Open Wound || Faye and Blake
Faye sat in a corner of Deering’s Library, a stack of books by her side. It had been a rough day. Faye woke up to her dad’s voicemail, giving her all day to think about his words. He had sounded so sincere— desperate even. Faye almost wanted to go back home, but she couldn’t. Being in the house with her father, knowing and remembering many of the worst bits of her life growing up— it was psychological torture.
Seeking an effective way to clear her head, Faye sought out books at the library in which she could lose herself for a bit. However, Faye grew anxious and soon was unable to focus on the printed words. With a sigh of misery and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Faye was tucked away in a corner with only her thoughts of misery to keep her company.
Blake stalked in and out of the aisles with an armful of books — he often came here as a sanctuary. Nobody would look for him here. It gave him something to do. And he usually stopped by to skim through subjects he needed
wanted to learn for the sake of bettering his own criminal lifestyle. Right now, he had various titles in his hands; The Anarchists Cookbook, for the bomb recipes, and various titles on car salesman tactics and reading people.
He saw a lone girl in the corner and was suddenly aware of his oncoming boredom and lack of patience for reading. So on a whim, as was usual for Blake, he maneuvered over to the girl and noticed she looked … very unhappy. So with a loud slam, he dropped all his books on the desk beside her and he smiled down at her. “Hey.” And he yanked up a chair and sat in it with the chair’s back between his legs.
"You look so forlorn. Want some company?"
"Run, Forrest, run. I’m sure all the critters are waiting for your raccoon-eyes to drag back a new batch of trash."
"It’s not a fucking car show, stop looking like Christmas came early," she snaps. "I’ll say what I want. Let’s guess. Daddy’s an alcoholic and used to smack you— or worse? Did Little Willy grow up too fast by taking it in the back?"
"Fuck-" She realizes her mistake a moment too late, and eyes darting to the paper in his hands, lunges forward and tries to snatch it back, a sort of franticness in her movement.
"And for that new batch, I’ll be hauling you around."
He laughs. “It’s always Christmas for me, and I have a long list — usually other people’s shit, so I’d watch your mouth, rich girl.”
Blake’s smirk fades and he scowls at her. “If that were true … I bet I wouldn’t be the only one between us that was touched inappropriately by Daddy.”
He’s unfolding the paper and suddenly sees her pounce, so he struggles to clasp her fast her at the wrist and holds the note up high out of her reach, squeezing her at the arm. “Wow. Something important? Tell you what … I’ll give you a chance to tell me what it is before I read it. You have three seconds.”
The only things that would have made the X-Men movie acceptable would have been more of the Kleptomaniac and the entire ending re-written. Don’t try to argue, my friend.
"I don’t know, man … that klepto kid looked really douchey to me."
Gucci, Dior, McQueen || Blake and Aly
Her gaze hit the floor when he sighed. For someone that sighed often, Alyssa Scott truly hated to hear the sound. No matter the situation, she always received the sound as one of exasperation. Was he already regretting the decision to bring her along? All she’d done so far was sleep and be emotional, which she had figured would not be the kind of company Blake wanted to keep. So when she saw him approaching, she braced for a talking to. A reminder that this was their temporary escape from that shitty little town in Maine and that she needed to leave the thing that brought her down back in it.
She bit her lip while she waited for the command, assuming the touches to her sides were the touches one gives to try to convince you they aren’t the enemy before they tell you something you might not want to hear. She waited for it, but instead he surprised her. Her body tensed in confusion as he wrapped her up; being held—especially by him—was still such a foreign feeling. Yet she found herself moving into the embrace as she often did with his touches, wrapping her arms around his middle and trying to understand why just being like this was soothing in itself.
I’m so sorry, Aly … things will be better in no time. I promise. Things will get better.
It didn’t sound completely right or real, but she hadn’t expected anything that sounded entirely genuine either. He’d warned her back when the incident happened that he wasn’t good at solacing others, and she had to admit that he was partially right. But even though it didn’t sound like he understood, because how could he possibly understand, she had to give him credit for at least attempting to cheer her up. That had to at least count for something, didn’t it? He had to care at least partially to even bother trying to cheer her up. He was doing what a friend did, even though he was awful at it, and that deserved some acknowledgement. “Thank you. It means a lot.”
Releasing him when he started to pull back, she smiled when he played with her hair, wrinkling her nose at him. It was nice to smile again, and she felt lighter somehow knowing that he accepted that she’d feel down. He hadn’t demanded her mood to change like some insensitive prick would, and she was glad that he was here with her, building him up as more than the frightening person he tried so hard to not let her see. Even that predatorial smile wasn’t all that unnerving anymore these days. She even blushed at the compliment. “Well, I do make for some pretty fantastic arm candy, do I not?” She asked playfully.
