Darkroom Saga Omnibus 1

by Poppet

Her expression is caught in conflict. I can see she really is reluctant, yet she's not rejecting this idea, yet.

  “Or, you should be on top. That way, you can stop whenever you want to. Be in control, go at your own pace. But let me feel you, angel.” I continue, giving her my pleading little boy pout. Tracing her lips, “I won't ever force you. I love you.”

  Score! I can see it. The magic words of a decent guilt trip.

  Leaning over me her soft lips trace my jaw-line. She whispers as a hand slips between us, encasing me, “I love you.”

  Closing my eyes to hide my victorious jubilation, I whisper back as if my very soul is overcome with tenderness, “I love you too.”

  •

  Shauna:

  My heart's just not in it. I feel obligated. Going through the motions all I can think about is Vengeance.

  The grip on my emotional flood is tenuous at best. Closing my eyes to hide the bitter pain. This is empty, meaningless. It's a small price to pay for security.

  It hurts. It burns. I hate it.

  Loathing all men right at this moment. My body might be ready in his eyes, but mentally I don't know if I'll ever be ready again. Emotionally I'm carnage, needing to escape to cry.

  It's not him, it's me.

  As soon as politely possible, I excuse myself to hide in the bathroom.

  •

  Victor:

  This isn't going well at all. I wait for her to close the bathroom door before picking up my iPhone. Using blue-tooth wireless connections I access the feed from my computer. Staring at her huddled in a ball on the floor of the bathroom, crying. Again.

  Walking to the kitchen, I extract a Brutal Fruit from the fridge for her. Women love fruity alcoholic beverages, and these ones are strong enough in flavour to lace the Rohypnol. Dissolving it quickly into hers, I keep one eye trained on the screen of my phone. I take a lager for myself which I have no intention of drinking.

  Despite exchanging all of her contraception at home for folic pills, I'm impatient. Mentally this is taking too long. I don't have the luxury of time, or the patience to wait for her emotions to subside and for her to willingly engage in this relationship. I need her pregnant, and pregnant now.

  Strolling back to the dimly lit boudoir, I relax back, watching her sit up, wash her face, tilting her head back and wiping under her eyes. She's desperately trying to hide it. Which is a good thing. It means she's masquerading now as much as I am. Putting me before herself, again.

  Good angel. She's come so far.

  Switching my phone off as she opens the bathroom door, I relax back, taking a sip of my drink, linking my ankles together in feigned lethargic relaxation.

  “Hey baby. There you are. Everything okay?”

  “Fine.”

  She moves like a swan through water. I love watching her walk. She crawls over to me from the bottom of the bed. God, what a sight.

  “I got you a drink, I figure it's a little celebration.” Kissing her temple, I keep her snugly pressed against my side with a firm arm, “I'm so proud of you. I know that wasn't easy. You can only reclaim your mental freedom one step at a time.” Releasing her slightly, I tilt her chin up so that I can stare into her empty blue eyes, “I'm here for you.”

  Her lips tremor. She's so transparent. Pursing her mouth, the faint dimple in her chin outlines as she harnesses her emotions. Her eyes are too wide and bright. Poor acting, but she's trying.

  “You are so special, Vic. I … I …”

  “Toast with me. We don't need to analyse this. Let's just toast to a small victory. Us against him.”

  Old habits die hard. She leans away from me to grab her drink, the shadows flirting with her body make me crave the camera. Makes me crave her.

  She clinks the glass against mine, “To us,“ and promptly consumes half of it. Which is more than sufficient.

  I'll give her twenty minutes of small talk and cuddles, before spending the rest of my evening impregnating my Eve. Kissing her ever so gently, I whisper proudly, ”I love you, my brave girl.“

  She smiles, her mouth set in determined rigidity. She's reached some sort of inner decision, I can tell. ”Victor, I want to love you. But let me take baby steps.“

  ”Okay.“

  Downing the rest of her Brutal Fruit, she sets the glass down before crawling back to me over the expansive bed. Her eyes are dark, long hair falling forward, veiling her. She traces a tongue up my thigh, before glancing skittishly up at me, ”This is a baby step.“

  Smiling encouragement, ”I like baby steps.“

  Her iron determination to please me, to thank me, is the most potent aphrodisiac. Before she loses consciousness, I relish her tongue, hands and hair, worshipping my temple. Moaning, I let her gratitude slake my desire to own her.

