A Fairytale of Humiliation

[monique_minx]

OOC: This thread is closed for Purifier and myself. If you wish to give feedback then please PM either of us. Enjoy the tale!

Imogene Gaines sat quietly, chewing on the end of her pencil while lost in another fantasy. Her baby seal brown eyes were drilling holes in Anselm’s back where he sat two rows in front of her. Imogene typically sat in the front row where she could pay the best attention to the lecture but not in Ethics class, in Ethics she always sat in the fourth row which was exactly far enough that she could hide her fantasizing and close enough that she could sidle by and smell his cologne at any point. It was a pity Anselm didn’t know she existed.

Right now, all she could imagine was Anselm talking to her, they sat in a quiet and dimly lit classical library (like the one in Beauty and the Beast) and Anselm was reading Shakespeare to her…

“O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love’s coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man’s son doth know.

What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies not plenty;
Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.”

He shut the book and looked deep into her eyes, “That was surely written for you.” In that husky European accent of his that made her melt whenever he spoke aloud in class.

“Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty…though you are 19 Miss Gaines. Come and kiss me Miss Gaines…” Anselm told her softly and she reached forward until their lips pressed together.

“Miss Gaines?” Her lecturer asked again.

Imogene was snapped from her reverie and blinked rapidly as she tried to focus her attention on her professor, clearing her throat quickly, “Sorry, what Sir?”

“Please try to pay attention Miss Gaines. I asked you what the difference between morals and ethics is.” Mr. Martin Hull looked at her expectantly, he was an aging man of about 40 with a dusting of grey to his short brown hair and was likeable enough – if you were paying attention.

“Ummm…morals is the way we act in the moment and ethics is the way we think we should act.” Imogene reeled off deliberately, attempting to quote her textbook.

“Excellent. Excellent. Now can anyone give me some examples?” Martin’s attention was off her and in search of other prey, Imogene breathed a sigh of relief and looked over at Anselm again with a soft lament for him and him alone.

Finally class was dismissed and Imogene couldn’t escape the room fast enough, she stuffed her books into her bag quickly and barely paused to pick up her pencil when she dropped it before she dashed from the classroom – eager to get home before work.

Imogene lived about a 15 minute walk from campus and kept a brisk pace the whole way, she arrived in a record time and tried the door. Locked. Sandra must have been out. She put her key in and pushed the door open before she shut it behind her and dropped her bag at the door. Imogene raced upstairs and kicked her shoes off just inside her bedroom which was fairly ordinary, a double bed that had a lame green spread, a desk and bookshelf covered with textbooks and older classic novels.

Imogene slipped beneath the covers of her bed and looked to her alarm clock, it was 4:20pm which meant she had exactly an hour to eat, shower and get ready for her shift at Officeplex (an office supplies store) – she had the late night shopping shift. Imogene grinned, it was plenty of time.

Her fingers slipped down and nimbly undid her jeans before she slipped them off entirely, her middle finger made way beneath her panties and Imogene began to work her finger over her clitoris furiously, her eyes shut as she reimagined the scene with Anselm. She gasped and moaned loudly, her panties soaked by her ever flowing juices and she got more excited. Before long, her toes were pointed and she was squealing with her head thrown back as waves of ecstasy washed over her shaking body.

“Fuck me Anselm…” She whispered as her fingers moved to work herself up all over again.

 

[Purifier]

Ethics class. Anselm von Baden’s hand was idly playing with his Montblanc pen as he listened to the lecture. The teacher, Mr Martin Hall, was an intelligent man. But his lectures on ethics and morality were fundamentally flawed in one regard. Even within a culture morals could never be universal. There always would be few great men, the thinkers and empire builders, and the lesser herd, the faceless multitudes.

„One law for the lion and ox is oppression,” William Blake had put it so well. And what applied to laws applied to morals too, for they were the unwritten laws that held society together. The great couldn’t stoop to be bound by the ridiculous morals or lesser men, or they would lose all their greatness. The greatest men were like Goethe’s Faust. They had a will, a vision, and would ruthlessly pursue it. They might err, they might fail. But its better to err and learn from it, than to never even try to transcend the morals and laws of the masses.

Anselm usually kept these thoughts to himself though. There were only a few close friends who shared at least a part of his vision; men from noble, distinguished families who stood above the impure masses.

