King of the Carrot Flowers

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dysfunctional family.

Submitted: March 12, 2008

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Submitted: March 12, 2008

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We sat for a long time saying nothing, Mark and me, because there wasn’t really anything to say. He’d tried to kiss me, but I wasn’t in the mood, and we always got horny when we kissed and I wasn’t ready yet. He was in a bad mood because I’d said we could soon, but I still hadn’t let him even see me naked and although we sometimes fooled around a bit he was getting frustrated. He didn’t know that I was frustrated too. But I just wasn’t ready.

 

He broke the silence by saying, “We need to get away from here, baby.” And he looked at me earnestly, “This place isn’t good for you - for us.”

 

“What do you mean?” I asked, even though I knew.

 

“Oh come on Lucy,” he said, exasperated, “like you don’t know.”

 

Downstairs my parents began yelling at one another, and Mark waved his hand in the direction of the sound, and continued, “This, this is the problem. This is why we need to get away, is your parents. Your Mum’s a fucking alcoholic, who can’t even talk half the time, and your Dad’s a neurotic, manic-depressive, suicidal mess, and when they’re not being physically violent to one another, they’re being passive aggressive at the dinner table - you can’t live here anymore Lucy, it’ll kill you.” He said, “I don’t want to lose you to your parents.”

 

I couldn’t reply, and although I hated my parents I had a strange sense of duty to them, but I didn’t know how to explain so all I said in the end was “I won’t let you down.” And he just looked at me for a long time before he turned away, because it wasn’t the answer he wanted.

 

Later that night, he’d gone home, and I sat at the dinner table with Mum and Dad in silence as we ate dinner. Mum had a glass of wine by her right hand as usual, and by the way she was swaying, I judged she’d already finished a good portion of the bottle. The gravy was cold, and the potatoes underdone, and I just pretended to eat, pushing the food around the plate lazily. Mum broke the silence suddenly as she leaned toward me, and breathed alcohol fumes into my face. “So Lucy, sweetheart,” She slurred, “I was just wondering how you think we’d survive without your Dad. I mean, being the sole provider and all that - do you think we’d be ok, if say, he killed himself, or do you think we’d be so poor you’d have to sell your body to middle aged perverts like your uncle Gary? You know the one - your useless Father’s shithead brother, yeah?”

 

I looked hard at a piece of broccoli I was pushing around the plate, and glanced at Dad out the corner of my eye, and he was sipping on water, looking at the china on the dresser, pretending not to hear. “’Cause, you know, uh... Lucy. Lucy. I think we’d struggle.” She turned toward my dad pointedly. “Jus’... just how many of those pills you took last night would you have to take to kill yourself, Alex? I think you didn’t take enough, but you had a good go, right? Alex?”

 

Dad ignored her, and made to get up, picking up his plate of unfinished dinner, and Mum’s face turned red. “Don’t you fucking ignore you me you fucking useless prick!” she screamed, spit running down her chin, “You’re a joke, Alex, you know that, you’re a fucking useless wanker excuse for a man, why don’t you just have the fucking guts to get it over with?”

 

Dad’s face fumed, and he said nothing, but looked at her, his eyes fixed on hers, and he sneered as he threw his plate as hard as he could at the china on the side, exploding razor sharp fragments across the room, spinning past all of our heads, one of the pieces cutting my cheek as it span past. He stormed out of the room, booting the bin as he left, scattering rubbish across the kitchen, and in the next room, I heard him yell “Please God, why can’t you save me from this evil fucking harpy?”

 

Mum took a big swig from the wine, and mopped her chin with my napkin. “How old are you, anyway?”

 

I pushed myself away from the table and left the room without saying a word. My bedroom didn’t have a lock so I just pushed my desk across the door, and lay on my bed to write in my journal. The page was still blank a half hour later, when I finally began to cry, and I wished Mark was there to comfort me and later I drew pictures of me and him and a kid, and then I scribbled over the kid and wrote AMERICA as the title. I took seven days of the Pill and laid an old towel across the sheets before I went to bed, and slept dreaming of palm trees.

