It's just a cigarette, but I can see how the smoke winds around their fingers. Viscous, white smog disperses over the balcony. Distant honks of cars interrupts the static of the radio I'm fiddling with.
I stare at the puff of sparks at the end of his cigarette. I only had the rest of breakfast before I was going back up. If I fixed the radio, maybe I'd be allowed to hear the tinny music while I could feel the sheets shift underneath me. Something to listen to other than the distant creak of the neighbours. Something other than the smack of his lips. What else was there to replace the discordant jazz which bounced through the rafters from a neighbour who played an arthritic trumpet?
I wanted to hear the radio and people chatting nonsense about Bruno Mars and top hits and who'd called out the President on something especially inane.
I wanted the stray cat who I'd once picked up to creep through my window and curl up at my feet. Now, I am the one curled up - but being at his feet would be an easier place to be.
The bed shifts, and the rough-shaven face whispers down my back. I grit my teeth as a feel a new stain grow on the back of my legs. I need to piss. Fingers like to sneak around my neck, touching my pulse liberally like a meandering spectator, finding an erotic fizzle of interest he thinks I have.
I've learned to moan for him. To find the beats where he wants the noises ensure him of dominance. Such prowess! When he squeezes me, like a wet, eager dog nosing my hips, my shudders are a beautiful mistake.
I forget to ask for water.
And he doesn't offer.
I am shocked when he presses the cigarette to my lips, a hand over my eyes like a mimicry of romance. The laugh is gutteral, and drags out like a bark when his fingers wipe away more than just sweat.
I never wanted to smoke. I'd always been told to avoid it. Asthma was bad enough without coating my lungs in more ways to asphixiate, but I can already feel the craving begin.
It's dirty, finding the tip just-damp with his saliva, the soft press of his fingers curling it just-so and I'm gasping. Trying to breathe. Such tears are a reaction that I'm too pained to feel.
Why I can't name the agony in my chest when I'm relieved to find it there again the next day?
___
Inspired by a song aptly called 'The Cigarette Duet'!
'It's just a cigarette and it cannot be that bad
Honey, don't you love me? And you know it makes me sad
It's just a cigarette like you always used to do
I was different then, I don't need them to be cool
It's just a cigarette and it harms your pretty lungs
Well, it's only twice a week so there's not much of a chance
It's just a cigarette, it'll soon be only ten
Honey, can't you trust me? When I want to stop, I can'
(it's such a good song and I was really inspired by @sowhumpshaped 's bad caretaker/ carewhumper pieces! Especially the one where Whumpee is staring dazedly and thought they'd seen their Whumper who was out of prison! I felt shook!
A quick little thing I had to write. Maybe he’ll get out of my system now 🫠
“Every time, just like the last~”
You look up, eyebrows furrowed as you wonder who could be singing so softly.
It was late at night, you and a few other members of the team were forced to stay late to finish paperwork.
The only other person next to you was Doug, being your work buddy since you both hated paperwork more than anything.
By the lamplight you gazed over sleepily, and sure enough, his lips were moving softly, ever so quietly singing.
“To distant lands, takes both my hands, never a frown with golden brown~”
You watch, lips parted as your heart hurt for the man in front of you.
Finally, he looked up.
“Golden brown, finer temptress.” He stopped singing as he registered your eyes on him, looking as surprised as he could with the sleepy look on his face.
“I love that song.” You mutter, finally dragging your eyes back to the paperwork in front of you.
Just as you thought he had turned back to his work, you heard him hum softly.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Skye | Daisy Johnson/Daniel Sousa
Characters: Daniel Sousa, Skye | Daisy Johnson
Additional Tags: dousy, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Dousy Week 2020, Spoilers for the entire last season, Babies, Future Fic
Summary:
They've never done things the traditional way but Daniel thinks that might be the best part about their story.
Thank you to @oliversrarebooks for allowing me to play with my own OCs in your universe! 🤗
______________
Adam - the man from last night - was pacing rather erratically until he saw me.
"They got you into the system, eh?"
I nodded, spying the breakfast tray on the floor. Sitting down with my legs crossed, I poked the eggs on my plate.
"The examiner - how did she do that?" I glance upwards, "She made me speak - speak so... So -"
"Truthfully." Adam's hazel eyes met mine seriously, "It's part of her ability. It's why she got the job here. Just how Jonah is a conditioner, she's a medical examiner for a reason."
Swallowing my mouthful of eggs got harder.
"A - a conditioner!"
He nods, eyes fluttering briefly in defeat.
"I got nabbed just as I made a lead on the missing person's case. Well - what I thought was a lead. It was a trap." he shot me a sideways look, "Jonah is a vampire who specialises in hypnosis, calming humans into a trance which allows vampires to keep them captive willingly. They call hypnotised humans 'thralls'."
While I shake my head in outward disbelief, I feel my world shrinking to the bars in front of me.
Conditioning. Vampires. Thralls.
I suddenly think of the dead-eyed people who I'd seen yesterday - shuffling about, aimless and detached.
I look up, clenching my utensils uselessly, "I'm going to be a thrall? I - I was just getting a book for Lucas."
Adam seemed to age before me, the youthful seriousness morphing into a look of resignation.
"I was meant to have made contact with my team two days ago. They'll be searching for me. I just hope they don't get caught in the process. I couldn't cope if my whole team was mind-wiped because of my mistake." he gritted his teeth, glaring at the door.
"Jonah won't take my mind easily. Has already had a hard time with it." he sends me a catching smile, despite the pain in his eyes, "A friend of mine said, in order to resist vampiric influence, just cling onto the happy stuff. Their whole shindig is getting us to relax into something happier, but if we already know we are content in the real world without their influence, we can combat it."
"Are you part of the police, investigating in this stuff? Like a small sect of it?"
Adam nods, scratching his head, "Yeah, you could say that." he leans forward, resting his forehead against the bars, "We've trained for something like this. We're gonna get out."
I smile slightly, allowing Adam's hope to seep through. Despite the cells the dead-eyes of the people around us which seemed perfectly content, I wasn't ready to become one of them.
I wanted to be me.
______________
There was little activity within the cells that morning, apart from Jonah interacting with a few of the - not-people - people down the row.
Adam looked up. His eyes narrowed as Jonah eventually left the thralls to their lunches and walked towards us.
I shift backwards on my cot, fingers clutching my book. It was a crappy mystery novel, and yet it was easier to think about than my current predicament.
I'd already searched the floor for any tools to escape, sniffed at the corners of bed to see if there was a hidden incision in the mattress for something useful. Adam had seen my attempt and merely laughed. From the curl of his lips, I could tell he was holding back a tease on my hopeless searching.
Jonah looked at me, pursing his lips. Then Adam clicked his fingers.
"Oi, leechy, leave her alone."
The unbridled anger in Jonah's snarl made me squeak, and I stare at Adam in warning.
