by Gemma Weir
The worst thing is that my dad is eating this shit up like fucking caviar. He wants the power, the money, and the prestige that comes with Carrigan’s untouched cunt. Hell, he’d marry her himself if he could.
Glancing at her, I unapologetically run my eyes over her. Something’s off tonight. Normally, she doesn’t shut up; her superior, waspy voice grating against my nerves. But tonight, I think she’s said maybe ten words, her eyes always looking away, like she’s afraid or confused or something.
Even the way she’s holding herself now isn’t anything like the normal way she struts across the room, daring everyone to look at her, covet her. The girl next to me is uncomfortable, shy almost, and it’s confusing my dick.
Normally my cock stays flaccid and completely uninterested in Carrigan Archibald. That lacy fucking dress, the overly done makeup, the perfectly straight hair, it does nothing for me. But for some reason, her nervousness, her discomfort, is turning me on.
The urge to push her, to tease her a little to see what’ll happen is almost outweighing my disgust for her. Turning, I grip my cigarette between my fingers and lower it to my side, flicking the ash onto the grass beneath me.
Her eyes widen a little and something about them is unfamiliar. I’ve never really taken the time to study Carrigan too closely. The moment her inheritance was made public and the circus rolled into town touting her as the main attraction, she lost all appeal to me. Not that I’d ever paid her any attention before that.
But I swear the way she’s looking at me now, the way I can see her swallowing nervously, the way she’s rubbing at her skin above her thumbnail doesn’t make any sense. This girl revels in her status, she loves being the center of attention, the untouched Venus in the clam shell, so this must all be an act.
A dark, bitter laugh falls from my lips as I take another drag on my cigarette, then drop it to the floor and stub it out with the toe of my shoe. Slowly shaking my head, I rise from the bench and turn back in the direction of the ugly white sitting room where my father and Carrigan’s parents are waiting for us.
My dad demanded I orchestrate this little ‘evening stroll’ but I can’t tolerate another moment with her, so I’d rather deal with his tantrum later than drag this farce out for another moment. No amount of money in the world is worth tying myself to Carrigan fucking Archibald.
I stride forward, not caring if she can keep up in those stupid shoes. She still hasn’t uttered a word and the silence is driving me insane. Did her mother coach her on how to behave tonight? Did she tell her to be a nervous little mouse, expecting me to become her big, bad, rich protector? Fuck that, this behavior is just pissing me off and before I can stop myself, I’m spinning around to face her.
“This scared little virgin act doesn’t normally work on me, Carrigan.” I say, closing the distance between us until I’m close enough that she has to tip her head back to look at me. “Virgin’s don’t do anything for me. I like a girl who knows how to bend over and spread her ass so I can fuck her hard and deep. I like a girl who drops to her knees and begs me to fuck her face, to use her mouth and cover her face in my cum.”
A smile curves at the corner of my lips as I watch her eyes widen and her lips part. My dick twitches in my trousers and I reach down and palm myself through the fabric. “Color me intrigued, sweetheart, because my dick never even twitches when you do your whore for sale act, but this fake scared rabbit thing’s really got me going.”
Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around a strand of her blonde hair and tug a little too hard, until a tiny whimper falls from her parted lips.
“Who knew you were such a good little actress, Carrie?” I scoff, vitriol lacing my words. “But if you want to lock me in as your fiancé before the end of senior year, I’m going to want a taste of exactly what married life is going to give me. If your mommy dearest coached you on how to snag me, did she tell you what else good little whores have to do? How about a show to start off with?” I say, not even trying to hide the disgust in my voice. “We can’t have that untouched cunt of yours being anything but perfect and intact at your annual check-up can we? So why don’t you lift up that hideous dress and show me what I’d be getting. Do it, Carrigan. Pull your panties to the side and spread your cunt and show me what you have that would make marrying you worth it.”
My entire body shakes, my throat so thick with emotion I have to try to swallow past it. He hates me. Not me, I remind myself, he hates Carrigan, and he hates this money fueled nightmare even more.
