Through the Glass (13 page)

Rory pouted. “Awww, not fair! Pull that sheet back down! I love your tits. They’re magnificent. You should just walk round topless all day.”

She giggled nervously, unsure what she could actually say in response to
that
comment. Presumably that was his attempt at a compliment, but it was different to the compliments he had given her prior to their sexual encounter and she couldn’t help feeling objectified.

He scratched the stubble forming on his chin. “In fact if you moved in with me I could just look at them all the time.” He laughed.

Felicity inhaled sharply as if she had been stung. “I’m sorry, what?” She could have sworn he had just suggested that she should move in with him.

“Well...it’s silly for you to live at Polly’s really. You might as well move in with me. Then we can fuck all the time. Like bunnies. And I can look at your tits!”

All the talk of fucking and tits had begun to have an effect on him. He had that look in his eyes again. But it was having a
negative
effect on her.
Although he must have feelings for me, right? Surely he must if he’s suggesting something so committed as moving in?

“I…think it’s a bit too soon, Rory. Don’t you?” She found his humour very forward and very lewd. But she was willing to try to get past that. Perhaps if they got to know one another better first? “You can’t just ask me to move in because you like my
breasts
.” She emphasised her preferred word.

“Blah, blah. We’ll talk about it later. Now come here my little love muffin and bring those gorgeous tits!” He pulled her toward him.

~~~~~

Against her better judgement, Felicity arrived at Rory’s large, three storey Georgian home with her suitcases two weeks after their first
date
. Although he had asked her to move in rather quickly after they had started seeing each other, she had decided, with more than a little encouragement from her mother, to throw caution to the wind.

Penelope had almost had kittens, she had been so excited to hear her daughter had been asked to move in with such a wealthy, handsome, well-to-do man. She had thought it terribly romantic and immediately began trying to convince Felicity of the same. Eventually she had agreed with her mother and one morning after breakfast she had told him she would move in.

Expecting him to be overjoyed, she was a little shocked and tried to put out of her mind the fact that he said, “Yes, yes, it will better if you’re living here, then I don’t have to drive you home after we’ve had a couple of bottles of Rioja and a good shag.” Laughing heartily as if there was nothing wrong in it. He liked to say
fuck
and
tits
quite a lot, which Felicity was trying to get used to, but it made her feel ever so slightly nauseated. But she resolved to make this work. She would change him. She
had
to.

He had helped her bring her bags in and had left her to it. He ordered a takeaway and opened a bottle of his favourite wine, a nice expensive vintage Rioja. Only the best would do for Rory. When they had got to bed that night, Rory had wasted no time in running his large, rough hands all over her body, even though she really just wanted to sleep.

She did something she had
never
done before and faked an orgasm just so that he would leave her to sleep. Sadly it didn’t work. It just seemed to spur him on until he was on top of her seeking his own gratification. She felt rather like a bouncy castle with a puncture and yawned quietly on several occasions. When he was done, he kissed her on the nose affectionately and whispered, “Night-night wobbly arse. I’ll wake you in the morning for round two.” He squeezed her bottom, rolled over and went to sleep.

Perfect, night one and I’m already regretting this
. But he was, on the surface, so right for her. She could look past his little idiosyncrasies. Couldn’t she?

And so it went on.

She spent an awful lot of time on her own during the evenings and that was saying something considering she worked late herself. Some nights he didn’t roll in until midnight, stinking of whiskey, and he always expected a quick fumble.

She began painting again, setting up a makeshift studio in one of the many spare bedrooms. She really began to enjoy it again. She hadn’t realised how right Jim had been when he had told her a couple of years before that she wasn’t herself unless she was painting. She began to work on a piece that just came to her. It wasn’t from a scene she had memorised through the glass like the others she had painted in the past. This was a place she could see in her mind’s eye. It felt familiar yet almost invented simultaneously; it was a place that she hoped one day to discover was a real place that she could visit, a peaceful, beautiful place where she could sit and breathe in the fresh air whilst feasting on the scene before her. But for now she would settle for putting the scene on canvas.