"Don't provoke him, idiot." I hiss, despite the flutter of appreciation in my chest.
Adam looked at me sympathetically, "He doesn't get lip from anyone else."
Jonah's sour expression focused on Adam, "You've made your choice quite clear. Your session will be first. Come." with a click of Jonah's fingers, a guard vampire enters the room, a sneer on his face. A new scar had left an ugly blemish on his cheek.
Adam gaped. A slight flicker of fear slipped through the bravado.
"God. You look even worse than you did after I first marked you."
The guard vampire's eyes flared in triumph as he saw Adam, "And you, human, are looking weaker without your stake."
Stake.
Stake.
"Buffy was right all along -" I whisper to myself, looking over to Adam in shock.
Adam hears. He smiles with a grin I could imagine him wearing when fighting a vampire.
"Yeah, these bozos picked me up on another hunt. We had heard of an auction house being nearby, but -" Adam shrugged, "Turns out it was closer than I expected."
Jonah leant on his cane, curling his lip in annoyance, "Harvi, please get the human. I am running out of patience."
Harvi takes no time in sauntering into Adam's cage and holding up the cuffs, "Come here, little human."
Adam leans away, looking at Jonah, "I'll be good."
Jonah's eyes remained narrowed, "I doubt that."
Adam shrugged, sending me a glance, "I tried."
I giggle.
Jonah fixes his gaze on me, colder than usual. I close my mouth, unable to feel anything other than fear. I'm finally able to breathe when Jonah looks away.
I hear the clink of cuffs on Adam, and he calls out before Harvi yanks him gleefully through the door, "Hey! Remember - happy thoughts."
Thunk. The door slammed shut. I'm alone now, with only my thoughts for company.
Thank you to @oliversrarebooks for allowing me to play with my own OCs in your universe! 🤗
Let me know if you wanted to be added to a tag-list!
______________
I have the need to pace, but the muted sounds of living from the others dissuade me. They all seem at peace here. The lady beside my cell was contentedly reading her book, ginger curls framing her sweet-heart face. I tried getting her attention, but she merely looked up, staring so innocently I couldn't bare to ruin it.
I feel small in comparison.
The scratches on my back which had been washed yesterday had started to itch. From the lack of reaction from the vampires around me, I assume that either my blood wasn't worthy enough to be bothered about, or that there was none from the cuts. At least one relief.
I'm still mulling over the complexities of a vampire's bloodlust, when I hear the latch of the door.
Perking up, I see Adam being led back by the scarred vampire, but with two differences.
He was wearing a dress. An actual hanging-to-his-feet dress. And... There was a slight change in his expression. The hardness had slipped from his eyes. That fact, apart from anything else, was what threw my stomach into a pit of twisting vipers.
"Adam!" I gape, seeing the vampire smile coldly as Adam shuffles, slightly awkwardly, into his cell.
"Don't worry, darling, you'll be next." the vampire sing-songed, drawing his eyes across me; it would have been a violation if it hadn't been for his focus on my neck.
I shrink back, half-growling at myself to stand up and yell back, but the gnawing fear overwhelmed any command my mind could have suggested.
"Jackass." I mutter, just after Harvi passes.
The vampire turns abruptly.
My cry of fear catches in my throat, trapped in his gaze.
Glittering eyes narrowed into slits, "Say that again, human."
I stay silent.
Harvi sneers, seeing the tremor of my body, the whisps of air that refused to become words.
"Thought so." he laughs, a scrape of a nail down the concrete. He leaves, the cruel smile still lingering on his face.
By the time my breath returns, Adam had sat down on his bed. I can see his lips moving, staring aimlessly through the bars of his door.
"Adam. Hey, Adam. Wake up. Wake up - you gotta listen to me. You're the only one left who doesn't smile when they talk to me." I hate the tremble of my voice.
No. No... I can't do this. Adam's gone. If Adam is gone, then I will have no hope. If I have no hope - I'll be gone in the click of the man's fingers. Poof. I wasn't ready to die.
"Adam!"
Adam sits still, head craning to meet me.
I shudder, "Adam. Hey. Tell me something about -" I think helplessly at the man's semi-lucid eyes. Something has got to snap him out of it. He has to.
"Tell me about your best friend. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. What do you miss most about them?" I blink hard, trying fruitlessly to remember the phrase he told me before he got dragged away.
He remained still.
"Oh, remember -" I bite my tongue, "Happy thoughts, Adam, happy thoughts!"
Adam blinked once. Shook his head and then blinked again. It was similar to a robot rebooting itself.
"Liz." he whispers, he blinked, his voice becoming coherent, "Liz saying she loved me." he raises his eyes. There's a spark there that had disappeared. Adam's lopsided smile reappears, his blank expression flushed away as his fingers twitch.
"You did it. You did it!" he leapt from his bed, his hands grabbing onto the bars - as if in lieu of grasping mine, "Holy shit, you did it!"
I was the one blinking stupidly this time, "What? What do you mean?"
"God, Lenna is gonna be psyched! I knew it. I knew it. With the right training... I knew it!"
"What are you talking about?" I snap.
"We did this thing, so that if we got snatched on a mission, we could have a way back." Adam shook his head disbeivingly, a touch of sentimentalness to his eyes, "Liz is gonna be okay. Thank God. When I get back, we're gonna be okay."
I hesitate, "You mean, to somehow snap out of the hypnosis?"
Adam nods, before swallowing. He doesn't look at me.
"We had someone help us figure it out. Do it to us. But-" he stops speaking and he drops his gaze, "But it won't-"
I feel his enthusiasm dwindle. My heart pangs distantly, "But... You won't be able to wake me." I whisper.
Adam runs a hand through his hair, "You just got to resist it for a while, okay? I got a plan. We'll be safe soon. I have a plan."
I smile, but I feel nauseous. I won't have a way back, if Jonah gets to me. I barely have time to mourn, when I hear the door slam open once more.
I see Jonah and Harvi. And they're staring right at me.
Thank you to @oliversrarebooks for allowing me to play with my own OCs in your universe! 🤗
______________
Silence. Silence, apart from several sets of breathing. Silence, apart from the odd, muffled sounds of people in slumber.
Four sets of springs dig into my skin and there was a prickling itch against my neck. I blink, realising it was my hair plastered against my skin. It was in dire need of a haircut.
My hands reach out as pitch darkness spreads itself around me in a cocoon of ebony. A cold, lumpy wall beside my fingertips. A mattress beneath me, with a woolen blanket under my arms. The kind of blanket I'd donate to the local cat shelter.
With a sniff, I smell that there's a mustiness to the air - almost similar to the one I smelled before.
On the man.
On the man, who had sounded so nice.
On the man who must have kidnapped me.
Oh god, I'd stumbled into a human trafficking ring. No no. No.
I didn't want to be shipped to the East and sold to a random man, a slave to his whims, at his beck and call. I wasn't ready for my life to be over. To some weird cultists who dressed up as vampires and indulged in casual cannibalism.