Somehow, despite what he’s just said, and the awful, hateful names he called her and the suggestions he made, I can’t help the fact that my nipples are tight and there’s a pulsing between my legs that shouldn’t be there.
I don’t know if I’m turned on by the dirty things he’s saying, or the way he’s saying them, or maybe it’s just him, but whatever it is, even though I know it’s wrong my body is still reacting. I’m trembling, vibrating with a mix of fear and desire and I’m grateful I can’t speak right now because I have no idea what would come from my mouth if I could.
“I guess she didn’t teach you how to follow through,” he scoffs. “Jesus, Carrigan, just look at the fucking state of you. Maybe you really are a virgin. It doesn’t matter though, because no matter how much money you come with, I’ll never want you. I’ll never touch you and I’ll never fucking marry you. So I suggest you go tout your wares to some other idiot who might,” he says with a dismissive shake of his head as he turns and walks away, not waiting for me to follow.
My legs move on autopilot and I follow him along the path, sucking in deep lungfuls of air in an attempt to get my trembling limbs under control. When he pauses, I tense, bracing myself for his insults or worse, but he doesn’t say another word. Sighing, he rolls his eyes, then strides toward me. I flinch when his palm connects with the base of my spine, but he ignores my discomfort, marching us up the steps and onto the terrace that leads back to our parents.
“How was your walk?” Mom gushes from her seat on the blindingly bright white couch.
“Lovely, thank you, Mrs. Archibald,” Arlo says smoothly. “We cut it a little short as I was worried about Carrigan having to walk so far in those beautiful, but impractical Louboutins.”
“Women and their shoes,” Mr. Lexington barks loudly, his cheeks tinged a little pink, the whiskey in his glass sloshing around as he talks with his hands. “I’m sure she’d love to see the water gardens, but you can take her next time, maybe on the weekend,” he suggests to my mom.
“Freddie and I actually have plans this weekend, but I’m sure Carrigan would be thrilled to join you,” Mom answers without even glancing in my direction, but then I suppose it doesn’t matter if I agree or not, because it won’t be me attending, it’ll be my sister.
“That sounds perfect, doesn’t it, Arlo?” Mr. Lexington says a little too brightly.
“That does sound wonderful, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to delay to another weekend. I already agreed to go sailing with Wats, Olly, and Carson and it would be terribly bad form to cancel with this short notice.” Arlo says, his voice not sounding in the least bit regretful.
“That’s okay, you can just take Carrigan with you sailing instead,” Mr. Lexington suggests, his voice hardening and his eyes narrowing.
“Oh, is that Watson Hilborn?” Dad asks.
“Yes, sir,” Arlo says, with a cautious nod. “And Oliver Montgomery and Carson Windsor.”
“Oscar Hilborn and I are good friends from our own St Augustus days,” my dad says brightly.
“Well then, that’s perfect,” Mr. Lexington coos, taking a long pull on his glass. “Carrigan can go sailing with you all, then I’ll give Oscar a call and he, Freddie, and I can play a round or two at the club.”
“Our dinner plans aren’t until eight, darling,” Mom tells Dad, with a flick of her wrist.
Then Mr. Lexington and Dad start to reminisce about their own time at St Augustus, as Mom smiles and laughs along with them. Risking a glance at
Arlo, I can see the barely restrained anger in his eyes as he pinches his lips together in a hard line, his jaw tense, and shoulders rigid. He’s not happy about this, and I don’t know if my sister will be, but honestly, right now, I just don’t care. This is her life and her problem. The moment we get the hell out this house, she can deal with her own reluctant suitors from now on, because I’m not doing this again.
Thankfully, Mom declares that it’s time to leave and I dutifully offer Mr. Lexington my thanks for his hospitality while impatiently waiting to go. This night has been the longest of my life and it’s barely even ten o’clock.
Once we get outside, I flash Greg a grateful smile then slide into the car, exhaling in relief the moment I’m out of sight. Mom climbs in next, with Dad following her a moment later, and Greg closes the door leaving me trapped in the small space with my parents.
