The tea has come to a boil. So has my temper.
The air is electric, one spark and the entire kitchen – BOOM!
He’s waiting for his first cup of the morning. I set it down in front of him, though pouring it down his pants seems a better option.
His fingers pinch the edges of the newspaper as I slide into my chair.
The hair on his hands stands erect, they rightly react to the static between us.
I can’t let him speak first. It’ll defeat my very purpose.
The moistness in my eyes blurs my vision, but I’m not concerned with what I see. It’s how much I can squeeze his heart for a reaction.
And these reactions are the rings of a ladder. The higher I climb, the deeper I descend into his heart and mind.
My intent is simple. He must think he controls me.
I tell him my love is pure, all the while my lips tremble. His eyes watch my fingers struggling to dislodge the cup’s handle.
To him it looks like anxiety, but it’s actually his gullibility.
I’m more confident than he will ever be.
I confess that I can’t live without him. Three tears splash upon my hand. Must save some for another day.
The paper goes down, his hand reaches for my mine. I pull away just in time. Consoling me isn’t so easy.
Then comes the list of my irrefutable devotion. I slip in his faults casually but effectively.
A pained look on his face says it all. An apology is right around the corner.
I know it’s honest, but its scope is narrow. He’ll be blundering again in a week or two.
But I’ll be ready for him.
You see, I am the undisputed champion.
A master of ‘Reverse psychology’.
He is hungry and desperate. A devoted artist painting naked women. Yet he violates them in Pimped My Goddesses.