I haven't even read the last three books I'd ordered online. I'd even left a pink post-it on top of them, reminding me to take one in my bag. That I was going to show Theo that line I thought he'd like.
I won't get to see Theo again.
Lucas.
No. This couldn't be happening.
My breath is coming faster, and I sit up, throwing off the blanket that slithered around me.
What in the crazy world had that man done to make me so compliant? Even mum hadn't had that talent! Not even when she was a professional, liesenced Hypnotist.
I shudder, hands running down myself, a sudden fear that my body had already been used against my will.
Thankfully, I was fully clothed.
Perhaps they were preserving that right for my new owner.
I whimper, unconsciously hugging myself. I couldn't be here. I was late. So, so late. I missed Lucas and Theo hours ago by now.
Sniffiling, I glance around, my newfound sight in the darkness finally clearing.
I see bars - a practical prison cell - and maybe in the cage next to mine, a shape on the mattress.
Leaning forward, I'm able to see their breaths. Without it I would almost have worried it was a corpse, like every horror movie I've watched.
I crawl against my mattress to the bars to the side of me.
I clear my throat, "Hey, hey, are you awake?" I reach my arm through the bars, huffing when I am inches away from touching their own.
The person doesn't respond and I purse my lips, retracting my arm.
"So you're awake too, huh?" a voice softly calls from behind, and I twist around. My eyes search the darkness, until I settle on a lump of a person sitting in their cell on the other side of me, in the very corner.
"I don't recognise you," they lower their voice, and I see them shift their head to look at the door, illuminated with one golden edge, "Are you the new one? The one who came in last night?"
I shrink, "I - I don't know. I was just coming to the library -"
The boy swore, "Shit, it's the library? Come on. The middle of this place? They've been under our noses this entire time?"
I shake my head, blinking, "What?"
The boy shushes me with hostility, "Remember vampires have keen senses - so keep your voice down or we'll get a beating."
I reel in my splutter, and swallow, "You... They're not vampires. They're a cult."
The boy sighs - sighs in a way that reminded me far too much of my mother.
"The quicker you accept that these bosos are real, the more likely you'll survive without your brain mushed."
"M-mushed?" I squeak.
"Quiet. It's lights out." a harsh voice enters the room, and I practically jump from my bed. All I can see is a point of a chin before the door slides shut.
I go to speak - to question the boy - but all I hear is a muttered goodnight before silence reigns once again.
______________
By the time sleep had clawed its way through me, the lights blink on with a low hum.
God I hated mornings. I'm ready to turn over, run my fingers along my bedside table to snooze my alarm.
But even as my arm stretches out, with one sniff of the stale air I freeze. I'm not at home, anymore, am I?
A squeak of wheels and rattling cutlery draws my attention upwards, and I see another of a dead-eyed, blank-faced person stop by the first cell.
Cells. My heart flutters uneasily as I drag my eyes down the row opposite. There's easily up to thirty cells in total. Who knows if there's another corridor.
Then the door opens up again and a familiar face greets me.
"Ah, Dahlia. You're awake now. That's good. We're on a tight schedule now due to your interference." the man, the one who had used his voice on me - that crazy, weird voice - had a cane, and was leaning on it before he slips a key into the door.
I didn't realise how short he was until I stood. He was only a few inches taller than me, and with his cane, it felt like we had an even playing ground.
"Come with me. Now I don't want your running away act this time. You've done it once and it didn't work, so if you come along nicely you'll be rewarded." he beckons with a little wave of his hand.
I stay still, blurting the first thing that came to mind, "But I'll miss breakfast."
He smiles, cold and trusting, "Now don't you worry about that, I'll make sure Jules leaves your tray there."
I glance around, as if latching onto the bars would be a better fate, other than what the guy yesterday said about my brains becoming mush.
"You're gonna kill me now, is this it?"
The man's eyes widen a fraction, before sincere concern crosses his face.
"Now don't be silly. We're not here to hurt you, poison you, or be any of the animalistic interpretations you've likely heard of." I almost miss the way his eyes glance at the cell beside me.
He sighs, looking down and shaking his head, "Dahlia, I'm just here to talk, okay? Nothing sinister, I promise. Would you like a glass of water when we get to the room?"
I sigh too, letting my apprehensions slide from me. There was nothing to get worked up about. Just a simple chat. Soon he'll realise that this was just a mistake. I'll return to my life. Pretend that I wouldn't go to the police about the local trafficking ring hidden in the centre of town.
I glance to the cell beside mine, with the boy I heard from earlier.
He's looking straight at the man, and I realise he's not a boy. He's a deceptively young-looking man, and if looks could kill, the vampire in front of me would be smoking.
The boy - man - growls, "Let her go, Jonah. She's not worth it. She's too young for this shit."
Jonah shakes his head, pushing his spectacles up his sloping nose, "I appreciate your opinion, Adam, but if you want to remain in your nice, cosy cell, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself." he says pleasantly, eyes flicking to me apologetically, "I am sorry about him. He's a bit of a curmudgeon in the mornings."
Before I could reply there's an arm ushering me away. I just have time to glance back.
Adam mouths something to me, but I'm too slow to catch it. I don't even have time to send him a frantic goodbye as Jonah shuts the door behind me.
"Now, your hands please." Jonah turns, lacing me with expectant eyes.
I've just dared to raise my gaze until I hear the jangle of handcuffs, dangling from his fingers.
I barely take a step away before they've been speedily clasped around my wrists. Cool leather surrounds my skin, as if they could feel the heat of my fear. My gasp rattles in my chest, and Jonah places his palms over my wrists soothingly.
"It's just a precaution dear. Simply protocol. I hardly doubt you'd cause such trouble, with the way you listen to me, hm?" he smiles gently, and my lips pull a soft smile in reply.
I shake my head, blinking harshly.
Jonah sighs, a sympathetic smile lingering on his face as his hands now produce a chain. Clipping it onto my cuffs, I shudder, a noise caught in my throat.
"It's quite all right, Dahlia. Now, come along. I have a nice friend I wish you to meet."
I had my doubts on this friend, as my empty insides rumbled in agreement.
______________
The hall wasn't exactly clinical, but it did smell of bleach, mixed with an artificial fragrance that was a poor imitation of flowers.
My trainers squidged solemnly against the floor, passing dark swathes of wooden doors as he led me down the hall. With the flureresant lighting reflecting off the laminate floor, my eyes felt battered from oversensitivity by the time we stopped.
I wouldn't hold under long if they tortured me with noise, lighting and pain. I would like to think my tenancity would charm them in letting me walk free, that I could be meek enough to fight them with a smile.
Merely making a binding promise not to reveal the existence of vampires, in order not to be lunch and cocktails for two.
I wince; if only I had believed Twighlight. Maybe then I would have hope in it being a whimsical fantasy. But this was far, far worse than Twighlight.
