The Black Mamba in the 'Misery of Bitterness'

Bexley stood balancing herself on the edge of the curb; a soft rain had begun to fall around her- causing strangers to take cover or release the springs of packed umbrellas over their heads. Not her. The rain wasn't a concern of hers. Nothing much was lately, like she had decided that all the monotonous routine of life and society wasn't mandatory for her at the moment. It could lean its pressure on someone else for a while; Bexley had had quite enough thank you. She stood staring at a black corner café, the front window a promise of sweet, peculiar treats. The shop's name 'The Misery of Bitterness' stirred the twitch of a smile, making her focus on the boards out front. The neat scroll of coloured chalk named desserts like 'Gothic gingerbreads,' 'Mamba Mud cake,' 'Crypt Custards,' and 'Immoral ice-cream.' She had been wandering again, making her feet move. One after the other, small even steps and came across it. Bexley wasn't sure which part of town she was even in or if she had entered another; all she knew was that she wanted to go inside. Crossing the streets without checking, a white Volkswagen beetle screeched on its brakes. A short, balding man behind the wheel wound down his window, yelling obscenities at Bexley. His words fell with the rain; she crossed without even a glance his way.

Entering the shop, Bexley was met with a strange interior, coated in black with antique furniture quiet conversations were scattered around the shop by the fifteen or so patrons. A tall thin pale man that looked like he needed a blood transfusion came towards her, 'Table for one?'

Scanning over the dimly lit café Bexley didn't think she could stomach sitting with this many people at once. 'Is there somewhere a bit more private?'

Instead of finding the request unusual, the man simply nodded. 'We have a private room at the back for members, but it's at an added fee to your bill.'

'That's fine.'

Walking after him, Bexley passed by tables with people head to toe in black, picking at plates of rich desserts in front of them. The café was split into four sections the Shelley, Poe, Wordsworth, and Austen, each consisting of three tables, making up the large café. Arlen, Bexley's waiter, took her to the back of the café, where the private rooms laid. The room itself certainly was private; a thick red velvet curtain courted off the room, lined with old volume books and a small table at its centre with a chair that Bexley guessed had to be older than her or even the building.

Setting a menu down on the table, Bexley flicked to the first page, her eyes scanning over the desserts laid out in thick black squares, each one with a unique name underneath. Finding the same name from the café's front, Bexley tapped on the mud cake.

'Black Mamba?' She asked. 'Isn't that a snake?'

'The deadliest. Do you know much about it?' Arlen answered.

'No, I can't say that I do.'

'Well then.' A smile lit up Arlen's face, causing him to fish for a chair in the corner and take a seat across from Bexley. His long thin legs wrapped around its back as he turned it backward like someone pretending to be cool might do, but here, in this room, it found its place.

'One bite from the black mamba, and you'll be dead within the hour. Just two drops of venom and poof, gone from the world. Your nervous system shuts down slowly until you become paralysed.' A childish grin lit up his eyes, making Bexley lean closer.

'Why the name, though? For the cake?'

'If you haven't noticed yet, everything around here,' He motioned to the room. 'Is a little. Strange. The Black Mamba holds a lot of myths and legends for the South African people. One being that its venom when ingested into the body gives a person certain...insights.'

'What kind of insights?'

'It's different for everyone but, the venom draws out your pain and makes you see it again. Visit it, like an old friend. When ingested, the venom transforms, so don't worry, you won't be dead within the hour.'

Bexley leaned against her chair, wondering why anyone would want such a thing. 'And this is popular? This cake?'

'It's our best seller. And the most expensive at two hundred dollars a slice. Black mamba venom is not easy to come by; I can tell you that. But some even say they've seen the dead while eating it.'

Bexley's cynicism vanished from her raised eyebrows, 'Have a lot of people had that experience?'

'Some.' Arlen returned the chair to the corner of the room, 'So have you decided? I've tried everything on the menu, so I'm sure I can recommend whatever you're in the mood for.'

'I think I've decided.' Pushing the menu forward, Bexley's chipped fingernails tapped on the mud cake with a snake coiled across its top in white icing. 'The mamba.'

Returning minutes later carrying a thicker slice of cake than Bexley would have guessed, he set the plate down, placing a black fork beside it; a look of stillness overcame Arlen's delicate features. 'At first, you might feel a bit dizzy when you do put this under your head and enjoy the ride.' Handing her a pillow from under his arm, he left as quietly as he had entered. Forcing the rich cake down, it wasn't long before the room began to spin, and Bexley found herself disappearing altogether.

