" Together, my lady"
♧ Thorns: Graphic description of violence and wounds (gore?) / blood / murder / ⚠️ unhealthy relationship
♧ Flowers included: There was someone there. Pierrot could feel it — but he could not allow it.
He could not let anything reach you.
Now, covered in blood once again, Pierrot wonders: would you run away after seeing his monstrous side?
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Your eyes opened so suddenly that it was as if your body had sensed the problem before your consciousness could even deduce that there was one.
It was not common, but sometimes Jester allowed Pierrot to spend the night there, with you, when there was no performance at the circus. What the two of you had could not exactly be called a “relationship,” but the strange attraction that creature exerted over you was enough to give him permission to entangle himself more and more in your life — especially because, otherwise, Pierrot would invade your personal space even if you tried to deny him.
So, you were already used to the dense and heavy warmth of having him clinging to you during the night. The loud breathing always too close to your ear. The sharp tips of his teeth brushing your skin as delicately as possible in an unusual and intoxicating caress that always led you to fall asleep.
But, in that early morning, the cold must have been the desperate hand waking you up, encouraged by the petrifying silence — like that silence that preceded the arrival of the monster in horror movies.
Something was breathing outside your room. A sound that mixed breathing and growling in the same breath of air.
Low.
Rhythmic.
Like a beast trying to calm itself.
As soon as the door opened, and you could immediately glimpse the living room, you called:
— Pierrot?
It was strange for him not to be glued to you; nestled, rough, and needy against your chest. Clumsy and desperate. It certainly was not normal for Pierrot not to be circling the same environment you were in.
The door finished opening with a low creak, seeming to gently invite you to follow the movement of the sound and find the open window in the living room, the curtains fluttering, the partial glow of the moon competing with the streetlights to seep into the room and color with vivid tones the morbid carnage Pierrot had starred in on your sofa, floor, and walls.
With his back to you, his shoulders rising and falling with that heavy and loud breathing, he seemed unaware of your slow and trembling approach. The circus outfit had gained thick stains of more red — but, this time, literally, a living red, certainly still warm, in several spots still dripping and increasing the sticky puddles that spread across the floor and carpet with their viscous and glossy slide.
— Pier... rot?
You called in a thread of voice; the same tone as a small child before a scene her innocence had not yet learned how to interpret.
He took a while to answer you. And that gives you time to keep staring at him — to keep staring at the living painting set up in the heart of your house.
The blood there was still fresh because it had not yet finished draining entirely from the bodies that had once contained it.
Near Pierrot’s feet, a young man was lying down, his eyes wide and frightened — his left cheek partially torn away, his jaw exposed straight to the bones — staring at you from the floor as if he were trying to warn you about the atrocity he had come across. One of his feet was too far away from the other; the other knee, turned at an impossible angle for any use.
A cold that did not come from the window ran through your body when you realized: that head and those legs were too far apart. Torso and feet no longer connected by the same spine.
— Pierrot...
Your voice was now choked.
Frightened. And now, yes, it caught his attention.
— My lady?
Pierrot turned partially in your direction.
It would have been better if he had not done that.
There was another one in Pierrot’s hands. The arm hanging by a stubborn connection of muscle and flesh; the hole in the chest, opened by claws with such violence that it caused shivers just to imagine Pierrot’s fingers buried there.
When he met your eyes, Pierrot’s were nothing more than two yellow points lost in a black hole behind the bloodied mask.
Pierrot let the body fall to the floor as soon as he noticed your look of panic. In a few steps, he crossed the distance — bloody footprints left along the way.
— My lady?
He held you by the shoulders.
In a trance, your head moved in attention to the movement of the curtain again.
The curtain was moving.
Wind.
The window was open.
That was why it was strange.
Pierrot did not come in through the window. Not after you accepted him and insisted that he use the front door.
No, Pierrot did not know how to open the window.
— My lady...?
His eyes returned to the glossy and large yellow orb. He seemed confused, but he was scanning every inch of your face — your shock much more worrying than his own shock.
“Yesterday they tried to break into my apartment.”
The voice of the downstairs neighbor sounded so clear in your mind that you had the impression she was there on your sofa, sitting, caressing her beloved and spoiled gray cat.
“The police said they had spotted two young men roaming the area. But they still haven’t managed to get anything.”
The gray cat jumped from her lap and stretched over a mutilated leg.
“Truly incompetent. We are not safe even inside our homes. Who is going to protect us from being attacked? Kitty, stop that right now.”
The gray cat rubbed its face against the disheveled hair of one of the dead men, purring.
— My lady?!
Pierrot shook you by the shoulders. How he hated that. Did that hurt you? He hated hurting you.
Your eyes blinked as if you were coming out of a trance, turning to him at first, but Pierrot still had to be patient while you, soon after, stared at the surrounding environment, as if you had not even realized you were in your own house.
— You protected me, didn’t you?
Your voice was so clean, so crystalline — so enthralling. But Pierrot had already observed humans enough to know that, considering your paleness and distant gaze, your voice should not be so calm.
— I just... I didn’t...
Pierrot suddenly felt sulky.
Constrained. Cornered. What had he done?
Would you abandon him?
Were you disgusted by him?
Did you hate him now?
Those questions made his mind spin. It felt like he was feeling nauseous.
You should not have seen him like that.
You could not leave him.
He would not let you leave him.
He would...
— Pierrot, dear, did they break into the house?
The affectionate nickname stopped all the desperate and sudden — and violent — thoughts that had violated Pierrot’s mind in those few moments.
You smiled at him. You touched Pierrot’s bloodstained face; his knees trembled, and as soon as he noticed the permissiveness of the touch, Pierrot curved himself in that direction.
— They... appeared out of nowhere. They said something about searching. They must have heard something. I did not want to wake you, my lady; you were so beautiful sleeping. But they heard. And they talked about silencing anyone. They said it was just a woman who lived here. That they could handle it. I’m sorry, my lady, I did not want to dirty your carpet, nor your sofa, without your blanket, nor...
— Shhh...
Your thumb caressed the cheek of the mask. Pierrot’s eyes closed with the gesture, groaning something, frustrated and pleased at the same time, his knees bending until they met the floor, surrendered to the so subtle and comfortable warmth of your hand.
He wanted so much for you to give him more.
He wanted so much for you to run your fingers through the strands of his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, pulling softly to tangle your fingers even more among the strands. Would it be inconvenient for him to ask you that now? Pierrot very much wanted you lying down, playing with his hair. He very much wanted you teasing him with your smile and giving him much more affection than he had imagined asking you for at the beginning of the night.
You swallowed dryly.
You knew about this other side of Pierrot.
Jester had warned you.
Heavens, he had almost threatened you about it.
It was obvious that this would happen someday. You knew that. You always knew.
You preferred, of course, to live in the illusion that it would never happen. But reality had knocked on your door with the truth you were trying to deny.
— They were going to hurt you, my lady. I swear they... I swear I...
You continued caressing Pierrot’s cheek with your thumb, until you realized that you were distractedly smoothing and smearing one of the bloodstains.
The palm of your hand was already covered in blood. Just like all of Pierrot’s clothing.
— We are going to have to clean this mess, yes?
He noticed how your gaze was fixed on your hand on his face.
— Together.
You seemed to be talking to yourself, still caressing Pierrot’s face, still rubbing the bloodstain over the white mask.
Together.
With no way back.
Together.
Like the two dead intruders.
Together.
Like the downstairs neighbor and her gray cat.
Together.
Like prey and predator.
Hope you enjoyed! 💐
