"I'm in serious shit, I feel totally lost,
If I'm asking for help it's only because,
Being with you has opened my eyes,
Could I ever believe such a perfect surprise?
I keep asking myself, wondering how?
I keep closing my eyes but I can't block you out,
Want to fly to a place where it's just you and me,
Nobody else so we can be free..."
— All The Things She Said
t.A.T.u.
With time, they fell into a new routine. Lydia worked Monday through Friday, learning more and more from her astute tutor every day. She was getting better at rebuffing would-be suitors, encounters which became less and less common as word spread exactly who her husband was. He made a big show of bringing her lunch one day, laying a white linen table cloth and candelabra out on one of the sticky plastic tables in the food court to serve her lobster thermidor. This earned him a quickie in Doomie's backseat before she was forced to return to her shift.
She still made breakfast and dinner most days, but Betelgeuse made it a habit of bringing her and Ginger treats on the occasion, or poofing up human food for her dinners if her feet were bothering her. All in all, he was a consistently attentive husband, always there on time to pick her up at the end of her shift or make sure she was eating properly.
Ginger often dawdled on about how sweet she found it— never in front of Betelgeuse, lest he stop bringing her caramelized flies whenever he brought his treats for her assistant.
"Got him wrapped around your little finger, ya do. Ain't never seen him this committed to no broad before. We oughta have a girls night so I can getcha drunk and you can tell me your secrets."
It was the last day of the two week pay period, the last fifteen minutes of her shift. Once Betelgeuse arrived to pick her up, she would be getting her first paycheck and they would probably go out somewhere to celebrate.
"I've already told you I don't have any secrets."
Ginger leveled her with a side-glance, unconvinced. Just then, a beautiful woman with strong facial features and long dark hair made her way into the shop. She was tall, made even more so by a pair of daring heels at the end of her long legs. Aside from her bloodless complexion and the violet tint to her hair, she wouldn't have looked any different from the kind of woman her father might have hired on the down-low once upon a time.
"Hello," Lydia greeted warmly, stepping out from behind the counter to greet her. "Are you looking for anything specific or just browsing? Please let me know if there's anything I can do to assist you."
Sarah didn't often venture outside her apartment in the part of town where those who'd died at mother nature's hands all resided. She'd modernized but still covered her head in devotion as any good Jewish girl might.
She smiled softly at the young girl behind the counter. When she spoke, her accent was heavily Middle Eastern, her bright almond-shaped eyes looking over the petite girl. "You are alive!"
She leaned on the counter excitedly, scrutinizing. Ginger beat a hasty retreat. She didn't want to be there when the truth came out about who this woman was.
The tall woman took in the girl's features. She reminded her of the women that her once-husband had been drawn to. Eastern beauties with dark hair and bright chocolatey eyes. "You are very pretty. You run the shop?"
"Thank you," Lydia faltered, blushing at such a compliment from a fellow woman. Petty, manipulative statements like this from men were something she had acclimated to. To hear it from another woman gave it more credence.
"Yes, I'm alive. And no, this is Ginger's store. I'm just her assistant." She craned her neck, searching for the suddenly absent spider to introduce the owner, only to meet empty rows.
"She's probably in the back weaving something new, she's very talented. This is a slow time for us."
Waving an arm toward a rack of macabre gowns, Lydia informed, "Everything in the store was made by her. I designed these, but I'm still learning so one day I can throw a few together on my own."
Her original designs seemed a bit off-kilter for a woman like this, so she directed her to a different, more modest selection filled with calm fabrics and muted colors.
"Whatever your style is, we can accommodate it. If you're looking for something particular and can't find it, we do make items on commission. Describe it for me, I'll draw it, and Ginger will add it to the queue. I personally think you would pull off a dress like this beautifully."
She peeled a cream gossamer number off the rack to flourish it for the woman, making sure to showcase the intricate lacework on its high collar.
Sarah gladly let the girl lead her around the shop, running her long fingers over the silks delicately. "You designed, no? I think it will look better on you."
Sarah fingered the lace gently, seemingly thinking. "I drowned. I do not like so many things at my neck... and nothing tight around the waist. Maybe I will commission for you! You do 14th-century styles?"
She ran her hands down her torso as though touching another gown. "I loved the fancy things my man bought me. He was not husband, but wanted to be." She leaned into Lydia as though telling a secret.
"Most things I think he stole, but they were pretty so I did not care. Until wet velvet pulled me under ice, that is."
As the women chatted they had no chance to see Betelgeuse enter the store, a box from a jeweler in his hand. He'd bought a pair of ruby studs in the shape of beetles for Lydia to wear. A celebration for her first check.
"Hey Lyds, How was... work?" His sentence trailed off when the customer she was helping turned to look at him. He suddenly felt ill. His eyes flickered to her stomach on instinct. Nothing. No sign of the life that once had sat within.
Sarah scoffed and draped her arm over Lydia's shoulders, a protective gesture as though she were a little sister. "You stay away from this beast. He is no good. Steal you away from your home and leave you with nothing."
Betelgeuse clenched his fists. "Oh yeah! Nothin' but a house full of servants and a wardrobe of clothes. Not to mention yer valet. I know what the two of you got up to!"
Lydia hung onto her every word, always interested to listen when the dead told their tales. 14th century. Wow. She already had her pad and pencil in hand to begin sketching out mock ideas as the mystery woman spoke of her scoundrel ex-lover when Betelgeuse made his presence known. Suddenly, they were at each other's throats and Lydia jumped between them to put a stop to it.
"Wait, wait! Stop! Beej, you can't talk to customers like that— and you! This is my husband, you can't talk to him like that!"
Steal you away from your home and leave you with nothing.
Well. At least half of that was accurate, but how did this stranger know Betelgeuse so… intimately? House full of servants? Hurt and confused, her gaze flickered rapidly between them as she stood a petite barrier between her husband and his apparent ex-lover, unsure who might need protection.
"What's going on here?!"
Sarah pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Husband!? Did you get her with child as well? The poor child! Still running from problems in the afterlife!"
Betelgeuse felt as though he was being punched in the gut with each word, his head spinning. Why was she here? They'd managed to avoid each other for centuries... why now?
He cautiously put a hand on his wife's hip, drawing her back against him. "Whatever she's tellin' ya is a lie. She likes to shit talk me."
This was a moment and an introduction that he'd hoped to never make. "Lydia... babes. This is Sarah."
Sarah crossed her arms, her nose held high in the air. "Miss Lydia... you should leave this man at once. He will bring you only pain for your mind and body."
Once it sunk in what had happened here, Lydia was enraged. But not at Betelgeuse. Jaw slack, eyes glazed over, Lydia stood silent for a moment while her husband held her and Sarah continued on in her thick accent, spewing hatred at the gobsmacked ghoul.
"How… how dare you…"
She spoke finally and gently shook off Betelgeuse's hold, finding her emotions. It didn't matter if it cost her this dream job, no one talked about her man like that and got away with it.
"He loves me." This was spoken with utmost faith, Lydia's belief in her husband loyal and unwavering. "— and he loved you! A lot, from what I've heard! And you didn't even appreciate it! He died for you and you couldn't even return his note!"
