“Well, that was fun,” I say nonchalantly.
Mitchell gets off the bed, still clutching that pillow for dear life – I’ll need a new one now – as he walks over to me with pleading eyes. “Look, can we just talk about this? I had a weak moment, but she didn’t mean anything to me, I swear,” he says desperately.
“Do I have the word ‘stupid’ tattooed on my forehead?” I ask in a duh tone.
His expression suddenly changes to one of anger, and I’m intrigued to see where this is going. “Fine, so it wasn’t a one-time thing, but can you fucking blame me? You give me nothing, it’s like you just don’t fucking care about me anymore and the bedroom was getting boring, you don’t do anything fun. I needed a real woman who could satisfy my needs and treat me and respect me like a real man. You didn’t even give a shit!” He screams.
“You’re right, I don’t fucking care. I stopped fucking caring when you sat on your ass every day letting me go to work to support us both. You play your videos – which I bought you by the way – and screw my neighbour while I pay the bills, do the cooking AND the cleaning. What the fuck are you contributing? And sex? I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve made me come in the two years we’ve been together, so why the fuck would I bother putting in a hundred per cent effort in the bedroom to someone who is giving me fucking nothing. You’re a lazy, waste of fucking space who wants to be treated like the big man when he is giving toddler energy. I don’t need to waste my time or money on a manchild who can’t even clean up after himself. I am so happy that I can finally be done with your broke ass,” I say ecstatically as I grab him by the ear grabbing his shirt and pants off the floor as I drag him downstairs.
“Ow! Let go of my fucking ear Gabbie!” He cries.
“And for the millionth time, don’t fucking call me Gabbie!” I shout as I open the door and shove him out, tossing his pants and shirt at him, “Take these. I don’t need the cops showing up because you got arrested for public indecency. As for your wallet and phone, I will leave it in a box by the door for you to collect,” I say smugly.
“What about the rest of my fucking stuff?!” He screams.
“Well, as I see it, I bought everything you own, so technically that makes it my stuff, so… cya!” I cheer as I slam the door and lock it.
Mitchell proceeds to pound against the door and screaming obscenities at me, but I just don’t fucking care. I slump against the door and catch my breath as the adrenaline rushes through my system, and finally, when the realisation that I’ve finally gotten this freeloader out of my life and out of my loft, I break out in dance. I dance and jump around squealing with joy as 2 years of stress rolls off me. Ding dong the bitch is fucking dead!
*****
After a while Mitchell gave up pounding on my door, probably realising I wasn’t going to give his cheating ass another minute of my time. Instead of bothering with him, I’m now on glass of wine number two – red, of course – and listening to the very appropriate Women Don’t Owe You Shit by the singer Aston.
“You’re at the bottom, I’m high like matriarch. You’re hot and bothered when I don’t give a fuck. No explanation, no I don’t have to talk. I don’t like you that much, so I’m cutting you off!” I sing at the top of my lungs, taking a break to take a swig of my drink.
I continue to sing along to what I'm dubbing, The Ultimate Breakup Playlist as I throw all my bedsheets into a trash bag ready to take out with this week's garbage. Fortunately, I have other sheets, so I’ll be fine. I walk over and pick up a pair of scissors off my little desk just as my phone rings.
I reach over, grab it and answer, “Bad Bitch Resident, Queen Bitch speaking,” I say as I walk over to the little rack of clothes that I call a wardrobe.
“That doesn’t sound like someone who left work early due to a migraine,” chuckles my best friend Derrick.
“Don’t worry, my skull is still the site of an archaeological excavation, but I won’t let it bring down my mood.”
He chuckles some more, “You have gossip, I can tell. What has you in such a delightful mood?” He asks eagerly.
“I kicked Mitchell out. He is finally out of my house and out of my life,” I proudly announce, quickly turning the music down.
“WHAT?! You finally kicked out that loser whose face looks like an old man’s scrotum and didn’t call to tell me? Bitch! What the fuck?” He screams.
I chuckle, “Sorry, I’ve been excitedly clearing out all his shit. I would have called you with the good news eventually.”
“Are you okay? Like, what happened? Girl, I need that tea because I can tell it is piping hot,” he says enthusiastically.
“Well, I came home and found him and my neighbour fucking on my bed, so I doused them with ice water and kicked them out. I’m not as cut up as you’d think I’d be, but I can’t say the same about his clothes,” I say malevolently while cutting through Mitchell’s favourite shirt. Fuck him. I bought it, I can do what I want with it.
