Published September 2011; This is a current, incomplete thread from our Writing/Roleplaying Forum. Its title on the board is "A session of hate sex, not for the weak", located in a private subfora.

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"Yeah, hi Ted," Her voice was a little raspy, like it would be the morning after one of their more luxurious fucks, but this was premeditated on her part, using *that* voice. Not saying who it was because he damned well better know who it was. Plus he had Caller ID. "Can't get your mail tonight, you'll have to make it another time. I have plans." Click.

Her plans now included brushing her hair out, putting a whorish amount of eyeliner on, and getting changed into next to nothing. She knew her phone would be ringing soon.

Legitimately, he hadn't been able to get to his phone in time. He'd been at the gym, and it was in his bag, locked in a locker.

The call had come in about 15 minutes before he retrieved it, and his face went hard when he listened to it.

Oh, really? Other plans? Is that so.

Ted hadn't been returning Miranda's calls for reasons of his own, but those reasons can be shared here. First, he's in no rush to dump the house for a substandard price. There really isn't a need to. His salary covers the mortgage, should Miranda stop paying her portion as well. Why would people pay for a house they don't live in? It's called acquiring assets. Something that rich people know about, so if you didn't, now you do.

Secondly, there is an emotional attachment to the house. While this isn't his first marriage and this was an impulsive marriage, they'd picked the house out together and in the back of his head, the thought remained that it was his home, there. It was 10 minutes from his parents' house, and his brothers also lived nearby. That property was chosen for a reason. For the future. At that time, Miranda had been a part of it.

That was then. This is now. But now's getting a little different. It started when he saw John Laurinaitis's hand on her shoulder, and saw that Miranda hadn't -minded-.

Oh, no. No no no no no. That's not how we do this.
Double standard? You bet. But that's called life.

During the marriage, Miranda was easy to take for granted, though. She was easy on the eyes, easier on the ears, and had been willing to look the other way until the very end. But now? "Other plans"? She still had his last name and he'd be damned if she was going to have some man over at the place he was paying for, where he knew the neighbors.

He played the message again and heard that raspy tone of voice.
The voice tone of hers reserved for their past mornings after some pretty damned memorable nights together. That voice now telling him he couldn't come over?

COULDN'T?

Was the guy there NOW? Oh, fuck this mess. Before he knew what the fuck he was doing, he was calling her back. He was pumped up from the workout and now, with the voicemail and the thoughts in his head of her, of the visuals he got when he heard the audio message, feeling territorial.

You're damn right he called her back, about to put the girl on blast.
He dialed and waited.

She glanced at the sink counter where her cellphone sat, and waited until the fourth ring to pick it up. Fifth ring would've allowed him to go to voicemail.

Yes, she knew it was him. Had a special ringtone just for him, too: A 30-second snippet of "I Hate Everything About You", particularly, this part:

only when i stop to think about it
i hate everything about you
why do i love you
i hate everything about you
why do i love you

Fitting, isn't it?

"Didn't you get my voicemail?" she asked as she picked up. Not "Hi." Not "Hello." Not even "Hey." Certainly no addressing him by name. This was war. All was fair in war. And love. And hate sex. "I left you everything you needed to know in it." Then she sighed, like she was too busy to take his call.

Then she leaned on the sink and closed her eyes and listened.

Part of the song's lyrics were playing in the back of her brain before he spoke.
only when you stop to think about me, do you know?

The silence was there that extra minute, like he was thinking before he spoke. So she baited him a little more.

"Honestly, you didn't *have* to call me back.." There was feigned annoyance in her tone, just a hint of it. She opened her eyes and looked in the mirror. Her eyes, with the lighting, looked darker than they even were, her hair was rumpled by design, a little teasing with a comb near the scalp giving her bedhead, not as crazy as morning after hair but definitely not the part of her business appearance. She stood there in her bra and a thong, and hadn't realized her breathing had altered while waiting to hear from him. Her fingers on her left hand ended up tracing her collarbone as she waited to hear his voice.