  It takes a while, but eventually she succumbs to the drug. Padding her hips with pillows for maximum chance of conception, I go as far as taking her body temperature. Perfect. Checking the angle of her hips with two pillows underneath her for support, I go to work.

  This is God's work. And God made everything in this universe intricate and complicated. Medical school and medical journals are my saving grace. Despite being unconscious, I know that the body can orgasm. It orgasms in sleep, hers will now. I'll make sure of it. Knowledge is power. Orgasm increases the odds of conception.

  I'm tiring, and require stimulation. Tuning into the hard drive using the monitor on the wall in the bedroom, I select the footage of our times together. Flat-screen monitors serve as TV screens and computer monitors these days. This seventy-two inch Samsung LCD serves as both. She'll never know this though, as I keep the panel to the computer well disguised and hidden.

  Watching her on the screen, I turn the sound up to hear her moaning, her breathless inhalations during copulation. Good girl. Almost unaware that she's unconscious beneath me, I let the fantasy blend with the hot reality now encasing me.

  ~ Chapter 30 ~

  Photography, as a powerful medium of expression and communications, offers an infinite variety of perception, interpretation and execution.

  ~Ansel Adams

  Shauna:

  It's so odd, how just doing it once can make me feel so tender. Victor really deserves more from me. I have to sort myself out. But this empty ache, I can't shake it. It's the flesh eating effect of a spider's poison. Except Vengeance has a soul eating toxin that he infects into his victims. How many of us are there? Is it just me?

  Groaning I roll over when I hear my familiar ring-tone emanating from beyond the bedroom door. So tempted to hide my head underneath a pillow.

  ”Doug! How are you?“

  Doug? He calls Dad by his first name? Eavesdropping intently, I creep toward the door.

  ”We are very well.“

  “Yes she's recovering splendidly. How's Linda?”

  “Excellent news.”

  “She's still sleeping, we had a late night.”

  “I certainly will.”

  “Did you go to St Andrews to play?“

  “Really? Yes, that bridge is magnificent.”

  He laughs.

  “Golf is a gentleman's game, Doug. It always will be. And their whisky is superb.”

  “I most definitely will take care of your baby girl. You just look after Linda, I'll take care of Shauna.”

  “Give her our love … Yes, and Samantha too.”

  “Bye.”

  Fucker! Two faced arse! Dad fucking loves him. 'Give our love to Samantha.' Not in a million years.

  I'm caught mid scowl by his silent entry.

  “You're awake!”

  Lordy, he's in a good mood. “Yes.”

  He leans over me, kissing me deeply, a happy smile charming his delectable face. “Your mum and dad send their love.”

  “I heard.”

  He pats my leg excitedly. “Come on sleeping beauty, it's a gorgeous day, and we're going on a picnic.”

  Scowling even more, I tell him grumpily, “I don't want to go out looking like road
kill.”

  His hand possessively holds my waist, his smile infectious. “That's the beauty of it. Have you ever been to Noordhoek?”

  “What?”

  “I know, these names are strange. It means North hook. It's a long, wide, perfectly white beach on the other side of Chapman's Peak. We can easily hide away and have a quiet little picnic, without worrying about crowds. Although you might see a seal or two.”

  Now I'm interested. “Really?”

  “Yes, but hurry, or we'll miss that window of opportunity.”

  Smiling despite myself, I get up and dig through the closet for the skirts and blouses he's brought over. Choosing white to appease Vengeance and his fucked up God, I yank them on while Victor waxes lyrical at me.

