The Bad Boy And The Mermaid

Hunter

“Don’t look at me like that,” I told Fred who was staring at me as if I’d spoken in Chinese.

“I guarantee you will eat your words when you see her,” Fred said.

And for the first time in my life, I saw what a pissed off Fred looked like. And somehow his mood-swings were getting to me too. They wanted to give me half-truths and also get mad when I uttered a word. They remembered everything, I didn’t. Someone needed a reality check and fast.

“Even though we’re married, I don’t know this woman. What if I don’t get my memories at all? How do you expect I spend my life with her?” I asked.

He wasn’t going to answer me, frustrated; I put the car into drive and drove to my house. The miles stretched on with no words exchanged between us. He thought I was that shallow asshole who’d suddenly change my words when I saw just how pretty she was. And that’s the thing. I didn’t care what she looked like, okay…maybe I was curious, like A LOT but that didn’t change the fact that I wouldn’t want to spend my life with a woman I didn’t know.

When we entered my house, I decided to break the silence because it was getting unbearable. “Okay, I’m sorry for what I said. I guess I’m just tired of thinking of all the possibilities that this might go to shit.”

“If you’re going to keep up with your attitude, it sure will go to shit, maybe even the sewer.” He commented, following me upstairs.

Leslie was right behind us, wagging his tail begging Fred for belly-rubs.

“Alright.” Fred put his hands on his waist, “where did you want to start?”

“I searched through most rooms; the bedrooms, the living area, and the basement. Found nothing there.”

“Have you checked the attic?” Fred asked.

“Nope.”

“Then that’s where we start.” He suggested.

“You have to understand why it’s so hard for me to believe that I married someone. It’s like she was never here. If she lived with me, how did she not leave anything behind? Clothes, makeup, you know, women stuff.”

Fred shrugged, “I don’t know, man. It’s so shady.”

We climbed the stairs to the attic together. The door was locked and I didn’t remember where I left the key. Fred picked the lock easily with a sharp-pointed object, and the door gave away. I wanted to ask him how he’d acquired the skills of a thief but thought better of it since I didn’t want to piss him off more than I already had.

“You gonna help me look through these or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?” He taunted me as he dived into a box.

getting on my nerves. He wasn’t going to

one.” I found another dusty

clothes, shoes, comic books, toys, and other useless things started to pop up. An hour passed and both Fred and I had

far back into one of the old dusty shelves. Something about that box was odd. When I pulled the box down on the floor, I noticed how tightly it was shut with a cello-tape. The other boxes had been vaguely closed, why was this

tore open the wrapping, feeling like opening a box of Pandora. Inside the box was an instant photo camera and

first picture was of me taken in a restaurant. I had a huge smile on my face, the kind of smile that I didn’t

No one.

me. Feeling uncomfortable, I shifted to the next picture. This time it was a selfie. Clearly, there had to be a person

last picture gave

was dressed as a groom and I obviously looked like I was over the moon, holding hands with the air

at these...”

out towards me to take the pictures

mean?” I asked him. “My wife. Are you sure

was with you. I don’t know how someone

ghost.” I completed

is some

knew the exact meaning of the word “ghosting” on someone until these pictures.”

wrong to believe that. If I didn’t put these missing pieces of my life together and manage to find my “supposed” wife, I sure as hell was going to be taken to the

went back to looking through the rest of the things in the box. I needed a clue, any clue

a mermaid. The painting was breathtaking, and just clearly conveyed one message; that the painter was completely in love with the woman he’d painted. Her blue hair was glossy and shining, her eyes a mixture of azure and emerald, glimmering like rare expensive jewels in the sunlight, her pink lips puckered and she was sporting a lazy smile. The colors and the strokes were no

This was my style.

This was my painting.

hard time believing it, much

I couldn’t remember her.

possible that I’d married

be similar to Marilyn Monroe

to him and

lying naked on a messy bed which I had no doubt I’d slept in and done various things with her. Even though my memory wasn’t serving me properly, I had basic morals to understand that this was still far too intimate to show it to a male friend. Her tits were practically on display. I was

in your

around. “Nothing. Sorry, I can’t show

“Why not?”

painting of my naked