Porcelain ||
He knew that something was wrong with her, like blood in the water.What was it about a vulnerable young woman that so inflamed him? It was something past, something gone, that reason, at once so relevant and irrelevant it made his head spin. He managed to crush his initial instinct āto destroy her utterly in her compromised stateā and assess the situation. She could hide the bottles and the bags, but heād spent enough time in Camdenās underbelly to perceive the signs, traces of the chemical scent. And of course there was the unmistakable smell of booze.
It all occurred to him very quickly, and he felt positively foolish for not noticing it sooner: Scarlett was burying her nature, and she was using any number of substances to do so. There was a poetry to it, to her. Finding the missing piece of the puzzle was quite satisfying, even if it made him feel daft. The darkness had to goĀ somewhere. NowĀ that he had found it (or rather, it had found him), he wasnāt about to let it go. Leave it to Scarlett to abuse herself with chemicals rather than let go of her humanity.
He felt the cold air of the Piazza Davanzati at night thenā a memory coming on. He was exceeding quota by leaps and bounds at the end of the 14th century, wealthy and respected. Italyās upper eschaleon practically served him their daughters. And yet, there was a long moment one night when, standing on the balcony of palazzo, steeped in alcohol and blood and very much alone, he had wished the world would stop turning and simply end. He wanted, without even realising it, to die. Every night, he tried to drown it in carousing and drink and wild company and it had worked, but not for long enough.
Of course Larissa had come soon after, and even in his earliest days he had never struggled with whether to kill or not (the answer was almost always yes). All the same, it had been a kind of struggle with his former humanity. What made humans human if not isolation? The day he broke free from it was the day he realised that he was a beast through and through, and he could simply take what he desired whenever he wanted.
He sat the box down on a table and immediately forgot it, passing the suitcase on his way. In the space of a breath, he was standing in front of her, eye to eye.
"Any other person I would kill with great relish and cruelty. But you, Scarlett, I would kill with kindness. Itās the thing you would least expect." then, his voice lighter, disturbingly non-threatening,"Leaving again?"
Was it really that farfetched, to think that for once, she could sit and drown? That for once, she could stop treading water?
Alexander's voice dropped an octave and his eyes seemed to blacken as he spoke. He knew too much about Scarlett and had far too much of an influence inside her head. HeĀ knewĀ he was cutting the right strings, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. He hated her. Did it hurt? Unbelievably so. But was she surprised? No.
Kindness, he said. An oxymoron if ever sheād heard one, the thought of Alexander being capable of kindness. But thatās what made it more calculated, because heād try. Heād give it everything he had if it plunged the knife in that tiny bit deeper.
Scarlett knew what fear was. The empty glances and hushed murmurs. Fear was days of deafening silence. Time moving, but remaining dead still.Ā But now fear was a different type of pain. A pain that wasnāt just about her inability to be enough, but the emptiness that would always engulf her. The rejection and loss that would kick her to the kerb and stomp until there was nothing. Fear had now multiplied and there was nothing that she could do. But run. She had to take control of the inevitable and get as far away as she could.
āLeaving?āĀ As soon as the words left his mouth, Scar regretted letting him in. She regretted ever speaking to him. Ever getting to know him...likeĀ him. Because now he knew too much. The suitcase was hardly subtle, but it would make no difference, that was part of who he was. Always dissecting and analysing his surroundings, she could practically hear the coils turning in his head. But there it lay. The beginning of her new start. The decision was made and the mental list was already finished. True, it consisted of very little, but that was how she functioned best. Simple instructions, military style.
Leave. Speak to Ira. Leave.
āYes, but I have a few things to do first.ā Her voice was icy cold, monotone with no effort behind it.Ā Usually she found herself anticipating his next words, the mood he was in and the purpose behind them. But tonight, she felt nothing. The tone of voice that escaped Scarās lips was all the evidence heād need that she was gone, the Scar heād known. But every time he shifted his focus, every sinister glance or dismissive look left a gaping opportunity to pull her back.
Make him leave, thatās all she had to do. She had to see Ira.
Keeping claustrophobically tight to wall, the redhead slowly crossed the hallway: terrified to touch him, scared that the slightest knock would highlight her fragility and sheād plummet to the floor. That sheād break like china. And heād smirk at the crunch under his shoe.
He hated her. But why now? Why did he have to come now? When she already hated herself more than she ever had? Scarlett was steps from death earlier. But she didnāt deserve that. Scar deserved the constant reminder that she ruined things, the she took lives and would have to face that everyday.Ā But that was enough. She couldnāt face Steph, Nick...even the bastard himself. Happiness dangled in front of her...no, living two lives was cowardly and unjust.Ā
When the silence suddenly became too much, the vampire opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to tell him how scared she was, that the thought of feeling like this everyday was beyond terrifying. But instead she mumbled the only thing he'd want to hear.Ā āLook, Iām sorry I bothered you. You can leave.āĀ Her expression was blank. Her glassy eyes were skittishly fleeing his gaze and instead focused on the suitcase, on her escape.
