First things first; this chapter comes with a very strong WARNING, for physical abuse/assault. This is probably the darkest chapter in this story, and leans very strongly for a M rating with this chapter, due to subject matter. Please consider that before moving forward.
Dedicating this chapter to gothamgirl28 (sorry about the subject matter!) but she does love this story and was looking forward to Larry "unraveling".
In Mourning
July, 1919
It's been said that there is no right or wrong way to grieve, that everyone grieves differently. Some cry and lock themselves away, while others seek distraction, merriment, ANYTHING that will take their mind away from the person to whom they are mourning.
And that is exactly what he is doing after learning the devastating news.
No—that is what he has been doing, for many months now, ever since she rejected his proposal. He has been a frequent customer at Madame Vivian's, so when he arrives, she doesn't even blink, just smiles and lifts a hand, ready to summon forth what has become his "usual" flavor.
But before the fair-haired waif can step forward, he holds up his hand.
"No, I want…" he swallows and then leans down and whispers into the Madame Vivian's ear his exact requirements.
The woman looks a little surprised, but nods her head and has him taken to his usual room, where a brandy is poured and a fresh cigar waits. And where he waits for his lady…
His back is to the door when it opens, and he takes several deep breaths (and several deep gulps of brandy) before he finally turns to face her.
…And there she is.
Sybil.
Unruly dark hair, creamy skin, voluptuous curves, plush lips, blue-gray eyes…
But it's more than just looks that he needs right now.
"Your name is 'Sybil'," he tells her. "Say it."
She looks a little taken aback at first, but answers right away. "My name is Sybil."
And there it is.
Irish accent.
Madame Vivian is very good at giving him what he wants.
"Shut the door," he growls, not wasting any time with undoing his belt and removing his clothes.
She looks surprised, but again does as he says, before turning and coming back to him, as if prepared to "help" him with his task.
"NO!" he barks, shoving her away. "YOU will not be touching me," he tells her, his voice low and dangerous.
"But…how can I—?"
He stops her from speaking by backhanding her across the face.
"YOU WILL ONLY SPEAK WHEN I TELL YOU TO SPEAK!" he all but roars into her frightened face. She's clutching her cheek which is already starting to purple. She's trembling. He's glad.
"WHEN you speak, you will ONLY say 'yes Larry'...do you understand?"
She doesn't answer at first and so he raises his hand again, before she quickly whimpers, "yes Larry!"
He lowers his hand. "Good girl," he mutters, before finishing undressing. He orders to undress as well, to which she does quickly, not wanting to infuriate him further. He gives her several more orders, and she does all these things obediently, always mumbling, "Yes Larry", just as he had wanted her to, but…despite his efforts, the illusion isn't working.
Sybil would never be so obedient.
Sybil would try him, test him; Sybil would defy him.
He grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her hard. "I WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING!" he shouts. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I HAVE DONE FOR YOU? WHAT I DID? DO YOU!?"
She's crying and trying to speak, but he doesn't let her. He shoves her away from him, and then again, releases his hand against her, causing blood to spurt from her nose and mouth.
"UNGRATEFUL BITCH!" he roars, and he grabs his discarded belt and starts using it on her creamy back, wanting to break the skin, wanting to see it run red with blood, wanting to hear her cry in pain and beg for mercy, and wanting to deny her that, just as she denied him.
"YOU WOULD RATHER HAVE THAT DIRTY MICK'S HANDS ON YOU!? HIS LIPS!? YOU WOULD RATHER BE THAT PADDY'S FUCKING WHORE, YOU DISGUSTING—!?"
He's suddenly tackled from behind by one of Madame Vivian's beefy guardsmen. The woman herself is trying to comfort the screaming girl who is sobbing into her shoulder, while another takes the blanket from the bed and throws it over her trembling, naked form.
He's banned from the brothel. And he soon discovers that no other in all of London will grant him admittance.
It's just as well. After that day, he swears off whoring. It's one of the few vows he follows through with for the rest of his life.
HUGS TO EVERYONE! Thank you for reading, I know it was difficult to get through. The next chapter will feature the return of the Bransons (so you can guess what's going on that would have Larry *and* both Sybil and Tom in the same room together...)