Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 03

"We have a winner," Grey walked over to join her.

"This is your car?"

Instead of answering, Grey focused on a point behind Miranda's shoulder, "Who's that bloke over there?"

Miranda turned to look, "I don't see anyone."

Then the driver side window shattered. Miranda closed her eyes took a long, deep, breath before turning around.

"Good, thank you," Grey commented as he cleared away the broken glass with his walking stick.

"You're going to steal this car?" she asked incredulously.

"Your grasp on the obvious does you credit, poppet," he reached in and popped the lock, opening the door, "And you were a marvelous look out. First thing you've refrained from screwing up all night."

"You used me?"

"Try not to look so brassed off. You're a natural; is this your first felony offense?"

Miranda just ran out of words, staring uncomprehendingly at the older man as if he were some kind of particularly bizarre extra-terrestrial.

"Your grateful silence is reward enough for me." He wheeled Sam around to the back of the car. "What do you think, lodge her in the boot?"

"No!" Miranda cried out, having recently regained her ability to speak, "We're not putting Sam in the bloody trunk!"

She gasped as her hands flew to her mouth as if she could have kept the word from escaping retroactively. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

Grey smirked at her, "Like I said; a natural," he turned to Sam's unconscious form, "Okay then, back seat?"

"Fine," Miranda muttered, attempting to salvage some semblance of dignity.

Grey unlocked the passenger side door and manhandled Sam's limp form into the backseat.

"Watch your hands," Miranda growled keeping a protective eye over her lover.

Grey proceeded to blow a cloud of smoke into her face causing Miranda to cough and blink away tears, "Binty, the prospect of you touching me fills me with what could only be described as 'a perfect horror'. I don't think your chippy here has anything to be concerned about."

"I hate you."

"Do you want to drive?"

"..."

Grey gave her another infuriating half-smile seemingly unaware that every time he did, it filled Miranda with a very compelling desire to throttle the life from the man.

"Good, then that's all settled," he put the passenger seat back upright, "Get in the car and shut up."

Miranda obeyed simmering.

"You know, one day—"

"What part of 'shut up' was unclear?"

The girl gritted her teeth until they hurt as Grey settled into the driver's seat and began looking around.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I am contemplating whether or not I could fashion a gag out of the chippy's dress and whether or not it would be enough to get you to shut your gob," he glared at Miranda, "I'm looking for the keys."

"You can't think anyone would be dumb enough—"

Grey reached up to the visor, pulled it down, and a set of keys fell into his waiting palm.

"Well, this bloke is certainly getting a great deal out of his education," he muttered before dangling the keys in front of Miranda who looked ready to explode, "Never underestimate the stupidity of others."

He cranked up the car; it coughed and sputtered in protest but ultimately obeyed as Grey began to back out of the parking lot.

"So then Binty, where to?"

If looks could kill, Grey would have been a pile of molten bone. As such, all Miranda could do is glare at two smaller reflections of herself in his sunglasses who looked equally upset at the entire situation.

20 minutes and several violent fantasies later, Miranda guided Grey up the driveway to the apartment.

"Home sweet home," Grey called out as he brought the car to a stop, "Okay, get out."

Miranda looked back at him and looked as if she wanted to say something, but she just didn't have the fight left in her to go another round with this...person.

"Whatever," Miranda opened the door and stepped out. Moving the seat out of the way, she attempted to drag Samantha out of the backseat.

"Sammy, you so owe me!" she muttered. She continued to struggle with Sam, but the larger girl was all dead weight and the angle was impossible.

"Oh for the love of...," Grey got out of the car and stalked over to the passenger side, "Move!"

Miranda tried to avoid being run over as Grey reached in and began to pull Sam out. As he lifted her out, the blonde girl's head collided with the car door with a loud thunk!

"Hey!"

Grey looked back at Miranda, "Oops."

She just threw up her hands and hoped the other girl's skull was as solid as it sounded.

They marched up together to the entrance.

"Hold this," Grey thrust Sam's limp form into Miranda's arms.

"What the Hell?"

"Keys," he replied simply, his hand held out.

Miranda wordlessly handed over her house keys.

"Thought you said you lived you two birds lived in a flat?" he asked as he looked at the house.

"It's a house, we rent, so I call it an apartment," Miranda explained. She was very, very, tired. In fact, she could not remember a time where she had ever been this stressed out and twisted up into knots.

