maureenkeatonâ:
.
From the moment sheâd met Zu, back when it had only been an article assignment, sheâd been drawn to the other woman, felt an intense desire to be part of her world - and so of course, when Zu had asked her to hang out, or asked after her, sheâd responded eagerly (sheâd had to remind herself to pause and not reply to a text right away more than once), feeling the very same way sheâd heard about in high school. Back then, sheâd been liked enough to not feel a need to be âinâ with the most popular anyways. But with Zu - and with Ludo, too - there was something different. It was something practically intoxicating, and so when Zu had shown just the slightest bit of disappointment sheâd immediately felt the need to placate, to fix it, to make sure she didnât lose favor.
There was a part of her that wished she could just rid herself of the dress, of one of the initial reasons for their arguing tonight, but it was impractical to think so, and so instead she settled with nervously tugging at it, with the hopes that Zu would forgive her.
âI know you have.â She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, because crying was not how she wanted this evening to go. She wouldnât let it go that way. Maureen had noticed the disapproving look on the otherâs face and she swallowed at that, eyes grown wide. Except soon enough something else distracted her more than Zuâs disapproval of her nerves or her dress.
âThe night he what?â Her mouth went practically dry, âI - yes, first-hand would be good, please.â She fumbled over her words for a moment as she glanced down at her shoes. âThank you. I mean - I - just thank you for wanting to talk to me, and for being open about things.â Even if it made Maureenâs stomach practically drop. âI promise Iâll listen to no matter what you have to say.â
â
It should disgust her, how sweet and kind and open Maureen is, even when threatened, even when treated with the sort of disdain a supposed friend should have reserved for an enemy. The thought strikes her then, causing fingers to fumble at her side in hesitation and her countenance to lapse momentarily in its fixed coldness momentary lapse in coldness â was that what they were now? Enemies?Â
If thereâs a part of her shouting anything but the affirmative, Zuleika doesnât hear it, instead allowing the horror-fueled echoes of Halloween and New Yearâs, the night terrors she experienced when struck by phantom pain, and all the tears and shame and fury thatâd been brewing for months, to reverberate louder than any other sound the city and all its crazed, drunken inhabitants had to offer. âJust remember you asked for it,â she says simply, quietly, something cruel and dark laced into both her voice and her gaze. Her hands reach out for Maureenâs slender neck, hovering just enough to feel the peach fuzz of the girlâs skin, fingers spread in clear demonstration of their mimicked intention. The deep amber of her eyes burn wild in some unknown storm of anger and fear and confusion, half-committed to making sure Maureen learned and still clung to the idea of taking her revenge. She lingers there for a moment, almost touching â but instead of wrapping around the blondeâs neck, her hands fall to narrow shoulders, holding onto to the girl as if to prevent her own self from collapsing.
Itâs no use, of course. Once her hands gave up on going through with the act, her mind and visage quickly followed, in rare display of vulnerability and, worst of all, defeat. While âcollapseâ might have looked like a shaking, crying mess on the floor, those who knew Zuleika well enough to see it knew that her version looked and sounded like this â words suddenly uncomplicated, no longer in the form of riddles and tests to be completed and conquered, and face devoid of that signature smirk and the piercing pull of her eyes. Was she weak, or brave, to deny the opportunity to hurt the person whoâd hurt her first, simply because the person he loved was the same person that she did?
She doesnât give herself the chance to answer, rage burning at the back of her throat, demanding to be revealed in a different, more direct way, this time. âJakob is a monster, Maureen. Do you understand that? That night, what I told you, what I showed you... It was him.â She swallows hard, gaze finally raised to meet the girlâs, half-pleading, half-demanding to be believed. âWhen you saw him later that night... Do you remember seeing a scratch on his wrist? A mark on the side of his neck? You wanna know why he was so happy that evening? I can tell you it wasnât because he was on a fucking farm, or whatever he told you to excuse the marks I left on himââ The admission of her own violence is dealt with a great deal of pride, and now, she doesnât care if it shows, ââbut because heâs nothing but a lowlife dealer for the Cartel who practically came in his pants when he choked me out until I was begging for my life.â A scoff of a laugh is thrown to her side, sardonic and scornful, as her voice offers a dark whisper, half-warning and half-confession, âAnd we both know that I am not someone who begs.â













