((Co-written with Cicada))
A reason. Not to fight, but just to exist--even here, at the end of the world. Breathe softly until you don't. Megan was so tired. Please give her an answer, Princess. Make it end.
Megan shivered as the mumbled, half-hearted confession forced its way out of Princess's mouth. There wasn't much to it. You take a deep breath, build yourself up to some life-changing decision, and nobody sees and nobody cares. Not much to go on, but. She wanted to tell Megan things. It hurt that she was afraid, didn’t want to hurt or burden the fragile, selfish thing in front of her. But at least she wanted to.
A lifeline, that was what the confession, or whatever you can call it, was. Not enough for Megan to live off of, but it would hold her together for now until it brought her to what it promised. Megan had been hoping for hope for long enough that this could hook her, tie her and hold her to the ground. She’ll live for anything, at this point--saddle the thought with so much hope she knew it was going to break, but there was nothing left to cling to. She’d ruined it with Camille, who had then died.
Small, soft breaths, her little chest going up and down. Amazing, that she’d survived so long in something so breakable.
Megan was about to say something, something about how nothing would make her so happy as Princess coming clean with her when the hand in hers went limp, pulling her. Megan blinked, hard. She was being pulled. Trust her, trust her.
“I got you.”
Megan sat down with Princess. Sitting felt safer, more reassuring, somehow. Less transient, less like Princess was waiting for an opportunity to excuse herself and leave Megan to be alone, again. Which--Megan wasn't letting her mind go there again. Princess wanted her to stay, so it was okay. Even if it was only because she was--Megan pressed the back of her hand against Princess’s forehead, allowed her hand to linger there, felt the texture of zits and sweat and worry and weariness hot against her skin--yeah, sick. Her grip on Megan had loosened, but still she held on. That's all Megan had ever asked for.
Finding the first-aid kit and digging out the ibuprofen was kind of difficult with only one hand, but they weren’t exactly in a hurry. She was maybe being a little obsessive about holding Princess’s hand, she’d gotten (barely) one tug at her hand, after all, wasn’t it all a bit overkill? Hopefully Princess didn’t mind. Hopefully Princess appreciated it and wasn’t just indulging her. You’re sick, Megan, you’re sick.
2 pills, swigged. “Do you want to lay down?”
Princess nodded, mumbled something about meeting her group when she was rested. Megan ignored her. She didn’t care, really, about the group, but she would go wherever Princess wanted to go, once she was ready to. So long as she only felt pathetic doing so. Megan released Princess’s hand--finally--and sat behind Princess, her lap an invitation for Princess’s head. And Princess took it.
Deep, heaving breath for Megan.
Harmless self-indulgence, for once. It didn’t have to mean anything. Not if Princess didn’t want it to. The only place it meant anything was in Megan’s mind, committing to memory the feeling of Princess’s burning head on her legs, of Princess’s course, gritty hair untangling itself as she ran her fingers through it. This she could take without hating herself, taking without taking, everything left weightless and figuratively untouched except for the inside of Megan’s skull.
It was silly to unlearn the wish to die now. Megan knew, in her bones, that she wasn’t cut out to make it, yes she knows this, she couldn’t even save herself from her own thoughts, used up all her cosmic goodwill on that, if she had ever had any. She was still here, after all, despite, y’know. None of it could be helped.
Megan hadn’t heard anything other than breathing in a while. She looked down. Princess had fallen asleep.
When she woke up, whenever that happened, it startled Megan just as much. There had been no yawning, stretching, no way to know how long she’d been awake before she spoke.
“Megan?”
“Hmm?” That didn’t sound like an involuntary grunt, did it?
“Sorry.”
Megan’s throat clenched. “What for?”
“Wasn't ever fair. I felt so guilty feeling guilty feeling.... feeling guilty, when, when you? When I. I was the one. Who told you- that I- I had a single mom and a cramped room in a trailer and, and no money for college. And the other thing too. The one where I thought my mom was a loser... addicted to Herbalife. It made me creepy crawly telling you, you know? That kinda stuff- you know? ... Sorry. Sorry sorry, sorry, I just was too weird about it. You deserved better."
Megan stroked Princess’s hair some more, turned to look off into the distance so that Princess couldn’t see her smile. She felt Princess’s forehead--still hot. Hotter, actually.
Good thing she hadn’t put the medicine away yet, then.
“I...no. Don’t regret that. Or. Don’t regret that for my sake. I told you, remember? It’s okay to tell me things. It helps me. To help. Rotten though that sounds.” They were going to have to reassure each other over and over until one of them died, probably.
God. For someone who wanted to do this so much, who had planned to do stuff like this for the rest of her life...she really was quite bad at it. Wasn’t she?
It was a little funny. It wouldn’t have been if it didn’t somehow end up being enough, but. Apparently it was. Princess was still talking, wasn’t she?
“You're so soft. I like it and I always, always... always. Always liked it. You're really pretty Megan. Soft and prettyful soft." Like a blanket... never had a good blanket. Mine was cheap and scratchy. Spent all my paycheck on clothes all the time. Wanted to dress you up sometime. Too ownershipy of me. Voyeur...y. Voyeurey. I liked you. Before the others. Before I was smart... smart enough? Dumb enough? To come out and admit girls are pretty... like you. You're pretty. I like...I like...oh..."
There was a gagging sound, and Princess was kind enough to sit up and get off of Megan before she puked. She still got it all over herself, though. Megan helped her clean it off. Did most of it. She was proving her worth. Princess could trust her.
“Just...just rest for awhile. I’ll hold you.”
And Princess did. She tossed and turned now and then, mumbled, but she slept in Megan’s lap until the sun was below the horizon. Megan lost feeling in her legs after awhile, felt her mind go blank after awhile. Reminded herself--not that she really had to--that she needed to treasure these moments.
This time Megan felt Princess wake up, felt her breathing change and her body shift, felt her roll over so that she could bury her face in Megan’s stomach, wrap her arms around Megan’s waist. Neither of them spoke for awhile. Two girls, sitting/lying in a heap, definitely just gal pals.
"This is so fucked up,” Princess broke the silence, finally. “Violet's dead. You know? She's dead and I didn't even help bury her. I'm glad I feel too sick. Too sick to be so sad that I'm trying to, like. Rebound with you... If that's what I'm doing. It's weird. I can kinda get that..."
“Ssh. Ssh. Don’t worry about it now. We can talk about it later. Figure out what it all means.” Megan wasn’t going to hold Princess to her words. Of course she wasn’t. They were good to hear, though. Let her feel a little more right when she cradled Princess’s head a little closer to herself. It still didn’t have to mean anything. Just a little indulgence for them both. Acknowledgment without action.
No, Megan wasn’t glad that Princess was sick. Feverish confessions could never mean quite as much as words said on purpose, and Megan was fool enough to hope that Princess might have said them to her anyways. Don’t be silly, Megan, don’t be greedy.
