I marvelled at his collection of antiques. At the array of curious objects from distant lands. At the exquisite porcelain vases, figurines, paintings and tapestries that filled the place. I was especially taken with a glass-fronted cabinet that housed a selection of china plates so fine that you could almost see through them. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I was in a great country house. Everywhere I looked luxury and excess. His appeal grew stronger. I returned my focus to his body.
Hands, fleshy, strong. I took comfort in their blue-veined vitality.
Later that night I named him Adam.
Tuesday:
Sounds of masculine singing woke me from a sleepless dream. I lay on my back listening to Adam splash around in water. He came to me all wet and steamy, not caring that I had not bathed. How fresh, how clean, the scent from skin and hair. I could not get my fill and sniffed his body top to toe like a dog greeting one of its own kind. He cradled me in his arms, his fingers delving deeper. I did not object. His lips mouthed words, silent, selfish, indulgent, sweet. Exhausted, we slept even though it was still daylight.
I awoke to smells of food, and through my hazy vision, saw him clatter plates and bowls down upon the dining table. Noticed it was set for one more. Suspected he was up to something.
Adam made sure I looked my best. Choosing where I sat. Arranging me like an exotic flower upon the black leather settee. I acquiesced, flattered. I knew by his lascivious grin that I glowed in the dimness of the evening sun. I think I slept again.
Loud voices talking. Laughter; not his. Through half closed eyes I saw Adam. He sat on his special chair, hands behind his head, listening to a man speaking from that odd looking box. I flicked over onto my side and peered into the candle-smoky dimness. The tiny flames gave off an eerie glow that flickered like an old movie theatre show. It played tricks upon my vision, and I swear I saw an Elizabethan mahogany desk move. Strange how at home I felt. I let myself be carried away by the cosy atmosphere and relaxed, exposing more than I should.
The doorbell rang. A stranger was let in.
I felt a hand, not his.
‘Hey, leave that alone. This one’s not for sharing. My own special indulgence.’
Although flattered by his words, I could not help but rankle at his use of, ‘that’ when referring to me.
Adam went into the kitchen area to plate up the food, and whilst preoccupied with said task, the stranger sidled over to me. His hands hovered in the air and he opened and closed his fists like a child when told not to touch. He turned his head to make sure he was not being observed, then squatted down next to me. He placed his lips close and whispered, ‘Oh but you are beautiful. No wonder he keeps you all to himself. If you were mine…’ I thought I would be offended by his boldness, but I wasn’t. There was sincerity in his voice, a passion that I had not experienced with Adam.
I became interested.
We sat down to our meal and both men talked only of me. Their stares were uncomfortable at first, but then I grew to like them. All this attention went to my head. Two men enamoured with me. How long had I waited to find just one? I looked at them eating, weighed up their flaws, their strengths. The other had slim hands, chewed his food methodically, dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. Good manners. I can depend upon a man like that. Adam ate as if it was his last meal. Each forkful thrust into his mouth with such speed, that I wondered how he had time to swallow before the next mound of food was delivered. Grease trickled down his chin. He didn’t wipe it off.
Found myself leaning towards a preference to the new one. Something about his small brown eyes made me think of mice. He looked at me and smiled. I think I blushed. What a perverse effect the stranger had on me. I should not like this man at all. Not my type, unshaven, short.
Slept fitfully, nightmares. Woke too early.
Wednesday:
Rain. Lots of it.
What a contrast to the day before. The monochrome light showed more than it should. I began to notice cracks in the cornicing and areas of discolouration on the burgundy painted walls. Even the bed looked unwelcoming. I shuddered as a memory from the past crept into my head. My wedding day. Not a joyous affair. A marriage I allowed to happen because I feared the alternative.
I was not a great beauty. My charm lay in my chastity. My new husband, Alfred, valued it above all else. ‘You are my salvation. My pure one. Soon, when the moon is blue, I will come to you and lavish my affection. You will endure pleasures beyond your comprehension. You cannot know what things are to come,’ Alfred said. He was right. I could never have imagined what was in store for me.
Adam lay stretched flat upon the floor. Two white plugs stuffed into his ears. His head nodded in rhythm to a faint beat. I grew weary of watching his eyebrows rise and fall at each change in tempo, and stared out of the murky window. My mind turned to thoughts of last night and the intriguing man that I had met.
I looked down at the street below. A grey scene that reflected my mood. I saw grey people walking along grey pavements under a grey sky. I looked back at Adam. He too was grey. He noticed me and caught me up in his big fleshy palm. I scratched his knuckles drawing blood. He withdrew his hand and sucked at the wound. I watched the red liquid drip, and thought it a relief of colour against this atmosphere of dull.
The telephone rang and he dashed to pick it up. He turned away and spoke in breathy whispers. I could only make out one or two words. Nothing that made sense. Except my name came up quite often. He slammed the receiver down, sat at his desk and threw himself into sorting through a mound of paperwork. Did not have a clue what he was doing.
Decided to sit and not move.
Sulked.
I felt stiff and sore. Adam gave me a sideways glance. I did not return his gaze. He rubbed his chin, stood and approached. I remained sill as a dead hare. He bent close and sniffed.
