Chapter Twelve
I keep a small bronze hand mirror in front of Tammy’s still form.
Her breath ghosts across the glass. Her lips are parted, and we made small holes where her nostrils are.
We gave her some water and porridge yesterday.
The idea that her body is still alive, waging a war; while it’s cruelly unaware that the fight is already lost, is intoxicating.
It’s like watching someone drown in shallow water, unable to give their withering hope, the wings it needs to save themselves from the inevitable—death.
I grab my camera and circle her. Hunting her imprisoned body to capture the despair that exudes from her. It’s so palpable I can almost smell it. She’s still on the table, her eyes darting to me.
“I wish you could see how beautiful you look,” I say dreamily, while I play with some of her greasy strands of hair.
I arrange them to frame her waxy face. Her eyes are fixated on me as she stares at me with dread.
Lost in my own mind, I don’t register Jasper coming in, nor the extra pair of footsteps.
His arms snake around my waist, and I almost drop the camera on top of Tammy. It’s his hand that catches it with ease. Startled, I turn in his embrace, my heart pounding relentlessly against my ribcage.
“Drifting off, were we, Darling?” He asks with a light chuckle. He brushes his lips against mine and lets me go, giving me the camera.
“I didn’t hear you,” I murmur.
My eyes fall on the fresh flowers in Marvin’s arms. His gaze is void of emotion; he just stands there, holding a bunch of grave bouquets wrapped in black paper.
Each petal looks silken, as if it were cut from its stem early in the morning.
I’ve always found flowers fitting to be placed on a grave, despite the irony.
A life taken to comfort death. The moment it's taken from its root, decay silently sets in.
Our watering of flowers is similar to embalming the dead.
A frail attempt to stop the rot, to preserve the illusion of life, but in the end, none of us can stop the slip toward it.
Petals will curl inward, and cheeks will hollow. In that sense, they are each other's fitting companions as they go to ruin.
Jasper’s eyes linger on me, trying to find a way into my mind, to decipher where my thoughts are wandering off to.
“Sorry,” I whisper, meeting his concerned gaze. “I was realizing how fitting flowers are, as companions to the dead.”
He smiles gently and cups my face. “Never say sorry, Starling. I was just curious where your mind drifted off to.”
An uncomfortable cough breaks our intimate moment, Marvin standing there, his tight grip on the paper wrinkling it.
“Sir, where would you like me to place them?” he asks Jasper.
He gestures to the wall, barely giving him a glance, his attention solely focused on me. “You can take some of the buckets, fill them with water, and put them there, thanks.”
“So, more surprises, huh?” I say.
“I figured you might want to add some fresh flowers to your photos as well. I didn’t know if you wanted decay only,” he says with a smirk.
Marvin scrapes his throat once more to attract Jasper’s attention, and I can’t help but feel annoyed by it.
He senses it immediately, my irritation of having Marvin in our intimate space; his presence in general is something I haven’t made peace with yet.
Not after the strange glances from several days ago.
Jasper turns to Marvin, waiting for him to speak.
“The flowers are arranged, Sir… Is there anything else I can… help with?”
“Yes, please help me move the girl into the casket,” he says.
Without a word, he removes the lid of the wooden tomb, then Marvin follows after Jasper.
They carry her in carefully, their pace is slow so as to not break the wax, a living statue in their arms. I nervously chew the inside of my cheek until I taste the familiar copper flavor, which soothes my nerves a little.
If they drop her, I’ll have to redo my work, and despite the joy I've had working on her, I don’t want to do it again.
The way the wax has formed around her curves makes her look like perfection.
Once she’s settled, Marvin asks again if there’s anything else Jasper needs assistance with.
“No, this was all. Thank you. Mind if you find your way out by yourself?”
“Of course not, Sir.”
With those words, he leaves, and I instantly feel the air becoming less dense, and I inhale dramatically.
I shove away my erratic feelings and focus on Tammy.
I position clothing over her skin, making it appear as if she’s wearing it.
I grab some stems with gnarly-looking leaves and arrange them around her face, forming a halo.
Her eyes snap from the plant, to my hands and back.
She’s restless, her emotions in turmoil behind her gaze, but she’s unable to free herself from her prison, let alone speak.
I add some Baby’s breath; the airy flower creates a botanical cloud atop the halo.
I finish the arrangement with deep red roses and white lilies.
I hum from excitement, stepping back to take in her beauty.
“Close your eyes, pretty girl,” I say. “If you don’t, I’ll be forced to glue them tight,” I threaten, when she doesn’t obey me instantly. She shuts her eyes, her long lashes meeting the wax on her face. She reminds me of my favorite photograph, the young girl at peace.
I begin to snap pictures under Jasper’s watchful glance, his presence hovering nearby. After a few minutes, he steps behind me, his lips finding my neck as I try to concentrate. His warmth is a blanket; I never want to peel from my body, feeling his skin on mine is the only validation I need.
