All That Glitters [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-24-2017
She was very ready to be rid of this place, to be out the door and heading home, very quickly and with her head down. She'd need time to process, time to figure out how an eighteen year old girl could handle thirty thousand in cash and god only knew how much in assorted gold coins and jewelry. She had to be careful with this. She had to make it last. Make it stretch. Her mother absolutely could not know about it. She'd make up a lie about a scholarship. But he wasn't finished playing with her just yet, like a cat enjoying itself, torturing a mouse. Her eyes widened at his words, fury pounding in her ears, humiliation burning at her cheeks.
She could probably have taken it like a slap to the face and left. That probably would have been the smart thing to do. Go home and tell herself he was wrong and who cared, he was just a rich asshole thing who got his rocks off this way.
"Don't flatter yourself," she snarled, instead of doing the smart thing. "You bought a book and ten minutes worth of pride." She pointed, shakily, at the book in his hands. "You own that. You don't own me, or my heart, or my life, or any other stupid thing you think you bought. You own a book and something fun to jack off about later, if that's what you do alone in this fucking house. Ten minutes, a book, and a memory. That's all you bought off of me."
And yes, $50,000 was a good price for pride. And yes, she'd be thinking about this stupid motherfucker every day for four years and probably longer. And yes, it hadn't cost him much, in the grand scheme of his life. But people sold a lot more for a lot less.
It stung, deep, that knowledge that she couldn't do it without this kind of humiliation. But if she was going to be selling herself, she'd rather ten minutes now than a lifetime of smiling at assholes in a diner for spare change. He didn't own her any more than those people owned her mother.
RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - Tindome - 03-24-2017
Tch. Just a little too hard, a little too far. Things would be so much easier if he could read minds properly. That was always the risk, that instead of the sweet shattering he wanted it would turn to fury instead. He could settle for fury. It was just disappointing. Like overcooking an egg when what he'd wanted was for the yolk to run.
His smile did not fade, his eyes did not dim. He dropped his cane back into his hand, swung it backward and dragged it across the floor. When he raised the point of it, her abandoned hat was balanced on the tip of it, held out between them. Unworthy of being touched by his hands, as so many things were.
"Cover your shame, little girl," he suggested. "Take your box of dreams, and run home where you are safe. Believe that you have been clever and brave like a hero in stories. Tell yourself that your pain is a virtue, that you are better for having derived no joy from your debasement – that the version of this story where the pleasure was mutual would be the worse one. Work hard, be smart, and bask in all the happiness that your unimpeachable virtue brings you."
"I am done with you now, Miss Corey, but before you go," and with this he brought his cane up under her chin to tilt it higher, the better to see her face. "Répétez, s'il vous plaît: merci, monsieur."
His smile did not fade, his eyes did not dim. He dropped his cane back into his hand, swung it backward and dragged it across the floor. When he raised the point of it, her abandoned hat was balanced on the tip of it, held out between them. Unworthy of being touched by his hands, as so many things were.
"Cover your shame, little girl," he suggested. "Take your box of dreams, and run home where you are safe. Believe that you have been clever and brave like a hero in stories. Tell yourself that your pain is a virtue, that you are better for having derived no joy from your debasement – that the version of this story where the pleasure was mutual would be the worse one. Work hard, be smart, and bask in all the happiness that your unimpeachable virtue brings you."
"I am done with you now, Miss Corey, but before you go," and with this he brought his cane up under her chin to tilt it higher, the better to see her face. "Répétez, s'il vous plaît: merci, monsieur."
RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-24-2017
To her surprise, he didn't have much of a comeback to her words. No insistence, no clever words to prove her wrong. It made her feel a bit off-balance, because she wasn't even sure she was right herself. She snatched her hat off his cane, brushing it off briefly before slamming it back on her head to "cover her shame." It's not like he was wrong. She even felt worlds better once it was on her head. She'd felt uncomfortable like that... vulnerable. All but speechless until the very end.
She was confused, however, by what he was saying now. He was saying it like it was a bad thing, but she couldn't detect the bad parts. Who could derive pleasure from debasement, anyway, and why would that be ideal? Of course, she was eighteen, and had given little thought to sexuality other than "no thank you." She could tell he was being rude, and definitely implying something she did not care one bit for. Thoughts of deriving pleasure, in particular, were very unwelcome and not something that needed to be thought about at all.
His cane caught under her chin, lifting her eyes up to his again, still a pale pastel. Had she just not noticed them when she'd first arrived? She glared. She had money in hand. She had a pocket of gems and a lot of fury and indignation and confusion. And she was, every inch of her, a teenager. She had seen him almost stumble earlier, land heavy on his cane and be in pain.
His cane was in her face.
"Merci, enculé," she said sweetly, and grabbed the cane with both hands and shoved it back towards his chest with every ounce of strength she had.
RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - Tindome - 03-24-2017
Every ounce of strength she had was not, in the grand scheme of things, very much. Not when his eyes were this color, not when he was too absorbed in his task to recall the trouble of his leg. Harder to forget when she looked so pitiable as before, but not now, furious as she was.
He leaned back as she pushed, tipping like slapstick, and at the same time tossed her book upward toward the ceiling.
Because that was what people did when they fell, wasn't it? They dropped things?
With just enough time for her to realize what was happening, he caught the book again with his good hand, all the appearance of carelessness as he stood back upright. His cane swept in front of him at the same time, either a showy way of righting himself, or an easy way to catch her legs again if she made the mistake of trying to catch the book herself.
"Ah! You try so hard, little girl, but with your accent I cannot determine where your error lies. You may try again, then, and repeat whichever it was you intended." This time he sounded his words out slowly, syllable by syllable, as if the trouble were that she was slow. "Ré-pé-tez: 'mer-ci, Mon-sieur En-cu-leur' – ou 'mer-ci, mon-sieur, mais d'a-bord en-cul-é moi s'il vous plaît'."