She was yelling now, loud enough for Ginger to hear in the backroom and peek out, loud enough to draw attention from nosy passersby.
"I… I would be proud to have his child and… and fuck you for even hinting that he could ever be a bad father. He would be the best! You missed out."
With a deep breath, Lydia managed to gather herself enough to feel shame for admitting such an embarrassing thing aloud to so many people. Nevertheless, it was true and she would stand by her man.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
At the rage in Lydia's voice, he'd been fully prepared to brace himself for a lashing, but it never came. His wife wasn't angry at him, she was angry at Sarah.
He held her closer as she started to shout, digging into the other woman for everything she could think of, everything he'd told her about. People were staring, staring to gather and clearly waiting for him to step in and do something.
I would be proud to have his child!
His heart clenched in his chest, and he finally turned her to face him, pulling her into his chest. "Ya know, I agree. You shouldn't have come here at all, Sarah... I'm sure you heard the rumors."
Sarah scoffed and put her nose back in the air. "He did not put a child in me. He placed a parasite! It was killing me from the inside!"
Betelgeuse winced. "So ya had a little morning sickness. Get over yerself! You..." His voice broke and he cursed himself. "You didn't even keep her? You let them take her to be recycled, didn't ya?"
Sarah turned to leave. "It's better off. I didn't want your monster child crawling around for my eternity. This is terrible service. I won't be back."
"Good! Get lost already!" He held Lydia closer, using her to ground himself.
Parasite. Terrible service.
If Lydia wasn't ready to throw hands at the first, she definitely was at the last. Betelgeuse was forced to hold her back, all four feet and ten inches of her, hotheaded and fiery with pure, unadulterated rage.
"Oh yeah?!" She spat at the other woman's fast retreating back, fighting to shake loose from her husband's strong grip and chase her offending form down. "Well we don't want your business anyway! We only make clothes for people with class and taste! Not rude, spoiled-rotten hussies!"
Sarah looked back at this, but was too far melded in the crowd to even consider turning around, or for Lydia to see her face. By now, Ginger had come to the front of the store and the sight of her brought Lydia back to reality.
Shit. She shouldn't have done that. The customer is always right and all that bullshit. Shoulders slumping, her flushed, outraged features melted into a quieter kind of frustration.
"I'm sorry, Ginger," she began first, doom already setting in. "That was… She was just… and she said bad things about Beej and…"
All the reasoning behind her outburst seemed juvenile and unimportant when she tried to put it into words, but she knew it wasn't. How dare that cunt throw away his child? That's what it sounded like they said, from Lydia could gather. She would never get to have his baby and this experience made that knot in her gut ache all the more over it. To lose her job on top of that?
Hopefully Ginger was in a forgiving mood.
"Am I fired?"
Ginger sighed softly. "No, ya aren't fired. I just wish she hadn't even come in here! She had ta have known! I'm so sorry, sugah..."
Betel rubbed his hands down her arms, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Let's just get yer check and get outta here. Oh! I forgot. I got ya somethin'."
He handed her the jewelry box and stepped aside to follow Ginger as she headed to the back. He still felt off... seeing Sarah was staggering, certainly, but seeing that she hadn't even bothered to keep his child had hurt him in a way he hadn't anticipated.
He glanced back at his wife, picturing her happy, healthy, and carrying. They'd never get that. His heart clenched again. Maybe he wasn't meant to be a father.
Lydia was still coming down from the near-catfight and almost losing her job, from her perspective, when Betelgeuse passed over the little velvet box.
They were stunning.
Small and light, so they wouldn't pull at her lobes. One would have to be up close to make out the intricate detailing. From afar they would look like any other simple studs rather than another mark, another claim. She put them on immediately, blinking back emotional tears.
Why did he have to be so perfect?! Why did that godawful bitch have to come along and shit all over what should have been another beautiful, perfect moment? Figures. Lydia was about due for a little pain. It had been awhile.
"Thank you," she caught up to her husband and Ginger, interlacing her fingers with his and brushing a lackluster kiss across his jaw, willing away images of him and the dreaded Sarah together; happy, alive, expecting.
He startled out of his thoughts, leaning into her gentle touch with a smile. He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek firmly. "They look great on ya, babes."
Ginger smiled, pulling out a checkbook and their ledger, humming to herself. "Let's see..." She started tapping away at a calculator, the number racking higher and higher by the second.
Betel's eyebrows raised, and he grinned. "Wow... look at that, baby. Maybe I should be a househusband. God knows what yer gonna do with all that." He pulled her closer still, pressing a kiss to her head. "Proud of you, kitten."
"Oh, wow…"
Lydia's eyes bugged when Ginger handed over her check, well-versed enough in Neitherworld cash by now to recognize that she was getting a hefty amount. For a long beat, Lydia stood still with the check caught in her hands, relishing the moment. Her first real paycheck. The three-day stint at McDonald's didn't count, she decided right that second, a wide grin splitting across her face.
"Let's go out to eat!" She spun to meet him, bouncing on her heels. "Somewhere nice. You pick. I want to take my husband out on a date."
She seemed taller somehow, glowing at the fruition of all her hard work.
"Guess we should deposit this first… Should I get a bank account? I guess you have one… right?"
Lydia was embarrassed to realize she didn't know much at all about banking or the difference between a checking account, savings account, credit, or debit. She was seized from the living realm before life skills like that were ever a priority, from schoolgirl to wife in a single night. Luckily, her husband was good and patient and likely wouldn't hold her ignorance against her.
He watched her gawk at the check, her excitement radiating off of her. She was somehow even more beautiful when she was like this, positively glowing with pride.
She asked about banking then and he chuckled, producing yet another gift. The card was black with a red spiderweb etched into the plastic. "Way ahead of you, kitten. This is your own card to yer own account. Opened it this afternoon."
He offered her his arm and led her to an ATM, showing her how she could deposit her check into the account there. There was already money in there, nearly matching her check. He didn't comment and hoped she wouldn't either.
"Now. I know a guy, Ginger's good friend Jacque, who runs a restaurant in downtown New Yuck. Real classy French food. Does that sound good to ya?"
Lydia was too busy admiring her card to catch how well-stocked her bank account already was. She clung to the shiny bit of plastic like it was a prized treasure, tracing the spider web design, the etched in letters of her name, and the tiny numbers. Her very own card for her very own bank account. It was novel, a stepping stone toward adulthood she always imagined her father would be the one to walk her through.
Betelgeuse didn't need to bring her lunch anymore, she could go to the food court and buy her own— though she would miss his visits. Anything she wanted she could just go out and buy it, hers without ever having to depend on anyone else. That "girls' night" with Ginger was looking more and more likely.
But first, Betelgeuse deserved to be treated.
"Whatever you want!" She agreed to his suggestion hastily, having already heard a lot about this Jacques fellow. From the way Ginger spoke about him, she suspected they were a little more than "good friends" but didn't have any hard proof yet. Was he another spider? Lydia was too polite to ask.
"This is for you, Beej," she reminded him, giddy at the very thought of getting to sign the check at the end of their date. "I wouldn't even have this job if you hadn't believed in me. I just said somewhere nice because I want to show off. We could go to a hole in the wall instead, I don't care. As long as you're happy."
