CONTAINS CONTENT:
Warnings for brief language, and child abuse (skip link provided.)
{{Unedited}}
Austin opened his door to Marielle, who had been gone nearly an hour.
He was still shaky and uncertain although speaking with both Vincent and her had given him a reason to not simply give up in his mind.
He stopped for a moment to look her over, intention beaming in his expression.
“What?” She demanded standing in his doorway.
His gaze flicked down for a moment. -You’re just so damn beautiful that it hurts. I wish that every time I opened my door it was you.
She shook her head and past by him, her face filling with color. -Stop it. I got us some breakfast. I know we had ice cream, but-
She found his hand around her wrist, spinning her to him and pulling her into a hug against the closed door; for a moment, she rested in his arms, against his chest, breathing in her favorite smell in the world. -You’ve helped me so much today. Thank you… I love you, Marielle.
“You’re welcome, Austin,” she breathed. Then she smiled up at him. He’d shaved, and grinning, she reached up and thumbed a little bit of white shaving cream left over off his chin.
“I’m not okay,” he said, trembling.
Her eyes filled with compassion, “I know,” she said. Then she let him go – even though he briefly reached out to keep her – and went to his kitchen. She saw the coffee pot running. “Did Vincent put coffee on for you?” She asked over her shoulder. He nodded and leaned on the arch that led into the kitchen, his eyes glued to her every movement as she found a pan, set it on his stove, and turned the flame on. “How do you like your eggs?” she asked, pulling a carton from a bag that was around her wrist.
He slowly came to her from behind, but stopped himself. -I’ve never wanted to just… hold someone and never let go the way that I want to constantly hold you. She froze; this was another “never.” -I’ve always wanted to just wrap around you, Marielle; make you part of me. He put his forehead against her right shoulder. “You are part of me,” he whispered. She swallowed, hard and let out a ragged breath. “Before Tundra… you were angry with me again.” He bit his lip, still brushing the tip of his nose against her shoulder. He’d deserved her anger, he knew this, now. “I don’t want you to be with angry with me. Are you still angry with me, darling?”
“No, Austin.” She turned to him, slowly. “I was never really angry with you… I’ve been angry for you.” He stared into her eyes, trying to understand. “I don’t want this life for you. My feelings for you are-” she stopped herself, glancing down and away.
-Don’t stop! He demanded, frustratedly.
–Don’t push me. I’ve told you so many times, you know this can’t work.
-Marielle, isn’t it working? Doesn’t it work? What are we missing? The commitment? What do you want me to do? Just tell me, darling.
Turning back to the stove, she paused for a moment. She pulled a bowl down from the cabinet and cracked three eggs into it, whisked them, added a little milk and cinnamon, and dredged four pieces of bread in the mixture before putting them into the pan with butter.
“French toast?” He asked, gently running his thumb down the back of her arm.
“Yes, darling,” she replied absent mindedly. Then she closed her eyes, hating herself for letting that one slip.
He swallowed thickly, “Why do you hate yourself for letting something natural out?” He backed away a little, trying to give her space. “Do you-” He didn’t want to ask the next question. “Marielle, do you see me as Tundra? Vincent- yesterday, he implied that you were processing this in a certain way. And I know that if I were you and I saw me doing what I was doing to you…” he looked up at her realizing how insane and nonsensical it sounded, and let out a nervous chuckle. “Do you see me as Tundra?”
She approached him and cupped his cheek, “No,” she said, sternly. It was a tone that assured him that she did not.
“So, I don’t – my face, my hai – well…” he looked up, cross eyed for a moment, realizing that he didn’t have much hair, now; then also considering for the first time since his decision not to let Kirra regrow it that this might have been one of the reasons subconsciously. Maybe he wanted to distance himself from Tundra as much as possible.
She ran a thumb over his cheek, her eyes welling. “No.” His eyes welled, as well. “You’re not… Tundra,” she spoke as if speaking to a small child and explaining that there was no monster under the bed. There wasn’t. He was gone, now. He was gone, forever.
He took in a few shaky breaths. “I am,” he insisted in a whisper.
“He did it. Him… You saved me.”
He went silent, nodding. “We saved each other,” he realized. She’d killed Barbara. He’d helped her to kill Tundra. “Maybe we’ll- just always save each other, Marielle.”
“Hush,” she said, quickly, and she turned back to the pan in time to flip her French toasts before they became too dark. “Now go find me some syrup,” she added.
He turned and left the room for a moment as she watched their breakfast, and poured them some milk and coffee, then plated the meal.
Before she understood, or could stop him, he was in the kitchen with her again, and he’d gone into the freezer, retrieved the chocolate ice cream, and butterscotch syrup, and went to her side, plopping a scoop on both of their breakfast, and drizzling the whole thing with the butterscotch.
She smiled at him, “This is dessert,” she realized.
