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georgiapeach30513 · 1 year

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Sweet Silver Linings, Part 3

Summary: you and Curtis are struggling

Pairings: Curtis Everett X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings: mentions of D/s dynamics, mentions of bondage, mentions of biting, mentions of spanking, toy play, butt plug, nipple clamps, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.2K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Ugh!” Doll looks down the couch at her husband who was peacefully rubbing her exhausted feet when Curtis’ groans of distress ring through their house. “No! You piece of,” he takes a deep breath, throwing the piece of paper he was working into the floor with the other discarded ones, and starting to draw again.

Doodle pokes his nose on his mama’s belly, and gives his tail a wag, looking upstairs. “Yes, Doodle, I think you need to go check on Uncle Curtis. He seems a bit…”

“Oh my god!”

“Distressed. And if he’s distressed then I’m distressed, and if I’m distressed this sweet girl is, and…”

“Doodle, buddy boy, sissy can not be distressed, tell Curtis to come here instead of,” another growl has Doodle’s face looking up at the stairs instead of wanting to nuzzle Doll. “Go, buddy, tell him he needs to come down here and explain himself.”

Doodle wanders up the stairs, and nudges the door open with his nose. His sweet demeanor gives Curtis puppy dog eyes. “They told you to come up here, didn’t they? I’m fine!” He shouts down at his brother and sister in law.

“Curtis Howard Everett, you come down here this instant!”

“Ooh! She full named you,” Curtis groans again, grabbing his sketch pad as he trudges downstairs. “She’s getting practice, but Cozy girl will never need to be full named. She’s going to be the sweetest, cuddliest…”

“Curtis, what cha got?” Doll says, reaching a hand out to the notebook. “Come here, show me what you got.”

“It’s nothing,” he hands over the scribbled on paper, sighing. “I just can’t get it right.”

“Coco,” she smiles, looking up from the paper. “This…this is for her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. For the shop.”

“You can’t get it right because you want it to be perfect for her?” He nods his head, and she gets the biggest tears in her eyes.

“No! Why are you crying?” Hayden gets excited, sitting up and moving to her side. “You’re smiling. Why is she smiling?”

“This is the sweetest thing ever.”

“I’m sweet,” Hayden was clearly the baby of his family. Always needing to be center of attention.

“You really like her, huh?” Doll sweetly asks, placing a hand on his cheek. “Like really really like her?”

Curtis takes a moment, but nods his head. He liked you a lot. Hardly knew you, but he was falling. There was something under the surface that he just couldn’t quite get to, but he was falling so hard, and it was frustrating. There was no reason for him to be falling. None whatsoever. But here he was trying to make you something perfect and it just didn’t work.

“Yeah, I really like her. I have so many questions, but I want her to let me in. I’m right there. She talks to me unprompted. Her dog loves me. I can tell. Teeny loves me. Teeny? This girl is so precious she named a giant St. Bernard, Teeny. He’s her emotional support dog, isn’t he?”

“Curtis, Bubs is one of the most precious people I’ve ever met. She’s had a lot happen in her life. She wants to love so hard. I think that’s why she’s standoffish. She’s scared. And if you knew…you would get it, but that's not my story. What I will say, if she’s letting you in, that’s a good thing. She doesn’t take that lightly. She keeps new people at a distance. Thinks she’s bad luck. But this…you’re wanting to simplify her life, and I don’t think anyone has ever done that. She complicates her life, and her brain is always going in different directions. But….this…this is perfect. She’ll love this.”

“It’s not perfect,” Curtis reaches over, grabbing the notebook from his sister in law. This had gotten complicated for no reason. He didn’t want things to be like this. But he would do whatever it took for you to be comfortable with him. “She’s perfect, and I can't compete with that.”

“Then don’t,” Hayden shrugs his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his wife. “Take it from a man that found someone who was perfect. You can’t duplicate them. You can’t give them the perfect scenarios all the time. You can’t do everything. This is what you can do,” he gives a point to his brother’s early drafts of the cabinet. “Instead of trying to make something perfect, make it functional. Let it capture what you know her personality to be. Make her life easier at her store. But you can’t recreate perfection. You’re wasting time on doing that, instead of spending time with her. That’s the point of this to keep you more around her. Then there ya go. This is what you do.”

“I’m not perfect, Haydes.”

“That’s all you got from that, seriously, woman?”

“Haydes is right,” Hayden gives a proud smile at his brother, making sure Curtis heard Doll say that Hayden was right. “You’re thinking too hard. Let things flow, and happen. Spend time with her. If she agreed to this, she wants you there. It’s okay to be a bit nervous. You do have a school boy crush.”

“So you think this draft is okay?” Both Hayden and Doll smile, nodding that it was. “Okay. Okay. I’m just going to let things happen then.”

“Exactly. Let them happen!”

“So, Curtis, tell me why you still think it’s necessary for you to come here?” Doc puts her pen and paper down. Laying her hands in her lap as she stares at the man across from her.

“Well, before it was trying to work through my feelings of losing Jessie, and believing it was my fault. Then it was the fear of doing what I always wanted to do. I want to help people. Not in the way that my dad and brother do, but a more approachable way. Therapy is great, but not everyone has the means for it, you know?”

“Your book is completed, is it not?”

“Uh,” he rubs the back of his neck. Technically it was. And it was picked up by a publishing company. But was anything ever really completed? He had a life’s mission. “Yeah, I guess. But…Doc, I think something is wrong with me.”

“How so?”

“Have you ever had a fear of something?”

“Do we not all fear something?”

“But I mean something that is good and fun, and so fucking satisfying.”

“What do you mean?” She fidgets her fingers a bit, thinking about reaching over for her notebook, but Curtis did better without it. He liked eye contact, and it was almost eerie how much he liked it.

“Sex.”

“Oh, I did not see that answer coming. How long has it been since you last had sex?” It was a shame that Curtis didn’t have to actually think about how long it had been. He knew exactly how long it had been. Exactly how each and every day and drug by that he had felt a woman to hold and protect.

“Well over a year.”

“Good looking guy, sweet, confident.”

“I don’t need you to tell me my positive attributes. I have women that hit on me constantly. I lack the response to want to interact with them,” because there was only one, and you weren’t one to pick up on any flirting. He wanted you. No one else. Just you.

“Why?” Curtis was a fascinating patient. He just needed an outside person to talk to, but for the most part he could talk himself to an answer. He just needed someone to listen to him. Especially after dealing with his guilt over Jessie.

