Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Thirty-Three

Thirty-Three

Brighton, Sussex, England

“What emotions run through your body? You must feel something.” I looked questioningly at John, who sighed.

“At first, it was anger but now it’s just sadness. My father won’t stop… until I produce an heir.”

“We,” I muttered, eyebrows furrowing down and then up as John turned to me.

“We,” John repeated and our eyes connected. We smiled at each other, cheeks flushing pink, a strange sort of force in the air between us.

John had invited me to his house and we were sitting on the rough stone wall bordering the edges of the grand Knowlbodye gardens. Knowing that his father beat his mother, I felt able to confide in him about what I had seen in Yeovil, for matters seemed less awkward between us, despite our last meeting. Every time I thought about Yeovil, I wept with bitter venom filling my body, targeted at Father.

“I can’t understand why he said he only married mother to get an heir. Is that the only thing anyone cares about, what happened to true love? Or is that another thing I’ve been naive about? What if I give us a girl?”

“Then my father will not be happy,” John said shortly, then swallowed, “but I hope she would be like you.” Wait… I was considering having children…with John? And he hoped the girl would be like me? I blinked.

“Elsie,” he whispered, wiping tears from my cheeks, “I’m sorry for everything.” I nodded, knowing he really meant it, wondering why I was crying at the thought of growing up when that was all I ever wanted. John was looking at me. In a different way. I closed my eyes, palms clammy, heart heavy.

John’s lips were more tentative and soft, compared to the hungriness Bobby had possessed. His beard tickled my chin. I wanted to scream and push John away but there was something so sweet and tingly bursting inside of me at his touch, like an itchy sensation that ignited a flame in my eyes. And then I thought of Bobby; innocent, round-cheeked Bobby and I thought I would explode from guiltiness.

“Elsie?” John’s eyebrows went down into a v-shape. I twisted his ring around my finger, remembering the circumstance in which he had given it to me. My throat became dry. His strike. Father’s smack. Emma’s slap. Zeppelins. The Zeppelins. The Zeppelins, the Zeppelins, the Zeppelins… No matter how many months after, they still haunted me.

*****

My eyelids forced themselves open. I looked up.

“Jacqueline!” I gasped rather informally even though she would soon be my mother-in-law and I was entitled to call her by her first name. She jumped back, eyes widening, quivering. If she was scared of a little gasp from me, how did she react to a series of blows from her husband, my soon to be father-in-law?

“Desole, mademoiselle, se sentir mieux?” (Sorry miss, do you feel better?)

“Oui, je vous remercie,” (Yes, thank you) I responded in the best French accent I could muster.

“Mother, do stop testing people on their ability to speak your native language,” came John’s voice, sounding irritated. I groped around, trying to pinpoint his whereabouts. My cheeks flushed; I had fainted in front of him after kissing him, thinking about the Zeppelins.

“At least I don’t do that.” I turned to see Mother whispering in my ear and blinked. She then asked John and Jacqueline if we could have a moment by ourselves and they subsequently left.

Mother pulled the curtains open. I pressed my hand to my eyes as the sun burnt into them. I could see I was lying on a four-poster bed with velvet-colour drapes and over-stuffed cushions beneath my slightly weary head.

“What’s your native language then? You never talk about your family and then last week you burst out with something about a Natalya and an aunt and uncle shot by Father? Why marry him if he did that?” I paused, pieces of jigsaw swimming around in my head and fitting together.

“So that’s why you fell out with your family – you married your aunt and uncle’s murder. But why? And why did Father kill them? And did he really marry you just so he could get an heir?” I stared at Mother intently, heart racing.

“Elsie, you need to rest; you just fainted.” Mother squeezed my hand, the lines on her forehead prominent, grey tainting the tops of her hair. Something stirred inside of me, something defiant.

“No, I won’t! Stop treating me as if I’m Mary’s age!” I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

“Mary can cope more than you,” Mother whispered feebly.

“Oh of course, she knew about Father’s real job. Hmm, murdering people in holy places of worship, that’s it, isn’t it?” Mother turned her back to me.

“I wanted to correct my mistake and protect you after… after…” She can’t even say the name.

“I don’t need protecting!” I screeched. A surge of anger made me grab the white vase on the side table and hurl it across the room. It smashed with a sickening crunch. Mother sobbed. I stood there shaking. Day by day I was becoming weaker.

AN: I'm sorry if the French in this chapter is incorrect, I used an online translator. Apologies to any who speak French here if I caused offence to you by using your language incorrectly.