“Hi, wobbly arse! I’m home!” He shouted as he came in from the office at almost midnight one August evening in 2011. She was still painting in her makeshift studio. He came in and stood behind her as she worked on the piece. “Hmmm, not bad…not bad. Not as good as the stuff you sell in that gallery of yours but a nice little try all the same.”

Patronising, insulting bastard
. She cringed as he had slid his ice-cold hands up her T-shirt where, to his delight judging by the groan, he found she was braless. He began playing with her nipples as she tried to push him off and continue on with her piece. This so-called relationship just wasn’t what she had hoped for or expected. There was no tenderness. In his opinion, showing emotions was for poofs and mummy’s boys, as he so eloquently put it. She had realised awhile ago that it was going nowhere, but her mother’s face just lit up every time they visited. And Rory knew how to charm her.

“C’mon, I’m really randy. I
really
need sex with my little sexpot. You know I make you feel good. Don’t tease me, wobbly arse. Come on.”

He ground his groin into her back making her over balance. She lurched forward into her easel, the paintbrush still in her hand. She landed on all fours, her paint-covered hands landing in the middle of her freshly painted canvas, smearing the wet paint, putting a hole in it and ruining the piece completely.

“Phwooooar…now that’s what I like…you dropping on all fours and being ready for me as soon as I want it.” He laughed dropping to the floor behind her and groping her breasts again.

She hit out behind herself. “You’ve ruined it! You stupid idiot! You’ve ruined my painting!” She pushed him back and stood up, tears welling up in her eyes. He stood, too, staring angrily at her, his fists clenched by his sides. “You idiot…I can’t believe it…all that work…all those hours…you bloody idiot!” She shook her head as sobs broke free.

“Who are you calling an idiot, you bitch?!” He slapped her face, a loud crack resounding around the room. She stood open-mouthed gaping at him in utter shock, holding her cheek. It stung like crazy where his hand slammed against her jaw. He looked shocked at his own actions, but made no effort to comfort her.

She gritted her teeth and seethed at him. “I am going to collect my things and go,” was all she could muster up the courage to say, scared he would hit her again if she were to say anything else.

He snorted. “Oh come on, wobbly arse. It was one little slap. And you’ve got to admit you were out of fucking line back there!” He followed her up the stairs into the bedroom.

Tears were streaming down her face making the sting even keener. She wiped her hands on some toilet roll to get rid of the excess paint and grabbed her suitcase from under the bed.

“I can’t have hurt you. I didn’t
mean
to hurt you.”

She turned and saw regret in his eyes but it was simply too late. “Rory, please just leave me to pack,” she croaked between sobs.

“You’re such a moody cow. Do you know that?” He pulled the tie from around his neck and threw it onto the bed, slumping onto the mattress. “I mean, that painting wasn’t that bloody good and look at you, all boo hoo hoo, you ruined my crappy little painting,’” he mocked.

She shook with anger. “Rory, please…just leave me alone.”

“No I won’t leave you alone.” He sounded like a sulking schoolboy, whining because he’d been told to tidy his room. “I invited you to share my home… I gave you a room to paint in for fuck’s sake! And this is how you repay me?  By leaving?” He huffed. “Well, that’s just bloody charming. Is this how you show gratitude, eh?”

She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him.

“Gratitude?” She snorted derisively. “Rory, I have lived here for almost a year and half. A year and a half of my life that I will
never
get back. In that time, I have spent more time with Madge, your cleaner, than I have with you. You come home late, smelling of alcohol and cigarette smoke and expect me to just part my legs for you, whether I’m in the mood or not. You
never
take me out. You
never
tell me you love me. YOU CALL ME WOBBLY ARSE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” she shouted at him.

“It’s a term of affection!” He defended himself, obviously trying to laugh it off.

“You belittle the
one thing
