Having the house to herself, Becky took advantage of the quiet time to work on her art history assignment. She brought all her books to the dining room, gave the old table a good dusting, and set herself up.
She still couldn't get over the fact that they never used this room. It was a real shame because it was such a lovely old table with six chairs to match.
She had once suggested they use it, but the Goths didn't see the point. The kitchen was good enough for them.
Perhaps they were right, though. They only ever really gathered around for breakfast. Lunches were eaten at the diner, and quite often dinner was left on the stovetop for whenever anyone wanted it. Usually, Dorian whipped something together like Mac and Cheese, or Mr. Noodles. More often than not they would order pizza and eat while watching television.
Snapping out of her directionless musings, Becky focused her attention on her assignment. After all, it was why she had stayed home.
***
It was hours before she took a break. In fact, it was almost noon when she finally closed her books. She had successfully wrapped up her assignment. Feeling rather accomplished, she stood up and stretched.
Realizing she was starting to get hungry, and that she was still in her pjs, she ran upstairs for a pee before deciding on what to have for lunch.
Becky gave her hands and face a refreshing scrub. She left the bathroom and was making her way to her room to get dressed when she paused by Crispin's bedroom.
The door had been left open just a crack. That in itself was very unusual. The prickly Goth always made a point of keeping his door shut tight.
To say she wasn't curious about this whole vanilla business he went on about, would be a lie. She didn't exactly know what to look for, but she had a feeling that she might find a clue or two in his room.
Feeling cheeky, she didn't see any harm in taking a peek. No one would ever know she'd been in there. She would make sure to leave everything as she found it.
Pushing the door open with the slightest of nudges, she stepped inside and took a good look around. She was quite surprised to discover that the prickly Goth was incredibly neat.
His many ensembles were hung up in the closet in an orderly fashion. His ornate, iron framed bed was impeccably made. Unable to resist, she ran her hand along the fancy wrought iron frame, admiring its many swirls and curls.
Crispin's room faced the backyard, and therefore it was quite bright despite the dark green brocade wallpaper and black satin bedcovers. It was all rather beautiful, much like the man himself.
Hmmm... there didn't appear to be anything suspect in his room so far. Tiptoeing towards the closet, she dared to take a closer look inside.
Other than an insane amount of Victorian lace and shiny shoes, she didn't find anything too interesting in there.
She could go through his drawers, but she didn't feel quite right about doing that. In fact, she was starting to feel rather guilty about snooping around as it was.
Over on the desk, by the window, she found a laptop, notebooks, music sheets, but nothing really out of the ordinary. The only place she hadn't checked was under the bed. Crouching down with her back to the door, she gave it a shot.
Bingo! Right there, was a rather large black leather box, an attache case of sorts, fancy brass snaps and all. With her heart racing in her chest, she reached for it and dragged it towards her.
For a moment, she hesitated. This was so wrong on so many levels. She shouldn't be in his room at all, let alone digging around his things.
But her curiosity was killing her! Oh, what would it hurt? As long as nobody found out, no one would be the wiser.
Despite her burning curiosity, she was almost afraid to have a look. If only she could keep her hands from shaking at the prospect of what she might find in this mysterious black box! After a series of calming breaths, and a furtive glance over her shoulder, Becky snapped it open.
She instantly froze. For a moment, she couldn't make any sense of what she'd found. If anything she was more confused than ever. The only things she recognized were a pair of fur-lined handcuffs and a rather elegant leather wand with fine twine on its tip.
On closer inspection, she found a plethora of lovely silk scarves. Under the scarves was a long, black feather, most likely from a raven's wing.
Weird. Why would Crispin have all this stuff? What did any of it mean? Was he some sort of magician?
Digging further underneath the scarves, she discovered a brochure of sorts. Perhaps this would enlighten her. Unable to resist, she flipped it open.
That's when it all became disturbingly clear! Oh, the horror! Becky couldn't believe her eyes. Not Crispin! He couldn't possibly be into this!
"Find anything you like?" Crispin asked, leaning against the door frame.
"Huh! Crispin!"
Startled beyond belief, Becky fell backwards onto her butt, dropping everything, including the brochure she'd been flipping through. "W-what are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same thing." Seeing Becky sitting there, looking as guilty as sin, Crispin didn't know whether to laugh at her or throttle the little dormouse.
To think he'd been looking forward to seeing her. He'd just wrapped up his morning classes, decided to come home, figuring she'd be lonely all by herself. He'd even stopped at the diner and bought them both lunch. Imagine his surprise at finding the little rodent, rifling through his most private affairs.
