Post by Jack Trove on Jun 16, 2009 11:26:23 GMT
ooc: This is a post I found when clearing files on my computer. I'd only half of it written, and thought to finish it and bring it up to date with current happenings on Orchid. And, yes. I know. I think about my secondary characters too much. 
“Mal.”
No.
“Mal.”
No.
“Answer me, Mal.”
“Do I have to?”
“Good enough.” The mattress sagged horribly as she sank down on the bed beside him. “Y’all need to get up.”
Again: “Do I have to?”
“Baby.”
“Bítch.”
“Mal,” her voice was already tired, but as always, it tensed slightly when he swore. “Don’t… just don’t.”
No.
Just no. He wasn’t in the mood for this- for her- not now. Miranda should know where to stick it- up, and as far up as she could fúcking go. Stupid bítch had no right to wake him-
“For God’s sake, Mal!” Her voice broke, and he sat up straight. She may as well have sent an electric volt straight through him. He stared in shock as the tears began to gush down her cheeks, thick and fast. Her whole beautiful face had crumpled, and now all he could see where the lines he’d never seen before. Shadows cast across her face he’d never thought existed.
Why was she crying?
Awkwardly, tentatively, Mal stretched out his arms and dragged her across the bed towards him. She came easily, practically crawling into his arms. Her chest heaved against him, and for a while, he sat in dumb confusion, and let her sob.
But she just kept sobbing. And sobbing.
Stop it, Miranda.
Just stop it.
“Miranda,” he shook her after a few minutes had passed, but her head- buried into his chest- shook itself. She was still too choked to speak, and her eyes, though closed, were swollen and puffy.
He tried again.
“Miranda, shut it.”
She only cried harder.
“Miranda- for God’s sake you goddam whöre, shut it!”
Oh.
Okay. He hadn’t meant it. But the problem was, when he swore, she thought he did. She froze.
She moved.
Mal felt like kicking himself.
“I’m sorry, Mal,” she croaked, her voice barely managing to force itself out. “I… I’ll get up. Your mother will be wondering where I am.”
“Miranda, I-”
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, sir.”
“Miranda!”
She was already halfway across the room, crouching down and reaching for her jeans. She looked back, her face a careful, controlled blank.
“Sir?”
He felt like kicking himself. Growling, he rolled over on his side and reached for the drawer, tugging it open roughly. His hand closed around the little tub, and he knew that from behind him, in spite of herself, Miranda was pulled irresistibly back towards him.
“I’ll get you water.”
“No thanks.”
“Mal, y’all-”
“I’ll eat it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “… you can’t eat it.”
“Effing can.”
“Mal.” Her voice shook again. Warningly.
Mal ducked his head. Between his fingers, he lifted one tiny pill and crushed it between his index finger and thumb, trickling the pale powder into his mouth. He forced himself to swallow, smacking his lips.
“Y’all okay?”
“Yes, Miranda,” Mal’s eyes shot back to her, “I am fine.”
She closed her dark eyes, and for a couple of seconds, her chest heaved again as she tried to control the sobs that were still attempting to overthrow her.
“What is it?” Mal leaned backwards, pushing himself up on the pillows. They stank of sweat and sex. Mainly sex. “What, Miranda?”
“Mal…”
“Is it Kelly?”
“Kelly?” she looked quite surprised at the mention of her sister. As if she thought Mal didn’t know her name. “No… why would there be something about Kelly?”
Clearly, Miranda wasn’t aware of just how much she talked about her family.
“I don’t know,” Mal shrugged. His tongue was starting to burn. He licked his lips tentatively, trying to get the taste to go away. “I was just… guessing. What’s up?”
She looked at him for a long, long moment. “I…”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re not gonna fúcking tell me-”
“Malcolm, I’m pregnant.”
The silence screamed.
“You’re what?”
“Oh, no, oh God,” her knees seemed to give out beneath her, and Mal couldn’t move- didn’t move- to catch her. She collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily and shaking.
Shaking horribly.
“Oh.”
“Oh!” she echoed him, her voice growing into a pleading wail. “Oh! Oh, you say, oh, Mal, oh-”
“Calm down.”
“Calm?” she pressed her hands against the carpet, and, with visible effort, forced herself to look up. “I… okay. I’m calm.”
Mal may be an idiot; but he knew how to spot a liar.
“Cut the cra- rubbish. Now- calm down properly. Just… get a grip. It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“We’re fine,” she echoed.
