Beautiful Revenge

by John Forrester

  There is a place now that I desire to flee, a place of warmth and comfort, wrapped in Keary’s strong, taut arms, enveloping me in his kindness. I reject the panic that spreads over me like a whirlwind, strike down the terror of malicious shadow hands reaching out from the barn’s black corners, and instead I gaze into Keary’s eyes, so full of love and adoration.

  “Isn’t he beautiful, Clarise?” Phillip’s normally clear voice sounds mottled and stretched, like he’s unconvinced by what he says. I wish my brother would go away and leave me alone with Keary.

  But Keary is indeed beautiful, skin luminescent, hair silky and sexy, eyes radiant and tender. His lips meld on to mine, and it feels like my lips are perched on porcelain warmed by bitter tea. I taste him, probing deeper, and feel myself being drawn into him, his hands lifting my hips over his. Out of the corner of my eye I see Miette (her head is a cute piglet now) undressing Sabine (she’s an antelope with furry ears), who pants as Zachary (he’s now an angel with a sword between his legs) plays light notes with his tongue (a black, curled, snake) on Sabine’s nipple.

  I groan as I feel Keary’s hands glide down under my dress and pause to rub circles around my breasts, gripping them tenderly at first, then eagerly with insatiable movements. Sabine squeals as Zachary pours liquid from his silver flask onto her stomach, licking listlessly and pulling Miette’s head to join him in feasting on Sabine’s stomach. Zachary pauses to kiss Miette deeply for a long moment, then lifts Sabine up to join them: kissing, stroking, sighing.

  The world ebbs and flows like the ocean washing over my view. One moment I hear the chorus of love all around me, and the next I hear the silence of the cold field outside. Soon I’m drifting into that sea, a passage into emptiness, a curiosity possessing me, discovering the delightful unknown.

  Keary’s tongue on my neck snaps my attention back to his whispering lips. I hear undecipherable words, and sense the fragrance and heat of his masculinity. As the air around his now shimmering form coalesces into a hard, urgent body, I see Therese’s ivory hands slither (white snakes with red eyes) around his waist and reach down into his pants. I’m angry, but at Phillip’s soothing voice in my ear, telling me to love all beautiful things, I only frown as Therese’s doll eyes (red slits) rise to study mine. Her lips travel Keary’s shoulder, his neck, down his chest, her hand pushing his body down. She crawls onto him, naked (her body is grotesque, warped, like an elephantine woman). Phillip’s hands caress her breasts (mounds of jiggling mud), and then her fingers slowly unbutton Keary’s pants.

  “Therese…wait, no.” Phillip’s voice is low and slurred, and he reaches out to touch her shoulder, but she ignores him completely.

  Sabine cries out in pain and delight, a shrill, desperate scream, and I swivel my eyes around to see Zachary’s sleek, toned body mounted behind hers, his hands grasping around her lithe hips, pulling her insistently back into him. In the space between their slow movements, I gape at the rigidity of his cock as he rubs her wetness, pausing to feel her before he again thrusts deep inside. My lips lick unconsciously and my mouth is dry staring at them, and I find my hand probing down between my legs, fingertips finding a soft moistness waiting.

  Keary makes a low, shuddering moan. I turn slowly, curious, my vision suddenly clear despite the drug, and something momentarily spikes through me as I see Therese’s head mounted over Keary’s crotch, her ass facing Keary’s scrunched face, her breasts bouncing up and down rhythmically as she sucks frantically on his big, beautiful cock. I marvel at its beauty. Therese seems to have a difficult time with it, only able to mount halfway down the length, but she tries so determinedly to bring him higher and higher into a frenzied state of stimulation.

  I shove her out of the way, furious for what she’s doing to Keary. She glances at me with a huff and crawls over towards Phillip. He opens his mouth to say something to her, but then stops, still upset at Therese’s betrayal. Hatred builds in my drugged mind, at Therese for her seduction, at Keary for not resisting, and especially at Phillip for creating this whole mess in the first place.

  When Phillip turns away from Therese, his arm is pulled aside by tender Miette, who embraces him, rubbing a chubby hand along Phillip’s bare back, keeping his eyes away from Therese. My brother takes a giant drink from Zachary’s silver flask, and then buries himself in Miette’s soft arms, her whispers of comfort and affirmation filling the space between them.

