Sleeping with the Frenemy (4 page)

She wiped her wet eyes. The side of her hand came away with blood. When she fingered her bottom lip, it stung and more blood covered her skin. Her stomach throbbed and the side of her head hurt.

At least Gen didn't sprain my wrist this time.
Deborah rotated her left arm and stiffened from the soreness there. Last month when they had one of their “arguments,” Gen grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back to the point where her shoulder almost popped. Eight months before that, Gen stomped on her arm and Deborah had to wear an arm brace for a few months.

After the feeling of vertigo left, Deborah rose, her back cracking, making her almost fall to her knees. She bit her lip and swallowed a cry, walking slowly to the middle of the room and viewing all the destruction Gen had created.

“Mrs. Murnay, I'll clean up here. Go take a hot shower, and when you have washed up, I'll help you clean your room and make you brunch.” Teresa stood in the doorway, twisting her hands together.

“Please don't, Teresa. If Genevieve finds out, we'll have another…argument and she may fire you,” Deborah said, and when she went over to pick up the paperweight on the floor, she almost fell back down in pain.

“
Senora
, please, you'll hurt yourself.” Teresa came over and took Deborah's arm.

Deborah's lips trembled and tears filled her eyes once again. “Perhaps I should take a shower first to loosen these stiff muscles of mine. Then if you have time, maybe you can help me straighten up in here and in the bedroom?”

“Of course. Mrs. Murnay doesn't have to know. If she's asks, I simply say no.” Teresa patted her arm and led her out of the room.

“You're a good friend, Teresa. If not for you and Gilberto, I'm afraid I'd be…” Deborah broke off to keep her tears in check as she and Teresa climbed the stairs up to her room.

Teresa murmured soft, comforting words in her native language and made Deborah sit on the bed while she turned on the shower. When she came out with a big, fluffy towel, Deborah took off her pajamas, wincing as she wrapped the towel around her body and shuffled into the bathroom.

She dropped the towel and climbed into the large shower stall, the stream of hot water raining over her abused body. Shakes took over Deborah's body and she fell down to the tile floor, crying loudly and rocking, wishing she was dead.

When Deborah finished her shower, she went through the motions of getting ready for when Genevieve returned from town. She was due to arrive shortly, or so she had been told by Teresa when Gilberto called to say they were on their way back.

She quickly finished putting on her makeup, although the cover-up didn't hide the small gash on the right side of her head that almost matched the older, faded scar above it she received last year when Genevieve had accused her of cheating with a neighbor. As she swiped on her coral-colored lipstick, her split bottom lip swelled and continued to lightly bleed even after she put pressure on it. For the next few days she'd be stuck on the property since Genevieve would never allow her to go out in public after an argument like this one.

Stepping gingerly into the walk-in closet, Deborah flinched as her muscles tightened and she wheezed from shortness of breath. Her clothes and shoes on the left, across from Genevieve's own wardrobe, were all lined up by color coordination to denote each day of the week. Yet another rule of Gen's. For each day she was to wear the color Gen had decided long ago for her. Every color of the rainbow was there except purple. Gen hated the color, while Deborah adored it. She hadn't worn the color since she married Gen.

How did I get to this?
Deborah shook her head sadly as she put back on her rose pajama set, wishing she could run to her mother and hide in her arms. But her mother lay dying, hours away, and only Gen could give her the permission to go see her.

Deborah glanced down at her fisted hands and relaxed them. She combed her fingers through her hair, wanting to smash something expensive of Gen's against the wall. Instead she took a calming breath, circling the bedroom Teresa had put back in order. After pacing for a few minutes, she finally left to eat something before Genevieve came back.

Her appetite was lacking, but she'd try her best to eat. Already she was too thin—or fit, as Gen called her. Deborah longed to go back to the days when she could eat whatever she wanted, perfectly fine with having the extra weight on her frame, since she looked better with curves than none at all.

