cannibal; kendall roy

54

For once in her life, or recent life, Marguerite Roy had woken up before her husband and gotten out of bed without him fawning over every little thing she did. She'd slipped into their kitchen and poured herself a drink, looking over the sleeping city and sighed, sitting on their green sofa.

Sometimes she wished she'd wake up and that it had all been a dream, that there wasn't a living being inside of her, and that she couldn't see it and feel it all the time. That it didn't make her sick, or that it wouldn't be dependent on her for the rest of her life. But whenever she couldn't sleep, or threw up, or looked down there it was. There was a painstaking reminder of how much she was tethered to her husband, and how much she loved him.

She stashed her empty glass under the sofa, feeling too tired to haul herself back over to the kitchen and wash it, clean it out and place it back in the cabinet. So she shoved it under their sofa, a place Kendall would never look for anything, and then she sighed, walking up to their hall closet, pulling out a few of the shopping bags she'd stashed there.

The contents being for Kendall.

She had never been good with birthdays. Especially as her friends faded and got older, the expensive gifts never meaning as much to them anymore. She had no memories to bring up, nothing. She hated birthdays. They were fucking annoying.

But now, she found herself sighing and taking the bags up the stairs, beginning to feel a little nauseous as she did so.

Tripping over a step and falling into the wall, she drops one of the bags and curls up on the step, yelling out a few obscenities as she attempted to collect herself all over again. Then came Kendall.

"What the fuck? Lou?" He'd asked, peering over the stairs in the pre-morning darkness, wrinkling his nose as he tried to make out where she was, finally seeing her sitting down on one of the steps, a cluster of bags around her.

"Honey? What the hell?" He mutters, coming down and offering her a hand, helping her up "Are you okay? Is he?" He asks sounding flustered.

"I'm fine. I just, can you help me carry this?" She asks, motioning around to the mess around her.

He squints "Yeah, yeah. Of course. But uh, let's get you in bed first? Do you feel okay?" He asks "Bathroom? No?" Kendall places his hands around her carefully before leading her up the stairs, down the familiar hallway and into their bedroom.

As she kisses him, he can almost swear to taste and smell alcohol lingering off of her. He doesn't say anything, thinking it's something he's making up. His Lou wouldn't do that, not to him or his son. Their son.

"What uh, what is all of this?" He asks, coming back with the bags, dumping them down onto their bed "And why the hell didn't you ask for help getting this? Lou, I could barely get it up."

"Happy Birthday" she finally says "It's your birthday gift. Well gifts. Plural."

"Really?" He asks, growing giddy "Come here, I want you uh, I want your fucking help opening this. Come here."

He practically pulls her over onto his lap, and kisses her cheek "You didn't have to do any of this. I love you, Lou."

She felt like it was a shitty gift, but if he liked it. Then it was fine.

Sifting through the bags, he seems to grow less excited each time he discovers a new clothing item, more interested in the jewelry and necklaces he finds for himself in the bag. And by the end of it, he shoves it all onto the trunk they keep in front of their bed.

He seems confused, leaning into her hair and sniffing it, then down to her face. Taking in another big sniff.

"Did you like it?" She asks, taking one of his hands in hers, feeling like maybe she could've done something right. But then again, she's more than bubbly at this point.