"I... it's, um... it's not what it looks like," she said, averting her eyes.
"Oh, so you weren't snooping?" He quirked an eyebrow, staring her down with a most intimidating frown. "You weren't digging around my things?"
"Crispin, w-what is all this stuff?" she asked, turning it around on him. Yes, she was upset, and embarrassed at being caught red-handed, but what was most prevalent on her mind were the questionable contents of that box.
She was just starting to really like Crispin. She thought she could trust him. But now after realizing what all that vanilla nonsense was about, she couldn't even look at him.
"Well, Becky, since you ask..."
Before she could register what was happening, Crispin came at her, grabbed her, and tossed her onto his bed.
"Some things are just easier shown rather than explained!"
"Stop! Crispin, what are you doing?" she cried out, flailing helplessly as he effortlessly overpowered her, straddling her between his hips, while reaching into the black box. Within seconds, he had her handcuffed to the top of the very same wrought iron bed frame which she had so recently admired.
"Kelley!" she screamed, frantically.
"Kelley's not here!" Crispin hissed. "And neither is Dorian, for that matter. There's no point in calling for either of them. No one will hear you."
He reached for the silk scarves and turned himself around. "I'm the only one who can help you now." He grabbed her ankles and held them down on the bed, a little wider than a foot apart. "In fact, we have the entire house to ourselves for hours yet."
Realizing what his plans were, Becky kicked at him with all her might, but it was no good. As elegant and graceful as he was, the Goth was a force to be reckoned with.
"Such a wee little thing, aren't you?" He couldn't contain a snicker as he straddled her legs, and tied a few scarves together. "Good thing I have plenty of these." He then plucked off her slippers one by one and proceeded to tether each of her ankles to the foot of the wrought iron bed frame.
"Untie me, this minute, Crispin!" she shouted, suddenly more angry than afraid.
"Why would I do that?" he asked, testing out the ties, sliding a finger between her ankle and the tether. "We're only getting started." Having sufficiently secured her in place, he then hopped off the bed. "Now then, how's that?"
"Crispin, this isn't fair!" Using all her strength, she fought with her unyielding restraints.
"Fair?" he repeated, watching her fruitless efforts. She was a fighter, that was for sure, not a submissive bone in her body. "Fairness doesn't even come into play here." He leaned over and righted her dishevelled nightie, down around her thighs, tucking it securely underneath her hips. "Now, quit your squirming, and everything will be just fine."
"Crispin, please, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to go through your things," she said, suddenly shaky and unsure, so much so that her bottom lip started to tremble.
Sitting down beside her on the bed, he cocked his head to the side and studied his curious little dormouse. This was suddenly a very serious situation, he realized. The last thing he would ever want was to involve Becky in any part of this side of his life. She didn't need to know any of it. He was perfectly content to keep this part of himself private.
Yet, here she was. The nosy little imp had rummaged through his room and found his box of toys. She didn't understand any of it, and how could she? Sometimes he didn't even understand it himself, not enough to verbalize it.
He would just simply have to show her. It was the only option.
"What have I told you about that miserable quivery lip thing of yours?" He leaned in over her.
"W-what lip thing?" she asked, staring wide-eyed into his stormy expression.
Putting his middle and index finger together, mimicking a pair of scissors, he playfully snipped them across her bottom lip. "Cut it out, or I will cut it off."
"Crispin, please untie me. I won't say anything about the box," she pleaded, looking sideways over the edge of the bed.
"It's too late now." He sighed, gazing from her to the contents of the box. "We can't simply pretend. You've seen it. If I let you go, you'll never truly understand."
"I don't want to understand!"
"Yes, you do. You're obviously curious by nature. If I don't show you, you'll only look it up on the internet. That, my dear little dormouse would be a terrible way to introduce yourself to what you've discovered here today. You would most certainly hate me, simply because you don't understand me."
"I've seen enough already! I don't understand, and I don't want to! All I do know is that you're not who I thought you were!"
"See, it's happening already," he said with a troubled frown, picking up the brochure she'd been looking at. While it was really only an instruction manual at worst, he could understand why the little illustrations might have her so freaked out.
"Release me!" she demanded.
"Dormouse, your incessant whining is growing weary." He placed his hand over her mouth. "You know, I could gag you..."
"Nooo!" she cried, instantly tearing up at his threat.
