Category Archives: Fiction

#AskAwayFriday with Alison Lee of Writing, Wishing

Welcome to #AskAwayFriday, a weekly link up hosted by Penny of The Real Housewife of Caroline County and Amber of Bold Fab Mama.



This is a meme where two bloggers ask each other 10 questions and they answer them on their own blogs. You link up with Penny and Amber and we all get to know each other a little bit better. I recently saw it featured on Alison’s blog and asked her if we could swap questions.



Is there a smile that always makes you smile back when you see it in your twitter stream or in your Facebook notifications? How about when a name shows up in your email and you know that the words contained inside are going to make you feel seen? Heard? Important?

From the moment she introduced herself to me over Twitter to her takeover of the virtual world (she has!) I’ve felt so lucky to be able to call her a friend.

Alison Lee is a mom, a wife, a writer, a baker, a memory maker and a kick ass blogger. A ROCK STAR.

To me, she’s my girlfriend, my sanity  and a part of the TRIBE that I am so lucky and humbled to have.

If you’d like to read the answers to the questions I asked her, CLICK HERE. :)



Here are here the questions she had for me:


1. I know you adore shoes. When did your love affair with shoes start?

In 2000, when I turned 30. I had always loved footwear but felt like I didn’t wear high heels well. But something changed in me that year. A new decade for me, a new millennium for the world and I decided to start wearing my sexy on the outside. The best part of my shoe obsession? The place I love to shop the most for my pumps??? PAYLESS.  Which makes it easy and guilt free to fill my closet.

KirCupcakefromJCAugust2012JBE(made for me by the AH-MAZING JC Little at BlogHer’12)

 2. And the cupcake obsession? 

Oh. Cupcakes. Little pieces of heaven.

I think it happened right after my wedding. I hated my wedding cake. I don’t like fondant and I’m always leery of any baked good that just tries too hard. But I gobbled up our groom’s cake, a lovely supermarket made concoction of whipped icing and moist vanilla cake.

It’s really always been that way for me. I like boxed cake or supermarket made cupcakes, they are light and fluffy and exactly why I love cupcakes: they are a smaller (so you eat it with gusto) and very pretty version of the cake.

Plus, how can you not look at a cupcake and not be happy? The colors, the frosting, the way you can hold in your hand and the fact that it is a small sweet piece of the bigger whole, which is how I see myself.

It’s a PARTY in a paper cup.


 3. You’ve been blogging for a long time. I know of many blogs who burnout after a couple of years.

What keeps you going?

 I have burned out.

Many, many times.

I’ve taken breaks away from it (Not a week or so, MONTHS) and I always come back because of my TRIBES.

You know you read and hear that writers need to write. I am not like that, I don’t need to write. I like to do it, I have stories swirling in my head constantly but I never felt like I wanted to take over the world with blogging or that I had anything particularly interesting to say. Instead, I’ve just tried to  focus on the connections and community I was building with people. I still feel honored to read the blogs and articles I do with people who have become my friends behind the screen.

I like to write, but I don’t ever feel like I have to and that makes it easy to stay here in this space.


4. You started as an infertility blogger, a topic that is difficult for many to write about. How did you get past the “I can’t talk about this, it’s too personal” hurdle?

This is a timely question because I am going through that right now with the death of my brother. I vacillate with being angry with myself for not writing about him yet and then feeling like no amount of words, no pretty sentence structure is going to capture what I want to say about Ben.

Yet, writing about infertility was actually pretty easy. I was sharing my vagina stories and my depression about not being able to get pregnant with people in Wal-Mart lines so to take it to the screen wasn’t that much of a stretch for me. Plus I was “singing to the choir” back in 2005. I started an “infertility blog” so the people that were reading it were all going through the same things, it wasn’t hard to open up.

I felt (and still do) that whatever I was sharing was going to give HOPE to someone else or help someone else to know that we were in this together. It took me 4 YEARS to get pregnant and so I shared 2 ½ of those years with women who helped save my life, sanity and sense of hope more times than I can count. There aren’t enough THANK YOU’s for that kind of loyalty and friendship.

5. What is life with twins really like?

It’s easier than you imagine:
As John and I say OFTEN , “We never knew ONE baby, so we just parent the way we know how.”

It’s harder than you imagine:
“Two children of the same gender with completely different personalities but the same birthday and maturity level, going through the same milestones, finding their way in the world with one another and yet, separate from one another.”

 Does that about sum it up?