She made a quick stop at the library that was back to the way it was before their “argument.” Always an argument, never a fight or a beating from Gen. Oh no, no—God forbid she confronted Gen and threatened to leave her again. This time she'd only leave the house in a body bag.

“
Senora
, please come out on the veranda. It's a beautiful day!” Teresa called out from the foyer, and when Deborah walked into the kitchen, Teresa took hold of her arm.

“Teresa, I'm not an invalid. I'll be all right. You know how Genevieve gets when she loses her temper,” Deborah explained, trying to keep her voice light, as if she hadn't been beaten.

Teresa raised an eyebrow when Deborah smiled and winced from her bruised lip. They walked out on the patio and over to one of the tables facing the back of the property that had a perfect view of the mountains. Deborah sat and tilted her head back, breathing in the dry Nevada air, taking a moment to reflect how lucky she was to be alive.

If only Genevieve stopped hurting her, then all would be perfect.

Deborah's mouth trembled as she thought of her wife, who she did still love very much, but whom she could no longer stay with.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip, the strong dark taste filling her mouth as she planned in her head. Hopefully she'd be able to pull Gilberto aside at one point in the day, when Genevieve was indisposed
.
He was her only hope
.

Deborah went still and stared straight ahead upon hearing Gen's voice behind her. This time she wouldn't jump up and welcome her with open arms as she did every day.

The clicking of Genevieve's heels on the pavement burned Deborah's ears as she waited for another eruption of rage to be directed at her. When Genevieve came to her side, Deborah didn't greet her, but instead tilted her head down to stare at her lap.

Genevieve's hand fell lightly on top of her hair and pulled through her strands, her touch oddly comforting. Deborah stopped from grabbing Gen's palm and laying it over her cheek.

Neither broke the silence. Deborah finally relented. “Did you finish your errands in town?”

Genevieve rested her chin on Deborah's shoulder, her arm coming around to hold her close. “Yes. My massage was very relaxing and I bought a few items for the house, including a little something for you.”

Deborah nodded slightly and pressed her lips together to stop from asking what that little something could be. Genevieve kissed her on the cheek and took hold of her hand. “Come with me and I'll show you what I bought.”

Deborah left her uneaten bowl of oatmeal and blueberries, her weekday breakfast that never changed—another rule set by Genevieve—and allowed herself to be led back into the house. Gen had a soft, dazed look on her face, most likely from one too many Bloody Marys or mimosas she drank at the day spa.

Both Teresa and Gilberto stood in the kitchen, and when Gen nodded in their direction, they did the same, watching them leave. Gen didn't say a word to her, not that Deborah cared. She didn't think she could hold a conversation at that moment, her whole body tense with anxiety at what Genevieve had bought her. She'd hope it wasn't another outlandish sex toy used to invade her body as a form of love shared between them.

Tremors almost overtook her body, and when they reached their bedroom, Gen turned, her face full of worry and her eyes cloudy with torment.

“Oh dearling, I'm so ashamed about our argument we had this morning. You know how nervous I get right before the end-of-the-quarter meeting I have with my stockholders.” Gen waved her hand as if the incidence was of no real consequence.

Deborah smile didn't reach her eyes. “I know full well how nervous you get. We all have our moments where things get the best of us.”

Gen gave her a warm smile, and when she pulled her in close for a hug, Deborah went into her arms stiffly. She rested her head in the crook of Gen's shoulder and closed her eyes.

This would be one of the last hugs she received from this woman.

“I love you so much. Please forgive me for the way I overreacted. I know you would never do anything to hurt me intentionally,” Gen whispered in an impassioned plea.

Like you've done to me time and again, to the point where I've wanted to kill myself?
Deborah remained unyielding in Genevieve's arms.

Genevieve cupped Deborah's face and placed her lips over hers. Deborah waited for Gen's tongue to slither in, as was her usual custom when she kissed her, but instead she left her lips over her own. Tears from Genevieve's eyes fell and landed on Deborah's cheeks. A watery sigh escaped Genevieve and without stopping the kiss, she backed into the bedroom with Deborah in her arms.

