CONTAINS CONTENT:
Brief language / usage of the “wh**e” – sexual situations, brief scene in a strip club (no graphic descriptions.)
{{Unedited}}
Neither of them said a word the entire ride home and Marielle spent most of the time leaning against the window, sobbing, thinking about Austin and how more than anything she wanted to talk to him; to hold him. She’d felt the emptiness in him open up before she and Vincent left.
No, not even now. He has to go through this on his own. She reminded herself, and another wave of tears overtook her.
She knew that Vincent thought that she was crying for Kirra. She was; and the pain of Kirra was hitting her so hard that the only way she could keep from screaming repeatedly until her lungs were spent of air was to think about Austin.
She hated it. But she needed to feel him. She needed his body against hers. She wanted to be going home with him right now, and he didn’t even know! He thought that she had just dismissed him back there. She had, but it wasn’t for the reasons that he thought she did.
She shook with sobs as she thought about his mouth against hers, reaching into the corners of her mind to find the moments during their affair that were the most intense to try to appease the grief welling within her. I’m going to give you my tongue, do with it as you will… the memory of his voice sent a strange shiver of excitement mixed with pure, emotional grief down her body. She remembered him turning her over onto her stomach so that he could lay over her back, kiss between her shoulder blades, and run his finger tips down her arms, to her hands, and back up again.
Her stomach twisted in guilt and caused her hands to shoot up reflexively; one against the window, one on Vincent’s shoulder as he drove. He glanced at her from his solemn state; a tear on his face as well, and swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”
“Pull over… please,” she begged.
He jerked the car to the side of the road and she tumbled out onto the side of the highway and vomited.
Vincent dashed out after her, kneeling, and gently placing a hand on her back as she wretched. “It’s okay, it’s okay, Masin, I’m here.”
Her body quaked as she began to experience everything that had just happened at Valorant as if she was reliving it all, now.
She remembered Cory’s teeth, and how she’d felt the blood leave her body and how his body had felt against hers; dangerous and possessive and knowing what he’d done to her doubles. She remembered going after Austin like a ravenous, rabid animal, and him keeping her back despite what she knew… he wanted her to do that.
She lost her meal again.
“Oh, love,” Vincent sighed, trying to cradle her while she trembled, adrenaline causing an intense feverish feeling to spread across her body. For a moment panic began to overtake her.
And she turned, clawing at him, “Vincent…Vincent,” she heaved, gripping his black coat, and squeezing as she leaned into him.
“I’m here, love… you’re safe.”
“Vincent protect me,” she whimpered, madness engulfing her as panic settled in the pit of her stomach. “Protect me!” She cried.
He rocked her against his chest, the thing attacking was invisible, and it was clear that he had no ability to fight it anymore.
Her heart thudded against her chest like hail against sheet metal and she clung to him, going limp in the rest of her body. “Keep me safe… keep me safe…keep me safe,” she repeated.
Sighing in despair and leaning over her body, he gently swept her off her feet, and took her slowly back to the car. “Where’s Austin?” she asked. Vincent briefly closed his eyes at that as he strode to the door. “Where’s Austin? Is he okay?” she breathed over and over again. “Is he okay? Is he okay?”
“He’s okay, Masin. I promise. He went home.”
“Okay…” she settled briefly as if falling asleep. Then her eyes popped open again, “Where’s Austin? Is he okay?”
Vincent sighed heavily as he settled her in her seat. She was breaking down entirely and he had no ability to handle it except care for her, and listen to her whisper and cry out the other man that she loved’s name.
As he drove, she did it. “Austin… Austin… Is Austin okay?”
“He’s okay, Masin,” Vincent whispered tenderly. “He’s home, he’s safe.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“He’s resting. You have to rest, too.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she murmured, her small voice shaking.
“No, I promise that he’s not,” Vincent replied and it was clear that he was trying his best to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he quickly wiped away a tear.
“Is Austin okay? Is he hurt?” She breathed against the window, feeling like she was on a merry go round that was going too fast and wouldn’t stop. She watched her breath fog the window as she panted, the panic attack refusing to subside.Vincent took her hand and squeezed it tightly. It was all that he could do while he drove.
