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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

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writersblock2point0 · 6 years

Text

Twilight, Alec LS. Seeing Nightmares. (chapters 14-15)

Emberly and Alec attend the ball, old friends are seen and also we get a very big development going on!

Warnings: Forced sexual/vampire actions onto Emberly. Nothing detailed, they don’t get far.

Chapter 14 (I know the last one was short but I need this to get moving)

-Alec third person-

Alec walked down the halls, his usual disinterested stare upon his face as he rounded the corner and towards the desk to see the secretary.

“Rachel,” Her blonde head, bright blue eyes staring up at him in curiosity. “I need your help.”

She smiled, red lipstick on her lips as a light blush coated her cheeks. “How can I be of help Sir?”

“Get these for me. Take them to my room as soon as you get back.” He slid a piece of paper to her, walking away from her, knowing she’d get right on it for him. Rachel was german, with no family left, but she was human and usually prepared Emberly’s meals for him, so he knew she knew about her. He also didn’t have to worry about Rachel draining her dry.

Alec made his way into the throne room, standing beside Caius in his usual position. He leaned back against a pillar, hands in the pockets of his black trousers. He wore a dark grey button up shirt, tucked into his pants, and a black jacket. He looked bored, uninterested as he looked around. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, noting how long it was starting to get. Perhaps he’d get it cut.

“Ah,” Aro sighed, looking up from his book as he seemed to ponder something.

“What is it, brother?” Caius responded, glancing over as Aro shut his book.

“It’s almost Renesmee’s birthday.”

“And?”

“We hardly see the child, nor anyone else for that matter...perhaps a party should be in order.” Aro thought to himself, a bright look adorned his features as he stood. “Yes! A ball!”

“We’re throwing a ball for that hybrid?” Caius looked at Aro like he lost his head, which he most likely was close to doing with how old Aro was.

“No no,” Aro shook his head. “We just simply, invite them. Stating we want to check in on the child, see if she’s a liability. We can invite some old friends, see fresh faces.” Aro looked around at the silent room, “It’s been awfully quiet these past years.”

“Alec,” Alec looked over to Caius, walking around to stand beside his master’s chair.

“Yes, Master?” Came the calm reply.

“How is your pet?”

“Emberly is...better. The voices and shadows have stopped, due to Carlisle’s medication. She, however, is still restless. I had Rachel go get a few things for her to occupy herself with.” Alec answered, hands clasped behind his back as Caius furrowed his brow.

“What things?”

“A few sketchbooks, art supplies, and a computer.”

“A computer?”

“Yes, she misses music.”

“What if she contacts others from the outside?” Aro inquires, lifting an eyebrow as he continues, “What if she tries to use it to call for help?”

Alec smirked, “I have confidence she won’t.”

“Oh?”

“She’s in love with me.” The three master’s smiled, but Alec didn’t know the true reason behind their large grins and shared looks.

“So, you trust her to attend the ball?” Caius asked, and received a nod.

“She will be on her best behavior, I can promise you that.” Alec smirked, glancing into his Master’s eyes. “It won’t be long till she’s with child.”

-Emberly’sPOV-

I jumped as a loud knock came to the door, my heart starting to race as I watched the knob twist and in popped a female face. She was pretty, with thick blonde hair pulled back into a perfect bun. Her eyes were blue, surrounded by thick black eyelashes. I could see them from here. Her lips were a ruby red, her dress tight and black, her heels the same color of red as her lips. She was human, judging from her non-red eyes.

“Hello?” She asked in a thick accent, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“Hi?” She smiled at me, stepping all the way in and walking towards me with a vibrant smile. She was beautiful.

“I brought you these.” She told me, placing a large bag on the table along with a box. I walked over, confused as she smiled at me and waited for me to open them. I pulled open the bag, peering inside and gasping. Three sketchbooks, each a different size, along with pencils and colored pencils. I looked up at her with a shocked expression. “Sir Alec asked me to bring those to you, he also left this for me to give to you.”

‘I know you miss your old luxuries, so here are a few that I know you will love.’

-Alec

I opened the blood red colored box and nearly screamed. A mac laptop was sitting inside, ready for me to use and practically abuse.

“Th-thank you so much!” I looked up at her, as she was quite tall with her red pumps. “Who are you? I’m sorry...I just-don’t see many people.”

She smiled, her cheekbones high and defined, “My name is Rachel, I am the secretary.”

I gave her a hug, “Thank you, so much for this, Rachel.”

I opened up the mac, getting myself all set up as I looked at the gloriousness that was technology. How I missed it. The mouse pad, the click of the keys, and the sounds-oh the wonderful sound of windows.

When it was set up, I plugged my camera’s memory card in, transporting all my pictures onto the computer in a file. I cleared the card, and placed it back into my camera with a smile, now I could take more photos of Alec. I bit my lip as my eyes scanned over the email bar, wondering how long it took my friends to get over my disappearance.

I breathed in deeply, “They aren’t looking for you Em, get over it.” I muttered to myself and opened up youtube, typing in some classical music and laying down, allowing my eyes to close as I listened to Bach and Mozart.

“Little dove…” A voice called from the darkness, then I was being shook. I opened my eyes to see Alec leaning over me, sitting on the bed. Music was still playing, this weird song called ‘A witch's Brew’ with eere flutes and such. I paused the video and smiled warmly at Alec.

“Thank you,” I said softly, “For everything.” I was still lying down, curled up and looking at him as he smiled. It wasn’t a loose smile, like those ones you give when you get a present and you forgot to get one for the other person. It was...warm, and it reached his eyes, making eyes squint and very light crow's feet appear in the corners of his eyes. It captivated me, seeing him give me such a smile. Knowing it was me, that did that.

“I want you happy.” He stated truthfully, before looking into my eyes.

“What?” I ask with a laugh, a light blush warming my cheeks as he continued to stare.

“There’s a ball soon, and I wanted to know if you would like to attend.” He stands and rounds the bed to walk towards his dresser, and leans against it. “My masters would love to see you there, but if you feel uncomfortable by it, I won’t force you.”

I sit up and shake my head, “I like parties...but I can’t dance.”

Alec smirked, “I can teach you.”

Chapter 15

“Alec, I feel silly.” I mutter, looking down at the black dress he had me wear, something other than his shirts, and he had even gotten Rachel to come take my shoe size and get me heels to learn to dance in. “I, I am not a dancer.” I stopped when he laughed, coming towards me after hitting the play button, the music started with a some soft tune, a cello or violin, I wasn’t sure.

Alec put a hand at my waist, and I gasped as he pulled me close. “Put your hand in mine, and the other on my shoulder.” I shakily did as told, looking up into his face as my heart hammered in my chest. “Relax, dove.” His charming smile and amused tone made me flush, and I nodded my head.

“Okay, um...what do I do?” I asked, “Are we waltzing?”

“Yes,” Alec nodded and I took a deep breath.

