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random-imagines-blog · 5 years

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House of Cards {Hermione Lodge x Dom!Female Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3792 Synopsis: You’re a Serpent with a dominant reputation, and she was just the girl that you had grown up with then departed from. What happens when she comes to your door? Notes: Light BDSM

Your trailer at Southside was better decorated than most of the others, because you took pride in what you called your home. Your door was painted a dark shade of red, your windows were always clean and you had a small garden that you managed to grow in the dry soil nearby. Your living room was filled with artwork that you had acquired through less than legal means, and your furniture was made of the finest leather and fabrics. It was small, but it was exactly to your tastes - but there was only one thing that seemed to stand out from the rest of the decor. It was a picture of you, as a young girl - probably around the age of fourteen, with your arm around another girl your age. Oh to be young again and be able to have friends without worrying about the Serpents trying to separate the two of you. You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but even you - the black-hearted Serpent with a bad reputation - had a little place in your heart where Hermione Gomez - or Lodge as she was now - would live forever.

You didn’t always live in the trailer park - in fact, you grew up on the nicer side of Riverdale, where all the big homes were, the nice parks, the picture perfect families with their dark secrets. You could count them on your fingers, the Blossoms, the Smiths, the Coopers. If there was one family that put out the sunniest disposition though, and lied through their teeth, it was your own. Because of the money, the affluence and all - you grew up as a pretty happy child, though very deeply sheltered from the world. This lead to a lot of discovery later in your teens but you’ll get into that later on.

You had your friends handpicked by your parents since you were a toddler, but of course, you hadn’t known that at the time. All of the kids that you were exposed to were the children of your parents friends, and you stuck with them throughout elementary school and hardly branched out to the other kids. The person that you were closest with was the beautiful Hermione Gomez, who was already being groomed to be a trophy wife by the first grade. You two clicked instantly, and became the best of friends within a single play date. Her family became an extension of yours, your family became her second. She spent nights at your house - even on school nights when your parents weren’t too happy about the giggling that went on until midnight.

The years flew by until the two of you were fourteen and the picture had been taken at your birthday party. The theme had been Greek Mythology, and you were both wearing flowing white dresses with flowers in your hair. Except for one or two of your male classmates, the party was predominantly females, standing around your backyard eating the treats the chef had made, and enjoying the entertainment your parents had paid for. You had invited them over to a big slumber party, in which your parents graciously allowed you to use their bedroom, for their bed was a King size and could fit everyone comfortably. So you snuggled in beside Hermione, the two of you face to face in the middle, your backs to everyone else. Before you fell asleep, you felt a hand go onto your hip. Your eyes opened sleepily and you saw Hermione staring at you, holding you. You gave her your first kiss that night. You got your first rush of naughtiness at it being in bed beside a bunch of unsuspecting girls - and that your first kiss was with a girl rather than some nice boy like your parents would have wanted.

You and Hermione grew closer through that encounter. Hermione now held your hand as you walked through the halls of the school, and spent lunch hour together, sitting under the bleachers and fed each other pieces of fruit like you were royalty in an old painting. It was the best couple months of your life - but of course, everything would soon fall apart.

An awakening was in store for you, and a very rude one at that. Hermione and yourself had gotten a lot of attention because of how close the two of you were getting, and rumors had started to circle that even your parents had heard about. You had been sat down in the fancy parlor of your home, and told sternly by your mother and father that you were not to spend time with Hermione outside of school anymore. Your heart had broken, and that’s when you realized that your parents didn’t always have your best interests at heart - they only cared about their reputation, and raising someone who is a potential lesbian didn’t fit in with their agenda. Plus, on top of that, they wanted you to marry rich, they’d made that perfectly clear. It was then that you had started to rebel. It was then that your life started to change.

“Okay, now what the hell are you doing?” FP Jones asked when he caught you walking around the South Side late one night. The fact that your parents had called Hermione’s and forbid her from sneaking out to be with you after school hours had hurt you so much, you went for a walk without realizing the destination. Your instincts had guided you on where to turn, not your rationality. Why you ended up here though - you weren’t sure.

You shrugged and kept walking, and didn’t care that the teenage boy in the Serpents jacket was following you. There was enough room on the sidewalk for the both of you. “You don’t have to follow me, I’m not going to cause any shit for you.” F.P. eyed you after you said that though he kept silent. But he did keep following you until you saw a shitty looking bar up ahead - it seemed the type that wouldn’t care if there was a minor in it.

After that first initial walk with F.P. and a coke at a place called The Whyte Worm, your whole demeanor changed. You still looked longingly at Hermione during class, but she hardly looked back at you. You noticed that she started spending a lot of time with a boy named Andrews, to your dismay, and so you left her alone and tried to get on with your life. You created new friends too, with the boys on the South Side - and a couple of the girls, but you wouldn’t exactly call it a normal friendship. When your parents found out, they attempted to send you off to boarding school, but your new rebellious ways and proud homosexuality put a quick end to that. You became the disgrace of the family, and as soon as you graduated from Riverdale High, you moved into the Trailer Park and set up your life as a Serpent. You wanted to be nothing like your parents, and that was what you had accomplished.

And one day, she left her fancy penthouse, and came to the trailer park in her four inch heels and designer coat during a blustery Winter day. The look on your face when the door swung open shocked her more than a little bit. For when she thought of you, she still imagine the carefree, lovely and light you that you had been as a teenager rather than this Serpent.

“The Hermione Lodge, coming to my trailer? Despite the fact that your husband is trying to destroy our lives, you show up here?” The snort that came out of you accurately showed your feelings, though you did not let any surprise go across your features. The wind started to blow into your trailer, and brought about a cold feeling to your exposed skin. You could close the door in her face, but instead, your former adoration won out and you beckoned her to come in. You closed the door behind her, then stood in front of the photograph of the two of you that you had been looking at earlier. You had your back to it, and subtly bumped against the table it was set upon, knocking it over.

“Your trailer is ... nice,” Hermione complimented. It was obvious that she was expecting something trashy, considering where you lived, which made you roll your eyes.

“Both a TV and a toilet, aren’t I a lucky gal?” You asked, and sat down on the couch, not letting it show that you were in anyway uncomfortable. “In the neighborhood, decided to stop by, I’m guessing?”

