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They came into this world together, screaming and grasping at nothing. Hearts formed together in the water of the womb. Twins, always shining brightly in the night sky somewhere. Like Romulus and Remus, one twin kills the other. His death was written in the stars, as fate should have it. Her brother always told her that her gender was a mistake, a malfunction that would only hinder her development. If she was going to be forced into the role of Remus she might as well keep rewriting the story as she goes.
He tells her at 6 when he yanks a toy from her hand that it’s theirs, not hers, ours, yours and mine. Their nanny bathes them together, facing each other, and when she turns to grab something off the counter, Mason holds her under the water. That feeling never leaves her.
At age 8 she takes a pair of craft scissors to her braids as a result of Mason’s constant tugging and pulling. She may have been the one subjected to craft time, but it was her brother that was the more creative one. His paintings were always red and loud, his canvas would be her body, she doesn’t need to elaborate what the paint would be. Bruised knees become a regular underneath her knee socks. Papa shows them the proper way to check the depth of a pigs fat and Mason is all too pleased when he gets to check hers.
At 28 he slams her down onto his eel tank, bruising her check where her mama used to kiss it after finding her lying on her side in bed, red running down the inside of her leg and mascara running down her plump, ruddy cheeks.
Mama knew Mason was a monster. They all knew. It must be easier to cope when you can’t feel anything, she remembers thinking when her mama popped three more pills into her mouth before lighting a cigarette. French manicures look better with cigarettes, her mama used to say. Her mama also used to say things like be a good sister, as if Margot did not do everything in her power to please her family, to fit in. She copies her mama’s red lips and ruby earrings, teetering on heels that are too big when her mama is passed out on silken sheets.
Mason reaches around to collect her tears and she takes the chocolate because it will please him and her mama always chattered away about how pleasing the Verger men were their biggest priorities.
Now Margot wants to see this place rot. She wants her inside to match the outside. She takes one of her mama’s favorite vases and smashes it against the wall, there’s no more help to clean up the pieces, not that the help had ever done her any good. Soon, probably, after the police come when Alana calls them, she’ll find people who won’t turn away from cries of distress like they used to turn away as Mason pulled her into his room and locked the door behind them.
Growing up she had wanted to carve the pity from their eyes.
And Margot never gets what Margot wants.
Instead, Alana arranges Mason’s body with Hannibal’s hair in his grasp, and Margot punches holes through the paintings on the wall.
The gaping hole that stares back at her feels too close for comfort so she looks away, choosing to admire the broken way Alana is, just as broken as she is. She feels tired just looking at her. Her chest aches and she sinks to the floor, little sobs escaping her chest as she buries her face in Mason’s comforter. Ruining it with her eyeliner like Mason ruined everything he touched.
How stupid she had been to think her brother had done anything kind for her. How foolish to believe she’d ever feel something akin to completion.
His absence resonates like a phantom limb, a part of her now missing. She grew around the ugly parts of him like a flower, only now it’s just her and she still feels contaminated by his black tar soul, murky lake water nourishing a pretty flower. Slowly killing it.
The police come and Margot is still wet, she repeats the lines Alana tells her to, squeezing her hand for reassurance, playing the good little sister like she’s done her whole life.
The ambulance takes away his corpse and Alana finishes giving her statement. Then it’s just the two of them.
Alana runs her a bath and guides her into it, steady hands scrubbing away all her makeup and shampooing her hair, massaging while Margot relaxes her back against her chest, the feel of Alana’s breasts and the heart underneath it soothing her. They dry off and Alana makes Margot put real pajamas on.
When they crawl into bed, Margot curls around Alana, listening to the rhythm of her heart. For once in her life, she’s too tired to tease, choosing to slip her fingers underneath the waistband of Alana’s pajama bottoms, technically hers, and feel the warmth of her skin like a cat basking in the sun. She drifts off to Alana’s fingers threading through her damp hair.
-
She always wakes up before Alana. Mainly to tend to her horses, but now she wants to walk through her estate, freely, no horrors waiting around the corner. But the feeling of dread lingers like bruises on her wrists.
She walks past papa’s office, the smell of cigars and brandy long faded. She used to sit on his lap and he’d brush her hair, tell her what a pretty girl she was, how happy she’d make the boy who would eventually marry her.
