disgust. that was the only thing that rory could even sense and feel that was writhing in cyrus’s veins right now. she had seen it before, when he had looked at rocko, when he had looked at those who did her harm, did his family harm - but he hadn’t ever looked at her like that. it broke her heart, left a breath out of her, that was how powerful his looks could be. she knew that he knew, and god, who the fuck was she kidding? cyrus knew every nook and cranny of her personality, and there was no hiding something like this from him. why had she done it? why had she had to do this? was it a last hurrah? rory felt her nimble fingers grip onto the side of the couch, her eyes closed for a split second as every color washed through her vision and made her dizzy. she hadn’t done heroine in so long, she had forgotten the way it made her feel - ethereal, but she didn’t want that now. she wanted the life she had slowly but surely built back, from the ruins of rocko’s death and more. she had gotten a job, moved out of the trailer that haunted her, gotten her own apartment now and now a new chance at the music program she had just gotten into. why had she done this? she knew why - she knew it was the voice of rocko martinelli from the grave, taunting and whispering sweet nothings of awful abuse into her ear, the way he used to before. take it, ror. take the fucking thing right now. i don’t want to be alone doing this - you’ll do it with me, right? rory felt like she couldn’t possibly leave the boy she loved behind and so she did the same thing he did, the same poison and look what it had cost her.
“n-no, don’t … don’t look at me like that. don’t - don’t look at me like that!” rory exclaimed, tears already streaming down her face, but she reached up and wiped them away quickly. “and don’t - don’t talk like that to me. don’t - come on. please. please. don’t ask me that, don’t … “ she trailed off, moving into the kitchen, seeing the man in front of that knew her inside and out.
she had no strength, no courage to fight him back, and she didn’t want to. she loved him so much, the person in this world that had never, never once, failed her in her own eyes. a hero amongst men, a pillar of strength she and her parents had always relied on. there was no hiding from him, no cloak she could hide behind that would remove the guilt, the horror in her chocolate eyes, a shade lighter than his. she couldn’t hide from the darkness that was his, the cloak of protection she always found in his eyes that she could only see now was rage.
“please, please, cyrus, don’t .. don’t make me show you. i’ll get rid of it, i’ll … “ her small hand went to her jacket, the pocket where the little extra packet of the shit that had ruined her entire life was in. her eyes were pleading, looking up into his eyes, pleading for him not to make her show him how much of a failure she was. her hand was inside the pocket as she kept her eyes on him, shaking her head. “please. cycy, don’t … don’t make me show you.“ she was suddenly angry. angry at the fact that he had caught her, angry at the fact that she was doing this to herself and he had seen her hit the rock bottom and built herself back up.
"why do you have to know this shit, huh? why do you want to see it? to prove that you’re the better sibling? to prove you’re fucking better than me? we know you’re better than me, than chris, than everyone! you’re a war hero, cyrus - and i barely graduated high school. do you really want to see it? well, fuck you - here it is!” her shaking fingers dug it out of her jacket as she shoved it in his face, eyes black with someone else because this wasn’t rory.
“make you feel better now, cyrus niccolo? you feel better about yourself?”
it was perplexing and vexing all at once; adoration and loathing curled around each other like coils of smoke in the empty space between them, colliding in a clap of silent thunder that shook him down to the soles of his boots. often times, it was easy for cyrus to quell his anger, but the moment he caught sight of aurora the measured man behind the guise of a soldier began to hemorrhage.
he knew she understood the toll her indulgences took on everyone; every addict did. their father, who worked himself to the bone to create a life he believed his children deserved had begged her to remain his little girl. their mother, who had seen and knew too much about the web she’d found herself tangled in cried and praised her for her sobriety. their brother, who was one to love hard and brutally kept his distance now his trust in her had shattered. then, there was cyrus: the brother who loved her without question had the patience to understand the circumstances she had to rise against. and for fucking what? they were all aurora had left after she crawled out of the hole that had been dug beneath her feet. even then, all of their love and attention had not been enough. not for the greedy girl who couldn’t see herself as a victim but a glutton.
cyrus stared into those same honeyed eyes that peeked up at him from inside a little pink blanket the morning she was born and all he saw was a stranger. an intruder with pupils the size of pins who shook where she stood. gritting his teeth, he crossed his arms beneath the expanse of his diaphragm, eyes narrowing in harsh scrutiny.
“don’t look at you like what, huh? like you didn’t raid dad’s goddamn sock drawer for enough cash to score a dogshit fix? like you didn’t just fucking double cross the only family you got left? like you’re a goddamn stranger who just broke into my parent’s fuckin’ home? tell me, aurora, how the fuck shouldn’t i fucking look at you?”
her tears did little to sway him. her words, even less. his anger was the fluid that his love bled the moment she cut it with the tip of her needle.
eyes like pools of ink watched her hand rise to the pocket of her jacket, protecting her score. nose twitching in disgust, cyrus raised a brow, lips pressed into a hard line as he stared across at her. “bull-fuckin’-shit. you’ve never been a good liar, aur- NO. no, you don’t get to fuckin’ ‘cycy’ me like you’re five fuckin’ years old again. you’re grown enough to shove a needle in your arm, you’re grown enough to deal with whatever the fuck i have to fuckin’ say. now, take that shit outta your fuckin’ pocket, aurora.”
he knew the track marks in her arm sat under the denim of her jacket, wounds who opened their congealed mouths to swallow poison then bleed his sister out. he recognized the unsteadiness in her gait, the way she wobbled in her opiate haze. he saw her jump in emotion, rising on her haunches as if she hadn’t been her own reason for landing on the recieving end of his loathing. still, he kept a measured stare, unmoving as she stormed on unsteady feet to dangle the baggie between his eyes.
“what the fuck do i have to prove to you, huh? you did a pretty fuckin’ great job provin’ that shit to yourself, didn’t you, you fuckin’ asshole? the minute you walked your grimey little ass into the fuckin’ alley rocko used to drag you to buy your shit in, you proved it. right fuckin’ there, cut and fuckin’ dry, you goddamn little bitch.”
hand coming up to snatch the baggie from her hand, cyrus gripped it in an iron fist, charcoal eyes sparked red and orange with unbridled rage. "no, i don’t fuckin’ feel better, you fuckin’ rat. but you can fuckin’ bet your ass i will.”
it was more of a threat than a promise. his mind was made up. he could only hope she would stick around long enough to see why.
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