“He’s in prison, in case you were wondering,” Hermione said, sitting opposite you on an armchair, one leg on top of the other to show off her long tanned calves.

You pointed towards the TV that you had mentioned only a few seconds ago. “It works, like I said. Or did you think that this place is so rundown that cable doesn’t run through here?” You couldn’t help but be hostile - it was the Serpent way to act out towards outsiders. Hermione counted for one, and she knew it too - she kept staring at her heeled shoes that had gotten a bit of dirt of them from outside. The fact that it was Hermione though - it made you let out a deep breath and rub your temples with your green-painted fingernails. “Expecting you would have been better than a surprise, ‘Mione. What are you doing here, of all places? This isn’t ... you.”

“All of this stuff that’s been happening ... has been hard.” Sure, you could understand Hermione’s point of view on that, but it didn’t seem like an answer. It was hard not to ask her to keep going, but you stayed silent and let her go on in her own time. “So I’ve been working hard, not leaving the penthouse much... I was feeling cooped up.”

“You came here for what ... a distraction?” Hermione seemed not to have thought this all the way through, but she nodded and eased herself back into the chair, making herself comfortable on the IKEA chair, as she no doubt had done in the past on chairs worth ten times as much. Both of you stared at one another, and you slowly started to caress the back of her hand. Usually you weren’t so gentle with women who came through that door. But Hermione wasn’t like any other woman.

“It seems I might have been thinking about the past a lot lately. It has been happening a lot, actually. No matter what goes on in my day, I fall asleep and I think of you, y/n.” On his note, Hermione turned her hand around to hold onto yours. You allowed her to do so, but didn’t squeeze back. Both of you let the silence fill the room again.

“Hermione, I am not the same naive teenager who didn’t know herself.” You said, pulling your hand back slowly from hers. “Just like you’re not the same either, clearly.” It was obvious that Hermione had changed, and she cared now about appearances more than ever. There used to be a time when the both of you would have no problem going out into the world with natural, clean faces and clothes that weren’t the most in style but you liked anyway. So maybe you still had a lot in common, even with these changes.

The look in her eyes changed, and her head tilted to the side, so she wasn’t exactly looking at you anymore. You looked in the direction that she had been staring at, and it was right into your bedroom, where some of your ... tools were on display, so to speak. You didn’t blush, or hesitate, just motioned towards the open door. “As you can see, my preference hasn’t changed but my way of doing things has. So have a look, if you like.”

But you hadn’t been anticipating that Hermione would actually take you up on that invitation. Thirty seconds later, she was off of the chair and pushing open the door to your bedroom, or what you would call your playroom. “But - how?” Hermione wondered, seeing just how much you really had changed from the gentle girl she knew. “Oh - what are these?”

You saw that she was reaching for something on your wall - a paddle, that was heart shaped. It was one of your favorites because it had a few holes drilled into the leather to ensure that there wouldn’t be wind resistance. You grabbed a riding crop out of the umbrella stand that only held such instruments, and gave Hermione a quick whack across her knuckles, showing her who is in charge here. As soon as she felt the sting, she flinched and her hand returned to her side. “You don’t get to touch, they’re my tools.”

Suddenly, defiantly, Hermione took hold of the other end of the crop. “Hey,” She said softly, while you raised an eyebrow at brashness. “You use these on women? Y/n...” Your name came out of her lips with condescension.

“Your husband never used one of these on you?” You countered. “You know, women come to me all of the time for a distraction from their problems, to get treated well by someone for once, to relieve some stress. It isn’t about the pain - and you know nothing about it, so you have no right to judge. Unless of course - you want to learn?” You asked, not being able to stop yourself from asking her. “I doubt that’s why you came here exactly, but - I don’t know what else I’m supposed to offer. Go out for a coffee? That’s not us, a serpent and ... and a Lodge.”

“I admit that I am a bit curious... I never stopped thinking about you.” Hermione admitted. You showed no emotion - that was the key to making this dynamic work. Staying in character. “Though I never thought that you would...”

“Become a Serpent? You can blame my parents for that. If they hadn’t tried to be so controlling, I wouldn’t have rebelled this hard. But it’s nice here. I’m treated with respect here, I’m valued. They don’t order me around, not even on .. jobs.” You couldn’t go further into the details, it was private Serpent Business. “You’re the one who moved on quickly though. Not even a week after we were forced to stop our relationship, you had moved on to Fred Andrews.”

“I know,” Hermione said, and was going to stop more but you stopped her by tugging the crop out of her hand.

“This isn’t a place for explanations or apologies. I’m not expecting one, I forgave you and got over it a long time ago.” You said, in a more gentle tone. “I don’t think you’re as surprised about all of this as you’re pretending. I know I have a bit of a reputation. No playing around, please.”

Hermione composed herself in front of you, straightening her back, looking you straight in the eyes in the dark room. “I ... consent. I always have.”

That was a good enough start, as you would say. Consent and trust were the two most important parts of this arrangement.

“Always?” You questioned. Hermione nodded, and slowly, she sunk down to her knees on the soft rug that took over the majority of your room, covering the uncomfortable hardwood floors - although you could always kick them to the side if you wanted to be harsh.

“It has been on my mind forever.” She admitted. You raised an eyebrow, and put the riding crop back into it’s former position without looking. You caressed Hermione’s face, resting your thumb on the middle of her chin. It was a bit difficult for you to bend over, back entirely straight, and kiss her lips, but you managed. Your mind raced with the memories of the first time that you had done that, back in your teenage bedroom. So her taste has changed - that Hiram Lodge had bittered her up. Especially with the way that she gave you such easy submission - that had been instilled in her and not in a loving way.

It didn’t take long for her to be on the bed, her back arched as you gave her permission to feel the pleasure rather than the pain and stress that she had been holding onto for so long. Hermione melted under your touch, having yearned for it for decades now. Hiram was the last thing on her mind, nor was Fred Andrews whom she had recently met with recently - only you. “Can you free me?” Hermione asked, biting on her bottom lip as you rubbed the cooling candle wax on her chest, keeping it from drying completely with your body warmth. She was revelling in the warm sensation, but even more because it was you.