 The perks? I still dress them in matching outfits, I ADORE being a mom of twins because it makes them special (and that special sometimes dribbles down to me). Even when there is double the homework, the snacks for the class, the registration fees, the $$$$ for birthday parties I remind myself that we only do it ONCE a year, ONCE a lifetime and that brings me back to a sweet spot with it.

 **I always wished for a child….I got TWO in a way that wasn’t traditional but instead was miraculous. **


 6. What do you love most about motherhood?

Seeing myself, John and various members of our families emerge from these two little people. I also love being called Mom, being told “Because I love you so much” and knowing that kind of unconditional adoration.

It’s like having your own private FAN CLUB and the two members of it are your cheerleaders for life.


7. What is the most challenging part of motherhood?

Well there are lots of challenges but I’m going to piss some people off with my answer.
Other people.

Everyone has an opinion.

The WORLD has an opinion and it changes from minute to minute.

You work, you don’t work. You Ferber, you Helicopter. You pick public or private or Catholic school.

Everyone has something to say and then all your questioning starts.

I tell people often, that the one gift infertility gave me was that once my babies were healthy and HERE, I realized how that was enough for me.

I was finally a MOTHER, the rest would work itself out.

8. You have been writing fiction for a few years now.

Do you have any plans to publish Kimmy and David’s story in a book?

YES! (sort of)
I always have very big plans.
Listen, I want to get something published, but I suffer from low self esteem, especially about my writing. Especially because I read other friends, colleagues and true writers who are much more talented than I am.

Here are my plans: I registered for a course on “HOW TO WRITE YOUR FIRST NOVEL” this spring at our local community college. I am ripping apart and rewriting four short stories that I hope to self publish first sometime this year as a springboard to getting Kimmy & David ready for their debut.

I am hopeful that I can believe in myself long enough to follow through and get them (Kimmy, David, Marco and Liza) between the covers of a book.

Wish me luck?

9. You’re part of the Write On Edge team. Tell us more about the community there, and your role. 

Write on Edge is why I am a writer.

Starting with THE RED DRESS CLUB because of Erin and a prompt eventually led me to an introduction of the words of Angela, Cameron, Mandy and Roxanne.

I am humbled (Yep, there really is not other word for it) to share a small space alongside them.

 Write on Edge is a community of writers that has grown out of a love of words and telling stories. Memoirs, poetry and fiction sit next to one another, prompts are given every week and people link with their own works.

There are daily editorials and we encourage communication and conversation with topics that range from proper grammar, plots and writing styles to publishing advice, motivation during writer’s block and story ideas.

I am an Assistant Editor and was delighted to be added to the staff. I think of myself as one of the Write on Edge cheerleaders, sharing the work of the community on social media, helping to promote that work and of course writing an editorial every other Monday.

Proud is the best word for how I feel when someone asks me how I feel about being part of Write on Edge. Proud to be a small part of it, proud of the work and dedication of every staff member, proud of the community we’ve built and maintain.

 If you love to share your words in memoir, fiction or poetry I invite you to come and write with us.

 10. Three of your favorite quotes ever. 

 I love quotes. I feel like words help, heal, inspire, motivate and are one of the reasons I am still alive.

Picking three is hard so I’m going to just choose…these are three quotes that mean something to me:

“One is not born a woman, one becomes one.” Simon de Beauvoir

(It takes a long time to become a woman….but it’s such a sweet journey and a joyous destination)

“The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them.” –Maya Angelou

(Dr. Angelou is the author of many, many, MANY of my favorite quotes)

And because I adore all things about #HarryPotter:

“Words are, in my not so humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic, capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it.” –Professor Albus Dumbledore

( I always hope to make, share and lend a little “magic” every day)

A big thank you to Alison for her thoughtful questions, I enjoyed answering these for you.

If anyone else would like to play #AskAwayFriday with me I’d love to do this again.  Just contact me.

Have a wonderful weekend!

It Feels Like This: {The Path You Choose/Studio 30Plus}


Carrie and I are back with Gabrielle’s story of love and choices. You can read Carrie’s hot and steamy installment here today.

If you’ve missed any of the The Path just click here.


“I shouldn’t be doing this” was the only thing that Gabby thought as she pulled away from Seth’s mouth only long enough to catch her breath and the tip her head the opposite way to prevent colliding noses. Her fingers were laced behind his head as her inhibitions floated silently above them, making it easy to ignore the throngs of people that bumped and side-stepped them.

While Seth’s fingers pressed into the small of her back her head spun with really annoying accusations:

You’re engaged!

