WHO: Charlie and Leigh WHAT: An apology. Or as close as they get. WHEN: Monday RATING: Low (Language) STATUS: Done
It was strange. Since the incident with her father, Leigh hadn't felt the same. It was as if everything was moving around in a haze. Her guilt didn't let her rest, either. Her sleep had been nonexistant. Not even in the comfort of the cold shadows. So the ringed eyes and bruised face would have been perfect for the house, except that she wore makeup to cover the remnants of her father's last love-taps, at least above the neck. Her torso and stomach in blackening bruises that ached when she moved and she wasn't sure that he hadn't cracked a rib of hers. If he had, well, it was no matter. She could breathe without wincing, so she was certain she was fine. She could have seen Vered, but she didn't want to answer questions. She'd long since learned to keep this quiet, and even with her father dead, she didn't want to own up to the shame of having her ass beaten once again. It was the last time, she reminded herself.
One thing she couldn't suffer in silence, though, was a fucking broken fog machine. It was the end of her shift, the end of the night, and she knew that she needed to report it. Moving through the shadows, stalking silently (or so she thought), she stepped around the corner and near to the labyrinth before entering it to wind her way to the front.
Charlie was in the shadows, standing in the corner and watching the people come by. His eyes were blurred and out of focus as usual, but he was sharp, his nostrils flared. He lunged forward, fingers twitching, to make a man jump hard in place and shriek. A grin of triumph on his lips, Charlie relaxed back and waited, his eyes half-closed. When he scented something different though, something too familiar, that smile faded slowly, his expression going almost severe as he took a silent step forward.
That was the last of the patrons and Leigh nodded to them as they walked through. She wouldn't be scaring them at the tail end of the house, not tonight. She wanted to get this machine taken care of and pass out like she had been since she'd gotten back. She paused though, jumping herself, though she wanted to curse at her own idiocy. Of course Charlie would be here. She wasn't paying attention at all. Her eyes went wide before she shook her head and sighed. "Done for tonight. Fog machine's out." Her words were soft and clipped, almost resigned. Why she was explaining, she had no idea.
"You need fog?" he asked, arching his brow-ridges. "You can't just lean out of the shadows and yell 'Boo'?" Charlie's voice was still low and smooth, and he kept his gaze on her steadily. "You'll have to tell that gremlin dude to fix it tomorrow. We're almost closed anyway, we only have like half an hour left, right?"
"It's not mine." she almost snapped, her gaze lifting to his for a moment before dropping as she looked away. "It's around the corner. The skeletons." She hated this, hated the way things had gone down, but what the fuck was she supposed to do? "No. Time's up." She pulled out her cellphone, double checking the time. "That bunch of jagoffs was the last to come through."
"Good," he said, exhaling noisily. "I need a break. There're so many people in the damn place it was giving me a headache." He stroked his hand over his smooth-shaved head, then gazed at her. "You smell different. And you haven't come around."
"Then take a break. Who's stopping you?" she asked, one eyebrow twitching up as her lips tightened a hair. She smoothed them out and then looked past him. The fog machine would wait until tomorrow. Still, she didn't look at him, shoving her cellphone back into her jeans pocket. "I smell different?" she scoffed softly, ducking her head and shaking it softly. "Yeah, well. I've been busy." It was too girly and bitchy to admit to the fact that she didn't want to manipulate him.
"Yeah? Doing what?" he asked, tilting his head more, lifting his chin. "You don't smell like you. You smell like copper and shadows. They're fucking oozing out of you now. You just look like a blur with them." He closed his eyes for a second, turned his head away. "Or I'm going more fucking blind, who knows anymore. Where'd you go?"
"Shit I do." She answered, this time her eyes lifting, narrowing. His description made her almost flinch and she tore her gaze from his, her face shuttering. She took a deep breath, exhaled and then another. "I took a few days off. To take care of something that needed taken care of. It's done now." He'd know. She knew that he'd know. He and Angel were the only people who would know. Arkady, but then. He knew everything.
"What's that even fucking mean? Why're you being so arrogant and shit?" he asked, his eyes shifting back to her. "I want to know what's up with you. You've been fucking weird since the last time we hung out. It's not like it was my fucking fault."
Leigh stared for a second, her gaze going hard, her cheeks flushing pink beneath the makeup and the bruises. "What's up with me? Everything is what's up with me. Look, I still don't even know what it is exactly that I fucking do, so for you to go off and say that it's my fault you even fucking talk to me is bullshit. That I'm using you or making you like me. That's shit, okay?" she snapped, unable to hold it in any longer. "And for your fucking information, I went to see my dad. And I fucking tookcare of him. He's fucking dead and I fucking killed him. That's what's up with me. I feel like shit, I'm tired as hell, and everything fucking blows right now."
