Ugly Girl
Copyright© 2026 by Han Jansz. van Meegeren
13. False Start
We don’t talk much about being tied together. There is not much to talk about. Sylvia is tied to me, whether or not she wants to be. Is it nice? Heck, no. We got used to moving around each other. With my left hand tied to her right, we need the chain on the table if we are playing a board game. If we are sitting next to each other, Sylvia has to sit on the left side, and I need to sit on the right side of the couch. The other way around is awkward with a chain on our laps, bridging our wrists. In the kitchen, for example, I always go in last, so Sylvia is on my left. The path between the countertop on one side and the dishwasher and the washing machine on the other is so narrow that there’s no room to pass each other. The chain allows us to turn to the other side if necessary, for example, if Sylvia is loading the dishwasher and I’m pre-washing the pans on the other side.
It took me weeks to get used to touching each other countless times every day. A bump of our hips, an upper arm brushing against hers. It’s very intimate. Not so much sexually intimate, but simply touching. Contact. Flesh against flesh. And it’s confusing. Sometimes even embarrassing. We don’t dress and undress at the same time. There is too much chain flying around. We don’t have a set order of who goes first; we don’t really need words for that. Showering is easier here because the showerhead is above the tub. I’m on the right and she’s on the left, taking turns under the water jet. But it also has advantages. Washing each other’s backs, for example.
Using the toilet with another within a metre distance is disturbing, awkward and uncomfortable all in one. I don’t think I need to elaborate on that. And then there is sex. No, we haven’t had sex yet. But we are healthy women with healthy needs. Sylvia, in particular, needs to jill off almost daily. I think I’m too ashamed to relieve my tension so openly. Syl is a much more sexual being than I am. And that’s quite unsettling. Even if I’m tense, I can’t. I simply cannot bring myself to do that. Yes, we used to be lovers once and weren’t afraid to give each other a nice orgasm, but that was long ago. So fucking long ago, pun intended.
Being connected in and around the house is one thing, but it’s quite another outside. People outside are quick to react with shock. Society’s collective resilience in dealing with events outside the norm has drastically diminished recently. The ultra-prudish era we finally escaped in the latter half of the twentieth century is back in full force. When outsiders felt the need to make a moral judgment about the Dyneema chain that bound us, Sylvia had had enough. And Sylvia was adept at crafting a story that made our connection completely logical and explainable.
“Put on your sunglasses,” she said to me in the car. We were in the parking lot of the car dealership. Against his wishes, we went today with Ciaran to Dundee. Ciaran was about to start his first day as an apprentice. There were undoubtedly forms to sign, and since we’d been legally allowed to sign for this minor, our presence was essential today. It was also a good opportunity to figure out how he would get to work by public transportation from now on.
“What is this nonsense?” the workshop manager asked us immediately, pointing to the chain between us. Without having discussed this beforehand, Sylvia said with a straight face, “I am Sylvia van Geelen, the legal representative of Ciaran Watson, who’s starting with you today. We thought it would be wise to come along for the signing of paperwork and such.”
“Don’t act like you don’t understand that you’re both handcuffed. Should I call the police?”
“Oh, that?” Sylvia asked casually. “My friend Zuzanna recently became completely blind, so she basically has to move around in the dark all the time. We applied for a guide dog, but they haven’t approved it yet. So, in the meantime, I’ll be her guide person, so to speak.”
Without a second’s hesitation, I joined in. “I didn’t want to at first, you understand, but after nearly being hit by a car in the street, I finally agreed. Where can you find a friend these days who’s willing to turn her whole life upside down to take care of you? Sylvia is my best friend.” I waved my arm a little awkwardly to emphasise my words with a pat on the back. It landed clearly, awkwardly on her chest.
“Sorry, Syl,” I said.
“It’s okay. Ciaran here is really excited to work with you. He’s very handy and also very smart; I think he’ll surprise you with how quickly he picks things up.”
“Come on, I’ll take you to Bruce Wayne, who will be your mentor for the next while.”
