Cat on the Fence I

Every day had been the same, until suddenly it wasn’t.

The house had long since become Blue Pierce’s very own prison. With old brickwork, sweeping arches, and the isolation of a monastery, it certainly looked the part. Yet when surrounded by innumerable people she’d never met, each room so packed the CDC would simply cream themselves enforcing social distancing, she’d never felt more alone.

Furniture that had never been looked at, let alone used was on full display. Every single light in the house was on; regardless of whether it was in use Bradley fucking Pierce had emerged from his office for the first time in only god knows how long… And all the teenager wanted to do was go back to her room and continue in her perfect fantasy where she had no parents nor care in the world.

Bradley was an actuary for an Insurance firm — often, he spent his evenings condemned to his office doing whatever there was to be doing outside of work hours. Perhaps he was financing his secret family with a twenty-year-old woman no one knew of… Or spending their monthly mortgage payment on various OnlyFans subscriptions.

           

He could be setting up a secret mini-golf course beneath his desk and all around his office just to retire to when his wife's questions and prodding at dinner became increasingly unbearable. Yet he stood. Shoulders squared, an arm strewn around his wife. Pocket square crisp and erect. Shoes as lustrous as his forehead. And Blue wondered how exactly he managed to pretend he didn’t completely hate his wife, Marian.

Standing beside her parents, a monarch accepting offerings from the peasants, she could hardly believe her mother was emboldened enough to call it her birthday party. With each approach of another of her father’s associates, Blue felt more and more like she was being filmed for Sidemen ‘Tinder in Real Life’. And wished she’d die a quick and painless death in childbirth before she bore the five or so children her mother desired and her vagina loosened so much it felt like throwing open a window and fucking the night.

Though Marian would never admit it, it was her daughter’s coming-out party. That is, coming out as a single woman.

And out of all the insufferable men that her mother had forced upon her, she hadn’t once been so much as directed to look at the only man who had taken her interest.

With a wide, cruel smile. Broad shoulders relaxed. Skin bronzed, perhaps the only man sans blazer in the entire house. Raven hair falling over his eyes at odd moments, cropped at the neck. Older; perhaps twice her age. Broad chest, tapered waist. She wondered what prize the buttons of his dress shirt led to. Hated herself for violating a complete stranger so shamelessly. Begged her parents to introduce them. But stood silently with a forced smile as she ought to.

Tearing her eyes from the stranger that seemed to serve no purpose other than to remind her of all she couldn’t have, she extended a hand to the next approaching suitor. “This is my daughter, Blue.” She needn’t the abrasion of her mother’s harsh American accent to stiffen her posture. As the sequins of her amber camisole gouged at the inside of her elbow and the taut waistband of her jeans forced her to suck in her stomach, Blue could imagine she looked like as much of a plastic doll as she felt.

Staring into the eyes of the man before her, Blue began to feel as though it was the best she’d be offered. He was younger. A full head of dark hair. Thin, firm lips. Strong, aquiline nose. Nice enough teeth. Rather dull looking. “Hello, Blue,” And as he spoke, he lost all appeal. He seemed to have no clue Blue was anything other than legs. “Richard, a pleasure to finally meet you,”

“Pleasure,” reluctantly, she clasped her hand with his—something she regretted almost instantly. His hands were one of the sweatiest she had ever touched.

Vincent watched as he had felt her countless times that night. He fantasized the pale skin peering from beneath her camisole; how smooth her thighs would be as he parted her legs carefully. How her golden hair would slip from her shoulders as he caged her beneath him. How her eyes would sparkle with lust and inhibition as she begged him to touch her. Suddenly, the cuffs on his blouse were far too tight. And he wished she’d stare at him again so he could complete his fantasy where stared up from beneath him, wrapped around him so completely.

"I must say, you’re just as beautiful as your father said you were,” In all honesty, Blue almost laughed... but then again, she almost vomited, also. Perhaps if he was slightly more attractive than he was, or even slightly younger, she would have accepted the advance. Instead, he was cute for a father of three and young for a high-ranking banker (neither of which he was)—but still not quite cute enough.

Tugging her hand from his and discreetly wiping it on the back of her trousers, she offered a meek and appreciative smile where her words failed her. Though firm and curt and rather forced in nature, the thought of all the presents she had to unwrap the following morning softened her so slightly. Richard considered if now was the perfect time to ask the woman on a date.

Staring over the man’s shoulder begging silently that someone choke on their canape so she could make a beeline for her bedroom, Blue met the eyes that had been so distracted from her own. The blood rushed from her face.

Staring at her as though he had been for quite some time, a drink clutched in one hand and the other stuffed in his pocket, she watched the dark-haired man’s lips tug into a small, shadowy smirk. And wondered if it was a mere ‘hey, kid’ smile. “If you could excuse me, I really have to use the bathroom,” Before she could think any better of it, she’d turned around, stepped between her parents, and begun a hasty climb of the staircase.

Vincent’s stare lingered.

He watched the gentle swing of her hips as she fumbled a step in her heels. The bounce of her tousled hair. The bare skin beneath the low back of her shirt. Offered a short, mindless apology to the people whose conversation he had become trapped in. Followed her almost too quickly.

Stood at the landing at the top of the staircase, staring at an open balcony door with curtains billowing like a smoke plume so gently in the breeze, the man decided that he could not and would not be arrested for the fact he’d been given a blue-steeler by a barely-legal walking up some stairs—at least, not in the court of public opinion.

Watching the girl who leaned over the edge of the balcony as though she was contemplating tossing herself off, Vincent arrived at a junction that would alter the course of his entire short life. And made his approach.