Sleeping with the Frenemy Page 3

  Taking her sunglasses out of her glass case, she pulled them over her eyes and walked over to a table with a large white umbrella that blocked the bright desert sun. Even before she could sit, Teresa appeared with a carafe of coffee and a bowl of yogurt and mixed fruit.

  Genevieve settled back in her chair as Teresa laid out everything before her. She left quickly, and as Genevieve poured her coffee, Patty came over to her with her backpack.

  “Sorry to intrude on your breakfast, but Paul and I are about finished here.” Patty smiled, her sandy brown braid swinging over her shoulder.

  Genevieve glanced down at Patty's chest pushing against her T-shirt. Her large nipples poked through, and she couldn't help but wonder if Patty was excited to see her or perhaps she forgot to wear a bra or bathing suit with enough padding. Either way, it was an enjoyable sight, much like Deborah's problem with her own nipples that never stayed dormant for too long.

  “As always, I appreciate the job you and Paul do. Teresa will give you both your pay before you leave. It's in cash, so you don't have to worry about going to the bank. I put in a little extra as well.”

  “Thanks a bunch, Mrs. Murnay!” Patty hopped slightly in her sneakers and Genevieve nodded in response as she sipped her coffee. Ah yes, the teen was nice to look at, but nothing much more. Too young—too innocent and too unbearably annoying.

  “Oh, before I forget, could you give these back to Debbie?” Patty took out three paperbacks and placed them on the table.

  “Debbie?” Genevieve asked softly, lowering her cup onto her saucer with a slight crack.

  Oblivious to the sudden change in her demeanor, Patty nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Mrs. M said I could call her Debbie. Anyways, Debbie's been letting me borrow books from your library since I barely can get to the one in town. She gives me two or three books when I come to clean the pool and we end up discussing what I've read.”

  “Isn't…that's nice.” Genevieve breathed loudly through her nose and clenched her spoon in a tight grip.

  “I hope you don't mind—”

  “No, not at all. It just came as a surprise since Debbie never told me.” Genevieve pointed to the chair next to her and gave the teen a tranquil smile. “Since your brother is still cleaning up, why don't you sit and have a cup of coffee with me and tell me what you and Debbie have talked about?”

  * * * *

  The cramping in her calf woke Deborah out of a sound sleep. She sat up in bed and rubbed the sore muscle, pushing her snarled hair away from her face. Slowly the pain in her leg subsided and other aches and pains began to make their notice. She shifted her legs and winced, the inside of her thighs sore and tender, as well as her lower back and inside of her ass.

  “What a crazy night,” Deborah whispered to the empty room and groaned, thinking back to all Genevieve had done to her. The late-night hours were a blur, and she massaged the sides of her head, still woozy. She stood slowly, holding onto the bed frame as the room tilted. With a back bend that made her moan, she sluggishly made her way into the bathroom to relieve her bladder and drink some cold water to ease her dry mouth and sore throat.

  After finishing with the toilet, she splashed some lukewarm water on her face, longing for a hot shower to loosen her muscles. But first she'd join Genevieve for breakfast before washing away the stickiness of last night's lovemaking—or rather the raunchy sex they had together.

  Deborah wiped her face with a white washcloth, eyeing it, wondering why Genevieve loved the color white so much, from the towels to their bed and even the carpet. She'd be wearing her white silk robe and slippers. For some reason, she wore the complete opposite color last night: a tight black leather number that brought a dominatrix to mind.

  Shaking that thought away, she opened the vanity mirror and took out a clip to pull back her hair that needed to be brushed. Of course she'd have to wait to do that, since Gen enjoyed brushing her hair after they took their morning shower, right before yoga at one o'clock.