When Genevieve finally released her, Deborah went to sit on the bed. Gen stopped her and lifted up a dark purple box. Deborah's eyes went wide, and when Genevieve held it out toward her, she took it.

“Just a little something from me to you…as an apology.” Gen winced when she spoke the last word and tugged on her diamond earring.

“There's no need for you to apologize. It's all forgotten,” Deborah said automatically and quickly opened the package. She covered her mouth upon seeing the risqué purple and black lace negligee. “It's…gorgeous.”
I'll look like a prostitute wearing this.

“Put it on,” Genevieve ordered softly and Deborah took off her pajamas. When Deborah was naked, she glanced up at Gen's face. Gen's eyes sparkled as she licked her lips, her eyes zoning in on the belly chain.

Deborah lifted the velvet chemise over her head. She tugged the tight fabric down and sucked in her breath as it bunched around her hips. Finally she pulled it down over her thighs, but it rode up high, showing off the curve of her ass.

Gen held up her hands to her face and laughed. “You're so beautiful! Turn around in a circle.”

Deborah turned around a few times. When she finished her third rotation, Gen walked over and linked their fingers together. She backed her over to the oversized cream-colored chaise longue in the corner near the window and made her sit.

Gen whispered something Deborah couldn't catch as she knelt down and slid her palms up and down her legs. She lightly scratched the top of her thighs with her nails, and kissed her with more passion than before.

Deborah fell back with Gen hovering over her on her palms, nipping and tugging on her lips. Deborah could barely find any enjoyment in the desperate kiss, and whimpered in pain as she tasted blood. Gen lifted her mouth and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Her eyes brightened and her tongue lapped gently over Deborah's mouth.

“My poor darling has a cut on her lip? I hate to see you in pain. Does my special girl want me to kiss her someplace else to make it all better?” Gen asked in a baby-sounding voice, and with a wicked smile, dropped her face down to Deborah's stomach.

“Yes, please,” Deborah replied softly and stared up at the ceiling, lifting her arms over her head as Gen's breath washed over her pussy and thighs. And when Gen began to lick and suck her cunt, and her sharp nails dug into her legs, she bowed her back and willed her body to enjoy Gen's administrations. She instantly went wet since a tongue and mouth, regardless of it being Gen's, made her respond.

As Gen took her time eating away at Deborah's core, the sounds of her mouth slurping and sucking loudly, Deborah moaned and sighed at the same time—coming violently. Gen's mouth worked her over as Deborah thought out her plans: the plans she'd been making for a very long time to escape from this monster, who'd rather see her dead than allow her to leave alive.

All of Deborah's secret preparation over the past year would come to pass with Genevieve attending her stockholder meeting like she did twice a year. She'd end up staying overnight in Las Vegas, Friday to Saturday, without Deborah by her side. Deborah wasn't needed since Genevieve didn't want her to mingle with the business men and women Genevieve controlled, much the same as she did with her wife.

As the sun rose on that Friday morning, Deborah made slow, tender love to Genevieve, knowing it would be the last time she'd ever kiss her, smell her, and feel her body against hers. No words were exchanged between the two. Deborah had no more to give. Genevieve's jealous rages had destroyed everything special between them.

Now she waited on the front steps after sharing empty goodbye kisses and fake promises and admissions of love from her that Genevieve was totally unaware about. Deborah kept her smile in place and waved as the limo left, taking Genevieve three hours away where as soon as she arrived at her destination, she'd call to check to make sure Deborah was there to receive her call.

She'd be in for quite the surprise. Deborah would be long gone, vanishing into thin air where Genevieve would never find her.

Gilberto came up beside her, silent as the car turned the corner and rode away on the main road. Deborah finally released a sigh of relief, then looked at the dark, brawny man standing beside her.

“Were you able to get everything you needed for my trip into town today?” she asked him.

Gilberto nodded. “The documents, including the directions you need, are in the backseat. Also the funds you gave me on Tuesday were put in a special account only you can access.”

