Poly: A Day in the Life (Completed)

Martin Bomboclaat Reece (translation)

Peter marches out to the living room, shoulders stiff, ready to fight. There is a part of me that finds it immensely sexy, but I'm also scared for his wellbeing. I don't want anything bad to happen to him, and I can't help but feel as if I'd be partly responsible. I should have resisted him more.

Martin neva shoulda try shub 'im dutty, crawny han' inna yuh draws. (Martin shouldn't have tried to stick his dirty, nasty hand in your panties).

The voice in my head has a point.

"F*ck," I grumble to myself as we walk into the room. Alex is standing, talking to Martin, and they're laughing with each other. Alex looks so happy and at ease under the red lights, and I feel awful, knowing that his evening is about to be ruined. When Martin looks over upon hearing our approach, he looks at me with lust filled eyes. He doesn't even notice how furious Peter is, until Peter is right in front of him.

"Pussy, yuh really guh feel up mi ooman, an' try push yuh dutty han' inna 'ar draws?" ("C*nt, you seriously felt up my woman, and tried to push your dirty hand in her panties?")

"Wah?" Alex exclaims, before turning angry eyes on Martin.
("What?")

Martin is quick to react, though.

"Shrimp hood bwoy, mi coulda f*ck 'ar betta dan yuh!"
("Shrimp dick boy, I could f*ck her better than you!")

I start laughing, not at the shrimp comment, but at the idea that Martin thinks that he could be more pleasing to me.

"You make my skin f*cking crawl," I tell him. "Those goosebumps I got earlier? They weren't from arousal; they were from disgust. When Peter gives me goosebumps, it's usually because I'm turned on." I don't usually talk so freely about my sex life, but I am not just going to stand here while Martin insults Peter the way that he just did.

"T, if you would just give me a chance—"

"F*ck off, you backstabbing c*nt," Alex shouts, "and stay the f*ck away from our women!"

"Rass wid yuh!" Peter says, getting up in his face. "Mi did t'ink seh yuh did a we frien'!" ("I thought that you were our friend!"

It is at this point that Martin f*cks up. He makes the mistake of shoving Peter. Hard. Peter recovers quickly, however, and punches him in the throat. He makes a strange, gagging noise, and doubles over, gasping for air. When he finally straightens up, he goes to punch Peter, but Peter grabs his hand, and twists it harshly. Martin screams. Like, really screams, high pitched and all. Then, Peter shoves him away roughly.

Gemma, who now has on her shorts again, is looking at Martin as if she wants to disembowel him. I feel tears come to my eyes, because I know that the other three had a decent relationship with him before now. I can't help but feel responsible for what has happened. Then again, I do tend to blame myself for things that aren't my fault.

"Martin bomboclaat Reece, doe call ar tex' back mi bomboclaat numba," Peter says, before addressing Gemma, Alex and I. "Come on," Peter says, "we're leaving." ("Martin bomboclaat Reece, don't call or text my bomboclaat number again.")

Gemma and I pick up our handbags, and as we walk out the door, leaving the red lights, rock music, and an upset Martin behind us, I can't help the sob that leaves my chest. Peter wraps one arm around me.

"It's not your fault," he tells me, but tears still roll down my face. I hate it. I hate feeling like this.

"I know... but I still feel guilty," I whisper, as we approach my car. A strong gust of wind blows, lifting my skirt, and I reach behind me to pull it back down. I know that my feelings of guilt aren't rational, but that doesn't change the fact that I feel them. We pile into the car, Gemma in the driver's seat, Alex in the passenger, and Peter and myself in the back. We all buckle up, with Peter on the left backseat and I in the middle, and he holds me as I cry.