Chain Reaction 3.4: Fallen Angel

Drake

     Violet and I have settled into a routine. We wake up, woohoo, eat breakfast, go to her uncle's, work, go home, eat, woohoo, and sleep. Although some days lately, all she does is sleep and woohoo. She's not eating much either.

     It's no secret we're trying to get her pregnant. She started talking babies as soon as the honeymoon. I'm pretty sure my suspicions are correct. I'm being used as a Goth sperm donor before they decide to bump me off. I'll have to act before they do.

     Emily and Dad had a baby. The woman I love is the mother of my half-brother. I hope my half-brother realizes his parents are not going to stay together if I have anything to do with it. It's only fair; my parents didn't stay together.

     Then, it happens. With the way she's been acting lately, I've been wondering if she was pregnant. She is. I'm going to be a father, and hopefully, I'll live to enjoy that fact.

     Her appetite comes back. Bigtime. "Are you sure you should be eating again?"

     "Watch it, Drake," she snaps. She's been very snappish lately and not interested in woohoo in any way. She did at least try to just satisfy me, but that sent her running to the toilet to be sick. What a boost to my self-esteem that was, let me tell you. She'd never had a gag reflex before.

     Going back to the topic of food...

     She tries to kill me. Poison.

     I can't prove it, but I am the only one to get food poisoning. I'm hospitalized for three weeks, but I recover. During my stay, my father visits me, looking just as worried and scared as Mom did before I assured her I'd be fine. Dad acts like he's trying to reconcile with me, like he expected me to die. I tell him to plum off.

     When I return home, our butler is new. The old one went somewhere else for reasons I don't know while I was hospitalized. The new one is nice, but I'm suspicious. I'm wondering if he was hired by Uncle Donovan.

     I am perfectly capable of hiring my own staff. So, as soon as I'm well, I do just that. To explain it to Violet, I tell her I'm hiring a cook who will also double as a nanny when the baby gets here. Until the cook arrives, I only eat at restaurants and keep my food selections totally random.

     Naturally, she's attractive. These pictures don't show it, but we'll see more of her. At least, I hope I see more of her.

     Violet has turned off the woohoo, saying it freaks her out that the baby might be able to 'see' it. It's crazy! But I can't convince her otherwise.

     I'm very...frustrated, and the cook is looking ten times more delicious than her food.

     "Oh! Mister Goth," I hear to my right. It's her. I can't place her accent. It surprised me because her name didn't imply she was foreign, Melody Monroe. Doesn't matter. It's just another thing to make her sexy as hell.

     "I vas looking fur yu," she finishes.

     "Well, you found me." I am pounding this bag because I'm mad at my wife. Why the hell is she my wife anyway? Oh yeah. Franco's company. I punch the bag quickly three times, one-one-two. Oh, plum. Don't look at her. You'll lose focus. She's paused, staring at me. "Do you need something?" Because I sure do. 

     "Vhat vould yu like to eat tonight?"

     Plum! Just jump up on the counter and leave the rest to me. "Something that doesn't upset that woman's stomach." I don't have to look to know she's nodding.

     "Okay. I haff a idea."

     "Good." Wham! Ow! F---! I hit it too hard, making me wince, take a step back, and hold one glove with the other one.

     "Are yu hurt?" Crap. She saw that.

     Embarrassed, I quickly reply, "No, no. No. I'm fine. I think I'll, uh, take a shower." I make my retreat.

     Violet barely speaks to me at dinner. She's suspicious of the cook, but after the poisoning incident, she has a weak argument. I refuse to eat anything either her or the butler touch. Why should I when Melody is one hell of a chef? Violet's figured out I don't trust her.

     After dinner, I go downstairs to sit and relax in a meditative kind of state. I've even changed back into my workout attire to be more comfortable.

     Melody finds me. It has to be on purpose. Then, I find out why.

     "May I see yur hand, please, Mister Goth?"

     Oh, plum. I'm just sitting down here trying to figure out how to stay alive and you have to come and find me.

     Well, I guess it's not like she has anything else to do right now. 

     I look at my hand. It hurts--but nothing like it did before. "I'm fine." I make a fist. It's a little tight.

     "I sink it vill help. I'll be gentle." Her eyes smolder a small joke, and my inner self starts babbling incoherent nonsense. She takes my hand.

     "So, uh, what made you decide to move to Eden?" Conversation must be made or I will run my tongue up her arm as I pull her down to me.
     She smiles a small smile, knowing her accent gives her away. "My ex-boyfriend is a bad man, so I change my name and move here."
     Right now, she could be telling me that sharks are about to burst from the fish tank and chomp me to death and I wouldn't care. But something in my brain focuses on what she said. "So it's, uh, like... a witness protection program or something?" I close my eyes. This is so good. Who is this woman?
     "I don't know vhat sat is."
     I open my eyes again.