 

I was ill the next couple of days, nauseous and vomiting, and bleeding heavily, and I only left my room when I had to use the bathroom. Dad was good and kept coming to check on me, and offered to call the doctor, but I said it was just a bug, and he didn’t know any better, thought I was just having a normal period, and sat with me a lot and talked and we watched Monty Python and he explained to me the jokes that he thought I was too young to understand and I didn’t correct him. He had red marks around his neck and I was fairly sure he’d tried to hang himself. We didn’t talk about Mum, even when we heard her crashing around downstairs, and he went out and bought me a McDonalds, and although I couldn’t eat most of it I was grateful and when he told me he loved me I was able to return the sentiment without grimacing.

 

By the third day I felt much better and had stopped bleeding, and that evening Mark came round.

 

Sitting on my bed, he noticed my cheek, which wasn’t too bad, but he looked furious, and I could see he wanted to do something, but I didn’t tell him how I got it, and all I did was hold his hands and look in his eyes for a long time and eventually I saw he’d calmed down, and I leaned forward and kissed him softly, told him I’d missed him, and he put his hands around my waist and pulled me closer. I kissed him harder and he fell backwards across the bed and I swung my leg across him, and we kissed passionately, frantically, and his hands were exploring my body, moving up my back under my blouse, and I sat up and pulled it off, breathing heavily, and unclipped my bra. He reached up and took hold of my breasts, and my nipples were hard and sensitive already and I felt a tingle rush through me but I pushed his hands away and lent down, kissing him again whilst my hands fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, and he undid mine, and then he sat up and I was sitting on his lap and he pulled his shirt over his head, and with my hands down his pants, feeling how hard he was, I kissed at his tightly muscled chest which was covered with goose-pimples because the room was so cold. He put his arms around me, and I leaned back as he took one of my nipples in his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue, and as he bit it gently I let out a quiet gasp, and my hands were wet from him, and I tasted them as he kissed my breast, and then I pushed him back on the bed and stood up and pulled off my jeans and underwear, and laughing as I staggered about trying to take off my socks he followed suit and we both climbed under the covers naked, and I couldn’t think about anything else as I felt the sensation of his bare skin against mine and we kissed all over one another and touched each other and neither of us seemed to know what to do, but we just explored each other’s bodies, so excited, and I needed to feel him inside me and my thighs were wet, my pussy so ready, and I whispered “I want you.” And then the door to my room opened.

 

We both lifted our heads from beneath the covers, and lay there breathing heavily as my Mum walked in. She stood by the door, looking at me, and swaying.

 

“Have you seen your Dad? I can’t find the old bastard and I need him to go to the shops for me.” She paused. “I need some whiskey. For cooking.” I didn’t say anything but I was thinking about how much I hated the drunken bitch and in my head I was screaming you’re a liar! You’re a sorry excuse for a Mother and you’re a drunken fucking liar and I hate you with every fibre of my being but I didn’t say anything and she just stood there and had already forgotten what she was in here for. She was staring at a poster of The Prodigy on the wall, eyes glazed over, wasted, and she muttered quietly, “You know, one day I think I’ll do what the wanker can’t and kill him. I could poison his food or something.”

 

She often said stuff like this when she was drunk, which was nearly always. I didn’t even know if she knew I was there most of the time. Her eyes deglazed and she looked at me and Mark with sudden interest.

 

“Hey, are you two like, getting it on? So... hey, Lucy, well done, right?” She laughed drunkenly and blew a kiss as she left the room, leaving the door open. I got up, pulling the covers around myself to close it, Mark protesting as I left him naked, exposed on the bed. As I closed the door I heard her fall over in the bathroom, and laughing again, she called out, “If he doesn’t make you come, you best get rid of him quick, before you get stuck with him. Don’t want to miss out on a good bone-shaking orgasm, right? Lucy?” I slammed the door, and went back to Mark, but the romance was gone, and Mum had left the bathroom door open and we could hear her pissing on the floor.

