Authors: Miss Merikan
“No, I just … It would be nice to sometimes
have a chance to get away from all this.”
Asty looked around the room full of polite
looking people in pastel colors, and she had a vague idea she knew what David
meant despite him wearing a grey cardigan.
Even under the corpsepaint, Asty saw
Hunter’s eyes soften. He patted David’s shoulder. “Sure, of course. We’ll
exchange numbers, okay? My living space is a bit … questionable at the moment,
but I’ll probably move soon.”
Asty petted Hunter’s back, so happy to see
him rekindle a relationship that had been nonexistent for so many years. It was
clear he’d needed that all along, and so did David, who must have been a little
kid when Hunter left the family and yet was drawn to his big brother like a
puppy to biscuits. It made her sad to see there was such a rift in this family,
and it reminded her of the way Lucky used to be someone whose existence no one
wanted to acknowledge until just a few years ago. You could have many
acquaintances, but only one family. How could anyone think this horrible divide
over religious beliefs was worth all the lost connections?
“Maybe he could visit us over the weekend?
There is always a lot of stuff going on around the club,” she suggested.
Hunter snorted. “Yeah, like a gay wedding.
Mom would be thrilled to hear that. Her little Davey’s sensibilities
shattered.”
David gave Hunter a punch that was hardly a
touch. “I’m seventeen. I’ve seen things.”
Hunter laughed loudly. “Sure, you did, kid.
Asty shrugged. “Or a party. You said you
enjoyed your first one,” she teased, wondering who the girl who took Hunter’s
virginity years ago was.
Hunter smirked. “Would you be fine for a
while so I can tell my brother all about it?”
Asty nodded and stepped away from him but
kept his fingers in her grip for a few moments longer. “You need to catch up.”
David smiled at Hunter. “And you need to meet
the kids. They’re upstairs. You haven’t met Joanna yet, have you? She’s seven
now.”
Hunter shook his head and sent Asty a kiss
in the air before walking off with David. Her heart felt so warm over seeing
him this happy. If she hadn’t suggested the corpsepaint, they wouldn’t have
come and Hunter would have missed out on all of this. She tried talking to the
two little kids, who kept following her with their eyes, but they seemed far
too shy to interact with her. Despite what she just told Hunter, she did feel a
bit self-conscious over the way the adults were staring at her while pretending
they were deeply engaged in conversation. She was the guest here, so if no one
approached her or invited her for a chat, she’d have to find another way to
entertain herself.
The living room was adjoined to what looked
like the dining room, and the two were divided by screen doors of wood and
thick patterned glass, but with the light on in the other part, she assumed she
was free to go there. Sliding the doors just enough to get through, she entered
the dining space, which burst with the long table and other furniture to the
point it looked claustrophobic. Still, being stuck here was better than being
stared at by women in beige cardigans and A-line skirts that ended just below
the knee.
There were several different crosses and
Virgin Marys hanging on the wall, but Asty was more interested in the books
stored in the bookcase, which seemed to fall into only three categories:
cookbooks, self-help, and religious. The prevalence of the latter in the whole
house bordered on obsessive, but it got Asty thinking back to her mother’s
studio back at home, and yes—to her own room. She too had many symbols of her
faith incorporated into the decor. She even wore them as jewelry and on T-shirts.
If the only thing that really differentiated her from Susan in this aspect of
life was Asty’s own tolerance of people who didn’t believe the same things she
did, then maybe she shouldn’t be judging.
With her back stinging a bit from her belly
weighing her down, Asty moved one of the chairs and sat in it, watching a
somewhat abstract sculpture of what was essentially a stick figure on a large
cross. It was all sorts of confusing. Why did people like Susan have their
religion validated by the state, their religious issues equaled to moral ones,
when Asty’s belief in demons kept being treated as esoteric bullshit by
everyone not involved in the worship? The way she saw it, there was no
difference. And if so, then regardless of her mother’s delusions, demons and
spirits could still exist the same way Susan believed God existed. Or were they
just a fantasy, as Dad had suggested?
