CHAPTER FIVE ,      bite the hand

        Venetia's feet could be heard thudding down the stairs the moment she heard Duncan open the door. "Mona!" She screamed, barely giving the girl time to react before launching herself at her friend, arms wound tightly around her shoulders.

With a bright, beaming grin, Desdemona wrapped her arms around Venetia's waist, lifting her slightly off the ground, and spun her around three times. She buried her face in Venetia's neck, breathing in the oddly comforting scent of booze and Chanel N°5.

"Oh, how I've missed you!" The blonde's voice was tight with glee, rocking Desdemona from side to side, still in her arms. "I've been fine without the boys, but you," she pulled away to hold Desdemona's hands, squeezing softly, "god, I've been going mental without you."

Desdemona laughed and pulled her in for another hug. Her relationship with Venetia was much like the girl herself, complicated. They'd grown up best friends, and seen each other through their phases of jealousy and joy. Venetia expressed her envy in a different way than Desdemona. All of her preteen angst and hatred of the way attention seemed to gravitate naturally to Desdemona made her mood flip in seconds, going from warm and adoring to cold and callous after a mere smile from someone else.

   Venetia had what Desdemona longed for, a proper family. She never had to worry about asking her father something, he seemed to always know what she wanted, and if she ever did ask, he gave it to her easily. She had the brother, the kind and caring figure that Desdemona deserved to have. Her way of dealing with this jealousy was by working her way closer to the Catton's, making Venetia's family her own.

   There was an unspoken agreement that they both knew the effect they had on the other, but would never take it further than they already had. They would sit in their mutual green haze and savour the fact that, in spite of it all, they were soul bound.

It seemed that nothing fit quite as perfectly as Desdemona's hand on Venetia's back when too many shots left her hunched over a toilet bowl. Venetia's arms would always find their way around Desdemona, and Desdemona's fingers would always thread their way through Venetia's hair.

Being away from her, her best friend, was like being away from half of your body, and your hands felt like they had no purpose, just hanging limp at the end of your body. Desdemona smiled in a melancholy manner, eyes glazing over in sheer love and adoration, tucking a strand of bleached hair behind Venetia's ear. "I missed you more, Vee."

   Their moment was snatched away by the loud running of Felix and Farleigh. The latter hung behind once they entered the foyer, leaning against a doorframe with a smile — one that only he could wear, as arrogant as it was warm. Felix pulled Desdemona away from his sister, her face pressed to his chest as he squeezed her tightly.

   "Swear it's been years since you saw me." Desdemona laughed, hitting him lightly. "It hasn't even been a full day."

   "Don't care." Felix beamed boyishly, still holding onto her. He started rocking her from side-to-side. "It's a comfort hug. Farleigh told me about your dad." He explained.

   Desdemona gave her boyfriend a sharp look. He raised his hands in defence. "I didn't give detail, just said he was an asshole."

   "Which we knew anyway." Venetia cut him off, reaching over to softly rub Desdemona's arm. "You should've just come straight here, Mona."

   The sudden pity made her skin crawl. She wanted to peel it from her bones and start her life anew, with new arms, and new eyes, and a new nose. She wanted to tear at her hair and scratch away at every layer of herself until she was nothing but her heart and her stomach. Nobody feels pity for a stray.

But unnerving honesty never thrived at Saltburn, so she blinked, and made her eyes wider, and played into her vulnerability. She thanked Felix and Venetia and made sure her voice cracked as she did so. She gave Farleigh a softer look and he took it as his queue to bring her to her room.

Venetia was less willing than her brother was to let her go, holding onto her hand until she needed to stretch to do so, and pouting when she vanished from sight.

   Desdemona didn't say much on the walk, she didn't need to. She could feel Farleigh's eyes burning into her side, aching to ask her what really happened. The short text she sent him left far too much and far too little to the imagination; Dad brought up the boys. Leaving now.