“Is it possible we might also meet Mr Wayne? It’s always nice to have a face to go with all the stories Ciaran will undoubtedly bring home, Sylvia asked, playing the worried guardian.
“Don’t be daft,” Ciaran snapped at her, but at that moment a slightly balding man with a beer belly entered the office.
“Hey, Bruce, we were just talking about you. Your apprentice is here.” He said to us, “Bruce has been working here for 20 years and is a resource for all the new guys here.”
If you enjoy hard work, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it here. Let’s get to work; there’s a lot to do today.”
And off they went.
“If he’s Batman, you must be the Joker?” I asked Sylvia in the car on the way back.
“Hilarious,” Sylvia said. “Do you have a better idea?”
“Nah,” I said. “If we can’t think of anything else, I’ll play the poor blind woman again. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“But you play it so well,” Sylvia teased. “From now on, you will wear sunglasses when we go outside, even if it rains and there is no sun to be seen.”
“Yes, mistress,” I said mockingly.
“Good Girl,” she answered with a smile.
For the next three weeks, nothing happened. Really. Ciaran comes home from work really late, I mean, really late. He sometimes says ‘Hi’, but often times says nothing and disappears upstairs. In three weeks, and I think we have said ten, maybe twenty words to each other. Where he ate his dinner, we did not know, but certainly not at home. For Sylvia and me, this house was starting to feel a bit like home. We’d moved our things in and rearranged the furniture to create more space. We’d been working hard in the garden these past few weeks. The beginnings of our own vegetable garden were in full swing. We wanted to grow our own vegetables, and we actually wanted to have a couple of chickens so we could have fresh eggs every day, but that was a plan for later.
On the plus side, we had heard no complaints from Bruce yet. No news is good news, as they say. Soon we had to sit down to discuss how we should further develop this strange construction between three people. Because this is not working, definitely not working at all. He leaves for work early because he has to bike to Pitlochry and catch the train there to Dundee. So we got up earlier to make him breakfast. He’d eat it quickly and silently, then bolt out the door. We didn’t see him again until sometime between ten and eleven o’clock that evening. Of course, that didn’t sit well with us; we did not know what he was up to all that time, no idea if he was hanging out with the wrong friends. We looked for the right moment to have a constructive conversation with him. That moment was still to come.
The last Friday of the month. Payday. And Ciaran was not home yet. It was two o’clock in the morning, and we were about to get in the car and call the police in Pitlochry. Then we heard a car approaching. From the road, you have to drive at least six hundred meters along a dirt track to reach our house. The only car that comes here is the parcel delivery driver’s. Even the mail carrier uses a postal van on the road. Sylvia and I exchanged glances. Surely, it wasn’t a police van bearing bad news. Worried, we walked outside. It wasn’t a police car, but a battered old pickup truck. The door opened, and someone threw Ciaran out like a sack of potatoes. He lay there next to the car.
“This bastard puked in my car. This is the last time I’m taking him home. Tell him that,” the guy behind the wheel yelled. I couldn’t see him very well, but it was clear from his voice that he wasn’t sober either. He backed up way too fast in the dark and nearly hit a tree when he turned his car around. We heard Ciaran retch again. So he was still alive, and it was better that he emptied his stomach there than in the house. My concern vanished. He wasn’t the first man to come home drunk after his first paycheck, and certainly not the last.
A living drunk feels like deadweight when you have to lift him. Two women needed all their strength and coordination to get him into the bathroom. His fresh bout of nausea unfortunately didn’t make it to the toilet, but luckily we were already there.
“Wait, I will hold his head above the bowl in case there is more to come.” Sylvia said and laughed at the look on my face.
“The air alone makes my stomach churn as well.” I said, trying not to breathe through my nose.
“Once you’ve navigated two boys through puberty, you develop a ‘been there, done that’ attitude. Come on, boy, let’s get it out, all of it.” After some delightful sounds, the stuff landed this time in a place where we didn’t have to clean up.
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