]|[ MiSS❤MiCHELLE ]|[ " And then.. "
May 31, 2021 23:16:18 GMT -5
Deceiver and Samuel Chatman like this
Post by Miss Michelle on May 31, 2021 23:16:18 GMT -5
And here we are, the same house we've been in hundreds of times, only this time its different. This time there is no happiness, no love in the air. Now a fat black angry cloud just chills over this place.
She never liked it here in Misery (ha! See what I did there? Missouri - Misery.) But she always stayed here because he hated San Diego. Now I know its because he's a vampire and hates the sun.
Anyways, she sat there at the edge of the bed, putting on a full face of makeup in the full length mirror on the wall. Her thoughts wandering away from her. She couldn't believe that she actually sent that email to him and wondered if he had actually even read it.
She hadn't heard from him in a while and that's why she was doing what she was doing tonight. She has a plan, an idea to see where his mind is, if he even has one anymore.
She finished applying her makeup and then stood up from the bed. Those knee highed leather boots, paired with that barely there black mini dress just screamed "fuck me" and that was the end goal for the night.
She spritzed a bit of perfume over her neck and wrists before fluffing her long blonde locks, spreading the curls about. She sat the bottle down on the dresser and grabbed up her phone. Flipping the screen on, she scrolled through her apps before stopping and pressing the one marked "find my phone." As she pressed it, she highlighted Brandon's number and pressed search.
Forty-five minutes later..
Brandon Moore's prized Gold colored Mercedes Benz is shown pulling up into the parking lot of a local dive bar, the sign reads "cut ups bar and grill." The car pulls up in front of the door and comes to a stop. The door flings open and out steps Michelle, she adjusts her tiny dress as best as she can before looking around for the valet. Not seeing one she turns to a group of guys standing by the door smoking, and tosses the keys to one of them.
"Happy Birthday. "
She shrugged her shoulders and walked into the bar. As she entered she remarked on how busy it was, most of the tables were overly occupied and there was even a crowd at the bar. The big screens hanging on the wall had a few different baseball games showing and people were shouting, showing support for their teams.
Her eyes scan the room until she sees exactly what she wanted to see and there it was. Brandon and the Bastard 3 sat back in a booth in the corner of the bar, watching the game and having some beers. She smirks as she turns her head and scans the room once more, looking for something once more.
She perked her breasts, tossed her hair over her shoulder and took off towards the corner of the room adjacent to Brandon and company. Passing through the crowd of people she couldn't help but wonder who the hell would let 4 people in creepy masks into the bar like that? I mean, she was used to it, but these people must really be wondering what the fuck is going on.
She walks up to the bar where a few guys have gathered and are having conversations.
"Hey guys, its your lucky day.."
She says with a smile before reaching over and grabbing one of the full shot glasses filled with whiskey and downing it.
"Damn girl, no chaser?"
"Chasers are for bitches. So what are we talking about?"
She sets the shot glass back down onto the bar as the guys continue their conversation. Annoyed with not getting the attention she hoped for she rolls her eyes and starts to walk off. She pulls her phone from the small purse she had over her shoulder and looms down at the screen, a text had come thru from Ricky. She smirked and as she turned the corner she ran right into the chest of 6 foot 5 inches of Poptart, the biggest of the Bastards.
She drops her phone and he and her both look down at it on the floor.
"Pick it up."
She says to him, firmly. He looks at her and then back down to the phone on the floor, the text from Ricky still visible. He shakes his head and stomps his big ass boot on the phone, crushing it.
"What the fuck, Poptart?"
"Why are you here?" He asked.
Nervously. "I wanted a drink, can't I come to a bar and have a drink?"
"No. Not this bar. Stop stalking him, he doesn't want to talk to you. Not right now. "
Annoyed. "He better talk to me and soon. I am not playing, I am still his wife!"
Equally annoyed. "Yeah, not for long. Your choice, remember?"
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.
"Just tell him to come home and talk to me.. for a minute."
"I'll tell him but don't count on it."
Poptart turns and walks away from me, but stops.
"By the way, you look like a hooker."
An hour later..
After leaving the bar and heading back home, Michelle is shown laying across the bed of the master bedroom. No longer was she dressed in the whore fit tho, now she was only covered by an extra large t shirt and a pair of booty shorts - not really much difference, just a bit more comfortable. She closes her lap top and lays her head back on the bed.
