+ Beldam : The Roses +
Writing Prompt: Yes
Date: 3rd Dec 2021
Don’t get to close too that garden that she’s growing
Yeah, there’s a spider in the roses
She’s so beautiful, yeah and she knows it
But there’s a spider in the roses.
// Fight Tower – Holiday Party – Outside Valet \\
++As the Rolls Royce came to a stop, my legs swung out of the opened door. My gold serpent gladiator sandals pressed flat against the pavement as I fully stepped out, the gold chiffon cape attached to my shoulders fell to the ground. I turned to my immediate left and stood there, awe struck at the sight. Santa was assaulting Dave. Well at first I felt utter outrage. Dave is a precious commodity that should be protected at all cost! He is too pure for this world. As a Dave Stan I immediately felt the urge to pull a knife from my shoe and go shake that fat jolly cunt. It was then that Santa body slammed Dave onto the hood of someone’s Range Rover, hopefully it belonged to PMont. He looks like the type of douche that would drive a Range Rover. My driver had already taken his leave, I couldn’t blame him. The awful sight of seeing poor Dave assaulted by that consumerist cuck was too much to bear. I kept telling myself as I quietly skirted past the two combatants that someone REALLY should do something about this. As I edged toward the door I turned my head to see Dave get curb stomped off the bumper of someones low rider and I couldn’t help but wince and gasp. That’s American fucking steel! Not that cheap aluminum and fiberglass garbage! Again I thought to myself, someone should DO something! Why is nobody coming to help poor Dave! I showed my credentials to the security and remarked to a large meat head that looked like he could tear concrete in half that++
Elizabeth: Someone should REALLY help him, you know?
He looked up from his cellphone, live streaming the whole scene, along with about 20 other people in the vicinity; “Yeah I know, I said the SAME thing! Someone HELP him! Oh hey! 5000 likes!
Elizabeth: Congrats! Keep up the good work! Oh! Oh dear God, I think Santa just tried to violate him with a candy cane…the selfishness of some people huh? Just going to let Santa do that to him.
++We both shook our heads in disgust that NOBODY would help Dave! What is the world coming too? As I began to head to the elevators, I heard glass break and strained to see what poor Dave was having to endure now. Santa had rammed his head through the passenger side window of an Audi. OH THE HUMANITY!!!!++
“Oh! This is my floor!”
// Six Hours Earlier \\
// Boston, Mass – Beacon Hill – Myrtle Street \\
Elizabeth: No Eric. I don’t want to go. I have no interest in trying to hobnob with people I barely tolerate on a weekly basis. Besides, I’m not very fond of the Holiday season. I know you are excited but I really would rather just stay here in front of this fireplace, with you, having a party for two. There is nothing that I will miss by not going. It just isn’t worth the effort.
Eric: That’s exactly why you need to go man. They won’t expect you. Like feel me for a second babygirl, they KNOW you hate them. I mean besides that awesome Brandon dude and his girl, you hate them and they all hate you, right?
She was exasperated as she replied; “Yeah yeah, so what about it?”
His face became more animated, like he had solved life itself; “So go. Ruin their evening. They don’t want you to show up and they don’t expect you to show up man so go anyways. Show up LATE even. Trick em! I can go with you to keep you company?
++More and more he was surprising me. His plan was delicious and I detected no lies. They did not expect me to show. I had heard the general consensus from staff at the event and within the tower. Sarah had called me to give me the heads up. She was a good friend. I valued her more than maybe she realized. I just hoped someday down the line we could reunite and have the pleasure of working together again. I sat on a white fur rug on the floor in front of him. He was running his fingers through my long silky hair. The dye had faded some and it was time for a touch up but at the same time I kind of enjoyed the new muted color. Maybe just a little longer. I took a toke off my bong and closed my eyes as his fingers massaged my scalp and the back of my head. The repeated motion of his nimble fingers caressing them was almost as soothing and mind numbing as the weed. He was coming down from a trip and was heavy into texture so he played with my hair to fulfill the need. There was another reason I didn’t want to go though. A bigger more important reason. Eoin had been calling non-stop. Phone calls, texts, DM’s, even a few emails. We left France before he could land. By the time he realized I bamboozled him, we were back in the states. I knew he was coming, I feared he was here. I feared he would be there as a last ditch attempt to confront me. I knew I couldn’t run forever, but I just wanted a little more breathing room. Everything got quiet until he moved some hair behind my ear and the tone of his voice changed. The feeling of his touch changed. I closed my eyes and hung my head++
Eric: It hurts me when I see you like this. He’s so fucking DUMB sometimes. But you can’t keep feeling bad because you’re in love with my brother and not me..