She would be amenable to going to a skeevy dive bar if that's what he wanted. They could probably both use a drink after Sarah's nasty surprise visit.
He thought it over, unsure where he'd take her that he was comfortable with her paying. Jacque's was nice, but not too nice, and he'd probably comp them at least a bottle of wine.
He threw his hands out to the sides as though popping his shoulders and a ratty, ill-fitting tuxedo appeared. "Well I think I know the place. You wanna go home to change or shall I juice ya up something?"
As shaken as he was by Sarah's unwelcome visit, he was determined to make this night a good one. He summoned a purse, leather, and shaped like a bat and handed it to his wife on its silver chain. "Better put that card away, kitten. People still get bright ideas down here."
"Thank you!"
Lydia preened at her new purse and slipped her card into the internal zippered pocket.
"Go ahead and dress me. You have good tastes."
Well, when it came to dressing her he had good tastes, anyway. He seemed to favor a handful of tattered outfits, this suit being one of them. On anyone else it would look ridiculous, but he had the charm and charisma to pull off hobo chic. If she designed him a suit, would he wear it? As soon as the thought occurred to her, the seams and colors solidified in her mind, tired fingers itching to return to the backroom and get to work on a new creation. Whether he liked it or not, she could always sell it, maybe expand their clientele.
In a split-second, her jeans and oversized sweater— a modest outfit meant to discourage potential flirters— melted into something leagues more dangerous. The rough denim thinned out and clung to skin, turning leather and creeping up her torso until the waistband was clinging just below her belly button. Her sweater shrunk, the sleeves thinning out and dropping down her shoulders until her entire décolletage was exposed. Her hair, left down and frazzled from the workday, swept itself into a high ponytail that made the tangles look purposeful.
All she was missing was a cigarette, leather jacket, and some oversized hoop earrings. In true pervert fashion, he was already drooling over her, reaching a hand for her leather-clad ass. Lydia giggled madly, catching it before it could reach its target and flicking her tongue suggestively at the end of one of his gritty claws.
"Tell me about it… stud."
He was gonna get himself in trouble one of these days dressing his wife however he liked. She was like a perfect, pliant porcelain doll, her delicate form fitting nearly anything he picked for her.
He licked his lips and reached for her ass, only to have the hand snatched away and brought to her lips.
Tell me about it... stud.
He gaped, his plans immediately changing. The tattered suit was replaced yet again by tight black jeans and a white tee-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to give him a greaser look. "Oh, baby... I ain't gonna tell ya, I just gotta show ya."
In a flash they were standing outside a diner, waitresses in hot pink gingham floating through the tables and booths filled with ghosts who'd clearly never given up the 50's. He slung his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.
"Ya know ya really make me feel young again, babes... It's beautiful." He pretended to sniffle, pressing a hungry kiss to her lips when he drew close enough.
"I say we get some grub, call up Doomie and see a flick. How's that sound?"
Her smile only widened at the change in scenery. He was so fickle sometimes. Fancy French food and meeting the elusive Jacques would have to wait for another day, then.
"I already told you 'whatever you want', Beej. As long as it's a drive-in theatre."
If they were going to do this, Lydia wanted to do it all the way. She slid into the side of the booth he showed her to and watched with lidded smoky eyes as he took his seat, both of them clearly enjoying this type of play.
"So are we going steady now?"
The joint was hopping, so much so that they'd yet to be noticed and were still waiting for a server to greet them.
"If I don't get your letterman jacket by the end of this date, are we even really married?"
That she would be the one footing the bill on this old school type of outing only made it that much more fun.
"Yer damn right we're goin' steady. Steady as they get, babes." He leaned back in his seat, looking for a waitress. He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. Half the restaurant turned to look at them.
"Hey! My girl and I are waitin' on menus here!" A blonde hurried over with them, blushing softly. "Here ya go, Mr. Juice. Sorry t'keep ya waitin'. What can I get ya to drink?"
He smirked and ordered for them, a chocolate coke and a large strawberry shake, two straws each. When she left to put the order in he reached for his wife's hand. "So. How's it feel to be independently wealthy?"
Her lips pursed at his rude way of addressing the waitress, as well as the rest of the diner, but there was nothing to be done about it. He was who he was and she liked him like that. Most of the time.
His declaration that she was "independently wealthy" brought a raised brow and a ginger smile to her face.
"It would feel a lot better if your bitch ex-girlfriend hadn't popped up out of nowhere."
They had ignored the subject for a bit too long and Lydia couldn't help reviving it.
"Seriously, there are how many dead people in the world? How many boutiques? And this particular dead bitch happens to walk into mine? I don't know what you saw in her."
This was a lie. Lydia knew exactly what he saw, the same thing that she did; large breasts, wide hips, a tiny waist, and legs for days. The truth was that Lydia didn't know what her husband saw in her. Their drinks came shortly and she claimed the chocolate coke before he could, the ghoul obviously meaning the strawberry shake for her. That's what he got for ordering for her so presumptuously. Just because they were playing around with the vintage aesthetic didn't mean they had to adhere to all of the rules of the era.
"I'm more of a cookies n' cream girl," she informed with sass, shaping red-painted lips around her straw as she nudged the shake his way. "Strawberry's a bit too… pink."
He raised an eyebrow. His girl had certainly grown a pair in the time they'd been together. He cockily popped both straws of the milkshake into his mouth.
"Well I like Strawberry. It's fruity. Who cares what color it is?"
He nudged his foot against hers under the table, smirking across the table at her. He made a mental note anyway. No pink.
"Well, to be honest I don't remember what I saw in her. I love you ten times more than I ever loved her... if I did. And the two of you are real different. I'm glad we didn't last."
The only thing he'd missed was the baby. And now she was somewhere waiting to be reborn to another couple. He shook off the melancholy the thought brought on. "So. Burgers and fries?"
"Oh, you aren't going to order for me again? After all, I'm just a silly girl with a tiny girl brain. All these options are confusing."
The meeting with Sarah had left Lydia in a mood, one that was only exacerbated by the bad girl outfit he had her wrapped up in. Everything she had to say was steeped in tease, arrogance, and a healthy dose of salt. It wasn't Betelgeuse's fault, she knew. But… he put a baby in that woman and it wasn't fair.
"Steakburger please," she decided with saccharine sweetness, leaning across the table to steal the half-crushed box of cigarettes sticking out from his shirt pocket. The greaser look suited him.
"Bloody. With onion rings. Feel free to tell the waitress on my behalf, I'll act surprised. Does this place serve alcohol? This coke could use some rum."
He couldn't help but gape at her. Where was his sweet, demure wife who'd rush to please him at any turn? Was she in there somewhere?
He leaned back, shaking his head. "Nah, no booze. But we could get a drink before the movie. You order fer yourself. Ya clearly know what ya want."
When the waitress returned he ordered his own basic cheeseburger and fries, asking for mushrooms on top with a blank face. He wasn't sure what he'd done to piss her off so bad, but clearly he had.
