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The thing is huge. Hairy. It twitches with every drop of water that falls from the shower head. Gangly legs bend in every wrong angle as it attempts to climb up slippery plastic.
The spider in your bathtub fascinates you beyond measure. Your fingers flinch toward it, toward the spigot, toward the dial on the wall. It's wasteful to leave a shower running so long. Several minutes have already passed. Warm water is running; soon there won't be any left. Cold showers are awful in the winter.
The spider lunges halfway up the tub and slides back down.
You don’t get to see it slide back down because you fled the second it jumped. The bathroom door slams shut behind you in the hallway.
Water still falls from the shower, though the sound is now muffled. That's fine. It's fine. Let the bastard drown.
Is that cruel?
Undoubtedly so. It doesn’t want to be in your tub. You should, at the very least, squish it so it doesn't suffer.
One trembling hand reaches for the doorknob.
Your name hisses from the cracks in the door.
Pain erupts across your back as it hits the opposite wall. The pounding of your pulse distracts from the creaking of floorboards, from the hands that land on your shoulders.
“Love, Love,” someone whispers, digging thumbs into your muscles. You blink away the blur in your vision to find your clown, your Pierrot, hovering over you, worry pulling his face into a tight frown. “Forgive me, my dear,” he says when he has your attention. “I never meant to startle you.”
Two, four, six shaky breaths later you can finally answer him.
“No, no,” you start, “you’re fine, Pierrot. I was just on edge.” You press a hand against your chest in an effort to calm the flutter of your heart and find that your shirt is both backwards and inside out. The tag hangs down, tickling your fingertips.
“Are you alright, Love?” Pierrot asks, scanning the mess of your hastily thrown on work clothes. If he hears the shower running, he ignores it to focus on you. Hell, you’re not sure he notices anything besides you when he invades your apartment.
“There’s a, um...” Shame halts your words. Old enough to know better, yet frozen in fear the second a stupid little spider makes itself known.
“Come, now,” he coaxes, warm and gentle. “You can tell me.”
“A spider,” you whisper, “in the shower. I-I don’t like–” A shiver running through your body cuts off the rest of your words.
“I see.” His eyes narrow, glancing over his shoulder to glare at the bathroom door. “Would you like me to take care of it?” Pierrot asks, sliding his hands down your arms to take yours.
“Please,” you breathe, relief rushing the air from your lungs.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises with a kiss to your knuckles, your wrist. His grip is hesitant to leave yours, but he rips himself away to duck beneath the bathroom door.
Your legs give out as soon as it shuts, mind crowding with a dozen useless thoughts.
Where did it come from? It was so big, nearly the size of your palm. Did it come through a window you left open? Hair, it had so much hair. Is it poisonous? What if it bites Pierrot?
What if it bit you?
What if there are more?
Another giant spider could be hiding in every dark corner of your apartment.
Wind howls outside, shaking shadows across your wall. Little legs rise from the darkness, hundreds, thousands, millions of them. Brown, hairy bodies quiver and crawl in your direction. Fangs, dripping with noxious venom, glint in the scraps of light you try to will away.
Pure darkness will help you pretend away your demise.
Or you can squeeze your eyes shut and curl into a ball and hope it will all disappear. Breath has abandoned you, lungs forgotten how to fill. Tighter into yourself you curl, crossing your arms over your head as you shove it between your knees.
A giggle calls you from the brink of hysteria. Blinking blinds you; your eyes open to a much brighter home than you remember. None of those little monsters survived the light that was missing moments ago. Either they’ve all disappeared back into their hidey-holes to wait for the return of the night, or they never existed in the first place.
You are unsure of which option you prefer.
Humming brings you closer to yourself, muffled by the closed bathroom door. Water no longer runs from the shower, revealing muttered mumblings that seep through the cracks. Few words form in your ears, but you do make out a giddy ‘hero’ followed shortly by a ‘tent’ that is more thoughtful than enthusiastic.
Whatever Pierrot says next is lost beneath the flushing of the toilet and the running of the sink.
“It’s gone now, my dear,” he says as the door creaks open. His smiles wavers when he notices you hunched over yourself on the ground. “Oh,” he breathes, kneeling to wipe tears from your face. “Oh, my love, you have nothing to fear. It cannot hurt you now.”
“Thanks, Pierrot,” you whisper around a gasp. You allow yourself a moment of comfort as you lean your cheek into his palm.
“I should get a shower now,” you say when far too long has passed. You shift your legs beneath you and brace against the wall.
“Perhaps you should-ah!” Pierrot catches you as your trembling knees falter. “Perhaps you should skip the shower tonight, my love?”
“I haven’t had one since yesterday,” you tell him as he gathers you into his arms. The first time he lifted you was met with protest, but his immense strength has yet to fail him. His hold on you is tight and measured, never wavering despite your weight. He will never drop you, nor will he let you escape. “I smell bad.”
“Nonsense, Love!” he declares with mock offense, nuzzling his cheek into yours. “Your natural scent is much better than those perfumed soaps you use.” Burying his face in the crook of your neck does little to hide the deep inhale he takes through his nose. “Ah,” he sighs, “absolutely intoxicating.”
Sharp teeth nibble at your skin as Pierrot lays across you in bed.
“I have work in the morning.” You push against his shoulders until he rises. “I need to shower now or I’ll have to wake up early.”
“I can wake you,” he offers. “Let me stay the night, and I will ensure you have enough time for tomorrow.” A shadow darkens his face, smile twisting into something sinister.
“Besides,” he begins with and eerie echo to his voice, “where there’s one, there’s always more.”
Darkness creeps into the edge of your vision. Every inch of your room buzzes with activity. The tensing of your body pulls your muscles taut until they ache.
“I don’t like spiders,” you whisper.
“I know,” Pierrot whispers back. You wrap your arms around his neck.
“Keep them away.”
“Of course, Love.”
“Thank you,” you whisper as the room brightens once again.
His face lowers into your chest until he can just barely gaze up at you.
“Whatever my darling wishes.”