“I’m gunna fall.”

Alec chuckled, “I will catch you.”

We moved slow at first, obviously out of step with the music, but as we progressed in the box step, and he saw that I was getting the hang of matching his strides, he sped us up to the music. I never looked away from his eyes, the music flooding my ears as my heart beat fast. He spun me around, then I gasped as he dipped me. I clutched onto his sleeve, staring up at him in shock, as he grinned down at me.

“You’re a natural.”

“Thank you…” I spoke as he let me back up and kissed my hand.

He looked up at me, a serious but vague expression. He got this odd look, something that I can’t place. He pulled me gently towards him, his free hand coming to cup my cheek. His skin was cold, as usual, and it made me shiver as his fingers threaded in my hair. My chest was flush with his, and I rested a hand on his arm, the other still clasped in his.

He leaned in, his forehead touching mine as he gazed deep into my eyes.

My heart pounded in my ears, my stomach swirling in excitement. This was it, he was going to kiss me. He breathed in deeply, his eyes suddenly going black and he backed away with a growl and stormed from the room. My vision blurred as I tried to control my breathing, he rejected me and now I feel like such a fool.

-Day of the Party-

“Alec!” Jane speaks as soon as she opened the doors to the throne room. The small sixteen year old, frozen in time, scowls at her brother who stood behind Caius’s chair. “What is the meaning of this?”

The three masters looked on in confusion at the two twins, one looked ready to kill while the other held a charming smile.

“Dear sister,” Alec walked forward a little, his hands in his pockets as he tilted his head in mock confusion. “I’m not quite sure why you’re upset.”

“Don’t play coy with me Alec! I was just informed I have to help YOUR human get ready for the party!” Jane glowered at him, her bright eyes unblinking as Aro and Caius shared smiles. “She’s not my charge, why don’t you get her ready for the ball?”

“I thought it’d be good for you,” Alec shrugs and gives her a smirk, “you seem so down lately, I figured some girl time would suffice.”

Jane gave him a deadly look, before she suddenly got this surprised and amused look on her face.

“You don’t want to be around her.” She began, making Alec glare at her, her lips pulled at the corners. She looked proud of herself, “You love her.” She teased, not meaning one word of it and as she gave a laugh, she missed the looks on the leader’s faces.

“Alec,” Aro put in, looking at the boy with a indifferent expression. “Will you go check on the party? Then make sure all the invitations have been sent.”

“Yes, Master.” Alec was gone after that, leaving Jane with a narrowed look.

“The rest of you may leave,” Aro commanded as he looked at Jane like a father who was about to scold his daughter. Jane stayed still, knowing she wasn’t meant to leave. “Jane,” Aro began as everyone was out of the room. “You know why I chose Alec?”

“Because of his gift,” Jane states, keeping her head high and voice even. “He is powerful, and loyal, he wouldn’t turn you down.”

Aro smiles, “Very good Jane.” He shifted in his position, “But…” Jane furrowed her brow, confusion written on her face. “When I told him to choose, it was because I knew he wouldn’t pick just anyone.”

Jane’s eyes flashed, “His mate.”

“Precisely.” Aro nods, “Alec is different however, he does not know these feelings he will harvest for her as of yet. Since his transformation, he’s despised all human life and anything but you I suppose.” Aro commented, not really sure if he was getting his point across from the narrowed eyes of Jane. “Emberly is his mate, but the life Alec has lived has dulled his emotions my girl.”

“So you're saying he doesn’t know how to love?”

“He can, and he will learn.” Aro replies, blinking with a small smile at his lips. “Emberly’s his La Tua Cantante.”

“How can he control himself then?” Jane inquires, wanting to snort and tell them they are wrong but she refrains.

“Everyone’s La Tua Cantante is different my dear.” Aro explains, talking slowly and quietly, just incase someone from the hall would happen to hear. “Edward wanted to kill Bella at first, but then he grew to love and protect her instead. Some drain them dry before they even have a chance to know their names...and others have a different reaction.

Alec is possessive of her, doesn’t want to share her with anyone.” Aro’s voice drifts, as if he’s remembering something in a far off dream. “When he returned we saw her once, just to show us what she looked like. Then, he kept her away-just for himself. He lusts after her, wants her in every way I’m sure.” Aro gets an evil smile, thinking back to how vicious his prised guard is with a woman, and sometimes if Alec’s feeling up to it, a man. “Emberly brings out the predator in him. He’s able to control himself, but as of lately he’s not so sure.”

“I’ve notice he’s going out to feed more often.” Jane inputs with a nod, and then smiles. “So he’s falling in love?”

“Maybe, but he will for sure.” Aro then looks serious. “We mustn’t tell him, Jane dear.”

“I understand, Master.” Jane bows respectfully at Aro, then stands straight. “He’s not going to let her die, is he?” She says almost like a fact, but the twitch in her brow indicates it’s a question.

“I’m afraid he won’t, he’ll crumble under the thought of losing her.” Aro dismissed Jane and she turned on her heel, making her way to her brother’s chambers to get the girl ready for the damned party.

Jane walks right in, not bothering to knock, and doesn’t miss the sound of the shower turning off. As she closes the door, the bathroom opens and reveals Emberly in a fluff black towel, the human screams and holds her chest.

“Are you alright?” Jane questioned as the girl seemed to take deep breaths to calm her rapidly beating heart.

“No, I’m fine…” Emberly gave a weak smile, “You just startled me.”

“Alright, well I’m here to get you ready for the party.”

The girl’s eyebrows rose, “Um, not to be rude but who are you?”

“Jane,” She smiled, “Alec’s older twin sister.”

“He’s a twin?” Emberly asked as she walked towards Jane.

“Yes, now come with me.” Emberly flushed and looked down, her towel still securely around her body. “Don’t worry, no one will be in the halls.” She followed Jane down the hall and into a room just two doors down. “This is my room.”

-Emberly-

It was large and a lot brighter in here than Alec’s room. The walls were a creamy beige with a hint of peach, the walls had a light blue wallpaper design as well, complimenting the room in making it seem much larger than Alec’s. Her bed was similar, as it had a large canopy with light peach curtains, the inside of the canopy was a light baby blue though. She had a bench at the end of her bed, soft furs and fluffy pillows decorating that. A blue bench was sitting in between the bed and a peach couch that held blue pillows. She had a lot more furniture in here than Alec did, and I could tell instantly it was a girl’s room from the rather large collection of old dolls that were held in the open door to my right. She had a small room just for dolls; probably the most adorable and creepiest thing I’ve ever seen. She had a smaller window that Alec did, but she had a medium sized desk with books and papers stacked neatly beside one another, a rather old looking ink pen with a ink bottle. On the right side of the window was a large vanity, a very large and victorian looking mirror hung on the wall with gold trimming. On the other side of the window, was a small dresser.

“It’s a lovely room,” I compliment and turn to see her already at the vanity, waiting for me to stop staring at her room.

