Dommerella Chapter 2 - Lawn Fairies

Submitted by Sara Dimitriaski

Dommerella awoke the next morning to find herself looking into the bloodshot eyes of Telula. She inhaled sharply, being slightly startled, and her nostrils were assaulted by the smell of cheap booze and even cheaper perfume. Blinking the sleep away from her eyes, she sat up and looked around her, adjusting to the sunlight that was now flooding the kitchen. Frizan was gone, his blanket bundled in a pile next to the stove.
She saw Brigette with her bottom half sticking out of the ice box, rummaging for something deep fried.

“Were you going to get up and make breakfast or just sleep in? By all means, don’t let me disturb you!” Telula slurred, wavering for a moment and reaching out a hand to steady herself on the chopping block. Dommerella rolled out from underneath her just then, waving her hand in front of her face, for Telula’s “out all night” breath was beginning to overpower her gag reflex.

“How about some toast, as I’m pretty sure were all out of anything else.” said Dommerella, pulling herself up and stretching fully. She then opened the towel drawer, and from within it produced a fresh loaf of bread that she had baked the night before, but had the sense to hide from Brigette’s early night, mid night, early and late morning food cravings. She began to slice the bread thinly, knowing they were out of flour at the moment, and that it would take a full day to make some more. She lay the slices over the griddle top of the stove, browning them gently on each side and taking care to not to burn the crust. She put the pieces on a large plate, and crossed the kitchen to the icebox, shoving the mammoth Brigette to one side in order to peer in and find the butter. She found it finally, for it was in Brigette’s hands, her fingers scooping it out liberally and she was shoveling it into her mouth. Dommerella wrenched the butter crock away, and spent a while getting what was left out of the bottom and on to the toast.

She shoved the plate over to Telula and busied herself folding her and Frizan’s blankets, shoving them back into the top shelf of the broom closet. As she turned back to start the coffee, Telula’s hand shot out, grabbing Dommerella’s arm and holding her there.

“You’ve got dirt on your face lil Relly,” she jeered, pointing to Dommerella’s nose with her free hand, “and there, and here as well!” Dommerella bristled, and grabbed Telula’s finger, bending it back until she could hear Telula squeal.

“At least its on my face and not between my legs, Telula.” She said lowly, letting the finger go and shoving her back. Dommerella hated Telula. If you could call such a thing hate. It was far more powerful than the meaning one word could imply. Brigette she could understand, at least, her motives were clear, and simply, food oriented. Telula was just awful, lying, hurtful, beautiful, rich, popular and perfect. All the things Dommerella felt she wasn’t inside.

Just then, the skirmish was interrupted by the jingling of a little bell. Auntie was awake, and Dommerella strained to hear Frizan’s feet thumping over the upstairs carpet. She heard nothing. Telula grabbed the plate of toast and pulled Brigette out of the icebox, snorting at Dommerella as they swept past, on their way upstairs to see Auntie. As soon as they were around the corner and out of view Dommerella went flying across the kitchen, pulling the door open swiftly, and dashed out into the sunlight looking this way and that, desperately searching for Frizan. She went leaping over the rosebushes, tripping on the brick walkway and losing her footing, ending up flat on her back. While her breath returned, she lay there, unable to help feeling joyful and warmed for a moment by the morning sun on red bricks, birds chirping and roses blooming. She heard a rustle in the bushes off to her right, and someone giggling.

“Lawn Fairies!” Dommerella whispered. Might she actually see one? They existed in stories, old Domme’s tales, nothing more. She slowly crept to the bushes, pulling them apart and slowly peering inside the foliage.

There was Frizan, on his knees, in front of the gardener, whose pants were around his ankles. Dommerella let the branches snap back, but not before the gardener saw her.

“FRIZANNNNNNN!!!” Came a bitchy trill from the upper window, Telula was calling for him.

Frizan emerged from the bushes, pulling twigs and leaves from his hair. He spotted Dommerella and opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it, for he went dashing into the house, and Dommerella followed. In the foyer, he tried to brush the dirt from his knees, and was just about ready to run up the stairs when Dommerella caught him by his collar, yanking him back. She gently reached up and pulled a twig from the front of Frizan’s hair, and then let go. A strange moment passed between them then, Dommerella herself not knowing why or what she was doing, and Frizan certainly just as confused. One thing was sure though, and that was she had done him a good turn, one she could not prove, one she had no fair right to call on for return in the future, for she had not been asked. Domerella turned and walked back to the kitchen, stuffing the twig in her apron pocket, and feeling the letter there with renewed surprise.

Frizan turned to walk up the stairs, and to do his best to take what was coming to him.