IMPORTANT NOTICE: As of this chapter, the author writing for Lydia has changed to a different but equally talented writer going by the username of MadamSeshat. Enjoy!
Lydia had concluded long ago that one of the worst things about being dead was the inability to dream. When she was alive, pale and weak and bed-bound, she would curl up in her duvet and dream about what it would be like to be healthy, to be able to leave the house, to go outside, to make friends, and go to school. Even just learning to ride a bike. On her worst days, when shakes wracked her body, her joints ached, and her empty stomach cramped in knots, she wished she never, ever had to wake up.
She wished she could do that now, to escape the cramped confines of her house to the outside world in her head. But in death, there were no dreams. Just loss of consciousness, then nothing until the pale light of the rising sun crept through the small attic window. He had moved closer to her in her sleep, pressed right up against her back with his large arm wrapped tight around her middle. He dwarfed her, his hand encompassing almost her whole torso, thumb tickling just over the swell of her breast, little finger grazing her hipbone where her nightdress had ridden up. She didn't think she had ever felt so warm– it was almost comforting enough to push away thoughts of last night in favor of just staying close to him.
But the crusty feeling of dried tears in her eyes and the stickiness down below was a solid reminder of what had happened. What she had done. The worst thing about it was that she didn't even know what it was. What that feeling was. Mama had always told her that no-one was to touch her private area, not even her. That touching down there was bad, disgusting, wrong, and if anyone tried she should say no, scream, and tell her Mama.
But what BJ had done, underneath the confusion and fear, had felt good. Too good. Her cheeks turned red at the memory. It was intense and burned to the point of pain but her body had pressed against his mouth and had moaned and writhed without her consent. Even thinking about it made her rub her thighs together.
Was it meant to feel like that? Surely it wasn't, or Mama wouldn't have warned her against it. It made much more sense that this was another part of her that was just broken. Her eyes filled with tears again, a lump filling her throat at the knowledge that she was disgusting and wrong and how could she disrespect her mama so much as to have done something like that? To feel something like that? She choked down a sob, pressing a hand to her mouth to further suppress the noise. She didn't want to screw up anymore and wake BJ up.
He was gone before her meek, unnecessary apology could hit his ears. It was better this way. It would only have given the boy more guilt he didn't know how to manage. In the night, their limbs had sought out the other's, tangling and intertwining until his superior mass swallowed her up, turning her into an indiscernible bump below the heavy comforter.
He always got too hot at night, often kicking off the blanket in his sleep to let stagnant air do what it could to cool sweating flesh. Not tonight. Little Lydia's constant source of cool eliminated any need. He awoke from heated dreams to find himself perfectly snug to his deliciously frigid bedmate, curled around her just as she was curled around her little doll, a heavy arm slung around her torso to keep her pressed tight against him. His face was buried in mussed braids, the silken bounty of hair impossibly soft against his stubbled cheek.
She smelt just as delicious as last night and in his post-sleep haze, he grunted, pulling her in tighter and taking a deep huff of that lovely scent; clean and sweet. The soft swell of her bottom pressed against his morning wood, and the dream that was floating away sneakily from his half-awake memory returned in an instant.
He had dreamt of Lydia, a Lydia that wasn't scared of him and didn't cry when he touched her. She was herself, but she wasn't; mature, knew what she wanted, a sexual vixen in the body of an unripened virgin. He was able to grasp onto his mind's invention of what she was wearing in the dreamscape before it eluded him entirely. A stringy little thong and pushup bra that gave her more of a womanly shape, all sinful black lace as though she butchered one of her cute little outfits just to please him.
Tortured, he grunted again— or was it more of a groan?— rolling his hips long and hard against her prone form. Still, she continued to sleep. How far gone was she? That cute little babydoll dress had ridden up in her sleep, leaving her soft tummy and back bare against his arm and gut. She wasn't as cold as usual. Now she was more… room temperature, as though she'd been soaking up his warmth all for herself while they slept.
Maybe if he just… if he was slow… she wouldn't notice…
BJ's horny lazy musings were shattered by the tiniest quiver of her thin shoulders, giving away that she wasn't asleep at all contrary to his belief. He nearly choked, going rigid in anticipation of enduring yet another girly meltdown over his wandering hands. She was crying. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… "Lyds… Baby…?" Did she have to look so incredibly fragile, so small and sad and vulnerable? He had no place comforting a creature like this. No right. She needed‒ deserved‒ someone more like husband number four's mother. She was a nice grandma while she was around. Made a mean chocolate chip cookie and knitted up a storm. One of the thick, cozy quilts she churned out for him was hastily wrapped around the little shaking thing's shoulders, both to provide comfort and to put more of a solid barrier between her and his guilty erection.
"Don't cry," he hushed in an early morning rasp, at a complete loss. It was too fucking early for this shit. "Wha'ss wrong?"
Lydia squeaked in surprise as she felt the body behind her move, pressing something hard against the curve of her backside. She froze, hoping he was just stretching in his sleep and she had time to compose herself before he woke up and saw her. She didn't want to agitate him again– not after last night. She was supposed to be endearing herself to him, but instead, she kept messing up– clinging to him one minute, sobbing the next, and somehow giving him signals that made him think he had to… she squeezed her legs together again, forcing herself to push it from her mind.