“What happened with Arlo?” Mom demands, the moment we pull away from the house.
“Nothing,” I answer.
“I want to know every single detail. I’m serious, Tallulah, every detail,” she demands, her tone cold and ruthless.
Allowing my gaze to drift to the front of the car, I catch Greg’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and immediately look away, ashamed. This is my family; these sociopathic, narcissistic assholes.
“Tallulah,” she snaps.
I don’t look at her, keeping my eyes downcast as I speak. “He ignored me for the most part, then he called me a whore for sale, and said that if he was ever going to agree to marry me then he wanted a show to see what married life was going to get him. He asked me to lift up my skirt and show him,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
The air in the car becomes so thick I struggle to swallow as I keep my eyes downcast, not wanting to look at either of my parents.
“And did you?” Dad asks.
I snap my eyes upward so fast I jar my neck as my mouth falls open and I stare at my dad like he’s grown a second head. “Did I what?” I gasp.
He clears his throat. “Did you give him what he wanted?”
“No,” I cry, appalled. “Of course I didn’t. Why would you even ask that?”
Mom’s hand snaps out and she grabs my chin between her fingers, her sharp pointed fingernails digging into my skin. “The Lexingtons are an old, powerful family. They are who we have chosen to ally our family line with.”
“But,” I start to say, then immediately stop as her fingers tighten their hold on me.
“Arlo will be marrying your sister and we all have to do whatever it takes to smooth that path.”
“What?” I say disbelieving of what my mom’s implying.
“Don’t act stupid, young lady, you know exactly what I mean. If Arlo wants to see what he’ll be marrying, you show him. You do whatever you have to do.”
I feel my eyes widen as my mind processes what my mother is telling me. She really is prepared to whore out her daughter for this marriage. She’s prepared to whore out both of her daughters.
“Next time, you’ll do whatever the hell he wants you to,” Dad says, his tone offhand, like he’s discussing the weather, not suggesting his virgin daughter perform sexual acts to persuade someone to marry her.
This is it; this is how far my family is prepared to go. I should be shocked, I am shocked. But somehow, I always knew they’d be this ruthless, this depraved, because money corrupts, at least this much money does.
When the car stops outside our house, I wait impatiently for my parents to climb out before I slide out after them, my heart racing, my brain whirring with horror and disgust. Greg’s hand on my arm stops me and I glance up at him, shame consuming me that he just heard what my parents said to me.
He glances over his shoulder, watching as they disappear into the house before he turns back to me, his sad eyes raking over me. I’m not sure how old he is, mid to late fifties maybe. His hair is salt and pepper, and there are small lines at the sides of his eyes and mouth that belie his age. “It doesn’t matter what time of the day or night it is; it doesn’t matter where you are, you call me and I will come. I’ll get you away from here, away from those people. I’ll take you right now if that’s what you want,” he says, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.
“I can’t,” I say simply, my voice cracking.
“You shouldn’t be here, not after what they just said, not after what I know they’re doing. You’re a good girl, Miss Tallulah, and your...” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “Your parents,” he spits. “You’re not safe here anymore.”
Lifting my hand, I place it over the top of his still resting on my arm. “Thank you,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes. “But as much as I wish I could run, I can’t. I’ll be gone from here soon, and this is the first time,” I shrug. “You know, for anything other than school. I won’t do it again.” I tell him, wanting to explain more, but letting the unspoken truths hang in the air.
His sigh is pained as I slide my hand from on top of his and he pulls away with a nod. “I mean it. Any time, any place, no questions asked. I worry about you, kiddo.”
I nod, unable to speak, forcing a shaky smile before I turn and walk away. When I enter the house, I can hear my parents in the family room, but I don’t go and join them. I head straight up the stairs, wanting to be as far away from them as possible.
Carrigan’s door is shut, but my feet take me there anyway and I’m gently knocking on the door before I can talk myself out of it. She doesn’t answer so I grip the handle and turn it, pushing the door open only to find her room as empty as it was earlier.
