‹ Prequel: The Way You Want It.
Forever
2
Her husband, looking back, was not a man she would have married. He was arrogant, lazy and lived by a structure so rigid it made a spinal board look like cotton wool, she was not allowed to do anything without his say so, could not sleep at night before he was satisfied, could not eat before he had finished eating, could not leave the house unless she was accompanied. He had on many occasions kept her locked away in their room hoping she would get pregnant. That of course was what all of this was about – children and their apparent lack of them.
It had made Damian into a monster, now when he was out at work she felt the freedom, she had cleaned the house as she was always expected to and slipped out silently down the hall, her neighbour, a pleasant young man who had on occasions called around, said hello, a foreigner she thought, a wealthy student in England studying for his.... what was he studying for? Oh that didn't matter, not really. What mattered was that Lyndon was what Damian could never be, a nice young man.
Sure, life with Damian, hard as it may sound, held its advantages, he was wealthy, a top barrister, prepared to buy her things, little bribes, as though they would get what he wanted from her . Lyndon was different, he had a heart, feelings, morals, he loved her and cared for her, he had told her so each time they had spent such precious and forbidden time together, at her place, at his, it mattered not, he was a man he would have anywhere, a man she would let have her, if only he would have let her. She'd skipped down the hall almost too happily at that thought and knocked on the door, it opened quickly and the young, familiar face peered around, those blue eyes landing on her, a flicker of surprise and then he settled into comfortable happiness. “Evonne. Hey, I didn't expect you'd be coming around today.”
She was about to speak, then she heard the female voice, the slight giggle and saw a glimpse of black hair and then glimpsed the woman strutting away down the hall, away with a giggle, pretty heels perfectly encasing little calves, a tight mini skirt and blouse... a blouse she knew would give ample emphasis to the breasts. No, of course he had not been expecting her. She was devastated, all men, they all had their faults and each time you thought you had found the right one, something, someone took him away from you, snatched him like he was there to be taken. “No, I realise that.” She turned away with tears in her eyes, stopped as he caught her arm and pulled her close, those blue eyes meeting her brown eyes, she felt warmth as he pulled her to him, warmth, strength she had not expected.
“What's wrong honey?” He said the words in a whisper, watching as she blushed at the sound of his voice, something women often did, something he could often with little effort make women do.
“She, who is she?”
“Fayth? Oh, she is... She's a very old friend. She's come from home.” He smiled as he pulled her closer still, his hand holding her lower back gently, his eyes scanning the halls protectively, looking for her husband. She however was looking at him, she'd seen the opportunity, was trying to take it, she had seen the chance to find out more about her mystery man than he so far had let her find.
“From home? Where is that then?” She said the words with an innocent and welcoming giggle, looking into his pale eyes with intensity, sighing as he offered her a sad smile and shook his head. He had let her go quickly as he had heard the foorsteps, stepped back and pushed her to her door, pushed down the handle and made her step back as Damain turned the corner, at first carelessly, quickly he looked concerned, then furious as he approached quickly.
“What are you doing?”
“Mr Swann? Oh, you're home, great I'd been meaning to ask-”
“Did you answer his questions?” He looked to his wife furiously, she shook her head, nice, timid. His eyes turned to Lyndon, he'd been about to confront the man, deterred only by the look in Lyndon's eye, the tensing the man offered him as his eyes looked over him. “What is it young man?”
“It doesn't matter.” He cut off with an innocent tone, a tone more innocent that anyone could have believed possible, certainly than which suited the man, a man clearly not s innocent as he would have liked people to believe him to be. Lyndon turned back to the flat and opened the door, joining Fayth who looked at him with a raised eyebrow and curious eyes.
“What the hell was that?” She laughed, her Ohioan accent thick with mockery.
Lyndon simply shrugged, he did not admit that in the months he had not seen her it had become is covert mission to wind up Damnian, he loved to see the man's angry outbursts, loved to hear the man's voice go high pitched as he yelled, the best way to do that was to spend time with the man's wife, was to bring Ms Evonne Swann to his luring. He never thought for one moment that the man may well hurt his wife, hurt her in ways that even Lyndon could not explain. No, for once he thought he was helping the woman in showing her a kindness, a tenderness which he showed to few others, a tenderness she did not get from the man who should be most willing, most able to offer it to her.... Her husband, that incompetent fool.
