ameliegee
The crushed velvet dress, spread out like a puddle of red blood against the white sheets - stunningly beautiful, haunting, something that I wanted but I knew wasn't appropriate to want - seemed too good to be true.
My husband watched me as I examined it with narrowed eyes. Even without looking at him, I knew he was smirking. Of course, even without trying, he was being patronizing, supporting his crazy wife's wishes and desires while masking his inner contempt.
I hated the dress, and I hated him.
"I don't want it," I announced, turning away from it and the bed, looking into my closet and letting my hands pass by every article of clothing they encountered.
I shouldn't be here with him. The temptation is too much...knowing that it's just me, him, together, separated on this lonely beach by inches of sand and pebbles, the sheer bikini that rests against my skin - reminding me that, despite my determination to not cross boundaries, I still want more out of this relationship than he does.
He isn't looking at me, or the exposed skin that glimmers in the moonlight, making me almost beautiful for once. His gaze is set on the crashing waves.