  I return my gaze to Keary. I gape, hurt and seething, at the vivid expression of embarrassment and self-loathing on Keary’s face. After a long while staring at him, unable to break my gaze, I taste the salty wetness on my lips from my tears. Keary’s anguished eyes close, ashamed, as his hands reach down to yank up his disheveled pants.

  I notice Therese snapping her hair up and around like blades, eyes fixed on the hunt, first on Phillip dismissively, and then she zeroes in on Zachary’s engorged cock teasing and playing with Sabine’s hungry pussy. Her spindly spread legs are aimed straight into the air, like soldiers saluting.

  Therese crawls towards Zachary, on the prowl, eyes a predator, then she transforms into a tigress, a throaty growl playing on her lips. Her sleek, seductive figure stalks up to Zachary, wrapping tentacled arms around his sweaty body. He breaks his attention from torturing Sabine, turns towards Therese, who locks her mouth in suction around Zachary’s quivering lips. The fucking whore.

  Sabine pouts, lowers her legs, eyes longing for Zachary’s disappeared stimulation.

  “Why did I let her do that?” Keary whispers to himself, hands seizing his scalp. I want to strangle him for what he’s done, but instead I rub his shoulder, feeling pity for his shame. His eyes, full of wonder and remorse, catch mine for a second. My fingers linger on his body for a moment as I stare in amazement at the shimmering scales spreading across his skin. He turns his head towards me, and I stifle a scream at his reptilian face: a tiny, split tongue darting out of his thin, scaly mouth, and his unblinking yellow, slit eyes.

  “Clarise. I wanted you instead.” His voice is hissing and slurred.

  A frightful shock lances through my body, and turning to flee, I find enormous snakes writhing on the blankets, and a red moon outside bathes the landscape in blood. I stumble across the blankets and hay-strewn barn floor until I reach the ladder and climb down. Then I race towards the exit and open the door.

  When I lean against the weathered wood to catch my breath, I gaze out at a horrific sight: a blood mist is falling from the blood-red moon, falling, falling into the opens mouths of grotesque monsters sitting on their haunches, howling and singing praises to their mother—the mother of shadows, the mother of death. At the sound of the barn door creaking, perhaps my weight creating the noise, the monster’s glowing yellow eyes turn at once to stare hungrily at my flesh.

  CHAPTER 7

  AN ANIMISTIC FRIGHT scourges my insides, terrorizing my legs into action. Instead of retreating into the barn’s open jowls, the image of my father flashes in my mind’s eye, of Harris House, of warmth and safety, of happy times with mother when I was little and cradled in her arms. So I dash off to the side, away from the chasing creatures, and out into the blood-moonlit night.

  My heart is hammering in my chest as my feet fly over ground swirling in shadows. Ancient, rotting hands reach up through mist, trying to grasp my ankles. I leap, I soar, I glide rapturously through the air. The night is my cold companion against the hideous things summoned to life by the sinister moon. In my breathless flight, staring in awe at the retreating landscape, I find solace in the silence wrapping around me like a bubble. I spread my fingers wide like a web, and beams of blinding light sear the shadows, igniting the ground below into a scintillating mass of smoke and flame and ash rising like incense to dark gods.

  My body unfolds like a butterfly’s wings, and my arms are radiant and stark. The white linen dress catches the wind and flutters around my figure, but the heat rising like an inferno under my skin cascades tiny spirals of flames from my pores and instantly incinera
tes my dress as if leaving behind an old shell. The heat subsides¸ tempered by the wind’s gentles caress. Its invisible fingers arouse my nipples and the avenue between my legs, and tiny kisses spread across the sensitive place atop my feet.

  In my power and magnificence, the moon’s light changes to gold, and I, the inheritor of Harris House, the queen and conqueror of the night, drift lazily to the earth. Keary is there, his glistening, naked arms awaiting my embrace. My breath catches in my chest at his beauty, his apologetic eyes, his uncertain smile, and my hand reaches out, fingers burrowing into his ruffled hair.

