Darkroom Saga Omnibus 1

by Poppet

  I've covertly managed to memorise the security code he enters, but I'm hoping I can undo the wires to the eye scan thingy. Punching in the numbers, I then fiddle with the screws, carefully extracting them from the wall to stare at the wires in utter bafflement. I haven't a clue what I'm doing, and my hands jittering nervously isn't helping. Slowly, I unscrew the yellow wire, pulling it out.

  Jesus! Dropping it in horror, my entire body jerks with jolting fear when the siren begins wailing. An alarm! Fuck. He's installed an alarm.

  Shit! How do I make it stop?

  My hands are shaking so much and I can barely think inside this howling wail, I desperately replace the wire and screw it in, pushing it back into the socket and securing it into the wall. The stupid screwdriver keeps popping out because I'm trembling so much.

  Shit! Alarm please stop. Please!

  Leaping, twisting when a hand grips me, I face him.

  Horrified at being caught red handed, I am so ashamed and know my guilt is painted all over me like the garish make-up on a drag queen. “I'm sorry.”

  My voice is drowned out by the relentless yelling of the alarm. He turns to the panel and puts in a code. The contrasting silence is so absolute, I feel deaf.

  “I'm sorry.”

  I know trust is fragile. I bloody know it. And it's hitting me that I've just annihilated the fragile reconciliation we had between us. I'm unable to stare into his mesmerising eyes a second longer. I'm lost for words.

  “I'm sorry,” he says.

  Is he mocking me?

  Daring to look up, his expression confounds me.

  “I'm sorry I didn't open that door for you to avoid a day like today from happening.”

  What is he saying? He steps closer to me, embracing me and kissing the top of my head. “Shauna, this is all my fault. I have a surprise in there for you, it's not yet complete.” He pulls away to catch my gaze, his eyes warm and seductive, “Give me one more day and I'll show you that room. Okay?”

  I’m desperate to ingratiate, to begin earning his trust again. “Victor, I am so ashamed. I should have asked you. I messed up again.”

  “You're human, Shauna. You simply keep reminding me you are. But I'm both compassionate and forgiving.” Kissing me insistently, he adds as he draws apart from my mouth, “I hope you'll remember that. We can discuss anything. My heart is open and waiting for you to walk into it completely. If this is the reason why you are hesitant, then let's remove that reason.”

  Shame envelops me completely. Hiding my flaming face in his chest my voice cracks, “I don't deserve you.” A thumb wipes my tears away delicately, then he kisses me again.

  •

  Victor:

  Well look at this. Good thing I have the cameras. My angel has reached the snooping stage. Predictable human behaviour. I tell her to stay out of one place, which is why doubt surrounds me in her mind. It's time I took this hurdle with her. I'll give her those photos of her asleep, in black and white, they are understatedly erotic, she'll feel flattered. It will be my cover. My excuse to pack everything away before showing her that I'm not hiding anything.

  All things considered she has been well behaved. Meek. I like her meek, it is good in the eyes of our Father. I am almost positive that she's pregnant. I've watched her carefully, and know when she's due for her cycle. Although I do know that stress can upset a cycle, this is why I will give her no reason to fear or stress. This time is crucial. Moving quickly I panther silently inside, catching her red handed. The shame, oh it's beautiful. Mentally she is afraid of losing me now. Each and every reaction of mine has been calculated and controlled. All of her actions have an obvious consequence.

  Her mouth gives her emotions away. Cadaver pale, nervous eyes meet mine. One more reason to have you make it up to me, baby. Keep this up and we'll live happily ever after.

  •

  Shauna:

  I feel so much worse that he isn't angry. I wish I could escape, but he doesn't want me going home. He's made it perfectly clear that we're a team now. And team players stick together. Firm hands hold me. Somehow he manages to reveal a staining of disapproval through his touch. I am almost queasy with self-loathing. He trusted me and I betrayed that trust. Now he'll never feel confident leaving me alone again. He'll always wonder what I'm secretly doing.