Megan kept watch that night, even though Princess insisted that she could help whenever she woke up. A formality, more than anything. Princess couldn’t run, Megan wasn’t leaving her, and they had nothing in the way of weapons. Megan was pretty sure there were at least a couple times where they both fell asleep. Definitely at least one time. The announcements woke her up, half of the names listed before she was conscious, the other half coming as she was still remembering how to think. Didn’t hear Camille in that. Her gut clenched, stupidly. She did hear Roxie, though her brain didn’t register the names. Another girl who wasn’t going to get the burial she deserved.
Princess was still in her lap, snoozing. Megan didn’t have to wake her up, yet. No need to disturb the peace. The morning still felt strange, a little unreal, something to do with the lightheadedness of not having slept for most of the night. As far as Megan was concerned, she could stay like this forever.
Then a voice rang out from behind her.
deconstruction
private - tagging Zetsu. set day 6, early afternoon
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Emprexx Plush
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((Blaise D'Aramitz Continued From The Information Paradox))
They could be anywhere, of that much Blaise was certain. An ambush likely planned for days with an unknown number of actors in play. There was tragedy in how sharp their senses were; they had known of course, they had felt they were being watched but after a sufficient stretch of time it dulled into the same omnipresent attention they were accustomed to every day. Of course someone was watching them, who wouldn't? Now there were natural objections to be raised that anyone observing them from afar possessed dubious intent, but that did not account for an obvious explanation. Glaringly obvious. Any fool could reason it out. Was it not obvious?
Of course not. As ever Blaise was surrounded by dullards.
It was the cameras. Everywhere anyone went there were a multitude of eyes hanging on their every breath. Now that they were considering it consciously they could not imagine how the others did not feel the constant pinpricks of attention riddling their bodies. Yes they were there, they had always been there and Blaise had always been aware of them. The sensation handicapped their every move. If expressed out loud one might question why Blaise had never mentioned this terrible burden before, and they would spit in their face in reply. Any half-witted observer could read between the lines of their movements. There had been no reason to dwell on it until now. It was understood to be understood. All that appears in error in their past could be explained this way. They willed it, and so it was true.
One could be further tempted to suggest then that Parker's cowardly demise was their responsibility. Nothing short of physical rebuke would address such stupidity. Parker was not an idiot, so of course he understood their diminished capabilities. Doubtless he adjusted for them, and weren't tactical considerations such as position and exposure more his realm than theirs? If anyone failed to notice their pursuer, it was not Blaise. That would be akin to blaming your therapist for surgery complications. You could not debate it: if Parker had done his goddamn job, he would be alive.
He would have been there when their captors confirmed some also ran, some deluded lumbering sack of shit whose name was no more worth repeating in their mind than it had been the last several announcements, had stolen Lorenzo from them. He would have been right there at arms length when anger uncomplicated by circumstance took hold of them and demanded immediate satisfaction, rational or no. He would have been perfectly positioned to take the blame and why shouldn’t he? If he had not been distracted with playing out YouTube inspired fantasy of rugged outdoorsmanship they would have been on the move, that too would have been his fault .
But they would have been reasonable. Of course. When had they ever been known to project frustration? It would not affect their partnership, it was not as if either of them would turn on each other so easily. Supposing, just supposing, that they let their impulses get the better of them? The threat would have been recognized before it came to anything. They would not have harmed him. He never would have let them, doubtless he had already, the chances they actually would have, certainly they would have reached some sort of agreement that, that-
The narrative they had so deftly woven over their perception hit a snag. It was. An uncommon sensation. They saw the strands stretching on before them and they.
They did not know which lie to spin to truth.
The world came to conscious focus around them. Tall strong walls of wood and iron. Netting up above them and a path beneath their feet they had walked without awareness. Behind them somewhere was a pile of waste and a series of stains. Forward? Forward there were shapes. Blaise raised their rifle and moved quickly in their direction, their eyes fixed down the sight before movement betrayed the conspirators.
“Where is he?”
That was not their voice. The sound, to put it generously, that carried through the halls was a haggard thing buckling under strain. Raw in a manner they still had years of chain smoking to enjoy before they need concern themself. They had not spoken since they began their pursuit. Perhaps all the gunfire had done something to their hearing. Their vision as well. It was blurry, and their eyes ached. Some discharge from their weapon, or a trick of the climate? Their face was wet in long streaks that did not feel like sweat. Was it raining? Too bright. Much too bright for rain, but there was an explanation. They could unravel the knot, they just, they just needed time.
“Where are you hiding him?”
Time and a distraction.
They could be anywhere, of that much Blaise was certain. An ambush likely planned for days with an unknown number of actors in play. There was tragedy in how sharp their senses were; they had known of course, they had felt they were being watched but after a sufficient stretch of time it dulled into the same omnipresent attention they were accustomed to every day. Of course someone was watching them, who wouldn't? Now there were natural objections to be raised that anyone observing them from afar possessed dubious intent, but that did not account for an obvious explanation. Glaringly obvious. Any fool could reason it out. Was it not obvious?
Of course not. As ever Blaise was surrounded by dullards.
It was the cameras. Everywhere anyone went there were a multitude of eyes hanging on their every breath. Now that they were considering it consciously they could not imagine how the others did not feel the constant pinpricks of attention riddling their bodies. Yes they were there, they had always been there and Blaise had always been aware of them. The sensation handicapped their every move. If expressed out loud one might question why Blaise had never mentioned this terrible burden before, and they would spit in their face in reply. Any half-witted observer could read between the lines of their movements. There had been no reason to dwell on it until now. It was understood to be understood. All that appears in error in their past could be explained this way. They willed it, and so it was true.
One could be further tempted to suggest then that Parker's cowardly demise was their responsibility. Nothing short of physical rebuke would address such stupidity. Parker was not an idiot, so of course he understood their diminished capabilities. Doubtless he adjusted for them, and weren't tactical considerations such as position and exposure more his realm than theirs? If anyone failed to notice their pursuer, it was not Blaise. That would be akin to blaming your therapist for surgery complications. You could not debate it: if Parker had done his goddamn job, he would be alive.
He would have been there when their captors confirmed some also ran, some deluded lumbering sack of shit whose name was no more worth repeating in their mind than it had been the last several announcements, had stolen Lorenzo from them. He would have been right there at arms length when anger uncomplicated by circumstance took hold of them and demanded immediate satisfaction, rational or no. He would have been perfectly positioned to take the blame and why shouldn’t he? If he had not been distracted with playing out YouTube inspired fantasy of rugged outdoorsmanship they would have been on the move, that too would have been his fault .
But they would have been reasonable. Of course. When had they ever been known to project frustration? It would not affect their partnership, it was not as if either of them would turn on each other so easily. Supposing, just supposing, that they let their impulses get the better of them? The threat would have been recognized before it came to anything. They would not have harmed him. He never would have let them, doubtless he had already, the chances they actually would have, certainly they would have reached some sort of agreement that, that-
The narrative they had so deftly woven over their perception hit a snag. It was. An uncommon sensation. They saw the strands stretching on before them and they.
They did not know which lie to spin to truth.
