20 Oct The Anniversary
“The Anniversary”
Written by Xavier Poe Kane Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 8 minutes
June smiled at her reflection in the hotel mirror, her skin glistening from the shower. It was their second anniversary, and she was in a good mood as she prepared to surprise her husband. She had been planning this since he’d told her that work would be taking him to Fort Lauderdale.
They had met during her freshman year of college when she posted a profile on a matchmaking website for those seeking “arrangements,” meaning it matched attractive young women with older men who were capable of providing a certain lifestyle. Robert was a 28-year-old accountant and trust fund baby who was drawn to her because he was, in his words, “going through an Asian phase.” Fairly handsome and gregarious, he swept her off her feet.
Her mother did not approve of him. She said she got a bad vibe from the man, that he was not good enough for her daughter—that he would only break her heart. Typical mom overprotectiveness. June seriously doubted her mother would ever consider any man worthy of her daughter. The worst was when Lillian found out the nature of the website on which the couple met; while she did not say it, June could see the word “whore” in her mother’s eyes.
Becoming pregnant at 20 did not help. Lillian made her worry that her daughter—the daughter of a physician and the stepdaughter of a man who recently completed his doctorate of divinity—would not finish college known.
Robert did everything possible to dote on her and make sure she only took a semester off. This made it easier for June, as her mother then started to like Robert—just a little. However, it left her asking if she was living for herself or for others.
June applied a bright, cherry-red lipstick; the glossy wet look was the final touch to her makeup. She tweaked her black hair, now slightly curled rather than straight. She slipped out of The Ritz-Carlton’s comfy cotton robe. She was here to seduce so she slipped into her weapons: a black corset, black thigh highs with a back seam, stripper heels, matching opera gloves, and a sheer robe to finish the look. She lay on the bed, trying her best to strike a sexy pose. She did not have to wait long.
The doorknob whirled when her husband tapped his keycard against the lock. She heard the door open and her husband fumble as he entered the room. She smiled, wishing she could see his face as he entered the small foyer before the bedroom proper. She had an essential oils diffuser making the room smell of lavender. LED lights alternated between various hues of red and pink to cast a romantic glow. Ravel’s “Boléro” played softly from Bluetooth speakers.
The jasmine and ambergris scent of an unfamiliar perfume hit her before the sound of another woman’s voice.
“I’m going to make your volcano erupt.”
Robert moaned. “I can hardly wait.”
“You did all this … for me?” the other woman asked.
“Did all what, Elaine? Oh, shit!”
June’s mind was spinning, a shocked expression on her face as her husband rushed into the room. A bespectacled brunette, her blouse open and bra unclasped, appeared behind him with her hand—sporting an obnoxiously large ruby ring—entangled in his.
“June, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Her shock turned to humiliated anger and rage. She tried to say something that would sting but too much came to her mind, overloading her thoughts until she shut down. She grabbed her phone and pushed her way through Robert and the woman, stopping only to cover herself with the hotel robe and grab her bag.
* * * * * *
June had changed in the hotel’s public bathroom. She replaced the lingerie with jeans and a t-shirt. Holding onto the last scraps of her dignity, she stared straight ahead and ignored the stares of the desk clerk and the few guests milling about the lobby, all of whom were doing their best to ignore the woman with puffy red eyes holding back tears.
She moved on autopilot, her mind scrambling to decide what to do next, but it latched onto the image of Robert in someone else’s arms. She needed somewhere to stay but couldn’t remain in the same hotel where her husband was fucking someone else instead of chasing after her. June looked at the Marriott sign a few blocks away and began walking. It started to drizzle.
The sky had opened by the time she made it to the Marriott.
June stopped under a street lamp. “Really?” she asked, looking up. “You want to piss on me too?” She plopped to the ground, the light surrounding her as the rain fell.
She thought about her mother who was going to be pissed. Part of her feared for Robert’s safety, but the rest of her did not care. She wrapped her arms around her legs, her knees drawn to her chin, and lowered her head as she thought about how to tell her mother.
A loud explosion above her brought her back to the moment, and she was suddenly bathed in darkness. Shards of glass were raining down on her, some cutting her skin. The pain felt good–too good. She picked up a larger, jagged piece of glass and contemplated cutting herself, but she could hear her mother’s condescending tone when she saw it: “Oh, June showed her feelings again.” And she just wasn’t up for that. So not a suicidal cut. Just somewhere private, like she used to do with cigarettes.
“Honey, are you okay?” a soft voice asked behind her.
June turned and saw an old woman wearing a Marriott pin and a friendly smile standing under an umbrella. “Y–yes,” June stuttered. “I was hoping for a room. I just wanted to think for a moment.”
“I saw you on the camera and then the light exploded. You look like you’re in trouble.”
June sniffled and nodded her head.
“It’s okay, honey. You’re safe. Your pimp can’t hurt you anymore. Let’s get you a room. I can call the cops if you want,” the woman said.
June couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not that kind of trouble. I flew down here to surprise my husband since work took him away on our anniversary.” She felt a kind hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, honey. Say no more. Let me comp you a room.” The woman, who was the hotel’s manager on duty, helped her to her feet and carried her bag as they walked to the warmth of the lobby.