Silence again. Terrible, screaming, roaring silence. Mal spread his legs, breathing heavily as he tried to force them to move. He got up, steadily, slowly, dragging himself upwards into a standing up position. He looked down at Miranda, who was staring at the bed like she’d never seen one before in her life. She looked a mess. She looked pathetic.
That’s right. Pathetic. Don’t think, Mal.
“Get up.” His voice was a monotonic order.
She got up. Her arms curled around her gorgeous, rich dark stomach. The short T-shirt she wore barely covered it. Her stomach was deliciously flat. Unbidden, strong and awful, a swollen image of it flashed before him; fat, heavy and bloated.
No.
“Come here.”
She complied.
Once she’d reached the other side of him, Mal’s hands firmly clamped her shoulders. He could feel her skin burning through the thin material of her T-shirt. Its pale pink colour didn’t suit her properly. It wasn’t bold or bright enough. Mal knew she wore it to annoy him.
“Okay,” Mal tried to smile as best he could. She looked back; eyes wide. Black. Terrified.
“It’s okay,” Mal nodded to himself, “we’ll pay for it. We’ll get it done, and before you know it, this’ll all be sorted in a jiffy. I’ll pay. I promise it’ll be okay.”
“Oh,” real tears swelled up in her eyes again, and a smile split her lips wide open. “Oh, Mal, you- I mean, y’all… y’all… you’re ready for this? You’re not- forgive me… I thought… really?” Quickly, suddenly, she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his in a hot, hasty kiss.
“Yeah,” Mal laughed, prising her arms away, “it’s fine. I won’t send you to one of those cheap back-street joints. There are some really good abortion clinics out there- I can get the number and-”
“No!” She dragged her arms from his grip, just as suddenly as she’d thrown herself into it. “No- wait, what? Mal, I-”
“Don’t sweat it, babe,” Mal flashed her his best grin, “consider it done. We’ll get that thing out of you, and-”
“Mal, I wanna keep the baby.”
Dámn, fúcking silence.
“What?”
“Mal, I… I’m keeping it… I thought you… just there… thought y’all meant-?”
“Wait- what? No!” his eyes opened wide. She’d thought… hang on… she’d actually believed…? “No!” Suddenly, strangely, Mal began to laugh, the sound reverberating strangely around his chest. “You’re kidding! You thought I wanted to keep that thing? God, no- Carl’s bad enough, thanks!”
Her lips opened… but nothing left them. She just stared.
“No, babe, you’re not right in your mind,” Mal shook his head, kissing her forehead. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep it. Just let it sink in, and we’ll be fine- shoulda’ used that bloody condom, eh?” He laughed again, harder this time, trying to jostle her into laughing with him.
“M- Mal… how can you…?”
“What, babe?” Babe. Babe. Like a pig. He’d always wondered why girls liked guys calling them that. He shook her, grinning into her face, trying to show her. “What’s up?”
“How can you… say…?” She stopped, and swallowed. Hard. He watched the shadow move down her throat as her gullet tightened and relaxed. “Mal; you’re talking about our child.”
He felt a slow panic begin to prick him. “Wait, how long has-?”
“Three weeks… maybe four.”
Three weeks… maybe four…
Miranda was staring at him like… like he didn’t know what. He didn’t like it. Mal was certain she’d never looked at him like that before.
“C’mon, babe,” he said weakly, “I can’t. We can’t.”
“We’ve been sleeping together for over a year now,” Miranda said hollowly. “Why can’t we?”
“Well…” he shifted, “I mean… we’re not married. Dad’ll kill me for it. Public image, and all that. And… Mum, oh, you know Mum-”
“I know Mrs Trove,” Miranda repeated unsteadily. “She likes me.”
“Yeah,” Mal nodded, “but… you know.”
The lines around Miranda’s mouth tightened. “Yes?”
Mal couldn’t believe he had to spell this out to her. Hell, all she had to do was take a glance at the stupid cheap clothes she was wearing to work it out. All she had to do was look at her sister, their messy background- and their home in the estates-
“She likes you as a housekeeper, Miranda,” Mal said gently. “Just that. A housekeeper.” He was pretty pleased with himself, actually, for being able to sound just that gentle. He hadn’t thought he had it in him.
Cecelia used to say-
“That’s not true,” Miranda whispered, her dark eyes wide with alarm.
Ah. The power of denial. Never underestimate it. Nice little business trick his father used to blather about. On and on, the old man went. He never got tired of saying it.
“I- I’m carrying her grandchild,” Miranda’s speech was slow; hollow. “She… she wouldn’t…?”
“Cast you out? Call you a whöre; a liar?” His brow furrowed. “You’re… not a liar, are you…?”
