keeping empty beds elsewhere

“Don’t say that–so loud–” Colin’s little sister begs him, her eyes flicking quickly, back and forth, between him and the door.  Going by logic, he should be caring a lot more about this marriage, given the securities that it’d give to the family–shouldn’t he be more worried?  Be taking more precautions, at the very least?

“A-Ah,” is all she manages to voice, the exhalation all breathless quivers as she follows Colin’s command.  It has only taken him two seconds to destroy the symbol of her and her husband’s consummation–her lingerie– and she can only wonder what that means for her, and his, future.  The panties are hanging in shreds upon her hips, their lacy scraps parted enough to no longer be proper barriers over her dripping sex.  Her pink petals are lubricated with her desire.

"Is that what you tell yourself?" he asks harshly, stopping to survey her face. She obviously wants this, in every way. Still, is that truly what she believes? "You are doing this to get away from me. To be safe from me. Why, Amelia?" Had he become more like his mother than he even noticed? Did he repulse her now?

“Col–” his younger sister gasps, letting out a sharp breath as her shoulder blades are pinned to the wall. Her many, ruffled skirts are gathered in his hands to be moved away and expose her sopping sex.  The only thing separating her now from his intentions is the snow-white pair of panties, hugging her form above her garter, lingerie that the Baker has clothed her in.  

"What does marriage mean to me, hmm?" He doesn't have to feel her to know that she's ready. She's always ready. "What does this farce of a marriage mean to me?" He doesn't bother undoing her garter belt. No, he just rips her panties to shreds. He doesn't give a fuck that the door is unlocked, he had nothing to hide.

She can tell how farcical his grin is, and that makes her all the more uncomfortable.  This should have been her happiest day, a glorious day.  Instead, she’s become a pariah to her family.  Amelia wants to declare that she’s saving them, giving them the amenities that they could not have hoped to find otherwise, but in reality all she would be able to say would be that she missed them all, terribly…

“Find what funny?” she’s forced to ask, out of curiosity and out of indulging her older brother.  He has the walk of a panther, and it makes her insides clench.  

Colin stares at her, stopped no more than a foot from her. What a mistake. Grabbing her roughly, he begins to hoist up her many skirts. "I was going to say," he grunts, pushing her back into the wall, "I think it's funny you're wearing white."

The only thing that could steel Amelia’s nerves right now was the thimble of brandy resting upon the table and the thought of her family waiting in the chapel.  The women fluttering around her are relations of the Baker; she does not know any of them, and Amelia has never felt more alone in her entire life than she does now.  No father to give her away, and no mother to weep over her gown.  It is only the dowry, that and the many other financial gifts which make this all worthwhile.  She has sold herself in a sense, but was there ever really any better fate for her?

Perhaps she isn’t paying attention, but it’s impossible to notice when all the fluttering stills.  Amelia looks up and realizes that all the women have left.  And in their place stands her brother.

There were a lot of things Colin wanted to say to his younger sister. Some of them weren't too fair, or too appropriate but he's entitled to it. Staring at her with his hands in his pockets, he smiles. A giant fake one. "Congratulations on your happy day, love," he says with faux gusto. "Is there anything you need?" He wanted to stain her gown with blood.

Who did that baker believe himself to be, to take what is his? Colin would curse him. Make him feel as if he was walking on glass for the rest of his life. Make him die every day for an eternity, until he loses his mind. Make him vomit at the touch of any woman, so that he'll never lay his hands on Amelia.

His sweet Amelia.

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjEyy1Lz30Y)

The blood is slow and congealing in her veins.  Amelia knows before she feels it that she’s ruined everything. All they’ve ever had is each other, and the house, and Mother, and Mother is so frightening that half the time, Amelia wishes she didn’t exist.  In one smooth move, she has driven a knife into her brother’s heart, into his back, the way he would have expected the police to do it.  Not his own sister.

Everything they do is tainted.  She’s tainted.  There’s been this hope since Amelia was little that she could somehow escape the curse that hovers around their broken family, but she knows that she would have to give them up first in order to do that.  And she would rather die in Colin’s arms than live with the knowledge that she had left him behind somewhere, choking on her dust.

When she arrives in the room, the first thing Amelia sees is the shattered glass remains of the lamp that had once stood stoutly upon the desk.  It had been their mother’s favorite, once upon a time.  She bites her lip and directs her gaze towards Colin.

