Plot Twist.
05 November 2005, 01:09

India, December
Kristophe pushed his wineglass away. He certainly did not need any more, not if he was going to the party tomorrow night. He hadn't been invited, but he was indeed going. He would see this bitch that had displaced him. It was not losing Lucius that bothered him so; it was being tossed out of the man's bed like street trash that had cut him so deeply. He knew the relationship would not last. True, he had cared about Lucius, but he had not hoped of holding on to his heart. He never fooled himself in that respect. It was fun, that was all. Wasn't it? He knew in his heart of hearts that he could have cared. He envisioned his lover's hair, flowing loosely over his shoulders in dark waves, his deep brown eyes, piercing in their intensity, yet affectionate and soft when they rested on his own fair complexion. It had been nice. He scoffed at his own triteness. It had been better than nice. It had been amazing. It had touched his soul. And then, it had been ripped away as if it had not been there to begin with. He let his forehead fall into his hand, the dull smack sending blunted waves of pain throbbing through his brain. Yes, he had more than enough wine. He reached over, pouring himself a glass of water and drank it down, gasping for breath. He poured a second glass, planning to sip this in a more civilized fashion. Perhaps if he drank enough water, it would counteract the copious amounts of wine he had been consuming for the past few weeks. Thinking back, he seemed to calculate that he had been drinking steadily since he had heard the woman had planned a Christmas party to which most of India's high society had been invited, the obvious exception being himself. He did not know what he was planning on doing, but he would have his revenge.
"My love is vengeance..." he trailed off, his voice sounding thick, his words slurred. "My love is vengeance, and it shall visit you both." He staggered to bed, more drunk than he had realized, and fell upon it.
He ran his hands up Lucius' bare chest, tangling them in the chocolate locks he loved so well, pulling him close and inhaling deeply the familiar, spicy scent of sandalwood. Their mouths met, hot in their animalistic passion. Dull nails ran down his back, the sparks of pain arousing him further. Moans of approval driving one another further and further, a tangle of gripping hands and thrusting hips. Suddenly a cry of shock and Kristophe pulled away, fresh blood smeared across his lips. The fear in his partner's eyes was the only fuel he needed, and he wrapped his strong hands around Lucius' throat. He began to fight, and Kristophe was not strong enough to maintain his deadly hold. He didn't remember a knife being near by, but it was in his hands, and the fear was tangible. With no warning, he plunged it into the throat he had so often kissed. Again and again, the blood spurting in great waves that matched the rhythm of Lucius' heart beat. His struggling slowed, and he bled out, seeing only Christopher's soft smile as his vision faded.
Miles away, Lucius sat up in bed, panting and coughing. His hand flew to his throat and he looked around in confusion. He blinked away the fading remnants of the nightmare, lying back down. Lucy's hand crept back around him in her sleep and he pulled her to him tightly, drifting off once more in the security of her arms. In the morning, the pieces that had managed to cling to his memory were dismissed. As if Kris could even imagine doing something so...physical. Soft, golden Kris. He smiled, wondering what had made him dream something so completely ridiculous.
Stephen appeared in the shadows and glared at his uncle. He had been up with the dawn, and had appeared in his mother's room on a regular basis to see if she had any tasks or instructions for him. He knew there was to be a party tonight and he hoped he would not be forgotten. As he had expected, he had ceased to exist in his mother's eyes ever since they had arrived. He had watched as she had torn the household apart, only to rebuild it as she saw fit. She had hired a young English girl as her personal maid. Sarah was only 17 years old, smuggled here on a merchant ship in the hopes of marrying an officer, but arriving penniless and with no title to secure her a place in society, she began working in various pubs and boarding houses. She had just decided to begin selling her body when Lucy had hired her. She was proud of her new station. It was a strange household to be sure. She did not see the master of the house often, but she couldn't help but think that he was somehow related to her mistress. Yet they slept in the same bed every night. And the little boy, well, he was a quiet thing. One evening, she saw him coming out of Lucy's room with a scowl too severe for such a youngster. He caught sight of her; glanced at the door he had not yet finished closing, and stopped dead. With a dramatic pause, he pushed the door open a bit further and stared at her intently before melting into the shadows. It was as if he had dared her to look inside. She debated for a moment, knowing full well that she should not. She mustn't press her luck, if she was caught, she could be dismissed, and then where would she be. Making up her mind, she strode forward, meaning to pull the door closed and go about her business, but as she neared the opening, she heard something she couldn't quite identify. She paused for a moment, then took the final step, placing her right before the crack just wide enough for one eye to peer through. Without thinking, she didn't drop her eyes and instead had to bite back a gasp. She pulled away as if burned and looked around guiltily. She didn't see any other servants, not that she had expected to, and the boy had disappeared. Unable to resist, she took hold of the doorknob so as not to push the crack any wider, and pressed her face to the crack. Miss Lucy and Master Lucius were both naked, and Lucy was bent forwards over the foot of the bed. Lucius was behind her, holding on to her hips and thrusting his hips against the cleft of her parted legs. She watched for a few moments longer before catching sight of the mirror against the wall. Lucy was smiling into it, her eyes locked on Sarah's face and glittering strangely. She gasped softly and fled down the hall, not even bothering to close the door as she had intended. That night, she didn't sleep a wink, expecting to be tossed out onto the street as soon as she closed her eyes. She wasn't, and Lucy made no mention of it in the morning, leaving Sarah to assume that she had only imagined Lucy seeing her. Since then, she refused to go down that hallway once her mistress and Lucius had retired.