“No, Mal!” God. That expression. That must be what heartbreak looked like. “How could you even- no! No! Why would you- no-”
Okay. He hadn’t meant that. He hadn’t really thought it. Miranda was a pretty upfront kinda gal. She came with baggage; but that didn’t concern Mal, because that baggage was far, far behind her, now. Back in Texas.
Miles and miles away. So that was fine.
Oh, Christ. She was crying again. He wished she would stop doing that. It looked awful. The tears were running down her cheek in fat, slithering trails, and snot was running thick and fast from her nostrils; dribbling down her lips. He’d never seen her like this before. She was calm, and collected. The only time he’d seen her anywhere close to this was when his idiot brother had walked in on the two of them.
God, Jacky’s expression.
To this day, he didn’t get why Miranda didn’t find it funny.
“Shut it,” he said stupidly after a few minutes had passed. She did look as though she was trying. “Miranda, I swear to God; shut up.”
Girls that cried scared Mal. Girls that cried scared most men. Men didn’t know what to say to them. It was their first fear when it came to dumping someone- what if she cries on me? See, that was why Mal used text.
Short. Simple. Easy.
A nice clean cut.
“Mal- sir, I’m sorry, I- I-”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he shook his head, “Miranda… just be quiet a second. Please,” he added as an afterthought.
“I’m trying-”
“Go away, then,” he said sharply. “Come back when you’re ready to be sensible. Swallow back those fúcking hormones and start acting your goddam age. Understood?”
She understood. She always did. She left.
Immediately, a wave of weakness washed over him, and Mal collapsed back onto the still warm bed.
Why?
Why did she want to keep it?
It was stupid. Mal didn’t… he didn’t… that was, he cared about her. But this was just a thing that they had. A child… a child was something permanent. Lasting.
He hadn’t been looking for permanence.
As per, Mal had just been looking for one thing.
“Being in love is a waste of time, Malcolm.”
Daniel Trove was sitting back, watching his teenage son wipe away hot tears from his cheeks. Like Mal watched Miranda now, Daniel’s face had been utterly blank. He’d told him to shut up. He’d told him to act his age.
“A waste. An utter waste. Only one thing women are good for- you got that?”
He’d gotten it.
Loud and clear.
One day, he’d supposed, he’d have to marry. Probably for the same reasons Dad did. For status. For money. Little Jacky had been surprised when they’d found out their dad was cheating on their mum.
But Jack was an idiot. Jack was a sentimental fool. Mal had seen the way he’d looked at that silly French girl he was going with-
That French girl.
Sometimes, Mal thought of her. He hadn’t liked her. He never knew why. It wasn’t… just him being a big brother. Just him joshing Jack about. He’d liked the sound of the other girl- the redhead- better. Something about that French girl, though, had been decidedly suspicious.
See. Miranda was good, because she was open, and simple. Sure, she’d the annoying family, but Mal didn’t mind that so much. The kids had learned pretty quickly Mal didn’t like to play, and when they came to visit, they just sorta hung about in a bunch. Sometimes, the eldest girl asked about Jack.
“She was very taken with your brother,” Kelly had laughed. “So was Lil’ Jack! I think they’re hoping he’ll be around-”
“I doubt he’s coming back.” Mal’s tone wasn’t supposed to be so sharp. Kelly’s eyebrows had flown upwards. “The guy hates me.”
She’d stopped, mouth open slightly. “Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t-”
“Yes. He does.” Why wasn’t that obvious to everyone but himself?
“I thought-” she’d glanced over her shoulder at Miranda, who could be seen cheerily bustling around the kitchen; moving pots and pans and flicking bubbles of Fairy Liquid at a delighted toddling Carl. “She said you were close.”
Mal had smiled grimly. “Emphasis on the were.”
Mal had to get dressed. He was going out today. Somewhere good. Somewhere business-related. His dad was going to introduce him to someone with a lot money. Mal was going to make a good impression. He may lack Jack’s loveable oafishness that seemed to charm Miranda and everyone else he met so, but Mal was confident, well-spoken, good-looking and had a wicked sense of humour.
That was, he knew how to be act.
Once upon a time, Mal felt certain that person he now pretended to be was real. Back when he was naïve. Back in the days he was still fool enough to fall in love.
Back when he flew in the face of his father- refused to join the business- dreamt of rugby and glory-
Back at Orchid Hill.
“Pathetic,” his father had called him.
Pathetic, he called himself.
Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.
Look at her, coming now, stupid girl. Her cheeks were dry now, but her eyes were still puffy. She’d swapped T-shirts- she must’ve dribbled on the last one- and it was a better one with a better colour. One Mal liked- it came low and hugged her curvy figure. Mal’s eyes followed her waist movement as she walked.
