The Key (Sanguinem Emere)

by Taxer, Carmen

  Levi.

  The image of him leering at me, his smell clogging my senses, his fingers flexing towards me and then retreating like a scolded mutt made me cringe with a subtle combination of loathing and intrigue. It still does.

  But when I think that I am beginning to feel a heat in my pelvis for tonight, when I feel anything other than disgust and hatred, self-loathing eats at my nerves and I dig my face into the cool silk of the pillow beneath my head. And more than the threat of being held hostage tonight by my own curiosity, more than the threat of feeling victimised, more than the thought that he has me cornered and there is nothing I can do about it, my mind reaches for thoughts of Dimitri and I hate myself for thinking of anyone other than him. I hate myself when I remember Levi’s fingers touching me like an old woman kneading dough. I hate that, of all the men I can be feeling even the vaguest intrigue over (besides my Dimitri), it is Levi that has garnered my attention.

  And it is a strange attention I feel for him. I detest the man. I especially hate his condescending tone, his cruelly slanted eyes, the way his mouth seems almost too wide when he smiles, like a crazy cat, the way he slithers like a python. Mostly I hate the way my body reacts to all of this.

  The way it did for Dimitri at Delilah’s party.

  I bury my face in the cushions again. Cushions that Dimitri had placed on this bed. Cushions that were chosen specifically for this room, the room that he has given me to sleep in. In his home. That he has opened for me at his own behest, his own cost. And what have I done to earn my Master’s kindliness? His compassion and care? I have failed at his task, dug into his life, disobeyed his direct instructions, and near-fantasised about his employee, if that’s the appropriate word.

  The pillows are not enough to hide my pain. I can’t seem to run from my own thoughts.

  It is now 18:32. Dimitri will be in in an hour. I haven’t slept all day. Levi will be waiting for his showing. If I do not acquiesce he will tell Dimitri what I did.

  And I can’t have that.

  Delilah tried to get me to come out today. I feigned my own discomfort. I claimed I was still feeling unwell when she came to check on me again later. It was true, in my defence. I felt awful. Partly from self-disgust, partly due to my lack of sleep and the bump still on my head. A strange hunger also sung through me as the day progressed, but the thought of food made me feel sick. Quite literally. This time it was not a lie. I couldn’t pin-point exactly what was bothering me, but the hunger was definitely there. Even as I lie here now, it still is.

  Somehow it makes me think of Dimitri. And Levi. And my body burns again. In part due to my shame.

  The article for Dimitri is only half complete. It reads like static on a television. There is no life to it. And it bothers me. My cursor blinked over the selected script this afternoon and my finger tingled as I held it threateningly over the DEL button. I should have just erased it. But it is an acceptable starting point, I suppose. I’ll hang onto it for now. Still no word from Bordeaux.

  My skin itches with the extent of how much I do not deserve the faith he has put in me.

  Well, there is nothing for it. I got myself into this mess. Particularly the bit involving Levi. But I’ll be damned if I’ll allow myself, or him, to ruin this thing with Dimitri.

  A soft rapping on the door breaks my reverie and for a moment my conviction abandons me as a wave of surprised nausea shudders through my body, starting in my fingertips and settling in my heart.

  “Come in,” I call out, steeling myself for what I know is coming through my door.

  And there he is. Levi’s bony fingers wrap around the doorframe as he slinks inside, his bangs almost disguising his licentious grin as an apologetic smile. Almost, but not quite.

  “Ready?”

  I should have known he would traipse right over formalities. His opinion of me is not nearly great enough to give me the opportunity for a bit of small talk to ease my suffering.

  “Now?” I have already stood from the bed. My fingers have already deftly laid out my clothes for the evening, seemingly without my acknowledgement or behest. As though they do their own bidding. I can feel the oddly anticipatory shudders run through me as his mouth opens again, the smile slipping like sand through water. “Well, get on with it. We haven’t got all night.” His voice is unkind. But what did I expect? Consideration?

  To my horror, my body responds to his aggression, his loathed impatience.

