Chapter Text
[ The Past ]
Jenny laid in her bed and stared up at the ceiling. White. Blinding white. Why did she come here? She could have just as easily have stayed on campus. It would have been awkward considering the fact that her roommate’s stupid boyfriend was going to be there the whole time, but surely it would have been preferable to being there, in that bed. It would have been better, perhaps, to suffer the stupid boyfriend than to be at home.
Home. Was this really her home? Was it ever? She’d been planted here too late and never truly blossomed. The walls held no medals. There were no trophies on the shelves. No childhood stuffed animals. No.
The room was tastefully decorated, sure, but it had nothing to do with Jenny. It never had. It was all Viconia.
Maybe there was still time to get back in the car and drive back.
It was 2am.
“Fuck.”
Jenny sat up in the bed and wondered if Viconia kept her liquor in the same place. Probably.
She didn’t bother to turn on the light as she slipped into the hallway. She knew the way well enough, even after a few years on campus. Perhaps this was her home after all. She didn’t want to think about it anymore.
Thankfully, there was a bottle of vodka in the same place it had been the last ti me she’d looked. What was that? Two years ago?
She didn’t even bother pouring it into a glass. She just took a long pull on the bottle and sighed onto the kitchen floor. It burned, sure, but Jenny was already immolating just fine on her own. How long had her hands been shaking like that?
She took another pull. Not too quickly. She didn’t want to puke. She just wanted to be good and drunk. Drunk enough that coming home was a good idea.
Viconia had been happy to see her earlier. Even if it was subtle, Jenny knew the signs. She’d learned to read them over the years. Her eyes had tuned to scanning for that hint of smirk.
She knew Viconia was happy with her when she asked how she was instead of asking immediately about school. She knew Viconia was happy with her when she had red wine with dinner. White was only for extreme disappointment.
Jenny remembered the night of her senior prom. Caught in the act by a teacher. With another girl no less. Oh, Viconia drank a whole bottle of Chardonnay that night.
Jenny took another long swig of the bottle.
Her thoughts were starting to soften and melt away. That was good. Ok, she could finally pour herself a glass of the vodka and actually enjoy it. It was pretty nice, after all. The expensive stuff. Way nicer than the trash she’d been gulping back at school.
As she poured herself a drink (with ice no less), she smiled. Yes, coming home was a great idea.
“I see you’re making yourself comfortable.”
Jenny whipped around so fast she almost spilled her drink.
“Mother!”
Viconia stood in the large archway that led into the kitchen. A silk nightgown hung from her boney frame. Strangely enough, she seemed calm.
“What are you doing up?” Jenny asked.
“I couldn’t sleep and I thought a drink might calm my nerves.”
Jenny nodded and leaned on the countertop. Much to her surprise, Viconia didn’t snap at her. Instead she walked past her and took a small, rounded glass from the cabinet.
What did bourbon mean, Jenny wondered, for her mother’s mood?
She didn’t ask, of course, nor did she ask what was bothering Viconia. This felt like dangerous territory for some reason. Had they ever talked over a drink like this?
Bourbon. Simple syrup. Ice. Maraschino Cherries. Ice. All into a shaker.
All the while, Jenny just watched. Viconia seemed entirely consumed by her task, almost specifically not looking back at Jenny.
She poured her cocktail over a bit more ice and dribbled the bitters on top. Maybe she should have just had the bourbon straight.
“So, what are you drinking about so late?” Viconia asked.
Jenny leaned further into the countertop.
“I don’t know. School.”
“Not a boy?”
Jenny sipped her vodka stiffly.
“Or a girl?” Viconia offered.
“No,” Jenny sighed, “I don’t really date.”
That wasn’t a lie. She didn’t date. She might have called it that to her roommate to explain why she needed the suite to herself that night, but it wasn’t really dating. It was just flirting with strangers. So what if she showed her tits sometimes? That didn’t make it dating either.
“So, what do you do?” Viconia asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“When you’re not in class. What do you do? I can’t imagine you spend all your time studying. You were never the type.”
Viconia did her best not to gulp her drink down. It wasn’t meant for that. It was difficult though. Jenny looked quite pretty in the dim light of the kitchen, drink in her hand, silk shorts leaving little to the imagination. Another sip.
“No, I guess not.”
They both sipped their drinks. Was she really not going to answer?
“You don’t have to tell me. I was just making conversation.” Viconia said quietly.
Jenny leaned forward a little and if Viconia had been closer, would she have touched her then?
“No, I—I just don’t really do anything, really.”
That wasn’t really a lie either. Sure, she left out the camming bit, but even in circumstances as strange as these, that wasn’t something she was going to bring up.
“Pity. College is supposed to be fun.”