“Thank you, now come here.” Her voice is lighter in tone, as if she’s actually in a good mood. I’ve seen her before, in the large throne room with those three leader’s Alec calls ‘Masters’ and yet she’s never smiled. She always has a blank look or scowl on her face, but she’s always beautiful. I sit on the cushioned stool and she stands behind me, looking at me from the mirror.

“What types of stuff do you not like?”

“I don’t like bold looks...I usually go for the natural looks.” I say and she smiles.

“I love the bold look.” I look at her black eyeshadow, with her black winged eyeliner. It brings out her ruby red eyes.

She quickly started to apply my makeup.

“Jane?” She hummed in response, “Why am I here?” She stands straight up, looking at me with a frown as she holds a brush and contour kit.

“Why do you ask?” She tilts her head.

“Alec won’t tell me, and I’ve asked him a few times...he always avoids the question.” I look into her eyes, seeing a wave on confliction wash over her features before she gives me a smile.

“You don’t have to worry, nothing bad is going to happen to you here Emberly.” She patted my shoulder lightly with chilled fingers, “Now hold still and pucker your lips.”

She had done my makeup, and when she spun me around so I could see myself, I was in awe. I looked beautiful, with a natural contour, just to bring out my cheekbones, a light blush, and an ‘on fleek’ highlight. I had a soft red makeup as the base but then there was light gold on top, a dark red for my crease. Black mascara and no eyeliner. My lips had red lipstick and I felt a little weird as I don't usually wear lipstick.

“Now,” Jane says, and round me to get a brush, she started to brush my hair. “I have no idea why humans feel the need to change their hair.”

I laughed, “Because some people like to have different colors...I changed mine because I thought my natural hair didn't suit me.”

She looked at me, “You shouldn't change it again.” I laugh lightly, not really sure how to answer that. She brushed out my hair, and I noticed it had actually gotten a little bit longer. How long have I been here?

“What's the month?”

“July.”

“I've been here for five months?” I asked, and she nodded. I sat still as she started to braid and twist my hair. It was a beautiful job; my hair was braided into three pieces on the top which was then twisted into a large bun. Then, the rest of my hair was down in natural waves that reached my mid back.

“It's beautiful,” I say quietly, sending her a smile through the mirror. “Thank you Jane.”

She nods, though as she turns I see a proud look in her eyes, her head held high as she picked up something that was hanging over a set of three screens to change behind...what in the world were they called? I stand and gasp when I see the dress she's holding out to me.

“Here you are.”

It's red, a deep rich color, like the darkest roses you can think of. It was lace around the top, and it fell off the shoulder to long sleeves.

“It's…” I couldn't even put words into my mouth about how gorgeous it looked. “I can't wear that.” I shake my head, not even wanting to know how much it cost.

“Yes, you will.” Jane stated and comes towards me, “Alec didn't have this specifically made for nothing.”

“It was made for me?” My eyes were wide with shock, and I heard an angelic chime, she was laughing at me.

“Of course.” Jane smirked, “Only the best would do, you should have seen the others he turned down; said they weren't good enough.”

“He-I…” I couldn't think of what to say. I took the dress and she helped me into it, the dress fit perfectly and I wondered when he got my measurements.

“Beautiful.” Jane says stepping back and I look up at her.

“Really?”

“Yes.” She turns and walks to her mirror, “Now, sit there and don’t ruin my job.” She looked at me with a deadly glare, “Or I’ll hurt you.”

I sat there, quietly as Jane did her makeup and hair. She finished; her makeup a black eyeshadow with winged eyeliner. Her lips were red, and it looked weird to see her hair down. Her blond hair was long and reached to her bottom. It was stick straight, but she took some strands around her temples and braided them, pinning them around her head sort of like a headband. Her dress was black and long, like mine, but she did not have sleeves. Instead, the lace around the top was close around her neck, like a tight collar.

“What time is it?”

“About seven.” Jane answered, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “Guests are starting to arrive.”

Just then, when I was about to ask where Alec was, there was a knock at the door.

“Jane?” Alec’s voice came through the cracked door, then he poked his head in and looked at Jane who was standing in front of me.

“Brother.” She addressed, walking past him like a model on the runway and out the door.

I shuffled and looked at him, twiddling my fingers as I flushed under his gaze. He was just standing there, looking at me, and I wondered if I looked terrible.

“I knew that was the dress for you.” He commented, walking towards me. It was then that I saw he was dressed in a black suit. He had a dark red shirt, with a dark grey vest with black buttons, it was snug around his torso, and his pants were black as well. His jacket was black and had small black cufflinks on his red shirt and black jacket sleeves. He looked wonderful.

“You look very nice as well.” I flushed, feeling embarrassed that I just did that. I stopped my awkward laughing as his cool fingertips gently pressed under my jaw and lifted my face to meet his.

“Before we leave to join the party,” Alec’s voice was soft, almost far away as my eyes fluttered to his lips. “I have rules for you.” His lips, so soft and looks like a deep pink color, and looked like pedals. I pictured myself touching them, running my finger over his cupid's bow and the plump dip of his bottom lip, in between the place where his chin and bottom lip meet.

“Are you listening to me?” I blinked, stepping back and meeting his eyes. They were bright red, sticking out with his black suit.

“Uh...no.” I shook my head, “I wasn’t, I’m sorry-you were saying?”

“You will not speak unless spoken to; even if you are spoken to, you will look to me for permission.” He walked forwards, backing me into one of the posts on Jane’s bed. His cold hand was flush against my throat, but he wasn’t choking me, just applying pressure, igniting my skin on fire. “You will not leave my side, unless I tell you to stay put until my return.”

“Am I allowed to talk to you?”

Alec furrowed his brow, “Yes, only me.”

“Alec!” I jumped, looking at the doorway to see an unimpressed Jane, hands on her hips as she gave Alec a sassy look. “Hurry up, the others are waiting.” She was suddenly gone, and Alec backed away, giving me a deadly look.

“You mess this up, you will never see the light of day.” I nod, swallowing the lump building in my throat, but another seemed to be setting in. I took his arm, as he held it out for me like a true gent. We walked down the hall, towards where I assume the party was being held. I wasn’t wearing very high heels, but I felt like I was going to fall on my face at any moment.

I gripped his jacket tighter, biting my lip as we neared the door. My heart was pounding wildly, and I felt like I might throw up. Alec paused, looking at me before pushing the large doors open. We came in through a small entrance, not the main where two finely dressed men in long coats were standing like frozen statues. People showed them invitations and then walked on in.

I let a small gasp leave my mouth as I looked around the room.

It was glorious.

The ceiling was unbelievably high, with gold trim and what I would describe as a little greek or so, designs that were embedded deep into the gold. The walls were a pearl white, and Alec and I stood between two large columns that arched beautifully, golden pictures lining the walls. There were dozens of golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and I felt a small smile form on my lips as I heard a familiar tune.

