Tonight, she was supposed to be his escape. Hotel room downtown. King-sized bed. A bottle of something sparkling waiting in an ice bucket. But 9 p.m. came and went. Then 10. Then 11.
That was eighteen months ago.
“You’re trouble,” he’d said, exhaling smoke like a confession. -Vixen- Gina Valentina - Confessions Of A Side ...
Because confessions, she’d learned, were the only thing that kept you from disappearing completely. Would you like a darker twist, a more romantic ending, or a continuation of Gina’s journal entries?
She hated waiting. But that was her role, wasn’t it? The side piece doesn’t set the schedule. The side piece waits. Tonight, she was supposed to be his escape
But tonight, she let herself feel the sting of being second place—and wrote it down anyway.
At 11:17, her phone buzzed.
Here’s a short story inspired by the title and mood you suggested—blending confession, desire, and the tension of a hidden life. Confessions of a Side Piece
Her apartment was small but hers—a studio in a part of town where neighbors minded their business and the landlord never asked questions. On the nightstand: a half-empty glass of red wine, a crumpled pack of American Spirits, and a Moleskine notebook she’d titled Confessions of a Side Piece three months ago. She’d laughed when she wrote it. Now it felt less like a joke and more like a survival guide. A bottle of something sparkling waiting in an ice bucket
His name was Marcus. Married. Two kids. A house with a porch swing and a dog named Otis. Gina had met him at a gallery opening—he’d complimented her boots, she’d made fun of his tie, and by midnight they were sharing a cigarette in the alley behind the venue.