Blinking away floating shapes, Bexley shifted her aching head, leaning back in her chair, cursing herself for believing in his bullshit. Arlen had simply lied, she thought, given her some sleeping pill while he robbed her of the scandalous two hundred dollars she had forked out for a damn piece of cake and no doubt by now had run off with her wallet. Just as she was about to reach for her phone, she took in the room. It had changed. No longer in the 'Misery of Bitterness' café but somewhere she had been running from. Home. Despite the ageing day when she entered the café, early morning sunlight filled the room. And with it, a door opened. And in she walked. Di. Her Di. She came into the room like she hadn't been dead for three months now, and Bexley remained just as lost to the world as the day she left.

Bexley hadn't known missing until that airless day. Missing wasn't as easy as just missing the person; she missed her laugh, the way she never closed doors properly or made the best tea, how Di hugged her- protecting Bexley from the world and her worries. You didn't just miss the person when they left; you missed all the dimensions of them, the small things that made up their atmosphere.

'How are you doll?' She asked, taking her usual seat across from her. Closing her eyes, Bexley breathed in her words like they were the only air she wanted to live on. The way she said doll, the way those blue eyes settled on her. 'You're not sleeping, are you?' She asked casually, like it was a perfectly normal thing to ask.

'No.' Bexley finally answered, forcing her words out. 'I'm not. I can't seem to sleep without you next to me. Everything feels too…big.'

'You need to look after yourself doll, I can't let you go ruining yourself for me.' Di reached for her, laying her hand across the table; Bexley laid her palm on Di's. Tears sprung from her eyes. 'It'll be okay. Haven't I always been right?' She joked.

'Not about this.' Bexley couldn't help but smile, wiping the tears away. 'Not about this. You weren't supposed to go now, not how you did.'

'I know doll, I know. But we've always got the life we had; it's always there. Just think of me and you're home. I couldn't ever leave you, not really.'

Love, true love, real love gave you the strength to lay out all your ugliness- point it out, reveal it and let the other person decide if you were worth more than the things you didn't like about yourself. But Di had always wanted all of it, the parts of Bexley she thought of unworthy within herself. Di would welcome them in with a warm coat and something to drink. Nurturing all the bad until Bexley was left wondering why she had hidden them in the beginning.

'You're drifting again, my love.' Di pulled her back into the room.

'Sorry, I just, I don't -.' Bexley could feel herself crumbling again, falling in on herself like a collapse without any light or air.

'Take my hand.' Holding her hand, she squeezed, the warmth of her flowed to her fingertips. The delicate bones and softness of her skin slowed her breathing. 'We haven't got much time, but you've got all of mine. Okay?'

'Okay.' Bexley swallowed, trying to calm herself. 'I've missed you so much. I don't really know what to do anymore.'

'I think you should mourn me for a considerable time, doll, not too short, or I'll haunt you but not too long that you start haunting the living by not looking after yourself.' Di chuckled, giving her hand another squeeze. 'You try your best; that's all anyone can ever ask, all I ever really needed from you. For us. For you to just keep at it, this whole damn life thing. To keep at it. Day by day.'

The light from the room had begun to dampen, the leftover washed dishes on the sink grew taller shadows. The Garfield clock they had bought as a joke on holiday in a tourist shop in Spain stopped ticking. The room seemed to lurch back and forward like it was fighting itself as if space was running out. Di noticed Bexley's distress. 'We haven't much time left; you can't stay for very long.'

'I never got to tell you how much I-.'

Patting her hand gently, Bexley's words fell short, 'It's already been said, all of it. I know everything that's in your heart; it's what I'm made of doll. It's what I'm made of. See you soon.'

And just as quickly as she had come into her world, Bexley found herself being sucked right back out of it. Breathing in uneven breaths, the darkened room swam back into focus. A figure loomed beside her; Arlen held her from hitting the ground. 'It's okay, you're just coming back now, okay. Slow your breathing. That's it. That's it.'

Focusing on his face Bexley gladly took the glass of water he offered, 'How? That was-.'

'You were gone for quite some time. One of the longest I've ever seen.'

Once he was sure she wouldn't fall, he took a seat in front of her. 'Some cake, huh?'

'How long before I can go again?'

'Whoever they were they must have meant a whole lot of something to you, huh?' A touch of empathy warmed his brown eyes. 'Two weeks and you should be good to go, but I must warn you, each time you come, it dulls a bit more. Like memory itself, it will fade until you are only eating cake.'

Bexley returned, not an hour too soon, not a day too late. Two weeks on the spot. Finding her again, dreaming of her when sleep would loosen its grip on her tangled thoughts. Returning to the private room, Arlen had the cake waiting; barely a minute had passed before she felt herself leaving, the soft voice of her wife coiled around her, dancing her to a place she dared not question.

'Doll, I've been missing you.' Di’s voice filled Bexley up, across lifetimes, always one sentence closer to being taken away.