BJ moved once more, and there was no doubt he was awake now. He pulled away from her, and she held Alice tighter to her chest as she waited for him to tell her to leave, that he had realized that there was something inherently wrong with her and he would no longer humor her presence in his attic. But instead, he just wrapped a thick, handknitted blanket over her shoulders, tucking her in tightly like she was something precious, a fragile treasure that needed to be protected.
Her heart pounded and the tears came faster, though this time from a strange emotion in her chest that she couldn't name. She rolled over and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. She inhaled the tobacco and earth scent of him and basked in his warmth through the blankets, feeling truly comforted for the first time since she had died.
"I… I'm sorry" she choked out, voice muffled by the way she pressed her face against him. Her tears dripped icy cold onto his skin, leaving phantom trails before evaporating away into the ether.
"I… last night… I made you… and I… something came over me..." She trailed off, knowing she wasn't making much of any sense but not able to string the words together in a way that conveyed the confused tangle of internalized guilt in her head. Her small hands played with the hairs at the nape of his neck absently, twirling them around her fingers
"I didn't mean to… forgive me."
Without thinking, mind stilly hazy with dream dust, he hugged her close when she gave herself to him, brows furrowed cutely in abject confusion. What was she going on about now? It seemed like every ten minutes she had a new thing to fuss over.
"S'okay," he grumbled dismissively while rubbing her back, vaguely aware that she was talking about their X-rated cuddling the previous night. "I forgive ya."
Not in any mood to dissect all that, however, BJ made to sit up and stretch, back popping with a big yawn. His commanding presence and motions set the tone for the conversation. Apparently, he didn't want to discuss it and expected her not to either. Smacking his lips and scratching his hairy gut after coming back from that full-body stretch and yawn combo, he smirked her way once he caught full sight of her hysterics, reaching out to brush a quickly dissipating tear from her icy cheek with his knuckle. She was awful cute like that, all frazzled and stressed out.
Nevertheless, he had shit to do today.
"Cheer up, buttercup! Ain't nothin' t'cry about. You eat food? Want some breakfast? I'm starvin'," he threw her a half-cocked grin that read like he was tempted to eat his fill from between her delicious creamy thighs again, but didn't say or do anything more nefarious than that.
"Figured y'could help me unpack all my shit n' stuff, posters n' junk. Help me decide where t'put it all. Give it 'a woman's touch', y'know? Just as long as y'don't break nothin'."
Lydia melted into his large frame, taking a deep shuddering breath as his hand rubbed up and down her back. Relief radiated from her center at his acceptance of her apology, sleep-slurred though it was. He didn't hate her, and from the gentle way he wiped her tears away, he wasn't repulsed by her very presence.
She offered him a quick smile, biting her lip against any further words as his body language declared the subject closed. Instead, she followed him out of the bed, immediately bending back down to right the duvet and pillows with quick, practiced movements until it looked like no-one had slept in there at all. Mama had been very strict about cleanliness– had to be when Lydia was so prone to becoming ill– and Lydia had learned well.
BJ talked while she made the bed, with a sweet nickname and an emphasis on the word "starving" that she didn't initially catch
"Oh… breakfast," she said, turning back around quickly and tilted her head up to look at him. She froze like a little rabbit in the headlights at the hungry smile on the boy's face. Her cheeks flushed, and her stomach flipped anxiously.
"Um… I can eat," she said, words tripping over themselves as she struggled to get them out "But it doesn't… I can't taste things properly anymore." Her eyebrows furrowed a moment as she licked her lips. "Except…"
She had tasted something last night. Mint and an undefined taste of him as he licked into and dominated her mouth. The significance of such a thing was lost in the confusion of the succeeding events, but now… She pushed the thought from her head quickly in time to catch his next offer.
"I'd love to help! Mama never let me help with the decorating– but I always wanted to. I always thought that when I was older and better, I could maybe persuade her to let me choose my comforter or something."
She was almost jumping up and down in excitement as she talked, eyes bright with innocent, childlike joy. BJ had changed everything about her little home up here, uprooted all of her things, and removed all traces of Mama and her dolls. But this… if he let her help maybe she could have a little control again. Make it hers, even in a small way.
"Where should we start? Are your parents in? I could make you breakfast if you like? Once I'm dressed and everything."
"Davey's at work, n' Ruth ain't gonna be shakin' off her hangover till well past high noon, so you n' me got this place aaallllll to ourselves, baby girl!"
BJ was giddy, excited for once to be settling into a new home, and it was all thanks to his cute, creepy new companion. Her eagerness to do things for him, just to make him happy made it all that much cooler. The prospect of her floating around in that kitchen in a little apron, putting together a big proper meal for him had his flagging erection stiffening back up immediately.
"Mmm… that sounds jus' perfect. Why don't you go on n' get yerself fixed up pretty then fry me some bacon n' pancakes, huh sugar?"
With a smooch on the cheek and a pat on the head, he sent her on her way, fully expecting her to obey without question. He still needed a morning bowl, and a cigarette, and maybe a quick jerk-off if he could work it in before she finished cooking.
"Eggs n' coffee too," he specified, a fresh cigarette already hanging out of the corner of his mouth while he packed his glass pipe. "Over easy."
Just like you, princess.
Lydia froze slightly as he bent down towards her face, but he just pressed a wet, sloppy kiss to her cheek. She wiped the area, trying to make herself look stern but she couldn't pull off the expression whilst feeling so hopeful. Instead, she just nodded as she committed his order to memory, then literally floated out of the room.
