Decisions
94At last, now you can use the phone.
Bet it gets her off. Bet she's wet.
Big hips. Nice lips. So hot. She wants it.
Big hips. Nice lips. So hot. She wants it.
Big hips. Nice lips. So hot. She wants it.
DELUSIONAL.
Five feet above your head, the bedroom window. Glass still bearing the dots and lines of bedtimes past, her fingers tracing a map of stars to guide the little ones to sleep.
Go far! All the way! Get inside, make a fist.
She doesn't say anything. She just watches you go.
She hears that a lot. She was hoping for something unrelated to her physical attributes.
She is a hostage to the phone.
She looks around as if seeking information about herself from the room.
She needs to send in those essays, for a start.
That was a pathetic thing to say. It only worked because the only other people she talks to are actively fiddling their own genitalia.
This is a nightmare for her.
Yeah, filthy, bet she does.
Yeah, yeah she loves it. Slut.
"Ah... most of the time. I had so much fun with you!"
"But, hon... you are one. Oh, I suppose you mean because you wouldn't want to talk about work at home, right? That makes sense."
"Do you have any advice for me as an aspiring therapist? Anything at all, I'd love to know..."
"Hehe, that's your line operator name, is it? I can spot lies from space."
"Hi again, sweetie."
"I cannot thank you enough. You are..." She takes the book, nose wrinkling. "What happened here?"
"I could try again, yeah. I told you what happened last time... But... I don't know, hon. I always thought that I would be forced to get back out there at some point."
"I don't really want to talk about my family with you. Sorry."
"I think you know enough about me, sweetheart."
"I'd rather not. Some things I'd prefer to keep to myself."
"I'd rather not. Some things I'd prefer to keep to myself."
"I'd really rather not talk about it."
"I'm sure I was far more interesting on the line. But you can't expect a real-life miracle."
"I'm unavailable, hon."
"Is this... alcohol? Why are the pages like this?"
"Is this... coffee? Why are the pages like this?"
"It may as well be, love."
"It was the one named PIGEON, right? Bastard."
"Nice to meet you, Hershel. But I still can't tell you mine... you know how it is. Trade secret." She winks.
"Oh no... did something happen to your line, hon? I'm sorry... I don't think I can let you have a shift. People expect my voice, is all. Duchess has kinda... become the Miracle."
"Oh, hon. I'm sorry that you're missing your friends... maybe this is your sign to get them back."
"Right, of course." She doesn't appear entirely convinced by this explanation.
"See you later."
"Sorry about all that at the door. You see now why I have to be careful. But let's not let it ruin our day, I feel like that would be letting him win."
"The gap is the most advanced case of erotic fixation I have ever seen. I've been in the deviancy game for years and I cannot uncover its true nature."
"Well, I figured since I have too much free time," she rolls her eyes, "why not go to university? So, here I am getting a correspondence degree in psychology."
"Well, I want to be a professional like you, always dreamed of operating my own dial-in talk therapy line. But with the kids and the Miracle and everything..."
"Well? Have you found out about the gap yet?"
"You should know, hon. You've used the line yourself."
"You want to read this thing?" She wrinkles her nose again. "Sure, have fun."
"You're silly."
Her only response is to waggle the knife threateningly out of the letterbox.
Unmistakably the voice from the Miracle Line, Duchess.