  “We'll take a meandering scenic drive. Stunning sea views while we drive around the mountain on literally a manmade contour road. The summer wind in our hair. You can wear your straw hat and sunglasses, and no one will be any the wiser to what you've lived through.” He pauses as he opens the curtains by leaning on the button, “Life is for celebrating, angel. He let you live. We're ditching that prick, and we're going to make him see that he can't get to you.”

  Actually, that's a good point. Although I am feeling resentful that he has Dad's approval already. All chummy and puke-worthy. Walking with him to the kitchen where he hands me my hat and shades, picking up a basket, I probe, “You seem to like Dad.”

  “I understand fathers. It's mothers I'll never fathom.”

  Laughing forced cold mirth, “Just show her jewellery and she'll adore you. She's as shallow as a baby paddling pool.”

  He pauses with me outside the front door. Looking down at me with an odd expression. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Just fucking fabulous. Would you like to fuck my sister too?

  “I'll take your word for it.”

  I know he's being sarcastic, but ignore it as he laces fingers through mine and walks with me down to his always immaculately polished car. How does he do it all? He's like Superman.

  •

  Victor:

  It's early still. Early enough to drive past divers kitting up on our meandering pickle over Chapman's Peak Drive. With the mountain literally kissing the left side of the vehicle, and endless ocean to the right.

  We're so high up, we're literally on a cliff, boxed by ancient low stone walls which hide the sheer drop on one side, and burnished yellow and brown rock running with rivulets of water on the other. She's quiet, staring with a half smile on her face at the view.

  “Why didn't I know about this?”

  “Because you only ever go out at night.”

  She turns her head sharply to glare at me, “How do you know?”

  “I'm your neighbour, Shauna. And let's face it, you aren't exactly quiet when you've had a few drinks.”

  Blushing uncomfortably she stares back at the view. Catching divers coming over the wall with huge shells in their hands which they're hastily depositing into buckets behind their rusty vehicle.

  She stays introspective all the way to the parking area at Noordhoek. She waits for me to extract the basket and lined blanket, then I open her door for her.

  She seems sore. The way she moves her legs is wooden. Disappointed, I close the door after her exit, bleep the alarm, and encase her hand with mine.

  Wandering down to the beach, I kick off my shoes, waiting for her to do the same. Hooking them in my hand carrying the basket, I sneak an arm around her waist, strolling romantically over powder soft sand toward the old wreck. It's a stranded landmark here. Miles of a walk along this endless stretch of blinding white sand. I know we'll have plenty of privacy there.

  The air is briskly fresh, salty, gulls swooping lazily toward the lush green mountain behind us.

  She laughs happily, pointing, “Look, horse riders!”

  I pause with her as she watches three riders trot past. One horse is beautifully dappled grey. A horse always reminds me of the horsemen of the apocalypse. It gives me great comfort that a day will come when the sinners are wiped off this planet permanently.

  Finally she resumes walking.

  Once we're comfortably spread out on the blanket, I rifle through the basket, eager to see her reaction to the contents.

  Withdrawing a flask of Kahlua coffee and the can of cream I tempt her with a question, “Thirsty?”

  “Not really.”

  She's distracted with tying her hair up to prevent the wind from blowing it across her face. Unfazed. I withdraw her other favourite; spicy crumbed chicken wings. Wafting the bowl under her nose. Glancing at me she offers a faint smile. “Hmm, looks good.”

  “Honey, what's bothering you?” Her withdrawal is unsettling me. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

  “Sorry Vic, I'm just processing.”

  I watch her flash me a better smile, but it's still unconvincing. Just as I finally have her persuaded to eat something, a couple stroll past us. The man is short and stocky, his wife is just as portly.

  Leaning in to tempt Shauna with another morsel of blue cheese wrapped in a date and drizzled with balsamic vinegar, the bastard stalks up to us.

  “Lady, are you all right?”

  “She's fine, thank you.”

  “Listen brue, I wasn't talking to you.” Leaning in he's obviously staring at the bruise exposed across the side of her face. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

  Oh, fuck off. I eye his wife waiting behind him, wringing her hands nervously, her eyes skittishly rake over my obvious physique. “Leave them Stefan.”

