Ah, ha! Ha, ha! You know, it's funny how Bella thinks she can just disobey me and pretend to think I wouldn't notice? It's really ... funny.
I.
Am.
Pissed.
I have a question for you: can you tell that I'm pissed? Just wondering.
"I-is everything okay, ... Victoria?" Little Bella had the gall to ask me.
I put a tight, tight smile on my face, and waved her toward the showers. "Top drawer," I said, if not chipperly, then at least brightly.
Bella looked to the shower stall then looked back at me in confusion. "There's nothing on the ..."
Bella looked at me in askance: "... there's nothing on the top shelf in the shower, Victoria, it's ..."
I glared at her. "It's an idiom," I explained tightly. "It means everything is going swimmingly, do you understand me?" I asked coolly.
Outside I was as cool as a cucumber, another idiom, but inside I was seething. And Bella could tell.
"Y-yes," she said.
"Well, then," I barked, "hop to it!" I hoped she understood that idiom, the dumb little shit.
She skittered to the shower stall, crabwise. She understood.
Stupid little shit! I seethed inside. Fucking disobey me? And then ask me if everything's okay?
I glared at the girl as she disrobed. No, I hadn't said she could wear a bathrobe. No, I wasn't pissed about that ...
I wasn't pissed about anything at all. Not a damn thing. I tell her to masturbate, and it's not like I said, 'oh, if you feel like it, but whatever you want to do, ...'
No. I was granting her a God-damn favor, and she turns from it and ignores my direct order because she thinks she's some kind of ...
Ooh! I was going to punish this little bitch but good! Disobey me? Just because she felt like she could? Like she thought she could get away with shit? and right under my nose? Who the FUCK did she think she was!
Little fucker was going to have it coming to her but good.
I glared through placid eyes as Bella hopped into the shower and started to close the curtain, but a short shake of my head killed that idea aborning.
She started the water, looking at me furtively.
But how to do it? That's the thing. I could tear her insides out, but what would she learn from that? And how ...
My thoughts were rudely interrupted.
"Bella!" I exclaimed, shocked, "what the HELL are you doing?"
I tried to modulate my voice. We were inside, and I didn't want to shatter the strategically-placed glass bricks that let light filter in but did not let 'the view' filter out ... if you know what I mean.
I mostly succeeded. But it scared the shit out of Bella. Not literally, though, like I did with Alan, but near enough. She dropped the plastic bottle of some petroleum product onto the stall floor and looked at me, terrified.
"I'm shampooing my hair!" she responded, equally shocked as I.
"You're what?" I demanded, nearly screeching.
Shampoo...? Champu...? Was the word Indian in origin? Something new-age-y? I had no idea. Moderners were always following any wild and weird idea they got into their collective (and empty) heads! What I did know was her head was limned in a lather of petroleum. What next? Was she going to light a match and go out in a blaze of self-immoliated protest?
I didn't wait for an answer. I rushed to her quickly, grasping her head firmly between my hands, then slammed her thus vised against the shower wall to immobilise her, to stop her from hurting herself.
You leave the hurting to me, Bella Swan! No escaping my wraith; no, indeed!
I quickly directed her head under the running water (how it continuously ran, I had no idea; it just did), and the oily lather washed down her hair and face and eyes. Bella flailed about, trying to get free of my hands, but it was useless; there was no way I was going to let her off herself with this chemical concoction she called champu ... shampoo... whatever.
It took a minute or so, and she only made it worse with her struggling and blubbering, but I got the stuff washed off her with the good, pure, clean, cold water.
I slammed her back against the wall, my hand cradling the back of her head, then I grasped a fistful of her hair, keeping her locked into place.
"You want to explain this foolish little stunt?" I demanded.
Bella just looked at me, blinking, wide-eyed and afraid.
I picked up the bottle at her feet, made from petroleum, containing petroleum.
"Why the hell did you put this on your head?" I demanded angrily.
Bella was terrified.
"Answer me!" I screamed, losing it a bit.
"It's shampoo!" Bella said piteously.
"It's petroleum!" I shouted back.
"Wha?" Bella said incredulously.
"This," I said, shaking the bottle in her face, "is an oil. What? Were you going to set yourself alight? Was that it? Were you going to ..."
"It's soap," Bella said softly.
"What?" I said, not understanding.
"I was washing my hair! Victoria? Hello? Shampoo? Have you never heard of shampoo?" she looked at me wide-eye, trying to reach through to me.
I looked at the bottle in my hand, and my face hardened. I didn't know what game this human was playing, but I didn't like it one bit.