     "It's... ah, um, it's a..." Pull yourself together, Drake! Some super villain you'll be if a beautiful woman turns your insides into mush. This wasn't covered in Franco's 'training.' I guess for obvious reasons. "It's basically what you said. I think it's funded by the government."
     She snorts and shakes her head. "Sen no."
     "And you decided to become a cook?" Was she a masseuse? Damn, this is good.
     "Vhy not?" She shrugs. "It is somesing I can do. And I can disappear."
     "And you're just trusting me with all this information," I observe. I hate that I can't trust anyone, not even her. This could be a made-up trap. She could have this elaborate, fake backstory to gain my sympathy.
     She shrugs. "Yu don't haff much information."
     "You have to be careful. I have plenty of information." In fact, I'm going to scour the internet to see if her story checks out. There are tricks I can pull to find out, a legacy learned from my father.
     I scared her. She decides she's finished. "I sink sat is good." She means like my hand is fine. She starts walking away!

     I call out, "Uh, Melody? I think my other hand might be hurt, too."
     She turns, and I do my best to look pitiful. She sighs and walks back over. I try not to grin.

     "Sis one does not feel hurt as si ozer one." Nonetheless, she starts up her ministrations.
     "Oh, it is. It's just not as bad." I drop my voice to a playful whisper. "Besides, I think it was jealous." She smiles. Yay! I clear my throat.
     I shift in my seat. I'm better prepared this time and don't get distracted as easily. My hand inches back, making her eventually have to take a step forward. I don't stop pulling my hand back.
     "Mister Goth, I need yu to hold out yur hand."
     "Why do you have to be so far away?" I ask in a gently-prodding way.
     "So sat I can focus." She's flustered.
     "And being too close interrupts your focus," I state like a question.
     "Y-yes."
     "I think you being too far away interrupts my focus."
     "Focus on vhat?"
     "You," I boldly tell her.
     She drops my hand, and it flops on the arm rest. "Yur hand is fine."
     "Melody, please don't walk away!" I haven't had this much attention in a month. So, I decide to use that. "I'm a miserable man, and you are the only bright spot in my day."

     "Why do you think I was hitting the bag so hard?" I position myself in front of the door. "My wife hates me. Well, it's not like she's my favorite person either. It's pretty much an arranged marriage, and I'm miserable. But when I look at you, I see hope. You're a beautiful reminder that not all women are as evil as my wife." I pause while she looks like she's searching in her mind how to reply. I decide to add more by artfully admitting something. "You've started entering my dreams. They're such wonderful dreams that I'm depressed when I wake up."
     She's breathing hard. "I don't... know vhat... to say."
     I take her hands.

     "Well, I just want to say thank you. For being you." I gently kiss her fingers. "And I want you to know you're safe here, whatever happens." Oh, plum! I want to rip her clothes off!
     She's still light of breath, and she whispers, "Yu haff dangerous eyes, Mister Goth."
     I smile and run my thumbs on her hands. I'm not letting go. "I do?" And I I'm starting to think you like danger but are afraid to admit it.
     "Sey are so light vhen se rest of yur features are dark."
     I feel one corner of my mouth go up. "My eyes are the only feature I get from my mother. So them being light makes them dangerous?" She tugs her hands; I tighten my grip. Then, I kiss one of them again.
     She backs up, still tugging her hands, and I follow her. "Sey are beautiful."
     Done.

     Her surprised noise isn't unexpected. What is unexpected is how plumbing good she feels in my arms. I'd thought I'd encounter some more resistance, but the second her little noise finishes, she melts in my embrace like she's been dying for this too.
     I thought I was going to work my way up to this slowly over time, but I need her. Now. To my delight, she pulls me into the sauna. Then I find out how wild she really is as she rides me like she's breaking a rogue stallion. Violet is upstairs asleep, so I have hours to woohoo this blonde fallen angel.

     "Vhat about yur... wife?" she asks, smiling.
     "What about her? It's not like I love her." I let my nose play with hers, and she makes a sexy, lower-pitched giggle.
      "Do yu luff... me?"
      "I might," I answer and silence further love talk.

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To those, like myself, who get irritated at accent-based dialogue: I am so sorry. I debated back and forth about whether or not I would write Melody that way. For some reason, in my head, she sounds like that. I have no idea why. Maybe I've been watching too many movies with bad fake accents. *thinks of Uma Thurman in The Producers, which is supposed to be funny because we all KNOW it's fake* Still. And I really don't have any specific area where Melody is from. I think it makes the most sense to have a fake country/place so that I don't royally screw things up and insult people because let me tell you, it gets on my last nerve when Hollywood screws up a Southern (SE USA) accent, which is what I have. "Yer just gonna have ta truuuust uuuusss." from YaYa Sisterhood. No! No no no. You're trying too hard. Just make your mouth hardly move (kinda) unless you're doing an R and combine words whenever possible.

*deep breath*

In summary, please pardon the possibly pathetic-ness of my pursuit into the potholes of parlance.

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Jeet yet? Naw, d'ju? Y'unttoo? Aiight. (Thanks, Jeff Foxworthy)
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Oh, and only after assembling everything did I realize that Drake is shirtless the entire chapter. That wasn't deliberate, I assure you...