  Deborah gave herself a quick glance in the mirror. Bright red splotches covered her chest and parts of her neck, including a very obvious black-and-blue bruise near her collarbone left by Genevieve. Deborah never got the chance to return the favor last night, something she would remedy, perhaps when they both relaxed in the sauna before dinner. Genevieve would be spread out naked on one of the wooden benches, her pink pussy lips on display, and she lying between her thighs, sucking on the inside of her leg, or perhaps her breasts where Deborah would be the one to leave a mark this time—

  The ding of the clock on the wall in the bedroom pulled her out of her daydream and she walked over to the dresser and took out a matching rose-colored cotton pajama set. On Mondays, she always wore some type of red or variation on the color, right down to her underwear. She put on her outfit, twisting from side to side, enjoying the cracking of her bones. She spotted the black dildo and anal instrument lying on the bed next to the half empty bottle of lubrication, as well as Gen's gift that still remained unopened. She grabbed the sex toys and threw them in the goody drawer. She didn't want Teresa embarrassed when she came up later in the day to set the room right. Later on she'd clean them for the next time they would be used. The small jewelry box went in the bottom drawer, until the right moment when she could give Gen her gift.

  As she walked down the hall, a soft sigh left her mouth as her back and thighs stiffened. She stopped by the window, where Patty talked to her brother in the driveway.

  Deborah smiled down at the twins, and when Patty glanced up and waved up at her, she did the same. She always enjoyed her talks with the sweet girl about books and school, loving the advice she gave Patty on her studies.

  Whistling softly, Deborah walked down the stairs and turned down the other hallway to go into the library. There she would find a few more books to give Patty the next time she came to clean the pool.

  A small pile of hardcover books sat on a desk. Her eyes brightened upon picking up a copy of work by the poet e.e. cummings she'd read when she was in high school. She was so involved in reading she barely heard the library door close.

  Deborah turned when she felt she was no longer alone in the room and glanced up at Genevieve, who wore her white satin robe tied with a matching sash around her waist. Deborah curled her toes in the rug as Genevieve walked over wearing her white slippers that showed off her red-painted toes.

  “Hello, Mrs. Murnay. You look well this wonderful Monday morning.” Deborah flashed a grin as she closed the book.

  “When I first woke up this morning, I thought the same,” Gen said softly and sauntered over to the other side of the desk. She tapped one of the books, then rested her hand on top of a silver paperweight shaped like a globe.

  Deborah took a step back, holding a book up against her chest. “Is something wrong?”

  “Why would you think anything is wrong? Do I look upset?” Gen asked calmly and lifted up the paperweight.

  “I don't know, it's just that you look…displeased. Did you hear bad news?” Deborah asked carefully. Goose bumps rose on her arms and the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

  Genevieve snorted and her lips twisted in a very ugly way. “Displeased? Why would you think that? As for news, I've heard you have a new friend and failed to inform me of the fact.”

  “Fr-friend? I don't know what you're—”

  “Yes, a fr-friend, Debbie.” Gen pronounced her name with such venom in her voice that Deborah backed away.

  “Um, who do you mean? You know everyone I—”

  “Just shut up for a moment and cease your stuttering,” Gen barked, moving the paperweight back in forth in her hands.

  Oh please, don't… Deborah's stomach turned and she was almost up against one of the stacks when Gen released a loud laugh.

  “Imagine my surprise when that twit Patty told me how you lend her books from my library, very expensive first-edition copies, and how you two had more than a few friendly chats together. Why, even allowing her inside our home, wh
ere you both were enclosed in this room for almost a half hour at a given time.”

  “Gen, nothing happened other than Patty borrowing the books. What's the harm?” Deborah asked softly, trying to keep the tremors out of her voice.

  “The harm?” Gen bellowed, causing Deborah to flinch. “Are you that stupid or don't care what we have? I know you want to fuck the little airheaded slut and probably have right under my nose!”

  “That's not true at all! You're jealous—”

  Gen screamed and the paperweight flew at Deborah's head.

  Deborah ducked, but nearly not fast enough, and the rotund missile struck her on the side of her head. She cried out, pressing her palm over where she was hit, when Gen rushed over and backhanded her across the face. Deborah went down, falling against one of the stacks, causing books to tumble on top of her. She held up her hands to try to cover her face. She landed on her side and rolled into a ball as Gen grabbed hold of her by the hair and slapped her again.