But he knew her better than he knew himself, and Desdemona wouldn't talk until they were safely tucked away in their quarters. The walls of Saltburn had eyes and ears, just like the staff, but they were less likely to tell your secrets if you closed your doors. He held her hand loosely.

The grandiose of the estate made Desdemona's stomach turn — with envy or disgust, she wasn't quite sure. But, as they crossed room after room, free of dust but still obviously forgotten, she walked faster, wanting nothing more than to fall into a bed.

   Sleeping arrangements at Saltburn was similar to that at Oxford, they both had their own respective bedrooms, split by a shared bathroom, but Desdemona's quarters had turned into a glorified wardrobe and Farleigh's pillows smelled like her.

   As soon as he closed the door behind him, Desdemona turned around and buried her face in Farleigh's chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He stumbled back a step at her impact, but his body acted on routine and held her close, running a hand through her hair.

   She didn't cry, but she did try to. Desdemona thought that the lingering feeling of illness and anger would melt away if she cried, but her throat was still dry from sobbing in her room, so her shoulders shook against Farleigh like an empty threat.

   "He said they'd be disappointed."

   If she dared look up, Desdemona would see a movement in Farleigh's jaw as he ground his teeth, a silent anger glazing over his eyes. "He's full of shit."

   A moment's silence. "Is he?"

   Farleigh was taken aback when Desdemona pulled away, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked at her in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

   "Yes!" She didn't mean to yell, he knew that. "Matt always looked up to me, and, after he died, Charlie couldn't even look at me without seeing him."

Farleigh kneeled before her and took her hands in his. Desdemona looked at her lap, decidedly not strong enough to face him. If she prayed hard enough, maybe she'd disappear.

But, the lord never heeded her prayers before, and now was no different. "Charlie loved you so much—"

"How would you know? He hated you."

"Exactly! He loved you so much that he knew you were wasting your time with me. He knew you deserved the world."

She tightened her grip on his hand. "Don't say that."

"It's true. And Matt thought you were the most amazing girl in the world, and he was right. The fact that you're still painting is enough to know he'd still think the same."

Desdemona's face grew blotchy and she willed the strength to push out one single tear. It landed on Farleigh's hand and he didn't move to wipe it away. He kept looking at her.

   "Sometimes I'm worried that they would be disappointed in me, you know. Like I'm not enough of anything to make them proud." She rubbed his hand with her thumb. "I know I'm smart, but I've never been the smartest. And I'm funny, but never the funniest. And I'm a good painter, but I'll never be great. I just feel like everybody has their thing, you know? The thing everyone remembers them for. I don't."

   Farleigh stood up and sat beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder. Desdemona rested her head on his shoulder. "You're kind."

   "Felix is kind."

   "Felix is nice." Farleigh held her tighter. "He's good to us, and whatever sad kid he picks up in a year, but he changes. You don't. You're kind."

   Kindness, to Desdemona, was more than gold. There was nothing worth more in her life than unabashed goodness. She prided herself on her ability to love, and hated herself when she lashed out. Farleigh knew her through all of it, through every scratch and bite and scream, he never saw her as anything other than kind.

   "You're a good person, Des." He mumbled into her hair. "You're better than the rest of us. That's enough for anyone to be proud of."

   She looked up at him, cheek pressed to his shoulder and pouting her lips, eyes wide. "I love you." She rasped.

   He leaned down and kissed her, nose touching hers as he whispered against her, "I love you too."

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It wasn't until dinner that evening that Desdemona was reunited with Elspeth. Wearing an ivory silk dress with thin straps on her shoulders, billowing sleeves, and a swooping back.

   The older woman gasped when Desdemona walked in, Farleigh on her arm. The pinnacle of grace, she stood from her chair and walked over to them with her arms out wide. She took the girl's face into her hands and smile. "Oh, darling, you get more gorgeous every time I see you." She placed her hands across her shoulders, holding her in a loose embrace. "How has Oxford been treating you? Felix hardly tells me anything." She asked, guiding her over to the table and sending a quick glare to her son.