This morning was working out so much better than yesterday evening had. He seemed to like her, and she wasn't making stupid mistakes to make him angry again. Wrapping her arms around her cold body, she smiled. She had never really had any friends before outside of Mama and her doctors, but perhaps BJ could be that to her? Her first real friend.
She continued past the door to the basement and into the kitchen, not wanting to ruin her good mood by facing the scary room. The kitchen had been remodeled since the last time she was down here‒ which made sense. She had caused an explosion‒ and it was filled with white appliances and newly cleaned countertops.
Right… so what to do first? She considered this as she re-plaited her hair into twin braids and adorned the black apron hanging on the back of the kitchen door. It swamped her, but after a couple of strategically placed knots, she could get it to cover her nightgown well enough. Floating around the room, she opened random cupboard doors and the fridge until managing to collect a series of utensils and what she believed to be the right ingredients. Then she paused.
Despite her confidence in the attic, she had never actually made… well, anything before. Mama never allowed her in the kitchen. She was always too sick, and even when she wasn't, Mama didn't want to tempt fate by exposing her to any more food than she had to. But Lydia had watched some cooking programs, and before she lost her temper and banished herself to the attic she had seen others cook and was sure she could replicate it. It couldn't be that hard.
An indeterminate amount of time later, she realized her confidence was misplaced. It started with the flour– which apparently wouldn't come out of the bag until tipped too far and then it would all come out in a cloud of particles that settled over her hair and the dark counter and the floor like snow. Then, it was the eggs that wouldn't crack enough or would shatter on the side of the bowl, getting shell in the mixture and goo on the counter. And then the batter was lumpy and crunchy and positively not the consistency she could recall from TV shows. Still, Lydia had some hope at that point that maybe she could save the situation.
But then came the actual cooking part. She managed to get the new stove turned on but found it was rather difficult to gauge temperature when one could put their hand into the fire and not feel a thing. The first pancake was burned. So was the second. The third wouldn't come unstuck from the pan, so she left it in the sink and found another. The fourth ended up on the floor when she tried to flip it over. The fifth would barely cook at all. Frustrated tears were blurring her vision as she scowled at her concoction. Even her current attempt, which so far was cooking without a hitch, wasn't looking like any pancake Mama had made her when she was alive.
She wasn't very good at cooking, she realized, turning out her 'pancake' onto a plate, and adding bacon into the pan. It sizzled and spat at her, adding bacon fat to the mess now on the front of the apron, obscuring the raunchy phrase she'd not paid any attention to when she first put it on.
BJ seemed so happy that she would cook for him, and this was supposed to be proof that she was good wife material. That he should think of her in that way, and not just as the little kid haunting his bedroom. She flipped the bacon over absently with her fingers, noting that she had at least managed to not burn that part yet. Maybe she could find some bread and make a sandwich? It wasn't what he asked for, but perhaps it would at least be edible? Deciding to go with her new plan, she abandoned the bacon on the stove to start searching through the cupboards again.
Quite happily, BJ smoked his cigarette and marijuana, lounging lazily back in the center of his bed while his new pet ghost readied his breakfast. This was the life. How much of his room could he convince her to arrange while he sat back and played video games? Oh yeah...
Lydia sounded solidly busy downstairs. If Ruth roused, she would just assume it was him fucking around and making all that noise. If she went to investigate and got a scare? Well, then that would serve her right for being such a condescending bitch when he tried to tell her about their ghost problem before.
"Problem?" Did he even think of her that way? Time to scratch that completely. Lydia was the best thing that had happened to him in a long damn time. His thoughts couldn't help but revolve around her as he took his sweet time prepping for the day. After adding a new layer of tar to his lungs, his meaty palm drifted past the waistband of his pants. He took his time stroking himself to completion until a thick stream of cum landed on his furry belly. Throughout, he thought about Lydia‒ about kissing her, and licking her, and how good and tight that sweet little pussy was... how fuckin' nice it would feel to hike those creamy thighs wide and just split her open on his cock. That's the mental image that threw him over the edge. When he was done, he wiped himself clean, threw his dirty clothes on the ground, and dressed in a pair of worn jeans, a Misfits tee, and a green flannel with many cigarette burns in the soft material.
Surely, she would have made a dent in getting his food ready by now. With thundering steps, he descended to the ground floor only to be met with absolute carnage when he passed the threshold into the kitchen.
"The fuck…?"
It was a warzone! Countless eggshells and messy broken yolks were splattered across the floor and counters and ceiling. Where before there was an empty sink void of any dirty dishes, both were now filled up with utensils and mixing bowls and pans‒ the many failed attempts of her efforts to make him breakfast. At least the coffee looked okay.
Well. He wasn't cleaning this shit up. "Ruth is gonna be pissed, Lyds."
Chuckling sadistically, he sipped at a mug of black coffee and watched like a predator from the bar as she stumbled over preparing a meal for him. So fuckin' cute. Once he had a lovingly made BLT sitting in front of him, he flashed a fangy grin and pat the top of her head in approval.
"Good girl. Next time, don't bite off more n' you can chew. If ya can't do somethin', say so n' if I know how t'do it, I'll show ya how. 'Kay?"
Lydia had just floated down from finding a loaf of thick-sliced bread when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. She looked around the kitchen, eyes wide as though seeing the mess for the first time. There was no way that she was going to clean this up before he would see it, and he was going to be so upset with her.