What if someone. Wait! If anyone sees you, it’ll be all over the tabloids.

And then, out of nowhere:

How is it possible for a man this sweaty to taste so good?

Reluctantly and with the slightest whimper Gabby laid her hands against Seth’s chest and gently pushed.


“Bree?” he asked, his voice husky and completely distracted. She could tell by the way he opened his eyes that he’d only done it order to reach for her again.

Trying to shake the lust from her own head she gripped his forearms to prevent a collision of their mouths again. “Maybe we should …” she began. What? Stop meeting like this? Stop kissing in the middle of Central Park? Stay the hell away from each other because we’re like a combustible chemistry experiment?

Before she could get any words out of her mouth, Seth had come out of his trance long enough to start nodding vigorously, “You’re right…” he agreed, reaching for her hand and dragging her behind him on the winding sidewalks, stopping every once in a while to flash a smile back at her, let her catch up or simply bring her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles before he raced off toward the entrance to the Park.

Gabby skipped and traipsed behind, he had heard her right? The inflection in her voice had told him that she thought they should just STOP didn’t it? The way he was still cradling her hand would lead her to believe otherwise but she followed because she didn’t want to let go. Staring at the back of his curly head as he bobbed and weaved among the crowds of people all she could think was…

So this is what this feels like; Love, passion and happiness all rolled into one?

As her heels bounced against the pavement she admitted that she’d never felt those things for one person at one time. Even Steven. Especially Steven, she sighed. When they’d met it was friendship that turned to companionship and blossomed into a romantic relationship that scratched an itch for both of them, but she’d never felt quite “right” in his arms or his life.

Yes, he flipped her stomach, yes she was proud of his accomplishments but Seth, well Seth, in an instant, had lit up her heart.

They’d come out to 59th street, and Seth raised his arm among the noise and activity. Almost immediately a yellow cab screeched to a stop next to them and she felt his hand at the small of her back again, gently urging her into the backseat.

Barking an address she wasn’t familiar with to the driver, his arm encircled her and his mouth was hovering above hers again. “Do you mind if we skip that drink Bree? Suddenly I’m ravenous.”



 This week’s prompts for STUDIO30PLUS were



I think that I used the themes of both. *wink*


Heart-Breaker, Dream-Maker, Love-Taker Don’t You Mess Around With Me {Write on Edge}


Continued from Guest Pass:

Daphne sipped at the water-downed vodka and watched the bustle of activity around him, wondering, not for the first time, who was being offered a guest pass now.


She wasn’t aware of her own staring until he turned his head turned and held her gaze. Daphne’s initial reaction was to simply lower her eyes and clutch the glass to her chest but, dammit, she needed a refill.

Turning around she made her way back to the bar, while she tried to ignore the heat of his anger as it licked at the back of her bare legs. She set the tumbler on the mahogany and smiled at the bartender.



The bartender flashed a mouth of white teeth, “a refill for the lady?”

“Please.” she answered, coloring creeping into her cheeks.



These were labels that others affixed to you; you’d never introduce yourself as ‘his mistress’ or ‘Hi, I’m Daphne, the slut’.

You were none of those things until someone said you were.

“Did you enjoy the last one?” the bartender asked as he slid a new tumbler toward her, stacked ice making room for the blue concoction. His hair was the color of Jersey shore sand and cut short, with just enough at the top to run a hand through.

“I did…” she answered and spun around before she encouraged the flirting. When she did her lover (or ex- lover, for what it was worth now) had crossed the banquet hall and was standing right next to her, a tall beer glass filled with amber ale in his hand and a scowl on his face.

“Daphne…” he said with enough venom in his voice to belie the weak smile that had replaced the scowl to appease his audience,  “what the fuck are you doing here?” he said out of the corner of his mouth.  He didn’t touch her, he didn’t dare because they both knew that if he did there would be an explosion of emotions; those things they say about the line between love and hate being incredibly thin were never more true than when their paths crossed.

She blanched at the anger.

“I was invited.”  She whimpered as she sipped and tried desperately to rid her eyes of the tears she felt filling them.

“You don’t belong here.” He hissed.

“I, I… used to.” Daphne stammered, allowing her eyes to meet his for a moment and then lower again.

“I thought I made myself clear.” He lectured, as he normally did, his way was the right way. Always.

“When was that?” she said, rallying and allowing anger to guide her instead of the guilt he desperately wanted her to feel. “Was it when you told me you loved me every day for two years or was it when you decided over the course of twenty-four hours that we were done without thinking of me?”

