Page 39 of Best Served Cold
Lee Holmes breathed gently against Morgan’s center, or, as gently as she could given the fact that her own body was pulsing with desire. She delayed for as long as she could—for as long as her patience would allow her, and then without warning, she gave into her desires as she extended her tongue towards where Morgan Finch needed her. She smiled between her movements, acknowledging the sounds that had already begun to fill the room only seconds after she had made contact. It was then that she realized she had solved her own enigma concerning power just by being present in the moment. She didn’t need the dominion that murder provided; the authority she desired was right here. She was powerful long before she had helped Morgan Finch, and she would be powerful long after.
Using that power now, Lee Holmes wrapped one hand around Morgan’s leg—lifting it farther away from her other leg in order to zap Morgan Finch of her own power completely. Perhaps she would never admit it aloud, but the idea of someone as dangerous as Morgan giving herself over to Lee was quite possibly the most intoxicating thing she could ever imagine.
Morgan’s moans were deeper than hers, less dulcet and harsher to the ears, and yet at present time they felt like the sweetest sound in the world to Lee—an orchestra of her own design as she hit each and every note with expert precision. She felt a hand suddenly move beside hers upon the bed, and within seconds she intertwined her own fingers with it. The pressure against her palm became stronger with each and every movement of her tongue. That same pressure continued to build, layer upon layer, until Morgan’s hand became lax in hers, and each of their fingers hung lazily around one another's.Lee kissed the inside of Morgan’s thigh, remaining in the same position for a few moments longer.
When she finally elected to move, she collapsed sluggishly onto Morgan’s body and stayed there.
As she lay in Morgan’s arms, for now, the calming white noise was back, and yet the last thing she could do at present time was sleep. The silence was broken unexpectedly. “I want to tell you more about me, I’m just not entirely sure as to where to start,” Morgan practically whispered, as Lee watched the anxiety travel down her throat whilst she gulped. “This is five years too late, I know that. It might not mean much to you now, but I’m ready.”
Truth be told, it meant everything to Lee Holmes, even now. Perhaps it was too late, but she would regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t hear Morgan’s story first. If they became strangers to one another afterwards, they would at the very least be strangers who understood one another completely. “Perhaps you could start with what happened to your dad. I know you don’t like to talk about him, and if it’s too painful to go into detail, I understand. It’s just…I don’t even know the type of relationship that you had with him. I barely know anything about him besides his name.”
“He was my favorite person in the entire world,” Morgan said, taking Lee by surprise at the honesty that was already spilling out of her without any semblance of hesitation. “So, when he died, it literally felt like there was no world anymore, no universe that could possibly exist without him. Sometimes, I’d wake up and genuinely believe that everything, including time itself, was going to stop at any moment, and then I’d be angry becauseit didn’t. Because people kept on living and existing when he couldn’t.”
Lee Holmes didn’t quite know what to say. She supposed that there wasn’t a single word in the English language that could fix, or even put a bandage over the wound that Morgan had described. Perhaps there didn’t need to be. Perhaps all she needed to do was listen.
“I don’t talk about him because when I think about him, I find it hard to focus on all of the good things that made him my favorite person. Instead, my brain automatically dials in on how he died like the worst fucking flashbacks ever. Someone came into our lives, killed the person I felt closest to in this world, and made him an intrusive thought. How fucking awful is that?” Morgan said, shaking her head against the pillow as she traced lazy circles against Lee’s arm. “My own dad is an intrusive thought to me now. I can’t think about him without thinking about how his life ended.”
“It’s ironic, I guess,” she continued. “Because I never want anybody else to feel the way that I do, and yet I’ve likely been the cause of others feeling this way, too, just by doing what I do. But I tell myself that I’ve stopped more people from feeling this way than I’ve hurt, just by preventing pieces of shit like Edward Beckett from hurting other people. Summer’s family probably feel like I do every single day of their lives. I can’t fix that. But I tell myself that I can at least do something. I also know that two wrongs don’t make a right but stopping other unknowing people from becoming victims seems pretty fucking right to me.”
