The Libertine Bubble Pt. 01

Still, it calmed me just a little more to see myself after a black out. I just couldn't believe I let it happen again. Did I forget my meds? Had I taken them before bed. I couldn't remember. I was disgusted with how slut had just, used me! I found myself touching the goo because it was a little odd that it was still sort of fresh. So I ran my palm down my arm and I'm a little concerned about how much like gel it feels. I look at my face again, I look really hard and I see these three little red, raised marks, like a triangle, just under my right nostril. I touch the spot and it hurts a little and I think, the stupid fucking slut let me fall.

I run to peeked into Sean's room. He was there. I paused to listen. He was breathing, softly and evenly. That was good. I would have stooped down to kiss him if I hadn't been so gooey and reeking of slut musk! I backed out of his room. I checked my bedroom. There was a total fucking mess! There was a big wet patch on the rug in front of the closet. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Don't you know there was a big rubber sheet you could have done your thing on? Then I saw it, the smeared inscription on the glass, the sentiment DLS left for me. It made me feel a little guilty, but, sorry, not enough. You made a big mistake, a very big mistake.

Fuming with anger, it occurred to me then to look inside the closet. I quietly slid the mirror door open, reached to find my secret shoe box, lifted its lid and found the lube. My, little purple friend, was missing. Fuck! I clenched my keegles, and then reached to open my, you know, down there, but I was empty. The anxiety built up again. In a panic, I turned to my bed, which was soaked and stinky too.

I patted the blanket until, my heart pounding, I found the thing. It was still slippery with all sorts of goo, so I held it by the suction cup, brought it to the bathroom, and then set it down in the bottom of the tub. I stood there for a minute, closed my eyes and I tried to get myself as composed as possible. In the calm I heard Roberta speak to me. I turned to look in the vanity and there she was, a sweet faced hefty black woman dressed in a navy blue maid uniform .

"We're gonna take care of this, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now what I really want you to do is take a damned shower, but I know you're too nervous for that. So, for now,you're gonna get some gloves on. Then you're gonna grab a bath robe and put it on, and then you're gonna get a pair of them rubber bottomed booty socks you got and you're gonna put em on. Okay Sweety?"

"Yes ma'am."

"All right then. Get to it."

I got to it. It felt very strange though, being covered with clothing that was just sticking to my slick, but I got down to business. While I worked, I did my chains: triple checking that the appliances were off, tapping a steady rhythm at the base of my throat, counting sequences in even numbers and reciting a series of haiku about plants and nature I'd committed to memory and had practiced reciting them in my preferred cadence.

I cleaned the rugs, undressed my bed and wiped down everything I had touched with disinfectant. I was an acomplis, covering for DLS's crime. As angry as I was, I thought I should talk to her, ask her how the fuck we ended up on the fucking roof. But I waited. I wasn't ready. I needed to make the place and myself totally clean before I could let myself relax. Eventually, after dumping every last soiled thing into the hamper, I checked Sean once more before I went into the shower.

I washed, thuroughly, all of me. My feet pushed the sex toy and rolled it back and forth across the tub's drain. Yes, I knew I'd wanted it. No, I'm not terribly grossed out by it. But, I am grossed out by one of my alter's having the fucking nerve to betray me! We discuss thing Slut! You guys protect me and Sean and I protect you! You let me black out bitch! That hasn't happened since, well, for a long time now.

I wanted to be in control! I should have been in control! I wanted to make sure that everything was just the way I wanted it before I committed to such an endeavor. Why the fuck was I naked on the fucking roof of the building? Something went wrong. I thought for Molly, but she wouldn't surface. I thought for Missy. She wasn't around either. Yes, and I even tried to summon DLS, but she probably knows she is so up shit creek that she will not see the inside of my fucking pussy for a year! Dumb bitch! That's what you get!

The feeling of betrayal persistent in me, I wanted to be spiteful. So, as I was getting out of the shower, I took the sex toy, tossed it into the garbage under the vanity, and then washed my hands of that business. As I dried myself, I wiped the steam off the mirror so I could see if the slut was hiding behind the shower curtain. Then I saw it, another triangle of small raised dots, just below and to the left of my belly button. What, the, fuck. I touched the spot. It hurt too, just like the one under my nose.

I spaced then, trying to remember something that I wanted to remember, but it just wouldn't come. Eventually, I pulled myself out of my stupor because I still had to get all the stuff I'd soiled into the washing machine and I had to remake my bed. I wrapped myself in the towel and left the bathroom. I peered down the hall, and then into the darkness in the crack between Sean's door and its jam. I stood, listening, and heard my son's breathing in muted stereo.

"He's fine," Molly assured me.

"Oh, now you show up. Molly? Where's Slut?"

"I don't know."

"You guys shouldn't cover for each other you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever."

At the base of Sean's door, I had affixed a mirror, so that he could have something to crawl to and rehabilitate with, to smile at his own reflection. In the mirror, I imagined Calamity, my precocious, five year old alter. Dressed in riding boots, chaps, fringed brown suade pants, two gun belts, one cris-crossed over the other, skull and cross bone belt buckles, denim button down shirt, black leather vest, Calamity defiantly stared back from beneath the white ten gallon hat that was propt jauntily over her braided pig tailed head.

Though wrapped in a towel, I found myself reflexively covering my breasts and monse. Calamity just does that to me.

"It's a bit unneighborly to not say good night, scolded Calamity in her Texas drawl, before you go off petting your petunia again."