“That’s fine,” he whispered, tenderly as he gazed at her, hungrily. “I’ve never eaten a breakfast dessert with the woman that I love,” he explained picking up their plates, and gesturing with his head to the coffee and milk. She grabbed them and followed him to the couch in his living room. Another “never.”
She sat with him and they ate for a moment in silence, then she looked at him, wincing, “Can you maybe… try not to be so honest for a little while?” He exhaled, realizing that he was pushing her with his honesty, another habit he’d have to try to work on breaking. “I don’t see you as Tundra, but all of this has been so difficult.” He nodded, understanding. “I am processing this. And you do have his face, voice and it’s been so hard. He-” her voice trailed off.
“He molested you, he cut you. I saw some of it.” She looked down, instinctively putting her arms over her chest, and looking around for a pillow or something to cover with. He turned, and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, handing it to her. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, she hadn’t even realized that she was looking for something to hide under, but he was giving it to her. -It’s okay, Marielle. Hide. I’ll protect you. She took the blanket from him and wrapped it around her shoulders and chest with a shiver.
“I have nightmares. His hands…”
Austin could see her begin to tremble, and again her arms went up over her chest. He remembered Tundra grabbing her breast, and he felt a wave of sickness come over him again, and he set his fork down. “Does my face bother you?” He asked. She always marveled a little at his voice. It was soft, and gentle, yet somehow deep, and manly; she loved it.
“Yes and no,” she said, flatly. “You’re not him. No matter how much you look like him.” She cupped his cheek again, and smiled softly at him; adoringly. “But it doesn’t help that you have the same face,” she explained. “I want to be clear. I do not see you as him.”
“It’s just triggering,” he said with a heavy sigh.
“Not like… constantly,” she explained. “But it’s one of the reasons that I need you to not push me, give me space.” He nodded. “I have to process this the same way that you do.”
He sighed, poking at what was left of the melted chocolate ice cream on his plate with his fork, then dropping it again, and running his hands over his head with a heavy sigh. “I have no idea how to process this, Marielle.” He swallowed and paused, trying to think. “I- I had nightmares after I came back here… I was in hell. There were infinite mes there, he was there, too. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It was…” he put his face into his hands. She put her hand to his shoulder blade and rubbed. “My mother, and some of her-” he gagged, “rituals followed that. I’m broken.” He shook his head.
“We’ve been through too much.” She sighed, glancing at his cell phone, which was sitting on the coffee table they were at. “Will they try to reset you?”
He nodded, resting his chin on his laced knuckles. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll call me soon,” he said dismissively.
“Then what?” she asked, and he took a moment to note that she was nervous that he might have to leave.
“I leave, they do things to me, I can’t talk about all of them.”
“For how long?”
He tried to hide the softest smile…yeah, she was nervous. “Well, uh… I’ll be gone for a bit longer with the flight and everything, but the entire process takes about twenty-four hours.” Again, he tried to hide the smallest smirk when he heard her exhale, relieved. -You have such a crush… He thought, reminding her of the last moment that they were normal together. That night at the Italian restaurant before their first capture attempt – she realized – before he fought Reyna. She looked away, abashedly. “I just- I cannot process this,” he explained, letting his last internal thought go, as he considered it another push.
She finished another bite of her breakfast, drank a few sips of coffee and stood. “Okay, then let’s do it together,” she said, turning to him and nodding as she rubbed her hands together.
“What?” he asked, curiously.
“I’ll help you, what do you want to know? What are we looking for?”
“I want to know how he- Tundra got there, and why… what led him there, and how-”
“How you can stop yourself from becoming him,” she finished for him. He swallowed hard, she could see his Adam’s apple move up and down, then he barely nodded. “I might be able to figure that out a bit as well,” she said drumming her lips for a moment, “But I’ll need some alone time and a certain set up,” she sighed. “I won’t get that for a while.” There was silence for a moment. “This should be easy for us… where do we start? Who knows him best?” She asked.
Austin looked down, and sighed, running a hand over his head. “Me.”
***
Marielle had sat him in a chair in the middle of the room and put some of his big gaming headphones over his ears to block out a good chunk of the ambience from outside, and from her if she did anything; pace, sneeze, scratch. She scratched her arm, now. Reflexively, he did the same; the feeling of the nanobots had calmed a bit, letting him forget about them most of the time.
She nodded at him as if telling him to begin; she was ready.
Shaking, he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. “I’m a thirty-two-year-old sexual addict-”
Marielle shook her head. “Deeper, Austin.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “You have to start at the beginning.” He leaned his head back with a shaky sigh, elongating his neck. She stared for a moment; his smooth skin was breathtaking. “What’s your first memory?”
He breathed out through rounded lips, searching his memory banks, then lifting an eyebrow. “Carpet… rough, coarse.” He breathed deeply, and put both hands on his chest, folding them, and trying to relax the rest of his body.
