Red

She looked like she was on fire.

"Call me Red." Red hair, red lips, red thigh high stiletto boots; the name was more than appropriate.

"You are here because?"

"I think... I think my..."

"You think your husband is cheating on you?" Red uncrossed her legs, set them down off her desk, and stood. Even without the boots, I could tell she was a tall woman. But the stilettos, they gave her power.

"Yes." She sauntered to the front of the desk, sat on a corner, crossed her arms, and stared me down.

"Why?" I couldn't meet her gaze. I bowed my head and focused on those boots. A part of me wished I were the type of woman who could wear them.

"He... I..."

"Stop. Calm down. Now, tell me why."

"I let him... When we have, when we had sex, I do, did, whatever he wanted. I'd lie there and just... And he seems, seemed, to enjoy it. My body was... his. But we haven't had sex in... a while. So I know."

"How long is a while?"

"Three months."

"Oh." Her mouth formed the letter, accentuating her crimson lips even more.

"I don't know what I did wrong. I cooked, I cleaned, I ran errands, while still working myself. I made him a home. And whatever he wanted, whatever he wanted, I did for him. So, why?" I was finally able to meet her stare. I hoped she had the answer, knew how to fix me, to fix my marriage.

"He doesn't want you. You're just convient." And there it was, what I never wanted to awknowledge, what I never wanted to say. "In you he has a maid, a secretary, and a sex slave, but not a wife."  Nothing she said rang false; it hurt to hear the truth. I dropped my head again, the despair of reality setting in.

"What do I do?"

"I'm not your therapist. That shit's up to you." She got up again, and this time stood right in front of me. I found my eyes locked on her boots once more. "What you first have to determine is what you want?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do." Her hand grabbed my chin and raised my head. As I looked up, I saw the devilish glee in her gaze. "Tell me what you want."

"I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to be like this. I want... I want..."

"You. Want."

"I want to hurt him.  I want him to be in pain."

"Now, that I can help you with."