“This...is Sleeping Beauty?” I look at Alec, confused as to have something from a disney movie, but then again, it is a waltz. “Not that Tchaikovsky isn’t great…”

Alec gives me a smirk, “The secretary was the one to put together the music, she also got the orchestra as well.” I look to where he nodded to, seeing a rather large orchestra playing on some sort of stage area, people dressed to perfection as they had stools of sheet music in front of them.

“Come,” Alec started to pull me gently to our left, towards three men sitting on large thrones. Those three from before. Aro, I believe his name was, the one in the middle. Alec’s masters. “We must greet the masters.” I follow him, my steps light as I hold my dress up with my right hand, as my other is still in Alec’s arm.

“Ah!” Aro stool, dressed in a pure black suit. He looked slim in it, as black usually makes others look slim and fit, hut what caught me was the short cape like piece that clipped at his shoulders with black metal clippings. It stopped just around his rear, flowing gracefully as he stepped towards us. “Alec, and Emberly.” He smiled warmly, looking at both of us as Alec bowed slightly, looking into his master’s eyes as he stood tall. “You look lovely, pure beauty-Emberly.”

I looked at Alec, and he gave a single nod with an approving smile.

I turned to Aro, “Thank you.” I gave him a polite smile, feeling a soft blush rise to my neck.

Aro grinned cheekily down at me, dimples showing in his chalky white cheeks. “I hope you enjoy our ball, it’s been awhile since our last.” Aro turned to Alec and I let my eyes travel around, seeing a mass of unfamiliar faces. Alec pulled me around, introducing me to what I assumed was friends or at least acquaintances to Aro and the other two.

I met a set of sisters, not twins, but they seemed close in characteristics to be confused as so. Nell and Unica; both with shimmering red eyes and rustic looking brown hair. They were tall, a little taller than Alec, but very skinny builds to them. They wore black dresses, but they were different. Nell wore a long black dress that was almost like a mermaid design-but didn’t have the frillies around the bottom half of her legs-with long fitting sleeves. Her chest area was cut out and riddled with silver stones and diamonds, beautifully shaping around her neck and accenting her angular shoulders, she also complimented her face shape by wearing her hair up with dangly silver earrings.

Unica; however, seemed to be more refined yet bold in her dressing-while Nell seemed a little more guaddy. Unica had the same shape of dress, with the mermaid look-no frill-and long sleeves, but she had no diamonds littering her chest. Starting from her neck, she had what I would describe as silver snowflake like diamonds falling around the outside of her bust and stopping at the end of her rib cage. She also wore a long cape like thing like Aro, but hers fell around her ankles, and it made her seem older and more mature with the same hairstyle with large stud earrings.

They ignored me, which I wasn’t bothered by, as I could hardly understand their thick russian accents. They spoke to Alec in quick sentences, and I was sure they were speaking russian, until he replied with a simple sentence, ‘No, thank you.’ and we moved on.

“Stay here.” I didn’t get a chance to say anything else, as Alec was suddenly gone and I couldn’t find him in the crowd. Red eyed guests were conversing everywhere, making me uncomfortable as it seemed I was the only one with normal eye coloring. They weren’t human, but I was. It was then that I took notice of their equally pale skin, and beautiful looks.

I jumped as I heard a small ‘Hello’ from beside me. I turned to see a largely built man, with a giant smile, and yellow eyes. Or gold? It didn’t seem right, the coloring. He was freakishly pale, like the rest of them, with handsome features, yet his eyes were yellowish instead of the ruby.

His smile was charming, and I would have for sure been a victim to his manliness, wanting to meet his mother and probably think of having his children-if I was any other girl. I moved away from him slightly, both scared and unsure of whether or not I should answer him. My head screamed no, but what would he do if I didn’t? Tell Alec I was a rude girl and maybe Alec would be angry? He said to be on my best behavior-okay, he didn’t but I don’t want another beating.

“Emmett! You’re scaring the poor thing.” A blond woman walked up and held a hand on his chest, above his heart. She smiled at me, leaning into the man’s side. It seemed she was marking her territory, as if saying- ‘I’ll play nice but he’s mine’ kinda thing. “Sorry about him-” She frowned deeply, turning to the man called Emmett and whispering loudly. “Why is there a human here?” Emmett was about to answer when Carlisle, who I instantly recognized, walked over with a beautiful woman on his arm. The woman was motherly, with dark auburn hair curled and hanging loosely off her shoulders; a soft pink gown clung to her figure and I was a little self conscious standing beside her and Rose. Rose’s long blond hair was braided to what I could only relate to as Elsa’s from Frozen, though her hair was longer and thicker. She had white pearls in her hair, matching the baby blue dress with crystal looking diamonds embedded around the neck and into the sleeves.

“Rose, this is Emberly.” Carlisle, who wore a black suit with a pink shirt, sent a friendly smile towards me, “It’s wonderful to see you again, doing well I suppose?” I was about to answer, but closed my mouth at the last second, not a sound escaped my throat. Where was Alec?

“Carlisle, who’s this?” Another, unfamiliar voice spoke up and I turned to see a slim young man with a young girl on his arm, another girl and boy following behind them. The man who spoke was tall and slim, with dark brown hair with a bit of a bronze look to his ends. He didn’t have facial hair, like Emmett and Carlisle, and wore a black suit with a little bit of a 20’s vibe to it. The young woman, barely over the age of eighteen, had long dark chocolate brown hair that was pinned into a bun. She wore little make up, going for a natural look that suited her perfectly. She wore a dark blue dress, oddly plain but very formal and elegant. The girl beside her, wore a bright red dress. She held features of both the man and woman beside her, leading me to believe they were her parents. But what bothered me was her eyes were a dark brown, not yellow like the others. The boy beside her was native, clearly from his tanned skin and dark hair and eyes. He was human, judging by his eyes as well. He had a black suit with a red tie, matching the girl’s dress perfectly.

“This is Emberly,” Carlisle answered, then turned towards me. “Emberly, I would like you to meet some members of my family. My wife, Esme. My sons, Emmett and Edward. My daughters, Rosalie and Bella. This is Bella and Edward’s daughter, Renesmee, and this is Jacob.” I gave them smiles, unsure if I should just say screw it and speak or not.

I flinched as I felt a cool hand wrap around my waist, I knew it was Alec, but I turned to look at him anyways. I raised my eyebrows, and he smiled down at me.

“You may speak.”

I turned to them, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Carlisle told me much about you when he visited me.”

“I hope the medication is working.”

“Perfectly.” I state, feeling Alec pull me into his side. I turned to look at him, only to see he was glaring ahead, at Edward who shared a similar look.

“Excuse us.” Alec growled, pulling me away from Carlisle’s family.

I turned away, only to hear Edward say, “How could they do this to her?” I was confused, greatly confused, but let it pass as Alec suddenly pulled me onto the dance floor.

