Chapter 4: The Final Goodbye
The silence after the door clicked shut was a physical presence. It pressed in on them from the lavender-scented walls, thick with the ghosts of what had just happened. Penelope stood, her legs unsteady, the phantom sensation of Alfie’s final, degrading lick still burning on her skin. The frustration she’d felt moments before had crystallized into something harder, sharper.
She looked at Colin, who was watching her with that wary, exhausted expression. He’d shattered the room and everyone in it, and now he looked like he didn’t know how to pick up the pieces. Eloise was still on the floor by the wall, quietly putting herself back together, her breaths slowly steadying.
“An apology,” Penelope said, her voice strangely flat. “You gave her an apology.”
Colin ran a hand over his face. “It was different.”
“How?” The word cracked. “You violated her. So you made it good for her. You used me. What’s my apology? Letting him taste me like I’m a sample at a fucking supermarket? While you sat there and judged?”
“I wasn’t judging,” he began, but she cut him off with a hollow laugh.
“You were. I saw your face. You were deciding if his technique was up to snuff. It was all about your control. Even that. Especially that.” She wrapped her arms around herself, the cool air chilling her skin. “You got to rewrite your mistake with her into something beautiful. My part in your little drama was just to be the chew toy you threw to the loser so he’d leave quietly. I didn’t get a rewrite. I just got used.”
Colin took a step toward her. “Pen, that’s not—”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “Just don’t.” She turned away from him, facing the window where the afternoon sun was beginning to slant, turning the dust motes into gold. An idea was forming, terrible and perfect. A way to balance the scales. A way to make him feel the raw, gutting helplessness she was feeling. To make him watch.
She took a deep breath, the air catching in her throat. “He’s not gone.”
“What?”
“Alfie. He’s downstairs. I can feel it. He’s sitting in his car, or on the kerb. He’s not gone. Because you didn’t let him finish. You gave him a cruel little appetizer. He’s still hungry. He’s still broken. And he’s still a problem.” She turned back to face Colin, her chin lifted. “You want him to really leave? To never look back? Let him finish.”
Colin’s eyes darkened. “No.”
“Why not? You just let him put his tongue on my ass. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is me,” he snarled, the control slipping. “I won’t watch him fuck you.”
“You’ve watched everything else!” she shot back, her voice rising. “You watched me kneel for him. You made me tell him I only need you. You orchestrated the whole, sick goodbye. This is just the final scene. Let him have the full farewell. Let him fuck me, one last time. Properly. Then he’s done. Then he drives away and we never think about him again.” She forced her voice to soften, to sound rational, even as her heart hammered against her ribs. “It’s what he needs to truly let go. A clean break. Not this… twisted half-measure you designed.”
She was lying. It wasn’t about Alfie’s closure. It was about Colin’s punishment. She wanted him to sit there and watch another man moving inside her. She wanted him to feel the acid drip of jealousy he’d subjected her to for years. She wanted to be the one in control of the hurt, for once.
Colin stared at her, his jaw working. The conflict warred on his face—possessive fury battling a cold, logical understanding that she might be right. That Alfie, pathetic and obsessed, might indeed need this to truly disappear.
“And where would I be during this?” Colin asked, his voice dangerously low.
“You’d watch,” Penelope said, holding his gaze. “From the chair. You’d watch him say goodbye.”
A bitter, disbelieving sound came from the floor. Eloise had pulled herself up to lean against the wall, her face pale but her eyes clear and sharp. “You’re both completely deranged,” she said, her voice raspy. “This isn’t a solution. This is adding fuel to a nuclear reactor.”
“Stay out of it, El,” Colin said, but his eyes never left Penelope’s.
“Or what?” Eloise pushed herself to her feet, wincing slightly. “You’ll fuck me against the wall again? I think we’re past that. This is a disaster. Pen, what are you doing?”
Penelope ignored her. Her whole world had narrowed to Colin’s green eyes, to the storm she was cultivating there. “Well?” she challenged. “Are you brave enough? Or is your control only good when you’re the one holding the leash?”
It was the wrong thing to say. She saw the moment he bit down on his own fury, the moment he decided to call her bluff. A cruel smile touched his lips.“Fine. You want to give him a farewell fuck? Let’s give him a farewell fuck. But I’m not sitting in a chair.” He walked to the bedroom door. “We’ll do it in the living room. Where I can see properly.”
He strode out. Penelope followed, her blood rushing in her ears. This was happening. Eloise trailed behind, a silent, horrified witness.
In the living room, Colin didn’t sit. He stood by the fireplace, leaning against the mantel, his arms crossed. The dying fire cast jumping shadows across his face. “Call him,” he said.
Penelope’s hand trembled as she picked up her phone from the coffee table. Alfie answered on the first ring.
“Pen?” His voice was thick, hopeful.
“Come back up,” she said, forcing her tone to be soft, inviting. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t… fair. Come back. Let’s say goodbye properly.”
A long pause. Then, a shuddering breath. “Okay. I’m in the car. I’m coming.”
She ended the call. The silence in the flat was immense. Colin hadn’t moved. Eloise had sunk into the armchair in the corner, drawing her knees up to her chest, watching like someone observing a car crash in slow motion.
