CONTAINS CONTENT:
Warnings for sadness, cancer related health issues, and suicidal ideation.
{{Unedited}}
Vincent didn’t know who he was expecting when opened the front door, but it certainly wasn’t Austin. Neither Vincent, nor Marielle had seen Austin in a while; not since the restraining order. He’d been at Valorant here and there, but he was always at least a hundred feet away as the order stated.
Of course, today, and tomorrow would have made the most sense for him to show up. Vincent had casually told everyone that if they wanted their chance to say goodbye, now was the time… she wasn’t doing well.
Neither Vincent nor Marielle knew when, but she was going back into the hospital any day now… for the last time.
Vincent leaned on the doorframe and scraped his gaze over Austin’s broken image.
Austin looked like a trainwreck and Vincent couldn’t look away.
When the door was opened to Austin, he was leaning on the outside wall, arms crossed so tightly over his chest that Vincent thought that he’d squeeze himself to death like a boa constrictor. His eyes were black with thick makeup, he had more piercings, and he’d lost at least fifteen pounds since the last time that Vincent had seen him.
As the two men stood in silence gaping at one another, Austin lifted the remains of a lit cigarette and shakily put it between his cracked lips. He took the final drag, and flung the butt, blowing out the smoke.
Vincent had always suspected that Austin was around; lurking in the shadows, trying to hear Marielle’s thoughts, and never coming closer than a hundred feet or so.
The September before, Vincent had been sure that he’d seen Austin following closely behind them as he and Marielle had walked down a street together in Sacramento. It was their anniversary. As soon as Vincent checked, the shadow had disappeared, which only confirmed to Vincent that it had been Austin following them.
But here he was looking up through a curtain of black hair with pleading, bloodshot eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Please.” He bit back tears as they welled. “Please don’t close the door, please let me… Just let me talk for a moment,” he sobbed quietly, and he lifted a hand as if to say that he was surrendering. “Please, Vincent.” Vincent squared his shoulders, crossed his arms, and waited for the punchline. “I heard,” he said, his voice cracking, “I- how can she be dying?”
“I don’t know, Austin… maybe it was from stress,” he hinted, icily.
Austin sniffed, and tossed his hair out of his pale face understanding what Vincent was really saying, that he’d done this to her with his abuse. “W-what are you doing to try and help her?” The longer that Vincent looked at him, the worse he looked.
“Literally everything in my power. I’m seeing another healer tomorrow.”
“Does any of it show any promise?” Austin pressed brokenly.
“No, Austin, it’s terminal. So far nothing has cured it, not even Kirra or Wei Ling, and she was just here with dumplings and melon a few hours ago.”
Austin’s face contorted in agony as the finality of this hit him and he shook. “Is-is she comfortable?”
“She’s as comfortable as they can make her for now.”
Austin’s face twisted again, and he made a truly ugly expression through his tears. “P-please let me see her?” He pleaded. “Please?”
There was a moment where Vincent was going to shut the door on him. Marielle didn’t need more bad news right now.
Then both heard what sounded like someone walking towards them with three legs.
Vincent briefly closed his eyes and sighed. “Who- who’s at the door, love?” Marielle’s thin voice came from over his right shoulder.
He turned to her, “It’s Austin, Masin,” he replied, gently turning to her. She was a shell of a woman; white as the headstone that would tower over her in a few short months. She was leaning on a cane. “Do you want to see him?” Then Vincent turned back to Austin. “I don’t own her… she can decide for herself.” He stepped aside, granting the vampire entrance into their home.
When Austin looked in at her, he nearly went to his knees.
Who was this? He knew that it was her; parts of her were still beautiful; her green eyes were still glassy and full of a hint of the life that once resided in them. But he felt like he was taking in a stranger. In many ways he was; they hadn’t had more than a few fleeting conversations in more than two years.
Marielle had always been small; only five foot two. She’d always weighed about a hundred and ten pounds, but she looked like she’d lost twenty, and her once long, luscious black hair was lank, matted, and parts of it left bald spots on her head. Her cheekbones were high and pronounced, and her skin was now white as paper.
Austin’s mind shattered.
“Do you want to see him, Masin?” Vincent repeated, noting the two staring at one another like they were uncertain.