"How quaint," Grey muttered as he got the door open, "Here," he handed her back her keys and then simply stood there.

Miranda frowned, opened the door, and did her best to drag Sam across the floor to the couch. She made it as far as the ottoman before her arms gave out; but the carpet was plush and would serve as a temporary resting place for the girls well enough.

She looked over towards the threshold of her home; Grey was tossing away a used cigarette and fishing around for a new one.

"Do you...," Miranda began, "do you want to come in?" trying to be polite.

Grey scoffed, "Not even a little, poppet."

Miranda intended to tell him buzz off.

"Will you anyways?" Miranda's eyes went wide, that was not what she had planned on saying, "I have coffee," she said in shock as her mouth was making words her brain railed long and hard against.

Grey stopped and considered, "Yeah, all right, I could do with a cuppa," he gestured about towards the room, "Are you going to invite me in?"

"What are you, a vampire?"

"No, just polite."

"Blood-sucking ambulatory corpse still sounds more likely."

"Very funny, but I believe there was mention of coffee?"

Miranda sighed and nodded, "Yeah, just...stay there and watch Sam."

"Watch her do what, exactly?"

Miranda left the room as Grey examined the dried vomit on his shoes,

"Bloody priceless."

Miranda was in the kitchen, slamming drawers, banging pots and basically taking out all her frustration and anger out on the defenseless kitchen.

"Is this your first felony?" she mimicked in her best Cockney accent, "What part of 'shut up', do you not understand, Binty?" she continued to open and close doors with a great deal of strength in her search for the sugar, "'let's go collect your trim now!" She snarled, "'You two bloody tarts are costing me both time and money'," she found the sugar, her fists squeezing it until her knuckles turned white.

Those weren't the words though; she knew the words, the ones that had actually hurt her.

A Big. Fat. Cock.

"Jigoku ni iku ni wa, meinu!" she screamed and hurled the bag of sugar across the kitchen where it exploded against the far wall.

Jigoku ni iku ni wa, meinu.

Go to Hell, you bitch!

Miranda took several, shaky breaths as the ruptured sugar bag spilled forth its remaining contents upon the floor.

She heard a matchstick light up and turned to face Grey who was nonchalantly lighting a cigarette whilst examining the wreckage. He blew out a cloud of smoke in consideration.

"Now, my Japanese is a bit rusty there, Poppet," he walked past her and peered at the pile of sugar and torn paper on the floor, "But I'm pretty sure that it didn't mean 'kettle's on.'"

"Get out." Her lips were pulled back in hateful rictus as she looked at him.

He pointed at her, "And there it is."

"There what is?"

"That. The beastie in your closet that you've been keeping wedged up inside you all soddin' evening," he took another thoughtful drag, "that's what's had you spitting nails all evening and that's why you were so easy to bait."

Miranda frowned, her anger dissipating into uncertainty, "What are you ranting about now?"

"Question: did you or did you not suffer a constant barrage of insults, putdowns, and a variety of very hurtful things."

"I did."

"And who is responsible for that?" he inhaled deeply.

"You."

"Ahhh, yes, me," he exhaled a cloud of smoke and he smiled humorlessly causing the scar to become more prominent, "Me, me, me."

"Let me ask you something, do you usually make it a habit of being humiliated and degraded by random men?" he shrugged and inhaled another puff of smoke, "You don't look the type, but it takes all kinds..."

"No!" Miranda yelled, "No, I'm not some stupid girl that enjoys pain."

"Well, you're half right," he coughed, "So why then did you let a complete stranger torture you for the better part of an evening?"

Miranda began to protest but pulled up short.

"Like you said, you're not some kind torture toddy, gets her knickers all damp at the first crack of the switch, so why?"

"I—"

"I'm glad you asked. You did it for the reason that I did it to you: you needed someone to be angry at that wasn't your girlfriend."

Miranda's pale face became deathly.

"Oh yes, your sweet beloved," he exhaled a cloud of smoke into her face, "who not only humiliated you, in public and in a very obscene fashion were you to ask me," he began to circle Miranda, "she was the reason you were there in the first place and she is the reason that you had to tote about her tanned arse all over town with a bloke you couldn't stand."

Miranda put her hands over her ears, "I'm not hearing this."

"You don't have to hear it, Pet, you already feel it," he pointed at her chest, "it's in there now, like a worm in an apple and it's just eating you up."