Maybe it was the way he spoke to Sarah? He shouldn't have brought up the kid. He sipped his milkshake, scowling softly.
Whatever mirth she was getting from teasing him fell off at his sour reception. What, he couldn't take a joke all of the sudden? It's not like she was the one going around having babies with other people. The waitress came, took his order, then turned her attention to a dour Lydia, who was leveling her equally stony-faced husband with a hard, deliberate gaze. No booze, huh? Order for herself?
Fine.
"I would like a steakburger, rare, with onion rings please. Oh, and could I switch this out with a rum and coke?" Thank God for lax Neitherworld laws. This would mark her first time ever buying a drink and she wasn't even getting carded. It was almost anticlimactic.
"Sure thing, hon!" The oblivious waitress gathered her barely touched glass. Betelgeuse's eyebrow twitched. Lydia smirked. Victory. For now.
"Thank you so much."
This girl was tapping on his last nerve. Through everything, she'd always trusted his judgment and here she was defying him in public? Who was this woman?
He didn't say anything, simply lighting a cigarette and turning to look out the window. If she wanted to play this game, then fine. He could play. But she wasn't going to like the rematch.
He took a slow drag of his smoke, making a mental list of exactly what he could do to remind her who was in charge here. The basement may finally get some use.
That her open act of defiance barely got a reaction out of him was more than disappointing. It was hurtful. The more she sipped at the forbidden drink in their awkward silence, the more his pouting disposition pissed her off. This was supposed to be a good day. This date was supposed to be "whatever he wanted." She was only teasing a little and she would be damned before she went crawling to patch things up when she didn't even do anything wrong.
Their food came and Lydia barely picked at it, taking out a third of her burger and a couple of onion rings before the knot in her gut forced her to stop. It was too much. Someone needed to speak and seeing as she was the only one with liquid courage at her disposal, it seemed like it would have to be her.
"You know what?" She stood while he was still eating, hurt and ready for the night to be over already. "Why don't you take this," she fished through her purse for the card, dropping the once-beloved piece of plastic at the center of the table callously, "pay the bill, and go do whatever you want to do. I'm done."
With that, she tore toward the exit, too riled up to wait and hear what he had to say. She wasn't sure how she would get home, but it didn't really matter. As long as she didn't have to sit in silence with her stupid husband, it was a win. Maybe Doomie would take her if she asked. He was a good car.
Great. Just great. She was more pissed than ever, and now the whole diner was looking at him. Growling he stood to follow her. "The hell are you all lookin' at?" He threw cash on the table and took up her card.
He found her maybe a hundred yards outside the door and in a blink he was standing in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Anything I want? I can do anything I want? Great."
He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. He stormed toward Doomie, the automobile squealing and whirring, trying to avoid him. "Hold. Still." He managed to get a hand on the door and haul it open, dropping her in her seat and appearing on the driver's side.
"You and me are gonna go have some fun, baby. Gonna check out one of those locked doors yer so worried about. I'm done sharin' ya with the world for tonight."
Lydia didn't take the caveman treatment sitting still. Furious, she beat uselessly at his back, kicking out and struggling until he banded an arm around her thighs to put a stop to it.
"LET! ME! GO!"
What did he think he was doing?! Bastard! Once he got her wrangled into Doomie, she immediately flew for the handle, jiggling it violently despite the knowledge that it wouldn't budge.
"You're such a jerk!" She lashed out, still fighting with the door, then paused to throw her purse at his head. If she thought crashing or hurting him were even in the realm of possibility, she wouldn't have, but he was above petty mortal problems like that.
"You're the one who got pissy at me!" She reminded scathingly, leaking involuntary tears of frustration. "How is it my fault you don't know how to take a little teasing?! I didn't do anything!"
All through her fit he remained silent, a perpetual cigarette hanging out of the corner of his grimacing mouth, only one hand on the wheel. Eventually, without any give or take, she was able to calm to a pouting, sniffling state; arms crossed and body shrunk as small as possible into her corner of the car. Bits and pieces of impassioned muttering still hit his ear on the occasion through the rest of the drive.
"Just wanted to take you out… not my fault… stupid bitch ex-girlfriend…"
He let her get it all out of her system, silent as he drove them toward home. He glanced at her when she finally settled, sighing softly.
His hand found her knee. "I don't always pick up on teasin'... and you were so mad earlier, that I thought maybe it'd just shifted onto me." He rubbed his thumb in circles on her knee.
"Besides that, you know how I feel about sass. That back in the restaurant was pure sass and you know it." He turned to look at her fully, a dash of hurt behind his eyes. "I already told you. That bitch Sarah don't mean half to me what you do. You don't believe me?"
He wasn't sure how to convince her.
"Come here." She didn't move. He repeated himself. Still nothing. He growled and took hold of her wrist, hauling her out of the car and heading into the house. He went straight to the locked door beneath the master staircase, the locks clicking open as his hand met the doorknob. "Get in there. And strip."
The things he was saying were nice, but Lydia was too dedicated to being mad at him for them to take full effect. Maybe she gave him a little sass, so what? It wasn't that bad, and he deserved it for knocking up that stupid bitch like a horny frat boy. Therefore, when they pulled up to the manor Lydia was reluctant to let it all go and fall into his arms the way he was asking.
They weren't supposed to be here. They were supposed to be out celebrating, but they weren't and it was all his fault. Every part of her wished he would get back into the car, try again, and drive them out to the theater as planned— but that didn't happen.
In a flash, he was back to being snarly and angry, dragging her up the porch and through the house too quickly for her to even greet the babies, only to stop at one of the mysterious locked doors she'd tried to pick countless times.
Get in there. And strip.
Suddenly, any desire she had to know what was behind it flew out the window. Still crying and well aware that there was no other choice, she inched past the threshold into the shadowy room. It was too dark to make out much of anything, but she could see the faint outline of chains in one corner, leather in another.
Awkward and jerky with her motions, she ripped off her heavy boots first, chucking them in his general direction without aiming. Then the cropped shirt that used to be a sweater, then the leather pants that used to be jeans. Lastly, she followed his directions to the letter and removed her ruby beetle studs as well, one at a time. However, rather than tossing them away like everything else, these were shoved toward him within a shaking fist for him to do what he wanted with them.
Trembling just a bit from the cold and glaring through mascara streaks, she hugged her self with her only free arm and waited for him to make the move to accept them.
He was angry. More than angry, he was hurt. He watched from the shadows as she undressed, her face streaked with tears and makeup. He took the offered earrings, looking at them a moment before magicking them back into her ears.
"Welcome to my playroom, Lydia."
He circled her slowly, wondering where to start. Clearly there was something deeper here that he was missing. He ran a hand slowly across her stomach, stepping in close behind her. "Here's how this is gonna work. Yer gonna listen and do as I ask, or Daddy's gonna have to punish ya."
He stepped away to retrieve a flat leather flogger from the wall, holding her arm out and striking it once. "That's the hardest I'm gonna gut ya. Understand? Say yes, sir if you do."
She scoffed at this, rolling watery eyes and muttering, "… like you're not going to 'punish' me anyway."
