Harper possessed a rare talent - she could blend two worlds that the universe swore could never coexist: her humdrum life as an accountant by day with her steamy famous alter ego crafting erotic tales online by night.
But her double life unravels...
❝Don't think you've made it under my skin Could never get in Forget about it Don't talk so much❞
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Playing hostage was a roleplay I'd often fantasized about, more than I'd like to admit if I'm being honest.
Had it ever come to fruition? My tragic track record would say no. But I was being given a first-hand account of that famous adage, 'Be careful what you wish for,' in my current state.
Eyes big, palms sweaty, knees weak—Eminem would be proud. Last night's spaghetti however was growing stale on the kitchen counter. Almost as stale as my quickly failing relationship. Calling it a failure was an understatement. Calling it a relationship, even moreso.
I'd been held ransom by COVID in more ways than one, trapped into living together with a girl I'd never seen a future with in the first place. Shit had hit the fan long before the unceasing lockdowns had rolled around, and stayed there even after they'd been lifted.
I don't know what had driven me to complacency of sticking around, to the lazy surrender of waking up in the mornings in the room across hers after nights spent having mediocre sex. To sharing awkward dinners on the couch, seated far away from each other, watching reality TV shows I abhorred but she consumed like it was crack.
The relationship had been a product of circumstance, so I shouldn't have been surprised when it had morphed from an ill-fated one night stand (or technically several) to her sympathetic 'you're broke? Come stay with me!'to what it was now. If I could, I'd change my Facebook relationship status to 'Aiden Mitchell's love life is animal feces.'
Instead, I was just having to deal with one. An animal, that is.
I channeled my inner Chris Pratt and stood still in front of Megan, my sweaty palms rising slowly in the air as if I were attempting to tame a wild velociraptor. The target I needed to lock into safety? Ironically, not me but the hard drive she held in her hand that carried my lifetime's work.
"Easy now," I said in a quiet but firm tone. "You don't want to do that."
"Don't I?"
Had her voice always been so...screechy? Or was it the sight of walking in on her cumming loudly with her Brazilian wax specialist balls-deep inside her a couple hours ago that had permanently disfigured the way my brain processed her voice? She'd certainly never screamed like that in bed with me. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought her body was a medium for the spirits of dead dinosaurs from the Triassic era.
But that wasn't what had transformed her from human to predator in my eyes. It was the fact that she was playing with the manifestation of my life's passion and pursuits, goading me with it because her poor ego could not handle my breaking up with her.
Megan held my 1 TB hard drive up in the air, dangling it precariously by the edge of the USB cord, seemingly seconds away from crashing to the ground and breaking into a thousand smithereens. I knew it was more robust than that but I didn't want to give the benefit of the doubt to Megan to spare me any form of kindness. Going by that crazed glint in her eyes, she'd stomp my career to bits with that six inch heel the second she had the chance.