"Necra Octavian Kane.. I don't even know where to begin with you. On one hand my brain is screaming at me to give you a chance but then on the other hand, I don't give out chances. I don't know much about you firsthand, but the things I have seen and heard, I can say I'm not impressed or bothered.
I actually did have a free half second this morning though and I caught that little gem of a promo you tried to cut on me and normally I don't respond or react directly to the things that are said, but I'm making an exception for you.
Like most incompetent women who have come before you, you have fallen into the same cesspool of nonsense and illiterate conversation. I can see that you are the type who when you don't have anything tangible to say, turn and try and degrade another woman by calling her a whore and a golddigger, as if I wasn't self made. I really hope that you aren't banking on whether or not Brandon and I are divorcing on whether you'll win this match or not - because I can promise you this..
I am actually not distracted by what is or isn't happening in my home, so sorry to disappoint you like that. You see, when you are a married but independent woman who knows her worth, you don't give a shit what a random bitch who technically just got her ass beat by her husband thinks.
You are seriously like my biggest fan, I think. You know so much about me and yet still are so kind to keep asking questions to find out more. I love how interested in not only my marriage but every aspect of me. There isn't much about me or my life that isn't publicly known, but I guess to answer your question of whether the carpets match the drapes or not?
Why don't you come look for yourself? And while you're down there, make your tongue useful.
Hopefully you're better with your tongue than you are with your insults though, I would hate to be doubly disappointed by you.
I have heard a lot of stupid things in my career, but I think you topped the cake when you said I didn't deserve to be in the ring with you because you were, and I quote, "the best of the best" in this company. "
Michelle laughs hysterically and over the top, so much so that she almost falls off of the bed.
"Now that is funny! You almost made me hurt myself, which would be the only way you'd be able to beat me. I've beaten bigger and better than you, time and time again. I have no worries about stepping into the ring with someone who couldn't carry my bags.
I don't have anything planned for this match because you, my sad little darling, aren't worth planning for. I will do what I do, and that is walk my ass down to the ring and I will do what I do best, besides talking shit and I will kick your ass.
But hey, afterwards, if you still have questions and you really wanna know about my vagina, come back to my office."
She winks before flipping the light off as the scene fades to black.
She never liked it here in Misery (ha! See what I did there? Missouri - Misery.) But she always stayed here because he hated San Diego. Now I know its because he's a vampire and hates the sun.
Anyways, she sat there at the edge of the bed, putting on a full face of makeup in the full length mirror on the wall. Her thoughts wandering away from her. She couldn't believe that she actually sent that email to him and wondered if he had actually even read it.
She hadn't heard from him in a while and that's why she was doing what she was doing tonight. She has a plan, an idea to see where his mind is, if he even has one anymore.
She finished applying her makeup and then stood up from the bed. Those knee highed leather boots, paired with that barely there black mini dress just screamed "fuck me" and that was the end goal for the night.
She spritzed a bit of perfume over her neck and wrists before fluffing her long blonde locks, spreading the curls about. She sat the bottle down on the dresser and grabbed up her phone. Flipping the screen on, she scrolled through her apps before stopping and pressing the one marked "find my phone." As she pressed it, she highlighted Brandon's number and pressed search.
Forty-five minutes later..
Brandon Moore's prized Gold colored Mercedes Benz is shown pulling up into the parking lot of a local dive bar, the sign reads "cut ups bar and grill." The car pulls up in front of the door and comes to a stop. The door flings open and out steps Michelle, she adjusts her tiny dress as best as she can before looking around for the valet. Not seeing one she turns to a group of guys standing by the door smoking, and tosses the keys to one of them.
"Happy Birthday. "
She shrugged her shoulders and walked into the bar. As she entered she remarked on how busy it was, most of the tables were overly occupied and there was even a crowd at the bar. The big screens hanging on the wall had a few different baseball games showing and people were shouting, showing support for their teams.
Her eyes scan the room until she sees exactly what she wanted to see and there it was. Brandon and the Bastard 3 sat back in a booth in the corner of the bar, watching the game and having some beers. She smirks as she turns her head and scans the room once more, looking for something once more.