I hear silence on the other end and pre-emptively pull the phone away from my ear just in time for Derrick to start screaming through my phone. Do I know the man, or do I know the man?
“YOU WENT ICEBERG FROM THE TITANIC ON YOUR CHEATING BOYFRIEND AND DIDN’T THINK TO CALL ME?!” He screams.
What follows is some incoherent screeching, so I put the phone down as I leisurely cut up more of Mitchell’s clothes and toss them into garbage bags. I’m just about to cut up his third shirt when the vindictive fog lifts from my brain and I realise what the fuck I’m doing. Sure, demolishing his stuff is feeding my need for revenge, but it doesn’t do me or anyone else any good. These are all good items of clothing. I know because I paid for them and cleaned them. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve them, but I can think of homeless people and shelters all over the place that definitely do. I put the scissors back on my desk and separate the items I already cut up – I can use them as cleaning rags – and place everything else in bags. I’ll wash everything and then donate it to those who need it more, that way all the money I spent doesn't go to waste and these good clothes get to benefit people who need it.
“Hello? HELLO?! GABRIELLA JONES!” Derrick screams.
I quickly race over and pick up the phone, “I’m here, I’m here! Don’t get your tucking panties in a twist. Look, you are more than welcome to come over and indulge in some snacks and booze with me and I will fill you in on everything, okay?” I calmly offer.
“Very well. I’ll let Wyatt know I’m going to your place. I should be there in fifteen.”
“Great! I’ll have a glass of wine waiting for you,” I say chipperly and then hang up.
I look around at the mess I made, and quickly fix it up and quickly change the sheets on my bed. It’s bad enough the world is full of people who need to go to places like Good Will for bedding, but I won’t let them get crusty sheets still stinking of my now exes philandering. They deserve better than that, so I'll give them a thorough clean before donating them along with the clothes.
“That vile little primate. I can’t believe he spends a year leeching off you, all the while he’s got his uncut dick ploughing into your neighbour and trash-talking you and lying about owning the place,” says Derrick in disbelief while I refill our wine glasses. I snuggle back into the corner of my grey L-shaped sectional and take a sip of my wine. “I’m not even mad about the cheating or the lying. It’s the fact that I’ve been wanting to break up with him for a year and kept putting it off.” Derrick nearly chokes on his wine, eager to respond. He swallows and puts the glass down on the coffee table, “My thoughts exactly! You’ve been bitching about this guy for a year, and I kept telling you to just dump him and be done with it. It’s 2026, you don’t need a man to fulfil you.” I wrinkle my nose at the implication, “I have NEVER needed a man and I’m not starting now, I just felt bad for him. He was jobless and he had no money. I didn’t want to be the woman who dumped her boyfriend at h
I am so freakin’ BORED. I never in my life thought I’d be bored watching a bunch of people getting hot ‘n’ heavy in public. Maybe I’m desensitized because I work here, and so when the club hosts a Mystery Sinner’s night, I’m usually working the bar and helping clean up the aftermath, which is fucking nasty by the way. The interior of the club has been decked out like a BDSM sex den with black satin drapes hanging from every fixture and erotic red lighting to set the mood. Sex toys ranging from playful to hardcore, line the walls to give the guests a visual thrill, but they’re only decorative. The club doesn’t supply toys to the guests for health and safety reasons. The music is blaring with melodies to get your heart racing and panties dropping, and there’s a live wax play show happening on stage. There’s plenty here to capture my attention, and yet all I’m doing is tuning them out. Maybe Mitchell killed the fun side of me. I take a sip of my cocktail and glance at myself in a full
A chill creeps up my back and I can feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck as goosebumps spread across my skin. I can’t help feeling like someone is watching me, which isn’t unexpected given where I am, but this feels different. It feels… intense. I slowly scan the club until I lock with a pair of eyes across the room that have me glued to the spot. I’ve never seen eyes like these in my whole entire life! Eyes piercing silver: the colour of liquid mercury, stare at me like they can see right through me. My stomach tightens and my heart flips as I gradually take in the owner's appearance. Splayed out on a couch across the room is a man whose frame is enough to emasculate every man in the club if not the whole world. His gargantuan muscular frame is imposing, and I feel like the couch he’s on should be straining just to have him seated on top of it. He has long thick white hair, the colour of the purest snow, falling down his back like a majestic mane. His bronze skin even from he
