The Black Dress & The Red Dress
Two Twisted Tales
By Garden Summerland
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Garden Summerland
License Notes
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Table of Contents
1- The Black Dress
2-The Red Dress
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The Black Dress
I held a straight razor in my left hand, and the black knit dress in my right. I had been sitting in the corner of our dimly lit bedroom for almost two hours. Nick had left explicit instructions, and I was going to ignore them all. When he returned, he would find me dead; naked and dead. I would never wear that dress again. He would've liked to have buried me in it one day. Now he would be deprived of that last ironic insult, and I could die happy just knowing that I would get the last laugh. I was putting an end to his games once and for all.
I took the razor and cut into the soft jersey material just enough to rip it into long shreds with my bare hands. I smiled. If only I could somehow see his face when he came back to find his precious playthings destroyed.
I got a firm grip on the razor and attempted to cut into my wrist. It hurt; very badly. I wouldn't be able to do it sober. He had left a bottle of Absolut next to me; it was part of his game. I was not allowed to touch it. In fact, he had never permitted me to indulge in alcohol; he said it was a sin.
I laughed as I tossed the strips of black cloth across the room and grabbed the bottle. It wouldn't take much. I'd been 16 years old the last time I'd been drunk, and that was almost 20 years ago, just before I'd met Nick Coulter; or as most of the town now knew him, Pastor Nick. Ten years older than me, he was charming and well read; handsome and charismatic, and I was immediately smitten. He took charge of my teen angst spiraling out of control and we were married a week after I turned 17.
I looked up the alarm clock, red digital numbers glowing in the shadows cast from flickering candles; 6:25, he wouldn't be back for at least 2 more hours. I had plenty of time. I poured vodka down my throat as fast as I could swallow it, choking and spitting until I'd downed half the bottle. I picked up the razor again. The room was getting darker, and it was difficult to see where I'd started the first cutting. But I managed to slice in pretty deep and blood poured from my wrist. I screamed because it still hurt, and because I knew there was no one there to hear me. It felt good.
I pumped my arm to assist the blood flow, but it was already slowing. I knew I'd have to cut the other one too or he'd be back in time to “save” me, and that was a part Nick had always loved to play; the saviour. But not this time. I knew I could do it, if for no other reason than to deprive him of any glory.
I downed more Absolut but I could tell it wasn't going to be enough to escape the excruciating pain of a blade ripping into my veins. The razor was wet and slippery now, and I struggled to hold onto it with my left hand. I steadied myself after even more of the burning crystal elixir, and I was able to puncture my right wrist, and push the blade in deep enough to get a decent outpouring started. I screamed again.
I was bleeding from both wrists, but it wasn't enough yet to even make me feel weak. I guzzled more of the vodka until I felt it rising back up in my throat. I spit out bile & alcohol and laughed at myself.
This was taking too long. It was getting close to seven; what if he came back early?
I stood up and walked around the room to get the blood flowing a little more, intentionally trying to get as much of it as possible all over everything. I knew that would drive him insane. Making a mess, I was always making a mess. Nick never did that. He was... perfect. I smeared blood on the crisp white sheets and the pillows. My wounds were bleeding freely. I fell to the floor near the long shreds of the worn black dress. I laid there holding the pieces in my hands, tightening and then loosening my grip as my blood saturated the dark material. I hated that dress. Nick had made me wear it when I'd been “bad”, because it was black, like my sin. Now there was no black dress, and no more sin.
I smiled and closed my eyes.
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The Red Dress
She had torn her red dress in three places, just like he'd requested. And it was dirty; like she'd cleaned the floor with it. He would be furious if she didn't get it right. She heard the front door slam and he made his entrance. Anger already apparent on his face. He came towards her, knowing the scene and just what to say, lines he'd practiced a thousand times. It was nothing new.
"What the hell happened to your dress?" He wasn't joking. He never was. He didn't even smile.
"What do you mean?" She fidgeted, twirling her blond hair around her finger.
"And there's dirt on it too. On the back of it. Turn around." He didn't mind ordering her around. And it was obvious she liked it. That's why she didn't leave him. She needed to be told what to do. She always had.
She turned slowly in front of him, feigning oblivion to the rips and the dark smudges on the blood red dress he'd bought her for her birthday last year. She hated red. He smoothed his hands over the back of the dress, then pushed the soft jersey material up around her thighs. She pulled away without thinking; she couldn't stand him touching her. He grabbed her around the waist & pulled her back. Then he gently tugged the dress back into place. Softly ran his hands along her sides, down her thighs & adjusted the dress to right above her knees.
"That any better?" he sneered at her. He knew that she wanted him. It was obvious. "So, you wanna tell me what the hell happened to your dress?"
She looked down for a few minutes too long. He pushed her backwards onto the hardwood floor, and was on top of her in seconds. Holding her down. She struggled just enough. Just like he wanted. It excited him.
"Tell me what happened to the dress." His voice was low and rough.
"I...I....I don't know. Maybe it's from the last time you made me wear it."
Another mistake. "Made me wear it" she had said. She had been stupid.
"I've never made you do anything. You do it all because you like it. To please me. Because that's all you wanna do, is please me. Isn't that right?" His fingers pulled at the tear on the side of the dress, ripping it and causing the entire seam to come apart. He caressed her skin through the hole in the dress. She winced.
"So, whose been touching you and tearing your pretty dress? And did you like it? I want you to tell me all about it...how much you enjoyed it."
She stammered, "I don't know what you are talking about. I've only worn this dress for you." She held her hand over her face for protection. She wasn't really afraid of him. It was all just a game anyway. But it was better if she played along. She could get through it. Satisfy his sickness, and then he would leave her alone. For a while.
He pushed her hand hand out of the way. "Look at me. You can't lie to me if you are looking at me." He held her face. The weight of him pressing down on her. She felt smothered; as she did most all of the time. His brand of love was killing her slowly; from the inside.
"I can fix it, I promise. I can wash it, and stitch up the sides. It'll be like brand new." She tried to make him happy; it wasn't what he wanted.
"I don't want it like new. I want to know how you got it in this condition. Who did this to your birthday dress. And what have they done to you. My precious..." He stroked her hair.
She felt sick.
"Nobody's done anything to me. I...I must've fallen and ripped it. But I'll fix it. I promise."
He ripped the other side of the dress open, all the way to the waist.
"Nah... you won't be fixing that." He laughed. Then he kissed her hard and shoved her back onto the floor.
He got up & stood over her. A dirty mess in a torn red dress. He knew how much she loved him. He could see it in her eyes.
"You stay right there," he commanded.
He was gone for at least an hour. She hadn't moved from where he'd left her. She knew better.
And he knew she did. He came back in and threw a white cotton t-shirt at her.
"Put that on, that'll make it all better, right? Can't have you in those tattered rags. Not my princess.” He almost seemed sincere.
Then he laughed. This part always confused her.
“What is wrong with us?” He included her, as if she were a willing partner.
The short scene was over. Finally.
“You were a little too convincing that time, I really thought you were going to hit me!”
She tried to sound frightened.
He helped her up from the floor. “I almost did.” He sounded a little too serious, but then smiled.
“I had fun tonight. But look at your dress. We won't be using it again.”
She shook her head, and tried to look sad, “Nope. The red dress is history.”
“Bed?” he asked pulling her to him almost lovingly.
She nodded her head, obedient as always.