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It’s been a long fucking Monday. She got to work at 8am and it’s now 7. All because the reels needed changing before tomorrow. She checked her phone out of habit. She knew he wouldn’t text. Mostly because after the last time they were together things went too far and she blocked him, but it is still a habit. The blood blisters on the back of her legs finally just went away after 2 months but those weren’t even the issue. Nor was the ligature scar on her wrist when she tried to break loose when the fake pity, goading, and edging finally pushed her to her limit.
“Awe can’t the kitten take it anymore?” He would tease. Sneering through her and making her feel invisible and used.
But now was now. It is what it is. The past is the past. Whatever adage she used still couldn’t lighten the shadow of the night in question. The night that ended the good thing, the best thing.
She walked out the front doors and heard a lawnmower.
“Jesus Christ hasn’t this guy been found with milk carton kids yet?” She said under her breath as the groundskeeper rode by on his green tractor undressing her with his eyes.
“We’ll now I gotta shower” she wondered and headed toward her car.
She was about 10 feet away when she saw the envelope under her windshield wiper. It was probably origami. Fuck it’s all the time origami. She approached the envelope and caught a smell in the air.
“That smells like the lotion I used in Denve…”.she trailed off.
It couldn’t be. There is now way he came all this way. He knew what would happen.
She held the envelope in her hands. It felt hot from being in the sun. It felt empty almost flaccid, like the contents took after the sender and would swell to 3 times it’s size with only her glance but without it lay limp and unthreatening.
She slid her nail under the copper tab holding the manila envelope closed and pryed it open.
She took a deep breath and sat in her thoughts for a minute.
“What does he want?”
“”Will I ever be safe”
“Why does all of this feel like one of his games”
A few years ago not long after tthey met they began introducing a BDSM adjacent element to their relationship. He could spin scenarios with just his voice that would drive her crazy. He didn’t even really know where they came from. They just fell out of his mouth like popcorn.
Fun fact: popcorn is the 7th most common choked on food.
And the choking didn’t stop when it or she rather came to his words.
She peered inside the envelope. Carefully, over the edge like he was lying in wait down in the corner and would jump out at any moment and she’d discover herself
back in that retchid basement. The cold water from the hose leaving her shivering and lying exposed on the floor. The feel of the water logged collar, the leather swollen around her neck like it was trying to get its piece of the “kitten” as he called her. But no kittens ever got treated like this.
She reached her hand in. It seemed empty. As she slid further she felt a card of some sort. She bypassed it to check around and see if there was something else. Finding nothing she pulled out an index card and seeing the blank side she flipped it over. Her heart started beating faster and she felt the cold sweat bloom along her lithe torso and back. On the card there were only 3 words. The three words that have been said many times, each time with no context, each time causing her to be nervous as to what would transpire. The 3 words that used to electrify her now caused a palatable fear and there they were written right there in black sharpie, they read “Pick A Number”

NSFW: yes

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