“Seeing my sister in law in that place,” he breaks his eye contact to look out into the distance. Remembering the unease he felt about her being at the club. “It was these two men constantly bickering about whose dick was going to get wet by her. They knew without knowing what they were doing. She just needed physical touch. They were passing her around like she was nothing but a fleshlight, just wet skin. Neither one acknowledged how hurt she was and she was using sex to think people loved her.”

“This is all about your sister in law. How do you fit in?”

“I’m getting there. I saw it. Saw her walk out of the chapel, walking funny, and this dead look in her eyes. Only to have some other man needing to use her, and she always left with him. She was this ball of depression, and I took too long to intervene. I saw the older one constantly walking behind her, and grabbing her over her clothes, whispering how her cunt was his. She was just property to him. The other one cared, but didn’t see how she was being used by him either.”

Curtis holds his hand up to Doc, stopping her from asking a question. He was about to make his point. “The one would whisper in her ear, ‘You know who your daddy is, and you know who you belong to.’ And every time I saw a piece of her die. I didn’t know that type of relationship could harm someone.”

“That type of relationship?”

“You know,” she shakes her head no, needing Curtis to elaborate. “A Dom and sub relationship.”

“Oh. Why would you think it harmed her?”

“It clearly did.”

“Maybe I should ask, why do you care if that type of relationship harmed her?”

“Umm…I don’t know. I guess…I guess it’s because that’s how I like things. And I see Doll and my brother, and they don’t have that, and they’re so happy. She calls him daddy, and while I know it’s more than him becoming a father, it’s not in this ownership type of way.”

“Hmm,” she smiles at him, realizing how confused he was in understanding that lifestyle. “What you were witnessing was a very unhealthy D/s relationship. Doll went along with that relationship because as you said, she needed to feel loved. Needed the attention. And she found negative attention. A man that used her vulnerable state and need for a daddy. In a healthy Dominate and sub relationship there are boundaries. Even ownership is fine if both parties agree to that. If they have their rules and their boundaries. You always have to have consent to these things.”

“But what if…I haven’t. But I enjoy a certain type of porn.”

“You mean the type of porn you watch is something you want to act out?” He nods his head, and looks away from her. Completely out of character for him. Curtis had a calming effect around him. But also kept up that eye contact.

“Okay, and what’s wrong with the type of porn you prefer?”

“It’s abusive.”

“How so?”

“Tying someone up. Smacking them. Punishment.”

“With boundaries that include a safe word, knowing your partner, and watching for physical cues, and even their verbal cues on when to stop is a safe way to enjoy extreme sex. It is best to have this type of relationship with someone you trust, and that trusts you. These types of relationships are about being vulnerable with someone. The ultimate trust is given to another person. Someone that will push their limits, but listen, watch, feel, and then in the end will take care of them. You can’t have one extreme without the other. Aftercare is a must in these relationships. They’re for both parties; the dominant and the submissive. Which is why you need an open conversation on what you want in this relationship. That doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you. This is normal, and more common than you realize.”

“How do you mean that?” The eye contact was back. No longer ashamed to look her in the eye. “So this is common? Like, having visions of tying someone up, and…punishing them is normal?”

“It’s a scene. It’s a controlled environment. Would you tie up anyone or punish them unwillingly?”

“No! No. No, I would never take complete control over someone.”

“So you’re saying with boundaries such as them agreeing to it, and giving you a way to know when they’ve had enough that is the only way you would punish someone?”

“Yes,” One syllable, and complete conviction. Curtis wouldn’t hurt anyone. “Why do you think I’m like that?”

Doc takes a deep breath. Both she and Curtis both know that time was nearing an end. “Sometimes it’s a lack of control in your own life. When there’s things we can’t control, you then want to find something that you can. Sometimes it’s because you have no outlet for your frustrations, and while you want to take them out on something or someone, you still want parameters and rules. The bigger question is why do you think that? Was it always there? Was there a break? Was it the porn you liked? A friend or girlfriend? Or was it the options I mentioned earlier? One thing I will say is there’s nothing wrong with you. You acknowledge you don’t want to hurt anyone, but there is an allure to the lifestyle. Make that be your homework. But I believe you want to get out of here early so you can set up to open the door. Do some self reflecting Mr. Everett. And I’ll see you next week.”

Curtis stands, leaning towards Doc to shake her hand, and heads towards the lobby. Waiting patiently for you. Just in case you needed help with the door, and if you didn’t, he was still going to help you. It was who he was, and you deserved to be treated like a princess. Most definitely you needed to be taken care of. Worshiped. And held until you weren’t afraid of your demons anymore. He wanted to do that for you because it’s what you deserved.

Seeing your little SUV pull in, and the big head of Teeny pop up made him even happier. You brought the puppy. And then you get out of your car. Coffee in tow, but also the bag he gifted you on your arm. And a leashed Teeny, so you were still in need of help.

He opens the door, and you don’t break contact with him. Even a small sliver of a smile, “Hi,” he nervously says, his eyes casting down your body for just a split second before ending on Teeny, “Hi to you, too.”

“Hey, Curtis,” you smile, pulling a bit on Teeny’s leash to head into Doc’s office.

The receptionist looks at Curtis with her mouth agape, and he nods his head with a smile. He got a hey and his name. You said his name. You said hey, but you said his name. You had said his name in public, and someone else heard it. She heard it, and she was still shocked.

“I’ll see you next week. Have a delightful rest of your day,” you had said his name. You said it and it was beautiful.

“I like Jacobean,” you almost shout at Curtis when he walks into the store. Armed with a notebook and a bag of things. “What is that?”

“I brought some wood samples with stain,” sitting down his things, you just know you’re going to feel like a complete idiot, but you didn’t care. It had to be said.

“I like cherry wood. It sounds cute, too. Jacobean stained cherry wood, no?”

“It sounds adorable,” he was beautiful. Gone was the jacket, when you first met him, and now short sleeves were exposing his thick sinewed arms. And every inch of his arms and most of his hands were covered in black ink, and you have to take a deep breath to not whimper.

Visions of him wrapping rope around your body, his bicep choking you while he thrusts into your abused cunt, “I’m sorry,” you pant. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” he smirks. Why did he look that damn hot with a crooked smile? Did he know what you were thinking? Did he know that you had fantasies of him biting on your shoulder right before he came? Could he have any idea the vile and depraved thoughts you had running through your head about him?

Could almost feel his hand spank your backside, and curse about how you were taking his cock like a filthy little slut. How he had you screaming out his name and begging him to let you come. “You like cream and sugar?”

