I force myself to look away from the paper, trying not to focus on the unsettling thoughts and emotions it’s evoking in me. So, I turn my attention to the array of food displayed in front of us; sliced ham, stuffed bell peppers, deviled eggs, roasted mushrooms, steamed broccoli, baked sweet potatoes, brown bread, some kind of vegetable casserole, and…I think those are clams on the other end.
Anyway, it all looks and smells amazing, but I can’t really appreciate any of it. Not like this.
I’m using all my energy to focus on clenching my vaginal muscles and squeezing my thighs tightly against each other so I don’t start dinner off by pissing myself.
It sure as hell doesn’t help matters when he picks up a bottle of wine and pours himself a glass. My eyes involuntarily follow the motion, watching closely as the red stream flows into the long-stemmed wine glass. The sight of it emptying into the larger brimmed glass from the smaller mouth of the bottle only makes me think of a toilet bowl and how much I need to use one right now.
I tear my eyes away from it and do my damnedest to block out the torturous sound of liquid pouring on liquid.
I really hate this.