My Love (Bwwm)

Chapter 3: What the Sex?

For the next three weeks, a thick shroud of silence enveloped the mansion. It was a silence born of discomfort, of questions left unasked, and of paths untaken. I had withdrawn from Artie's presence, save for the duties I was entrusted with – cooking his meals and ensuring his home was kept in order. Those duties had become almost mechanical, a way to fill the hours and avoid the enigmatic man who inhabited the other rooms of the grand estate.

Artie, surprisingly, didn't seem to mind the sudden absence of conversation. In fact, he appeared to prefer it. His evenings were spent in solitude, the weight of his responsibilities and the enigmatic nature of his daily dealings leaving no room for idle chatter.

But despite my efforts to remain invisible, I couldn't help but notice the bloodstains that frequently marred Artie's clothes when he returned home. It was a sight that churned my stomach, one I couldn't ignore, as I was left with the unenviable task of laundering his garments. Each time I scrubbed away the evidence of the violence that seemed to haunt his every step, I couldn't help but feel complicit in his transgressions. In the solitude of my mind, I whispered prayers to God, pleading for guidance and forgiveness, the weight of my silent participation in Artie's world gnawing at my conscience.

My days bled into each other, a relentless cycle of meal preparation and domestic chores. It was a routine that offered no respite from the gnawing unease in my chest. The mansion, once a place of opulent grandeur, had become a palace of enigmatic suffering, where every room concealed secrets that sent shivers down my spine.

One evening, however, the silence was shattered by the arrival of an unexpected guest. Artie had come home with a lady named Charlotte, a vision of beauty with flowing blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders like liquid gold. Her naturally curved body held an alluring grace, and she moved with a subtle, sensuous sway.

Her choice of attire accentuated her features—a deep red lipstick, a shade of passion that was mirrored in her sultry gaze. Her fair skin, in contrast to her fiery lips, was as delicate as porcelain, and her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of emerald green.

As the night wore on, their voices grew hushed and intimate, filled with a suggestive allure that left little to the imagination. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as the unmistakable sounds of their passion echoed through the mansion.

Charlotte: "Oh, Artie..."

Artie: "Hush, now."

Their intimacy was undeniable, a stark reminder of the pleasures that had eluded me for so long.

But my feelings toward their encounter were not driven by envy or longing. Rather, I found myself turning up my nose in disgust. To me, sex was a sacred act, a connection between two lovers that transcended the bounds of physicality.

Dorothy: (whispered to herself) "Sacred... not like this."

I had learned this at a young age, back in Louisiana, when a woman had been shamed and ridiculed for an affair by her husband. It was a memory etched into my heart, one that had formed my beliefs about the sanctity of love and commitment.

As the night pressed on, I heard Charlotte's moans grow louder, her passionate cries filling the mansion with a primal intensity. It was a noise that resonated deep within me, one that contrasted sharply with my own beliefs about love and fidelity.

Charlotte: (moaning) "Artie, yes..."

I couldn't help but feel a sense of revulsion, as the act they engaged in seemed devoid of the depth and meaning I had always associated with such encounters.

Dorothy: (whispered) "This... this ain't right."

Finally, their liaison came to an end. Charlotte's voice, now reduced to a harsh whisper, carried through the walls as she cursed Artie and their liaison.

Charlotte: "You heartless bastard!"

It was a spectacle that left me feeling like an intruder, a silent witness to a world I couldn't comprehend.

Artie, as usual, remained composed and indifferent. He lit a cigar and watched as Charlotte's furious departure played out.

Artie: (calmly) "Goodbye, Charlotte."

Charlotte's screams and curses were met with a wall of silence, an impenetrable barrier that Artie seemed to wear like armor.

As Charlotte stormed out, she turned to me, her eyes locking with mine for a fleeting moment.

Charlotte: (speaking to Dorothy) "I know Artie likes the colored ones. So if you're sleeping with
him, you ought to stop before he kicks you out as well. Just wait until 10 o'clock at night."

Confusion welled within me as I watched her leave. Her cryptic words left me perplexed, unsure of what she meant. I had never entertained such thoughts about Artie, and the notion that he might engage in such affairs felt foreign and unexpected.

I retreated to my room that night, my mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions. My room, unlike the rest of the mansion, was a place of simplicity, a sanctuary of solitude that provided a reprieve from the enigmatic world that had engulfed me.

Dorothy: (whispered) "What does she mean?"

As I settled into the bed, sleep overcame me, but it was a fitful slumber, filled with dreams that whispered of shadows and mysteries that refused to be unveiled. The secrets of Artie's world were like a labyrinth, and I was but a small, lost figure within it, struggling to find my way through the darkness.