***
Inside the flat no one spoke for a few minutes, Lyndon was laying silent on the sofa reading over emails, statements, records all printed on paper. Highlighting each element he thought worth further investments of his time. Fayth was silent also, standing over a fire place in which an electric fire tried to warm the room. She said nothing not for a lack of words to say or topics to discuss for of those there were plenty too many to please. The sudden silence had instead come about when Lyndon had removed his shoes and socks, rested his feet on the sofa and with it brought utter desolation of speech.
Fayth was well aware of what had happened to Lyndon, she had after all played the major part which had seen him under the bus and on the cold gravel of a London road quickly bleeding to death and begging for the demise he never received but truly deserved. Yet she had only once seen the damage she had caused, onetime which had brought with it utter terror, even the all so rare emotion of guilt. It had been crippling...
Now was no different as she looked at the foot sculpted of metal, carbon fibre and plastic. Quite convincing it could have been to the untrained eye, completely invisible when covered, yet fayth knew only too well and shuddered visibly enough for him to notice and a look of most sincere amusement graced his face as he turned away from the documents without the usual reluctance, spoke in that almost creepy placid tone, his Eton, Oxbridge, Harvard accent... "I'm glad to see Madame le Fayth that you are finally regretting your actions, my dear friend Monseur Freud would be most proud."
"Your friend? If my estimation is right, Freud would find you to be he far more interesting case Lyndon. After all it is you not I who has mummy issues."
"Indeed, but is there need of me to mention your dear father chêrie?"
"No and stop with the French."
"No Madame parle anglais no!"
"Lyndon, take my warning, I will kill you without mercy if you continue, am I clear?"
"Crystal." He said the word with an openly daring smile, his hand slipping into his pocket and onto the hilt of a knife, she knew before he retrieved his metallic treasure from his pocket exactly what it was. It surprised her little, Lyndon rarely had to fight for anything and she knew all to well that his nature left him caring for little and protective of less however what he considered his he would kill for without so much as an ounce of care, thought or rationality. This flat was his, he would be all dominant and go unchallenged. She nodded and backed down holding up her hands and watching as he smiled. Speaking then as if nothing at all had happened. "So tell me, why are you here? What's the poor bastards name?"
"Louis."
"You cannot be serious."
"Deadly is there a problem?"
"Not at all ma'am" he was almost laughing, the slight chuckle was almost warming to her, enjoyed very much.
"Is there something I should know?"
"Oh my darling, there is always something you should know, the right question which you should ask is will I tell you what you should know."
"Well, stop playing games, will you?"
"Oh no chêrie, for that would be too easy, it would spoil the game."
She didn't have to ask, his smile said it all. He had already made the rules to a deadly game he'd been playing likely since his conception, changing him would be impossible.
It had made Damian into a monster, now when he was out at work she felt the freedom, she had cleaned the house as she was always expected to and slipped out silently down the hall, her neighbour, a pleasant young man who had on occasions called around, said hello, a foreigner she thought, a wealthy student in England studying for his.... what was he studying for? Oh that didn't matter, not really. What mattered was that Lyndon was what Damian could never be, a nice young man.
Sure, life with Damian, hard as it may sound, held its advantages, he was wealthy, a top barrister, prepared to buy her things, little bribes, as though they would get what he wanted from her . Lyndon was different, he had a heart, feelings, morals, he loved her and cared for her, he had told her so each time they had spent such precious and forbidden time together, at her place, at his, it mattered not, he was a man he would have anywhere, a man she would let have her, if only he would have let her. She'd skipped down the hall almost too happily at that thought and knocked on the door, it opened quickly and the young, familiar face peered around, those blue eyes landing on her, a flicker of surprise and then he settled into comfortable happiness. “Evonne. Hey, I didn't expect you'd be coming around today.”
She was about to speak, then she heard the female voice, the slight giggle and saw a glimpse of black hair and then glimpsed the woman strutting away down the hall, away with a giggle, pretty heels perfectly encasing little calves, a tight mini skirt and blouse... a blouse she knew would give ample emphasis to the breasts. No, of course he had not been expecting her. She was devastated, all men, they all had their faults and each time you thought you had found the right one, something, someone took him away from you, snatched him like he was there to be taken. “No, I realise that.” She turned away with tears in her eyes, stopped as he caught her arm and pulled her close, those blue eyes meeting her brown eyes, she felt warmth as he pulled her to him, warmth, strength she had not expected.
“What's wrong honey?” He said the words in a whisper, watching as she blushed at the sound of his voice, something women often did, something he could often with little effort make women do.
“She, who is she?”
“Fayth? Oh, she is... She's a very old friend. She's come from home.” He smiled as he pulled her closer still, his hand holding her lower back gently, his eyes scanning the halls protectively, looking for her husband. She however was looking at him, she'd seen the opportunity, was trying to take it, she had seen the chance to find out more about her mystery man than he so far had let her find.