The world came to conscious focus around them. Tall strong walls of wood and iron. Netting up above them and a path beneath their feet they had walked without awareness. Behind them somewhere was a pile of waste and a series of stains. Forward? Forward there were shapes. Blaise raised their rifle and moved quickly in their direction, their eyes fixed down the sight before movement betrayed the conspirators.
“Where is he?”
That was not their voice. The sound, to put it generously, that carried through the halls was a haggard thing buckling under strain. Raw in a manner they still had years of chain smoking to enjoy before they need concern themself. They had not spoken since they began their pursuit. Perhaps all the gunfire had done something to their hearing. Their vision as well. It was blurry, and their eyes ached. Some discharge from their weapon, or a trick of the climate? Their face was wet in long streaks that did not feel like sweat. Was it raining? Too bright. Much too bright for rain, but there was an explanation. They could unravel the knot, they just, they just needed time.
“Where are you hiding him?”
Time and a distraction.
Megan froze. It took her heart a second to catch up to the fact that she and Princess were in danger now, but it sure did catch up and overtake it, flopping around in her chest, and Megan froze, her blood a roar in her veins, her limbs trembling as she tried not to just fall over on top of Princess. She hadn’t even seen the gun yet, or figured out if the voice was out to hurt them, but it wasn’t that; she’d fucked up, whether Princess and Megan got hurt or not she’d fucked up, it was just so avoidable. Fear feels different when you don’t want to die, she thought, and she willed her brain to think up something that was actually useful, but it wouldn’t budge. She’d forgotten to change her habits after she’d stopped wanting to die, sitting out in the open with a helpless Princess like that; she’d forgotten what it was to be afraid, somehow, Megan, bundle of nerves and fear, had forgotten, and though it came back too late the way it came it stormed back into her head with the air of something that knew exactly how to expand into every nook and cranny that was there.
Deep breaths. Maybe it’ll be okay. Probably it’ll be okay. She’ll figure it out; she needed to do something. Megan shook her head, steadied herself, started turning around--
Of course it would be them. Here, and now.
Blaise looked surprisingly okay for someone who had killed so much. Bandages, yes, the blood still bright on them. Not many, though. And the outfit was still very much them, image and sense of self maintained, even if it had been one of Dolly's. Of course. Megan felt like vomiting. So very much Blaise.
They were crying.
Gun in their hands, voice raw, demanding to know where they were hiding “him,” and they were crying. Those blue eyes, pooling with tears that dripped unacknowledged down their face.
And Megan had thought she had moved on.
Megan caught herself. No, she had moved on. Or she hadn’t, but like--she was getting there. She was going to get there.
She practiced the thoughts in her head several times before saying them.
“Who? Are you talking about?”
Not hostile. Not unhelpful.
Deep breaths. Maybe it’ll be okay. Probably it’ll be okay. She’ll figure it out; she needed to do something. Megan shook her head, steadied herself, started turning around--
Of course it would be them. Here, and now.
Blaise looked surprisingly okay for someone who had killed so much. Bandages, yes, the blood still bright on them. Not many, though. And the outfit was still very much them, image and sense of self maintained, even if it had been one of Dolly's. Of course. Megan felt like vomiting. So very much Blaise.
They were crying.
Gun in their hands, voice raw, demanding to know where they were hiding “him,” and they were crying. Those blue eyes, pooling with tears that dripped unacknowledged down their face.
And Megan had thought she had moved on.
Megan caught herself. No, she had moved on. Or she hadn’t, but like--she was getting there. She was going to get there.
She practiced the thoughts in her head several times before saying them.
“Who? Are you talking about?”
Not hostile. Not unhelpful.
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Emprexx Plush
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Simply a moment’s reflection. That was all they required before the pieces came into place. Why would they come back to this place so far from camp? Not without some purpose, no, no, and there was only one purpose worth occupying their mind at the moment. They must have seen him. Stalked him, yes, observed him from a distance too great for a sure shot but suitable for avoiding discovery. He had come here to meet with his conspirators to no doubt plan another trap for them, but they were smarter. These two had been caught in the act and they would pay for it, but first they would give him up.
Of course it would be her. Those brief moments they had spent together the second morning were regrettable enough on their own, but Blaise should have known. They had tried, you know, to give her the most elegant exit they could allow from their lives. Was it so wrong to be forgotten? If they caused her so much pain was it not better that they ignored her attempts to reassert herself into their affairs? The lie had been a kindness, yes a convenience as well but a kindness one could not overlook. Yet she did. She made herself an orphan either too ignorant or too pathetic to understand when she had been abandoned, and Blaise’s tolerance had reached its end.
They made no note of her companion and took a step forward, shaky aim fixated on Megan alone. “I know.” A hiss dripping with venom. “You stupid, simpering cunt.” No. Wait. It did not seem, Megan was desperate but if any lacked the stomach for murder it would be, of course she could be deluded but to what end, why would she, no. “I. Know.” As much for themself as for Megan. She was involved. This was the truth as they decided it. It would do for now. “He fucked you. I am...empathetic.” Their speech came out stilted. They did not know where they were going, there seemed no reason to soften and yet they did. Yes, yes, they did because she would respond to that. They could bargain. “I will let you go. You will tell me though. Where is Ace?”
Of course it would be her. Those brief moments they had spent together the second morning were regrettable enough on their own, but Blaise should have known. They had tried, you know, to give her the most elegant exit they could allow from their lives. Was it so wrong to be forgotten? If they caused her so much pain was it not better that they ignored her attempts to reassert herself into their affairs? The lie had been a kindness, yes a convenience as well but a kindness one could not overlook. Yet she did. She made herself an orphan either too ignorant or too pathetic to understand when she had been abandoned, and Blaise’s tolerance had reached its end.
They made no note of her companion and took a step forward, shaky aim fixated on Megan alone. “I know.” A hiss dripping with venom. “You stupid, simpering cunt.” No. Wait. It did not seem, Megan was desperate but if any lacked the stomach for murder it would be, of course she could be deluded but to what end, why would she, no. “I. Know.” As much for themself as for Megan. She was involved. This was the truth as they decided it. It would do for now. “He fucked you. I am...empathetic.” Their speech came out stilted. They did not know where they were going, there seemed no reason to soften and yet they did. Yes, yes, they did because she would respond to that. They could bargain. “I will let you go. You will tell me though. Where is Ace?”
They had always been able to do this.
You could always feel it, even when the wrath wasn’t there. They had a way of being so much bigger than they actually were, a way of making Megan feel like a toy in the hands of a god. Imagine a god actually angry with their toy. Look at them, just like a god, and you avert your eyes, you have to, you are nothing beneath that gaze. Fifteen feet away but Megan could feel them, burning so bright, their heat filling the temple, wrapping itself around Megan, scalding, and what was she to them, what was she against them, she and her gut twisting, her soul wilting under their laser-like gaze.
Then they turned it off, leaving Megan to cower at nothing. Shaking hands lowered from covering her face--or that’s what it felt like she was doing, anyways, lifting her eyes back up to meet theirs. In reality, Blaise’s gaze had pinned her, locked her feet and arms and hands in place, paralyzed and helpless. There was nowhere to go to escape that look. It could always come back.