"This is not soap," I said definitively. "It doesn't smell like it, and ... look at it! It's not black! It's not made of ash! It's this liquid goop that has petroleum in it! The hell, Bella! Do you think I was born yesterday?"
"I..." Bella tried to say something to me, but then she was at a complete loss. "It's ..." she strugged in my hand, "shampoo. It doesn't have petroleum in it ..."
"It does!" I snarled. "I can smell it. And you putting it in your hair? The hell, Bella! Seriously!"
Bella drew a ragged breath and shut her eyes for a second. "It's not like it has gas in it. It's ..."
"Of course it's not a gas! It's a liquid! Do you think me a simpleton?" I demanded angrily.
Bella opened her eyes and looked at me, uncomprehendingly. "You've never ...?"
She left the question hanging.
"What?" I demanded harshly.
"You've never washed your hair?" she asked cautiously.
I glared at her.
"Of course I have!" I bit back.
But my little voice asked me: when?
And I didn't have an answer for it. I don't remember me washing my hair.
"I mean," Bella said quietly, echoing my own inner voice, "with ... shampoo? ... like? ... and ... you know ... conditioner? ... maybe?"
She looked at me humbly.
"I ..." I said, letting her hair go, she sunk back onto her heels from her tip-toes. "I don't know of what you speak." I said, finally.
Bella bit her lip. Then, tentatively, she reached out her hand toward the bottle.
I glared at her.
"May I?" she said.
She tugged at the bottle in my hand.
I didn't want to let it go. Did I fear a trick?
Or...
Did I fear her, with this bottle in her hand, that I did not know what it was? Did I fear this future where she held something that I did not know? That she knew?
I let the bottle go, begrudgingly.
She pointed at the bottle. "It's shampoo," she said, pointing at the lettering. "See?"
I looked down at her hand underscoring the letters on the bottle. I looked back up at her.
"I'm not blind," I said, perturbed.
"It's for ..." Bella dared. "It's for washing your hair, you know? It makes your hair feel really good: nice, and clean, you know? The conditioner helps, too, you know, to tame the tangles?"
I glared at her.
"Can I show you?" she offered.
My eyes narrowed to slits.
Petroleum. Fire. Split a vampire open, and it's game over. Does she know this?
Didn't matter. I did. Fire on the outside: fine, no problem, just have to watch the hair. But fire going inside ... I glared at her, death bleeding out of my eyes.
She looked, wide-eyed at furious me. "No tricks," she said, "I just ... I'll just wash my own hair, okay? So you can see?" she offered.
"No tricks!" I seethed.
"Nu-uh," she nodded carefully. "No tricks."
"Because if you think of trying something, Bella," I fumed, "I will put your head through this fucking wall, you hear me?"
"Yes," she said.
We looked at each other through the rain of the inexhaustible shower-head.
Bella blinked twice at me. "O-okay," she said cautiously. "I'm just gonna ..."
She snapped open the bottle top.
My eyes were lasers, boring into hers.
"See?" she said carefully, "I just pour a bit into my hand, like this, and rub it into my hair and massage my scalp like this?"
She was standing under the shower and layering the oil into her thick hair.
Her hair was alive with it and the water and her hands.
I took a step back and crossed my arms, leaning against the wall, watching her.
She was very thorough, layering it in, and then washing it out.
"Then the conditioner, 'cause," she smiled knowingly at me, "you know, thick hair, right? It helps."
This liquid went on and in and washed out much more quickly, and her hair didn't seem to be changed much by it, that I saw, but it was ... well, maybe it appeared more manageable in her hands.
"See?" she said tentatively, almost encouragingly. "All done. Nothing to it, and it feels really good..." she said looking toward me for approval.
I frowned, giving nothing away. But I didn't like this. I didn't like this at all for some reason. And I didn't know why. And I didn't like that, either, not knowing why.
"See?" she asked, trying for understanding.
I glared. Not wanting to see. Not wanting to admit it.
I was on very dangerous ground. I felt it: the wisp of a memory.
Vampires don't have memories. And when they come, they are very, very bad.
And I don't know what was evoking this one, or what it even was, but I didn't like this one bit.
"O-okay," Bella said. "I'll just wash up now, okay?" she said carefully.
She picked up a wash-cloth and put a bar of white, solidified oil in it, and it lathered right up.
"What's that?" I demanded angrily, pointing at the white brick of petroleum.
"Soap," Bella said carefully. "For washing, ... you know? my body?" she added.
