The Ultimatum

The duffel bag spilled clothes onto the floor – still unpacked from the road-trip I had just returned from. 

Books stacked in piles, and there boxes waiting to be filled.  While I had been away my family had already packed most of their own belongings, but my room remained untouched, awaiting my return.  The move was only a week or two away, and there was still so much left to do.

I pushed away the bed, reaching underneath for all the items that were lost under there, shoved into the darkness.

I sifted through papers and photos – of items to keep and throw.  Dozens of photos looked up at me – most of them of me and Georgie.  I lost myself in the sifting. 

The distinctive melody I’d assigned for when Georgie called me blared suddenly, causing me to drop a photo I’d been looking at.  We had just returned from our road-trip yesterday, and I did not expect to hear from her today.  She had been frustrated with me the whole ride home – after I had made the executive decision to cut the trip short by one day.  One measly day – and she was angry. 

I had a whole room to pack.  I didn’t have time for chatting.  But she was supposed to be my best friend.  I shouldn’t ignore her call.

I picked up.  Absent-mindedly I chatted, my attention still mostly focused on packing.  I began to tell her I was busy, that I would call her later, when she asked me about AMP.

I stopped what I was doing, and composed my voice before answering, “Why do you ask Georgie?”

”Well are you dating him or not?  Do you like him?”

She was supposed to be my best friend… but recent lessons had taught me to be a little wary.

She was supposed to be my best friend…but I was keeping a secret from her.

I calmly replied, “I don’t see why we are having this conversation.  Do you like him?”

”No, of course not,” she sputtered indignantly. 

I was losing patience with her obsessive need to control my life.  I took in a deep breath, aiming for a calm but firm tone. 

”Then I fail to see the purpose of this, I’m really busy Georgie.  We just got back from spending every moment together for over two weeks, and now you suddenly call and ask me about him?”

”I need to know,” she replied.  “I can’t be friends with you if you are dating him.”

I could feel the anger bubbling up inside me, the frustration.  She was so stubborn, so opinionated – and this was none of her business.  Why should she care?  Part of me ached to hang up, but the curiosity of what ridiculous reasoning she would spout off stopped me.

“Excuse me?  You can’t be friends with me if I date him?  Why the hell not?”

“Because, D.  You just broke up with Bob because you weren’t ready for a relationship.”

”Bob and I broke up almost a year ago.  Who I want to date is my business Georgie.”  My voice was rising.  The frustration built up inside me.  Who did she think she was?  I continued, “I’m an adult – I am capable of making my own decisions.  So, unless you know something about AMP that I don’t, like he’s secretly married, or a murderer or something, I don’t know how my dating him would affect our friendship.”  

“It just will.  I won’t be your friend anymore if you are – that’s my decision and it’s final.”

Those last words pushed me over the edge.  “Well, I don’t want to be friends with someone who gives me ultimatums.” 

And with that phone call, our friendship ended.

This post is written for The Red Dress Club prompt: “ Write about a fight.  Who won?  Why?  What happened? Use emotion.”
As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

Stolen

She walked in the house and ran up the stairs.  She did not want to deal with her parents.  She did not want to answer questions about her whereabouts, if she’d seen Bob.  She just wanted to be alone.

She walked in her room and stopped.

Something was wrong.  Her bed was slightly askew, as if someone had moved it.  She looked around and could see everything was slightly out-of-place.  Her jewelry, her money had not been touched, so not a robbery.  She must be going crazy.  Paranoid.

Perhaps.

She raced to the bed, and reached her hand under.  She moved it back and forth, searching.  Desperately grasping.  She kneeled down further, so she could see.

There was nothing.

It was all gone.

The pictures of her and Bob, the gifts he gave her.

Her journal, private thoughts no one had the right to read.

Stolen.

Her privacy.

Stolen.

Her trust.

Stolen.

Leaving only a message cruelly imprinted in her brain – trust no one.

This post is my first real attempt to join in at The Red Dress Club.
The prompt was: Someone has stolen something from you (or your character). Something of tremendous value. What will you do to get it back? Or will you give up?

Please let me know what you think, improvements that could be made, etc.   I’m not sure if I’m 100% in love with it, but I wanted to post anyways, because if I wait till something’s perfect, I might never join in, haha.  :)  So, I would love any and all constructive criticism.