No Visible Marks – Part XIJan 22nd, 2010 | By Julie M Tate | Category: My Brother Billy, Series | 932 views
It’s 10a.m. the next morning, and Billy hasn’t said a word since we awoke. He folds and refolds his sweaters in his suitcase. We’re flying home today and with the way I live in hotel rooms, it’s taken us the better part of the morning to get it cleaned up.
I sit on top of my biggest suitcase and tug at the zipper. Billy comes over and gently pushes my legs aside. He closes it without effort before he moves back to fold his pants. He has one piece of luggage to my four, each of which overflow with gifts he’s bought me on our journey.
“What will happen to your house here?” I whisper.
“I’ll give it to Rose,” he says flatly.
After he’s packed, he sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the wall, until I finally stuff the last designer dress and bauble into my bags, save one dark blue dress with gold accents.
I’m still wearing the same clothing from the apocalyptic scene with Rose yesterday, so I change into the dress I’ve left out of my luggage. It looks like something you’d wear to a high school prom and it’s a size too small, but it hugs me in ways not even my brother can.
I walk over and sit in his lap. His eyes never move from the wall. This won’t do at all. I bring his gaze to mine.
“I want something to eat.” I say, stroking his face. He says nothing. “I’m going to blow the maître d.’” He glares at me. That’s something I can work with. My breasts spill out of the too-tight bodice. Tucked neatly between them is the glass vial necklace he’d given me for my birthday. I take his right hand and place it over my heart.
“It is where you keep special things,” I echo him. Without warning, he grabs me by the waist and slams my back against the nearest wall. The muscles of his jaw flex as he unzips my dress and pulls the crinoline from my body. It falls to the floor in a flurry, like doves let loose at a wedding. But this isn’t a symbol of peace; with one hand around my neck, he presses his mouth to my ear and administers a low growl. My knees shake so badly I can hardly keep my tip toes on the floor. After several seconds, he relents and his body falls against mine with a heavy sigh of exasperation. Beads of sweat fall from his forehead onto my lips. I hesitantly remove his black t-shirt and wipe him down, leaving his pale chest exposed to my element.
His sticky skin greets mine like a slap to the face as he pushes me back again. My head cracks against the wall. While my eyes re-focus, he opens my suitcases. He removes each neatly folded dress and nightgown. A few, he rips apart, and others he simply tosses to the side. I’m in awe of his display of power, a magic he’s always held, but rarely uses. I inject the scene into my veins so that it may nourish me and always remind me of this display of dominance.
“Pick them back up,” he says to me, kicking my luggage. My head pounds as I toddle over to the first pile of demolished fabric. I gather the various colors in my arms as if I’m holding a rainbow. Like a hawk, he watches as my mouse hands work. I feel flattened under the weight of his eyes, like a shadow on the ground.
I’m on auto-pilot while I drop the dresses onto the bed. He strides over to the table against the window and pours a glass of leftover wine from the bottle I’d ordered the night before.
Re-zipping the suitcase is nearly impossible. After a long moment of struggling however, I manage and neatly re-stack my luggage. With an icy-calm demeanor, Billy throws my purse against the wall. Before he has a chance to ask, I furiously retrieve its contents. I’m an animal in his zoo, kept for amusement, punished for getting out of hand.
Red spots have broken out all over my skin. I huddle in my undergarments, self-conscious and panting.
“Come here.” Billy says with bruised purple lips. His glass is in one hand, the other lazily rests on his abdomen. I’m tentative in my approach and watch him watch me. He takes a long sip from the wine that’s no doubt airated too long. I can see the top of his black Calvin Klein boxer briefs above his pant line, which has fallen halfway down his hips. He reaches up and empties his drink over me, staining my skin and what little I have on. In protest, I knock the glass to floor where it shatters upon impact.
He grabs my wrist. I’ve never been so terrified, or turned-on. “Clean up,” he says.
I retreat to the bathroom where I spend twenty minutes under water. I alternate hot and cold in an attempt to shock myself back to Earth. I’m confused, aroused, and as I scrub the stains away, my hands linger on my body, gentle caresses to counteract Billy’s rough hands. I wash my hair, conditioning it twice and brush my teeth. I emerge in a white bathrobe to find him stretched out on the bed, ordering room service. From the sound of things, it’s more food than either of us could consume, even if we had time to eat it all before we had to go to the airport. He orders another bottle of wine and asks that two baguettes and fromage blanc with raspberry coulis be brought up first. He’s opened up every curtain in the room. I can see people busying themselves with their day.
“I want the black dress we bought in Tokyo, with black tights and your leopard print heels.” His voice has a stony quality I’ve never heard before. I lick my bottom lip. Like an animal, everything I see has an almost golden aura around it, and Billy shines like sulfur. I find the dress he wants, a sleeveless number with an asymmetrical cut that could almost be mistaken for a polyester/cotton sack had it not been for the fact someone was wearing it.
“Dress in here. At the foot of the bed.”
Billy tosses me my bottle of Thierry Mugler’s Angel perfumed body crème.
He makes no move to touch or even react to me, spending half of the time staring out the nearest window at a tall woman talking very loudly on her cell phone. She’s dressed completely in white, skin nearly as pale as her outfit. Her crimson lips dance as she speaks. She’s model-esque. When I slide the dress over my head, I realize Billy’s torn the bottom hem in his fit of rage.
“Billy, you’ve torn this one.”
I don’t say anything else while I finish dressing.
The appetizer arrives on one cart and then, the rest of the food, on three separate ones. I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do with all of this, but I don’t want to say anything else to him. He calls me to him again. I sit very demurely in his lap. He leans down and kisses my mouth. “Now, isn’t this nice?”
I couldn’t argue with him even if I wanted to.Help Support T21 with your Dollar Donation Today
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