Who: Red (Not your Granny’s) What: Reveal Where: To the roof (We’ll be safe there!) Warnings: Language and stuff
Normally, fairy tales ended with a prince on a steed. Somehow, the royal family forgot to give a shit about the fact that the new princess was a commoner with calloused hands, and our heroine prepared for a life of happily ever after. No one ever wrote the aftermath, where the prince turned out to be a cheating sot, and the princess’ dark past as a village bike came to light, and the girl died after popping out a handful of babies without an epidural. No, the fairy tales all ended in that one perfect moment, before the sex, and before shit went to hell. Our Red, she wasn’t a fairytale - as we’ve already discussed - so why should she get that shimmering ending? She’d consider it an insult, really, and she’d probably pitch a fit if anyone put a tiara on her head and tried to teach her which fork to use for the main course. Someone would likely end up with a fork accessory in their nose.
Yeah, so, it should come as no surprise that sunrise didn’t come with fanfare and adoration from some bastard on a white horse that she’d known for all of five minutes. Our Red faced the new day with blood on her mouth, and the Las Vegas sun beating down on her naked chest. And, she thought, just before she disappeared into the woman who had brought her to life for the evening: Great. Another night that wouldn’t be adapted for a Disney flick.
But then Our Red was gone - sort of - and the woman who stood in her place had long blonde hair, and her lacquer stained lips were grim, and her kohl-smeared eyes said she trusted even less than the dark-haired girl in a red hood had. But she was somehow younger, too, and the roof made her think of things that had nothing to do with the gore that smeared her mouth and chest. Shit, was her main thought as everything rushed back. Shit. Shit. Shit.
She didn’t run home, because what the fuck was waiting at home? An ex-girlfriend-roommate that was waiting for her to pack her shit? And she didn’t call her newfound family, because that would be a great conversation. Hey, new siblings! I think I ate someone on a roof! Peace!
No, she didn’t go home. She pushed her way through the door that led down from a roof that was much less familiar than it had been the evening before, and her booted feet landed with loud resonance on each step. She didn’t stop until she reached the fifth floor, and she only remembered then that she didn’t have a key to her damn door. She’d hidden the thing in a toolbox, because after what happened the last time? Well, she hadn’t wanted to take any chances. Fuck. She stopped in front of that door, work shirt open from neck to hip, baggy boxers low on her hips, and thick black combat boots untied. Her weld-stained fingers dragged through her messy hair, and she slid down to her ass along the wall opposite that shiny black door that led right back to 1900s Paris.
She didn’t need any scrolling message on the journals to tell her she’d wanted to eat someone the night before, and the adrenaline was still singing through her body as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and sighed. Great, Sam. That’s all I need, is to end up in jail again, she thought. Great.
It was no big secret why it had been Red. Even Sam knew that story, or her interpretation of it - a girl that wandered off the path in search of thrills. Something fearless, a wolf in girl’s clothing, underestimated and wild. It was Sam all over. Sam in jail. Sam on an I-Beam without a safety harness. Sam between a stranger’s thighs in a bar. She knew, too, what the girl in the red hood had been looking for in those distrusted men on the roof, what she hadn’t found - someone who was willing to look beneath the surface, and shit, she really didn’t need this self-revelation shit just now.
Fuck. She bowed her head, stamped her feet on the floor outside that infuriating black door, and she hated the entire world. All of it. Every last person...
Except she didn’t hate them, and that was the problem.