Page 74 of Miserable Marionette

My hands fly to his head as he pushes in deeper, inhaling my center, making my cheeks bloom crimson. “Gideon!”

“Fuck Audrey,” he groans. “Tell me you’re my girl and I’ll make you feel good.”

“Y-yes. Of course I am,” I whimper as he laps at my throbbing clit trapped behind my underwear.

“Say it, puppet. Tell me you’re my miserable little marionette.”

I groan, pushing into him as he fastens his mouth to my aching center and sucks the soaked fabric.

“I—" I gasp. “I’m yours. I’m your marionette. Fuck Gideon, hang on, I’m going to—" My orgasm rips through me, making me cry out, my movements upsetting something on the table behind me. I barely turn to move to see what it was when he’s on me again. His mouth commanding mine, worshipping it with the taste of me on his tongue as he works my underwear down my legs.

I’m preening, begging by the time he sinks his cock into me. Burying himself to the hilt with one brutal thrust. I’m so lost to the sensation of it, of his hot breath on my neck, I miss his question the first time he asks it.

The only sign he’d wanted a response from me comes in the sudden brutality on the way he jerks me down off the table, ripping his ruddy cock from my aching center and slamming me back down, my cheek meeting hot dumplings. “Gideon,” I gasp, but he’s already there, thrusting back into me.

“Are you scared of me, puppet?”

“No,” I whine.

One of his hands abandons its brutal grasp on my hips to find my throat, his weight pressing me into the table as his cock drags against something toe-curling deep. “You should be. I’m the boogeyman, Audrey.”

My hair drags, soaked with chicken broth, as I force myself to my elbows, forcing my head to look at him, happy to be the perfect puppet he plays his ugly games with. “I don’t care so long as you’re mine.”

“Fuck,” he curses, his thrusts turning jerky as he comes deep inside me.

He doesn’t stop reaching around to massage my clit, forcing another climax from me. When he finally releases my throat and slips out with a soft kiss pressed to my spine, letting me ease myself limply back to the chair, I can’t hide my smirk as his cum leaks from my center and our chicken and dumplings drips from my hair. This is the most exciting dinner the table has seen in years.

34

Hellscapes

Audrey, Present Day, 1994

I stare up at the tall tree in our grove, wisps of white lace dancing in the wind. The bodice of my wedding dress hugs my chest a bit too tightly, or perhaps it’s not the dress at all. Something is off, altered, but I’m so twisted with excited energy that I don’t pay it too much attention. I’ve been waiting here for hours. My bouquet is gripped too tightly in my palms. I gasp, but the sound is sluggish, my head snapping to ensure I hadn’t damaged it. Where I’d seen white roses moments ago are the bold, reverently laid flowers of a funeral arrangement. A shocked sound leaves my throat as I drop the bouquet, watching as the petals wither at my feet.

“You’re going to need that dork.”

Gideon bends, picking it up with the internal grace and hard-wired confidence that has always come so naturally to him. He’s shorter, but no, that’s not right either. The child version of Gideon has his striped sweater in place of where his suit should be. Today is our big day, right? A harsh gust of wind rustles his black mop of hair as he stares at me… always that stare, boring through me as if I’m both the center of the universe and not there at all. I don’t take the flowers back; they’re dead anyway. But he keeps holding them out, waiting. Something creaks above my head, but he speaks again.

“Puppet.” The lighter, kid version of his voice pollutes the word like bleach in bathwater.

I take a step back, away from Gideon, when the ground beneath my feet buckles, sending me down. My dress slips, and suddenly I’m smaller too. My grown, heat-damaged blonde waves traded for silky ringlet curls. I yelp, grasping the oversized dress to my small body, the garment so large I’m drowning in it. I’m little again and Gideon isn’t offering me flowers anymore. A smile lights my face at the sight of Krissy as I take her from him, dutifully keeping a hand on the dress so it doesn’t slip.

“Thanks, Gideon,” I whisper because Dad is watching, and I shouldn’t be dressed like this in front of a boy, much less my best friend. Gideon's parents are here too, for the wedding, of course. Another gust of wind and another loud, aching creak finally forces my head up. My gut twisting in horror, the scraps of lace are gone, and it's… women. Each one bloodied, nude, and strung up, swaying in the wind like the wisps of lace. I stumble to my feet as I watch a bead of blood gather at a woman’s fingertip, dripping down down down until it splatters onto my arm. Tears fill my eyes as I backtrack, tripping over my dress and landing hard on my butt, Krissy falling into my lap.

“Gideon, what—"

“Are you scared, Audrey?” he asks, but his voice is all wrong again, and I can’t stop the sobs from leaving my throat because my best friend is gone and a strange man has taken his place. His suit pressed like his dad’s, but it's not for a wedding either. I don’t complain as the strange new Gideon gathers me in my too-big dress, hugging me tightly to his chest. “Answer me,” he demands.

But I can’t because the women… oh god, it's horrible. I flinch as another droplet of blood hits my face.

Then I scream.

I jolt awake with a lump lodged deep in my throat, my head snapping above me only to find the popcorn ceiling of my bedroom. It takes several hefty seconds for me to calm my breathing, and for once I’m glad to have woken without Gideon by my side. A quick glance at the clock tells me exactly why.

“Shit,” I curse, rushing from the bed to my closet to toss on some work clothes. I’m scrambling, barely taking the time to properly brush my teeth, and peeing will have to wait. “Of all days to let me sleep in!” I hiss.

I know it was on purpose; that’s why even late I take the time to stomp across the street, tossing my long hair into a messy knotted bun that’ll have to do. Barely breathing, I shove the front doors open of Bell Funeral Home and barge into the office. Gideon’s shifting through paperwork, his glasses low on his stupid, handsome face. “Gideon Bell!”