"Well, I'll be damned. You actually look good when you put an effort in."
Cordelia slumped into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Fiona.
"Now now, what's that face for?" Fiona said disapprovingly. "I bought you a nice dress, didn't I?"
"I don't want to get married," Cordelia said, stubbornly refusing to meet Fiona's gaze.
Fiona narrowed her eyes. "Why? Are you still a lesbian? I thought you said the school fixed you."
"No, I'm not, mother," Cordelia said vehemently, the lie rolling easily off her tongue. "but I still don't want to get married! Is it so hard to comprehend that some women don't want marriage?"
"Whatever you say, Delia," Fiona said absent-mindedly. "You've done a shocking job of your makeup, have I taught you nothing? Let's go fix it up." She grabbed Cordelia by the sleeve and dragged her to the bathroom, where Cordelia spent the following hour in hell.
0o0o
"Delia, dear, I'd like you to meet Henry Foxx, and his son, Hank."
Hank smiled in what he obviously thought was a charming way. Perhaps it would have been charming to some, but there was the whole 'Cordelia being gay as fuck' thing. Also, he had to be at least fifteen years older than her – he looked to be in his thirties, at least. Dumbly, Cordelia offered him her hand, after Fiona elbowed her sharply. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Cordelia," Hank said, kissing her hand.
Endure, she told herself. She would only have to put up with this for another week – if she could get on Fiona's good side, maybe Fiona would give her more money when she asked. Money that she and Misty desperately needed. "Likewise," she replied, through gritted teeth.
Fiona gave her a smile. To Hank and Henry, it would have looked friendly – but Cordelia saw right through it. Step it up. "Why don't the two of you go get some refreshments?"
"Wonderful idea, Ms Goode." Hank smiled at Fiona in what he obviously meant to be charming – Cordelia was pleased to see that though her mother wanted her to marry him, she was not charmed by Hank's pretences and wanted to crush him like a cockroach as she wanted to do to most men.
Hank took Cordelia by the arm and led – no, dragged – her over to the refreshments table. She squirmed, discomfort oozing into her body – she felt guilty about this somehow, even though it wasn't her fault. As if she was… cheating on Misty? She didn't want to be cheating on Misty, not at all. But Hank made her feel dirty – the way his eyes rolled up and down her body, the way his arm was curled possessively around her waist. She hated it. She hated it so much. What would Misty tell her to do? Better yet, what would Misty do?
She didn't know. Breathing deep, she tried to stay calm.
Hank leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He smiled at her – that same smile he had given Fiona. "I've heard so much about you, Cordelia." Grabbing a plate, he began piling it with food, running a finger along the side of the cake and licking the frosting off. So rude – the chef had spent hours on that cake.
"Have you now," she said drily. He was looking at her like she was an object to be had. A little rich blonde girl to be his trophy wife. It was like she wasn't even a person, the way he looked at her.
"Yes, your mother has told me many things."
"All good things, I hope," Cordelia said, digging her fingernails into her palm. She only had to get through the evening. Make conversation with this slug until the party was over. She didn't have to like him, she told herself – she only had to please Fiona so she would get off her back for the rest of school break. Then she would go back to school and she and Misty would run away, and she'd be able to leave Fiona behind forever.
"Well, no," Hank admitted, and let out a laugh. "But we'll cure you."
"Cure me?" Cordelia asked, raising an eyebrow. "Of what, exactly?" She knew exactly what.
Hank leered. "Your sapphic tendencies, of course."
"And how do you intend to cure me?" She asked, her heart beating ten times faster. She half expected him to say 'the asylum' or something equally terrible. What he said was far worse. She would take the asylum any day, over what he suggested.
"Give me an hour," Hank said, giving her a lewd smirk. "You'll be cured, trust me."
Cordelia couldn't stop herself. She slapped him.
The filthy smile fell off his face, and he raised a hand to his smarting cheek. "What the hell?"
"Stay away from me," she hissed, and turned around, shaking out her hand.
He grabbed her tightly by the arm, forcing her back around so she was staring him in the face again. "You need to learn some respect."
"Let go of my arm," she said, somehow managing to sound calm. Breathe, Delia. She knew that was what Misty would tell her to do, if she was here. Breathe.
"I don't think I will."
"Let go!" she screeched, and twisted around. He held onto her arm so tightly she knew there would be bruises later. Her desperation to run, to escape, grew by the second, and so she did the most logical thing she could think of – she kicked him as hard as she could in the balls.
He immediately let go, and his hands went to his crotch. "Fuck!" he hissed, doubling over and groaning. "You'll regret this."
"No," she said, smiling at him. She shook out her foot, and wiped her hands on her dress, in case there were any disgusting man-germs on them. She would have to wash them with hot water and vinegar. "I won't."
She walked away as quickly as she could, realising suddenly that all eyes were on her. Marie Leveau, her mother's friend, was desperately trying to conceal a smirk. Delphine looked shocked, her mouth hanging open, looking as though she was trying to catch popcorn in it. Henry looked murderous. Her mother's face was the worst, though. A picture of calm.
That was never a good thing.
Sorry if Hank is a bit OOC – I'm really bad at writing straight men.
Chapter title comes from "Everywhere" by Fleetwood Mac.