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You stole the ostrich leather wallet for your boyfriend, hoping the last-ditch effort would improve your relationship and prove the depth of your love. He’d been emotionally distant so you figured a wild gesture could reignite that quintessential spark and bring him back into orbit. The exotic piece from Louis Vuitton had to be the catalyst, serving as a potent symbol of your commitment, an investment into your shared future.
Zachary was shocked, appalled, and confused when you presented the blue wallet. You weren’t the type to steal; you were one of those people who colored in the boxes, paid your bills before the due date, and stopped at stop signs. You couldn’t read his face, worried he would tell you to fix this, that this woman standing in front of him was an imposter. The fears faded when he hugged you and kissed your neck in a sequence only you two understood, a language of fluids and flesh. The bold endeavor seemed promising, injecting newfound life into your bond, but it turned out to be a slow poison dripping into the roots of your union.
He took you on dates, brought home pretty bouquets, dropped off lunch at work, and was more affectionate. Still, you braced yourself for the worst, part of you knowing it wouldn’t last.
Zachary had a hard time sleeping and spoke of avian nightmares, eyes rimmed red, brain afflicted with stretches of delirium. He used to sleep through helicopters slicing through the air, domestic disputes next door, and ambulances wailing through the night.
“So I had this dream, maybe nightmare is the most accurate term, but I prefer dream, the word nightmare makes me feel weak like a child,” he looked down at the floor. “Powerless.”
“Nothing weak about sharing your experience with me. It’s okay. Tell me more. I’m here for you,” you said, tilting his chin back up and squeezing his hand.
“O-okay. So I was in bed, still dreaming, and a black ostrich — massive,” he said, wildly gesticulating in a circular motion. “I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out, the thing sat on my chest…I could barely breathe. Its long neck stretched towards the ceiling, beak tracing weird patterns in the air. It had these huge eyes. Glistening. I struggled to get up and push the damn thing off me, but its legs pinned me down, claws digging into my thighs.”
“Let me see your thighs…”
“This isn’t a joke and I’m not delusional,” he pushed your hand away and stood. “I know these are dreams, but there’s something more to them. Like the overall texture and consistency is off. I can’t shake it.”
“Like sleep paralysis?”
“Crossed my mind, but it’s different. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“We’ll figure something out, babe. We always do. I love you, okay?”
“Love you too.”
Love wasn’t enough to lift the weight from his chest. The invisible load affected the way he walked, a physical anomaly, his upper body leaning backward at an odd angle.
He wheezed when you tried to make love and he had to take frequent breaks. Something was sapping away at his strength, even though his coworkers seemed to view him in a new light. He even received a promotion at work, becoming the senior manager despite his young age.
You two celebrated by going out, eating fish tacos, drinking tequila and dancing until you sweated the grease out. Still, Zachary didn’t seem present, always looking around as if something was following him, a volucrine shadow in his peripheral.
Encouraging him to see a therapist did nothing to fix the anxiety running rampant throughout the house like a foreign electrical system. Zachary would argue with the talking head displayed on the computer, claiming his nightmares and paranoia were merely a representation of deep-seated childhood trauma. You massaged his neck and cooed into his ear, soothing the anger building up like lava inside him. You cooled him down with your touch and eyed the wallet as he fell asleep.
You considered burning the piece, that’s what they did in the horror flicks, but it was worth so much money. The materialistic part of you couldn’t throw thousands of dollars down the drain like it was nothing. Maybe you could resell it? But that too, made you guilty, complicit in this cursed object being transferred to an innocent victim.
Paralyzed with fear and guilt and a warped sense of hope, you did nothing. You watched him lose weight and carry that thing around his pocket like a boulder.
You came home from your sales job one evening, tossing your black dress and Louis Vuitton clutch bag on the floor. The master bedroom smelled like a foul combination of ammonia and pungent earth. The comforter had deep scratches in it, and down feathers and polyester batting covered the floor as well as the bed.
“Zach, babe! Where are you?” You screamed, voice hoarse from the emotion swelling inside your throat. “Babe, please answer me…”
You searched the house, realizing that he was gone. His phone went straight to voicemail, and you collapsed on the bed, holding a single feather in your hand, holding it to your nose. The scent of maple syrup flooded your nostrils, and a shadow ran across the doorway. You thought about calling animal control or the police or somebody to take care of this beast, but who would listen? You would sound like a lunatic. Where did the ostrich come from? Inside a wallet you stole from Louis Vuitton?
You curled into a ball and your toes nudged against the remains of said wallet. It was torn into pieces, a strange liquid coating the torn leather. The sound of a guttural growl and a bill snapping in the distance made your heart skip a beat and your bladder release, piss running down your thigh. A booming roar filled your ears and you closed your eyes, praying to God the omnivore wasn’t seeking fashionable retribution.