“It won’t be easy to get you out, but yes.” You murmured to her, restricting her movement by tying her wrists with silk rope to the bedpost, which was already bolted to the wall to avoid banging. Honestly, you weren’t sure if it was possible but damn, you were going to try. Until the day that you died, you would consider Hermione to be yours, just like this, just as it should have been from the beginning.

Tuesdays became the night when Hermione would venture from The Pembroke to your house in an unmarked car, telling Veronica nothing of her whereabouts. You were her little secret, and you allowed her to keep it that way. You knew that making it public would put a target on your back by Mr. Lodge, which you could not risk just yet. It had become your favorite day of the week, because it wasn’t just about the amazing sex that the two of you had, locked away in your bedroom. This relationship wasn’t built just on that, but on Hermione needing someone else to control her for a little while, advise her on what to do.

Because of Hermione sneaking away, you did have to worry about Veronica Lodge catching on. You didn’ have to worry for long - there was enough going on in Riverdale to keep the teenage girl occupied.

Well into the evening, while you and Hermione were eating the dinner that she prepared for you in your small trailer kitchen, she dropped the unfortunate news. Hiram Lodge was getting out of prison, and expected his family to be there for him, and to support him. “He really has some nerve,” You said, downing the glass of wine in one motion. “His family? Poor Hiram, he probably doesn’t even know that his wife is with someone better.”

“It wouldn’t be good to tell that to him...” Hermione said, nervously. The thought of Veronica and how this would affect her was obviously heavy on her mind. You couldn’t blame her for that. “Sleeping with you, he might forgive but knowing how I feel...”

Hermione wasn’t one to open up about her affections, so that was a bit deal to you. She nervously sipped at her wine, her hand slightly trembling, the red liquid missing her mouth and splashing up against her lips. “Hermione, how do you feel?” You asked her, setting down your knife and fork.

“You tell me.” Hermione challenged you, knowing full well that you knew the answer. Her face was pale, but started to flush. After that challenge, you stared her down, seeing just how nervous she was, and tried to pick up on her small actions to gather what she wanted to hear.

“The truth? Hermione, I think that re-connecting this last while had been really good for you.” She closed her eyes to listen to your words. “Hiram hasn’t been around to be ... well, an asshole. Veronica has been doing her own thing so you’ve had some time to yourself, and you chose to spend that with me. You’ve been smiling, I’ve noticed and other people around the town of noticed, I’ve heard things. You look so forward to coming over that you usually arrive early and wait in your car until the moment that I told you to be here, which is adorable by the way.” When she heard that, Hermione dropped her head and let her dark hair fall across her face, very much like a teenage girl. “It has been, I’m hoping, the sort of reunion that you had hoped would happen - but better. Now you’re nervous that it’s going to come to an end, that we’re going to drift away like we had before.”

You leaned in close, giving Hermione a good view of the cleavage that your wonderful bra was showcasing. “It won’t, by the way. You are too good to give up again, Hermione. The whole husband thing changes nothing. That you love me, and yes, I know you do - I feel the same way - is stronger than a marriage certificate any day.”

That meant a lot for you to say, and Hermione knew it, for she tossed her hair out of her face, and smiled. You noticed she looked like the fresh faced teenager that you knew and adored back in the day. “You should know.” She said, trying to maintain her composure, though it did usually seem to break down around you. You brought out the real person that was inside, not the Stepford wife. But you didn’t mind either side to her personality - they were both her. “Y/n... don’t let me fall back into his traps, no matter what he says.”

“He’s going to have to come here and tear you out of your bondages, which I would never allow.” A determination jumped into your voice at the very thought. Your friends, the fellow Serpents, wouldn’t allow that to happen either. You wouldn’t let his stupid expensive shoes touch the trailer park. “You’re mine. You’ve given me your trust, your respect and your heart - I’m not afraid to use my whip non-consensual on him if I had to.” You said, giving Hermione a smirk. “Now finish your dinner, my love, you need to keep your strength up for the night ahead.”

#Hermione Lodge #Hermione Lodge x reader #Hermione Lodge oneshot #Riverdale #Riverdale oneshots #oneshot #request #hermionel

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littleredroseonthevalley · 6 years

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An Opera on Separation - Chapter 15

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | CH. 15 | Ch. 16 | Ch. 17 | Ch. 18 |

Summary: It is the end of term for the teachers at Lydia Child. Zig has a special surprise for Emily. An undesirable presence looms the Park Avenue apartment, though. How Queenie and Nathan will deal with the newcomer?

Rating: T - Content not suitable for children. Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2028

Notes: A Christmas chapter to give some relief (and to mock, as in Cape Town not only is cold, but it’s also raining like nobody’s business) for my dearest Northern Hemisphere readers.

Reblog, please. Enjoy.

Santa’s Coming For Us

“And we’re done!” Marietta shut her notebook, signalling the end of the arduous meeting. “Congratulations, everyone, for this term. Now, let us trade gifts and dig onto that pizza. I swear to God, it’s been singing my name for the last hour.”

The teachers clapped animatedly, relieved for their two-week break, and then they served themselves each a piece of pizza from the spread by one side of the room.

Emily had spent most of the evening next to the elderly Mr. Smith, discussing his classes, programs and students, in preparation for his retirement at the end of the school year. As for Zig, he was at the opposite end of the room, fidgeting with his hands and the edges of his shirt in a clear display of nerves.

“Someone should talk with Mr. Ortega.” Mr. Smith noted, with a grave note of concern. “Look at the boy! He’s pale as a sheet!”

Emily followed his line of sight and Zig did look like if he was about to pass out at any minute. She excused herself from the elderly teacher and walked over to the Latino man.

“Hey.” She says. “Are you okay? You look ill.”

He laughed off-tone. “Me? Ill? Nope! Not at all! I feel as healthy as a horse!”

“Are you sure?” The woman presses on.

“Ms. Harper!” Marietta calls off behind her. “Take your seat, we’ll have our Secret Santa now!”

“In a moment, ma’am.” The redhead nodded.

She gave the young man a last appraising look and walked back to her chair with the rest of the English department.

“Now, since we’re all ready, we should begin.” Ms. Jones announces. “Ms. Harper, as you seem so eager, why don’t you begin?”