She perked her breasts, tossed her hair over her shoulder and took off towards the corner of the room adjacent to Brandon and company. Passing through the crowd of people she couldn't help but wonder who the hell would let 4 people in creepy masks into the bar like that? I mean, she was used to it, but these people must really be wondering what the fuck is going on.
She walks up to the bar where a few guys have gathered and are having conversations.
"Hey guys, its your lucky day.."
She says with a smile before reaching over and grabbing one of the full shot glasses filled with whiskey and downing it.
"Damn girl, no chaser?"
"Chasers are for bitches. So what are we talking about?"
She sets the shot glass back down onto the bar as the guys continue their conversation. Annoyed with not getting the attention she hoped for she rolls her eyes and starts to walk off. She pulls her phone from the small purse she had over her shoulder and looms down at the screen, a text had come thru from Ricky. She smirked and as she turned the corner she ran right into the chest of 6 foot 5 inches of Poptart, the biggest of the Bastards.
She drops her phone and he and her both look down at it on the floor.
"Pick it up."
She says to him, firmly. He looks at her and then back down to the phone on the floor, the text from Ricky still visible. He shakes his head and stomps his big ass boot on the phone, crushing it.
"What the fuck, Poptart?"
"Why are you here?" He asked.
Nervously. "I wanted a drink, can't I come to a bar and have a drink?"
"No. Not this bar. Stop stalking him, he doesn't want to talk to you. Not right now. "
Annoyed. "He better talk to me and soon. I am not playing, I am still his wife!"
Equally annoyed. "Yeah, not for long. Your choice, remember?"
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.
"Just tell him to come home and talk to me.. for a minute."
"I'll tell him but don't count on it."
Poptart turns and walks away from me, but stops.
"By the way, you look like a hooker."
An hour later..
After leaving the bar and heading back home, Michelle is shown laying across the bed of the master bedroom. No longer was she dressed in the whore fit tho, now she was only covered by an extra large t shirt and a pair of booty shorts - not really much difference, just a bit more comfortable. She closes her lap top and lays her head back on the bed.
"Necra Octavian Kane.. I don't even know where to begin with you. On one hand my brain is screaming at me to give you a chance but then on the other hand, I don't give out chances. I don't know much about you firsthand, but the things I have seen and heard, I can say I'm not impressed or bothered.
I actually did have a free half second this morning though and I caught that little gem of a promo you tried to cut on me and normally I don't respond or react directly to the things that are said, but I'm making an exception for you.
Like most incompetent women who have come before you, you have fallen into the same cesspool of nonsense and illiterate conversation. I can see that you are the type who when you don't have anything tangible to say, turn and try and degrade another woman by calling her a whore and a golddigger, as if I wasn't self made. I really hope that you aren't banking on whether or not Brandon and I are divorcing on whether you'll win this match or not - because I can promise you this..
Either way, you lose.
Sorry about your luck.
Sorry about your luck.
I am actually not distracted by what is or isn't happening in my home, so sorry to disappoint you like that. You see, when you are a married but independent woman who knows her worth, you don't give a shit what a random bitch who technically just got her ass beat by her husband thinks.
Damn I guess its a
Family Affair..
kicking your ass, that is.
Family Affair..
kicking your ass, that is.
You are seriously like my biggest fan, I think. You know so much about me and yet still are so kind to keep asking questions to find out more. I love how interested in not only my marriage but every aspect of me. There isn't much about me or my life that isn't publicly known, but I guess to answer your question of whether the carpets match the drapes or not?
Why don't you come look for yourself? And while you're down there, make your tongue useful.
Hopefully you're better with your tongue than you are with your insults though, I would hate to be doubly disappointed by you.
I have heard a lot of stupid things in my career, but I think you topped the cake when you said I didn't deserve to be in the ring with you because you were, and I quote, "the best of the best" in this company. "
Michelle laughs hysterically and over the top, so much so that she almost falls off of the bed.
"Now that is funny! You almost made me hurt myself, which would be the only way you'd be able to beat me. I've beaten bigger and better than you, time and time again. I have no worries about stepping into the ring with someone who couldn't carry my bags.
I don't have anything planned for this match because you, my sad little darling, aren't worth planning for. I will do what I do, and that is walk my ass down to the ring and I will do what I do best, besides talking shit and I will kick your ass.
But hey, afterwards, if you still have questions and you really wanna know about my vagina, come back to my office."
She winks before flipping the light off as the scene fades to black.