I blushed heavily, looking up at Alec as a new song started.

“Just follow me, little dove.” I nodded, holding my breath as he pulled me closer, hand holding mine as the other rested at my back. We started our steps, and I followed him like we practiced. It was silent between us, only for a while until I looked up and saw he was already staring at me.

He spun me around, and I gasped when he pulled me back sooner than I was expecting, but I settled into the steps comfortably, gazing into his eyes as we swayed and turned with the music.

The Ball Part 2, Chapter 15

-Third person-

Emberly and Alec danced together for a while, until Emberly finally said she needed a rest, feeling quite dizzy with all the turning and such. She stood by a pillar, feeling a little hot as she tried to keep her heart and breathing even. Alec had vanished, claiming he had to speak with his Master before she could even say ‘okay’. She stood alone, looking at the couples dancing and laughing as they twirled. It was almost like a fairy tail, as if she was in some kind of dream.

“Well hello.” Emberly jumped, backing away from the strikingly good looking man who suddenly rounded the pillar and came into her view. He followed her as she backed up, invading her personal space as she tried to create some distance. His eyes were a dark red, almost black color as he grinned down at her like a shark. “I’m Cain.” Emberly bit her lip, trying to back up, but he followed, making her heart beat faster with fear. Her eyes searched for Alec, but his dark hair wasn’t seen.

Emberly was suddenly not in the ballroom, but outside in a dimly lit hall. The music was still audible, meaning she was still close to Alec.

“I wonder what they see in you.”

“Get away from me.” She barely says before he’s got her thrown against the wall, holding her tight at her arms, his grip bruising her and stopping the circulation to the rest of her arms. “Stop!” She yelped, wincing as he clutched her tighter. He growled as he buried his face into her neck, breathing in deeply.

“You smell amazing Darl,” It was then that she realized the man before her, the monster, was Australian. “Probably been bit by that little runt already…” His shaggy blond hair tickled her cheek, and Emberly whimpered weakly as his tongue ran along the curve of her neck and shoulder. “So ripe…”

“Stop-” She hiccuped, feeling tears run down under her chin and onto her neck. “What are you doing?” She asked as he nipped her skin, seeing blood rush to the surface.

“Shh,” He gripped her tighter. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Alec!” She screamed, crying out before she was cut off, a ice cold hand over her mouth. The doors they were near flew open and Alec was suddenly right next to them, gripping the stranger's neck and throwing him off of her. Emberly fell to the floor in a heap of sobs, holding her neck as she watched Alec pull the man’s head clear off. It cracked and crunched like breaking glass, his head bounced to her legs, his eyes rolling lifelessly up into his skull. She screamed and batted it away, looking up at Alec who was glaring down at her.

He took her arm before she could say anything, dragging her at light speed before throwing her into his room, slamming the door behind him as he stalked forward.

“Alec!” Emberly cried, holding out her hand, “Wait!” Her eyes widened as he started to unclasp his belt, pulling it out of his pant loops easily with one jerk. His eyes were dark and menacing, but he looked emotionless. He wasn’t snarling, or glaring, but just staring at her with wide eyes. “Please! He dragged me off, I couldn’t fight him!” She continued to back away, until her back hit the side of the bed, and she couldn’t go anywhere else.

“Alec,” Emberly trembled, pleading eyes looking into his face. “He-” She choked on her sobs, and Alec was reminded of how ugly humans were when they cried. “He was going-going to kill me…”

“Stand up.” He commanded, and she cried harder. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He rolled his eyes, giving her a once over. She had messy hair, smeared eye makeup, and her red lipstick was smudged. “Did he kiss you?”

Emberly shook her head, “No, he bit me…”

Alec moved her to sit on the bed, “Can I see?” He moved before she answered, gently tilting her head to the side and peering at her neck. A small red spot was framed by deep teeth marks, almost enough to break the skin. Alec growled, leaning down and attacking her neck with his mouth. She gasped and tried to pull away, only to have him push her down into the mattress of his bed. He caged her in with his arms, holding her still as he kissed and licked over the other’s bite.

“You’re mine.”

#alec #Alec voturi #jane #aro #marcus #caius #volturi #Carlisle #esme #edward #cullens #twilight #bella #Renesemee #jacob #emmett #rose #fanfiction #fanfic