  “You little tramp! After all I've given you. How dare you go behind my back and fuck another cunt!” Gen screamed like a banshee and rained punches down on Deborah's head.

  Deborah moaned and sobbed, trying to talk through her tears, but couldn't find the words, her lips numb as Genevieve continued to hit her. And when Genevieve punched her low in her stomach, Deborah gasped over the loss of air and hacked deep in her throat as she choked.

  She continued to sob softly as Genevieve's rage finally died down. Her harsh, painful gasps filled the room and she flinched when a glob of something wet dripped down her cheek. Genevieve had spit on her.

  Stop. No more, Deborah mouthed around her arms that were covering her head, and kept her eyes shut as she heard Genevieve rise to her feet. Gen stood over her, her breathing coming through very clear as Deborah waited for the next attack.

  “I've decided to cancel our yoga class and instead will go into town for a massage. You will clean up the mess in here and in our bedroom without the aid of Teresa. I expect those rooms to be neat and orderly by the time I return. Do you understand?” Gen asked in a very soft voice.

  Deborah nodded and whimpered “yes” in response to her wife's orders.

  “Good. Now get off the floor. It's embarrassing. You always overreact when we have one of our arguments,” Genevieve said in disgust, and as Deborah slowly lifted up on her shaking elbows, Gen opened the door and left.

  Sometime later, Deborah sat up and stared at the open doorway. After she heard the distant clicking of heels on the marble floor, some muted conversation, then the sound of a car driving away, she rose to her feet. She went over the leather desk chair and slowly lowered her aching body in the seat, holding her head in her hands as the room spun around her.

  She wiped her wet eyes. The side of her hand came away with blood. When she fingered her bottom lip, it stung and more blood covered her skin. Her stomach throbbed and the side of her head hurt.

  At least Gen didn't sprain my wrist this time. Deborah rotated her left arm and stiffened from the soreness there. Last month when they had one of their “arguments,” Gen grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back to the point where her shoulder almost popped. Eight months before that, Gen stomped on her arm and Deborah had to wear an arm brace for a few months.

  After the feeling of vertigo left, Deborah rose, her back cracking, making her almost fall to her knees. She bit her lip and swallowed a cry, walking slowly to the middle of the room and viewing all the destruction Gen had created.

  “Mrs. Murnay, I'll clean up here. Go take a hot shower, and when you have washed up, I'll help you clean your room and make you brunch.” Teresa stood in the doorway, twisting her hands together.

  “Please don't, Teresa. If Genevieve finds out, we'll have another…argument and she may fire you,” Deborah said, and when she went over to pick up the paperweight on the floor, she almost fell back down in pain.

  “Senora, please, you'll hurt yourself.” Teresa came over and took Deborah's arm.

  Deborah's lips trembled and tears filled her eyes once again. “Perhaps I should take a shower first to loosen these stiff muscles of mine. Then if you have time, maybe you can help me straighten up in here and in the bedroom?”

  “Of course. Mrs. Murnay doesn't have to know. If she's asks, I simply say no.” Teresa patted her arm and led her out of the room.

  “You're a good friend, Teresa. If not for you and Gilberto, I'm afraid I'd be…” Deborah broke off to keep her tears in check as she and Teresa climbed the stairs up to her room.

  Teresa murmured soft, comforting words in her native language and made Deborah sit on the bed while she turned on the shower. When she came out with a big, fluffy towel, Deborah took off her pajamas, wincing as she wrapped the towel around her body and shuffled into the bathroom.

  She dropped the towel and climbed into the large shower stall, the stream of hot water raining over her abused body. Shakes took over Deborah's body and she fell down to the tile floor, crying loudly and rocking, wishing she was dead.

  Chapter Four

  When Deborah finished her shower, she went through the motions of getting ready for when Genevieve returned from town. She was due to arrive shortly, or so she had been told by Teresa when Gilberto called to say they were on their way back.

