Mean Girls Missing

11

April 10

8:52 pm

Samantha

It's a special day.

That's what Arnie told me this morning at breakfast. He said we would have our second official date and 'it was a special day.'

I didn't know what that meant. It haunted me through the morning while I washed dishes, made my bed, and organized the laundry for Arnie to take to wash. I tried to take an afternoon nap but to no avail. It kept me occupied in the shower. Hovering over me like a rain cloud, those five words stuck to me like glue. I couldn't shake it.

And now here I was, in the private room with Arnie. Just the thought of it broke me down in the shower. Steph had asked what took me so long. I lied and said I was doing a hair mask and waited for it to soak through my hair. In reality, I was sitting on the floor of the tub with my knees to my chest shaking and sobbing and thinking. It was the deadliest combination these days.

No gifts this time. He got straight to business.

I thought I could handle anything. I was an amazing actress. Apparently that had started to fade away too.

Arnie laid down on the bed, propping pillows behind his back so he was still upward enough to watch me across the room.

"This is the next phase of our relationship," he said clearly. "If you complete this, I know you are as committed as I am."

And if I don't, you'll kill me? My thoughts echoed at me.

"Now, you are going to do exactly as I say. And I am going to watch you."

Arnie gave me step by step instructions. He made it perfectly clear that if I didn't obey, I would be severely punished. As if I was going to risk my life. I'd done worse things in my life, right? This happened to be out of my control and incredibly uncomfortable, but in the bigger picture, I had done bigger and badder things.

His first step was perfecting my strut. I pretended like it was a runway at New York Fashion Week and I was displaying the hottest new trends to America. The spotlight was on me and it was perfect. The fantasy was enough to block out who I was really performing for.

Back and forth in my short floral slip dress, I made sure to accentuate all of my curvatures in a way that would... please him. The spaghetti straps kept slipping down my shoulders, which in turn would pull down some of the minimal fabric covering my boobs, which then exposed several inches of cleavage and I could hear him grunting. Dolce & Gabbana were certainly not getting any more of my money after this. They couldn't make a dress with tight straps so now my titties were bouncing around all over the place and it wasn't even on purpose. I couldn't help what God had given me.

"Now take it off, you naughty girl. Slow."

As I slipped my fingers under the strap and let it droop against my biceps, I turned my back to him so that I could let a few tears drip out and he could still see parts of me. Therefore, I could cry for fifteen seconds and he wouldn't beat me to death. I dropped my body to the ground and dramatically rose to a stand, letting my dress drop off my arms and past my hips. It was covering my feet on the floor.

Now it was just Sammi. Standing in front of him with a sheer bralette and matching panties. I had never felt so exposed in my life. That was including the time I accidentally flashed the soccer team in middle school. Even though this was my body, it was obviously attached to me, it felt like a foreign object. Who did this belong to?