Society Rules (2 page)

This thing she’d seen sporadically throughout her life, and had named him the “Gator Man” when she was younger, just to humor herself; because these were ridiculous thoughts, of course.

Combine those eerie ideas, with the feeling that kept her looking over her shoulder in recent months . . . the feeling that someone or some
thing
was watching her with an unnatural interest, and it was easy to see why she had one kettle of nerves on her stove.

Still, she felt that the decision to move was a good one. They’d discovered that Vermont was a great place to raise kids, and this was important to Indie.

During this time, Indie had given up waiting for the reason motivating the move to appear before her. But she knew she wasn’t moving again, not for a while. She’d told Will that if the house they’d bought was put up for sale anytime in the near future, that it would come complete with a wife and children.

A soft explosion of music popped through the air as the sound of her children’s alarms shooting off simultaneously created a stereo-phonic effect throughout the house. They set their alarms to awaken to the local radio station, and their clocks were apparently well synchronized.

With a snort and a forceful effort, Indie lurched out of the bed, squinting at the unusual amount of sunlight beaming in through the glass doors. She deftly maneuvered around the dog, Max, who scrambled out of the way and darted into Cassidy’s room as Indie made her way to the bathroom.

An avalanche of romance novels thumped to the floor, sliding off the bed one by one.

Her collection was huge and ever growing, as Indie gathered the books that held her most hidden desires and fed her secretly romantic heart. This was her only real concession to “girliness”. Chick flicks made her impatient and irritable and fluffy songs had much the same effect. She was more action/adventure oriented, and her musical tastes were eclectic, but usually had to fill her with energy and motivation.

But the books . . . the books understood her yearnings, and she devoured them the way oxygen and wood fed flame. She kept them close at all times, and the small mountain stacked precariously at the foot of her bed had collapsed when her sudden movement had tipped the scales.

With the soft breath of a sigh escaping her lips, she stooped to retrieve them. Her fingers lightly traced the outline of the beautiful woman on one cover. A handsome man stood protectively behind her, lips against her neck.

She stared at the couple, feeling her yearnings wash over her like cold spring water. What was missing . . . what she needed . . . was the passion.

Bring it on back, Indie, she laughed to herself, snapping back to reality. She replaced the stack of books carefully and continued on her way to the sink.

The woman in the mirror loomed in front of her, and Indie leaned forward, nose against the glass, confused as always by the lost and hollow look in her eyes.

“I have no reason to look like this.” She scolded herself impatiently. “I have everything. I should be grateful!” And she was, in a sense.

But sometimes she would become just plain irritated by the fact that she looked as if she were hiding some great personal tragedy; one that she could not name, or even imagine. It bothered her, because it sometimes caused people to notice her. This was rare, and so not the kind of attention Indie was comfortable attracting.

That
kind of attention was totally unwelcome. It caused a whole lot of “
thanks
for
your
concern,
but
go
away
and
stop
looking
at
me!”
to bang unevenly around in her gut. Besides, she never had an answer for them.

Everything was fine . . . was it not?

Indie splashed cold water on her face, then hastily pulled a brush through her thick, dark hair, smoothing back the waves and closely examined her deep blue eyes.

Aside from the inexplicable look of longing, her face was perfection. She had not a single wrinkle or any other sign that would reveal her age. Her porcelain strawberries and cream complexion was identical to her pictures from twenty years ago.

She had perfect bow-shaped lips, which she now slicked over quickly with a sheer gloss, then smoothed on her mandatory SPF 20 moisturizer.

Indie had no need of any other make-up. Her skin was unblemished, her lashes long, black and lush. Her body was also still in peak form, which she credited to her daily running habit. This was normally part of her morning routine, but today she would have to do it after work. She had put off leaving the sanctuary of her soft bed for too long.

In her youth, Indie had been fragile and dainty, her tender heart easily damaged by even the slightest act of brutality, such as her father smacking a spider with yesterday’s newspaper.

Not the case anymore.

After suffering the heartbreak of loss, and the knowledge that she was somehow different, Indie had Darwin’d up a nice hard shell, which she polished daily. She still would kill not even an insect herself, but she held stoic whenever she witnessed others do such things.

But Indie also needed strength around her for support as well, which was evident in her choice of husband, movies and music. Only her reading material gave her true inner-self away.

With her youthful beauty and slim athletic body, one would think she would spend most of her time busily shoving her way through throngs of eagerly gathered men.

This was not the case. Conversely, Indie had no better luck finding friends of her own gender.

Despite the outer shell, she was good-natured, had a quick and sometimes wicked sense of humor wrapped around a kind and generous heart.

Yet Indie had no true friends.

She didn’t “hang out” with anyone, simply because she was never invited. Her breaks were spent alone, devouring her escapist love stories.

Co-workers, if asked, would have nothing but positive things to say about Indie, and yet she would watch as groups of them would make plans to meet up after work for parties or bowling, knowing that no one would turn to her and invite her to join them.

This caused an ache in the people-loving part of her heart, although she was resigned to the probability that things were not going to change.

