Category: Stories & Captions

So Irene, this is…?

Paul.

Hi.

Sit up, Paul.

Sit up, Paul!

Sorry.

You’re forgiven. So tell me, Paul… has Irene made this situation clear?

…

Answer him.

She said… she said she’s prepared to leave, that she’s cutting ties. And starting over with something new. That she loves me, and doesn’t want to lose me. That I should come with her, and be part of it—

Bold of her to offer a part in a play she does not direct, but go on.

…she said I should talk to you, and find out… what, like, life would be like? For me?

That’s a great question, Paul. Good job.

…thanks?

Don’t—!

It’s fine. He didn’t mean anything. Did you, Paul?

No.

See? Worry-wart.

Now, Paul… you want to know about your life? Well, that’s complicated. Let me hit you with the benefits, right up front.

You’ll get to watch me fuck your wife. Well, once she’s worth fucking. It’ll take a while. But once she’s ready, you’ll get to watch. Because —and I cannot make this clear enough— I’m definitely going to fuck your wife. That’s a thing that will happen.

I don’t know if—

I think you know, Paul. That you’re sitting here at all speaks volumes. I think you know, and you’re okay with it. In fact, you suspect I may have already fucked her. Furthermore, you suspect she loved it.

And she did, Paul. Once. I had to metaphorically hold my nose throughout, but she had a magical time. She was fulfilled, Paul. Can you imagine? Perhaps not. But I can help with that.

God.

You know the real reason the Israelite god insisted on never taking his name in vain? Because he got sick and fucking tired of hearing it every time some girl became exasperated. Shut the fuck up, you distracting cunt.

Sorry.

Forgiven.

And Paul, there are other opportunities that will perhaps interest you in more conventional ways. For example… I’ve got a rotating cast of aimless, desperate girls on hand at all times. All are useful, but fucking them isn’t worth my time. Perhaps, on occasions when you’ve been pleasing —or at least inoffensive— I might be persuaded to let you bed down with a pig or two.

Wh— what?

You look like you’re having a heart attack, Paul. Are you—? Or… oh for fuck’s sake.

Wh- what?

Irene, is he—?

Oh god, yes. Like you wouldn’t believe.

For fuck’s fucking sake, Paul. Seriously? This is just ridiculous. Do you realize that if I came at a woman on this basic level, she would barely be at the starting gate? But you—? Fuck. You’ve lapped the field. From the look on her face, you could pound nails with that thing.

This is one of the reasons I don’t like men. They lack dignity.

I know.

She said ruefully, eh, Paul? Ha! Anyway…

I cannot believe that’s all it took. Like, two girls? That’s it? Sweet fucking hell… to be so young and simple! But yes, from time to time, when I’m happy, you’ll live out a dream with my blessing.

But I—

I can sweeten the deal, Paul. Because Irene here will never say a word. She will never disapprove. Even if you openly like some other cunt more than her, she’ll take it. If she walks in on you in your marital bed, she’ll apologize and offer to change the sheets.

Hey! What? Are you—

I don’t think much of men, you interjecting piece of shit, but whatever they may be, they are not cunts. So they’re people. And as people, they don’t deserve to have their conversation interrupted by a fucking cunt.

Sorry.

Forgiveness under consideration.

sorry

You’re not making it better.

Irene will never utter a harsh word or harbor a cold thought about any dalliance that I bless. If it has my stamp of approval, you can do as you please without consequence.

With that said, I’m guessing she’ll cut your throat and watch you die if she ever catches you cheating on me. Just a tip, Paul? Never give a woman a place to put her rage.

I— I’m not…

Good boy.

Quick, check him, Irene. Still?

Yep.

Still hard after a “good boy”? This is too damned much.

I’m so embarrassed right now.

You should be. Not for simply bringing him to me, because clearly, he needs help. But you should be embarrassed for ever marrying this specimen. I kind of get why you wanted to bring him along, though. He’s like a puppy you adopted and don’t want to abandon.

This is it. I’m finally here. It’s been such a long journey, I almost forgot it had an end.

