Special Agent Alicia Sullivan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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muserevival2013-05-21 02:09 am
agentsullivan) wrote in muserevival2013-05-21 02:09 am
Entry tags:
028.1. Muse Prompt
"Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family." - Anthony Brandt
There were two scenarios when her husband pulling a double shift was extremely inconvenient: when she was horny or when she was sick. And fuck, did she wish right now that it was the first scenario. Luckily, their little girl was at her other daddy’s place for a few days and she didn’t have to worry about a boisterous four year old tearing up the house while she had her head inelegantly shoved in the toilet. She was in her undies, hair looking like something that belonged on a Muppet, kneeling on the tiles praying to the porcelain god. This, ladies and gentlemen, was why she hated religion. There was nothing fun about praying for anything, not even metaphorically.
It felt like it was going on forever, and she nearly sent Andrew a text message to abuse him for the sole reason that he wasn’t there to moan to in person. It wasn’t like the poor guy wasn’t used to her train of thought by now after three years of marriage. It just felt like she would never stop. By the time she did, she slumped back against the cool shower screen and peeled the damp strands of hair back from her face, trying to catch her breath. She went to check her watch, only then remember she wasn’t wearing one and was about to blissfully pass out when something horribly dawned on her and she shot forward, coming to rest on all-fours like a dog. “Oh god... oh no...” she started to whimper and then struggled up off the bathroom floor, using the bath tub as a bracing point. She bolted across the apartment to the kitchen and too-roughly punched at her iPhone screen to bring up her day planner.
The date glared back at her from the taunting screen, and if a cell could laugh at her, it probably would. She was late. She was very, very late. Over two weeks now. The last month had been a hectic barrage of shifts and the general chaos Ali could get herself into at any one time. Anyone who knew her was used to it, and she insisted it was organised chaos. But here she was, having lulled herself into a false sense of security that everything was okey-dokey and happiness, and as usual, The Powers That Be had decided to turn around and firmly bite her in the ass for it. She gave a small, barked laugh or disbelief and kept gaping at the screen as if it would change for her on will, but it didn’t. It wasn’t going to, and she grabbed at her lips with her fingers, an odd almost-animalistic squeal exiting her. “No, no, no... not again. Not like this.”
But it was again. Memories of a very hot and heavy night with her other half four weeks ago at James’ birthday party rushed back to her with such force, it nearly knocked her off her feet. There may or may not have been forethought about birth control, but considering she could remember if that was true or not, and couldn’t actually remember how Andrew got that number of hickies all over her the day after, a happy little pause for a condom might have been off the cards...
“Shit, shit, fuck... shit... more fucks!” she cussed and did a little helpless dance on the spot. That was a mistake, though, and after swearing three years ago that she never wanted to experience another pregnancy again, she was now, yet again, bolting to the bathroom in what could only be another severe error of judgement that may very well end in a bundle of not-so-joy.
Ali Sullivan || Original Character, for PSLdreamlikenewyork || 610 words
There were two scenarios when her husband pulling a double shift was extremely inconvenient: when she was horny or when she was sick. And fuck, did she wish right now that it was the first scenario. Luckily, their little girl was at her other daddy’s place for a few days and she didn’t have to worry about a boisterous four year old tearing up the house while she had her head inelegantly shoved in the toilet. She was in her undies, hair looking like something that belonged on a Muppet, kneeling on the tiles praying to the porcelain god. This, ladies and gentlemen, was why she hated religion. There was nothing fun about praying for anything, not even metaphorically.
It felt like it was going on forever, and she nearly sent Andrew a text message to abuse him for the sole reason that he wasn’t there to moan to in person. It wasn’t like the poor guy wasn’t used to her train of thought by now after three years of marriage. It just felt like she would never stop. By the time she did, she slumped back against the cool shower screen and peeled the damp strands of hair back from her face, trying to catch her breath. She went to check her watch, only then remember she wasn’t wearing one and was about to blissfully pass out when something horribly dawned on her and she shot forward, coming to rest on all-fours like a dog. “Oh god... oh no...” she started to whimper and then struggled up off the bathroom floor, using the bath tub as a bracing point. She bolted across the apartment to the kitchen and too-roughly punched at her iPhone screen to bring up her day planner.
The date glared back at her from the taunting screen, and if a cell could laugh at her, it probably would. She was late. She was very, very late. Over two weeks now. The last month had been a hectic barrage of shifts and the general chaos Ali could get herself into at any one time. Anyone who knew her was used to it, and she insisted it was organised chaos. But here she was, having lulled herself into a false sense of security that everything was okey-dokey and happiness, and as usual, The Powers That Be had decided to turn around and firmly bite her in the ass for it. She gave a small, barked laugh or disbelief and kept gaping at the screen as if it would change for her on will, but it didn’t. It wasn’t going to, and she grabbed at her lips with her fingers, an odd almost-animalistic squeal exiting her. “No, no, no... not again. Not like this.”
But it was again. Memories of a very hot and heavy night with her other half four weeks ago at James’ birthday party rushed back to her with such force, it nearly knocked her off her feet. There may or may not have been forethought about birth control, but considering she could remember if that was true or not, and couldn’t actually remember how Andrew got that number of hickies all over her the day after, a happy little pause for a condom might have been off the cards...
“Shit, shit, fuck... shit... more fucks!” she cussed and did a little helpless dance on the spot. That was a mistake, though, and after swearing three years ago that she never wanted to experience another pregnancy again, she was now, yet again, bolting to the bathroom in what could only be another severe error of judgement that may very well end in a bundle of not-so-joy.
Ali Sullivan || Original Character, for PSL
dreamlikenewyork || 610 words