Melpomene | Romeo Morning (somethingtragic) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2020-08-12 21:01:00 |
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She stumbled into her apartment; now that she knew, she stumbled. It couldn’t be anything like Rohypnol, or she’d be unconscious already, in the back of Soren’s car. No, he must be going for something else... or he wanted her awake, or... or he’d been slowly poisoning her for a while, was that his game? “Antigone?” she called out into the apartment, and saw Antigone’s head turn from where she was reading on the couch. Melpomene gave her a faint smile, and crumbled slowly to her knees. She heard Antigone swear and scramble, and then the other women was holding both of her arms. “Shit – What’s happened – are you hurt?” “No...” Melpomene said softly, curling her own hands around Antigone’s arms. “No, I just feel...” Like there was a hint of death inside her, perhaps. Antigone felt her forehead, her hands cool from sitting in the air conditioning, and Melpomene smiled softly at the relief of that, since it was scorching out. “Come on,” Antigone said. “Let’s get to the couch, okay? Can’t stay on the floor.” There were so many times in her life that Antigone wished she was physically stronger, and this was one of them, trying to get her friend off the floor without resorting to pulling her arm out of its socket. At least she had the strength to get her feet back underneath her, though she leaned heavily on Antigone when she did. “It’s alright,” Antigone said, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I’ve got you.” “Bed,” Melpomene murmured, tilting her head toward her room. Antigone stepped with her, saying little things like ‘careful’ and ‘okay’, till Melpomene let herself wilt down onto her bed, and then she said things like ‘drink this water’ and ‘do you have heatstroke? Take off your shoes’. Melpomene settled herself back on her pillows. “You’re good at this.” “Well,” said Antigone. “You’re an easier patient to move than Richard was.” “His death still bothers you, doesn’t it?” “He was my brother,” Antigone said, matter of fact, sitting down on the bed beside her. “When did you last eat?” “I had a coffee at noon.” Antigone rose, and firmly pointed at the glass of water she’d left at the bedside. “Drink that.” She returned with a bowl of leftover couscous salad, full of fresh things (though the cut edges of the pea pods were starting to dry, a little, from their night in the fridge.) Antigone dug in the fork and put the bowl in Melpomene’s hands. Melpomene did not say I think my workmate drugged me because the words did not sit right. She should have gone home with him, today. Made him show her his cards, his motivation. He already proved that he was harder to read than she first thought, since the story had emerged that he hadn’t, in fact, taken Nicci back to his place to have his way with her but instead taken her to a hospital. That action had taken him from Villain to Nice Guy, and the whole ‘lowering her defenses’ or even ‘slowly poisoning her till she went mad’ story was an interesting take on the Nice Guy heroism. If she’d let him take her home, well, anything could have happened to her, but at least then she’d be planning some righteous retribution instead of eating couscous salad in bed. Melpomene picked out a piece of pomegranate and burst it between her teeth. Bloody anticlimactic, really. That night, Antigone stayed with Romeo till she drifted off to a sulky sleep, and didn’t leave straight away, because the muse was still holding her hand. It had been a long time since Antigone had lain beside anyone on a bed, and for a while she was reluctant to leave, in case she woke up alone and worried. There were bruises on Romeo’s arms, and wrists, like he’d pinned her down. As if he needed to grab her so hard she bruised, as if he needed to leave his mark so she’d remember how much stronger he was than her. Antigone couldn’t stop looking at the bite marks around her throat, as well. Of course he’d gone for that vulnerable spot. Fuck, she hated him. How excessive he was. How arrogant. As if nothing in the world could touch him. (Was she making a lot of assumptions about him based on what she read on Romeo’s skin? Yes. And based on what she’d seen men do over and over again, century after century? Yes. Was she wrong? Antigone did not once doubt herself.) No one was untouchable, though. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, listening to Romeo breathe in her sleep, turning the thought over and over again in her head. No one was untouchable. Sometimes Melpomene couldn't see clearly which path a story might follow. Sometimes she had to turn over one, two, three different narratives before she landed on the right one. But she always did work it out in the end. Sometime after midnight, she sat up in bed and though... oh. Antigone was gone from her room, which was a relief; this was not a moment to be shared. She slid her bare feet out of bed, and made it to her ensuite in time to throw up in the sink, holding her hair at the back of her neck as she did. Oh, obviously. Melpomene slowly rose to look at herself in the mirror, wiping her mouth with one hand as the other went to her stomach. Her earlier thought had been right, all along: she was carrying a death inside her, wasn't she? “Fuck. That’s what we’re going with, is it?” she asked the spark of life, the ember of death under her hand, as she sat down on the side of the tub to contemplate her future. Fuck... Ares's child? That was going to be... That was going to be something else. Alright then, she thought, in the end. She could work with this. |