  His cool skin is heavenly against my chest, and I can feel the avalanche of his skin moving down as our bodies press together: his chest, his tensed stomach, his erect cock against my abdomen.

  “Why did you let that bitch do that?” My voice is full of jealousy and loathing.

  Keary opens his mouth to speak, his lips moving in passionate conversation, but no sound enters my ears. I scowl, angry, wanting to hear his words of apology, but I hear nothing at all.

  “Clarise, look at me.” It’s Phillip’s voice from faraway. Where is my brother? Why can’t Keary speak?

  I twist my head around, searching for Phillip, but only see a haze of amber velvet. When I turn back to Keary, whose arms still embrace me, I see Zachary’s face instead, flushed, sweaty, panting, mouth sucking on my neck, his hips dry-humping the empty space between us.

  “What the fuck!” I say, shoving Zachary away from me. I gaze down at his cock: there is no blood; I’m still intact.

  My mind sharpens instantly; the world comes into clear view. I see Phillip’s concerned eyes staring at mine, Keary rubbing his head as if in pain, and Miette on all fours, snuffling along the straw-strewn floor like a pig probing for truffles.

  Phillip’s mouth breaks into a worried smile as he holds my hand. “You okay?”

  “Jesus, Phillip. Am I okay? How the hell did I get entangled with Zachary like that?” I rub my head as flashes of silver and gold light shower the room.

  “One minute you were on the floor mumbling to a blanket, and the next thing I know”—he wipes his eyes, tearful—“you were shoving Therese off Zachary.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “And to think I actually had feelings for that bitch.”

  “Well, what about me? She practically jumped Keary; it’s so fucked up.” Everything was completely messed up tonight. I glower at Therese, glance at a pitchfork on the wall, and delight in the fantasy of prongs piercing her back, lines of blood dripping down her perfect skin. Fucking slut.

  I give Phillip a venomous look. “I want to go home. You can deal with this mess.” I exhale forcefully, feeling disgusted and dirty at the same time, just like I imagine my mother feels after sucking some random stranger’s cock in a public bathroom.

  “What a shitty way to start the summer.”

  Phillip’s eyes hold a pained expression like I’ve struck him on the face. He reaches out to comfort me but I just slap his hand aside. This time, when I really leave, despite the gaudy moon, the night is dark as hell.

  In the aftermath of the incident, I refuse to speak to Phillip, and refuse to see Keary. My parents predictably make up; they practically swoon in each other’s presence, acting like I’d imagined acting with Keary all summer. Keary writes me a lovely letter apologizing for what had happened that night in the barn, and how he really cared for me, and how he hoped we could still be friends. The letter is beautifully written, so much so that it brings me to tears, but I burn it anyway, and see Therese’s wicked smile in the flames.

  I want to kill the bitch so bad it burns in my clenched fists. Should I poison her or strangle her with her own pants, those same slutty white pants she wore on that night? In this sleepy town, where the people are busy getting drunk all summer, do they really care about a little murder? Poison would steal the satisfaction of watching her die a slow, agonizing death. So I decide that strangulation is the best approach: to gaze into her bulging, bloated eyes, red with blood from her tourniqueted neck.

  My door slams open, and Phillip trots inside and flings himself on to my bed. He exhales a long, heavy sigh, and glances up at me.

  “I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Go away, Phillip.” Even though I’m pissed at him, I want him to stay.

  “No, seriously. Therese is totally on top of my shit list.”

  And on my to-kill list. “Can we not talk about her?”

  “I know, she’s a ghetto tramp…back-alley rape bait.”

  “Eww. Just stop already.” That wasn’t a bad idea.

  “She’d probably enjoy that, actually. I can imagine her going through a whole gang of gangsters. Suck, fuck, suck, fuck, all night long.”

  “I want to kill her.” My tone comes out too low, too authentic, and too filled with emotion.

  Phillip touches my arm, sadness twisting his face. “She hurt you…just like she hurt me a long time ago. I never should have let her come along with us that night, I never should have let her do what she did.”

  Then why the fuck did you? I know my stare is too harsh, because my brother covers his face with his beautiful hands, rubs his eyes, then leans over and falls into my arms. I stupidly comfort him, patting his back like a baby, all the while wishing this were all a bad dream.

