Spoon

It was one of those things Maggie confessed about herself early on in our relationship, before we got serious. I glanced it off, taking it for a misplaced joke.

Except the first time I stayed in her apartment for a few days, I'd open the kitchen drawers and all manner of utensils were packed neatly inside...except those drawers were completely spoonless.

She'd stay up late and watch movies, cozied up with me on the couch, all the while digging into ice-cream tubs with a fork.

All my date offers to any restaurant were rejected. I'd either have to grab takeaways and purge the plastic spoons that came with the meal, or we'd just eat homemade in her apartment. She never visited my apartment because I still kept spoons.

For a while I was somewhat impressed at how long Maggie kept up with the running joke. That is until I actually witnessed what being in the presence of a spoon does to her…

I had planted it before she swung by the kitchen for breakfast. I glanced from the corner of my eye as she entered, then opened the drawer to grab a fork. She froze, staring at that spoon for an untold amount of time then...

Her hand lurched forward into the drawer, but her other hand caught it, gripping her arm steadfastly. She groaned as shakily, like a pendulum swing, she swung back and forth, taking a few steps back, then forward again toward the drawer. All the while she screamed wildly through clenched teeth. Finally, after the dizzying back and forth, she crossed towards the marble kitchen counter, then repeatedly slammed her hands into it with chilling force. Then came the cracking sounds, like wood being split open by an axe. That's when I snapped out of my stupor and intervened. I held her back as she wept in my arms.

After the ordeal she went for surgery, got her right hand bandaged up, though our relationship was on the rocks. Maggie didn't trust me after the stunt I pulled. I bet she silently blamed me for driving her over the edge, deservedly so maybe. But how was I supposed to know she'd react like *that*. It was weeks of uncomfortable silence and us drifting apart, before she decided to come clean.

"I need to tell you the truth," she'd said as she placed a sealed envelope onto the table. "Open it." So I did, emptying the contents onto the table. There were about a dozen photographs. Grisly, lifeless bodies of young adults, male, female. Clothes bloodied, skin pale. They stared at me through empty eye sockets, missing eyes replaced by hollowed out pits. In those stifling moments I forgot how to breathe.

Maggie's voice interrupted me, and I slowly turned to face her.

"Do you understand now, why I can't be around spoons?" she whispered. "You're the only stable relationship I've had in a long time, Lucas, and...I can't afford to relapse."