Page 69 of Viparious

I take a step back away from the smell of sugar and chocolate, but it isn’t enough. The boy who died wants to know why when I could give him the reason, but he speaks through me as he asks the decrepit bitch, “Was it all worth it? The money? The parties you’d throw?”

I walk around the table as I speak to get away from the smell, but it follows me, mixing with smoke as I pull the chair back with my foot and take a seat. My hands land heavy on the wood. They’re swollen, covered in so much blood I can’t even make out the images inked on them.

The bitch pretends to care as she gasps around her tears. My face pinches in disgust at the bullshit and she makes no attempts to cover her nasty fucking body, but I don’t look anywhere apart from her eyes.

“Did you have a child just to sell them?”

It’s the only conclusion I can come to. She hated my existence for as long as I can remember. She never touched me in the way normal mothers would. The old me, the dead version, once sought comfort from her and the price of that comfort was being violated. Any recognition I got was simply an employer telling their worker they’d done a good job. None of her actions fit her role and opening her legs doesn’t make her a mother.

The spoon is held limply in her hand and the true evil nature of her is shown as she answers, “I wasn’t aware they were a commodity before you.”

A commodity.

Raw material.

To be bought and sold.

She sits taller when I don’t say anything. Mistaking my silence for weakness as always, she opens her mouth again.

“You enjoyed it after a while. When they weren’t just using you. I helped you. I let them make you feel good in return.”

“You helped me?”

She’s fucking crazy. Sick and insane. Not only that, she also has the audacity to look incredulous as though my tone is the issue. Before she can spew more shit, I ask, “How did you help me?” Her mouth opens but I continue. “You didn’t exactly lube me the fuck up. The only thing you have ever cared about is yourself. Now, eat. Your. Fucking. Cake.”

Fuck her, it’s not worth the conversation and I push back from the table. The chair hits the tiled floor, splintering on impact and her gulp is audible as she restarts the journey of the spoon.

The lighter fluid is kept in the same place, always five bottles of it, and I grab it from under the sink. Any alcohol I can find is next. Len wanted to burn my wife, now his will go up in fucking flames. She splutters and chokes, ingesting the contents as I douse her while she has her fucking cake. The same reaction I have when it’s nothing but a dessert.

I pause as it hits me that this bitch will know all of her husband’s secrets.

“Where are the recordings?”

She looks up, and I grimace as the alcohol has rinsed some of the blood off her naked body. Hope stares back at me and she drops the spoon, eager to stay alive. Her eyes don’t open fully with the fumes of the accelerant sticking to her lashes and her words rush together.

“Buried in the ground, near the old house. The churchyard.”

Anika abruptly stops talking and her eyes go to the side, realizing her mistake. Her breathing shallows more than the fear I instilled in her. That motherfucker, he knew where Vanya was and used her resting place to hide his fucking leash over me.

My arm cocks back, hurt powering the movement as I swing into her jaw and the crack is instantaneous. Blood pours from her mouth, mixing with spit and she smacks her head off the table. I don’t carry a lighter and turn to grab one as she mumbles, dazed, attempting to flee.

“He moved her.”

I fucking knew it. They were always going to take her from me, even in death. But the holes didn’t go deep enough. She’s okay, she’s still sleeping. Vanya is okay.

* * *

I watchthe heart monitors as I sit at Inessa’s beside, rather than the side of her face that’s all bruised. They’re not supposed to be hooked up, but I need proof they’re both alive. She’s already eight months pregnant. I kept myself away for eight months and I never tainted a single waking moment so she would be safe. Our baby had been growing safely before all this shit and there’s only a few weeks left until she’ll be in the world.

My hand stretches out, wanting to feel her move but my skin doesn’t touch.I can’t ruin them more than I have.I’ve spent three days removing anyone who could possibly harm them, allowing everyone to see what I’ve done to prevent anyone even having the thought of getting near either of them. They’ll be safe even though they’re my weakness, both of them will exist and I’ll only ever have their nights to watch over them.

Inessa is exhausted and hasn’t even made a murmur for the three hours I’ve been sitting here watching them both, so I allow my lips to move. Disuse weakens my voice as I watch her swollen stomach.

“Prosti, moya malen’kaya koroleva1.”

Like she can hear me, the monitor beeps and Inessa’s belly moves under the shadow of my hand. All it would take is closing the millimeter of space, but I can’t. My hands are still pink, stained in blood, and they’re swollen to over double their size. She doesn’t deserve a violent hand, before birth or after.

My head lowers, giving her the respect she deserves as I move closer. Each word that leaves me brushes the back of my swollen hand.

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