"I didn't say you were fucking using me," he said in his own defense, his voice hardening with that dangerous edge. If she wanted a fight she'd certainly get one. When she said that she killed her father, though, he fell silent for a moment, his head cocking to the side like a dog who'd been promised a treat. "...you for real killed him?"
"You fucking acted like it." She said, her own tone sullen. She could barely remember it, only remembered the sting. Stepping back, she lifted her chin and then nodded. The sounds stuck with her. The wet warm feeling of gore on her skin. No matter how many times she showered, she still felt like there was blood beneath her fingernails. In her nose. On her tongue. "Yeah." she answered, wishing her voice sounded less weak. More badass. There had been nothing badass about it to her.
"How'd you do it?" he asked, leaning his back against the plywood and gazing at her with large, steady eyes, his pupils blown. He angled his hips forward, a slightly subconscious interest in what she was saying. The blood warm in his veins. "What happened? Tell me about it."
Leigh looked at him, her brow dipping inward, and she looked away. Her voice was flat, toneless when she spoke. "I gave him a choice. He could go and leave me alone, or stay and I'd kill him. He," a short pause, "beat the ever-living shit out of me. So I..." Her voice got softer, almost hoarse. "I grabbed him and fucking tore him apart. With the shadows. Punched them through and pulled. He was pieces. I left. Came back here. Passed out."
Charlie moved forward slowly, coming away from the wall like a shadow himself, and didn't stop until he was an inch or two in front of her. His hands came up, tattooed skeleton bones and black-gray nails done in matte lacquer, and he cupped her cheeks, gazed deep into her eyes. "Feels good, doesn't it?" he whispered a little hoarsely. "When somebody fucks with you and you fuck them up for good."
Leigh's gaze lifted to his, her face solemn, and she opened her mouth to speak. Her voice was still tight. "I don't know how I feel. He's dead. I had his blood all over me. And no matter how much I look at the damage he caused, I can't help but feel like something's changed. For better or worse. You really can't come back from it."
Charlie touched her bottom lip with his thumb, traced it. "No, you can't," he agreed quietly. "But do you feel bad about it? Really? Knowing what a fucking beast he was, how much he hurt you... how can you feel guilty over putting a bad dog down?"
Her eyes broke from his and she sighed. "I don't feel bad for killing him. That's the problem. I just feel...guilty for killing. For even doing that. For not considering just...fuck, I don' t know!" Frustration moved over her face, through her tone, the line of her body. "I feel guilty that my first instinct was just to kill him. I fucking gave him a chance and he beat me down. He was going to kill me. But...I could have taken him out without tearing him apart. I already had once." She looked up, her eyes meeting his again. "Does that make me a monster?"
"Morality is for fucking normal people," he murmured seriously. "Being upset, being guilty... that's for people who have something to lose. People like us aren't fucking normal anyway, right? We're all jacked up, that's why we're here."
Leigh's shoulders slumped slightly. The only tie she had left, the only one she knew, was severed. Quite literally, and by her hands. "Yeah." She answered, her voice a soft echo, and she licked her lips, closing her eyes briefly. "He's gone. He won't bother me again. So it's done." She sealed the matter then, looking back up to his eyes, lifting her chin to steel herself against those ugly emotions. She should be proud of what she'd done. Taken care of her own business. "So yeah. Patricide. That's what I was doing."
"Seems like a good reason to get off work," Charlie whispered, and then leaned his head in, kissed her softly. It was almost tender, all things considered, especially given how he was by nature. "You did what had to be done. It wasn't like you went there to do that. You went there to defend yourself. It's good."
A soft laugh escaped her. She couldn't help it. Of reasons to ask off of work, a confrontation with your abusive parent that led to murder, well. That was a damned good reason. She was surprised by the kiss, her eyes fluttering for a moment before she swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did." She smirked then before ducking her head and huffing out another laugh. "Really should have taken the shitload of jewelry he had in his hotel room. Fucker owed me a college fund." That was another good joke. She'd never go to college.
Charlie moved his hands up to her hair, left them there for a second, keeping her from pulling her head back. "It's a weird feeling to hurt somebody like that," he whispered, touching his forehead to hers, "but I get it. I do. And I think it's fucking cool. You did what you had to do. You took care of yourself."
Leigh looked back up to his eyes, calming as his fingers slid into her hair. As he explained, the calmness spread, making her feel better. She wasn't taking his darkness, not right now. It wasn't the same feeling she had when that happened. Her eyes flicked to his and she sobered, giving him a more earnest smile. Tighter. "Thanks. I think...it's just sinking in. I haven't gone to get fixed up because...I just don't want to explain what happened. You understand, but I don't know how many other people would."
"You're going to be fine," he told her softly. "I almost killed a guy once. I think about it all the time. The smell of blood... the way it feels when I hit somebody... it just... it feels good. You can get drunk on it." He kissed her bottom lip softly, her chin.
