This story is inspired by real people, but not by real events. All proper names have been changed. The backstory and the relationships described are real, though the story itself is entirely fictitious. None of the occurrences described over the course of this and the next several installments actually took place.

Additionally, this story (though not necessarily this installment) contains graphic, disturbing physical violence. While some of it may be emotional in nature, I would not categorize any of it as sexual violence. There is no sexual assault or rape. However, there is a lot of enmity and, more importantly blood, being thrown about. Those seated in the first several rows will get wet.

This isn’t typical of the fiction I’ve written of late, and definitely different from what I’ve written here at this blog. If you’re familiar with my writing you’ll undoubtedly come to the conclusion that it doesn’t seem like something I’d write – I would tend to agree with this – although it does manage to pass the Bechdel Test in the first scene. Still, it’s probably far from the feminist ideal to which I often strive. It’s a very dark piece of writing. It’s transgressive, and maybe even regressive with regard to ideology. It’s likely to be an unpleasant read for most readers.

So why did I write it? I wrote it as a gift for a friend who needed some catharsis following a challenging and arguably disastrous foray into non-monogamy. Closure can be difficult to achieve, especially when so much emotional investment has been made, essentially for naught. Sometimes the only thing that will help is a nihilistic tale of bloody revenge.  I have divided the story into eight chapters, with Chapters 4 and 5 containing some sex you’ll hopefully find exciting even if the rest of the story is a turn-off. I will not be offended if you choose not to read Chapters 1-3 and 6-8. I’m planning to post one chapter every Friday until the story is complete.

Carrie rang the doorbell, her foot impatiently tapping on the heavy stones of the walkway as she waited. She glanced at the wall of the garage, jutting all the way to the sidewalk, and remembered a time when she would just use the garage code and enter through there. Maybe she still could; she had no idea whether they’d changed the code since everything fell apart. But those days were over, and Carrie liked to think that version of herself was long since in her grave.

If she and Rick ever attempted polyamory again, she was certain they’d be better at it than they were the first time. They wouldn’t make those early mistakes, wouldn’t let the kids mix with theirs right away, wouldn’t leave toothbrushes at their partners’ houses without vetting them to make sure they were everything they claimed to be. It hurt her to have to think that way. After all, what’s the point of being poly if you can’t love freely, without reservation? She didn’t like it, but that’s just how it was.

Her finger hovered over the doorbell, ready to jab the button a second time. Her wristlet dangled, her keys jingling quietly against each other when she heard footsteps approaching from inside. Carrie braced herself, putting on her best forced smile, and when Vicky opened the door she somehow managed to smile even bigger.

“Good morning!” Vicky’s smile was, if anything, bigger and faker than Carrie’s. She ushered her guest inside, and Carrie followed her past the pool room and kitchen and into the family room. “Coffee? I’ve got a pot brewing.”

“That sounds great,” Carrie said as she took a seat on the larger of the two sofas. Both were light blue and very comfortable. A matching armchair stood nearby and the three surrounded a maple-wood coffee table with a pane of glass as its top. As Carrie took off the wristlet and dropped it onto the table, Vicky detoured into the kitchen to pour two cups. It wasn’t until her back was turned that Carrie finally allowed her smile to recede. She didn’t like being inauthentic like this; one of the qualities on which she most prided herself was her ability to be completely honest. In fact, it was more than just an ability. It was a requirement. Carrie didn’t like pretending. But she wouldn’t have to do it much longer.

She scanned the family room, trying to convince herself it didn’t hurt to be back in this house. On the coffee table sat a couple empty glasses and a brightly-colored plastic drinking cup. A few magazines and some mail added to the mess. Children’s toys were strewn about the floor, under the coffee table and across the carpet almost to the pedestal on which the flatscreen stood.

A couple photos hung on the walls: Scenic vistas centered within colored mattes and framed. There was the Las Vegas Strip, the New York City Skyline, the Grand Canyon. Vicky’s husband had taken these on his travels. Carrie always admired his work, but seeing them now, under these circumstances, she could admit to liking them a little less. An ornate mirror hung on another wall, adjacent to the television. That was new. Carrie wondered why it was hanging there as opposed to in one of the bedrooms.

The piano stood against the back wall beside the sliding glass door. Both of Vicky’s kids could play, and had for Carrie’s entertainment on more than one occasion. Both were very talented, and Carrie often wondered if they would grow up to be famous pianists. The instrument itself was dusty, Carrie could tell that much from her vantage point across the room. The top was lined with little tchotchkes and family photos in small frames, just as it had always been. They too collected dust.

She looked past the piano to the dining table, piled high with clean laundry waiting to be folded. She and Rick had spent many an evening sitting at that table. They ate dinner there. They played board games. They talked to Vicky and her husband – she couldn’t bear to say his name! – while the kids watched television nearby or played upstairs. It didn’t feel right, even though she appreciated Vicky’s attempt to prevent things from becoming weird – or weirder than they already were – by inviting her over for coffee in the mornings or accompanying her to the gym in the afternoons.

Things were weird, though. And they weren’t liable to get un-weird, certainly not before the move. So Carrie bit her lip and dealt with it. She tried to focus on the positive: That Vicky genuinely wanted her friendship, even after everything that happened. That Vicky understood what Carrie was feeling and wasn’t trying to force an awkward confrontation between her and her ex-boyfriend for the sake of ending things on a happy note. (Fat chance of that, Carrie thought.) That in a couple months all of this would be behind her, and she and Rick would be settling into a new home and looking forward, not backward.