Jonah knocks and with a feminine welcome echoing, opens the door. I'm tugged gently to the center of the room, much similar to a doctor's cubicle. Bouncing from her seat was bright beauty of a woman, and with the way my chest felt frozen, I could tell she would have no end of admirers.
But then she grins, and I am kickstarted again. Fear backpeddals my attraction; seeing those V-shaped teeth stealing inconspicuously into that innocent smile, made my heart hammer in an altogether different way.
"Is this our new one? Did you manage to get the ID? You do know that people keep them in their purse or phone cases these days," she waves a careless hand, giving the air a tentative sniff.
"They're giving me extra for overtime, you know." she says casually, gloating to the man next to me. I baulk as my ID is slipped into her hand by Jonah.
"Hush now, dear Dahlia." Jonah's voice rises, softly eerie against me. There's soothing stroke against my skin.
"This is all perfectly normal." he murmurs into me, and I feel practically light headed. Normal. A normal, medical check up. I got those all the time as a kid.
Jonah shifts, tugging my chain to be latched against a hook on the wall, before that voice moves back to that monotone pitch again.
"She'll just need a regular check. I don't think there's too many issues with this one." he pats the back of my hands, nodding once more to the woman, before leaving me alone with the vampire smiling calmly before me.
______________
Breathing is hard when all it seemed to want to do is judder and shrink within. Was it fear that was making me lean on the cuffs? The slide of my fingers clinging to the stability they provided, while my knees were trembling to be released?
The woman rests her elbows on her desk, her computer twisted away from me. A half-smile graces her lips.
"So, do you smoke, vape, or indulge in any form of nicotine or drug addiction?"
I gape, mouth flopping open like a fish as my words rise to my tongue.
"No. I haven't. I don't drink either, if that helps." I watch helplessly the steady tap of her nails against the keyboard.
"My sister used to have acrylic nails..." I murmur absently, a pang of nostalgia at the choking, pungent aroma of setting gel. Flecks of polish-remover settling in my lungs.
I tilt my head, a flutter of surprise when I see a silver blur at the edge of her smile. And then it's gone again, her face slithered back to neutrality.
I hadn't seen my short-sightedness flare so suddenly like that before. Nothing so... Brief. With Jonah, his face was clear - stunningly clear, clean lines - even while his voice seemed to entrance with a dexterity that blurred. Theo had always been blurry. Not like this, glimpsing into a facade before being shut out again.
"And what is your age, dear?" her eyes meet mine. They remind me of topas, a deep blue that you drilled for until the ends of the earth cracked open. The ones my sister had. The ones which hadn't got that hairline fracture yet.
"Twenty two, miss."
She nods, accompanied with another patter of keys. There would be something soothing about it, until I stop.
Miss. Miss? Excuse me, what? I shake my head, a dizziness that weighted my feet and almost wobble back into the wall.
"Why - why is it easy to say things to you?" I feel that inconsistent flutter, the urge to really test the weight of these chains. I didn't do this. Just blurt things out unless it was with a friend, with Theo, with someone who cared.
Without a doubt, this... This creature, this bored, lax creature could find out... Find out everything. I grit my teeth.
"I'm gonna - gonna -" I dry heave, curling over myself, as my hand scrambled against the wall. A wheeze of burning acid hits the back of my throat and I gag, choking back the bile. Panting, I curl inwards as my stomach turns, rolls over. Twisting and coiling, so it feels like three hands were digging their fingers into my abdomen.
"I don't know what's happening -" I shudder.
"Oh, oh, you poor thing." a silky voice murmured, and I could have slid to the floor in desolation.
"You've probably gotten yourself all in a muddle now, all in a panic." the feminine sigh above me clucks her tongue, "You were doing so well, too."
I sway forward, a teary moan leaving me, "What do you mean? I'm so... Fucking frightened." my voice cracks, leaving a growing pit in my stomach.
"Oh, of course you are. You have no idea what's happening, and strange people are asking you things. It's quite a lot to take in." within a few clacks of heeled boots, a gentle hand lifts my chin.
Her chill fingers is all that is left of her softness. But fierce awakening to the stony expression on her face is what truly startles me.
There's a crack as my legs are suddenly swept from under me, striking the ground with a sickening crunch. My yell scratches against the walls. Vibrations ricocheted through my joints, and I loose my sight as my head collides back into the wall. My vision blurrs, tears screeching with the impact as my arms smack into the bricks as well. I'm yelping now as the hand on my chin twists me forward, leveling eyes with each other. My throat stings.
"You're not going to leave here, Dahlia." her words turned colder, eyes narrowing as she glances downward. Down towards where I could feel the prickling heat of shame.
"I won't have you stealing my overtime pay to give to those dimwits outside, just waiting to make me look like a fool. I may be the newborn here, but I do not expect you to treat me like one. Do you understand, you mindless, little fool? "
My brain is nodding faster than my head, a jack-rabbiting terror that she'd seen right through it all. That I'd tried already to use her compassion just as much as the freaks here would suck it out of me.
For one fleeting moment, I realise just how low I'd sunk, as I stare rawly at the leering creature in front of me. Shame stuck in my throat. I could have just behaved. She might have saved some kindness for me.
"I would have given you my care." she hisses, digging one sharp nail into my lip, enough for a high-pitched protest to die in my throat, "I would have washed you gently. Perhaps even spent good money on you if you'd just behaved. Hell, maybe you'd been good enough as my pet just like this. To be spared from all the rest of this place."
She sneers as I cry out, the screech of my body as she unhooks the chain. I'm released like a puppet from strings, the floor as hard as concrete slamming against the sore skin of my arms.
"Maybe if you hadn't taken me for a fool, you might've had a home with me." the girlish voice makes me dare to raise my head. The leather handle was wrapped in her fingers like I was nothing more than a fashion accessory at her feet.
"Come," her voice pulls me to my feet, a wretched gag truly wrenched from my throat as the chain snaps me forward.
I stumble behind, the side door of the room leading into a wet-room. It had been modified with extra hooks. A space for a couple of people to be chained up at once. It's a more frightening thought to know this has happened to dozens, maybe more. How many kids have passed through this place? How many hands have pressed against the walls like mine? All of us, victims to those the rest of the world still believe as fables.
There was a case a couple of years ago. Twenty six year old, mother of two, dissappearing. People had theorised her body had been... Disposed of. After she'd been walking down the backway path to the school, with the tell-tale signs of her blood in the alleyway.
That now, I even remember my mum telling me of a news article. That Jimmy Tyler had been working in the train station, and had worked late. He had never showed up to his next shift. But she'd always been fascinated, up to date with those things. Maybe her findings really had been onto something.
But this... This trafficking ring that hadn't just lasted over several years. No, a trafficking ring that had lasted over several hundred. Right?
