Vicarious, p.1
Vicarious, page 1
Vicarious
A Novella
Chloe Spencer
Other titles by Chloe Spencer
Monsterona
Duality
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Originally published in Australia by Slashic Horror Press in 2023.
Copyright © Chloe Spencer.
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or reviewed permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without prior written permission.
ISBN-13: 978-0-6457638-4-3
Cover design by Ruth Anna Evans
Interior design by David-Jack Fletcher and Lee Cross James
Edited by David-Jack Fletcher
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Content Warnings
Vicarious contains graphic depictions of violence, gore, blood (including menstrual blood), death (including animal death), mentions of domestic violence, depictions of stalking and attempted sexual assault, discussions of child sexual abuse, car crashes, fatphobia, homophobia and use of homophobic slurs, vomit, and consensual BDSM and edge-play.
Prologue
S ince she was small, going to the bathroom alone made Gertie Taylor fraught with anxiety. Her father had blamed her mother for this—the woman never let Gertie have a moment of peace and had accompanied her to the restroom. It became normal for Gertie to have someone with her during every mundane bowel movement, but after her mother’s passing, the security she had experienced crumbled violently and all at once. Her neglectful father refused to accompany her to the restroom, insisting she was old enough to go by herself. Gertie did try—she had to—and when she was at home, she grew more comfortable with it.
But to Gertie, public restrooms were full of strangers lurking around corners, hiding on top of toilets, watching her through the slits in the stall doors. Her mother, a true crime fanatic, told her that predators loved to hide in bathrooms, and had insisted that this was why women should never go to the restroom alone. “All it takes is for one lone wolf to follow you in, lamb chop,” her mother had said, as she reapplied her lipstick in the mirror. “But after that, you’ll have to hope someone will hear you scream.” No matter how occupied the bathroom was, Gertie always looked for figures hidden away in the shallowest of shadows. The eyes of others were red hot candles and Gertie was the wax that burned beneath their gaze. Someone—and she didn’t know who—was waiting for the perfect moment to catch her off-guard and commit some sort of heinous crime. (What kind of crime, she never knew. Her mother never explained that part, just that it had something to do with her “privates”.) Forced visits to the restroom alone left her with panic attacks that left her unable to cope. After her mother’s passing, school administrators took pity on her and assigned an aide—often another student—to accompany her. After her behaviors didn’t improve, however, she was sent to the school guidance counselor once a week. This did not bode well for her image among peers, and so began the name calling.
Despite these administrative interventions, her anxiety didn’t dissolve, and on occasion, it led to her having accidents in class. Too many times, she would stand with quivering lips, piss dripping down her legs, asking someone to take her to the nurse’s office for a change of clothes. Her social incompetence, along with her dorky appearance (oversized glasses, knobby knees, and a baby-plump body) made her a delicious target for bullies, and Beatrice Robinson was by far the worst of them. Strawberry blond, petite, and pretty-faced, Bea was quickly welcomed by the throngs of popular girls, only to later usurp them and become the head bitch herself.
From the time she transferred to their school in the third grade, Bea made a habit of following Gertie into the bathroom. The taunting started out harmless enough—Gertie would muster the courage to go inside, and when she exited, she’d find a sink was running, as if a ghost had turned it on. It escalated to doors slamming when she was inside a stall, to rain showers of suspiciously dirty clumps of toilet paper, to flashes of cellphone cameras flickering outside the stall. Contrary to what her mother had warned her, strange men wouldn’t be the ones to terrorize Gertie in the restroom.
It was a preteen girl.
When Gertie knew she was absolutely being watched, her fears morphed into a beast that consumed her entire daily routine. The anxiety and depression that consumed her during this era left her wishing for death, but little lamb that she was, Gertie could never inflict harm on herself that could do any damage. Her suicide ideation was strong, but just as you need a will to live, you need a will to die. This left her with no choice but to adapt. The older she got, the more strategic she was with reducing the need to use the restroom. She drank a limited amount of liquids, ate small meals that were low in fiber, and on occasion, wore extra-strength pads for added protection. She studied Bea’s behaviors, learning what times her class was out at recess, gym, or in the cafeteria. Any method she could use to reduce Bea’s opportunities to terrorize her was worth it in the long run, and for a number of years, this worked.
Until she got her period in the seventh grade. The damn thing was too unpredictable for her to keep up with, and to make matters worse, her horrendous cramps inspired spontaneous, disgusting shits that even the thickest and diaper-like of pads could not hope to contain. (Not that she had tried. Or would publicly admit to trying.) So once a month, Bea got her opportunity to wreak havoc. No matter how sneaky she could be, Bea would always come traipsing after her, her little singsong voice calling out her name.
“Ger-trude,” Bea trilled, stepping into the restroom. “You know better than to run from me by now.”
Gertie sighed on the other side of the stall. She quickly finished changing out her pad and attempted to open the door, but Bea pushed her back, almost tripping her over the toilet. She reached into her jeans pocket and withdrew a pair of plastic gloves, snapping them on with a wicked smile.