“Nope, just black,” his smile. His smile was perfection. You can feel the indentions of his teeth on your skin. Can feel his teeth nibbling on your clit. “You, okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired,” lying seemed like the obvious thing to do. Curtis would think you were a freak, and you liked having him here.

“Uhh…why don’t you close down for the day? I can start down here, if you don’t mind. At least it would get some preliminary work done, and I won’t be a burden. Since you know what you want, it won’t take me long to get the lumber. And just have it closed for renovations.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m going to do that. Here’s the key to the shop. Just remember to lock up when you’re done,” it was stifling the thoughts that were annoyingly racing through your head. How were you supposed to function like this? This was insanity. You needed to let it all out. Denying yourself the urge to get off wasn’t healthy.

Waiting at the top of the stairs for Curtis to lock up, you leave Teeny on the couch, and go into your bedroom. Into the walk in closet, and open up a drawer and grab out a dildo, and stick it into the middle of your bedroom floor. Staring at it as you grab a few more things. You would let yourself get some frustrations out. Curtis was not going to have this much power over your mind or your pussy.

It would be absurd to mention this to Curtis. You add nipple clamps to your tits, seething when the rush of pleasurable pain rushes through you, and you lube up a butt plug. Curtis did not control you. He was too nice. He didn’t need your baggage. He didn’t want your baggage. He deserved the world. He deserved to be worshiped. To be treated like a king, and you his…queen didn’t sound right.

You slink to your knees, letting the dildo split you open. “Princess,” you whine, starting to bounce on the toy. It didn’t feel the same. There weren't thick, tatted arms groping you. Forcing you on how to move.

You liked the sound of Princess. King Curtis. You were beneath him. And you wanted him to show you how he owned every part of you. Wanted him to use you like you were his property. Like you were nothing more than wet warm flesh. And even that aftercare that Doc had mentioned didn’t sound too bad if it was with Curtis. Waking up to him kissing over your tender muscles. If only. For now, you would torture yourself because you could never have a man like Curtis.

Masterlist

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#sweet silver linings #curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #cutris everett x fem!reader #curtis everett x y/n #curtis everett x #curtis everett fanfiction #curtis everett fics #curtis everett fic #Chris Evans fandom #snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfiction

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

Text

📖"Body Heat" : A Snowpiercer-Marvel Mashup Story

Part 2 - "A Microcosm of Humanity, Boiled Down to its Base Elements" (Wait! I haven't read Part 1 yet!)

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Curtis Everett x ofc

Tags: dystopia, food insecurity, post apocalypse, age difference (18/34), dark!fic, implied/referenced suicide, background character death (offscreen), poverty, arranged marriage, implied/referenced past cannibalism, hurt/comfort, attempted rape, dub-con

Summary: Curtis stops a would-be assailant in the wash car. Still worried for Rose's safety, he brings her back to his bunk to sleep.

Author's Note: This fic is dark. This chapter includes explicit, non-gory mentions of: past cannibalism, the consumption of rat meat, and a character who attempts to rape another character but is stopped just in time. 🖤DNI if you can't handle it 🖤

Part 2 - "A Microcosm of Humanity, Boiled Down to its Base Elements"

Mealtimes in the Tail are more about social interaction than they are about food—Kind of hard to have a dinner party when the only things there are to feast on are protein blocks and a meat that you’re pretending is chicken, after all. But they make due.

They have dishes now, at least. A couple hundred plastic bowls and cafeteria cups, dimpled and chipped at the rims, but still serviceable. They’re some of the newer amenities, part of the package that the council negotiated for in last year’s talks. It’s never much but it’s something, brings them just a smidge closer to being able to live like human beings, rather than animals.

It’s been twelve years, and still they’re celebrating over bowls when they should be aiming for antibiotics. But conditions were so miserable after Boarding that even the smallest concession from uptrain feels like a luxury now. Curtis would prefer the progress be faster, but he’s not in charge. He’s Gillam’s second in command, and Gillam’s so old and frail now. After the turmoil of the Year Two (and Three, and Five) Revolts, Curtis made him a tacit promise to not resort to such violent measures again lightly. For now, negotiated castoffs and increased recyclables from uptrain will have to do.

He doesn’t see Rose again for the rest of the afternoon. Four hundred people living in a metal box tend to brew discontent and interpersonal problems over the tiniest of things, and as one of the Tail’s five elected, a big chunk of Curtis’ days are spent solving petty conflicts between the Tailies. He navigates his way through a list of waiting disputes in the market car and in the bunks, making his rulings on what’s fair, and trying not to worry obsessively over Rose and where she is and how she may be doing and who may be bothering her.

But he’s not entirely successful, because something still loosens in his chest when he catches sight of her—looking peaceful and sitting quietly alone at dinnertime. He walks over, grinning the closer he gets as she continues not to notice his approach. “Hey Petal!” he whisper-yells right beside her as he taps her shoulder and sinks down to sit next to her on the floor.

She gasps and almost drops her bowl, but a relieved smile splits her face when she sees that it’s him. “Curtis! Hey. It’s you.”

“Course it’s me.” He frowns quizzically at just how relieved she looks. “Who’d you think it was?”

“Nobody,” she excuses quickly, shaking her head and inching over to make more room for him. “Just glad to see you, is all. Today’s been … long.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Did you get the clothes to Gilliam?”

Her smile softens and she nods. “Yeah. And the arm to Coulson.” She gestures down the car to where Phil is sitting, using the rudimentary limb with clumsiness but steadfast determination. “He has to practice, but I think it’s gonna work pretty well for him.”

“I’ll bet.” Curtis smiles, happy for him. Phil’s also one of the elected, and along with Gilliam, Curtis, The (recently deceased) Man, and Banner, he’s always done his best to help the people in the Tail survive. That’s why he’s currently missing his arm from just above the elbow.

Curtis remembers the taste of human flesh. He wishes he didn’t, but he does. And what’s more, he wishes it’d tasted worse than it had, wishes he didn’t have the memory of how his mouth had watered when he’d finally gotten to eat for the first time in over a week. He averts his eyes from Coulson, ashamed, setting his bowl on the floor and sliding his right hand up under his left coat sleeve to trace the jagged evidence of his own failure.

It hadn’t tasted bad. That’s something he’s never said out loud. Because it’s too shameful. Talking about the early days isn’t forbidden, per say, but there’s an understanding amongst the Tailies that you don’t discuss the actual experience of eating human flesh. Unless it’s in private with someone very, very close to you, you don’t talk about the worst things that went down in those days.

