14

                                    

                                          
Andreas
Task at hand, task at hand. Focus on the task at hand.
There are heaps of difficulty upon deciding whether I should stomp out the car and smash open the door to Jasper's house or request a customizable frame displaying the image of a nest of ducklings from a woman whose advertisement had popped up on my phone.
Twenty-nine ninety-nine per image is loose change. I'd order a few if having frames which capture ducks in their natural habitat wasn't considered abnormal in the walls of my room. Maybe if I make my bedsheets white, replace my desk, and open the drapes more often, then it'd prove suitable? But then I'd have to elaborate on the drastic change to Bella. Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I rush out the car and slam the door behind me.
I've decided that I'll be picking up a civil approach communicating with my girlfriend's ex. I knock on the door and scan my surroundings―a thin pathway leading up to the porch I'm waiting at, unclipped dwarf bushes along its sides, a stretch of grass that looks like it hasn't been trimmed in a year, and a thin ash tree with severed branches. Maybe the appalling nature of this front yard is why Bella had been so keen on exploring our own on the first day I'd brought her. Or I just do an extravagant job of communicating what I want with landscapers.
The door creaks open.
"Who are you?"
I'm addled that this is the monstrosity that had always panicked Bella in her time of strolling around the mall. There's nothing wrong with him, it's just...I expected bigger for someone with as much balls as him, not a long, lean frame with brown eyes that look permanently wary. I push past him and invite myself inside.
"Hey! What the―"
"Tell me about Isabella. I want to know everything." I pause at the end of a corridor. The kitchen is an unappealing display of dirty dishes stacked in a sink, scattered and empty food packages, and smudges of different kinds of condiments on the counter. Crumbles are dispersed on the floor, and they lead all the way into a just-as-messy living room. Clothes pile on the couches, soda bottles sit on the coffee table, the window has a slash of an unknown white substance. This is horrific.
Jasper stops beside me. "Assuming you're the mysterious guy that had told me my ex's hands were occupied with his dick, what the fuck do you want?"
I swing my attention across the space once more. "You don't choose to meet hygienic standards?"
"The place wouldn't be a mess if you hadn't taken my girl."
"So she's your slave too, huh?" I turn to him and plaster on my best imitation of friendliness when, in fact, my arms are crossed for the sole purpose of keeping my fists in check. He's cackling and doubling over.
"Oh, I fucking knew it." He wipes away a tear and walks over to the shocking excuse of a couch. "A maid with a pretty pair of tits moving on to do her labour elsewhere. And of course she chooses you." He stares at me and tentatively takes a seat on the only section clear of clothing piles, his eyes wide with caution. "You're a fucking...body builder or some shit."
"It makes it easier to handle her. Especially in bed." Testing how far he'll go talking down on her will help me establish a very fine idea on how I'll be handling him. The astonishment on his features tells me that I won't be working with mercy tonight. 
He's gawking at the confirmation that his ex is still only an object to mess around with. That even though she'd deserted him for someone bigger, better, she hasn't given up on her obligation to be ordered like a slave and fucked like one too.