"Shut up!"

"Come on, Binty! You're so angry, so betrayed so hateful and hurt, do something! Tell her to go to hell, tell her to fuck off, tell her you never want to see her selfish, gimpy ass again!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I love her!"

"Then you got all this hate just churning inside your fucking guts," he sneered at her, "and you can't take it out on poor, crippled, Samantha—"

"Fuck you!"

"Un-bloody-likely, but since we're on the subject, what appalls you more there; the fact that she almost got used as a sperm dumpster...or the fact that she might have liked it? Maybe it would give her something you never could!"

Miranda screamed and slammed a fist in Grey's jaw, "Shut your fucking mouth!" tears of rage and anguish flowed freely down her face.

"Is that all you've got? Hey, you know her best, she seems a sturdy little tart; I bet she could take three at a time at least, what do you think?"

Miranda punched him again, her hand was starting to hurt, "Stop it!"

"Come on, Miranda, you want hit me? Hit me! You want to hurt someone? Give it your best fucking shot!"

She threw one more punch, but there was no weight behind it. She collapsed against him and hammered her small fists into his chest before she broke down into painful sobs.

"I hate you," she whimpered.

"I know poppet, I know," he formed a protective loop around her small frame with his arms, not quite touching, "that's the popular opinion. And more to the point, that was the purpose of tonight."

Miranda looked up at him, her eyes red but clear and large in comprehension, "This was your plan all along: you wanted me to get angry at you, to hate you, so I wouldn't take it out on Sam."

"And the blue ribbon goes to the girl in the front row."

"But...why?"

"Because, of all the broken things I've seen, broken hearts, have always been, in my eyes, the worst of the lot."

"You did it to keep us from breaking up?"

"I did it to keep two stupid girls from doing something stupid, like, say, bin their love for each other because one's a lush and the other's a tosser."

Miranda smiled a little, "You're still insulting me. You don't need to anymore."

"Who said anything about 'need', I find it to be right entertaining," he looked down at her, "got a taste for it, you know?"

Miranda laughed and wiped her eyes, her reflection in Grey's glasses revealed a pair of very tired young women.

"Thank you," she said very quietly.

"You want to thank me?" he gestured, "you can let go of my shirt, you're violating my bloody personal space."

"Deal, but first," she stretched to kiss him on the cheek.

"No!"

Miranda was nearly thrown across the room as Grey scrambled away from her his hands in front of him pressing out, as if to ward her away. He tripped and fell backwards, landing hard on his back.

"Grey, what's—"

He began to crab walk away from her as fast as he could.

"Don't touch me!" he rolled over onto his stomach and sprang to his feet, eyeing the small girl as if she were a pit viper.

"Just don't...don't touch me, all right?" He exhaled and Miranda saw him tremble, "Had enough touching tonight to last a lifetime."

"Okay," she said soothingly. She had begun to suspect through the night that, between the two of them, Grey's wounds were deeper than her own were. This had confirmed it. "Okay, I'm not going to touch you."

His expression was difficult to read behind his shades, but he looked to be calming slightly.

"All right," he sagged and almost collapsed onto the couch, "all right."

"You know, I was touching you earlier," she gestured behind her, "do you remember?"

"Yeah, that was mostly coat, shirt, and undershirt and I was braced for it. But the kiss?" he shook his head vehemently, "Off the table, out of the question. Fair?"

"Will you at least tell me why?"

"Because you've got nothing I need," he looked her slim frame up and down, "And I've got nothing you want."

"That doesn't tell me anything."

"It wasn't meant to. So, fair?"

"Fine then, 'fair'."

"Thank you," he pointed at Sam, still on the floor, still unconscious, "Shall we give your beloved a proper 'rise and shine,' then?" He grinned impishly at Miranda.

Miranda nodded tentatively, "What are you going to do? You're not going to hurt her, are you?"

Grey gave her his best, "Are you really that stupid?" look and scooped Samantha up in his arms.

"Which way to the loo?"

Miranda gestured towards the hallway.

"Golden, thanks poppet," he made his way towards the bathroom, "put the kettle on if you haven't already; coffee is definitely going to be necessary."

"On it."

Miranda started to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

"How do you take it?" she asked.

"Anywhere I find it, really."

Miranda stuck her head out of the kitchen to scowl at the Englishman.

