CHAPTER FOUR ,
blessed be the daughters of cain

*PREFACE* this chapter includes mentions of drug addictions, overdose, some graphic imagery surrounding overdose (but not entirely far from what's discussed in the film), and child death

      Summer heat had well set in on the Oxford grounds, and, as she waited outside the exam hall with Felix and hundreds of other students clutching feather boas and colourful beads, she couldn't be more grateful that's he wasn't stuck inside.

   The doors flung open and Farleigh went straight to her. Cheers rang out from every side and friend welcomed friend and ran off to get ready for the end-of-year party. Pulling away from a kiss, Desdemona looked the pinnacle of pride, draping Farleigh in pink beads and placing purple glasses carefully on his face.

   "How do I look?" He asked, beaming.

   "Gorgeous, as always." She assured, pulling him in for another kiss.

The party was raging from all angles. Desdemona's hair was down loose, and Annabelle said the lights made her look like an angel. A long, red, sleeveless dress clung tightly to her body and, after a few shots, she decided she was the most confident girl in the world.

   About a hundred people she barely knew stopped her when they passed, hugging her and wishing her a good summer. It was the perfect part of the evening, where everyone was too drunk to remember their grievances, but not drunk enough to make new ones. Desdemona even kissed the cheek of the girl who lied about stealing her Polly Pocket in primary school! (That was a hatchet she was very proud of herself for burying)

Farleigh's hands on her waist we're a welcomed surprised. She turned her back to whoever she was dancing with before to face him. "Hi." She whispered, leaning into him.

"Hey." He responded, just as low. He leant down, lips brushing the shell of her ear when he asked; "Want to head inside for a bit?"

"But it's so early—" She was about to object, but her eyes widened in slow realisation. "You know what? I was actually just thinking about how I left something in the dorm and we need to go get it right now."

"Oh yeah? Right now?" Farleigh teased, laughing.

"It's, like, so urgent." Desdemona nodded, keeping a straight face for a total and ten seconds before she fell further into his hold, giggling like a child.

The sun was beginning to set and hues of orange and violet painted the sky. With Desdemona's hand in his, Farleigh pulled her alongside him on the walk back to dorms. Over a foothill, they could see Oliver standing, looking around aimlessly.

"Nice tux." Farleigh said in a saccharine manner. He grabbed Oliver by the wrists, holding his arms up. Desdemona used her hand to stifle her laugh at how childlike Oliver looked. "It's a rental, right?" Oliver nodded. "The sleeves are a bit too long. Always check the sleeves." He taunted with a sing-song voice.

   Desdemona came up beside Farleigh, wrapping her arm around his waist and latching onto his side just as he complimented Oliver on a somewhat decent attempt. "You're almost passing." Farleigh decided, slowly walking away.

   "For what?" Oliver asked.

   Farleigh shrugged. "A real human boy?"

   Desdemona pinched his side. "Mean." She whispered. She stretched her free hand out in a wild wave. "Bye, Ollie! Have a good summer!"

He reached up to wave back, but she'd already turned away. His hand fell to awkwardly scratch his neck.

   When Desdemona woke up the following morning, it was reluctantly and with a pounding headache. With heat and sweat hanging heavy in the air, she was glad that the blanket was only a thin sheet. She'd fallen asleep with Farleigh's back to her chest and her arms around him. Waking up before him, even with a hangover, was custom for them. She kissed his shoulder and drew delicate shapes on his back.

   If she could stay like that forever, she would. Her only solace was the fact that, in two days, she'd be where she truly belonged; Saltburn.

She'd been staying every summer since she was seven because the lovely Louise Troy asked her darling friend Elspeth to mind her for the break, while she went travelling with her husband. That was before Mr. Troy lost his joy entirely, and still made time for his wife. Elspeth, always eager to welcome a new toy, graciously obliged, and took the girl in as her own.

   It turned out that Elspeth didn't have to teach her much for her to fit right in. Venetia latched onto the girl the moment she saw her and she refused to let go. That was good enough while they were young, but, as she grew older, it seemed she was good entertainment for Elspeth herself, with a keen ear for listening and vibrant reactions to gossip. The pair could often be found thrown across a sofa with a cup of tea or a lemonade in their hands, smiling as though they weren't discussing the most scandalous of scandals. Desdemona hadn't been able to think about Damon Albarn the same way since.