Viconia turned and headed out of the kitchen with that. But, she didn’t go back down to her room. No, she was headed for the parlor and she waited for Jenny to follow.
Jenny did.
“I guess. It’s mostly just a bunch of idiots drinking too much and pretending to understand Proust.”
They’d never spent much time together in the parlor. Sure, there’d been a tree during previous Christmases, but they’d never really hung out there. Even on those Christmases, they’d only come in here to open their gifts. Jenny sipped her drink again.
Viconia sat on one of the settees and realized her glass was already empty.
“That’s nothing new. I’m going to pour myself a little more. Do you want me to make you something?” She asked.
Jenny knew, at that moment, that she was drunk. Very drunk. She had to be. Surely Viconia DeVir had not just asked if she wanted anything, much less something she actually wanted.
“That would be lovely.” She said.
Viconia took her glass and walked back to the kitchen. Jenny wondered if she was dreaming instead. Whatever was happening was definitely weird. Definitely strange.
But maybe Viconia was finally recognizing her as a fellow adult. Because she was, wasn’t she? She wasn’t a girl anymore and hadn’t been for years…and yet, to be a woman grown in her home? That was new. It felt new, at least.
Viconia returned with their drinks and settled onto the settee once more. Jenny stayed in her chair. They both sipped their drinks.
“So, what are you drinking about?” Jenny asked quietly.
Viconia shrugged.
“Having you here, I suppose.”
“Why?”
Viconia looked anywhere but at Jenny.
“I didn’t think you would want to stay here. Not for Spring Break. You haven’t come home for a break since you moved out.”
That was true. They sipped their drinks.
“Besides, like I said, I thought you’d be having fun.” Viconia added.
“Well, my roommate has her stupid boyfriend over, so coming home just made sense.” Jenny said.
“Ah.”
They sipped their drinks. And with every sip, their tongues started to loosen. Their manner started to ease. Jenny moved onto the settee beside her mother.
Jenny told Viconia all about her roommate. They both laughed at the story of how Jenny accidentally walked in on the boyfriend wearing her roommate’s clothes. Viconia’s laugh was so much lighter than Jenny remembered. Freer.
“Hey, I don’t judge. I was just shocked he manage to squeeze into that skirt.” Jenny chuckled.
“Was he cute at least?”
“Honestly? Not really. He’s not really my type though.”
Viconia’s purple eyes glittered for a moment with…something Jenny couldn’t place.
“What is your type then?”
And before she could stop herself, Jenny told the truth.
“Whoever pays.”
Time seemed to slow down into an unbearable stretch of terror. What would Viconia think of that? Was the comfortable rapport they’d built gone already? Had she ruined everything like she always did?
“I’m not like, a hooker or anything. I just…I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” Jenny slurred.
The clock struck 3am. The witching hour was upon them.
“Well, you’ve already started.” Viconia observed.
The slur in her voice was far less noticeable, but Jenny heard it all the same. They’d regret this in the morning.
“I do webcam stuff. Just like, you know. Cam girl stuff.” Jenny said.
Viconia’s eyes glittered like amethysts.
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar.” She said.
That was a lie. Viconia knew perfectly well what cam girls did behind closed doors. She had made her fair share of donations.
May God and the Holy Virgin forgive her.
“Well,” Jenny started, “I just flirt with people. On camera.”
And suddenly the space between them was both too far and entirely too close.
“Anyone who pays?” Viconia asked.
“No. Not just anyone.”
“Who then?”
Jenny finished her drink and set it down. They were far too close.
Jenny couldn’t answer that question. Even as drunk as she was, revealing that particular truth was impossible. It caught in her throat, sealing it shut.
Viconia reached out with her free hand to touch her cheek. Sweet Jenny. She’d grown so beautiful these past few years. A woman. Sculpted and sinful and so very tempting.
Truly, she’d only meant to touch her cheek. It was meant to be motherly, though Viconia was never good at that. She didn’t know the first thing about being Jenny’s mother.
She felt the wet heat of Jenevelle’s mouth around her fingertips. She heard herself gasp.
Gently, she retracted her fingers. She finished her drink.
They would regret this in the morning.
But for the moment, there was no room for thought. There was only hunger, like they’d been starved for years, and perhaps they had.
Jenevelle slid onto her lap and gazed into Viconia’s eyes.
“What do you do? On camera?” Viconia whispered.
Jenevelle leaned in and whispered into her ear.
“I take off my clothes and give them whatever they want.”
Then she ran her lips over Viconia’s ear. Slowly, she moved to her neck and by the time she made it to Viconia’s lips, she felt hands on her ass, squeezing hard.
