Free Mazie Baby by Julie Frayn Page A

just another fuck you.
    He rested one hand on her shoulder.
“Look at our little Ariel.”
    Mazie glanced at him and caught
herself smiling. Bathed in the yellow light of a spring sunset, he almost
looked his old handsome self. His long, soft, chocolate hair was now clipped
above the ears and peppered with grey. His tanned face bore evidence of the
passing years, the smile lines and soft skin now weathered by years of hard labour
in the hot sun and cold wind, the rain, the snow. The deep furrows between his
brows and frown lines that cut alongside his drawn lips proof of the transition
from easy-going and loving partner to taskmaster with a heart filled with
contempt.
    He should have sold a million
records by now. Won a Grammy or two. Not foundered on the bottom rung of a
too-tall ladder, with more talented, more driven, more connected musicians
stepping on him as they clamoured past on their way to the top. His hatred for
her was borne of his own bitter disappointment in himself. Mazie knew it. But
she could never make it any better. He wouldn’t allow her to.
    “She’s starting to look like you,” his
voice rasped in her ear.
    He set his tumbler on the counter
and slid behind her, brushed her hair from the nape of her neck and leaned over
her shoulder, his cheek touching hers. “You know, when you were younger. When
you were pretty.” He pressed into her back.
    Mazie froze. It was the only thing
she knew to do. The lump of his erection rested between her ass cheeks.
    “She’s so tall. Must have got that
from me. But the tits, those are all you, Mazie Baby. All you.” He reached his
left arm around her, slipped his hand under her shirt and bra, and massaged her
breast. His right hand bounced against the seat of her skirt.
    Mazie forced back a lump of bile
that rose in her throat and gripped the sink’s edge with both hands while he
masturbated against her.
    “Look at her hair, Mazie. Black
like yours, shiny and thick like it used to be.” His hand left her breast and
lifted her skirt, then yanked her underpants down.
    She swallowed hard. “Not here, not
in the kitchen.” He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t be thinking about their
daughter that way. “The kids might see.”  
    “Yeah, they might.” He rested his
chin on her shoulder and held her hip. With each stroke, he slapped himself
against her bare flesh and grunted in her ear. “I’m almost done with you,
Mazie. Bored in fact.” His breath was laboured and his words were punctuated by
the wheeze of too many cigarettes. “Time to move on, right? To someone younger.
Someone prettier. Like you used to be.”
    His breath was sweet with syrupy
bourbon. She shut her eyes and steadied her breath, tried to prevent the
convulsions that were threatening to explode her dinner all over the kitchen
window. “Cullen, no. You wouldn’t.”
    “Oh, yes.”
    Mazie opened her eyes. Ariel spun
in circles on the lawn. She stopped and staggered about. Laughter lit up her
face.
    He groaned. The warmth of his
climax hit her lower back and dripped into the crack of her ass.
    She grit her teeth. “She’s just a
little girl for God’s sake! Your own daughter, Cullen!”
    One hand covered the back of her
head and pushed her face into the dishwater. Her arms flailed and knocked
something off the counter. The muffled sound of shattering glass broke through
the splashing and her silent screams. Her legs went numb and her mind blanked.
Familiar glints of bright light flickered behind closed eyelids. And then
nothing.
    ~~~~~~~~
    “Breathe, Mazie Baby. Breathe.”
    The chrome bar was cold in her
hand. Her screams filled the room.
    Cullen stroked her sweaty head and
bent forward, his lips pursed, eyes wide. He puffed air at her to show her how
to breathe, just like the Lamaze instructor had taught him.
    The contraction eased. Giddy from
nitrous oxide, she laughed into the mask on her face. “You look like a
constipated monkey.”
    A glint of anger flashed across his
eyes.