She felt more like family than a guest, so her yearly visits were an unspoken agreement. She could come whenever she pleased, which, more often than not, was with Farleigh, and she'd leave alongside him and Felix.

The only catch was that she had to visit home for a day before she could go to Saltburn. Something to soothe a mother's worry and satiate a father's need to seethe.

   "How long have you been up?" Farleigh's voice was laden with sleep, barely understandable if you weren't familiar with it.

"Not long." Desdemona replied, pulling her hand back.

"You didn't have to stop." Farleigh lightheartedly complained.

Desdemona let out a quick breath of laughter. "Turn around?" He obliged, shuffling until he was lying on his side, face inches away from hers. "I'd much rather do this instead." She placed soft kisses all around his face. His cheeks, his forehead, his nose as it scrunched up, his eyelids as he squeezed them shut, only giving him the gentlest of touches.

That may have been his favourite thing about her—her gentleness, the softness with which she loved him. You could ask (almost) anyone who'd met her to describe Desdemona Troy in one exact word, and most answers would be 'gentle', inoffensive in every sense of the word.

   He'd learned over the years that another one of his privileges in life was the love of a gentle woman, and he did his best to give her the love of a gentle man.

But the problem was that Farleigh wasn't born to be gentle, it didn't come easy to him like it did to her. He was born as an outsider to his own family. None of them would say it, none of them were brave enough to, and they would always welcome him home, but he knew he was still fighting to keep them entertained and to stay alive.

   It was that very reason that only Desdemona got his softness, and maybe Felix and Venetia, if he was feeling particularly nice. Desdemona had never made him feel like he needed to earn a seat at her table. Instead, it felt like she had a chair made for him, intricate detailing on the arms and his name on the back, sat proudly at the head. To her, he was gold.

   He hadn't realised his eyes were dazed and his lips were pulled up in an absentminded smile. "What are you thinking about?" Desdemona asked.

   She was holding his face as if he was about to shatter and her thumbs ran across the apples of his cheeks. "You." He answered honestly.

   Immediately, he could see a bashful smile growing on her face, and she tried to look away to hide the coloured hue to her cheeks.

He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder and one of his hands snuck beneath the sheets to wrap around her waist, palm splayed on the small of her back, holding her close.

"You sure you don't want me going to your parents' place with you?" Farleigh didn't even acknowledge the house as her own, it was a mere attachment of her name.

Desdemona shook her head firmly. "No offence, but my dad hates you, and he'll be in a bad enough mood as it is." She could feel Farleigh's unease. "Hey," she coaxed, holding his face to meet hers, "I'll be fine. I'm tough, I can handle it. Besides, if he's being too much of a cunt, I can just leave early."

   "Not even if he's 'too much' of a cunt. If he steps out of line at all, leave early. You shouldn't have to force yourself through that shit."

   A kiss to his nose, "I promise." And then she sat up, arms stretched above her head, popping her knuckles. "C'mon," she patted his leg, "time to get up."

   Farleigh buried himself back in the pillows. "I can't. I'm too lazy."

   "Oh, that's a shame." Desdemona's voice was laced with a heavy coating of faux-pity as she spoke from the bathroom. "Because I was about to go have a shower, and I was going to ask if you—"

"I'm up." Farleigh hurried in after her, making her laugh loudly and shake her head in fondness.

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   She'd only been at the house for ten minutes and Desdemona already regretted not asking Farleigh to come with her.

Her mother had prepared a lunch for the three of them. Her father had some work to do, so he stayed tucked away in his office, much to Desdemona's joy.

Two years ago, for Christmas, Desdemona's mother bought her a white Chanel set of a cropped blazer and a white skirt. It was beautiful, but it was a size too big. Louise nearly cried when she realised she got it wrong, and insisted Desdemona let her bring it back and exchange it, but she insisted that it was a sign of fate, that the perfect occasion to wear it just hadn't come yet, and when it did, she'd be able to wear it.

