Blood Rush
Chapter Seven: Intermission
It turned out that Lila Valeska had not made good on her word; in fact, she had done everything she could to stay in the trailer whenever Jerome and Deedee would be together. She also became more enthusiastic in the bedroom with her lovers, Grayson and Lloyd—separately. Her attitude toward her children became most foul, barking orders at them whenever they would get some time alone—even at night time.
"Take the trash out!" she had called from the bedroom before she'd turn the lights out. "Delilah, keep the bathroom door open! I wanna know if you're trying to cop a feel from your brother! Oh, my fucking God, I didn't think I'd ever have to hear that sentence come out of my mouth! What did I ever do to deserve children like you! If you—"
Deedee slammed Lila's bedroom door shut, "SHUT UP, MOTHER! ALL RIGHT!"
Jerome turned his head from the wash sink, arms deep in the dish soap and water, the sleeves of his collared shirt rolled up to his forearms. One quick look over, and he knew that Deedee had just finished a performance under the big tent, for she was dressed in her tingling fire-dance costume, wearing a furious expression on her face. He had heard her stumbling in through the front door, slamming it shut, hearing her making painful groans under her breath. His stomach grew butterflies at the sounds that came out of her; of course, he knew that she was in pain, but…
"Alcohol." Deedee said abruptly.
"Top cabinet." Jerome answered, gesturing with chin.
Deedee ripped open the cabinet, withdrew a tall bottle of vodka. Jerome watched her flop down roughly into a dining room chair. Uttering another low gasp of pain, Deedee pulled aside her twinkling, slit skirt and posted her leg up onto the table. Jerome caught sight of her flaming red thong, but something else caught his attention.
A very angry looking burn on her inner thigh. Indignation flickered across her pretty face, and she tried to mask the severity of it front of Jerome.
"A little fucker tot tried to grab me on stage," Deedee breathed, prying the top of the bottle open, glancing up at Jerome. "What kind of stupid do you have to be to try to grab somebody who's dancing with fire? I misstepped and—" she inhaled quickly—"I dropped my fucking baton and…This…" Deedee tossed the neck of the bottle, heaving down a long swig of Vodka.
She didn't care that she had injured herself. Jerome could see that. It was the fact that someone had caused her to lose her concentration and she fudged up her routine—the burns could heal themselves. But pride…Oh, pride. She slammed the bottle angrily onto the edge of the table, making the wooden object shake.
"Well, you look fantastic," Jerome remarked nonchalantly.
Deedee placed a forefinger over the bottle's opening—hesitated, but then braced herself—spritzed her leg with the alcohol—"Jesus Fucking Christ!"—She gripped the bottle neck tightly, knuckles turning white.
"Listen," said Jerome, "I know that you're in a bit of pain, but you—"
"—Ahhhh—"
"—should probably stop moaning like that," Jerome said, indicating her opened mouth with a soapy hand.
"Why, Brother?" Deedee breathed, glancing up at him with a weak smile, "Find this arousing, do you?"
Jerome shrugged, "Not exactly a turnoff."
"Hand me that over there, will you?" Deedee said.
Jerome slipped his hands out of the soapy water, dried them on a dish towel, and strode to the pantry. He opened the door and retrieved the freshly stocked first aid kit and slid it across the table. Deedee stopped it from falling off the edge with her knee. The slightest movement stretched the wound along her inner thigh, and she gasped.
"That man who tried to grab you," Jerome said curiously, folding his arms over his chest. "Did Mr. Strong throw him out?"
"Of course he did," said Deedee. "Jealous, Brother?"
"That's what you want, is it?" Jerome uttered a low chuckle. "I don't get jealous."
"Overprotective, then," Deedee said as she unraveled the ace bandage and uncapped the burn ointment. "I'd settle for 'overprotective'."
"Territorial," corrected Jerome, gazing at her smooth legs. "I get territorial."
"JEROME!" Lila's voice called out.
The sound of their mother's voice stoked Deedee's temper,
"SHUT UP!" Deedee screamed back at her from over her shoulder.
"YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE FILLING EACH OTHER UP! YOU DISGUSTING—!"
"WE'RE NOT! JEROME'S DOING THE FUCKING DISHES! RELAX!" Deedee called back.
A pause.
"Fucking bitch," Deedee spat, returning to her bandages. "What is she doing in there anyway?"
"Mr. Lloyd vanished in there about an hour ago," Jerome answered, annoyed. "It's the clowns turn this time."
"Thought she said she wasn't going to be home too often…" Deedee groaned, her voice trailed off as she touched her inner thigh with the burn ointment. "Pity. This ought to be a whorehouse by now. Mother should get paid by the hour, at least we could afford some good fucking food…"
"OH, YES, RIGHT THERE! YES!" Lila's voice screamed in ecstasy.
Jerome closed his eyes momentarily, a disgusting revulsion crawling on his face. Deedee glanced up at him. He was trying to regain composure. Every now and again, it looked like he'd fall over the edge. Although she could appreciate the expression of anger on his face, she didn't like it when it didn't apply to his personal feelings toward her. The fact that it came as a result of Jerome's discomfort by the lustful moans from their mother being banged in the next room made Deedee's stomach tighten into knots. Deedee tried to pull his mind away—
"Come to me," said Deedee lightly, beckoning him with a hand.
Jerome sat down in the chair beside her.
"We've ignored her like this before," said Deedee.
"She's significantly more nagging than usual," said Jerome through gritted teeth. "She's been screaming at me through the bedroom door all morning long."
"JEROME! ARE THOSE DISHES DONE!?" Lila's voice…
Jerome tensed.
"JEROME!"
Deedee frowned, "LILA, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
She wrapped her thigh with the bandage, tugging at the finish a bit more aggressively than what she had intended, gasping. A breath of relief came from her.