“You’re safe,” she told him. He nodded. “What’s it smell like?”
He shrugged his right shoulder. “Old. Mildew.”
“What color is it?”
“Orange… rust…”
Marielle sat down on his couch and looked him over. “Do you know where you are?”
“I think it’s the house I grew up in.”
She thought for a moment, “In Turin?” He nodded. “Close your eyes.” He obeyed. “What is the first memory that you have of your mother?” He flinched a little bit at the mention of her. “Isotta. Do you know her middle name?”
“Nives,” he replied quickly.
“Do you know what any of these names mean?” Marielle asked, tilting her head. “Name meanings can sometimes have a deeper impact on us than we think,” she explained.
Austin scoffed, but it was more like a chuckle, “Isotta means Ice ruler,” he turned to her and narrowed his eyes.
She looked off distantly. “And Rancor means extreme hatred,” she realized.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“How interesting that you’re the one that ended up with ice powers.”
“The irony isn’t lost on me.”
“What does your first name mean?” She asked curiously.
“Great,” he explained with the ghost of a proud smile, “or magnificent if you prefer.” Then he shook his head. He was kidding himself. He was neither great nor magnificent in these last few days. “What about yours?”
She smiled, thoughtfully. “Star of the sea.” Her mind went back in time for a moment when she had left Austin’s house, and Chamber had come and rescued her on the train. When he did, she had asked him what Vincent’s wife was like… he’d said- Elle était aussi profonde que l’océan. She only now made the connection that Chamber had known all along that she was the double that Vincent had come for… what else did Chamber know – she wondered – what else had he done? She drummed her lip for a moment. “What’s your next memory of her?” She asked coming back to Austin and going back to his mother.
“Just her voice.”
“What’s she saying?”
“She’s telling me that I’m perfect…” He paused, swallowing, then shifting into a feminine voice that imitated his mother. “You’re so perfect… you’re so perfect, sweetness.”
She felt odd for a moment, she’d heard this voice come out of him before, and it was definitely not while he was trying to imitate anyone. “How old are you?”
“Uh… maybe three? Four?”
“Do you feel perfect? Do you know what it means?”
He swallowed, his eyes moving about as if thinking. Then he shrugged his right shoulder, “I feel glad that- that my mother loves me.” She could see his heart speed up in his neck. “That’s she’s proud of me about- about something even if I don’t understand and I don’t understand the wickedness behind what she’s saying.” His eyes filled with tears, “I’m just happy that she loves me.” She cocked her head, understanding slowly. Isotta may or may not have loved him in some way, but it wasn’t normal… and not in the way that he’d thought in his child’s innocence. Isotta had wanted him in a weird, twisted way, she wanted to turn him into something of her own making. It made Marielle’s skin crawl. “I want to be loved. I want to be accepted.”
The vulnerability in his tone made her eyes water. “How about the next memory? Something more solid?”
He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, Marielle could see his chest rise and fall, “I go to wake her from sleep, she’s passed out, probably drunk although she did a really good job of hiding it throughout my childhood… she’s naked, and I just stare.” He tucked his lips in for a moment as if he can’t believe that he just admitted to that.
“Do you want to touch her?”
He drew a shaky hand over his head. “Instinctively, I want to do all kinds of things…s-she’s beautiful. I cover her instead.”
Marielle tilted her head at him, “You covered her?” He nodded. “Interesting,” she said, quietly. “Your mother,” she glanced at the hallway, as if mentally recalling the picture there, “looks quite a bit like me when you really compare, which I don’t really want to-” Marielle fumbled.
“I know. It’s not lost on me, Marielle, I understand. I get the implications.” He sighed, “I’ve been here for the whole Oedipal ride.”
“Did you ever-”
“No, never once. And as soon as I understood, I wasn’t happy about it, I was sickened by it all. But that didn’t stop the things that happened.” He shook his head, “I loved her. I wanted to keep her. When I was older, I wanted to keep her safe, but I realized how horrible she was.” Beads of sweat were collecting on his brow. “There had been a man there for a while when I was three or four- I don’t know if he was my father, but he died, or left, I can’t remember. Things blur together sometimes.”
“You became the man of the house.” He nodded, realizing how this added a deeper layer of confusion to his already warped young mind. He had been dad for a time, maybe even more. “You said she never touched you. Right?”
He shifted uncomfortably, “Not,” then his mouth hung open for a moment and he dug his tongue into the inside of his teeth as if he was trying to understand how to answer that question. “Debatable…” he explained. “Like, she- she touc- touched me but not-” he drifted and closed his eyes. “You know what?” he said, pausing. Then he stood up, removing the headphones in one swift movement. “I don’t want to do this.” He looked lost for a moment, like he was trying to leave, but then realizing that it was his house and he had nowhere to go.
He stood in a corner near the kitchen and stared out the window to the street, the same street that Marielle had waited for a taxi cab the night that he tried to seduce her.