Finally, they kissed and there was nothing left to do but devour each other. It was ravenous. Huffs of breath and low growls as they tore into each other. Viconia pinned Jenevelle to the settee and bit into her throat.
The cry that rang out? It made them both shake with want.
Jenevelle was as noisy as Viconia remembered. Oh, but it was so much sweeter in person. The cheap microphone Jenny used on her laptop cut out when she really started whining. Not here. Here, Viconia heard every beautiful, sinful sound.
Not to mention the feeling of her. The camera never captured that. The soft swell of her rear beneath the purple silk. Her hot breath. It smelled of vodka, of course, but it tasted of Jenevelle still.
Viconia let her hands wander with kiss after kiss. They found a vicious rhythm so strong that not even the Holy Virgin’s gaze could pull them apart. Let her watch from her place on the mantle, as she always had.
“And what do you want, Jenevelle?”
Keening hips told her truth for her. Jenny ground herself into Viconia’s waist as hard as she dared.
“Please.” She whispered.
How could Viconia deny her that? Even with God and the Virgin watching. How could she possibly deny her anything?
Viconia had never been a generous mother, but surely, woman to woman, she could find a sense of charity.
And she did. Jenevelle wasn’t wearing panties beneath her shorts. She was grinding against her, almost lost in the sensation. She was probably a succubus, but Viconia only saw an angel.
Green glowing eyes that whispered, ‘Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come, follow me and I will give you rest’.
You shall cross the barren desert
But you shall not die of thirst
You shall wander far in safety
Though you do not know the way
You shall speak your words to foreign men
And they will understand
You shall see the face of God and live
Viconia gave Jenevelle what she wanted. Two clawing fingers inside her, prying her open, pulling whimpers from her open mouth.
Jenevelle curled against Viconia, desperate to be closer, riding her cruel hand in earnest.
Soft words of gratitude fell from her lips. Viconia took each one and tucked it deep into her mind, so deep that her drunkenness would not steal them away.
Their lips met sloppily and Jenevelle gasped and whined. She clenched. She came.
They would regret this in the morning. May God and the Holy Virgin forgive them.
[ The Present ]
“And this was the first time…that you had sex with your adoptive mother?” Shar asked, jotting something down in her notebook.
“Yes.”
“But not the last?”
“No.”
Jenevelle was pulled into her chair, knees at her chest. It was embarrassing, she knew, to sit like a child. She was thirty-two, but she couldn’t help it. She felt so very small recounting her life to her therapist. So small and foolish and horrendously damned.
“You’re doing incredible work right now, Jenevelle. I want you to know that. Sharing this with me isn’t easy, but every time you do, you get a little stronger.”
“Really?” Jenny asked.
“Absolutely. ‘We’re only as sick as our secrets,’ right?”
“Right.”
It was a phrase Jenevelle had heard many times over the years. A favorite of AA meetings. They never really worked, of course, but so far, her new therapist was doing a bang up job. Shar was kind, she was caring. She listened to every sordid detail of Jenevelle’s life without a shred of judgment.
“So, nothing happened before that?” Shar asked.
“No. I never got any weird vibes from her before that either. It’s like, I had finally grown into someone she wanted, but not the way she should have…”
“I see. Who usually initiated your encounters?” Shar asked. She took another note.
“I did.”
Shar seemed to think about this for a moment. Then she leaned forward and gently took Jenevelle’s hand.
“This wasn’t your fault. Viconia took advantage of you. Even if you were an adult. Even if you were drunk. She manipulated you, Jenevelle, and twisted your love for her into something…else.” Shar explained gently.
Jenevelle felt hot tears roll down her cheeks. Shar patted her hand.
“Now, I know we’re out of time, but will you be ok? I can cancel my next appointment if you need me to.”
Shar’s eyes were so dark they might have been black. It was almost frightening, but her smile was warm enough to chase Jenevelle’s fears away.
“No, it’s ok. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
That wasn’t a lie. Jenny knew she would be fine. She was always fine. Sure, she drank too much and she spent a lot of time laying at the top of her stairs, but she was fine. Sure, she had driven all her friends away and her ex-wife’s wedding ring was still sitting on the dining room table where she’d left it for the past six months, but she was fine. She was alive anyway. She would continue to live.
“Alright. Same time next week?”
As if Jenny would miss a session. As if she would even dare. Jenevelle DeVir was starting to develop very…strange feelings for her therapist. Well, they weren’t that strange. In fact, they were very familiar feelings.
A fluttering in her belly. A heat that rose to her cheeks and lingered like a bruise.
And Shar smiled wide enough to show the stark white of her teeth. So painfully bright it was almost hard to look at them. At least, that was the silly excuse Jenny used as she let her eyes drift to Shar’s lips. A rich plum lipstick. Matte.