She shrunk into herself, shoulders hunched and unwanted tears clinging to her long eyelashes as she stared at the floor, unable to bring herself to see his disappointment as he stood in the doorway. There was an echoing moment of silence as he took in the scene.
"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'll clean it all up, I promise. Mama never even let me near the kitchen because I was ill, but I'd watched programs on TV and I didn't think it would be this hard. I just wanted to impress you," she rambled anxiously, before biting her tongue to stop from embarrassing herself any further. She wiped her eyes quickly, finally looking up at him, fiddling with the hem of her nightdress. He looked faintly amused like she was a pet who'd done something cute. It certainly wasn't angry or irritated like she imagined it would be.
It gave her the confidence to run back over to the bacon, pulling it off the heat in a way that would have burned a living, breathing person. She grabbed some bread, and some salad items out of the fridge and put together a sandwich, laboring over the simple meal more than strictly necessary to make up for her mistake. The BLT looked a lot more edible than anything else she'd attempted that morning.
As Lydia brought the plate over to him, she felt herself beaming with pride. Was this how Mama felt whenever she cooked for Daddy and her? This feeling of achievement, like she'd finally done something right? She flushed, almost wriggling at the praise he bestowed upon her.
"Okay – I will. Thank you, BJ," she said, offering him a sweet smile. In a fit of bravery, she leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on his rough cheek, just like Mama used to do sometimes for Daddy when he came home from work for dinner. Immediately after, she pulled back and ran towards the kitchen.
"I'll start washing up."
And she did, letting the teenager eat his sandwich as she began with the dishes in the sink then methodically working across the rest of the room, innocently giving the perverted teenager a perfect view up her loose nightgown as she floated to clean the ceiling, and an arguably better one as she went down on her hands and knees to scrub the floor, dress riding up to show her white panties. By the time she finished, the kitchen was sparkling clean and Lydia was a bit sweaty, breathing with exertion despite being dead. She knelt up, turning to look at BJ.
"Is that okay?" she asked him, biting her lip anxiously "I don't want to get you into any trouble, BJ."
Oh, fuck yeah. BJ could get used to this. He was downright spoiled. The teenager was content to remain throned up like a King at the kitchen bar while his pet ghost serviced him. The only thing that would have made the experience complete was a beer, a striptease, and a blowjob. Speaking of...
"Grab me a beer, honey?"
She didn't hesitate, wrapping little fingers around the cold bottleneck on the top shelf in a way that made the flesh between his thighs burn.
"Mm," he licked his lips after gulping down a third of the bottle in one swig. It was only ten o'clock in the morning, but it's not like there were any responsible adults around to supervise. "Thanks. Yer a gem, Lyds, really."
He considered leaving a bite of sandwich behind for her to try but decided it was too tasty and she didn't eat food anyway and it was his sandwich, why the fuck should he have to share with some dead brat? A twinge of guilt hit him as he indulged the last speck of it, watching with a perpetually hard cock as she scrubbed the floor and gave him one hell of a show. Not quite a striptease or a blowjob, but it got the job done.
Let's see… he was stoned. Check. Full? Check. Busted a nut? Check. Buzzed? Check. To top it all off, all the doting from such sweet eye candy had his chubby, stubbly cheeks just a little flushed with excitement. She crawled his way then, seeking further approval and rubbing up against his leg. Heart melting at the cuteness, he leaned back in his chair, thighs spreading, and rested a heavy palm on top of her head.
Is that okay?
"That's perfect, babes. Yer great." As cute as she looked simpering at his feet, he wanted her closer, and so scooped her up off the ground easily with one arm, settling her on his leg.
"Y'could teach my Ma a thing or two." This was false praise. Ruth had perfected cooking his bacon down to a science, but Ruth didn't require any more training, not the way Lydia did.
"N' I told ya. I don't get in trouble. Nobody's the boss o' me. Wanna help me unpack my boxes now? Since I moved all yer stuff? S'only fair, cupcake."
Lydia was completely oblivious to any of the unsavory thoughts going through BJ's head as she obediently interrupted her cleaning to get him a beer out of the fridge. She wasn't entirely sure that it was a good idea to drink this early in the morning, but she wasn't about to argue with him when there was still pancake batter on the ceiling. Anyway, her own diet hadn't exactly been a good representation of normal meals, and Mama used to tell Daddy off for drinking at all times of the day, so perhaps she didn't have a good comparison for what was normal?
She crawled over to rest against his leg when she was done cleaning, allowing herself to enjoy the warmth of him. A fire had no sensation for her anymore, but somehow this man felt like a furnace against her icy skin, his hand burning against her cheek in the nicest of ways. She had forgotten what it truly meant to be warm, as much as she'd forgotten how comforting human contact could be.
She squeaked as he scooped her up with one arm, stiffening when he deposited her on his leg and held her. She was so small compared to him. If she wanted to physically escape his grasp against his will, it would be almost impossible for her without phasing through. His grip was tight as she curled up against his belly, flushing at the latest in a list of nicknames he was doting on her. Cupcake. Babes, honey, sugar.
"I'm sure I'm not as good as your Mama but thank you," she said, cheeks still pink, "and I can help you unpack. I just need to get into some day clothes."
Lydia looked down at her nightdress. The apron protected most of it, but there were still some spots of flour clinging to the black material, along with a little in her hair. Perhaps a bath was in order as well.