Two minutes later, a timid knock. Penelope opened the door.
Alfie looked wrecked. His eyes were red-rimmed, his clothes disheveled. He stared at her, then past her, seeing Colin by the fireplace. He froze, fear flashing across his face.
“It’s okay,” Penelope said, taking his hand. It was cold. She pulled him inside, closing the door. “This is just for us. To say goodbye. The right way.”
Alfie’s gaze darted to Colin. “But he’s…”
“He’s giving us this,” Penelope said, leading him to the centre of the room, onto the soft rug before the sofa. “He won’t interfere. This is our time.”
She could feel Colin’s stare like a laser on her back. She turned to face Alfie, reaching for the hem of her top. She pulled it off, letting it fall. Then her bra. The air was cool, but her skin was hot. Alfie’s eyes widened, filling with a desperate, aching want. He fumbled with his own clothes, his movements clumsy.
Penelope stepped out of her leggings and underwear, standing naked before him. She glanced over Alfie’s shoulder at Colin. His posture was rigid, his knuckles white where they gripped the mantelpiece. Good.
“Like this,” she murmured to Alfie, turning her back to him. She got down on her hands and knees on the rug, the wool scratchy against her palms. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Take me like this. One last time.”
It was a position of submission, but it also gave her a direct view of Colin. She could see his face over Alfie’s shoulder. She wanted to see every flinch, every pang.
Alfie, now naked, knelt behind her. He was already hard, his arousal evident. He placed a trembling hand on her hip. “Pen,” he whispered, his voice full of a sorrowful hunger.
He guided himself to her. Pushed inside.
Penelope closed her eyes for a second, adjusting to the feeling. It was familiar, but utterly foreign now. Empty. She opened her eyes and locked them on Colin.
Then she began to perform.
“Oh, Alfie,” she moaned, loud enough to fill the room. She arched her back, pushing back against him. “Yes. Just like that. God, I needed this.”
Alfie, spurred on, began to move. His thrusts were earnest, deep, seeking a connection that was no longer there. Penelope met him, rocking back, making the sounds she knew he wanted to hear. But her eyes were for Colin alone.
“You feel so good,” she panted, her voice taking on a husky, fake tone. “Fuck me, Alfie. Fuck me like you mean it. Like you own me.”
She saw Colin’s breath hitch. His arms uncrossed, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
Alfie, lost in the illusion, groaned. “Pen… God, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed this,” she lied, crying out as he hit a deep angle. “Your cock. I’ve missed your cock inside me. Don’t stop. Please.”
Each filthy, exaggerated word was a shard of glass she was feeding Colin. She was building a tableau of pleasure, meticulously designed for his torture. She could see the muscle in his jaw jumping, the raw agony in his eyes. He was holding onto the mantel so hard she thought the wood might splinter.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Eloise shift in the armchair. Her friend’s face was unreadable, her gaze fixed on Colin, not on the coupling happening in the middle of the room.
Penelope upped the ante. “Yes! Right there! You’re so deep, Alfie. You’re going to make me come. Just like that. Fuck me harder. Claim me. Make me yours one last time.”
Alfie, overwhelmed, obeyed, his pace becoming frantic, selfish. He was chasing his own release, believing in the fantasy she was weaving. “You’re mine, Pen,” he grunted, a last, pathetic assertion. “Just for now. You’re mine.”
Colin made a sound, a low, wounded animal noise in his throat.
It was then that Eloise moved. She uncurled herself from the chair and walked slowly, silently, to stand beside her brother. Penelope watched, her moans stuttering for a second. What was she doing?
Eloise stood close to Colin, her body not touching his but aligned with it. She was watching Penelope too, her head tilted. Then, deliberately, she turned her face to Colin. She said something, too low for Penelope to hear over Alfie’s grunts and her own performance.
Colin didn’t look at her. His eyes were glued to Penelope, to where Alfie was joined to her.
Eloise reached out a hand. She didn’t touch his face. She let her fingers drift down his chest, over the crisp fabric of his shirt, lower. Her palm settled over the front of his trousers, where the evidence of his own agonized arousal was unmistakable, a hard, defined ridge against the wool.
Penelope’s next moan died in her throat. She kept moving, kept the rhythm for Alfie, but her focus split. Colin still hadn’t looked away from her, but his body tensed further at Eloise’s touch.
Eloise leaned in, her lips close to his ear. Her voice was a murmur, but in a lull between sounds, Penelope caught the tail end of it. “…just saying goodbye. She’s just giving him a memory. Look at her. She’s acting. It’s for you. All of this is for you.”
Her hand began to move, stroking him slowly, firmly, through the fabric.
Penelope felt a fresh, dizzying wave of betrayal. This was her punishment. This was her moment to hurt Colin, and Eloise was intervening, soothing him, taking his side. The jealousy curdled in her stomach, hot and sour. She met Colin’s eyes and saw something shift in them. The raw pain was still there, but Eloise’s words, her touch, were building a dam against it. He was being comforted. While she was on her hands and knees.
“Come on, Alfie!” she cried out, her voice breaking with a real desperation now. “Make me come! I want to come for you! Do it!”