As she lay in Morgan’s arms, her mind painted a thousand pictures all at once. She had never truly realized just how much the person she loved more than anything had been hurting. Lee Holmes had been looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses, listening to her true crime podcasts whilst being safely tucked up in bed, never truly understanding the universe behindwhat made them exist. Not everyone had the luxury of being safely tucked away. “Your mom told me about how angry you were growing up. I didn’t ask for more information than that. I understand where that anger comes from, now, and I won’t insult you by pretending I even remotely know what that feels like.”
Morgan held Lee slightly tighter than before, keeping her body pinned to her own as a silence enveloped the both of them. After a few minutes, Morgan spoke again. “I neverwantyou to know what that feels like,” she said, picking up the conversation once again as if it had never ended in the first place. “I know that you’ve had a hard time sleeping next to me lately, and I can hardly blame you for that. But God, Lee, if anything happened to you my world would be over a second time. I know I’ve hurt you emotionally, and it’s something I can never take back, but I swear I would never lay a finger on you. You could stab me, and I’d stand there and help you hold the fucking knife.”
Lee Holmes had dreamt of hurting Morgan, acknowledging in part what that truly felt like. She acknowledged it enough to know that it was likely the last thing she would ever do within this universe. And yet, at that moment in time, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because she believed every word that came out of Morgan’s mouth. The thing she wanted most in this lifetime was happening at that very moment. Lee Holmes opened her mouth to speak again, the question lingering on her tongue as to how Morgan had formed new bruises upon her knuckles, and yet, she found herself falling short of expelling them. Morgan Finch had shared enough for one day, she decided. She wouldn’t push her any further.
Tomorrow was going to come, and the following day after that. She didn’t know what that looked like, but right now was pure, and vibrant, and in color. And whether it was a reflection oflight, or the moment truly was painted in crimson shades, she would embrace it for what it was regardless.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It had come to Lee’s attention three days later that the essence of Morgan Finch was beginning to dissipate.
Having taken her leave the morning after their altercation with one another, Lee Holmes had been left to her own devices. Her own devices at that moment consisted of sitting in her living room in one of Morgan’s hoodies feeling sorry for herself. Despite it being one of the more recently worn garments of hers, just like the air in each room had started to feel colder, the scent that had once lingered that reminded her of Morgan had come and gone. She acknowledged that Morgan’s perfume was still sitting upon the dresser in their—her—bedroom. She acknowledged that she could just as easily stand, and apply that perfume to the hoodie that she was currently living in.
And yet, she also acknowledged, strangely, at the same time, that painting a picture of an orange wasn’t the same as eating one. Applying Morgan’s perfume herself was the equivalent of painting an orange—at least to her, and she didn’t feel much like painting. Admittedly, she didn’t feel like doing much of anything, if she was being truly honest with herself.
Despite this, doing nothing felt like resigning herself to the notion that she was nothing when she wasn’t being loved by another person. Albeit, she was under the impression that Morgan Finch still very much loved her. Regardless, at present time, it mattered not whether Morgan loved her, or if anyone loved her for that matter. What mattered was allowing herself to be independent for the first time in five years—to finally not be the sidekick in her own story.
Lee Holmes showered not long after having her epiphany, changing into her own clothes, and sprayed her own perfume. Upon entering the kitchen for a snack she would designate as a meal, she found herself taken aback by the mess that had accumulated—takeout containers with most of the food still untouched inside them, chocolate wrappers splayed across the counter after having sat in a drawer for months in the event that she needed a pick-me-up. Looking at the haphazard of colored wrappers upon the counter now, she had apparently needed multiple pick-me-ups within the last few days.