Now they were kind, apologetic. Yes, Megan was desperate. They didn’t even need to hide what they were doing. They flicked, and Megan was yanked weightless, puppet that she was; she was theirs, she was theirs, they knew she would do as she was told, and just, fuck. No.
God, Megan wished she had that kind of confidence.
She loosened her grip on Princess, just a little. She hadn’t realized how hard she had been squeezing. Princess was there. Princess was there, holding her to the ground. She took a shaky breath.
“You remember.” A smile rose to her face, a freakish rictus, somewhere between forced and involuntary, god, this was unbearable.
“You remember me.” Less spoken than floated out, barely carried by the torn strands of sound that made up Megan’s voice.
Princess. Feet on the ground. Avert your gaze, Megan. It’s okay.
“You know me well enough to tell when I’m lying, I mean. I’m right on that. Right? So just. I’m telling you. I haven’t seen him.”
You could always feel it, even when the wrath wasn’t there. They had a way of being so much bigger than they actually were, a way of making Megan feel like a toy in the hands of a god. Imagine a god actually angry with their toy. Look at them, just like a god, and you avert your eyes, you have to, you are nothing beneath that gaze. Fifteen feet away but Megan could feel them, burning so bright, their heat filling the temple, wrapping itself around Megan, scalding, and what was she to them, what was she against them, she and her gut twisting, her soul wilting under their laser-like gaze.
Then they turned it off, leaving Megan to cower at nothing. Shaking hands lowered from covering her face--or that’s what it felt like she was doing, anyways, lifting her eyes back up to meet theirs. In reality, Blaise’s gaze had pinned her, locked her feet and arms and hands in place, paralyzed and helpless. There was nowhere to go to escape that look. It could always come back.
Now they were kind, apologetic. Yes, Megan was desperate. They didn’t even need to hide what they were doing. They flicked, and Megan was yanked weightless, puppet that she was; she was theirs, she was theirs, they knew she would do as she was told, and just, fuck. No.
God, Megan wished she had that kind of confidence.
She loosened her grip on Princess, just a little. She hadn’t realized how hard she had been squeezing. Princess was there. Princess was there, holding her to the ground. She took a shaky breath.
“You remember.” A smile rose to her face, a freakish rictus, somewhere between forced and involuntary, god, this was unbearable.
“You remember me.” Less spoken than floated out, barely carried by the torn strands of sound that made up Megan’s voice.
Princess. Feet on the ground. Avert your gaze, Megan. It’s okay.
“You know me well enough to tell when I’m lying, I mean. I’m right on that. Right? So just. I’m telling you. I haven’t seen him.”
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Emprexx Plush
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Megan had no place at any table Blaise would play at, this much was a fact. Her poker face was abysmal. Nerves pebbling the stream of emotions she spilled with every twist of her expression paired with eyes that never stopped wandering except to settle on what no one else should see. They had played too few hands together to count but Blaise knew the hallmarks well from every other interaction.
She had confronted them once while they were together. Who could say how many other times it crossed her mind, but she only acted the once. Tear streaked eyes from the evidence of some dalliance, they could not remember who with, and accusations, actual accusations, that they had cheated on her. It seemed likely in retrospect that she expected them to deny it all. Some clever lie delivered as easily as the breaths between its pieces, but she had the truth so she was invincible. There was no escape.
They admitted it, of course. Not out of guilt but confusion. It was nonsense after all; when had they ever agreed to monogamy? What part of their reputation suggested such a thing? Had she assumed it all on her own with no regards for how they felt? Was she unaware of the sort of person they were, the way their relationships worked, before putting her expectations on them? Did that not make it her fault? Her irresponsibility? They made no excuse for her pain, they were not so callous. If she did not wish to continue they would not fight for her. That was her decision though, one they hoped she would make from a less hastily informed position than she had before. All of it had been delivered calmly. If memory served they were smoking behind the school. They could not recall if they had looked at her the entire time. She’d had no answers for them but to cry more for a time, which they allowed. When she was finished she apologized, which they accepted. She told them that they were right, which was true, and in so many more words than necessary that she would be okay now that she understood. This was a lie, but it was her mistake to make.
She’d told them she loved them.
This was true.
It was her mistake to make.
Blaise knew Megan was a poor liar just as they knew many, many facets of her personality. Forgetting her had been a gift yet she felt the constant need to provoke them over it as if they had not spared her uncountable troubles she was too foolish to walk away from and it angered them. They felt a tension they had grown familiar with under their right index finger, the subtle pressure of a trigger starting to squeeze.
They eased it back.
Blaise also knew when they were being played. The best lies were truths told with convenient gaps. Megan did not have the constitution for deception, but for ignorance, for word play? Perhaps she could be relied upon. They let out a sigh between their teeth. “You are not a liar. Merely a coward, a stupid one. You have not seen him, yes, yes, he’s hiding somewhere you have not observed but you know it.” They cocked their head and narrowed their eyes. “It is not revenge. Not for you, you, you would faint at the thought. Is this the depth of your desperation?” Their voice was rising. “What did you expect? You are an accomplice!” No, no, this would not work, they needed to- “Idiot!” There was no time to process, they were screaming in stream of consciousness. “Spineless shit for brains pathetic useless cock sucking goddamned invalid ugly, ugly, shit for, use, useless, shitty” they sputtered through until they devolved from recognizable speech to a long, frustrated screech.
She had confronted them once while they were together. Who could say how many other times it crossed her mind, but she only acted the once. Tear streaked eyes from the evidence of some dalliance, they could not remember who with, and accusations, actual accusations, that they had cheated on her. It seemed likely in retrospect that she expected them to deny it all. Some clever lie delivered as easily as the breaths between its pieces, but she had the truth so she was invincible. There was no escape.
They admitted it, of course. Not out of guilt but confusion. It was nonsense after all; when had they ever agreed to monogamy? What part of their reputation suggested such a thing? Had she assumed it all on her own with no regards for how they felt? Was she unaware of the sort of person they were, the way their relationships worked, before putting her expectations on them? Did that not make it her fault? Her irresponsibility? They made no excuse for her pain, they were not so callous. If she did not wish to continue they would not fight for her. That was her decision though, one they hoped she would make from a less hastily informed position than she had before. All of it had been delivered calmly. If memory served they were smoking behind the school. They could not recall if they had looked at her the entire time. She’d had no answers for them but to cry more for a time, which they allowed. When she was finished she apologized, which they accepted. She told them that they were right, which was true, and in so many more words than necessary that she would be okay now that she understood. This was a lie, but it was her mistake to make.
She’d told them she loved them.
This was true.
It was her mistake to make.
Blaise knew Megan was a poor liar just as they knew many, many facets of her personality. Forgetting her had been a gift yet she felt the constant need to provoke them over it as if they had not spared her uncountable troubles she was too foolish to walk away from and it angered them. They felt a tension they had grown familiar with under their right index finger, the subtle pressure of a trigger starting to squeeze.
They eased it back.
