Flash: Dumped

Image courtesy of KROMKRATHOG at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

My neck hurt. My chin rested on my chest; I must have fallen asleep in a chair. A stupid plastic molded one, no cushioning at all. Oh, I needed a backrub. I rolled my shoulders and find my hand tied behind my back. My eyes burst open.

The room is lit by a bare lightbulb held aloft at the end of a ceramic elephant’s trunk not three feet in front from my downward looking eyes, flaming agony through my skull and frying my pupils. I snap my eyes close and roll my head around. God and goddess, I hurt. My mouth feels like a thousand cotton balls had been stuffed into it, after they had been used to clean ear wax.

I cautiously reopen my eyes. The room’s white walls reflect every bit of the luminescence rating the bulb is generating. The shadeless lamp set directly on the highly polished reflective white floor is plugged into coverless wall socket.

I squint against the pain and look anywhere but the eyeball searing light. My chair is surrounded by a mound of white granulates; considering my crowd, I am betting salt. A circle of salt. Why the fuck am I in a circle of salt?

And drenched. I realized I am soaking wet and freezing when I start shivering. That is when the drip line starts tapping my shoulder. I snap my head around, cracking several vertebra for some mild relief. A pole with a clear bag of, I squint again to read, dextrose solution is behind my back on the left side. Suddenly I want to itch under the tape I feel stuck on my arm, and I bounce between the itch, the throbbing ache of my shoulders, the burning flame shoved in my skull, and the absolute urgency to stretch, to escape sleep or drug or whatever has happened to me. My full bladder is very, very far down on the list of things to fix. I shake my head and lean back.

Above are inset light fixtures found in office and industrial buildings everywhere, but they don’t have the long bulbs yet and the wires are sticking out either side like the installation isn’t complete. The strong paint scent, adding to the headache, tells the other half of the story indicating the room is either being remodeled or … newly built. It feels new, like it had never been anything before and not sure about becoming a prison with its first use. Poor thing. I’m facing an empty wall and the sullen room echoes like empty rooms do with the lamp’s electric hum. On my left is a doorway with no door. On my right, behind where I can fully rotate my head is blue painter’s tape over some black plastic. Potentially a window. I wonder if I can scoot the chair over.

The salt circle is worrisome. Is it to keep something in or something out? Barely visible against the white-veined floor, I see something else. I rub my bare feet against the cool surface and decide the floor is real marble, not vinyl. Powder tickles my feet. Crunching my head down as far as it can go, I try to see the floor directly under the chair. I thought I had saw some … yep, chalk lines inside the circle. With me in the circle. Really, what the f’ing hell?

It’s not like I’m magic. Sure some of my friends do the hand-wavy thing – and get results when they do – and I’ve dated a couple, but aside from being an albino and a damn good crystal cutter and jewelry maker, I’m nothing special.

There is a second group of lines with some sort of runes outside the immediate chair circle now that I know what to look for. I stare at the wall and think I see stuff there too. Definitely stuff on the ceiling.

What happened last night … I was at a party for the Fourth of July, thrown by Fergus and Summerfrog. Everyone in town and about half the state dropped by including … oh, no he didn’t.

“Bloody Hell!” That thrice-cursed wizard did not roofie me.

Goddess, why did I ever date the fucker?

Speaking of fucking, I shifted in the chair. Nope, nothing feeling sore or raw other than really wanting some cushioning beyond whatever caused a small crinkle, and the arms free, and the headache gone, and everything else. But nothing wrong down there. Considering his size, one of his best traits making me forgive and forget things I shouldn’t have, I would be feeling all kinds of stretched.

Behind me comes footsteps on the marble floor. “Ah, my angel, you are awake.”

The squishy part of me flutters at the smooth deep voice. I crunch my eyes close and shove the unwanted feelings down as far as I can and lock them up tight.

“I fixed your hair.”

I remember now. He had exploded when he saw I dyed my hair black. Just lost it. Fergus made him leave after we started throwing things – me, stuff from the BBQ cooking area, and he, magic. The Tutors’ hated bullies; me versus a level-four wizard wasn’t a fair fight even if I held my own once the turning fork had sunk into his thigh and I grabbed the lighter and lighter fluid.