  “I'm sorry Victor. It's the only time I've ever tried to pry. You keep your thoughts and your life so close to your chest, I am ashamed for doubting, for needing to pry.”

  He sits with me, holding my hand, his eyes are so dark they're almost roasted coffee in hue. “Angel, perhaps I should share more with you? I'm just accustomed to living a solitary existence. I forget that women need answers and explanations for everything. Even my silence and privacy.”

  “When's your birthday?”

  “Why?”

  He doesn't seem to want to answer that question at all. “This just reminds me of someone I know. Someone I trusted who after years of being really good friends, I discovered they were simply humouring me. Putting on a front. I never understood it. Why pretend to be a friend when you'd rather not associate with someone?”

  “And you think I'm like this person?”

  “No … well … silence, secrets, certain expressions and giving away only so many details, now it makes me doubt what is real.”

  “I'm real. I just don't require retelling anyone my thoughts or my routine or plans. The world will know what I want them to know in my own time.”

  “But I share everything with you. And it makes me feel rejected on a subconscious level. As if you don't trust me with the details of you,” pointing into his chest, “Deep down inside you.”

  “Words are meaningless Shauna. They are simple vibrations pounding on the tympanic membrane. I like to show you what you mean to me. That is my method of communication.”

  Taking his lead, I lift his hand and kiss it, “I'm sorry.”

  “So am I. I'm sorry that it came to this. If I'd known it meant so much to you, I would have let you in.” Lifting my chin to look into my eyes, trying to read them, he says, “If you have questions, ask me. Snooping only makes me feel defensive.”

  “I am ashamed and deeply apologetic. I am.”

  “I see this. So let's put it behind us now, shall we?”

  “Victor, something inside me broke with the hardships I've endured. I find it so hard to completely trust now. Thank you for being so patient with me. I'm emotionally fragile … I'll try to be better, I promise.”

  He smiles, dropping a brief kiss on my head, “Enough of this. You're turning me into a girlfriend. It'll ruin my image.”

  Finally smiling, I let him convince me to go shopping with him. How can I blame him for that?

  ~ Chapter 39 ~

  If it makes you laugh, if it makes you cry,

  if it rips out your heart, that's a good picture.

  ~ Eddie Adams

  Shauna:

  A fortnight later I enter my apartment. My home is immaculate. How – when, did he do this all?

  Feeling coveted, treasured and so precious, I sit down heavily in front of my computer. Quickly switching it on to accomplish what I came to do.

  Staring around in awe at how pristine the place is. He's kept it like a museum. The museum of my pain. Clean, immaculate, and saturated in my invisible tears. Memories attack me. Catching my breath, racing my heart, vividly recalling that guttural rasp. Is he here now? He could be, and I wouldn't know it.

  Shutting out that thought, like a child hiding with her teddy under the covers, I click on the online shopping option. Choosing a few female items to mask my true intention. Searching frantically through the menu, I find it. Clicking on the home pregnancy kit, I place my order. My fingers shaking nervously as I type in my credit card details.

  Please God, don't let me be pregnant. Please!

  Delivery is within an hour. Switching it off, I decide to carry it over to his place. I have to get working. I need the money. I need to pay him back. The guilt
is constantly with me. The guilt of owing him so much, yet resenting him for being so capable. He's perfect. Dad raves about him.

  I know he's a good, kind, and loving man, but I'm not ready for marriage. Dad's pretty much twisting the screws on me keeping Victor. I can see how Dad thinks Vic is the perfect man. He is. That's what bothers me. I'm terrified that too late I'll discover he's got an evil twin. Or that his mother hates me.

  He never talks about himself. He knows everything about me. Everything that there is to know. But whenever I pry, he manages to deflect the conversation to something else. And I fall for it every time.

  Checking my watch, I decide to carry my computer over and leave it on the dining room table. He can tell me where I can work when he gets back, and where is convenient for him. Leaving both our doors open I carry the flat screen monitor across first. Quickly returning, picking up my hard drive and taking it with all the cables dangling out, over. Leaving it in a mess, I close the door in a hurry, locking it, rushing back into my place and closing and locking the door.

