Earlier this month one my writing groups had a contest to write a story of revenge at 1250 words or less. Normally this type of thing immediately causes my mind to go utterly blank, and every story idea ever hides from me. This time, however, I was inspired, perhaps because just writing it was a sort of revenge.
To my surprise, I won the blind vote (stories were published anonymously by the admin and votes were tallied by # of likes.). (Cake is in the mail to me, hahaha!)
This is the winning story:
His name is Mica. Mee-ka. At first I think it’s a dumb name, and I kind of hate him. But it’s impossible to pretend he’s not gorgeous. Just shy of six feet tall with curly hair the colour of pumpernickel. Big brown eyes framed with feathery lashes. A fuck-me gorgeous mouth. And I haven’t even got to his broad shoulders, washboard abs and sweet ass. Or the jeans he wears so tight I can tell you he dresses to the right.
I’m not his type. He’s dating The Bitch, after all.
I run into him at the coffee shop, literally. On purpose, but I pretend it’s an accident.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, rubbing at spilled coffee on his shirt front. “I just live around the corner, I think I have shirt that will fit you? The least I can do.”
He’s annoyed, but also amused. I’m very hands-on with my help. Did I mention the abs? I’d have licked the spilled coffee off him.
“I’m seeing someone,” he says when it’s clear I’m being a little too helpful. His choice of words gives me hope.
I back off with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” I give him another smile and offer, “Can I at least buy you a drink at Bolt’s? Strictly platonic, just to square us up?” That’s where she met him.
He looks bemused, like he’s never had someone like me come on to him before. Maybe he hasn’t. “I guess,” he says, then more decisively, “Sure.”
Bolt’s is busy, it’s Friday night. We’ve exchanged names but not numbers. I already knew his name. It’s not him I want to hurt. I wave and call, “Mica!” when I see him.
He’s funny, more relaxed than I thought he’d be, knowing I’m attracted to him. I begin to feel a little bad that he’ll be caught in the middle of this. Still, I’m doing him a favour, really. We’re three drinks in and our seats have drawn closer when he gets a text.
“Shit,” he says. “Girlfriend. I’m supposed to--she wanted to go out tonight.”
“Been seeing her awhile?” I ask, knowing exactly how long it’s been.
“Long enough a night out without her shouldn’t be an issue. We caught a movie last night and have firm plans for tomorrow and Sunday.” He frowns, as if just noticing the way she wants all his time. She’s manipulative. I’m doing him a favour.
“It’s not like we’re on a date,” I joke, holding up two fingers as the waitress makes eye contact.
Mica laughs, and it sounds self-conscious. I wonder if he’s been wondering.
He gets two more texts before I take his phone and turn it off. I hand it back to him with a smile. “Been there, done that. She won’t kill you for one night on your own.”
He stares at his phone as if he’s not sure, and our drinks arrive. He shrugs at me with a sheepish smile and puts it away. “Guess not.”
I told myself I would go to any lengths, even drugs, but I can’t do it. I really like him. I decide I have to seduce him the usual way, with charm and guile. He’s already flinging an arm across my shoulders and telling me how nice I am. He’s even said I have pretty eyes, though he blushed when he said it.
We’re talking about dumb things our Facebook friends post and laughing uproariously. I’m watching our drinks because I want him relaxed, curious, willing, but also able. He leans in, beery breathed, still giggling and our foreheads bump. I kiss him before he can move back, a solid kiss, but not too aggressive.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me confused. “Feels the same,” he says. “Do it again.”
I smile and kiss him again, and he kisses me back this time.
People are staring. “Let’s go back to your place,” I suggest in a soft murmur.
“I can’t. I have a girlfriend, it wouldn’t be… I mean, it wouldn’t, would it?”
“It’s up to you,” I say. I realize I mean it. I’ve discovered that not only is Mica fuckably hot, he’s funny, interesting. I hope he says yes, let’s go home. Is it significant, I wonder, that The Bitch and I have the same taste in men?
He stares at me, his arm still around my shoulders. “Okay,” he says. “But just, you know, for another drink.”
“This is weird,” he says. His eyes are closed and he’s running his fingers through my hair, across my face, like a blind man. “I can’t tell the difference.”
I capture one hand, draw his thumb into my mouth. He gasps. I let it slide out and lean in to kiss him, a proper kiss, lips opening to tongues, deep, hungry. I’m careful to keep my body angled just far enough from his, so he continues to not notice the differences between me and The Bitch.
We’re on his sofa. While he’s distracted by kisses, his hands grasping my head, I’ve taken his phone. I open one eye and find The Bitch’s number. I dial it and toss the phone to the table, face down. She’ll hear enough.
I unbutton his shirt, swallowing his moans of pleasure. He opens his eyes in shock as I trail my hand over that glorious torso. I think I’m close enough to him he can forget I’m not The Bitch, not any woman. I think that’s why he can let himself do this. It’s not cheating if he’s not sticking his dick in a strange pussy, right?
I pop the button on his jeans, tug at the zipper. He’s hard, it strains the fabric, and he doesn’t help me, but he says, “Oh, fuck yes…”
He’s loud, when his mouth isn’t covered by mine. The Bitch has sucked his cock. She’s sucked mine, too. I’m better than she is; Mica is never going to forget this night. Maybe, if he doesn’t figure out that my original motive was to hurt The Bitch for dumping me, show her how it feels to know your partner is fucking someone else… maybe he’ll call me when she dumps him.