"Ah, you do excellent work. All patched up," Jerome said. He smacked the bottom of her foot playfully.
Deedee rolled her eyes with a small smile, pulling her leg off the table slowly. "If I ever see that fucker again, I'll return the favor…You'd think I'd be used to it, by now."
"Probably would hurt less if you stop giving a shit about the show." Jerome said matter-of-factly. "As much as I enjoy your routine, if something happened to you, they'd just replace you. Spare. Parts."
"I'd like to think that my participation matters to some degree," said Deedee flatly.
"You matter to me," said Jerome seriously.
Deedee leaned forward, passed a hand across his face with a light tap, bringing out a grin from him.
"That's sweet of you to say," she said.
The pleasant moment, however, was tarnished from another scream from Lila Valeska, uttered from another moan of ecstasy, "JEROME!"
Deedee frowned, cynicism returning to her low voice, "Listen, I know our new dynamic in our relationship is a bit funny to others, Jerome; but how fucking twisted do you have to be yelling your son's name to do the fucking dishes in the middle of coitus?"
Jerome nodded, rising to his feet. "Funny, indeed."
"JEROME!"
Deedee rubbed her temples slowly. "All morning long, Brother?"
"JEROME!"
"All…morning…long," Jerome muttered, clenching his jaw.
"DELILAH! JEROME! ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW! Oh, yes, right there, I'm about to—"
Deedee heard her brother utter a laugh, smiling, "Okay…" He plumaged through the cabinet under the sink to find the appropriate tool.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I know we were going to have this grand scheme, plot it out—but I've really had it up to here…" he measured his patience to the level of his jawline, withdrawing a blunt instrument—a rusty, old wrench. He tossed it in his hand before rising to his feet.
"So, I'm just going to take care of the situation, and then we'll continue our—whatever it was we were having—How about that?"
"You can't kill her in the trailer, it'd turn into a crime scene," Deedee objected. She grasped the edge of the table, struggling to stand on her feet.
"JEROME!" Lila screamed again.
Jerome stepped toward Deedee, suddenly leaning in within inches of her lips, "Obviously, I'm not gonna kill her here. That would be stupid. But she needs to go lights out before I start to crawl out of my skin."
"JEROME!"
It didn't take too long for Deedee to get on board with the idea. She smiled, placing a tender kiss on his lips. Jerome grinned as she pulled away.
"I can't really move all that well, so could you give her one from me too?" she said.
"Anything for family," Jerome answered.
"JEROME! ARE YOU DONE DOING THE DISHES!? THE TRASH STILL HAS TO BE TAKEN OUT! WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING OUT THERE!? DELILAH!"
Jerome gestured for Deedee to follow him.
However, Deedee grabbed his arm suddenly with wide eyes, "Wait, we can't do it just yet. Lloyd…He's in there. He'll tell the Circus."
"Then draw him out…or not," cooed Jerome. "I'd be copasetic with killing the both of them."
Deedee snorted, "Exactly what do I say to him? He's fucking our mother."
"What would stop you from fucking me, Deedee?" Jerome said impatiently. "You're a performer, so…"—he gestured dramatically to the bedroom like it was opening night at the theater—"Perform."
Deedee sighed, annoyed. She limped into Lila's bedroom, with Jerome watching her as she opened the door, holding the wrench behind his back. When she poked her head in, she saw Lloyd's balding head bobbing left and right between her mother's naked legs, and she almost gagged at the sight of it.
"Mr. Lloyd," said Deedee quietly.
"GET OUT!" Lila screamed, lifting her head up from her pillow. "You idiot girl!"
Deedee lashed out, "Shut up, Lila! Don't you think Mr. Lloyd would like to know that his niece was spotted with that Grayson boy?"
Lloyd's balding head popped up, turned, and glared in Deedee's direction.
"What you say, girl?" Lloyd rolled off the bed; and when he rose to his feet, he was already putting a leg into a pair of his pants, much to Lila's upheaving objections from her back. Deedee used a hand to cover the view of Mr. Lloyd's balloon, which was still erect; he was bending it back, clearly uncomfortable.
"I saw your niece during my routine, Sir," said Deedee, acting a bit frantic. Jerome watched her from behind, colored mildly impressed with her performance. She did sound convincing. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt, but—"
"You a good girl," Lloyd muttered, pushing pass Deedee abruptly, out through the living room and then he was gone. Jerome watched him go with an amused smirk.
Lila stared angrily at her daughter. What the fuck just happened?
"Effective," said Jerome over Deedee's shoulder. "Props to the supporting actress."
"Thanks." Deedee muttered.
"What are you two murmuring about?" Lila hissed. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, hastily pulling on her stage dress, no doubt readying herself for a great lashing for her misbehaving children. "Are both your brains fried?! I was about to come—"
Jerome stepped over the threshold, pass Deedee, and held the wrench tightly in his hand.
"For what it's worth, Mother," he said. "I did finish the dishes."
Then WHAM! Jerome smacked the living fuck out of Lila's jaw with the head of the wrench, knocking her clean off her feet and out cold onto the bed. For good measure, and for the promised hit for his sister, Jerome gave another CRACK! against Lila's kneecap. If she were to wake and try to call or go for help, she wouldn't be able to move fast enough.
Deedee clapped her hands enthusiastically, "Oh, goodie!"
Jerome turned, grinning sinisterly, and he took a bow to appease his jubilant audience.
"Encore, encore," Deedee applauded, tapping her knuckles with her hand, acting the part of the posh elite.
"There will be," said Jerome, turning to glance down at Lila. "Act 1 is complete. Intermission."
A maniacal laugh escaped his lips.