Blaise also knew when they were being played. The best lies were truths told with convenient gaps. Megan did not have the constitution for deception, but for ignorance, for word play? Perhaps she could be relied upon. They let out a sigh between their teeth. “You are not a liar. Merely a coward, a stupid one. You have not seen him, yes, yes, he’s hiding somewhere you have not observed but you know it.” They cocked their head and narrowed their eyes. “It is not revenge. Not for you, you, you would faint at the thought. Is this the depth of your desperation?” Their voice was rising. “What did you expect? You are an accomplice!” No, no, this would not work, they needed to- “Idiot!” There was no time to process, they were screaming in stream of consciousness. “Spineless shit for brains pathetic useless cock sucking goddamned invalid ugly, ugly, shit for, use, useless, shitty” they sputtered through until they devolved from recognizable speech to a long, frustrated screech.
The world was too hot…
Princess wished she was in pajamas. It’d be uncomfortable either way. But less of an oven if it were her raggedy greys. The ones she hadn’t thrown away in years because she couldn’t really afford to- moneywise.
Her nose was sticky. That was the first thing she noticed. Sweat. She probably wasn’t crying.
There were noises, out there in the vague and blurry haze of a world that was swimming in hellish heat. Oh but. Maybe it was actually hell. Princess would not have been surprised. Someone was talking. They were… familiar? It was hard to remember. Princess was really tired and she didn’t want to remember things.
Megan’s hand wasn’t there so much. It was still there, but not as much as it was supposed to be there. If Megan felt too far away Princess wondered if she’d die. She needed something to hold on to because otherwise she wouldn’t know where she was. Princess reasserted her grip. That made her feel comfortable again. But not physically because it was still too hot. Princess wanted to go back to sleep.
The other person was yelling now. Princess glared at them. She had to raise her head up first because her neck felt really weak. It was hard to glare because the light was very strong suddenly and there were explody things popping in Princess’ eyes. The other person was very tiny. Princess recognized their voice. It was familiar in an important way. They were saying mean things. Princess thought they were about herself, which made a lot of sense.
Blaise was a bad person, that was the most important concept. The only one Princess could pick out of the unbearably heavy fog of cramp and ache. Princess wondered how long it had been since Blaise had cheated on Megan. She wondered why they were talking about it now. It didn’t feel like it had been that long. It was still too much and too soon.
“Shut up.” Princess was whining. Her voice was really squeaky. She had forgotten she sounded like that when she woke up before going to school. It was vibrating out of the back of her nose.
“You don’t get to do this to us. Not again.”
She was panting. She felt like she needed to take off her clothes but she couldn’t. Trying to focus on Blaise’s weird face made her head hurt front and back. Princess really wanted to rest again. That’d be nice.
“Everything you say is always a lie. Everyone just pretends to believe you, but we all know you’re…”
She lost the words. They were right there, but she wasn’t sure how to get to them.
Princess wished she was in pajamas. It’d be uncomfortable either way. But less of an oven if it were her raggedy greys. The ones she hadn’t thrown away in years because she couldn’t really afford to- moneywise.
Her nose was sticky. That was the first thing she noticed. Sweat. She probably wasn’t crying.
There were noises, out there in the vague and blurry haze of a world that was swimming in hellish heat. Oh but. Maybe it was actually hell. Princess would not have been surprised. Someone was talking. They were… familiar? It was hard to remember. Princess was really tired and she didn’t want to remember things.
Megan’s hand wasn’t there so much. It was still there, but not as much as it was supposed to be there. If Megan felt too far away Princess wondered if she’d die. She needed something to hold on to because otherwise she wouldn’t know where she was. Princess reasserted her grip. That made her feel comfortable again. But not physically because it was still too hot. Princess wanted to go back to sleep.
The other person was yelling now. Princess glared at them. She had to raise her head up first because her neck felt really weak. It was hard to glare because the light was very strong suddenly and there were explody things popping in Princess’ eyes. The other person was very tiny. Princess recognized their voice. It was familiar in an important way. They were saying mean things. Princess thought they were about herself, which made a lot of sense.
Blaise was a bad person, that was the most important concept. The only one Princess could pick out of the unbearably heavy fog of cramp and ache. Princess wondered how long it had been since Blaise had cheated on Megan. She wondered why they were talking about it now. It didn’t feel like it had been that long. It was still too much and too soon.
“Shut up.” Princess was whining. Her voice was really squeaky. She had forgotten she sounded like that when she woke up before going to school. It was vibrating out of the back of her nose.
“You don’t get to do this to us. Not again.”
She was panting. She felt like she needed to take off her clothes but she couldn’t. Trying to focus on Blaise’s weird face made her head hurt front and back. Princess really wanted to rest again. That’d be nice.
“Everything you say is always a lie. Everyone just pretends to believe you, but we all know you’re…”
She lost the words. They were right there, but she wasn’t sure how to get to them.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
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Emprexx Plush
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Blaise’s concentration broke.
Their gaze turned to the girl they had ignored. Up, then down, then up, then down, each shift slow. Lazy, it could be called. They measured out sharp angles and dull eyes, blonde hair assuredly a rat’s nest before the island took it in debauched fashion likely metaphorical for the circumstances of her birth. An irritating voice unwelcome even if it had something more interesting to say. Sickly, squat body showing no means of intervention to back up her mouth.
Their body came next. Physical acknowledgement that she had their attention. It should have been there from the start, yes, foolish of them to not look for strings. Megan was guilty but not clever enough to do this on her own. She had been misled. Circumstances were spinning out of her handler’s control now and Blaise would be the one to take the reigns. Their mouth opened.
Pain flared through their hand and shoulder.
The last way they turned and acknowledged Princess was with their gun. It would be poetic then to say that they’d planned it would be the first way they responded to her, no? An exaggerated misdirection of form to keep her off balance in preparation for a verbal conflict only to speak the only language of value they had left to share. Remove interference at the first tip of its hand and Megan would have only them to lean on. She would crumble. They would get their answers. Brilliant. Yes. Flawless.
Blaise had not had the energy to run those calculations, nor the composure to convince themself they had. They looked at her and the anger boiled over before any other way to vent. There was no greater reason behind it. No next move.
The gun snapped back to Megan.
Their gaze turned to the girl they had ignored. Up, then down, then up, then down, each shift slow. Lazy, it could be called. They measured out sharp angles and dull eyes, blonde hair assuredly a rat’s nest before the island took it in debauched fashion likely metaphorical for the circumstances of her birth. An irritating voice unwelcome even if it had something more interesting to say. Sickly, squat body showing no means of intervention to back up her mouth.
Their body came next. Physical acknowledgement that she had their attention. It should have been there from the start, yes, foolish of them to not look for strings. Megan was guilty but not clever enough to do this on her own. She had been misled. Circumstances were spinning out of her handler’s control now and Blaise would be the one to take the reigns. Their mouth opened.
Pain flared through their hand and shoulder.
