plans to drink today. My plan was to analyze the damn numbers. However, my plans were spoiled. In fact, my plans were spoiled the day I laid eyes on Natasha Romanoff and all her craziness. Okay, I fell in love with her, which complicated everything. And instead of running away screaming, I let her envelop me in her insanity to the point where I started to doubt mine. I tossed my elaborate and ambitious plans—which only involved taking care of my magnificent career as CEO of a big company—to the top and redrafted my plans with Natasha Romanoff. Now Natasha Rogers, I correct.
Okay, life is good in many ways. Natasha is adorably insane. Extravagant, exaggerated and passionate. In love with me, of course. Too much. I love her just as much, which makes me forget that I need to maintain sanity and control over my life, and that is sometimes impossible with Natasha.
Occasionally I find myself wishing for my old life. Life without Natasha. A calm, controlled and objective life. No wives going crazy for a simple Christmas tree to put up. Or with the fact that I need to work. After all, she quite likes to spend my money on expensive Christmas decorations.
'You're not going to drink, are you?' She crosses her arms reproachfully.
“Why can't I drink?
"Because today is your day to put Penelope to sleep!" And I don't think she needs the trauma of having an alcoholic father. Psychologists are expensive, Steve.
“It's just a beer, Natasha,” I grumble, but already putting the alcohol idea aside. I really don't want to take care of Penelope, our little one-year-old daughter, with beer breath. "By the way, where's Penelope?" I ask looking around.
Penelope was always in the high chair while Natasha cooked.
"She doesn't stay in the chair quietly anymore!" - Natasha says in a tired voice. "I had to let her go around because she wouldn't stop crying and...
Suddenly we both looked at each other in panic.
Penelope had started walking a few weeks ago. And we quickly learned that it was a big mistake to let her wander around the house alone. Even more so when she is silent for a long time. In these last few weeks we had several breakdowns, the worst being one of my rare vinyls torn apart.
— Shit! Natasha yells running from the kitchen and I follow.
Please don't let Penelope find my records. I can't bear to have another vinyl broken by those devilish little hands. If she did it again I swear I'll give that child up for adoption.
But I breathe a sigh of relief when we reach the living room and gaze at our daughter around the destroyed Christmas tree.
All the bows and ornaments are scattered on the floor and the flasher is around Penelope's small body who laughs and twirls around the room like a little evil gnome in his destructive rage. I start to laugh. First, I'm relieved that my daughter's fury wasn't directed at my precious rare vinyls, but at Natasha's Christmas tree. And second, it's very funny.
But my relief and amusement is short-lived when I look at Natasha and she's turning red as a bell pepper, like she's going to explode.
"I can't believe this... My tree... My Christmas..." She shudders in horror and Penelope is now jumping up and down and laughing. "That girl can't be my daughter..." Natasha stammers.
- Natasha, calm down...
- Calm? Look at her Steve, she looks like a mini grinch! It just needs to be green! I explained that I couldn't...
“Of course I wouldn't understand, Natasha. Penelope is just a baby.
"Help, look at this damage!" - Natasha opens her arms looking around still shocked. "Not even a cat would do that!" In fact, I think now that we should have had a cat instead of a child!
“Stop being dramatic. Just decorate it again and...
She points her finger at me, very serious.
- You! You're having fun, aren't you? She didn't break anything of hers this time! But know that you will fix it here! She walks over to Penelope, ignoring her squirming, and starts pulling the blinker off her back.
- I?
"Yes, you are, funny boy!"
“But I have to bathe Penelope and put her to sleep.
'I'll take care of it!' She picks up Penelope, who is now screaming at the top of her lungs. “You, ride that fucking tree.
- Natasha...
"And it's good that it's impeccable, understand?" Otherwise I'll let Penelope go there in her precious office, there won't be a vinyl left to tell the story!
- Youwouldn't...
She smile.
That goth illuminati smile that scares the fuck out of me.
The same smile she'd used to rip my car's tires with a box cutter.
- He doubts?
No, I don't doubt it.
“Okay, I'll fix everything,” I agree.
'It's really good!' And after you're done here, lock the damn lights out there!
She marches out of the room, with Penelope still screaming and kicking. With a weary sigh, I kneel down and start picking the damn balls off the floor. It's a good analogy with my own balls. That's how I feel now. Picking up my balls on the floor.
I don't know how long it takes me to get all those damn decorations in place. Praying it passes Natasha's sieve. Penelope still cries up there and I wonder how such a small being can scream so loud? It must have taken after Natasha, probably. The murderous rage she already had. I wonder what she will be like in a few years.
Is she going to try to kill me with a shovel when I won't let her date a boyfriend?
Finally I finish mounting the tree and with a tired sigh and my back aching I notice with dismay that it has started to snow. My car is still on the street and I need to take it to the garage.
I take the keys and put them in my pocket for that purpose.
I drag my Christmas slave feet across the garden and position the ladder, starting to climb, while trying to ignore the blinding snow.
If I get pneumonia and die, I'll kill Natasha.
I will come back to haunt you.
Especially if she marries some idiot again.
Hell, I could be in my office now working in silence. No crying child or crazy wife screaming. Or he could be in some pub right now, having a pint. Making small talk with Henry. Choosing a girl to take... I stop in my thoughts, as if Natasha can hear. And I don't doubt that she has developed that skill. Of course I don't want another girl. Probably if I had the guts to risk my balls cheating on Natasha, I wouldn't even be able to get my dick to work. Because Natasha must have cast some spell on him with the help of the crazy mother. Ever since I laid eyes on Natasha, that drunk girl passed out in the backseat of my car, I haven't been able to look at anyone else. If it wasn't a curse what was it?
Distracted by my misfortune, I misstep the stairs and slip on the snow-soaked wood.
For a few seconds, I balance precariously trying to hold on in vain before flying through the air and landing on the ground with a thud. And I am taken by darkness.