Blushing from being singled out, she coughs a little to prep her voice and starts the guessing game: “My Secret Santa…”

A few minutes in and the Secret Santa was in full swing, with petty trinkets, hugs and wishes for a great holiday season being traded around the room between the lecturers.

Somewhere around the middle of it, Zig had been drawn by a young Social Studies teacher who had gifted him a navy blue tie, on the fashion of those he uses every day for work.

He thanked the girl politely, albeit rather coldly, and loosened the one he was wearing to change to the one he was given.

Afterwards, the man stands up once more and clear his throat: “Er… my Secret Santa is a girl. She has red hair and is a little on the short side. She doesn’t like to be told that, but it’s the truth. She arrived to Lydia Child only this year, and it was a great surprise to me. I’ve known and respected her for so long, but it was just as long the last time I’d met her.

“The first time she ever taught was back in August, and you could see the nervousness on her eyes. I’d wager she thought the students were going to eat her.” The small joke elicit a few laughs from the audience. “But she raised above all the limitations, like we all did, and now she’s one of the most well-liked teachers in the school, and I didn’t doubt for a single minute that she would.

“I mean, y’all know, she has such a sunny disposition that only the most dedicated can manage to stay sour near her. It’s so annoying that you just can’t help to have your spirits lifted. And she’s dedicated, too! You had to see her, struggling with some math book just so she can help cover a subject I don’t even think she’s supposed to teach.

Zig sighed, a smile on his face. “If it isn’t clear enough, my Secret Santa is Emily Harper.”

Emily wiped a few tears off her eyes and ran to hug the man.

“No need to cry.” He whispers on her ear, good-humoured.

“Don’t say all those pretty things about me and ask me not to cry!” She whispers back.

He chuckled. “C’mon, you didn’t even see your present yet.”

She let him go begrudgingly. He beamed at her and handed a small, neatly packed gift. “Careful opening it. It’s fragile.”

The redhead nodded and opened slowly and carefully the shining wrapping paper. It was a copy of the book ‘Out of Africa’, by Karen Blixen.

“Zig, I…” She started to say, but was cut off by him.

“Open it.” The Latino asked of her.

The young woman obeyed, and at the first page another gasp. It was a quote and a signature.

“Le temps nous prive de beaucoup de biens précieux, et, pour finir, il nous prive de tout.

K. Blixen

København, January 15th, 1960”

“I remember you have a collection of signed copies, and that Out of Africa was one of your favourite books.” He says, with a mischievous grin. “So, I called a few people and found a used books store that had that one in stock. It’s from one of the last public appearances by Karen Blixen. It seems that the last owner of this copy knew somebody who knew somebody who scored it for him.”

Emily could do nothing but cry and hug Zig tightly.

While the party was in full swing at Lydia Child, a certain commercial airplane landed in Newark.

Inside, sat a woman in her late 60’s who was currently enjoying a flute of champagne. Her eyes were a chilly, sterile blue, framed by some age markers of someone who did not bother to hide them.

She was rather tall, especially for her age, and combined with the full, puffy blond mane on her head gave her the imposing and sophisticated look of a high-society lady.

A simple diamond necklace, the only piece of jewellery she carried, adorned her black dress. Beige pantyhose and a sensible, also black, heel covered her lean legs.

After landing and baggage reclaim, she did a beeline to the glass doors of the airport, where a fancy, yet non-descript car waited patiently for her.

“You know where we’re going.” She told the driver. “Step on it.”

A man who sat next to her on the backseat chuckled. “You’ll never change, will you, Lois?”

“What do you mean?” She demands.

“You say ‘efficient communication’, but it’s actually you being brash, demanding and indifferent.” He smirks. “Have you ever said thank you in your life?”

Lois laughs as if it was one big joke. “You’re one to tell.”

“Birds of the same feather, I suppose.” He considered. “What are you doing here, anyways?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.” She said, turning on her cell phone.

The man smirks. “Indeed, let me rephrase. What do you expect to achieve with it?”

“I expect to recover what’s mine. And perhaps knocking some sense into that stupid, empty head.”

Sometime around 10:00 PM, Emily finally got to the entrance door of the Sterlings’ apartment, feeling ready for a good night’s sleep.

The sight she encounter at the kitchen, however, wasn’t very conductive to resting.

“Surprise!” Queenie and Nathan shout, surprising the young redhead. The two of them wore party hats and the whole room was dripping with tacky ‘happy birthday’ décor.

“I’m sorry about the ‘Feliz Cumpleaños’ theme. The store had no ‘Congratulations on your first half-versary at the job’ so we had to improvise.” Queenie said with a laughter.

“But the cake’s legit.” Nathan presented the dessert, the phrase ‘#1 Teach’ was frosted on it. “Done it myself, dark chocolate and coffee beans, hope you like it!”

“Oh my God, this is amazing! Thank you so much!” The youngest beamed and hugged her mother. “And, yeah, Nathan, I love chocolate and coffee beans. It was the cake you baked me for my birthday between Junior and Senior years.”

He laughs, sheepish. “I’m pretty sure I asked the maid to order me one, but I’m glad you liked it then and I’m glad you like it now.”

“Come on, let’s dig in!” Queenie picks up a plate and a knife, ready to carve the cake into shreds.

“No, wait. Let me at least freshen up.” Emily asks. “I’ve been on this dress all day long and I could use a pair of slippers.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll accompany you.” The mother smiled kindly and then pointed the knife at the man. “Do not dare to eat the cake before we’re back.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure, I’ll eat three kilograms of cake while you’re changing. I’ll even lick the plate clean.”

The older woman shot him a dirty look, but followed her daughter away with no further words. Nathan looked over to the decorated table and saw that Emily had forgotten to take her book bag back to her room.

He picked it up and he was going to take it there for her when a particular volume called upon his attention. It was an old, battered copy of ‘Out of Africa’. The blond took the book out to check it out in close quarters.

It was not a library issue, certainly, and it was not any of his, either. He did not remember any book boxes when Emily and Queenie moved in, so it must be a new purchase.

Opening the volume, he sees the Karen Blixen signature and wonder whether the bookseller was a moron or if Emily had the pretty penny to afford such a luxury.

