Crumbling Memories Ch. 05

Chapter 5: Ghosts

The car pulls up to the house, the silence still thick in the air from my earlier breakdown. I help Vicky out of the car and up the front steps, the routine so familiar now it's like a sad dance we're condemned to perform. Vicky's confusion barely registers anymore, her questioning gaze meeting my own haunted one with a detached sense of acceptance.

"Thank you," she murmurs, settling into her favorite chair, her voice just a shadow of the powerful, commanding tone that once made me shiver in anticipation. The words are empty, devoid of the intimacy we once shared, the unique connection that drew us together and kept us that way. The Vicky I fell in love with wouldn't thank me for helping her into a chair. She would've pulled me into her lap, her strong hands trailing down my body, her eyes twinkling with a mischievousness that always made me blush.

"I'm just going to make you some tea, Vicky," I say, my voice sounding small in the vast silence of the room. There's no recognition in her eyes, but she nods in response, a subtle confirmation that she's still here, still present in some form. The woman sitting in that chair is a shell of the vibrant, beautiful mistress I devoted my life to, yet she's still Vicky, the woman I love. The woman I failed.

We move through the evening routine, me tending to her needs, her accepting my care with a quiet grace that rips at my heart. The deafening silence between us is broken by the clink of dishes, the whistle of the kettle, the soft padding of my feet on the carpet as I move between the kitchen and the living room. This silence is a grim specter of the vibrant life we used to lead, a cruel reminder of the laughter and love that once filled this house.

"I'll be right back, Vicky," I say, standing up from the floor where I had been massaging her feet. A simple nod is her response, her gaze drifting towards the window, towards the setting sun.

As I walk to the kitchen, I let the sobs that have been threatening to spill all evening, take over. But it's not a violent, heart-wrenching storm like the one in the car. This one is a quiet drizzle, as though my soul has been wrung dry of its ability to feel anything deeply. And as I let the tears fall, I can't help but remember a time when our conversations were full of life, full of love.

At least, we were talking two years ago.

***

"Vicky, I'm home!" I announce, stepping through the front door with bags of groceries in my hands. I hang my coat up, shrugging off the cold, distant atmosphere that clings to the outside world. Home is supposed to be warm, comforting, a sanctuary from the harsh reality outside. But as I stand in the hallway, all I feel is an oppressive silence.

Vicky appears in the doorway, her brown eyes meeting mine with a soft, loving look that shatters my heart into a million pieces. There's such an innocence to her gaze, a stark contrast to the strong, confident woman she once was.

"How was your day at school, baby?" she asks, a hint of worry seeping into her voice.

I freeze, the grocery bags hanging limply at my sides. A bitter laugh escapes my lips, the sound echoing in the room. "Really, Vicky? How was my day at school?" I ask, the words bitter and sharp on my tongue.

She flinches slightly, a wounded look in her eyes. She doesn't understand, can't comprehend why I'm lashing out at her. "I just... I just wanted to know how your day was, my little baby," she murmurs, her voice breaking. "I don't understand why you're so angry."

I run a hand through my hair, a feeling of despair washing over me. "I'm twenty-seven, Vicky," I explain, my voice shaking. "I stopped going to school years ago. We've been over this, again and again."

"But you... you always came home from school," she insists, tears welling up in her eyes. "You used to tell me about your day, your teachers, your friends."

A sigh escapes my lips. "Those were fantasies, Vicky," I remind her gently, doing my best to keep my frustration at bay. "Role-playing games. You remember? I was your bratty daughter, coming home with bad grades, and you... you would spank me."

I let the words hang in the air, hoping they'd spark a memory, ignite some recognition in her eyes. But all I see is confusion, a look of childlike innocence that's both heartbreaking and endearing.

Vicky's eyes drift over me, a soft blush dusting her cheeks. There's a certain gleam in her gaze, one that's unmistakably filled with desire. The mention of our role-playing games has awakened something in her, a spark of the woman she used to be. But the spark is fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it came. And all I'm left with is a painful reminder of the love we once shared.