But everyone knew of a tale of a dissappearing body, a person snatched away. A cautionary tale for the children. That's all it had been for me. I didn't like nasty bedtime stories. I didn't like the creepy serial-killer crime shows. I didn't want to know.
Breaths whisper in and out of me as the chain scrapes against the hook above.
Hands twist me round to face her. I am gaping. Large scissors - more like shears - she selects from the shelves.
Seeing my alarmed glance, she smiles delicately, "Oh be nice and quiet, now. This is just for your clothing." she brushes forward, a salicious nail brushing under my chin. I restrain my shudder.
"I couldn't damage the merchandise, now can I? How else do you think I earn money?" she meets my eyes with a gleam.
"It's not for your bedside manner." my words are barely audible, a grunt, as her nails yank up my shirt tucked into my trousers.
I wince, knowing that I really couldn't be sentimental over a piece of clothing.
I snap my eyes closed.
If I had to be stripped, then I didn't want her gaze imprinted on my memory. Assessing. Writing down about the birthmark on my chest, those childhood scrapes which had been imprinted against my skin.
Someone seeing me, boobs, butt and hair without telling me they loved me first.
I aim not to flinch at the first snip, the snag-glide of the scissors tearing into my clothes.
Fingers lifting the material off my shoulders before it could hit the floor. I shiver, despite the warmth. The fact that they likely had the heating on for my own comfort filled me with dread.
I can feel those same fingers climb my shoulders, lifting the strap of my bra. I'm shaking my head, an instinct to jerk away from the invasive touch.
"Please don't ruin my one good bra. You must know how expensive they are." I sniffle, managing to place some plea of humour in my words.
I sense, more than hear, her fingers just unlatch the back. There's a movement of shifting and then I feel the straps fall away.
"You're lucky those straps are clip on."
My laugh trembles, but she doesn't seem to notice as I loose one last piece of my armour.
I try not to cringe away as she snips off my knickers; the time I feel my mother's voice.
You should have worn the same set. It looks tacky when it doesn't match.
"Measurements. Right," the vampire breezes as they shift away. I crack open my eyes, pretending that I didn't hear them.
Measurements?
Didn't she have them from the sizes of my clothes?
She seems to interpret my opening eyes as evidence of my confusion. Waving my concern away, she twists back round, grabbing a tape measure.
"You know how these brands are, darling. You could be an extra small in one and a large on the shop down the street. We like to be accurate here. We offer that service precisely for those who also haven't been down to the shops humans frequent." I'm gaping, even without meaning to, and she carries on empathetically, "We're top quality here, and vampires like a complimentary record of their thrall."
Thrall. Was that what they called the humans who no longer knew what it was to have free will?
What exactly was I going to become?
It's painstaking, until finally my measurements are complete. I can already predict what's coming when she reaches for the shower knob.
My squeal is outmatched from the gush of icy water, sopping into my hair and rushing down my back. Reminded me of the time I got pushed into the lake as a kid in February. It wasn't pleasant then either.
"I'll be right back, I forgot to call up for some new clothes!" she gayly left me as I flinch away from the spout of water.
My back is pressed against the tile wall, inching away from the full stampede of the shower. It's gradually warming, but never warm enough to be soothing.
Hands guide me to step under the hose, and willingly I submit, shrinking as those same hands slip into my hair. They pull my long bangs from my face and I feel the cold squirt of shampoo.
"We need to have you nice and clean now." she chirps.
I fight the urge to clamber away, shake her off my head. Harsh bristles of a scrub brush are on my back, small white bubbles being scored along my skin.
I smelled too clean for the violation I was suffering.
Then the water is spiraling down my drooping bangs with the squeak of the off tap. I'm towled down like an animal, and I marginally appreciated that it was softer than the rag I expected.
"Now, all nice and clean. I'm going to unchain you - if you get changed nicely. You've been fairly well behaved." there's both threat and compliment in her voice.
I nod, eyeing the grout between my feet.
When I see the nightgown unfolding before me, I baulk.
"That's - can't I have something that isn't with lace?" I blurt, aghast, "I hate lace. Please."
The vampire smiles, lips curling ferally.
"It's this, or being in the nude. Really, we don't mind having a good view of our merchandise, but -"
I glance up, startled at her seriousness,"I'll take it."
"And what word are you missing, dove?" a growl in her voice.
If I was able, I would swing round and punch the woman. But I am reminded with a shiver, that I really did want some coverage. I wouldn't get that if I committed physical violence, now would I?
"Please." I grind out, "Miss."
She blinks, beaming, the predatory smile before eased with my compliance.
"Good girl." she's undoing the cuffs, letting them fall.
There's a moment where I look at the door.
Assessing. Thinking - just one chance - before I'm covered with the gown. It's being tugged around my head, my arms being guided into the holes.
It's not as scratchy as I imagine, and I'm relieved when she allows me to put my own undergarments on. I pretend I don't see the frills on the knickers.
The indignity is small, compared to being stripped naked and hosed like a wet rat. At least the overall, what I was given wasn't too scratchy.
"Such pretty hair. I always liked my ash-blondes. Nice temperament." I freeze as a finger brushes away a lightly-damp section of hair over my shoulder.
"Shame. I really would like to keep you." I can almost hear her resignation before I feel my cuffs click back into place.
I can't seem to stare at her, my eyes are drawn to the wall, the shower heads, anything but her. A tight pain in my chest makes it hard to breathe.
"Come along, pet. You're in need of some breakfast. Jonah will see you after. He's pretty gentle, you know. You're in good hands, Dahlia, as long as you behave."
I swallow my nausea before I'm lead back to my cell, I peek in others' cages, but it's too quick before I get back to my cell. I couldn't get a good enough look to see if I knew someone.
Rain was a dichotomy for me. I loved using an umbrella, swirling it around in my hands as I walked. But I also disliked the soggy, grey clouds hanging above me. The warm-weather part of me wanting the sun to paint my skin with its tan.
Still, my day is like the rest, until my shift is cancelled at the library. I feel bereft.
It's my day. Lucas is going to miss me. I can't let him down. Not when I want to hear his thoughts of Dragon's Son. I just know he's loved it.
Sarah said that there was another venue who wanted to rent out the library today - and until next Wednesday too. But I am rather inclined to go anyway.
The library was a sore thumb of the shopping district. One of those creaky, stately houses, with an outside furnished like an old mansion. One of those buildings the government liked to take up and reuse as a public building.
Perhaps it was why I was so drawn to it as a child. That I would become a Lucy Pevensey and discover a magic in the building that would save me from the tragedy of normalcy. It was a multi-storey building, but the upper levels had been off limits to me when I signed up as a volunteer. I'd wanted to search curiously... But after looking at the amount of dust on the stairs, I was inclined to doubt the stability of them.
Still, looking at the building, there was a distinct lack of life there. The window's curtains were drawn, and the whole lane felt eerily secluded. But the weird thing was, the car park was almost full at the back. You had to walk past it to get to the library and it backed onto the park I played at as a kid. Well, until vandalism hit it like a battering ram.