It was when a small envelope falls out from the book pages. It was, by itself, nothing special, as it was white and only addressed to Emily in scrawny cursive.

Nathan checks the hallway to see if there was anyone coming. Having the coast clear, he opens the stationary.

What he reads puts him on a foul mood. It was a love letter, from Zig to Emily, asking for her forgiveness for his brash behaviour their last encounter and reiterating his intent. He was probably who gave Emily the book, in fact.

Nathan had to admit, the baboon had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Considering the letter was sealed when he found it, he assumes Emily had not found it yet, and therefore he could make it disappear. The two women were yet to emerge from the bedroom; they’d be none the wiser.

It was his first instinct, the blond had to admit. But something contained his hand, a foggy thought he could not make much sense of it, a feeling it would bring only misery if he went on with it.

He decided to put the letter back where he found it.

“Oh, there’s where I left it!” Emily exclaims, entering the kitchen.

“I was about to take it to your room.” The man handed her the bag. “What’s with the vintage copy?”

“Zig gave it to me tonight. I used to collect signed copies, and Out of Africa is one of my favourite books.” She beamed, happy.

“You used to? What happened?” The blond wondered out loud.

The redhead woman sighed. “You kept my books after we divorced.”

“No, I did not.” He shook his head. “The only books we had at home were on my study, and those were mine.”

“Do you remember the shelves by the guest room, on the third floor?” She asks, and he nods his affirmative. “Those were my collection.”

An icy chill ran through the man’s spine. He let Ashley-Amber throw them all away while she was ‘remodelling’ the house. He didn’t even think of checking what was on that particular set of shelves, he just assumed that were assorted titles of no importance other than decorative value, like every other at his parents’ houses.

Nathan had to hand it to himself; he really screwed up with Emily’s life. So much so, he should call the Guinness Book and check if they keep tally of those. He could be sitting on a world record.

Before he could say anything else, they hear a noise at the entrance door. Not dwelling much about it, them both walked out to the living room to check on it.

“Mother!” Nathan exclaims.

Standing by the doorway, Lois Sterling smirks, dangerously. “I am back.”

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An Opera on Separation - Masterlist

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#an opera on separation #the junior #zigmund ortega #nathan sterling

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queenofheaven82 · 3 years

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PART II - Butterfly Clips and Wallflowers

Fall 1997

Lacey puckered as she painted her lips with Ravenous Red, pausing as she rubbed them together to survey the job she'd done on her hair in the mirror. A crystal-clear butterfly clip held back a small blonde tress on each side of her head.

Perfect.

"I could have done that for two dollars," she heard Ariel from behind her on the bed. "And I could even have gotten them straight."

Lacey's brow furrowed as she leaned in to examine the clips closer.

"Psych!" Ariel giggled. "They're fine."

Lacey sighed. "I said you could stay in here for ten minutes, Ariel, and they're up. So go find something to do."

"I thought you wanted me to sit here all night and wait til Foolish Games comes on the radio so I could record it on the tape."

"Right." Lacey surveyed herself one more time in the mirror before standing up from her vanity. "And you only get two dollars if I come back and find nothing out of place, you got it?"

Her little sister rolled over onto her back, sighing. "I told you, I don't want any of your stuff. And what time are you coming back?"

Lacey shrugged. "We'll see."

The truth was, her mom had told her to be in by midnight. But she knew her mother would be fast asleep by nine thirty, so what did it matter?

"You're really going to a party at Eden Hall?" another voice cut in from the doorway, a little higher than her sister's.

Halen, the tattle-tail. Hopefully she would be asleep by nine thirty, too.

"Not at Eden Hall, but at the house of an Eden Hall student."

"I thought they lived in dorms," Ariel piped up.

"Not all of them. Some still live with their parents."

"Will there be drinking?" Halen whispered.

"No! Of course not," Lacey lied.

"Are you going with Max?"

"Oh my gosh, guys, the questions! Yes, with Max. Who else?"

"Oh. I just... well, I don't like him," Lacey's little sister wrinkled up her nose. "He never smiles, and never talks to us."

"Plus he always wears those stupid sunglasses in the house," Ariel piped in.

"He's shy," Lacey defended. "Something neither of you guys knows anything about." She made chattering hand gestures at her sisters. "Anyway, it's going to be cool. No drinking, no smoking. But I gotta go."

"You look like a Barbie doll," Halen beamed, following her down the hall.

Lacey smirked. "Make sure Ariel doesn't touch my stuff."

"Of course," Halen stared after Lacey as she opened and shut the front door quickly.

There was no point bothering Stuart and Mom with goodnights. It would just waylay her, and she already felt irritable from the butterflies in her stomach.

Getting invited to parties was nothing new to Lacey, but the illustrious Eden Hall invitation certainly was. You weren't invited to their parties unless you really were someone, or were dating someone. In Lacey's case, as high on the social ladder as she'd climbed since middle school, she still might have never been invited to an Eden Hall party were it not for dating Max.

As much as Lacey hated to admit it, the twins were right about her boyfriend. He wasn't terribly endearing, sometimes not even to her. But he was hot and they had fun. Wasn't that what it was about when you were in high school?

Max played hockey for the Richard Mills High School Rockets -- the precinct's leading varsity team, bested only by Eden Hall's Mighty Ducks. Max's ego typically kept him away from parties at the esteemed private school, but he'd finally accepted an invitation. Who knew for what reason. Lacey only hoped he wouldn't get drunk and start trouble with any of the rival hockey players who happened across him.

Just as Lacey shut the door behind her, Max peeled around the curb and came to an abrupt halt in front of her house. Lacey walked as quickly as platform heels in grass would allow, but stopped short just before jumping in the passenger side.

Under the streetlight, she got a good look at the car he was driving -- a 1975 Lincoln Continental. It was all she could do to keep from clenching her fists to feel her nails digging into her palms.

"What?!" Max huffed. "Not like I wanted to drive my brother's junker tonight. Especially around all those rich pansies, but I need a new transmission. If you don't wanna be seen in it, then--"

"No... Max, it's fine," Lacey forced herself beyond the moment, reminding herself to breathe. "I thought I'd forgotten something, but nevermind." Lacey forced herself to move, opening the door quickly and just jumping in. She slid over beside Max, trying not to pay attention to the all-too-familiar dashboard or any of the rest of the interior.