It was a sad fact that neither men nor woman gave Indie any indication that they knew she was anything more than part of the surrounding furniture. Only when she spoke did people snap to attention, studying her as if some sort of new entity had just appeared out of nowhere, after which they would slide back into the routine of overlooking her as soon as the conversation ended. It was all very strange, but Indie’d had the luxury of many years to become used to this odd reaction from everyone around her.

Indie was feeling a heightened amount of nervous energy today, as if some kind of premonition was trying to tap her on the shoulder, warning her of impending elements that would change her life.

So the drama,
she laughed at herself.
I suppose I should be expecting a major break from my soccer-mom world any second now!
Her laughter slowly faded.

Yeah, right.

What composed her world was an incredibly odd combination of unrelenting boredom and predictability, combined with freakishly strange happenings and feelings. It wasn’t going to just magically change overnight, of that she was certain.

Shoving off these thoughts, she wiped down the sink and then headed for Cassidy’s room. Indie stopped as her eyes fell upon a suit jacket that Will had apparently planned to wear today, but then cast aside for some reason. Why, she couldn’t imagine.

His suits were all pretty much the same; black, black and more black, always Brooks Brothers, and always with the white shirts, rounded out with his mirrored sunglasses.

You would
think
it would make getting dressed everyday a little less challenging, wouldn’t you, she thought dryly. As she hung it back in the closet, her mind wandered again.

Earlier, she had kept her eyes closed while suffering and clenching her teeth at his jolting alarm, set every day as was his habit, for a half an hour before he actually needed to get up.

Will enjoyed the satisfaction of smashing the snooze button at least four times before finally dragging himself out of bed.

This forced Indie to distract herself every morning from this outrage to her senses by playing out mild fantasies of planting her feet into her husband’s back and launching him through the bedroom wall.

Although aghast at having such thoughts, Indie wondered if she could really do it. She had always been freakishly strong, and the thought of really letting loose with her full strength both excited and repelled her.

On a daily basis, she kept her strength folded closely around her like the wings of a small bird . . . but a part of her longed to stretch those wings and test the limits, but only in a benign way. The thought of ever hurting anyone in any fashion made Indie nearly physically ill. She spent her life on the opposite end of that spectrum, offering help and comfort to those around her.

Indie always continued the charade of sleep while Will poked around the room getting himself pulled together and off to work. It knocked off an extra few minutes of her daily hurt feelings from his refusal to acknowledge her presence. But every day, through her eyelashes, she would watch him.

The purely female part of whatever type of creature Indie feared she might be enjoyed spying on him.

Will undressed, was a sight to behold, and once dressed, handsome and professional, yet still hardcore in his dark suits and ties.

She felt guilty, because she never really asked him about his work, and he certainly never seemed compelled to talk to her about it . . . or anything else for that matter. Conversation between herself and Will consisted of comments instigated by Indie, regarding household issues, or updates about the kids.

These things prompted courteous and brief replies from her husband, which never progressed to what you could call an actual conversation.

Indie told herself she was over being wounded by this fact.

But still, she felt ashamed of her lack of interest in his daily grind. The essentials she knew;
where
he worked and the name of the office complex, but nothing about what he actually
did
. Indie and Will had never shared any kind of true passion of either mind or body.

Oh, Will could be made to be interested in the physical part if Indie so chose, but that didn’t seem like the way it should work.

On their honeymoon, Will had been startled and quite thrilled to learn that Indie, at age thirty, was still a virgin and had no idea what to expect. He had been patient, gentle and skillful, Indie supposed.

She had no point of comparison, but it definitely appeared as if Will knew what he was doing.

“Tell me what you need, Indie . . .” Will had whispered in his deep husky voice. His breath was warm in her ear, his hands and body working what she instinctively knew
should
be magic.

But she couldn’t tell him what to do for her, because she didn’t have a clue. Indie was still a virgin as far as the orgasm factor was concerned, not even understanding what she was missing.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true, was it? The romantic stories that Indie clung to for companionship held numerous descriptions of physical and emotional feelings that were supposed to happen during lovemaking, didn’t they?

Fire. Heat.

She ached for it.

Passion and lust . . . the very words made her blush, but at the same time, drew her even further into her conclusion that her marriage was seriously lacking in that regard. However, in classic Indie style, she was sure that it was due to some defect within her that was causing the problem.

Indie was observant enough to know that Will was not emotionless; he just kept his feelings and reactions tightly under his command.

In the beginning of their marriage, she had tried to make whatever was missing magically appear by playing out the female lead in her stories, attempting to grab Will’s attention.

This never failed to work . . . for moments all too brief.

The fact that he almost never approached her on his own after the honeymoon, and yet was a very eager participant any time Indie set up a scenario in which to fire up some passion, left her frustrated and bewildered.

She had decided that she wanted children right away, feeling that they might fill the void in her life and clinically knew just what had to happen in order for her to become a mother. During that time, Indie sought Will very frequently, ambushing him in the bedroom wearing temptingly small amounts of lingerie.

It played out the same way every time.

Will would enter the room, find her there and become aroused instantly; his expression similar to one that a sixteen year old boy would sport after finding a naked supermodel lounging in his bed. He would then approach her with his notoriously deliberate pace, reaching out to touch her and looking for all the world as if he expected her to pop like a soap bubble and disappear.