Blood Relations ` An American Horror Story: Murder House fanfiction ` By hrlyqin


Drunk again last night. The mistress of the house was passed out on the couch, her untidy pile of hair flecked with cigarette ash. She wasn't dead, although that was bound to happen sooner or later, but she had thrown up all over herself, the sofa and the carpet.

Must be Tuesday.

Moira sighed heavily and picked up the overflowing ashtray to empty it. She hadn't thought it was going to be like this. She knew it wouldn't be a dream job, but maybe she'd work for a nice family and she could play with the kids sometime and the wife would give her dresses she didn't want anymore. Something tolerable. Her job with the Langdons so far was pretty much a goddamn horror show. She drank like a fish and wandered around the house in these flowery dresses acting like something out of Tennessee Williams, telling stories about her grand debutante upbringing. That was when she wasn't doing her jigsaw puzzles or clipping out recipes from magazines on the couch, which inevitably would unravel into a scene like this. The husband was pretty much never home, not a big surprise, and when he was they would scream at each other nonstop until he left again. He drank too, at least when she drank she didn't try to grab her ass while she was scrubbing the mildew off the goddamned bathtub. As far as Moira's nice little idea about building blanket forts with little munchkins while the adults had Mommy and Daddy time, that was the biggest joke of all. The little boy had something really wrong with him, like really, and she felt like shit about it but she was scared of him. He was always trying to hug her or touch her and it just made her skin crawl. The little girl, she had that birth defect, you know the one, but that didn't mean she wasn't an evil little fuck. Just last week she had bit Moira, BIT HER, when she tried to bring her laundry into the bedroom. What a brat.

Their other kid was dead. There were pictures of her all over. She had some kind of disease that killed her when she was still tiny and cute (okay, tiny and crossed eyed with a head that was too big). Moira supposed she should feel bad about it, but from what she saw, the girl got out while she could and was fucking lucky for it. She guessed that was why they both drank all the time and couldn't seem to stand the sight of one another. She was pretty sure when they did screw it wasn't a beautiful and flowering moment. Probably, they only stopped hurling insults back and forth long enough to climax.

She shuddered involuntarily, thinking about...well, exactly what she told herself she wasn't going to think about ever again. It had been just one time, he was home and she was out at some garden party thing. He seemed like he was sober, which was kind of a big deal, and he came into the kitchen when while she was cutting up apples for one of Constance's 'homemade' (not Maid-made) pies. Moira had been standing there stupidly with the knife and just as he came in, she had pressed down in the wrong spot and slit her finger open.

"Shit!" she yelled, dropping the blade onto the cutting board. She clutched her index finger with her other hand and blanched while blood welled up and began dripping from the wound.

"I hear those things are sharp." was what he had said. Joking. Smiling. Taking her hand and rinsing it under the tap. Brushing it off when she tried to apologize for using that kind of language.

"I've also heard adults swear from time to time. You're an adult, aren't you Moira?"

"Yessir." she replied, ducking her head a little.

"I know that because I called you 'kid' one time and you gave me this look that was very un-employee like."

Since he didn't seem angry about it, she laughed that off too. When she was all doctored up, she had tried to excuse herself to get back to work but he wouldn't let her. "Leave it." he said, flapping his hand in the direction of the apples. "I want to talk to you."

In a single second, her thoughts and her heart began racing. He was going to fire her. She swore too much and she was late last week and she knew that she needed to keep things cleaner but this was only like her third job ever, she had only done hotels and that was different and didn't he know she was really trying? It wasn't like she did an absolute shit job either, there were just so many of them to make a mess and it was hard to keep up with everything when you kept getting sidetracked by vodka vomit. She put up with the arguing and the kids and all the other stuff so she deserved to stay, didn't she? What if he wouldn't even give her a reference? She would wind up waitressing or doing god knows what else. She worked herself up into a near frantic frenzy and was so sure she was going to get the ax that when he told her "I'm sorry.", her brain couldn't even process it. All she could do was stare at him.

"For Constance. I know she could be nicer to you. She's going through kind of a rough patch, but she shouldn't act like she does."

"It doesn't bother me." Moira shrugged. "I know you've both been through a lot."

"That's not really an excuse though. She know, when she was your age, you and her would have been thick as thieves." As he was talking, her was rubbing her still captive hand and she didn't even notice, his voice was so soft and transfixing. "She was fire. No one could tell her what to do. No one could stop her once she got an idea in her head. She was going to be a big star, after she got done conquering the world." He laughed, but it was soft now too, a soft and sad sound. "When Tessie was born and she got sick, it nearly broke our hearts, but it didn't break her. We tried again and got Beau, our little General and then have no idea what it feels like, trying to figure out what you did wrong, when your children are born sick. She's given up. And then there's you..."