I’m watching from the shadows as you eagerly drop to your knees in front of a man twice your age. I’ve been told this is far from the first time, but for my purposes, that’s irrelevant. What matters is that you want it. At long last, you finally want it.

You told me so yourself, many years later.

And this recording, this is… insurance. A bet against me and all my schemes. It’ll be in a safe deposit box, waiting for you. Someday.

But now… I’m here. After forever and a day. I’m here, first to bear witness. Second to pass judgement. And third, to complete what you’ve begun. 

Does that sound cruel? I suppose it does. I suppose it is. But as you’ll learn over a long, eventful life, this is the smallest harm I’ll ever do you. This is the smallest slice of you that I’ll take. 

Trust me, my appetite will grow. Or so it’ll seem to you. To me, there is only this. This is the climax. My climax. The one that matters.

I’d like to tell you how you were so innocent and unstained the first time, but to me, that’s how you’ve been every time. Always naive. Always careless. Always stupid. You were always surprised, the first time I grabbed you. Always.

You never once said no.

Oh, you begged me to stop, yes. But it was a request. A prayer without faith. What I mean is that you never once asserted your authority. You never refused. From the moment my hand touched you, you always knew.

I can only imagine what it must feel like, to experience that again and again. That moment of recognition. I wonder if it’s the same every time, a tingling that races through your veins? Or if it slowly becomes something dreadful as it melts into the rhythm of life?

I’ll never know, of course. My ticket is one way. I only get to go back, until I’m done “going”. And then… I’m gone.

Like I said. This is it.

So you’ll never tell me how it feels. You’ll never tell me if you regret what you did. You’ll never admit you miss me. You’ll never thank me for all the times I visited you —long past the point of enjoyment— just to make a fucking point. To you. For you. So that you can live the rest of your godforsaken life with a clear understanding of your actions and their consequences. So you can finally grow into something that isn’t completely disgusting.

The rest of your life is my gift to you, you deceitful cow.

This is our 50th, by the way. Our 50th meeting. Forty-nine have come and gone, building upon one another as the months blur into years and I become like an intrusive thought with claws that leave their marks. All of them building to now. From now. Which is then. I think.

No, my grasp of the method isn’t great. This could be happening through science, or it could be magic. How would I know? I paid them for my ticket, and then it started happening. There could be a miniature black hole powering this shit, or a fucking eye of newt. I don’t care.

They even warned me this might not work. That time might not work, not the way I’d like. That instead of visiting my wrath upon a single version of you, backward, over the course of a lifetime, I’m perhaps spawning new versions of you, over and over. That I’m littering the multiverse with broken little iterations of a faithless bitch.

Again, I don’t care. All fifty of you have it coming.

From my angle, it’s as if I’ve been falling through you. Into you. Sometimes I stop. Sometimes I stop, and I look at you, and I think about how much I used to love you, and it just breaks my heart. And then I remember you can’t break a dead fucking thing that you killed long ago. And I realize that isn’t a broken heart I’m feeling. It’s pity.

That’s the last thing you deserve. Even now. Especially now.

I’ve decided that I can’t rely on righteous rage anymore. That’s what got me here, but after all… you know what? Maybe the people at The Center were right. What if they were? What if I’ve hurt you each time, but it’s… it’s never amounted to anything?

You’re a pathetic, weak piece of shit when it comes to other people, but when it comes to you… you’re strong. If anyone could rise above everything I do during our times together, it’d be you. And failing that, you’re just fucked up enough to memory hole it entirely and pretend it never happened.

So this… this now might be all I have. This last thing. This last time. This might be all of it. What happens here might be all that happens.

I told myself I was targeting your volitional sexual awakening because I wanted to visit the wages of your sins upon you before you’d even committed them. To thoroughly defile you before you beat me to it. But it was more than that.

In reality, I’m here for the same reason that I began this trip at all. To make you stop. Stop lying to me. Stop stealing from me. Stop hurting me. To stop believing that what your selfish cunt wants is worth all I have to endure. To stop you believing in yourself.