“He’s okay, Masin. He’s not even hurt. You’re okay, too.”
When they finally reached the apartment building, he came around to her side, scooped her up into her his strong arms, and walked her up to her apartment where he took her in, and settled her for a moment on the couch.
“I’m going to get you some warm milk, or would you prefer chamomile tea and cream? It might help with the anxiety.”
She was finally breathing a little more normally. “I’ll take the latte,” she replied, knowing that chamomile sometimes helped to lower cortisol. It might help to calm her.
He nodded, “Would you like a bath? Or would that make you feel trapped right now?” he whispered, gently combing through her hair.
“Yes, love. You can make me a bath,” she replied brokenly. Felix had jumped up next to her and was pushing his little head into her side. She pet him as Vincent went to the kitchen and began preparing.
She fought to resist the pull, but it was just too great. Austin had been covered in blood the last time she saw him, and the idea that he’d died wouldn’t leave her mind. Marielle glanced to make sure that Vincent was busy, pulled her phone from her purse, and pulled up Austin’s name, texting him. “Are you okay?”
Several moments passed as she worried her bottom lip till it bled. “I’m alive.” Was all that came back.
“Are you okay?” she repeated, feeling like she was in a fever dream.
The three little dots moved. “Are you?”
She reminded herself what she had to do. Leave him alone. “Yes. Just shaken up. Needed to see that you were okay.”
“I’m alive. I’m home. That’s it.”
He stopped responding, although she didn’t say much else beyond. “Okay. Goodnight. Rest.”
She tucked her phone away as Vincent came back in with her latte. He set the tray down on the coffee table, and sat at the end of the couch where he proceeded to lift her left foot and remove her heeled boot. Once he did, he gingerly rubbed her little foot, then gave her a deeper massage until her breathing calmed a little. Then he did the other foot the same way and set her boots aside.
“This wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Vincent sighed. “I let you fight and this is what happened.” He paused, gently smoothing his hands up her legs and kneading tension as he went. “This is why I’ve been trying so hard to keep you back from everything. I know it’s wrong, Masin… but I just want you to be safe, and not have to be locked in there in your mind, all alone.”
-I’m not all alone. She thought, reaching out to Austin. But she was. He was too far away; he couldn’t hear her. She couldn’t hear him. Oh, how she wanted to hear him.
She stared off into nothing.
Vincent came to her side and gave her the tea with milk and honey, and helped her to sit up so she could sip it. “I hope it’s okay,” he whispered. She nodded, it was hot, smooth, and silky in her mouth.
He got up and went to draw her a bath.
She heard the pipes fill and the rush of water into the porcelain tub. The extra few minutes that he was gone let her know that he was making the space calmer for her. She’d find candles, and soft, fragrant rose scented bubbles on top of the warm, comforting water.
Yet she knew that while it would feel good to her body, it would do nothing for her spirit or soul.
Marielle was grateful to Vincent for his acts to try and help her but her mind kept on telling her that Austin wasn’t okay. She reached for her phone again, but stopped. “Just leave him be, Marielle. He has to keep experiencing these things alone. He has to do this alone,” she repeated over and over again. “He has to work this out without your support.”
It stung and ached deeply within her core.
Vincent stood before her, extending his hand. She noted that he’d removed all the makeup and costume so that no part of him resembled a vampire anymore. He’d even doused his head in water and recombed his dripping hair. “Let’s bring your tea,” he whispered, picking that up as well after he helped her to her feet and tenderly guided her to the bathroom.
She found what she was expecting, a lovely, twinkling bath with candles, and chocolates, and her tea.
She stood before it realizing for the first time since the world had stopped spinning at a million miles an hour that drops of Kirra’s blood were still on her. Someone else’s was too, she didn’t know whose. It was only now that she recalled that she had been shot while in her hypnotized state by Cory.
The thought of Cory made her shrink and she felt claustrophobic for a moment. Vincent steadied her with his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her against his chest. He was so strong, and calm, and hard against her now.