She spied Vicky standing on the other side of the kitchen island, stirring cream and sugar into two cups. Carrie remembered cooking with him. She remembered him making her coffee in the morning after long, passionate nights they spent together, and bringing it up to her in bed. Suddenly Carrie wished she could get up and leave. She didn’t belong there anymore.

“Paul just left for work,” Vicky said as she handed Carrie a cup. “So no worries about running into him.”

Carrie smiled in spite of herself and thanked her host. She took a sip of the light brown brew. It was sweet, and not so hot that it burned her lips. Carrie set the cup down on a coaster on the coffee table and leaned back in her seat. Vicky, meanwhile, reclined on the other sofa. She draped her arm over the side of the couch with her coffee cup still in hand.  “How’s the packing coming?”

“It’s going well,” Carrie replied. “But there’s so much stuff we still need to get rid of. There’s no reason to take half the stuff we’ve got, not to mention the fact we can’t afford to move it all.”

“Are you doing Craigslist?”

“That, and there’s this OfferUp thing too. We’ve sold a lot, but we’ve still got a long way to go.”

“Sounds stressful.” Vicky took a sip of her coffee. Carrie couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or merely shining her on. She continued: “But you’ll manage. You’ve still got a couple months, right?” Carrie nodded. “So? Are you excited?”

“Well, I am looking forward to a fresh start, in a brand-new place. Once we’re settled in, it’s going to be wonderful to be in that place where you’re, you know…” She couldn’t quite find the right words to describe the feelings to which she looked so forward.

“Starting from scratch,” she suggested, and Carrie agreed. Vicky continued: “Listen, I’m really sorry about everything.” Carrie looked up from her coffee, suddenly very interested in what Vicky had to say. She had never apologized to her for anything. Carrie wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Vicky had never apologized in her life. She wasn’t as warm as her husband. Or as warm as he had pretended to be, anyway. What a fucking snake he was. Carrie couldn’t believe he’d duped her like some high-schooler. And she couldn’t believe how much it still hurt.

She put those thoughts out of her head as Vicky spoke. “I know you got hurt, and I know Rick did too. And believe me, that was never our intention. Certainly not mine, and you know Paul. I know you do. He would rather have died than hurt you.” Carrie started to interrupt, unsure how she would rebuke Vicky’s claim without spitting venom. Her words were lost under the weight of Vicky’s own. “I know this was your and Rick’ first experience with poly, but it was ours too. We all made mistakes, and for my part I’m very sorry you got hurt.”

Carrie nodded as she considered what Vicky was saying. She wanted to tell the other woman she accepted her apology, that everything was okay between them and always would be, but she wasn’t ready to say that yet. On some level, Carrie felt like her anger at Paul, and to a lesser extent her anger at Vicky, had helped her reclaim her confidence and strength after everything went to hell. She didn’t want to let go of that. Not yet. So she just nodded.

Vicky went on: “I consider you a friend. And just because we’re not going to be living in the same city anymore doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what’s going on with you. Paul does too.” She paused, searching for the right words. “Maybe he doesn’t have that right anymore.”

“You’re right,” Carrie said. “He doesn’t.” There was no anger or bitterness in her voice, but only because she was deliberately trying to speak without it.

“That’s fair. But he does care for you. He made mistakes. Maybe he doesn’t get a second chance. I’m not even talking about loving you, necessarily.”

Carrie interrupted: “Hurting me, you mean.” She liked the way it felt to speak openly about what he had done. She liked looking Vicky in the eye as she spoke.

“Okay, fine. If that’s how you feel about it.”

“He doesn’t even want to love me! You know he’s moved on.”

Vicky nodded at Carrie’s words, a tacit admission that the other woman was right. “The thing about poly is, you can love people in different ways. He just doesn’t want you to think of him as a monster. And if he can’t change the way you feel about him, that’s okay. He can live with that. But he never meant to hurt you like this. I’m his wife. I know him. I know what’s in his heart.”

“That’s fine,” Carrie said, suddenly very uncomfortable. She realized she had adopted a position that could be described as defensive, and she tried to shift back into a more casual one. “I’m not mad at him anymore. It doesn’t even hurt.” A few seconds passed in silence. Then, “Can we change the subject please?”

Vicky agreed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“You didn’t.” Rather than absolving Vicky further lest they never move on to a different topic, Carrie shifted focus herself: “We’ve got the Air Force Ball this weekend.”

“Oh, how fun!” Vicky seemed just as relieved as Carrie felt. “When is it? Saturday night?”

“Yeah, but we fly out on Friday.”

“Fly out? Where’s it at? It’s not local?”

Carrie shook her head. “Florida.”

“Who’s watching the kids?”

“Rick’s mother is coming here for the weekend.”

“Well, that’ll be nice! You both deserve a nice, calm weekend to yourselves. What are you wearing?”

“I found a ball gown that will work. Rick is going in his mess uniform.”

“Now what’s that? That’s just the formal jacket and pants, right?”

“Basically. There’s also full dress, but that’s way more formal than mess.”

“I’d love to see how he looks in it. Text me a picture if you remember.”

“I will.” In reality, Carrie decided she wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t going to be sending Vicky any pictures of Rick, or encouraging any interaction between the two of them. No way.

“I bet you’re looking forward to getting all dressed up to the nines. Probably hasn’t happened in awhile.”

“We went to a wedding last month,” Carrie said. “It was nice. But this will be so much bigger. Anyway, we need some time to reconnect, just the two of us.”

“No distractions.”

“No. The last couple years have been so tough on me. On both of us, even.”

“Oh honey, I know all about it. I’m sorry, really.”

She didn’t acknowledge Vicky’s apology. “I’m looking forward to putting it all behind me. I just want to be finished with everything before the move.”

Vicky took another sip of her coffee.

To be continued.