"one less high school bitch making the lives of the less fortunate more tolerable is in my opinion,
a p u b l i c s e r v i c e. “
- Who was the one to propose: Neither one of them remember who it was that asked. It started as an argument, developed into a paranoid trip where they were both convinced the other was trying to leave, became a shouting match, turned to sex and somehow ended with a ring on Aly’s finger and both laying in bed wondering how they got to this point.
- Who stressed more over wedding planning: Aly did. It took a lot of time and careful planning for it to not appear in the tabloids.
- Who decorated the house: Blake did, Aly just paid for it.
- Who does the cooking: There’s lots of take out, and when one cooks, the other either helps or observes.
- Who does the cleaning: Blake does, usually when he has nothing better to do.
- Who is more organized: Blake is. He has plenty of time to organize everything.
- Who initiates bedroom fun: It’s a pretty even split.
- Who suggested kids first: Neither of them. Aly’s medication to treat a sunburn counteracted her birth control and when she wound up pregnant, that was the end of that.
Like any extreme, unrelenting parasite, a new host had to be found once the old was bled dry. Deering had been exhausted of all its resources — its hiding places, its victims, its availability for extortion. He’d done what he could with it; devoured it for his many insatiable hungers. It was time to go. Blake was moving forward.
He had a backpack and a car, a list of cell numbers and a wallet overloaded with cash and cards.
He’d heard somewhere that there was a Nina twin running around, that his old friend and flame had taken the fall for his crime record, and that friends and enemies alike were headed to a bigger, badder city. And tonight, he was following memories, prepared to make new ones. Mostly for curiosity, obsessions … and a desire to conquer the great Los Angeles.
Armed with mostly stolen goods, a perfect ability to bullshit and a face that was far too innocent for his deeper character — Blake had plans for The City of Angels. So he packed up and left without a word. Nevermind that he left a trail of blood, tears and fire behind him. Things would be different this time.
Or would they?
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."
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.