But still, there were no lights on. I didn't like it. And while I could see a "Library closed sign", I felt indignant. Sarah could have told me last week, but no.
I'd promised Lucas.
He was going to be here any minute. I wasn't going to disappoint him. Not from some silly out-of-the-blue event that she couldn't care to tell me about sooner.
Darkness was coming rapidly, the days of summer far behind us. Suddenly, I see a light turn on dimly inside. On the second floor. And then a few more on the first. Perfect.
I purse my lips. If the company wasn't using the entire first floor, then I could go in and grab Lucas a new book. It wouldn't hurt if I asked, right?
It was probably one of those stuffy meetings, with men in suits. One man pointing at boards with pie charts and graphs on.
I sigh, and tug on the door practically twice my size, stepping into the foyer.
I blink. My breath freezes.
A hundred eyes turn to look at me.
______________
I don't think what aptly described my reaction could have been shock. It boarded on both hysteria, and ice-cold fear.
There was a lot of people here.
And they'd torn down my bookshelves. My displays are gone. The old ceiling fan is torn away, replaced by a stupidly guady chandelier. There's a few men in work shirts hanging up something glowy on the walls. Fairy lights? A few people arranging tables. The carpet has been newly replaced. The gold inlays look so posh I feel bad just standing on it.
And there, in the middle of this whirlwind chaos, is - is - a creature pressing something against someone's neck. But they're not lips, no, they look like fangs. That couldn't be possible, because this isn't a movie set.
Vampires don't exist.
But the blissful expression on the person having those wicked-looking teeth in their neck, was far more petrifying.
They weren't trying to leave. They weren't screaming. If anything, they were practically falling into the - the Vampire's grasp.
As if the casual way of supping someone's lifeblood was a normal occurrence. My mouth is gaping. The lanyard holding my electronic pass flutters to the floor. My heart is stuttering. Faltering. I feel sweat trickle past my fingers.
My eyes are frantic, darting to the poster against the wall of the entry way.
"Human, Fae and all other kin. Auction Wednesday 31st."
"Best prices, best quality, best ethics."
"Finest purebreds seen in over a century."
I'm backing away, the book and Lucas forgotten. The eyes that followed me are numb, unaware, apart from a few narrowed pairs. They stand still. I edge another step backwards.
"Sarah didn't say anything about one of hers coming in." a monotone voice made me gasp as they stepped forward, a clipboard in hand.
"You think she sent us a snack?" a grinning woman slithered beside the man, who also seemed far more awake than the others. They had resumed doing their tasks. As if the woman vampire who was leisurely wiping their mouth with blood - red dyed treacle, right? - was completely sane. As if we all hadn't just witnessed what was essentially cannibalism. Right?
"Doesn't seem to be on the list. But," the man sniffed the air, a small sigh breezing past his lips, "I'm surprised this one isn't, considering the quality."
Inanely, my body feels wrong, as if I'm waiting for someone to tell me the truth. That in the corners were cameras. That Sarah had just pranked me big time, and this was just one of those insipid reality TV shows she watched.
The woman sniffed too, in a way that reminded me of a big cat smelling a small, harmless cub.
"Oh, I see what you mean. She does smell good. Might be even a double AA, if we're lucky. What do you reckon? Sarah might be upset we've stolen her volunteer."
The man looks at me again, eyes drawing across my body in a particularly invasive way, his gaze which focuses on my neck in particular. I flinch backwards.
"Too valuable. Don't know how she's hidden from the scouters though."
"Does it matter?" the woman is slinking forward, and suddenly I realise that this is my time to run.
Run.
"Oh, darling, you don't need to run now. You're going to start feeling sleepy, and docile now. Will you tell me your name?" her voice was soft, syrupy, and there's a flutter. She really was very beautiful, and I could feel myself leaning towards that sotto voice.
Run. Lucas.
I blink, my sense of self returning, and I'm chucking my bag at the woman. There's a growl as she fumbles with it, but it leaves me enough time to skid through the door.
I'm unsure of the sight of the dozen cars on one side, and I freak out looking at the way to the park. No one is there. But here, to my left, there's dozen wheels, a dozen places to hide in the mechanical forest. If someone was there, inside their cars, I could reach them. They could protect me.
I sprint forward, panting by the time I roll past two rows of cars, hunching over to conceal myself.
Where was Theo's big, hulking Bentley when you needed it?
My breath jars as I duck between two cars, rolling under a rangerover. Gravel bites into my bare shoulders and I wince. I bite my cheek, withholding my girlish squeal. I hope that in the darkness, the woman can't find me.
But her calling sounds much similar to a lioness on the hunt.
"Come on out, dear, we won't hurt you. I promise." but there's a feral edge to her voice and I quiver, huddling into the ground.
"Damn it. I do not have the patience to chase after you." her voice is sharp as firecrackers, and I can't tell how far away she is from me. I can only hear silence. She's taken off her heels. My stomach drops.
"I don't have the patience or time of a normal Scout, you know, human. I don't do the whole hypnotism crap. I organise. I plan. I create visions for others. But I don't enthrall."
I would have peaked from under the car had I any strength of will, to gauge how many cars more I needed to roll over to. To peer into a window that wasn't empty of humanity.
But then I do hear steps, those almost quiet scuffles getting fainter and fainter. My body is in action, rolling away. Crawling in a mimicry of a child, using my hands and knees to the car in front. This time it's a big Toyota, and I pray that if I shuffle under, I could see something on the ground I could use as a weapon.
So far, my fingers only scrabbled on a tin can's tab and I wrap my fingers around it. The cool metal presses against my skin, and I squeeze it.
I screech as I'm yanked back by my hair, nerves on fire from such rough treatment as I'm pulled into the road. Racking waves of agony makes me moan as I see the fire-haired female grin wickedly.
"Gotcha. Don't try to run, kid. It's over."
A flurry of indignation makes me snarl, and the tab in my hand strikes against the woman's face, catching the edge of her chin. Blood drips down, as her lips peel back in a chilling sneer.
"Fuck you!" I growl, and twist out of her grip, even as I can feel my roots tearing in protest. My eyes sting as I stagger away, trying to pick up speed. Trying not to feel deadly glad I dared to mark her. That mark was for the human she was feeding on. And for the many more she'd take from.
I'm about to make it to the road leading into the shops before I feel a sting against the back of thigh. Dragging my eyes down, I see a sort of dart piercing through my trouser leg.
Shit.
With a second of hesitation, I yank away the dart, gasping as it slides from my throbbing flesh. I could feel a trickle of blood warming the side of my fingers. I feel dizzy just smelling my blood.
The needle was as big as half of my thumb, and I throw it away in disgust. Bastards.
I look up and that man was there, his fingers curled around a nasty barreled gun.
I freeze.
"Stay right there."