Marielle eyed Austin with a strange mix of emotions. The first was disgust and upset, but it slowly melted into something else. Vincent knew this look- compassion. Austin might have looked worse than she did; to her at least. She had always felt that way about people, less concerned about her own appearance, and wanting to help others if they looked broken, beaten, or upset; despite how horrible they might have been.
One thing that Vincent had written on her tombstone besides “Wife,” and “selfless,” was “Always compassionate.”
She paused, her expression going dark. “Hello, darling,” she said, stiffly.
Austin went to his shaking knees before her as he took her hand. He put his forehead to her knuckles and wept. “No… no, Masin, no,” he croaked through sobs.
She shrugged a shoulder, dismissively. “Can’t be helped. I’m fine. I’ve accepted it.” She flicked her gaze to Vincent, who was glaring at the ground, distantly. “He’s having a harder time, as you might have guessed.”
Hot tears-soaked Marielle’s open hand. “M-maybe I-I can heal you.” Austin whispered. “Maybe… maybe you need me?”
She answered with a shake of her head. Then looked to Vincent, realizing that she and Austin had some things to talk about. “Let us be alone, love,” she said, sternly, but gently. Vincent glared at her; this was dangerous. “Trust me, love,” she insisted. “Don’t leave, just leave the room,” she explained.
Austin swallowed and even through his tears, Vincent could see the other man’s eyes dance a bit with excitement that she wanted to be alone with him.
A few noises came from the kitchen and Vincent turned, having almost forgotten their other guest. “Hazal is here, Austin…” Vincent intoned, knowing how much Austin feared the man. “You do anything, you die,” he growled, then he went to the kitchen to join his friend.
Vincent leaned on the kitchen wall and listened, as he suspected that she knew that he would.
Hazal had been washing their dishes and setting them aside when he dried his hands, and came to Vincent’s side also straining his ears. He threw Vincent a glance that asked if it was okay to spy on the other two with him.
Vincent nodded, wanting the other man’s backup if Austin got out of hand. If Hazal hadn’t been there, there would have been no way that he would have left the two of them alone for even a moment, let alone several minutes.
To Vincent’s disdain, he realized that they were already talking in a way that he couldn’t listen in on… with their minds.
Vincent glanced at Hazal; he knew what Vincent was asking for. Hazal lifted his hand and summoning Nightmare, he sent it out into the hall of the living room, revealing the silhouetted outlines of both Austin and Marielle to both through the wall. Apparently neither Austin or Marielle had seen the black specter eyes watching them, or the lines on the ground leading back to Hazal.
Vincent and Hazal watched their shapes for a moment, Austin slowly standing to his feet. Vincent and Hazal saw Marielle take his hand, nod, and saw Austin move towards her, and then embrace her, and through her as she phased.
Vincent glowered; he understood. Austin thought that somehow her phasing through him would heal her… and she’d agreed to it for a few reasons- one, there was a one in a million chance that Austin was right. What had changed over the last three years? One thing had been her connection to Austin, and maybe their vitality for one another was one of the things that kept them physically strong.
But secondly, and this one hurt… she’d never do it again. That would be her last time. And for a moment, Vincent almost rushed out to help when he saw her start to faint.
Austin caught her tiny body, and put her down in her small chair near the window.
Hazal and Vincent watched them both until Hazal couldn’t use his ability anymore, and it blinked out. He sighed, looking down into his own pale, shaking hands, and went to the stove to make tea and coffee for Marielle and Vincent.
It was difficult, but Vincent had been downing coffee and other stimulants like caffeine pills to stay awake longer; if he was honest, he was terrified to go to sleep… when would she be gone? What if he missed it? What if death embraced her when he couldn’t hold her hand? The idea of waking up next to her and having her be gone already was terrifying; at this point it was keeping him up most nights as he carefully watched her chest rise and fall, and listened to her breaths. And the other fears that twisted day and night in his stomach were unbearable.
What would he do when she was gone? Who would he be? How long would he cry? How long until his own heart said, “I can’t do this anymore- you put too much strain on me. It’s time to go,” as well and caved into his chest?