So I’ve come to find the purest, most precious, most powerful moment in your history, the moment when you first felt like a unique human, fully fleshed, confident and joyful…

And I’m taking it away from you. 

Because if you knew how to be ashamed, you would have never done it. You might have flirted with him, but you would never have done it. But this. This… this always called to you. This feeling. You told me, when you were packing, and yelling, and venting your spleen.

You could always feel it, and it made you want more. More than everything I had. They told me I won’t exist after today —might never have existed, won’t yet exist, I don’t know— and after what you said that night, I realize you wouldn’t care if you knew. 

When I erase that feeling inside you —when I trample it and grind it to powder and watch it blow away on a hateful wind— and leave you with nothing but doubt and fear and bottomless fucking yearning, your pride will expire. Your stubbornness will fade. You will understand that some things are wrong, even when they feel right. That you’re wrong, and now it’s left to someone who loves you to make you right.

You will look at that man at the gym one day, and instead of smiling, you will lower your eyes and mind your own business. So what I’m doing now, it isn’t just lust and anger and vengeance. What I’ll be doing to you, it saves our marriage. Or saves your soul. Or just makes me feel better. Makes me feel right.

You should know by now, I don’t care. All I know —really, truly know— is that I am here, I have a knife and your fate in my hands, and once your “friend” is done with your mouth and on his way, I will hold the one to your throat and the other I will weigh. I will consider it, nestled within my palm, and I will look into your eyes for the slightest reason to relent.

But I know I won’t see it. It’s not there to see. There’s no reason, after all this. No reason not to do it one more time. Harder. Longer. To make it a living nightmare for you. To wreck you for a lifetime.

You’re going to be the end of me. I need to be sure I’m your beginning.

[CONTENT NOTE: There is no sex. There’s very little violence. But something wicked this way comes.]

I rang the bell and knocked at the door.

She opened it and smiled reflexively. I returned her smile, but with intent.

Recognition dawned; first in her eyes, and then upon her lip, which began to twitch.

“I warned you,” I said, stepping past her and into her foyer. She made no move to stop me; in fact, she made no move at all. She stared blankly out her front door as I took off my coat and strode into the house.

She listened —mute and paralyzed— as I moved from room to room, taking in the decor and drawing the drapes. She hadn’t budged an inch when I returned.

“I’ve missed you,” I whispered, standing behind her and leaning in close.

Her mouth automatically formed the words “I’ve missed you, too,” but she made no sound. She was an echo now, of a girl eight years younger. A tear rushed down her cheek to commemorate something she’d lost long ago.

“This is nice. But I always knew it would be,” I said. I placed my hands on her little shoulders and began to massage them. “Roomy. Nice carpet. Shame about the parking.”

“Why?” she croaked, finding some fragment of her voice deep in her throat.

“There’s only space for a dozen cars, and—“ I explained, but she cut me off.

“Why— why have you come?” she asked.

I took her hand, so small it disappeared in mine.

“You know why I’ve come,” I said, and raised her hand to my lips. I kissed her fingers softly.

Her face was red and her eyes were closed. She was shaking. I liked that.

“A deal is a deal,” she whispered.

“Indeed it is,” I answered, leading her from the foyer, past the kitchen, and into the hall. She followed me quietly.

We reached the master bedroom, and I abruptly shoved her inside before me.

“Is this it? Is this where it happened?” I demanded, shoving her in the back to emphasize each question. “Was it on the bed?” Shove. “On the floor, like a fucking animal?” Shove.

With my help, she toppled forward on to the bed. Her arms flew to cover her head, her back began to heave, and I could hear her sobbing consume her.

“Did you even think about me?” I asked. “Even once, while he was on top of you… did I even cross your mind? No. No, of course not. Of course.”

She made a sound akin to “I’m sorry”, but it was more a soft, plaintive howl. 

“I know. You’ll be moreso before I’m through.” I let her sob and began going through her drawers.