“S-stop it,” Gertie stammered, attempting to stand. “I have to wash my hands.”
Bea threw the door shut behind her, locking the two of them within the stall. There was a malicious glint in her silver eyes, one that sent Gertie’s knees into a violent tremble. She spread her arms wide and pressed her hands on either side of the stall to stop her prey from escaping.
“If you don’t let me out, I’ll—I’ll touch you,” Gertie threatened, lifting her hands up.
“You don’t gross me out, Gertie.” Bea leaned in close. “I already know how disgusting you are.”
“L-lunch is going to be over in five minutes.”
One of Bea’s hands snapped forward and tried to yank down Gertie’s skirt. Squealing, Gertie stumbled backward, her ass falling on the toilet seat. She held up her arms to deflect Bea’s attack, but the girl snaked through the gap in her defense, gripping her hair and slamming it back against the dirty tile wall. Pain exploded in Gertie’s head and she stifled a sob. With her free hand, Bea reached for the wall-mounted trash can. Unfortunately for Gertie, their lunch was the last of the day, which meant thing was filled to the brim with wilted tampon wrappers and other unmentionables. A sinking sense of dread washed over Gertie and she began to cry, but the louder she was, the harder Bea would wail on her.
While Bea clearly had the upper hand, there was something…off. Her expression was as hard as it ever was, but she kept gnawing on her lip, like she was nervous. Blood dripped down Gertie’s sweaty forehead as she waited with bated breath for what Bea was about to say.
“Show me.”
“Show you…” Gertie repeated, the words hot like sparks against her tongue. “What are you talking about?”
“I just want to see it.”
Her voice was unusually soft as she spoke—the tone of voice that Romeo would have used when calling to Juliet on her balcony. Bea brushed back a stray raven curl of Gertie’s with an odd tenderness. But no matter how sweet a gesture, it made Gertie’s stomach turn sour when she realized what Bea was really asking for.
“No,” Gertie choked. “Let me out. Or I’ll scream.”
“Scream, and worse shit will happen,” Bea snapped, then she lowered her voice again, coaxing her. “I won’t touch it unless you want me to. I just want to see it.”
“I’m on my period, Beatrice. Why would you…” Gertie stopped, realizing it was impossible to negotiate with a sociopath. She had to be careful when talking to Bea—she was nasty enough to willfully misinterpret things. She didn’t want Bea to touch her, period or not. “You’re fucking gross.”
Bea’s eyes widened with shock, wounded by Gertie’s words. Malicious giggles erupted from her mouth. That softness left her posture and her gaze, and she cracked her neck in a sickening way. She reached for the receptacle again and thrusted her gloved hand inside, in which she grabbed a single blood-soaked tampon and held it high above her head. When she brought her reeking fist down, Gertie screamed for help, twisting her head from side to side. From her vantage point on the toilet seat, she couldn’t get enough leverage to do
Gertie choked and sputtered as a rancid copper taste saturated her tongue, and her stomach pulsated violently in response. She vomited onto Bea, who screamed and stumbled backward out of the stall. On shaking knees, Gertie attempted to flee the restroom, sobbing and spitting the vile garbage from her mouth. Bea turned on the sink and tried to clean the puke off of her shirt.
“Hello?” A boy’s voice shouted into the restroom. “Is everyone okay?”
“H-help,” Gertie sobbed, army-crawling toward the exit. Her fingers scraped the discolored caulk between the floor tiles, thick and blubbery like steak gristle, as she dragged herself along. “Help me!”
For the longest time, Gertie had envisioned a white knight coming to her rescue, and amazingly, on the most traumatic of days, he arrived—Jack Burns, lanky, athletic, and sun kissed from too many afternoons playing soccer. He stumbled into the room and saw Gertie sprawled out across the floor, with a wide-eyed Bea hovering in the back, the bottom half of her puke-stained shirt soaked through.
Confused but determined, he rushed to Gertie’s aid. The girl sobbed as he helped her to her feet, and it was only then that she realized how bruised she was from trying to fight off Bea’s attacks. Frozen to her spot, Bea remained silent, scrubbing the same vomit stain over and over again. Through sobs and nasty belches, Gertie explained to her savior what had happened.
“It’s not true,” Bea snapped. “She’s crazy.”
Jack stared back in disgust. “Then why are you wearing gloves?”
Bea glanced at the damp plastic wrapped around her hands. She didn’t respond. Jack called for help, and after what felt like forever, a few cafeteria attendants came to their aid.
The incident led to Bea’s expulsion from the school, and in an odd twist of fate, the start of Gertie’s romance with Jack. As a nerd, she had written off jocks as slovenly airheads, but when he accompanied her to the nurse’s office that day, he challenged every preconceived notion she had. He listened to her cry about Bea’s bullying, watched her wash the bile from her mouth, and held her hand while they waited for her dad to arrive. When she worked up the courage to return to school a few days later, he brought her the homework she’d missed and five fresh-cut daisies from his mother’s garden—a miniature bouquet that signified his oath to keep what happened that day a secret, to spare her from further shame and humiliation.
