Hard to Handle

I stare out the barred filthy window, trying to remember why I thought Glen Agree was something special. He was a rare combination of man that certain women are drawn to. His words were smooth as silk, compliments a woman thrives on. Glen was easy on the eyes with unruly dark hair that looked as if he had just tumbled out of bed. His eyes were a warm brown with golden flecks. His mouth had a grin that was slightly crooked, a desirable combination of mischievous boy and grown man with confidence.

A gentle lover, he would ask, "Does that feel good?" His touch was a little rough, spice with sugar, a building up of sexual tension. Finally, a possessive pull back that felt, well; uncomfortably secure.

At first it was intense and all about us. Then time slipped by and he became careless. Once, at the peak of passion, he murmured, "Lana, baby, you're amazing!" Now, my name is Laurie but anyone can make a mistake. I can be generous so I let it slip but, I could never forget.

Glen, you are the reason I am standing here shaking. I know I gave you the impression that I thrive on excitement and danger. Like you excelled with red hot rage to set a dramatic fire, I reacted with icy words to tease.

I made a perfect playground for you, working late most nights. You loved that I made a lot of money. Why didn't I question times you didn't pick up my calls or texts? I accepted half baked excuses and figured I was working hard for "us".

I remember your jealousy, "I'd kill you before I caught you with another guy, you know that?" Then he grinned and kissed me so hard. A compliment, I suppose.

I smelled 'Dolce', saw a lipstick color I didn't own on your shirt. I knew if I said anything, your fist would fly, connecting with my cheek. Then you sobbed on cue, remorseful hot tears of sorrow, softening my anger with tales of your dad's cruelty. I always accepted your apologies, dozens of red roses, fine jewelry and Godiva chocolate I had paid for. Oxycontin with Kristal champagne took all pain away.

I came home early that night, parked on the street, opening the door quietly hoping to surprise you. You weren't in the living room in your leather recliner dozing off. I thought you had gone to bed early. I slipped off my high heels and walked down the hall to our room. The room was dark and I could barely see a figure under the sheets. I began to take my blouse off.

I hear moaning sounds from the bed. I approach the bed, stumble over something. My eyes were getting used to the dark, there was a dress, bra, pants, shoes scattered around.

No, you wouldn't be that cruel!

The clicking sound started in my head, the beginning of a monster migraine.

"You lousy cheatin a**hole!"

They jumped apart like I had thrown ice cold water over them. I flipped on the overhead lights.
I didn't understand. She was a used up tramp, twice your age with smeared makeup and lousy drugstore hair color.

"Really, Glen? An ugly old hooker?"

I lashed out at her! She has nail marks embedded in her face that will require a plastic surgeon. Her flesh felt like the fire of redemption under my fingernails. I felt her guilty bones. In pain, she ran naked down the hallway and I heard the front door slam.
You didn't try to protect her, not even offer a sheet. What a louse!

You didn't say a word, simply got dressed, grabbed your phone, keys and left.

Always thinking about yourself.

My head was pounding now so I let you walk away, I couldn't think.

You called the next day with excuses. I made you beg. Time for another strategy. I love to fan the flames, make you swelter, melt in your own tragedy.

I didn't take your calls for a few days.

Then it was my turn.
I cooed, "I'll make your favorite dinner and you can apologize.'

I open the door, You look so delicious in your black silk shirt open to mid chest. I see rippling muscles under dark hair, sheer strength in all the right places.

We make small talk about a big account I had just landed, a photo shoot you just finished. This intensity about work is always magical, like our sex life.

Dinner was chilled strawberry puree soup, watercress salad with artichokes, asparagus, almonds, and standing rib roast with steamed veggies. Cream Brulee and espresso finishes it off. We drank two bottles of vintage Merlot.

Feeling the wine, I began to speak of all our marvelous times. It seemed like once again we owned fire and ice as logs sizzled and champagne flowed.

We tear at each other's clothes with our hands and teeth. We made love with such intensity, it felt like we desired to consume each other. Glen exploded with a painful cry as he screamed "Laurie". I own credit for that orgasm.

Then I reach down to pick up something I had laid on the floor. He falls back on the bed spent.

Without hesitation, I plunge the ice pick deeply into his muscled neck armed with all the pain that has built up over time.

Papers call me "The Ice Queen".
I rather like that crown but I hate this dirty cell and don't understand what I did wrong.




By Kathie Stehr
Edited 2021