"Black and bitter is fine, girl."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she murmured as she finished brewing the coffee and poured two cups.

"Going to need your help here now," she heard Grey call.

Miranda set the coffee down and headed into the bathroom.

"Now," he began as he set Samantha down gently, "What is the story behind this?"

He was gesturing to an enormous claw foot tub. It was placed in the center of the floor and completely dominated the entire room.

Grey quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Miranda, who looked a little sheepish.

"What? She replied, "Bath time is fun time around here."

"Clearly," he reached up to the detachable shower wand and examined it, "Ah, here we go: pulse massage with three settings: 'normal', 'intense', and 'ultra-knob' he looked up from his work and smirked, "and judging by the wear and tear, it looks like the third setting gets a lot of use."

"You've got a problem with masturbation?" Miranda asked, feeling bold.

"Not in the slightest, though it's not my personal cup of tea," he removed a cigarette from his jacket (which he hadn't bothered to take off) and stuck a match, lighting the tip, "Besides, I drink, smoke, get into fights, and gamble. That's much more my speed."

"Explains a lot," Miranda muttered.

"Yeah, yeah, help me get your bird starkers," began to pull her dress up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Miranda went out to grab his hand and before his glare impaled her on the spot and stopped her dead, "What are you doing?"

Grey gave her that crooked smirk that made his scar bigger and seemed to ask 'Are you brain-dead?'

"Showering in a vomit coated dress seems a wee bit counterproductive, yeah?"

Miranda grimaced as she acknowledged the point, but still looked wary.

"Oh, for fuck's—" He took a long drag from his cigarette and placed his hand over his heart, "I swear by my blackened heart and tar-filled lungs that I intend no shenanigans towards yon drunken lesbian, happy?"

Slowly, Miranda backed off, "Yes, and yet also deeply troubled."

"Why?"

"Because no man has ever turned down a chance get his hands on Sammy, especially naked, lesbian or no."

"Huh, well, there are two kinds of tarts I never get mixed up with."

"And they are?"

"Girls green enough that I may have in fact been the one to squirt them into their mother's bellies during the seventies in London."

"And the other."

"Girls who are so bloody thickheaded it makes my eyeteeth hurt."

"Nice."

"Goes double for you."

"Uh-huh, yeah, great," still, Miranda helped Grey get Sam out of her dress.

"And besides," he added after Sam was nude, "You don't have anything to worry about."

Miranda frowned, "What do you mean?"

He gestured with the hand holding his cigarette, "Never went in for the whole 'I wish they all could be California girls' thing," he took a drag and exhaled in an air of nostalgia, "Bloody cliché it is, no, give me a woman pale as the moon in Winter with eyes you can drown in," he looked over at Miranda and shrugged, "What can I say, when you're as old and fucked up as I am, the norm just doesn't cut it anymore. Need to find something...unique, you know?"

"Exotic?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Yeah, that'll work. A one-of-a-kind, through and through; brains to boobs," he took another drag, "Speaking of," he gestured at Sam, "that is a fantastic set of Bristols your lover's got affixed to her torso," he leered at her, but it lacked the kind of lust behind it for it to be authentic, "Most impressive."

"I'm so happy you approve," she took the shower wand from Grey, "okay so what are we doing next?"

"You, birdie, are going to put that there," he handed her the shower wand," twixt yon dozing woman's thighs and aimed at her nethers."

"What you mean like...inside her?" Miranda asked aghast.

"No, was that I bloody said?" he shook his head in frustration, "Just do what I'm telling you to do, all right? I certainly can't do it."

"Why not?" she asked despite herself.

"You're not really grasping this whole 'personal bubble' idea, are you girlie?"

"Yeah, physical contact that doesn't involve violence, wouldn't want that." With a sigh, she did as she was told carefully.

"I'm sorry about this, Sammy," she whispered before taking a step back.

"Okay, now what?"

Grey took satisfied puff from his cigarette and examined the scene as if contemplating his next move. Then calmly reached over and cranked up the cold water,

There was a shriek that could have been heard from orbit as Sam's eyes nearly exploded out of her head.

"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!"

Miranda started to move towards her, Grey held her back.

"Not just yet love."

Sam was frantically digging between her thighs, trying to find the monster that was spewing forth ice-cold water all over her sensitive parts.

"Miiiiriiiii!!" she wailed. The more she thrashed, the more tightly wedged the shower wand became.