[F] Incompatible — short story/drabble.

My first post; constructive criticism is welcome. Names have been changed.

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Familiar sounds and scents are all Lia has as she kneels before her husband’s favorite chair in their bedroom: the soft whirr of the air conditioning that moves coolish air over her bare skin; the scent of the almond body creme she painstakingly used as she readied herself for her husband; the soft, comforting noises of the home they’d made together for the past eight years. Familiar sensations to comfort her in the face of another: uncertainty. Always the uncertainty, coiled in her gut, making it hard to keep still, making her press her palms to her thighs and count her breaths when she hears the alarm disengaging down the hallway. Her heartbeat quickens, though not for the reason she would like. Adrenaline skitters up her middle, puckers her nipples, straightens her spine. *Good Evening, Si*r, she practices in her head. And tries not to feel aroused, just thinking it. *Hi, Baby.* No, too casual. Steps down the hall, her name being called. Her husband is home. She flexes her hands on her thighs, wonders what she must look like. Likes the thought, smiles in the darkness.

“Lia? Honey? You aslee–” The overhead light snaps on.

“Welcome home,” Lia says, looking up at her husband as she tries not to feel exposed, tries to ignore his look of shock. He’s surprised, is all. Adrenaline makes her hands shake.

“What the hell?” Derrick has stopped in his tracks, his mouth open, hands clutching the handle of his workbag like a castaway to the detritus of a wreck. “You’re naked! And why are you on your knees?”

Lia smiles up at him despite the urge to grind her teeth together. “I wanted to surprise you, be your servant girl for the night.”

The bag drops,and for a second, hope spreads its wings wide and wild in her chest. But Derrick’s hands only come up to cross themselves over his chest as he takes a step backward toward the door. Suddenly the room seems much too cool, and a new sensation, also familiar, coasts up her spine. Lia looks up at him, as beseechingly as any servant girl would do, only now it’s not a game.

“Derrick,” she says.

“Put some clothes on,” he says from the doorway. “And get up. This is…” He shakes his head.

Pride wars with pragmatism for a moment before Lia tucks her toes, rocks back, and rises — just as she’s been practicing for weeks. Weeks, for this one night. Weeks to find the courage to try — this. Weeks to feel things that have been achingly familiar. Weeks to hope.

She mirrors his stance;one foot slightly forward, arms crossed. Only her mouth is different; hers quirks up at the corners while his remains in a stern line. Weeks to hope, after all.

“It’s just me, Derrick. Just a game.” She uncrosses her arms and holds out her hand to him. “C’mon. It’s’ just me.”

“You’re my *wife*,” he says, and backs away again. “Not some….”

The unspoken word snaps her arm down, breaks the wings of hope in her chest. Now her expression matches his; her mouth is a perfect line, held straight by teeth biting back words and tears; her arms crossed back across her chest, hiding hard nipples that have nothing to do with arousal or hope or even fear.

He has mercy on her after all; he gives her one last look before turning the lights out and closing the door. She hears the television turn on down the hall; the familiar sounds of a baseball game reach her ears.

This time when she falls to her knees, her back is arched, her shoulders slumped. The scent of almonds mixes with that of salt as the tears fall on her breasts and thighs in the dark. Shame is familiar too, and it washes over her like a current, dragging her under until it feels like she can’t breathe. Until there is a part of her that wonders if she even wants to.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8svhkf/f_incompatible_short_storydrabble