“This Black Lacy Number”

*Trigger Warning* people-3063217_1280

Looking through her closet she’s feeling like a million bucks. Dragging hanger to hanger to hanger till she finds this little black lacy number he’ll love. She’s been home all day, he’ll know that. The house is clean, and his favorite dinner is cooked and plated in the fridge. It’s late when he gets home but she’s had a great day. She won’t let anything get her down. She read some meme on the internet that said,

“Today’s a new day.”

and it inspired her. He stumbles in the front door and doubt flashes through her like a demon on roller skates. When she forces herself to unfreeze, because she’s made a plan, she walks over to help him to where ever he wants to go. He’s happy to see her,

“Hi baby.” He leans in to kiss her with his lips drenched in drunken saliva.

Maybe this will be a good night. Sitting at the dinner table, he makes the corny jokes she loves and tells her of that one time, when he was young, hanging out with his cousins. How together they built the highest Lego tower ever. He went on

“We used to watch Hook, Hook would always win. It was either that, or Indian In The Cupboard.”

She smiles at him thirsty for more. If she sits quiet and still enough maybe he’ll keep going. He looks up. It’s like it’s the first time he’s seen her all night. And that fog, it’s gone.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“I put it on for you. Don’t you like it?” She says. She stands up with her hands on her hips swirling around for him.

“You been hanging out with dudes all day haven’t you. That’s what this shit’s all about.” He trails off in shame.

“What?” She’s caught off guard. “No, I’ve been home all day.”

“Go change, you look like shit,” he demands, “and fix your hair.”  Getting up from the table, he turns his back to her, and places his plate in the sink.

“Are you serious? I did this for you.” Her arms are out palms facing him.

“You’re a fucking whore,” shaking his head, “you didn’t do shit for me.”

She’s defeated much faster than she had planned. She thought she could do better this time, but she goes to grab her pajama pants and t-shirt.

“I did this shit for you,” she yells out at him on her way to the bathroom. Fuck him,” she says to herself. She turns the shower on with a squeak and sits on the toilet seat debating whether she wants to cry, convince him, or just go to sleep. With her still sitting there, he walks into the bathroom and wraps his hands over her collar bones digging his thumbs in.

“I don’t want to see you wearing shit like that again. You wanna show dudes your tits? Huh?

“Ow, you’re hurting me.” She’s trying to hide her pain even while confessing that it hurts.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says. His face in hers, thumbs digging deeper.

She turns her face away and pushes back. “No, I don’t.”

He lets go with a shove making her body slam into the back of the toilet and walks out of the bathroom without shutting the door.

“And watch your language,” he yells from the living room. “I don’t like you talking like that.”

She replaced the lid to the back of the toilet, and slips into the shower for bed.


by: Saschia Johnson




12 thoughts on ““This Black Lacy Number”

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