What would that look like in nine months?
Pathetic girl, was that a sniffle? At least she’d the decency to look ashamed of herself. The whöre. Probably wasn’t even his child. Probably was some other guy’s.
“You better, then?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes, sir,” she spoke calmly. Her black eyes were blank.
“Good.” He shifted back onto his feet, and pulled out his drawer, beginning to rifle for clothing.
“Sir, I washed and pressed your new suit. I left it hanging in the wardrobe for your meeting later.”
Oh.
He crossed the room, and swung his wardrobe door open. Sure enough, there it hung; deep black and expensive.
“What do you think?” he asked, picking it off the hanger and holding it up.
Her expression remained blank. “Wonderful, sir. Very professional.”
“Mm,” he grunted, and nodded at the bed. “Make it.”
“Yes, sir.” She worked quickly, her dark hands deftly tucking the sheets back into position. Once she had finished plumping the pillows, Mal re-crossed the room and set the suit down on the bed.
“I don’t care that you want to keep it.”
Miranda’s lips parted momentarily, but, sensibly, she closed them without making a single noise.
“We’re not going to keep it,” Mal’s voice sounded detached, even to him. “If we do, you’ll ruin me. You’ll ruin my reputation, and my father will cast us both out. We’ll be penniless. Not to mention it would half-kill my mother. Understood?”
A nod.
“So if you don’t fúcking-”
“Please,” she interrupted suddenly. Her eyes had closed and she looked like… he wasn’t sure. Like she had something stuck in her throat. “Please, sir. Don’t swear. Just… not now.”
For once, he listened. “Okay, Miranda.”
She pressed her lips together, nodding steadily. “Thank you. Sir.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Right, well- look. That thing in you… it wouldn’t be a good idea, anyway. I mean, it’s not like we’re in love-”
She flinched.
“- and let’s face it, we both know I can’t stand your family,” he chuckled as best he could. “And Mum and Dad- well, they wouldn’t approve.”
“And Jack?”
The mention of his brother’s name aloud, as always, shocked him. He tried to shake it off with a sneer. “Jacky? Hah! Like he’d care about any of this.”
“Y’all… y’all haven’t heard from the school, have you?”
His mouth closed and re-opened. “No. What?”
“Your mother just told me…” Miranda spoke slowly; carefully. “She just received word from Hoodham himself- and there’s a letter from Jack, to her, too. There’s been another battle.”
Mal always didn’t know quite how to react whenever he was reminded about Orchid Hill, and the Orchid War. Mostly, Mal pretended there wasn’t a war on.
Mostly, Mal pretended not to care.
“Oh. Right. Fine.” He shrugged.
“Jack led it.”
“What?” Mal’s eyebrows shot up, and he cackled. “So he kicked that… girl off off her throne, did he? Made Head, was he- ?”
“Madeleine Baudelaire, I believe, is her name, sir,” Miranda bowed her head respectfully. She pretended not to notice Mal’s flinch at the surname. “She was kidnapped by the enemy forces. Your mother told me… Jack is her second in command. He tried to save her.”
“And he did, of course,” Mal said jovially, “my little brother’s-”
“No. He didn’t.”
A flat, dull silence spread between them. It was better than the screaming silence of a few brief minutes earlier.
“Oh. Right.” Another shrug. “Well. He is an idiot.”
Miranda was chewing her lip. She looked like she was waiting for something. Apparently, she didn’t get it, because she inhaled slowly after a few moments and spoke, “He’s fine.”
Mal was looking away. “Who is?”
“Jack. Your brother. He’s fine.”
“Oh, ok,” Mal shrugged again. His shoulders were starting to hurt. “Good. I guess.”
“Mal?”
“Mm?”
“The… the baby?”
“Oh, yeah!” Mal shook his head. “Yeah, look- just get rid of it. I don’t want to know all the details. I’ll put some money into your account. Just take it, and get rid of it, and we’ll be fine.”
For a long time, Miranda stood there. He thought she must be fighting the urge to speak; to cry; to shout. To do something. Whatever the case, she did nothing. His eyes watched her through slits- warning her. Frightening her.
It was far too easy to frighten her. Pathetic girl.
That’s right, Mal. Don’t think. Pathetic girl. Pathetic.
“I’ll… get rid of it. Sir.”
“Good.” Good. She’d agreed. Thank God.
“I’ll get rid of it… today, sir, if you wish.”
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” he said airily, waving a hand. “Do what you like it.”
