Soliloquy From Molly Parker

I introduce Victoria in this chapter. She met Molly Parker at a leather and lace party and swapped clothes so Molly would feel more comfortable in the surroundings. Nice woman. The background for Molly is that she’s flown to Nice after getting divorced from her husband Art who cheated on her with another woman, Karen.

Victoria reaches out to try and keep Molly from imploding. The entire book is about Molly Parker self destructing. But the arc with her and Victoria is that she comes to have a friend who isn’t a high society catty bitch friend. This is the first failed attempt at reaching out, and it’s in somewhat bad taste too. Not everything is perfect from the get go in friendships.

Anyways, rough draft, pure rough draft of a soliloquy that I am completely fond of in writing. But I’m in a write-y mood today and I knocked out a chapter already. Blerg, probably too much coffee.

———–

The cafe was nice. Molly didn’t see any difference between the French cafe and one back in San Antonio other than the coffee wasn’t as good. So she played with her coffee, adding some sugar to cut the burnt black flavor. Dom and Victoria where playing footsy under the table. It was nauseating to watch only to be one upped when Victoria would sink a nail or two into Dom’s neck when she left to get more coffee. Little red marks appeared shortly after each grasp like a painful hickey. The first time she did it, Molly stared not knowing that Dom would like such a thing. It seemed so out of character, so bizarre compared to him being such a puppy dog around other women. Molly wondered what he was like in bed. After sitting in her room for hours staring at the wall, she didn’t care anymore what he did. Victoria returned with more coffee and gently bit Dom’s neck. Dom shuddered and smiled. Molly gagged.

There when Victoria sat down an awkward tension rose. They all stared at each other trying to find what banality to bring up. Victoria glanced at Dom and then at Molly, then spotted Molly glaring at her. She smiled and knew what to say.

“So Molly. Dom tells me that you recently divorced your husband.”

Molly stopped stirring the sugar in her coffee and didn’t know what to do next. She rose two fingers to her lips to stop herself from saying anything. Dom shrugged his shoulders apologetically. Molly nodded her head and stared down at her coffee.

“I know what it’s like. I had a man leave me for another woman.”

Molly was impassive, but wanted to hear. So Victoria continued.

I met Bertrand while I was at LSE. It was my last year there. I studied philosophy. He was my TA. He wasn’t like Dom here, muscly and sort of like the Brawny Man, no, Bertrand was more of a stereotypical philosopher. He had broad shoulders, but not that broad, and a little bit of a belly that he always told me would go away when he started dieting but it never did and I don’t really think he put much effort into dieting in the first place. His hair was also the curliest I’ve ever seen, really tight curls that only my pinky would fit into, and sort of a reddish brown from his Irish heritage. And that nose of his, big but not obscenely big. He also looked silly in contacts. He tried them for a while, but glasses were better on him even though he didn’t think so. High, strong, cheekbones.

I had crush on him immediately.

And he was smart. Smarter than the professor.

I went to discussions just to hear him talk and see his smile that he would get whenever he was about to announce a major point of the reading.

I still miss him from time to time.

I went to see him for office hours every week and spent the entire time talking to him. At first it was philosophy, but soon it was just us talking about the latest TV show or music playing in London. He was a nerd, but he knew a great deal about culture. Soon, it wasn’t just a crush. In his office I had to bite my lip to not leap at him. And then he asked.

I said yes.

After the class was over we went out to his favorite music venue. He glad handed with the owner and embraced the band. He seemed to know everyone there. It turned me on. He wasn’t just another geek, he wasn’t just someone who stayed in all the time, he was a part of London. But for all his hand shaking, he introduced me to everyone, he brought me into the fold. I wanted to be with him there and then. My crush leaped into loving him and I knew I wanted to be with him forever. I felt like a girl around him, not like a woman, and I forgot myself in him. That night I led him back to my little apartment and he was also pretty good in bed.

That was something that he taught me. How to have sex.

Before, I would dabble in a little foreplay that amounted to sucking his cock. But he went down on me from the get go. I came over and over from his tongue and my body felt exhausted before he climbed on top of me. He kept going.