But to do that required returning to the basement, a place she was banned from in life and now terrified of in death. She braved it the previous evening, deeming it the lesser of two evils when faced with the other option of an angry teenager that scared and threatened her. But BJ had been lovely to her so far that morning, giving her much less incentive to face the dark room. His kindness made her wonder if last night had just been a big misunderstanding. His fury and violence towards her came from an understandable fear of the ghost in his room, and what he had done later to her… whatever that was had clearly gone from him now. She felt much safer, safe enough to risk a small request.
"Could you… could you maybe go to the basement with me?" she asked, leaning back with her hands resting on his shoulders so she could give him the wide, puppy-dog eyes that always had her Daddy wrapped around her little finger‒ they never worked with Mama, unfortunately, but she worked with what she had.
"You put my stuff right at the back."
His brow twitched. A moment later, his biceps flexed, chin rising just the slightest bit while his chest puffed with a sharp inhale. She needed his help going down to the dark, scary basement. The ghost. It was tragic and hilarious and so fucking cute, he didn't know whether to laugh or kiss her and so settled on brandishing a dastardly grin while inflating like a balloon, ego thoroughly stroked. BJ could be her hero. For a little bit at least.
"Sure thing, doll." In one easy motion, he stood, slinging her around to his back so she could hang on around his thick neck and he could retain use of his arms on his way down to the basement. "Ain't nothin' t'be scared of down there. Maybe some black widows… n' yer dead! Yer the scariest thing in the whole damn house!"
Sensing that maybe she was taking that the wrong way, he balmed the sting just a bit.
"But I like scary things. And dead things! Spiders… Shit like that…"
Smooth, Benny. "Some o' my friends call me Beetle cause uh…" For once, BJ found himself embarrassed by his playground shenanigans. Sweet, pretty, polite little Lydia would be aghast at what he had to say. Nevertheless, he told her, hating how low it made him feel to do so. "I'll… Uh. Eat bugs. For money. Worms n' beetles n' shit. Ten bucks here, twenty there. Not a bad gig, all things considered…"
A weak laugh died on an awkward cough in the dark of the basement. BJ hadn't bothered pulling the light switch on the way down, originally having planned on pranking her somehow, unable to resist temptation. Still could, the story had just left him vulnerable here with her in a way the brazenness of doing it for an audience never had. He was more inclined toward niceness than nastiness. A broad hand found her calf slipping around his side and grasped it, helped her in holding herself up against him.
"Still scared or ya think I can letcha down to get dressed?"
Lydia beamed at BJ as he agreed to her request, taking it as confirmation that she was right about him. He was a good guy, and the previous evening was a fluke brought on by the stress of meeting a real ghost. She wrapped her arms around his neck to give him a hug
"Thank you!" She relaxed and went pliable, so she was easy to manipulate as he swung her around to his back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his soft belly as she steadied herself. He started walking them to the basement, talking to her all the while.
Although he couldn't see her, she scowled at the back of his head as he said she was scary, her little hands tightening in the fabric of his shirt. He was making fun of her, she was sure of it. She knew she wasn't frightening. She was small, and scrawny and looked young for her fourteen years of age. She was about as intimidating as a kitten, and she was very aware of it. He didn't need to patronize her like that, and just as she was thinking that he wasn't so mean…
She opened her mouth to petulantly demand her let her down when he continued… her words died in her throat. She hadn't expected him to suddenly talk about himself like that, and that little laugh… was he embarrassed?
"In Ghana, some people eat termites. And they eat crickets in Thailand. It's just the Western World that has a stigma against eating bugs." She paused, voice gentle as she carefully picked her words to try and make him feel better. "I always wanted to go traveling. I wanted to take photographs…"
She trailed off as they headed down the stairs, BJ not even bothering to reach for the light switch as they entered the basement. Her breath caught as she looked around the room, the long shadows making taloned hands that reached out for her, the pipes growling and snarling and the piles of boxes and detritus offering ample dark corners for things to hide.
Daddy had once told her a story about a monster that lived in the basement. She couldn't quite remember it but she remembered Mama being furious. She said Lydia was too little for tales like that, and couldn't he see she was terrified, and isn't she sick enough without you filling her head with nightmares? All week, Mama had sat with her, and reminded her not to think about the dark, scary basement, and that Lydia never needed to go near there again because Mama was here for her. By the end of that week, Lydia had decided that she would never go near there again.
It wasn't that Lydia believed in monsters. She knew logically that there was nothing in there with sharp claws and teeth, but it didn't stop her from squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face into BJ's neck. His hand was warm on her leg, and she squeezed her arms tighter until she was almost choking him
Still scared?
Her eyes opened. She didn't want to seem like a complete baby, and she came here last night‒ by closing her eyes, floating to a box, and grabbing whatever was on the top. So she carefully let herself be placed on the floor, still gripping his hand, holding it with both of hers as she stayed pressed against his leg.
"Let's just grab something... I need a shower… I can change upstairs." she said quickly, looking at her stocking covered feet so as not to focus on any particular patch of darkness.
"Dead people need to shower…? Huh…" Brows furrowed, he leaned down to where he knew she was settled in the dark, taking a long deliberate sniff in her general direction, snorting practically as he huffed in her scent. Clean linens and dried herbs still. Couldn't even smell the bacon from his sandwich, or leftover cooties from him rubbing his sweaty palms all over her.
"Smell fine t'me, but whatever floats yer boat."