  Maybe I should do the laundry while I wait?

  Meandering through to the bathroom, my feet refuse to enter. It's so clean, it smells suffocatingly sterile. Shuffling slowly I force myself into the bedroom doorway to look at the bed. Panic has me gripped so tightly I feel like the executioner has chopped off my head and the rest of my body still has to realise I'm dead. I feel, strange. Terrified but angry. It's an odd cocktail which is completely annihilating normal heartbeats and breathing.

  Shuddering, I grab the door handle to support me. It's … it's clean? Virginal white. All evidence erased. Anger rises as I stalk to the bed, snatching up the pillow that I nearly suffocated in, lifting it to my nose, inhaling softener. Spring Dew by Sunlight, I do believe. Dropping it back, I stare at my room, my cage.

  Why did I expect to find it just the way it was? I know how Victor is about everything being immaculate at all times. He's neat, his environment is always pristine. He often says, cleanliness is close to godliness. He's a perfectionist. Why is he even attracted to me? What do we really have in common? He spends days distracting me.

  We've done the wine route, been up to Signal Hill to see the old canons and to stare out over Cape Town with it's endless frame of alluring ocean. He's taken me to Rhodes Memorial where we even had dinner. That was exquisite. The view from up there at night is enchanting, and the restaurant nestled amongst pine trees, it was just perfect.

  He's taken me hiking behind Kirstenbosch, and even took me to Silver Mines where there are loads of 'silver trees“. He called them leucadendrons. I've never seen such incredible trees in my life. He told me they are a member of the protea family. The leaves literally reflect sunlight as silver, but each one is covered with a soft downy white fluff.

  We spent a weekend driving up the West coast, all the way to the tiny fishing village of Paternoster. It's apparently a rare place as a certain species of turtle only use that cove to nest and breed. Laying their eggs. But because of the new development, the lights which would normally have taken them back to the ocean are confused with artificial night-lights, taking them instead to their deaths on the roads.

  What am I complaining about? He's a saint. The man is a saint. He soothes me after nightmares. He's got me fitter, stronger and more capable of defending myself. He's given me financial security while I get back on my feet. He even believes me.

  Maybe Dad's right. Maybe I should marry him. But will he ever ask? He might have a lot to offer, but what have I got to offer him? Turning I examine myself in the mirror. My critical eyes stare at a woman who's going to be thirty in two years. And nothing to show for it.

  “He even cooks, you ungrateful bitch,” I tell the girl in the mirror.

  The knocking at the door rouses me from my reverie. Sneaking quietly up to the front door, I pause. Self-consciously, I ask through the door, “Can I help you?”

  “Delivery.”

  “Just leave it on the mat please.”

  “Okay lady,” replies back.

  Checking my wristwatch again I wait five minutes before opening the door a crack, with the chain on. Listening intently for breathing or movement. Satisfied that I'm alone I close the door, unlatch the chain and snatch the bag off my coir mat. Closing it again quickly and locking it.

  Adrenaline pumps fervour into my trembling hands as I take out the kit. Opening it on my way to the bathroom. I force myself to walk into the room and to the loo. Carefully I go through the motions. I should have had my monthly embarrassment three weeks ago. Wrapping it up in toilet paper, I walk to the basin after flushing, washing my hands and drying them on the fluffy pink towel. Is that new?

  Anxiously I pick up the stick, walking back to the lounge, placing it window up onto the coffee table. My leg jumps nervously when I sit down. Queasiness grips me as I watch and wait. Checking my watch. Then staring back at it, willing time to hurry up. He'll be back soon.

  It hits me, the stripper's pole is gone.

  •

  Victor:

  Her purchase gave my phone an alert. I have remote viewing privileges from my iPhone into both our homes. The best part of South Africa is how paranoid the general public are about break-ins. You can set up cameras which give you a live feed to your phone, so that you can dine out with peace of mind.

