Category Archives: WOE

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.

Whore.

Mistress.

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

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

Homewrecker.

Slut.

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.”

 

 WRITE ON EDGE

(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.

HAPPY WEEK/HAPPY WRITING

 

 

 

Sweet Squabble {Write On Edge, Trifecta, Studio 30+}

A black cloud of misunderstanding had descended over them while Darcy’s mother followed her from room to room; silently crashing into the exasperated sighs she kept throwing over her shoulder.

Time to change tactics she mused.

“Mom!” she stopped abruptly and spun around, “Stop being so… so… sooooo pedantic about this!”

Darcy savored the satisfied smirk on her mother’s lips, confirming the way to her mother’s heart was to flaunt the extensive vocabulary her private school education was providing.

“Young lady” her mother fired back, “I hardly think I’m making too much of this.”

“But ….” Darcy countered.

Her mother sighed and began twisting the gold band on her ring finger, “Darcy, my answer is no.”

“Well it’s unfair and you know It.” she pouted.

“I want you to be safe, as unimaginative as that sounds.”

There it was; that look on her mother’s face again. An angry wave of emotions roiled over one another fighting for space in Darcy’s chest, “I HATE YOU!” she screamed at the smirk.

In the face of this latest admission the thunderhead that had been sitting silently above them finally opened drenching the pair with an outpouring that had been festering for far too long.  And although they could barely look at each other when the lingual flood was over it was her mother who reached out first to embrace her. “Darcy Jane.” she heard in the voice of the only person she truly trusted.

“Mom?” she answered, trying to talk around the lump in her throat.

 “Can you smell that? That is our very own petrichor.”  

Darcy chuckled at her mother’s ability to work a word that no one ever uses into daily conversation.

“Oh. Is that what this was?”

Her mother cupped her face, “Yes, sometimes the storm is what brings the sweetness.”

Darcy searched her mother’s face expectantly, “Does that mean…?”

“Maybe… “Her mother offered kissing her temple.

Write on Edge prompted us with this sweet word:

petrichor

noun: a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather

 

TRIFECTA’s weekly word is :

PEDANTIC (adjective)

: unimaginativepedestrian

 

and Studio 30+ Prompted us with the word

REDEMPTION

I see a little of this one both sides of this squabble don’t you?

HAPPY WEEK/HAPPY WRITING

She’s So Good with Her Stilettos {WOE/Trifecta}

image courtesy of Dean McCoy Photography

Image courtesy of Dean McCoy Photography

 

The vision haunts me.

Her heels clicking against the pavement as she strode away, my heart pounding like the heavy bass line of a club song as I let my eyes wander up past her stocking clad legs, the skirt enveloping her hips leaving nothing to my imagination.

“I’m sorry” she tosses over her shoulder, the words arrow sharp and on a collision course with my chest.

Watching her walk away, I promise myself I’ll forget her.

Now, she’s all I think about.

My jet city woman, my life’s what if, the hot stove I couldn’t resisting touching.

 

Kissing other lips, whispering other names, my vain attempt to eradicate her, I fight every feeling that seeks to infect my thoughts.

 

I hate her.

Wait.

No.

I love her.

That simple and that fucking complicated.

 

I hear my own voice, fighting the clacking of her shoes,
“Baby come back…”

Her stride never hesitates, “What for?”

And like a stiletto to the heart cuts, I bleed and she walks.

For Write on Edge, Write at the Merge

this week, the picture above and the Video for “Sexy Back” by the extremely sexy Justin Timberlake.

Trifecta’s word of the week:
INFECT

3a : contaminate, corrupt <the inflated writing that infects such stories>  
b : to work upon or seize upon so as to induce sympathy, belief, or support <trying to infect their salespeople with their enthusiasm>

A Little Hand-Holding {Write at the Merge & Scriptic}

Janey pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, chiding herself for not bringing a coat, as if she made a regular habit of wearing them.

Her groceries were loaded in the trunk of her car and one look at the sky and its clouds, bloated and heavy with moisture, told her that the snow they were predicting was only moments away. Her teeth chattered but she didn’t move, instead she stood still waiting for the Adonis to finish his own unloading. He kept looking back at her, catching her eyes and smiling.