The truth about Mom shook Asty to the core,
and she wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. This one fact had managed to rock
all of her faith. She read the books Dad gave her, and she couldn’t argue with
the logic in some of them, but then again, what if certain people were just
unable to connect with spirits on the same level as others? Maybe science just hadn’t
discovered certain things and humanity was kept in the dark, deeming them as
superstition? Couldn’t there be another plane of existence where demons lived,
and one could summon them if they only knew the right rituals? But on the other
hand, that would mean Susan’s beliefs could also be valid. How did anyone
decide which religion was the true one? Did it only depend on where someone
grew up?
“You’re Asty, right?” came a female voice
with a European-sounding accent she couldn’t pinpoint. “I heard you’ll be having
a boy. He’ll be my great-grandson,” the woman said excitedly and came closer.
She moved with the help of a walker, and her hair was as white as the bits of
snow left over on the lawn. But her smile was brilliant and didn’t falter when
Asty turned around, showing off her dark makeup and the piercings in her lips,
cheeks, and nose.
“Yes. Hello,” she said and quickly picked
herself up to present another chair to Hunter’s grandmother, who looked like
the embodiment of the word gentle. Her frail-looking fingers squeezed on the
walker as she lowered herself into the seat. Asty knew Hunter still kept in
touch with his grandmother, but she was surprised for the old lady to be so
open toward her. Maybe Hunter had told her all about Asty already? “You must be
very proud.”
“I am,” said Grandmom with a wide smile on
her pink-tinted lips. She leaned forward and pulled Asty into a hug that had to
be firm for a person of her stature. “Can’t wait to hold it. I’m so glad he
finally decided to introduce you to all of us. You’re such a pretty girl.” She
pulled back with a slight frown. “You really don’t need so much makeup to stand
out. I’m sure Hunter likes you without it just as much.”
Asty had to bite back a surprised laugh,
afraid she’d somehow offend the granny, but she nodded. She didn’t mind Hunter
seeing her without makeup anymore, as he clearly found her just as attractive
then. In fact, she recently found herself dropping the white foundation at
times, especially since getting pregnant, her skin looked just as amazing as
the Internet promised. “It’s not like that. I’m a makeup artist, so I enjoy
doing this. It’s a hobby.”
Grandmom nodded. “Oh, so you must have been
the one to do Hunter’s as well?” She twisted her lips. “I don’t really like him
looking like a dead man, but you did a much better job than he used to when he
tried to do it himself.”
Asty blinked. “He used to wear ... white
makeup?”
Grandmom waved her hand. “When he was still
in high school, he sometimes stayed at my and my late husband’s apartment from
time to time. I knew his mother hated this music he likes. I can’t say I enjoy
it either, but it’s just harmless fun, isn’t it?”
Asty nodded, bewildered, and Grandmom
continued. “So he would sometimes get those Halloween face paints, and he would
go out like that with some friends. He looked like a sad clown.”
Asty laughed, imagining how unskilled at
makeup a teenage Hunter could have been. “He must have been so adorable as a
child.”
Grandmom raised her index finger and leaned
forward, opening a drawer with more books, but when she finally pulled out a
photo album, Asty’s heart fluttered.
“He was adorable. Just look.” Grandmom
fluttered through the pages of old pictures featuring groups of kids and people
standing in front of things, but when Asty noticed a picture of a boy in a
black T-shirt and shoulder-length hair staring toward the camera from the
floor, her chest swelled with warmth.
“So pretty ...”
“If it’s a boy, maybe it’s better if he
looks more like his father,” said Grandmom good-naturedly, and Asty sighed,
touching the innocent face through the plastic.
“Yes.”
“And the wedding?” Grandmom gave a sly
smile. “After you’re back to your old figure, am I right?”
Asty chewed on her lip, slightly
embarrassed. “Probably.”