Most in this class would never even understand these distinctions. It was a shame how much rabble was admitted to even an university with such a great and honourable name and reputation. He often felt nothing but disgust for his lesser, for these girls who smiled at him shyly as if a smile would make him fall for them, make him be their Prince Charming to lift them up from their miserable existence.

He wasn’t even sure which of these girls was the most pathetic. Emma Jones, the fat redhead? Anne Milliner, with her oversized glasses? Or Imogene Gaines, the little dreamer, who always leaned over her desk when writing as if she was making love to her books? He even caught her a number of times with her tongue hanging out of the edge of her mouth while she was writing. Amusing.

As the lesson ended, Anselm took his time. Only fools rushed, the wise moved with dignity, unless they had a reason to hurry. He liked watching the other students as they hurried to their next class, so engulfed in their sorry little lives. This time he also wanted to ask Mr Hall a few questions, confront him with Nietzsche’s view of ethics. Anselm wasn’t yet interested in a discussion. Just a few remarks that would, if placed right erode the lecturer’s believe in his dogma of equality.

Picking up his black leather Tom Ford briefcase, Anselm noticed something that seemed more interesting though than an exchange of words with his teacher. There was an open book on the ground, next to a chair in row four. His keen blue eyes noted the neat, female handwriting. A handwriting that looked like the writing of someone who was writing leaned over their desk, with the tip of their tongue hanging out of their mouth.

It might be rather fascinating to get into the mind of one of those foolish girls. Anselm’s ambition was to become a successful lawyer. Not just any lawyer. But one of those who defended the great ones, the billionaires, the big successful multinational corporations, against the envy of the common herd. Against the disgruntled employees, the hateful hacks, the bitter feminists, the socialist activists. Against people like Emma, or Anne, or Imogene. To win these cases, one had to understand these people.

Quickly the book, a diary, it seemed, was slipped into his briefcase. He was sure he’d have lot of fun with this. He liked to study those lesser folks, like insects on a pin.

 

[monique_minx]

Work was dull but that’s not to say it was uneventful as Imogene trudged home drearily and recounted the evening’s highlights. Hannah Case had decided that tonight of all nights, she needed supplies for University and came wandering through the doors with her two lackeys – Rebecca Mitchell and Destiny Grady. Imogene cringed on instinct, the Blonde Patrol – she called them in silence. From the Sigma Kappa Sorority on campus. Hannah was next level beautiful and studying fashion, there were rumours that she and Anselm were dating and she often saw Hannah chatting to Anselm in the halls while wishing she could be her.

She was wearing a tight white skater dress with flawless make up and her hair was like a Pantene commercial. Imogene suddenly felt very self-conscious with her lifeless brown locks, her bunched up hessian coloured sweater and her $2 mascara. She tried to avoid the group completely but it was as if Hannah sensed she was nearby. Hannah acted as though she lorded over the world because her family invented the microchips inside IPhones or something, apparently she was also distantly related to Mark Zuckerberg but that was just another rumour.

“Excuse me Miss? Can you help me with-“, Hannah cut herself short as Imogene stopped placing new exercise books and lecture pads on the shelf and came around the corner.

“Oh!” Hannah giggled, “Look ladies, it’s not much Gaines!” Rebecca and Destiny laughed like little sheep and Imogene balled her fists up in order to stay resolute.

“How can I help you?” Imogene asked as politely as she could.

“Start by dressing…in clothes. Is that a bag? Where do you get this heinous wardrobe from? Did you cut holes in your homeless sack and stuff yourself inside?” Hannah berated her and didn’t give Imogene a moment to speak, Imogene’s cheeks flamed red with embarrassment.

“You’re like an eyesore, ugh! Turn around so I don’t have to look at you.” Hannah demanded and Imogene cocked a brow as if to ask if she was serious.

“Did I stu-stutter? Turn around you feral little gutter girl.” Hannah said with all the menace she could muster and Imogene slowly turned around, her eyes looking left and right nervously but there was no one else in the store.

Hannah and the twisted twins laughed their heads off as Imogene obeyed Hannah and Imogene bowed her head and wished for closing time which couldn’t come soon enough.

“Ewww… I don’t know if that’s better Hannah.” Destiny piped up, she was absolutely the sluttiest of the crew and it was rumoured she had done three frat boys from Sigma Nu in one sitting.

“It’ll do til she helps me find my laptop. Okay Im-o- dreams, find me a pretty laptop, mine fell in a pool. Go!” Hannah brooked no argument but at least this was part of Imogene’s job anyway.