Large firm hands grip my upper arms, and my knees almost give way from the indescribable burning feeling that explodes through my body. It’s not like putting your hand on a hot stove, it’s not painful – far from it. It’s the most erotic feeling I’ve ever felt in my life, like the ultimate orgasm after hours of edging. I look back, my head slowly tilting up to find the face that belongs to these hands, and my heart begins to pound erratically when I look up to see those same piercing silver eyes staring down at me with unfathomable reverence. Sweet fucking Jesus, he’s massive! He has to be 7’9” and built like a Sherman Tank. My breathing hitches, and part of me wonders how he got to me so fast, but the other part doesn’t care. My whole body is singing from his touch and yet, is put at ease by it at the same time. His hand ever so softly glides up my arm like he’s touching the finest China, eliciting a shiver from me as my eyes roll back. His fingers slowly trail across my shoulder an
As I appear in front of the familiar, large beachfront estate I remove my mask and discard it on the ground. I stare up at the pristine white compound as the sounds of the beach waves echo against the rustling of lush palm trees. I sense two celestial bodies inside, but it’s only one I care about. As I storm towards the double doors, that sweet scent of bubble gum and cream sickle continues to swirl around my brain, consuming every fibre of my being. My hands still burn like fire from her touch, sending pleasure coursing through this vessel I call a body. My heart continues to beat erratically and as I effortlessly slam my hands against the doors, blowing them to smithereens, it’s not the sound of shattering wood that I hear. No, it’s the sound of her sweet orgasmic moans as she came on my fingers. I can still feel the way her tight pussy quivered and clenched around them, so tight as if to hold me there and continue to bring her pleasure, and I wanted to. Fuck, how I wanted to. I m
The pain of my skull being ripped apart by the jaws of life is the first thing I feel as I start to open my eyes. I clutch my head as if the action will somehow dull the agony – not that it ever has. However, this is by far the worst migraine I’ve ever had. I slowly roll over, and through squinted eyes pick the small bottle of painkillers off my nightstand. I pop open the cap with my teeth and spit it across the room as I pour a couple of pills into my mouth. I grab my water bottle and skull the water, downing the pills in the process. With languid movements, I pull myself out of bed, drag myself downstairs, and lay myself down on the couch directly under the sunlight streaming through my loft window. Almost immediately I can feel the simultaneous expanding and crushing sensations waring in my skull slowly begin to dissipate. I know it doesn’t make any sense. All forms of light are meant to be triggering and known to worsen migraines. I can’t tell you why natural light eases mine; it
I lean back in my chair just as the waitress walks over and places what I can only describe as a plate of grass in front of Derrick who smiles and thanks her. “What can I get you to eat or drink?” she asks me, but my eyes are focused on the monstrosity in front of Derrick. “What is that?” I ask him. “My lunch?” “Yes, but what IS it?” I ask in horror. “It’s s salad,” he asks in bewilderment. “No, no, no. That is not a salad. That is food for sheep and people who do yoga, and you are neither a sheep nor someone who does yoga.” I turn my attention to the waitress, “I will have the eggs benedict with extra bacon on the side, and he will have the same,” I instruct with a broad smile. “Umm…” she drawls hesitantly, probably thinking I’m a controlling bitch. “I will also give you a thirty-dollar tip.” “Two eggs benedict with extra bacon coming right up,” she says brightly before dashing downstairs to the kitchen. “Gabriella,” Derrick sighs. “Don’t go saying my name with that exaspe
The lights are flashing, the music is pumping, the drinks are flowing, and I’m drowning in tips. Let’s be real, how many people can say they have a job that is genuinely fun and exciting? I know it’s a pretty common practice for people to hate and complain about their jobs, but I love mine. I get to spend paid time somewhere that’s like a second home to me, surrounded by all my friends and for the most part, really nice patrons. I’m either working behind the bar, or I’m up on stage dancing like there’s no tomorrow and gracing the crowd with the voice nature gave me. I couldn’t imagine being stuck behind a desk, or worse, working retail. I shudder at the thought. The music transitions into playing that summer banger from a few years back Rush by Troye Sivan and almost immediately I see several shirts come off on the dancefloor. My eyes lock with Cassandra who is working behind the bar with me, as we begin to sing and dance along while we serve the customers. “Can I get two Singapore