The blood left his face, “Daphne…”

“I’ve abided by your rules so you don’t get to tell me where I can go or what I can do anymore.”

He chuckled, the sound intimidating and disappointed, “you certainly have become a little bitch.”

Daphne tried to swallow the words; they burned going down, even more than the vodka chasing them but finally, tentatively and with as much dignity as she could summon she touched his wrist.

“No, No. I am exactly what you’ve made me.”



(my new home, did you hear I’m an Assistant Editor now!!)

 I’d love for you to come over and WRITE WITH and FOR Us during the weekly prompts, we are an amazing community of writers! 

this week, there were two prompts, one was a picture and one was this quote:

 Bandit agage

 I immediately thought of Daphne from Guest Pass.





Silent Running : Trifecta

the morning after this…





Shelby woke before dawn, stretching against the blankets wrapped around her, with hay in her hair.

Reaching for her top and skirt and careful not to wake Gunnar, she pulled and shimmied, snapped and buttoned her way back into her clothes. But once she was dressed a wave of nostalgia pulled her back to the warm space next to him. She ran her thumb along the length of his cheekbone covered in morning stubble and Gunnar stirred.

His hands sought her, much the same way they had throughout the night. More than once mid-dream she’d felt his fingers gently pull her hip- first to him until with urgent kisses and mumbled devotions he’d rocked them both back into a satisfied sleep.

C’mere Shelb…” he coaxed, throwing the blanket back over both of them.

So she tucked into him. He was the only thing about this life  she was going to miss but she wasn’t naïve or stupid enough to think he’d ever leave with her. Not when Tioga County fit him like the worn leather boots now slouched in the corner of the loft.

And she wasn’t willing to stay for him, even when he flipped her stomach with a simple touch.  For most of high school  she’d  waited for the hurried feeling of things passing too quickly that everyone loved to chirp at her:  It’s gonna fly by you know; try to enjoy every minute: but that feeling never came and it was finally time to just go before anything, even Gunnar and his kisses, could stop her.

As morning light started to creep across the cinnamon colored bales she rolled over and dropped a kiss on his freckled nose, “I gotta run Gun…”

He reluctantly released her,  letting his hand linger on her arm and  preventing her from getting up. Propping himself up on his elbow and tugging at stray piece of hay stuck in her curls his eyes searched hers , “don’t you think it’s ’bout time you stopped running beautiful?”, he sighed.



Trifecta this week, the word was FLY


A Walk, A Talk, A Kiss {The Path You Choose}



Carrie and I are bringing you the boy’s POV this week (my favorite!)

When you’re done here, go over and read her incredible installment and if you’ve missed any of THE PATH YOU CHOOSE, just click here to catch up



Seth held tightly to Gabby’s hand as they walked the mall not believing how natural it felt in his own and unwilling to let go, even when their palms started to slip with sweat.

Central Park was busy and bustling making them side- step miniature poodles on long leashes and baby carriages ,  but Gabby never missed a beat as she talked, her words flooding the drone of noise around them as if she’d been given permission to finally open her mouth.

“…So I told her that  maybe orange wasn’t her color…” she snorted and Seth looked over her; her left hand, the one he wasn’t  holding, was rising and falling , pantomiming her story with her diamond catching the sunlight and spilling prisms over their path.

Seth swallowed hard, forcing a teasing laugh, “Are you sure you’re Irish and not Italian?”

Gabby came to a complete stop and whipped around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  She spat as he noticed the crazy mass of red curls stuck to her forehead. God it was hot.  Seth watched her eyes flash with hurt and squeezed her hand against his own to reassure her.

“Hey…” he said, starting to walk again while dragging her along, “Heyyyy…” He repeated in a softer voice as he stopped to look at her, “…I just meant that you talk with your hands a lot.” Making his own hand shoot and stab the air like hers did.

“Oh…” she said as Seth watched the emotions fight with one another on her face until even her freckles didn’t know what to do with themselves.  “I think it’s cute…” he added, tweaking her nose with his fingertip hoping it would make her smile.

“Oh…” she said again, offering him a sideways grin.

He was tempted to just come clean and tell her how he felt about her, to divulge how since that Saturday morning there was little else he’d thought of than her but he didn’t want to chance having her run away for a month again. Her hand in his was enough of a declaration for now as long as she let it rest there.