His heart felt that way, now. Vincent didn’t know until the last few weeks that it was possible to feel like you were having a heart attack all the time; that when people talked about dying “of a broken heart” that they might have meant literally. He felt that way, night, and day. Somehow, at the same time he was staying strong and focused for her. Continually telling himself, “Just get to the next day, the next night, the next hour, the next minute… the next second…” knowing that sooner or later that chant in his mind would cease… because it would be the next second, and that second would have taken her away and there would be no chants left to comfort him, or keep him moving forward. He supposed that eventually he’d just tell himself to “keep moving…” but inside he knew, he was already formulating his plans. He was already dreaming. He had to. There was no cure for the illness that plagued his mind and ate up every bit of his soul.
He leaned back against the wall where, from the angle that he was at, the reflection of Austin and Marielle shone on the back of one of their hanging cooking pots and Vincent watched their distorted, distant image.
She was sitting in her chair; he was sitting in Vincent’s… which made his blood boil. He’d sat in that chair for over a hundred nights now, reading to her, holding her small hand and watching it dimmish to bones… that chair was a sacred spot by their fireplace. That fireplace had been where he’d asked her to marry him, where they’d spent endless nights in deep, passionate moments kissing, touching, and whispering. That fireplace had been where she and he had burned the marriage certificate with Austin’s name on it. It’d been where they’d planned trips, and told secrets. It’d been where they’d fought and screamed at one another, only for him to ask “love now? Or love later?” and pull her to the floor to cause her deep ecstasy as passionate and as intense as their fight moments before. They’d never given up on that rule, it hadn’t mattered how badly they’d fought, what they’d said, or how mean they’d been; Vincent would grab her after taking several deep breaths to cool off, and show her how angry, hurt, or desperate he was on her body.
They weren’t fighting as much now that her health had declined… but he couldn’t do that anymore. She’d never once been weak until now.
Austin shook his head, and hung it. They were still talking with their minds and Vincent hated every moment of it, praying for the second that it’d end.
“Do you feel any different?” He heard Austin ask. He had to hand it to Austin; at least he was willing to try something to heal her. It wouldn’t work, but at least he’d tried.
“No,” she whispered, sadly.
There was silence for a long while again, and Vincent let out a deep sigh. He wished that they’d stop talking so personally. What were they saying? Was she admitting to him that she’d always loved him? Was she laying into him about the years that she’d wasted at his side? Was she whispering that she wished that she could be in his arms again? Were they sharing a fantasy? One where he could make her well, and be better himself? One where in a different world they ended up together?
Hot hatred spread across Vincent’s chest. He’d loved Austin at one point, he hated to admit that, but they’d spent time together before it became evident that he was hurting Marielle… they used to go to bars together, and play pool.
They’d fought together side by side several times; back-to-back. They’d gone to a few movies together, and had a beer afterwards. Vincent hated to admit that he’d gone to a few strip clubs with him when he’d drunkenly thrown an arm around Vincent’s shoulder and whispered, ‘I need a friend…’ and dragged him off to one.
Austin had always disappeared from the bar and to the back rooms with some woman after an hour. Vincent often stayed and drank, helplessly; secretly wishing that he could go back to Austin’s house and be doing to Marielle whatever Austin was doing to the stripper. He’d sit and fantasize about it; jealous of Austin’s marriage to her and aroused at his thoughts of her finally whispering that she wanted him instead. But he’d always been respectful to their relationship.
There was a verse in the scriptures- thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife… too late. He’d coveted her from moment one, but he could control himself and dream until she’d left Austin for good.
Sometimes he felt like the cancer in her leg was his punishment for his desires.
He’d had his desires, and now was time for heaven to collect the payment.
It was hopeless for all three of them. It always had been; fate had dictated it. The photo of the three of them at the beach smiling, alive, happy… Vincent had burned it.
He went into the room. “Okay, that’s enough. I won’t allow anymore,” he said, flatly.
Austin glared at him hatefully, then looked back to her. “No… No.” He shook his head, “this can’t be the last time that I’m ever going to talk to my wife.”
Vincent quietly raged. “She’s not your wife, and you need to leave,” he said through clenched teeth.
Marielle stood and put her hand on Vincent’s arm. “Two minutes, love. I promise. He promises, too, yes?” She looked to Austin. He nodded, quickly.
Vincent looked at his watch, “Two minutes,” he warned. Then he left again, and joined Hazal as he poured some hot water into a cup with a tea bag.