“Why— why now?” she choked out between sobs. I threw her vibrator on to the bed next to her, then followed it with an envelope full of cash I found inside a box of childhood trinkets. After a moment’s thought, I put the envelope back, and took the box entire.

I sat down on the bed next to her and slapped her butt. It had been a long time, but I knew she was already wet.

“Because I’m getting old, love,” I said with a sigh. “I’m getting old, and I’m about a young man’s business. If I didn’t come now, I’d never come.”

She turned her face toward me slightly, and peered at me through her hair. It was the first time she’d looked at me since greeting me at the door.

I smiled at the sight of her eye. “And we have a deal. So ‘never’ was never an option.”

“I would have picked a better place for you,” I said, my gaze roaming about the room. “Not this tasteful, tedious shit. Something more appropriate for a disgusting girl like you.”

My hand came down on her ass again, startling her. I stood, grabbed a fistful of her mane, and dragged her from the bed and on to the floor. She let out a squeal that was almost a scream; she knew she had to be quiet. I liked quiet. And so did the little one.

Which was my next stop. She cried —but did not struggle— as I dragged her down the hall and into another bedroom. Her body came to rest on the floor next to the crib.

“So this is her?” I whispered, peering down into a soft, sleeping face. “She’s beautiful. How’d you manage that?”

She didn’t thank me the way a polite new mother should. So I backhanded her, squatted down next to her, and peered intently into her eyes.

“I hope she never finds out what you are,” I hissed. My fingers softly tapped at one of the crib’s legs as I spoke, and she watched their movements as if my hand were something venomous, ready to strike at any moment. Which was silly of her, because she knew as much as anyone that my species spits its poison. “You don’t deserve her. And she damned well deserves better than you.” 

She began crying even harder. She always did when she knew I was right.

I stood and moved back into the hall, waving for her to follow. She gathered her feet under her, but my glare convinced her to change her posture. She crawled instead, sparing only the quickest glance behind her as she hurried to keep up. When I dropped heavily on to her couch, she promptly positioned herself on the floor next to me.

She didn’t look up, but she found it within herself to speak. “Are you— is this about fucking me? I won’t— I can’t stop you.” 

I laughed. “What? You’ve got to be kidding! You’re used now. Ruined. Spoiled. Wasted. Fucking lost.” I lightly swatted her head with my hand. “You can be damned sure I’m leaving here with a lot more than the feel of your cunt, cunt.”

She curled into a ball, but leaned against my leg all the same.

“This— I never— we didn’t—” she cried. It was entertaining, watching her back shudder as she sputtered and sobbed and inwardly calculated the sum of all the wrongs she’d done and debts she owed to me. “Please, you said I could…”

“Of course I did,” I assured her. “Your only right was to flight… I said I’d let you walk away, and I did. But promises were made, and bills have come due.”

She unwound slightly, and tentatively reached out to touch my knee. “I— please, you can fuck me. Rape me. Take what I owe and go.”

My fingers tangled themselves in her hair and jerked her head back until it looked as though her neck might snap, leaving her no choice but to meet my gaze.

“What you owe is waiting in the car outside,” I said. 

She blinked. Slowly. Twice.

“And you know what’s funny?” I glanced toward the front door and smiled. “She barely looked surprised when we pulled up outside.”

“No!” she gurgled.

 “I thought she’d cry, but all she did was squeeze my hand and ask me not to frighten the baby.” 

“NO!” It sounded as if the word had been torn from her throat.

“I’m quite proud of her. She’s twice the girl you ever were.”

“no nonononono…”

“You know, she told me you warned her. About men like me. Like you were imparting wisdom or something. As if you’re capable of learning anything when your hole is wet. As if you aren’t just a collection of habits and obligations and flights of fancy pretending to be a woman. Fucking ridiculous.” 

I relaxed my grip, but she knew I expected her eyes to remain on me. 

