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It takes me a while to speak, stunned as I am by the venom, and by how similar the sentiments expressed by her mother are to the manner in which my father speaks, although frankly, even he restrains himself from uttering this particular brand of base poison.
“I'm sorry,” I finally say. “Her words are heinous.”
“I know.” Her voice, usually so vibrant, suddenly sounds so small, its fragility making my cock throb. In reality, her voice has sounded frail since she first picked up, as if she can’t take a full breath. “I don’t want to talk about it so much right now.”
“Why?”
“It hurts,” she reponds.
“I want to know your pain, Indigo. I have to know it.”
“Well, let’s call that an introduction.”
“Very well.”
I listen intently to her fast breathing, aware that sending that message will have riddled her with anxiety and humiliation.
It’s she who finally speaks. “Is your mom nicer than your dad?”
The hope in her voice would comfort me if it wasn’t so futile.
“It’s not hard to be nicer than him,” I respond. “So yes, she’s more palatable, more loving in some ways. But she cares about appearance and status above all else. She doesn’t see humans, or at least, not in my case. She sees forms. She sees patterns, tropes, systems, stereotypes, outwards appearances, most of which she finds disagreeable.”
“God, I bet she’d get on with mine.”
“It sounds like it,” I respond solemnly.
“You know maybe we should go to see them. Show them that they don’t have as much power as they think they do. That we don’t care whether they have the emotional quotient of a dehydrated monk fruit.”
My lips manage to form a smile at her blind optimism. “If I were as enthusiastic about your mother behaving, what would you say to me?”
“I know, but, well, screw them. It’s not our fault they have the emotional range of a baked potato. Let’s just go there and laugh internally at their assholey ways. And then have deviant sex in the car after we leave.”
“After dinner with those two, I’m just wondering whether we’ll make it to the car.”
“Stop,” she breathes. “Look, let’s get it over with. Didn’t your mom suggest tomorrow?”
“You want to do it that fast?”
“Yeah, I want it done. I’m dealing with enough anxiety this week.”
Her words make my eyes widen as I stare at the large silver-framed mirror hung on the graphite-gray wall of my bedroom opposite me, picturing the moment I’ll get to fuck her, bound and gagged, in front of it.
“Anxiety due to what?” I ask, still tempted to drive over there so that I can work it out of her body most mercilessly.
“Oh, nothing. It just comes in waves sometimes. I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
My eyes narrow as I contemplate her evasive tone… and why she would hide from me.
“Tomorrow?” I suggest about the dinner.
“If it’s still okay with your mom,” she replies.
I should say no. That would be sensible, but I know full well the means my father has at his disposal to make our lives impossible to navigate. And I’m quite sure she’s experienced sufficient pain of late.
“I know Marilla will kill me for capitulating, but I’ll wear something respectable.” She pauses for a moment. “Come to think of it, I may need to go shopping.”
“I’ll have some clothes sent over for you. You can pick out the outfit you like.”
