“I am the Senior Conformist’smother.”
“That’s nice. Please leave.”
“You’re not enthusiastic to have my company?” she asks genuinely.
“No.”
Her thin, nearly hairless eyebrow goes up. “My daughter was right. You are an ungrateful little bitch.”
I prop myself up against the stone wall adjacent to my sink, never taking my eyes off this unhinged woman who has shown a twisted interest in me. She remains in the doorway, staring at herself in the mirror, fluffing the waves of her hair.
“What can I do for you, Apple May?” I want to argue with her so badly. It’s in my nature to run my mouth until it gets me into trouble. But I used up the last of my energy on Judas, which didn’t do much. I slept for hours after that encounter. And for what?
“I am bored,” she says, still combing through her thick hair in the mirror.
“My condolences.”
“And I am quite horny,” she adds.
I drop my head against the wall with a thump. “I cannot help you with that.”
“I enjoy looking at your husband.”
Goodie.
“Those eyes? His hair? How do you ever stop looking at him?” she asks with a devious smile.
Easy. Niklaus says something unforgiveable to me. I’m repulsed by him. And then I can’t stand the sight of him. Nothing to it.
“I was incredibly horny watching him finger you actually. It was rather arousing.” She snickers into her hand, then smooths out her smile lines quickly. “Oh dear. I’m getting wet thinking about it now.”
That immediate sense of danger prickles my fingertips.
“I’m trying to enjoy the post-enema bliss. Perhaps you could come back another time?” I suggest sarcastically.
But Apple May looks me up and down with thoughts circling her mind like vultures. Thoughts that should stay hidden in her head.
“Could you tell me what it felt like? His fingers inside of you?”
I shake my head.
“Inimmensedetail, please.”
I shake my head again.
Yet her request summons that muddled memory swimming in the murky waters of my brain. It was so confusing being in agony one moment, then instantly replacing it with powerful pleasure. I blink away the feelings that return with an upsurge of warmth between my legs.
“You know, if I were you, I’d be very nice to me,” she purrs.
“Why is that?”
I wonder what would happen if I screamed for help. Would an orderly barge in and haul Apple May out of my washroom? Would they punish her for roaming the halls at night? Or does being Meridei’s mother hold as much weight as she claims?
“Because I can put in a good word with my daughter. I can assuage her to, hmm—oh, I don’t know—off the top of my head? Give you a break from your least favorite treatment?” Apple May twirls a wavy lock of black hair around her finger.
My eyes open wider. Electroconvulsive treatment.
“My daughter tells me you are a little scaredy cat when it comes to the shock therapy. Is that right?” She pauses, then smirks. “That’s what I thought. But…if you’d rather let me suffer without giving me the proper mental images I request to absolve the crazed arousal I’m experiencing—I suppose I could tell her toincreaseyour therapy.”