She could feel his eyes on her as she changed, and she ignored the feeling because she still wasn’t sure how to feel. The appreciative noise actually made her laugh, and she covered her face for a moment to keep her laughter from spilling out too loudly. Maybe things were okay after all? The change all in her head, and she had worried for absolutely nothing. That was what she wanted to believe and preferred it. Once he’d closed her zipper, she ran her fingers through her hair to give it a look of organized chaos. “I will.”
Aly grinned at him as he held the door open for her, spotting the glasses she’d known he’d stolen. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he’d done it when he had money that wasn’t his to spend. Maybe he just did it because he could? After all, all the trouble she usually caused was simply because she wanted to. At least they looked good on him; he had the good fortune of being built to carry clothes and accessories that were far out of his means.
He seemed to slip into an entirely different air around him, and it hit her almost like a wave. It was time to pretend, so she smiled that charming smile she’d perfected in front of cameras and gave his back a fleeting touch. A familiar and totally natural thing that eased an observer’s mind without realizing it, and she went straight to an employee. “Hi, my friend is from a small town and I want to get him styled for the city. Maybe you could help us get started?” It was clear that the woman either didn’t recognize her or was used to dealing with high profile clients, because the normal fumbling response never came. Instead she got a polite This way, ma’am and started off towards the higher end apparel. Aly looked over her shoulder at Blake, wondering if he’d ever been around such expensive wares. “See anything you like, Jay?”
Blake watched Aly wholly soak in the light and public atmosphere and radiate it outward like someone that was naturally meant for attention — which both impressed and pleased him. He liked attention drawn away from him. After her hand brushed his back, he sidled up behind her, greeting the employee with a silent smirk and following the two girls while lazily perusing the contents of the store. He had a tendency to zero in on expensive products, as he had an eye for value.
See anything you like, Jay?
"I like black and white. Clean cut and simple."
And red, he thought. Blake strolled up with his hands in his pockets, tearing his eyes away from all the dark colors and to the lighter things that looked more wholesome and innocent — a look he needed. But then he saw a casual suit, a slick black with a hint of navy where the light hit it. And he glanced back to Aly, scanning her fast.
"What do you think of this? It matches your dress, gorgeous."
He raised his brows to the lady assisting them, and she nodded. Then Blake adjusted the sunglasses on his head, keeping his thoughts to himself that he really wouldn’t mind shredding Aly’s dress to pieces while she was still wearing it.
Sometimes I find myself sitting in one spot for hours, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing, feeling nothing, and, most disturbingly, caring about nothing.
- Mahbod Seraji, Rooftops of Tehran (via queen-poison-ivy)
Voicemail from Clara
"Before you freak out and try to stop me, I’m already gone. I’ve been gone for a while now, but it’s…going to be permanent. I’ve moved to Amsterdam, where I plan on finishing out my schooling and starting over. A clean, sane start. But before I do, I just…thought I’d leave this for you."
"I wrote a suicide note once, during one of the darker lows I’ve experienced. Let me…find it. Hold on. Okay, I’m going to read you some of the highlights."
"On my neck is a certain spot, right at the base of my hairline, that I’ve always wanted to use as a canvas for a tattoo. I know this sounds silly and pathetic, but when I think of you, I think of your fingers brushing that spot when we were swimming in the lake. Do you remember that? The first night I was back from boarding school? I had missed you so much, and being back under that adoring gaze, that false confidence touch of yours, made me feel like I had never left. Like I had never been sent away. I hope you know that they sent me away; I hope you know that I would have never left you like that by choice. I hope you know…
What kind of person am I for leaving you again?
To me, that spot is like carrying a little piece of you with me always. It’s more comforting than it sounds, believe me. No one else can touch me there. No one else can have a piece of me. Only you, because to you I would willingly give my all. Anything you could possibly want from me, you could have. I promise. Anything at all.
But I’m giving my life up to something else.”
"And I guess I am. Not for drugs or sex or money or reprieve. For happiness. For a chance to start again. For myself. This time around, I’m going to live for myself."
"I heard you, you know. In the bathtub. I heard what you said to me when the cold water turned on and it was just the sound of pattering on my skin and your voice. You told me you loved me. On the brink of death, you told me you loved me. So here, now, once again on the brink of death, I’ll return the sentiment that is so long overdue.
I love you too, Blake.
It’s obviously too late for that to mean anything anymore, but I want that to be the last thing I ever tell you. I love you. I love you for the sorrow in your eyes, for the adventure in your blood, for the passion in your tongue and the yearning in your core. I love you for the bruises and the cuts. I love you for the times you held me in rage and grief and panic. I love you for never giving up on me - and on us - even when I did.