I just glared. I don't know what the hell that thing was, but it wasn't soap. I knew ... I remembered what soap was, and this wasn't soap. Soap stank, and was hard, and didn't froth up into a rich, creamy white lather of bubbles. Soap didn't lather at all. It scraped against flesh, cutting away the caked dirt, and it hurt, and when it cut into you, it stung.
It stung like the devil.
I hated soap.
I glared at her as she applied this thing, this soap-lather from her wash-cloth to her body, and like of old, her skin turned pink, glowing, and healthy, like of old, minus the pain, and the wretched stink of soap.
She rinsed off quickly, but I saw her luxuriate in her cleanness under the shower, which she stepped away from wiped down the excess moisture quickly before toweling, then wrapping herself in the towel. The towel formed a perfect wrap around her body, returning to her her modesty, and, now modest, she blushed again under my hard scrutiny.
"W-were you going to shower?" she asked politely.
I glared.
"...too?" She said. "...also?" she added. "I mean, uh ..."
Regally I brushed past her, under the curtain of rain from the shower-head.
I picked up the long bottle of ... shampoo.
But I didn't really know what to do with it. I did what I had observed she did, pouring some into my hand.
The liquid fell right through my fingers down into the drain.
I watched it wash away, then glared up at Bella.
"How does this ..." I said.
I was getting ready to scream, my fury was boiling put from my chest and was ready to burst forth from me, like I was a dam, fit to bursting.
Bella watched my attempt, and saw my failure.
She bit her lip and stuck out her tongue, just a touch. "May I ..." she offered shyly, reaching out her hand toward the bottle in mine.
I looked from her hand to mine, then to her face.
I passed her the bottle.
"Do me," I commanded angrily, just barely biting off the words, keeping the scream inside.
Bella took the bottle from my obdurate hand, coaxing it from my fingers, then poured out some liquid into her own hand.
Somehow, it stayed for her, and she delicately brought her hand to my head, applying the liquid to my scalp.
"Wow," she whispered.
"What?" I said to the empty air in front of me.
"You're hair's like ... really ..." she struggled for words, "coarse, you know? stiff. It's like ..."
She poured more liquid into her hand and applied it to my scalp with more vigor. I looked down at her on tip-toes.
"It'd ..." she said, both hands on my scalp. "It'd kinda help if you leaned over a bit or ..."
I sat, stone on tiled-over concrete.
Some of the tiles broke into splinters underneath my weight as I crushed them with my full weight.
"Or, ..." Bella gasped in surprise. "Or, that, I guess."
I leaned my head forward, ignoring her, because the memory welled up from the floor, and consumed me.
...
Fourteen. I was fourteen. I remember.
'But I don't wanna bathe!' I whined.
'It's the Spring cleaning,' the head maid had said, 'and you'll not work at the master's house with out your yearly bath!'
'No!' I cried. 'Please! You get sick when you bathe! I don't wanna die!' I cried.
'Don't be a baby!' she told me, her name ... her name ... D-something ... I don't remember. She dragged me back behind the big house and stripped me bare, then threw me into the basin.
Everyone else had bathed in the water already. I was the last to bathe, being the lowest in rank. And it was so dirty as it was to be more grey than the basin itself. And, oh! How I kicked and screamed and cried, but into the basin I was stood, then she picked up the ladle, and poured and poured and poured that dirty water over me, until I was clean, scrubbed clean with soap that rasped like sand, then more of the washed water poured over my cut skin again.
I didn't want to bath.
I had replaced the scullery girl for the big house. She had died last year. She caught ill after her bath, and she died, and I was the replacement.
I cried as the head maid rinsed me down with the dirty water in the basin.
...
I opened my eyes.
Bella was looking at me, talking to me, she had soap in the wash-cloth, and she was bringing it to my body.
I grabbed her wrist.
"You touch me, and you die!" I snarled.
Bella said something.
I didn't understand her.
"What?" I said.
She said something again.
I blinked once. I blinked twice more.
Bella said something, looking at my hand, gently holding her wrist.
Oh.
Modern English. She was speaking in modern English. American, actually.
"What did you say?" I said to her.
No. Wait. Modern English: American. I had to speak that now.
I was in the now, now: I wasn't in 1553 any more. I wasn't in London. I was here, in a bathroom/shower room facility that had more conveniences than what the big house would've ever had had.
I tried again. "What did you say, Bella?"
The American words came out funny from my mouth.
Bella blinked, and drew in a ragged breath. "I said," she said carefully, "is it okay if I ... you know ... or did you want to ..."