"I just... I don't understand," I say, my voice growing louder. "Why can't you remember? It's me, Lisa. Your Lisa. We've been together for nearly a decade, and every day it feels like I'm starting over, explaining who I am, who we are."

She watches me, her eyes wide and filled with hurt. I know I shouldn't lash out, that this isn't her fault. But the frustration is overwhelming, a bitter taste on my tongue that I can't seem to swallow.

"Every day, I'm working my ass off, trying to keep everything together," I continue, my voice echoing in the room. "I'm juggling my job, the bills, the groceries, taking care of you... And it's exhausting. It's so goddamn exhausting, Vicky."

The harshness of my words hang heavy in the air. I can see the impact they have on Vicky, can see her shrink back, her eyes welling up with tears. The sight breaks my heart, a painful twist in my chest that leaves me gasping for air. But the frustration, the exhaustion, the sheer hopelessness of it all, it's too much to bear. And for a moment, just a moment, I let myself wallow in the bitterness, the anger, the pain. I look around at the house we've shared, at the life we've built together. There are sticky notes everywhere, constant reminders for Vicky about her condition. And still, she can't seem to remember.

"Do I need a sticker too, Vicky?" I snap, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "Do I need to wear a label that says 'Lisa, your lover' so you won't forget?"

Vicky doesn't answer my outburst, her lips trembling as her eyes fill with tears. She seems small, fragile under my tirade, her confusion replaced with a deep-seated hurt that makes my heart clench. When the first tear trickles down her cheek, I'm filled with immediate regret.

"I'm sorry," I stammer, moving closer to her. "I didn't... I didn't mean... I'm so sorry, Vicky."

The distance between us disappears as I pull her into a tight hug, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. Her tears soak into my shirt, her body shaking as she silently cries. "I shouldn't have... I just... I'm sorry," I whisper into her hair, my own tears threatening to spill.

"I just... I just wanted to know how was your day at school," she says between her sobs. Her voice is so innocent, the heart-wrenching simplicity of her words causing another sharp pang of guilt.

Gently, I guide her to a chair at the kitchen table, my hand lingering on her back as I take the seat opposite her. "Okay," I say softly, pulling myself together, "let me tell you about my day at school."

Taking a deep breath, I weave a story. "Today,.. no, not today, it was a month ago. I met a girl named Claire. " Claire never existed, she was just a ghost, conjured from the ether just to amuse Vicky, but I see a slight spark of curiosity light up in Vicky's eyes. "She's really smart, really kind. We were partners in our chemistry class."

Slowly, I begin to paint a picture of a budding friendship turning into something more. "Over time, we started to flirt, teasing each other during study sessions. She'd tease me about my clumsy lab skills, and I'd retort with her horrible handwriting."

I reach across the table, taking Vicky's hand in mine. "One day, in the library, I leaned in and kissed her." The blush that rises to Vicky's cheeks brings a small smile to my face. I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "We started dating in secret, hiding our relationship from everyone."

There's a spark in her eyes that wasn't there before, a glimmer of understanding. The sight of it, the faintest echo of the Vicky I fell in love with, brings a sad sort of happiness. Maybe, for a moment, this can be enough.

"Once we became more comfortable with each other," I continue, my voice dropping to a murmur, "things started to get more...intimate." I catch Vicky's gaze, noting the way her pupils dilate, a clear sign of interest. "Claire was always more...adventurous."

I start to describe our tryst in the gym locker room, my voice a soft purr. "It was after school, late, when no one else was around. She'd convinced me to stay behind under the pretext of some extra practice. But as soon as we were alone..."

A blush paints Vicky's cheeks, and I notice the way her hand disappears under the table. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips, but I keep my focus, continuing the story. "She pushed me against the locker, kissing me hard and rough. Her fingers found their way under my skirt, pushing aside my panties..."

Vicky squirms in her seat, her breath hitching at my words. "And then?" She asks, her voice breathy and filled with anticipation.