The strike was enough to make her flinch and wince, but not to make her call out their quitter word. She had half a mind to shout it anyway, but maybe this is how they could reconcile. He was always sweet to her after they played games like this, and sweetness was what she desperately wanted from him but was too proud to ask for.
"Yes, Sir," she grit out painfully, hating the taste of it on her tongue. He didn't deserve honorifics right now, and using them definitely wasn't giving her any kind of rush the way it usually did. Really, it just made her want to punch him.
"Really? You're still sassing me? Lydia…" He sighed. "I'm so disappointed. I thought we were gonna have a real nice night…Then the drama at the store, then dinner and you disobeying me… now, this?" He shook his head. "So sad…"
He pulled her over to a low bench in one corner, sitting down and pulling her over his lap. "Now. Yer gonna tell me what has ya so upset." Nothing. Not a peep out of her. He sighed and turned her over, bending her across his lap and bringing the flogger down on her ass.
Still nothing. He scowled. Usually even this little bit of rough treatment would get a reaction out of her, but there was nothing. No response. He growled softly, his large hand massaging the firm flesh of her ass. "Ya want me to go first? I'm pissed because you deliberately went over my head to get yerself a drink. It's not all, but now it's your turn. Talk to me."
Disappointed. His little speech made her sob harder, a shudder wracking her naked, shivering form as he pulled her gently to the corner and sat her in his lap, giving her exactly what she wanted.
Why was she upset? She would tell him if she knew. All the possible reasons caught in her throat, none of them quite hitting her as correct. This wasn't good enough for him, and he let her know with an impatient repositioning before taking the flog to her backside.
Normally Lydia let him hear every sound that wanted to crawl up her throat from his abuse, but not tonight. Tonight she was stubbornly quiet, muffling the pained cry that wanted to escape from her first lash. Just one and then he was massaging the welts, grumbling out the reason for his ire. She already knew. It wasn't a surprise.
"Only did it," she whimpered out, head turned to the side and a fist curled up next to her mouth so she could chew at her thumb anxiously, "because you— you said you wouldn't order for me. It was mean. We were playing a game. You— you were supposed to keep doing— the stupid macho boyfriend thing."
His heart sank. He'd completely missed the mark again. He sighed to himself and shook his head, his hand running up her spine and back down. At least she was talking.
"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't know it was a game. You were angry from the boutique and I thought you were mad at me. I was tryin' not to push, and then ya stormed off and…"
He shook his head. He had fucked this night up royally. He leaned down to kiss her neck. "Ya still shouldn't have sassed me like that. I can't believe ya ordered that drink… I told ya I'd take ya for drinks after."
"I'm sorry," she finally hushed out, furious with herself for leaving him behind like that. Couldn't she have had a rational discussion right there without making a scene? Why did everything she do have to be so all or nothing? This was all her fault, wasn't it?
"She— she made me so mad!" Some of that vitriolic rage revived itself for a moment in the form of grit teeth and tightly clenched fists, but Lydia was good and stayed in place while he pet her, enjoying the affection.
"How— how could she even say those things?" A parasite, that wretched bitch called his child, and her heart panged again painfully at the remembrance that she would never catch the bug.
"She can— she got to— and I can't!"
The confession broke her down further until she was shamelessly weeping across the bench, face turned away to hide her shame.
"Not— not just because— because you're dead… but— but because I can't. Ever. With anyone."
Too much internal damage, the gynecologist told her on her first visit. At the time, she'd been relieved by the news, never thinking anyone would ever want to call her "wife" or "mommy" or that she would ever want to be called such a thing. Today, the loss was hitting her and it hit hard.
His heart sank as she confessed to him that she couldn't have children… even if he weren't dead. In a flash they were no longer in the dungeon, instead back on the rug in front of their fireplace.
He sat her up and pulled her into his chest, shaking slightly. Greg. Surely this was his fault. Her explosive rage and it's tie to Sarah suddenly made worlds more sense. He could feel his own anger burning under his skin. Greg was getting a visit that night, for sure.
"Baby… baby girl, look at me. It's okay… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, baby…"
He clung to her, rocking her in his arms as he processed what this really meant. "Thank you for telling me, babes. I'm so sorry you… I know you wanted…" He ran his hand over her stomach gently, shaking his head at himself.
"I take it back. Yell all you want. You can be angry with me. Okay? I don' mean at me, because… that would fucking suck… but. When I'm here you're allowed to get mad. You got that? Yer allowed to be pissed about all this fucked up shit that's happened to you."
"I don't know how…" She fell off, snuggling into his lap before the fire and changing the course of her sentence. "I'm not good at being mad."
The poor way she handled her emotions was what pushed her into his arms to begin with. If she knew how to compose herself more maturely, she wouldn't have stormed out to the cemetery that night, convinced that death was the only path for her, dedicated to "ending up just like her mother" just like Daddy said she would.
That life seemed worlds away. She wasn't that girl anymore. No, she was Mrs. Lydia Geuse and she could do better than that.
"I'll try," she promised, "Didn't mean to get so— so mad. Shouldn't— shouldn't have blown up like that. Wasn't nice."
Everything was much better now that they were on the same page again, both mourning the same nameless, faceless child that would never be. The hurt was still there, but it was out in the open now, bleeding where anyone could see it rather than festering beneath a flimsy Band-Aid.
"I didn't… didn't want any until…"
You. The reason for her change of heart was clear without need of being said.
"Seeing her… and knowing that she could? And did?"
Here, she fell apart again, losing the ability to string together coherent sentences for a long while.
"It's not fair," she sobbed childishly into his neck once she could speak again, every inch of her being dedicated to hating Sarah. "And why— why did she have to be so pretty?"
His heart was breaking. He was sure of it. He should have never mentioned Sarah. Certainly shouldn't have mentioned the baby…He had caused his wife this pain.
He held her tight, rocking her as she cried it out. "Baby, she's got nothin' on you. How can I make you see that? The only reason I stayed with her was 'cause she got knocked up. I'm with you 'cause I adore you."
He ran a hand over her thigh, not looking for anything more than a touch. "Can you tell me why? Is it his fault? The boyfriend?"
"I know, I know," Lydia prattled on, through with questioning the validity of his love. He loved her more than anyone had ever loved her and all she wanted to do was pay him back for it; do right by him, be better, give him everything he wanted. But, she couldn't give him this and it left her feeling terribly inadequate. Jealousy over the unworthy Sarah's fertility couldn't be helped. It showed itself in the form of physical insecurity.
"She's just so tall."
Can you tell me why? Is it his fault?
"Yes…"
Once upon a time, she might have blamed herself in some roundabout way, but it wasn't her fault. She was attacked. She didn't do anything to deserve it. It wasn't fair. Closing her eyes, Lydia recalled the words the doctor spoke to her and repeated the cold, medical terminology for her husband in a monotonous whisper.
"There's too much scar tissue on my cervix and uterus… sperm can't get through… It's like a dam."
Too much scar tissue.
Green was definitely gonna get it now. Castration seemed appropriate. His hold on her tightened, her warm breath against his neck a comfort. She was here, healthy, and relatively happy. They'd be okay.
