Chapter Eleven- Under The Table Sins part five

To me those eyes were not communicating anger, but were imprinting on my skin the unspeakable pleasures he wanted to introduce to me and sate his lust.

•~♧~•

Guilt.

Guilt is corrosive and gnaws away at the mind but is the fuel that keeps conscience burning and alive. The ability to feel guilty was debilitating and frittering for me, to the point that I felt like the most awful, horrid, worthless, ungrateful piece of trash in the world as I gazed at my oddly calm, stoic mother.

Her face did not give me much to work with, I could not read anger or even disappointment in her slightly narrowed eyes, but my failure to detect those damming emotions did not stop me from bringing myself to the brink of an emotional breakdown. I was one breath away from bursting into tears and falling to my knees to implore for forgiveness I probably did not deserve.

I was at a loss for words and had been rendered speechless and immobile by the fear slicing through my veins and chilling bones. My mother just stood there, as still as I was, just staring at me with this unreadable, yet deeply taunting expression on her face and I could only predict the worst case in scenario: she wants nothing to do with me and thinks that I am a little slut who has never really truly cared about her and most importantly about her feelings.

I was crumbling away and evaporating under the sweltering heat of her emotionless eyes, and much to my surprise; astonishment and bewilderment at its extremity- my mother cracked a smile as she reached for the oven gloves I last remembered being on my hands and do not remember discarding.

"I would offer you some help, but you know your father would not like me being included in the making of his meals." My mother sighed lightly, and I was deeply unnerved and unsettled, not by the slight puff of air she had emitted, but by the softness of her voice and the saccharine nature of it.

She did not sound like a woman who a moment ago had stumbled upon her husband with his hand wrapped around her daughter's throat in a suggestively sexual manner. That had me worried, it was possible that she was avoiding confronting me for now because the dinner table was being set and the more that tornado of emotions whirls and grows destructive inside of her with time- the more fierce her reaction was going to be once she releases all of those pent up emotions.

I wanted to as well act normal and as affable as usual, but I felt like I was treading on paper thin ice and that any word that I will come out of me will set her off and result in her snapping at me. I slowly, reluctantly sauntered around the island to the other side closest to where she had positioned herself and I could only manage a wry smile which glaringly represented my anxiousness and fright.

I wanted to keep my stare downcast until she makes the exit, but I could not afford to look any more ashamed and rueful than I already looked.

"Well, the rest of our meals are already prepared and only waiting to be served. Your father will be joining us for dinner tonight so we all are waiting on the meal you are preparing for him. And I must say, I am starving, not meaning to put you under pressure though. In how long do you think the food will be ready?"

How?!

How was she able to smile and keep her voice indulgent and dulcet? It appeared to me that mom had decided that she was going to act like nothing happened, like she saw nothing out of the unordinary ordinary, "ordinary" is never a visitor at the Monalèz mansion. I wondered if she was pretending due to the Devil's influence, but her acting like nothing had happened and ignoring the sin unfolding right under her nose, was much better than her rebuking me, but there was still an eminent fear that she might not be pretending at all and this was just her way of trapping me.

My tongue felt very heavy and knotted every time I tried to lift it to speak, but I did manage to croon out the first estimate my mind gave me.

"Everything will be ready in fifteen minutes." I wrung my fingers, every time I looked up from the countertop and set my wavering eyes on her, my eyes poured her with apologies and I was worried that I was not communicating enough to her just how sorry I was. My gut clenched as she approached and finally stood next to me, gazing at me with her soft almond eyes before she extended her arms and placed both her hands on my shoulders.

"I know that you were feeling a bit queasy earlier, but I would really be happy if you joined us for dinner." I had planned to not to set foot in that dinning room or be in such close proximity to the otherworldly man who steals the breath straight from my lungs with just his sharp, piercing, icy, silver- blue eyes- but how can I say no to her endearing request after what I have done?

"Okay." I breathed, nodding my head lightly with an even more skewed smile.