++He kissed the top of my head and titled it back so I was looking up at him++
Eric: I love…being with you. Being around you. You’re funny and crazy and you make me feel good. You keep things so weird and I love that so much. I love getting high with you. Some of the fucking theories we have came up with have blown even my own mind, babe. And the sex…just holy shit. The sex is REALLY fucking wicked, swear to God. But nobody could ever love me…so I don’t expect you too. I love what we have, but I also know your heart belong to him even if he doesn’t fucking deserve it.
Elizabeth: I can’t love anyone. At least not the way they want me too. I love him…in my own way. I love you, in my own way. You ARE loveable and WORTH love, the problem with me is, my love language is never easy to understand so things end up getting fucked up. I do love you Eric. I just…miss him. I miss what he and I had. And it makes me so angry because he DOESN’T deserve it, in fact the exact opposite and yet, I miss him.
Eric: So go. Let’s go. He wants to kick my ass, he’s been sending me texts for two weeks now about how when he gets his hands on me he’s going to fuck me up, let’s make him put up or shut up. Don’t you want an explanation babe? Don’t you want to confront him? Also ALSO also also also also also…..if a fight breaks out, all the attention will be on YOU. That will TOTALLY fucking ruin everyone elses night. Cmon..think of it?
++I took another hit and ran it through my head. He was right. It was a golden opportunity. Eric could send Eoin a text saying I was at the party, Eoin would show up, and I would show up late and..a Grinch like smile crept across my lips as I clasped my hands together and tapped the fingertips, the nails clicking as the tips collided++
Elizabeth: Eric, you sexy sexy man, I love you. That idea is perfect. You can text him that I’m going to be at the party, obviously he will show up, but like you suggested, go late. Keep him waiting and stewing. By the time we do get there he will be sloshed and then you can make him eat his words. You’re sober, he’ll be completely knackered. Easy enough for you hm? Then I can confront him about what he did to me. All the while, the cellphones will be pointed at us, the room invested in what is going on. Talk about not only ruining their nights but stealing their thunder. I have just the thing to wear too. His favorite gown. With a small addition.
++Excitedly I sat up and turned around on my thick ass to stare up at him. I crossed my legs and leaned back on my hands, palms against the floor as I watched his eyes wander down to my barely covered chest. The satin lace cami didn’t leave much to the imagination. Still, I looked up at him, and watched as he sat back getting comfortable, most likely expecting a rogue blow job, but no this was way more important++
Elizabeth: You remember that sequin tuxedo jacket you bought in the West End? The one I thought was SO super fucking tacky and loved it? Wear that for me. That jacket with the shiny metallic silver disco pants. And the blue suede shoes. Go ham on it. I want them to see how fucking fashionable and ahead of the trend you are. Meanwhile, I need something from you for the dress. It is very important and I am serious when I ask you this…I need something of yours or your dads that somehow is tied to your heritage…as a Libby. I know you didn’t tell Eoin all of the momentos that you kept because I know you idolized your dad. I..
++When did juggling men become so hard? Eric has his own way about him that I truly did love. He made me feel alive and young again. Sure that made me a cougar but so fucking what? It didn’t bother him. In fact it turned out he was INTO MILF’s to begin with. Mommy Milkers appeal to everyone. Facts. The weird shit we did together kept things new and interesting. I DID love him, so I wanted him to feel wanted and loved. I exhaled and pursed my lips++
Elizabeth: I feel that, if you are going to accompany me as my date and since we are together in a semi-type of officiality that I would like to add a personal touch to my attire to showcase that. I need something of you that shows I am being escorted by someone from the House of Libby. Eoin chose the O’Rourke family, which means he has a clan Tartan that I would either have pinned to me, or a strip of it braided into my hair. I still do in fact. I have been meaning to get it removed, soon. You are a Libby, and from what I can find there is no Tartan for your people as their origin is British. You have a coat of arms but it is a bit too late to get one of those right now to attach, so is there something you have?
Eric: You want to tell all of them you’re there WITH me? Why? I’m there with YOU aren’t I?
She laughed, a little giggle; “Oh Eric, it’s a rich person thing. It’s something I would like to include you in. Will you?”
He got that ah ha moment face and grinned; “Yeah! Sure! Um..well I mean you’re right I didn’t tell Eoin everything I kept but I don’t think there are like any Family Heirlooms or anything. I just have scraps I’ve collected over the years…
++Modern problems require modern solutions. His dad was a deadbeat and probably didn’t leave much behind in his wake except broken dreams and regrets. But his mother was a different story. I had been waiting for the right time to tell him and I guess now was better than later. I laid my head on his lap, as I snuggled between his legs++
Elizabeth: What about your mom?