“She likes honey, right?” Hazal asked. Vincent nodded, distantly.
Again, Austin and Marielle were talking with no words. Vincent let it go. He’d just have to accept it. She wasn’t going to tell him whatever they were saying, was she?
A few moments later, he heard the front door open and close, and just like that, Austin Rancor was gone. She’d never see him again.
Vincent slowly wandered back to her. “Did Austin try to heal you?”.
Marielle’s green eyes were dark with something that was difficult to explain or read. Whatever Austin had told her, it was weighing on her in a way that seemed ghastly. She looked like she had just communed with the devil himself.
“Oui,” she replied, quietly.
Vincent scoffed, “Considering that the real God hasn’t healed you… I wasn’t exactly putting my money on the god of pleasure,” he growled, sarcastically under his breath. He came to her side; she still hadn’t looked at him. “What did he say?” She didn’t answer and remained staring out the window, distantly. Neither Vincent or Hazal pushed for the answers. Both gave her a few minutes to recollect herself. She picked her book and her pen back up.
Vincent turned to Hazal and gave him a single nod, and Hazal picked up her tea, and left the kitchen. Then he went and sat in the chair that Austin had left, and gingerly took her right hand. When she saw him coming, she set aside The Old Man and the Sea, and the pen that she was marking the book with, and smiled at the scarecrow man, warmly. He forced a thin smile back. “Shots fired,” she whispered.
He tilted his chin back at her, looking down his thin nose and, after a moment of intense scrutiny, he mimicked her smile. This was some inside joke between the two of them that Vincent kicked himself for never really asking her about. Hazal lightly cleared his throat, and began to speak. “This journey has been-” he shook his head. “I can’t even express.” The ghost of a smile rested on his thin, black mouth. When he wiped a small tear away, it smeared some of that which remained around his eyes. “Meeting you… befriending you… loving you…” A pregnant pause. She knew what was coming, but had always pretended not to know. “Wanting you,” he admitted with a small flush. Her cheeks reddened and she looked down. “We all wanted you, Marielle,” he whispered. He shrugged a single shoulder, his red eye fluttering a little. “Locker room talk.”
She narrowed her eyes briefly and shook her head, “Why me?”
“You are-” he raised a hand and gently brushed it across her white cheek, “beautiful, kind, ever forgiving, non-judgmental, you always treated all of us like equals and kept our secrets, you accept people where they are, you were always cooking amazing food for us,” he chuckled. She grinned, memories obviously flooding her mind. “You’re strong,” he swallowed thickly, as tears welled. “You’re the strongest woman that I’ve ever met, I think.” He glanced down at his own bony hand in hers, “So, so strong,” he said shaking his head from side to side slowly. “The way that Austin treated you-” he seethed for a moment, “I don’t think that I could hurt you in any universe,” he growled under his breath. He swallowed and looked back to her, “he never deserved you.” Hazal glanced towards where he knew Vincent was probably listening behind the wall in the kitchen. “But he did. His love for you… boundless.”
She sniffled, and nodded, knowing fully well. “I don’t really feel like I deserved him,” she explained. Neither of them could hear the silent sobs that Vincent was pressing into the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m blessed, though, really.” He briefly pursed his lips, “I’m serious,” she said. Her voice was steady through a flow of constant tears. “I’ve been loved by… two of the best men that I’ve ever known,” she explained reaching over and gently cupping his cheek. She meant Vincent and him. He nodded, and pressed his bony hand over hers, holding it there for a moment. “When will you see a doctor?” She added, tenderly.
“I have an appointment,” he explained. “But, it’s a few months from now.”
She nodded, waiting a beat. “I won’t be here,” she replied, and forced a small, loving smile at him through more tears.
“I know,” he whispered, trying not to lose complete control. “But you’ll be here,” he explained pressing a hand to his heart.
She tilted her head forward and sobbed silently for a moment. “I will be, yes.”
Silence engulfed the two for a moment as they both realized the hour. Hazal had to go. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” he admitted.
She lifted her tear-soaked face to him, her mouth trembling as she spoke; she did a good job of making it look like she wasn’t crying, though. “Then don’t. Just say… see you later.”