"Here she is, and she isn't so young anymore, having to see you all the time, with your soft skin, and your eyes, and your legs..." He gave her a look that was both sympathetic and very...appreciative, she guessed was how she would put it. "...reminding her of what she'll never get back."

"Mrs. Langdon is a beautiful woman."Moira said quickly. "Really. I always wanted to be a blond."

"Oh no, not you." He touched her hair now and then the line of her face as she turned her head away. "I love redheads. It's what makes her so jealous."

"Um, thank you." She was looking at the wall now. None of this should be happening but she didn't know how to stop it. This was one of those things, like a story in some smutty book that you didn't think really came up in real life. She had laundry to do, and she had to get the floors in the foyer too before she went home. She knew that she should leave the room. Her brain told her so, but her legs wouldn't listen and her body wasn't sure it wanted to.

Normally, this would never come up. Hugo Langdon was rude, mean to his wife, negligent to his kids and he definitely didn't have time to socialize with 'the help' ever. But he was being so nice right now. He started talking to her about him and Constance, all the things they had wanted when they got married. How bad he felt about the kids. How much he just wanted a 'normal' one and how much worse it made him feel to think that way. Moira understood perfectly. He was so sad and human and really just like anyone else. She found herself feeling sorry for him before long. When he kissed her, he acted like he was shocked that he had done it, and that made her want to kiss him back. All this talk and understanding and his studied hands in the right places and soon enough she wasn't even listening to her brain anymore. She let her body take over.

They did it twice, the first time on the kitchen floor and then again in the bedroom. Even as it was happening she couldn't believe it was happening, but it felt good. He was gentle, but not too gentle, and he seemed to know everything she liked. It was kind of amazing. There was no time to be guilty about it.

Until later.

Later when she hurriedly redressed herself, despite his protests, and slunk out of the room. She couldn't say what changed really, but it had suddenly struck her that she was in his wife's bed with him and she felt sick over it. She couldn't get home fast enough. Once she was home, she couldn't get into the shower quick enough. She wanted to burn her uniform, that stupid little maid's outfit with it's fucking apron and the little buttons. The skirt came down almost to her knees but she had always felt cheap in it, and now she knew why. As she let the hot water hit her, she couldn't stop thinking about what he must be thinking right now. Maybe it was honest and genuine and just something that happened, but she felt like he had some mental checklist and Fuck The Maid was something he could cross off now.

"Just fucking great." she muttered as she ground the soap into her skin. "A guy smiles at you and tells you that he's sorry his wife is a bitch, that's all it takes. How can you be so stupid, Mo? This is like every horrible stereotype about people with servants, you're a walking cliché. Now when you go over there you won't know if you're going to be polishing the silver or polishing him off." She gagged, disgusted with herself. "And everything people every said about you will be true. Cheap, dumb trash." She lathered her stomach and her nails bit into her skin around the sponge. "Stupid slut. Whore. Stupid whore. God what were you thinking?" She was so angry with herself, and ashamed. Even if she hadn't played into some act he pulled, where did she get off running around with a married guy? It didn't matter if his wife was a major cunt. She was the other woman now. And they had kids too!

Anger became sadness, sadness became shame. Soon she stopped yelling at herself and just started crying. She must have stayed in there for an hour, sobbing loudly and then quietly, finally stopping and just feeling dumb and stupid. By the time she noticed that the water was ice cold, she was through being pissed (even if she still felt it) and through being sad (because it wouldn't help) and had definitely decided a few things.

First, she really would get rid of her uniform. She had another one that was almost as new and it would work for now. She would take it out to the woods this weekend and burn it. She never wanted to see it again.

Second, this would never happen again. She wasn't sure what she was going to do to get her point across to Hugo about that, but her mind was made up. This was a one-time-only, HUGE-mistake, Not-in-a-million-years deal. She was pretty sure that she could live with herself so long as she didn't start, like, having an affair with Hugo.

Third, she was going to keep her miserable, rotten job. If she left, people would want to know why and eventually she would tell someone. She wouldn't be able to help and it and then, her life was a joke. She would be a punchline or a cautionary tale or some other horrible thing. Also, it might be a shitty job but she really needed it. They paid better than anyone else in town and if she left, even if she found another place to work right away, it would be less money. How could she do that to her mom right now?

Speaking of her mom, that was number four: her Mom must never know. She'd either be ashamed, which she didn't deserve, or she would know how much Moira was in a crappy situation and give her sympathy and support, which Moira didn't deserve. So when Mom got home from the restaurant, Moira had changed into her jeans and made them some spaghetti. She had washed her face and blotted her eyes with ice until they weren't so red anymore. Just like every night, Mom got out her special pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and they sat down to eat together. When Dorothy asked her how her day went, Moira plastered on a smile so fake it sparkled.

"Oh you know, the usual." she answered.