The full meeting portion of my John Milton hcs (Devils Advocate). Thank you guys so much for your endless patience~
Your new apartment is cramped. A tiny one bedroom that alternates between being too hot and being too cold. The paint is chipping, the appliances are old, and the walls are thin, but it's your first time living completely alone and the freedom of the situation makes even your medieval dungeon of an apartment look like a castle.
It only takes a couple of days for the novelty to wear off....
You don't like your neighbors. Not just the yelling couple on the other side of your bedroom wall, or the weird old lady who lives a few doors down, but the people in the buildings surrounding your own. The men who sit on their stoops and day drink, smoking cigarettes and blasting music from their scuffed up boomboxes. Even when they aren't catcalling you, you can feel their leering gazes, and when you think too much about them knowing where you live, it starts to make your skin crawl.
The first few times it happens, for a few fleeting moments, you seem to forget where you are. You ignore the men's yelling and hurriedly enter your apartment building, anticipating the relief of seeing another persons face once you cross the threshold of your front door; someone who can comfort and protect you. But that someone isn't there, you're completely alone, and when your mind snaps back into focus, realizing it's mistake, the grief floods you immediately.
It's like having a dream where a deceased loved one is still alive. In the time that it takes you to fully wake up, in that stagnant stretch of dreamy, partial lucidity, the person goes from breathing to buried, dying all over again in one devastating motion. In this case, instead of mourning an individual, you're mourning the security of being a child: mourning the ability to lay your fear into somebody else's hands and have them take it away from you in an instant.
Alone in your apartment, every problem you face is entirely your own to deal with, and your perverted neighbors are just the beginning....
New York City is a grimy place. Most people expect the filth, but they don't expect the fear: the paranoia that comes from living in an area that's so crowded yet so completely disconnected. A place filled with people who mind their business so purposefully that you could scream bloody murder in the middle of a busy street and not a single person would turn to look.
Sure, your neighbors will bang on the wall when you get too loud, but will they run over to assist you if they hear you yell "help"? Would the people who pass you on the street ever stop to give you a hand? Would your friendly coworkers ever even slightly inconvenience themselves in order to ensure that you were safe? You don't think so. And the realization that you're fully responsible for yourself, the realization that you have no one to fall back on, is a jarring one. Instead of being right down the hall, your loved ones are a million miles away, and if something were to happen to you, they wouldn't be around to save you.
You never seem to rid yourself of that creeping intrusive thought. When you allow your mind to wander, it always leads you back to the worst places imaginable. You try to convince yourself that it's all nonsense. That even though you're considerably lonely and homesick, and that your quarter life crisis is making you paranoid, you aren't in any real kind of danger.
Unfortunately for you, your fears end up fully realized....
Somebody breaks into your apartment a month after you finish moving in. You're not home when it happens, thankfully, but you find it difficult to feel very fortunate given the circumstances. They take very little, but they leave you with a lot: a lot of anxiety and restless sleep. The fact that they haven't robbed you of anything material only serves to make you feel worse. What did they want if they didn't want your belongings? When you stare at your television and your jewelry for too long, it starts to make you feel nauseous.
You install new locksâmultiple of themâbut it does very little to reassure you. You still shoot up in bed every time you hear a noise; still check those new locks of yours three times before going out or settling in; still carry mace in your bag every time you leave the house. You're terrified that theyâll come back. Terrified that there's more people out there that wish to do you harm; not just whoever broke in. Every person who looks at you for too long makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You feel like you're in constant danger; you're tired, and all you want to know is when the fear will end.
It does when you meet John....
It's late and the streets are emptyâthat's how you're able to notice him. The man follows you for a long time, long enough that you know for certain that he's tailing you and not just heading in the same direction. Even so, you're still hoping that it isn't true. You slowly pick up speed in an effort to test out that theory, going faster and faster until you're just about running. You dash down block after block in a desperate attempt to lose him, hurriedly swiveling your head around as you check to see if he's still giving chase.
You nearly crash into him before you're able to stop yourself, your shoes scraping noisily against the concrete sidewalks: reminiscent of a screeching car. The man standing in front of you isn't the same man who's been terrorizing you. He's a random stranger who's looking at you with the perfect mix of surprise and concern. He asks if you're alright but you're too distracted to answer him as you whip your head around to look at the area behind you.
The street is vacant. You don't know how or when you managed to lose the manâin fact, you could have sworn that you heard his feet following after you right up until that very momentâbut you can't deny that he's gone. You blurt out an apology, unable to say anything else. You're not prepared to explain yourself, especially with no evidence of your stalker's existence. You already look crazy enough....
The man before you brushes off your apology, asking again if you're alright as you continue to gawk at the space behind you. You assure him that you are but you doubt that you're very convincing. In fact, you know that you aren'tâbecause the man hails you a taxicab, insisting that it's dangerous for a woman like you to be walking home alone so late at night.