He looked down at that place, recalling how he felt, and what that had done to him. He’d been so upset with himself and his own failure that she wouldn’t give into him, that he purposefully tried to push her away the next day for good. That’s what he was good for, right? Hit it and quit it? And if you can’t hit it, just quit it.
He shook his head and hung it. -But I love her, now, though.
-Did you forget that I was here? A voice from behind.
He was startled as he turned to her, lost enough in his own thoughts that he actually had forgotten about her presence for a moment. “Go home, Marielle… go back to Vincent, reassure him the way that you always do,” he said, quietly. “Tell him that you choose him and that he has nothing to worry about with me.”
Pain opened in her chest, tightening, and constricting her, the truthfulness of his words struck her for some reason in a different way than they normally had. “You don’t need to hide any of this from me, I understand, you know?” She asked, reaching a hand out to him and placing it on his shoulder from behind.
He tensed, angrily, she took it away. He felt too exposed, like a nerve that was waiting to rip open, and given the last few days, this frightened him.
“It’s not that I have to- it’s that I don’t want you in this part of my past. It’s too hard.”
“What if I want to be there? What if I want to help you through that prison because…” she paused, “it’s like what you said in Kingdom. We’ll get through this together, right? Because we’re together.”
He chuckled, silently, “Is that why we’re going to do it?”
She shook her head at him like it was and always had been obvious, “yes.” He paused, thumbing the underside of his chin as his own words echoed back to him caused his tension to melt. “You’re afraid that you’re going to hurt me, aren’t you?” He nodded. “I’m not afraid of you,” she insisted, and at that she slipped her arms around the front of him, and leaned her cheek against his right shoulder blade.
His body went rigid and his head rolled back slightly in ecstasy. -Oh, darling… please, just love me. She was silent. He reminded himself that the fact that she was silent was actually good. If it were a no, she’d simply say no… silence meant that she was restraining, debating, refusing. He let out a ragged breath. “Marielle, some things just… I can’t share them with you right now.” He pursed his lips briefly and raised an eyebrow.
“Why?” She pressed.
“Because they all look like this,” he said, turning. She could see the look in his eyes, dark, and fierce, yet terrified as he grabbed the sides of her face and …
***
BRIEF SCENE OF CHILD ABUSE, goto Trivia for summery then skip immediate italic paragraphs
She was transported.
Instantly, she was standing in the middle of a dark room that was encircled with flame… torches, alight and blazing. The floor was gray stone.
Turning, she saw Austin, but he was six or seven. She instantly recognized his eyes as they looked through her. Doors opened on all sides of this circular room and figures in long black velvet robes trickled in, creating a circle where they stood for a moment. Then, they all dropped their robes to the ground…they were all naked. Marielle winced, and looked back to Austin, who was shaking, and trying to cover his own nude body.
The people all took the torches from the walls, and lifted them; one of them was clearly Isotta, and she was holding a pitcher full of what Marielle knew was blood. She also knew that she was going to pour this on Austin.
Austin was rocking back and forth, and looking at his mother with terror in his eyes, trying to ask for help from her, but knowing that she was the one who was doing this to him at the same time. “P-protect me, mom!” He cried. She would not listen. He was starting to cry and lifting his thin arms toward her as if he wanted to be picked up and held. “M-mommy!”
They were saying something that Marielle couldn’t understand over and over again in low, growling, melodic voices and Marielle felt physically sick, her spirit being assaulted by whatever demonic garbage they were chanting.
Instinctively, Marielle ran to Austin and took him to her body protectively, using her hand to shield his eyes. “No!” She screamed at the people as he buried his face into her shoulder, tears wetting Marielle’s skin. “You can’t have him!” They were advancing anyways, as was Isotta with the pitcher, and the twig crown in her hands.
“On your knees, sweetness,” Isotta said, eyeing Austin whose face was still buried He wouldn’t look at her.
“Mommy, please!”
“On your knees,” she stated again more sternly.
“Get away from him!” Marielle screamed, but Isotta marched on.
***
/END BRIEF SCENE
Marielle broke out of the memory and looked up into his face as her own expression filled with terror.
He wasn’t even looking at her, just down between them as he removed his shaking hands from her temples. “I won’t show you more,” he whispered. “But you know the rest.” He closed his eyes, which leaked tears. “There were a lot of other things, but… I- that was what I was seeing when I was dying in the street with Tundra, and back at the Valorant building,” he paused. “And then I saw you… and you were there, and you were inside of me… and you could feel my heart, and I could feel your little hands around it. You kept me alive for a few more moments, I know you did… just long enough,” he said, looking into her eyes.
She drew him to her, and held him for a moment. It was one of the first times that she’d ever held him where he felt weak, and small. Most of the time, he was pulling her to him and his strength was shielding her, keeping her in place, or protecting her. Right now, she felt that he was a few seconds from going completely limp.