  I nod and stand, dropping my bath robe without ceremony. I was prepared for this. Extricating myself from my clothing as swiftly as possible seemed like the path of least shame to me. But now that I stand naked before his roving eyes I feel exactly that. Bare to the criticism and misogyny in his face.

  He speaks again in a slightly hoarse voice, but his face bears the expression of a man anticipating a slower lure, “How clinical of you, Eva.”

  His venomous eyes narrow as he looks at me intently, and I can just tell from the way he inclines his head. I won’t like what’s coming. And I am utterly at his mercy here if I want to keep Dimitri.

  “Hmmm, how can we remedy the situation, then?” His voice is softly insistent, with a hint of honey lacing the edges, promising things that tug at my thighs, unhinging my lust and loathing.

  I shake my head uncertainly. But he inclines his head with flushed cheeks, his expression suddenly severe and his lips glistening with damp desire, “Touch yourself.”

  My eyes flutter rapidly, as the flush of heated resentment warms my face. He did not just ask me to do this.

  I stare at him, bemused, as the smile snakes its way back over his lips, reaching his eyes in a curious glint. I think he’s just curious to see if I’ll actually do it, more than anything else.

  Well, I don’t back down that easily. I pull the robe back up to my shoulders, negating any hope he may have been harbouring that I would fall for his threat-laced command, and a rush of relief surges through me as I realise how cold my skin was. My nipples burn rough and hard against the sudden touch of the silk.

  He has noticed too, it would seem, as the look of appreciation alters to one of mockery. “If that’s the way you want to play, fine. I’ll just go down and have a private word with your master, shall I?”

  I know he’s baiting me even as his fingers extend to open the door, not even caring to glance back at me. He wants me to stop him and he knows I will. The sweet memory of Dimitri placing a gentle kiss on my head, caring for me when I was injured - these things crank my voice to life.

  “Stop,” I croak, a lump of shame clogging my throat. But he hears me and turns with that aggravating, knowing grin on his features. “You’re not as tough as you pretend to be, Eva,” He jibes at me as he sits in the chair alongside my bed.

  I turn from him, unable to look at his critical face as he gazes over my imperfect form, unable to face him and the fact that he altered our deal. I should call him on it, but I can’t lose Dimitri.

  The gown pools around my feet again as I bare my back to his roving eyes.

  “Lie on the bed.”

  I obey, swallowed up by my misery. I stiffly manoeuvre backwards on to the bed, bending my knees up to protect my abdomen, forgetting for a moment that this only exposes other parts of me. Even as I try to avoid looking at him, my eyes glance in his direction to find him studying me with unsmiling glances, a crimson blush highlighting his cheeks. When he sees me looking, he locks his eyes with mine, pulling me in, forcing me to keep eye contact and face him. Face his violation. My shame.

  The bed beside me creaks like a death toll as he leans over my body, his golden curls framing a halo around his face. He is careful not to touch me. A step too far for Dimitri, the patient master.

  “Now,” He begins, his tongue slipping from between his lips to moisten them. He has no need to finish the command as my fingers find their destination and I am offered no resistance, the scent of me drifting up to us both. A smell I’ve always found poignant, a combination of nourishment and hunger. The essen
ce of incense and perfumes, unbottled and sheer. A scent of warmth and want. It reminds me vaguely of Bram.

  And Dimitri.

  I arch my back and squeeze my eyes shut.

  Dimitri’s face superimposes over the shine of Levi behind my eyes. I can smell his breath above me, a sick complex of sweet irises and stale cigarettes, as his lips part and his eyelids slip down to half-mast. Yet his hands have still not strayed, they remain firmly on the bed, elevating him above him, throwing his dominance over my dancing body. It only makes me writhe more fervently.

  The fire stirs in my belly and spreads slowly out like a fan, crawling through my hips, tickling down my thighs, traipsing up my spine. It burns like an inferno one moment, near too intense to cling to, but fickle as any lover it swirls to tender warmth, teasing me into submission.

  It is said that pornography is only that if the subject’s eyes look directly at the viewer. And mine do not leave his as my breath hoarsens. The sight of him staring at me, all amusement dead in his expression, his hair moving ever closer to my neck, and then my fingers slipping over that mound of sensitivity, makes me cry out.

