This was absolutely the last time was going to do this. The final time she would ever put herself at risk. She’d been lucky up until now. Very lucky.

But, there were so many things she wanted. How could she give it up when merely entering the department store made her heart beat faster and her forehead perspire.

She did it for the rush.

She did it for the goods.

The racks and racks of beautiful designer clothing were too tempting. All her life she’d worn hand-me-downs. Not anymore.

She dreamed of owning a rainbow of make-up and perfume that smelled like money and now she did.

Which section should she hit today?

The shoe department was bustling and shoes were easy. All you had to do was keep walking…. straight out the front door.

The allure of the jewelry counter was as sparkly and shiny as ever. If that dizzy blond was working today, that would be a cinch too.

Keep your cool. You’ve done this dozens of times.

She gotten away with it before, in fact nothing she was wearing was paid for. She was slowly filling her closets with cashmere and silk and her ears, wrists and neck donned diamonds and other precious gems.

She wanted more.

“Sir, do you have these in red in 7 1/2?”

“Right away, miss.”

And there was nothing standing in her way today.

As soon as the salesman walked away, she let out a deep breath and thought, You’ve got to be kidding, $715 for a pair of shoes?! It would take me 10 shifts to make that much dough.

“Here you go, I brought them in gray too.”

“Wonderful, thank you. I’ll just take them for a little stroll.”

“Very well, I’ll be here when you get back.”

As soon as she slipped them on her feet and made sure that the sales clerk was a “safe” distance away, she casually picked up her over sized handbag and turned on her heel.

Keep your cool. You’ve done this a million times.

She walked right past the handbags and scarves and finally saw sunlight through the large glass door.

You’re almost there. This will be the last time. Just keep walking, you’re scot-free.

Heavy footsteps.

“Excuse me, Miss? Miss? Excuse me, do you have something you’d like to pay for?”

She was wrong.

This post is fiction and was written for The Red Dress Club’s writing assignment, Red Writing Hood. This week’s prompt: Write a short piece that begins with the words, “This was absolutely the last time” and ends with “She was wrong.” Constructive criticism is welcome.

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She had been waiting for this moment all day long.

As soon as her husband walked through the front door, she wanted to run into their bedroom, lock the door and crawl into bed.

But she waited. Patiently.

She waited until after kissed her softly on the cheek, changed out of his suit and grabbed himself a beer.

He plopped down on the couch next to her and she proceeded quickly to fill him in on the day’s activities, which weren’t much different than the day before or the day before that. Then after a long pause she said that she needed some time to herself.

She explained that she couldn’t even remember brushing her teeth that morning or if she ate. With the indirect mention of food, she apologized for there being no dinner on the table again tonight and then exclaimed what she really wanted was a hot shower. And a glass of wine.

“Of course”, he said and scurried off to the kitchen, opened a bottle of her favorite Cabernet and poured her a glass.

With raised eyebrows and a smile, she took it from him when he returned to the living room.

“I’ve got this, go have a shower, enjoy your wine and try to relax,” he urged.

These were the most beautiful words she had heard all day. Perhaps the only words she had heard all day.

“Really?”, and before he could give it a second thought, she tip toed down the hall to their bedroom and once safely inside, closed the door behind her and heard it click.

She waited and listened.

Silence.

Setting her wine on the wide lip of the porcelain sink, she turned the hot water on in the shower and as the bathroom filled with warm steam, she felt her body slowing start to relax.

She stripped off her worn out khakis, underwear, stained oversize sweatshirt and threadbare nursing bra; stuffed her hair in a shower cap and stepped into the shower.

The water felt warm and inviting, reminiscent of a hug.

Such a simple pleasure, a shower.

Without really thinking about it, she pulled the shower cap off her head and let her long blond hair cascade down her back. Too much of an ordeal to dry it, she hadn’t intended to get her hair wet at all, but she couldn’t help herself, the water was beckoning, breathing new life into her and she wanted nothing more than to wash this day away. It had started far too early and had gotten increasingly difficult as the hours wore on. Every part of her body ached and she was exhausted. She let the water do it’s magic.

There was one thing missing. Longingly, through the foggy shower door, she stared at her full glass of wine. Oh well, she thought, a shower was what I really needed.

She scrubbed her body with a loofah, used the fancy French lavender body wash her sister-in-law had given her for her birthday, shaved her legs, washed and conditioned her hair, applied a face mask and brushed and flossed her teeth. It’s amazing how much good a shower and a little personal grooming can do, she thought.

After what seemed like an hour or more, she rejoined her husband back on the couch with her still full glass of wine in hand and felt refreshed and calm.