The last way they turned and acknowledged Princess was with their gun. It would be poetic then to say that they’d planned it would be the first way they responded to her, no? An exaggerated misdirection of form to keep her off balance in preparation for a verbal conflict only to speak the only language of value they had left to share. Remove interference at the first tip of its hand and Megan would have only them to lean on. She would crumble. They would get their answers. Brilliant. Yes. Flawless.
Blaise had not had the energy to run those calculations, nor the composure to convince themself they had. They looked at her and the anger boiled over before any other way to vent. There was no greater reason behind it. No next move.
The gun snapped back to Megan.
The noise was scaryloud when it happened, and then Princess felt an eerie ghost touch her shoulder. It had been her dominant arm which partially imploded onto itself. She let go of Megan’s hand.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Oh. That was it, then.
Megan’s strings were cut. She was falling, falling, her world gone in an instant. Blaise could do that, too, Megan theirs so completely that they could cut away her world, which was their world. Their world, in the sense that it belonged to them even when it was nothing to them. Of course they would, of course they could, of course they would.
But of course, Princess was the one who was falling, had fallen, was lying crumpled on the ground. Megan, may her soul burn in hell, was fine. Because she was spineless, because she had grown a spine.
Megan was vaguely aware of herself. She felt herself shaking, teeth chattering, tears flowed without her feeling them because she couldn’t afford to cry now but she could, she was moving, it was like the tears weren’t there, they didn’t matter. No need to dig for the first aid kit, but pray it will do some good as she grabbed it. She didn’t make for much of a shield, but she got between Blaise and Princess, back to Blaise as she fished for bandages with shaky-smooth hands. Might as well. If Princess died Megan would be as good as finished anyways. There really wasn’t anything else to do.
Megan’s strings were cut. She was falling, falling, her world gone in an instant. Blaise could do that, too, Megan theirs so completely that they could cut away her world, which was their world. Their world, in the sense that it belonged to them even when it was nothing to them. Of course they would, of course they could, of course they would.
But of course, Princess was the one who was falling, had fallen, was lying crumpled on the ground. Megan, may her soul burn in hell, was fine. Because she was spineless, because she had grown a spine.
Megan was vaguely aware of herself. She felt herself shaking, teeth chattering, tears flowed without her feeling them because she couldn’t afford to cry now but she could, she was moving, it was like the tears weren’t there, they didn’t matter. No need to dig for the first aid kit, but pray it will do some good as she grabbed it. She didn’t make for much of a shield, but she got between Blaise and Princess, back to Blaise as she fished for bandages with shaky-smooth hands. Might as well. If Princess died Megan would be as good as finished anyways. There really wasn’t anything else to do.
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Emprexx Plush
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No pretense of rational thought came between reaction and action.
Movement.
Pressure.
Pain.
Regret.
These were as much the ingredients of the second shot as gunpowder and lead.
Movement.
Pressure.
Pain.
Regret.
These were as much the ingredients of the second shot as gunpowder and lead.
So that came to pass. Megan didn’t cry out. Or she thought she didn’t. It was hard to tell; she'd been looking for bandages and shielding Princess and keeping an eye on her and worrying about Blaise and trying to keep her breath steady. She didn’t really feel the pain either, or at least it wasn’t the kind of pain she was familiar with. Just a blow, a punch in the back, the wind knocked out of her, her body knocked sprawling onto Princess’s body. A moment to check: the blood, hot and steaming, was coming from her stomach. Yes, she really was going to die now.
Megan inhaled, then inhaled again, as though the extra oxygen would make up for the blood she was losing. She was--this really was happening now. All her hand-wringing, and it really was that easy. It was coming.
She really shouldn’t care, right. Yeah, that should be obvious. Up until Princess it had been a matter of time, and unless Princess had made it, this was just that all over again, and when had hope ever been a good idea. Megan felt around for Princess’s hand, pressed her fingers around the wrist, concentrated, concentrated harder or was she really or was she just squeezing harder trying to find a pulse is that a pulse yes is that a pulse or is Megan just feeling the blood rushing through her own fingers, please, please--
Megan gasped, blinked hard. God, they really were going to do this to her, huh. She couldn’t give up the game now. Just a few more seconds, to find the right kind of tears, and she could let them out.
She deserved this much anyways. Great, big, dying-animal sobs, forced out or maybe released. She wailed. Her reason for staying alive was still there, still alive, but Megan was still going to die now, she was going to die while not wanting to die, because that’s all her life had ever been, just a bullshit choice between wanting to die and actually dying. She didn’t even get to make the choice in the end. No, she didn’t have to pretend to grieve. She bent low over Princess, pulled the lolling “body” into her arms, squeezed her, hard, because how else was she going to do this, how else was she supposed to say goodbye.
Princess’s eyes were closed, thankfully. She wouldn’t give herself away there. The blood was coming from the shoulder, which was bad but Megan wasn’t sure how bad, just hopefully better than the stomach, and hopefully Megan was bleeding enough all over Princess that the wound looked fatal if it wasn’t. She could handle that.
She pulled herself out of her lean so that she was sitting, and Princess was resting on her while she held her. Controlled herself, made a show of controlling herself, before scooting around to face Blaise. Blaise. Screaming, bloody, bandaged, tear-streaked Blaise. Princess needed them gone if she was going to make it.
So. They really thought they knew Megan, didn’t they.
Megan raised her head, looked Blaise in the eyes, and she could barely do that, and she wasn’t ready, not really, but the words, punctuated though they were with sobs, were already tumbling out. “Wh-what are you waiting for? You’ve already taken everything from me, haven’t you. Fuck, why. Why am I asking you that. And here I thought I finally didn’t want to die anymore. Which I was thinking in the first place because. You. You put the wish in my head, so. So. You can just go ahead and fulfill it now.”
She'd been wanting to say it anyways.
Megan inhaled, then inhaled again, as though the extra oxygen would make up for the blood she was losing. She was--this really was happening now. All her hand-wringing, and it really was that easy. It was coming.
She really shouldn’t care, right. Yeah, that should be obvious. Up until Princess it had been a matter of time, and unless Princess had made it, this was just that all over again, and when had hope ever been a good idea. Megan felt around for Princess’s hand, pressed her fingers around the wrist, concentrated, concentrated harder or was she really or was she just squeezing harder trying to find a pulse is that a pulse yes is that a pulse or is Megan just feeling the blood rushing through her own fingers, please, please--
Megan gasped, blinked hard. God, they really were going to do this to her, huh. She couldn’t give up the game now. Just a few more seconds, to find the right kind of tears, and she could let them out.
She deserved this much anyways. Great, big, dying-animal sobs, forced out or maybe released. She wailed. Her reason for staying alive was still there, still alive, but Megan was still going to die now, she was going to die while not wanting to die, because that’s all her life had ever been, just a bullshit choice between wanting to die and actually dying. She didn’t even get to make the choice in the end. No, she didn’t have to pretend to grieve. She bent low over Princess, pulled the lolling “body” into her arms, squeezed her, hard, because how else was she going to do this, how else was she supposed to say goodbye.
