One of us is an addict..one of us is a fraud. One of us is haunted. One of us is a monster, one a killer, one a liar. One of us is a predator, one of us a prince. One of us is a seductress. One of us is damned. All of us are killers.
Some secrets sh...
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-Christmas Day, 1915-
Julien hovered over me. His blue eyes, as bright as summer skies, danced impishly. Yet there was malice in his voice, a tone those of us who came to know him cringed at with the smallest utter. "You will come, Belén." His hand rose to touch my shoulder. As soon as I felt his fingers on my flesh I jerked away, rather unlady-like, and grabbed his wrist, wanting to break bone.
My eyes glared. I wanted to scream at him but my husband stood a few meters away, chatting with the dentist, Mr. Oliveira. "You put your hand on me, JJ and I will-"
Julien's face broke into a large smile. He chuckled. "You will what, Belén? Call for your husband to come and fight for your dignity and purity?" Long fingers pried my own off his wrist and he tutted me. "You have neither my dear, and we both know that." His eyes, once summer skies now stormed. I saw myself a feeble little fishing boat who had lingered in the sea too long, not heeding the warnings of grand disaster. Now I watched as clouds gathered in his eyes and grew darker and more dangerous. I had played with fire and JJ knew it.
I wanted to flee, to run as fast as I could, far away from this horrible man and the laughing, happy faces at the Christmas party JJ was hosting. A chill slithered into my bones. My white owl feather cape barely covered my shoulders, goosebumps covered my arms.
My eyes, terrified sparrows, fluttered from face to face crying out Come and save me from this beast! But nary a person managed to see my fear, not Ms. Grace, not Mr. Morris, not anyone, for they were all caught up in enjoying themselves.
"Now, let us enjoy the rest of the party for there is fine wine to drink and fine food to savor. Do not make a scene, Belén. I desire nary a murmur or complaint." He took my hand and kissed the knuckles. "Tonight. At midnight. Do not fret, your husband would have already had too much wine by then. He will not come looking." I saw it right then and there, in those once lovely blue orbs of his, that I was about to drown. I looked over to where my husband and Mr. Oliveira continued their chat. No one could save me for I had heard the Piper, now I had to pay the price.
-June 17, 1920-
My hand shook as I reread the invitation. I must have read it ten times if I had read it once. Every time, it said the same thing. You are cordially invited to a dinner party. On the 23rd of June, 1920, at 7pm. Julian Jean Bouvier's mansion. I want nary a murmur or complaint if you want me to keep your secret.
How could it be?
I tried to calm my quickly-beating heart, to stop the tremble in my fingers, but it was all in vain. The half empty bottle of Rum watched me in silence. It understood my pain, knew of my sins. I set the invitation down on the marble table, by yesterday's newspaper, and reached for the bottle. I would pour myself glass after glass until I passed out and no longer belonged to the land of the sober and sane.
