Gonna try and break up the next RITD chapter. There’s so much I want to include that it’ll take me forever 😂😂😂😂😂😂 the filler keeps getting longer and longer, fml
The next RITD chapter might take a little longer than usual; I took last week “off” to give myself a little break and usually Sundays are one of my major writing days but I’m currently not feeling well and have some personal stuff on my mind. Thanks for being patient 💚.
Request from @parisianprinceling, Prompt #38, “...because they’re running out of time” for Vincent and Sophia. I went with RITD because, hell, why not add more angst to their relationship.
She wasn’t sure why she’d followed him. Why Eugene had let her. She’d abandoned her dress and heels in the car and slipped into jeans, boots, and an old tee shirt. When the car stopped, she got out and threw on her long black coat, a little too heavy for a spring evening but perfect for the cold dampness of the underground tunnels.
Sophia cast one last look at Eugene before climbing down the ladder and into the darkness underneath Paris.
She opened the heavy door and went down the spiral stairs without much thought, her foot slipping in something wet. Catching herself, she looked down to find she’d stepped in something much darker than water.
In the lab’s dim lighting, Sophia saw the faint crimson hue. Blood. The heavy coppery smell hit her nostrils instantly and her stomach rolled in disgust and memory of another time.
Glass crunched underneath her boots as she took her final step and surveyed the small room. Equipment was destroyed, the Essence missing, the laptop gone.
The blood led from the stairs, partially around the lab table, and then off to her right, to the specimen room. It was all fresh, still red, heavier when it reached the threshold of the blue-green lighting.
“Come back to finish the job, Kingsley?”
Panic hit her gut. Someone was still here, bleeding out. But she knew that voice. Knew it too well. Knew every range of its emotion, of its power, the minute changes in syllables when it switched from French to English and back again.
“Vincent!” Sophia called out, whirling around and rushing into the small room.
She fell to her knees at the sight of him. Vincent was on the floor, back and head against the wall, legs sprawled in front of him as if he’d fallen and crawled backwards. Paler than she ever thought possible, trembling hands stained with blood that pooled onto the floor, soaking both of their clothes. His mouth was open, only just, lips stained just as heavy as his hands as blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. The only sound for a moment was a faint wheezing; he’d been shot but the shooter missed his heart entirely, the aim too low.
He seemed to recognize that she was not, in fact, Audrey Kingsley, and he tried to sit forward, the shaking much worse. A wet cough and a pained groan stilled him until he pressed himself back against the wall.
“I should have listened,” he choked out, his voice hoarse and breathing irregular. His face was contorted in pain as he spoke, every word a struggle. “You were right and I didn’t…”
She shook her head, tears falling of their own accord down her cheeks. “I don’t care about being right.”
Not again, not again, not again!
She couldn’t lose another person. Not like this. Not to murder. Sophia made it through Catherine but this…
There was nothing without him. She wouldn’t survive him.
Her fingers were a blur over her phone as she texted Eugene for help. Distantly, she was thankful Vincent thought to put wireless in the lab. Her phone pinged repeatedly but she didn’t look at it, focused more on trying to save what little blood he had left. She wrenched the jacket off of her arms and balled it up, holding it with one hand.
“Did it go through?” She asked, taking one of Vincent’s bloody hands in hers to pull it away from the wound.
Vincent nodded but didn’t move his hands as she silently begged him to. Now was not the time to be stubborn. If they didn’t stop the blood, there would be no chance…
“Stop, Sophia,” he whispered when she tugged again, harder than before.
She gave a keening cry in reply, unable to hold back anymore. Her fury at him for earlier, for refusing to let her help, at whoever shot him, at herself for not getting her earlier. It quickly gave way to a sorrow so deep, she didn’t know if it had an end. She felt ripped open, raw, never to be whole again.
When she looked at him again, she saw the acceptance in his eyes. Sadness. Regret.
“It’s too late, ma chérie. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for so much,” his voice was so soft now, so weak.
The hand she’d been grabbing reached up, slowly and trembling all the while, and rested on her cheek. He was so cold. Not even gone yet and already as cold as a corpse.
“I love you,” she sobbed, abandoning the bundled fabric in her lap for his hand, keeping it there. “I can’t think of a time when I didn’t.”
Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.
“I love you, too. I should have said it earlier. I should have told you that from the start.”
He lifted his other hand from his abdomen and pulled away from her touch long enough to take something off of his left hand. Vincent took her hands in his, more than slick with blood, and pressed something into them. It was warm and small. Through her tears, and his blood, she faintly registered it wasn’t Paul’s signet ring but something else. It bore a different crest carved into the flat green stone.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Still soft despite the lack of heat radiating from them. His response was weak, unable to do anything but accept her gesture. She was already covered in his blood. She didn’t care if she tasted it, if she never rid herself of the metallic smell. She wanted to kiss him, at least once more.
“Tout mon coeur repose avec toi,” he said when she pulled away, closing her hands around the ring.
My whole heart rests with you.
“Je n'en tiendrai aucun autre,” she replied, the French heavy on her tongue.
I will hold no other.
Sophia heard footsteps and voices but all she could do was look at him when she finally felt his grip sag and saw his head loll to the side slightly.
Gone.
He was gone.
Something broke deep inside her. Sophia opened her mouth to scream, to cry, but nothing came. She was only able to feel an absence never to be filled again.