She’s not here. She’s not fucking here. I had to take her place tonight, pretend to be her, deal with Arlo’s vitriol and our parents disgusting perversions all because she’s out somewhere doing God knows what with God knows who.
Anger swells inside of me, forcing out all of the disappointment and hurt and replacing it with blind rage that makes me want to take Greg up on his offer and run from this godforsaken house and the evil bastards that live here.
Righteous indignation radiates, burning until all I want to do is scream and shout and throw stuff around, to tell them that I won’t play this game anymore, that I refuse to be a pawn. As fast as my anger rises, it drains from me, because what’s the point? My family don’t care about what I think, they don’t care if I’m angry or hurt or sad. All I am is a mannequin, a stand-in, a spare, and who cares about the spare.
Leaving Carrigan’s room behind me, I run to my own room, closing and locking the door behind me. I kick the ridiculous shoes from my feet and toward the corner of the room, then I rip at the awful constricting dress until I hear the fabric tear and I can wrench it free, shoving it over my hips until it falls like a puddle of lace to the floor at my feet.
The moment I’m standing in nothing but my bra and panties, I exhale a relieved breath, feeling some of the heaviness of the night fall from me with the dress. Leaving my Carrigan approved outfit on the floor, I strip out of my underwear, padding naked into my bathroom and turning on the shower, stepping under the stream of water before it even has a chance to warm.
I don’t care about the cold; all I want is to wash off the filth and grime this night has coated my skin with. Being around these people has left me feeling dirty, and I reach for my washcloth and scrub at my skin until it’s red and tender.
Letting the water run over my face, I rub the makeup off, needing to shed the mask I’ve been forced to don yet again. I wash my hair twice, as the bravado and resolve that’s gotten me through the night washes away and my body sags against the cool tile.
My head falls forward and I exhale a slow, ragged breath. How is this my life? Tonight showed me just how out of control everything has got, how depraved this money has made them all. I knew things were bad, I had no idea just how far my parents were prepared to go.
If Carrigan and I were closer, maybe I’d have known about all of this before it got to this point, but should I be this surprised? I’ve watched as Carrigan has been paraded through
parties, dinners, and mixers over and over again for the last three-and-a-half years. I’ve watched as she changed from my confident but humble twin to the vapid, money hungry monster she is now.
Tonight opened my eyes. How has my sister been dealing with our parents unending pursuit of a suitable husband for her? Has she been told to do whatever was needed to secure the appropriate fiancé like my parents demanded of me tonight? Is it possible that she hates this just as much as I do?
Turning off the shower, I reach for a towel and dry off my raw skin, wincing when the soft cotton burns against my sore flesh. Needing to reclaim myself, I pull on a baggy shirt and my favorite cotton shorts before dragging a brush through my dripping hair.
When my hair is falling in wet rivulets over my shoulders I finally exhale, feeling a small sense of peace settle over my ragged, frayed nerves. I risk a glance at the mirror hung on my wall and startle at my reflection. My eyes are hard, but the violet has never looked brighter and somehow the effect is startling, almost inhuman. My appearance reflects how I feel inside. I don’t recognize myself. I don’t know if that’s because I’ve spent the night pretending to be someone else, or if it’s simply because I’m losing sight of who I am. All the hiding, all the lying and pretending, it’s too much.
I love my sister, I love my parents, but tonight really showed me how much they’ve changed in the pursuit of this money. Do they even recognize themselves?
Crawling into bed, I reach for my headphones and slide them on, selecting a playlist from my iPad and pressing play. I might not have any need for a fancy cell phone, but music is my weakness, my escape, and right now I need to be moved, be centered, be calmed, and this is the perfect way to do it.
Carrigan must have returned from wherever she’d been at some point during the night, but when I went down for breakfast the next day, neither she nor my parents offered an explanation as to her absence the night before. I wish I could say I shouted and railed about what I’d endured at the Lexingtons’ while I was pretending to be her, but almost as soon as I sat down to eat, both her and Mom announced they were going shopping for the following weekend’s sailing trip and were gone before I had a chance to argue. Dad disappeared a couple of minutes later and I was alone, again.
