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Villanelle is scared. It’s a feeling she doesn’t like. Her heart is racing, and there’s a knot in her stomach that keeps getting tighter. It’s not a feeling she’s often confronted with; her fight or flight response is heavily weighted towards fight. Ask anyone.
Her hand shakes almost imperceptibly as she reaches for her phone. Her eyes scan the room for any other way to escape her assailant. There’s no going back once she sends this message.
I NEED HELP. HURRY.
She takes a steadying breath before hitting send, her eyes locked once again on her enemy.
After what only seems like moments she hears hurried footsteps. The door swings open.
She watches as Eve scans the room for any signs of trouble before her eyes land on Villanelle.
“What’s wrong?” The worry on Eve’s face is dissipating; replaced quickly by confusion.
Villanelle’s eyes widen and she presses her finger to her lips, her own voice hushed.
“Quiet! Are you serious, Eve?”
The blonde lifts her torso ever so slightly from its submerged position in the hot, bubbly bathtub and points to the assailant. Before commencing her evening bath routine, she had lit candles, chosen a soothing playlist, and folded her towel and robe neatly by the edge of the tub. Now, sitting nestled on the soft fabric, is the largest house spider Villanelle has ever seen. Ever.
Eve follows her panicked gaze and outstretched arm before spotting him.
“Jesus, Villanelle, you have got to be kidding me!”
Eve chuckles, running her hands through her dark curls to calm herself.
“I thought there was actually something wrong!”
“There is, Eve! Look at the size of him!”
Eve begins to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, much to Villanelle’s alarm.
“Let me get this straight…Villanelle…the big bad assassin, is scared of spiders?”
Villanelle huffs, allowing herself to slip back into the tub until only her head is above the water.
“Arachnophobia is not a joke, Eve.”
“Neither is interrupting Chef’s Table, Villanelle.”
“Whatever, just get rid of him.”
Villanelle attempts to watch the impending spider murder, her eyes peering just over the rim of the tub. To her utter horror, Eve does not pick up any of the large, offending objects in the room that would be ideal for smooshing him. Instead, she moves to open the window before bending down and scooping the creature into her bare hands, talking to him as she deposits him on the window sill outside.
“You are never touching me with those hands again.”