“Okay. Sir.” She bowed her head once more.
And left the room.
The silence was back. Not the nice, toneless, dull one.
The one that screamed.
“Mal.”
No.
“Mal.”
No.
“Answer me, Mal.”
“Do I have to?”
“Good enough.” The mattress sagged horribly as she sank down on the bed beside him. “Y’all need to get up.”
Again: “Do I have to?”
“Baby.”
“Bítch.”
“Mal,” her voice was already tired, but as always, it tensed slightly when he swore. “Don’t… just don’t.”
No.
Just no. He wasn’t in the mood for this- for her- not now. Miranda should know where to stick it- up, and as far up as she could fúcking go. Stupid bítch had no right to wake him-
“For God’s sake, Mal!” Her voice broke, and he sat up straight. She may as well have sent an electric volt straight through him. He stared in shock as the tears began to gush down her cheeks, thick and fast. Her whole beautiful face had crumpled, and now all he could see where the lines he’d never seen before. Shadows cast across her face he’d never thought existed.
Why was she crying?
Awkwardly, tentatively, Mal stretched out his arms and dragged her across the bed towards him. She came easily, practically crawling into his arms. Her chest heaved against him, and for a while, he sat in dumb confusion, and let her sob.
But she just kept sobbing. And sobbing.
Stop it, Miranda.
Just stop it.
“Miranda,” he shook her after a few minutes had passed, but her head- buried into his chest- shook itself. She was still too choked to speak, and her eyes, though closed, were swollen and puffy.
He tried again.
“Miranda, shut it.”
She only cried harder.
“Miranda- for God’s sake you goddam whöre, shut it!”
Oh.
Okay. He hadn’t meant it. But the problem was, when he swore, she thought he did. She froze.
She moved.
Mal felt like kicking himself.
“I’m sorry, Mal,” she croaked, her voice barely managing to force itself out. “I… I’ll get up. Your mother will be wondering where I am.”
“Miranda, I-”
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, sir.”
“Miranda!”
She was already halfway across the room, crouching down and reaching for her jeans. She looked back, her face a careful, controlled blank.
“Sir?”
He felt like kicking himself. Growling, he rolled over on his side and reached for the drawer, tugging it open roughly. His hand closed around the little tub, and he knew that from behind him, in spite of herself, Miranda was pulled irresistibly back towards him.
“I’ll get you water.”
“No thanks.”
“Mal, y’all-”
“I’ll eat it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “… you can’t eat it.”
“Effing can.”
“Mal.” Her voice shook again. Warningly.
Mal ducked his head. Between his fingers, he lifted one tiny pill and crushed it between his index finger and thumb, trickling the pale powder into his mouth. He forced himself to swallow, smacking his lips.
“Y’all okay?”
“Yes, Miranda,” Mal’s eyes shot back to her, “I am fine.”
She closed her dark eyes, and for a couple of seconds, her chest heaved again as she tried to control the sobs that were still attempting to overthrow her.
“What is it?” Mal leaned backwards, pushing himself up on the pillows. They stank of sweat and sex. Mainly sex. “What, Miranda?”
“Mal…”
“Is it Kelly?”
“Kelly?” she looked quite surprised at the mention of her sister. As if she thought Mal didn’t know her name. “No… why would there be something about Kelly?”
Clearly, Miranda wasn’t aware of just how much she talked about her family.
“I don’t know,” Mal shrugged. His tongue was starting to burn. He licked his lips tentatively, trying to get the taste to go away. “I was just… guessing. What’s up?”
She looked at him for a long, long moment. “I…”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re not gonna fúcking tell me-”
“Malcolm, I’m pregnant.”
The silence screamed.
“You’re what?”
“Oh, no, oh God,” her knees seemed to give out beneath her, and Mal couldn’t move- didn’t move- to catch her. She collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily and shaking.
Shaking horribly.
“Oh.”
“Oh!” she echoed him, her voice growing into a pleading wail. “Oh! Oh, you say, oh, Mal, oh-”
“Calm down.”
“Calm?” she pressed her hands against the carpet, and, with visible effort, forced herself to look up. “I… okay. I’m calm.”
Mal may be an idiot; but he knew how to spot a liar.
“Cut the cra- rubbish. Now- calm down properly. Just… get a grip. It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“We’re fine,” she echoed.
Silence again. Terrible, screaming, roaring silence. Mal spread his legs, breathing heavily as he tried to force them to move. He got up, steadily, slowly, dragging himself upwards into a standing up position. He looked down at Miranda, who was staring at the bed like she’d never seen one before in her life. She looked a mess. She looked pathetic.