Noting that she was in distress again, and muttering something in French under his breath that she didn’t quite hear, he began to slowly peel off the layers of clothing that now seemed to cling to her with thick globs of drying blood.
“Why did you really come here, Vincent?” she managed.
Kneeling before her as he was unfastening her belt, he looked up at her through strands of wet hair. Her eyes were clearly saying one thing- don’t you dare lie to me.
“For you,” he replied after a beat where it seemed like he was trying to decide what his story was going to be. His expression told her that he gave up, and he added, “I came here only for you.”
This was true. “You just wanted to be with me,” she said distantly.
“I always just want to be with you, Masin,” he said under his breath and as if begging, he slowly put his cheek to her lower stomach and wrapped his arms around her waist. She could feel the tension in him and his arms; the please don’t leave me that he was screaming with his mind and body but not his words. “I went on a search to find you. I did. I didn’t expect everything else.”
She went silent again. All of this was true, and she found herself warring with the idea that he was telling her the truth, and wondering if he were only doing it to use the truth as a bargaining chip.
Her eyes were pools of despair and anguish as he went back to removing her belt, and setting it aside, then her dress; little bits of what was left of Kirra fell away.
It was a morbid thought, but for a moment she wanted to tell him no. She wanted to keep it, somehow. She realized that this was dumb, and wrong. It needed to be washed away; the same way that Kirra would have to be buried along with her resting companions.
Now naked and stained, she was frozen as his fingertips gently rubbed her arms.
She narrowed her eyes at him spitefully in the reflection of the mirror for a moment, “you’ve lied to me about every… little thing,” she whispered. He cut his gaze to her and stared back in the mirror. “And I always knew that you were lying to me but I never knew why,” she seethed, hot tears pouring down her cheeks. “Why, Vincent?”
He straightened his back and glared down at her over his glasses, the flickering candles made him almost look menacing. “Because I’m a selfish prick and I wanted my wife,” he said flatly. “I don’t want to lie to you anymore, Masin. I never want to lie to you again.”
“Oh?”
“No. Ask me anything right now and I’ll tell you. No matter how much of a villain it makes me look.”
“I was never part of their plan, was I? This was always about Cory’s revenge on you.”
“Oui,” he replied quickly, his back still straight. He didn’t move or blink. “Yes, my love. Yes,” he whispered. “You are part of their plan as I found out- but they don’t need you, they could go to any dimension and get you. Cory wants you specifically to hurt me. So, in a way, you’re correct.” She sighed and looked down and he squeezed her upper arms a little. There was anger and passion in that gesture. “He has made sure to undo everything that I did. I left you alone in other dimensions, and he followed me and murdered them all. Now he’s here, and I am fighting to keep you safe. This is one of the many reasons that I want you to come with me at the end of the year to France where we’ll be together for the rest of our lives.” Again, he squeezed a bit.
She could feel the tension that told her that she was his, that he was orchestrating everything from the beginning that she’d fallen for it like a teenage fool. “And you are the puppet master that is controlling the strings of Valorant right now behind the scenes. No one knows but me, Austin, and you.”
“Yes,” he said heartlessly.
“Kirra… Tala… Sasha… they are dead because of you.”
“Yes.”
“All because you wanted me.”
“I still want you, Masin,” he replied, darkly.
“You’re threatening to find and kill Austin if he whisks me away to some… hunkered down place and keeps me there, but your chains are tighter,” she hissed.
There was a pause and Vincent turned his spine to steel and set his jaw. “Do you want to go to him?” Vincent asked, his tone laced with rage, but still tightly in control.
She raised her left brow at him. “Yes,” she admitted through gritted teeth.
He lifted a hand as if showing her the door. “Go,” he said coldly. She glanced down at the sink, and the blood, now brown on her bare stomach. “Go… go and be with him. It’s what you want, right? Let him win this little game.”
She glared at him, hatefully in the mirror. “It’s not a game to him,” she hissed through her teeth. He sighed and looked down. “It never was.”