  If that were only true.

  In the dead hour past midnight, as a summer storm dumps rain showers, I wake from the sound of the trellis outside my window shaking and the wisteria vines rustling. I rise, peering into the murky darkness, and see a shape stalking towards my window. My heart flutters and races as I see eyes noticing mine. I push back from the window just as I realize the figure outside is Keary.

  He raps softly on the glass, a sad and apologetic knock, as quiet and lonely as his letter. At once my body responds, my tingling skin betraying my critical mind, and the butterflies in my stomach propel me forward to unlock the door.

  His hair is a wet mop drenched from the rain, his chin hanging down to his chest, and his eyes considering the floor. I tell him to come inside and get out of the rain, and he obeys, splattering drops of water and ruining the hickory floor.

  He’s shivering.

  “Go take a bath. I’ll steal you some clothes from Phillip.” Even though Keary is a year younger than Phillip, they’re practically the same size. I motion him towards the bathroom that’s connected to my room, and peek down the hallway, hoping no one heard Keary come inside.

  Phillip is snoring softly, his hands raised in the air, moving as if he’s caressing a lover. I smile, feeling compassion for his idiocy, knowing that all boys are just babies trying to regain the sense of comfort they once had drinking their mother’s milk. It’s impossible to stay angry with him.

  I quietly rummage through his closet, selecting jeans, a white t-shirt, and my favorite, an old gray cashmere sweater with a top zipper that I used to love playing with as Phillip and I would sit together on the couch, listening to Nina Simone late at night in Father’s study. Phillip smacks his lips together and turns over, moaning and inhaling a deep breath. I freeze for a fleeting moment; my muscles tensed, then relax as Phillip returns to his adorable snoring.

  Damn. I hate him and love him at the same time.

  Back in my room, the light pouring underneath the bathroom door blinds me, sending my eyes to flee towards the milky darkness outside, a burned slice filling the lower part of my vision. Keary flicks off the light, and the smell of shea butter and coconut floods my nostrils as he opens the door. I can see a towel wrapped around his waist, but my eyes quickly settle on the floor as I stride over and hand him the clothes. He thanks me and the bathroom door closes again. My body instantly misses the feeling of his presence near me. I hate my aroused skin; I hate how it’s shoving the anger out of my mind.

  I forgive him without a word being spoken from his lips.

  He shuffles into the room, his sad eyes daring a glance at mine, his face melting into redemption at my now accepting expression. He ope
ns his mouth to speak, but I raise a finger to my lips to stop him.

  “It’s okay, Keary. We don’t need to talk about it.” My voice is a strangled whisper. I motion him towards the two chairs facing the fireplace, and tell him I’m cold.

  He bends down and assembles a stack of wood, kindling, and newspaper, inspects the flue, and then strikes a match that sears my vision in a brilliant blaze of light. Heat floods my face as I settle into the chair, admiring Keary’s expert skills at coaxing the fire to life. I ignore the image of him and that slut, and shake my head until the pictures fly into the fire.

  A gulp of air rushes into my lungs, and Keary’s concerned eyes glance at mine before turning back to the low, crackling flames. He brushes his hands as if satisfied by his work, and leans back into the cozy chair.

  We sit like that for a long while, staring into the fire, mesmerized by the dancing flames. My heart cools under the heat, tension possessing the room, and each thought, each doubt, I toss into the flames, and let the disintegrating force purify me of malice. A cascade of crackles and pops startles us into wakefulness; a shower of sparks bounces off the brick walls of the fireplace. The sound of Keary’s murmuring voice reverberates through my body.

  “When I close my eyes, I can still see and feel the rain pouring down, drenching me.”

  I close my eyes, as if obeying a hypnotist, and see rain flooding my vision. “Rain dancing on the surface of the stormy ocean…a boat drifting.”

  As if reading my mind, and seeing the same sight, Keary tells me that the boat is lost at sea, and there is a man desperate and shivering. So I follow his gaze with my own mind, and at once, the two of us are together, flying over the ocean, my hand gripping his. I can still feel the heat of the fire radiating on my knees and on my face, but my mind is off together with his, soaring through the night.