My heart stutters again, and my wheezes fill the air. Asthma had never troubled me much since I was a child, something I thought was almost dormant.
But I'm wheezing now, the chill of the air curling against my lungs.
"Now, now..." the man's words seemed kinder, that monotone voice disappearing, "You're safe now. We won't hurt you." he steps forward, and he drops his gun.
I stay still, searching for the woman. She was the one who'd just dragged me from under the car. But I can't see her. Where was she?
"I - I -" I'm not ready for the tears creeping into my words, "Please don't -"
"Shhh, just listen to my voice. Look here, Dahila. Focus. Look at my fingers. Look at them. You're feeling tired, sleepy. Look at me. Look, Dahlia. You want to listen to me, Dahlia." there's a finger stroking my wrist, light circles, and a dizzying sensation. I'm able to look up at him, meeting soothing green eyes. Eyes of a forest. He's suddenly far too near, a musky scent invading my senses.
"There we are. Yes, look at me. You're doing so well. Focused on me now," I keep my eyes locked away, trying to force myself to focus on the street lamp.
"Oh, you can look away. Look away if it's more comfortable." but a glint brings me to his fingers, weaving in the air like shadow puppets to a child.
I gasp uneasily. I had loved playing shadow puppets.
Those patterns begin again, in, out, in, out, duck, weave... And the voice warms my jack-knifing heart.
"Hmmm yes, here we are, look at my fingers there, look at the pretty shapes."
I feel myself almost swaying to his rhythm, almost instinctively to match him. Why were we swaying? What did I need to remember? But I couldn't. What was it. But those shadows dancing before my vision were waves of light and dark. Charcoal against summer. Waves lapping from sea foam. A feeling of that easy compliance, the one mum used to practice on me. His welcoming smell. Colonge.
"So you are a well behaved one, aren't you? You like being called sweet, docile, don't you Dahlia."
I almost sway at his warmth, curling into his dulcet strokes.
"Oh Dahlia, you are nothing but calm. Wanting to look at me. You're wanting to sleep. To listen. Watch me, listen to me. Calm now." I'm closer to him now, cotton brushing my chin, fingers briefly brushing my cheek.
"That's it, keep listening now. You're so very calm, aren't you?" his fingers are flickering across my vision, so quickly, so easily calming, leaving sensation. A pulsating need to follow, focusing. Focus. I wasn't missing something. I'm calm, a good girl.
But as I watch him, those pretty fingers, that soft lulling stroke, that same stroke down my hand. I fall into the sensation, his kind touch soothing in a peace I hadn't felt until I was so young. His voice creeping, seeking refuge in my body. But that wasn't right. I was needing to run... But what from? This man was so lovely. Smelled so nice. So calming. It was nice, this feeling of weight lifting. That weight that was always there shifting. Lifting.
" That's it, yes... Keep listening to me, that is it. Good girl, Dahlia. So calm, so quiet, such a good little one, yes. Yes, my little one. Calm now, my sweet." words are blurring, and I'm floundering under his calmness. He was so soothing. So kind.
No worries now, no times or worries or places to be. Nothing more. This moment now, where I existed. Boat upon the waves. His lulling voice. There's nothing else.
Such light movements on my wrist has wound to my face, and I feel a tender stroke against my cheek. A small hum. But that wasn't right. I couldn't be enjoying the way his fingers worked their way into my hair, that lazy hum he seemed to be emitting mimicking mine. But it felt so nice. Just to be touched so gently. To have fingers fondly trickle through my hair.
"Oh darling," he breathed, a catch in his voice, "There now... There now, such a good little one. Following my voice, eyes on me. So sleepy, so calm, needing to listen to me. Listen to me, yes, Dahlia. Close your eyes, give me everything, yes. Good now, rest. Rest now, little one. You are safe, so safe." I'm leaning into him, and I feel my world sway as I float. I'm floating, floating so serenely I can't remember the last time the lights had ever flown over my head. A still, moving chest against my cheek.
Lights look so pretty as they hang above me. Fireflies between closed eyes.
"That's a good little one, close your eyes now, rest. Focus just on me now." shifting closer, loosing my weight, leaning, "Oh, no no, you are calm, so calm. You want to sleep, you want to obey, my little one. It gives you pleasure when you obey, so close your eyes little Dahlia, close them. And sleep. Sleep. Shhh. Focus now, focus... "
______________
Welp, that took a bit longer to write! But I hope you enjoyed!
[Go to @oliversrarebooks for the source of this inspiration!]
Let me know if you want to be on a taglist for this! 😊
Rubbing the line out, I sigh. Pushing my chair back, the pencil clatters against the desk. This face was never coming into fruition, no matter how many lines I drew over.
I could never see his face clearly. I've always felt alienated when drawing faces. There are just some faces I found hard to see. A nose that never could be quite seen from any angle, ears that merged with hair, eyes which blurred colours between brown and black. A smile that disappeared at the edges.
I've tried to explain it to doctors, to opticians, and been prescribed a few dozen different supplements to combat my literal face blindness.
I'm not even shortsighted. I'm longsighted, if anything.
I'm used to it now, though. I don't think mum ever truly believed me. She called me her little pansy, and sometimes I wondered if I was half plant with the way I saw the world. Trying so hard to make roots. Focused on looking upwards. Finding light was warming, that made me want to absorb it as if was the only sustenance I needed.
But I supposed a child would lean on something comforting as imagination. I've always known really, it a childhood fantasy, and the world was so much blurrier as a child. Memories always are. The logic pointed towards the fact my short-sightedness had gotten better as I got older. But sometimes, sometimes it had days where it flared up.
I once even thought it was a brain tumour, but because I didn't have floaters or specks, it was swatted down as easily as a fly.
"Tiredness." They said.
Of course, why didn't I think of that?
But sometimes, it was just nice to believe in a little fantasy. Maybe it was why I drew to the holistic hands of Clara and her spirits, her world where rituals and tarots were true. Kinship between two souls sharing a belief. A faithful link to the world.
Lucas and his love of books, Clara and her spirits... And Theo, the subject of my drawing.
You would think that if I could not see someone clearly, that drawing it would be illogical. But, ever since I grew old enough to realise that this curse of uniquely poor sight that was mine alone, my sketchbooks were my proof. Of sanity, of having a repeat experience - like dejavu. You'd write it down in your journal, right, if you experienced that too?
I take myself to bed, pushing aside my drawing for now. Both frustration and indignation swirling in my chest, swearing that tomorrow, when I saw Theo, I was going to focus.
I've known him nearly a year... And I still can't draw his face. Not quite the illustrator I always wanted to be.
Surely the cramp in my hand would be worth it.
______________
"You're still here." a silky baritone slid against me, a warm pulse of my heart at the slight tilt of his head. Inwardly, I berate myself for wanting to ask him out. Take him for a good meal, with a nice sophisticated wine I could imagine him drinking. Having deep, fuzzy conversations over scallops and patte and whatever else those fancy restaurants served.