Leigh didn't want to admit then that it just made her feel sick. She hadn't felt a rush, but then, she hadn't had the visceral pleasure of kicking her dad's ass with fists and feet. "Yeah." No, her dad had the pleasure of kicking her ass right before she'd killed him. She nodded and closed her eyes, taking another breath. "Sorry for being an asshole." She didn't apologize easily, not like that. Not meaning it.
"You're not an asshole," he said quietly. "Not really." He inhaled her breath, closed his eyes. His lashes were almost lost in the blacked-out sockets around his vivid green eyes. "You're marvelous." He ran his hands down the sides of her neck slowly, drinking in her hammering pulse through his palms.
She squeezed her eyes shut hard, almost wincing at that, but he wouldn't have caught it. Not with his eyes closed, thankfully. Who didn't like being called marvelous? Especially after admitting to murdering their father, even in self-defense? She swallowed as his fingers trailed down her neck and she wished that she could lean back. She felt exhausted, her knees weak, even though she was strung as tight as a wire right now, her body reacting to his touches.
Charlie breathed her in again, a slow deep inhale, and then his lashes fluttered softly. "I wasn't really mad at you before," he murmured. "It just freaked me the fuck out when you started tweaking that stuff in me. It made me feel so fucking weird, and... out of control."
"I shouldn't have done it. I didn't mean anything bad by it. I was curious, cause of what that Reaper guy said." She sighed, reaching up to rest her hands on his chest, feeling the warm muscles beneath his shirt. "I won't do it. Not on purpose. I learned better."
"What did the Reaper say?" he asked curiously, his voice still low and silky, dangerous because of how controlled and soft it was. Like razorwire wrapped in velvet.
It was precisely that tone that sent a shiver down her spine, made her close her eyes, speak in hushed tones. "That darkness was coming to me. That I couldn't spend my life courting it, embracing it, and seducing it...without it returning the favor. That I summon the shadows in people's souls."
"S'that what you see when you look at me?" he asked, softer now, his head tilting slowly to the side. He breathed in slowly, nostrils flaring, savoring. "You see the darkness I wear?"
"Sometimes. Now that I know about them, I can feel them. They're stronger the more intense you are." She answered, her fingers tracing over his chest as she smirked. "You get intense a lot."
"I feel intense a lot," he said quietly. "Always have. It's like a fucking storm in my head, in my blood. Sometimes it's calmer, sometimes it's a goddamn hurricane. I don't know how to make it quit."
"S'just who you are. How you are." she murmured, opening her eyes and lifting a hand to his face. She ran her thumb along his tattooed cheek bone, brushing against the lines. "It's not always bad. Some people...they don't feel shit."
"I feel a lot, but it's not... it's not really what most people think, I guess," he said with a tiny shake of his head, not pulling away from her hands. "Never been what they were expecting anyway. Fuck that."
"Hey. Like you said. People like us aren't fucking normal anyway. We're all jacked up." She pursed her lips, looking up at him before she slid her hand down his cheek and his neck to rest on his shoulder. "Doesn't suck though. You wouldn't be nearly so awesome if you were normal." Her voice had a hint of teasing.
"Good," he mumbled. "I don't wanna be normal. Couldn't pull it off anyway." He shook his head, then turned away, glancing into the darkness around them. "Everything's going batshit, can you feel it?"
She couldn't help but look to the side as he did, into the darkness, and she frowned. "No. I can't. I'm not going to...try. I don't want to fuck with that, with you. I don't want to make it worse." She stepped back a half-step, reaching up to push her hair from her shoulder, dragging her fingers through it before twisting it around her hand. "Let's go hang. Haven't been sleeping anyway."
"Yeah," he murmured, turning toward the door and exhaling with an audible snort of agitation, as if something in the air was aggravating him. "Sleep sounds good. Definitely better than dealing with the fuckin' marks anymore," he laughed faintly.
With Charlie, she could never tell entirely what was bothering him. She followed, skipping through the shadows to keep up with him, and she nodded faintly. The moment they hit his room, she dropped down to the edge of his mattress, sighing. "What's bothering you?" she asked, her voice level, curious. "The marks?"
"People," he said honestly, sitting down to pull off his engineer boots. "I don't wanna hear any of them. Only thing I like about 'em is scaring the shit out of them. They just... I dunno. I see fucking red over the littlest shit."
Leigh nodded and reached up to brush her hand across her face, irritated by the makeup she had on. She hated the way it smelled, too, like cheap perfume. She rarely wore makeup, but it was necessary now. She hated the whole 'what happened' line of questioning. "I don't blame you. People are pretty fucking vile." She leaned back and toed off her shoes, nudging them to the side with a wince. She was feeling better, but it was hard to shake the feeling that this wasn't over. Not even with her father being dead.