Imogene quickly found Hannah what she was looking for, thankfully Hannah had little to no IT knowledge anyway so it was easy to charge her for what was essentially an overpriced piece of crap that would likely die in 6 months. Imogene’s way of revenge.

She thought they would leave, she was wrong. There was a big ‘ripping’ sound from a few metres away and a giggle. Hannah turned around and saw Rebecca holding a roll of tape with an evil grin.

Imogene hardly knew what happened but she was rushed by the three of them and by the time they left, she was bound and gagged in tape. It was Sarif’, the owner’s son, who came to lock up and found her 15 minutes later. Thankfully there was no other customers and Sarif was genuinely concerned rather than amused by Imogene’s condition. He urged her to press charges but she’d shrugged him off and said she was fine before she left.

It was more humiliating to get home and boot up her computer to find that the ladies had taken a photo of her and posted it on every University Facebook group they had with the caption ‘Im-o-slut Gaines gets what for the way she likes it’. Imogene cried heartily. She looked at her fearful and shocked, frozen face captured in the photo and wondered how she would face tomorrow. The comments were almost as cruel as the photo itself.

Imogene reported all of the photos and went to bed, she had three classes the next day – Ethics, Ecology and the Environment and Cells & Genes. She needed her rest and yet sleep was fitful and elusive that night.

 

[Purifier]

Anselm leaned back in his black Aalto chair as he read his way through the diary in his hand. What an interesting little book he had found. Such a fascinating insight into the life and thoughts of a sad little loser. Until now he had only studied them from a far, the freaks and geeks, with their odd, ill-fitting clothes, their weird hobbies and their allergy to healthy physical exercise. This though was a price less in depth account of the life of one particularly pathetic specimen: Imogene Gaines. Her hopes and dreams exposed, laid bare in her own words.

This could provide him with hours of amusement. He chuckled at Imogene’s mistreatment at the hands of ‘the popular girls’ the Hannah’s, Rebecca’s and Destiny’s. What made a person submit to such treatment, especially as Imogene was no doubt intellectually their superior? Was it in her genes? Was it her upbringing? It would be a rather fascinating study to figure this out. He always was eager to learn more about the motivations of the lesser people. Understanding them meant to be able to lead and defeat them.

Equally fascinating were the girl’s romantic adorations for the man she secretly admired. The man being himself, Anselm von Baden. So much poetry so much longing. So much heartbreak. He wondered what would happen, if he returned her affection? What would she do for him? How far could he take her, before she would break, collapse into a heap of crying, quivering, self-hating worthlessness, after he had shattered all her dreams, thrown to the rubbish pile all her illusions.


O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

Silently his lips formed the words of one of his favorite poem. It wasn’t love of course, never. But to destroy her life sounded like an undertaking worth his precious time.

His phone beeped. One look and he was able to see who had messaged him, Hannah. Anselm at first felt little inclination to read her message right now, but then recalled the brief meeting with her on his way to fencing practice. Hannah and her airhead friends seemed like they were up to something, some kind of mean little prank they used to play on the loser demographic. Hannah of course used to say, that this was all his fault, and he turned her that bad. They had had a brief relationship about a year and a half ago. But then she decided he was “too extreme” for her and she quit. She was so much better at dealing out the pain and humiliation than at taking it. Spoiled little bitch.

They were somewhat friendly with each other still, as friendly as people could be who intensely despised each other, but who each knew too much about each other to let the hostility break out into an open war, that would be devastating to each of their reputation. If anyone ever leaked footage of what he had done to Hannah during their brief time together there’d be no more Mr. Nice Guy for him, and no more unbreakable boss bitch for her.

And with what did Hannah have to bother him now? “You know, it’s all your fault, asshole”. Her message, a smiley, a link to Facebook. Anselm couldn’t help but chuckle at the image of poor little Imogene, tied up. Hannah and her childish little games. It was cute in a way. But yet, without knowing, she was messing with his game. Anselm knew he had to act fast. Now that the Gaines girl was at her weakest. Otherwise little bitch would be there to destroy her completely and take way all his fun.

Fortunately, Imogene was in class the next day. Looking even more miserable than usually. A sad less than human shell, waiting to be ripped apart completely. He caught her alone on the corridor, “Hey Gaines, can I talk to you for a moment?”

