Somehow, Vincent had managed to escape the benefit earlier than Blue. As she slammed the front door shut behind herself and kicked her shoes off with an air of frustration no one could ever triumph, she came face to face with a man, yet again, lurking in the shadows. Sitting on the couch, in the dark, head hung, interlocked hands in between his knees and gaze sharp as he finally lifted his eyes to her own, even she couldn’t be any more dramatic if she tried. Against all instinct, Blue couldn’t help but surrender to the pull that ordered her into silence. Couldn’t fit in a snide remark to cushion her pride. Froze in place as their eyes met. “Why were you there?”    “Why were you there?”   “I can’t tell you that,”   “And I can’t tell you, either.”   “Then I guess we have an understanding,”   Suddenly, she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. &

Blue waited, bated breath and a racing heart... let it be due to her soul-ripping orgasm, the cold, or the sheer suspense of watching Vincent quietly turn from the door and rub at his face solemnly. When she spoke, she found she had the courage to only in whispers as she pulled the skimpy throw blanket tighter around herself, wishing for even a fraction more of the modesty she had been granted. "Who is it?" She feared she knew the answer. She watched as he all but punched the light switch by the front door. For someone trying so hard to keep quiet, he didn’t seem to be all too concerned with it. If their visitor hadn't heard them reproducing on the dining room table, there was no doubt they heard Vincent's outburst. Whether he turned the lights off to hide his naked wife or not. He muttered. Scowled. "Go to bed, I'll meet you there," S

Blue cursed the fact she didn't have the mind to lather on sunscreen the second she had stepped into the street. Summer was underway, and though not as hot as it could be, just as unforgiving. And although she wasn't showing per se, the steadying gain of weight meant that she was just too big to fit into her old clothes and just too small to size up without looking like a Mormon. Vincent's clothes were always a safe bet—big enough to look deliberately oversized—but she found that, while denim shorts and one of his many white button-ups looked trendy enough to blend into the LA crowd, its ability to advertise her sweat was uncanny.It was a task in itself to hold at bay the vomiting which forced her to bring a pillow to rest on into the bathroom for the better part of an hour—but by ten o'clock, feeling so vile and exhausted, she made the decision so grave in necessity she felt it appropriate to break a promise. And so, the ten-minute walk to the pharmacy began. She was painfully aware

“Lovely, isn’t it? That your parents would go through all this effort for us,” Blue forced a bitter smile to Richard, the man who had the meat of her thigh in his hand in a way he’d be able to squeeze warningly when her tongue got a bit loose. She feared, after one too many witty remarks and cold stares in his direction, that the print of his hand would begin to show. Even then, she was sure that Marian would not mind one bit. She seemed perfectly content watching her only daughter be violated by the man

Blue found it rather hard to engage with anyone at the dinner table, though her input hadn’t been missed. Richard had been chatting happily for a time she didn’t care to note about his cars and the new house he bought on the suburbs. The suggestive nod towards its family appeal was lost on Blue. Just as the comment on his Porsche SUV and all its passenger capacity fell on deaf ears. She was rather distracted by the fact that Richard was sat by her side in the very seat that had been Vincent’s at the fateful brunch. And if not by Richard’s presence alone, by the rampant questions and confusion that had arisen from Vincent’s detective work in a way that translated directly into anger… and hurt.