A part of Louise's heart melted when her daughter sat before her in a white two-piece.

Desdemona was in the middle of telling her mother a story from Halloween, where one of their friends got drunk enough to actually try trick or treating around the dorms and someone gave him a black eye because he kept yelling at them, when the air turned cold and a chill shot down her spine.

Now, she was standing at the top of the stairs, engaged in a vicious argument with her father.

   "You'll be lucky if you ever see me again!" Desdemona screamed, voice raspy and harsh.

   At the bottom of the stairs, her father didn't look phased. His jaw was clenched in the same manner it always was, a man born livid. "I'll be lucky if I don't." He said in the worst way he could; completely calmly, as if the punch to his daughter's stomach was easy work.

   "You don't mean that." Her mother tried to cut in, but Desdemona could tell that not even she believed what she said.

   He looked up the stairs, eyes devoid of any care at all. "You live in a delusion that your name can get you anywhere in this world, but it can't. You're a leech, Desdemona. If it's not us your taking from, it's the Cattons. And I wouldn't mind if you took money for things you actually needed, but you don't. You blow it all on drugs you think we don't see. Do you think it's easy for us to see you using so recklessly after what happened to your brother?" He stopped, his nose flared, and Desdemona hoped he'd show some semblance of emotion.

   But he didn't. "They'd both be so disappointed."

Everything went silent. Even the birds outside stopped chirping, as if they knew that was the final blow. Louise was about to say something, but Desdemona beat her to it.

With a face and a voice too similar to her father's she sneered; "You don't get to talk about them. You hardly knew them! They were not your sons. You were a stranger to them." Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, dropping onto her chest as she stared him down, hatred unwavering.

   Then, in a flurry of white and loud heels, Desdemona had turned away and stormed to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut and kicked it for good measure. She stared at the door while her chest heaved and saw the chip marks of the frame from years of slamming it with all her might, and her violent blood taunted her again.

   Blessed be the daughters of Cain who are born with gnashed teeth and bloody jaws. They're draped in chain and kissed with a breath of reluctant life. Hound dogs are carried to the world with empty stomachs and the metallic taste of more on their tongue. They're fed when they've fought and sleep when they're dead. Desdemona Troy first learned of love from her mother.

   With blood spilling through her teeth and fear lining her stomach, she was torn from her mother's rib. Louise remembered it well; child, screaming and kicking with eyes screwed shut, cheeks red and angry. She held her to her chest and the baby wrapped her tiny hand around her finger and everything went quiet. From the moment she drew her first breath, Desdemona was a beacon of calm.

To Louise, Desdemona was the first sight of hope she'd properly had in years. Yes, her husband had his moments where he kissed her cheek and breathed in her scent, but they were few and far between. And her son, her darling boy, was growing to be of an age where signs of his father were starting to peak through.

   When Desdemona was five, Louise had another child, a boy, again. He seemed to be more like his mother and sister, soft.

   But a soft heart can be fatal in a cruel world such a theirs, and an illness took over him before he could see the age of ten. When he died, the Troy family home died too. It was a haunted house now, each inhabitant waiting for their escape, a gaunt spirit rattling around in its skeletal cage.

   Her elder brother chose a physical way of peace, and his drug use slowly changed from leisurely to liberal. Desdemona found him one of the nights when it was just them in the house, their parents at some charity gala.

He was sprawled out on the bathroom floor, body twitching violently. Desdemona did all she could think to do at fourteen, she stuck her fingers down his throat and turned his head to the side so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit. With a trembling had and a shaking voice, she called for an ambulance and tried not to look at the trails of red in his bile.

He was dead by the time the paramedics arrived and the scream Louise let out was enough to shake the trees. It was a crimson call. One of rage, desperation, and despair. One that tore at her throat and rattled your heart from deep inside your chest. It was a scream of blood. Of blood lost, blood boiled, and blood yet to be spilled. It rang to the very core, pure. Unfiltered emotion filled it and spilled down the edges in an agonising cry for mercy, for her baby boy to be brought back to her.

   It was Orpheus losing Eurydice at the very end, believing he had finally found a haven, only for Hades to wrap his charcoal hand around his love, dragging her to the abyss of death, leaving him to die of a broken heart.

