John Hancock

You are currently reading from the Prompt #2 Series.

I’ve always been a fan of pens – one of the many quirks of being a writer, I guess.  I could spend hours in Staples checking out all the different types – felt tip, ball point, fountain.  There’s something about holding a writing utensil that makes me feel more at home than anything else.

Yet when Devin placed his engraved, Montblanc fountain pen into my hand, I felt nothing.  No sense of possibility or inspiration – just…nothing.

“Now, remember,” he said, wrapping his hand around mine, “it’s Lauren Brooks now.  You don’t want to sign the wrong name.” he laughed half-heartedly.

For any other married couple, that helpful hint might have been slowly different.  They might giggle at the fact that they were now joined together for life – reliving their wedding day and the joy it had brought.  Hell – they might kiss each other softly only to tear each other’s clothes off and do the things that newly married couples do.

I signed check after check – Devin watching me carefully so as to make sure my endorsement signature was correct.  He leaned over my shoulder, kissing my neck sweetly, mentally calculating how much we would have in our account in only a week’s time.

My hand grew cramped, and I placed the pen down for a moment to crack my knuckles and shake out the discomfort.  I thought back to a night a few weeks ago – Devin was off on one of his many errands with his father, and Ryan had agreed to come over to help me with a few of the wedding’s last minute details.

As I wrote out a list of to-dos my hand cramped, and I cracked my knuckles.  “You know, Lauren,” he said, taking my hand, “I normally cringe when I hear that noise, but you manage to make it sound like the most beautiful thing in the world.”

To be funny, I drew a heart and wrote our names in it.  To be an asshole, I wrote, “Lauren + Ryan 4 eva”, “Lauren loves Ryan”, “Mrs. Lauren Dethloff”…he laughed and carried me up the stairs to make love…and now he was dead.

Devin passed me the last check, once again placing the pen in my hand and said, “Last one.”

I smiled sweetly, kissed him and clutched the pen tight – knowing what I had to do.

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