  Finally Shauna speaks, “I'm fine …”

  I get to my feet, asserting myself as I leer over the despicable vermin, “She's not here to be harassed by the likes of you. Back off.”

  He squares up, attempting a feeble stance of intimidation. Peering past me he addresses Shauna, “Did he do this to you?”

  “Let him without sin cast the first stone,” I warn the inquisitive moron, stepping closer and blocking his access to her.

  “Lady …” he continues, stepping back but needing confirmation from Shauna.

  Gripping his arm, flexing the strength in the hand that uses bricks for finger weights, I squeeze, twisting him and propelling him into his wife.

  My innuendo of him being a sinner, and myself without sin was a warning he's obviously too thick to understand. “Get lost, before I make you leave.”

  His wife with the hideous clown-red hair dye snatches his hand, tugging. “Leave them. Come.” I offer a snide grin as I watch them walk away staring at us periodically. Turning back, I retrieve the dates, settling myself with my angel again.

  I can't read her eyes now that she's replaced her sunglasses. Deciding to reassure her I tell her, “You don't have to explain yourself to strangers. It's my role to protect you. This is hard enough without you feeling scrutinised by complete strangers too.”

  She takes her coffee and sips it, looking away, gazing at the ocean. Surfers frolic in the waves farther down the beach, where it becomes Long beach.

  She's been alarmingly quiet all the way home. As I replace the basket back in the cupboard she finally confronts me. “Are you Christian?”

  “No.” I'm not. You have to believe in Christ to be considered a Christian.

  “Then why did you quote the bible at that man?”

  Turning to face her, I give her my reassurance expression. “Angel, it just popped into my head. I'm not going to censor my thinking just because you had a bad experience with someone who quotes scripture.”

  “Do you sanction quoting the bible as justification for intimidation?”

  “Honey, you're being unreasonable now.”

  “No, I'm not. You couldn't have behaved more like a bouncer sent by God if you'd tried! He was a concerned citizen and I'm fully capable of speaking for myself!”

  “How would you react if some asshole suggested you beat little children? That's what it amounts to. The difference in our stature is that extreme. He im
plied I beat you.” Stepping closer I try to wrap her in my arms, but she squirms free, “You are my Eve. It was abhorrent to me that he'd suggest such a thing.”

  She freezes, hoarsely challenging me, “What?”

  “For fuck's sake, Shauna. Eve was the only woman on earth. She was Adam's whole world, like you are now mine. Would you stop being so bloody defensive.” Changing my tone, I kiss her stilted neck, “I'm on your side. I can't help that I have eyes for no other women. Would you prefer it if I did? Don't you prefer knowing where I am and who I'm with?” Pausing I drive my point home, “With you.”

  Her frame shakes in my arms as she's reduced to tears.

  “I'm sorry. Victor, I've become so damn sensitive.” Wrapping arms with constricting tightness around my neck, she buries her face away against me, “I hate him. He's messed me up.”

  ~ Chapter 31 ~

  †he beauty of women was the first expression of my photography.

  ~Alberto Korda

  Shauna:

  Shit! Shit, shit, shit. Triple shit! What the hell is wrong with me? It was just once. I can't get pregnant with odds like that, surely? At least now I have an excuse. I have to take my pill for at least two weeks before it's effective. Hurling my pen across the lounge while Victor works quietly in his darkroom, which is off limits to me apparently. Something about chemicals. Whatever. I need to work. I need distraction. Picking up my phone I dial him, waiting for him to answer his mobile.

  “Victor … Look I'm sorry to disturb you, but I really need to distract myself from my thoughts. Can I work on your computer? Are the photos in your email?”

  “What?”

  “No!”

  “Now?”

  Staring at my phone in disbelief at the disconnecting he just initiated, I stomp angrily to wait outside the safe door which guards the darkroom.

  It pushes open and he strolls out. He's so tall I'll never get to see into that room. Why are artists always so finicky about the space they create art in?