Everything about her was so clean and sharp. Her silhouette was stark, almost a shadow against the blinding white of the wall behind her. Her eyes were dark, rich like the most decadent chocolate Jenny had ever imagined behind delicate glasses. Like the truffles behind the glass at the mall. Her skin was like carved obsidian, begging to be touched, though Jenny knew she could not afford it.
Not one jagged edge in sight. Perfectly smooth. She was perfect. Unlike Jenevelle.
Jenevelle with her messy hair and smudged eyeliner. Her scuffed up boots. There was a hole in her jeans. She couldn’t even imagine Shar wearing jeans.
Shar rose from her seat and ushered Jenny to the door with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Would that she would push her into the wall and—
No. Jenny stopped herself from thinking any further about it. Shar was her therapist. Not to mention the fact that Shar probably thought she was disgusting. Jenny couldn’t blame her. She’d had a rather lengthy affair with her adoptive mother. She was disgusting.
Jenny caught herself wondering what it would be like to run her tongue across Shar’s clavicle. Even sitting across from her with a table between them, Jenny could smell her perfume. Sweet. Warm. But now, with Shar so close, only inches away, it was even stronger.
“I can’t wait.” Jenny said softly.
The drive home was cold. Wet. The rain was really pounding against her windshield. The walk from the car to her old farmhouse was brief, but she was still dripping from head to toe when she walked in the front door.
The house was dark. There was no one home to greet her. Not even a cat. No one lived there but her. Jenevelle DeVir and her beautiful, rustic farmhouse. Devoid of life save for the woman that haunted it.
Well, good. There was no one to judge her for having a few martinis. Jenny snorted at that. Martinis. Who was she trying to impress?
Jenny kicked off her shoes and tossed her coat on the floor. The hooks were entirely ignored. She made a beeline for the kitchen and poured herself a nice highball. The vodka would surely get the smell of Shar out of her nose. Or out of her brain.
Both, if she was lucky.
Her phone started to buzz in her pocket. It was Viconia. Jenny ignored it and left it in the kitchen. There was no one she wanted to talk to. No one she wanted to see.
Ok, that was a lie. There were…people she wanted to see. Jenevelle’s gaze lingered on Lae’zels ring still laying on the dining room table as she walked by.
Really though. Did she want to see Lae’zel? No. She wanted to see her therapist. And she wanted her therapist to see her.
Gloriously naked. Getting lost in those endless eyes.
She took a long gulp of her drink.
It was only six. She usually didn’t start her stream until seven or eight. She probably needed to eat something.
She took another long sip. The ice in the glass brushed up against her lips. Empty already.
A problem easily solved.
With her second drink in hand, she ascended the stairs. The liquor was doing its work, making her softer, making her real. She could feel every inch of her body and the sweet buzz of her nerves made her laugh a little.
She walked past her bedroom. She rarely slept there, opting instead to sleep on the couch in her office. Her office. It was hers. Never anyone else’s. Her safe place. Her haven.
Not to mention the fact that her bedroom, the bedroom, had a leak in the ceiling. Water pooled in the ceiling like a hideous boil itching to burst. No matter.
Jenny walked into her office and took another sip of her drink. The stream would start a little early tonight, but that was fine. Surely no one would mind.
The closet held her costumes, her permission to be someone else. She chose one of the strappy black leather ones. That would look nice.
Getting ready was a ritual and one she cherished. As she took off her sweater, so too went her inhibitions, her hang ups, her sorrows. As the black leather slid onto her body, she felt a sweet relief. For the next few hours she was not Jenevelle DeVir.
She was Shadowheart. Shadowheart wasn’t divorced. Shadowheart wasn’t tainted. She was perfect. She was free.
Shadowheart logged into her cam site and took one more sip of her drink. It burned down her throat and made her skin hum with bliss. The camera turned on.
“Hi everybody. Did you miss me?” She purred.
The chat started up immediately. A few new people. A few regulars. Usernames she’d seen plenty of times before. MotherSuperior was watching. Shadowheart chuckled at that.
Jenny would have tensed and closed the laptop, but not Shadowheart. Shadowheart was here to put on a show for whoever wanted to see it. Viconia DeVir wasn’t her mother.
Nightsinger: You look ravishing tonight, dear.
“Oh, thank you. You’re so sweet. I admit, I’m feeling rather, desperate tonight. I saw her again.” Shadowheart said mysteriously.
She let her hands wander to the leather encasing her breasts and sighed.
Nightsinger: Your mysterious woman?
“Yes. Oh, chat, she makes me so weak. I know I can't have her, but you'll keep me company, right?” Shadowheart sighed.
Nightsinger: <3