His hands are in a sink full of dishes, he closes his eyes enjoying the domesticity the chore. Scrubbing off the grime and old food, making them shiny-bright white again.
Order, he likes order. And rules. And things being in their place.
He looks over and sighs, the girl beside him is gnashing her teeth, picking at her fingernails. The assault on her hands transfers to an assault on an unfortunate box of tissues which she plucks out one-by-one and tears into tiny shreds. She is angry about something, but then again she is always angry. Shouldn't she have her hands full of bubbles? Girls are suppose to be homemakers right? Cleaning and cooking and all of that. The natural order of things. Quiet angels of the home turning chaos into order.
But she is chaos. Always angry, always with a biting comment. Her hair is a burning red, like a fox. He smiles; it was a guilty pleasure of his to imagine her as a wild creature, an untamed thing running through the forest with hunting on the mind. Or perhaps as Queen Boudica, the fierce Celtic queen whose righteous anger burned down Londinium . He blushes as an image of her riding bare-breasted into battle burst into his mind. He wasn't sure if that was actually in the history he read, but it's was a little tidbit that he felt he earned, after weeks of her abuse and anger he should be able to enjoy a little fantasy.
Come to think of it, Boudica was eventually put in her place. Her uprising from the Roman elite was eventually squashed, and she was subjugated, humiliated, dominated.
Order. Everything chaotic eventually comes back into order. The Queen is squashed and the Emperor enjoys power again. Maybe…just maybe…
His eyes slide onto her and he gulps. Maybe…one day…he could be in control. It happens; boys grow and become bigger and stronger. Wild things can become tame, under loving control they submit. He imagines brushing that long, red out of her eyes. Tears pool around her eyes as her anger softens into grief and that grief turns into vulnerability...
As if knowing his thoughts, she suddenly shifts her gaze to him, a sharp looks burning in her eyes. Her eyes are saying "I want to slap you." Or maybe claw his face with those sharp, fang-like fingernails of hers. She is capable of it, he knows that.
Maybe it's better to leave fantasies alone.