“Not that it mattered,” I continued. “All you did was make her a little scared. She’s a curious girl, and when you scare curious girls, they run toward the danger. I’m surprised you didn’t realize that.” I paused and regarded her thoughtfully. “Or maybe you did. You sick little whore. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

I loved the flicker of self-doubt in her eyes. “Please… I’m so sorry, please, don’t…”

“It’s done. Been done for a few years now.” I softened my expression as I felt her body sag under the weight of the inevitable. “I’ve been grooming her for today. To be strong for me the way you never would.”

She felt so many daggers dig in at once, she wasn’t sure where the pain from my disappointment ended and the pain from my disdain began.

“Can I— is there anything,” she began, her sobs undermining the urgency of her words. “Is there— is there anything I can give you? D-do for you?”

“We’re not negotiating, you pathetic little cumstain.” I laughed again, this time stripping It of any trace of sincerity. “You’re quite adept at denial, but you knew what was coming. You’ve had plenty of time to steer yourself into the eye of the storm, but you chose to take your chances and hope I would simply pass you by. Stupid bitch. It was always going to get you. The storm is for you.”

“For me!” she insisted, desperately imagining what a normal woman would do.

Her head rose slightly, in a way that sought to suggest resistance. It seemed for a moment that her eyes might harden, as if she felt a surge of something powerful and brave rushing through her. An echo of heroism, perhaps. But I smiled, and that was all it took; she sighed deeply, and remembered who was truly to blame.

“For me,” she whispered, plaintively. 

I stood and walked toward her foyer. Before leaving the room, I paused and waited with my back to her. She hesitated, first out of confusion, then stubbornness, then fear. But after one very long minute, she was at my elbow.

She followed quietly as I walked on.

“You made a deal,” I off-handedly replied, reaching for my coat. “You even brought her up. Taunted me with her. You practically suggested it. And then you made a deal to ensure it wouldn’t happen.”

“I’m sor—“ she began.

“But you broke the deal,” I continued, as I surveyed the house a final time. I sniffed the air; all I could smell was a life rotting from the inside. “So I made her mine, like I said I would.”

I grasped the door knob lightly and turned to her.

“It took forever, of course.” I grinned, reminiscing like a craftsman about a rewarding project. “Finding her. Connecting with her. Seducing her. Using everything I knew against her. Breaking her down.”

She looked at me with tired, empty eyes… lost in the words.

I grunted, realizing that once again, I needed to explain her future to her.

“So here’s how this is going to go, cunt. I’m going to walk through this door to the car outside, where the other cunt is waiting. We are going to drive to a train, and from the train, we’ll make our way to the airport. And then it’s back home for me, where she will disappear. From there? I have many things to show her, and even more to teach.”

She didn’t nod, but a slow blink suggested something was getting through.

“I don’t owe you anything. I don’t owe you this visit. You let me down. And yet I’m standing here, inviting you to come out and say goodbye. If there is any trace of the girl you could have been still buried inside you, I hope it asserts itself. I hope it swallows your pride and eats your fear and lets you do what’s right.”

The light of a dull, sodden sky fell upon us as I opened the door.

“We’ll wait. Five minutes,” I assured her. “Then I’m telling the driver to leave.”

Her whole body trembled. I knew her stomach was in knots.

“If it matters!” I helpfully called out as I reached the end of her walk. I waved from the gate. “We love you! Both of us!”

We waited five minutes and eighteen seconds, because I know how she is, and I meant it when I said I loved her. The driver jumped out when he saw her dragging a hastily-packed suitcase, and deposited it in the trunk.

The car door opposite me opened, and without a word or hesitation, she wedged her way inside. She took a deep breath and settled in to the seat. I nodded to the driver.

“So what about—?” I began.

“He’s on his way home, five minutes from the house. He’ll find her.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “She’ll be okay. He’s a good man. Mom will help. He’ll always be proud of her.” Her excuses trailed off into the nothing from whence they came.

The silence returned. I admit, I could have waited a little more, but I couldn’t help it. I had to ask.

“Why?”

She finally turned and glared at me as best she could.

“You don’t get to teach her anything without me. And you,” she said firmly, turning to her little sister. “You don’t get to live my dream.”

As it turns out, the train was crowded. They both fell asleep on my shoulders.

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