Blog — Marissa Joy Fiction

Lashings

She fell to the ground and the water crashed over her back. Each drop a lashing she deserved. 

Jealousy invaded her body. Jealous of her once Heavenly Father. Jealous of her mother. They would have his embrace now. They would have his life. His love. 

Jealousy grew to vitriolic rage. His absence birthing pain ten times greater than the tears he ever caused her to cry when he was here. 

She wept until her body was spent. Until her body was numb. Then she wept more. 

She wouldn't move. She couldn't get up. She cursed her prayer for death knowing it wouldn't work. 

Why did she ever yell at him? Why did she ever scream? 

Why didn't she swallow her pride, her pain, her desire, her fatigue and just hold him? Just hug him and kiss him and let him into her bed? 

She loved him. More than she herself ever knew. 

And now he was gone. 

Now he was freed of her, of the pain she caused him, perceived or real, it didn't matter. He felt it and now he felt nothing but his freedom. 

She felt nothing but regret and despair. A regret darker and closer than any shadow, unable to leave her side. A despair, indescribable. 

He was free and she, the living dead. Longing to cross over knowing the peace would never come. 

She got exactly what she deserved. 

She should have done better when he was here. She should have done so much better. 

Now she lie drowning in the shower of her own choices. 

Letting each drop whip her with the pain she deserved. 

God, how she missed him. 

Accomplish

I'm inebriated and don't know what to write about. Someone reminded me that I did some pretty great things recently and I should reflect. Thank you, person ;) But, like I said, I'm inebriated and don't know how to humble brag or write coherently right now (sorry) so what I'm going to do is TRY ANYWAY because you have to try in life and I don't know what to write about. Did this paragraph make any sense?

Here are my recent accomplishments: 

1. I'm watching Hook, the movie, with my six year old son. We come up on the part where aged and forgetful Peter Pan gets some nice mouth to mouth action from three supes cute mermaids. My son says, "Ahhhh, mommy go back so I can see that part again!" I say, "hahahahahahahaha okay." I rewind and let the little perv watch again...THEN he says, "Excuse me mommy, I have to go to my room and do something private." I say, "Okay," and die internally. But I'm proud of myself because I was the one who taught him that certain things are to be done in private, in your room, by yourself. So, at least I'm raising a responsible horn ball (or maybe not a horn ball and this is all completely normal. I hear it's normal. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, TELL ME IT'S NORMAL). 

2. I had an incident with a certified fuckboy recently which is RARE for me. I usually date insanely nice men (That might show in my blogs. I'm usually the asshole. Le Sigh) and I truly have little to no experience with these douche bag, asshole, fuckboy, normal guys these days that all of my friends cry about. Usually, I can smell an asshole a mile away (wait, what?) and I avoid that mess wit' a quickness because ain't nobody named Marissa got time for punk ass dudes. Still inebriated. Sorry, mom. Okay, so. I come across one such jerkface and long story short, he does what assholes do. Tried to stink up my life. I could have/should have written something better than that last sentence. Anyway, y'all wanna know what I did!?! I dealt with the situation like an adult! I politely went off on his ass through Facebook Messenger and let him know I am not the one. I am not that girl. No sir, not today!  I may have written a mutha luvin poem about it. See number 3.

3. I wrote a poem about fuckboys (in a like cool, good, slam poetry, talented kind of way, nothing like what's happening currently in this blog). I wrote a poem, signed up for an open mic, and performed said poem. I accomplished my fear of spoken word, bore a part of my soul, didn't die, and the dopest poet I've ever met told ME I was dope af. Such good shit. And yes, fuckboy referenced in number 2 was in attendance of my dope af performance. *Hair mutha fuckin flip* Accomplished. 

4. I got my first writing job!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm officially a contributor for a fun website. I get to write about adorable animals and ya know what? The whole situation makes me smile. Getting paid for my writing feels way better than that old Master's Degree (no, seriously). 

5. I put out into the Universe that I NEEDED a vacation (I don't even believe in stuff like that but I don't know how else to word it currently. INEBRIATION!) and guess what? My cousin invited me onto a cruise!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I could afford it (crazy discount) and had the time to get away. So, I somehow used the law of something or another (shit I don't really believe in...or I think I can just describe it in a more concrete/scientific way rather than romanticize it) and attracted what I wanted from the Universe! I set sail on a cruise in four days! How ya like me now, fellas!?

That's it. Those are all of my accomplishments lately. That and my fro is on point. Okay no, that's just a straight up blessing not an accomplishment. Idk, I don't really believe in blessings either. Except my kids, awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Okay, that's all. 

The Waiter

Imagine pure strength dipped in chocolate. His hands could crush me. And I would let them. His eyes pierced like the sun. I could never look for long. I longed for him to touch me. For his mass to cover me like an eclipse. No escape. I needed no escape. Just complete submission to his reign. In my mind, thick fingers graze my neck, lightly at first before he deepens his push digit by digit. My breath thins and I welcome it.  My body is his to take, gently, roughly, I give it to him. 

Imagine the sweetest song, composed just for you. Its rhythms matching the beat of your heart, its melodies humming the secrets no one knows. But he knows. He knows and he sings you to you, just for you. Others may hear but only you understand and he knows this. A secret between the two of you. He walks towards you and the harmonies grow louder between your thighs.

Imagine the face of an angel and the body of a god. Imagine the deepest, finest, richest mahogany rubbing against your wanting skin. He has no regard for the others in the room. He looks at only me. He leans over me, runs his massive hands through my hair and tugs. I do not flinch. I ask for more. He leans closer, pushes the table in front of me away. Stands over my body completely, his girth magnetic to my core. I do not flinch. I ask for more. He bends now, looks me square in the eyes, grabs my face when I instinctively attempt to look away. 

"Don't," he says. 

He kisses my cheek and I die. His inebriating scent gathers into a cloud that I mount and I float away. My eyes roll to the back of my head and he kisses my neck. My nipples awaken, hungry and jealous. He knows. He focuses on the buttons on my shirt. Undoes the top one slowly then rips the rest away in one aggressive swoop. I do not scream. I ask for more. 

I ask for more. 

"More?" he asks. 

"More," I beg. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, what is it you want more of?"

My eyes roll forward and open. 

"Excuse me?" I ask. 

"I haven't taken your order yet so what do you want more of? Do you need more water?"

"Um, ahem, yes, please, thank you."

He leaves me. He leaves me devastated and thirsty. Water, the last thing on my mind. 

My husband's deep sigh carries across the table but doesn't touch me. I don't let it touch me. 

"Do you think we can come to this restaurant just once without you drooling over the waiter?" he asks. 

"No, my love, probably not."