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"Filthy" I
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2024-10-29 19:42:56Laid out on the couch, a hand splayed across her stomach, Blue was sure all the roundness couldn’t completely be the baby. It seemed sealed behind a thick layer of fat. Squishy in her palm. Folded in a roll beneath her ribs. She ought to fix her posture. She looked like an eccentric armchair. Still, the tie of an empire waistline dress tight around her sides, she imagined the baby kick. Screwed shut her eyes. Fixed herself with a grimace of great concentration. Wondered if she felt the infant’s heartbeat of the pulse in her own fingers. And felt rather foolish for deciding she was emotionally ready for a child. At eighteen. How laughable. She stood.
“Blue?” Her summons was muffled. Vincent would have been downstairs. Locked away in his study. Sat in the half-darkness. Surely, she’d imagined it. That shut door meant just that. She couldn’t go in. She had never tried to. She missed their apartment, knowing all too well only because he couldn’t escape her there.
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Stiffly, she followed suit. Relaxed as he tugged her into his chest. Neck craning sideways as he leant over her, breathing into her skin. She wished silently he’d nibble at her skin. Slide a hand beneath her skirt. Rub his erection up over the back of her. But all he seemed to want to do was stare. “What?” She asked quietly. “You’re beautiful.” He spoke just as quietly, untying the woman’s dress without a word. So, she fixed him with a stare over her shoulder, sighing as his mouth pressed to hers. He’d opened the front of his wife’s wrap dress, fingertips creeping down her torso, stomach stiff against his forearm and his hand swiftly rooted in her panties. And as she sucked in a deep breath, the bulge of his child pressing into his arm swelled somehow further, he never wanted to fuck the mother of his child any more—or any less. “There are so many things I want to do to you right now,” He murmured in her ear, fingertips strummin
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Blue had been sat in the bath for quite some time, though not because she’d woken in a fit of terror as she had the last time. She didn’t dream of an arranged marriage in her short nap. A life where her child fondly called Richard “dad”. Her mother’s only purpose was to ruin her life. She hadn’t seen Vincent in years. Though she still had a strange dream. She had been at the breakfast table, nursing a bowl of porridge. Her parents were sat side-by-side as they always were. She could see the scene from an aerial view as though her soul had long since left her body and possessed the overhead lightbulb instead. Staring down at them, Bradley with a knife to the hilt in Marian’s back, he twisted when she fell silent, urging her to say something cruel and nasty to her daughter. This time, he tugged the knife out. Thrust it at the side of the woman’s spine, blood spraying the backs of the dining chairs and dripping steadily onto the floor. “God, you look terrible,” She spl
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Anya looked as busy as ever as she fussed over Sandra’s sheets, the woman watching with crossed-arms and puckered lips from the doorway. She always did. As though permanently unsatisfied with it all, including the way her maid breathed. Anya could imagine the woman as she stood, though her eyes were fixed to the throw cushions she couldn’t get to sit properly in their sleeves. Her giraffe neck would crane forwards, talons wrapped around herself like a cloak. She’d be tapping her foot impatiently as though trying desperately to match the rhythm of a song she was pretending not to quite like. She would shift from foot to foot as though trying not to dance. Then, if God was just, she would stiffly bounce into the horizon like Duchess Rowena in the Mattel adaption of the Twelve Dancing Princesses. “What do you think about all this?” Though Anya straightened at the sound of her boss’ voice, she did not turn to face her. Instead, stared a
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She had to dig for quite a while until she struck gold—though it could more realistically be considered a landmine. Her diploma sat bronzed and shining, tucked away in a crinkled plastic sleeve that had torn as she’d jammed more and more useless documents into the spotted cardboard gift box. She considered it uncharacteristically mature of her to take it with her when she silently moved from home. Mind you, she had forgotten all about it until her brief stay with Marian again. By brief, she of course meant half a night.“I’m sure it’s here,” her bathrobe was slipping further and further over her shoulder as she riffled through the untidy stack beneath the diploma; a tombstone for all of the more heinous envelopes. A statement from her now-defunct trust. A parking ticket she’d stolen hoping Marian would be slapped with a late fine she could so clearly afford. Her yearbook. The marriage license she had stolen from
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“How’s the baby?” Blue and Marian had been leafing through racks of tiny children’s clothes; a onesie that could hardly fit her fist; a pair of overalls she knew would make changing diapers hellish; a pair of teensy wee trainers she could wear on the tips of her fingers and stomp around mockingly with. The baby was a very vital part of this question, without whom the clothes would be a rather strange waste of money. They ought to hope the baby is doing just fine. “Perfectly healthy. Seems to be liking a lot of different foods these days, too.” She smiled a cheeky, tight smile to her mother, a doll-sized baby blue sweater with tiny Hogwarts steam trains draped across her chest. “That looks a bit like boy’s clothing, doesn’t it?” Marian couldn’t quite let go of a tiny pink dress with a tulle skirt. “It’s unisex.” Blue held it in front of her, staring at the knit. The fabric seemed nicer than anythin
