𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑎 𝑜𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠 🌘 (holyrites) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2020-07-13 22:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | hermes, luna olmos, natalie godfrey, peitho |
WHO Luna, Hermes, Peitho (and a brief Natalie)
WHEN Sunday evening (12th July)
WHERE Colorado
WHAT Time to leave
WARNINGS violence, mentions of murder, vomiting, domestic violence
It was no surprise that Luna slept terribly. It was late afternoon when her name started being bellowed through the walls and Luna was grateful, at least, that he’d waited so long to call for her. As soon as she appeared in the doorway of his studio, Michele looked over at her and said, “go sit over on the couch again. I want to get this painting right.” Luna knew she should have moved. She should have moved, but she found it almost impossible. Michele looked up at her and frowned from behind his canvas. “I said go sit, are you not listening?” Luna watched him and then found she was opening her mouth to speak instead of obeying. “You killed that man,” she said, her voice cold and slightly higher than she wanted. Michelle turned to look at her, slightly annoyed. “There are no police coming here now, you don’t have to make a fuss about it.” “I don’t care about the cops,” Luna told him, still not budging from the doorway. “You beat the shit out of some random guy and then stabbed him to death.” Michele stalked over and grabbed her arm, dragging her to the couch and practically throwing her at it. “He started it!” Michele snapped. “These things happen!” Luna – like an idiot – stood back up, refusing to do this one thing he asked. “These things don’t happen!” she told him, her hands curled into fists. “Murdering people doesn’t just happen!” From behind his easel Michele took a long slow breath as though trying to keep his own temper under control “Luna,” he stated, cold and precise. “You are going to make me very angry soon if you keep talking.” Luna, taking long loud breaths through her nose, contemplated her options and found she had no good ones. Almost shaking, she sat back down heavily and continued to glare at him. Michele, with his eyes tightly closed, reached our towards his paintbrush. Luna was shaking, but was it fear or anger? Or both? “Stop breathing like that!” he suddenly snapped, eyes opening and locking onto her. “Stop breathing?” Luna asked him, trying not hard enough to sound like she was judging his every word. “Quite the request, but I suppose you showed me last night how you make people comply.” That was when Michele moved, launching forward and grabbing her. “I won’t be judged by some little girl!” he shouted, holding her by the upper arms as he shook her viciously. She could feel her bones rattling, even though that wasn’t possible. “Get your fucking hands off me!” Luna screamed, yanking against his grip, something which only seemed to be angering him up more. “You are nothing!” he shouted at her, his breath like stale coffee. “You are just some child sent to entertain me! Do you have any idea the things I’ve seen and done! Who I am!?” Luna did not give a single shit who he was. All she cared about was getting him to let go of her, and she slashed out a hand towards his face. Her black nails were manicured into slight points for purely aesthetic reasons, but when they raked across Michele’s cheek they may as well have been little talons. He roared in surprise and almost instantly Luna could see the two lines of red beginning to form. Dropping one hand from her arms, Michele backhanded her across the face hard enough that she felt like the light in the room flashed bright and went out, before returning just as quickly to normal. She would have fallen if he’d not been still holding her up. Luna thought maybe she swore, but even as she spoke she couldn’t think on the words. Michele was swearing though – swearing and spitting and shaking her. He drove her back towards the couch with his strong arms and as she stumbled back onto it, his hands moved from her arms to around her throat instead. There they tightened and Luna’s body began to kick into a new level of panic, realising what was happening. She gasped for breath as Michele loomed over her, his grip around her neck like a vice, his hands shaking with the pressure. Her own hands flew up onto his, trying desperately to remove them. She could get a breath in! She couldn’t- He was crushing- She couldn’t breathe!. The sounds from Luna’s mouth were gasps and tiny high squeaks, only the smallest amount of air escaping with each of them. Her eyes were blurring with tears as she tried to kick him off, tried to somehow wriggle loose. This is it, she realised in terror. This is it, this is it. Her heart was screaming, her lungs were screaming, her head was screaming. Luna writhed and tried to bring her knees up. A vein in her neck was thundering against her skin. And then, with a scream of his own, Michele threw her aside and stalked to the other side of the room, returning to his usual occupation of smashing bottles and paintings. Luna crawled off the couch and onto the floor, hacking and gasping on her hands and knees, head throbbing and each desperate breath feeling like it was shards of glass. She retched but didn’t throw up, the coughing seeming more important than anything else. And then there was Michele’s hand again, wrapped around her arm. She tried to scream but it barely seemed to come out at all. “Get out!” he was screaming at her, shoving her towards the door of his studio. “Get out of my house, you bitch!” He shoved her and Luna fell onto her knees again, hitting the floorboards and finding that sudden pain meaning almost nothing against the entire body agony she seemed to be feeling. She forced herself to crawl and then to get up and stumble-run towards her bedroom. There, crying, trying to breathe properly, she shoved her things into her bag before pulling on her shoes. Her phone and its smashed screen had no signal, but she had to get out right now. Once her shoes were on she headed quickly for the door and then, weakly, started to jog-walk down the road that would lead to town. It didn’t take long for her to realise how much of a walk it would be. A half hour drive into the nearest town must have translated to almost five hours walking. There was no way, not a chance, that she would be able to walk five hours, not when her body felt like this. Every single step felt like her brain was trying to throb out her ears, and each breath and swallow was like trying to do it around a spiked boulder. She tried not to cry because it made everything hurt more, but sometimes – while she plodded down the edge of the road – she couldn’t help herself. Luna couldn’t remember ever feeling this helpless, this miserable, this lost and alone. She didn’t know how far she’d walked when a car pulled up just in front of her. As she reached the passenger window, the driver looked over at her with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked. Luna shook her head. “I-” even the single word hurt her throat and she brought her hand up to touch it, swallowing against the pain. “I need… to get into town.” The driver, frowning, nodded and leaned over to open the door. Luna dropped into the seat and crossed her arms over her chest, curling into the corner against the door and saying nothing else. The driver tried asking her some questions but to most of them Luna just shook her head. (She didn’t need the cops, she didn’t have anyone in town, she didn’t need help beyond getting there.) When her phone started dinging with messages she pulled it out from the bag on her lap, but did nothing else. She couldn’t make the call she needed with this man here, so she just clung to the phone until he dropped her at a motel like she requested. There she paid for a room and locked herself inside it, lying down on the uncomfortable bed and not moving for a long time. Eventually it was Peitho’s number she called, but it went straight to her mailbox. Luna hung up and swallowed again, curled into a ball on the bed, phone against her chest. She dialled Hermes’ number and it rang. |