   "That's because all you ever ask if her dad's done anything."

   "Nonsense, I would never." She waved him off. "But has he?" Just as quickly as it left her, Elspeth's attention was on Desdemona once more. "I mean, he must've if you came early."

   There it was. There had always been an imbalance of power in the Catton household. The unspoken deal that their generosity lasted as long as your entertainment act. Everyone born to a name other than theirs, was born with desperation. Farleigh; money. Pamela; safety. Desdemona; a home. Her desperation loomed over her shoulder, a shadow figure fit to swallow her whole.

   Picture her; young, terrified, with aching bones and a broken heart, standing on bambi legs. Picture it; aged, powerful, towering over her with a sneer, a scythe clutched in its grip, a vulture. Desdemona was a slave to her desperation, she had been since the moment she met it. It's talons made a home in her spine, and, soon enough, it became as much a part of her as her hands.

   It told her many things, most of which were far from kind. But, most of all, it told her to play into Elspeth's want for something to pity.

   Under the table, Desdemona pulled at her fingernails. Beside her, Farleigh put a comforting hand on her thigh. "Just the usual, you know, saying I'm not taking life seriously enough. It was fine, but he," Desdemona paused, drawing in a shaky breath.

   Elspeth held her breath in anticipation and Farleigh's grip tightened ever so slightly. "He brought up my brothers, saying they'd be disappointed in who I am. I don't know, normally I'm able to pretend it never happened when he says things like that, but I guess I was just more sensitive than usual."

Elspeth, who had been toying with her earring, put her hand to her chest and turned to her husband. "How dreadful! How completely and utterly dreadful. Isn't it, darling?"

Sir James jumped in his seat, moving in the same jumpily animated manner he usually did. "Truly heartbreaking." He agreed.

"And how's your mother? Is she doing well?" Desdemona knew this was Elspeth's way of asking if her mother had another breakdown. News of her shutting off from the world after the deaths of her sons spread like wildfire, and the rumours of budding insanity stuck to her name like a leech.

   Swallowing the urge to clamp her jaws down on the hand Elspeth was reaching out to feed her with, Desdemona straightened her back and scrambled for a respectful way to explain her mother's circumstance.

"She's the same way she's always been, devoted, convinced that even someone like him deserves love. It's admirable." She smiled proudly.

Elspeth nodded. "Yes, your mother always was such a kind woman. I remember back when I first met her, I was at a party as a guest of my dear friend Karl Lagerfield — I was one of his muses, you know. Anyway!"

   As Elspeth went on about her glory days and how her name and Louise's warm heart had gotten them into so many parties. Pamela, who Desdemona felt overwhelming sympathy for, nodded along dumbly with an odd sense of longing in her eyes.

   It had been clear to her from the moment she met Pamela, back when her mother still escorted her to Saltburn to make sure she made it safe, that Elspeth had always favoured Louise. Pamela wanted what everybody did; the love of Elspeth Catton. She had it, circumstantially, but she could feel it running thin.

"Oh, Des." Farleigh called for her attention once he saw her conversation with Sir James draining the life from her eyes. "Guess who Felix invited this year."

"Ooh." She clapped her hands together and took a quick sip of her drink. "I love this game." Desdemona narrowed her eyes at Felix. "India?" Felix frowned and shook his head.

   "Who's India?" Elspeth asked urgently, ears pricked up like a hare.

   "Nobody." Felix was quick to reply. "One of our friends back in Oxford." He glared pointedly at Desdemona.

She stopped for a few seconds, staring him down and thinking. Then, it hit her. She straightened her back and gasped, a wide smile spreading across her face. "It's Ollie! You're bringing Ollie!" She turned to Farleigh. "He's bringing Ollie, right?"

   Felix laughed into his glass and nodded. When Venetia pulled her into a conversation, Desdemona didn't notice the tightening of Farleigh's hand on her leg.