That’s right. Pathetic. Don’t think, Mal.
“Get up.” His voice was a monotonic order.
She got up. Her arms curled around her gorgeous, rich dark stomach. The short T-shirt she wore barely covered it. Her stomach was deliciously flat. Unbidden, strong and awful, a swollen image of it flashed before him; fat, heavy and bloated.
No.
“Come here.”
She complied.
Once she’d reached the other side of him, Mal’s hands firmly clamped her shoulders. He could feel her skin burning through the thin material of her T-shirt. Its pale pink colour didn’t suit her properly. It wasn’t bold or bright enough. Mal knew she wore it to annoy him.
“Okay,” Mal tried to smile as best he could. She looked back; eyes wide. Black. Terrified.
“It’s okay,” Mal nodded to himself, “we’ll pay for it. We’ll get it done, and before you know it, this’ll all be sorted in a jiffy. I’ll pay. I promise it’ll be okay.”
“Oh,” real tears swelled up in her eyes again, and a smile split her lips wide open. “Oh, Mal, you- I mean, y’all… y’all… you’re ready for this? You’re not- forgive me… I thought… really?” Quickly, suddenly, she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his in a hot, hasty kiss.
“Yeah,” Mal laughed, prising her arms away, “it’s fine. I won’t send you to one of those cheap back-street joints. There are some really good abortion clinics out there- I can get the number and-”
“No!” She dragged her arms from his grip, just as suddenly as she’d thrown herself into it. “No- wait, what? Mal, I-”
“Don’t sweat it, babe,” Mal flashed her his best grin, “consider it done. We’ll get that thing out of you, and-”
“Mal, I wanna keep the baby.”
Dámn, fúcking silence.
“What?”
“Mal, I… I’m keeping it… I thought you… just there… thought y’all meant-?”
“Wait- what? No!” his eyes opened wide. She’d thought… hang on… she’d actually believed…? “No!” Suddenly, strangely, Mal began to laugh, the sound reverberating strangely around his chest. “You’re kidding! You thought I wanted to keep that thing? God, no- Carl’s bad enough, thanks!”
Her lips opened… but nothing left them. She just stared.
“No, babe, you’re not right in your mind,” Mal shook his head, kissing her forehead. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep it. Just let it sink in, and we’ll be fine- shoulda’ used that bloody condom, eh?” He laughed again, harder this time, trying to jostle her into laughing with him.
“M- Mal… how can you…?”
“What, babe?” Babe. Babe. Like a pig. He’d always wondered why girls liked guys calling them that. He shook her, grinning into her face, trying to show her. “What’s up?”
“How can you… say…?” She stopped, and swallowed. Hard. He watched the shadow move down her throat as her gullet tightened and relaxed. “Mal; you’re talking about our child.”
He felt a slow panic begin to prick him. “Wait, how long has-?”
“Three weeks… maybe four.”
Three weeks… maybe four…
Miranda was staring at him like… like he didn’t know what. He didn’t like it. Mal was certain she’d never looked at him like that before.
“C’mon, babe,” he said weakly, “I can’t. We can’t.”
“We’ve been sleeping together for over a year now,” Miranda said hollowly. “Why can’t we?”
“Well…” he shifted, “I mean… we’re not married. Dad’ll kill me for it. Public image, and all that. And… Mum, oh, you know Mum-”
“I know Mrs Trove,” Miranda repeated unsteadily. “She likes me.”
“Yeah,” Mal nodded, “but… you know.”
The lines around Miranda’s mouth tightened. “Yes?”
Mal couldn’t believe he had to spell this out to her. Hell, all she had to do was take a glance at the stupid cheap clothes she was wearing to work it out. All she had to do was look at her sister, their messy background- and their home in the estates-
“She likes you as a housekeeper, Miranda,” Mal said gently. “Just that. A housekeeper.” He was pretty pleased with himself, actually, for being able to sound just that gentle. He hadn’t thought he had it in him.
Cecelia used to say-
“That’s not true,” Miranda whispered, her dark eyes wide with alarm.
Ah. The power of denial. Never underestimate it. Nice little business trick his father used to blather about. On and on, the old man went. He never got tired of saying it.
“I- I’m carrying her grandchild,” Miranda’s speech was slow; hollow. “She… she wouldn’t…?”
“Cast you out? Call you a whöre; a liar?” His brow furrowed. “You’re… not a liar, are you…?”
