Journal Entry #13
Therapy Journal
Subject: Rhys’s House, Now Co-Owned by Sparkle and Spite
Dear Rhys, (or should I say Sir? Daddy? Property Owner of a Very Different Home Now?)
Let’s talk about your house. No, let’s talk about my experience of your house, because I am, at heart, an immersive performance artist and your antique shop mausoleum was my blank canvas.
First of all: Best. Session. Ever. Ten out of ten. Would fuck my therapist again.
But back to the main event: your house. Sir.
Sweetheart. My deviant little moral compass.
What the fuck was that decor? All wood and wrought iron and “I probably inherited this from my dead great-uncle who haunts the bookshelves.” You had nothing pink in the entire structure.
It was like walking into a ghost’s bachelor pad. I fixed it.
Room-by-room notes:
Living room: Pink throw pillows. Sequined. One of them says LICK HERE with an arrow. I also added a framed photo of me holding a glitter bat like I’m about to commit an FCC violation. You’re welcome.
Kitchen: We now have a cursed candle. I found it at a metaphysical shop called Hex Me Daddy and it smells like smoked sugar and raw sin. Also two fake toothbrushes in a mug that says Couples Therapy Is Foreplay. Your guests will be so confused.
Bathroom: Surprise! There’s a tiny shelf with miniature ducks. I don’t know why. It felt right.
Bedroom: I didn’t go full boudoir massacre (yet) but I did replace your cold, dead comforter with a black and hot pink one that has very subtle kitten paw prints in the stitching.
Office: No glitter. Not a single speck. Because I respect your sanctum of repression. But there is a soft pink kneeling pillow under your desk now. It’s memory foam. For my comfort. Also you now have a pen holder shaped like a ball gag. Functional and thematic.
Rhys, there’s so much more. Little things, big things. I turned your whole fucking house inside out with love and madness. You handed me the address like it wasn’t a blood contract. So honestly, that’s on you.
Also, dinner is ready. And so am I. I cooked naked except for the new apron that says Therapist’s Favorite Pet. You should come eat before I burn the garlic bread. Or the house.
Welcome home. XOXO
Rhys Journal
Yeah I already told you everything in the therapy journal.
Benji Journal
I’m so excited you and Jett are having a boys night.
Please don’t set anything on fire unless it’s consensual.
Miss me. Ache a little. Feel my absence like a phantom tongue.
Think of me every time you breathe, or blink.
Love you. Like all-the-way-in, borderline-illegal, might-steal-your-soul love you.
Tomorrow’s going to be disgusting and perfect and probably involve snacks and nudity and I cannot wait.
Jett Journal
Be sweet to Benji tonight or I will spank you tomorrow. Benji will hold you down and smile while I do it. I miss you. Not in a cute way. In a pacing, feral, chew-the-couch kind of way. Try not to break each other before I get there. I want first crack at that tomorrow.