Mostly Dark - Miranda Kate (popular ebook readers .TXT) 📗

and unyielding now that the rigor mortis had set in. He lay her face down on top of the dress, managing to slip her lower body into it without much trouble and buttoned up the lower half. The arms proved harder with the sleeves catching on the puffy skin, and trails of clotted blood ruining the purity of the white.

When he finished he was sweating and trying not to cry. He hadn’t meant to hit her that hard; he had just wanted her to stop. He had tried several times over the years to get her to, but any attempts had only led to more beatings.

It had started after the honeymoon with the odd belittling comment that would get more hurtful. Then the verbal abuse had followed along with the odd thump. By the time they’d lost their third child she’d leave him black and blue, and once or twice unconscious.

It was the lack of remorse that had finally tipped the balance for him – that and finding a confidant, someone else who understood what it was like to be brow beaten, quite literally, by your own wife.

Paul never imagined it would be in the work place though. George struggled to keep explaining away the bruises on his neck and face too, until the mumbled confession during their coffee break. It had been a relief to know he wasn’t alone.

So when she’d started that morning raking up the same old stuff he just couldn’t do it anymore. And when she’d lunged at him in the kitchen, his hands had reached out and grabbed whatever was nearby.

The first swing had knocked her sideways, but only caused her to falter. When she came at him again he’d swung it at her head. He’d never imagined that frying pans could do that much damage.

Paul turned her back over on the bed, and looked at her crooked face as he heard the approaching sirens. He wondered what they would make of all this. He knew he’d left it a little long before calling them, particularly when knowing it would take them a while to reach him out here in the sticks, but he wanted her to be ready, it’s what she would have wanted. After all that’s what she used to say the most, wasn’t it? “You’re useless Paul, never ready for anything, or anyone; you’ve never got your shit together.”

He was happy to prove her wrong today.

Encased

 

Peter took out his penknife and scratched at the encrusted surface of one of the giant iron statues on the beach, trying to see what was underneath. Only pieces of dried seaweed and rust came away. He wondered if he would get a large chunk off lower down on the body.

He crouched down and spotted a cluster of barnacles nestled into the back of the left knee and got to work, pushing the blade up under it to create some leverage. But it wouldn’t yield.

Rivulets of water started to pool round Roger’s feet as he worked. He knew the tide was on the turn, but in the estuary it was slow; he still had time.

He wiggled the blade, trying to get in deeper, leaning against it. A satisfying crack sounded out. Peter grimaced, pushing harder; it wouldn’t be long now.

He toppled over when it gave, the sharp movement sending him into the water, bum first. He jumped up to avoid saturation, and while wiping himself off looked down at the flap of crustaceans dangling from the calf, the red water flowing from behind it catching his eye.

Peter bent down a second time, expecting to find a corroded hole full of rust, but instead he discovered a white fleshy opening. Pushing back his qualms, he reached out a finger and brushed the tip against what felt like flesh.

The second he touched it a rendering boom sent him reeling into an oncoming wave. He flailed in the water until an iron fist saved him. It clamped down onto his head and lifted him up until he was level with the weather worn visage of the sculpture.

Bright glowing eyes shone into his, expressing a rage that made Peter’s bladder loosen. And when the mouth broke open and tiny creatures ran out, Peter’s mind spun, blacking out to avoid the view.

 

***

 

That night when Emily walked her dog along the edge of the high tide, doing her nightly count of the statue heads as they breached the water, she paused. Had she miscounted? There seemed to be one extra tonight.

Daffodils

 

He blinked his eyes open, the crack in the curtain confirming it was daylight even though the darkness in his soul hadn’t lifted. Within seconds his mind was crowded with the memories of the night before, the dancing, the laughing, the snogging and later the daffodils.

He looked on the floor and saw the petals there, the yellow so vivid in the rays of sunlight pushing through. He followed the trail they made to the bathroom, her black and white checked shirt crumpled in the corner like a marker at the half open door, giving a clue to what lay beyond.

An image flashed in his mind and he flinched. He was sure he hadn’t done it; it had to be his overwrought imagination. It might have been what he felt like doing when she had told him, but he hadn’t put those thoughts into action … had he?

His eyes traced the frame of the door as he recalled her pleading words.

“I didn’t mean to, Jas, I really didn’t. It was just the heat of the moment, just a kiss. Please forgive me Jas, you must!”

