WEEK 66: Back to school

Prompted by: Roxanne Victor

The crazy author says: I’m digging these creative prompts a lottle. That’s like a little but a lot, ya know?

“Aww, poor baby.”

He shoots me a glare with murderous intent.

I jump as his hand slams onto the artwork and crumples it into an angry little ball.

Which goes flying in the same direction as the pen.

I can’t tell if he’s joking anymore. He seems serious. I search his expression for answers and come away with nothing. The surgical tape above his brow has lifted, the corner curling outward. I reach up to fix it.

He grabs my wrist.

“Let me help.”

His grip tightens, digging into bone.

But the sudden rush of tension between us is what makes me wince. It’s not the good type of tension. It’s heavy. Like an anvil placed directly on my chest. The weight is suffocating me. I attempt to pull free.

There’s a flicker of emotion, quickly replaced by a mask of cool, icy composure. He lets me go.

Flexing my wrist, I mumble, “Fine. Sorry.” I don’t even know why the hell I’m apologizing. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t be. He’s the one giving me whiplash. He’s the one having massive mood swings.

And brain surgery.

I suppose he’s had that too.

His gorgeous blonde hair has been hacked to death. They shaved a large strip of real estate in order to saw through his skull, plus a couple extra patches to drill burr holes and relieve the pressure. Neurosurgeons are brilliant at saving lives, but they suck the saltiest balls when it comes to landscaping.

Regardless, I still feel butthurt. “No touching,” I mutter under my breath. “Got it.”

Trace tucks a loose strand behind my ear. He’s apologizing too.

I’m not ready to accept yet. I’m not mad either. I’m not sure what I am.

I shrug and shove my hands into my pockets. Or his pockets. Whatever. My fingertips are greeted by a Rubik’s Cube. I’m constantly finding them everywhere. Trace owns at least a dozen, half of which end up in the washer by accident on a weekly basis. He can solve all six sides in five seconds flat.

My man is a bit of a genius.

I wonder if that’s changed. I don’t care, I’m just curious. Maybe we’ll send him back to school. Nah, he’s always hated school. Not to mention, his IQ can afford to take a few hits. Smiling, I fish out the puzzle…

And gasp.

It’s not a Rubik’s Cube.

It’s a box.

A black, leather box.

Holy shit.

A fucking ring box.

What’s the prompt for next week, guys? 

Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.

13 thoughts on “WEEK 66: Back to school

  1. Imagining his haistyle had me in stitches!
    Nice twist with the ring box, but somehow I hope it contains something else entirely…

    Prompt suggestion
    Silence

    1. Is it bad my first instinct was cock-ring? Have you ever seen the show Reba? You should look up the “Vans haircut episode” 🙂
      Also a prompt for Annie- can you orgasm from bitch-slapping someone?
      Also also- pity my hospitalized ass, it’s been almost two weeks and not a single cute male nurse to be seen!

    2. Dear Miss Sam,

      As long as I can make you laugh at the expense of his pride, then I’ve done my job 😉 Hmm, perhaps Miss Laura is onto something. A cock-ring would be a fab gift haha!

      Hugs,
      Ann

      P.S. Thank you both for the suggestions too!!!

  2. We have a saying in my house! Shake and shake the ketchup bottle first none will come and then a lottle! Hahaha! Great story as usual!! I’m loving these two!!
    Prompt!
    Like hell I will!
    Ketchup, please?
    I’m sure you can figure out the reason for the last one hahaha

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