 

[monique_minx]

The pitying looks and smirks along with the whispers behind her back almost reduced Imogene to tears. Each class was like a walk to the gallows and finally Ethics class came and she bore her soul into Anselm’s back while wondering if he had seen the humiliating photos of Hannah’s duct tape victory.

Class ended and she deliberately lagged behind to avoid any of the mockery that had followed her other classes. It was shocking and disconcerting to think that some of these heartless and vicious commentators would be doctors, nurses and counsellors someday. They showed her no empathy and gave her no quarter. She couldn’t imagine how they might treat their patients and clients in the future.

Imogene was completely focused on her feet and shuffled them just as fast as she could. So lost in her own thoughts that at first, she didn’t hear Anselm – she thought it was just in her head. Then he called her name again and she lifted her eyes to meet his, somewhat startled and hugging her books to her chest. It was just like one of her fantasies, they were alone. Imogene looked around to make sure he was actually intent on speaking to her and not someone else.

At first she squeaked out, “Yes?”

She cleared her throat quickly, her cheeks flushing red, “I mean yes…Anselm…o-of co-course you can.” Imogene stuttered her way through her response stupidly.

“If it’s about the photos…I-uh, I would really rather not discuss them.” She said hurriedly, clearly embarrassed by the idea that Anselm may have seen them.

 

[Purifier]

“The photos…?” Anselm’s clear blue eyes studied the nervous, embarrassed Imogene as if she was an insect upon a pin. “That really was horrible”, he finally said after a cruel moment of silence. He looked at her with an expression of feigned sympathy. In his high school years he had been the star of his school’s acting company. The skills acquired there were something that came in handy in so many situations. It always was so helpful to be able to feign emotions for you lessers. For the lowliest of the low a kind word meant so much, made it so easy to win them over, make them an accomplice in their own undoing.

He reached his hand out and rested in on her upper arm, giving her that deep, sad look he had practiced so well. “I wish there was anything I could do to help you.” He told her, “No one should treat you like they did.” After letting enough time pass to make the expression of sympathy seem sincere, but not too personal, he pulled away, half turning away again, before he stopped and looked at her again.

“I’ve got an idea”, he smiled at her mysteriously. “Whenever I feel sad and lonely, and unhappy with the world, I head to the mountains for a day or two. My family owns a little place there. Would you mind accompanying me there this weekend? I know this is really short notice because it already is Thursday, but some fresh air and exercise should make your mood light up again.” He looked into her eyes for moment.

“Please don’t tell anyone, I don’t want the school gossips to twitter about it,” he added now turning away again. “I see you at five pm on tomorrow, at the Nietzsche statue”. This said, he was on his way again. Not even giving her the time to tell him of the time was suitable for her. Why should he? Reaching for his phone to make sure everything was getting arranged at the chalet. He still had the little geek’s diary. This would be a weekend full of surprises for her. How much would she be able to stand, weakened as she already was by Hannah’s prank.

But really was this selfish sadism that motivated him? Of course not, or not alone. He was about to do this young woman a huge favor. Teaching her her true place in society. Destroying all foolish hopes and illusions. Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man. Nietzsche had put it so aptly. So yes better to crush her hopes once and for all, showing her that in this cold and cruel world there was no one she could trust.

Not even her diary. This maybe was the sweetest twist in his plan. The little book she had put so much trust in, her sole companion in her misery, would be his most valuable accomplice in orchestrating her ordeal.

 

[monique_minx]

Imogene was surprised by Anselm’s display of empathy, especially that he wanted to help her. His touch sent electrifying signals throughout her body. She wanted to leap right into his arms but she was frozen by his consuming charisma and some mysterious power he had over her that he likely didn’t even know he was wielding.

“I’ve got an idea. Whenever I feel sad and lonely, and unhappy with the world, I head to the mountains for a day or two. My family owns a little place there. Would you mind accompanying me there this weekend? I know this is really short notice because it already is Thursday, but some fresh air and exercise should make your mood light up again. Please don’t tell anyone, I don’t want the school gossips to twitter about it, I see you at five pm on tomorrow, at the Nietzsche statue”.

Imogene was in total shock, she made a squeaky whisper of thanks before he walked away. Her brown eyes were wide with astonishment and awe. Anselm had invited her to go away for the weekend! Her! It was her every fantasy coming true. She didn’t know how she got home that day but she was certain she must have skipped or floated the whole way.