Even as you try to refuse, he gently insists, and when you finally climb into the back of the cab, he hands you a business card and money for the ride, telling you to call him if you need any help. He closes the door and pats the hood of the vehicle, signaling the car to start moving as you finally glance at the card in your hand. Milton, Chadwick & Waters: A law firm. He must think that you're in some kind of serious trouble, and with the way that you're acting, you don't exactly blame him. You stuff the card into your pocket and sink back into the vinyl seats of the taxicab, breathing out a sigh of relief....
John watches you go. He's watched you for far longer than he thinks he'll ever admit. Watching, waiting, holding his breath. He senses your presence like a shark smelling blood. You're somewhere, somewhere on Earth, and for reasons he can't immediately comprehend, he wants nothing more than to find you.
Eventually, he's successful: managing to locate you some time during your late teens when your childhood yearnings start to fully metamorphosize, shifting into something more complex. Your desires reach an all time high, turning more intense and sinful as you slowly start to come into your own. The sinfulness is where Milton thrives. He has a direct hand in everything you do from then on out, manipulating your fate in an attempt to eventually possess you. Who you meet, where you go, what you do: all of it leads you closer to him.
Envision yourself walking along his wrist, every decision you make leading you closer and closer to the center of his palm. Eventually you'll be standing directly in the middle of it, and you'll be too distracted to notice the way his fingers start to close in all around you....
When you arrive in New York, you've made it past his pulse point. When your apartment gets broken into, you're traveling between the raised slopes of his thenars. And when the two of you meet, you're right where he wants you....
In the moment, you assume that his lingering gaze is a look of concern or confusion, but in reality, it's answered anticipation. It's years of gazing at you from afar, of waiting to look you in the eyes, to speak to you, to touch you, to be directly acknowledged. Years of fascination and desire culminating in one, perfectly curated interaction. It means more to him than it ever will you. A moment of significance you'll only understand in retrospect.
He would have liked to fuck you, but he doesn't think you would have appreciated it. He'd just have to wait....
There's an old woman standing in front of you. She looks more than a little unsteady on her feetâfighting to stay upright in the crowded subway carâyet everyone around you seems to be selfishly ignoring her, pretending like she isn't there. You fight back a scoff and politely offer up your own seat, finding a pole to hang onto instead. The overhead lights flicker just as you're glancing back at the woman and for a split second, you think you see her smiling face begin to changeâ
"That was a very kind thing to do." A voice nearby praises, catching you off guard with the sudden compliment. You raise your gaze and are shocked by the familiar face. John Milton stands by your side, clutching onto the ceiling rail above you and offering a charming smile.
You suddenly feel as though his business card is burning a hole through your coat pocket. The pristine factory press of it crumpled, folded and creased; chafed into the familiar fuzzy texture of worn paper.
"You made it home safe?" He questions, and you brush off your surprise and agree, thanking him again for the night in question.
The two of you continue to talkâthere's not much else to do as you're standing in a crowded subway car. John is charming. He's clever, and witty, and very complimentary, and he sweeps you off your feet in a way that you don't expect; not from someone like him.
He's disarming. You don't know if it has to do with him or with his prior actions, but you feel safe with him: safer than you've felt in a very long time. It's like being with him takes away all of your fears, and the sensation is something that you crave. In the end, you feel as though you're craving him.
You almost feel drunk by the time you step off the subway. The only thing you're able to mentally latch onto is the fact that you have a date. Somewhere amidst your conversation, John had asked if you wanted to see each other again, and you eagerly agreed, giving him your phone number.
For your first date, he takes you to see Faust. Later on in your relationship, when you find out who he is, he'll joke about it being "a little on the nose". But in the moment, it simply seems like an interesting experience given to you by a well-cultured man. John is nothing like the men you've dated in the past: he's mature, intelligent, and earnestly suave. You don't get to talk very much during the considerably long date (a date he makes sure to confirm is alright with you beforehand), but you do get to speak during the trip there and back, sat in the backseat of his town car while you're chauffeured around the city.
Throughout the Opera, you feel his body heat pouring into your own, an intoxicating warmth that makes your heart feel like it wants to race out of your chest. Slowly but surely, you shift closer, and sometime after the intermission, his hand moves closer to your own, resting on the armrest between the two of you. If it were anyone else, you likely would have pulled away, but there's something about John that makes you completely averse to the concept. Instead, you stay still, allowing him to tangle his fingers with yours.
John isn't able to stop himself from kissing you. You don't refuse him either, even if you usually prefer to wait. It's exactly the kind of kiss that you like: like the man was tailor made to please you. It's perfect in every wayâhe even pulls away at just the right moment.
After the kiss, you're not sure you could go without seeing him again even if you'd wanted to....
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