"Well," I drawl, a devilish smirk on my face. "She got down on her knees. With her fingers still playing with my pussy, she licked me, her tongue lapping at my clit until I was moaning her name."

Vicky's hand moves more frantically under the table, her arousal evident in her flushed face and heavy breaths. But I don't stop, the sight of her pleasure fuelling my narration. "She made me cum right there, in the locker room, my screams echoing off the metal lockers."

Her arousal becomes even more noticeable, her legs clenching together as her hand moves beneath the table. A soft moan escapes her lips, and I lean in, my voice barely more than a whisper as I tell her, "That was the first time she made me cum, but it definitely wasn't the last."

"But Claire had a secret, and her secret had a name," I continue, my voice dropping to a hushed whisper, as if divulging a sacred rite. "Victoria."

Vicky's eyes widen, her hand's motions beneath the table growing more fervent. There's a hint of recognition in her eyes at the mention of the name, her own name, but it's quickly eclipsed by her mounting arousal.

"Victoria was older, powerful, and intimidatingly beautiful. She was Claire's Mistress," I confess, painting a vivid image of the domineering woman. "Claire was Victoria's devoted little slave, and she'd been tasked with an important mission -- to lure me, unsuspecting, into their world."

A soft whimper escapes Vicky's lips. She's fully invested now, her every movement betraying her excitement. "And then?" she breathlessly queries, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own labored breathing.

"Well," I press on, savoring the thrill of the shared fantasy. "One day, after Claire had just made me cum with her talented fingers buried deep in my wet cunt, she started whispering in my ear...about Victoria."

Her hand moves faster beneath the table, her pupils dilated as she clings to my every word. "She told me how it would feel to submit to Victoria, how I would kneel at her feet and beg for her touch, how I would surrender everything to please her... Claire described in graphic detail how I would be taken, used, and cherished, all at Victoria's whim."

As my words paint an explicit tableau, Vicky's breathing becomes ragged, her body shivering on the precipice of climax. Her voice is a strained gasp as she inquires, "And then?"

"Then, Claire painted a picture of the three of us," I continue, my voice soaked in desire. "She'd be on her knees, pleasuring Victoria, while I'd be on all fours, my face buried in Claire's pussy. She described how Victoria would guide her hand to my ass, teaching her how to make me squirm and moan. How we would both be Victoria's, her obedient playthings...kissing, cumming, serving her on her command..."

"But that was just the beginning," I add, once Vicky's breathing starts to calm, her eyes pleading for more of the sordid tale. "Claire's whispered promises of pleasure soon turned into detailed, erotic scenarios of degradation and humiliation. She confessed how Victoria got off on power, on control... and she wanted me to be her newest plaything."

Vicky's blush deepens, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her hand stirs back into motion, the promise of further decadence reigniting her desire.

"Claire told me about a collar," I divulge, the image causing a flicker of something in Vicky's eyes. "A collar that Victoria would place around my neck, marking me as hers. The weight of it, the symbol of it, would be a constant reminder of my place in her world."

Vicky's breath catches, the picture I'm painting mirrored in her widening eyes. "She would make me kneel at her feet, naked and vulnerable. I'd have to beg for her touch, to prove my obedience and my willingness to serve her in any way she desired."

My voice drops lower, growing more intimate, more personal. "She would degrade me, objectify me, use my body for her pleasure while Claire watched, and sometimes joined. I would be no more than a sex toy, an obedient slave to her every whim."

"As Claire's fingers worked me into a frenzy, she would describe in explicit detail how they'd bind me, blindfold me, and take turns using me. She painted a picture of the two of them, side by side, feasting on my body while I writhed in helpless ecstasy. And when they were satisfied, they'd leave me there, spent and quivering, my cries echoing in the empty room."

Vicky's gasps come quicker now, the hand beneath the table fluttering wildly. "And after...?" she pants, her words broken by her frantic arousal.