Chapter One
M iddle school puppy love morphed into a high school courtship whose intensity rivaled that of Shakespearian romances, minus the chaos and bloodshed. Each day, Jack would walk Gertie to school and accompany her in between classes. After he got his license, they would drive everywhere together. They almost never had a destination in mind though. Long afternoons transformed into blissful midnights. They’d park somewhere in a clearing and lie in the bed of the truck so they could watch the stars. This was one thing Gertie didn’t know much about, but Jack, who had gone camping with his grandfather when he was young, would tell her all about the constellations. Sometimes he’d tell the same stories over and over again, but she didn’t mind. In a way it was kinda cool that she could recite the myth of Orion’s Belt from memory.
When they weren’t driving around or stargazing, Gertie was attending his practices and soccer games. He would always wave to her whenever their eyes met, but his friends didn’t hide their disdain. They often scowled at her when Jack wasn’t looking, and as sweet on her as he was, she was too afraid to ever tell him that his friends didn’t like the fact he was dating a fat geek. But while Gertie was a coward, she wasn’t a quitter. She was determined to remain the apple of Jack’s eye by any means necessary. In her sophomore year, she joined the team as its manager, developed a strong rapport with the boys, and in little time, won their good graces. Her dedication to Jack’s athletic career impressed all those within their circle. Even when she was juggling multiple AP classes, she would be copying new plays and snack lists for each of the boys. Turns out, she was great with strategy, at destroying the enemy.
Throughout all of this, Gertie learned not only about soccer, but about herself. With his constant presence, she rarely felt fearful when visiting the bathroom anymore, but just for safety purposes, he would wait outside. She never had to worry about returning to her father’s cold and brutalist house, where the lights were always low and the furniture came in fifteen shades of black. She could go to Jack’s house, hug his mother and inhale her cinnamon smell, and have long conversations with his father about music after dinner. When she was a small child, Gertie felt like a passenger, unable to control what direction she was heading in. But at least with him, the car wasn’t empty.
By the end of his junior year, Jack had scored more goals than anyone in their high school’s history. But his promising career was ruined when he tore his Achilles during a match. All the scouts lost interest. The fallout was terrible, but Gertie comforted him through all of it, further cementing her place as the apple in his ever-widening eyes. When his friends left him behind, and when the people that had looked at him with sparkling eyes fizzled out. No longer the athletic boy wonder, he became another nobody, and for Jack—an only child used to shining in the spotlight—that tore him apart. She’d glue the pieces back together, through gentle hugs and hand squeezes, through small love notes that she’d pass to him in between classes. For the possibility of a smile, she would try anything.
“But didn’t I let you down?” he asked her one night, toward the end of one of their regular drives. “You used to have the trophy boyfriend.”
“You were never a trophy for me, Jack. You were—are—my person. You still are.”
It surprised no one when they got married three days after graduation. Gertie went to Penn to pursue a PoliSci degree, and Jack followed, picking up an apprenticeship in an auto shop and working to support them both. He had decided that since she’d spent so much of high school looking after him and helping him with his career, he would do the same in kind for her. She’d spend long nights poring over the textbooks spread out over their dining room table, and he would sit next to her, scribbling notes on flashcards for her to memorize on the bus. She never had to worry about cooking a single dinner, because by the time she got home, the cast iron would be on the stove, and the oven would be full of biscuits. He rarely made anything from scratch—with his hours at the shop, he could never find the time—but nothing had ever tasted as good to her as the frozen store-bought lasagna he’d have waiting for her on the table. After she graduated, they moved back to their hometown of Appledale to start the next stage of their life.
Gertie had thought the next stage would involve law school, but she hadn’t counted on getting pregnant with June. Jack had lifted her off the ground bridal-style, and spun her around in a circle, overjoyed. His enthusiasm never faltered, not when the baby had torn Gertie from end to end, not when June developed colic, and not when the postpartum depression hit with the force of a semi-truck and she couldn’t get out of bed. Even when she felt as though her madness had pushed him to his breaking point, he had loved her with a fierceness she knew she didn’t deserve.
Time and time again, Gertie couldn’t help but question how she had gotten so lucky. How had a woman like her, with a belly that always puffed over the edges of her pants like an overcooked cupcake, ever attracted such a charming, handsome, loving man? After long, wistful hours of pondering, she decided he was heaven-sent. Jack was an absolute angel; the universe’s way of rewarding her for all those years of trauma and suffering at the indifference of her father and the vicious girls at school.
Chapter Two
O n the night of their sixth wedding anniversary, Jack treated Gertie to a candlelit dinner at a new Italian restaurant. The food had received rave reviews, but unbeknownst to the customers, management was absent minded, and had been improperly issued a few permits. Gertie never quite understood the details behind what happened—a bus boy broke a wine glass above the warming lamp their meals rested beneath, an overworked chef didn’t bother to taste before it went out, the waitress had been distracted by something on her phone—it was not important.
