Drifting through the door and into the foyer, I let my eyes roll around the entire space, taking in all the disrepair—the damaged floors, the broken walls, the ancient electrical running across the ceiling to the chandelier. The house creaks when I walk, and as she moves upstairs, immediately making my heart palpitate. Can her bedroom floor even support proper furniture? She couldn’t have had this place inspected because it wouldn’t have passed. I can already see that. Everything needs to be gutted.
I could start a fight and bring her home.
Or maybe she’ll let me help her. I am an architect, after all.
I see her flatscreen and dip down for the remote on the coffee table. Her old notebook lays open, a pen discarded on top as if she was in the middle of writing, and just as I look away, I notice the page titledBirthday Presents.
I don’t mean to read it, but after the first one, I just keep going.
Blow him while he’s on the phone.
Have sex with him while my brothers are in the house.
Flash him while he’s in a meeting.
Read erotica to him.
Feel what it’s like to have my panties ripped off.
Let him make me come with a rose or a feather.
Wear a collar.
Perform for him.