He smiled ironically, “I can’t do that, either.” He took her hand and made her stand with him, embracing her against his thin frame. “I’ll just say this- I love you, Marielle. You are like a sister and replaced the comfort from the father that I no longer have in my life.” He squeezed her as tight as he could, but fear of breaking her made him stop short of what he gauged to be too tight.
“You’ll find him,” she whispered into his chest.
He dared to squeeze her a bit harder, and he held her for as long as she’d allow him to which quickly melted into minutes.
When he finally pulled back, he smoothed a thumb over her right cheek, leaned down, and planted a gentle, innocent kiss near – but not on – her mouth, then he lingered for a moment, steeling himself, “goodbye,” and turning, he walked away, not looking at her again, for fear that she’d see the mess that he was now.
She slowly sat back down as silent tears continued to stream down her face and took the book back into her hands, opening it and beginning to mark another letter.
Hazal stopped, and went into the kitchen, where he found Vincent standing with his forehead pressed to the wall, sobbing silently. He touched Vincent’s shoulder, and turned him toward himself, then embraced him.
The two wept for a moment, and Hazal whispered, “Thank you,” into his left ear.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Then he turned and went straight to the front door and left, quickly.
Vincent paused, taking several deep, calm breaths, wiping away all signs of crying, and took another three or four more before going into her little corner where her comfortable chair with her favorite pillows were by the window, near their fireplace.
She had been enjoying being near the warmth of the flames, looking out at the rain and the greenery, for a few days now.
She was wiping her own tears away, and marking the book, when she scratched the back of her head and her hand came back with another giant clump of black hair.
“Oh,” was all that she said, and she tried to put it aside, but it stuck to her a little and she tilted her head down.
Vincent came and stood over her. “Is it finally time to take care of that?” He asked, gently.
She looked up at him, another wave of tears filling her eyes and after taking a moment to process this, she nodded.
He helped her up and to the bathroom, where he proceeded to take his electric razor into his hand… He paused, looking at her reflection while standing behind her. This was harder than he thought it would be; this would be the last time that he ever saw her with hair.
She forced a small smile at him, “Focus now,” she said, thinly. “Eyes off me.”
He nodded, and proceeded to shave off all her beautiful black hair off until she was bald. She silently cried. She kept her eyes closed most of the time and didn’t look at herself.
When he was done, he held her from behind and kissed the top of her head, making her disappear in her arms.
She wiped her face with her shirt, finding Hazal’s tears there as well, but they were drying… vanishing, just like she was. Just like Hazal was, too… although neither of them knew that yet.
Vincent didn’t know how she’d done it but somehow, during the time that he’d been shaving her head- probably when he’d turned to pick up some of her hair and toss it into the waste bin, she’d managed to slip her necklace on. She was fingering the pearl and he looked down at it in the reflection. He smiled at her, sadly. “Of course, love,” he purred into her left ear as he held back tears. He could clearly see her eyeing her own reflection with a look that said ‘please don’t think that I’m ugly now.’
“Of course.” He said one last time. Then he carried her to the bedroom to prepare her for a slow, and gentle lovemaking session.
A few weeks at most. Then she’d be going back into the hospital for the last time.
***
As Vincent stared down at her now, his eyes welled and he turned away from her for a moment.
“Are you okay?” she asked turning back to him from the mirror.
He took in a deep breath and let it out, slowly. Then realization hit her as she took a moment to look herself over in the mirror… right… she would have been bald when she died.
He stood straight, and went to her, picking her up and taking her to the bed where he laid her down and slowly climbed on top of her, gazing down at her fair face. She looked up into his eyes, wanting to disappear. He couldn’t read her mind the way that Austin could, but he could read that, clearly and he nodded, and slowly began to unbutton her shirt, “You’re safe, Masin,” he whispered, bending and kissing her collarbone, and neck. She started to quietly sob into his chest. “You’re safe, Masin,” he repeated, prepping her for a slow, gentle love making session.
***
Austin’s shaved head was resting against the bathroom wall and he was drinking the last of a beer as he stared into nothing.
He tossed the bottle in the bathroom can, and listlessly turned the shower onto hot… really hot, so hot that he hoped that it would melt away the last forty-eight hours and realizing the error of having a boy’s hope and dreams when he glanced at himself in the mirror and stared back at… the stranger. He hardly recognized himself.