"Sarah!" Lucy's sharp voice startled the girl out of her trance. She dropped the stick she had been using to beat out Miss Lucy's rug.
"Yes miss?" As always, her voice was soft, barely audible. Lucy glared, making her cringe. Inwardly, Lucy was delighted she frightened the girl so much.
"Pick up that rod and come with me." She said, turning quickly and marching in to the house. Sarah glanced down, surprised to see the stick lying in the dirt. She hadn't remembered dropping it. Why did Miss Lucy make her so nervous? She crouched quickly and picked up the short handled, clover shaped reed paddle she had been using. She hurried to catch up with her mistress, afraid to lose her within the house, and terrified of what had made the lady of the house so upset. She was surprised to find Lucy just inside the kitchen door, so much so that she ran into her, knocking the woman forward a step. She froze before stuttering out a string of apologies. Lucy turned to her, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face.
"Hold your tongue Sarah." Sarah took the order nearly literally, biting it between her teeth, her eyes watering with anxiety. "You see, this is precisely why I decided to speak with you before the party tonight." She gestured for the girl to follow her, leading the way through the house. As they approached the hall that led to the bedrooms, Sarah's anxiety grew. She hoped against hope that she would not be brought to the bedchamber. She avoided entering that room when any one else would be in it, doing her cleaning when the rest of the household was taking lunch or engaging in some other activity. To her dismay, that was the door that Lucy opened, ushering Sarah in and closing it behind her. Sarah dropped her eyes and stared at the bare floor beneath her, wondering for a moment where the rug was before catching sight of the stick still in her hand. She turned to Lucy, trying to think of a way to escape without being thought impertinent.
"Miss, I'm..." She trailed off, seeing the harshness on her employer's face. There was silence. A thick, heavy silence that seemed to last an eternity before Lucy chose to break it.
"Sarah." It was a statement, and it caught Sarah's attention. "I am going to speak. You are not. There will be a love exception to this. When I ask you a question, you will answer it. You will not try to explain your answer, you will merely answer. If you displease me once, you will be back on the street selling your meager wares to whatever urchin can offer you a bite to eat. Do you understand?" Sarah choked back a sob as the threat was made, nodding slowly in response. "I said," Lucy paused, her voice gaining volume as she repeated herself. "Do you understand?"
"Yes Miss." Her voice was a squeak, barely audible even to Sarah.
"Louder girl. I do not know whom you expect to hear you, but I expect to hear your answers if I am on the other side of the room. Do you understand?"
"Yes Miss!" It seemed to Sarah as though she was shouting, but in reality, it was merely as loud as one's usual speaking voice. Lucy would accept it.
"Good. Now, keeping in mind my previous admonitions, do you enjoy your position here?" A pause, a gulp, and then, "Yes Miss."
"Do you wish to keep this position?" A longer pause. Sarah knew now that Lucy had seen her that night. She fought the urge to let the apologies and explanations fall from her lips as they threatened to. Finally, "Yes Miss." This time, Lucy paused. She savored what was about to come. She could see the girl before her trembling.
"The other night, you saw something that was private." She paused, watching as all the blood fled Sarah's already pale face. Surprisingly, she did not faint. Perhaps the girl was stronger than she had previously suspected. "I think you have been waiting for this confrontation, have you not?"
"Yes Miss." Again, Sarah had to force her mouth closed over the words that threatened to spill out. She knew she was lost, but she hoped she could prove that it had been a singular slip in behavior. She would obey her mistress if it killed her. She could not, would not spend her life on the streets of Bombay. She would prefer hell to such a life, and had decided to kill herself to achieve it, should it come down to that. Lucy watched her, enjoying every deliciously painful second.
"Well then. The solution is simple. First, you will agree that if you ever disobey me on the slightest command, your life in this house will end and you will go back to scrabbling with the rats in the back alleys." She paused, and Sarah realized that an answer was expected. Her heart soared! She was being given a second chance!
"Yes Miss!" There was relief in her voice, and the beginnings of a smile on her lips.
"Good. Then, as I had not told you that you were not to peep through cracked doors, I suppose that you really haven't done anything wrong." Sarah looked up, confused. Lucy smiled before continuing. "Still, I do not believe it fair that you watched such a private moment when you were uninvited. Do you agree?"
"Yes Miss!" There was no hesitation, and Lucy was pleased. She was certain that she would rule this girl completely within the next two hours. Plenty of time before the party!
"Then you agree that we should do something to make the situation fair?"
"Yes Miss! Please Miss Lucy!" Lucy raised her eyebrows at the girl's enthusiasm. It would soon fade, she was certain. Sarah, meanwhile, had no idea what was in store, but she was a determined young woman. She had been given another chance, and she had vowed not to spend one more day on the streets. Miss Lucy could use her as a footstool for all she cared, and she would agree!
"Very well then. Remove your clothing." Sarah paused, her mouth dropping open, the rug paddle again dropping out of her hand, this time clattering noisily on the wood floor.
"Miss? I don't... What.... I don't understand."
"Sarah!" Lucy's voice turned sharp once more, and Sarah jumped. "I thought we had agreed that you would obey me without question?" She watched Sarah expectantly, prepared to offer up more threats. To her surprise, she very slowly reached up and began to unfasten her dress. She worked slowly, and layer by layer, she dropped the garments to the floor until she was standing in her stockings and her shift. Under this knee length garment, she was naked. She offered up a pleading glance to Lucy, but her face was impassive. With a deep sigh, she reached down, pulling the gown up and over her head.