I rolled my eyes. Calamity makes me suddenly think about how not so good my butt feels, oddly enough, and then I think about how my, you know, vaginal canal, I guess, feels. Nothing has ever been, uh, girthy enough I guess, to stay in there long enough to make me feel sore because of my EV. But, I realize, I'm kind of sore in there too.

"I'm, not, going to do that, actually. Uh, have you seen Slut?"

With lightening speed, the little girl withdrew her two pearl handled six shooters, but was polite enough to point them at the rug before her feet. Rules are rules after all. Good dirls don't point their loaded fire arms at anything but an imminant threat.

"Knock knock!"

"Okay. Really? Who's there?"

Calamity always had knock knock jokes.

"Dwayne," said little Calamity.

"Dwayne who?"

"Dwayne the tub, I'm dwowning."

My little alter smiled slyly. I frowned.

"That's not funny. Calamity, I asked you, have you seen Slut?"

"Nope. I ain't seen hide nor hair of the floozy."

"Well, if you see her, tell her we need to talk?"

Calamity nods.

"And, thanks for watching over Sean. Good night honey."

The little girl, never smiling, ever, returned her guns to their holsters, brought two fingers to the brim of her hat, and then brushed a salute. I started to turn, but paused to watch Calamity make an about face, and then casually retreat into the forever nether space beyond the mirror's glass substrate, walking in her laughable, looping, hard riding cowboy gait. I peeked inside Sean's door again, saw he was sleeping soundly, and then turned to enter my bedroom.

Waiting in the reflected image of the bedroom, perched on the corner of my stripped bed, sat Molly. She was always just out of the bath, dressed in a pink fuzzy robe, bare feet, blue dyed hair, flawless without make up and always chewing gum as she sanded, buffed or painted her nails. Molly was the part of me that could effectively rationalize the value of matters of sex, stressing the needs of a single mom, as much as she could be the brutally honest, sarcastic teen aged critic that liked to tell me the truths that hurt.

"Molly? Why was I on the roof?"

"You were on the roof?"

"Don't play dumb Molly. Just, go and find the slut for me, okay?"

The alter rolled her eyes. With her usual air of superiority, Molly tucked her cuticle pusher into the robe's breast pocket, and then got to her feet. As she crossed the room, she slowly untied the sash of her robe. Then, obscured behind my body's reflection, the robe dropped and disappeared.

"Check the kitchen table."

"Check the kitchen table? For what?"

"Just, check the kitchen table."

I'm so angry. I'm more upset than I've been in a very long time. I search every last reflected shadow in my bedroom closet mirror doors, but the slut's not there. She's not, in here, in, my head. I, don't know. I just, don't know. I step into the hall and, check Sean, and then step back into my bedroom to grab my bottle of Benzodiazepine. I carry it back to the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water, and then I take the recommended dosage.

I look at the kitchen table. I don't see anything there I didn't see before. I study the pill bottle, twist it around in my fingers, shake it and listen to how many of them there are jumping together inside the bottle. I walk to my front door, pause, shake my head, and then step back into the kitchen.

I clench my teeth, pitch the bottle into the wall of plants across from me and I ball my hands up in two, tight, shaking fists and I want to scream out loud for the whole worl to hear: You despicable fucking slut, show yourself!

I suddenly heard birds singing . Looking up, I saw morning light hinting between the gaps of the window's blinds. I went back to the bedroom and dressed myself in my day clothes, and then I made my way back to the kitchen. I happen to look at the stove's clock and it's blinking 12:00. Hadn't I checked the stove earlier, three times, to make sure it was off? Why hadn't I noticed that then? I look at the microwave's clock and it says the same thing. I turn to the table.

Other than the dinner matts and the full napkin basket, there was my journal and a pen. Then I think about it and I gasp. The journal should have been in my night stand drawer and the pen is my red pen. I don't write, in red pen. Anger made my stomach roil again. I just couldn't comprehend how I'd blacked out.

I opened the journal. I found the entries written by Slut and I read. Then I sat still for a long while. Suddenly, I ran to the front door, quietly disengaged its locks and slowly opened it. I looked across the hall, to Toby's door, and then, my legs shaking, my stomach roiling, I looked down at the pair of flip flops she borrowed, stitting there, innocuously, on my door matt. I close the door and lock it. I went back to the journal and read Slut's entries again, taking the time to underline certain passages.

By the time I'd read the whole thing a third time, I became aware of the twin tear drops I felt fall down my cheeks to my chin. Then, with a very deep shudder, I began to sob. I covered the scream in my mouth with both hands as I ran to Sean's room.

I heard him. He was waking. He sounded fine. I held him and he felt fine, but I did my best to wipe my tears away and I smiled at him and I talked sweetly to him as I explained that I was undressing him in his bed because I wanted to check if he was okay as soon as I could and I couldn't find any triangles of raised dots, not anywhere on him. I cried with relief. He looked at me like I was nuts, and I was, I am. But, there's nothing wrong with Sean other than, the things that have always been wrong with Sean.

So I changed his diaper, dressed him back up and held him close for a very long time. I thought and I thought and I thought and rule number one hadn't changed: Sean first! I have to protect Sean. So, I understood that I had to think rationally, logicly. Then, it came to me. I carried Sean to find my cell. I found it in my bedroom, connected to its charger. I check the time and its clock said it was 6:38 AM. That made me feel, just a little better, but not much. I opened a browser and I searched for people who I knew could help me. I found their site, and then their 1 800 number. I dialed it. When a man came on finally and asked how he could help I said:

"Hi. My name is Charlotte Lianna Hazelgrove and I want to report an alien abduction. Who? Me? No. I wasn't abducted, but one of my multiple personalities was taken and I want her back. Can you help me?