"Hey..." He leaned over her and gazed into her very frightened eyes. "I would never do that, though."
"Please, Crispin," she gasped, suddenly terrified.
"I want you to listen to me, okay?" He very patiently waited until she nodded.
"Do you trust me?"
"I don't know anymore," she answered truthfully.
"Becky, you know me." He gazed into her eyes. "You know I'd never harm you."
She nodded apprehensively. "You're my sweet prickly Goth," she said with a tremulous pout. "I thought we were friends."
He couldn't hold back the smile that formed on his lips. "Friends... I like that. I like that a lot."
"Then why are you doing this?" she asked as he placed his hand over her mouth once again if only to hide that pathetic tremor on her bottom lip. The very sight of it did terrible things to his insides.
"I've already explained the whys," he said with a heavy sigh. "I simply need you to trust me. Can you do that for me, dormouse?"
"Do what?" she asked warily.
"Trust me?"
"I... um, I think so."
"Do you promise to trust me? That means no crying."
"Okay, I promise I'll try," she said, biting her bottom lip.
"Right then, here we go." He reached into his night table and pulled out a very elegant sleeping mask.
"What's that for?"
"Trust me..." he whispered, gently securing over her eyes.
"Crispin, I don't like this."
"Why not? Don't you trust me?"
"I do, I just... it's..."
"Dark? Scary?"
"Yes!"
"I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you."
"Um... okay..."
"Okay." He stood up and walked to his desk and sat down.
"Crispin?"
"I'm right here."
"Okay..."
He stood up again, walked towards the box and crouched down by its side, studying its contents. Glancing over at Becky, he then ran his hands over a few things, the little whip caught his eye. Perhaps a few sharp lashes might teach her a thing or two about snooping. Then he thought better of it and decided on the feather.
"Crispin?"
"Still here."
"Okay..."
Trying very hard not freak out, Becky concentrated on the facts. Crispin was her friend. They'd come a long way from when they'd first met. He no longer glared at her or despised her presence. In fact, he had become quite dear to her and she to him. At least, she hoped. They'd even cuddled on the couch, watching movies. Never once had he given her reason to worry about his intentions.
But this was just so unusual. The whole thing was weird beyond belief. Who was Crispin, really? And could she honestly trust him? Worse yet, what of those things in that awful black box? Would he use them on her? She tensed, hearing his calculated approach. She was torn between relief and apprehension.
Crispin circled around to the foot of the bed. He waited, watching her. She was shaking. Poor little thing, it almost broke his heart. It was never his intention to subject her to anything like this. But the damage was done. This was his only way of salvaging their relationship.
"Crispin?"
"Right here..."
"Okay..."
He very lightly ran the raven feather from her toes over the top of her foot and up her inner leg. He tried very hard not to smile. This was very serious business.
"What is that?" she sputtered, unable to stop herself from laughing.
"This is just the beginning. A little taste of things to come," he said in a most serious voice. He repeated the pattern from one foot to another, trailing the feather higher up her thigh each time.
Here, she'd been so worried! "Crispin, that tickles!" She laughed, tensing and relaxing after each swipe of the feather.
"You like that, do you?" He gave in and smiled to himself. "It's not all that bad, is it?
"No, it's not!" She laughed again when he tickled the tip of the feather over her toes. "Hey? Don't I get a safe word?" she cried out as he teased the bottom on her right foot, and then her left foot. "Crispin..."
"Safe word?" He quirked an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you didn't know anything about this business."
"I read books and watch movies!" She giggled, kicking at him. "I'm supposed to have a safe word, so you know when I've had enough."
"You don't need one of those," he scoffed, taking the feather and running it up her inner thigh, just under the edge of her nightie. "I decide when you've had enough."
"Hey, that's not fair..."
"Like I mentioned before..." He leaned over a bit further and ran the feather up her other thigh, the tip flirting dangerously higher. "Fairness has nothing to do with this."
"Stop!"
"Hmm... all right then, if you insist." He tossed the feather away. "There, how's that? Safe word enough for you?"
"Don't do that," she said, suddenly self-conscious.
"I won't do anything of the sort." He circled around to her side and sat down beside her. "You know that, don't you?" he asked, touching his knuckles to her cheek. "I would never do anything like that."
"Okay..."
"Trust me?"
"Yes..."
"Right then, let's test that theory," Crispin said, walking towards the box. "Shall we?"
****
To be continued...
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House of Goths Copyright © 2014 by Maria Bernard ISBN: 978-0-9938067-3-5
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