Sealed, Delivered, A Fictional Short
The only reason he had come to the house was to deliver the pizza. But from the moment he buzzed, and the door opened, he knew that he was in for a lot more. Whatever the argument that the woman had just finished with the boyfriend or the husband or the girlfriend or whomever, the result was her standing here on the threshold wearing the moist tracks of tears, and barely more than a suggestive smile.
Timmy had immediately averted his gaze, suddenly fascinated by the crown molding and the color of the drapes. She was asking him something about accepting special gratuities. He tried to focus on what it would feel like to have a knife driven into him at Jenna’s hands if she ever heard about this incident.
“It’s…” his voice was lost in a volley of coughing and he took another run at it. “It’s $17.95 ma’am.”
“But you need my coupon,” she said, running a hand down the front of her shirt, conveniently unbuttoned. She slid her hand to one side, revealing the swell of one breast. “I think I’ve got it here under my—”
“Nope, I’m good.” Timmy let out an abrupt laugh that sounded fake, even to him. “I don’t need your coupon, I’ll take your word for it.”
She looked down at herself, underneath the tails of the shirt that revealed the micro-thin underwear that she was wearing. “My wallet is all the way over there on the table by the phone. Take whatever you think is fair.”
Timmy contemplated paying for the pizza himself, just to get the hell out of there, but ended up lurching into the room and grabbing the wallet. He was looking through the bills when suddenly her hand reached around from behind him, caressing softly and moving for a vacation down south. Timmy groaned and turned, finding himself thrust into a clumsy embrace. The hands that he had raised to push her away had ended up cupping the least opportune place on her body while her lips were suddenly on his and her hands were fumbling with the elastic band of his shorts.
“What in the blue fuck is going on here?” the authoritative tone of the police officer that was evidently also her husband, brought a high pitched shriek to Timmy’s voice and he pushed her away. She tumbled backwards over the coffee table and fell roughly to the ground. To his dismay, she was now screaming at her husband to help her. All she wanted was a pizza and thank God, he had come home, just in time to save her. Timmy froze over her prone body, vaguely aware that her purse was now clutched tightly in his grip. The sight of the officer reaching for his pepper spray broke him out of his stupor and he fled towards the back door.
When he hit the yard, the husband hadn’t taken pursuit yet. Timmy dove into the gigantic play house that the man had probably built himself for his kids. He slammed the door shut behind him and looked around at the plastic tea set that he had knocked askew.
Outside he heard the husband raging obscenities and throwing lawn ornaments. It went on for some time, but eventually, the sound began to fade and Timmy started to feel like maybe it was safe.
Then he heard gravel crunching, followed by the sound of all things, a light tapping on the front door of the playhouse. Timmy’s voice went up several more octaves as the only words he could think to say spilled out.
“Not without a warrant!”