“Come back to the couch,” she whispered. He nodded, and let her take him there, where they both sat in silence for a few moments, not looking at one another as they took in the horror of what they’d just seen. “I… think I’m understanding more and more what Vincent meant when he told me that we had a really strong connection in his dimension,” she whispered.
Austin let out a long sigh, “tell me about it.” He paused, “Did you know that in Kingdom I realized that I can feel when you’re in pain, just a little?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes, thoughtfully, then she widened them a bit at any and all implications of that. “You can?”
“Yeah. Again, you have to be near me, but like…” He shifted uncomfortably again, “yeah.” He met eyes with her. “I can feel it.”
She covered a small, embarrassed smile with the ends of her fingers. Her thoughts went over moments they’d had together, searching for the first time this happened. Then they landed on something specific; she’d had severe heartburn after Hazal, and he’d patted his own chest when they stood in the hallway just after she’d noticed his earring for the first time.
He nodded as if confirming this.
Then she watched as his eyes filled with the obvious thoughts and feelings of the trauma that he’d just gone through, and he shuddered with more waves of memories regarding Tundra, his mother, and now feeling once again like an exposed nerve.
She watched him rub his own forearms protectively. She’d be lying if she said that she didn’t feel the exact same way. “I won’t push you to do anything that you don’t want to do, Austin,” she said, quietly as she reached over and gently took his hand.
His eyes fluttered closed at her touch as he wanted her nearer to him, inside of him. He wanted to be inside of her. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he looked around the room for a moment as if it were haunted. “I want to do this, but- on my terms,” he explained. She nodded, willing to support him in whatever process he needed to work through. “I think the first step is just to talk.” She agreed, tapping her knees for a moment before going back to the kitchen and pouring them both some more coffee.
She sat down by him, handing him his mug and he drank it, shakily as he mentally and physically prepared to relive and feel all the things he’d been drowning in for the last thirty plus hours. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I know, Austin… focus now, eyes off me.”
He shook his head, “No,” his eyes found hers, “I mean, I think that’s where I have to start,” he explained. She seemed to agree and she waited for him to continue. “I love you, I’m in love with you.” He looked down into his lap briefly as he admitted the next part, “I’m also obsessed with you,” he explained, and his eyes went dark. She also averted her gaze. She knew this, but hearing him say it, and the way that he was looking at her right now, hungrily, even violent, made a strange wave of emotions and physical feelings come over her body. “When I came to Valorant I knew my mission was Chamber- er Vincent, but my only goal?” He seethed, “You. Own you. Take you, make you beg, make you give in to me. Make you want me so badly that you couldn’t help yourself, make you so desperate that you came to me and told me you’d do anything…” His jaw tensed and he squared his shoulders, “that didn’t happen… at least not the way I’d planned for it to,” he said with a sigh. He glanced down at her mouth, desirously. “Then you show up to that Announcement and you’re obviously not dressed for me…” He squinted his eyes mockingly at her, “at least not consciously, anyway… and I know- I know at that point even though I’m still a simpering idiot just praying that that dress will slip up just an inch more, – I know that before the end of the night you’ll be Vincent’s… But I was stuck because I was already falling in love with you. You’d become my best friend. So, I started to think maybe a relationship? Can I do that? I don’t- I don’t do relationships, Marielle,” he said almost disgustedly. “So, I balked at the idea and tried to move to the next step.” He took in a shaky breath. “I’d already been seeing prostitutes to substitute for you…” He fingered a bit of her hair. “As close as I could get so that I could satiate the hunger from not having you… but why you?” He breathed. “Girls rarely turned me down, but if they ever did, I’d just move on. But because I can read people I know when someone truly isn’t interested, and when they’re just pretending that they’re not so they can be morally superior, or whatever they think they’re being.” He shook his head, and began tight lipped, “You… were…pretending.” Her eyes trailed away, feeling exposed. “So why can’t I break you? You want me,” he insisted. “I started looking for you, looking you up more than I already had, researching you, digging into every little thing that I could find about you so that I could better my way of seducing you. I thought I had you that night, here,” he said with a devilish smirk. “Obviously, no. Here’s the problem. The more you made me wait, the more I dug, and the more that I realized that I had to have you, eventually. It wasn’t a want anymore, it was a need.” He clenched his teeth, “And you just…” he raised a hand, shakily, and put his fingers slowly around her throat.
-What are you doing? She asked, her eyes widening in fear.
-Trust me.
“Kept on making me wait,” he hissed. Then he gently squeezed her neck, just enough to show her that he could hurt her, but stopping long before he ever did. She shook a little, remembering Vincent’s fingers in the exact same place. Her eyes searched his as if she had told him some secret in her sleep that she hadn’t recalled telling. He broke his train of the conversation for moment to answer her unspoken question. “I know exactly who you are in the bedroom, Marielle. I could be so good for you,” he said with a hard swallow.