She wondered if he was worried if she’d reconsidered, but all that danced in and out of her mind watching the back of him was “I’m not going anywhere, handsome.”

Janey knew that she should be climbing into her SUV, getting ahead of the storm, but she couldn’t move. She’s already had time to reconsider  in the checkout line and now as she stood here shivering in the parking lot she knew that her choice had been in the bread aisle, or rather the choice to forgo retreating had been.

Two quick texts had her assured her children would be picked up and deposited at home while one hurried and purposely vague call to her husband made it clear that he didn’t have an issue with her doing a little more shopping.

She couldn’t stop the grin that slowly crept up into her cheeks as the Adonis walked toward her. He reciprocated with his own toothy display adding “I already love your smile”. Janey blushed and tried not to let him hear her teeth banging against each other.

“You’re cold” he continued, not a question as he moved closer to her just as the clouds surrendered and the first snowflakes floated down on them.  “We better get going.” he added hopefully wiping a droplet of moisture from the tip of her nose.

“How do you feel about Applebee’s?” he gestured to the other end of the parking lot and Janey nodded. “We can walk.”

Starting toward the restaurant they kept a small distance between them, Janey’s hands still tucked inside her sleeves and his stuffed in the pockets of his puffy jacket. The snow was falling now and sticking to cars, coating windshields and Janey realized that she hadn’t uttered a thing since the bread aisle, all of her feelings and emotions felt like a word jumble in the crossword section of the paper, but her face hurt from smiling.

She also realized that she didn’t even know this man’s name yet.

How could she have forgotten how good this felt?

She was lost in that thought, debating a million quirky, flirty things to say when her foot slipped and she yelped as her boot came into contact with a cold slushy puddle. The man’s arms were around her within seconds and as he righted her she saw his dimples deepen and his eyes dance with mischief.

“Hey beautiful, I think I better hold your hand the rest of the way” and he laced his fingers with hers as the snow kept falling.

BlogSnow

this is a continuation of this story

Write on Edge: Write at the Merge

writing prompt

A fat, wet snow fell here this weekend, and while I knew we’re already turning our faces towards spring, I want you to draw your inspiration from a snow fall and a secret revealed.

For the Scriptic.org prompt exchange this week, Michael at Http://michaelwebb.us gave me this prompt:

How could I forget?

I gave kgwaite at http://writinginthemarginsburstingattheseams.blogspot.com/ this prompt:

 “Some men are just harder to get rid of…”

Everything She Wants is Everything She Gets {Master Class, WOE, Trifecta, Scriptic}

Sydney slipped in, closing the door behind her.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Dr Sanko deadpanned, glancing at the clock above her head. “You’re 15 minutes late.”

Sydney smirked and raised her middle finger in greeting. Removing her shoes, she climbed into the club chair she preferred and tucked her bare feet under her. Sinking into the plush velvet, she ignored Sanko and studied her cuticles. Choosing one to gnaw on, she went to work, careful not to mess her gel manicure.

“So Syd…” her therapist said, her file open on his lap, pen poised for her secrets.

Sydney shot him a look of disgust.

“Sydney…” he started again, “how are you today?”

A pause, “Fine…” she said to her fingertips. Fine, she chuckled to herself, the universal answer of “I am not at all fine.”

“Well. Good.” He conceded, leading her, “then what would you like to talk about today?”

Keeping her eyes from meeting his she kept chewing. How about people who lie? How about friends who treat me like I’m crazy or as fragile as china? How about the bullshit of being told I’m the only one to blame?

She lifted her eyes, “I want more pills.” She could already feel them in her palm, cool and loose sliding down her throat, one by one, chased by clear vodka; erasing the memories until she was one too.

Dr. Sanko sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose, “Sydney, we talked about this, until we exhaust every other avenue, I’m not prescribing …”

“You can just up the doses …”

“No.” he said firmly, causing a book on the shelves to shift and drop like a fallen soldier.

She pouted, went back to chewing.

“Are you sleeping?” he asked with fake concern.

