7: In Which She is Almost - but Not Quite - Katy Perry
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I had only actually met Harriet Periwinkle once before.
As Jack had been quick to point out, her husband (whatever his name was) owned the stables beside the Comptons Lake, ergo the Periwinkles were a very wealthy couple – and extremely stuck-up and old-fashioned, at least from what little I’d seen.
So it was no wonder I was shaking in my gladiator sandals as I made my way into my kitchen. Harriet Periwinkle was the last person I’d ever wanted to discover me spread-eagled before my plumber. Not that I actually ever wanted anyone to find out about this little affair – but that was beside the point.
Peeking through the entranceway, I spotted Harriet Periwinkle sitting at the table, sipping a large glass of what I could see was pulp orange juice. She’d quickly made herself right at home without my say-so. Dressed in a silk cream blouse and tan slacks, she looked exactly like the pompous Stepford wife I knew she was. Everything about her screamed opulence and sophistication, and it greatly intimidated me. I didn’t have any idea of what she would say.
I cleared my throat and went in, pasting a wide smile on my face. “Is the juice OK?” The cheer in my voice was forced but Harriet looked up at me, smiling back.
“I hope you don’t mind, dear,” she said serenely, raising the glass.
“Not at all,” I countered, going into the fridge myself and getting out the jug for myself. I avoided eye contact as I went to get a glass. Perhaps if I did that long enough, she’d dissipate into thin air and I could pretend she had never been here, never even existed.
“Is that young Vaughn Parker upstairs?” she asked after a long moment of silence had passed.
I glanced at her. “Er, yes… He’s doing the shower.”
“Oh? Broken, is it?”
“Very.”
She nodded sagely. “Understandable. This house is as old as the hills, as are most of the others.”
“Mrs. Periwinkle –” I began.
“I won’t tell, you know,” she said gently, blue eyes sincere.
“You…you won’t?” I asked loudly. The hammering had started up again upstairs and neither of us could act as though Vaughn wasn’t in my bedroom after fúcking me.
“Of course not.” Harriet waved a hand. “We all need…a release. Besides, dear Jack doesn’t seem much fun, does he?”
“He… I… I don’t make it a habit, Mrs. Periwinkle,” I finished lamely, knowing that I was blushing like a boil.
“Please, call me Harriet. We’re just girls here. You have my word, dear – my lips are sealed.”
Lucky. I’m so fucking lucky, I thought to myself, breathing an audible sigh of relief.
I gulped down the bitter juice in one swig, wiping my mouth when I was done. Smoothing down the hem of my dress, I started to think of ways to get her to leave, now that I knew that my secret was safe with her. Between my legs, there was the slightest trickle of liquid, and I experienced a miniature heart attack when I remembered that Vaughn hadn’t used protection before Harriet caught us.
My chest constricted. I was clean – you couldn’t get disease from your hand – but was Vaughn? How was I supposed to know he wasn’t shagging every married, single, widowed or divorced woman in town? Obviously, his morals were…loose and I had no right to assume he used protection with every woman he was with. The only plus side of this was that I was still taking birth control but the Pill wasn’t any protection from STDs…
Shít, shít, shít…
It was then that I noticed Harriet rising to her feet.
Maybe she’s leaving. Maybe she can take a hint, the hopeful voice in my head said. Because I had to go right back upstairs and interrogate my bloody plumber about where his díck had been lately.
“I would guess you to be in your…mid-thirties, Sofia,” Harriet said out of the blue as she approached me. “A good ten years younger than the rest of us old hags. And much, much prettier.”
Standing before me, I realised that she hadn’t Botoxed her face like her counterparts – crows’ feet were stamped near her eyes when she smiled, a few wrinkles pulled at her lips – and she was much prettier for it.
And then those same lips were on mine.
What the hell is happening?
I was frozen to the spot, eyes wide open in shock, unable to understand what was going on. And when I did, revulsion coiled in my belly. This was an absolute nightmare. Harriet’s lips were foreign and unusual and my body would not – could not – respond. Realising this, she pulled away, her face turning a deep shade of red.
“Oh God. Forgive me, Sofia?”
“Are you…are you attracted to me?” I spluttered in disbelief.
She shook her head quickly, her blonde hair staying in place in its French braid. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I must go. Enjoy the basket.” She grabbed her handbag off the table and practically sprinted d out the kitchen, head bent.
The way my day was looking, I definitely needed something stronger to drink.
***
Dinner with Jack just sent me on a guilt trip and a half. The fact that he was being so damn nice certainly didn’t help matters. Holly was back from her niece’s place and had made a delicious pasta for dinner. Red wine and pasta were the perfect combination, in my opinion, but I was afraid to get too drunk in case I blurted something crazy like, “I’m sleeping with the plumber!” or “Your buddy’s wife kissed me!”
I was such a lightweight it was humiliating.
“Is everything OK?” Jack asked, sipping his wine.
“Of course,” I said quickly. “Why? Do I look strange?”
“You seem a little tense.”
Since when do you notice? I thought bitterly, pushing a strand of hair out of my face.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not bored, are you?”
“No.” And I really wasn’t. When Vaughn wasn’t inside me, he was actually quite interesting. Surprisingly smart and always witty. He made me laugh and truthfully, his being younger was easy to forget sometimes.
“Harriet Periwinkle told me she stopped by,” Jack said lightly. “Wasn’t that nice of her?”
“Very.” Don’t blush, Sofia. Forget about everything that happened today.
But it was hard to do that. Vaughn had come inside me and despite the fact that he’d been just as shocked as I’d been, it didn’t make me feel any better. I was beginning to regret ever starting this affair.
“You know, Sof,” Jack was saying, “sometimes I feel as though I’m married to an angst-filled teenager.”