-What…are…you…doing…
-Trust… me.
He took a deep breath in and dropped his hand from her neck. “Your resistance to me made me…crazy,” he growled, his eyes wild. “I always get what I want, especially if I know she wants it too. Why you? Why did you resist me so hard?” They stared at one another for a few moments in silence; gaze unyielding. -I’m sorry for this one in advance. “I had such dark thoughts about you. I was gonna make you mine– take you somewhere no one could hear you scream,” he hissed. She shifted and looked away. “I was gonna make you scream my name, and then keep you until you liked it, and never let you go…” She started to move away from him a little, sensing the tension building. He reached over and gently took her hand, and put it to his heart so she could feel the steady rhythm there; he was confessing, not planning. “It was just a fantasy,” he whispered gently. “I would watch you, and your smile, and your laugh, and the way that you moved and I would realize that I could never… would never hurt you. Not like that,” he swallowed hard, “it didn’t mean anything if you didn’t completely decide for me. If I forced you, then it wasn’t real.”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“But my God, Marielle,” he whispered. “After that night that you moved through me the first time,” he tucked his lips in for a moment, “when I desperately wanted to use that table,” he gestured with his eyes, “to show you exactly how I felt about you…I started to realize something that terrified me.”
“What?”
“That I was in love with you… and that things like you being able to pass through my body – which if I wasn’t clear is the most satisfying experience that I’ve ever had this side of heaven – meant that I will never be able to let you go.” He focused his strong gaze on her face, straight into her eyes. “Never, Marielle.” She avoided his eyes with hers. He tipped her chin, gently, telling her to look back to him. “You… may leave. You may choose Vincent… you may tell me to go to Hong Kong and you might be fine eventually… I never will,” he explained, his eyes beginning to stream silent tears. “I never will,” he said in a whisper, he came just a bit closer, “because you have to understand,” he began in a small whisper, “you’re the only person in this entire world who’s ever really loved me,” he said. He raised a hand to stop her protest about how she loved him; it didn’t matter, she did. Whether it was adoration, friendship, or she was in love, wasn’t the point. “I will always keep you,” he gently pressed her hand into his heart, “here.” He shook his head, “now you’ve held it in your hands, and forced it to pump blood through my body.” He swallowed. “There’s no coming back from that.” He let her hand go, and slowly leaned back against the couch, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling as silent tears rolled off his temples, and fell behind the couch where they were lost. “There’s no coming back from that,” he reiterated in a whisper, and his eyes filling once more.
Her heart ached for him. He was right. She had a similar thought a few hours ago while she was at the store buying them food. She’d literally found his heart in his chest, and caused it to pump his blood. She’d probably bought him another thirty seconds. It was terrifying… it was euphoric… it was unexplainable.
“You see, I’m not Tundra,” he whispered. “But the capacity is there.” She nodded and they were silent for a moment. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, let it out slowly through rounded lips and started all over again. “I’m a thirty-two-year-old sexual addict. I also suffer from massive physical anxiety that I often bury and hide with my addiction; I didn’t realize this until recently. My girlf-” he stopped himself, “the woman that I have feelings for helped me to realize it. My addiction gives me feelings of importance, power, and love… but it’s not love. I’ve never had love. When I thought that I did, I was wrong. I thought that my mother loved me, but she didn’t; not the way that a mother is supposed to love a son, anyways. She wanted to use me, she wanted to pervert me because she, herself was perverted. Before I understood any of this and was old enough to understand right and wrong, I thought that my mother was beautiful and desirable. Then I hated her, but I couldn’t help that I was still attracted to her even though I was disgusted by her and the thought of her. I subconsciously went to hookers and strippers that looked a little – and sometimes a lot – like her because I wanted to keep her. I wanted to earn her love by…” He winced and crumbled in on himself. “Oh shit…” he started to hyperventilate and he reached a hand out as if trying to find hers. She took it, and laced their fingers together. “Oh my god,” he growled. “She told me that I was only good for sex, that sex was what I was meant for- pleasure. She told me that I was a god. I have always been trying to please her!” His croaky voice shouted into his knees. His other fisted hand pounded on the couch next to him, repeatedly, each punch becoming harder and harder.
“I’m here, Austin.”
