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Chapter Twenty-Eight II
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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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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“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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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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