“That would be statutory rape,” I muttered before catching myself. “Oh, wait – we don’t have sex.”
Jack shot me a dark look. “Come off it.”
I shrugged. “I don’t really care anymore.”
Jack pushed his plate away and rose to his feet. “Let’s go. Now.”
“Go? Go where?” I was genuinely confused.
“Upstairs. To the bedroom. Let’s make love until our eyeballs pop.” There was an undertone of anger in his voice.
I simply stared at him, sizing him up – the neatly-pressed golf shirt, the parting of his thinning hair, the quiet anger in his chocolate-brown eyes… The thought of “making love” to my husband was making me physically sick. What was wrong with me?
“Don’t be silly, Jack,” I mumbled, regretting ever bringing up the subject. I regretted goading him into this.
“Sofia, I said let’s go.”
I threw a glare at him. “I’m not in the mood, Jack, and I haven’t finished my supper.”
“I don’t give a damn. You started this, now you’ll finish it,” he snarled, staring me down. “Do I have to drag you upstairs and undress you?”
A memory of the past flashed past my eyes and I shook my head. “No,” I said. “You don’t.”
*
He knew he was hurting me.
He knew it and he enjoyed it.
The one thing I would not do was scream. Screaming made it last longer.
As Jack pumped into me savagely, I lay on my back and mentally counted the minutes down. Foreplay was something he knew nothing about, or couldn’t be bothered with. He’d pushed me onto the bed, wrenched my dress off, and just gotten to it; pinching my breasts, biting my nipples, as if that would turn me on.
Sex with Jack – when he was angry about something – was a type of punishment. He enjoyed this sadistic dominance, enjoyed hurting me with his c0ck. It was as if he thought he was transferring all his fury to me via cum. Now, he gripped both my wrists over my head, squeezing so tightly I thought he’d cut the blood circulation. Finally, pushing deep inside me and nearly crushing me with his full weight, he climaxed in a series of spurts, grunting with each one. He pulled out shortly after, rolling onto his back and panting, shifting as far away from me as he could get on our bed.
I bruised easily and I just knew he’d marked me. Pain vibrated through my entire body, but at least I’d remained silent. That was something I could hold on to, something I could be proud of.
“I’m going to take a bath,” Jack murmured after a while, getting up.
I didn’t bother to do anything. Instead, I turned my back to him and squeezed my eyes shut.
***
“What’re you still doing in bed?” Vaughn asked from the bathroom. I could hear him opening the shower door, probably getting ready to go inside and install the piping.
He’d been here exactly twelve minutes.
“Sofia?”
Jack had hurt me more than he even cared to know. He never apologised when he got like this and I never expected it. If a rough fúck every few months was all he wanted from me, I could at least be thankful it wasn’t a daily occurrence. And I could be doubly grateful that he was out the door at four this morning to rush to some client’s aid in the city.
Every part of my body ached, including my head, which had decided to join the party.
I just couldn’t get out of bed. Holly had been in to offer breakfast, which I’d politely declined. I felt like sleeping my life away and maybe that was what I would do.
“Are you sick?”
Vaughn was suddenly at my bedside, kneeling until we were eye-level. I pulled the comforter over my head.
Why can’t he just fúck off?
“Poor Sofia,” he said softly, gently pulling the comforter off my head and tucking it under my chin. He leaned in and pecked my cheek. “Can I get you anything?”
“Just go away.”
He arched one brow. “No.”
“If you’re expecting sex, I’m sorry. Not today. The machine’s broken,” I muttered spitefully.
Vaughn’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Expecting sex? I don’t expect it, Sofia. In fact, I just like being around you.”
I pulled myself into a seating position, leaning against the headboard. The covers fell to my waist. And I didn’t care. I didn’t care, damn it. Because he could look and see for himself what Sofia Harrington was really all about.
I saw Vaughn’s eyes zone in on the crimson bruises on my breasts and didn’t bother to cover myself up, despite how I could feel a blush on my face.
“What happened there?” he asked quietly, still kneeling on the carpet. His hand was on my thigh.
God, I was not going to cry. “None of your business. Will you just finish the shower and get the hell out of my life?”
“Is that his idea of foreplay?” he asked through clenched teeth, and without warning, he ripped the sheets off the bed, exposing my nudity. His eyes raked my body. “The cunt. The bloody cunt,” he spat, gently touching the red flesh of my pelvis.
“Stop,” I breathed. “Just stop.”
“Does he do this all the time?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because you don’t deserve this.” Vaughn sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me. “You’re beautiful, smart, funny, sexy –”
“You say all the right things, Vaughn. It’s almost as if you mean them.”
He turned to look at me. “I do mean them! I mean every single word that comes out of my mouth!”
“You’re not my husband and you’re not my boyfriend!” I exclaimed, head pounding. “You’re not even a fúcking friend. You’re just… You’re my toy boy and that’s it. I don’t need you to be my shoulder to cry on.”
He was silent, his nostrils flaring. Then, “Do you love him?”
“I said, this is none of your business, Vaughn!”
He glared at me. “You should leave your husband. You’re not happy. Yet you choose to stay. Is it for his money?”
I reached out and slapped him across the cheek, my arm regretting it. It was still sore from the night before.
But oh, it was worth it.
“You know nothing about me,” I said through clenched teeth. “So shut the hell up and leave me alone.”
“You’re right. I should leave you alone.” He stood up, his cheek still flaming red from where my hand had thwacked it. “Someone else will finish up your shower.”
“Good.”
“Good.” He turned to leave. “You know, Sofia,” he said quietly, standing in the doorway, “I might just be your twenty-seven-year-old boy toy but I’ve got more sense than you do.”
I watched him leave.
And then I cried like I’d never cried before.