Curtis glances back to Phil, wondering. He doesn’t actually know who he’s eaten. Back in the Desperation, there had been a decision amongst the volunteers that their donations would be mingled and prepared anonymously, to avoid people knowing—even family members, even the donors themselves. Curtis gets lost in the horror of the memory for a minute or two as he stares across the car at Phil, wondering, remembering the taste …

He snaps out of it when Rose says something to him, and he realizes that he’s still got his right hand stuck up his left coat sleeve, touching the scar. Rose’s voice pulls him out of it, like a fog suddenly lifting, and Curtis hastily picks his bowl back up, asking Rose to repeat herself and then mustering a cheerful answer for her as he puts the memories of the past back in the box on the shelf in his mind.

He and Rose sit shoulder to shoulder and converse over their bowls of stew. It’s one of only a few things that Tailies ever have to eat, and it consists of broth made from cooked down protein blocks, and chunks of meat from the only other animal that shares the tail section with them.

Yeah, they eat rats. Curtis has stopped caring at this point. In fact, he’s not sure he ever really cared in the first place. Once you start with cannibalism, the only way to go is up. And it doesn’t taste too bad—especially since they’ve graduated from catching the rats to actually breeding them in cages. Between that and the artificial salt substitute that Curtis negotiated as part of last year’s package, things have a nicer flavor to them than they used to.

“Didn’t you work in the kitchen car for a hot second?” he says between one sip and another, when he’s paused to try and use his fingernail to get a stringy bit of meat out from between his teeth. “What’d Wanda have you and MJ doing in there?”

Rose makes a face. “There're only a couple steps to making this slop, Curtis. Use your imagination.”

He laughs at the comical shudder she gives, and she kicks him for laughing at her. “So dramatic,” he teases. “What do you have to compare it to, anyway, huh?” He rolls his eyes. “Train babies. Don’t realize how good you have it.”

She gasps and pokes him as though he’s heaved a grave insult at her. “I am not a train baby!”

“Barely.”

“I’m eighteen!” she says, as if that makes her a full fledged adult. “I remember food from Before,” she insists, and Curtis shakes his head in amusement at her.

“Fine. What do you remember?” He’s breaking one of his own rules for her, talking about Before. It should alarm him but it doesn’t. “What food?” he taunts.

She sticks her chin out haughtily and thinks about it, before declaring, “Goldfish. And noodles. I remember noodles.”

It takes all Curtis has inside him not to snicker at her expense. He does want this girl to like him, after all. He looks down at his own bowl of stew and smiles fondly. “Goldfish crackers and noodles. That’s very specific.” The kind of thing a young child would remember. “Is that all?”

She twists her lips and admits, “Yeah.”

You have blocked a lot of it out, Curtis thinks sadly. Just not the parts that happened after Boarding. “It’s better that way,” he tells her. “Makes all of this more bearable.” Rose has never really had a life that was anything other than “bearable,” and while that is something of a mercy for her, it also makes Curtis want to be the one to give her more; be the one to introduce her to finery and pleasure, show her what it can taste like, what it can feel like. “There’s things I want to get for us,” he tells her, speaking quietly because he doesn’t need the people nearby overhearing and getting themselves worked up. “Things for the Tail, food I want to negotiate for. I think this might be the year.”

Rose looks intrigued. “What?”

“Lean closer,” Curtis whispers. “This is top secret.”

She smirks and scootches even closer to him, until they’re pressed together from hip to shoulder. “What?” she whispers.

Curtis looks her in the eye and lets the tension build for a moment, trying his damnedest to keep his expression serious, and then he declares, “Goldfish and noodles.”

She gives an outraged squawk and swats at him for making fun of her, though she’s laughing herself. “You suck!”

Curtis stays her hand, pulling her into a one-armed hug and apologizing through his own laughter. “Wait, wait, wait. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Shh. I’ll tell you.” He calms down from laughing. “I’ll tell you, I will.”

“Jerk,” she mutters, but he can hear the fondness in her voice.

“Chickens,” he whispers in her ear. “You remember those?”

She purses her lips thoughtfully, then shrugs in a way that tells him she really doesn’t. “That’s an animal,” she says, in what she doesn’t realize is a sad demonstration of her limited knowledge. “A bird.”

“Yeah,” Curtis says. “Yeah it is. You know the New Year’s eggs?” Every year since Year Five, a wheelbarrow from uptrain arrives on New Year’s Day bearing the coveted gift of hundreds of gleaming white, hard-boiled eggs—one for each blasted soul who lives trapped in the Tail section. Rose hums and Curtis nods. “Those come from chickens. They lay the eggs and you can eat them. It’s a good source of food. And you can kill the chickens and eat them, too. Eat their meat.”

“But … don’t baby chickens come from the eggs?” Rose asks naively.

Curtis smirks. “Yeah, but that’s when they’re fertilized. If a male chicken isn’t around fucking the hens, then the eggs just come out, and you can eat ‘em. They don’t have baby chicks in them.” He watches Rose’s face screw up at the stark visual, and is surprised when she bluntly declares,

“Oh. So … like a period, with us.”

Curtis almost swallows his tongue. First of all, he wouldn’t have expected Rose to be able to make the comparison. Because she may be old enough to bleed, but they don’t exactly have comprehensive sex ed in the Tail. As far as Curtis knows, the girls are taught young—very young—what sex is, what it leads to, and how to avoid it at all costs. Curtis doesn’t think he’s heard a person talk openly about these things since before Boarding. It just isn’t done. The women handle their stuff themselves, and the men have their heads bitten off if they interfere.

“Um,” he says, face heating. “Yeah, I guess. Except you don't lay eggs." Rose snorts and Curtis winces and scratches awkwardly behind his ear. “So anyway, I want to get us some chickens. If we had those, it’d help a lot.”

Rose stares pensively into the depths of her soup bowl, with its globulous broth and stringy bits of meat. “It’d taste better than this?”

Curtis scoffs. “Most things do, Petal.”

“Jeez, you’re really sticking with that, aren’t you?”

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze, laying out his vision for the future. “I want to negotiate for another car. With dirt and chickens.”

“Dirt?”

“Yeah. They grow things uptrain. Crops. We could too. We could raise chickens in half of it, grow potatoes in the other half.”

Rose looks at him like he’s just announced he’ll be negotiating for the moon. “They’ll never give it to you,” she whispers. “Why would they?”

