Wednesday, 24 January 2018

12 Short Story Challenge 2018! Number one . . .

by Maeve Kousiakis

Prompt: The Bridge.
Word count: 1200

The damn duct tape had gotten stuck to itself. She let go of his arm to rescue the piece she’d pulled away from the rest of the roll, but the stupefied arm smashed it’s way back to the bed through the objects on the bedside table.

Absconded coffee from the broken mug crawled its way to the cotton waxing strips lying in a heap on the floor. The lamp, now on the floor on its side – shade separated from stand - expressed its distress with flickering protests.

Wafting suggestions from the mess had brought Chicco over from his sleep on the chair to inspect the promise of a treat. Nikki leapt, kicking the waxing strips out of the encroaching spoils’ path on her way to grabbing the poodle before it indulged in the Rohipnol laced beverage.

“This is SO not going to plan. Trust me, you don’t want that, pooch.” Nikki said to the dog.

She pushed the fluffy scavenger out the bedroom and pulled the door closed. Retying her robe, she looked back at the scene. Adam was out for counts.

His arm hung over the edge of the bed overlooking a puddle of wasted coffee happily soaking up a pair of socks, most of the bedside mat and two scatter cushions that were in its path while the lamp had given up it’s distress signals and died, leaving the room in semi dark, coffee drenched quiet.

Chicco, intent on getting to the prohibited coffee, scrambled at the door, hoping it wasn’t latched properly.

The waxing strips managed a narrow escape, and were still dry and piled in a heap on the wooden floor. The tub of Mandy’s Microwaveable Water Soluble Hair Removing Wax had survived the arm attack and sat on the bedside table, warm and ready for application.

She’d pulled off the bed covers and stripped Adam naked as soon as he’d passed into the dumb haze induced by the drugged coffee. She smiled.

“Chicco! Stop it!” she turned and hissed at the door.

Nikki switched on the lights in the bedroom and fumbled around for the duct tape roll. Adam moaned in his numbed state.

“Oh no you don’t, I’m not done yet.” She replied as she returned to restraining her rotten excuse for a husband while he was still senseless.

“How many Adam? Did you do them in our bed? Hmmm? Tell me, darling, I need to know these things. I need all the sordid details.” She crooned to him sarcastically while she started anchoring the second arm.

His feet didn’t reach the posts of the four-poster. She had to fold the duct tape over on itself to make a “rope” and secure that to the bedpost, and then the foot to the secured rope.

“So, tell me angel-pie, what was that you said about “building a bridge?” I was so upset when you thought my reaction was over sensitive. You said I should get over it, and that it was a once off fling, in the heat of a drunken induced lack of judgment.” So sweet and serene, she sounded.

“I thought there might be something wrong with me. The first time nearly broke me, but you were right. Everyone deserves another chance. I really should be more understanding of boys night shenanigans.” Her tone suddenly changed from sarcastic innocence to icy anger.

“But then I came back to my senses.” She said through clenched teeth. “I’m in the process, though, of building that bridge. Like you said.”

Adam’s eyes were open now. He focused on her face, and then looked around.

“Wha . . . what are doing?” he groaned, trying to roll over.

“What- what the hell? Is that duct tape?” incredulous, her re-focused on her face as she settled next to him on the bed.

“Yes. Yes it is. Do you like it? One can literally do anything with a role of duct tape.” She cooed.

“What the fuck Nikki? Seriously, what the hell is going on? Why am I tied to the bed?” he said.

“My bridge, Adam, darling.” She replied. “You know, to get over the horror of the fact that you stuck your dick into someone else. Again. That jersey on your chest is . . . his-tor-y. Don’t worry, it will just hurt a little bit.” She grinned.

Nikki reached over to the bedside table for the wax. Dipping the spatula into the tub, she pulled out a globule. It sat around the edge of the spatula as she fumbled to put the tub back, then, catching up with gravity, the glob morphed its way down where her fingers held the handle.

“Holy crap that’s hot!” She dropped the globuled spatula into Adam’s groin. Right where the hair is thickest between the scrotum and the leg.

“AAAAAh!” Adam screamed. “It’s hot! It’s hot! Goddam it!” He writhed around, trying to move from under the hot wax.

“Shit. Shit. Shitshithshitshit. . . .” Nikki was knocked off the bed in the turmoil as she tried to put the tub of wax on the bed stand. The tub missed the edge of the bed stand and landed on the floor. It sat, upturned, on an island of wax while the coffee welcomed it to the chaos on the floor.

Nikki scrambled for the spatula, and not realising the hair had already been engulfed by seeping wax, she ripped it up. The hairy globule separated from Adam’s groin with a sticky ripping sound. Adam’s brain registered that part of his groin had just been separated from his body and announced its removal with a monstrous yell.

Nikki saw that the wax had fused skin and hair, and that a large amount of both were attached to the spatula and in her hand. Bloody spots began emerging from the ripped, skinless area on her husband’s tender bits.

“Well, will you look at that?” She said with satisfaction. “It’s not going that badly after all.”

She then caught sight of Chicco, and realised why the scratching on the door had stopped. He had conquered the door and was trying desperately to back away and remove his tongue from the heap of cooling wax underneath the upturned tub in the middle of the coffee bath on the floor.

Nikki dashed to the bathroom for water to dissolve the wax and free Chicco’s tongue, while Adam whimpered his profuse apologies and begged her to untie him.

“Nikki! Please! I’ll do anything, just untie me.” Begged Adam.

She stuck her head up from kneeling on the floor to look at him and paused.

“Well, that thing ain’t doing much for a while,” she smirked at his groin.

“Next time, it might not be wax, dear. And I might not be so nice.” She said as she stood up with Chicco under her arm, ruffling the poodle’s hair and kissing him on the nose.

She fumbled in the bedside table's drawer for the emergency-only-back-up-plan. Grasping the knife, she sliced through the left foot anchor, and dropped the knife next to the free foot. Adam squirmed.

As she left the room, amid protesting pleas from Adam, she shouted from the passage, “Good luck sweetie! Oh, and Lorena Bobbit sends regards.”

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