I let go of her hand. She rubbed her wrist.
Good thing I didn't grip hard: she wouldn't've had a wrist to rub.
"You do it," I said.
I haven't had much luck with this whole modern soap-adventure.
Besides, I rather liked Bella serving me. That's the way her world should work from now on: her, servicing me. I rather liked that she did this, and it even appeared willing.
I rather liked that, quite a bit, her willingness. It helped.
"Okay," she said, and approached me cautiously.
She applied the wash-cloth to my body, and as she washed me, she thought. "You, kinda, ... just went away there for a while ... are you ... sleepy? Have you gotten any rest?" she offered.
"Mm," I said.
I didn't hear a word she said. Oh, I heard her words, but I just didn't care what she was saying. I was breathing in her scent, and luxuriating in the light touch of the wash-cloth as it glided over my body, the soap kissing the stone that is my 'skin' that no longer exists, and then just sloughing off in the rain-water of the shower.
"What language was that you were speaking? Was it German, or Swedish or ...?" she said.
"Are you done?" I demanded.
"Just ..." she said quickly, "just gotta do your back."
The cloth slid over my back, up and down, efficient strokes.
I had been sitting, Indian-style on the floor of the shower stall. I rose, full height, cobra-like over Bella. She looked up at me in awe as the soap just fell off, the water hurrying it down the drain.
"Bella," I said.
"Yes?" she gulped.
"Thank you," I said.
"You're ..."
My hands cradled her head again, and I slammed her bodily against the wall. It groaned.
"Ow?" she said weakly.
"Just who the fuck do you think you're trying to fool?" I said furiously.
"I..." she started helplessly.
"SHUT...UP!" I glared balefully at her.
Her breaths came in short, sharp gasps as she looked at me in terror.
"I fucking ..." I began coolly. "I fucking told you to fucking masturbate, and you fucking think you can waltz right in her without doing what you were told to do, you little disobedient FUCK?"
That last bit didn't come out so coolly.
I pulled her off the wall, then slammed her right back against it.
If my hand wasn't cradling the back of her head? That last push would have crushed her skull like a fucking grape.
"ANSWER ME!" I screamed.
"I..." Bella said.
"SHUT UP!" I thundered.
Bella shut her mouth, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"I fucking told you to do this for a fucking reason, Bella, but, no, you think you're too fucking good to do what you're told, because you're too fucking smart for me, huh, is that it, you little fuck?" I snarled.
Another tear fell. Like I fucking cared.
"Fucking ..." I began. "I fucking ... God damn it, Bella. I tell you to do something, you don't do it, which tells me what? It tells me you can't do a fucking thing yourself, can you, Bella, huh? Can you?"
I glared into her eyes.
If I reached in and pulled out her tongue by its roots, Bella might have been more eloquent than she was now, because all she made were whimpering sounds.
My face twisted up into a smirk that had absolutely nothing happy to it.
I lifted her up from the permanent dent I had just made into the concrete, turned her around and bent her over slightly, molding her body between mine and the wall.
My hands were free now.
"What are you ..." Bella gasped. "What are you doing?"
"Bella," I said.
I just shook my head. I thought modern people were supposed to be ... what did they call it? Enlightened. No. That was another century. Later than mine. Liberated. That's it: liberated.
My hand cupped her little breast, and I felt her heart go pitter-patter, pitter-patter. And my other hand went down, down, down, over her belly, until it found her cunny.
"Don't ..." Bella gasped.
My hands set to work.
"Bella," I purred, furious and pleased. "You're little pleading voice is going to sing its sweet song to me."
"Please," Bella whispered, her hands pushing against the wall, her head bowed.
"That's it, sweetie," I purred, "Beg for me."
My hands continued their work, cupping her breast, pressing her firmly into my body, and my middle digit had found her slit and was rubbing her outer lips, parting them gently, and easing, oh, so gently beyond and between, finding her softness, and, soon, oh, so soon, the slightest of dew.
It was enough.
I synched my breathing with hers and I began a soft breath of air onto her neck, nuzzling her ear.
"No," she pleaded softly. "No."
I said nothing, breathing with her, rubbing her gently, holding her firmly into me. Her hands pushed against the wall ineffectively. "No," she pleaded, "d-don't."
"Fuck, Bella," I purred, "you're getting wet, sweetie. You gonna cum for me, huh? You gonna cum for me, a nice little cum just for me?"
"Nau-No!" Bella begged, "please!" But her begging had an edge of desperation to it.