For a moment, he let himself think about Justine and the diamond he’d slid on her finger, the look of joy on her face when she’d accepted his proposal, and then he reminded himself that sometimes love just wasn’t enough; power, money, family, expectations always got in the way. Gabby was a part of that world now and if he allowed himself to fall  for her he was going to face the same empty future Justine had given him when he stood alone at the altar that Saturday afternoon.

Gabby’s voice forced him back from the memory, she’d  pushed her shoulder into his own with the universal act of trying to relieve awkwardness,  “How about I get us a cab? We can go to my place and freshen up before we go and get that drink?”

Seth took in her mischievous smile, her green eyes searching his and before he could stop himself, his thumb was resting against her cheekbone then trailing down to the corner of her mouth.

He closed his eyes when he heard her intake of breath and felt her lean in, she tasted like sweat and strawberries; salty and sweet mixed in his mouth as he moved his fingers to press against the small of her back.

She wasn’t his, Gabby Waters was just another person Steven Taylor and his family could easily take away from him, but right now as she returned every kiss and spun his head, he didn’t care.



Thanks for coming over to read, hope you’re having a great weekend.

Tendered Offers {Write on Edge/Studio30Plus/Trifecta}



Shelby kicked at the hay blocking her path with the tip of her cowboy boot. Maggie and Cheyenne droned on beside her as they made their way along the midway, gossiping and sucking cotton candy from their fingertips, but she barely paid attention to them.

Her mind was already a million miles away from the Tioga County Fair and the undeniable odor of animal shit that mixed with the sticky- sweet- stench-of- fried-everything, permeating the air.

She was so lost in the reverie of a life beyond this field that was doubling as a fairground that she almost walked right past him.

What made her turn around was the tickle of Gunnar’s stare as it snuck up her tanned legs and stopped at the frayed hem of her denim skirt.  His hair needed a trim, it had that last week of summer shagginess to it and one platinum strand obscured his left eye.

“Hey Shelb…” he said as he broke away and walked toward her.

“Hey…” she answered, taking in his form fitting Levis and the freckles splayed across his nose.

It was his turn to kick at the piles of muck, “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Can’t wait huh?”

Shelby grunted, “been waiting too long as it is Gun.”


She smiled inwardly at the boy’s universal answer to everything.

“So…” Gunnar drawled, hooking his finger through one of her belt hoops to pull her closer.

Shelby felt heat and want ripple through her midsection.

“…for old times’ sake?” he added touching his forehead to hers.

The offer was as crude as the makeshift concessions surrounding them but suddenly Shelby felt like it might be the best way to say goodbye to this life, once and for all.

She shifted and gently pressed her mouth against his, “Let’s go…” she whispered against his lips.

Gunnar stepped back and offered his hand, Shelby took it and followed him past the open gates just as the fireworks were about to start.


writing prompt

Write on Edge gave us this quote to work with this week:

Katherine Hepburn quote


Trifecta asked us to use the 3rd definition of CRUDE:

3: marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity

3: marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity – See more at:


3: marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity – See more at:


and Studio30Plus wanted us to explore

Fireworks & Fairgrounds.


Thank you for taking the time to come over and read!



The Blues {Studio30Plus}

The blues.

Sometimes the color took on a life of its own. From the deep azure of the sky, to the sparkling aquamarine of the water rippling in the bay, back to the robin’s egg hue of the ill-fitting uniform of the palace guard in the distance, it wrapped itself around you until you felt immersed in it.

Legs crossed, her cerulean skirt pulled up to a barely appropriate place on her thigh, she let her navy heel sway from her bare foot, actively ignoring the throngs of men who sauntered past and jabbered on about the impending storms. It seemed that everyone these days wanted to put their faith in charlatans that predicted drenching rains and howling winds.

Today shimmered like a sapphire contradiction to each of them.

And whether it was the intense heat or just the slow burn of her memories on this bench something pushed her thoughts to turn, as they often did on a day like this, to him. The sweet pulsing started at her ribcage and spread down under her skirt as she recalled similar summer days spent in turquoise water and threadbare denim.

Unconsciously, she arched toward the kaleidoscope of feelings that spun her in a sea of every tint and shade of blue, closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

Euphoric recollection” was the term they’d used when he’d left and she broke. “You are forever changed,” they’d advised, “but if all you remember are the good times…”

“Hardly…” she’d admitted to no one but herself yet that was the irony of the blues; while some shades tossed you into the stratosphere of extreme happiness others dragged you through the bowels of hell.

Blue tended to hurt and heal in equal amounts.

As if confirming the complicated semantics she opened her eyes to find the cloudless span above her had morphed into an unmistakable indigo.