He littered kisses on her bare shoulder, his lips finding any bit of skin they could reach. He squeezed her hips gently, shifting her until she straddled his hips, pressing impossibly closer to her.
"Hey. Look at me." He pulled at her chin until he could meet her chocolate eyes with his own, searching for a sense of understanding within them. "I love you. I want a family with you. But that doesn't mean you gotta carry my child. We have the pets. We're a family. We could adopt an unborn child. We could move into the mountains to become hermits. We'd still be a family. You are my family. Understand?"
"Mhm," she nodded an affirmative, holding his gaze while tears dried on her flushed, stained cheeks. Nothing he was saying was new to her. All the alternatives had already been dwelled on, save the concept of adopting an unborn soul. Motherhood wasn't even something she was sure she was ready for, young as she was. Yet, the desire had been sparked and Lydia wasn't sure what would put it out for good.
No matter what, it would be okay. They would be okay.
Their repositioning brought her flush against him to where she could feel his arousal twitching beneath the tight jeans, heavy against her belly.
"Just…"
Her head tilted, offering more flesh for him to kiss, embers of arousal helping to burn out the lingering pain.
"Just wanna give you everything you want… You're a good Daddy… You deserve it…"
The words were like honey in the way they dripped so easily from her lips. He groaned softly and pulled her tight against him, sucking at her collar bone.
"You're everything I want, kitten. Just you. Forever." He rocked up into her, his cock straining in his jeans. The pets seemed wise enough to give them a wide berth tonight, which he appreciated.
He sighed softly and nipped at her, reaching between them to undo his fly and relieve some pressure. "You up for this? Ya don't gotta be, baby…"
"Shhh…"
Soft lips ascended to his, silencing any further silly questions on whether or not she wanted to be intimate with her perfect husband. While they kissed, slow and bittersweet, charged with heavy emotions, she worked the shirt up over his torso, parting briefly to toss it aside before reaching between them to unbutton his jeans. The kiss became a tad messier while she did this, distracted by the endeavor, but no less passionate.
Once he was freed, she tilted her hips just so until the tip was kissing along her dripping netherlips, ready to be impaled upon.
"Please make me feel good," she pled against his lips, rocking without penetrating so as to leave the final push up to him. "You always make me feel so good…"
He groaned as she hastily stripped him of all of save his jeans, his lips sliding messily along hers as they sought each other out. His hands found her hips as she teased the head of his cock over her soft lips, a choked sound leaving his mouth.
"Oh fuck… ya make me feel good too, kitten. Ya make me feel so fuckin' good I don't know what to do…"
He pulled at her hips, his own lifting from the rug to impale her onto him, his head falling into her chest and his hands tightening to the point of bruising. "Fuck… just like that…"
He started to slowly thrust into her, his hands sliding up her back to hold her close against him. "I love ya, baby.. love ya so much, baby girl… ya got no idea…"
They worked off of each other with flawless syncopation, giving and taking whatever the other had to offer. Lydia kept one leg wrapped high around his waist while the other's foot planted flat on the ground, giving her leverage to push as he pulled her up, adding to the intensity of it.
They were so close. If he had one, Lydia would be able to feel his heartbeat as he squeezed her in tight, simultaneously pushing his hips up until he was buried deep. He grunted his love for her then, while they were as closely entwined as two people could possibly be, and Lydia thought she might shatter from the sheer magnitude of it.
He didn't care that she couldn't do this thing, this one thing that all women are supposed to be able to do. He didn't care that she was little more than a used, damaged piece of scrap he'd picked up out of the gutter and polished. She was enough, flaws and all.
Moved beyond words, she poured her emotions into another kiss, one that had her fist curling into his matted hair, teeth nipping, trying her damnedest to keep up with his impossible serpentine tongue. If she didn't focus on kissing him, she might cry again which might worry him and ruin the mood. Her hips moved with her mouth, increasing the weight and quickness of their rutting until it was too much and she couldn't focus on both at the same time anymore.
Gasping, she pulled away, head tossed back and eyes clenched so as to hone in on the pleasurable bubbling at their joining point, ready to burst.
"Daddy," she gasped in that breathy way he loved, using the moniker she knew he loved, sweat beading on her forehead, "I'm gonna cum. Please make me cum, Daddy…"
Each sweet pant and moan from his wife drove him further and further into ecstasy. True to their fashion, they'd found a way to fix the hurt they were both feeling by falling into each other, gripping and sliding along each other's skin with each thrust.
He kept his eyes locked on her face for as long as he could, taking in her long lashes and the way her lips darkened where they were parted in pleasure. She was perfect, in every way he could imagine. All her supposed damages had made her the woman he loved, after all. How could he hate them?
Daddy…
The moniker had a new weight as it hit his ears, his long-dead heart clenching in his chest. He wiggled a hand between them and rubbed his thumb firmly over her clit, working her higher toward her orgasm gently. "I got ya, baby… daddy's got ya… cum for me, Lydia… come on."
"Oh— oh oh oh… ungh… yes… yes!"
Her jaw dropped open in a silent scream as she approached the crescendo. The hold on his biceps loosened so that she could arch back against the weight of his arm, fist the soft fur rug, and use that purchase to ride out her oblivion. A choked, high-pitched mewl made its way past her parted, kiss-bruised lips, filling the master suite with proof of her euphoria.
She went weak and limp once all the tension released, but Betelgeuse was still pumping his hips up dedicatedly, chasing the same escape his wife was granted. Her breasts bounced at the ferocity of his fucking, internal muscles pulsating from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Porcelain flesh was slick with sweat from all the hard work, and she would have kept putting in the same effort for him if she had the strength to. But, she couldn't. She could only hold on feebly as he took over, assaulting her with hard, deep thrusts that wrenched more shrill sounds from her.
He couldn't help but imagine a very different scenario that could have once taken place on this rug. The image of Lydia, still panting and sweating but rounder, full of life in more ways than one sent him screaming over the edge, hunching over his wife as he emptied deep inside of her.
He groaned and pressed his forehead to her slick collar bone, panting as he came down from the intensity of his orgasm. The imagined scene still lingered, and he ran a hand over her flat stomach lovingly.
It was several minutes until he could pull himself away from her, settling her gently on the rug as he withdrew from her body. "Fuck… that was incredible, kitten. How ya feelin'?"
She stretched out blissfully beneath him, enjoying the feel of the fur on her skin, the way he was petting her so sweetly, the slick fallout from his release oozing out between her legs. Lydia didn't worry about the rug. While he didn't clean up after himself anywhere else in the house, this was somewhere he tended to show a little tact. When she looked later, the crusted remains of his release would be gone as if their tryst hadn't even taken place.
"Better," she hushed, still working on catching her breath. Her heart was too full of love for him to be weighed down by insecurities. The pain was still there, but it was muted for the time being; unimportant and insignificant. "I'm sorry I ruined our date. I'll take you out again, I promise."
She was in need of a bath before calling it a night. Raven locks were in a sweaty tangled mess, makeup smeared messily all around her eyes and cheeks, damp with sweat and bodily fluids. If it weren't for her husband's cool touch, the crackling fire and decadent rug would have made it unbearably hot.