   Louise wandered aimlessly around the house for years after. She refused to step foot in that bathroom. His room remained untouched, even then, five years later.

   The dates on Desdemona's shoulders were the dates her brothers died, tattooed on her back instead of wings, the angels looking down on her. Suddenly, the air around her was choking. Her bag was already packed, she needed to leave now, she grabbed it and didn't bother to wipe her eyes. She wanted her father to see the black smudges of mascara around her eyes and the blotchiness of her cheeks. She wanted him to feel the guilt he deserved. He wouldn't.

   He was in his office again, thankfully. But Louise was sat in the living room, crying into her hands on the chaise lounge. Desdemona left her stuff and the stairs and ran over to hold her.

   "I'm so sorry, my sweet girl." Her mother rasped, hands desperately holding her close. "I'm so sorry for everything."

   "You have nothing to be sorry for." Desdemona rushed out. "None of this is your fault."

   "I'm not the mother you deserve." Tears hung from her chin, falling onto Desdemona's blazer she spoke. "You deserve someone who can fight for you and protect you. I've failed you, my love."

   Desdemona clung tighter to her than she ever had before, eyes screwed shut. She felt like a child, pretending that if she ignored the bad things happening, they weren't real. "Don't say that. Please." Her voice cracked around her words.

   Louise pulled away, cupping Desdemona's cheeks and looking at her in an overwhelming state of genuine awe. "Look at you, my beautiful girl. So brave, so strong, so lovely." Desdemona shook as sobs escaped her. "You're the best thing that's ever been mine. You are everything I could've wanted you to be, and more. I admire you."

"I get mean when I'm scared." Desdemona blubbered out, terrified by the vulnerability of it all.

"You are gentle."

"I get mean when I'm scared."

"You are kind."

"I get mean when I'm scared."

"You are human."

Desdemona crumbled in her arms again, sobbing and whimpering and whining into her mothers arms. Louise ran her hands through her hair, toying with the curls to soothe her.

Shakily, Louise spoke again. "You're leaving now, aren't you?"

She could feel Desdemona nodding. "I'm sorry, I can't be under the same roof as him anymore." She bunched her mother's dress in her hands. "Please don't hate me."

"How could I ever hate you, sweet girl?"

"I'm running away instead of standing my ground. I'm abandoning you."

   "Oh, mon ange." Louise sighed softly. "You're not abandoning me, and there is nothing shameful about choosing your own happiness." Desdemona lifted her head and Louise wiped away her tears and makeup. "Tell the Cattons I said 'hi', will you?"

   "You could come too, you know." Desdemona tried. "Elspeth would love having you. You don't have to stay with him."

   Louise shook her head. "There are many things that can't be explained in this world, Desdemona, your father is one of them, the fact that, in spite of everything, I love him, is another. Promise to call me."

   Desdemona reached down and tightly intertwined their pinky fingers. "I promise." She hugged her one last time before she walked off to get her bags and her jacket, and then she was gone.

   The car ride was comfortably long. Desdemona had retreated to her own world the second the engine started, daydreaming while she listened to Grace by Jeff Buckley, the first cd she'd ever bought.

   She texted Venetia when they were leaving, warning her that she'd be arriving early. The girl responded eagerly, more than happy to be reunited with her close friend.

   The family car rolled past the gates and Desdemona looked out at the grounds from the window, she swore she could see Farleigh and Felix by the lake—she didn't know anyone else that tall—but when those two figures saw the car, they started sprinting towards the castle.

   Her driver took her bags out of the boot and placed them by the door. He gave her a nod of farewell. Duncan opened the doors before she could ring the bell.

   "Welcome home, Miss. Troy."

               ( author's note. . . )
the boygenius self titled ep deserves the treatment 'the record' got because wdym julien baker said "i look at you and you look at a screen / im in the backseat of my body" "aren't i the one constantly repenting for a difficult mind? / push me down into the water like a sinner / hold me under and i'll never come up again" and you still sleep on stay down...

& i think this is my fav chapter i've written ever okay ily bye get ready for saltburn content next xx