The Woman who Loved an Octopus and other Saint's Tales by Imogen Rhia Herrad

hit her across the face. ‘You stupid, big, lumbering giant!’
    She flinched. I enjoyed that.
    â€˜Freak, freak!’ she screamed. ‘Was a stupid lumbering giant all you could find then? Would nobody else look at you?’
    I pinned her arms down and started slapping her face. ‘You,’ I said, breathless, ‘are nothing but a freak yourself.’ Slap. ‘And you’re thick as well. Just look at you!’ Slap. ‘Six and a half foot tall, and you think if you hunch over a bit people will think you’re little and delicate! You’re big!’ Slap. ‘BIG!’ Slap. ‘Now, personally, I like big women, but as you just very helpfully pointed out, they’re not everybody’s cup of tea.’
    She threw me off and knocked my head against the wall. ‘Pervert! Freak!’
    Something splintered somewhere. It might have been a piece of furniture, or her, or me. We didn’t let it stop us.
    â€˜Let – me – go!’ I gasped. Her arm was across my throat. I couldn’t breathe. She was winning. I couldn’t allow that. She wasn’t the world’s strongest woman. God was on my side, not hers. ‘Let me go!’
    She flew half-way across the room. Crashed into a couple of chairs. Slowly got up. Her mouth was bleeding, redder than lipstick.
    She licked her lips, touched a finger to them. Grinned.
    â€˜Not bad, soldier,’ she said, taking a couple of unsteady steps in my direction. ‘Come and get me then.’

    â€˜You’re mine,’ I said, drawing a big red H on her like a cattle brand. It was only lipstick, but it looked real enough. ‘ Mine . Remember that.’

    She was trying on a new top in front of the mirror. She was going to go out with her mates. Without me.
    â€˜They’ll come round eventually,’ she said over her shoulder, adjusting a strap. ‘Just give them time. They’ll have to get used to it. I bloody have to get used to it myself!’ She smiled at me.
    â€˜That looks really good on you,’ I said.
    â€˜You think so?’ Her smile got warmer.
    â€˜Mmm. Brings out your figure. Makes you look really slim. And tall.’
    She tried not to flinch, but she did. She hated that word.
    I liked putting the knife in like that.
    â€˜You bitch,’ she said, her voice flat.
    â€˜Have a nice evening with those morons you call your friends,’ I said. ‘Maybe you’ll pick up some really nice blokes. Oops. Sorry. Maybe they’ll pick up some really nice blokes.’
    She looked at me in the mirror. ‘Maybe I’ll pick up a nice bloke too. Thought of that?’
    I hadn’t.
    â€˜Sure,’ I said. ‘Be really nice for him to dance with his face in your cleavage. Such as it is. Be careful he doesn’t stub his nose against your breastbone.’
    She pretended not to hear, sprayed on some scent and was gone.

    When she got back, I’d rearranged the bedroom.
    What was left of the bed was burning in the living-room fireplace. What was left of the mirror was going to give somebody a lot of bad luck for some time to come. Her bad luck started when she walked into one of the splinters.
    I was waiting for her behind the door. It was three in the morning.
    â€˜Had a nice evening?’ I asked.
    She whirled round. She had her new top on back to front.
    I ripped it off her.
    She kicked my legs out from under me.
    â€˜Not only are you a loser,’ she said clearly, ‘but a bad one. You’re leaving. I want you out of here by tomorrow.’ And she turned round to leave.
    Bad move. Stupid move. Did she think I was just going to accept this? I grabbed hold of one of her legs and brought her crashing down next to me. I rolled over and pinned her to the floor with my weight.
    â€˜Did you get laid then?’ I asked. ‘Did you get fucked by a real man?’
    She stared back. ‘They find me attractive, you know. I may be a freak,