Free Exploits by Poppet Page A

click   click   click   clic k– like someone driving me insane with a pen and they have a nervous condition or twitch.
    I stare at the smudging night. I have no idea where all of these tears are coming from, but they're breaking me in half. I bow my head and bury my nose between my knees; wracked and broken, I weep.
    The worst. The absolute worst, is what he's done recently. He wouldn't leave it.
    He kept on insisting that we have anal intercourse. Why? What for ? I even researched it, to understand where the pleasure could lie in such an act. I discovered that the prostate gland is there in men, and if ‘agitated’ induces an orgasm. But women have no such thing . I refused to do it. And I told him why!
    Sigh. He had recently being playing that song a lot ... and singing with it ... something about a back door male.
    Cue song: SBI, ‘Violently Opposed’.
    Did I need a bigger sign board?
    (Actually, I'm so ridiculously trusting, that what I needed was the front page of the newspaper announcing it to me, whilst a plane writes it in smoke in the sky, and every radio station broadcasts, ‘WAKE UP ZOMBIE!’)
    But when you're handcuffed on your knees, he can pretty much do whatever he wants. And he did. (Am I a dumb blonde or am I just dumb?) You've heard the saying, right? Never be too open minded, your brains may fall out.
    No offence, if you enjoy buggery. I personally find being buggered unappealing.
    Cue: Feedback: Friends ... ‘I try to see into your eyes, There is no one inside, and through the pain I hear your cries, But all I'm feeling is numb, numb ... Hold on ... Hold on to this ... Fake me, show me all those lies ...’
    Okay. Now I hate him. I have been a Stepford Wife who blows him away whenever he needs a shuttle launch, for years. He has held the remote control that makes sure his woman does everything he desires. (The mute button even worke d– for Pete's sake, he probably wrote that script.) Talk about his fantasy come true.
    I have never loved anyone the way I love Gary. And no one has hurt me the way he just has. This is the problem with love. You can't just switch the flipping thing off. And it feels as though someone is cutting my flesh into strips with a rusty razor blade. I'm bleeding. But only I can feel it. Only I can see it. I feel spiked by the butcher’s hook, and any moment Gary will morph into Hannibal Lector.
    Selene has become worried and I jump, startled, as her hand rubs my back. She has no idea why I'm crying. She lights a smoke and hands it to me.
    "It's gonna be okay. Cry. Let it all out."
    Cue: Feedback: Hollow ... ‘On this road running, and starting to slow, The size of life daunting, it makes me grow old, I give in, there's no real end ...’

 
    Chapter 13
     
    Party Therapy
     
     
    Tuesday Morning, Michelle comes to me with a hand full of message slips. She gives me a seriously worried expression. "These messages are all for you." She lowers her voice, "From that guy."
    I take them with a heavy heart, and wonder why she's brought them to me. It was obviously weighing on her, because she's cornered me early.
    She pushes up her spectacles and almost pleads, "I have to put him through. I'm not allowed to screen calls like this. I could lose my job, because every caller is a potential client."
    I nod. I do get it. "I understand." I give her a warm smile, "Thanks."
    She jerks her head in an awkward nod and storms back to her post, already fretting that she's left it for too long.
    I sink into my chair and dread the telephone ringing. It's only seven-thirt y – ( I like to be early and catch up before the day starts )– and my stomach plummets as my phone starts ringing. That can either be Gary, Gary or Gary.
    Selene sits opposite me and stops her filing, and gives me an expression full of girl power support.
    "Stefanie speaking, how may I help you?"
    "I am so sorry. Please forgive me! I feel just awful .”
    I smile and nod at Selene. Indicating that all is cool.
    "Hi