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Lover, Leaver I
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2020-07-29 12:57:27Staring back at the man she wished so desperately was Vincent, Blue found it rather difficult to force a stiff smile. Cocking a warmer, thin-lipped smile of his own, hair so covered with gel, Richard gently kicked at her foot as he had one time too many and smiled as though the gesture somehow sexually pleasured her. Blue wondered if the mug she wanted to club the man over the head with so desperately would shatter from his hair alone. Wondered if he could find the clitoris even with a map. Carefully sipped her green tea.
She’d long since given up eyeing the clock across from her. It had been precisely eight fifty-nine for five minutes by then. As the longer arm ticked over, she found it would make a gentle retreat each time she glanced away. Or so she felt.
She had to give her mother some credit for not springing a chaperoned date on her at the very last minute. And while dinner with Richard wasn’t exactly what she’d consider an ideal night, she’d ha
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Climbing from her open window, Blue suddenly felt she was sixteen again. She hadn’t a care who could happen past her window and stare up her skirt as she sliced her finger on a rather jagged vine—had already forgotten the Wikihow article on climbing from a second-story window she’s studied like the bible. It had only been a mere day ago she’d hung from her balcony half-naked. A mere twelve hours since she’d been dry humped in her father’s study. It was safe to say she hadn’t the self-respect to care, not after the night before. Darting down her own driveway as though fleeing from a crime scene, the thought hadn’t occurred to Blue that they hadn’t so much as organized a meeting place. Suddenly, she found herself feeling quite anxious. In all her sexual frustration, she hadn’t the mind to ask for even crucial information. Was he picking her up? Was she meant to call a car? Were they meeting at the restaurant? Where were they eating? And as she pulled
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“How am I supposed to get over there?” “That’s an issue, not an ish-me,” Suddenly, Blue found she had no other argument. “Fine. A little privacy please?” finally slipping her purse from her shoulder and kicking it to the floor, she broke from the man. He watched eagerly with a smile that needn’t betray a trace of his excitement; wordlessly sunk back in his seat. Watched as she flattened a hand over the front of her skirt and began to climb over the center console rather gawkishly. Vincent couldn’t help but chuckle. “After last night, I don’t think you need to worry about me seeing up your dress, sweetheart,” smiling gently, he tugged the woman into his lap. As he did, she became rather aware of the erection she hadn’t yet noticed. “Now, how well do you think you can keep quiet?” “Well enough, thank you,” “I’ll take your word for it,” speaking with a certain abruptness, he braced the woman’s back with one hand, the other slipping beneath the he
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Blue thought it impossible to be any happier after her lewd few minutes in the car with Vincent. Never had she been more wrong. He’d chosen Italian. The restaurant was small, quiet. She’d worried they were keeping them open when they’d requested their table at a quarter-to eleven, though the staff would never show it. The brickwork was left bare, furniture obviously antiqued. The waiters wore no uniforms. They’d shared a table that seemed almost a little too small for two, knees brushing, glasses often confused. And though their clothes were crumpled, and she wore his blazer, constant reminders of their moment in the car, Blue blushed deeply each time they touched. Shrunk away as his legs leaned to hers. Tucked her hands in her lap when their fingers brushed. Perhaps it was the fact that the lack of lighting deepened the green of Vincent's eyes in a way that forced her gaze from his when ten seconds became far too much.
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Quietly, Blue excused herself. Going about her business, staring into her reflection as she washed her hands, she could admit that she felt rather nervous. She’d never spent the night with anyone before—sure, she’d degraded herself having rather public sex twice in twenty-four hours, but waking up next to a man was different, entirely. Her hair would be matted. Eyelash extensions tangled. Eyes and nose swollen. Lips chapped. It was how she awoke each morning, though she’d never minded. No one had ever seen her so disheveled before. The thought was enough to put her on edge. Staring at her creased dress, she hadn’t a care what her parents would think if she stumbled through the front door in the same clothes she had left in. Instead, she worried what Anya would think. The quiet Polish woman with gentle hands and an encouraging smile—the woman who stared at her so derisively when she gave her her coffee that morning. Or had she be
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Vincent’s apartment wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined it. It was large. Open. High ceilings, large windows. The modern kitchen of her dreams. Wooden floor noticeably absent of stiletto marks dotted about the place. Modestly decorated. Sparsely. She’d imagined he’d only have one dish, one bowl. One fork. One spoon. One steak knife. Two glasses—one holding his toothbrush. Had no idea how to casually look to see whether she was right. Suddenly, she wanted to ask why it was so bare. But felt it rather rude. “You haven’t spoken much, is everything alright?” Quietly, she spun to face the man. He slipped a hand beneath her chin in a way that reminded her so terribly of Richard—yet he felt all the more different. Warm. Kind. As though he didn’t have the desire to wrap his arms around her in a tight embrace and crush her shoulders. She’d gotten that feeling from Richard. “Did you want me to take you home?” As his eyes s
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“We should get going, Anya will be up soon,” Staring through the mirror and into the waiting emerald eyes behind her, Blue could admit it took a lot of self-control not to turn around and get on her knees rather eagerly. Instead, she made good work of toweling off her hair as though she hadn’t been disturbed yet again by rather intrusive, demented thoughts. Wished she could go back to the few days prior when she hadn’t been dirtied by constant thoughts of being violated. She’d planned her morning carefully. Vincent would park around the corner. Her mother would jog in the other direction at exactly five-thirty. She’d cut across the front lawn to reach the side entrance. Slip inside as Anya sorted that morning’s laundry into piles. Hurry into bed. Anya would wake her at five forty-five for the first time, though Blue wouldn’t respond. She’d hide her clothes beneath her bed, at least until that evening, sneak them in with that day’s laundry before turni
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Blue, deciding being of legal age to adopt a whole child meant she had every right to, openly disobeyed her curfew. Staring at the man from across the breakfast table, as she had been for quite some time, some part however reluctant knew she’d made the right choice. He’d dressed as he had the day before, a simple pair of jeans and the same white blouse he seemed to own many of. They had stopped by Calvin Klein. Though she’d pulled out her emergency black card, Vincent insisted on paying for the jeans. She’d borrowed yet another version of his same button-up from him. Tucked the front into her trousers. Stumbled along in the heels she’d worn the night before. Hair drying in delicate curls around her face, skin bare, eyes bleary, he decided it best she kept it. She’d worn it better than he ever could. They’d found some quiet cafe around the corner of his apartment. Citrus and coffee beans battled in the air. Dimly lit. Th
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Padding down the stairs as though the price of being caught was her very life, Blue peered around the corner. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wished Vincent would be sitting at the table as he had been that fateful day before. His shoulders would be squared. Mouth set in the same firm line, curling at the edges like kindled parchment. Eyes so sharp and dark she could swear he’d silently planned to kill them all for spare change. Staring at her longingly. Gaze as warm as it had been gawking at her wrapped in his bedsheets. Her coffee hadn’t kept her full quite as long as she’d hoped. Blue had planned to eat with Anya after her parents had gone to bed—something she had quite often. Yet the smell of the cheap burrito she’d eaten with Vincent lingered on her breath. Each exhale made her stomach roar. Fate was a cruel mistress. Meeting the gaze of her waiting mother planted rather stiffly at the dining table, Blue hadn’t the same sorrow
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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’