“No, Mal!” God. That expression. That must be what heartbreak looked like. “How could you even- no! No! Why would you- no-”
Okay. He hadn’t meant that. He hadn’t really thought it. Miranda was a pretty upfront kinda gal. She came with baggage; but that didn’t concern Mal, because that baggage was far, far behind her, now. Back in Texas.
Miles and miles away. So that was fine.
Oh, Christ. She was crying again. He wished she would stop doing that. It looked awful. The tears were running down her cheek in fat, slithering trails, and snot was running thick and fast from her nostrils; dribbling down her lips. He’d never seen her like this before. She was calm, and collected. The only time he’d seen her anywhere close to this was when his idiot brother had walked in on the two of them.
God, Jacky’s expression.
To this day, he didn’t get why Miranda didn’t find it funny.
“Shut it,” he said stupidly after a few minutes had passed. She did look as though she was trying. “Miranda, I swear to God; shut up.”
Girls that cried scared Mal. Girls that cried scared most men. Men didn’t know what to say to them. It was their first fear when it came to dumping someone- what if she cries on me? See, that was why Mal used text.
Short. Simple. Easy.
A nice clean cut.
“Mal- sir, I’m sorry, I- I-”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he shook his head, “Miranda… just be quiet a second. Please,” he added as an afterthought.
“I’m trying-”
“Go away, then,” he said sharply. “Come back when you’re ready to be sensible. Swallow back those fúcking hormones and start acting your goddam age. Understood?”
She understood. She always did. She left.
Immediately, a wave of weakness washed over him, and Mal collapsed back onto the still warm bed.
Why?
Why did she want to keep it?
It was stupid. Mal didn’t… he didn’t… that was, he cared about her. But this was just a thing that they had. A child… a child was something permanent. Lasting.
He hadn’t been looking for permanence.
As per, Mal had just been looking for one thing.
“Being in love is a waste of time, Malcolm.”
Daniel Trove was sitting back, watching his teenage son wipe away hot tears from his cheeks. Like Mal watched Miranda now, Daniel’s face had been utterly blank. He’d told him to shut up. He’d told him to act his age.
“A waste. An utter waste. Only one thing women are good for- you got that?”
He’d gotten it.
Loud and clear.
One day, he’d supposed, he’d have to marry. Probably for the same reasons Dad did. For status. For money. Little Jacky had been surprised when they’d found out their dad was cheating on their mum.
But Jack was an idiot. Jack was a sentimental fool. Mal had seen the way he’d looked at that silly French girl he was going with-
That French girl.
Sometimes, Mal thought of her. He hadn’t liked her. He never knew why. It wasn’t… just him being a big brother. Just him joshing Jack about. He’d liked the sound of the other girl- the redhead- better. Something about that French girl, though, had been decidedly suspicious.
See. Miranda was good, because she was open, and simple. Sure, she’d the annoying family, but Mal didn’t mind that so much. The kids had learned pretty quickly Mal didn’t like to play, and when they came to visit, they just sorta hung about in a bunch. Sometimes, the eldest girl asked about Jack.
“She was very taken with your brother,” Kelly had laughed. “So was Lil’ Jack! I think they’re hoping he’ll be around-”
“I doubt he’s coming back.” Mal’s tone wasn’t supposed to be so sharp. Kelly’s eyebrows had flown upwards. “The guy hates me.”
She’d stopped, mouth open slightly. “Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t-”
“Yes. He does.” Why wasn’t that obvious to everyone but himself?
“I thought-” she’d glanced over her shoulder at Miranda, who could be seen cheerily bustling around the kitchen; moving pots and pans and flicking bubbles of Fairy Liquid at a delighted toddling Carl. “She said you were close.”
Mal had smiled grimly. “Emphasis on the were.”
Mal had to get dressed. He was going out today. Somewhere good. Somewhere business-related. His dad was going to introduce him to someone with a lot money. Mal was going to make a good impression. He may lack Jack’s loveable oafishness that seemed to charm Miranda and everyone else he met so, but Mal was confident, well-spoken, good-looking and had a wicked sense of humour.
That was, he knew how to be act.
Once upon a time, Mal felt certain that person he now pretended to be was real. Back when he was naïve. Back in the days he was still fool enough to fall in love.
Back when he flew in the face of his father- refused to join the business- dreamt of rugby and glory-
Back at Orchid Hill.
“Pathetic,” his father had called him.
Pathetic, he called himself.
Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.
Look at her, coming now, stupid girl. Her cheeks were dry now, but her eyes were still puffy. She’d swapped T-shirts- she must’ve dribbled on the last one- and it was a better one with a better colour. One Mal liked- it came low and hugged her curvy figure. Mal’s eyes followed her waist movement as she walked.
