The Box

Katrina sat on the edge of the bed, clad in nothing but a towel, still flushed from the hot water. The doors to her closet stood open, and there was literally nothing inside. Every Dior she owned, all her shoes, coats, everything was gone. The lingerie drawers on her dresser were open and they too were empty. She knew without looking that the rest of the chest was empty as well. She took a deep breath, trying to control her anger. The shower had washed off all the perspiration from an afternoon of tennis at the club and she’d been overjoyed. Finally she’d beat that bitch Betsy for the club championship. It had been an elusive goal for the last eight months. When she walked into the closet and found her loss she was livid. She screamed for Marie but the maid was nowhere to be found. She stomped around the room for a moment, nearly tripping over the huge box at the end of the bed. A card with Jack’s writing was taped to the top.

For my sweetheart, to help you live the future you’ve agreed to.

How sweet. They’d finally gotten over the argument and he’d bought her a new wardrobe. She’d been afraid he would be spiteful – but after all, she had done all the compromising, agreeing to accept his control and his discipline. She knew it would be difficult, and there would be rough patches ahead, but she could do it. It was that or lose a very comfortable situation. After all, he was quite rich.

She tried to open the box, but it was securely taped shut. She opened her purse and pulled out her car keys, tried to push one of them into the tape. Finally the plastic split with a pop. Good – it seemed the keys were good for more than just starting a Porsche. She flung open the flaps, then the end flaps, anxious to see what delicious clothes her husband wanted to see her in. She ripped off the tissue and threw it to the side, picked up the first wad of fabric.

“Plaid? Why on earth would he think I’d wear plaid?”

She shook it out and suddenly sucked in a noisy breath, her tummy twisting. My God, it was a short pleated skirt fit for a … a twelve year old. She rooted through the box, more and more frantically, but every piece of clothing she pulled out fit in exactly the same category – cotton blouses, jumpers, knee socks, mary janes… she held a pair of cotton panties in her fingers. How could he do this to her? She stood, slowly, let the towel fall off her. She had no choice. She pulled on the white panties, trying to keep the tears from her eyes. It was only as she finished dressing that she found the small plastic makeup  case in the bottom corner of the box. She reached in and opened it. All that was inside was a lipstick, and when she removed the lid it was a soft pink.

“No,” she screamed, and ran over to her vanity. She hadn’t noticed before, but it was bare… nothing. The only thing left was her grandmiother’s old fashioned hairbrush, but there was an addition – a lovely pink ribbon was wrapped around the handle, with a small card attached. She tore open the envelope.

Katrina, Bring this with you to dinner. Love, Jack.

Her hands shook. Yes, she had told him she would accept his discipline. Yes, she had signed the agreement Michaels had brought to her this morning. But she never expected it to become real, not like this. She looked at herself in the mirror, brushing her hair for a few cursory strokes. She looked lovely, and she was so short and so slim that she did indeed look like a pre-teen. Holding the hairbrush in her hands she wanted to sob, but she dared not. If she lost control she would never get it back. She turned and opened the bedroom door, and walked gracefully to the top of the stairs. Stepping down the circular staircase was one of the hardest things she ever did. She knew what to expect. She painted a smile on, readying her voice for a loving greeting.

It would be a long and painful evening.


This is part of Ruby’s #wankwednesday – to see the other entries see here


One Response to The Box

  1. Pingback: The Box | Passion's Blooming Rose

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