“Well, you two can’t make me wait too long.
I’m not getting any younger.”
“Shouldn’t be long,” said Asty, and
Grandmom wanted to answer when someone called what had to be her name nearby.
“Oh, well. I’ll talk to you during dinner.
You two need to visit me at the home,” she said and with the help of the
walker, made her way back to the living room as quickly as she could.
Asty looked down at young Hunter and slowly
traced his face with the tip of her fingernail. He had already been handsome
back then, and her younger self would totally dig him, even if he wasn’t older
and mature just yet.
On an impulse, she slid her fingers
underneath the plastic and pulled out the picture before stuffing it into a
notebook she had inside her bag. The thrill of it made her lips feel warmer,
and she wondered where her man was all that time.
*
At dinner, Asty met more of Hunter’s
relatives. Many of them asked about Hunter’s face paint or if the piercings in
her lips hurt. There were a few snippy comments from Hunter’s uncle and aunt,
but all in all, dinner was a pleasant event with Father Peter only trying to pull
Hunter back to his flock once, suggesting he could christen the baby. Asty had
an embarrassing moment when she snorted so hard she spat some of her cake out
when she imagined holy water boiling and steaming off little Beelzebub’s
forehead.
But as the guests eventually split into
little groups again, she was happy to hold Hunter’s hand as he led her upstairs
to show her his old room. She couldn’t wait to see where the little metalhead
Hunter had spent his days.
Hunter opened the door to a room that
unfortunately looked lovely, yet extremely generic apart from the religious
paraphernalia. A flowery quilt covered a double bed, and only a massive,
bloodied Christ on a cross above the bed made the place seem disturbing. Asty
was all for a bit of gore, but she wouldn’t keep something like this in her
bedroom.
“They redecorated it into a guest room
now.” Hunter led Asty inside. “And my mom trashed all the metal posters I had.”
Asty scowled. “Sorry. What else did you
have here?” she asked and leaned against him, resting her face on his leather
cut.
“I had a collection of
Bizarre
magazines
hidden away. Don’t need them now with my very own alternative chick.” Hunter
smiled and leaned down to kiss her as his hands went up and down her sides.
Asty nipped on his lip and nuzzled his
nose. “And no one else is gonna see the pictures I can send you.”
Hunter let out a groan. “Fuck yes. Send me
pictures.”
“What, now?” she teased and gently pushed
him away.
“No. Now you could just lift your dress.”
Hunter laughed and spread his arms. Asty stepped away from him. She glanced
toward the door but slowly picked up the hem of her tight dress and started
hitching it up, past the upper end of her stockings, and stopped just before
the fabric would uncover her underwear.
Hunter stopped breathing, hypnotized by
each of her moves. “That door has a lock,” he whispered.
Asty sucked in her lip and leaned against
the wall. “At your parents’?” she uttered, but the low buzz of excitement was
already under her skin.
“No. In my old room where you can fulfill
all my horny teenage fantasies.” Hunter came close and put one hand over her
shoulder as he locked the door with the other.
Asty let her jacket slide to the floor.
“Your gran showed me your old pictures. You were one hot teen. Those big eyes
would be enough to make a cougar out of me.”
“Noo …” Hunter moaned but slid his hand
under her dress, already petting her thigh. “I was too skinny.”
“Well, you were a teen. Can’t be the full
package at that age,” said Asty, reaching back to unzip the dress. Just having
his chest brush against her two enlarged breasts was such a huge turn-on.
Hunter trailed his fingers between her legs
and stroked her pussy lips through her panties much too gently. “You saying I’m
the full package now?”
Asty groaned and pushed her fingers into
his hair, staring into the black holes drawn around his eyes. “You look so
dangerous now,” she whispered.
“Baby, I
am
dangerous. I might be a
kitten to you, but you must know this, right?” He pulled her panties to the
side and ran his fingers over her exposed flesh.