“It’s not what I meant,” he replied calmly. He swallowed hard and let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Your heart is not a game.”
“No… it’s not.”
He breathed out and she watched his chest deflate. “So, why don’t you go to him? Isn’t it what you want? To be Austin Rancor’s whore?”
Her hand flew, striking him across his handsome face with a loud thwap. He jerked to one side on impact, paused, readjusted his glasses, then stared down at her as he rubbed his chin and his cheek for a moment. Her eyes were ablaze with rage. His eyes were still calm, controlled. “I deserved that,” he admitted with a nod. “But what do you deserve I wonder…”
“Are you threatening me? That won’t go over well for you.”
“No. I’m merely pointing out what you’ve done in the last few weeks. Your illicit affair. Your entanglement with a man that is not your own while claiming that your heart belongs to me.”
“It does,” she said tightly. “I told you that I wouldn’t go to him, and I won’t. Even if I am tempted to now.” She looked down shamefully. “I told you… he and I are done so long as I am with you.”
Vincent crossed his arms tightly across his chest and thick tension past between them. “Thank you,” he whispered. “And I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Kirra is dead because of you,” she growled. Tears stung her tired eyes and rolled down her white face again.
“Yes,” he replied, finally a twinge of sadness edged his tone.
“I hope…” she said, turning to him and taking his hands; she squeezed them tightly, “you’re happy.” When she let go, she slipped into the bathtub and sat in the middle of it with her knees drawn up to her chest.
Vincent looked down at his hands, noting that when she’d squeezed them, she left a little of Kirra’s blood behind; an obvious statement, and one that hit home. He turned the sink on and washed it away.
Then he sat on the closed toilet, next to her, his cheek still reddened and stinging from how hard she’d hit him.
He chuckled silently and ran his fingers through his hair, “Did I ever tell you that we met at that fountain?” he asked quietly. She was still except for a slow shake of her head. “You were crying, something that Austin did with Reyna, I think. It was a night like tonight,” he whispered looking into his empty palms, now cleaned of Kirra’s blood. “You were the most perfect thing in shadow and moonlight that I’d ever seen and I asked you to dance,” he continued, his eyes filling with tears. “I fell in love with you instantly, Masin. If you had asked me to marry you in that moment? I would have.” He cut his gaze to hers and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I envied Cory tonight for a moment and I feel disgusted with myself that he can command you,” he barked a low chortle, “perhaps Austin and I are more alike than I think,” he whispered.
“He’s always thought so…” she cut in.
Vincent nodded as if agreeing that this was in fact the case. “You are Marielle, after all – but you are not exactly the woman that I married. You’re not the woman that let Austin Rancor bully you and hurt you for a few years while I sat and watched,” he hissed between teeth. “I didn’t lose that photo of us at the beach… I burned it,” he admitted. “I burned several,” he said leaning back, and crossing his ankle over his knee. “I couldn’t handle any time that I saw you with him and smiling.” He squeezed his fists into balls on his knees as he watched his lovely woman put her forehead on her knees, the rest of her under the bubbles and the hot soak. She was listening silently, occasionally wiping away a small tear. “I want you to know,” he said tenderly, putting his fingertips into her hair and gently combed, stroking her scalp, “that while it’s true that I came here to deceive… and while it’s also true that all of this was always about you… I have come to care deeply for many of the people at Valorant. So has Chamber. I want to do right by them. I screwed up tonight and I do feel it, Masin. I am…so sorry.” He meant it. She could tell. But, Kirra was dead and that was that; she’d soon be sleeping with her friends on the grassy area where Sasha and Tala lay now.
Marielle wiped away her silent tears. “He won’t stop until he gets me, and kills me.”
Vincent sighed and came to his knees so that he could look her in the eye. “I know.” He swallowed, dipping his fingers into the water and stirring it a little. “Which is why I can’t let him win, no matter the cost.”
“But he already has won, Vincent,” she reminded. “He killed all of those other versions of me and of Austin… just to get back at you.”