“If I could threaten them with something big enough. We might have the bargaining power.”

“What would you threaten them with?”

He smiles sadly and squeezes her shoulder. “I dunno. That’s what I’ve gotta figure out.”

“But you’re not gonna … I mean there’s not going to be another war, is there? Not like before …”

There’s genuine fear in her voice when she asks, which makes Curtis feel like crap. Everyone had suffered back then. Many had died. He thinks about how Rose would’ve only been eleven or so, during the Year Five Rebellion. Just a kid, still playing with the crummy little doll Curtis made for her. “No, Hon,” he promises gently. “No. There are other ways. Other things we can do to gain leverage. It just takes time.”

“What ways?”

He shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t help it,” she pouts. “I may not know many things. But I like to know them.”

He smiles fondly. “I know, Petal. You’re curious. Always have been. You like to 'know the scuttlebutt', as they say. You’re not afraid to ask questions. I like that about you.”

“You do?”

“... Among other things.” He sees her cheeks color prettily, and realizes he’d better stop talking. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’d tell you if I could, but these things are above your paygrade. Me and Gilliam’ll figure it out.” He shoots her a wink. “That’s why they pay us the big bucks.”

She titters at that, because they both know that there’s no such thing as money in the Tail. Oh there’s currency, for sure, just not the kind that’s handed over as stacks of bills. Curtis lets his eyes drag over the few parts of Rose’s body that he can see: her attractive face and the slope of her neck, the delicate suggestion of a collar bone where it peeks out before it’s swallowed up by her sweater. He looks away. “I want to improve things for us. Change is possible. There are things we can get. We just have to work for it.”

“What things?” she presses, leaning closer.

He thinks about brushing her off, but he can see that she’s genuinely curious, and the interested gleam in her eyes sways him. Because ideas can mean hope, and he wants her to have hope. They’ve both seen what can happen when there isn’t any.

He tells her about the basic medicines and medical supplies that could be useful, tells her about the items they could receive if people uptrain were more willing to bargain. “More castoffs would go to us, instead of into the recycling machines,” he tells her. While it is true that some old and unwanted items eventually make their way into the Tailies’ “market,” the sad fact is that many more materials are cleansed, disintegrated, and recycled for use through the train’s 3d printing machines. Curtis has never seen them, but due to his yearly talks with a woman named Melanie, he now knows that they exist, and they’re why not much gets sent back to the Tailies.

“We’d have more clothes, toys and books, all sorts of new things.” Of course when he says “new” he only means new in the sense of new to them. To people in the front, Tailies are second class citizens at best, subhumans at worst. The funny thing is, Curtis doesn’t take offense at it like he used to. He’s learned by now that it’s human nature to kill, cheat and steal, clamoring all over each other whenever resources are limited. They’ve literally eaten the weak in the Tail, after all. It’d be hypocritical to hold the first class passengers to a higher standard.

No, Snowpiercer is just a microcosm of humanity boiled down to its base elements. Nine-hundred people surviving on a miserable little train, barreling endlessly around the frozen corpse of the planet. Of course there’s going to be subjugation of the weak so that others can have more. Curtis doesn’t hold it against them anymore, but he sure as hell isn’t going to take it lying down. The Tailies were never ticketed passengers. They forced their way on, they scraped and scrounged and earned their survival. And if they ever get the chance, they’ll turn the tables on the passengers uptrain in a heartbeat. Curtis makes speeches about “leveling the playing field,” but he doesn’t have visions of utopia. Not really. He just wants to die in a feather bed.

“What would we have after chickens?” Rose asks, drawing Curtis out of his gloom. She knows as well as he does, what the definition of a 'pipe dream' is, but it’s fun to pretend with someone you like, and Curtis likes her. Always has. He likes that she hasn’t turned grey and dull like everyone else in the Tail. So he indulges her 'what ifs' and they continue to tease each other over various colorful and increasingly stupid imaginings: how they’ll have potatoes, and then beef, then televisions, bathtubs, a swimming pool.

At some point, Curtis realizes that he’s actually managed to make her smile, and giggle. Even sitting on a cold steel floor slurping at a bowl of rat and god-knows-what stew, he feels like a king knowing he was able to do that. “You’re really beautiful when you smile,” he blurts out, soaking up the way that her eyes get just a little bit wider and her lips part in surprise. He averts his attention back down to his bowl, pleased as punch. “‘Course, I always think you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, fully intending for her to hear.

She gets quiet after that, bashful and seemingly deep in thought. Curtis doesn’t worry though, because when everybody settles in to listen to that night’s story, she goes to fetch one of the blankets off her bunk and brings it back. She plops herself right back down next to Curtis and hands him a corner of the blanket to wrap it around both of their shoulders. He obliges. The assembly car fills up for that night’s entertainment, and just before the lights are dimmed down to their lowest level, Curtis locks eyes with Tanya from across the car, who’s shooting him a scrutinizing look. He’s grateful to escape her judgment for the moment, but he knows she’ll be on him before long.

They set out the tall stool at the head of the car, and Painter, the Tail’s historian, climbs up and settles on it.

A quiet man of short stature, Painter’s been performing the nightly stories since almost from the very beginning. He has a way of seeing things that others don’t, a way of weaving words and details together in graduating, elaborative cadence; like his drawings, like strings on a loom, always managing to convey the true heart of a matter in a way that resonates with people. It’s the closest thing to watching a movie any of them will probably ever get again, and in Curtis’ opinion it has just as much value as the food they feed their bodies with. People need more than just food to survive. They need community, they need love, they need hope.

Painter sits silently at first—a sign that he hasn’t decided on the topic and is taking suggestions that night. Someone calls out in the dimness to suggest The Man for tonight’s story, and a murmur of general agreement goes through the crowd. Up ahead on his stool, Painter nods. The Man was well known in the Tail, having long-served on Gillam’s council, among other things. Curtis hadn’t been lying to Rose, when he’d said that her father had been a good leader.

In the crook of his arm, he feels her shift subtly. Aware that this might be hard for her, he leans over and kisses the top of her head. “Hey, are you okay?” he whispers, giving her the option. “You want to go?” But she shakes her head and tucks herself further into him, so Curtis relaxes back, looking forward to getting to hold her in his arms for the next hour or two.

Painter does The Man justice. Children are always kept in another car during storytime, so that the plotlines don’t have to be watered down for their sensibilities, but even still, Curtis doesn’t doubt that Painter knows Rose is present, because he takes care to soften the corners of the story where she features, and to use gentle words when the most painful memories are fleshed out.