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gambitxlebeau · 7 years

Text

The Cajun And The Belle

By GambitXLeBeau WARNING: Maturity Level of Material and Language is suited only for audiences 18+. The hands of the clock ticked away ever so slowly as it had seemed. The tick tocking of the clock revealing the notice of a night alone once again. The southern bell, Rogue, had been home only thirty minutes and yet, she could not rest her mind away from something. Better yet, a certain someone. The cajun persuasion of the x-men, Remy LeBeau. Walking into her living room, with nothing but her underwear and one of Remy’s old t-shirts that hung just low enough to still cover part of her upper thighs and leaving the bottom half exposed, Rogue crossed her legs and sat with the lights off and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s strawberry ice cream. As she flipped through Netflix and onto an intimate romantic movie, the thoughts inside her head had only seemed to hunger for more psychical answers. Answers to how it would feel to be free from her abilities and possess the ability to have her own intimate moment with Gambit. The closest she had been was when she absorbed Bella Donna’s memories before, but that had only seemed to raise the hunger even more. The hunger and need for his lips to grace her own and his hands to caress her body as he had in the memories that had flown like a river of hormones and emotions throughout her mind. Trying to shrug it off, Rogue dove her spoon into the melting dairy product and placed it onto her tongue as she closed her eyes in thought. That was until the bright headlights of an old 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle LS-6 illuminated onto the walls from her living room window as it pulled into the driveway. It had been a long day, one of thievery and heroism. Gambit never really understood the concept but made it feel as if it had attoned for his past sins. Regardless of those in the making or in the least, those that had filled his head. In his life he had slept with countless women. Too many to count to be exact and that did not include the life he had with his wife. Thinking back and reflecting to how savage the two were in bed. The short skirts. The moaning breaths filling his ear. Her clenching hands entangling through his hair. Despite it all, he oddly could not feel the same satisfaction he imagined would come with Anna. Her innocence and fiery personality had seemed to give him more of a rush than anyone had ever been able to. Her morality about life introduced him into new perspectives. Yet, the desires he had were never met and his hunger raged deep. He wanted more than just her soul. He wanted her body. He wanted it against his own shaking from a heart rate racing on adrenaline. Cutting off the engine, Remy looked onto her house of which had been darkened for the exception of her television cuing she was still awake. For some reason his pulse had increased oddly as his nerves kicked in. His choice was better said than acted upon but nonetheless, Gambit stepped out of the car. Sliding one boot out of the door at a time and looking down the street he exited the vehicle. The street had been dark and no lights had been seen for a mile wide. Things were definitely different from the Big Apple than they had been in Mississippi. Ironically, it had still felt familiar to the cajun as he slid out a cigarette and lit the nicotine stick with the sliver lighter in his right pocket. Then leaned against the front hood of his car. Deciding to play a debated mind game of whether Rogue would come out of her house or if she had fallen asleep. Knowing her, Gambit assumed she would be eating ice cream and watching romantic movies. She never knew how to hide her passions from him but it was still fun to play along. To Gambits amusement, the front door did in fact slide open as Rogue emerged opening the screen door. She hadn’t gotten dressed for the fact only one man was crazy enough to bother her at such a late hour. However, looking at the cajun she was bewildered with thoughts pouring out into her imagination discretely. She had never seen him quite like he had been tonight. Or maybe he had been. She hadn’t the slightest clue. What she did know was the fact that he had never looked more like the swamp rat he was in his ripped at the knees black jeans, leather boots, and his white tank top. His muscles slightly stretching out the shirt as he sucked on the back of that old cancer stick. “What’s ya gone an’ gotten yerself down here so late, cajun?” She asked slightly trying to keep up her defenses. He had known too well who Anna Marie was. She was the woman who had been raised without the ability to touch and her emotions had seemed all the same. Untouchable. Or so it had seemed. Only time had told him different. Rogue did not harden or distant her emotions. She wore them. Ironically, more so than the clothes she wore tonight as Gambit gazed back allowing the smoke to exhale through his nostrils and mouth. The anger had been a facade to protect others, she told herself, but he knew better. Rogue was just as in need of love as he had been willing to give past his own poker face. With a crooked grin, Gambit locked his ruby hued eyes with her emerald jewels, “I reckon ta see jus’ how low dat shirt hangs on ya, belle. You gonna lemme in, o’ is it de stars fer o’ Remy LeBeau, ‘ey?” He said a bit sarcastic and a bit suave. The silent brisk night fell over and consumed both the cajun and the bell as he looked off into the distance. Each of them speechless for a moment as thoughts breached their inner most desires and Gambit contemplated how it felt to be in Mississippi. To be honest, he had always heard stories and could have sworn he knew a one night stand from the old Miss but he never quite could recall the name. Perhaps it was the whiskey or the smoke in the air that night. In the least, he found it to be quite the welcoming. Leaning against his car and looking towards the fields as Rogue gazed back wondering what was going through his mind. She had dated him. Swore she knew him better than anyone. His favorite color. His favorite songs. She even knew what kind of cigarette he favored most. The only thing she quarreled over, however, was that she never knew what was really going on his mind. She never knew what his thoughts were unless he stated them himself. She both hated and felt awed by the mystery that was Remy Etienne LeBeau. “Jus’ gonna stand ‘ere all nahght lookin’ at ya shirt an’ the stars, swamp rat? Or ya gonna behave yaself an’ come in? Ya can come watch a movie with me if ya wanna stay awhile..” She said a little breathlessly. She never understood why she never seemed to have a breath around him. She was not drawn in by his mutant charm like the rest of the countless women he slept with and yet he seemed to have her wrapped around his finger like the gambler. The gambler who knew the feelings surging inside the southern flame. Gambit loved many women before both emotionally and physically. Anna, on the other hand was another story. He, himself, knew her better than anyone. He knew her desires. He knew her goals and ambitions. He could even calculate her next actions without thought. Possibly it could be blamed on his card dealings. Or maybe it could have been because he was the only one to spend countless hours with her. He could count the nights he spent with her on the phone. Detail perfectly just how she responded to everything in life. He could even feel her slim fingers, whether gloved or not, graze his skin. It was not like it had been with Bella. Bella was the assassin. A woman who could not be underestimated but even with her nimble fingers and perfect touch it was left imperfect to Anna. Nothing felt like her. The cajun grinned up at the belle crookedly and exhaled a puff of smoke, “Dat de rules fer comin’ indoors, ‘ey?” Gambit said sarcastically and then struck out his cigarette. Then stood up off the hood of the car, walking towards the stairs, “A’ movie wit’ ya does fancy moi’s interest. Lemme guess, we bound ta git de max from Netflix?” Gambit looked into Rogue’s emerald eyes with his wild smirk. “Careful, sugah. Ya just mite git the boot out the door with Rogue.” She stuck out her tongue playfully and then laughed back as they both entered into the house. It had been quite the familiar as Gambit walked into the house looking around. Pictures hanging on the walls. The game room where he could hear her on the phone talking about cute baby sheep on red dead redemption. He smiled amusingly. She was definitely the country cowgirl. Walking into the kitchen, Gambit leaned against the sink and looked around in deep thought. Rogue, walking in behind him, looked over at him and trying to determine his thoughts, “Would ya like somethin’ ta drink?” she offered. “Beer.” Gambit said with a smile and then reached over to grab it from Rogue who removed a bottle of beer for the man from the bayou. The awkward silence again took over as Gambit took a drink. Rogue had been a bit more worried by the words he did not say than those he would give the privilege of speaking. Then looking towards the unexpected mischievous