Please don't be upset. by Brandi Wells

I didn't think you'd think it was that weird. And stop. Stop struggling. The way you're gagging is hurting my wrist. I know you're wondering, but really, my hand fit down your throat pretty easily after I got it past your teeth. Yeah. Yeah, it took a bit of effort. And a lot of Vaseline. Yeah, I used the Vaseline that you keep on your nightstand. It was open and the part on top was kind of dried out but cracked through the top layer with toenail clippers.
    SHHHH. I can tell. I can tell by the way your eyes are open wide and you're drooling that you want to know, but first, please stop drooling. Having my hand inside your mouth is gross enough without the excess saliva on my wrist. And be still. Your teeth are starting to irritate me. It's sort of a greasy, slurpy chafing.
    Do you remember the other day when you said I couldn't drive your car because I don't hit the brakes early enough? Yeah, that didn't upset me. But it was that day. That girl. You know, the skinny one with too much black eyeliner and the chin that juts out too far? Yeah, the girl with the funny shaped nostrils.
    I don't think I'm jealous. I'm not really. But after the first few months of her calling and texting you in the middle of the night, while WE were sleeping, I thought you'd ask her to stop. I mean, I guess you thought it didn't matter. But it does. This girl. This girl that you fucked around with. What does "fuck around with" even mean? Is that different than fucked? Does that mean maybe you fucked her elbow? Or you fucked in circles in your living room? I don't understand "fucked around with."
    Well, she texted you again tonight. I didn't read it. I just picked up your phone and saw it was from her. I don't read you text messages. I know I did that one time, but I was drunk and I was looking to see if you saved texts that I sent you. Anyway. She texted you and you didn't wake up. I woke up. I couldn't get back to sleep.
    I watched a video on the internet where a guy stuck his fist up a girl's ass. His whole fist. And maybe half his arm. I guess there's room in there for all that. I mean, intestines are really long and twisted, so his fist would just follow that path, like some sort of maze. I think the girl liked it. And your mouth is really about the same as that girl's ass.
    Can you breathe? I think my arm is falling asleep. But at least we both know it fits. Can you breathe? Don't look at me like that. Stop. Breathe through your nose.
    SHHHH. We need to talk.
    I didn't know it would be so hard to get at your heart. What am I supposed to do with the stomach-intestine shit?

About the author:
Brandi Wells has a BA in Creative Writing and her fiction appears in or is forthcoming in elimae, Pear Noir, Monkey Bicycle, Wigleaf, and Rumble. She has a chapbook forthcoming as part the chapbook collective Fox Force 5, which is being released by Paper Hero Press. She blogs at http://brandiwells.blogspot.com/