Playella | Domestic by Lydia Thomson

CARLY is sat in front of the washing machine watching, waiting for it to finish.  ANTHONY enters, drying his hair with a towel.  He stops, looks at her,  frowns.  She notices him.

CARLY: I think I put something red in with your white shirts.


CARLY: Sorry.  It should be okay.  Those socks have been washed a hundred times before now.

He watches the washing machine with her.  It stops.

Here goes.

She pulls the shirts out, they are pink.

Fuck I’m sorry.

ANTHONY: It’s fine baby.  You’re a total fucking idiot, but it’s fine.

CARLY: I just didn’t think I didn’t think to check inside your trousers in your sleeves they must have crept in by themselves.

ANTHONY: It’s totally fine, calm down.  I mean, crept in?  Socks don’t have any kind of, you know, autonomy, but

CARLY: What’s autonomy?

He hits her with the towel.

That hurt, why did you do that?

ANTHONY: So that you’d remember.  Autonomy is control of your own actions, your own will.  Right?  What’s autonomy?

He hits her again.  She recoils.

What’s autonomy?

He prepares the towel again.

CARLY: Control of your own will.  Your own actions.

ANTHONY: Well done, baby.

He kisses her forehead.

Might as well throw those shirts in the bin.  I’ll buy new ones tomorrow.

CARLY: I can pick some up for you?  I’ll take your measurements from these ones so that they’re perfect.

ANTHONY: Thank you, sweetheart.  Love you lots, okay?

He kisses her on the mouth.  She holds him, desperately. He lets her go, slaps her playfully with the towel and leaves.


One comment

  1. Pingback: Playella Project | Week Four | The Dark Side | Descent

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