"I'm gonna take a bath," she informed, but didn't make any moves to get up yet. "Would you please put the kettle on low so it's ready to boil whenever I get out? Tea sounds nice."
He scoffed. "Ya didn't ruin shit. I got ya… we'll try again another night."
Now, he had shit to attend to. He kissed her soundly and promised to start the kettle, which he did, before heading back to the cellar he'd so often visited.
Before Betelgeuse entered he took a moment to focus. Shapeshifting into someone he'd only seen in photographs was difficult but he managed. In moments, a five-year-old Lydia was standing in his place. He assumed a child's voice in the way he imagined she would have spoken and stepped into the light of the torch.
The sorry excuse for human life known as Gregory Green was now down to only one finger, the rest having already gone the way of his toes and become dog treats. The little girl pretended to cry, sobbing into the sleeve of her tiny jacket.
"Momma?"
Gregory Green was on his last leg. He was already skinny before coming here, but now he was little more than skin and bone strung up against that brick wall. How long had he been paying for his atrocities in this hellish pit? It felt like an eternity, but it couldn't have been that long. He'd eaten. He remembered eating. Couldn't forget. Rotten scraps dug up from the bottom of a trash can, molded and reeking, unrecognizable from decomposition.
"The missus is one helluva cook, ain't she?"
Beneath the rot, he could taste seasoning and had no choice but to agree. Sensation had long since left his arms, the scrawny limbs elevated and lacking circulation. He barely even bled when he lost his fingers. When God came to take them away, he was disappointed in miserable Gregory's lackluster response. He took his molars then as punishment, wrenching them from his filthy, dirty mouth with rusted pliers.
Visits from God were the best part of his day, though they usually meant it was time for him to sacrifice another useless part of his evil body. When he was alone, the visions would come. Roaches he couldn't swat away crawled up over his salted wounds. Little girls he hurt would giggle and mock him, just barely out of sight in the shadows. Sometimes a large white cat would come along and whisper things into his mind, things no human being should ever hear before fading back into the darkness with everything else.
God was real. God was concrete. God was good and merciful and showed evil, nasty Gregory the errors of his ways.
The telltale creak of a door wrenching open, marking the savior's coming drew the miserable creature from his jumbled thoughts.
"Momma?"
The weak, overworked organ that pumped his blood jump-started at full throttle.
"No," he whispered before ever seeing the child, terrified for her safety, "no no no no no—"
Gregory was not fit to be around pure, perfect little princesses. He would taint her. He would hurt her. She had to leave. God wasn't going to like this.
"Go home, baby," he wept, the sweet nickname tasting foul on his unworthy mouth. "Not— not your momma. Please go. Not safe... not here. You shouldn't— shouldn't be here. Gregory is bad, he's so bad, don't let him see you—!"
She stepped forward into the only source of light in the room, a dingy bulb flickering overhead. What teeth he had left bit down, digging into his tongue until he tasted metal. So shocked and taken aback by the clear, unwavering sight of Lydia Deetz was he that he broke the first commandment, the first lesson God ever taught him.
"L-Lyddie…?"
Really? Had he forgotten the first rule? He couldn't do anything about it now.
The pretend Lydia's eyes widened. "Gregory? I'm lost... can you take me home? I'll be good!" The words turned his stomach. He'd heard them so many times himself that they made him ill.
She stepped forward and a vice suddenly tightened around his balls, a stinging, searing burn that tightened with each step she took. "We can play our game... just don't put it in. It hurts." Her eyes were hardened as she watched the wire dig into his flesh. This bastard had to go, and go for good.
The charade dropped, though the form remained. "You hurt me real bad, Greg. You made me scared to be with my husband. Who loves me. Not like you." Another step forward. "You hurt me so bad that now I can't be a momma. No matter how bad me and Betelgeuse want a baby." Another step. The sagging flesh was nearly torn from his body now. "You fucked me up Greg! Me and Momma!"
It appeared he had some blood left after all. So much of it had been extracted from him over the course of his imprisonment that his muddled mind wasn't entirely sure he was still alive, pooling below to join the reeking build-up of urine, feces, and vomit. He was too busy screaming in agony to hear the plop of his testicles dropping down to join the grotesque pile of him.
"I'M SORRY!"
Horrifying, inhuman screeches bounced across the soundproofed cellar from his bloody, cracked lips, interspersed with choked apologies and her name; "Lydia", full and proper. Gregory was through pleading for death or mercy. He knew now that he didn't deserve such niceties.
He was bleeding out fast. The vermin was already barely hanging on to the last vestiges of life before sweet Lyddie came to exact her rightful revenge. Starved, dehydrated, and sleep-deprived, each moment spent in agony from his many mutilations, it was clear that his end was nigh.
Unfortunate, really. Even with all the limbs that had been sacrificed to the cause, every apology and admission of guilt, he wasn't anywhere close to repaying his mountainous debt.
Betelgeuse watched him writhe, shaking his head behind his disguise. With a snap of tiny, malnourished fingers Greg was falling to the ground. Finally freed, there was no way his legs could support him.
The little girl brought him a match and sat beside him. "Do you hurt, Greg? Your mind and body? Do you think you can understand how I felt now?" She held the match until his last finger could curl around it.
"I can make it stop, Greg. I'll help you. You know why? Because I'm a good person. The best! No matter what you put me through, you couldn't take that from me or my husband."
A can of gasoline appeared beside him. "You know how to make this stop, don't you? You'd better hurry. Betelgeuse will be back for you any minute."
Angel of mercy! It was no wonder God had taken her for his own. Gregory deserved everything he got and so much more for plucking this divine being from the sky and attempting without victory to clip her magnificent wings.
"Thank you," he sobbed and shook, kissing the ground at her feet as he repeated his gratitude over and over, knowing better than to even think about touching that flawless, glowing pale flesh. She was a beacon of light in this pit, too good and pure to even be here, and yet here she was; doling out goodness and generosity he didn't deserve as angels were likened to do.
There was a sneer darkening her too-beautiful face and miserable Gregory fell back at the sight of it. No more groveling. It was time. Retaining enough logic to know that he had to light the match first, he spent many pitiful moments scraping it against the concrete, hardly strong enough to apply the necessary pressure to make it combust. He grew paler and paler as he kept trying, and toward the end Betelgeuse worried that he might not have the faculties to do this on his own before bleeding out and dying prematurely.
Alas, there was nothing to fret about. A spark finally erupted at the end of the tiny stick and Gregory beamed, staring into the light of salvation like the caveman that discovered fire. It was moving quickly down the stem, so he hastened to fling his arm out to knock over the canteen until the pungent, flammable liquid pooled around him, stinging open wounds.
It was now or never. His last remaining finger uncurled, the match dropped, and the cellar was suddenly alight with a blinding flash that couldn't possibly hope to rival the angel of mercy's celestial glow.
As the fire ignited, Betelgeuse returned to his own form. A note was already sent ahead to Juno with his requests for the maggot he watched writhe in front of him. He'd spend eternity seeing Natalya at a distance, just out of her sight, but unable to escape what he'd done.
He left the cellar, wiping his hands on his slacks as he went. He fully intended to return to his wife for a second round, but was stopped in his tracks when he saw Tilly, her tail tucked between her legs.