Amelia is stunned by the questions pouring from his lips. And guilt immediately floods her veins, heavy like a drug, the worst drug.  Colin did clothe her, he did feed her.  He fed all of them, as the oldest, and she knows that it has put a strain more awful than death upon him.  His voice as he reminds her how he tends to her physically when she asks for it is an immediate aphrodisiac–her muscles clench inside.  Her lips part just the slightest bit.

“You’re not hard to love at all, brother,” she whispers, a tremor to her own voice.  Amelia can feel the warmth of Colin’s breath upon her face.  “I love you, I love you, and I love you–but it’s…how can we?  You…you are first and foremost my brother.  We…it’s illegal.”

"You love me, and you're ashamed," he says numbly, staring at the massive bookshelf beside the door. "You're disgusted by what we do. By how I love you." He unbuttons his top few buttons, trying to get some air. He felt like he was suffocating, like she was smothering him. "Liam doesn't care, he's never said a word but you... You're ashamed." He hadn't expected this from her, not once had she... Blinking back tears, he turned his back on her. He was their patriarch for God's sake and she shouldn't see him cry. Not ever.

Amelia keeps her eyes fixed upon Liam’s golden halo of hair, lets her fingers run through its silken strands as a means of soothing herself.  Despite her best efforts, a lump still forms in her throat– it’s true that she doesn’t earn her keep, not like the rest of them.  She doesn’t go outside, even though on multiple occasions she has tried; her brother has never let her, telling her to keep and clean house inside, where she would be safe. Safe from what?  He has never let her find out. The drag of his knuckles across her spine is a sensation that strangely brings a shuddering chill down Amelia’s back.

“Oh, Liam,” she murmurs softly, with a small smile meant to reassure.  They have a difficult enough family life as it is, there’s no need for a rift or squabble between the older siblings that will frighten or sadden the young ones.  “Take a rest,” she says instead, urging him with that same smile onto the bed, helping him pull off his worn boots, slinging his coat on the back of a chair.  “I’ll wake you for supper.”

He waits for her arrival patiently, knowing she had no choice but to come to him. When the door opens, he stares at her from where he's seated, knees slightly apart as he sips on a glass of whiskey. "This is my fault," he says gruffly, wiping below his bottom lip. "I treat you like a princess, and I see why that was my mistake."

Setting his glass down, he stares at it for a moment before meeting her eyes. "I take good care of you, don't I Amelia? I clothe you, and feed you." He was genuinely hurt, it showed in his eyes. This wasn't a mind game. "I hold you when you need comfort, and fuck you raw when you ask me to." Standing up, he moves closer to her. Not intimidating, slightly hunched so that he maintains eye contact.

She can’t scream.  Her body is pliant, is accessible–her lips part for his tongue when he samples her, her hands open for gripping his arms, and her legs rub against his, needing oh-so cherished friction–but her heart feels like it’s splintering, and her eyes–they’ve never been so distant.  Trying to abandon the body that has failed them.  She’s trying to leave before it’s too late.  Trying to leave the sinking ship.

AM I SO HARD TO LOVE?

Flashes of men, of so many men.  Tall men, short men, angry men.  Divorced men.  Married men.  Gay men.  Unhappy men, pulling at her clothing.  Jubilant men, staring down at her pink flesh before they rip into it.  Each of them screaming, into her hair, into her skin, “AM I SO HARD TO LOVE?”

Rachel’s eyes are bowls, wet and empty.  This man–she had been a fool to hope.  To try.  Things like love are luxurious to her.  They’re not things for her.  She had been so foolish to hope.

Letting her go like she was suddenly burning him with her vacancy, he watches her slide to the floor with an empty stare of his own. "Because," he says simply, "I'm tired of being alone." He'd lost track of the years, forgotten his own age. And then she broke into his haze, pulled him out of the soot. Now she wanted to bury him once more? She'd given him such hope, and now he was... Pissed.

She has the rag, white that’s turned yellow with age, and she’s moving quickly to towel off Liam’s hair, but Amelia still doesn’t miss the look that the two men in the room have just shared.  It’s paralyzing, because  the look in Liam’s eyes is unmistakable–he knows.

Her hands are shaky as she begins briskly rubbing Liam’s blond mop with the towel.  Colin’s hand is a tingling reminder against the dip in her spine.  And Amelia is no longer in the mood to follow suit with their dalliance.  What have they been doing?  What could they have done, if not stopped?

"Don't be a lazy girl," he says, as if amused. "Liam has been working all day long, and you've done nothing but sit pretty." Their little brother has averted his gaze to the floor, knowing better than to speak up on Amelia's behalf. Colin took care of them, but every year he resembled their father more and more. "It's about time," his voice grows more terse, "you start earning your keep."