It did not go beyond his notice that she didn't want him to let her down, didn't want to stray too far from his side, and pointedly did not answer his question. This was a fun change from the previous night when he stalked her scared glowy little body through the shadows in the attic and made her let go that yummy shriek. For now, he was content to play the hero. "C'mon, lil' bit, ain't got all day." He nudged her toward a box he remembered placing himself because of the godawful bright yellow lace monstrosity sticking out the top. Leery of letting her pick something so ugly, he proceeded to pick through the box himself before she could have a say. She was his doll, his ghost. It seemed reasonable to BJ that she should just wear whatever he wanted her to.
"Here," he pulled out one of the less complex dresses, this one in powder blue with black ribbon and lace detailing and only one petticoat. "I like this 'un."
He did, and not because the color would bring out the blue-black in her pretty soft hair or any pussy shit like that. Nope. Nothing like at all. Smirking nastily to himself at how short it was when he held it up to her‒ like a pastel french maid's outfit‒ he returned to digging through the same box, more eagerly now, looking for something.
"Where's yer panties n' socks n' stuff?"
His doll needed accessories.
Lydia's brow furrowed for a second– she'd never considered if she truly needed to shower. It was just something she continued to do religiously from the day she reappeared in her attic. The water made her feel almost warm, and the familiarity let her pretend she was still alive so she wasn't going to give it up, even if it wasn't a necessity of her routine anymore.
"Thank you," she said politely as he reassured her that she didn't smell bad. She wondered if she should return the compliment– he did have a… particularly masculine smell, underneath the scent of tobacco and weed. She thought she rather liked it. Chickening out though, she instead remained tucked against his side as they ventured further into the basement.
He started diving into the box for her once they were close, and she passively let him choose an outfit, though did open her mouth to protest as he lifted the bright yellow, frilly abomination. She wasn't entirely certain what Mama had been thinking when she purchased it. It made her look even more sallow and washed out than normal. Additionally, it was hardly Lydia's preferred color scheme. Mama seemed to like it though, and Lydia had been forced into it for many doctor's visits.
Luckily, BJ seemed to think the same and he pushed it down further into the box. Instead, he pulled out one of her older dresses. It was a little small for her now – a bit too short and a little tight around her waist and bust but she didn't have the heart to tell him so. This felt oddly familiar somehow, comforting almost. It was a little like Mama had come back, except not because Mama's eyes had never made her feel tingly or flushed like BJ's did when he held the outfit up to her and smirked.
She looked away quickly, and pointed at another box, dragging him by the hand to it so she didn't have to go even that short distance alone. She knew from Mama, that she wasn't supposed to let boys near her underthings, but she didn't think BJ would take no for an answer. So she split the difference by going into the box herself and fishing out the pretty pair of blue lace panties that had been bought to go with the dress. Again, they were a little small for her now– apparently despite still looking very straight and childlike, her hips and bust had filled out a little compared to when she was a preteen. Giving them to him to hold, she bent down to hunt for the corresponding black thigh high socks with a little blue bow on the outside edge.
"I think I have a matching headband and ribbons in that box over there…" she said, depositing her find into his arms and grabbing a little vest to put under the ensemble. She never developed enough to warrant a real bra, though she'd always wanted one
"Mama liked having complete matching sets. Alice has one too…"
Suddenly, Lydia realized she left the doll in the kitchen, leaning her on the counter after all the fuss of cooking. Wrapping her arms around herself, she felt very alone despite knowing it was childish.
"Oh… I've forgotten her."
BJ was regretting not turning the light on. If he had, he would have been better able to distinguish the sweet shape of her backside as she bent in the dark to dig through the box and find some pretty lacy underthings to wear for him. Wasn't he going to trick her or something? Make her all cute and scared again? Squinting through the shadows, trying to catch a glimpse of her panties made it hard to remember. There wasn't any need to bully Lydia for a laugh. When it occurred to her that she forgot her precious little dolly, her demeanor changed altogether‒ skinny arms wrapped tight around her frail torso, bottom lip pouted out just so while her big eyes got impossibly bigger‒ and BJ realized he didn't have the heart for it anymore. She was already so shaken, anything else would be overkill.
"C'mon, honey," he purred calm and gentle, pulling her as well as her fresh clothes back into his arms for the journey upstairs. She was short enough, hauling her around seemed easier than waiting for her to float after him. It didn't hurt that this gave him an excuse to feel up her perpetually smooth legs. An extremely fine dusting of peach fuzz coated soft porcelain skin, informing that the poor thing met her end before ever learning how to shave her legs. He didn't mind. It was sweet and different and spoke to her innocence.
"Do we gotta getcha a night light?" He chortled at the thought‒ a ghost afraid of the dark‒ unable to stop from rubbing his cheek against the top of her head affectionately while carrying her upstairs toward the light. "S'okay. I like sleepin' with the TV on most nights anyways."
She was easy to talk to. He found he didn't have much of a filter when it came to the pretty little spirit, clumsy lips spilling whatever thought popped into his brain. He deposited her on the counter in the bathroom before pointing out which of Ruth's expensive soaps he thought smelled the best. He would have to get her soap of her own if she was going to insist on needless baths and showers. Couldn't have her running around smelling like his whore mother.