He leaned back as she pushed, tipping like slapstick, and at the same time tossed her book upward toward the ceiling.
Because that was what people did when they fell, wasn't it? They dropped things?
With just enough time for her to realize what was happening, he caught the book again with his good hand, all the appearance of carelessness as he stood back upright. His cane swept in front of him at the same time, either a showy way of righting himself, or an easy way to catch her legs again if she made the mistake of trying to catch the book herself.
"Ah! You try so hard, little girl, but with your accent I cannot determine where your error lies. You may try again, then, and repeat whichever it was you intended." This time he sounded his words out slowly, syllable by syllable, as if the trouble were that she was slow. "Ré-pé-tez: 'mer-ci, Mon-sieur En-cu-leur' – ou 'mer-ci, mon-sieur, mais d'a-bord en-cul-é moi s'il vous plaît'."
RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-24-2017
She felt a glint of satisfaction when he seemed to lose balance, and was getting ready to spin and bolt for the door. But that wasn't right. No one fell like that. And then he tossed her book up into the air. She should have still bolted for the door, actually, she should have done it twice as fast, because she'd fucked up. But her traitorous feet carried her forward again, her eyes on the book that would certainly not survive contact with the ground. She should have left well enough alone.
Her eyes up, she didn't even see the cane as it swept under her feet, harder this time than the time he'd made her stumble. Her ankle buckled and she fell, hard, onto her ass and right hip. There was a clatter beside her hitting the floor as a haphazardly piled stack of books tipped over. Still unthinking, she stretched herself backwards, legs tipping up into the air, to catch the falling tomes before they could hit the ground. She managed it, barely, though several slid off her arms and thudded onto her face and chest.
She laid there for a moment, dazed. She was still mostly slumped onto the floor when she saw him in the corner of her vision. It took a second for her to register what he was saying.
Two choices again. Neither of them any fun. She was, however, on her ass covered in books she'd caught because she was a dumbass with really stupid priorities, who put "books" in general somewhere above "health and safety."
"...Merci, Monsieur Enculeur," she managed weakly, face burning scarlet. It was... slightly better than the alternative. Which was giving her mental images. Mental images she didn't need when combined with some of his earlier comments.
She was ready to leave now. Assuming she could walk.
RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - Tindome - 03-24-2017
He chuckled, his mouth splitting into a wide grin again. "You really must be more careful," he chided. "Are you strong on purpose, I wonder, or is it only that you must be to survive being such a clumsy thing? Even a clumsy tongue." He tutted, leaning his weight against his cane. "You are doing your best, I suppose, and I do not have all day to wait until you get it right."
Even he, drunk as he was on her utter humiliation and distress, irritated as he was with her waste of his time, could not help but feel a certain amount of pity for her. She really did like books. How awful it must have been, to think she might find a kindred spirit, and to find him instead. He might not have broken her heart the way he most enjoyed, but he was sure he'd broken something.
Maybe time in college would help her to fix it. But probably not.
He lifted his cane again, and knocked the tip of it against her hat, just enough to reveal one fluffy ear. "Up with you, Miss Bree. Collect your things and go, before I bore of you. You are far from the first to have left my home thanking me for a sore ass, and far from the prettiest. My patience will wear thin sooner than later."
Even he, drunk as he was on her utter humiliation and distress, irritated as he was with her waste of his time, could not help but feel a certain amount of pity for her. She really did like books. How awful it must have been, to think she might find a kindred spirit, and to find him instead. He might not have broken her heart the way he most enjoyed, but he was sure he'd broken something.
Maybe time in college would help her to fix it. But probably not.
He lifted his cane again, and knocked the tip of it against her hat, just enough to reveal one fluffy ear. "Up with you, Miss Bree. Collect your things and go, before I bore of you. You are far from the first to have left my home thanking me for a sore ass, and far from the prettiest. My patience will wear thin sooner than later."
RE: All That Glitters [Closed] - SolitareLee - 03-24-2017
She kept her tongue firmly in cheek this time. Lesson, if not learned, then at least acknowledged. No petty revenge for her, no little, satisfying last jab. She winced as she sat up, collecting the books onto her lap. She wanted to put them properly on a shelf somewhere. The thought of leaving them as haphazardly stacked as she'd found them was distressing, despite all the other things that were much more palpably distressing at the moment She bit back a yelp as his cane swiped against the side of her head, just barely, knocking her hat askew. She took the hint, quickly stacking the books on the floor. She scrambled to the side as she stood, heading for her box of books. At least she still had those, she supposed. She didn't feel very happy about it. She wasn't sure she could even look at them right now. It would be stupid to sell them, she supposed, but she sort of wanted to. Just to be rid of them, and anything else that might remind her of this day.
She might never be rid of everything that would remind her. But she could try.
Mouth still clenched shut to avoid the urge to snap back against his verbal assault, she grabbed her box of books and all but fled for the door. She didn't want to look back and see him, tall and smug and full of disdain. She wanted to get outside, where she could be distressed in peace and not have to worry about any mockery for it.
She made it about ten feet. She wound up hiding by the stairs of the next townhouse, behind a trash can. She tucked her knees up to her chest, took a deep breath, and allowed all the events that had just transpired hit her in a row.
She didn't sob loudly. She had that, at least. She just rested her head against her knees and let the tears leak quietly down her cheeks.
It would be okay. She had the money. She would change her life; she would chase her dreams. She would never wind up a waitress or a farmer or a single mom. All it took was one morning of pain. Like a shot, or a punch to the gut. Once it was over, it was over.
On her knees, book on her head, condescending smirk. The implication she was more of a whore than her mother could ever aspire to be.
It was over.
It was over.