Shaking her head, she sighed and retrieved a trash bag from underneath the sink, piling wrappers and containers into it in rapid succession, trying not to think about the fact that only a week ago she had been the kind of person that people made podcasts about. Now, she was the same old housewife she had always been without the ‘wife’ to accompany her.
The tap against the front door had been so gentle, so quiet, that Lee had debated to herself if she had even heard anything at all. A bird against the window, perhaps, or the sound of another door closing in the apartment beside hers. Ordinarily, she would ignore it, but given the fact that her life had been anything but ordinary these past few weeks, she instead decided to put her trash bag down in order to step out into the hallway and take a look. Should it be a detective that she opened the door to, she deduced at that moment that with the little energy she currentlyheld, it would be likely that she would leave her apartment in handcuffs. Should it be Morgan, she would likely dissolve into the floor beneath her feet and become one with the carpet.
As much as neither option filled her with enthusiasm, she pulled back the door regardless, acknowledging that facing her monsters head-on was preferable to hiding from them. Only, when she opened the door, her heart pounding in her ears at such a trivial action, she was greeted with nothing more than air. Her monster had been nothing more than a concoction devised in her mind to plot against her. It was only when she looked down that something resembling a monster, but not quite, appeared in her line of vision—a black box.
The box wasn’t particularly large in size, and it was seemingly plain, with no labels to indicate where or whom it came from. Due to the fact that no address adorned its front, it was likely that it was delivered directly from the individual whom of which intended for Lee to receive it.
The idea that someone had been here only moments prior, dropped off a box, knocked upon the door, and departed, left her wishing a face truly had been there to greet her on the other side. Anything seemed preferable to picking up an ominous unknown box and opening it. Suddenly, she wished that the person behind the door had been Morgan, and she tried at that moment not to appreciate the irony of such a thought. The woman that she had perhaps been afraid of was the one person in the world who also made her feel safe.
She also reminded herself that she had been the person who disposed of a body, the person who had lied to detectives and sabotaged evidence. If she could be that person during all of those times, she could be the person who picked up a box and brought it into her apartment. And so, after providing herself with various affirmations in her mind, she did exactly that.
Lee Holmes inspected the packaging between her fingers, half-expecting the box to leak blood or other various bodily fluids. Placing it down upon the counter now, she pulled back the opening of the box, only to find another, smaller box, in its place. Her hand extended towards the ribbon that lay on the top of the box, taking solace in the fact that body parts likely didn't come adorned with such decorations on top. Undoing the ribbon, she let it fall away onto the marble countertop, painting it a shade of orange. Closing her eyes for just a moment, she exhaled, preparing herself for the worst possible outcome. Upon opening her eyes, she, too, opened the box, peeling away the lid as she placed it on the countertop beside the orange ribbon.
She was met with a purple shade of crinkled paper, her favorite color. Alas, she couldn’t feel relief, couldn't exhale entirely, not just yet. Not without knowing what was wrapped up inside it. She approached the crinkled paper with caution, a single finger hovering over the box. Placing a thumb against the paper now, she positioned her finger and thumb to pull back a thin sheet of paper, revealing what she now believed, based on what little she could see, to be some kind of porcelain item underneath. Acknowledging that the package no longer seemed sinister, her caution faltered, and she extended an entire hand to pull the rest of the paper away from the item in question.
It was at that moment that she allowed herself an opportunity to smile, as her cheeks dimpled underneath the dim lights of the kitchen. Upon the countertop within the box sat a traditional teapot, similar to the one she had previously donated to the thrift store, although, admittedly, this one was far more beautiful. A woven design of blue flowers occupied the exteriorwhite porcelain. Lee Holmes placed the teapot in her hands now, inspecting its outer features as she pivoted it around her fingers.
Finally, she lifted the lid in order to discover whether the inside was equally beautiful. Whilst it was too dark to see as to whether the interior of the teapot housed the same external pattern, it was not dark enough to hide the piece of white card that had been folded carefully inside.