"Need me ta help ya outta this thing?" He offered completely innocently, a sausage-like finger toying with the large bow tied at her back‒ his own secret dead lolita. "All them buttons n' ribbons… Looks awful complicated. Could just rip it off if ya want…"
Lydia's thoughts were spiraling nonsensically as she processed that she was without Alice or any of her other companions. Logically, she knew it made no sense, but she felt unsafe, and so, so desperately alone. Utterly alone‒ as she had been for so many years now without Mama or Daddy. With people moving in and through the house with no-one even able to see her. To touch her. To reassure her. Alone in the dark basement. Dark attic. Alone. Alone. Alone.
She was wrenched from the impending panic attack by BJ pulling her back against him. His arms were tight around her and the constant sound of his heartbeat was reassuring as she was pressed against his chest. This time, the feel of his fingers rubbing up and down her thighs felt grounding, the contact making her feel less isolated, despite the underlying intentions that she could sense but didn't understand.
She took a deep, unnecessary breath and concentrated on pushing away the unwanted thoughts that threatened to suffocate her
"I'm not scared of the dark," she insisted adamantly, which was only a bit of a lie. "I… daddy would tell me stories about the monster in the basement… and Mama would tell him off for scaring me." She smiled as he nuzzled the top of her head with a stubbled cheek. He was so nice to her, so gentle as he carried her to safety like a knight in shining armor. Or like a prince from the cartoon's Mama used to put on for her.
He placed her on the bathroom counter, pointing out some very fancy looking toiletries.
"These smell really nice," she said, holding up a couple of the bottles to her nose. "When I was alive, I was allergic to lots of different soaps, so I had to use plain ones. Mama had to order them in special. At least being dead means I don't have to worry about having an EpiPen nearby."
She slipped off the counter, taking BJ's recommendations and placing them on the rim of the bath. She felt his fingers on the back of her dress and turned around sharply
"Don't rip it," she said, sounding mortally offended at the very idea, only realizing that he was probably joking too late… probably. Her hands smoothed down the sides of the outfit, straightening it out a bit. There were very few dresses in her collection that were zipped, or easily accessed. Part of her routine in the morning was Mama choosing her outfit and spending time tying her into the ensemble and brushing out her hair. It was Lydia and Mama's time– a quiet moment before all the fuss of medications and doctor's appointments and trying to find something that wouldn't upset her sensitive stomach.
Now Mama wasn't here, Lydia had learned to do her own dresses‒ aided by an impressive flexibility that death had bestowed upon her. But she sort of missed that routine. She considered him– her scruffy prince. He seemed so eager to help her. Mama would understand this, wouldn't she? After all, Lydia had already done the unthinkable last night so this was nothing in comparison. And… she didn't want to be alone yet. Not so soon after the basement.
"If you're gentle, you could help me undo the ties," she conceded, turning back around so he could see the crisscrossing ribbons and fastenings that held the nightdress loosely to her torso, face flushing a delicate pink. "No looking. Mama said I'm not meant to let boys see me undressed so… you need to leave once you're done."
He practically growled at the insistence he leave after undressing her, riled by the challenge. What would she do if he decided he didn't want to leave? What if he just kept on undressing her after he was done untying the pretty little bow and loosening the silky little ribbons? The brushes of skin-on-skin contact he was allotted while performing the task she permissed were so soft and cool to the touch, reminding him painfully of his exploits with her the previous night.
His cock pulsed, straining against his jeans, mouth drying at the remembrance that she would be sharing his bed again that night. Suddenly, BJ couldn't wait for the day to be over and it wasn't even noon yet. His big mitts were clumsy and unpracticed pulling at the laces. This was delicate work for an ogre like him, grunting and huffing while he worked as if he thought he would be getting some kind of reward after completing this kindly offered favor and was impatient for the payout.
Eventually, taking much longer and doing more damage to the gown than little Lydia would have, the ribbon hung loose and the fabric at the back of her dress parted to reveal once more to him a pure, unblemished canvas of mouthwatering flesh. Even in broad daylight, she glowed, entrancing him to not even bother pretending as if he was inclined to honor her wishes. He "looked" alright. More than that, he touched, greedily splaying his large, calloused palm and fingers right in the center of her shoulder blades, just feeling her. His breaths were audibly faster, harsher. For a split-second, he was alarmed at the sight of her missing in the bathroom mirror‒ his hand pressed against nothing, looking like a stupid street mime‒ but he quickly recovered from the shock in favor of savoring the quiet caress.
"Yer beautiful, Lyds." His thumb moved in small circles, taking what he could where he could. "Yer Ma was jus' tryin' to protect ya, but that's my job now." It was. Sudden irrational rage pulsed at the back of his head at the mere thought of someone else bringing her any kind of harm. She had already hurt so much for such a little thing. "S'not bad t'let me look at ya. I like lookin' at ya."
His tone sounded slimy, even to him, and he swallowed excess saliva back with a grimace‒ as if swallowing the filth he meant to corrupt her with. What kind of sick fucking God would drop this angel in his lap for him to take advantage of without any threat of consequence? It wasn't right. Why wasn't she in Heaven? Such a place must not exist for her to be there with him in that bathroom.
Tragic.
"Y'sure ya don't need anythin' else?"
BJ had clearly never tried to handle anything so delicate as the silk ribbons of her nightgown. His fingers kept pulling at the lace, tightening and loosening in equal measure and "accidentally" brushing his hands along her back as he huffed in annoyance. Yet he still patiently completed his task, until Lydia could feel the air against her cool skin.