“And I will not let him do it again.” He flicked the water from his fingers and smoothed his hand over her face. “Things might be gray. I might not have understood everything. It might not go the way I planned- I didn’t know what Cory was doing… but I cannot let him win. I cannot lose you again, Masin. Look at what it did to me the first time.” He looked off into nowhere. “I’m a monster… and I wanted to be in order to get you.”
She shook her head slowly and finally looked into his dark eyes. “You’re not a monster, Vincent,” she said softly. He met eyes with her curiously. “But you are not a good man, either.”
He rested the side of his cheek on the rim of the bathtub as he let out a sigh. She was finally cleaning herself, dipping her cupped hands into the water and rubbing it onto her arms, and face.
“I know,” he whispered distantly. “I want to be different for you. I was once,” he added. “It’s so interesting to me,” he sighed and he played with the water again. “Before you I was an entirely selfish man who killed for a living. When you and I met I wanted to be anything but that. All I wanted to be was whatever you wanted me to be so that I could win your love,” he sighed and turned, leaning his back against the tub and letting her continue to wash herself free of the horrific traces of the evening. “Slowly I did. Slowly, I became the family man, the husband, the lover that you wanted and, more importantly, needed. Then you got sick and I became that other man again. When you died, I completely reverted. Then I had an idea…” He stared into the darkness and watched the orange glow light shadow on the wall. “It was a terrible idea but it took hold. We’d been trying to come over here for years- well, here or to any of the other dimensions. I heard that the O’Fallon’s had the largest amount of research on the subject and that in fact they might have solved the problem, but they were still years out. I’m selfish and proud, so I killed them in order to do this. All I wanted was…you.” He clenched his teeth and tensed his jaw. “I am a monster.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Cory is just making sure that I know it… and that all of this has been for nothing.”
“Has it?”
Vincent scoffed. “You love Austin. I’m losing you.” He shook his head and rubbed the palms of his sweaty hands into his pants.
“You’re not losing me, yet.”
“Yet?”
She looked to him, hopefully. “We could still learn to be good to one another.”
“Be honest, Masin,” he snarled. “You know who and what I am now… Can we ever work this out?”
“I’m not giving up on it just yet. Let’s get through the situation with Cory and let’s do it together and in love,” she said standing from the water and signaling that she was done.
He stood and took hold of the towel on the rack, wrapping it around her and gently rubbing her down until she was dry. “Please understand, Masin,” he begged. “My thoughts were distorted, but I also wanted to save you. If you were in a situation here or anywhere like you were with Austin in my home world, then I wanted to take you from it and help you. Your double wanted me to as well,” he spoke so gently and distantly, “as it turns out… you needed no saving. You have never ever needed saving,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry, Vincent,” she said cupping his cheek.
He put his hand over hers. “So, since we’ve both stabbed at each other… do I take my passion out on you now?” he asked pressing his thumb in between her lips and letting it rest on the fleshy, wet skin there. “Do I show you my anger? My frustration? Do you want me to?” The pad of his thumb moved over her bottom lip dragging some of the moisture from her mouth with it. “Do you want me, Masin?”
“I … always want you, Vincent,” she replied, a twinge of anger still edging her tone.
***
Austin rubbed his thumbs over the phone screen several times. He’d just typed – “I’m alive. I’m home. That’s it.”
She’d replied and he sat, staring blankly at the screen. He didn’t know if he was waiting to hear from her again, or wanting to say more to her. It was both. He wanted both. He wanted to lay on his back and watch the dots bounce as she typed to him in anticipation of her words. He wanted to reply. He wanted to feel the boyish excitement that she gave him as he waited for her thoughts. They never came.
Minutes passed and he knew that she was with Vincent. He also knew in what way and momentarily he fought the idea that his wife was sleeping with another man.
That was preposterous, of course. She wasn’t his wife, at least… not in this dimension. But it had become clear to him that she had been in others; almost every one of them, in fact. He lamented that in this one Vincent had gotten to her first, and as for his part? Well, he was just too damn much of a screw up for it to have mattered.
A life full of pleasures, luxuries and debauchery had led to two dead bodies tonight. One – he lifted his arm and looked at the spot where he’d been shot, but was now healed – might have really loved him. The other? Might have been there to see him again.