For over an hour, Curtis lets his eyes slip closed and the words wash over him. He tucks his nose into Rose’s hair and breathes the scent of her in, holding her small, soft body against him. He can feel every shift and sway that she gives as she hears the story, too, and they enjoy their time together, connecting over the shared intimacy of Painter’s words.

At some point, he brings her into his lap, and she comes so easily—like she was just waiting for the invitation, and is relieved that he wants her there. This isn’t something they’ve done before. Not like this. And he can tell by the slight tension in her body that she knows it, too. This is new. It could be the first time a man has ever showed her attention like this, and Curtis wants it to be good and easy for her. He gently rubs her back as the story stretches on, relieved when he can feel all the tension slowly leaving her. “Good girl,” he whispers against her hair.

She hums and rubs her cheek on his chest with complete trust, and Curtis suddenly remembers what it used to feel like to sink into a full, hot bath. Is this what it means to be touch starved? he wonders. Probably. It’s been so long since he’s been genuinely intimate with another person, that he’d almost forgotten the feeling.

Eventually he can hear the tone of Painter’s words changing, can hear it all coming to a close as he wraps up his retelling of that night’s story. Curtis has never hated anything more. Please, he thinks. Please let him keep going. Let him keep talking just a little bit longer so she’ll stay in my arms. He doesn’t want to let her go.

… Maybe if he plays his cards right, he won’t have to.

Tanya does confront him that night, cornering him by her spot before he can follow after Rose on her path to the wash car. “Pretty sure that girl knows how to bathe herself,” she says, hand planted firmly on Curtis’ chest. “She doesn’t need you, Curtis.”

Curtis loses sight of Rose going into the next bunk car, and he settles back onto his heels, glaring at Tanya. “I’m trying to look out for her.”

Tanya raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “You sure that’s all you’re trying to do?”

Curtis’s eyes narrow. “Have you been paying attention? Look around.” He nods at the crowded bunk car around them and speaks in a hushed tone. “You’re in charge of all the female stuff, you should know better than anyone what’ll happen now that her father’s gone. I’m only trying to protect her.”

Tanya purses her lips. “Uh huh. Protect her with your penis, is that how?”

“Jesus.” Curtis takes a step back, crossing his arms in frustration. He leans back against a metal rail. “I’m just being realistic,” he eventually says, after sulking over it for a moment. He respects Tanya—she’s a crucial part of the Tail, helping the women who get pregnant and give birth, helping the girls when they start developing (and, eventually, when they start attracting the attention of the men). “You’ve seen them looking?” he asks, not having to look at Tanya to know that she understands him. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait until somebody else stakes their claim?”

Tanya makes an angry sound, though it isn’t directed at Curtis. “I stop them.”

“You stop the ones you can,” Curtis says lowly. “But eventually—”

“Eventually is eventually. Right now is right now,” she hisses.

Curtis turns back to her. “We play it your way and the first guy who stakes his claim gets her. That’s how it works. You know that. Is that what you want, huh?” Tanya’s face works in frustration, and Curtis softens. “Hey,” he says, placing a consoling hand on her shoulder. “I don’t like it either. We do the best we can with what we have.” He feels her shoulders rise and fall in a beleaguered sigh.

“I boxed Batroc’s ears last week,” she tells him; her way of giving tacit approval. “Keep an eye on that dirtbag.”

Curtis nods. He’s aware of who the biggest threats are, currently. It’s the men in their twenties and thirties who prey on the up and coming girls. Marriage isn’t a thing in the tail so much as claiming is. The men have a sort of ‘first dibs’ honor system that Curtis despises, but that he can’t change on his own. Not when the majority is so set on it. “I’m not going to force her,” he promises Tanya. “Okay? I’ll give her the choice. You know I will.”

Tanya’s jaw works, but eventually she nods and turns to the side to let him pass. Curtis pats her shoulder in thanks and heads off in the direction that Rose went with her towel.

He gets there just a few seconds too late—or at least, that’s what he thinks when he hears her crying out from the women’s side of the wash car. Curtis barrels around the partition, heedless of whoever else may be in there when he can hear Rose in distress.

There’s a man standing at her back, pushing her face up against the wall of one of the stalls. She’s naked, the shower spraying aimlessly not even a foot away. She’s struggling, crying … and the man’s pants are halfway down his thighs.

Curtis sees red. “Get the fuck off her!”

Everything happens in a blur: him pulling the man back by his shirt and throwing him onto the floor at the opposite side of the car, the man’s head hitting the wall, Rose crying out in fear, Curtis going over to gather her naked body into his arms. “Are you okay?” he asks breathlessly, holding her as she sobs and presses her head of soaked hair against him. His hands slide over the water-slicked skin of her back, his heart in his throat. “Did he hurt you?”

She sobs and shakes her head, clinging to him. “Curtis!”

“Shh, you’re okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He looks across the car at the man, who’s now rubbing his head with a pained wince. Curtis feels rage consume him and he has no control over his actions as he abandons Rose by the stall and stalks across the car to punch the guy square in the face. He immediately grabs his shirt collar and hauls him back in. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” he roars.

“Stop!” the man—a guy Curtis knows only as Hodge—coughs out, speaking through blood and what’s likely a broken nose. He holds up his hands to defend himself from further assault, and Curtis shakes him with a furious growl.

“Did you touch her?! What did you do? I’ll kill you!”

“I didn’t!” Hodge coughs, pushing against Curtis. “I didn’t do anything! I was just—”

Curtis slams him back into the wall of the car. “Then why’s your dick out?!” Hodge sinks down the wall to the floor and Curtis follows him down. “Answer me!”

“I just wanted to talk to her!”

He’s about to reach down and rip this guy’s nuts off, but Rose calling to him from the other side of the car draws his attention away: “Curtis, please. Curtis!” She’s standing there—naked, wet and shivering, futilely trying to cover herself. She looks at him pleadingly through her tears. “He didn’t. You stopped him. He didn’t.”

It’s enough to make Curtis rein himself in from further violence. Rose needs him more than he needs to hurt Hodge. Still, he shakes the man again as he hauls him back up to standing and shoves him towards the exit of the car. “This isn’t finished,” he warns him at the door, pushing him through hard enough that he falls to his ass on the other side. Curtis points at him. “You’ll pay for this.”