He’d watch the tears fall from her eyes as he stood there in the nuddy by the bed, about to jump in, about to fulfil all his desires and hers.

He’d thought he’d heard a whisper of it earlier at the bar, but he’d laughed it off. It couldn’t have been his Linda, she wouldn’t have done that.

But when they’d got home her sullen mood had kept killing the spark he was trying to kindle, until the crushing confession came.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. But he hadn’t done anything, had he? Other than show her forgiveness. He’d filled each thrust with his desire for revenge, driving it home. Her moans had been good moans … hadn’t they?

His eyes betrayed him again, returning to the bathroom door. There was only one way to find out.

His toes met the wooden floorboards with trepidation, and they creaked his way across the room, maybe trying to speak to him, to warn him it wasn’t a good idea.

He hovered in the opening, his eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight reflecting off the stark white tiling. He pushed the door further, letting it swing open. Her kick-pleat black skirt lay strewn under the basin, and her under things were huddled in a pile next to the toilet. He peered over the edge of the bathtub and shuddered. The long-legged hairy spider might not be able to climb the enamel sides, but it could still give an unsuspecting person a fright.

She wasn’t there.

He slumped, retreating out of the bathroom and falling back into bed, scuffing the daffodil petals as he went. He buried his head into a pillow, relieved but annoyed at the same time.

She burst through the door, tray in hand.

“I thought I heard movement. I made us some tea.”

He peeked out from the edge of the pillow as she sat down on the bed, his black and white shirt billowing round her thighs, but not quite covering everything.

“You alright, Jas?”

He reached out an arm and put a hand on her thigh.

“Yeah Linda, I’m alright.”

“You’re not still angry about last night?”

“I thought I showed you I wasn’t?”

She grinned. “Yeah you did.”

His hand crept up her thigh. “Do you need me to show you again?”

She paused, her eyes sparkling. She put the tray on the floor. “Yeah, go on then.”

As she snuggled under him, his mind flashed images again and he wondered if he would have the nerve to make them memories rather than dreams this time.

 

 

    Waxing

 

Feminine Power

 

She danced. Her hands slid down her long, luscious thighs as she wiggled her arse, which was tightly covered in a short black skirt. They were all looking at her - every single male in the place.

She could have any one of them at the snap of her fingers. Their feet tapped with the beat. Their bodies swayed as they watched her get into the groove. And their eyes followed her hand as she slid it up her body to her face, the tip of the middle finger dipping into the edge of her mouth for a second before she swept it up into her hair. Her eyes peeped out from under heavily laden lashes to look at them: all the animals in the house with their tongues hanging out.

She knew what she was doing. It was a fine balance between a tease and a genuine dance. No one could fault her; no one could say ‘she was asking for it’; she was enjoying the music and they knew it. Just because she was female didn’t mean she didn’t have the right to do it. But it was a test too. It wasn’t the first time things had gone awry here.

The bouncers watched too, but not her; they watched the dogs panting and getting ready to hump – whether her or any other girl in the house. She was setting them all off, even the girls, who started to join her.

They drifted in through the crowded men at the edges, feeling no shame as they started to move to the beat along with her, showing what they had to offer too. They looked at each other not the men. And with each beat they moved closer, but not touching.

They held eye contact, turning every now and then to face another girl, enjoying the freedom to show off their sexiness, their raw feminine energy, without fear of reprisal, without fear of having it misunderstood and taken from them by force. The throng kept increasing until all the women in the club were on the dance floor creating one writhing mass.

Then the spell was broken; their intensity, their feminine collective being too much for the raw animal lust. It stopped – some of the men even averted their eyes. Whether it was due to sensory overload or something unsettled them, no-one was sure. But the women had made it clear they didn’t need them – or more than that they didn’t want them. They were enough on their own.

And like an invisible string being cut, the tension was gone. A few men stepped away to find the bar. They had returned to a human state. Conversation resumed. The bouncers went back to enjoying the show.

Eastern Promises

 

Iona could feel the ropes on her wrists, the abrasive thick thread cutting in. She wriggled them, but knew she wouldn’t get loose. The jeep jolted causing the hood on her head to move. A glimpse of light cut into the darkness, but it was too fleeting to show anything other than her own bare midriff. The man opposite her shouted at the driver.

She gathered they were taking her out into the desert. There wasn’t anywhere else to go. She wondered who wanted her. It had to be somebody quite high up