I have had a passion for since I left Jim. And then to top it off, you push me into one of my pieces, ruining it beyond recognition, slap me, and then mock me for being upset!” She began shoving items of clothing, footwear, and toiletries into her case again. Her voice was loud and she knew she sounded strung out. “I’m an intelligent woman! I can’t believe I stuck this for so long”’ She laughed dryly at herself. “I will have someone call for the rest of my stuff as soon as possible.” She stomped past him and down the stairs collecting her car keys from the hall table.

“That’s it…you just sod off! You leave everyone, don’t you? Don’t stick to anything! Yeah well, I can get laid wherever and whenever I bloody want so you’ll easily be replaced!” he shouted after her.

She stopped in her tracks and with as much venom as she could muster she shouted back, “Is that so? Well, for
your
information you fat pig, it helps if you know what to
do
with your
actual prick
. It’s no use just
acting
like one!” She slammed the door behind her getting away from there as quickly as she could.

Chapter 9

January 2012 – Two Years and Eleven Months After the Break-up

Jim sat in a stunned silence once Felicity had finished regaling him with the delights of her failed relationship with Rory Fitzsimmons. Hearing about her sexual exploits with another man, especially such a disrespectful one, made him feel extremely uncomfortable. There was such a thing as too much information and this had certainly been one of those cases. He didn’t quite know what to say and so silence seemed to be the best option until he could figure it out.

Eventually, he huffed out a long breath. “Shit…I can’t believe he slapped you.” He shook his head trying to allow this new information to sink in. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know about it at the time. I’d have killed him.”

“I was just glad to get away from him. I was such a fool… I thought I loved him. He was wealthy. He had the huge house, the sports car, expensive suits. It was all a joke. They were all just
things
…things to make a statement, status symbols. He had no feelings for anyone but himself. Well, not until I left and he realised that he did actually love me in his own way. He used to call me at Polly’s telling me he would kill himself if I didn’t go back to him. Apparently, he was going to jump off London Bridge.”

“And what did you say to that?” Jim enquired, frowning.

She smirked and covered her eyes with her hand. “I asked him if he’d like me to give him a push.”

Jim burst out laughing. “Ahhh, such compassion… I love it!” He chuckled and she joined him in laughter.

“Well, you know…he was a big bloke… He might have needed a bit of a push outwards to stop him hitting his head on the concrete on the way down!” They both fell about laughing uncontrollably at the rather macabre discussion.

Felicity and Jim chatted late into the evening until she began to yawn. She was eager to ask him again about his love life, seeing as she had been so open about hers but she decided it could wait for another time perhaps.

“Hey, you look exhausted, Felicity. You should get to your bed,” Jim told her as he placed their empty glasses in the sink.

She yawned again and rubbed her eyes. “Mmm, I think so.” She stood to make her way to the stairs but turned. “You’ve stopped calling me Flick,” she observed not making eye contact.

“Aye…just like you wanted. I’ve had to change a lot of things over the past couple of years, eh?” His face was impassive again as he spoke. He had also acquired the ability to switch off his emotions it would appear.

“Yes…yes I know you have… It’s just that…I kind of miss being called Flick.” She rested her head on the doorjamb as she felt a wave of sadness wash over her.

“Aye…well…goodnight, eh?” Jim appeared to be willing her to go to bed as if he wanted the conversation to come to a close.

She took the hint and went to bed.

~~~~~

Jim stepped out into the sub-zero temperature with a very reluctant dog in tow. He pulled his woolly hat down further over his ears and zipped his coat right up as far as it would go.

“C’mon, Jasper. I know it’s cold, pal, but a dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do.” He scratched Jasper’s head and began to walk, hoping that the cold air would clear his head of the fog, sadness, and perplexity that he was now plagued with thanks to the unwelcome visitor.

Jasper obediently followed close behind, stopping every so often to sniff the air. Jim paused momentarily and looked out over the water. The distant mountains were enveloped in snow and the little whitewashed cottages in the village were now camouflaged against the thickening achromatic covering. Although it was nighttime, the snow reflected the moonlight, making it feel earlier than it was. The icy air nipped at his skin and numbed his senses.