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“YOU HAVE A GIFT FOR capturing your subject’s beauty from the inside out when you draw their portrait,” Q said, commenting on her work.
It was several weeks into their marriage, and Psyche and her husband had fallen into their version of domestic bliss.
They spent their days apart, and their nights together.
Not once had they slept in separate beds, nor did they do a lot of sleeping while they were there. The honeymoon, as it were, was still in full swing, and Psyche couldn’t have been happier.
“You think so?” she asked.
“Not only do you portray what the person looks like. It’s as if you convey their very essence,” he said.
It was still a bit strange talking to a person who was invisible, but she was growing accustomed to it.
“Their soul?” she asked.
“That’s it!”
In addition to the painting studio and art supplies, Q had also given her a pair of horses. She planned to practice drawing them in the future, but for now she rode them up and down the hillside trails that seemed to go on forever. She spent her mornings creating, and her afternoons exploring.
Throughout the day she and Q texted back and forth. His texts made her feel loved and cherished, like she was always on his mind.
Will you be ready for me tonight? he’d ask.
Yes, I’m lying here naked, waiting for you, she’d text back. Of course she’d be fully dressed when she texted that. Then with a giggle, she wondered if he suspected this.
He never mentioned it, and she decided that’s the sort of thing married people did.
Good. I can’t wait to ravish you, my love.
His words make her tingle with pleasure. Being desired by men was not new to her, but being cherished by one was.
In the past she felt like an entity—producers, fans, directors, etc.—always used her in order to create the entertainment they wanted. With Q, she believed he loved her for her. It made her feel like she could be her true self, and she didn’t have to worry about being a certain way to try to please him.
In fact, the main thing she did for him was accept him and love him for who he was in return. She didn’t place expectations on him. She didn’t try to change him, or force him to be different.
The key to our marriage, she determined, was for her to accept him for who he was. And if that meant not being able to look at him, she’d go along with that—whatever his reasons were.
Q said he didn’t want her spending too much time on social media or watching videos, but this hadn’t been a problem for her. She liked her unplugged life much better than getting caught up in the pressured cycle of the news and the world of digital entertainment.
Another condition of their marriage was that Psyche wasn’t allowed to talk about Q or their marriage. He permitted her to post pictures of her art and occasionally of herself, but the topic of their life together was off limits. She assumed this had to do with his obsessive need for privacy, and she was fine with that.
Psyche was so content in her new life, almost a month passed before she resurfaced from her isolation and made contact with the outside world.
Whenever she wanted anything all she had to do was ring a bell for Pierce, so when she decided it was time to contact her sisters, she called for him.
“Pierce, may I use the viewing screen?”
“As you wish, Madame.”
A screen appeared in front of her in her studio as if by magic.
These days people conducted their social interactions much more frequently via holograms than in person, but there was still much information and entertainment on the interweb. Teleporting and the current technology made communicating easier than ever before, but humans were also more isolated than they had been several hundred years ago.
They made up for this by communicating with each other through social channels.
Psyche also used these channels to get inspiration, to sell her work, and to reach out to other artists and buyers.
But there were rules and she knew she must follow them if she wanted to continue with her social channel privileges.
It was on one of these channels where she saw the rumors about her husband.
Searching around, she happened upon a conversation between two people discussing her new marriage.
“How could she have married such a monster?” one user asked.
“I know, right? She could have done so much better,” another user posted.
Psyche felt like she’d been punched in the gut.
A monster? Her husband was anything but a monster. Whatever gave them that idea?
She opened a direct line to one of her sisters and asked Marsha if she had heard these rumors.
“Well, Psyche, of course we have. That’s what everyone thinks,” Marsha answered.
“Why would they think that?”
“I don’t know. Probably because you never post any pictures of him.”
“And just because of that he’s a monster? Maybe we simply want some privacy.”
“That makes sense,” her other sister Rachel said. “Remember how crazy things got when she was doing that show, Marsha?”
“True. She had no privacy at all. The public thought they owned her.”
“Hey, guys, I’m still here,” Psyche piped up. Her sisters always did this. They were twins, and the conversation always wound up being between the two of them, with Psyche being left out.
And they were right. During the time she had her own channel, fans and haters alike constantly hounded her family members trying to get inside information about her. They attempted to bribe her friends for information, all attempts to create fantastic stories with no basis in reality. Psyche had lost several friends who had given into the temptation of a big payday and told some of her secrets in exchange for cash.
Fortunately, they’d been insignificant things like information on how she got detention as a kid in school, or who her first crush had been. There had been times she’d even questioned whether or not her sisters had gotten swept up in spreading stories. It became difficult for Psyche to trust anyone. Q was the first person she’d trusted in a long time, which was why she felt so shaken by this rumor.
“But I’ve left that life behind. I don’t know why they’d still care about making up rumors about me.”
“Well, show your husband the stories. If he’s not a monster like you say, then squash the rumors by posting a picture of him. Then we will all see he’s not, and we’ll know everything is fine,” Marsha suggested.
Psyche didn’t tell her sisters that she had no idea what her husband looked like, that she’d never seen him herself. She feared they’d think she was naïve, that she was indeed married to a monster.
But she touched Q regularly, enough to know that he was no monster. He did not possess a tail or fangs or anything deformed in her experience. Besides that, he was never evil or unkind. She couldn’t imagine where this hurtful notion came from.
But she wasn’t going to admit she didn’t know what he looked like. They’d think she had lost her mind.
She thanked her sisters for the chat and rang up the person besides Q she trusted most—her mother.
“Hello, darling. I’ve missed you,” her mother enthused. “So how are things going?”
Psyche assured her that everything was fine, but relayed her concerns about the rumors about her husband’s true identity. Because she was so lost about what to do, she decided to confide in her mother, and admitted she had no idea what her husband actually looked like.