I love you for being yourself and my everything when I wasn’t even enough to keep myself going.”
"This feels a little like dying, in a way. Killing off the old me so I can become someone better, stronger. I want to be the Clara you adored, not the one that fell apart there at the end. I think that, when we meet again, you’ll like me. I think I’ll even like me too. You will be okay; I know you will. And if you ever want to find me, just follow the path of destruction once you get off the plane. Ha, only kidding."
"I love you, Blake. And I want you to remember that you’re deserving of love. Don’t forget me, okay?"
White Rag Up, I’m Waving Truce || Blaime
He was taking this better than she had been expecting, granted, Raime wasn’t entirely sure what she had been expecting Blake to say or do in response to her request; she didn’t know the first thing about him. The only thing Raime knew for certain when it came to the male in front of her, was that he was could be kind, relatable, one moment, and then, ornery, and malicious the next—he’d set her cousin on fire, case and point. She couldn’t relax around him, but she felt a little better that he hadn’t immediately laughed in her face, or told her to ‘fuck off,’ maybe she would walk away with the security she was so desperate for.
At his demand that she remove her clothes, the stoic expression she had been maintaining, disappeared from her face, in it’s place was a look of contempt. She did not want to take off her clothes in front of him, for whatever reason; Raime didn’t take her clothes off unless she wanted to, and she most certainly did not want to. That look he gave her, though it shook her up on the inside, but she still didn’t want to expose her flesh to anyone, let alone, him. “I’m not wearing a wire,” She shook her t-shirt out, patted down her jeans, and for good measure, released her hair from the ponytail it had been in. To appease him, she even tried on a smile, it didn’t reach her eyes, and barely lasted a second, but she had really tried.
I’m not wearing a wire.
He saw the rebellion in her expression before she vocalized her answer, and his eyes didn’t leave her face while she proceeded to pat herself down. By the time she’d taken her hair from her ponytail though, he was standing in front of her with his arms folded, scowling. Blake believed Raime, but he was still disappointed he hadn’t been able to get her to strip for his own entertainment.
"Fine. I believe you."
Then he leaned forward, repeating himself and raising his brows as if he were talking to a child. “So … what do I get?” He made a tossed motion to get the mess of blond hair out of his eyes. “You know … for leaving you and your family alone, since you want it so bad that you came to visit me.” And frankly, he was impressed by such a bold gesture. If she really wasn’t accompanied by an arsenal of police, she was pretty vulnerable. Blake couldn’t help but skim over the height of her appearance, wondering if there was a secret weapon hidden somewhere.
He grinned back at her own attempt to smile at him, and he prodded her in the shoulder with two fingers. “What’s to stop me from hitting you over the head with a bottle and tying you to a chair? You really came here all by yourself? All alone with me in my house, Raime …”
There were other things too. Other people I hurt. I’ll tell you everything.
Party’s Over || Aly and Blake [At the end of the event]
She stared at him with round eyes as he tried to explain. Part of her wanted to believe that. The part that knew he was wanted, and now the hunt would be back on again stronger than it already was. The part that remembered what Hunter said he did, and knew that Elodie would have probably attacked him if he’d put her out. Still, another part of her wanted to barrel out of the car and heave her shoes at him so she could have a better shot of getting away.
The growl made Aly gasp, and she drew up her legs to wrap her arms around. She couldn’t get away, so she’d have to stay. Breathing was always a much better option than not. “You’re scaring me,” she whimpered as tears sprang to her eyes, even though she was sure he already knew.
And there it was. She’d never turn on him or turn him in, and she thought that was something he knew. Apparently paranoia was a thing that never let go of suspicions. But he’d hurt her if she tried to leave him, and that confused more than frightened her. Did he need her as much as she needed him? She unwrapped an arm from around her knee, reaching out towards him slowly, like he’d burn her too if she wasn’t careful. Maybe it was to see what he’d do. “No, there’s not. I promise…”
Blake looked back at her at the eyed him, letting the silence pass between them while she had an inevitable mental battle. He watched without blinking, trying to read her mind before finally breaking eye contact for just a second to measure their surroundings — places she’d possibly run, people that’d possibly see, potential passing cars that could be cops on the hunt …
And suddenly she was crying … and immediately he flinched and started talking; “Hey, woah! Aly, I’m sorry. It’s okay … it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” He leaned closer, cautiously. She said she was scared, so he let out a breath and actively let the tension out of his body.
Then she reached for him, and he froze, hand still primed on the wheel. And when he saw no malevolent intent, he released the car and reached over to lace his fingers with hers. No, there’s not. I promise… Blake smiled. But he didn’t believe her — because in his world, promises were things said to manipulate a situation.
"Okay," he murmured, smiling with his mouth but not his eyes. "I trust you."