‘If I close my eyes I can almost imagine you in your prime. You smell divine. I recognise that scent, reminds me of Sunday church services. Funny,’ Adam said. ‘Such a beauty.’
He picked me up and his face relaxed into an expression of adulation. I recognised that look. My husband had the same one when he tied me to the bed and dug in the knife. How was I to know he practised the black arts? Not very well as it turned out. My father found me in my present state, defiled and mutilated but perfectly bound.
Adam wiped my face with his fingertips and smiled. ‘You really are something,’ he said and sat me on his lap.
I waited for him to realise what that something was.
He did not.
Thursday:
Adam was out all day and I spent the time looking at his furniture. Predominantly Chippendale. Hard-backed and stiff as a maiden aunt at a wedding. Except for the leather sofa, where he likes me to sit. I suppose I compliment its dark hide with my own. I heard his key unlock the door.
Snow upon his coat, his shoes, and his briefcase. He unpeeled his outer garments and shook them. The frozen water turned into tiny puddles as soon as it hit the floor. This angered him, and he surged into the bathroom emerging seconds later with a towel in his right hand. He squatted down and rubbed away the wet from the varnished oak. His face contorted with the effort and I saw a devil glint behind his eyes.
‘I’ll not lose you to that degenerate. We will stay together all ways, all weather.’
Which turned a nasty cold.
The temperature dropped so suddenly that it took us both by surprise. He was quick to find me something warm. ‘Need to protect my investment, my sweet,’ he said and ran a finger along my hollow.
His big brown jumper reached to the ground and concealed me completely. Just as well. I noticed when I woke and stretched this morning that I looked oddly yellow. Like the paper-thin flesh of a mummified corpse.
I heard a knock at the door and became uneasy.
A familiar aroma, a touch I remembered. The other one was here again. I stuffed myself behind some cushions and decided to wait it out. No such l
uck. I felt his eager hands caress through the wool when Adam was out of the room.
I did not protest.
Adam entered with some drinks and they began to talk.
‘Cheat. Should have been mine, and you know it,’ the stranger said.
‘Don’t be such a sore loser. A bet is a bet. You lost, now pay up.’ Adam leant back, the other leant forward, forearms stretched flat upon the table. I did not like being talked about as though I wasn’t there. So, I stopped listening and drifted off into a light slumber.
A hand slapped in anger against the wall aroused me, and I saw both men standing face to face besides the hat rack.
‘This isn’t over. There’s still room for negotiation,’ said the one I was beginning to care for. I noticed the imprint of his moist palm upon the wallpaper, and five uneven scratches where his nails had dug in. I was delighted by the defacement, knowing it would cause Adam hours of distress.
‘I won’t give up. I know the things you like. Maybe I have something you want?’
‘Perhaps. Everyone has their price, right?’ Adam said.
The other took his coat, cast a meaningful look in my direction, opened the door and left.
I realised after he had gone that I missed him. Slept alone.
Friday:
Adam did not shave this morning, and judging by the odour wafting around the room, not washed either. Repugnant. His eyes were bloodshot, panic soaked, and he kept staring at me as if I would self-combust. He paced up and down for hours, going to the door checking the lock, putting his ear against it. Listening for what? I kept my distance, not knowing what to say. He said plenty. Or rather muttered incoherent sentences under his breath. Which smelt of stale beer.
He sat at his desk and rifled through a heap of old papers. Hardly glanced in my direction. Kept typing numbers and shaking his head. Once or twice he looked up, stared into the distance and said, ‘No, not this time. There must be a way.’ I grew tired of the repetition and occupied myself with thoughts of last night’s guest. Who was growing on me in a way I never would have thought possible.
Adam looked at his watch, stroked his stubbled chin, and went into the bathroom. I heard the hiss of hot water, the scrape, scrape of blade against cheek, and realised that something was afoot. Adam emerged clean and shaven, the look of fear gone from his face. He strode towards me swooped me up and wrapped me in a large blanket.
‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ he said and manhandled me into the corner of the room. ‘Stay there my dearest. This shouldn’t take long.’
The doorbell rang and through the woollen threads I heard muffled chatter. It was the other. I managed to uncover my face, and saw my longed for companion hold out a large brown envelope. Adam took it, slid his forefinger underneath the flap, ripped it open, and withdrew a photograph. I was too far away to see the image, but it had a profound effect upon him. He crumpled the picture up into a ball and threw it into the face of the other.
‘Go to hell.’
The other stood on tiptoes and grabbed him by the shirt collar. They stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like a lifetime. Then the other head-butted him with such force that both men recoiled, visibly shaken. Adam stumbled towards me and I became afraid. He pulled me up and thrust me into the face of my ally, who instinctively pushed me away. I fell awkwardly to the floor.
As quick as a hunting cat, my friend fell to the ground next to me. ‘We are meant for one another. I know how to treat you. I know what you need. I will come for you.’
I was overwhelmed. He was the one.
I felt his gentle hand slip me a note. I hid it immediately. My champion helped me up and pressed me against his chest.