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   They were all in one of the family rooms, except for Venetia, who insisted she was to be left alone to lounge in anticipation for Oliver's arrival. Farleigh and Desdemona shared a love seat behind the couch. Farleigh's laptop was balanced precariously on his lap and her chin was on his shoulder, reading over his essay as he typed. He held a cigarette loosely between his fingers and let her take a drag whenever she pinched his side.

   Elspeth was recounting Oliver's tragedy to Pamela, who listened eagerly as she told a tale of peril and percocets. Superbad was playing in the background, and had Felix and his father enthralled.

   "Oh, goodness, and Desdemona, darling, you must've been in a ghastly state when you heard about his father." Elspeth placed her hand over her heart. "Were you? In a ghastly state, I mean. Surely it was horrible, hearing about something like that again."

   She leaned in to explain to Poor Dear Pamela. "Her brother died of an overdose when she was fourteen, poor thing was the one to find him." Pamela let out a noise of sympathy and both women quickly looked back to Desdemona.

   Elspeth's eyes were wide and her hand was curled so her chin could rest elegantly on top of it. She had treated Desdemona well all of her life, but this question wasn't asked out of kindness. Desdemona figured she'd gotten bored of Pamela's sad stories, and was too impatient to wait for Oliver's, so she was preying on hers.

   "Mum!" Felix whispered harshly. He looked at her sharply, then over his shoulder to give Desdemona a softened look of apology.

She smiled at him, her kind way of dismissal. "I tried not to think about it too much. Spent more of the time thinking about Ollie instead of myself." Farleigh breathed out a laugh and Elspeth had a look on her face that was the closest she could get to a scowl. Nobody could read between the lines of a conversation like Elspeth Catton, and Desdemona's response was far from what she wanted.

   But, she was never one to be upfront, so, instead, she said; "Your father was like that when poor Charlie passed, wasn't he? Never one to fuss over his past."

   She knew it would make her sick. She knew Desdemona better than the girl liked to admit. She saw the bunching of her fist and the way her jeans were pinched between her fingers. She could see the whitening of her knuckles and knew she was right. There was a silent challenge in her eyes; Prove me right. Show me your angry blood.

   "Better to be like that than to be self-devoted, no?"

Elspeth gave her a smile. "Of course, darling." She turned back to Pamela, who'd been watching with her breath caught in her throat.

Desdemona noticed Farleigh had stopped typing, but didn't look away from the screen. He'd been paying attention to every word Elspeth said and understood every intention they held.

   "And here he is now!" Farleigh put an end to Elspeth and Pamela's discussion on Oliver's flaws with an overly cheery tone. The boy walked in nervously, unsure of his every step. "We were just talking about you."

   With her hand over her mouth, Desdemona had to bury her face in Farleigh's shoulder to muffle her laughter. "You're awful." She whispered to him. He just smiled with pride.

Once Elspeth sat down, still marvelling at Oliver in awe, Desdemona stood up and hurried over to her friend, pulling him into a tight hug. His hands fell unsurely on her waist. Oliver looked up and saw Farleigh staring at him with a blank face and harsh eyes. When Desdemona pulled away, he swallowed thickly and wiped his hands on his trousers with a noticeably red face.

Desdemona paid it no mind, though, and happily went back to her seat with Farleigh. While Elspeth fussed over Oliver and Desdemona winced at her dispelling Pamela, Farleigh leaned over to whisper to her, "This is gonna be fun."

—author's note
sorry for not updating for ages and not proofreading this, i had sm schoolwork and i've got so many tests this week so it'll probably be another week before the next update 💔😭
EDIT: "another week" she says before not updating for a year & unpublishing it entirely. . .

i don't want to sound obsessed with my own writing or anything but something so special to me about the beginning part of this chapter is how it says venetia is only willing to hold onto desdemona until she has to stretch (aka put in any proper effort) and then cutting to farleigh who's so focused on making sure she's okay that he doesn't even think to wipe away the tears falling onto him