He chuckled at himself as his mind spun out, leaning over his knees on his bed; his clothes still blood soaked, his face ashen and spattered in thick brown. Both people who might have been his only other love interests were dead tonight, and what part did he play in it?
He’d heard Sabine say something about Vincent. What did Vincent do? Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he was just a curse no matter what he did, now.
Kirra… not Kirra. He tried so hard to save her; in his mind, he was still trying. He was still on his knees giving her his breath and doing compressions on her chest.
His thoughts swirled with other memories trying to work their way in and crash the thoughts that he was having of when they’d first met; him knowing that Kirra was attracted to him immediately, and how back then he was trying to get both her and Marielle’s attention at the same time. Hell, maybe he could score both together. All of that seemed stupid now as he turned onto his side, hugging himself around the middle, his abdomen squeezing back as anxiety threatened to seize his mind and stomach.
Breath in Kirra’s mouth.
– him slamming the door shut when Marielle had tried to leave his house that night that she’d first gone through him.
Compressions on Kirra’s chest.
– “Don’t you walk away from me…” out behind the club before he’d tried to seduce Marielle. He’d jerked her back with enough force that she smacked into the wall.
Breath into Kirra’s mouth again.
– “I told you no,” Marielle hissed, glaring over her shoulder at him while they sat on the bike together.
He shook his head as he twisted the ring on his ring finger. “I’m Tundra,” he whispered into the thick darkness in his room; heedless that his blood slicked clothes were staining his bedsheets.
When he realized, he dragged himself to the shower and stood under the water, fully clothed, as he watched what remained of Kirra swirl down the drain. First a deep, violent red…then thinner, and thinner, pink…clear… gone.
“I’m going crazy,” he whispered.
He wasn’t feeling anything. There were no tears. There was no pain. He felt slightly cheated of a revelation, and he had no relief.
After he put on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, he robotically left the house. He didn’t consciously know where he was going.
The seedy strip joint was dark and full of cheap beer, red lipstick, glistening bodies in the dark, and men half hiding their faces. The owners and dancers knew his well, he’d come here nearly every night for a few weeks after moving into the area.
One of the girls looked him straight in the eye and smiled.
Yeah, this was about as good as he was going to get, wasn’t it? He didn’t deserve anything more. He wasn’t the right kind of man. Where ever he went… people died. He couldn’t have a lover, or Marielle… he’d just kill her.
-I’m sorry, darling. This is probably where I belong.
She couldn’t hear him. But the stripper – whose name he was shocked he remembered – saw him hug himself around the middle and sob, quietly with his temple to the wall.
Coco – that wasn’t her real name – came down from the stage and approached him. She put her hands on her hips and looked him over. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t answer. In part, he was shocked that she’d approached him at all. “Joe,” she said in a strangely serious tone for where he was standing and what the purpose of this place was. He met eyes with her. She shook her head, her blue eyes filling with compassion. He noted the thick clumps of glitter on her olive skin; her neck and face and thought it was interesting that this was what caught his attention more than anything else. This and her eyes, they were a striking blue. “I never say this to anyone…” a pregnant pause. “You don’t belong here. Go home.” He met eyes with her and cocked his head inquisitively. “It ain’t like I don’t want the money, baby. I’d sit on your lap for a penny,” she said with a snap, her long nails clicking. “But you’re done. I know men, Joe. I see them all night, every night. I don’t know what happened, but I know that look. You’re done. Go home. Never come to a place like this again. You don’t belong here.”
He choked back the tears that were threatening to strangle him. “Th-thank you,” he croaked; it was a strange sort of answered prayer. He came off the wall and threw his arms around her. “You just saved me,” he said through tears.
She pulled back, looking into his face. “I know, baby. Don’t get mushy, just go home, and go to sleep.” She cupped his cheek, “tomorrow will look different. I promise.” Then she glanced around the room at all the men’s eyes on her and him. “Well, not for me. But it will for you.” Then she pushed him back out the door. “Never come back, Joe.”