Free Red Grow the Roses by Janine Ashbless Page A

face the mirror.
    She’s kneeling there beyond the glass, and her hand juts from its surface as if from peaty water in a still pool. I can imagine that easily: there’s something about her that makes me think of Celtic twilight and ladies of the lake. But she’s perfectly conversant with the uses of buttons and zips, I find; popping one and pulling down the other, reaching beneath to the cotton that’s sticking to my skin, finding her way to my over-eager cock and my useless balls.
    And my only response is to hold my waistband so my trousers don’t fall down. Because all of a sudden those balls don’t feel so useless. She doesn’t care if my sperm can’t swim straight; she just wants to feel the hot spurt of my cream over her cold tongue.
    She just wants to suck me.
    I lay my forehead on the cool glass. I can see her smooth inhuman face swimming toward me through the depths of the smoky glass, breaking the surface, lifting out from the mirror. Her hair is sleeked behind her as if wet and gravity are drawing it down. Her pale lips part, spreading for the ruddy blunt bell end of my erection. Cold: cold like moor water. The hair rises on the nape of my neck and my scrotum contracts with a heave, but the chill is nothing compared to the slick caress of her mouth.
    And I’m so fucking grateful. I could drown in gratitude, if I wasn’t going to drown in pleasure first.
    * * *
    â€˜What’s that?’ Penny asks, pointing at my chest. I pull my dressing gown over hastily to hide the paired dimples of the puncture wounds.
    â€˜Dunno. Just insect bites, I think.’ I feel groggy, hungover.
    â€˜The mayor’s residence has bedbugs, does it?’
    â€˜You’d be amazed. Old building, you know. There’re all sorts of dirty old corners.’
    â€˜Ew. Don’t go bringing anything home with you, that’s all.’
    Too late, I think. I pour my third cup of tea since staggering out of bed.
    â€˜Are you going into work then?’
    I ought to. Not that there’s anything to do, because it’s the election today. Far too late for him or me or anyone else to affect the vote, but we’ve got to be seen to be around. ‘Later,’ I mumble. ‘We’re going to be up most of the night waiting for the results to come in.’
    â€˜Well, I’ve got to get going.’ She heads off to the bathroom to finish her morning ablutions. I’m so dull-witted that I don’t immediately notice that she doesn’t come back. I just sit there nursing my cup of tea and staring at the cloudy sky through the window. Picturing a face as pale and luminous as those clouds. When I rise from the breakfast bar the apartment feels eerily still. I wander down the corridor and tap on the bathroom door.
    â€˜You still in there?’
    There’s a soft noise: a sob. My heart sinks. Opening the door I find Penny sitting on the edge of the bath. She lifts her face and tries to smile, but her mouth is all over the place and all the blinking she’s doing doesn’t hide how wet her eyes are.
    â€˜My period’s come on.’
    â€˜Oh, love,’ I whisper.
    â€˜I thought this time … I was late … I really thought …’ She stops talking and clenches down. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she grits out. ‘Not to worry. We keep trying.’
    And all I can do is hug her and rub the stiff angles of her shoulders and wish helplessly that there’s something I could do to make her happy. And hate myself.
    From the corner of my eye I see pale shadows shift in the bathroom mirror. I press Penny closer to my chest and shield her face, not wanting her to see the girl in the glass – and certainly not that look of possessive avarice burning in those pale eyes.
    * * *
    The mayor loses the election. It’s no landslide, but by shortly after midnight enough of the ballot boxes are in and counted that we’ve got a clear picture of