Her nausea worsened in the face of the memories that were spilling in sideways.

Mindfulness, Dr. Heffner had always emphasized.

Lacey swallowed and took another deep breath, reaching out to adjust Max's A/C settings. She had to have air even if she didn't want to touch any part of this car.

You're sitting in Max's brother's car -- not His. You're going to a party. Stone Temple Pilots is on the radio, not Frankie Vallie. You smell musty hockey gear, not cigarette smoke. You're okay. Open your eyes in 3... 2... 1...

"So where's Colin? Wasn't he riding with us?" her eyes shot open and she attempted to re-engage, deflecting Max's curious glance. Not that she enjoyed spending time with Max's dweeb of a friend, but she'd needed a quick escape.

Max looked over, grinned, then turned his eyes back to the road as they pulled out onto the freeway. "I told 'im to ride with Todd tonight. You and me need to talk."

"Talk?" Lacey couldn't stop fidgeting and reached to turn the radio down.

"Yeah. About homecoming. After the game. You know..."

Lacey sighed. "Yeah. I do know. I know how quickly you forget that we discussed this, and I told you already that it isn't happening til prom."

Max's hands tightened on the steering wheel tensely. "Lacey, come on. Tell me why homecoming is any different from prom."

"It just is. Prom's the last iconic thing before graduation, and besides: you promised you'd never push me to do this." Lacey used to blush when discussing with Max their big plan to lose their virginity to one another before they graduated. But by now, she only felt annoyed when he mentioned it, which was alot.

"Hey, who had the idea about The Wisteria Inn?" he shot back. "I believe the words used were 'I want the candles, I want the lingerie, I want the works, Max.' Well, so that's all I'm trying to do here -- get it planned out for us, okay? It's just, with graduation happening in the spring too and all, I mean don't you think it'll be less stress for us to plan to do it now?"

Lacey could feel her face grow hot. Sure, she'd romanticized the whole thing before, even though she'd talked to enough of her friends to know the first time was rarely that phenomenal. But lately, her old words about the whole thing had just felt naive -- particularly after one of her own friends had recently dropped out of school, pregnant. Did she really want to take a chance like that?

And with Max?

She and Max had met formally through Davy at a pre-game party at the beginning of last year's hockey season. Lacey had worked hard the first two years of high school to completely reinvent herself, and she'd experienced a good measure of success. She'd taken her hair from mousy brown to champagne blonde, had received a department store counter makeover, and updated her wardrobe piece-by-piece. This was all funded by babysitting money she'd determined to spend on nothing else. She had been so tired of being "Loosey Lacey" in middle school, especially after having borne the brunt of a particularly cruel prank by the boys in her eighth grade class, that she swore she would make them live to regret it.

And she had. She could feel the stares accumulating when she walked proudly by the lockers on the first day of her freshman year at R.M. High.

But being pretty and popular with the boys had come at a price: the girls she'd come close to actually considering friends became so resentful of her transformation, so jealous of and angry at the new Lacey, that they'd walked away and never looked back. Their sometimes-company at lunch and P.E. during those tumultuous middle school years was what Lacey missed the very most. She was sorry that they didn't understand the sudden change, but she reasoned that they had no idea what it had been like for her all those years since The Thing that had happened in fourth grade, triggering a case of what Dr. Heffner had deemed "severe trichotillomania." It caused her to bite her nails until they bled, often when she was unaware, and pull giant chunks out of her hair during the night. She'd also suffered from night terrors and blinding flashes of heat that she couldn't always disguise in front of the other kids. So Lacey had finally decided that, however much she'd have to suffer in private, she would no longer allow herself to feel powerless in public. And the confidence boost had worked, plus maybe the volunteer cat petting she did at the shelter twice a week. She barely had the spells anymore, and when she did pull, she made as much of an effort to do it on the underside of her hair as possible.

Loosey Lacey was on her way to being a thing of the past.

Meanwhile, in the midst of her loneliness, there was Max. She'd been smitten at first with his tall, broad form and the way he smelled faintly of car grease from his dad's mechanic shop. There were phone calls that lasted all night long, makeout sessions that fogged up the windows of his car, and weekend dates he'd gone out of his way to make romantic. It had been on such a date that they'd first made their plan for prom night. At that time, Lacey had still been infatuated enough with Max for giddy butterflies to hatch in her stomach at the very thought of experiencing one of the most important nights of her life with him. But now...

... Well, she wasn't sure what had changed. Was it his temper? The arrogance and bravado that had once made him so irresistible, but now just made him seem obnoxious?

"Let's just talk about it later. We don't have to have it all figured out tonight."

Max sighed and mumbled, "Whatever."

They drove for twenty minutes in silence until they reached the suburbs of Edina and were surrounded by houses so big and grand that if Lacey hadn't felt intimidated to be coming here before, she surely felt so now.

"The guy's name is Calloway, and his parents are out of town. Todd knows him better than I do," Max finally spoke as they pulled up in front of a sprawling Mediterranean-style home, each and every room lit up from the outside. Lacey could hear music as she emerged from the car, but it wasn't as loud as she'd expected, doubtlessly because no one would want the cops called on a boisterous house party being thrown by unsupervised teens.

Once they got out of the car, she could practically feel the difference in the atmosphere. The cars parked around them were mostly Masaratis and BMW's. The kids who roamed the well-manicured lawn wore polo shirts and khakis or vests and sleek pencil skirts.

We're not in Kansas anymore, Lacey unwittingly thought. She glanced down at her own outfit -- a lavender peasant shirt with flared Levi's and platforms -- and suddenly felt self-conscious. She reached up and fingered her choker, wishing she'd looked at her hair one more time in the rearview mirror of the car.

"Hey." Max slid an arm around her waist as they walked. "You look good enough. More than good. Who you trying to impress, anyway?" he leaned in for a kiss as they approached the front door. "Huh?" He moved his face in close to her.

Lacey gave a forced smile and obliged him quickly.

"Oh," Max drew back when she did, looking disappointed. "So that's all I'm gonna get?"