What would that look like in nine months?
Pathetic girl, was that a sniffle? At least she’d the decency to look ashamed of herself. The whöre. Probably wasn’t even his child. Probably was some other guy’s.
“You better, then?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes, sir,” she spoke calmly. Her black eyes were blank.
“Good.” He shifted back onto his feet, and pulled out his drawer, beginning to rifle for clothing.
“Sir, I washed and pressed your new suit. I left it hanging in the wardrobe for your meeting later.”
Oh.
He crossed the room, and swung his wardrobe door open. Sure enough, there it hung; deep black and expensive.
“What do you think?” he asked, picking it off the hanger and holding it up.
Her expression remained blank. “Wonderful, sir. Very professional.”
“Mm,” he grunted, and nodded at the bed. “Make it.”
“Yes, sir.” She worked quickly, her dark hands deftly tucking the sheets back into position. Once she had finished plumping the pillows, Mal re-crossed the room and set the suit down on the bed.
“I don’t care that you want to keep it.”
Miranda’s lips parted momentarily, but, sensibly, she closed them without making a single noise.
“We’re not going to keep it,” Mal’s voice sounded detached, even to him. “If we do, you’ll ruin me. You’ll ruin my reputation, and my father will cast us both out. We’ll be penniless. Not to mention it would half-kill my mother. Understood?”
A nod.
“So if you don’t fúcking-”
“Please,” she interrupted suddenly. Her eyes had closed and she looked like… he wasn’t sure. Like she had something stuck in her throat. “Please, sir. Don’t swear. Just… not now.”
For once, he listened. “Okay, Miranda.”
She pressed her lips together, nodding steadily. “Thank you. Sir.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Right, well- look. That thing in you… it wouldn’t be a good idea, anyway. I mean, it’s not like we’re in love-”
She flinched.
“- and let’s face it, we both know I can’t stand your family,” he chuckled as best he could. “And Mum and Dad- well, they wouldn’t approve.”
“And Jack?”
The mention of his brother’s name aloud, as always, shocked him. He tried to shake it off with a sneer. “Jacky? Hah! Like he’d care about any of this.”
“Y’all… y’all haven’t heard from the school, have you?”
His mouth closed and re-opened. “No. What?”
“Your mother just told me…” Miranda spoke slowly; carefully. “She just received word from Hoodham himself- and there’s a letter from Jack, to her, too. There’s been another battle.”
Mal always didn’t know quite how to react whenever he was reminded about Orchid Hill, and the Orchid War. Mostly, Mal pretended there wasn’t a war on.
Mostly, Mal pretended not to care.
“Oh. Right. Fine.” He shrugged.
“Jack led it.”
“What?” Mal’s eyebrows shot up, and he cackled. “So he kicked that… girl off off her throne, did he? Made Head, was he- ?”
“Madeleine Baudelaire, I believe, is her name, sir,” Miranda bowed her head respectfully. She pretended not to notice Mal’s flinch at the surname. “She was kidnapped by the enemy forces. Your mother told me… Jack is her second in command. He tried to save her.”
“And he did, of course,” Mal said jovially, “my little brother’s-”
“No. He didn’t.”
A flat, dull silence spread between them. It was better than the screaming silence of a few brief minutes earlier.
“Oh. Right.” Another shrug. “Well. He is an idiot.”
Miranda was chewing her lip. She looked like she was waiting for something. Apparently, she didn’t get it, because she inhaled slowly after a few moments and spoke, “He’s fine.”
Mal was looking away. “Who is?”
“Jack. Your brother. He’s fine.”
“Oh, ok,” Mal shrugged again. His shoulders were starting to hurt. “Good. I guess.”
“Mal?”
“Mm?”
“The… the baby?”
“Oh, yeah!” Mal shook his head. “Yeah, look- just get rid of it. I don’t want to know all the details. I’ll put some money into your account. Just take it, and get rid of it, and we’ll be fine.”
For a long time, Miranda stood there. He thought she must be fighting the urge to speak; to cry; to shout. To do something. Whatever the case, she did nothing. His eyes watched her through slits- warning her. Frightening her.
It was far too easy to frighten her. Pathetic girl.
That’s right, Mal. Don’t think. Pathetic girl. Pathetic.
“I’ll… get rid of it. Sir.”
“Good.” Good. She’d agreed. Thank God.
“I’ll get rid of it… today, sir, if you wish.”
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” he said airily, waving a hand. “Do what you like it.”
“Okay. Sir.” She bowed her head once more.
And left the room.
The silence was back. Not the nice, toneless, dull one.
The one that screamed.