“And I can assume the funds I gave you and Teresa have been taken care of as well?” Deborah asked.

“Yes, ma'am. You'll be very pleased how everything has turned out.”

Deborah smiled up at him and nodded. “Very well. Why don't you start the car while I go upstairs and get my purse? We can't be late for my spa treatment.”

“Yes, Mrs. Murnay,” Gilberto responded stiffly and Deborah walked back in the house where Teresa waited, wiping her eyes with a tissue. Deborah walked up to her and pressed a palm over the older woman's cheek. Both women stared at one another with tears in their eyes, and finally Deborah broke away and climbed up the steps.

She went right into the bathroom where she knelt down near the toilet and threw up her breakfast until she was dry heaving. Her nerves were at an all-time high and the moment she left this house, she'd constantly be looking over her shoulder, for she was about to betray Genevieve in the worst possible way.

If Genevieve ever found her, she'd kill her.

* * * *

Deborah sat in the backseat looking out the window, clutching a large nondescript brown bag where she put away the documents Gilberto had referred to. She wouldn't need them right away, but she kept them close so as not to forget to take them later on. She tried to keep a clear mind, but her thoughts kept wandering back to the note addressed to Genevieve that she left with her wedding band on top of the dresser in the bedroom, in which she expressed her love, as well as her horror at the abuse she suffered all those years by Gen's hand. She explained how she couldn't take the pain any longer and had to take her own life to escape her suffering.

“Mrs. Murnay, we should be arriving at the spa in less than ten minutes,” Gilberto said from the driver's seat.

“Thank you, Gilberto…for everything. I sincerely don't know what I would have done if not for you and Teresa.” Deborah cleared her throat, holding back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

“I wish I could have done more,” Gilberto replied, his eyes full of discomfort as he looked back at the rearview mirror.

“Please don't blame yourself. What happened to me is all on my shoulders. If I had left the first time Gen hit me, we wouldn't be in this situation. And now…”

“And now what?”

Deborah went to play with her wedding ring when she noticed her finger was bare. She sighed brokenly, blinking away her tears. “And now we've come to this.” She leaned forward as the car turned to the right and down the street. “I know we've been over this a million times before. But, when a few weeks have gone by after my ‘death,’ you and Teresa should go back to your family in Mexico. Take the one hundred thousand in that secret account your friend helped you set up, and disappear. I don't think Gen has power to reach you out of the country, but you never know.”

Gilberto parked the car and laid his arm back over the seat. “Deborah” Gilberto cleared his throat as he paused. It was the first time he ever called her by her first name. “Don't concern yourself about me or my sister. We'll be fine. Your wife knows nothing of our family. We made certain not to. Teresa and I will stay around until
she
thinks you're truly dead,” Gilberto said the word “she” as if it was a curse.

Deborah gave his hand a slight squeeze. “I'd hate to think you or Teresa could end up as victims of Genevieve's rage. If she ever found out your part in my—”

“She never will, Mrs. Murnay,” Gilberto said strongly and pulled his arm away. “It's time you went to your appointment. You wouldn't want to be late.”

Deborah nodded and glanced inside her purse. She took out her sunglasses and the belly chain Gen had given her for their anniversary. She untangled the chain from her glasses and palmed it, almost giving it to Gilberto, just as she had done with most of her jewelry over the past year for him to sell and raise enough money for not only her, but for him and his sister. But she didn't think this piece of jewelry could be sold. It was too unique. Instead of putting it back in her purse, she put it on her seat. At least if the car was found, not only would Genevieve have her wedding ring, but the chain as well to remember her by.

Deborah pulled on her sunglasses and swung her hair, giving Gilberto a bright smile. “You've been a great friend. Please tell Teresa the same when you see her.”

Gilberto nodded and stared straight ahead, mimicking the action he usually did whenever he drove Deborah into town.