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“Good book?” Vincent wrapped a hand around his wife’s foot, flopping lazily in the air. Laid on her stomach, chin in her fist, she hardly seemed pregnant. Though Vincent knew better. She had a smell about her, certainly something he’d conjured on his own. A sweet smell. Her hormones mixing with his. Her breasts bulging from her shirt. Skin soft and sticky much the same way well-rested dough was. “Alias Grace. Ironic, I know.” Blue closed the book. Peered over her shoulder. Kicked against his hand playfully. “Never heard of it.” “It’s about caring more about getting someone in prison than committing the crime,” She paused. Staring blankly at the cover. “Well, it’s mostly about only finding women interesting when they’re whorish or evil.” “Maybe you should be reading something happier.” He was now sat beside her, the mattress bending to his weight, her dress crept up the backs of her t
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She could still feel it, about as confused as a Victorian woman being told sexual frustration was hysteria. The rush of it all, being ushered into a quiet room. Christian had sat opposite, a camera staring her in the face, his blonde, cropped hair blending in with the pale wall as she stared into a steadily-flashing red light. He smiled an encouraging smile, aged face creasing from the weight of it. And those dark brown eyes that looked like tiny weights were hanging from the outer corners stared. “Tell the camera what you told me.” He had instructed, sunk back in a plastic school chair with a small smile far too satisfied for her liking. But he had only half a mind for it. Blue fidgeted in her seat. Maybe going with the dress would have been a better decision. Though a lot less comfortable. She’d been sweating excessively per pregnancy. The last thing she needed was armpit stains. She’d gone with a green plaid tube top. Straple
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“Are you joking?” He had his wife’s face in his hands again, staring between her narrowed eyes with a look of expectation now not quite as well-hidden. “You actually went to the police?”“Of course, I did, all the love I had left for him went when I found out how much my mom actually cares.” She looked like she’d thought it rather obvious. Despite the fact she’d been defending him for so long. “He could be sentenced to death, and I’ll be happy to do it.”“You don’t mean that,” he’d released her, sitting back on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees. But she’d rocked forward. Wrapped her fingers through the sides of his hair. Met his eyes with a stare he wasn’t quite so daffy to break.“He told me it was my own fault Richard hurt me.”“But Richard’
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Staring out at the living room floor, Blue saw a sight she never thought she would live to see: Marian playing with her grandson on the floor. It was unsettling, in an uncanny-valley way. Something so close to resembling human but just short of enough. She spun her engagement ring back and forth on her finger. He slid his arm around her waist. “’You okay?” She glanced up to the man stood at her side. His dark hair gathered into a short, thick ponytail. Eyes as bright as ever. Smile as devilish. Would it be so wrong to fuck like animals with her mother in the room next to them? After all, to a married couple, sex was the most natural thing. Or so she'd heard. “Yeah,” Blue sighed. Hugged her arms around herself. “I think so,” “How long is she staying?” “Until she can get the settlement money from Bradley,” “I didn’t think he had any left,” “It’s all
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It could have been hours by the time Blue came to. Usually, the state of her coffee would be a good indicator, but it had been stone cold for god knows how long. The sun was still up, if that counted for anything. She had left her phone at the house. Vincent was with the baby. She had stolen herself away for some quiet at the very café she had shared with both Vincent and Richard. Sat staring at her right hand where the engagement ring of the latter sat without a band. What was he doing? A thought that crossed her mind often. She hadn’t heard from him after the verdict, though still awaiting the sentencing. She had the thought that he was arrested for assaulting a police officer after his fiasco of escaping custody in the courtroom. Christopher wouldn’t have set any bail, would he? Not after he pretended to have been oblivious to his son’s sins. It would be hard to act surprised if he was actively helping his son as someone ought to. Vincent
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Blue stared at the city; Vincent stood at the counter behind her. The windowsill seemed to share her most pivotal moments more than even the universe shared them with her. Though her grief was one of the poorer-kept secrets of the world she felt marginally better whispering her thoughts to the brittle pane. Just as she felt gratitude Vincent had kept the apartment they’d outgrown with the baby for nostalgia’s sake. Or to bolster his net worth. Either one.She was muttering the same three words over and over. Repeated hoping that enough times would unencumber her or the rage that swelled with each inhale to expel them. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate… The world?“I should write him a very strongly worded letter.” She glanced to her husband, the man fiddling with a steaming tea as though debating which moment would be safest to present it to his wife. “But