  She quickly finished putting on her makeup, although the cover-up didn't hide the small gash on the right side of her head that almost matched the older, faded scar above it she received last year when Genevieve had accused her of cheating with a neighbor. As she swiped on her coral-colored lipstick, her split bottom lip swelled and continued to lightly bleed even after she put pressure on it. For the next few days she'd be stuck on the property since Genevieve would never allow her to go out in public after an argument like this one.

  Stepping gingerly into the walk-in closet, Deborah flinched as her muscles tightened and she wheezed from shortness of breath. Her clothes and shoes on the left, across from Genevieve's own wardrobe, were all lined up by color coordination to denote each day of the week. Yet another rule of Gen's. For each day she was to wear the color Gen had decided long ago for her. Every color of the rainbow was there except purple. Gen hated the color, while Deborah adored it. She hadn't worn the color since she married Gen.

  How did I get to this? Deborah shook her head sadly as she put back on her rose pajama set, wishing she could run to her mother and hide in her arms. But her mother lay dying, hours away, and only Gen could give her the permission to go see her.

  Deborah glanced down at her fisted hands and relaxed them. She combed her fingers through her hair, wanting to smash something expensive of Gen's against the wall. Instead she took a calming breath, circling the bedroom Teresa had put back in order. After pacing for a few minutes, she finally left to eat something before Genevieve came back.

  Her appetite was lacking, but she'd try her best to eat. Already she was too thin—or fit, as Gen called her. Deborah longed to go back to the days when she could eat whatever she wanted, perfectly fine with having the extra weight on her frame, since she looked better with curves than none at all.

  She made a quick stop at the library that was back to the way it was before their “argument.” Always an argument, never a fight or a beating from Gen. Oh no, no—God forbid she confronted Gen and threatened to leave her again. This time she'd only leave the house in a body bag.

  “Senora, please come out on the veranda. It's a beautiful day!” Teresa called out from the foyer, and when Deborah walked into the kitchen, Teresa took hold of her arm.

  “Teresa, I'm not an invalid. I'll be all right. You know how Genevieve gets when she loses her temper,” Deborah explained, trying to keep her voice light, as if she hadn't been beaten.

  Teresa raised an eyebrow when Deborah smiled and winced from her bruised lip. They walked out on the patio and over to one of the tables facing the back of the property that had a perfect view of the mountains. Deborah sat and tilted her head back, breathing in the dry Nevada air, taki
ng a moment to reflect how lucky she was to be alive.

  If only Genevieve stopped hurting her, then all would be perfect.

  Deborah's mouth trembled as she thought of her wife, who she did still love very much, but whom she could no longer stay with.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip, the strong dark taste filling her mouth as she planned in her head. Hopefully she'd be able to pull Gilberto aside at one point in the day, when Genevieve was indisposed. He was her only hope.

  Deborah went still and stared straight ahead upon hearing Gen's voice behind her. This time she wouldn't jump up and welcome her with open arms as she did every day.

  The clicking of Genevieve's heels on the pavement burned Deborah's ears as she waited for another eruption of rage to be directed at her. When Genevieve came to her side, Deborah didn't greet her, but instead tilted her head down to stare at her lap.

  Genevieve's hand fell lightly on top of her hair and pulled through her strands, her touch oddly comforting. Deborah stopped from grabbing Gen's palm and laying it over her cheek.

  Neither broke the silence. Deborah finally relented. “Did you finish your errands in town?”

  Genevieve rested her chin on Deborah's shoulder, her arm coming around to hold her close. “Yes. My massage was very relaxing and I bought a few items for the house, including a little something for you.”

  Deborah nodded slightly and pressed her lips together to stop from asking what that little something could be. Genevieve kissed her on the cheek and took hold of her hand. “Come with me and I'll show you what I bought.”

  Deborah left her uneaten bowl of oatmeal and blueberries, her weekday breakfast that never changed—another rule set by Genevieve—and allowed herself to be led back into the house. Gen had a soft, dazed look on her face, most likely from one too many Bloody Marys or mimosas she drank at the day spa.