“How did it go?”, she whispered.

With a hand gesture, as if presenting his most prized possessions, he said, “Not a peep.”

“Good. I needed that. I’m feeling human again. So, why don’t you tell me about your day?” She was about to enjoy her first sip of wine and connect with her husband for the first time in what seemed like days when…one, two and then three tiny cries, one from each of the bassinets in front of them demanding her attention.

She knew it had been two hours since their last feeding, so with a heavy sigh, she murmured, “Maybe later?” and they both stood up to attend to their triplets.

This post is fiction and was written for The Red Dress Club’s writing meme, Red Writing Hood. This week’s prompt was to write a short piece – fiction or non-fiction – inspired by one or both of these statements: Water gives life. It also takes it away.

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“Won’t it hurt?”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“What will my parents say?”

“They don’t even have to know about it.”

“Surely they’ll be able to tell.”

“Not really, you can hide it.”

“I’m scared it’s going to be written all over my face.”

“I’ll be right there with you. Let’s just do it and get it over with.”

“Well, I have always wanted to.”

“Exactly. It’s time. What are you waiting for? I mean, you are 17!”

“Yeah, I just don’t want it to hurt.”

“It’s different for everyone, but really it’s all over before you know it.”

“How many times have you done it?”

“Three. This will be my fourth.”

“Your fourth?! I had no idea! Didn’t know you were an old pro.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Okay, I’m ready. I think I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. But let’s hurry before I change my mind.”

“I am so excited for you! And don’t worry, we’ll fix your hair so your ears won’t even show.”

This post is fiction and was written for The Red Dress Club’s writing meme, Red Writing Hood. This weeks prompt is: write a post using solely dialogue.

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It had become more than a necessity.

It was now her crutch.

It was more than taking the edge off, it was her coping mechanism.

She was lonely, tired, stressed out and didn’t care.

Beer, wine and the occasional shot of Jägermeister wasn’t cutting it anymore.

Never much of a drinker before motherhood or all of the disappointments and responsibilities, she learned to acquire a taste.

She used to believe that she wouldn’t smell like alcohol if she drank vodka, because vodka is unflavored. It’s made from the finest winter wheat and the softest glacier waters.

She soon learned this was nonsense. Vodka is hugely alcoholic (80 proof) and she wreaked of a distillery after drinking it.

She rarely saw her husband, he traveled most weekdays and on the weekends, they tried their best to stay out of each others way. Neither of them could remember the last time they had a conversation which involved looking into each others eyes.

She tended to the children and each of their every single needs; speech therapy, birthday parties, play dates, swimming lessons, laundry, meals… the list was never ending and overwhelming.

She did her best to hide the smell from the children and anyone else she had to come in contact with by carrying Altoids and other minty gums, hard candy and throat lozenges. She claimed she had terrible allergies that gave her a scratchy throat. Halls brand cough drops were the best to disguise the stench.

She was beautiful once. A prom queen. An aspiring attorney, doctor, scientist. She could have been anything, but only completed two and half years of college and married the first guy that asked her to. She was pregnant before their first anniversary and had two more children immediately following. They were 4, 2, and 9 months.

This week’s bottle was from Russia with love:

1894 St. Petersburg
Imperia Russian Vodka
Crystal Quartz
Filtered
40% alcohol by volume 750 ml.

It should last her three days.

There were many days that were a complete blur. Days when she couldn’t account for a single thing she said or did. She missed lunch dates, doctor appointments, pick-ups and drop offs. She tended to the kids, but her needs always came first. She was numb and she liked it that way.

Hidden way back in the cupboard, behind the multiple boxes of cereal, an old broken coffee maker and the glass cake plate that only was used three times a year, for each of her children’s birthdays, is where she kept her secret.

She let out an audible sigh of relief just reaching for it. Except today, is was empty.

She panicked as she wondered, how did that happen? She had just cracked it open the night before.

Scurrying around the house, she knew there had to be another bottle somewhere.

She checked under the sink.

Empty.

Her underwear drawer.

Empty.

The diaper bag.

Empty.

The back of the toilet.

Empty.

How much had she drank today? She didn’t want to know.

She only wanted more.

She would have to leave the children alone in front of the television and make a run to the liquor store.

Again.

*While I have been known to enjoy a bloody Mary or cranberry vodka with no less than three limes from time to time, this post is purely fiction. And the bottle I found in my pantry is probably over three years old!

This post is for The Red Dress Club’s writing meme, Red Writing Hood. This weeks prompt is: grab something out of your pantry and write a short piece – using all the words in the ingredients. It can be fiction or non-fiction, poetry or prose.

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