A shade heavy with foreboding.

The sky had changed, suddenly and completely, just as she had.

Maybe those showers were  coming after all.



This piece started last week as a piece for Friday Fictioneers about the color blue and turned into something that I  wanted to use for the Studio30Plus’s prompt of SHOWER instead.

Noticed {Trifextra}

His memories were of pinafores and  gapped-toothed grins.

Later; a prom dress with a metal mouth.

But as red satin brushed her knees, her smile finally caught his attention…

… and his breath.


Trifecta this weekend
(hope all of you are having fun on the beaches of Florida !!!)

is to take the message of “Third time’s the charm” and use it for our 33 words.


It’s been an amazing week, wishing you all a WONDERFUL WEEKEND.

Thank you for coming over to read!

A Copper Sphere in a Bright Blue Sky : {Write at the Merge/Ligo Haibun Challenge}


It held itself in the sky, a red copper sphere that kissed shoulders and tickled the tips of noses, bringing them to a raging blush. Eyes that ventured skyward blinked and teared when they met its acquaintance but still the masses reveled in its unrelenting warmth; eager and greedy for its attention.

A tow-headed little boy bounced unsteadily and gripped the hand he was holding, keeping his gaze trained on the stopping-starting-shuffle of the sneaker clad people in front of him. His mama’s fingers entwined with his own, leaving both sets sticky and sweaty while her other hand rustled through his blonde curls,  her voice chirping a serenade of ‘sweet pea” and “move ahead pumpkin” as they inched closer to the too- hot-to touch gate.

The boy watched the cylinders rise and fall, carrying and depositing relentlessly, heard the joyful screams and exuberant squeals rise into the endless blue canvas that held the flaming sphere where they popped against the atmosphere.

He felt his tiny barely-five-year-old heart pound with elation.

The gate opened and he settled himself into the bowels of the metal machine, straining to allow his fingers to trace the red, orange and yellow flames decorating the body of his ride.

He’d waited long enough, it was time to fly.

beneath the sunshine

childhoods bloom, its warmth teaching

us to reach beyond.


First WRITE AT THE MERGE this week inspired us with the picture above


 I’m trying something new this week.

Ye Pirate of Ligo Haibun Challenge encouraged me to be part of the latest challenge.

  • The haiku/collection of haiku related to the text to close. The haiku should be as authentic as possible, with no syllable count, no capitals or full stop, all ideally making 220 word max.
  • The themes this week were SUN and/or  SUMMER CAMP MEMORIES


 I am not sure how well I did, but I will continue to participate until “practice makes perfect“.
thanks for the invite my Pirate friend.


Guest Pass: {Trifecta/Studio 30 Plus}



The ice melted in Daphne’s glass as her eyes scanned the crowd. Without tasting the libation she lifted it  to her lips and tried to not to lock gazes with anyone in particular. Standing among them draped in blue satin she mused, these are my people and yet they are not. Some knew her secret, others could only guess at the mystery behind her violet eyes, but whenever she walked into a room she felt the heavy bristle of tiny hairs lifting on every forearm as the air shifted to welcome her.

Mistress, she often heard whispered.

It had started so innocently, a friendly handshake, a shared joke nestled inside a confession of attraction that had taken her by surprise. Yet, with every romantic declaration, given to her in small amounts as if he were spoon-feeding her, Daphne cast her doubt and shame aside, choosing to sit in the small spotlight he would shine from time to time. It made her feel as if she had finally been given access to a private club, one that promised inclusion regardless of her past or marital status.

Coincidentally she’d never questioned falling in love with him, if only because she’d heard his voice proclaim it first. And when he’d finally touched her, pushing the stray tendrils away from her face and cupping her cheek before his mouth zeroed in on hers, it felt like a light turning on inside her, as if he’d walked into a dark room and illuminated it with passion and care.

Even as her head screamed, he shouldn’t be trusted; she had, with her whole being.

Which  is what made it worse when without a hint of remorse he merely flicked the switch again and bathed her in darkness; rejecting her, reminding her that the membership to the inner circle of his heart  had been revoked.

Daphne sipped at the water-downed vodka and watched the bustle of activity around him, wondering, not for the first time, who was being offered a guest pass now.


Trifecta this week: the word is CLUB: 

3a : an association of persons for some common object usually jointly supported and meeting periodically; also : a group identified by some common characteristic <nations in the nuclear club>  



and for STUDIO 30Plus I wrote for the PROMPT: