Tuesday, December 14, 2010
I was watching t.v. last night, my laptop balanced on my knees, and this idea drifted into my head.
* * *
Charlie dug through the wet soil in a fevered rage, spittle flying from his mouth.
“She actually had the nerve to say no. To deny me the pleasure I deserve.” A feral growl rumbled in his throat. “I’ll show her!”
He’d waited until she lay down in the living room with a glass of wine and a movie, before he skulked off to the bedroom. Methodical, he checked the walk-in closet, poking between dresses and pants. He peered behind the flowered chaise in the corner, even under the bureau. He found what he was looking for under the bed.
A pair of black Christian Louboutin shoes. Jackpot!
She’d come home from the vacation in Paris gushing about the shoes, raving about how slimming the ankle strap was. She’d preened in front of the mirror, twisting her foot one way then the other, checking out the look from every angle.
“What do you think?” she’d asked him. He admitted they did look good. He may have drooled a little.
But when he’d inched forward to get a closer look, she’d slapped him away.
What was the big deal? They were just shoes. She said they were expensive, but what did he care? If they were that precious, she shouldn’t have left them under the bed.
He lunged for the left shoe, tore off the ankle strap in one violent movement.
“Oh yeah, that felt good.”
He heard a noise from the living room and cocked his head, waiting for her footsteps down the hall. When he heard nothing, he continued with the systematic destruction of the sacred shoes. Satisfied that he’d inflicted enough damage, he thought it prudent that he hide the evidence. If she couldn’t find them, she couldn’t blame him. He carried the shoes down the hall, nudged open the back door and stepped out to the yard, where he dug the shallow grave.
Now, sitting at the edge of the pit, panting a bit, he dropped the mangled pair of red-soled shoes.
“Charlie? Where are you?”
He whipped around, his eyes darting about, looking for a place to hide.
“There you are. What are you…”
He was sure she snarled. It was impressive, really. He didn’t think she had it in her. She looked down into the pit at her mangled shoes, the sexy ankle strap chewed beyond recognition except for the silver buckle.
She whirled on him, teeth bared, eyes boring into him. For the first time since he’d come to live with her, Charlie was scared. Something told him that a sloppy wet kiss wasn’t going to fix this one.
“Bad dog, Charlie! Bad Dog!”