Her hands went to mine, one to my hand on her breast, her little heart now just thrumming with need, one hand to my hand on her cunny, bringing her closer and closer to release.
She tugged helplessly at my hands, trying to pull them away.
How long would this struggle last, I wondered? Because this was a struggle she could not win.
Her own body was betraying her now and my middle finger bathed in her want.
"Please," she begged. "Please."
But what was she begging for now? To release her? But how did she wish to be released?
I smiled.
My point.
"Okay," I said easily, lifting her hands to the wall, and I stepped away.
"U...uh?" she cried. "But ..."
Her head fell to the shower wall, bonking against it lightly.
"Fuck," she whispered to herself. "Oh, you fucking bitch!" she whimpered, forlorn and angry.
"Bella," I whispered.
Then I grabbed her arm, and spun her around quickly, smacking her, hard, against her face.
"Wha-... what?" She exclaimed, shocked and hurt, raising her hand to her cheek.
I smirked. "Your hands," I said, "give them to me."
She looked at me, hurt, her hand on her rose-red cheek.
So I took her hands in mine.
"These hands, Bella," I said. "I told you to do something. I told you to masturbate, but, no, you saw fit not to, didn't you?"
I glared.
"So," I said, "what? Is this a shameful thing? Did you not wish to do bad? Well, Bella, I told you everything good comes from me? Well, everything bad does now, too. From now on, you are not to use these hands anymore for anything other than my service. You are not to masturbate, ever again, unless under my express permission, and for the purpose of my pleasure. And don't you, ever, expect or hope for this permission from me, Bella. These hands," I said, raising them slightly.
She looked down, hurt, from my eyes to her hands. I took both of her wrists in one hand, then raised up my other.
"These hands," I said. I smacked her hands, hard.
"Ahhhh!" Bella cried, shocked and hurt.
This was nothing. This was just a light slap.
"They are evil things, Bella," I smacked her hands, hard, again.
"Owwww!" she cried.
"And are to do only and everything I tell them to do from now on, forevermore, do you hear me, Bella?"
I smacked her hands, hard, again.
"Yessss! Pleassssseeee!" Bella cried pitifully.
"Say it, Bella!" I yelled and raised my hand.
"Yes, okay! Ple-..." Then she broke off and screamed as my hand came down on hers.
They were beet red.
"Ohhh! Owwww!" she cried helplessly.
"They do what I say, Bella, and they do not do what I do not say, do you understand me, Bella?" I demanded.
"Yes," Bella whimpered, and seeing me raise my hand again, "Yes, oh, please, oh, God! Yes, I understand! Please, Please! PLEASE!"
I brought my hand down, hard, on her hands.
"Ohhh! God! Ohhh! God! Please, please, please!" Bella cried.
"Bella," I said calmly.
"Please," she whimpered, barely being able to stand, leaning against the wall, so she started to sink.
"Bella," I said, and I sank down with her. "I told you to masturbate, you didn't. That was your last disobedience, Bella. Now? You masturbate without my express permission? You even think of yourself, your body, anything, and ..." I glared down over her, "then I'm not going to be nice and gentle, like I was this time, do you hear me?"
"Yes," she cried, sitting on the floor, whimpering, "yes."
I let go of her tiny, little, red hands and sat down beside her and pulled her into me.
"Bella," I said, "put you hands on my shoulders."
She was sobbing softly now, in pain, her whole body wound tight around herself, she more lifted her arms than moved her hands, dead things to her, but I had been very gentle, actually, not breaking a single bone in either hand, she flopped her hands on my shoulders and used her arms more to keep them there, as opposed to holding onto my shoulders by gripping with her hands.
Her hands probably hurt like hell.
She sobbed into my chest as I held her, and then she totally broke down, crying her little heart out now, gripping my shoulders, a little bit, with her little hands. The cold of my shoulders was, paradoxically, seeping a cool balm into her hands aflame with agony.
She cried, and I held her to me, letting her cry it out.
A/N: Yeah. You don't have to guess.
I was ... fourteen I think, and ... my dad found me. And ...
Yeah.
He dragged me out into the hallway, and he held my hands by my wrists, right in front of my mom, and he said.
And he said: "These hands."
And he slapped them. Hard. I don't remember if it were once, now, or several times, but he told me my hands were bad, and did bad things, and ... that ...
Yeah.
And he was so, so ... angry at me and so disappointed.
Ten years later, I look down at my hands, and they still hurt.
And ... now ... I'm still that bad little girl who ... and ...
Yeah.