grin on his face, Rogue smiled back, “What?” ”Nuthin’. Jus’ rememberin’ de time I was in Nawlin’s an’ ya had ta use a’ chair ta git ova top de fridge.” “Shut up!” She said with a blush as she smiled shyly. Gambit looked over at Rogue with a coy smirk and his devilish, falmboyant, red-hued gaze, “T’ought we were goin’ ta watch a’ movie, no?” “We are. Whacha wanna watch, sugah?” She asked. Gambit grinned devilishly and then slowly walked past her. “Hmm. Lemme t’ink. How ‘bout de movie dats already on!” Gambit said playfully as he ran out of the kitchen and towards the living room. “No! Come back here!” Rogue yelled chasing after him. Coming into the living room, Gambit jumped over the back of the couch and took the remote control. Flipping it to the menu, to read the title of the movie Gambit chuckled a little, “Fifty shades o’ Grey?” He laughed even more as he looked up at Rogue who attempted to snatch the remote. “Gimme the remote, Remy LeBeau!” Gambit pulled Rogue towards him. Wrapping his arms around her laughing, “No, we gonna watch dis. ‘Submissive’? Movie.” He said being careful not to touch her her bare flesh. “No!” She said glaring back at him. Inside, while looking at his ‘foolish’ grin and those eyes, Rogue submitted herself, “Fine. Ya wanna watch dis with me, its yer loss, swamp rat.” She said, pretending to still be angry. Finally relaxing, Gambit pressed play as Rogue fell into his arms and rested her head on his chest looking at the television. The irony seeping into the room as both of them feeling the protection of each other within one another. Thinking to herself as she watched the erotic movie immense on the screen before them after thirty minutes had passed. Placing herself in the role of Anastasia Steele. A college graduate and ever so slightly cut off from the world. That is until, who she pictured as Remy, Christian Grey reveals himself the luxurious man of interests. Captivating her interests and pulling her into his seductive lifestyle. Inch by inch. Gambit, lost in his own thoughts, begins to notice his own irony. Holding the powerful, yet somehow still fragile, woman in his arms. Taking his gaze off the movie as Rogue stays hers on the screen, Gambit looks down at her body. Her legs curved up and folded perfectly into his lap and onto the sofa. The moments passing ever so slowly in thought as his breath begins to slowly fade. Sliding his hands slowly over towards Anna’s right leg. Upon feeling his touch, Anna looks at Gambit angrily, “Remy! Ya know what happens when I touch people!” She retorts. Her mind conflicting the touch as he removes his hand and she gets off his lap. Sitting at the other end of the couch. Gambit lost in thought at his next sentence just rolls off his tongue without thought, “I’m sorry, chérie.” Inside they both knew that was a lie. She did not know what to think. She wanted his thoughts to be real. Her thoughts to be real. She wanted a pause on the movie and a play on their life. Yet, her mutant powers condemned her to fear and doubt. Gambit absent mindly just looked on towards the television. Battling his mind to resist the urges. To find a way into decieving himself that he did not want to have sex with her nor to feel her body against his own. He could not do it, though. He did not know whether his will was too weak or too strong, but he looked over towards Anna with a sincerely passionate look, “Non, actually, belle. 'Fraid I’m not sorry, Anna. I’ve been thinkin’ bout ya more an’ more. An’ de thoughts just keep buildin’ inside my head.” Remy said truthfully. Rogue looked at Remy. Hearing those words and knowing full well they matched her own. She could feel herself being drawn in deeper. Past the uncertainties and into questions. “Yah do...?” Rogue asked. She needed not to ask. For she had already known full well what he thought of her. He chanted his love for her. However, something was different about the moment. Being alone with just herself and the thief. “I jus’ ask fer one kiss, cher. Take de risk fer just one kiss an’ I promise I will leave.” Gambit said. He knew the words he spoke were only half true. One kiss and he would want more. His desire for her would grow and releasing himself from her touch would fall upon her choice. Rogue scooted in closer shyly as Gambit did the same. “I be de t’ief, cher. An’ ya’ve gone an’ stole my heart.” He said lowly with each breath became clearer. Hearing him say that set flames to her thought process as she leaned in closer, looking into his eyes with her own, “I love ya, shuga...I think jus’ one kiss...should be fine. Its yer death tho’.” She said still hanging on, lost somewhere between want and fear. Remy closed his eyes, as she closed her own. “A fate I’d happily accept.” he said in a whisper across her lips as their faces were only inches apart. Submitting into her want for the cajun she felt her lips touch against his. Biting his lip and expelling a warm breath along her lips as they connected against each other. Her powers draining him but his own expelling the energy to continue as he cupped his hand behind the soft of her head and the other along her waist. Her own hands sliding along the stubble of his cheek and jaw line. Both of them surrendering for the moment as the unleashed fever rushes for one another in the long awaited kiss. Their fears slipping away along with their thoughts as the seconds beat by. Gambits deepest woes feeling healed in her love and embrace. Rogue’s doubts being swallowed by his lips and his charms. His lips promised things she never thought she could have. Love. Understanding. Touch. A family. A real chance at life that she had been so afraid of since Cody. Cody...the boy she almost drained the life out of with one kiss. Suddenly the fear brought Rogue back to reality as Gambits hand had begin to wander up her side. Sending a sensation through her nerves and inviting her deeper into his embrace. Rogue, instead pushed Gambit away. “Ah-Ah'm sorry, cajun...” she said looking down. He could not tell why he seemed shock that she had given in or given up. His lips hungered for more. His thoughts raced for ways to pull her into giving him more. Then, he leaned up and looked at Rogue. He did not have anything left to say at that moment. He wanted her more than anything in life but he also wanted her to decide for herself to give him what he wanted. “I’m sorry.” Gambit said getting up from the couch and walking away towards the kitchen. One thing was left on his mind. Alcohol. Left alone on the couch as the movie progressed, Rogue could not explain how she felt. Gambit was gone from her side. Whether he remained in the house or not, her fears had still taken over. She could taste the cajun still on her breath and smell his scent closer than he had been. In a matter of a few minutes she had what she had always wanted. Yet, in a matter of seconds...her fears had allowed her happiness to slip away. Allowing her to fall into another plane of thought. Questions that needed to be answered. The first. Risking the life of Remy LeBeau or risking to always live behind her fear of getting close to anyone again. The cold whispers of air blew against the southern belles exposed skin ever so slightly as the taste of strawberry ice cream and the cajun's breath lingered on her tongue. Dressed in nothing but one of Remy's old t-shirts and a pair of underwear, Rogue stands in the entrance way to the kitchen. The closest she had ever been to the man who stood 6'3, dressed in black ripped at the knees jeans and a white muscled tank top, with that hair that made him look like the signature swamp rat he was, was when she had absorbed his ex-wife's memories. Memories that were obviously and cruelly not her own. She hungered for her own touch. She hungered for her own passionate moment with the cajun who made her heart and mind do the impossible. She hungered for more than the stained kiss on her lips. Her emerald eyes flashed with fear, need and want. Striving to make herself say something. Maybe he hated her now. Maybe the tease of what life could be if she wasnt a walking death magnet was too much for him. Her heart both raced and froze as she looked towards his direction, "Remy..." His lips hungered for the liquor. It was the only taste that could wash down the strawberry kiss. The emerald beauty standing 4’5 with his t-shirt that only hung so low as to cover the upper parts of her round petite thighs. Her legs like silk against his calloused hands. His eyes closed and strained as he tried to concentrate on not turning around and wanting his way with the Mississippi queen. He couldn’t grasp whether the kiss was even real or somehow this was all just a dream. A way his mind was acting out what his body craved so much for. He ruffles his hand through his long brown hair as it uncovers his edged stubbled face. Imagining what skin lies below her clothes and the taste of it. He remembered the times and how it felt with Bella. Maybe that was the irony, he chose to love a woman he knew he couldn’t touch and still he did touch her. He knew he touched her because his senses were no longer stable. He was no longer in control of himself as his primal instincts kicked in. According