He slams the door and goes back to Rose, who’s still standing there looking lost, shivering, cold. The shower’s still running, so Curtis hurries over to turn the water off. He grabs the towel that’s hanging on the hook and brings it to Rose, intending to bundle her up as quickly as he can. She takes it and wraps it around herself, but it ends at mid thigh and Curtis’ eyes are drawn to a trickle of red running down her inner thigh. All the blood drains from his face. “You’re bleeding,” he says, horrified.

Rose looks down at it and sniffles. “Oh.”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Curtis breathes, already turning to go back out and finish the job.

“Curtis! Curtis wait!” Rose grabs his arm with both hands as she shakes her head frantically. “I’m fine. It’s my period. He didn’t hurt me.”

Curtis calms down, his chest heaving from adrenaline. “You swear?” he urges, grabbing her upper arms and holding her in front of himself to get a better look at her. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that she’s dripping wet and rattled, but not visibly hurt.

“I swear. I’m okay.”

His eyes track back down to the blood on her leg, suspicious until he looks beyond and sees her pile of clothing sitting over on a shelf. There’s a small folded rag there the likes of which he’s seen before; what the women pass around silently amongst themselves when they bleed. Curtis calms down as he realizes that Rose is telling the truth and not just lying to keep him from murdering Hodge. He lets go of her upper arms, suddenly aware that she may not want him touching her right at this moment. “Sorry,” he mutters, not knowing what else to say. He feels like he’s just run a marathon, his heart is beating so fast.

Rose surprises him by throwing herself into his arms again, a sob making her whole body heave against him. “Thank you,” she cries, hugging him, hiding her face against his chest. “Curtis, god. If you hadn’t come in …”

“Shh. I did. I did come,” he reassures her, wrapping his arms around her fully again now that he knows it’s welcome. She feels so small. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

They stand there for who knows how long. Minutes, at least. Calming down together. Rose’s crying fades, and Curtis’ blood pressure re-enters the stratosphere. He can feel the red hot anger and instinct to kill bleeding out of his mind the longer that time stretches on. He becomes aware of how cold Rose must be in only her towel and still all wet. “Here,” he says, ushering her back towards the shower. The stalls have changing areas right in front of them, and he steps back so that she can have privacy. “Get dried off. Get dressed,” he says. “I’ll …” his gaze falls back down to the trail of red on her leg. He swallows thickly and averts his eyes. “I’ll be right here.”

Shakily, she nods and pulls the curtain. She gets dressed, and when she opens the curtain again, her hair has been towel-dried and hangs limply about her face. She looks shyly up at Curtis. “Hey.”

“C’mere, Honey.”

She folds back herself into his arms eagerly, whining and pressing into him. “Thank you,” she whispers. “God, Curtis. Thank you.”

“I should’ve been here,” he grunts, thinking of how Tanya had held him back. He silently curses her. “I knew something like this would happen,” he hisses to himself, though he regrets saying it when he feels how it makes her shudder against him.

“Can we get out of here, please?”

He nods and starts to lead them towards the door of the car. He’s not surprised to find Hodge gone on the other side. Curtis silently fumes about what he’d walked in on, as he leads Rose backtrain. They walk through the car where her spot is, and Curtis gives her hand a squeeze when she looks back at it and makes a questioning noise. “I want you with me tonight,” he tells her, gentle but firm, because no way in hell is he leaving her alone now. “Please?” he coaxes, pleased when she looks up to him and nods.

“Okay.”

He smiles softly. “Good girl.”

Curtis has a good sized spot. Certainly big enough for two, which he’s grateful for when he guides her to scoot in across the bed. His is the third bunk up out of four, which means climbing a few rungs, but once you’re up there it affords a fair sense of privacy, especially once he draws the curtain across to close them in together. He flicks the small lamp on, its dim bulb flickering to life and giving just enough light to see by.

He’s got his blankets spread out on the bed. There’s plenty of room enough to sit up and move around, all of his worldly possessions hung to the wall or else strapped against the top of the bunk above. “Home sweet home,” he says, gesturing around half heartedly. “Nothing special.”

“It’s nice.” Rose looks around with a little curiosity before tucking her head down. She shrugs. “You’ve got one of the lights. Our spot doesn’t. I mean … my spot,” she amends quietly. “Our neighbor has the light.”

The lights are built into the walls, meant to faintly illuminate what were once the train’s original baggage racks, powered by the Arc Reactor and impossible to move. But some people have managed to rig up their own lamps from salvaged materials and a little creative wiring over the years. There are no windows in the Tail. Curtis has heard that there are windows uptrain, but he doesn’t know whether to be jealous or not. Would it really improve anything, to have a view of the wasted, frozen world they left behind? He’s not so sure. At least this way they can pretend that Snowpiercer is all there is, the delusion only ruined whenever the Jackboots arrive to deliver food or raid them.

Curtis settles beside her and knocks their legs together. “I’ll keep my eye out for something in the market,” he promises. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be in the dark.”

She smiles as though pained, looking down at her lap. “Being pretty is what got me into this mess.”

Curtis sighs. “No. It’s not just that, Hon.” He cups her face, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. “It’s not just that.”

“What then?”

He smiles sadly. “Look, if there’s one thing you gotta understand about men, it’s that we covet the rare … and the pure. You’re good. Truly good, in a way most of us aren’t. In a way we can’t afford to be.” He drops his hand and turns away, feeling gross for having told her that, for having included himself in the roster of ‘men’ who think like that. But it’s true. “That’s why you stand out,” he mutters. “None of us are good the way you’re good.”

“What? But you’re good.”

Curtis scoffs. “Please.”

“You are! You’re on council aren’t you?”

He rolls his eyes. “That means I’m good with people, not good. There’s a difference.”

“No,” Rose insists. “No, you help everyone. You lead us, try to make life better for us.” She gets incensed when he continues to disagree. “You do! You … you make dolls for little girls who’ve lost all their toys. You protect us.”

Curtis slumps back against the wall. “Is that what I did back there? Protected you?”

“Yes. Curtis you saved me. You stopped him from …” She falters, unable to say the word, and the silence grows uncomfortable between them. Eventually she stares down at her lap and scoffs bitterly.

Curtis looks over. He doesn’t like the pinch that’s settled between her eyebrows. There’s something strangely self-deprecating about it, and he can’t figure out what’s going on in her head. “Hey.” He nudges her knee with his. “What are you thinking, Hon?”

She shakes her head. “Hodge,” she whispers. “He said things.”

