You hear these stories about men suddenly walking out on their wives for apparently no reason. You think, ugh what an asshole. No explanation. Mental health, whatever. At least, that’s what I used to think.
Until I did that. I miss her like crazy. But I can never go back. And there was an explanation.
That damn fitness routine.
I first noticed it- sorry, her- through the corner of my eye as I was waking up one morning. A creature scampering fast, low to the ground, zipping by the open bedroom door. My blood froze. I realised Becca isn’t lying next to me.
Becca generally wakes up earlier than me to do a 15 minute youtube yoga routine, I understand they’re very popular with women, and my morning slumber is often punctuated by the sound of a yoga instructor telling them to breath deeply to their belly buttons and thank their bodies.
Then I heard her say something about getting bored with yoga but I kind of zoned out. I remember she said it really improves ankle mobility and I said oh that sounds great.
That morning, I was dreaming- what was it - oh right alligators crawling fast on mud, and Becca was there, facing the alligator- or she was the alligator? I woke up in sweat, and that’s when I saw the creature crawling or scampering by. And then I heard the sound- thump thump thump.
Some bright pop music filtered through.
“Becca?” I called. Thump thump! She was at the bedroom door, bent low and crawling on her hands and feet, her knees off the ground and her ass stuck uncomfortably high but in a completely non-sexual, libido-killing way, long hair hanging down her face and a terrifying vacant animal look in her eyes. She grunted, turned on her hands and feet, and scampered down the hallway, towards the living room.
Our place isn’t big, and I could hear her thumping around the living room. I stayed in bed. I could not get out and risk running into that thing- my wife- in the hallway.
I may have hid under the duvet.
Suddenly I heard Becca’s voice from the door- her sweet voice which always filled me with joy, now made me yelp. “John, are you still in bed? I’ve finished my exercises- can you at least make coffee while I grab a shower?” I threw back the duvet.
Becca was standing on her two legs, like a normal human, in the doorway, flushed and happy with exertion. “Was this the new routine you were mentioning, darling?”
She had already turned away towards the bathroom but she paused at the door and called out “Oh yes- it was great! It makes me feel alive, in tune with myself! You should try it John, but I know you’re worried your penis might fall off if you do these exercises for women.”
Haha, I responded mirthlessly- having heard that particular joke many times. Then I shakily got out of bed.
This happened a few more mornings. Each time she seemed to get a bit closer to the bed as she crawled around our apartment. Until that day.
It was probably the third or fourth day after she had started this new crawling routine. I woke, not to the thumping sound and bright pop music like the previous days, but a sharp pain in my shoulder. My wife was hunched over me, her face down. She had just bitten deep into my shoulder, hard enough to break skin and penetrate the flesh.
“Becca!” I screamed. “What the he-”
I froze in fear as she lifted her head, her mouth bloody, and dipped her face close to mine. The rhythm changed. The instructor’s voice came through. “OK everyone, cool down period. Great job! Don’t you just feel alive, in tune with your wild side? You are a wild child, ready to take on the day! Now stretch to the left-”
Becca paused, raised her head and then leaped lightly down from the bed and scampered to the living room, presumably to do her cool-down stretches. I clapped my hand to my bleeding shoulder, walked out, and never returned.