His face began to turn down, a remorseful look in his eyes; “I don’t know…anything. I only know where she is buried because of you! I wish…I knew something. Anything.
Elizabeth: O’Neill. Your mothers last name was O’Neill. She was the daughter of a housewife and a car salesman. Her father went to prison when she was five because he was caught, along with three others, of embezzling money from the dealership and other various clubs and businesses. Her mother was forced to move out of their Boston suburb and move back in with her own mother. Your mother was raised by her grandmother while her mother worked as a waitress in a restaurant. When your mom was eight, her mother didn’t come home. She never saw her again. Her body was found in an alley behind a bar, half naked, assaulted and strangled. Your mother was raised by your great grandmother until she died in her sleep, of an accidental dose of sleeping pills. Your mother was twelve. She became a ward of the state after that. We know how it ended. I know this is a lot to process, and there is a lot more I want to tell you when you are ready, but there was an interesting detail I found out about your mom. Your grandmother, her mom, was part Wampanoag. She was a descendent of the Native tribe down in Martha’s Vineyard. That means…you…are too Eric. Would you like to honor her instead?
++I saw his eyes light up. They were wide and misty. It took a lot of favors and research of my own but I was able to research who his mother was. The other side of his identity that he wanted to know so much about. He sat forward, wiping both of his eyes and cupped my face, beaming from ear to ear++
Eric: You are so fucking beautiful. And awesome. And yes I want to know EVERYTHING but can we? Can we use her instead? What do I need to do?
Elizabeth: Well I think it might be cutting it close, but I think we can find something meaningful to add. We’re not that far from Martha’s Vineyard and I think maybe a headband would be appropriate. I have an idea, I will pack the dress and my supplies in a travel case, we’ll drive down there and see what we can find, the curator down there helped me compile your mothers native american side, so I think she’d be the perfect place to start. Game plan?
Eric: Fucking yeah it’s a plan! This is so exciting, oh my God, oh my God. I don’t know why you want to help me with this or even care about me giving you something to wear but, let’s do thissssssssss. I’ll go take a shower, use the good fancy soap! Want to smell good.
++He got up, excited, and made his way to the bedroom we shared. I clamored up off the floor and followed close behind, the pads of my bare feet clapping against the hardwood floor. I heard the shower turn on by the time I hit the bedroom door, then stopped shaking my head as he started playing Sublime as he scrubbed down. I walked towards the closet and opened it, pulling out a dress bag and putting it up on a high hook near my dressing area. I loved loft apartments. As I pulled the zipper down, gold material peeked out. I slid my hand in pulling out the gold lame gown, hanging it on the hook just over the mirror. My fingers lightly cascaded down the material as a sinister smirk formed at the corner of my mouth. Eoin always loved that dress. Seemed the big lug had a soft spot for old movies and Cleopatra was one of them. I mean I couldn’t blame him it was also on my favorite movie list. I also knew why he loved seeing me in it. A single scene where cesar and Cleopatra share a lustful scene together in which she declares; “My hips are rounded and well apart. Such women, they say, have sons.”. His hunger for her after that moment you could feel. He saw me much the same way. His Cleopatra. His own Aphrodite. A girl could get used to that and I did. The last time I wore that dress Eoin pulled me away from the hustle and noise at an event, just to have a single moment of risky but ultimately rewarding pleasure. He did that a lot. Then that reality set in that those moments were gone and now he had some explaining to do. While Eric was singing terribly off key in the shower I sat down on the side of the bed, staring at it then down to the floor, mumbling to myself++
Elizabeth: It’s bad enough I have to be subjected to some bullshit Naughty List match with that fucking PMont, now Eric is SET on this. I mean he isn’t wrong, it might as well happen sooner than later with us having the advantage it’s just I don’t even want to be in the same god damn building as those people.
Though I find it ironic I’d end up in that kind of match with him of all people. I’m over it. Then again, maybe there is more truth in it than there appears. At the end of the day the reason we can’t stand each other is egoism. Plain and simple. I think he’s a pretentious, smug, metrosexual cuck who takes even himself way too seriously and he sees me as a slutty talentless cunt who has less value than dog shit on his shoe. He sees these matches as wastes of his time because he thinks he deserves opponents on his imaginary level of talent, and I see them as a waste of my time because he so badly wants me to be upset that he holds all those W’s over me, and he needs to add more to his collection and I just phone that fuckinig performance in because brother I get paid either way.