Princess’s eyes were closed, thankfully. She wouldn’t give herself away there. The blood was coming from the shoulder, which was bad but Megan wasn’t sure how bad, just hopefully better than the stomach, and hopefully Megan was bleeding enough all over Princess that the wound looked fatal if it wasn’t. She could handle that.
She pulled herself out of her lean so that she was sitting, and Princess was resting on her while she held her. Controlled herself, made a show of controlling herself, before scooting around to face Blaise. Blaise. Screaming, bloody, bandaged, tear-streaked Blaise. Princess needed them gone if she was going to make it.
So. They really thought they knew Megan, didn’t they.
Megan raised her head, looked Blaise in the eyes, and she could barely do that, and she wasn’t ready, not really, but the words, punctuated though they were with sobs, were already tumbling out. “Wh-what are you waiting for? You’ve already taken everything from me, haven’t you. Fuck, why. Why am I asking you that. And here I thought I finally didn’t want to die anymore. Which I was thinking in the first place because. You. You put the wish in my head, so. So. You can just go ahead and fulfill it now.”
She'd been wanting to say it anyways.
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Emprexx Plush
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They were spiraling.
The world around them heaved in fun house mockery. They found it difficult to keep their footing standing still and movement, movement was out of the question but it was necessary. Wrong, it had all gone terribly wrong the shots would alert him and if they did not then the sounds god the sounds why must she bray like a beast before slaughter, none of the others, not Demetri left to die or Joanne caught in surprise or Nia firing over the body of her dying...they had never clarified what they had been to each other had they? It was not the time to dwell on such, such, there had been blood they saw it before they ran splatter in the garden red on Green soaking their hands pouring between bodies too fresh too soon when they killed it would be over they would be all
They lurched and their bag almost carried them to the ground with its momentum. Too quick much too quick but they were still caught in half turn between the way they came and Megan’s pleading. There was an anger at her request they found centering. More refined than anger as they reflected, yes, an indignity, the suggestion that somehow this was their inevitable purpose for her. They did not want this. They did not want her. How many ways could they reiterate it before she understood?
“Walk away.”
It had been meant as a command. What came instead was feeble, slurred at the edges, so quiet they questioned whether Megan had heard them at all. The gun hung loose around their shoulder. Their right hand was in their bag on the other side. Fingers pressed to glass but they could not find the will to grip down anymore than they could turn to face her. They coughed and it left them swaying on their feet.
“I wish nothing for you. I owe you nothing.” Their voice came out forced with irregular rhythm. “Whether you live or die is your responsibility. Not mine.” They had to escape. Nothing, no nothing for them here, Ace was gone, they were wasting time. Yes. That was why they needed to leave. Megan could not stop them in her condition and her companion was nobody’s ally anymore. No more schemes. She would wander to die elsewhere as was her lot, or perhaps Megan would stay here clinging to the body until she ran afoul of their captors. Either way she had eliminated Ace’s support network. Yes. It was flawless. All what they had intended from the start. Blaise had not retaken control, as they never lost it. There could be no dispute.
They cast a sidelong glance at Megan.
She was staring straight through them.
The world around them heaved in fun house mockery. They found it difficult to keep their footing standing still and movement, movement was out of the question but it was necessary. Wrong, it had all gone terribly wrong the shots would alert him and if they did not then the sounds god the sounds why must she bray like a beast before slaughter, none of the others, not Demetri left to die or Joanne caught in surprise or Nia firing over the body of her dying...they had never clarified what they had been to each other had they? It was not the time to dwell on such, such, there had been blood they saw it before they ran splatter in the garden red on Green soaking their hands pouring between bodies too fresh too soon when they killed it would be over they would be all
They lurched and their bag almost carried them to the ground with its momentum. Too quick much too quick but they were still caught in half turn between the way they came and Megan’s pleading. There was an anger at her request they found centering. More refined than anger as they reflected, yes, an indignity, the suggestion that somehow this was their inevitable purpose for her. They did not want this. They did not want her. How many ways could they reiterate it before she understood?
“Walk away.”
It had been meant as a command. What came instead was feeble, slurred at the edges, so quiet they questioned whether Megan had heard them at all. The gun hung loose around their shoulder. Their right hand was in their bag on the other side. Fingers pressed to glass but they could not find the will to grip down anymore than they could turn to face her. They coughed and it left them swaying on their feet.
“I wish nothing for you. I owe you nothing.” Their voice came out forced with irregular rhythm. “Whether you live or die is your responsibility. Not mine.” They had to escape. Nothing, no nothing for them here, Ace was gone, they were wasting time. Yes. That was why they needed to leave. Megan could not stop them in her condition and her companion was nobody’s ally anymore. No more schemes. She would wander to die elsewhere as was her lot, or perhaps Megan would stay here clinging to the body until she ran afoul of their captors. Either way she had eliminated Ace’s support network. Yes. It was flawless. All what they had intended from the start. Blaise had not retaken control, as they never lost it. There could be no dispute.
They cast a sidelong glance at Megan.
She was staring straight through them.
She waited. She hadn’t really expected it to come now, but she wanted to be ready if it did. It didn’t. Blaise was entirely predictable that way. Megan squeezed Princess vaguely, awkwardly. It’s okay. Just a little while longer. Let Megan do her part.
It still hurt, hearing their words.
“Blaise, Blaise, please. For once. You already fucking shot me, Blaise. You already killed me. It’s already your responsibility. Only difference is whether you accept it or not. For both our sakes.”
She was fading. Already it was hard for her to sit up. Funny, she still couldn’t feel much, though. Possibly it was shock. Probably it was shock. She put her hands on the ground behind her, steadying herself. She had a ways to go yet.
They really had done this to her. They really were going to do this to her. Blaise, who had taken her out to her first pride. Blaise, who wasn’t strong enough to sweep her off her feet but who had almost fallen over trying. Look at how they look at her now. Which they aren’t doing. Look at Megan, Blaise.
“Fuck you.”
A giggle escaped her mouth, fitting right in with the sobs that surrounded it. She wished she could have injected some real venom into her voice. I hate you, Blaise, I hate you, I hate you, I hate that my last moments are about you and hating you, but she couldn’t really make herself believe that. At least it wasn’t really about them. Though it kinda was. But also this was for Princess’s sake. Princess, who seemed terribly abstract right now. But it had always been like that, Megan had always made do with abstractions. Saving Princess seemed terribly abstract right now, something she knew she had to do and she could remember why she needed to except she couldn’t afford the time, the wattage, to think about that now.
Her head was swimming. She needed Blaise to look at her. Come on, Blaise. It’s not like she’s asking you to hold her again. Just. Regret. God, they were beautiful, even now. Beautiful? Handsome? Both? Both. Tears on their cheeks. Of course Blaise wasn’t going to hold her as she died, stroking her hair, telling her how sorry they were for everything. She wasn’t asking them for so much.
“God, why do I even. Try? And why do I care. I really was moving on from you, I really was starting to move on. It’s you who won’t--who can’t--”
She breathed in, breathed out. Squeezed Princess, again. She kept going.
