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Weekly Contest #255
I came to in the car. Unsure of how I got there or what time it was, I looked towards my husband. His face said it all. The rage, the disappointment, the tears. My head splitting, my cracked lips crusted together with the dried sugar of wine. I ran my tongue over my teeth, a viscous film coating them making my already tender stomach roll. Shifting my gritty eyes and oily face towards him, I managed to croak, “What time is it?” “1PM. It’s 1 fucking o’clock in the afternoon,” he didn’t even make a motion to look at me. As if meeting eyes wou...
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