“Mmmhmm” she nodded. That she was doing. Sleeping, crying, thinking and more sleeping. In fact it would wonderful to just go to sleep and never…

She looked up, ready to negotiate a truce.

Maybe.

“I can’t listen to my iPod anymore, it’s like music is completely ruined for me.” She offered.

Dr. Sanko smiled and she knew he felt like a safe cracker who, partly by luck, had sussed out the first digit in a lengthy arduous combination. Giving him what he wanted felt powerful and it had been too goddamn long since she’d felt that.

“So would you like to talk about that?” he asked, his voice full of hopeful desperation.

Sydney dropped her head and willed her eyes to fill, (one good thought of the one who lied should do it). Lifting her face to her therapist, she knew that her baby blues were swimming in homemade tears.

“Ok…” she sniffled. (careful with the mascara, Syd.)

Dr. Sanko wanted her story.

She wanted more pills. (More like an oblivion)

So she started talking, spilling it all for the good Doctor, weaving the most delicious story, quite sure of whom was leading for once.

writing prompt

From the moment I read the prompt over at WRITE ON EDGE this week, my mind was spinning with it.
I loved diving into the quote, one I had never heard before, but one that has sat at the edge of my consciousness for days now. I hope that I brought some of it to “LIFE” with this.

It stands to reason that where there’s sacrifice, there’s someone collecting sacrificial offerings. Where there’s service, there’s someone being served. The man who speaks to you of sacrifice, speaks of slaves and masters. And intends to be the master.
—Ayn Rand

  For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Sara gave me this prompt: Look what the cat dragged in..

I gave Corinne this prompt: “Hey, don’t I know you?”

I missed my assignment last week (SORRY!!) but since I was writing this and it fit, I am using the line from

The Magicians here. (Better late than…??? *wink*)

He felt like a safe cracker who – partly by luck – had sussed out the first digit in a lengthy, arduous combination.

and Trifecta...oh Trifecta

Word of the week:
EXHAUST:

3a : to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely  
b : to try out the whole number of <exhausted all the possibilities>

(I never win or even get an honorable mention, maybe I should start bribing with cupcakes??)

I obliterated your word count..but I loved using the word here. Hoping the Trifectans that came over, enjoy it anyway.

HAPPY WEEK, HAPPY WRITING

Wanton Web

 

He watched her leave, heard her close the door and snap the lock.

Twenty minutes later, he picked up his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, slipped on his boxer shorts while checking his own phone. There were messages from clients, building approvals to be signed and budget meetings to attend, but the only thing he wanted wasn’t there.

A text from her.

He knew she’d get around to it later, probably send him a message full of apologies and wanting, she might even revert to the shame and guilt she sometimes felt after their afternoons, but he knew she’d be back and that was really all he cared about.

See, there were all kinds of women.

Some women you married, some you lusted after and some you loved. If you were lucky in this lifetime you found one that overlapped all three places for you so you made quick work of putting a ring on her finger, not that it meant much.

Then there were women like Liv. Women that made your eyes hurt and your heart ache for just one touch from her, women that consumed your every thought. Women that said no to your numerous proposals and walked out of your clandestine rendezvous, yet still made you believe that the words that tumbled out of their mouths while you were messing up the sheets were that of a woman that loved you.

She’d said the words, more than once. She’d admitted her feelings with tears in her eyes and lust in her voice and that was good enough for him. He’d stay and wait, he’d put off his off family, his own obligations for her any day and for any reason.

Being with Olivia had been a practice in patience from the very beginning. He’d watched and waited for just a small sign of interest as he measured the kitchen countertops and laid out estimates in front of her and her husband. The one day he risked fate and his own reputation by sending her his cell number, it had only taken a mere three hours for her to return his text with her own. Within days he was professing love and barely believing how much softer and real she’d felt in his hands.

It had been like this, these secret meetings, amazing weekends and tearful partings, for fifteen months now. He knew that their connection to one another was a thread as delicate and fragile as gossamer, one wrong move on his part, one swipe of his hand in the form of an ultimatum and their web would unravel and disintegrate, so he let her go.