He stepped in and stood under the pounding drops, filling the bathroom with steam.
Austin couldn’t stop staring into the void and knowing that it was – in fact – staring back at him… Tundra was coming for him, there was no stopping that now. Tundra would be pissed. He would be beyond pissed, irate wouldn’t even begin to cover it.
There was too much to think about; too much to process; Marielle, Barbara… how many people had he just killed? Was he keeping count anymore?
He felt like a shell, just taking blows, but not truly feeling any of them. Was this what insanity felt like?
Tundra would know… a mocking voice came from within.
He scrubbed his fuzzy head with his fingertips, and watched the water run red-brown.
Austin needed something to make his own mind move again. He’d been so focused on keeping Marielle safe that he hadn’t thought much of himself and what any of what they’d experienced might be doing to him.
He was now feeling the pain, the anguish, what they’d made them do, the violation of it all, how he’d killed everyone in the room except the people Marielle had killed… how he’d confessed love to her, how she’d never said it back, not even in her mind. She didn’t love him. She loved Vincent… now what. Yes, this was what insanity felt like… hopelessness and anxiety mixed with murderous tendencies with a nice helping of desires that were ungodly.
Tundra would know…
Stop it.
He turned to the wall that connected the two rooms and tapped on it with his fingertip.
-Are you there, darling?
He chuckled at himself first ironically, then despairingly. “You’re not there,” he whispered to himself. “You’re screwing Vincent,” he growled, grinning wryly. A feeling of futility opened up in his stomach that he wanted to feed with his familiar demons.
Who can I go see? Which prostitute is nearest here? Where was Kirra?
No… No, I promised Marielle.
What did I promise for? This is ridiculous. He bit his lip as he heard a soft, contained and distant moan; Vincent, not her. Vincent was enjoying the pleasure that should have been his own.
No, no, there are no should haves.
He tried to reach out again as his heart began to pound with anxiety. –Darling… Marielle? His eyes welled, -Masin. He buried his face in his hand and waited. –Masin… do you need me?
She didn’t. She didn’t at all, did she?
He sobbed, silently, desperately needing to bury himself in a hole… desperately needing to disappear into a person. He realized probably more clearly than he ever had in that moment how his addiction fed his anxiety, and how his anxiety fed his addiction.
He hid… he buried himself inside of a lover. He’d never gone long enough without one to understand this cycle.
He had to figure out another way to deal with this now that he wasn’t allowed to or allowing himself to go after the quick fix.
Rolling his head back, he tried to fantasize. The anxiety and the trauma of the last few days made him weak; mentally and physically impotent. The moment that he started to try and think about Marielle, however, he felt his heartbeat begin to calm and blood flow started to move the correct way. From pounding to tame. From terror to comfort and eventually, desire.
-I need you. I want you inside of me. I want to feel your heartbeat mingled with mine as we become one thing, Marielle. Please find my heartbeat and help bring it back to normal again?
He made the water even hotter, and slid to the floor.
The last two days were a dream- a fever dream. That’s it. He hadn’t really been in a Kingdom facility with Marielle. He hadn’t confessed his deep love for her. He hadn’t given her the kiss that he’d been saving for years. He hadn’t escaped and killed a dozen-two dozen men? He hadn’t had his hair removed- his hand was rubbing his head… nothing there.
He looked down at his right arm and the snake that lived there and he smirked at it, ironically. One for me, and one for you… He pushed his palm out and watched – as he had so many times – as the snake slithered down his arm in a beautiful white, and pearlized spiral swirl, and materialized the long barreled, pearlized gun. The green snake eye set itself as an emerald in a screw at the back, and Austin pulled back on the hammer, then put the tip to his temple and laughed at himself.
It was flirting with him; holding the forbidden fruit in front of him.
Maybe you won’t die, Austin… maybe you’ll just make everyone feel sorry for you and want you more… maybe Marielle will. Why don’t you just try it, Austin? Just pull back on the trigger. What’s the worst that can happen? You die? Don’t you want to die?
He didn’t… but what a lover death felt like right now.
Moving his arm, he sucked the gun back up and watched the snake spiral back up his arm and set itself, still again.
Nothing was going to make this better.
He envied Sasha.