The Honeymoon Part 1

Chapter 197

The Honeymoon

Part 1

I used to wonder what adults do during their honeymoon; some say they travel the world and give you a silly grin that said we basically had a lot of sex and room service. I can tell you what my sister Susan did when she got married to the biggest jerk on the planet. It didn’t matter how many times people told her not to marry him; talk about picking from the bottom of the rotten smelly garbage can that not even a hobo on the streets would pick. Then again nobody wanted the ice queen, which would spit you up fast and check your self for a lobotomy and needed a tetanus shot just from touching her.

I can also guarantee she didn’t do what I did either. News flash she did the inconceivable thing I have ever heard about and that was going to Lagoon for the day and come back the next day, even worst. She took her or should I say our parents along for the ride as wedding adversary present considering she planned the wedding to that date for that to happen. Talk about lame and stupid. That wasn’t even the worst part. They didn’t even have sex; they shared their hotel room with our parents.

Yet it was no big secret that she was having sex, long before she married the jerk. Hell, I was having sex; my mother was having sex with anything that had a penis, just like my sister Becky was. Yet when I was married and had lots of sex, and it certainly wasn’t with my adoptive parents or my biological parents during our honeymoon period. Even they knew better to give me my privacy; in some ways, we even had our privacy during the Black wedding, before the raid, and for a good two hours. Being only 16 almost seventeen kind of put a damper on things even though your parents, well my adoptive parents giving their blessing to get married. But the marriage itself wasn’t exactly legit, well mostly legit.

It didn’t go over so well booking a reservation for a cruise without at least some sort of guardian to vouch for you. But that was ok for us, we more than fine the way things were. We had a lot of fun. I smile every time I think back to the good old days, that not even my own family besides my grandmother and my mother really truly understood what was going on. My sisters not so much, too them it was all a fake and a show, but even though the marriage was a fake, mostly? We acted like it was the real deal, and not a just a cover story. The emotions we felt for each other were the most real for us all.

My adoptive parents not once considered it a fake or a show and neither did my friends or their parents. In fact, they made sure they told the whole damn world about it, so we would be treated like adults, with real adult problems. They butted out when we had our fights or gave advice when we asked for it when our partners were having a plain old bad day. We fought like a married couple and we loved each other like a married couple. We made decisions as a married couple; we paid our rent and utilities and paid for our own groceries like a married couple.

True we were millionaires, at the time well at least on paper. I remembered an assignment once we had in high school where we would get married using some sort of lottery. So we could all learn what married life was really like and that included having a baby. The only difference in our case was we were married and we were having an actual baby. Many of the marriages failed in that experiment. Ours didn’t because in the end we were still married and we were still having a baby and our problems were real, not imagery. Yet was the best time of my entire life. I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

As I said were named the Carrion 4, it was what people on the street and in school called us, they called us other things like freaks and other things that just aren’t worth repeating. We heard them all and we smiled knowing they didn’t understand what life was really like for us. Then they didn’t know what we were facing every day or what was going on in their own backyard. For if they knew they would wake up screaming with nightmares, facing death every damn day; every time they saw the news about a missing kid on the street or a local family gone missing or worse a group suicide. Even a rogue cult found dead inside a building; no one wanted to know the real truth, not really.

So we let them tease us, and call us hateful names as long as it kept them safe and not really knowing that the boogieman is real. No one pinned a metal on our chest or even called us a hero for all the lives we had saved during the satanic panic of the 80s. Yet in some ways, it seems only fitting that Susan and her jerk of a husband didn’t know the first thing about real love; she didn’t care, she didn’t think for one minute about life, she didn’t plan. She only dreamed that being married was the easiest thing in the world that it would solve all her problems. Most of it was my mother’s fault, for letting it happen. She taught her nothing about money, except how to spend it; she didn’t learn how to cook or clean a house.

She didn’t think going to college was even worth the effort. Stating that I didn’t know what I was talking about. Her husband would provide everything she would ever need. All they would need is a high school diploma and they would be set for life. She didn’t think that having a job or good grades mattered because her husband would provide everything on a silver platter. Not even he needed to have a college degree; he was planning on taking over the family business of an electrician. That went belly up 1 year after they got married, by then she had one child and one on the way; with no income coming in to support them.

Neither of them could get a job. Or they turned down jobs that just were so beneath them, wanting big pay now and doing nothing to get it. Her husband became a drunk and a drug addict. He lost his temper a lot on the job and got fired over and over again because of his drinking and drug problems. She would say oh everything’s fine they just needed to catch one good break to put them back on their feet; borrowing money from his parents because my mother didn’t have any, and she was busy trying to borrow money for me and Aaron, the only two people that had real jobs and the sense to get as far away from them as possible.

He and I were going to college and had good jobs and supported ourselves. Susan and Becky hated me for it, my father hated me even more because of it, but mostly because I had learned what being married was truly like. I listened to my adoptive parents and used everything I knew about life from the only people that really mattered and that was my foster parents like the Fry’s the Steeds the Downing’s, but most of all the Rothwell’s. Then, of course, my friends, and the people I was married too. I didn’t get involved in my families mess. I learned to stay out of it, I learned to keep my head down and most of all never be home if I could help it.