I respect his hustle though. How queer though that I can both hate his very existance, yet respect his craft. He’s done nothing to me or in front of me that I have not done myself. To hold a grudge because of his methods is just the pot calling the kettle black. I’ve done the very same. But IS it possible to hate and respect someone?
++I heard the water turn off and looked over my shoulder to see Eric come out of the bathroom, a towl being wrapped around his waist. He stopped in the doorway, pushing his long blonde hair to out of hise eyes++
Eric: Were you saying something babe?
Elizabeth: I was actually. Eric, do you think it is possible to both hate someone and respect them at the same time?
Eric: Um…maybe? Like I guess? I mean you can hate a persons shitty personality but respect that they help kitten shelters? So yeah. Yeah I guess maybe you can. Why?
Elizabeth: Paul Montouri. I think we all have that one rival in a company that you can just never get the best of. I think he may be mine. On one hand I know I should feel driven and determined TO beat him and change that but, I’m not. I’m okay with not being just good enough to get one over. In a way, he needs those W’s he’s holding over me because without them, he doesn’t have much else to hold over me. It would reduce our heat to the fact he wanted me to ride the Monty Python and I said NEE and called his mother a slutty hamster instead. Not to mention, the longer I go NOT beating him when the day comes that I finally do, the pay off would be monumental. PMont is my Leviathan. My mythical beast that bests me at every turn. Until one day I finally slay my dragon. I mean who doesn’t like a legend? I love a good long con. It all comes down to how you spin it Eric. You can make anything in that business work for you as long as you know who your target audience is and how to deliver it.
Besides, on a scale of people who I HAVE beaten through my career that are LIGHT YEARS better and more original than that long haired Joseph Seed looking fuck, he’s about a 2. Hell there are people I STILL haven’t beaten clean who are ten times the guy he is. Like I give a fuck if I can’t out pace him or pull a fast one. It’s all in the angle of the view and from where I’m sitting, he’s welcome for having me to use to pad his record. God help him if I ever decide to take a match with him seriously. Least the fuck he could do is send a bitch an Applebee’s gift card for helping him look good. Ain’t asking much, knowwhatimean?
Eric: So you hate him as a dude, and like I feel that cause he sounds like a super mega douche for real, but you also respect him because? You forget babe, I’m not a wrestler. I make people REALLY fucking happy for a living. Chemist? Yeah Chemist that’s it. I’m a “Chemist”. Go on though…
Elizabeth: I respect his career. What he does in the ring. I respect him as a colleague. I hate the man, but respect the name. There is a part of me that sees him as a standard and until I can beat him I have not yet met the standard. I know it sounds fucked but, I see the strengths and along with the weaknesses. I’d be pretty fucking stupid to let my personal opinion on someone get in the way of recognizing that they are using a method or a style that is new and I might want to adopt in some form. We ALL think we’re ALL the best of the best. I fucking love myself and think I’m the best fucking bitch that ever did fuck around. But I also recognize that I’m not the ONLY big bitch. I’m not the ONLY bad guy. Paul Montouri has his own brand of fuckery and swagger that can’t be ignored. Credit is due. So yeah I hate WHO he is, but I LOVE what he does. I’m the hater that’s a fan, I can only HOPE to achieve that same level of status.
Still fuck him.
++Eric had started getting dressed and noticed the gown and he stopped after he pulled the white shirt over his stomach, to admire it. I was looking for my cosmetic bag as he walked over and touched it++
Eric: It’s so beautiful. Gold like an Oscar! Or a statue! Or…an idol…
++I crept up behind him, makeup bag in hand, jeans on and drug my coffin shaped nail up the side of his neck and whispered++
Elizabeth: Forbidden Idol, even?
He shuddered; “Yeah. Just like that…forbidden.”
Elizabeth: I’m flattered. I’ll go grab my shirt and brush my teeth real quick, I booked a friend of mine near the Tower to do my makeup and our hair before we go to the party so let’s head down to Martha’s now. You want to drive? Your truck or my Fiat 500?
Eric: You’d let me drive the Fiat? Really?
Elizabeth: Sure! You passed your driving test, you’re legal to drive now and you are a safe driver so far so why not? I trust you.
Eric: Holy shit. This is going to be so fucking wicked awesome. I’ll go warm it up while you finish getting dressed. Oh! My suit!
Elizabeth: Go on Tater Tot, I’ll grab it with mine. Give me like five minutes.
++He stole a quick kiss and bolted to go get the Fiat ready. I shook my head and laughed to myself as he sprinted. I turned back towards the dress and my eyes narrowed++
Elizabeth: You decided you wanted to challenge me to my own game, Fella. My move.