to science he was, “a male who instinctively wanted to reproduce”. He laughed to himself. It was blasphemy because all he really wanted to do was fuck her. He wanted to fuck Rogue, knowing he loved her all the same, but for the sake of wanting her. He sat the cold bottle of whiskey down on the marble counter as he turned around to face his love. His eyes locking with hers with a lustful intent, “Ya don’ gotta say enythin’, chér. I know yer powers drain folk an’ ya scarred de same t'ing may happen with moi as it did wit’ Cody.” He said. Rogue looked at the man. His ragged image. His muscles fitting to the shirt he stretched and those eyes. The ruby eyes he was most famous for looking at her like never before. She didn’t quite understand why it made her feel the way she did but she knew something was different. Her heart froze and her breathing became more crucial. “Ah-Ah am scarred, Remy... Ah’m sorry, sugah. Ah wish things were different for tha two of us.” Even in his mind he was already tongue deep but he continued to hold himself together. “I kno’, p’tite. Sex is jus’ somethin’ ya don’t want. T’ats fine wit’ me. I love you all de same.” He says half lyingly. “But Remy, Ah do want it an’ Ah want it with you.” She says and for once he hears the words escape her lips like of innocent faint cry. “Risk death t’night.” Gambit says daringly. Rogue becomes fiery. Her eyes holding spiteful fear as she walks closer to the cajun. Stroking his arm softly and slowly. “Ah don’ wanna lose you.” She says fearfully. Gambit locks his ruby eyes with her emerald jewels as his next words are spoken almost too clearly, “I couldn’ be closer.” His words acting as a cue, Rogue locks lips with the cajun. The angel and the devil in the same room as he pulls her waist closer to his. She instinctively bites down on his bottom lip with her small white teeth as her body becomes jolted. He can feel the energy begin to escape from him but he knows his theory will be tested soon enough that the world will know. The world will bare witness to just how much energy Gambit holds within his body. His hands slide down her waist as they cuff her butt perfectly. Lifting her up as she wraps her arms around his neck and her thighs around his waist. Her body moving to position like a gypsy on a cajun tree in size. He grunts once more as she sucks on his lip. His tongue trails her lips as he makes his way down her neck. She lifts her head backwards as her white streak and brown hair falls behind her giving Remy more room to suck on her neck. She lets out a little whimper as he bites her neck perfectly and sucks on her skin. Remy walks to a wall as Rogue leans on it. Her hips rocking in a sway as he licks her neck and kisses her once again lustfully. She reaches for a bottle of wine left out on the counter as they exit the kitchen. “Ah want you...” She whispers in his ear just before playfully biting on his lobe. He grunted from the sensation sent down through his spine and in the next moment she could feel her prize against her. His thickness beginning to swell. Walking into the bedroom, Gambit lays his queen of hearts upon her bed as she lifts his shirt off her slim figure. Her perfect body exposed for his eyes only. As he gazed and let his fingers slide slowly over each precious curve. Both petite and appetizing. Gambit lifts himself off the bed as he lifts off his own shirt. Rogue, sitting up, grazes his torso with her small fingers. His perfectly slim abs and his chest with not too much but not too less of his cajun hairs. “Ah love you, Remy...” She says as she looks up at him with an innocent emerald gaze. He runs his fingers through her hair as he kisses her ruby lips. “Yer my queen o’hearts, chérie. Never too far an’ always where I need ya ta be.” She blushes as he smiles. Then walking towards the door he looks back at her lustfully. The southern Mississippi Queen and the New Orleans Prince of Thieves. Finally taking the risks that they so desperately craved. “C’mere, swamp rat.” She says with a devilish smirk as she flexed her pointer finger back and forth. Gambit closes the door with a smile. “Comin’, cher.” Love is a poison man has come to know all to well in its very nature. The lingering of a heart between two lovers as opposite as day and night. The white ocean of sheets rustle in the wake of the morning light as the sun begins to peak through. The house has been vacant for hours now but neither one of them notice anything but themselves and their own nerves spiking. Their senses fritzing with each continuing touch. The covers lap over them with no intentions of covering his throbbing head or her curvaceous formation. She herself is like no other he has lain with. Her virginity of a mans touch breaks with each passing moan as she can barely recall why shes left herself without any passionate touch, which only makes her appreciate his even more. She was a girl without the ability to love as she had thought. Her emerald eyes traced his for answers of what had changed her thinking. Instead the belle locks contact with the cajun swamp rat. He knows the form of a woman all too well. His princely demise has been this one secret and he reveals his knowledge in each moment. Seizing each second as his own and claiming the prize he has worked so hard to achieve. The man from the bayou listens to her heart as it races too fast, skips a beat and then continues to race. He feels her petite fingers grab at his long smooth hair as he works his tongue in ways she can't even understand. As it fills and caresses her femine portions with its slippery wetness. Her breath off course and he understands this to be the waking point of her own orgasm. He finds her pressure points with ease and she hates him for it. She hates how easy this is to him and how he can make her feel both powerless and powerful at the same time. Lapping the savory taste into his mouth he rubs in a way he works the picks on locks. Allowing her to flow like a majestic river of beauty and delicacy. After she feels him take she goes for his like a lost silver kitten. Her eyes looking into his as her hand finds her way around it. He grunts from the static friction of her abilities which only increase his blood flow. She smiles because she can see it in his eyes he feels in the same way he had made her. Defenseless and yet still prideful. Her thin lips take in the taste of flesh and slowly come back to the surface of air. That is before she allows her tongue to curve and coil like a snake, slithering to and fro, his pulse getting heavier and heavier. He bites his lip and runs his fingers through her hair. The silky touch between his knuckles only works against him and for her. As he takes in a breath of air he cannot help but feel the dams of sins about to break. She takes it like an ice cream cone, makes three delicate and meaningful strokes, then he hears her giggle slightly as his crisp cajun voice breaks into a raspy curse, "Mon dieu..." With a royal grace of thieves he leans her back for the ultimate steal. He knows she has never been with a man and the one she had been with was sent to a coma. She knows his darkest secrets and that he has been married once before. To him it was only a kiss. To her it was only five minutes before exile. They owned and ravished each. As he takes it to the garden of lost virtues he claims his prize like an untamed lion. His devilish smirk increasing as the sweat rolls off his brow and his muscles flex repeatedly again and again. Encouraging him to gain more ground as their voices echo through the sanctuary of their home. Again and again she feels his heart race until they're matched in harmony. Sliding his hands over her smooth skin. Her arms giving birth to a series of goose bumps as he slides over her tummy and then higher to her chest. He makes no notion to stop and she doesn't allow him to decide otherwise. His energy spiking even more as she absorbs his ruby eyed complexion. Remy LeBeau the prince of thieves has stolen the one thing he has wanted for so long and finally she takes pride from the son of thieves. Spinning him over she takes control and shows to him how powerful a Mississippi Queen can truly be. Her eyes flaring with each purr of erection. Tensing and sucking with her own body. The tension building into the air as each partner is neither with or without control. His hands slide around her waist to keep her from going too far east or west. Her curves rattle his mind and his thoughts as he can barely cope with what has transfigured in this small town of N'awlins. As they elope into each others hearts. Their passions causing their own weaknesses to reveal themselves. She takes him as her own. The king of spades and the queen of hearts. Their bed slows down to a resting. She lays across his chest. Her hair like wildvines covering his left side as they take to their lips against one another. She has never felt this way before and he has never felt more like himself ever than how she has made him. Helplessly smiling they look at each other. Till he laughs a little, "Dis proper enough fer you, chérie?"

#gambit #remy lebeau #marvel #fanfic #rogue #anna marie #x men

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