“I just want her to love me,” he sobbed into his lap. Then he was angry, “I… just… want… her to love me!” he lifted his head and pulled Marielle to him by the hand that was holding his. He held her against his panting chest. “I just want to be with you,” he breathed, forcing himself calm. “Do you understand? Do you get it?” She nodded, understanding. “I want your love, I want your approval, I want to have fun and play with you, oh God, Marielle, I want to play with you…I want to keep you.” She continued to nod; her own eyes full of tears. Then it hit him… “Oh my god,” he croaked. “I get it- I get it.” He pulled back and looked in her eyes, “you died,” he began. Then he swallowed thickly, “you died…” he repeated as if asking her if she understood. It was beginning to dawn on her. “You said the other night… I use surrogates. Because I can’t escape you. You died. Do you understand? You died.” She nodded looking down. “I want nothing more than for you to be inside of me, and with me all the time- always- because you help with the other issues. You can instantly cure the panic and the anxiety… and you died.” She squeezed her eyes shut as tears rolled out of them. “So, I ate them.” He held her against his chest again, “because I wanted to keep you, I wanted you inside of me… you were no longer there.”
They both went stiff as boards and quiet, melting into one another and the silence that seemed to possess them both. They didn’t move for several minutes until she slowly pushed her hand into his, skin into skin, found his pounding pulse, and used her own to bring it back down to a normal rhythm.
“You didn’t murder or eat anyone, Austin,” she whispered against his chest.
He swallowed hard. “Maybe this is a lot more dangerous than we think it is,” he breathed, shakily.
“I’ve always known that it might be dangerous, Austin. That’s why I didn’t just give it you when you asked.”
“Because we both crave this feeling?”
She nodded, then sighed against him, her hand gently patting his chest. “I crave it as much as you do.”
“Why?”
“Same as you,” she said. “Completion… wholeness…oneness.”
“I love you,” he said quickly. “I love you, and that’s what matters, right? We can work this out. When Vincent was here-”
She lifted her head from his chest. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot that Vincent was here,” she lifted her head, “What did he say to you?”
“A lot. He,” Austin paused drumming his lips in thought, “he made me promise not to ever hurt you.”
Her eyes widened incredulously as she took in the meaning of that promise. Where did it end? Where did it begin? What did that promise mean? It was Austin, did this mean that he was never going to do another… Austin thing again? Wait, why was he promising not to hurt her? “Did… Did Vincent give me to you?”
He scoffed, “No. I wish. Then this would be over, right? No more fight… you’d just be allowed to choose me.” She sighed and looked at him like he still didn’t understand. “What?” Her mind went quiet and for a moment, he wondered if he should tell her anything else that Vincent had said… no, this still had to be entirely her choice based on what she realized, took in, and understood. But the silence that past between them and the quiet in her mind made it all tempting. “You still want Vincent,” he realized. She pulled away, and sat back on the couch. “Why, Marielle? Why?” He leaned in, trying to take her hand again, “you know… you know that we’re good together.” She shirked him off. He dragged his fingers across his forehead, frustratedly and turned to her, “Okay, what?” he growled. “What is it? I mean you and Vincent, what exactly is it that you two do for each other?” Her jaw tensed and she looked left, refusing his gaze. “What is like- the sex really good, or something?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but…yes,” she replied with a sigh.
He chuckled, ironically, and leaned back, a hand on his chin. “What does he have, that you so desperately need?” He whispered.
“I’ve told you,” she growled. Then she turned to look at him again. “Loyalty… When I’m with him? I’m the only person in the room.”
He dragged his fingers down his face, again as if wiping away an entire legacy. “Marielle I-” He was cut off, his phone rang. He took it from the coffee table, looked at the number and turned to her. “Stay quiet. You’re not here, you understand?” He ordered. She cocked her head at him and nodded as he answered. “Rancor.” She heard a male voice on the other end ask if he was alone. “Yes.”
She thought the other voice said, “status…?”
“Rancor, Austin Michael. Hotel Echo Lima Papa.”
The voice replied – “So, it’s true.”
“A hundred percent.”
– “Reset?” The voice asked.
“I think it’s necessary.”
– “Key in.”
Austin glanced at Marielle. He could trust her. “Zyrtec Climax Syntax Anthrax Zephyr Rally eighteen twenty-five four five zero, Bargs, Joe.” He flicked his gaze to her again for a moment. She was watching all this intently, drumming her lip. “Rancor, Austin Michael,” he finished.
– “Date of Birth?”
His jaw tensed and he glanced at her again, something in his eyes told her that somehow this was a bomb that he was about to drop, she couldn’t figure how, and then- “Eleven, four, thirty-eight,” he said, confidently. Her eyes widened and she cocked her head at him again. He flashed her a glance that said – In a minute, you have to stay quiet now. She did, but her eyes remained wide with questions. She hadn’t heard what the other voice said. “When?” Austin asked. He looked at his watch. “It’s Wednesday, I can be there tomorrow. Send the information?”
– “I’ll do that. Rancor?”
“Gray?”
– “Don’t fall apart.” The voice chuckled.
Austin smiled, “Rancor out.” Then he hung up the phone, and turned to her.
“Your birthday is November fourth?” She asked, incredulously.
He nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d believe that one even if I was telling the truth.”
She looked down into her own lap. “We have the same birthday,” she whispered.
