THE DEVIL'S DAUGHTER

9 -- Resignation

Melinda didn't know how she got home.  Well, she knew how, she had obviously driven, but she couldn't remember how.  She couldn't remember the red light she ran, almost hitting another car.  She couldn't remember the guy cursing at her as she flew past him on the crosswalk.  She couldn't remember flying through the door of their apartment, leaving it wide open, and how she ended up in their bed, sobbing and convulsing, clinging to Larry's pillow, inhaling his scent, like it was a lifebuoy in a rough sea, and she was drowning.  

Larry appeared hours later, pale and drained, walking bow legged like he had lost his horse.  He looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards, let alone gone 6 rounds with The Devil himself.  And not in a boxing match, either.  Larry limped up the hallway to his apartment, as light from the open doorway spilled on to the carpet.  He slowed his pace as he noticed it, and a quizzical look overcame his face.  He stopped just before the open door, his heart rate had elevated slightly, his first thought being that he had been burgled.  He leaned forward to poke his head around the door frame, greeting any potential threat that may be inside in a friendly manner.

"Hello ?"  No answer, thank God.  "Hello ?  Anyone here ?"  What kind of a burglar worth his or her salt would've answered back, seriously.  He gingerly stepped inside, still not sure what might greet him.  He stood still, holding his breath, listening for any kind of movement, the rifling of drawers or cupboards, for any other breathing that might not be his own or Melinda's. 

Melinda, she wasn't here ?  It was late, where was she ?  He checked the kitchen, the living room, the spare room and the bathroom for intruders, and finding none, he walked towards their bedroom.  As he ambled through the doorway, he could see the outline of Melinda's curled up body under the comforter.  She looked unusually small, not being aware that she had curled in on herself, wishing, thinking she might actually disappear if she could make herself small enough.  

Larry walked quietly towards the bed, only able to see the cascade of black hair on the pillow, the rest of her body buried under the pristine white bed linen.  He lowered himself gently on to the edge of the bed, and watched her sleeping form, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her breathing.  He leaned in to pull the comforter away from her face.  It was obvious then, that she had been crying.  Two black lines marked her cheeks, her face pink and puffy from her exertions.  Larry's heart sank at the sight, knowing it was either her father, or he, himself that was responsible for those tears.  He didn't know that it was both.  He didn't yet know what she had seen earlier that day.  

He showered, languishing under the hot water as it eased his tensed up muscles, washing away the stale sweat and dried and still sticky cum from his body, The Devil's scent. Looking at his body now, what it was covered with, what it had done, had been done to it, he felt mildly disgusted.  As much as he loved these rendezvous's and as much as he adored the other worldly sex, he had recently started to actually think with his brain this time, and not his dick, about what he was doing.  Why was he doing this ?  Was he attracted to Lucy ?  Was he doing it of his own free will ?  Or did he feel compelled to do it for some reason ?  He knew the effect it was having on Melinda, and though he knew he didn't love her, he wasn't that much of an unfeeling bastard that he could keep putting her through this.  He couldn't.  He wouldn't anymore, he decided.  Though how you break a deal with The Devil was another thing entirely.  

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As he climbed into bed, Larry felt the need to curl up next to the warmth of Melinda's body.  As he scooted towards her, she turned to face him, her eyes blinking open as she rested the side of her face on her hands.  Larry mirrored her pose, and tried to look directly into her eyes, his guilty conscience evading them altogether.  But he felt a feeling of calm between them, some kind of understanding in that moment.  She gazed at him for a long time, as Larry tried to gauge the emotions that crossed her features.  Love, hate, pity, sympathy, empathy, pain, hurt, fear, mistrust, betrayal.  Not many positives in that bunch, he thought.  Could she read his feelings as easily ?  If she could, he was in deep shit.  But she didn't have to read them, she didn't have to guess.  She already knew.  After what seemed like hours,