 

Mark stayed over that night, and although we didn’t do anything, it felt almost perfect to sleep in his arms, and I woke up to see him sleeping next to me and I felt happier than I could remember feeling in a long time. I padded downstairs wearing his sweater which came down nearly to my knees, and smelled of his scent, and I made breakfast with what I could find in the fridge. It was past eight, but nobody seemed to be up. He awoke when I walked back into the room and laughed delightedly when he saw that I’d made scrambled eggs and bacon for him.

 

We stayed in my room all day, and my parents didn’t get up until late afternoon, when we heard them screaming at each other almost as soon as they were awake.

 

Mark looked at me then, and said that we needed to talk, and he said again that we needed to get away, but somehow I still didn’t feel right about it, even though I wanted to, and I still didn’t know what to say to it so I just rested my head on his shoulder and said, “Hold me?”

 

He didn’t look happy, but he put his arms around me anyway, and I felt safe as he pulled me close into his chest, and I closed my eyes and hugged him back.

 

Downstairs, Dad gave a blood curdling yell, and there was a loud crash and doors slammed, and I heard one of the cars drive away. There was more banging and crashing and then Dad shouted up the stairs that he was going to the hospital and I’d have to get Chinese takeaway for tea or something because Mum had gone out and God knew when she’d be back, and then I heard the door slam and his car drive off with a screech.

 

We went downstairs and Dad had left a twenty pound note on the table and a couple of menus next to it and we ordered the food and went to watch movies on the big TV. We didn’t eat much of the meal when it arrived, neither of us was hungry, and we just lay on the sofa together and watched Indie films and I rested my head on Mark’s chest and held his hand tightly and every now and then we’d make out for a little while and have to rewind the film because we’d missed important bits.

 

Dad came back latish, and came into the room where we were, sitting heavily on the armchair. He had a big bandage around his shoulder and looked pale. “What happened?” Mark asked him, and he almost looked surprised to find us there and turned to us wearily. “Lucy’s bitch of a Mother stuck a dirty fork in my shoulder. I had to have a tetanus shot. Sorry I was gone so long, there was a long wait in Accident and Emergency.” He looked at me and said, “I’ve contacted the police and made a domestic violence complaint. They’re coming around tomorrow to talk to your Mother.”

 

I didn’t say anything, and he turned to the TV and, trying to sound cheerful asked, “So, what are we watching?”

 

Mark and I went upstairs when Mum came in, by which time Dad had fallen asleep on the armchair. She sounded drunk again, and I felt kind of sorry for him as I left.

 

Upstairs I pushed my desk across the door, and Mark sat down and picked up a magazine, and whilst he wasn’t looking, I stripped off all my clothes. He looked up at me and I stood and looked back and smiled salaciously and he stood up and came over to me, and placed one hand between my legs as he kissed me. I kissed him back, passionately as his fingers explored me, and when he bent to kiss my breast, I pushed him onto his knees, and tilted my head back and closed my eyes in pleasure as I felt his warm breath on me, and he flicked his tongue against me.

 

He stood up, and I helped him strip off, kissing his body all over, and then we lay on my bed, and it hurt a little at first, but not too much, and after that it felt as good as I’d always imagined it would.

 

Mum was yelling at Dad drunkenly, again, downstairs, but in my room I barely noticed and my head was filled with bright lights, and I buried my face in Mark’s shoulder, biting on his skin to muffle myself, and my hands gripped his back as tight as they could and pleasure coursed through my entire body whilst explosions filled my mind.

 

He collapsed on me then, breathless, and we kissed each other necks, and shoulders, and lips and then he raised himself above me again and looked down at my face and I thought about how handsome he was, and I said, “You’ll take me away from this?”

 

I stared into his deep brown eyes and he smiled and kissed me and said,

 

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” And he lowered himself so that his head was on my shoulder and he murmured into my ear “I love you.” And although I couldn’t quite bring myself to reply, we were both happy, and fell asleep, still joined, as downstairs, Mum slammed a door and Dad began to cry.

 


© Copyright 2017 Sam Halfpenny. All rights reserved.

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