[INSERT SEX SCENE OF SOME SORT THAT I CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO TYPE BECAUSE I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY DON'T LIKE WRITING EROTICA, SO I BELIEVE I SHALL SKEW THE FOCUS OF MY PLOT ELSEWHERE, TO A SIDEPLOT ORIGINALLY INTENDED TO BE A BIT OF BACKSTORY, AND NOW, BECAUSE I'VE BEEN SITTING HERE FOR 6 HOURS AND ONLY MANAGED TO WRITE 500 WORDS, WILL BE MY ENTIRE STORY]

Fuckity fuck fuck!

Which is exactly what my novel is lacking.

Oh sure, it's all well and good to say, "Woo, it's on Poppet! We'll both write historical erotica! Ha! No problem!"

What. Ever.

I'm so over this. I'm so over this it's insane. I've been sitting at this computer since I got home and I'm like, "Screw you, you stupid novel from hell!"

I'm done. I quit. I'm through!

Not with my novel, but with my genre.

I write horror. I write pretty good horror, according to the few people I've allowed to read my writings. I'm descriptive, I'm gutsy, I'll go where most people are afraid to. Death? Gore? Dismemberment? Evil people doing evil things? The monster lurking in the corner of your darkened living room that sits, waiting, watching you with it's dark, empty holes where it's eyes should be? The slithery creature that lurks behind your trashcan...you know, the one that ate your cat and left nothing but a pile of bloody viscera for you to puzzle over when you went to dump your recyclables last night? I am ALL ABOUT THAT.

What goes on in people's bedrooms? Not so much. Do I like erotica? You know what? I do. I love it. Does it get me hot? Sometimes.

It's not that I'm a prude. Talk to me. I'll tell you what I've done, what I like, what I'm into. I don't hide it. But writing erotica isn't just plopping all of your personal fantasies on paper. Just like writing horror isn't just vomiting your nightmares onto the page. It has to flow. You have to create a world full of people and things that ARE NOT YOU.

Do I want to kidnap little children and cut their throats, painting my walls with their innocent blood? No. Do I enjoy the thought of dark souled beings lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to acknowledge them so they can pull me from this world to theirs and torment me eternal soul? No at all.

But I enjoy writing about it. Horror has always been my genre of escape because it's the furthest thing from actual reality for me. Monsters don't exist, not in my life.

So. Things will be reworked during National Novel Editing Month, or, NaNoEdMo. From here on out, I will focus on horror. Not that there won't be any sex in this. Notice how I was able to write that bit about Kristophe's dream just fine? I could have made it hotter if I didn't have the pressure of trying to push it further.

So fuck you erotica! [No pun intended]

And come to bed with me horror. I need to recharge. Expect a full turn around tomorrow, as I'm looking forward to this new direction my novel will take.

I'd write more tonight, but the flesh is weak. And I can't drink another Monster. I've had 2 Monsters, a ton of cola, and a couple espresso drinks. Any more and my heart will explode.

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