Adam stepped forward, held out his hands and said, ‘Mine. Give it back.’
‘Or what?’
‘Or I will kill you.’
The other laughed and held me closer. Adam grabbed me and threw me onto the couch without a second look. As if I was nothing more than a cheap plaything.
‘Okay, I see that you are upset. What say we let bygones be bygones and forget the whole thing? You win, I lose,’ my friend said, and left.
Felt sad after he had gone, yet elated. Could not wait to read the missive he had given me.
Refused Adam’s advances. Squirmed at his touch
Saturday:
The sky was the colour of flint. Low clouds rumbled grumpily. So did Adam. I watched him eat his breakfast. Grew nauseous with every dribble of milk that slid down his chin. I turned away disgusted. Lightning slashed across the room and he jumped knocking over his chair. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted. Not a gentleman at all. I watched the storm, and smelled change in the electrified air.
Adam left and busied himself in the bathroom, whilst I read the note I had been given. A detailed list of what I must do. Cunning. He really did know me. How clever of him to realise my power. Wouldn’t take much to carry out his orders, to the letter.
Rain turned to sleet.
Adam paced up and down, bit his nails, and twitched every time there was a boom from the heavens. I remained calm. Waited for the moment to be right. Knowing that he could not keep his hands off me.
He licked his right index finger and smeared the spittle all over my flyleaf. I slashed at his flesh. A perfect paper cut. Deep and infected it did not take long for the poison to kick in. Adam clutched his swollen hand and staggered towards the door. It swung open. Kicked from behind. It sent Adam sprawling backwards onto the floor. My cohort stood over him, one foot pressed against his chest.
‘Not so cocky now, are you? Don’t worry the toxin isn’t deadly. Hurts like hell though, doesn’t it?’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to take what is rightfully mine. Fix it up and enjoy.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘Fine.’
He moved his foot from Adam’s chest to his neck and pushed down. I thought the sound would be sickening, but it wasn’t. It reminded my of an autumnal walk in the park when one steps upon a brittle twig. Snap. All over in a matter of seconds.
My new love bent down, took a scalpel from his pocket and sliced square pieces of flesh from the dead man’s arms and face. Blood ran freely from the wounds and formed red pools upon the Persian rugs that reminded me of scattered rubies. Like the ones in the necklace my father gave me on my wedding day. I only wore them once. I could not turn away from the macabre scene, and stared with admiration as more perfectly thin strips of skin were removed.
He placed the delicate tissue into individual wrappers and put them into a bag filled with ice cubes. Then he reached behind him and produced a set of heavy dumbbells from a large black canvas rucksack. He wrapped the dead man’s fingers around the weight and let it fall across his already broken neck. Ah, I thought, a tragic weight training accident. Ingenious.
‘He didn’t know how to look after you. He didn’t know how to make you whole. Did he tear out those pages? Did he leave those jagged edges behind? They must snag every time you open,’ he said, and looked at me with those rodent eyes.
He picked me up, pressed me to his lips and sighed. I sighed too. We left together.
He set fire to the room.
Today:
Light, airy, warm.
I find myself resting on an Egyptian cotton towel in an elegant bathroom. Clean white tiles cover the floor and walls, and I notice a free standing Victorian bath in the centre. I glance down at my waxed and polished cover, and exhale a sigh of joy. My wizened skin all smooth. I have never felt more alive. Such sweet irony. I watch him in the orange light of dawn curing the human leather, making it pliable, ready for insertion.
He purrs silken words of comfort that feel like kitten paws in my ears. Soft, cajoling, and safe. That is it, I feel safe. Never thought that possible. Never had much luck with men. It was my necromancer of a husband who fashioned me into this book. To be used by him for his devilish deeds. Each page a segment of my virgin flesh, each word written in his unwholesom
e fluids. Too bad he died of a heart attack mid-sentence. Glad for that. Did not relish the thought of life in perpetuity with that ghastly male.
Here he comes my latest beau, all smiles and expectation. His fingers slide between my pages, feeling for the telltale signs of use. He stops at page four. Sniffs then spits upon his index finger. Rubbing gently he notices strange characters appear, and licks his digit once again. He grimaces at the taste, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Then repeats the rubbing and licking action. How I thrill to his dextrous touch, as more words appear until the page is full. He mouths the lines. I pause, trembling. He is disappointed, something he missed. He shrugs, opens a cardboard box and pulls out a moth-eaten leather bound book. He flicks through until he finds what he is he looking for. He nods his head, removes his constricting clothes and picks me up.
He rests me on the edge of the enamel bath and begins the ritual by drawing a circle on the floor with charcoal. Taken from Adam’s charred remains. He goes to the sink and picks up a toothbrush. How thoughtful of him. He gags slightly as he brushes his teeth, gargling out the last remnants of ancient semen, and sets to work.
Gently he clips away the ragged sheaths that have bothered me for centuries, and replaces them with the new. He reads from the extant tome that he took from the box, then places one hand upon his cock. He places the other on my spine, rocks to and fro and conjures up internal ink.
Glimmer and other Stories Page 4