Connubial

Pacing back and forth in his cell, Biff wondered when his conjugal visits with Lee-Anne had turned into connubial ones. In the beginning they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They tore at each others clothes and rocked that trailer off its foundations. Now Lee-Anne nagged at him about dropping his socks on the floor and lectured him about his oral hygiene. Maybe she needed The Fear put back into her. A little reminder of what attracted her to him in the first place - the formidable thrill of fucking with a murderer.


Kelli B.

*** 

Every day she goes to see them perform. She knows what is going to happen, it comforts her. The beautiful dress, the connubial bliss at the end sealed in a passionate kiss: it's like watching her dreams on stage. They're not making her pay anymore, she wouldn't be able to afford it anyway. They like having her around, she's always so enthusiastic. They won't be here for ever, but if she could manage to become useful to them, they might take her along.

 

Today is a special day. One of the older ladies told her she could come and watch them rehearse. She didn't sleep much the previous night, she was too busy picturing all the wonders hidden in their carriages. She's feeling dizzy with excitement and tiredness. 

The older lady asks her if she can stitch. Yes, her mum taught her, she replies, she even knows how to count to fifty. It's very muddy behind the wooden stage, and flies are buzzing around the horses. Some familiar outfits are hanging from a clothesline between two carriages. It unsettles her to see them empty and lifeless. The woman tells her to sit on a stool by a table scattered with food leftovers and make up. She watches the woman searching for something at the back of one of the carriages, and when she turns around, she sees that she's holding the magnificent white dress. She drops it on her lap with a sewing kit. There's a hole that needs to be stitched, the woman says as she walks away. 

She looks down on the dress. It's not as white as she thought it was. It used to be white, at some point. She doesn't know which hole to stitch, there are more than she can count. She feels like crying. Like the day she realised her mother told her lies like everybody else. 

All of it was a lie. And there was nothing she could do to undo the truth.

Hélène L.