"Matilda! I told you to keep mama in bed!"
Lydia had expected Betelgeuse to come assist her with her hair like he was prone to do when she was having a post-sex bath or shower, and was somewhat disappointed when he didn't. After getting out, drying off, and making tea, she sat cross-legged at the kitchen table with Percy in her lap and waited, listening. She couldn't hear the heavy pacing of his boots anywhere. Was he even still home? Why would he leave?
Tea gone, she went searching. He wasn't in his office, the den, or the home theater. On a whim she went to check his "playroom" only to find the door relocked and impenetrable.
"Tilly," she giggled, shaking her off when the sweet beast came to gently tug on the sleeve of her robe, turning her neck toward the staircase as of to say it's bedtime, mama. "We'll snuggle later. Come on, let's find Daddy."
He had to be around here somewhere. He wouldn't just leave without telling her, not when she was still awake. With a sad little sound, the hellhound's ears flattened against her head and she trotted toward the patio doors. Outside?
Puzzled, Lydia followed after and opened the door for her, pulling her robe closer as she stepped out and a chill swept over her, exacerbated by her still-wet hair. Matilda proceeded to slink around the corner and out of Lydia's sight. This is when she finally heard her husband's voice.
Matilda! I told you to keep mama in bed!
Curiouser and curiouser. Lydia revealed herself, turning the corner to see what exactly he was up to. Her eyes went wide at the sight of smoke curling up from the cellar doors behind him. It had a scent she had never inhaled before, an odd mixture of barbecue, charcoal, and sulfur with an unmistakable underlying tang of gasoline. He was obviously aware of it or else she might have worried more about the safety of their home.
"Beej?" She looked small and pale, shivering in her too-short robe. It was one of the sexier ones, one she knew he would like in a deep shade of emerald. "What are you doing? Why… what's burning? Why did you tell Tilly to keep me in bed?"
His eyes shot up to hers and he grinned brightly. "Ya like it? It's the divorce papers! I told the department to shove it. Yer all mine."
He went to sweep her up into his arms, kissing her soundly. He was running high on adrenaline and the mad power rush that it gave him to see Green destroyed. He'd cleaned the cellar to the point that even if she asked to see, all she'd find was a large pile of papers burning. He somehow doubted she'd want that.
"Ya feel better? Ya look great... damn I love it when ya dress up for me." He kissed her again, his hands sliding around to hold her ass. "I told Tilly to keep ya in bed because I wanted this to be a surprise! I mean, ya needed yer rest too. We've had quite the day, kitten!"
His good mood was contagious. She was instantly uplifted, emotionally and physically, mirroring his goofy grin when he swept her up. The divorce papers were gone, and he was all hers. Forever.
"I don't need a doggy babysitter," she giggled, scrunching her nose at him in faux annoyance. "And I can't sleep when I don't know where you are. You disappeared! Why didn't you just throw them in the fireplace? We could've made a thing of it. Toasted champagne."
Nevermind all that, the deed was done and who cared how it went down? She shivered again, wrapping her legs and arms tighter around him to seek warmth that would never come.
"It's cold, Beej."
He shrugged noncommittally, spinning her around excitedly. "Don't matter, they're gone now!"
When she started to complain about the cold, he carried her back into the house, the fire in their living room roaring to life at his whim. He set her on the couch and flipped on the television, pressing a kiss to her lips gently.
"I'll go make ya another pot of tea. We can cuddle and watch movies and think about eternity!" He clapped, rubbing his hands together like an excited child.
Eternity. That was a heavy word. Not for the first time, Lydia wondered what they would do about her status as a living, breathing woman in a marriage with an immortal soul. Once upon a time, she thought he would be rid of her once he tired of whatever charms he saw in her, but he had worked well to banish ridiculous notions like that.
But… she was still going to age. Lydia couldn't bear the thought of watching him lose interest in real-time as her hair greyed and skin sagged. He would have to kill her, fulfill their original deal. It was the only solution that made sense.
Lydia broached the subject when he returned with a stylized porcelain teacup filled with honey-sweetened chamomile. Warmed from the fire, she didn't hesitate to snuggle into his side, smoothly shaved legs sliding over his lap.
"Beej?"
She didn't have any desire to bring down the mood, but he told her to "think about eternity" and all her disobedience had been spent for the day.
"What's going to happen when…" There was a pause while she worked out the most tactful way to voice her concerns. "When I get too old? I don't… I don't want to be an old hag while you still look like this."
Betel lovingly set the tea and a plate of ginger snaps in front of his wife before snuggling in on the couch, his arm slung around her to keep her close.
Her questions caught him off guard, and he nearly asked her if she remembered... before realizing that he'd never told her. The plan had never been to keep her around this long, let alone live the marital bliss they now did.
He chuckled softly and ran a finger up her arm gently. "Well... we won't have to worry about that. You're immortal. It's part of bein' married to me. Ya won't age unless we divorce, which... ain't gonna happen. So don't worry about it, 'kay?"
Lydia blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. What did he just say?
"Nuh-uh," she disagreed at first, the concept so beyond her grasp that she couldn't help but reject it. Then again, her boss was a talking spider. All things considered, immortality was almost mundane in terms of the supernatural forces she had been exposed to throughout their marriage.
Still.
"Bullshit. What do you mean I'm immortal?! When were you planning on telling me this?"
She wasn't upset so much as shocked. This was a pretty fucking important detail that had slipped his mind.
"But wait… I can't be immortal. Beej, I'm too short!" Sudden irrational panic kept her eyes wide and her grip on her teacup tight. "I need to get older! I've got at least six inches left!"
This was a stretch and she knew it. Lydia had been the same height since she was twelve and it didn't look like she was ever going to be any taller.
He chuckled at her little freakout. The things she thought of never failed to throw him for a loop. "Oh? Too short. Too short to be immortal." He scoffed. "You could probably age a little if you really wanted... but I personally like ya as is."
He dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her mercilessly and manhandling her onto his lap at the same time. He littered kisses over her face and neck, anything he could reach, before her elbow suddenly connected with his nose.
It was clearly an accident, and he was laughing as he freed her, rubbing at the sore appendage. "Damn! Okay! Truce." He leaned in to kiss her again firmly. "This is it, kitten. It's you and me... here on in."
"HAHHA BEEJ STOP! STOP!"
Beelzebub was excited by all the commotion and let Master and Mistress know he wanted in on the play by hopping up to the couch— he was big enough to do that now without Tilly's help— and yipping at them, his front hunched over while his nub wriggled with excitement. In an effort to avoid smacking the pup while Betelgeuse tickle-tortured her mercilessly, her elbow flew into his nose.
"Oh!" The torture ceased immediately, but her husband was smiling so she knew all was well. "I'm sorry!"
He still got a smooch on the injured bridge of his nose. It was already a little crooked, as though it had been broken at some point when he lived. Knowing him, it was likely.
This is it, kitten. It's you and me… here on in.
There was an ominous edge to his voice, but Lydia didn't indulge it with anything other than an elfin quirk of her lips before diving in to seal the agreement with a kiss.
"Deal."