He nodded, adoringly as he bit his bottom lip and stroked some of her hair back behind her right ear, “I know,” he whispered, tenderly.
She was staring; at what? She had no idea. “You don’t think that’s why…”
“Why we have telepathic abilities as well as everything else?” She nodded; he shook his head. “No. I think I think it’s just an odd coincidence.”
“That’s quite a coincidence,” she replied, going over everything in her mind as she tried to remember if she’d ever seen anything that would have clued her into this; his I.D. in his room, she probably overlooked the DOB entirely because his name was what had stuck in her mind. “It’s your real birthday?”
“As far as I know.”
“So… why do you think we have-”
“The abilities that we do?” Austin asked. He leaned forward over his knees, rubbing his hands together before taking his own coffee cup into his hand and drinking off the last of the lukewarm liquid. “I have an answer but you’re not going to like it,” he explained, rubbing his hands together again.
“Try me.” She already felt what was coming.
“You love me,” he said with a shrug. She looked away, they’d had this conversation in Kingdom, too. He’d said that as real and as nonchalantly as Vincent had when he suggested the same thing the night that Hazal had attacked them. “It’s more than that, though you know me more intimately than you know anyone and ever have.” He scooted just a tad closer to her, “I’m completely honest with you, Marielle. Completely. Ask me the worst things about myself and you’ll get the honest answer, you know this.” He raised his hand, daring it down her right shoulder. She put four fingers to her mouth. “You have never in your life been in the presence of someone who was utterly willing to be destroyed by the truth for you,” he explained. She swallowed hard, feeling the truth in his words. “I’m willing,” he added in a whisper. “I’m willing to always tell you the truth, and yes, that means that sometimes it’ll hurt, but I’m open. I’m open to you,” he said and he gently took hold of her forearm and squeezed a little, drawing her toward him. When she was close enough, he bent and kissed the space on her shoulder that met her neck. Then he gave her a soft, gentle bite. Her eyes fluttered closed and she ached at the brush of his mouth, and his teeth. “Now you tell me that Vincent does that for you,” he breathed. She winced, and again, she pulled back. “Okay, I won’t push you,” he whispered, nodding and sitting back against the couch.
She was so confused. She turned to him, her eyes welling, so many truths settling into her mind that she wanted to wipe away. “You go back to Vincent and leave me for a few hours. I have things to do,” he said gently. Then he swallowed hard. “You go and you tell him that you’re fine, and that you’ll never leave him.” her eyes were rimming, ready to leak. He began to lean in, whispering as he eyed her mouth, “but kiss me before you leave, darling… because my kiss? Is yours and yours alone.”
She melted into him, coming to meet his lips as he crushed hers with his own. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, taking his need out on her mouth. He didn’t dare his tongue, but this was by far the most intimate kiss they’d shared. His fingertips ran up into her hair and gently pulled. She groaned and it echoed into the caverns of his soul, finding the places that were unexplored and pouring into them. After a few seconds, she pushed him back a little; a gentle no more. He nodded, understanding, but rubbed the tip of his nose against hers before drawing her into the kind of holding session that begged her to never let him go. – I love you, Marielle.
Tears ran against his shoulder. – Oh, Austin.
– Austin… he repeated.
She pulled back. “You know that this won’t work,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. “Only because you won’t let it,” he said dejectedly.
She shook her head. “Not after today. Not after everything we’ve talked about. It’s too much. Even if I did love you,” she paused, she realized she was touching his face again, instinctively, and she dropped her hand. “It couldn’t last.” She stood, grabbing her bag and going to the door. He sighed heavily, and wiped his face with his palm. “When will you leave?” She asked over her shoulder.
He swallowed, “I’ll text it to you. Think you could drive me to the airport?” He asked. She nodded. “I could do that.”
“Good,” he replied, softly.
“They’re holding a service for-” she could barely get his name out, “for Sasha tonight, six o’clock, at Valorant… and Tala… we actually have a plot of land for graves, as odd as that may sound. It’s behind the pool?” She noted. He nodded. “I know you didn’t know him super well, but. I’d really like for you to be there. It’d help me.”
“Then I’ll be there,” he said, ever gentle.
She left, and he slumped back against the couch, alone. He picked up her plate of French Toast, and ate the left overs, dipping the bread into the melted ice cream and missing her mouth, and her taste. -I’m obsessed with you. He thought.
-I know, Austin…
Apparently, she hadn’t left quite yet; range seemed to be about forty – fifty feet.
He waited for her to drive away before he took the plates to the sink, scooped up some leftover butterscotch syrup on hers with his finger, licked it off, and rinsed them, wanting her there the entire time. He imagined both washing the dishes together, and he smiled.
Then he stood at the kitchen sink, and closed his eyes tightly. “I’m a thirty-two-year-old sexual addict,” he began again, trying to find that place where things made any kind of sense, “and maybe- I’m also a serial killer.”