  I changed the settings on her computer so that the firewall is no longer there to block hacking. I can access hers from my computer, which I access from my phone.

  Checking her purchases, my heart pauses so long I forget to breathe. I have prepared for this moment. I have a baguette solitaire diamond ring to present to her, pre-empting her announcement. I have to get home before she gets the result.

  Striding to my car, I get in and take the shortest route home.

  Yes! My baby is in her!

  I know it!

  Taking the stairs up to the sixth floor, two at a time, I quietly enter into my home. Striding to the darkroom and slipping inside. Locking it behind me, I check the screens.

  She's sitting waiting, staring at the pregnancy stick lying on the table in front of her. She's in her place still, very brave of her.

  I open the metal drawer next to my knee and extract the jewellers box covered in black velvet. Watching her, my heart still misbehaving, my stomach so tight that I have an odd urge to fuck her.

  She picks it up, shaking her head. “No! Shit!“

  That means yes! Jubilant, I leap out of my chair, quickly escaping the dark comfort of my shrine to her. Shoving the box into my pocket, I secure the door behind me, and walk to the kitchen. Taking out two Waterford flutes and unearthing the bottle I've reserved for this occasion. Shit, she can't have alcohol. Well let me pretend I don't know. It's the show that counts.

  Strolling to examine her computer, I pause to initiate music on the wall panel. I can't resist temptation as I select The Police, choosing to play, Every Breath you Take.

  Oh yes Shauna, every breath, I'll be watching you.

  The door opens, and I watch my angel enter wearing a salacious body-hugging sun-dress. I give her a smile, choosing to ignore the large afraid eyes watching me with hooded guardedness.

  “Shauna! Where've you been?” I walk over, stooping to place a warm kiss on her pouting lips.

  “I went to get my computer and just check on things.”

  Wrapping an arm around her waist I guide her to the suede couch, “Honey, have a seat.”

  She's wringing her hands nervously as she sits down, staring at me with fear in her eyes. “You're home early.”

  “Yes, I have a surprise for you.”

  She forces a tight smile as I sit down next to her and run my hand up her naked thigh. I love the way skirts ride up when women sit down.

  “Shauna,” I pause and stare seriously into her eyes. “I've been contemplating something for a while.”

  She swallows nervously. Her blue eyes are glued to mine intently.

  “Honey …” I slip off the couch and pull the b
ox out of my pocket, opening it up. Her face registers shock, recognition, and denial. “Will you marry me?”

  Laughing in an almost hysterical way, she reaches out and rubs my arm, ruffling the hairs before sliding back down to rest over my watch, “I … yes. Of course … I'd love to.”

  Gleeful, I extract the ring, taking her hand and slipping it snugly over her finger. She extends her hand and examines it appreciatively. Pulling her off the couch, I lift her, kissing her possessively, “Shauna, you've made me so happy. I have champagne, I was hoping you'd say yes.”

  She pulls back, stiffening in my grip, “Victor, we need to talk.”

  Arching my eyebrows, I let her stand, towering over her, deliberately giving her the feeling of silent intimidation, “That sounds serious.”

  She nods, sitting down again and clutching her knees with both hands, “It is.”

  I sit with her, caressing her leg again in a show of support, “Yes, my wife-to-be?”

  She smiles before getting that worried expression again. I keep my smile trained on her like a sniper's rifle.

  Blurting, she announces huskily, “I'm pregnant.”

  Smiling wider, I twist her to face me, by her shoulders, “But darling, that's wonderful news.”

  “It is?”

  Kissing her again, I hug her to me, “Well it's a bit early, but we're both not getting any younger. This is perfect.”

  She pulls away, incredulity pausing her relief, “You're okay with this?”

  “Well I guess the champagne's off limits now, but yes, I'm thrilled.”

  She smiles with genuine warmth this time.

  “Shauna, I love you, that's not going to change. I'd love to have children,” leaning in, I touch her nose, “With you. This is possibly the best day of my life.”