Finding That Something

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Rated: M for sexual content and language

Copyright © 2014 by Phylicia Gay Williams. All rights reserved of plot and characters. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the me, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator," in my inbox. 

Tilly 

Have you ever had a dream where you woke up wanting to slap the shit of your husband, boyfriend or significant other?  

Well, I was living it, wanting to pinch myself just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. 

I had been going about my usual day, dealing with pricks and plain ol’ idiots at the office. I’d decided to give myself a well deserved lunch break at home only a ten minute car ride away with a quick viewing of a prerecord episode of Raising Hope when I walked into my husband, Nicholas Glasman, banging my hairdresser, Macy Loster, across our kitchen table. 

They froze the second I walked in with hopeful expressions, as if the UPS man had a key, quickly growing horrified.

We stayed like that for a painfully long time, just looking at each other as if none of us knew what to do.

Finally, Nicholas spoke, still on top of the bitch, “Tilly?”  

I looked at him, seeing a stranger I used to know so well. I almost felt like apologizing for intruding, wanting to check the door to make sure I got the number right. This couldn’t be my apartment—our apartment. This couldn’t be my husband of four years. This couldn’t be my life. 

 It was. Lucky, lucky me. 

 I looked at Nick, then Macy, then back to Nick, before I said, “Continue.” 

 Slamming the door behind me, I walked down the stairs as if it were any regular day as I waved to the old couple two doors over. 

 Nick came rushing after me, zipping up a pair of worn jeans—an expensive pair of jeans I had bought him that made his ass look amazing—his tan chest gleamed in the sunlight. He was sweaty and flustered from earlier exertions. How was I not more upset? Why wasn’t I screaming? Why wasn’t I hitting him? Why could I not stop thinking about how hungry I was? Shock. That had to be it. 

 “Tilly Willy, please stop!”

I didn’t realize how much I hated the nickname he’d donned on me years ago until just then. I kept going.

He trailed behind me, walking past people whose eyes were bugging out after viewing his state of dress.

I refused to turn around, temporally deaf as he called after me. 

When I reached my office building, I froze. I couldn’t go in. Not unless I was willing to start a scene, which I just knew would be water cooler gossip for weeks. I whirled around, side stepping Nick and crossing the street. 

 “Would you please stop?!”

 I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I had to keep moving. I broke into a sprint, kicking my heels off and channeling my inner Olympian who usually was on the couch eating chips as I pushed my legs to do things they didn’t like to. I heard Nick huffing behind me. He was a smoker. I would outrun him. It sucked that I couldn’t outrun life.

Finally, after five blocks, he gave up. I spared a glance behind myself to see him hunching against a poll as he labored to catch his breath. “You have to talk to me sometime, Matilda,” was the last thing I heard him call to me before I turned the corner and kept running until I couldn’t move anymore.   

This is my first oringal story I've ever posted. I don't have many chapters writen, but I wanted to see what people would think, so I decided to share. 

Thanks for reading,

Phee.