mocking

m

a

r

k

s

a

n

f

o

r

d

;

; 00. fingerbang

My eyes fluttered shut, hand reaching beneath the quilts and between my legs. I knew it was wrong.

But every time my eyes flickered shut all I saw was the icy gaze that ran once across my face then back to his beautiful fiancée. The darkness of his hair as I dreamt he moved toward my bed, drawing back the cover, taking my curls in his hand and snapping back my neck, pressing his lips to my throat, scraping those perfect teeth against my skin. My hand quivered at the thought of his own joining it, pressing against the sensitive flesh and thrusting those long fingers deep inside, a moan falling into my mouth from his. My back was sweating, droplets rolling down my spine as he moved onto my mattress, spreading my legs so delicately, dipping low to catch the drips of salty water that had fallen onto my stomach. I ached at the thought of his tongue tracing across my abdomen, under my shirt, fingers pinching my nipples tightly. I yanked my pillow to my mouth with my free hand, biting into the softness and letting out a low growl, numbness filling my lower body at the release.

"Shit." The whimper fell from my tongue as I rolled my banging head backwards. I laid still, the fatigue that had encompassed me slowly wearing off till I begun to feel my thighs again. Kicking back the sheet, I pulled my legs off the side of the bed, sitting up and glancing around my room. And I was going to see him today. Today in about- one hour.

"Shit." There was a sharp rap on the door and I felt my face fill with blood, as if she'd known what I did, as if she could read my thoughts.

"Imogen! Are you nearly ready?" One of my sisters voices bellowed into my room; it had the faint sound of nails down a chalkboard.

"Nearly!" I heard her stamp her foot before swanning off. Fuck. I launched out of bed, yanking the dress from the door and over my underwear. I'd had my hair and makeup done well over an hour ago, before Jenna and Marcy, and the boredom of waiting for them had got to me. I needed to wash my hand. "Christ almighty, Imogen, sort yourself out." I wiped the smudged lip-gloss from around my lips with my finger, straightening the tousled curls that were meant to be in perfect princessy ringlets. Everything about this wedding was so bloody over the top. Rushing out the door, I slammed into my dad, sending me flying onto my ass.

"Imogen, are you determined to ruin this day?" His fingers curled around my arm viciously, pushing me lightly to my feet at toward the stairs.

"Your mother's going psycho down there."

"No difference to every other day, then." I grunted out beneath my breath.

"What?"

His hiss tore through me and I grinned. "Nothing."

I'd forgive him, he wasn't a mean man, he'd just lived for twenty five years with- "IMOGENNNNNNN." That. My mother's howl was probably the deadliest thing I'd ever heard as she cawed out my name, stumbling in the too-tall heels toward me, the fat around her gut rippling. Truly mutton-dressed-as-lamb personified. I stopped myself from sneering down at the poisonous dwarf and instead let myself be pushed toward the door. Jenna was stood in the gravelled driveway, trying her dandiest to cause a scene as she pushed the large white chiffon dress into the cream Rolls Royce. And when I say large, I mean large. Her blue eyes locked onto mine and she snarled out something not so different to, "Where the fuck have you been?"

So I rolled my eyes, pushing the rest of the hideous gown into the car and slamming it on her pretty little face. Bitch. I sighed as the car pulled away after my dad had reopened the door, sent me a deathly glare and slumped in, a worn and withered man. I knew I was being overly nasty, and I didn't mean to be. It's just that as soon as I got to that church and saw his face... A sharp jolt spread through my groin. Christ.

I had to chew on my lip to stop myself smiling.

"Jesus, Imogen." Marcy hissed, clutching my face and running her wet thumb underneath my eye.

My family was a pretty straight system; we didn't have tons and tons of aunties and uncles. My dad had met mum after they'd left high school. They'd got married at sixteen and popped out three girls at the ages of 18, 20 and 30. I think I was a mistake, a late one. I was kind of the black sheep of the family. My sister's had always had it all, looks, personalities, lads. It seems like such an old story of the 'ugly duckling' and her perfects swan like Barbie worthy sisters- but that's just how it was.

Like now for example, as I stared back at Marcy, all I could see was the shiny dark hair that curled perfectly into hoops around her chin, spreading across her shoulders in waves. Her skin was flawless, her body tall and slender, her teeth perfectly straight and white. I mean... Fuck. For a start I was at least four inches shorter than her modelesque slash sky-scraping height. I shared the same dark hair, but mine was always messy, ill-kempt and drooped lazily. I had a fuller body, my mother's frame, major groan. I wasn't fat, like, but I had thick thighs and hips. On the bright side, I had brains where they had my mother's. HAHAHA.

I was treated pretty much like shit from the Swiss Family Robinson, as if they detested me at times. Not abuse, by any means. Just, as I said, treated like the black sheep.

And Jenna, I thought, Jenna was fulfilling my mother's dearest dream and getting married. I stepped out of the car, sighing at the sight of the huge cream bricked church. Jenna was the epitome of lovely, would say my hefty ma, Jenna was everything right with the world. Whereas I was the bane of her life. Dramatic, I know, but there you are. Bitch had dressed me in mint green, as well; did I look like a polo? Yes. Yes I did look like a polo. I stood silently, watching Jenna flounce next to my tall father, posing for the photographer. I smiled where appropriate and snarled where not, much to the chagrin of the man with the camera. A sharp nip on my arm from mummy and I was stomping my way through the church doors to the sound of the wedding march.

Light pooled in through the stain glass windows, across the honeydew coloured fake flowers that were spotted absolutely everywhere. The place was packed and I felt my stomach turn as all eyes fell on me, the first bridesmaid. I stared at the small posy of white roses between my sweating palms, almost moaning aloud at the lack of hair pooling around my bright red cheeks. Jenna had insisted I have it all scraped back, as so not to hide me from her photos. Bitch. She wanted me to squirm under eighteen layers of foundation. It seemed to go on forever, and when I got to the alter and took my place on the bride's side, all I could do was stare.

Stare at him.

He looked so handsome in a jet black suit, crisp white shirt and pale green waistcoat, the cravate a deeper, emerald colour. His body was firm, hard looking and I knew I wasn't the only one in the room admiring how his eyes seemed almost black. His hair was tossed around his head, perfectly style, short but enough to run your fingers through as he slid his hands up-

A simper escaped my tongue and the priest gave me a dirty look.

Fucking hell, even the God-botherer disliked me.

Jenna took her sweet ass time coming down the aisle, slow tears trickling across her tanned cheeks, not quite falling off her face. Her eyes were locked on her fiancés, swapping only bashfully towards my dad, who pushed back the veil and pressed his lips to her cheek. A beautiful really-not-utterly-fake sob escaped her pink lips before she took her place at the altar.

Yes.

And then I watched my sister turn towards the only man that's ever made me ache.

Her fiancée.

;

;

bitchin.