“Oh god. Don’t. Rosie, don’t pay attention to anything that cretin said. Did he threaten you? Because if he did, you know I still have half a mind to rip off his—”

“He said that somebody would choose me, and if it isn’t him it’ll be someone else ‘staking their claim’.” She looks rather mortified as she repeats it. “And he’s not wrong. I mean that’s the way it’s done, isn’t it?” she asks bitterly. “The men. They choose who they want. We don’t get a say. Not really.”

“Rosie,” Curtis mourns, wishing that he could spare her, wishing he could tell her that she has choices, choices that people will respect. But he doesn’t want to lie. She doesn’t deserve to be lied to. “Hey,” he says instead. “You know I care about you, right?”

She nods, sniffling. “Yeah.”

“You should sleep here. Not just tonight but every night.” He can tell by her reaction that she realizes what he means, and he’s pleased when she leans against his side, still seeking comfort in him. He relaxes now that the hardest part is done. “Would you like that, Petal?” he asks softly, wrapping his arm around her and holding her close. She scoffs at the nickname, and Curtis kisses the top of her head. It’s been a long time since he’s had another person in his bunk—a long time. Not having a partner is lonely, sure, but with the way things are in the tail, it’s easier just to jerk off. Romance is all but dead, as is evidenced by the Tailies’ near-transactional customs regarding sex and relationships. “Will you?” he checks, relieved when she gives a little nod and a sniffle.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want that either.”

They sit there in silence for a while, and just as Curtis starts to wonder if Rose has fallen asleep, she whispers, “What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“Men and women. Before. How did it …” she pauses, considering what she wants to say, or perhaps how to ask. “My dad and my mom,” she settles on. “They loved each other. Nobody claimed my mom. They chose each other.”

Curtis nods and gives her arm a squeeze. “Yeah. That’s how it was.”

“Tell me?” she asks, sounding for all the world like a child asking for a bedtime story. “Please?”

Curtis rubs her back, resigning himself to telling her the truth. “People met,” he says. “At school, at work, through friends. If they liked each other romantically, they dated.”

“What’s ‘dated’?”

He winces where she can’t see. “When you liked someone, you’d ask them out on a date. You’d meet them and go do something nice together. Something fun. Get a drink or see a movie, eat a meal in a restaurant.”

“Did the man decide the dates?”

He frowns. “Sometimes. Women would too, though. Sometimes they’d be the one to ask the guy out. It just depended.”

“What happened next?” Rose asks.

“Well … you’d just keep spending time together, you’d keep dating. If the people decided not to date anybody else, they’d agree to be a couple. Boyfriend and girlfriend. … Or husband and wife.”

“What’s the difference?”

Curtis winces at how sad it is that she doesn’t know that. The long term implications of their confinement in the Tail section are obvious and jarring, at times like this. He licks his lips. “Marriage was more serious than dating. More permanent. You might break up with your girlfriend eventually, but if you made her your wife, then that was like saying you wanted to be together forever.” He doesn’t bother getting into the concept of divorce, knowing that she just needs a basic understanding of the matter. “That’s how it was,” he finishes. “Before.”

Rose is quiet for a long while, thinking it over. Eventually she says, “And now the men choose.”

Curtis hates how resigned she sounds about it. “What happened in the wash car isn’t allowed,” he says, aware of the way her body tenses against him. “I’ll make sure Hodge is punished. But the thing is, Sweetheart … I’m worried he won’t be the last.”

Rose sniffles. “It’s ‘cause my dad’s gone, isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t help the matter. But you’ve been old enough for a while now, for some. And I’ve seen them looking.”

“For some?” Rose peeks up at him. “Not you?”

Curtis hesitates to answer. “... You’re young, Honey.” It’s not like he can say that he wants her. But saying that he doesn’t would be a total lie. He might not be looking yet, if he didn’t have the other men to worry about; but he does have to worry about them, and so he has been looking. “I’ll make sure Hodge is punished,” he reiterates. “Severely. Even with the way things are now, that was completely beyond the pale.” He feels that hot surge of fury boil up inside him again as he thinks about it: Rose standing there, shivering and crying, Hodge with his hands on her, his dick hanging out of his pants. “He was going to rape you,” Curtis growls. “He needs to pay.”

“And the others?” she asks. “You’ll stop them?”

His chest aches at her unshakable faith in him and what she thinks he can do. “I can only protect you one way,” he murmurs, pulling her close and burying his nose in her hair so that she can’t look up at him with those big doe eyes again. “Has Tanya talked to you much?” he asks. Her head moves against him in a little nod, but she doesn’t say anything. Curtis kisses her hair. “What happened in the wash car could happen again. Someone’ll want to claim you.” She whines and rubs her face against his sweater, clinging to him. He pulls her into his lap just like he had during storytime, earlier that night. “Hey,” he soothes, “I wish it could be different, you know? Wish I could take you outta here, make other people respect your choices.” He sighs sadly. “That’s just not how it works anymore, Petal.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “Would you take me on a date, Before?” He hesitates, and she notices. She looks up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

“You’re too young for me,” he admits. “Or you would’ve been. Before.”

“Now I’m not?” she asks, and Curtis averts his eyes uncomfortably, because of course she’s still too fucking young. If they were still in the World she’d be finishing up high school, going to prom and the mall, glued to her phone. Learning about sex from school and porn and from fumbling encounters with boys her own age, not from some jaded midwife in a squalid train car.

“Now …” he sighs. “Now, it’s different. It doesn’t make it right, but girls become fair game once they’re about your age. And any man who’s interested can try for you.”

“I know that,” she whispers. “But what about you? Are you interested?”

Curtis’ mouth is dry. He can’t answer. So he nods smally instead. He’s surprised when she doesn’t seem frightened or upset by this admission. He lets his hands hold her more securely, fingers dipping into the curve of her waist from over her sweater. “I care about you,” he croaks. “I want to protect you. And the only way I know to do that is to claim you myself.”

“Will you?” she asks. She lays her cheek back against his chest and yawns. “Claim me?”

Above her resting head, Curtis grinds his teeth. “Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay Hon?”

“Mm.” She nods sleepily. “Okay. I trust you, Curtis. Thank you for helping me today.”

He doesn’t answer her, just holds her against him and rubs her back as she gradually falls to sleep. He’s not the man she thinks he is, and she should be in her own spot right now, not tucked away in here with him, because sooner or later he knows he’s going to take advantage. He’ll have her, and he’ll make sure that every other man in the train knows that she’s his. That may not be what she really wants, or even what’s good for her.

But oh well, he thinks. At least it’s better than the alternative.

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