Imogene’s first thought was to tell her diary all about it, she was like a blizzard as she tore through her college backpack but didn’t find it. Puzzled, Imogene went through her bookshelves and the stacks of paper and books littering her quazi-organized desk space but she couldn’t find her diary.

Imogene sighed and collapsed onto her bed, “Who needs a diary when life is waiting?”

Imogene giggled and began to go through her wardrobe. Everything she owned was horrid and baggy, she packed a lot of warm ski jackets and pants. Nothing that could even be considered sexy. She threw the only red lace underwear and bra she owned into the bag along with several plain t shirt bras.

“Wishful thinking.” She scoffed at herself, almost amused by the idea that she was trying to visually please Anselm who would probably never want to see her underwear.

She packed the tiny make up kit, some perfume, a hairbrush and some hair clips along with other essential toiletries. Studies be damned! Imogene wouldn’t miss this even if it meant flunking a class! Anselm might never ask her again!

“What if he regrets it tomorrow?” Imogene suddenly asked herself, “What if he changes his mind?”

“What if he realizes you’re a dork who talks to herself?” A voice sounded from the doorway, laughing and mimicking Imogene.

“Hi Sandra.” Imogene said glumly.

“Let me guess, precious Anselm finally asked Cinderella to the ball and now she thinks it was all a huge misunderstanding?” Sandra cocked a brow, leaning easily on the doorframe. She was lithe and athletic, the perfect specimen of a woman who was obviously a Sports student.

“Pretty much.” Imogene admitted.

“Just fucking go. Like you have much to lose after those pictures on Facebook. It can’t get worse than that. God you snivel a lot.” Sandra turned, her short pony tail flicking sharply as she exited the room.

Sure enough, at 4:50pm the next day, Imogene was waiting with a little duffle bag by the Nietzsche statue.

“Bugger it. What do I have to lose?” She muttered quietly to herself, trying to avoid the gaze of others as they passed by as she looked out for Anselm.

 

[Purifier]

Friday was a rather rainy and windy day. An excellent day for a long morning run before classes. 6 am on a day like this and he had the campus quite for himself. Anselm loved the feeling of the rain against his skin, the notion of braving the elements. Running alone without the weak masses blocking his path made the exercise even more enjoyable. He had had a few drinks with the other members of the fencing team last night, and turned down Aaron’s invitation for a hunting trip on the weekend with some of the guys. Anselm would be hunting too this weekend. But it would be a different kind of prey he was about to lure, trap and defeat. The thought brought a bit of a cruel smile to his face.

Freshly showered, and back in class, Anselm occupied his mind with different thoughts not wasting many thoughts on Imogene before the meeting time drew close. Everybody had their plans for the weekend, but Anselm kept his to himself. This would be a rather private kind of pleasure after all.

On his way though the park he mentally went through his match plan for the night. Her diary had been as much inspiration to him as he had expected. Imogene had seemed so shocked at the rather harmless sexual adventures of her friend Andrea, yet so excited, more excited then she had dared to openly admit even to her diary. This little book gave him such valuable insights into her mind, her hopes, her fantasies, her many weaknesses he so remorselessly planned to exploit. Even though she seemed easy prey, a battle plan, a strategy for conquest was always necessary, in each endeavour he undertook, be it a fencing match, an investment decision, or the toying with the heart of a foolish girl like Imogene.

The chalet in the mountains would be a perfect place for such a plan. He had already stored a number of props and devices there, toys he had used in previous, similar adventures. He looked forward to see the eyes of poor innocent Imogene open wide when confronted with his tools of torment.

He arrived at the statue a few minutes late. Usually Anselm treasured punctually highly, being raised to always be on time. But he liked the idea of having her stand there in the rain a little longer, in that obscure corner of the university park, delighted in imaging the doubts now tormenting her insecure mind. Oh if she knew what he had in mind for her. Finally, he walked up to her, clad rather casually in tight fitting jeans, a white Ralph Lauren sweater and a dark blue Moncler windbreaker.

“Hello Imogene, I am glad you waited for me”, he smiled at the young woman that stood there in the rain, looking rather miserable in her baggy ill fitting clothes. Walking up to her, his glance moved from the girl to the statue she was waiting at. “I like Nietzsche, he was a wise man, a courageous and unorthodox thinker”, Anselm said with a grin, “Du gehst zu Frauen? Vergiss die Peitsche nicht!“, he cited the philosopher in his native language of German. He could have said something nicer of course, could have used the words of Shakespeare or Byron to greet a romantic mind as she was. But these words perfectly fitted the mood he was in.