"After," I breathe, "I'd be expected to thank them. To kiss their feet, to clean their bodies, to serve them breakfast in bed as a token of my gratitude. They'd revel in my degradation, my humiliation... and I... I would be desperate for more."

With a sharp gasp, Vicky's body jerks as she reaches her climax, her hand slowing down beneath the table as waves of pleasure ripple through her. Her eyes are glazed over with the intensity of her orgasm, my story of Claire and Victoria still lingering in the air.

"Oh, Lisa," Vicky breathes out, a shudder coursing through her body as if a gust of wind blew through the confines of our kitchen. "It's... it's you."

It's almost as if time stops. The tick-tock of the clock on the wall seems to slow, the drip of the kitchen tap seems to echo. "Yes, Vicky," I say, my voice breaking the silence, "It's me."

Her fingers curl around mine as if they've always belonged there. "I remember," she whispers, her voice faint but clear. "I remember us."

A tear rolls down her cheek, and I find myself brushing it away. "You do?" I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.

Vicky nods, her azure eyes sparkling with clarity. "The bus," she murmurs, "Eight years ago. I couldn't help but notice you, in that lavender and white summer dress, lollipop in your mouth, a look of sweet innocence that was so tantalizing."

A soft laugh escapes my lips, the memory of that day etched into my mind. "I was 19," I say, "and you were..."

"...35," she finishes for me. Her lips curl into a soft smile. "I remember how it felt, coming closer to you, discovering your secret. I remember the shock on your face, the taste of your lollipop as I stole it from your mouth. I... I remember us, Lisa."

There's a lump in my throat, an emotional surge that I fight to keep at bay. "Vicky," I start, my voice choked with emotion.

But she doesn't let me finish. "Lisa, how long do we have?" she asks, her voice serious. "Before I forget again?"

Her words hang heavy in the air. "Enough time to make you cum your brains out," I reply, trying to inject some levity into the poignant moment.

A blush tints her cheeks, her eyes sparkling with a determination that's so quintessentially Vicky. "Then what are we waiting for?" she challenges, rising to her feet.

Her words echo around the quiet kitchen, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions in me. Nodding, I rise to my feet as well, following her as she leads the way to the bedroom. Every step feels like a step back in time, a step towards the memory of a love that persists even in the face of the inevitable.

***

How I used to grumble at her, mildly irritated, when she asked about my day at school. Those innocent questions, once a sign of her love, now a piercing reminder of what I've lost. I would give anything to hear her ask me once more.

Vicky sits motionless in her chair, her vacant eyes staring off into the distance. It's as if she's searching for something just out of reach, something she can't quite grasp. I sit opposite her, my heart aching as I yearn for her to see me, really see me, and remember.

My hand nervously brushes the fabric of my lavender and white summer dress, one remarkably similar to the one I wore the day we met. A futile attempt to ignite recognition, to spark a memory. "Remember this, Vicky?" I say, my voice trembling, "The day on the bus?"

A hollow silence answers me. There's no flicker of recognition in her eyes, no softening of her expression. She remains in her world, a world where I'm a stranger.

Bilbo, now frail and old, curls up at my feet, a silent participant in our heart-wrenching tableau. His gentle purring is the only sound breaking the thick silence. He's been our constant companion, a living memory of our past, but even he can't bridge the chasm that has grown between us.

"Please Vicky..." My voice breaks, my desperate plea barely audible, "...ask me about school."

Nothing. She remains motionless, her distant gaze fixed on something unseen. The silence stretches on, each second a sharp stab in my heart.

"Please... just ask me... about school..."

My words hang heavy in the air, an unanswered plea echoing through the room.

"Please Vicky, my love..." My voice, barely a whisper, trembles with unshed tears, "Ask...ask me about school."

My sobs are silent, my tears a painful tribute to the woman I love, to the memories we shared. With each plea, my voice grows weaker, my words a desperate mantra in the deafening silence.

"Vicky, please... ask me... about my day... at school."

"Please, my love... ask... just ask me about school... Please..."

"Please... please ask me... about school..."