By now y'all know the game for #KinkyScribble writing. Put out a call for suggested story prompts, write edit and post a short piece all in a single sitting based on whichever strikes your fancy. I usually set myself a specific word limit before hand.
Our prompt this time came from Njord. A little on the morose side, or anyway that's how I took it. It spoke to me today.
Writing/Edit Time: 1 hr 15 min
Words: 518
Tags: Dubious consent, romance, loss, ow my heart
Moving Day
She watched him pack, sitting Indian-style on the floor, languidly gripping a half-full glass of wine. It took him forever. Jim had become so meticulous lately. Ever since he’d moved out of the lovely house she’d provided him, and into his apartment.
Apartment, she thought, and sniffed bitterly. It was a literal hole in the wall.
“I don’t see why you won’t let me help with that,” Vera said at last.
He paused to look up at her, and wiped sweat from his brow. His dream house couch stuck halfway through his front door. “I can manage.”
She scowled, and hid it behind another sip of wine. It was hers of course, the couch, and for a moment she nearly demanded it back. But that was petty, and foolish. She didn’t play with dolls anymore.
Not since last time.
It had seemed such a good idea. A way to bridge the gap between them. Not that she minded his size, of course, and hadn’t she told him so almost every day? He’d been uncertain. The doll she presented him with had come from the same collection as his plastic molded living space, the doll house hinged at the center like a book, and always left open on her bedside table.
She hadn’t noticed the home was too large for him, and he hadn’t complained. It wasn’t until she placed the doll beside him, saw how it towered over him. An anatomically incorrect Amazon, beside her poor little Jim.
She had covered her pity with bravado. Made her plastic avatar flirt, and dance with him. When it had bent down before him, and demanded a kiss, he had looked up at her. Not angry. Just tired.
That night, he asked if she would close the doll house. He’d do it himself, he explained, but it was just too big. The next day, he asked her to drill the hole, down along the baseboard.
It was the last request he’d made.
“I think that’s everything.”
It was a pathetic pile of bric-a-brac. She could have held all of it, along with him, in her cupped hands. She could carry him to his destination in less time than it would take him to make it to the kitchen. Or just dump his whole life down on her bed, and tell him he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked. “Out there?”
He shrugged. “I managed before you found me.”
That was true.
She thought of that first night. How she’d warmed him with her hand as he lay on the pillow. How easy it had been to fall asleep, with the mouse-whimper of his breath in her ear. How just knowing he was in the house had soothed her, even after their mutual decision to just stay friends.
“It’s a long way to visit,” Vera managed. “But there’s no reason to be a stranger.”
She felt her heart catch as he smiled. And knew, at his size, the minutia of emotion that played across her face must be plain to see.
“Take care of yourself,” he said.
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