He watched her walk away and close the door again.

Cause he knew she’d be back.

writing prompt

 I am late with Write at the Merge this week (last week).

By Wednesday evening my whole family was sick with the flu and then the whole weekend was just Drinking Tamiflu and sleeping off the aches, pains and fevers.

But I had this story swirling around my brain since I saw the word “gossamer” and I wanted to write it.

Olivia’s story can be found here and here.

Instrumental: {Haiku Friday & Friday Fictioneers}

Haiku Friday

 

You are sweet music

to me. A symphony of love.

The chords that sway me.

 My Haiku  for Haiku Friday with Lou of LouCeel is early this week.

(or maybe just the first of two!)

Copyright-Roger Cohen

Mr Butterfield watched.

There was little else to do, waiting on the makeshift stage in the living room of the renowned poet, Mr. Thomas Wolfsan.

Butterfield strummed the strings of his bass taking in the activity of the guests.

Mrs. Wolfsan, named Louisa, was softly stroking the hand of Mrs. Beasley. He had heard rumors of her, ah, proclivities, but now he was certain where her affinities lay.

So he shifted his gaze to the man himself, holding a close, private audience with Mrs. Renata Collins.

He took in their spark; the way you do, as a match catches flame.

 

 I am just learning the rules of Friday Fictioneers, I think I used the wrong picture (but don’t fret, I’ll just write again)

this is a story I started for Trifecta and thought would work well with this picture.

If you need some backstory you can get it here, here and here.

friday-fictioneers

HAPPY WRITING!

Partiality to Pet Names

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Haiku Friday

 

The name you bestow

When you murmur, will always

Be my favorite.

 

 

Write on Edge

 

 

 

 Write on Edge Red writing hood prompt

The Chatoyant link-up

Image courtesy of etsy.com

According to Dr. Beard, two of the most beautiful words in the English language are chatoyant (like a cat’s eye) and ailurophile (a cat lover). T.S. Eliot, in his wonderful Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, used another of Dr. Beard’s favorite words, ineffable, to describe the secret name of a cat.

Don’t forget to read your colleague’s entries. Our community is enriched by participation and support!

 

I took the part about nickmames and the “name that only the cat knows” and this is what came out.

I love all the nickmame, the monikers that mean so much more beause of who bestowed them,  that I have been given by the people who love me.

Taking part with “My Lou” of LouCeel for his Haiku Friday too.

 

 

Write on Edge: Desire on Display

Renata watched the champagne drip down Thomas’s beard and into his cravat, the sweet wine instantly staining the cornflower silk.

“That’s rich!” she hissed as Thomas dabbed at the damage, “you have no trust in me?  I am the woman who has remained your faithful servant and mistress for more than two years, never once treading on the reputation you guard like a priceless mural in a gallery.   Yet, you still find it in your heart to make accusations and assumptions about my loyalty?”

It was Thomas’s turn to blanch even while his cheeks reddened with contempt beneath the stubble, “You bewilder me my dear, for I know your mind is as fair as your countenance…”

Renata dipped her head, “You flatter me, sir, for you know the suave words and diction that can bring me to your side. As always, you delight in the simple knowledge that Iwill succumb even when your launguage is coarse and your nature condescendng. ”

He grabbed her above the elbow, pulling her close where Renata leaned in, inhaling the familiar scent of sweet tobacco, but the words he affronted her with were less than charming. “You silly, selfish girl.” shaking his head at her as one would a disobedient child, “It is simply beneath you to talk to me in this way. I have told you what is expected, I have made every effort to be fair in my attempt to dissolve this affair and for this I am punished?”

“Punished?” Renata repeated. “You still believe yourself a victim in all this?”

Thomas let go of her arm and took a step back, “I do. Our attachment has reached beyond the mutual attraction which brought us together; voices are reaching me and threatening my very name.”

She fired back, “if we are going to give those rumors any credence, then you cannot feign ignorance of the many words said about the woman you call wife and the allegations for which you seem to have an endless source of forgiveness for.”