She nodded and got out of the car, leaving him behind as his cell phone went off. “Hello, Mrs. Murnay. Yes…your wife has arrived at her appointment safely.”

Deborah walked ahead, her face blank as Gilberto talked to her wife, who called to check in on her.

* * * *

Two hours later, Deborah had been waxed, massaged, and given a manicure and pedicure. She glanced down at her nails painted with clear nail polish. She couldn't have them with any color whatsoever so as not to be noticed.

Her cell phone vibrated. Genevieve had called two times and left a text message telling her to call her as soon as she finished. Deborah put her phone back in her purse. There was no sense in calling Gen. She'd said her goodbyes to her that morning.

Taking a deep breath, Deborah walked down the hall to the reception desk. She backed against the wall and took out the spare set of car keys Gilberto had given her, along with the other essentials. Knowing time was of the essence, she turned around instead of going out the front. She walked toward the back where another door would take her into the side parking lot.

Deborah didn't run. She even nodded at the employees as she passed them by. Her legs didn't tremble as she walked out the back door and across the pavement to the car. Instead of using the electronic key chain to unlock the car, she slid the key into the lock and climbed in. Closing her eyes for a moment, she inhaled and started the car. Less than a minute later, she drove out of the parking lot and down the main road.

The drive took around fifteen minutes. Deborah chewed her nails the entire time, ruining her manicure. She was a ball of tension, constantly looking out the rearview mirror, expecting to be pulled over by a cop, or for some crazy reason for Genevieve to be right behind her, having figured out what she'd done. The road Deborah drove on was practically empty, and when she drove off the highway, she clenched the steering wheel harder. Her knuckles were almost white under her usual lightly bronzed skin as she turned off the road and farther away from the urban area, leading her to a more rocky section surrounded by big boulders and mountains in the distance. Deborah didn't park the car near the picnic tables or where the hiking trails began. She drove further in, trying to keep her cool as she passed one or two empty cars.

Finally she parked the car near the entrance of a small bridge that had been under construction for more than a year. The two-lane bridge led to the other side and around the bottom of a small mountain. But Gilberto had informed her when the discussed places for her “suicide” that the bridge was out of commission. It was desolate—and perfect for what Deborah had to do.

Keeping the car running, Deborah got out and carefully stepped up on the bridge. She went to the edge where the river was high enough that as soon as the car hit the water, it would be carried away. Luckily for her, it had been a wet season, a bit out of the ordinary from the dry conditions that usually led to a drought. From the way the water crashed and flowed, the rapids swirling under and beyond her, she had picked the right place to commit her fake suicide. If all went well, the car would be beaten up, pulled under the waves, and taken miles downstream. Perhaps days would go by before it was found and people believed that her body was eaten by whatever fish lived in the river or the rocks, tearing her corpse to pieces.

Deborah checked her watch. Genevieve would be arriving at the hotel and calling either her or Gilberto again since Deborah had never answered Genevieve's original calls or text messages. She threw her cell phone, the last form of communication she'd have with her wife, into the rushing water.

She got back in the driver's seat and pulled the car in reverse until it faced the edge of the ravine. She put the car in neutral and walked behind it. Flexing her arms, glad she'd used weights with a trainer, she walked a few feet away, then suddenly sprinted toward the car. With her fast momentum and her pushing, the car began to roll, picking up speed, and with one final push, the car fell to the water below. The crash came seconds later, a loud boom ricocheting around her. She went over to the edge and watched the smashed vehicle in the water with its wheels up, willing it to start moving.

After a few tense-filled minutes, the car circled around in the rough waters and floated down the stream, bobbing in and out, hitting huge rocks sticking out, causing glass to break and metal to screech.

Deborah quickly glanced through her oversized bag, pulled out a white scarf, and wrapped it around her head. The disguise wasn't much, but it would keep her protected from the sun. Glad she'd worn her Keds and comfortable capris, she climbed over the barrier blocking the bridge and ran across to where she'd find the road and the ride that would take her to the bus station and to freedom—sweet freedom!