He's married, for God's sake.
Still, I'm blaming my hormones and lack of nice, gentile males available. Maybe, maybe seeing someone warm, sophisticated eased something in me. That feeling I had when I leant over the table to stare at my English lecturer in college, entranced with the way she spoke. Her articulation and ringing nuance of her voice lifting. Orating to hundreds, but speaking to one. That feeling when you've breathed too deeply and you're searching for more air around them. Someone who spoke to me.
"Of course. Sarah asked if I could upload these textbooks to the system." I shrug, half-smiling as Theo browsed the shelf in front. Daring to strike my gaze across his face, I hoped I would finally see the edges of his smile.
Then he's turning and I curse. I curse because he's never mentioned his wife (or husband!), and I see those fine, neat fingers clasped around a new hardback. One I'd put there, giddily, the day before.
There's a hole where my breath should be, the slight effeminate touch of his eyebrows. That balanced jawline that throws his face in dichotomy with that sharp, feral smile. At least, the blur around the edges feel rough, unpracticed. Unnatural.
"You're reading a Si-fi fantasy? I thought you stuck to the classics?" my lips puckered in false mockery.
There was laughter that seemed to glint, as his huff of air brought me back to the book placed in front of me. His curved, arched fingers of a pianist now retreating.
"I do not indulge usually, however today I felt this book may challenge my preconceptions."
I raise a sardonic eyebrow and pass the scanner over the barcode, the beep the only sound between us.
"Oh, and what preconceptions do you have?" I raise the book back to him, it half hanging into the air until his fingers webbed out and caught it.
"Many." his dark hair swooped across his neck as he leant forward, "And what about you, little bird? Do you enjoy your perceptions challenged?"
"Bird is a funny nickname for me, a flightless animal."
His grin widened a touch further, the blurriness spreading. His meticulous smile bordering on animalistic, if I was indulging in the fantasical.
"Bird or not, one invented flight and one discovered it. Which came first?"
I grin, this a riddle of his I could answer, "Well birds were around in the time of dinosaurs. So birds were first in discovering it."
Theo leant back, a conceding head nod, "Perhaps. I think it truly depends on the semantics of those words, even if you were not inherently wrong."
I roll my eyes. Presumptious know-it-all. And yet, I loved being right, of outsmarting someone who'd been so obviously ensconced in riches and education. Of besting someone who seemed to carry such wisdom.
"Are you planning on a trip soon, since it's nearly been a year?" a small knot grew in my stomach. I reached out to fiddle with my spare key chain.
"I was thinking so..." his eyes grew distant, and he looked out of the windows facing the street, "But I feel unsure of my destination. I've spent so long wondering, I don't know if I have a calling now as much as I used to..." his sigh brought me to a strange longing in his eyes. I almost felt sorry for the guy, until I saw his armani watch and suddenly discounted it. It wasn't like he had financial problems that he'd have to cover before he got out of here. He could escape. Forever.
"I've always wondered why you came here. It's not that pretty, it doesn't have a lot of facilities cities offer, and we have one decent forest." I smile sardonically, "Those who stay here are those who have family nearby, or who want a quiet, normal life."
"Unlike you." it was not a question.
I shrug, peeling away a stray strand from my small guinea-pig keyring.
"I'll go and change my life at some point. I'm just... Working up to it."
He raised an eyebrow, showing his welcome for more.
He always was. Always so giving.
But I grimace, seeing this small fantasy of us walking into our local restaurant, dressed in those fine clothes... It all disappearing if I told him the truth. His long, powerful thighs wrapped in dark jeans, glinting with the small chain that hung from his pocket. The chain for his vintage pocket watch I've wanted to wrap my fingers around for months. A striking figure in that silky black button-up, with his hair down swaying gently as he greeted me. or That smile I wanted to earn. His hand waiting for me. Him insisting on paying, but I fight for my own right to do so with our shared laughter. He makes me swear that he'd pay next time.
Not the lowly library assistant too piss-poor to figure out if I could work the gym into my schedule. But knowing that if I quit the library I'd loose Lucas. That spark of joy I've missed I just couldn't let go of.
That this guy was married, and if I stepped out of my small world... I might create ripples I couldn't take back. But I'll live in this world. It's safer that way. It won't hurt so much when it breaks apart.
"Are you wanting to order another book in?" I tap against the desk as the hollow, plastic top rattled.
Theo shook his head. His eyes dropped in a way that would have made me feel guilty, if he didn't have someone to go home too.
He doesn't look like a Theo, not really. Looks more like a Byron, like the poet. Or a Sir of Lancaster. Something kingly. He has the face for it, at least with what I could see.
I feel him drift back to the shelves, as if waiting for a moment to speak. As if buying time in the ten minutes before I close up. The textbooks could always be done tomorrow.
There's a gust of wind that flurries by the windows, sending a whistle of air through the cracks.
"That child who comes here on a Wednesday... Who is he?" his question came unexpectedly, and I almost jump. It's nearing the most personal question he's outrightly asked.
Theo always came later than Lucas. Perhaps Theo saw Lucas on his way in today.
I turn away, a frown twisting pensively on my lips.
"Just a child I help look after. He's a good kid. Has a dad in the army too, and the mum's run off her feet." I trail my finger down the desk, "He reminds me of someone I used to know. Lucas just needs some attention, especially since he has an older brother who's not the best influence."
"So you are trying to keep him on the straight and narrow, even while you're not related?"
I glance up, mildly perturbed at how close Theo's assumption hit so close to home, "No... I just want to guide him. Be a friend, for when he needs one. I'm hoping I'll be able to be there for him for when I persuade his mum to get him an ADHD diagnosis."
I think of my attempts of conversation with her so far, my subtle hints, my tips for his attention span. The answer to why he couldn't sit on his chair without wiggling incessantly. All flagged down with that offended look in her eyes.
"How do you know?" he asked quietly.
I give Theo my best half-smile and gesture to myself, "Four words. Like calls to like."
Theo's brows raise ever so slightly, "You have decided to trust me with that information."
I chuckle, "It's not like handing out that information could get me killed."
Theo shrugs and I laugh - I laugh before I could help it. And it's loud, boisterous and I would hate it if it hadn't brought that same smile to his face. The smile I wanted to recreate.
He bows, slightly, nothing more than a slight dip of his body, before he retreats.
"The night calls, and I find myself parched... So good evening, my lady." he murmurs, and I feel wistful as he exits. He has this way of speaking that was so archaic sometimes I almost think he's pulling my leg with it.
I hope one day soon, I'll slip in a note that had my number on there. Brave the future with hope in my heart. To ask him if he wore that ring for show or whether there was a place for me too.
______________
Okay, so the real story starts soon *rubs hands* 😏
Thank you for reading! Once again, this is an ongoing AU inspired by @oliversrarebooks, so please check their work out if you hadn't already!
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