“Morning, Anya,” Blue hardly paused as she jumped from the last stair and came face-to-face with her mother and the maid. Marian sat proudly at the end of the table, a plate of fruit half-massacred in front of her, breast implants bursting from the front of her electric blue cocktail dress. Anya hovered nervously. The dining table had been pushed back to the center of the room. The decorative furniture moved back to the basement. No remnants remained from the previous night—aside from the dull throb of her groin and the fingerprint bruising to her thighs she had no choice but to wear jeans to hide.
Summer thus far had been kind. The days were bright but cold. She spent the mornings in bed relishing the fact she’d never again go to school if she so desired. She’d thrown out the pleated skirt uniform the day she’d graduated, deciding never again to appeal so unwillingly to the male gaze. Loved the fact she could wear whatever she wanted.
Clad in a half see-through brown blouse with her bra peeking through, her mother’s disapproving glare gratified her in ways her approval could never. Sinking to her seat eagerly, faced with a plate full of bagels so golden she found herself all but drooling over the tablecloth, she succeeded in banishing last night's rendezvous from her thoughts—if only for a moment.
She’d felt the lips of the stranger trailing up and down her neck as she tossed and turned in her mussed sheets. His hands engulfing her so greedily. His scent wrapping around her—ejaculate and a crisp, earthy cologne. And she’d be lying through her teeth if she said she hadn’t imagined being tucked into his chest as she dozed off quietly. Blue reached for a bagel.
Just as quickly, her mother snapped, “Don’t eat too much, we’re expecting Richard and your father any minute now,” and Blue had never wished that she’d stayed in bed more in her life. Losing her appetite rather quickly, she returned her breakfast to its serving plate. It was the first time she’d done what she was told in quite some time.
She’d been reminded of her nightmare about Richard from that night.
Anya, the maid, had been her mother. She and her father were on speaking terms again, something that hadn’t been the case since she was thirteen and begging for someone to stand up to Marian. Richard had locked them all away in some house she hadn’t recognized as her own. Slowly, he murdered them all. When Blue awoke, she somehow preferred the fever dream to thoughts of being ravished on the balcony. Her stomach began to turn.
“Today is the perfect time to thank Richard for your present—he bought you the loveliest watch,” staring back at her mother, she couldn’t believe—out of everything totally implausible—that the woman had the audacity to open her gifts for her. Somehow, it trumped even the fact that she was forcing a fully grown man on their barely legal only child.
Blue gave her mother a desperate and deep stare, eyebrows furrowed, lips in a delicate frown. It was the "look at me, I'm Blue, pat me" stare of begging that could soften all hearts but one—her mother’s. “Mom, you can't force Robert on me, there's no chemistry,"
"Richard, and you’re not getting any younger, Blue—Richard is about to come into a lot of money we’re lucky he’s taken such an interest in you,” The woman paused the butchering of her grapefruit breakfast to finally meet the warm blue gaze of her daughter. Somehow, her stare yet hardened. “Don’t give me that look, it’s time for you to grow up.” Not even the juice from her knife dripping onto the hem of her mother’s dress could bring a smile to the teenager’s face as she sat, slowly accepting such a dreadful fate.
In the span of mere seconds, Marian flew from her seat in a huff, threw her napkin to the table, and began to stomp upstairs. Though Blue was far too lost in her own thoughts to take any pleasure in the sight.
“Anya?” The girl hung her head solemnly in her hands.
“Miss Pierce,” suddenly, the woman bustled to her side. Thoughts of her dream still lingering, she wondered if she’d have degraded herself to a complete stranger as she had on the balcony had Anya been her mother. But dismissed the thought immediately. Anya had raised her, after all.
“Can I get some coffee, please? Maybe a bit of whiskey in it?” The larger woman watched the teen rub her eyes wearily, hair settling in tangles around her shoulders, and did her best to ignore the blossoming purple bruise below her ear just as she had the soiled underwear she was sure had been stained by semen that morning. And though she wanted to object and confront the girl who so clearly had seen better days, Anya simply wrung her hands, dark hair slipping slightly from its restraints, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Blue did little more than stare at her own reflection in the empty plate in front of her.
Only when Anya re-emerged with a teacup of coffee—sans milk—and Marian took the very same seat at the end of the table did she finally look up. This time, the woman wore a plum-colored dress, far more modest on the chest, her hair secured in a neat bun. And as Blue glanced towards the woman, she couldn’t help but feel she was staring straight into a mirror, gazing upon the horrid, twisted future she faced. She stared straight back into her plate.
"I knew the pair of you would still be eating," Quickly, Blue came to realize one thing was worse than facing Marian before twelve; Bradley Pierce.
The name was often misleading. It was the name of a party-boy or the thirty-eight-year-old leader of a college fraternity with time spent so often getting wasted he was balls deep in student debt from all the times he'd had to repeat the course. It was strange, never had Blue met a man who was such a perfect image of Toby Flenderson in all regards.
"We're only still eating because Blue spends half of her life in bed and only emerges for meals—late, may I add," For once in her life, Blue hadn’t a disrespectful quip to hurl at her mother. Instead, she stared into her own lap, head in her hands, and willed away the touch that had pinned her against the railing and lingered so dreadfully.
When the chair beside her slid out and a man spared a glance towards the woman out of the corner of his eye, she resolved to burp in what she could only assume was Richard’s face, yet somehow managed not to. Unbuttoning the single button of his blazer, elbow brushing her shoulder and knee bumping hers, Blue sank further and further into the self-hatred she’d become rather familiar with.
“And who are you? I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure…” stiffly, Marian extended an arm across the table. Finally, Blue’s interest was piqued.
Reluctantly, she looked up, meeting the eyes of Richard who offered a firm, greeting smile from across the table. Quickly, she glanced to her side—and wished she hadn’t.
“Vincent,”
“I take it you must be missus Pierce,” Blue met the man’s eyes, and though she had wondered what color they had been, staring at the deep green framed beneath dark, sinister brows, she was far more concerned with her desire to be swallowed by the ground. Staring in complete disbelief, she watched as he shook hands with her mother using the very same one he had had in her underwear a mere twelve hours prior. The blood drained from her face. Suddenly, she began gulping down her coffee. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” The humor of Marian's apparent nervousness was lost on Blue. “Vincent is our newest CEO, he was kind enough to move a big meeting for us to come this morning, inviting him was the nice thing to do,” as he spoke, Bradley offered the man the same stiff smile they’d all thrown at each other. Blue wondered if they were speaking in code. "Blue, I presume? Happy birthday from
Following as carefully as he could, trying rather earnestly to mask his footsteps and holding his breath for whatever reason, Vincent rounded the corner and pressed into Bradley’s study. Blue had stood silently, staring through the window as though she wished she’d disappear completely, only moving to meet the man as he silently closed the door behind himself—and rearing at him instantly. “My god! can’t you leave me alone?” Her approach was quick, and while the man had at least five or six inches on her, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin as though she hadn’t a fear in the world. As she did, Vincent couldn’t help but feel he was being attacked by a toy poodle suffering small dog syndrome. And smiled. “Is this all a joke to you?” “Your father invited me, Blue, do you expect me to turn down all invitations that may involve you just because you told me we can’t see each other again?”  
Staring 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
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
“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
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.
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
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