“Oh, Kiki, I have heard that rumor too, and the only way you can gain peace of mind is to find out while he is sleeping.”
“But, mother, I am forbidden to look upon his face.”
Her mother shrugged. “You asked me for my advice, and that’s what I’m telling you. That’s what I would do, but suit yourself.”
Dejected, Psyche agreed to consider her mother’s advice.
That night after their lovemaking, she couldn’t stop thinking about.
Huddled in the crook of his arm, she tried to decide if she should bring it up with him.
No, she shouldn’t. That would be just giving credence to nasty rumors.
But, if it wasn’t true the matter could be cleared up on the spot, and she could stop worrying over it.
On the other hand, she decided to accept him for whoever he was. If that meant he was a monster, then so be it.
Except—what if he were the sort of monster that might eat her while she slept?
With a gulp, she began. “Q, something’s been troubling me.”
He ran a hand over her buttocks then rested on her waist, pulling her closer to him.
“Yeah, what’s that?” he asked, his voice drowsy, a result of the physical effort he’d just put into satisfying them both completely.
His embrace felt so good she wavered, wanting to curl up in his arms and forget the rumor. But she couldn’t do it. She had to say something.
“There’s a rumor going around about our marriage.”
“There is?”
“Well, it’s more about you actually.”
He shifted. It was dark, but she could tell he was facing her.
“What sort of rumor? What are they saying? Tell me, my love.”
She took a deep breath before answering. “They’re saying that I’m married to a monster.”
She felt bad about giving breath to this ridiculous rumor, but she powered on, unable to stop talking long enough for him to respond. “It’s preposterous, I know. But seeing as it’s me that is married to this supposed monster, and since I’ve never actually seen your face—I mean, I did think I should tell you about it. Because if I were to see you then I would know you weren’t a monster and I could defend you. Only I haven’t so I can’t, so . . . well, I just thought I should mention it to you.”
When she finally stopped babbling, she inhaled deeply.
“I see.”
Her eyes shifted in the dark, making absolutely sure she couldn’t see him. No, it was pitch black. “That’s all you’re going to say—‘I see’?”
He drew her close so their bodies touched, chest against chest, pelvis to pelvis, and snaked a leg between hers. Tucking her head under his chin, he held her close and stroked her hair until he finally spoke. “What do you think? Am I a monster?”
She bit her bottom lip. “No.”
“Then who cares what they think? The only people who matter in this relationship are me and you. Right?”
“R-r-r-ight,” she said, hesitantly.
“And if you don’t believe I’m a monster, who cares what they say?”
“You’re right, of course.”
“What about your other senses? Do they tell you I’m a diabolical beast?” he asked, trailing kisses up her arm until he reached the sweet spot where her shoulder met her the curve of her neck.
“Your touch?” she asked. “Your touch is heavenly.”
“Ah, and your hearing is important.”
“Yes. You don’t snort or snarl like a monster.”
“True. Plus, you need to be able to hear my commands.”
A tingle of desire ran through her. She liked the idea of him ordering her what to do. At least in the bedroom.
“What about taste? May I taste you?” she asked boldly. It was new to her, vocalizing her desires like this.
“Do you want to taste me?”
“Mmhmm,” she managed, the lust inside her building to a fever pitch.
“That can be arranged. Now close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in what I’m going to do to you.”
Without waiting for a response, he shifted his body until he knelt beside her and she felt his erection rub against her cheek. Hungrily, she took him in her mouth and sucked him. The sensation of him filling her mouth brought her great pleasure, and when he ejaculated, it tasted no different than anything she’d experienced before.
After that he toyed with her sex with both his fingers and his tongue until she begged him to take her again. Rolling her onto her side, he opened her legs like scissors, lifted one of her legs then knelt between them, and entered her. The sensation of him thrusting into her from that angle was so unexpected, so exquisite she forgot her concerns completely. He loved her hard and thoroughly that night, taking control of her body and bringing her to the heights of ecstasy.
So much so that the next morning when she felt that sweet soreness between her legs she could only smile to herself. The memory of last night’s escapades brought a shiver of lingering excitement as she relived her climax again in her mind.
For the next week, Psyche put the whole “monster” idea out of her mind. She rode her horses and painted during the day, and loved her husband at night. Her life was blissfully happy. Why mess that up listening to spiteful rumors?
This continued, and she was convinced she could dismiss the “monster” stories as gossip, until one night she had a dream that made her re-think everything.
In the dream a gargantuan creature chased her down the hallways of her mansion. He was massive, and made out of dinosaur bones that dripped blood. His eyes had several pupils and he had a mouth at the center of a spider’s hairy body.
“You know I’m not a monster, right, my dear?” The monster said as it climbed on top of her.
Psyche’s blood ran cold, and she woke up so scared that she couldn’t go back to sleep for the rest of the night.
The breathing of her husband beside her made her stiffen. Her mind told her he was still the incredible Q she adored, but a residual eeriness left over from the dream gave her pause.
After a while she gathered the courage to reach over and touch her beloved husband. She explored him gently with her hand, careful not to wake him. And even though he felt normal, like any other man, she could not convince herself.
Instead, she stayed awake contemplating going to get her personal device to capture an image of him. Or she could light a candle to see what he really looked like.
She might pretend she accidentally turned on a light. If she got caught she could pretend she absentmindedly forgot the rules because she was half asleep.
The more she considered it, the more she decided she needed to get an image so that she could post on social channels. Not only to ease her mind, but to ease the minds of her friends and followers.
She had a wonderful marriage. She just had to prove it to the haters.
But in the dark recesses of her mind she wondered if he could possibly have a dark side she didn’t know about.
It was time she found out the truth once and for all.