The guilt was consuming and it was multiplied by a million by his scent. I could still smell my father, his poignant, electrifying scent was still lined onto my senses and inhaling his essence, a distinguishing piece of him; made me feel weird, like something was churning deep within me or fusing with my blood. It was as though he was still lingering behind me, as though he was still breathing onto my neck. It was a perplexing, unfathomable feeling that I could not shake off, but my guilt was alleviated by my mother's absence. After kissing my cheek and lovingly squeezing my shoulder, my mother graced me with one last sweet smile before strutting out of the room.

I expelled air harshly, like I had been holding my breath the entire time. That smile had my mind wheels spinning, so did the look in her eyes, which I had interpreted as sympathy? The curvature of her lips sang to me and the words conveyed were reassuring, words of solace. Her smile said to me, "You do not have to worry, Rabella, everything is going to turn out just fine." I would know what she had tried to express to me because I have observed over the years that that is the smile she offers me in dreary times to make me feel better about a confusing, agitating situation.

I felt a bit unburdened as I retrieved the Sawaki from the oven and turned it off. I was desperately trying to tell myself that she knows me well enough to know that I would never initiate anything romantic with the Devil, I was desperately trying to convince myself that that smile was her way of telling me that she understands that her don't take no for an answer any day husband seduced me and she is not mad at me.

I assembled the Devil's starter with a plan already in mind; I was going to position myself farthest from my infernally evil, beast of a step- father, munch down my food like a human pacman and speed out of that dinning room before anything that should not happen happens. I will tell you one thing; an uncanny lot can happen over the course of one meal in the Devil's mansion. My father is not very discreet about the things he does, he will not hesitate to slay a human being in front of us, just as I am certain he would not hesitate to make me submit to his advances right in front of my mother, his daughters and the staff ( or better yet disregarded, disparaged servants). I had to equip myself with a plan for every possible situation that could occur, if he decides to spill someone's blood and feed on their soul, I will simply close my eyes and hum to myself, but if he decides that he wants me on the dinner table and wants to have me for dinner instead, I should be able to refuse him without putting anyone's life in danger. He has already demanded a taste, next time he will feel fully entitled to the whole thing and I know I will be too feeble to deny him.

I nodded my head and offered Sida and Rohio, my assistants, a smile. I almost squeezed in a thank you as they carried away the trays of food, but I immediately remembered that that would be disobeying my father. Ever since I was a child, I have learned not to offer any form of gratitude or simple, small praise to the servants and although he only told me once because he never repeats himself; my father's words are engraved into my mind, "never say thank you to them, do not communicate with the servants unless absolutely necessary, you do not need to thank these lower creatures for doing what they live to do: which is to serve us."

I promise you, there is something so enthralling about his voice and the strong, drawing, domineering nature of his darkly deep voice makes every word he utters very viscid. His words are golden and unforgettable, so are his actions. If you have never been so terrified by someone's silence, their eyes and their presence that you feel like your breast and vagina are pulling away internally- then you most certainly have never crossed paths with the Lord of Hell. I know for a fact that I am going to have the hardest time pushing away the display of him licking his fingers clean of my juices to the back of my mind.

That look in his eyes..

That look in his eyes as he shamelessly sucked his fingers while I watched on…

God that look! I am afraid I will never forget it and I am afraid thinking about that moment will always stir me up.

The way that man can stare at you and carve his intentions with you on your skin with his soulless silver- blue eyes, should be illegal. To me those eyes were not communicating anger, but were imprinting on my skin the unspeakable pleasures he wanted to introduce to me and sate his lust.

"No, Vanessa, no!" I chided myself upon noticing my reflection on the surface of the fridge. I was biting my lips, the same way I bite them when I am reading Specific Taste or Seduction Of Sin, but this time was not justified because there was no steamy material to incite such action from me.

My father is messing with my head, I need to clear him from my thoughts and carry on as though nothing ever happened. So what I got wet? That is a natural reaction beyond my control, it is not like I see him that way.

I do not think of him in that way.

I do not.

I do not want his body, I do not want his attention.

I will never be anything more than a daughter to him.

Maybe I should… As soon as the thought came, I decided to act on it. I quickly slipped into my bedroom and changed my underwear. A fresh, clean pair of panties is just what I need, I do not need those stained ones clinging onto my lips and being a constant reminder of my moment of weakness and stupidity.