[robertvanhell-blog]

“What you laughing at?” He huffed, trying to shrug off his embarrassment. It didn’t work, but then again, whenever did it succeed when he tried to act tough?

“You make it sound as if it’s normal…” Completely deadpan was the only way around that one. Any other tone and he might have ended up in the exact same position, lying in a boot with more holes in his body. “Well what do you want me to call you eh? We aint exactly on first name terms. I mean, I’m partial to dickhead, but something tells me you wouldn’t be so keen.”

He sighed gently, taking in a breath. It tasted sour on his lungs, like it was foreign, or unclean. He couldn’t decide which, but he didn’t want to think about it. The only thing it reminded him of was where he had been. “I try my best, you know me.” He was being pulled back into the comfort of his ex-bosses words, a place he tried so badly to distance himself from. Sadly it just didn’t seem to be working out.

“It was rhetorical, jeeze. Like I either care or know who did….did this.” He pointed to himself casually, forcing the words to rise out, it was a real struggle in this situation. The pressure eventually getting to him. “All I want Clive sweetie, is revenge, and for some unknown reason….well I’ve been granted a second chance.” He rose from his seat, a menacing glare taking it’s full form. He’d had enough of games. He was here for a reason, and now it was going to all play out, like the plan inside his head.

[wrongsides]

“I’m not laughing at anything.” He tried to act stern professional. Set jaw and narrowed eyes, but it didn’t work. His smirk betrayed him.

“Eh, dickhead’s nothing new.” He shrugged, nonchalant. It was said so much by his ex-wife that it was becoming a new nickname. “In fact, I think it’s got a ring to it.” He lit another cigarette. He was going through them too fast. It was his second pack and it was only 11 AM.

He offered a cigarette across the table. “You don’t?” He raised a brow, exhaling smoke, careful not to blow it in his counterparts face. “I would. You gotta want to know.” 

At the pet name, Clive laughed freely, stubbing out his cigarette after two drags from it. He probably should have smoked them fully before stubbing them out under his thumb. “Revenge, Ted honey?” He questioned, raising a brow. “So--That’s why you’re here for? Revenge? Or what? Because I’ve run every idea through my head and I’m still coming up blank.”

[kitter-sweaties]

Hall of Mirrors, Versailles, Paris, France March 2015

[robertvanhell-blog]

“Good? More like in your own sweet time.” He tried to move his brow, but it hurt to the point where he started to comically wince. He was about to lean back on his chair, but the motion of his feet hitting the ground made him think otherwise. “Yeah, well I’m afraid I don’t have answers Bell. I mean, I have the hole in my head, but not the things you want to hear.” He allowed a smile to creep onto his face, pleased he could make him worried, maybe even fear him? “Awww, you almost sounded sincere. Admit it, you’d miss me.” He winked playfully, Clive couldn’t bother him now. Well, he presumed so anyway. “The point is, if you didn’t, just so you could kill me again…who did?” A nasty taste filled the back of his throat, something odd was going on, and he didn’t want to hear what was going on behind the scenes.

[wrongsides]

Clive shouldn't have laughed at the wince. He was an adult. Not a child, and yet a barely suppressed snort came out from pressed lips. He cleared his throat in an attempt to cover it.

“Yeah yeah, not dead, yada yada.” Clive made a show of rolling his eyes. Exaggerated for his counterparts benefit. “’Bell’ just sounds weird. Like we’re having a confrontation or something. Y’know I can’t take you seriously when you call me that.”

Clive gave a smirk in return, raising his brows in mock surprise. “Was that a joke, Ted? Call Jesus, praise the heavens. We gotta miracle over here.” He would entertain the jokes for now, small talk so that Ted wouldn’t kill him right there on the desk. 

“Don’t know why you’re asking me.” A silence. “Really, I have no clue who’d want you back.” He didn’t. It confused him. Either they had personal business with his counterpart, or himself. Add that to another list of his problems.

[pictures-of-luxury]

[robertvanhell-blog]

“What did you expect? Of course I’m pissed!” He grit his teeth, making every molar grind into a sickening crunch. He’d  woken up in the boot of a car, covered in blood and stinking like a public toilet.

Blood was the least on his mind. He’d seen the bullet hole at the back of his skull, could feel all the sickening rattles of the inside of his bone, but now he was here. It had stopped.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Yeah, well done you paid me, but you’re forgetting something Clive, everyone’s fucking you over and you don’t even know about it. I was just one of the unlucky ones.” He kicked his feet on the top of his ex-bosses desk. What could he do to stop him? Shoot him again? “On that line of thought….why the hell am I here? Why kill me if you’re going to bring me back alive. You’ve always been an A* douche-bag Bell. I won’t be the last to try and make deals under the table.”

[wrongsides]

He was all too aware of the dodgy dealings involving his money. His product. Of pills being sold off with different names, and disgruntled janitors who hadn’t got their recognition.

It wasn’t the casualties that came about from these deals that he cared about. What he cared about was the fact that his money was swilling down the drain.

“Believe me, I know.” He stubbed his cigarette out under his thumb. “But they’re getting their dues in good time. What I care about--” He exaggerated the vowel whilst sweeping his counterparts feet off the desk. Did he not recognize designer furniture? “--Is the fact that you’re here.”

“And you’re supposed to be dead.” He finished. It unnerved him. More than it should have, but he’d be damned if he was going to give the fucker the satisfaction of seeing it.

When Ted implied that he, himself, had brought him back to life, Clive snorted with a lack of grace, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t bring you back if the world depended on it.” He held his hands up, mock surrender. “Why would I pay for you to fuck off to the pearly gates--Or burning fires of hell, in your case, if I’m gonna bring you back the next day?”

[wrongsides]

Several dealings with Ted had gone the wrong way in the past. Most of them were the reason Clive had him killed. Deals gone bad, money disappearing from sales. 

He thought, once he was dead, that would be the end of it.

But there he was. On the other side of his desk.

Clive tapped his cigarette with his thumb, the other hand pinching the bridge of his nose. The entire conversation was bordering on maddening. He was half considering knocking the glass out of the window pane and leaping out of it.

“Yeah--I get it. You’re pissed off.”

He broke off halfway through, still not entirely sure that it was him. Maybe it was an imposter. A joke. He’d seen the body.

“But you know what happens to people who steal from me. Harry, Grant, Jane.” He rounded off the names on his fingers. “All hit the can because they took shit that wasn’t theirs. And don’t say I didn’t pay you enough. You were one of the highest paid fuckers in this place.”

[wrongsides]

WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?