“From home? Where is that then?” She said the words with an innocent and welcoming giggle, looking into his pale eyes with intensity, sighing as he offered her a sad smile and shook his head. He had let her go quickly as he had heard the foorsteps, stepped back and pushed her to her door, pushed down the handle and made her step back as Damain turned the corner, at first carelessly, quickly he looked concerned, then furious as he approached quickly.
“What are you doing?”
“Mr Swann? Oh, you're home, great I'd been meaning to ask-”
“Did you answer his questions?” He looked to his wife furiously, she shook her head, nice, timid. His eyes turned to Lyndon, he'd been about to confront the man, deterred only by the look in Lyndon's eye, the tensing the man offered him as his eyes looked over him. “What is it young man?”
“It doesn't matter.” He cut off with an innocent tone, a tone more innocent that anyone could have believed possible, certainly than which suited the man, a man clearly not s innocent as he would have liked people to believe him to be. Lyndon turned back to the flat and opened the door, joining Fayth who looked at him with a raised eyebrow and curious eyes.
“What the hell was that?” She laughed, her Ohioan accent thick with mockery.
Lyndon simply shrugged, he did not admit that in the months he had not seen her it had become is covert mission to wind up Damnian, he loved to see the man's angry outbursts, loved to hear the man's voice go high pitched as he yelled, the best way to do that was to spend time with the man's wife, was to bring Ms Evonne Swann to his luring. He never thought for one moment that the man may well hurt his wife, hurt her in ways that even Lyndon could not explain. No, for once he thought he was helping the woman in showing her a kindness, a tenderness which he showed to few others, a tenderness she did not get from the man who should be most willing, most able to offer it to her.... Her husband, that incompetent fool.
***
Inside the flat no one spoke for a few minutes, Lyndon was laying silent on the sofa reading over emails, statements, records all printed on paper. Highlighting each element he thought worth further investments of his time. Fayth was silent also, standing over a fire place in which an electric fire tried to warm the room. She said nothing not for a lack of words to say or topics to discuss for of those there were plenty too many to please. The sudden silence had instead come about when Lyndon had removed his shoes and socks, rested his feet on the sofa and with it brought utter desolation of speech.
Fayth was well aware of what had happened to Lyndon, she had after all played the major part which had seen him under the bus and on the cold gravel of a London road quickly bleeding to death and begging for the demise he never received but truly deserved. Yet she had only once seen the damage she had caused, onetime which had brought with it utter terror, even the all so rare emotion of guilt. It had been crippling...
Now was no different as she looked at the foot sculpted of metal, carbon fibre and plastic. Quite convincing it could have been to the untrained eye, completely invisible when covered, yet fayth knew only too well and shuddered visibly enough for him to notice and a look of most sincere amusement graced his face as he turned away from the documents without the usual reluctance, spoke in that almost creepy placid tone, his Eton, Oxbridge, Harvard accent... "I'm glad to see Madame le Fayth that you are finally regretting your actions, my dear friend Monseur Freud would be most proud."
"Your friend? If my estimation is right, Freud would find you to be he far more interesting case Lyndon. After all it is you not I who has mummy issues."
"Indeed, but is there need of me to mention your dear father chêrie?"
"No and stop with the French."
"No Madame parle anglais no!"
"Lyndon, take my warning, I will kill you without mercy if you continue, am I clear?"
"Crystal." He said the word with an openly daring smile, his hand slipping into his pocket and onto the hilt of a knife, she knew before he retrieved his metallic treasure from his pocket exactly what it was. It surprised her little, Lyndon rarely had to fight for anything and she knew all to well that his nature left him caring for little and protective of less however what he considered his he would kill for without so much as an ounce of care, thought or rationality. This flat was his, he would be all dominant and go unchallenged. She nodded and backed down holding up her hands and watching as he smiled. Speaking then as if nothing at all had happened. "So tell me, why are you here? What's the poor bastards name?"
"Louis."
"You cannot be serious."
"Deadly is there a problem?"
"Not at all ma'am" he was almost laughing, the slight chuckle was almost warming to her, enjoyed very much.
"Is there something I should know?"
"Oh my darling, there is always something you should know, the right question which you should ask is will I tell you what you should know."
"Well, stop playing games, will you?"
"Oh no chêrie, for that would be too easy, it would spoil the game."
She didn't have to ask, his smile said it all. He had already made the rules to a deadly game he'd been playing likely since his conception, changing him would be impossible.