The Shoe - part 1

During a brainstorming session with Jada for story starters, I came up with this: An argument over a shoe…not a pair of shoes, but a single shoe. The story has been rattling around in my head for awhile, but I’ve finally written the first half. For this story, I return to Melanie and Sara.

Melanie opened the door to the apartment she shared with Sara, juggling her purse, briefcase, and the bag of groceries she had picked up on her way home from work. Two steps into the entryway, she stumbled, the grocery bag tumbling to the floor. Mel caught herself with a hand on the wall, her shin barking painfully against the bench.

“Fuck, Sara! How many time do I have to remind you to pick up your shoes?” Mel shouted into the living room, kicking the offending shoe out of her way and walking through towards the office to deposit her things. “Pick them up,” she demanded, “And pick up the groceries.”

“Not my shoe,” Sara said lazily from the sofa. She was wrapped in a quilt, lounging in front of a mindless home design show.

“I beg your pardon!” Mel paused to stare at her girlfriend, “Which of us leaves her shoes strewn about?”

Sara tore her eyes away from the television, glanced back into the entryway and shook her head. “It’s not my shoe,” she announced, sinking back onto the sofa.

Mel dropped her things just inside the office, grabbing the leather paddle that hung beside the door, and stormed over to the television. She stabbed the power button, the screen flickering off. She stomped around the coffee table, yanked the quilt off Sara with one hand and grabbed Sara’s ear with her other hand.

Sara shrieked as she was pulled to her feet, “Melanie!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Sara. You endanger both of us, leaving such stumbling hazards everywhere. This isn’t the first time! Get over the sofa.”

“But Mel,” Sara began, but Mel cut her off by tightening her hold on Sara’s ear.

“Now,” Melanie demanded.

Sara reluctantly got into position, her legs spread wide and her bottom thrust out. Melanie laid into the presented backside with the paddle, striking hard from the first swat. Paddling so hard, cold, quickly brought Sara to tears.

Melanie reached forward, grabbing her girlfriend by the hair and pulling her to her feet again. “Pick up the fucking shoe,” she growled.

Sara sniffled, rubbing the back of her hand quickly across her streaming eyes before walking over to the offending shoe. She picked up the shoe by the heel, flipping the distinctive red sole at her girlfriend. “It’s not my fucking shoe,” she announced, vindicated.

Melanie stared at the Christian Louboutin pump she had purchased only the weekend before, a splurge for her birthday. She hadn’t even taken the shoes out of the box yet. Melanie took a deep, steading breath before she asked, “Sara, where is the other one?”