Page 47 of Plight
Danielle shot up like ameerkat and dashed for the laundry. “Dudley! I’m coming,” she called out. “Mummy is coming.”
Fuck me, I wished she was coming, just not in the way that she meant. I wanted her writhing underneath me, dripping onto my bed sheets, and screaming out my name. Not Pugly’s.
Pushing the thoughts out of my mind, I stood up and followed, her hasty retreat now stirring the pit of my stomach. Seriously, what the fuck could one small, ugly pug do that had her so worried?
“Dudley! NO! You naughty boy!” she shrieked, after opening the laundry door.
Pugly shot out of the room, skidding along my floorboards until the wall and my leg righted his traction.
“I’m so sorry, Elliot. I’ll buy you a new one. I promise.” Buy me a new what? A new laundry room?
Stumbling over the hyperactive, furry fucker, I used the doorframe for stability before poking my head around it to find torn pieces of my blue workout towel strewn across the tiled floor.
I let out a breath, my heart rate settling; it could’ve been worse. “It’s fine. It’s just a towel.”
“Yes. But what about your shirt?”
She slowly and hesitantly raised her arm, pointing to her left, to where my favourite three-hundred-dollar Armani shirt lay on the floor beneath a freshly laid pug turd.
I spewed in my mouth a little.
Danielle bit her fingernail and squinted. “I hope it wasn’t a good shirt.”
“Naaaa,” I shrilled and shook my head, unconvincingly. “Not really.”
“Oh my God, you’re lying! How much was it?” She carefully stepped over the pieces of towel and went to pick it up.
I held out my hand to stop her. “Don’t! I’ll do it. You’ll get shit on your dress.”
I really didn’t want to fucking do it, but I would if it meant she didn’t have to.
“No. Dudley is my dog. I’ll clean up after him. I’m so sorry, Elliot.”
“Stop apologising. It’s no big deal.”
“It is. I feel awful. You have really nice things: a nice apartment, nice towels, nice shirts—”
Stepping closer, it was a kick to the gut when she stepped away. “What’s wrong?” I asked, reaching for her hand and carefully pulling her to me.
“Nothing.” She stepped back again, gently pushing off my chest. “I … I just really want to clean this up.”
“Okay. I’ll help you.”
“No. I’ll do it. If you want to help, please go find Dudley. I’d hate to think what he’s shitting on now.”
And just like that, I was out of the laundry.
“Dudley!” I called, practically jogging along the hallway. Where the fuck are you?
“Pat your lap a few times and say, ‘Dudley Doo, where are you?’,” Danielle shouted.
I paused and looked over my shoulder toward the laundry. Dudley Doo? … Are you shitting me?
Gritting my teeth, I called out, “Dudley d … doo, where are you?”
“You have to say it louder, Elliot. And with more love in your voice.”
More love? More fucking love?