 

[monique_minx]

Imogene didn't speak German but that particular quote had been a source of translation debates for the longest time and Imogene smiled in confusion of Anselm using it.

"You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist." Imogene repeated perfectly with a smile, "He certainly had his moments as a critical thinker. I would have thought you'd be more Freudian. You seem to admire many of his theories in class."

Imogene commented conversationally and began to walk alongside Anselm as he started off. The rain was an annoyance but she'd walk on broken glass for the chance to converse with Anselm just like this. So the rain could pour down on her for all it was worth - she'd not miss this for all the water in the world!

"What are you studying Anselm? Other than Ethics of course! If that's your most exciting class, I am sorry for the semester letdown." She tried hard to make him smile and hoped she wasn't coming off as awkward as she felt.

Her plain black flats were soaked through, she wished she'd worn flip flops or something. Her shoes would almost need to be thrown away after this trip. She wished she was pretty like Hannah or Sandra, she wished she knew how to make herself up like they did. She could never draw a man's eye in that way.

'But he is here. He is with you...' A voice in her head told her gently and she couldn't help but be excited as they approached his car. This was it!

 

[Purifier]

“Freud?” for a moment Anselm looked at the young woman as if she had fed him something incredibly sour. Without knowing the little geek had gotten close to a rather sensitive spot of his. If he was Oedipus he didn’t even know who he’d kill first. The Baron who was considered to be his father, or the Pole who was – known only to handful of people – his real father. Of course though she did know nothing about his family and the circumstances of his upbringing. So he quickly regained his smile, while taking a mental note to soon punish her for this unintentional little cruelty of hers. “Oh yes Freud. Nietzsche had been a great influence on him. There are a lot of similarities between the theories of those two great minds.”

They were doing conversation as they walked towards the car. He told her he studied business law. Did she really just talk about Ethics as an ‘exciting class’? What he learned there was often useful. But exciting? It seemed she had now idea yet what real excitement was. “I will show you what I consider exciting”, he said with a smile. “Physical exercise is. Nature is. Especially human nature.” He added with a little grin. Anselm took great pleasure in increasing his knowledge of the human mind, its weaknesses and strengths. She’d be such a great specimen for these studies.

They reached the car now. A 2016 Mini Cooper S. A rather small car for a man with such a big family name. But he was very European in his automotive preferences. Big cars were for gangsters and old men, for CEOs and politicians. Beside the new Mini he owned a vintage English roadster, a Triumph. But today wasn’t the right weather for that car.

Like a true gentleman he held open the door of his vehicle for her before he made his way to the driver’s seat. Soon they were on their way, the small but agile car remarkably fast on the wet and curvy road leading into the hills.

“I am very grateful that you have accepted my invitation”, he said as he drove, rather unimpressed by the hazardous weather conditions, “I am sure we will have a great weekend up at the chalet.” For a moment he turned his gaze to her to look her over, already planning the devilish ways he would torture her – all for the sake of his studies in human nature of course. His eyes focused on the road again, as he sped through a narrow curve, always keeping the car under control like an experienced rally driver. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you though.” He added, then grinned, “the house rules…”

 

[monique_minx]

Imogene nodded and tried to appear to be listening intently although Anselm appeared to have mistaken her sarcasm for a genuine opinion. Imogene decided it was not worth correcting and let it go. She almost tripped over the curb as Anselm held the door for her, she tried not to gawk at him as she got into the car less than gracefully. No one had ever held a door open for Imogene!

She watched Anselm stuff her bag in the backseat before hopping in the car himself. They were off! Imogene felt as if she were floating on air, even the poor weather couldn’t bring her down. Anselm drove fast but carefully, he seemed very sure of himself and continued to chat to Imogene idly as if they were old friends.

Imogene was a little surprised by his desire to discuss things with her and she smiled uncertainly, “House rules?” She asked and wondered if there were some specific rich people rules other than ‘wipe your feet on the mat’ and ‘keep your elbows off the table’.

Imogene recovered quickly, oblivious to the way Anselm stared at her – she figured he was just being polite and charming, “Of course. I promise I am housebroken.”

Imogene giggled awkwardly and then cringed inwardly at the awful joke, “God I’m sorry. I’m very bad at this whole being social thing.”

‘Just shut up Im-o-dreams. Just shut up.’ She told herself.