“God, I’m just. I need to put my affairs in order, and I don’t want to see you running away again. I don’t want that for you. I don’t--you really shouldn’t get to be the one who gets to live, but you deserve, well, I don’t know if you deserve better but that’s what I want. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life running away, and if you don’t--fuck--if you don’t kill me, finish the job, if you’re not gonna take responsibility for killing me, you’re just going to run into them. Over and over. And you’re going to have to run away. I’ve lost enough to you. Don’t want to have to haunt you after I’m dead too.”
Megan smiled, willed it to be kind. Blaise. Please? Megan had always been an idiot.
“I don’t think I can help caring about you even if I shouldn’t. Blaise. You were my first love. You know? You always will be. Even if I’ve finally taught myself to stop wanting you back, it still. That still matters.”
It still hurt, hearing their words.
“Blaise, Blaise, please. For once. You already fucking shot me, Blaise. You already killed me. It’s already your responsibility. Only difference is whether you accept it or not. For both our sakes.”
She was fading. Already it was hard for her to sit up. Funny, she still couldn’t feel much, though. Possibly it was shock. Probably it was shock. She put her hands on the ground behind her, steadying herself. She had a ways to go yet.
They really had done this to her. They really were going to do this to her. Blaise, who had taken her out to her first pride. Blaise, who wasn’t strong enough to sweep her off her feet but who had almost fallen over trying. Look at how they look at her now. Which they aren’t doing. Look at Megan, Blaise.
“Fuck you.”
A giggle escaped her mouth, fitting right in with the sobs that surrounded it. She wished she could have injected some real venom into her voice. I hate you, Blaise, I hate you, I hate you, I hate that my last moments are about you and hating you, but she couldn’t really make herself believe that. At least it wasn’t really about them. Though it kinda was. But also this was for Princess’s sake. Princess, who seemed terribly abstract right now. But it had always been like that, Megan had always made do with abstractions. Saving Princess seemed terribly abstract right now, something she knew she had to do and she could remember why she needed to except she couldn’t afford the time, the wattage, to think about that now.
Her head was swimming. She needed Blaise to look at her. Come on, Blaise. It’s not like she’s asking you to hold her again. Just. Regret. God, they were beautiful, even now. Beautiful? Handsome? Both? Both. Tears on their cheeks. Of course Blaise wasn’t going to hold her as she died, stroking her hair, telling her how sorry they were for everything. She wasn’t asking them for so much.
“God, why do I even. Try? And why do I care. I really was moving on from you, I really was starting to move on. It’s you who won’t--who can’t--”
She breathed in, breathed out. Squeezed Princess, again. She kept going.
“God, I’m just. I need to put my affairs in order, and I don’t want to see you running away again. I don’t want that for you. I don’t--you really shouldn’t get to be the one who gets to live, but you deserve, well, I don’t know if you deserve better but that’s what I want. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life running away, and if you don’t--fuck--if you don’t kill me, finish the job, if you’re not gonna take responsibility for killing me, you’re just going to run into them. Over and over. And you’re going to have to run away. I’ve lost enough to you. Don’t want to have to haunt you after I’m dead too.”
Megan smiled, willed it to be kind. Blaise. Please? Megan had always been an idiot.
“I don’t think I can help caring about you even if I shouldn’t. Blaise. You were my first love. You know? You always will be. Even if I’ve finally taught myself to stop wanting you back, it still. That still matters.”
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Emprexx Plush
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Glass against their fingers. It’d risen to the top of their bag over their walk, each pull blotting out the last in thickening haze. They could leave now, return to it along their walk to the front door. Nothing she said had to stay with them. Blaise let her babble because who would deny the dead their final words? When they left all she would have to confess to was another corpse. They could allow her this much. That was courtesy. That was the lie they chose to explain why they were frozen in her gaze. Until Megan decided it wasn’t about her anymore.
She.
She thought she was doing them a favor. Blaise lacked the medical knowledge to understand how quickly blood loss warped the mind so perhaps it was malnutrition. Delirium or some tropical disease. What it was not was a ploy. Megan believed with the precious few beats left in her heart that her death wish was some sort of kindness extended to them so they might finally be rid of her.
Their whole body turned to face her, right arm still crossing their stomach into their bag. “Why.” It was not a question. There was no answer. “I used you. Is that,” they nearly fell as they took a trembling step towards her, “is that what you need to hear? I used you. Then I was finished.” Something foul rose from their throat and they spat but the taste remained. “Haven’t thought, I don’t need, don’t miss you, you, you pathetic-” The room was spinning but she got to be stable, she stared at them holding the body of this, they did not even know what they had been to each other but she got to cling to that bond to the last inconvenience.
Their right hand shifted from the bottle to a handle.
In their mind’s eye four fingers brushed through dirty blonde hair, so careful not to let the bandages below them touch it despite the blood already pooled under its fringe. In the present their left hand grasped long strands of brown in the tightest fist their injury would allow, dragging Megan away from the body. Her stare did not break. “You were not my first disaster.” It held between them both, faces close enough for Blaise’s breath to warm her face. “You will not be my last.” It burned coming up their throat. “Reparation. Haunting. You may have whichever you desire.” The hoarse rasp of their voice grew quieter with each sentence. “But you are not alone, and you do not have priority.” Eye on eye, where neither could watch the movements of Blaise’s hand leaving the bag. “Let me show you to the line.”
Blaise let go of her hair. Their grip was too compromised, it could not hold on through the axe burying itself in her neck.
She.
She thought she was doing them a favor. Blaise lacked the medical knowledge to understand how quickly blood loss warped the mind so perhaps it was malnutrition. Delirium or some tropical disease. What it was not was a ploy. Megan believed with the precious few beats left in her heart that her death wish was some sort of kindness extended to them so they might finally be rid of her.
Their whole body turned to face her, right arm still crossing their stomach into their bag. “Why.” It was not a question. There was no answer. “I used you. Is that,” they nearly fell as they took a trembling step towards her, “is that what you need to hear? I used you. Then I was finished.” Something foul rose from their throat and they spat but the taste remained. “Haven’t thought, I don’t need, don’t miss you, you, you pathetic-” The room was spinning but she got to be stable, she stared at them holding the body of this, they did not even know what they had been to each other but she got to cling to that bond to the last inconvenience.
Their right hand shifted from the bottle to a handle.
In their mind’s eye four fingers brushed through dirty blonde hair, so careful not to let the bandages below them touch it despite the blood already pooled under its fringe. In the present their left hand grasped long strands of brown in the tightest fist their injury would allow, dragging Megan away from the body. Her stare did not break. “You were not my first disaster.” It held between them both, faces close enough for Blaise’s breath to warm her face. “You will not be my last.” It burned coming up their throat. “Reparation. Haunting. You may have whichever you desire.” The hoarse rasp of their voice grew quieter with each sentence. “But you are not alone, and you do not have priority.” Eye on eye, where neither could watch the movements of Blaise’s hand leaving the bag. “Let me show you to the line.”
Blaise let go of her hair. Their grip was too compromised, it could not hold on through the axe burying itself in her neck.