Things got hazy shortly thereafter.

He stroked my hair from behind. I twisted my head away from the petting, growling, “Don’t touch me.”

I searched my memory for anything else, recognizing the effects of the spell at last. He used it every fight we had from when we started dating at Christmas, aftereffect included forgetting about everything that happened as much as two hours before the casting. It took a while before he used it once too often and caught some Christian time in the forget-window. Christian isn’t a guy who lets things slide and contacted me the next day about a phone call I had never returned because I had been in the middle of something. I had nothing. No memory of the event, although my cell phone recorded three minutes and twenty-four seconds.

Even so it took me nearly a month before I dumped the jerk. Gaslighting X-treme. Christian and I backtracked all kinds of issues before I could admit the problem wasn’t me. Yeah, he had made me that screwed up.

The fuckard had walked around to my front while I was taking stock. Backlit by the lamp, he was as impressive as always. His typical three-piece white suit unlocked the gushy in me. The waistcoat hinting at his perfect abs, the white silk tie in a Windsor just below an Adam’s apple begging to be nibbled, and pressed linen and satin-silk striped white pants hiding the part of him I loved the most. My dry mouth salivated at the thought of sucking him.

I scrunched my eyes closed, dropped my head to my chest, and dug my nails into my palms, fisting my hands behind my back. Not me. Whatever these thought are, they are not mine. My head shook side to side as I try to lose them. Sure, they were my thoughts only last week before I finally broke up with him four nights before the party, but they shouldn’t, couldn’t WON’T be my thought now.

Another spell. Had to be.

I felt rather than saw him crouch before me. His voice laced when concern when he asked, “Are you all right, my dear?” The scent of his aftershave wafted to me as I inhaled through gritted teeth, tightening my stomach and loosening things lower. I loved that scent. Even bought incense to burn when I worked at home so I could remember our good times. We had so many good times.

No. No we hadn’t. Only times I been enchanted to think were good. I thrown those incense sticks down the apartment’s compost chute right before I went to his place to break up the second time.

“No, I’m not.” I lifted my head, refusing to bow before him and drilled my red eyes into his blue ones. “Let me go.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” With a few quick hand movement by him, the zipties holding back my arms released.

My arms swung around of their own volition. Nothing magical there. Holding arms in one position, say tight against person’s torso, mean when the pressure is gone, they rise slightly against missing pressure. Every inch of the automatic movement made me want to scream from the pain lancing across my shoulders and back. I fought vocalizing anything, not wanting to give this fucker, handsome and delicious though he …


I attempt to leap at him but couldn’t move out of the chair. Good thing, because I forgot the IV line. The slight movement my aborted leap moved the catheter. Agony. I couldn’t help moaning this time. My whole body is still shivering.

“Easy, easy.” Removing his monogrammed handkerchief from its pocket, he drops it on the floor and starts wiping away the outer rune circle.

While he does that, I pluck the tape from my arm and carefully remove the plastic tube. Some liquid and blood overflows from the inflamed opening dropping on my white slacks. I don’t recognize the slacks. Nor the shirt, a silk and lace poet shirt.

Looking up after erasing the arc in front of me, his blond eyebrows meet. “Oh, you are going to need a bandage for that. I’ll be right back.” He stood smoothly and flowed around behind. I turn in the chair to watch him move, sighing.

Really … really?

I should have taken Christian up on that necklace he offered to make.

I manage to stand shakily. My legs barely support me, even when I lean on the chair’s back. How long had Marv kept me here? Well, not a moment longer.

I step outside the salt circle.

And immediately fall back into the clear plastic chair. Standing again, I slap the air in front of me and can’t go beyond the salt line. I try shoving the chair out, but it can’t move either. Obviously the runes he erased weren’t enough. And I got the answer of whether the circle kept thing in or out. He reached through it just fine to pet me.

Waiting for him to come back, I finish looking around the room. I see a box of adult diapers in the corner…

(Words 1,743; first published 12/29/2019)