Chapter 11 - Kink and Clink
880 Words
Chapter 11 – Kink and Clink
Her cat eyes examine him as he puffs a smoking bong.
His grin looks that of devil incarnate; pompous, evil, and smut.
He makes threads of smoke smolder from the sides of his mouth.
Heresy… indeed it is. A sacrilegious bond they never tire of overseeing.
Portentous wisps of smoke gather to turn into ominous clouds atop their heads. Alas, they are in limbo. Their souls wallow in the hell they have created on earth; a piece of desecrated heaven that houses no angels, but demons. They sit idly in a Victorian Rose sofa. Hand in hand they relax and appreciate the expanse that is Goldenpond.
Their eyes glisten as they peer through the window’s expanse. They have imaginings of a life not of their own, yet they have come to love. Theirs is a dream born out of nightmares, peril, and lust. They look at each other like it is serendipitous. A union made by chance, not of choice.
“Is there a cure?” Moreau asks him as he puffs smoke.
“Yes.”
“I am told nothing existed.”
“You’re told, but you’ve a mind that thinks otherwise.”
“True. Does it really exist, Harkidte? Or are you toying with me to keep me going?”
“Both.”
“Again, Setkas, does it really exist?”
“It does in my garden.”
“What is it then?”
“Chocolate.”
“You mean cocoa granules.”
“Same difference,” he breathes expressionless.
“That’s stupid, Harkidte,” she shakes her head.
Perversion tugs the side of his lips, “Do you see me feed on women?”
She gives it thought, “Oh, you cheeky little— Is that why we do not have coffee and tea?”
He nods conspiratorially, “And those too. I made certain not to leave a trace of caffeine. It is panacea when synthesized.”
“I see. You, together with Drake, Nikolai, and Ari, the four of you, all of you have kept this secret from us.”
“The best ventures are the ones that mix pleasure with business, my love,” He tightens his hold on her, “Besides, chocolate can be better than s*x sometimes.”
She squints then scoffs, “Hardly. I don’t necessarily agree. I still think it is stupid, but cheers to that.”
Together with the clinking of glasses comes the sound of coin and groin. Their imaginings stretch and leap beyond the sullied walls of the estate. They have come to love the harlotry that is the Back Alley Cats Pub. They succumb to years of debauchery of which are not of their accord, yet they have loved like it was their own.
“Have you recorded everything you needed?”
“Yes Gran. I have.”
“What will you call your book?”
“Back Alley Cats…”
“Hmm … Yes. I like that. You have my approval, my dear. Have the papers bound. Once casted and compiled, we shall have it beside the other Ruptured paraphernalia.”
“Gran…”
“Yes dearie?”
“Will I do the same?”
“We have no choice, my child.”
“I understand.”
All chapters in and I’m all grown up. I wrote this book to remind me of my gratuitous journey through adolescence. My name is Lucky. You met me when I told you that I live on this island. And yes, I was with you as I narrated every chapter with my Gran, Madame Moreau Verseilles.
I remember fondly the Rabbit and the Regent from Granny’s two-way mirror. They are a lovely specimen. I had a lot of fun watching them in the Royalty Suite. You remember when I needed help with my homework and Felicia came to my aid? We got to talking about love, but you were too shy to provide an answer. I helped decorate the Howling Room during the Regent’s ball too. And most recently, you may remember me as the lady snipping belladonnas and aconitums.
My mother died giving birth to me. Gran Moreau took me as her own kin. She was inconsolable when my mother died. Since then she hated newborns, especially the unwarranted ones, for she is reminded of what she had lost. Over time she learned to soften up and move on. I guess I helped her cope by encouraging her maternal instincts to flourish and grow.
Accept my apology for not disclosing my name early. I do remember leaving you clues along the way, have I not? Oh and guess what? Today is my seventeenth birthday. And … oh my, what is this? Hmm … I just had this now. Oh no. But I— I drink my medicine for this not to happen. I guess there is nothing Gran Moreau could have done, or could do to delay this inevitability.
“Hey Gran? Gran Moreau?”
“Hello dear. How have you been?”
“I am good, Gran. Guess what?”
“What is it my little angel?”
“I just bled.”
~FIN~
- Writer