“I don’t want to disturb you. I just find it hard to stay away from you,” he murmurs.
I lean into him, the camera still in my hands as I shoot more pictures. “Then stay close to me,” I whisper back, as his hands slide between my legs.
“Keep shooting, Starling. This is me being close to you, taking your invite,” he says. I can hear the mischievous grin as he speaks.
I obey, trying to focus.
The constant movement of her eyeballs underneath her eyelids is driving me crazy.
It’s distracting me, marbles that keep rolling from left to right.
I want to concentrate on the image I envision, but she makes it impossible for me.
I whisper to Jasper that I need the superglue, and he reluctantly lets me go to grab it for me.
The glue in my hand, I bend over, and Tammy still has her eyes shut.
I smile at her; the hope she clings to is admirable.
I squeeze the small tube and watch as the clear fluid drips onto the thin skin.
It spreads like molasses, finding its way between the black lashes.
Instinctively, she blinks, allowing it to attach itself to the waterline.
Within a few seconds, she’s no longer able to blink as the glue dries, securing her eyelids.
She groans loudly, from the stinging sensation as the fluid burns itself into her corneas.
As Tammy is processing her pain, Jasper’s fingers have found my clitoris, and he’s rubbing me in a rhythm I know I won’t be able to withstand much longer.
I zone in on the whimpering noises she makes, and my orgasm slams into me.
The following day, I’m curled up against Jasper with a laptop on my lap, the machine softly whirring against my legs.
His head is leaning on mine. His fingers are twirling in my hair, as I move the mouse over my screen, changing the colors, the contrast. I play with the settings until I am satisfied with the result.
Even though the polaroids gave the photos the haunting glow I love, I still scanned them as well.
Too see if in the future I might have to change anything for an even more morbid result.
After the glue had settled, and I finished riding out my waves of pleasure, I lit a candle and made sure her eyelids were covered in wax as well.
Her face is peaceful; none of the despair and hurt she’s going through is visible. The pictures look pretty professional, and I am proud of myself.
When I’m done, we decide to go for a walk outside.
The sun is out, and the weather is getting warmer.
I put on a black parker and follow Jasper outside.
The sun latches onto my skin, first a comforting warmth, but it’s as if the rays awaken a part of my flesh and set it on fire.
Red blooms beneath the surface, spreading slowly.
The burn deepens without mercy, and a silent scream passes my lips as I convulse.
Blisters rise, swollen and glassy, stretched taut with clear fluid.
They look almost delicate, obscene in their tenderness.
Pain cements itself, and from its intensity, it’s clear it’s going to stay.
My eyes begin to bulge as the agony spreads through every nerve.
Jasper carries me inside, worry etched on his face, but I don’t miss the fury that haunts his darkened eyes. Gently, he sets me on the couch, glances at my unrecognizable hands, then punches a number into his phone.
“Marvin, get your ass here. RIGHT NOW,” he growls.
He tosses the phone aside, tells me he’ll be right back, and disappears into the kitchen.
Jasper returns with a ceramic bowl of lukewarm water and a piece of antibacterial soap.
Carefully, he takes my painful hands and dips them into the water.
I let out a soft gasp as the water eases some of the pain.
He barely grazes my skin, soaping my hands as if trying to eradicate whatever holds my flesh hostage.
My ears perk up at the sound of the front door opening and closing. Jasper stands up, and with large strides, he walks to the hallway.
“What did you do?!” Jasper yells.
I frown at the insinuation. Marvin answers, but his voice is soft, as if I’m not allowed to listen, making his words muffled. I’m unable to hear what they’re discussing. A loud bang makes me sit up straight, water sloshing over the edge of the bowl from my sudden movement. More hushed voices.
A few minutes later, they both walk in. Marvin doesn’t even look at me as he goes straight to where Tammy is. Jasper notices the wet spots on my pants.
“I got startled when I heard that loud noise,” I shrug.
“Sorry for that, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He fidgets with his sleeve. “I thought Marvin had done something to hurt you. I know it’s foolish. I wasn’t thinking straight.” He gives me a small smile.
Marvin returns. “It seems the florist made a mistake… The leaves you placed around the… girl… It’s Hogweed.”
“What?” I glance at Jasper, confused, who scowls at Marvin.
“Damnit, how could you let this happen?!”
“I’m so sorry, sir, there were so many bouquets. It also didn’t occur to me to check if the florist did their job properly.”
The last sentence is a sneer, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Jasper. The tension between the two is palpable.
“What is so bad about Hogweed?” I ask.
“It causes severe blisters on the skin. You were lucky, and by that, me as well, that you washed your hands afterward because of the glue,” he snarls, but it’s not aimed at me.
Marvin shifts uncomfortably, tiptoeing from one foot to the other. It’s clear he wants to leave.
“Go,” Jasper says.
He clenches his fists, the veins almost popping. I realize he sent Marvin away to avoid punching him, and I doubt Jasper would be able to stop after the first hit.