"Lipstick," she reminded him, shifting the bag on her shoulder.

Max turned back to the door, letting out a noisy sigh. Evidently she'd really put a damper on his spirits tonight. She knew it for sure when, after he entered the house, he seemed to disappear into a sea of people almost immediately.

Not that this was anything new. Max regularly forsook her soon after entering a party to go hang out with his hockey buddies, but those were parties at their own school. Lacey knew no one at Eden Hall, and therefore was left with nothing to do but stare around, being inadvertently pushed this way and that by the crowd that roamed through the darkened room carrying drinks and swaying drunkenly to The Notorious B.I.G.

Of course, aside from not knowing anyone here, this precisely fit the template of every other high school party. As Lacey wandered from one room to the next in search of Max, or at least a corner to duck into that wasn't taken up by couples making out, she saw all the familiar things: the red solo cups, the keg stands, the mini-skirts, the glittery eyeshadow...

And suddenly she just felt bored.

When she'd been a freshman, a sophomore, she imagined the life she'd come to lead now as an upperclassman dating a hockey star to be the most glamorous thing a person could achieve. But was it? Why had she thought that?

Even more disturbing to Lacey was, why was she suddenly thinking this way? She was bored with Max, with parties... what would be next?

Her mind began to drift toward her little sisters at home. What if she just hitched a ride back there and played monopoly with them for the rest of the night? The way Max had completely ditched her, he deserved to be abandoned like that.

If she went now, she could--

"Hey heeeey!" the drunk loser a couple of feet from her crossed the room in three giant, wobbly steps. "Banksie!"

Lacey rolled her eyes and started to turn away until she caught sight of who had just appeared in the doorway along with a handful of other people: Adam Banks.

Sure, she'd kept loose tabs on what he'd been up to the last few years. He'd started playing for the Ducks when they were nothing more than an upstart team coached by a lawyer pulling community service. His phenomenal talent was part of what had taken them from a losing track record to formidable competition. Pretty soon, he was granted a hockey scholarship, along with the other Ducks, to play for the private school Eden Hall. That's the last Lacey had heard, but she could always recognize the strikingly large, blue, serious eyes that had stuck with her.

"You finally came!" the boy who had approached Adam had swung an arm across his shoulders. "Take a picture, folks!"

Adam appeared to wince, then laugh and push the other boy's arm off. "You know I don't have time for this stuff. Practice every night when there's no game, 5am on Fridays..."

"Well you're here now, right?"

Lacey studied Adam from several feet away, thinking about him and Max. How could a person become so absorbed in and obsessed with a game? Jocks were all alike.

She had to jar herself to come back to reality and finally turn away from Adam Banks. N'Sync began blaring over the stereo system just a short distance from her, emitting a chorus of boos from some boys, and Lacey moved away quickly. There were still times loud music or noises made her feel like reaching up and pulling out a fistful of her hair. The sensation made her skin crawl.

Wandering into the kitchen, Lacey was offered a bottle of beer from a grinning guy pulling a new sixpack out of the fridge. She took it, popping off the cap with the bottle opener on the counter. From there, she wandered into the hallway, marveling at how quickly Max had apparently gotten lost. She issued a plastic smile to a girl she knew from R.M. High coming out of a bedroom with a guy she'd never seen before.

Feeling a little overwhelmed by the suffocating closeness of party guests, Lacey found a door to the outside and took it. She stumbled out into the cool night air, taking a few deep breaths. After her head managed to stop spinning, she found a stone bench in the garden to collapse onto. Taking a few more sips of beer, she looked around and came to realize just how lonely she felt. It wasn't Max's absence, necessarily. She could actually feel her loneliest around him.

To distract herself from the negativity train blazing through her mind, Lacey took her mind to the Cat's Cradle.

She'd happened upon the cat shelter totally by accident one day while walking home from school a different way than usual. She'd found herself strolling down a short strand of shops on a street she'd all but forgotten when she'd seen a woman outside writing with chalk on the stand-up sign. As she came closer, she saw what was being written:

"Three tabby kittens, 3mo, have shots."

She'd looked up at Lacey and smiled as though she'd known her for years.

"What a pretty vest!"

"Oh... thank you." Lacey glanced down, then back up. "You have kittens?" The question fell from her lips before she could stop it. Looking over toward the shelter, she caught a couple pairs of feline eyes staring back at her through the window.

"Yes! We sure do," the woman beamed, eyes crinkling in a way that reminded Lacey of warm grandmothers. How she wished she'd known her own. "Those are a couple of our more docile cats who aren't up for adoption. We just let them roam around and welcome visitors. That one's Fred," she pointed to a sprightly-looking cat with perked ears. "Then there we have Gracie Mae." The other was a grey, long-haired cat who blinked lazily at Lacey from her perch.

Lacey smiled at them, approaching the window and tapping very lightly with her fingernail in greeting.

"Do you have cats of your own?"

Lacey shook her head. "My mom and little sisters are all allergic."

"Would you like to come in and see them?" the woman, who later introduced herself as Alice, inquired brightly.

Lacey began to walk home that way every day, occasionally stepping in to spend time with the cats kept there in large, roomy cages, and before she knew it she was spending at least an hour a couple of times a week in their presence until she was "officially" offered a volunteer position.

"They all need love, and a chance to get out and roam around, but there's only a couple of us on staff to give them those things. Don't let cats fool you, Dear. They're self-sufficient, but still affectionate and crave a good petting. You'd be perfect. Something tells me you need a little love yourself."

Lacey had wanted to protest this. She was in no way lacking love or anything else, but still -- this could be fun, couldn't it? And it was something all her own, the way Max had hockey and her mother had Stuart.

Soon, Lacey wished she could just live there at Cat's Cradle. It helped her think a little less about herself, and it served to drive out the memories that still skulked along beside her everywhere she went.

Memories of Him -- and what had happened all those years ago that she couldn't forget.

How had thinking about the shelter led to that again?

Lacey began to take more frequent sips of beer without realizing it. Before she knew it, she'd downed the entire bottle, and, unaccustomed to drinking much, she began to feel a little loose. She knew her mother would never believe she occasionally drank beer at parties. It wasn't something she even necessarily felt good about... it was honestly just something mindless to do while holding mindless conversations with mindless people.