Renata felt the bile and tears rise in her throat, “we have professed love for one another Thomas. This is something you believe is easily retracted, as if you can just repeal your feelings with the expectation of understanding and sensibility?  Love, my darling, is anything but sensible.”

“I cannot love you in a world looming with a menacing demeanor.”

“Ah my love, I know you intimately but never once did I take you for a coward. A man of secrets, to be sure, but never one with  such a weakness of character.”

Thomas’s face ignited in fury, “What of my family? What of my children or your own?”

Renata regarded him with temperance, “What of them?”

“Have you no regard or compassion for any of them? You would choose this…”

Renata took his hand and looked into the eyes of the man she loved, “I do not know, Thomas, what I would choose, because you have never given me the opportunity to do so.”

 

For the WRITE ON EDGE Prompt of the week, we were shown this picture and asked to write what came to mind about it.

Jackson Pollock Gallery

I felt that some people treat themselves and their feelings like a museum.

This Story started as a Trifecta challenge, HOLLOW MAN and then continued with another challenge, Retaliation (which is the scene which takes place right before this one).

This is the 3rd piece.

 

(thank you for coming over to read it!)  

WOE: Gathering Buttercups:Baby Talk

 

 

“I threw them away” Charlotte said, nibbling at a piece of crust from the lemon meringue pie Katie had baked at her request.

Kate talked over the whirling Kitchen Aid Mixer, “Threw what away?”

“My birth control pills.” She answered as nonchalantly as if she’d been telling her best friend about the weather. “Hey can I have another piece of this pie? It’s delicious!”

Kate turned off the mixer and grabbed the server.

“CHAR!!!” Kate laughed as she cut another triangle, “Why in the world would you throw your pills away…?”

Charlotte just grinned at Kate.

“…Unless you and Nick are…”

Charlotte kept eating, “Yep.” She offered in between chews.

“CHARLOTTE MARIE VAUGHN are you telling me you’re trying to have a baby?” Kate squealed, her eyes dancing with delight.

“Mayyyyybe…”

Kate sat down on the stool at the kitchen island next to her friend, picking at the flaky crust on Charlotte’s plate. She hated meringue, but the crust was pure buttery goodness.

Thoughtfully she put it in her mouth and looked at Charlotte through teary eyes.

“Do you remember the year we met?”

“I do, even though it was doused in vodka.” She teased.

“Well you know what I remember about that year?” Kate said. “I remember you telling me that you never ever ever  wanted to have a baby. I think your exact words were ‘not in this lifetime’ and ‘I’ll be an excellent aunt to your kids. ‘ “

Charlotte sighed, “I know but…”

“and then there were all those years you were married….” Kate went on but Charlotte started talking over her.

“…Oh, you think it would have been a good idea for me to have babies with Todd?”

Kate stopped dead. “No, I wouldn’t have let you raise llamas with that asshat.”

“Exactly…”

“So, now? Something’s changed?” Kate asked as she spun the pie plate around and broke off more the crust.

“It has.” Charlotte said, her eyes dreamy as she fiddled with the red magnetic B she had swiped from the refrigerator when she walked in.  “From the moment I met Nick I knew this was different. I want to have his babies.”

Their eyes locked and it was Kate who spoke first, “Oh my god…”

Charlotte grinned, “Yeah, pretty crazy huh?”

“YEAH, but this means I get to be an aunt now too!”

“It sure does, you don’t think I’d decide to do something this nuts without your help do you?”

“Never doubted it for a moment.” Kate laughed as she reached for the plastic letter, and Charlotte grabbed her hand.

“What is this?” she asked spinning Kate’s hand to reveal a diamond that looked nothing like the one her best friend  normally wore.

Kate blushed and dropped her eyes to the cushion set stone that was dancing in the light.

“Katie?” Charlotte whispered. “Is that what I think it is?”

Her best friend nodded, “Lance asked me to marry him last night.”  

 

Write on Edge wanted us to play a game of “I SPY” using the picture below, I chose that happy RED B at the top left to lead me into the next chapter of this story.

 Want more GATHERING BUTTERCUPS? Just click the link at the top of this blog.

Thanks for visiting and reading.