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“It is found,” Blue glanced up at her husband, her arse feeling rather sore from the wooden bench. They had been sat in court for what ought to have been five hours at that point. The room smelt of wood varnish and stale air, having the look about it of a church with generous natural light and the buzz of Catholic choir. Only the silence rattled through much the same way any prayer would. “That the Commonwealth has proven beyond a reasonable doubt,” She had stared at the back of Richard’s head the whole time, if only hoping he would meet her eyes for just a second. She feared he thought no one in the room was on his side, a feeling she had become well-acquainted with over the years. Nothing seemed more dreadful than being carted off to prison with that same feeling. How strange it was to think that the man she was so sure she would murder given the chance had sat on the living room floor playing with her son just a day or two before. Staring into her husband’s deep green eyes, she w
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“So, I have a question,” Blue reached for her coffee, eyeing her maid. Well, she wasn’t her maid anymore. She was her mother-in-law. It was complicated. Pregnancy had somehow made her even fonder of coffee, maybe because she hadn’t had it. “Why did you tell me not to stay with Vincent when I told you I was pregnant if he was your son this whole time?” She couldn’t help but smile at her own sentence, taking a long gulp of the latte that had since gone flat. Vincent stared between the two silently. It was news to him.“I thought he was going to prison,” She simply shrugged. It was a good enough answer. Blue wasn’t sure whether Anya—Alfonza, as she had come to know—liked her all that much. “I thought I was doing what was best for everyone,”“So, you tell my wife to leave me?” Then came her husband’s booming voice, deep and accented. Ho
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Blue stared at the deep purple wrap dress in the mirror, sleeves to her elbows. Loosened the strings around her waist and tightened the knot again as though it would magically make her thinner. She was yet to properly mourn her pre-baby figure. She looked like a rectangle. A bloated, lumpy rectangle. Or so she thought quietly to herself. She tore the dress over her head.“I think we’ve found a winner,” Vincent entered the wardrobe quietly. Tried his best not to gawk at the woman in her underwear as though he’d never seen her half-naked before. Failed miserably. Wrapped his arms around her middle instead and pressed his mouth to hers. But she shoved him away. Turned back to the clothes instead.“We can’t do this, we’ll be late,” though she spoke as firmly as she could, she couldn’t help but smile softly to herself and blush as she leafed through her clothes without looking. The idea of let
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“It’s not fair, why can’t I go with Richard?” Vincent dug his heels in as he stopped behind his mother. Hoped a childish frown would move her enough to let her son be with his only friend. “I’m not a child anymore,”“I’ve seen the awful lot Richard hangs out with, you can either help me out for the rest of the day or go to the deli with your father,”“I’m a vegetarian.” He spoke expressionlessly.“Housekeeping it is!” Alfonza sounded a bit too cheerful for Vincent’s liking. Was it too late to call back the Taxi that had brought him straight from school? “Now find somewhere quiet to sit, I shouldn’t be any longer than an hour,”“I’ve got homework tonight, Ma.”“Then do your work here,” She smiled again. A bit too cheerful. Aga
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Her skirt was over her stomach in a matter of seconds, underwear kicked beneath the bed. Heart racing, fingertips beating in the tips of her fingers curled up into her palms, Blue spread her legs with no further instruction. Released a long, shaky breath as her husband hooked her legs over his shoulders and breathed into the inside of her thigh. But she stared at the roof. Watched the shadow cast by the lamp behind him loom over her, growing in size as he neared. And all she could feel was his hot, damp exhale fanning her center; his opened mouth quick to follow. “I still can’t believe I’m your wife.” She grumbled the words quietly, arching her back as his lips closed around her and his teeth grazed her labia. “I’m a lucky man.” He grumbled back, his voice twisting through her and carrying its echo deep into her stomach. “I can’t believe that you were so adamant you never wanted to see me again after your birthday party and now you’ve got your pussy i
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“Are you joking?” He had his wife’s face in his hands again, staring between her narrowed eyes with a look of expectation now not quite as well-hidden. “You actually went to the police?”“Of course, I did, all the love I had left for him went when I found out how much my mom actually cares.” She looked like she’d thought it rather obvious. Despite the fact she’d been defending him for so long. “He could be sentenced to death, and I’ll be happy to do it.”“You don’t mean that,” he’d released her, sitting back on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees. But she’d rocked forward. Wrapped her fingers through the sides of his hair. Met his eyes with a stare he wasn’t quite so daffy to break.“He told me it was my own fault Richard hurt me.”“But Richard’