  A small sound, the clearing of a throat, makes me look up into the consternated face of my psychiatrist. He’s taken to fidgeting with his notes and scribbling feverishly.

  “Are you blushing, Doctor Shane?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Eva.”

  “Good. Because if you can’t make it through this, you won’t survive the rest of it.”

  The doctor avoids my eyes, but resumes his impassive I’m–listening face. It’s clear that I’ve made him uncomfortable. And I can’t for the life of me understand why.

  It’s natural. We all do it. I suppose I could ease up on the descriptions, but that would break the cycle.

  It’s vivid for me, so it should be for everyone else.

  Shane finally finds his voice, “So you’re saying that these intimate moments with Levi become a trend?”

  “Yes, and no.”

  “There are other such occurrences?”

  “There always are when creatures like Dimitri are involved.”

  “And what sort of creature is he, Eva?”

  “I’m getting to that.”

  I stop. Poised at intensity, juggling my fear as I remember we are not alone in this house.

  Dimitri’s face intrudes on my thoughts again, as if he knows exactly what I am doing. Why I am doing it. What I did last night. What I’ve been thinking of all day. He hovers in my mind as though he’s been there the whole time, a secret interloper.

  A god seeing all I do. Omnipotent. Perfect.

  I sit up straight, shoving Levi out my path with my slickened fingers and pull the gown back over me.

  Fucking idiot that I am! He can’t do this to me. How could I be so blind?

  He would never tell Dimitri. Not now that he’s come this far. Dimitri would kick his ass all over the house for getting off on even looking at me, letting alone having me take liberties under his own orders.

  I can’t believe I’ve been this gullible.

  Me.

  Levi gracefully reasserts his tranquil ownership over the room, handing me clothing as he smiles a grimace. I refuse to meet his lecherous glances as I slip the dress I picked out earlier over my head. The material catches over my back, rolling up embarrassingly. He tries to pull it loose with his sly hands and I flinch away from him, having to reign myself in so as not to hiss at his grotesque amusement, or the clear signals of his arousal, pressed up to me while he invades my personal space.

  “Fine. I’ll see you downstairs then. Don’t be late, Dimitri will be waiting.”

  I ignore him and scrabble through the bathroom for mascara and eye-shadow. Added to my own feeling of betrayal of the man I adore, I will now, in all likelihood, be late.

  “Oh, and Eva?”

  I look up, itching to fling one of the thick-based brandy tumblers at his smug, fucking face.

  “Do clean yourself up before you leave, you smell like a whore.”

  THURSDAY 21 November 2008… 20:05

  Whore.

  The word echoes in my head, bounding through my skull like a malicious rabbit from some horror pornography. I want to be angry at Levi. I know I should be for his blatant disregard of me, the manner in which he threw his jibes and insulted my virtue. I should be furious that he can speak to me in that way, despite the intimacy of the moments that preceded. But I have to concur with his assessment.

  I am a whore. A vile one at that. I live in the house of the man I love. Under his charity and grace, and still I flirt and conspire through my sexuality with this other man. A man that treats me like a whore.

  And even worse is that I want to say it is simply a matter of coercion. That I only partook of such pleasure because otherwise I would have faced persecution from Dimitri. Or even banishment from his presence. A more emotionally debilitating thought. But the truth is a thing of more complexity.

  It was not all bad. Levi makes tiny, twanging wires pull in my abdomen. Sickening that I should find his debasement of me to be so like an aphrodisiac in nature. The more cruel his mannerisms, the more I seem to want him.

  Under normal circumstances I would turn to Delilah. But somehow I don’t think she’ll be of much support during this trial. I’ve brought it on myself. And I suspect she may be even more fiercely loyal to Dimitri than I am. She even went so far as to conspire against me to aid him. Me. Her best friend, or so she has said.

  But this assessment still does not diminish my love of him. Odd that in the last few days, it seems like only a handful, I have grown accustomed to this strange love. I had been attracted to him before, true. But now I feel I would kill for him. Love him. Want him. Truly need him.

