BETHANY HUGHES<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a9/Haibane_Bethany_Hughes_01.jpg)</div>I was numb. Two months since the funeral and I'd been numb for three days before that and the sixty after. My mind was dulled with grief and anger and frustration. At times the anger and frustration had ripped away the numbness to briefly hide it behind fits of screaming and wanting to just punch every lawyer and insurance assessor who'd ever walked this god-forsaken earth. I suppose lawyers and insurance assessors are like wasps, necessary as part of the system, the natural balance of things but no-one has a damn idea why or what good they do, they just cause pain, mindlessly it seems, with insectile efficiency.<br/><br/>Charles hadn't been the best husband nor the world's greatest dad but I'd loved him terribly, more than I had realised after he'd gone and while the mess he'd left behind that had been revealed by the banks and the legal people had shocked and dismayed me, it never once dented that unshakeable love. All I had now were my two darling children, though 'children' is a misleading word. They were adults now, or practically so and while any day now I expected Debbie to bring home a fine young man or Ed to bring a pretty girl, the fact neither did didn't arouse any concerns within me. I had wondered for a good while now when they'd both spread their wings and fly the nest or be taken away by a passing hawk or dove but the recent mayhem and upset had pushed such worries aside.<br/><br/>Charles was gone, gone for good and because of his gambling addiction of which I'd known nothing (but now, tragically knew far too well), apparently an online obsession he'd been swallowed by to hide the stresses of his job… because of this we were homeless. I had never held a paid job of any sort. Charles and I had married straight after college and the twins had arrived quickly after – in fact to those who kept tabs on such things, they arrived less than nine months after the wedding and mother would always wink at me and say "Beth dear, I knew you were a fast worker but even I'm impressed." After the twins I had of course held down a full time job – mother and housewife – though it didn't pay a penny. Fortunately Charles did well and while banking isn't everyone's dream he steadily climbed the company ladder, keeping his nose clean and steering a fine course between a yes-man and a trouble-maker. That was never enough for his bosses however and they piled more and more responsibility onto him and showered him with fancy titles but never any additional pay. Times were bad, there was a recession, blah, blah, blah, the same old story.<br/><br/>Charles was a victim of the system, the rat run. He'd wanted to get off but finally had seen only one way. At least his going would see the family financially secured, or so he thought but he'd not read his life insurance policy's fine print closely enough. With his debts and his work stress and the way the car had been tampered with it was clear (so the coroner said) that it was suicide and that was the death knell for the family. Suicide annulled the policy and so the sharks came snapping around the boat for their pound of flesh and stripped the carcass clean, taking the house, the car, even the bloody home cinema system. We were left with little more than what we stood up in plus the bits and pieces of personal property that had no value to the sharks.<br/><br/><div align="center"><strong>~ * * * ~</strong></div><br/>I listened to Angela talk as she drove. I was still numb. Her hand on my leg,<em>a lesbian's hand!</em>my mind barked a warning, her foul mouth, her free and open confession of her sordid earthy lifestyle, even her two live in servants, again lesbians, none of these things could punch through the dull cotton-wool blanket my mind had dragged around me for protection. I was grateful, yes, of course and a little more troubling I was also now heavily indebted to auntie as well, the sharks had stripped the carcass and still demanded more. What had they wanted? That I should hang a red lamp in the porch and pay them back by opening my legs? Sell the twins to white slavers?<br/><br/>"There isn't any more money!"<br/><br/>Then Angela had magicked some up and silenced the bastards. Her lawyer had offered them 66.6% take it or leave it. They took it. I was deeply grateful, pathetically so. I was a failure, she a success. The tables had turned. I'd met a nice man, with a good job and mum and dad had been proud. Angela had been cast out, soiled and dirty. Gay. The most evil thing, worse than being a nazi or a murderer it seemed to father. And it had been my fault.<br/><br/>I laughed as we drove up into the hills, the properties sliding by grew bigger and further and further back from the road as we drove. "Money doesn't get you happiness," dad had said as he lay in hospital being eaten alive by the cancer, "it just buys you longer driveways." I didn't know that I agreed. Angela was happy. As we turned off the road and onto her property there seemed to be a moderately fair correlation between money and happiness in her. Clearly, as we approached the house, I saw that driveway dimensions figured into it as well but Angela had always been happier than me, despite being shunned by mum and dad... and richer... I thought bitterly.<br/><br/>The car stopped. The two women servants, Robyn and… Ha. I chuckled again. I kept wanting to call them Robyn and Batman. Though maybe Batwoman would be better. They were camp enough, that was for sure. The two servants whisked our meagre possessions up to the rooms Angela had decided we would have. I didn't object, I had no willpower to do so and in any case, with the amount of money I was now in debt to auntie Angela it would have been rude to. I was puzzled why she put the twins in the twin room. Weren't they a bit old to be sharing? Frankly though I was too exhausted to argue. I had failed in making a home and family, I was happy to sit back and let Gay Angela have her turn. Maybe she had this idea that we needed to be a family or something and having Debbie and Ed share would be good for their souls or something.<br/><br/>My room was beautiful. The whole house was beautiful. It was very new, smelled new, like a car just out the showroom and I knew Angela had had it designed to her specification by an artsy Wellington architect who had also done projects in South Island as well as in Sydney and Melbourne for rich Aussies. I guess that made Angela rich too. I supposed right now she would be sticking out her tongue and blowing raspberries to dear old dad and mum, had then still been with us. Gay Angela made good, straight Beth fucked it up. Life was just one big old chuckle wasn't it? Oh boy, aren't we all having fun.<br/><br/>The room had an en-suite. I stripped off and took a bath, luxuriating in the heat. If only the numbness would fade, I might actually enjoy it here. There were sounds in the house, people talking, the twins exploring, the servants busy. Servants, geez, who had servants these days?<br/><br/>Rich Successful Gay Angela did, that's who. The woman who now practically owned me. I slid down in the bathwater. It would be easy to just keep sliding down and under and then suck in deep breaths and end it all. Problem was, I'd read the small print on my policy.