She wasn't surprised when his hand spread across her back, hot and unyielding. Did he have it in his nature to do anything else? He always seemed to be looking at her with an intensity she didn't understand but just knew had to do with how he kissed her last night, and he was always finding reasons to touch her. His thumb stroked gently over her shoulder blade.
Her breath caught in her throat, body trembling as though she were cold and her cheeks flushed. She was overwhelmed with the realization that she wouldn't be able to stop him if he wanted to stay, just like she couldn't stop his head between her legs the night before or control the feelings that he elicited in her. She was so tiny compared to him, so helpless.
Her eyes fell closed, perhaps in resignation, as she listened to him croon at her. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't beautiful– she was cute perhaps, in the same way that baby animals were cute. Beautiful was reserved for the models in the front of fashion magazines, or on the TV. People in grown bodies, who weren't scrawny and short and… like her. Her body tensed with anxiety. She didn't know what was going to happen next, what he wanted from her but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was going to take it.
Then he gave her an out.
"You… you need to go," she said, wrapping her arms around herself to keep the dress up as she spun around to look up at him. When had her voice become so breathy, so unsure? When had she bitten her lip swollen, or started to feel a strange throbbing between her legs? When had she become so afraid?
She wasn't sure what had done it – perhaps the mixture of terrified confusion in her plea, but he listened to her and left the bathroom. As he closed the door, she collapsed down onto the floor, letting the dress fall from her shoulders.
"Oh Mama… what do I do?" She asked the empty room, listening to the silence that replied. She stayed there for what could have been seconds or minutes, or perhaps days until she could finally bring herself to stand. Looking at her lack of reflection in the mirror, she wondered what it was he saw in her. Biting her lip, a hand came to rest on her chest and felt the absence of a heartbeat. What was it that drew him to touch her like this?
Hesitantly, she ran her hand down, over the slight swell of her breasts, tracing the hollows of her ribcage and further to the flat plane of her stomach, the divots of her hips. The skin was ice cold, and almost perfectly smooth, muscles tensing as she found ticklish spots and other sensitive areas. Pausing, she summoned courage before letting her hand slip between her legs to where she felt the low hum of heat was still centered. The silken, wet flesh felt… sensitive, but not like when BJ had run his fingers over her, tongue on her mouth and neck as she begged and burned and snapped and lost herself completely for the first time, different to when he devoured her as she cried for him to stop. She removed her hand sharply, feeling a much stronger ache between her legs and sharp jolts where she was rubbing an exquisitely sensitive area of her anatomy. Her fingers glistened as she stared at them in shock, and she realized she was panting slightly. Choking down a sob, she fled into the shower, setting the water as hot as it would go.
"I'm sorry, Mama," she whispered, resting her hands on the tiled wall so she couldn't use them to touch any part of her body. She was hyper-aware of every burning drop of water on her body as it washed over her, hiding the tears she sobbed.
She stayed in the shower well past the time she normally did, until the chill was completely gone from her skin and she was almost at body temperature. Pulling on her new outfit as quickly as she could, she contorted her body to sort out the ribbons by herself. It was certainly as short as she feared it would be, and almost tight enough to give her the illusion of having a waist. She tugged at the skirt a little, before wrapping her hair up in one of the smaller towels and heading back towards BJ's room.
She knocked cautiously before heading inside, eyes kept to the floor. Her mouth was dry when she said, "Mama and Daddy never touched me like you do."
It sounded like it was supposed to be a question or at least lead into one but instead trailed off into a timid statement, barely audible as she stayed pressed against the door.
After leaving his precious little roommate to take her useless shower, tempted as he was to push her further, BJ made short work of unpacking his television, Xbox, video games, and nothing else. Once they were hooked up and ready to game, he got good and comfy in bed with the controller, ready to waste the rest of his day on obliterating alien scum.
Lydia could unpack everything else. Give her something to do while he was at school. School. His stomach twisted at the thought. Even before Lydia, he was not looking forward to his first day at Mister Butterfield's School for Faggots, but now he was especially put out. Like a spoiled child with a new toy, all he wanted to do was sit at home and play with her, not go to some boring prissy all-boys school and waste his time learning shit he wasn't ever going to use anyway.
BJ didn't know what he wanted to be when he "grew up"‒ he was already there as far as his anatomy was concerned‒ but he knew that he didn't want to fall victim to the college scam and waste good money on four more years of educational slavery. Maybe he could work on cars... test video games... they paid people to do that, right?
Right as he sniped an alien invader, splashing green and purple brain matter all over the screen, Lydia made her presence known with a disturbing statement that sent tobacco smoke roiling against his lungs, a harsh cough interrupting his playing while blue-green eyes watered.
"Good!"
Gathering himself, he regarded her on the opposite end of the room with perplexion, brows furrowed deep while his round cheeks darkened with sudden unreasonable anger.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, they better not have!"
Her short, miserable life had clearly been tragic enough without heaping incestual sexual abuse on top. What kind of relationship did Lydia think they had to be saying things like that to him?
"Shit, kid... I ain't yer fuckin' Dad. I'm yer boyfriend!"
The declaration popped out before he could stop, think, and filter what he wanted to say. The angry red color darkening his cheeks took on a pinker hue and he suddenly found his video game quite interesting indeed. Did he want Lydia to be his girlfriend? Or did he just like having a pet?
"Start on them boxes over there," he directed, needing her to stop floating there and staring at him like she was thinking bad things. "Ask me if ya dunno where t'put somethin'."