The Honeymoon I could say was without a doubt a new experience for me, but more so when the honeymoon was over. Some people tell me it was the first time they actually saw each other naked, or have had sex. And I would smile saying ‘dude, being naked is nothing new when were raised as a nudist, and having sex was the least of my problems.’ They would ask what happens next. I would give a silly grin and walkway. Tell them ‘Life is what happens and it's one hell of a roller-coaster ride.’ Telling them to ask me after there first six months when they get bored of seeing each other naked and sex wasn’t the same as it was the first time.

They would gasp at my little games we would play, asking me if that was even possible. I would tell them to go and find out. yet apparently I didn’t learn my own lesson because I made that one mistake, by letting it go, letting everything I loved about my life back then go. Because the world changed, because of that I changed with the world thinking everything I did back then was wrong. Yet the one thing that I was back then that I am not now and that was happy, thinking that I needed to be punished for all the things I did, in fact, I still do.

Yet every time I think back to the good old days it always brought a smile on my face. I smiled when people gasp when I say there was a time when life meant something to me. They would ask and then they would look at me say no. its lie, it’s not true, or they would look at me and call me a monster, or immoral, that I should have been arrested for it. My adoptive parents and friends should have been arrested for it; most of all they didn’t believe the boogieman is real. They couldn’t believe people like my father or church of the occult was real, I made it all up.

Sometimes I wish that was true, but it wasn’t make-believe, it wasn’t a fantasy or fiction of a good storyteller with a good active imagination. How many nights have I laid awake or woke up screaming, or found my father and my mother trying to kill me? Yes, the boogieman is real, and the people that have gone through any of the things I have gone through wish that it was never real. I have faced death many times, so many that deaths are nothing to me and something to look forward to because then the boogieman can’t hurt me anymore.

I wasn’t afraid of the High Bishop anymore; I knew he couldn’t hurt me unless I let him. He was right there are worst monsters out there waiting for a chance to take his place. I did my best not think about how he killed that little boy in front of us all because he was told do it, or everything he loved would die saving him for last. I had never seen him morn or cry for what he had done. Until that night when it was me and Eli holding him in our arms as he wept for him telling us he did it, and the Queen and her warlocks made him do it. I knew that I had seen it for myself. Jeff confirmed it, telling me sometimes monsters are bad for a reason and others are truly the monsters.

My father and mother were monsters, my father still is. My mother had been a monster almost like the High Bishop, but like him, he no longer wanted to be a monster. I could relate knowing from experience knowing my mother, before her monster days. So I held him in my arms; telling him that like my mother that he could change. It still bothered me every time I touched him or came near him always smelling the root of evil, but it had lessened some or I had gotten accustomed to it. He was a long ways from not being a monster like my mother was. It wouldn’t be overnight. It would take more than one night of kindness or even months.

In fact, in some ways, I really never truly had forgiven my mother for it. There was always doubt, there was always that one chance where she would lose control, in anger and frustration where she could take it out on me and Aaron… and over the years I made sure when that happen we wouldn’t be around so she couldn’t hurt us or I would hurt her. I always kept my guard up.

In fact, I used to keep some sort of weapon nearby or hidden just in case the monster came after me. Trust came with a price attached to it and facing death every damn day made it so I was prepared. I was prepared to defend myself and Mom and Dad warned him that if he hurt me and I didn’t kill him Eli would. And then if he still lived he better pray that he is dead by the time my Dad arrives and Stringum that there would be nothing left for the birds to feed off. He knew me. He knew I was trained to kill; he had gathered every piece of information about me. So he knew that if it came to that I would not hesitate. He gave a blood promises to my adoptive parents to keep me safe, knowing he always keeps those promises.

Plus with our men protecting us at his large estate he’d be dead long before my adoptive parents were even notified. So after a nice dinner, I said goodbye to my adoptive family telling me to call them, even though Stringum would know if I was in trouble long before that, and with Tony and Jenny overseeing things I was safe here if not safer. My mermaid friends had decided to join to me as well so they could spend time with me as promised. So you could say we had a very full house with his friend HJ and his two friends the Kingston’s all under the same roof with the Benson's.

We only had one little detail to work out and that was we needed proof that Preparing Ritual had been completed. The only difference was that HJ and the remaining 9s wanted to see the new and improve way of love and compassion regarding the new preparing ritual. Which we totally could understand even though I wasn’t comfortable about the idea as grandma would say the proof was in the pudding. Once again Eli and I became the teacher as he explained the new process of what that included; letting the High Bishop take point asking if they were just interested in the new coring procedure or the entire procedure.

I groaned when they said they would like to see the whole thing from beginning to end. I smiled and wheeled myself in front of the camera and said. “Sorry boys, if you would like a free sample, perhaps after Eli and I teach High Judge Randle and his two inquisitors they can give you each a lesson.” I nodded to Tomas and he turned off all the cameras, telling them they will be contacted when the coring procedure begins. I heard angry snarls as their pictures on their monitors went cold.

Eli and I smiled Eli said, “We were going to play a new game. Its call sex tag, or known as a three-way man striptease and stimulation.” Giving him no clue what that means. High Bishop smiled as he said. “Sounds fun; have you ever kissed a boy Randle, my old friend, and roommate?” As I closed the door, leaving my friends and our wives to keep everyone else occupied. Randle looked at us and swallowed hard and said. “Yes, when I married my first husband at 16; and only that one time.”

The High Bishop grinned even wider and backed him into a corner and said. “Prepare to be properly kissed.”