Papa never imagined the only prince she’d ever kiss would be her own brother. Always a beast no matter how many times he proclaimed he loved her. Back lying flat against the desk as Mason tore his way inside her, routine by now, only this particular time was just after he’d found her kissing a counselor at their camp. The lake shimmering, her hair had been streaming golden in the sunlight, lips soft as opposed to Mason’s dry ones. She loved her for everything Mason wasn’t, joyful, pleasant, and tender in a way that almost made Margot resentful. Almost. Tracing the curve of her spine over her bikini top like braille, Margot didn’t recoil, the future still seemed open at 15.
Once they’d been found, she’d been fired of course; Mason running to tell papa his little girl was a button stitcher. The girl and her sinful ways had to go, and Margot attempted to recapture the feel of her tongue with mama’s pills sliding into her mouth, one by one until her stomach had to be pumped. The future narrowed until it was like attempting to look through a keyhole at 15.
When she came to, hours later in the hospital, her mama told her she was lucky Mason found her when he did, or else she may not have made it.
Alana doesn’t know that, though she’d hardly be surprised.
Now she stands at the entrance of the stables, this can be your entrance, and wonders when Alana will leave her. It was only ever by whimsy that their affair started. Curiosity led Alana to her, immolation fueled Margot to press her lips to hers. Never had she allowed herself to believe that they would ever continue after Alana got what she wanted, and Margot what she wanted. Somewhere in between heated kisses and sticky fingers with red painted nails, did Margot find herself wanting to drown in the abyss of Alana’s dark curls. Likewise, Alana’s cold outer shell melted along with the ice in her tumbler of whiskey.
“You’re going to catch a cold.”
Margot turns to see Alana standing in her borrowed pajamas, one size too big, giving her a sweet smile despite shivering in the frosty morning air.
“And yet here you are.” A hopeful observation as Alana comes to stand beside her, pushing her hair away from her green eyes, crimson nails tracing down the pale expanse of her neck.
“Here I am.” A conformation. She presses a kiss into Margot’s neck, closed mouth. I’m here, and I’m not leaving.
She feels Alana slide her arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder behind her as Margot looks out at the snow littering her, their, estate. Sunrise illuminates the frozen grounds; warm and cold all the same, like her, like them.
“I thought the view would be different, now that he’s gone and can’t taint it any longer.” Can’t taint me any longer.
“After a trauma, we expect things to look different, but the views don’t change. Just us.”
Margot considers her words. She supposes it makes sense.
“I feel hollow. Mason made up so much of who I am. He made sure I always felt him even when he wasn’t there. I’m afraid I’ll never truly be rid of him, even in death.”
“We could hire a redecorator. Tear down the walls and start fresh.”
“We’ll need to do that anyways. For the nursery.” She feels Alana’s arms tighten, feels her hum in agreement and nuzzle her face into the curve where her shoulder meets her neck.
“You’ll be a great mom, Margot.”
“So will you.”
“I’d never considered children before you. Now I can’t imagine anything else. I want this family with you, Margot.”
She lets out a little laugh, grateful for Alana’s arms to steady her as her head spins with happiness. In the brief time they’ve know each other, knowing Alana plans to stay is the biggest relief, not that she couldn’t care for a child by herself, but that she doesn’t have to. Someone as beautifully scarred as her, made of marble and hurricanes. She wouldn’t want anything else.
“Are you sure? I’ve been told I’m pretty weird.” She looks back to watch Alana’s smile, more beautiful than any painting that hangs in the halls of the estate.
“I specialize in weird.”
“Mhm, I bet you do.” Margot teases before capturing Alana’s lips, her neck slightly strained at the angle, but it’s worth it. Her mouth normally all strawberries and steel, smearing lipstick onto her teeth, it feels nice to melt into a clean mouth for the first time. Like new beginnings passed between them after the storm.
Here is the starting line.
“You know what else I specialize in?” Alana whispers between kisses.
“Hm?” Margot hums, still intoxicated by the beautiful woman who more or less just agreed to spend the rest of her life with her.
“Blueberry pancakes. If we go inside and get warm I’ll make you some.”
Margot giggles before composing herself, putting on a thoughtful face to “consider” the offer.
Reaching to grab her hand, Margot turns and faces her mosaic of shattered pieces, the most beautiful woman she’s ever met. Face flushed in the chilly stables, lips cherry swollen from kissing, and hair mused from sleep. They’ll have the most wonderful baby who’ll want for nothing.
“Of course, my dear.”
“Then come on, my feet are numb.”
“I love you too.”