Alfie was lost, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m close, Pen, I’m so close.”
Eloise’s other hand came up, gently turning Colin’s face a fraction towards her, forcing his attention to split. “She’s yours,” Eloise whispered, her voice clear now. “She’s always been yours. This is just noise. This is her being cruel because she’s hurt. But she’s coming home to you. Right after this. She’s coming back to this.”
Her fingers worked at his belt buckle. The soft clink of metal was deafening.
Colin’s eyes finally flicked to his sister’s face, just for a second. There was a question there, a confusion. Eloise answered it by pushing his trousers and briefs down over his hips, freeing him. He was fully hard, straining. Without breaking her gaze from his, Eloise guided him to the arm of the nearby sofa. She hiked up her own dress—she’d never fully re-dressed—and straddled his lap, facing him, her back to Penelope and Alfie.
She sank down onto him with an agonizing, deliberate slowness.
Penelope saw it. She saw Eloise’s body envelop him, saw Colin’s head fall back for a second, a harsh breath escaping him. He was inside his sister. Again. But this time it wasn’t a violent punishment. It was a consolation. A physical reassurance while Penelope was literally being taken by another man.
The world tilted. Penelope’s performance shattered. A real cry was torn from her, raw and guttural. “Alfie!” It was a plea and a punishment, a blade meant for Colin that now cut her own hands. She was losing. Her gambit was failing spectacularly. Colin wasn’t being destroyed by jealousy; he was being salvaged from it, stitched back together by Eloise’s calculated intimacy.
“Yes, Pen, yes!” Alfie chanted, mistaking her cry for passion. He was pistoning into her now, his rhythm faltering as he neared his peak. He was taking his selfish pleasure, completely oblivious to the silent, devastating war happening six feet away.
Penelope couldn’t look away. Colin’s head had lifted. His eyes found hers again over Eloise’s shoulder. Eloise was moving on him, a slow, rocking grind, her arms around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder. But Colin was watching Penelope. His expression was no longer one of pure agony. It was complex, tortured, shared. He was witnessing her betrayal, but he was also being physically comforted through it. He was escaping the pain she was trying to inflict.
Their gazes held, a taut wire strung across the room, vibrating with a shared, awful understanding. Every one of Alfie’s thrusts pushed her forward, a mechanical reminder of the act. Every one of Eloise’s gentle rocks was a counterpoint, a quiet claim.
Penelope’s moans became silent sobs, tears she couldn’t stop streaming down her face, dripping onto the rug below her. She was still moving, her body operating on autopilot, giving Alfie his finale. But her soul was in Colin’s eyes, in that terrible, intimate connection they maintained even as they were both physically occupied by other people.
Alfie’s movements became jerky, frantic. He shouted, a raw, relieved sound, as he spent himself inside her, collapsing over her back with a weight that felt like a burial.
At the same moment, Colin’s eyes squeezed shut. A shudder racked his frame, and Eloise held him tightly, her own body stilling, absorbing his climax. A quiet, shared completion in the midst of the chaos.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing—Alfie’s harsh pants against her back, the quieter, synced breaths from the sofa.
Alfie softened inside her and slowly pulled out. He stayed kneeling for a second, his head bowed, before shuffling back. He looked dazed, spent, empty. He didn’t look at Colin or Eloise. He looked only at Penelope’s back, at the physical proof of their farewell.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice broken.
Penelope didn’t move. She stayed on her hands and knees, trembling, waiting.
She heard the soft sound of clothing being adjusted, of Eloise slipping off Colin’s lap. She heard Alfie gathering his clothes, dressing with clumsy, hurried movements.
“Goodbye, Pen,” Alfie said.
She didn’t answer. She kept her eyes on the weave of the rug, on a single crimson thread that looked like a wound.
She heard his footsteps cross the room, heard the door open and close, this time with a sense of finality that resonated in her bones. He was gone. Truly gone.
The silence returned, but it was a different quality now. It was exhausted, ravaged, complete.
Penelope finally pushed herself up to sit on the rug, pulling her knees to her chest. She was sore, used, hollow. She looked across the room.
Colin had pulled his clothes back into order. He was standing again, leaning against the sofa arm, his face pale and drawn. Eloise stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, a gesture of solidarity. They were both looking at her.
“Was that what you wanted?” Colin asked, his voice scraped raw.
Penelope wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I wanted you to hurt.”
“I did,” he said simply. “Until she reminded me that your cruelty is just the flip side of your love.” He glanced at Eloise, a look of profound, bewildered gratitude passing between them. “And that I don’t have to hurt alone.”
The admission was worse than any rage. He had built a bridge with Eloise over the chasm Penelope had tried to create. She felt more alone than ever.
Eloise gave Colin’s arm a final squeeze and let go. She walked towards the hallway, pausing to pick up her forgotten grocery bag. She stopped in front of Penelope, looking down at her. Her expression wasn’t angry. It was deeply, profoundly sad.
“You broke him to test his strength,” Eloise said quietly. “And I had to put him back together. We’re even now. For the wall.” She hesitated. “But Pen… this can’