  Which may all be the reason that, regardless of how violated I feel, I will not try to get back at that serpentine man. I would rather accept what has happened and deal with my own feelings of inadequacy and deceit, rather than risk losing the man that has made me feel such powerful devotion.

  I have dressed to appease my guilt. To keep it from pointing unkind, accusatory fingers at me. I feel resplendent in a crimson, velvet dress, plunging neckline exposing the one feature of my body I feel at ease with, my expansive bust. Often a bone of contention for me (being viewed as a side of meat is not always what a girl likes to see herself as), but an attractive element of my form, nonetheless. My legs feel too touchable in the black, silk stockings chosen for the occasion. I admire the way my calf curls with definition as I slip into the black, suede heels, seated on my bed. If I cannot feel like a goddess on the inside, I shall at least portray such an image without. Dimitri must not suspect anything, other than the honesty of my intrepid lust for him.

  I relish in the feel of my curls bouncing from their somewhat-loose bun captivity as I head down the stairs, noticing, but not really caring about the interspersed lamps lighting my path, adding a spark of enticement to my demeanour with each flicker of glowing sphere, illuminating in detail the artwork scrolling over the walls and rugs.

  If I can accept that I am a whore, as my would-be lover so adequately stated, I can revel in it, to some extent. Allowing myself the freedom to pursue my Master as he did me, perhaps with even more ferocity.

  My ears twitch at the sounds emanating from beneath me as I approach the stairs. Many voices, a varying mass of laughter, colouring the air about me. Are there more girls I do not know of? The thought makes my jealous gland snarl within, but the sex appeal I poured into deliberating over - and finally choosing - my outfit, makes me clutch the stair rail in a moment of pride. I feel the pull of my clothing, the contact with Levi, even, as a spotlight upon me, highlighting my attraction, outlining my seduction. The sensation causes my feet to become unsteady as my ears are assaulted, once more, by the stereo laughter and undefined hum of pleasant conversation.

  No. Too many voices. Not just girls, but men as well.

  I descend the stairs into a pool of light and sound as if I am slowly dip
ping my toes into the shallow end of a deep, obscured pool. All eyes do not turn to gaze at me avidly, as I had almost expected, peering at me to search for signs of the “whore” I am. Rather I am near wholly ignored but for a few cursory glances in my general direction. Generally this would make me feel less than worthy, but for the moment, the absence of attention to my dirtied self makes me feel safe.

  But I’m not safe! The rage hits me suddenly with a force I can’t keep in. I’m a fucking whore! I practically laid myself out like a buffet for another man in my Dimitri’s home!

  I should be stripped naked in front of all the people right now! Stripped down to the whore and displayed for ridicule! I want to tear at my hair, scream and shriek obscenities.

  Breathe, Eva.

  He doesn’t know yet. Only I have to live with what I’ve done. Keep it to myself.

  If I do that, I’ll be fine.

  I am safe. Within the knowledge that my behaviour has not been noted, within my cocoon of sexual attraction – an impression of myself I haven’t had for a very long time – and within the sanctity of Dimitri’s metaphysical embrace. Though I know that façade is vulnerable. I fear he will read my actions of an hour earlier on my face, in the crease of my lips, and know that I have committed an unforgiveable act.

  That I am nothing more than a dirty whore. Vying for any man’s affections.

  But for now the sexual buzz keeps me safe.

  As the feeling of being cast out to sea in this sudden swirl of partying faces takes me, for a moment my footing is off-balance, but I right myself steadily as a warm arm slides around my waist and I smile as Delilah’s smell wafts over me.

  “Hey D.”

  “Pet, you look ravishing,” She speaks as loudly as she can whilst maintaining some social decorum. That’s my Delilah. Always aware of the effect her words and tone can have on the world around her. She’s sweet to say so. And I know it’s true. For the first time in a long while, I know what she says is true. I may have inherited the crow’s nest hair, but tonight it radiates blanket-tumble hair. My body may be plump, but tonight it’s curvaceous and luscious. I look to the thin girls, the clothes’ wracks, the skeletal beauties and I feel only pity.