* * * * * *
Lillian sat on June’s couch, feeling herself calming down from a sudden rage that filled her shortly after putting her grandson to bed. She had suddenly thought about Robert, and that was the start of her rage. It would not go away, no matter how many different YouTube meditation videos she tried. Eventually, she buried her face in a pillow and screamed. This seemed to break the irrational anger. Lillian checked the time and did the math—that had been about 30 minutes ago.
Her phone rang with June’s picture and ringtone. “June? I didn’t expect to hear from you until later. Mikey is fine. You don’t have to—”
She could only hear the soft sobbing of her daughter on the other end. “June? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
June’s voice made a croaking noise.
“June, speak to me. Tell me what happened and where you are. I’ll send Michael.”
“Robert’s cheating on me. I’m taking the next flight home.”
The line went silent.
* * * * * *
Robert paced the floor of the bedroom as Elaine sat on the edge of the bed, rehooking her bra.
“I guess we’re caught, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah. Fuck,” he said, taking a sip of wine as he looked over at Elaine, who began buttoning her blouse. “So is the mood killed?”
Robert could see a flicker of lust in the woman’s eyes as her fingers hesitated to fasten the next button.
“If it was anyone else? Maybe, but you’re my heartbreaker.”
She chuckled wickedly as Robert sat his wine down and moved toward the bed, pushing her onto her back.
* * * * * *
June lifted her head from the Uber driver’s lap after he finished. He was mildly handsome with an unremarkable name. Not that she cared. She now knew no one could truly love someone as defective as her, so what was one petty and vindictive blowjob to get back at her cheating, son-of-a-bitch, soon-to-be-ex husband? She fixed his pants as he drove.
“Want me to pull over, get you something to drink?” he asked, stroking her hair.
“That would be lovely.”
* * * * * *
“Will that be all?” the 7-Eleven clerk asked as June set her Big Gulp down on the counter.
She eyed the cigarettes behind the counter. “I’ll take a pack of the Marlboros.”
“Which one?”
She took a moment to study the cancer sticks. She shrugged. “The blue ones … and a lighter.”
* * * * * *
The Uber driver lifted her bag from his trunk and offered to take it inside for her. She declined. He awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to another, gathering his courage before going in for a kiss. She turned, his lips landing on her cheek. He pulled away, his face a deep red.
“I’m sorry,” he said meekly.
“Look, it’s not you. I just—”
He held up his hands in defeat and backed away just a little. “No, I get it. I think I know what’s going on. Cheating husband?”
She looked to the ground.
He put a hand on her arm. “I just get feelings ’bout people. And you’re a catch, so the guy who throws you away is a dumbass.” He offered her a slip of yellow paper. “I know I’m not much. You see an Uber driver, but I’m doing it to get through grad school.”
She took the Post-It Note with his number on it.
“If you ever want to get some coffee and—”
“And a blow job?”
He grew several shades redder. “That would be nice … but no, not what I mean.” His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he held up his hand and pointed to a pale band of skin around his finger. “I know what it’s like to be tossed like a piece of garbage. I was just going to say if you’d like to talk.”
“I’m sorry.” June hesitated. “But that’s not a guarantee I’ll call.”
He smiled a hopeful grin. “Just consider calling. That’s all I ask.”
She nodded, turned, and began walking up to her front door. About three feet from the door, she stopped. She closed her eyes. Deep inhale. Exhale. Deep inhale. Exhale. Her eyes opened. She slid the key into the lock and turned it.
* * * * * *
Lillian was waiting by the door. She had watched the awkward exchange between June and the driver as he took her luggage from the trunk; the guy went for a kiss, but June turned her cheek. Lillian moved away from her perch by the window to give her daughter some privacy to make the same mistakes Lillian made after “the sperm donor” left them.
“Oh, sweat pea.” Lillian hugged her daughter as she came through the door.
“Thanks, Mom. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just go to bed.”
“I made us some tea.”
June cracked a hint of a smile. “I think I could use some.” Leaving her bag in the foyer, she moved to the kitchen and slipped the Post-it Note into the trash can.
“What was that dear? Some litter you picked up off the street?”
June looked to the floor. “Yeah, Mom. It’s not important.”
Lillian took the kettle and poured her daughter a cup of tea.
* * * * * *
June was alone in the master bathroom. She stripped to her panties and t-shirt and slid into the empty two-person jacuzzi. She opened the pack of cigarettes, letting the cellophane wrapper flutter to the white fiberglass of the tub. She pulled one from the pack and brought it to her lips and flicked the cheap Bic. She took a drag and held it in her mouth for just a moment before blowing it out.
As June took in another shallow puff, she brought up YouTube on her phone and searched for the song she needed to hear—the song that was already playing in her mind. Soon Johnny Cash’s earthy, bass-baritone voice drifted from the phone’s tiny speakers, covering “Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails with intense melancholy. She had been waiting for this moment since before she bought the Marlboros.
No Uber driver she blew because he was cloyingly nice to her.
No mother reliving her own past indiscretions.
No one to see how she dealt with her pain.
She was alone, just her and her voices.
She shifted her legs. There was a spot on her inner thigh she had not marked yet. She took the cigarette from her lips and leaned back in the tub. She smiled as the pain made her leg twitch, but she held the cigarette in place with a practiced hand. After the pain subsided, she flicked the extinguished cancer stick into the toilet before fishing another from the pack.
🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
Written by Xavier Poe Kane Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/A🔔 More stories from author: Xavier Poe Kane
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author Xavier Poe Kane:
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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).