And then he gripped my arms. He pulled them over my head and held them down with one hand. He whispered that he dreamed of this for months. As I began to come again he put his free hand on my neck and it felt like his entire weight was on it even though I could still breath, though it was hard. My body shivered and it felt like the muscles clamped tighter and tighter around him until my body felt like it was going to erupt from a chaotic pressure inside. I had never felt that. I wanted that over and over.

I was with him maybe three months before he brought rope and tied me up.

Then I tied him up.

Soon I was in command all the time.

I could do anything to him and he couldn’t stop me.

It was a drug.

I wasn’t just in love with him, it stretched over sex and culture and my entire life. All my pleasures became intertwined with his. When he wasn’t with me I felt his presence in everything I did. We were together for nine months before I found out.

He was at my place and I realized I had never seen his apartment. It seemed nice that he would come over, spend the night, and I would never have to leave, never take a cab home in the morning, walk in high heels, I would just lay naked in bed watching him dress and then he’d lean over to give me a kiss and then leave. His clothes were always crumpled, but they were more so after spending the night on the floor. But one night he was with me and things were going to the bedroom and felt something cold on his cheek. He forgot to take his ring off.

I tried to throw him out. But he pushed back. He said he loved me. He said he wanted to be with me instead of with his wife. The reason he wasn’t divorce from her was that it was messy, complicated, it doesn’t just happen over night. But he assured me that it was happening. I believed him. He was spending more time with me each month. Talking to me about our future. I believed him.

We became closer after that.

He spent an extra night a week at my place and most of the day when he wasn’t at the office. He even ducked out from time to time from the office to spend an entire day with me before going back to his wife. He showed me divorce papers that had been drawn up and said it was any day now. He said he would never celebrate another anniversary with his wife. That he would rather spend it with me.

Nine months passed.

He flew me here to visit a conference. It’s where I found the leather and lace parties here. We would dress up and head out. He would be in his motorcycle jacket that was getting creases in it he wore it so much. I went out in the clothes you were wearing the other night. I felt alive. We were strangers to the city, we were strangers to society, living as we did in the shadow and in secret. Being with him I started to get off on it. I started abandoning societal rules and mores. It started off as fun, but I started to feel powerful. I was the one he was going to be with. It was me. My allure, my insight, my body, all his.

After Nice we were inseparable. I swear he spent a week at my apartment, whether it was during the day or in the evening, he was there. And we did nothing but be together. Then one night, he couldn’t make it. He made plans with me, but he forgot his wife’s anniversary. I spent the night crying. Two weeks later his wife left to go somewhere, I forget, it’s not important. But he invited me to stay with him at his place. His study was a shrine to his wife. She gave him a pocket watch, silver, for the anniversary. I saw the look in his face. When talking about it he had the same look that he did when he looked at me in the morning while we were in bed. He loved his wife.

That night, when he was asleep, I paced through the house. I rummaged through his study and found all kinds of things, passports, his wife looked like me, kinda, bank statements, private letters, though none from me, I paced in his kitchen, and then started opening his mail. I found a new bank statement. His wife was an investment banker and supported him. They were rich beyond belief. I stuffed the statement into my purse and went back to the study to take the passports. He would pay for lying to me, she would pay for keeping him.

The next morning he kicked me out so his wife wouldn’t find me. I went to the bank. With the statement and the passport for ID I drained their savings into bonds and took them to my bank. I grabbed my passport from my deposit box and went to the airport bearer bonds in hand. Returning to my apartment was too much, too much history, too many lies, it could burn for all I cared. Three hours later I was in Nice. It only took a day to get a new ID, French passport, and new bank.

 

Victoria stared down Molly, hoping for a reaction, hoping to provide some sort of connection to keep Molly from imploding. Molly stared back, hands trembling.

“So you tried to break up a marriage? You have no shame about trying to break up a marriage?”

Victoria raised an eyebrow and leaned back. A few words fumbled out of her mouth while Molly began to shake. Victoria struggled for words and Dom tried to ease the situation by saying that the two knew what it was like to be lied to in a relationship and have their lives destroyed by it. Molly just shook harder at the thought of being across from another Karen, another woman who broke up marriages and stole men from their wives. Victoria simply froze, not knowing what to say to Molly to see her side of the story. But it was too little too late. Molly erupted without words and hurled her coffee mug at Victoria, connecting with her forehead and shattering the mug in her face. Dom ran off for ice as Molly stormed off.

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