Four Paths with Bigfoot

Chapter 1 Everyone Knows We Never Do Date Night

The pillow cradles his narrow pale face.

Nicey places a pillow to shield her view of him.

A morning ritual to avoid accidental eye contact. 

He hates the idea of being watched in his sleep, that was the first mistake she ever made with him.

One morning she woke up face to face. Her eyes opened, his too.

"How handsome he is with his shaggy brown hair..."

She smiles at him.

His expression morphs from sleepy to complete displeasure. His forehead folds into three distinct lines, puffing out. His light green eyes once glassy from waking are sharp and cutting, his mouth forms a deep frown.

"Is that what you've been doing? Just fucking watching me? Are you a fucking weirdo?"

His deep voice filling the room, growing louder and more venomous.

Baffled, Nicey attempts to explain.

"No, I wasn't staring at you! I just opened my eyes...then you opened..."

"I fucking need to sleep! Why doesn't anyone understand this?"

He cuts her off.

Back then in the "honeymoon,"stage, that never quite existed for them.

Then they had had a few explosive incidents over her either waking him or "staring" at him. She was definitely not a perfect celestial being but she never meant to upset him at all. She would remind herself that "intention does not dictate impact."

So she capitulated to this request, it seemed benign enough. Not an unreasonable request. Maybe the reaction was arguably extreme, but she did not want to "police" anyone's tone, right? It was the first of many shifts of behavior she would learn. The first evidence of her stupidity, the first sign that this man was a fool.

Each morning she woke she remembered that day, when she cursed herself to this.

A prize!

A skinny tanned leather skinned man twelve years her senior. Dark brown hair framed his face, almost coal colored spidery thick eyebrows moved upwards then downwards, with lashes that extended past the under eye skin. 

His nose resembled Christian Bale, no bump, slender and  straight, with large oval shaped nostrils pulsing with each breathe. His mouth was agape as his throat wheezed and crackled. 

Human feedback noises. 

As his cupid's bow of a top lip vibrated, his full bottom lip pouted.

 Once so attractive to her, now, after a decade she only saw a Perrault's fairy tale troll.

She needed to vacate the bed before she started to move around too much, he would rouse.

 No energy for that.

She never did.

The thought of waking the sleeping bear made her wince with her entire body. Too much motion in the bed had been a problem in the past. Nicey would snuggle too close to him, accidentally fire her foot; dreaming , often she would cocoon in the many blankets. 

He would respond to this by unleashing a slew of curse words. Waking her, as he ripped the pillow and a blanket from the bed. 

Stomping out of the bedroom to seek refuge on the couch.

She would mumble,

"I'm sorry."

But it never mattered. She was guilty. A "denier of rest."