After awhile she stood up again, feeling considerably more relaxed and ready to find Max. The promise of Monopoly with Ariel and Halen warmed her.

Close to the French doors leading from the garden back into the house, Lacey noticed a barrel she'd witnessed various people use as a garbage can. She walked toward it and chucked her beer in the barrel before hearing the Wallflowers taking over the radio from the inside. From the sound of it, the entire house was rocking out in almost one voice to "One Headlight." It was a thunderous sound, and Lacey wasn't sure she wanted to be in the middle of it. So she just stood next to the barrel and waited.

She stood there awhile, looking up at the starry sky, until she heard rustling on the other side of the hedge she was close to. Beginning to back away, she stopped short hearing two voices she soon realized weren't aimed at her.

"Okay Banksie, show me what you got."

Banksie? Adam Banks?

Lacey stood as still as she could, leaning closer to the hedge so she could hear the exchange above the din of the house party. What followed was the muted sound of paper rustling. It must have been money.

A laugh followed. "Oh yeah. Scoring dope for rich kids. I've found my jam. You know, if it's that bad, why don't you just smoke some pot?"

"Tried it," a testy voice replied hurriedly. "It doesn't work. Just give me the percocets."

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold onto your balls, dude. Let me count these beans again."

"Oh come on, I brought exactly what you told me to."

"Here. Twenty. That enough until tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course," she heard Adam scoff. "I'm not looking to get hooked on anything, I just need to keep the pain under control. Coach is starting to put stuff together."

Surely this wasn't the Banks she was familiar with.

Only, of course it was. The voice was the same she'd heard earlier when he'd entered the room,and "coach" was obviously a tie to hockey.

Lacey wrinkled up her nose, feeling disgust surge through her veins. Adam Banks was a good guy -- she'd believed that from her youth. So what was he doing buying pills from some random dealer at a party?

And Percocets!

So much for him turning out to be such a prince, such a variation from the average dumb jock she mostly encountered. Lacey knew very little about street drugs, but she did know about Percocets. She knew they were highly addictive pain pills that athletes were always trying to get ahold of for sports injuries. This was apparently the situation here.

Hearing that the rave inside was over now, Lacey headed back for the French doors, but in her clumsiness, she accidentally kicked the trash barrels, causing each one of the glass bottles inside to rattle onto one another and make a noise that sounded ten times louder to her than it should have. She froze.

"Hey! Hey wait!" From around the other side of the hedge, Adam dashed out, eyes flashing at Lacey. "What were you standing there?"

Lacey caught sight of a shady figure in a ballcap and a hoodie taking his opportunity to slink away behind Adam.

"As far as I know it's a party," she snapped back at him. "Why shouldn't I be out here? I was just throwing a bottle away before going back inside and I tripped. How about you, what's your excuse?"

Adam was close enough now that even under the moonlight she could see the light dusting of boyish freckles across his nose.

He paused, blinking as though he was baking up a good excuse. "I was just... I needed a little help with something, okay?"

His eyes grew wide. "That's what you think this is? I'm not addicted to anything. I just needed a little-- wait, why am I even explaining this to you? What's it your business?" he retorted.

"You mean like a little help with your addiction?" she mouthed off before she could stop herself.

His eyes grew wide. "That's what you think this is? I'm not addicted to anything. I just needed a little-- wait, why am I even explaining this to you? What's it your business?" he retorted.

"You tell me. I was just leaving." she shrugged.

"Wait." Adam swung around in front of her before she could get to the doors. His demeanor seemed to have softened considerably. "What can I do to buy your silence? I'm sure you know I have money. Really, I don't want anybody else finding out about this, it could tank--" he broke off for a moment, "... Everything. You name your price."

Lacey frowned, remembering years ago how her mother warned her about people who thought everyone came with a price tag -- people like him and his dad. "Sorry, this may come as a surprise to someone like you, but I'm not for sale."

"God," he closed his eyes, looking sickened. When he opened them again, he looked fierce. "I need you to tell no one about this, you hear? No one. Least of all Max."

She hesitated. "You know Max?" words continued to fall from her mouth. "I mean, of course you know Max, he plays center at R.M., but why would you think... I mean... do you know me?"

What if he had remembered her after all these years, despite their brief encounter? And the dyed hair?

Warmth filled Lacey's belly. She'd never gotten to thank him, after all, for giving her that tiny boost of confidence at a time when she really needed it--

But clearly this wasn't the time.

"Max Shipley's girlfriend?" he was asking. "Yeah. Everybody knows that. So just... don't tell him, alright?"

Lacey shook her head slowly. "It's your own business, so whatever. I'm not saying anything. But... just tell me, why are you doing this? You know those are highly addictive."

"Like I said, it doesn't matter," Adam's defensiveness returned. "Just forget you ever saw me. And besides, like you need to be drinking beer." He eyed the barrel full of bottles. "What are you, like sixteen?" But he pushed past her, not waiting for an answer.

"Almost eigh.... teen...." she called after him before sighing.

Okay, so what if he was right?

Only no, he wasn't! Beer might be illegal for her, but selling percocets was illegal for everyone, and for good reason!

"Hey Babe," a sunglassed figure lurched out at her from the French doors after Adam passed through to the inside. It was Max. "How you doin? Say, it's starting to get lame around here. Wanna go with Brandy and Todd to the lake?"

"Actually no," Lacey fixed her face. "I just want to go home. You can drop me off there on the way."

"What?! Ah, come on! Why not?"

"Because I'm not as drunk as you, that's why not. Max, it's October. In Minnesota. You'll freeze your asses off." Lacey wrapped her arms around herself just thinking about it.

Max stared at her for a long time, face falling. "Know what, Lacey? You're no fun anymore. Seventeen going on seventy. Whatever, let's go."

Lacey sighed and followed him, heading back through the house without taking the hand he held out to her as they walked.

Close to the front door, they passed Adam Banks. He was rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting around nervously. When they caught hers, he held the gaze for a moment, pleading silently.

She gave a tight nod, heading out the door.

#adam banks #mighty ducks #trichotillomania #1990s nostalgia

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