Mirage - Alice Tribue


It’s time to have my ceiling painted, I think to myself. These are the things my mind notices while I’m stuck in this position. It’s amazing the things your brain wanders to when you’re bored out of your mind. When I get tired of the view, I close my eyes waiting for it to be over, seriously hoping that it’ll only last a minute or two more. I do my part, wrap my legs around his waist, and cry out my phony sounds of pleasure.

“Yes, oh God, Collin.”

“Fuck, yeah.” I cringe when his hot breath hits my neck. This doesn’t happen to me often, but when my mind isn’t in it, I can’t do anything to get me there. Sessions like these are never enjoyable—not for me, anyway.

He uses me as a receptacle, thrusting away until he fills me with his unwanted ejaculation. Then he rolls over and tells me how amazing it was, and how I’m the best fuck he’s ever had. I’m just thankful for it to be over.

It’s always the same, exactly the fucking same. A man gets comfortable, he thinks that he has you, believes that you are so in love that you would never walk out the door, and then you meet the lazy alter ego of their former self. You know the one you actually met and wanted to fuck? With this new guy, there is no flirting, no kissing, and no foreplay. He just climbs on top of you, inserts dick, and there begins the most uneventful few minutes of the day.

I lie here panting, pretending to be basking in the afterglow of post-coital bliss. He’ll never know that I’m faking; he doesn’t care enough to figure it out. My award-worthy act continues as he gets up and walks to the bathroom to relieve himself. Then, and only then, do I reach over and check my cell phone. Instantly, I’m on alert—three missed calls and one voicemail message.

“Victoria, it’s Macy.” Her voice is shaky, and I can tell that she’s been crying. “I need to talk to you. Please call me back as soon as you get this.”

It’s strange to get a call from her because she’s not one of the needy ones. I delete the message and call her back; she answers on the first ring.


“Macy, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I had a scheduled appointment with Conrad, things just- I can’t… Victoria, can you just please come see me?” The desperation in her voice is evident, and it fills me with anxiety.

“Yes, Macy, I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? Just sit tight.”

“All right.”

Hopping out of bed, I run into the bathroom to clean up just as Collin is coming out.

“I have to run out,” I tell him while walking past.

“Where are you going?”

“I just have to take care of something at work.”

“Of course, what else is new?”

His sarcasm pisses me off, but I say nothing. There’s no time for another tedious argument about the hours I keep. I focus instead on cleaning up and throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The quicker I get out of here and to Macy, the better. I put my hair up in a loose ponytail, take a quick peek in the mirror, and exit the bathroom.

“Don’t wait up,” I toss out to Colin once I reach the bedroom door, trying my hardest not to slam it on my way out.

When I finally make it to Macy’s, I find a situation that does nothing to control my foul mood. In fact, it only intensifies it.


No one understands what it’s like to be me. To have grown up being the girl who everyone talks over, the one who no one listens to, because they can’t hear what they don’t see. I made myself invisible out of necessity, and I did it long enough that by the time I no longer needed to, I didn’t know how to stop.

The long-term effects of that are still there because, even now, even after the success I’ve achieved, when I think about it, no one really knows me. They never see the real me…they see only what I allow them to.

In my youth, I was timid… In adulthood—I’m not the kind of woman who you fuck with, not even a little. I’m the kind of woman who would take a baseball bat to your knees if you even tried. I’ve developed a low tolerance for bullshit over the years because I’ve seen it all. Trust me; I’ve seen it