CONTAINS CONTENT:
Mature themes and topics.
{{Unedited}}
The strong scent of petrichor was blooming all over the dirt road, the asphalt and pavement as Austin ran, his feet pounding, his heart racing wildly. The skies tore open as large rain drops plunked down to earth, and fell onto his hair and face.
He paused, needing the break anyways, and leaned against a warehouse building.
This had become one of his favorite routes to run, especially when he needed to be alone. It was earthy and surrounded several warehouses, some of them abandoned, and he could go into a few of them and sit alone with his thoughts. Sometimes his thoughts told him, careful, Austin, you’re lookin’ mighty “serial killer” right now stalking open concept warehouses at four in the morning and he had to remind himself that that wasn’t the reason that he was there. Other times his thoughts were of him bringing Marielle here. He was pressing into her fully against a wall in the corner as his tongue danced into her mouth. Oh gosh, how her kisses were like pure adrenaline and ecstasy and often if his thoughts went that direction, he had to remind himself again that he might be alone, but if someone caught him in a warehouse at four in the morning, he’d be looking quite the part of a pervert or stalker.
So mostly, he leaned against a wall, or sat on some crates and breathed deeply in thought occasionally catching glimpse of a bird, or a rat. Once, a cat had strolled up to him and he’d pet it, and sent it on its merry way. He’d always loved cats, and they seemed to like him right back.
Today he stayed outside the warehouse as he thought about the night before. He wasn’t sure if he was going to tell Marielle or not, but he’d ended up going out with Han. It was platonic, and the two of them went to a movie and had cake and ice cream at the restaurant they’d been to before. Then they parted with a friendly hug, and he’d gone to bed dreaming of Marielle at his side, writing more poems, and love letters, holding his pillow so close it hurt, and basking in the torment that he wanted so badly to end and yet be trapped in all at once. Because this torment meant that it was real. This torture was the proof… Austin Rancor was in love.
He didn’t think it was possible. He didn’t know if it would end abruptly, but he was in love. He hated it. He loved it. He spent hours on his back staring at the ceiling grinning wildly as he imagined her, and then cursing at himself for remembering that not only was she not his, but that she probably wouldn’t ever be again.
Despite all of that, he didn’t recognize himself anymore when he looked in the mirror.
He felt like his entire life from early August to now was the very definition of the phrase, “man makes plans, God laughs.”
Austin had shown up to Valorant with a plan… It was simple, seduce Marielle Chaenes. At the time of his arrival, he didn’t want a relationship with her, he just wanted to satisfy and feed the animal that ate at his insides night and day. He wanted that momentary high that told him that he could get anyone and everyone and make them give in. But then he spent time with her, and he realized that he liked her, and he wanted her to like him… then he realized that he liked her more than a little. Friends with benefits? Maybe… but she wasn’t into that kind of thing. By the time he’d tried to seduce her the night they’d all went to the club, he’d realized that he wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it wasn’t a one-night stand. The problem was that it wasn’t marriage or long term, either… until she’d slapped him, and stormed out. That moment, that was the moment that it literally hit him. I want you for more. Then he feared those thoughts, so he immediately tried to drown them and make her hate him the next day, convinced that was the only way out of this at that point.
That was when his internal voice really laughed at him. Not only do you like her, Austin, you love her. You’d die for her. Oh yeah, and in every other dimension that Vincent visited? You’re married. She’s your wife and the two of you are desperately in love. Sucks to be you, doesn’t it? You can’t have her. You aren’t good enough. You sold your soul to your addiction and desires a long time ago and now you’re paying for it in full. You didn’t even know what you wanted until you couldn’t have it, Ausin. Now you can’t have it. Your fault, don’t blame anyone else. Marielle will not be yours, and you can eat dirt the rest of your days knowing that you did it. You were too busy chasing tail and dreaming that you were going to live the high life and now that you do care? Oh well.
He looked down into a puddle, again not recognizing the face. It was his face. He was still handsome, young, and sexy, but his eyes were changed. They were… what was the word he was looking for? Innocent? He didn’t want all the other stuff anymore, he just wanted Marielle and their imagined life together.
He wanted to make her smile, oh how he wanted to make her smile and laugh. He wanted to comfort her when she was hurt. He wanted to sit on the couch and watch Star Wars with her. He wanted to play with her. He wanted to hear her giggle at the top of her lungs the way that she did when he tickled her. He wanted to twist his tongue inside of her navel again and hear the beautiful song that she made in response. Sing for me, darling… He wanted their bodies to become one thing and never separate. He wanted to grow old with her, and die with her inside of him. He just wanted her… He felt like a damn fool. How did he let this happen? He didn’t fall in love… too complicated. This was the proof of it. But he couldn’t remove it any more than he could remove his own heart and still go on living.
His fingers back spaced the message that he’d typed out to her on his phone. -Darling, it’s five fourteen in the morning. I’m running, it’s pouring rain, and all I can think about is you. I want you out here with me. I want to dance in this with you, and as Frank Sinatra once said, “I won’t dance.” You know that about me, darling. I hope your nightmares aren’t keeping you up…
He deleted it, and put his phone back into his pocket, tilting his head back against the rain.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, drowning out the sound of his breath. He didn’t want other women, or prostitutes, or strippers… he just wanted Marielle. “Cleanse me,” he whispered to the rain? To God? He didn’t even know. He believed in God, and always had since he’d been rescued from his childhood, but he wasn’t in the habit of talking to Him much. Austin just wanted something greater than himself to change him from the inside out. No more. “Clean me of all of it.” The water poured down his body, over his face, he was entirely lost in it. “Let me forget the faces…the names…” He tipped his head back, further letting the streams rush over his skin. It was freezing, but he didn’t feel the cold anyway; not the way everyone else did. “Change me,” he whispered, squeezing himself around the middle. “I’m not Tundra, and I don’t want to be. I don’t want that future. I don’t want to see any of him in myself,” he cried silently. “I’m not Tundra!” He cried.
But you are, though. The reflection in the puddle seemed to whisper back.
“No!”
The only way out of this is if you die.
“Then let me die,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “I don’t need to become you.”
His reflection smirked; you already are. You’re always just teetering on the edge. You know yourself, Austin. You know what you want. You don’t love anything but yourself, so the only way you can love is to consume. Austin’s cheeks puffed up as he held back vomit at the word consume and all that it implied. You’re a plague to everyone and everything that loves you. Chamber was right… You squeeze the life out of everyone that wants to love you. That tattoo is appropriate. Austin looked down at his arm.
“I don’t have to be you,” he said quietly.
You are me…
Austin growled and stared up into the rain considering how interesting it was that now that he seemed to have excised his mother from his insides, he had taken over the voice himself to taunt, torment and torture him. “But we’re not the same,” he replied. “Just because you took one path doesn’t mean that I have to.” Then he remembered Kirra and her sweet face in the darkness as she said –I think that’s what kind of man you were… I don’t quite see that man anymore. He started to pace, looking down at the puddle as droplets of water rippled it and caused his reflection to blur and waver. “I don’t have to make your decisions,” he hissed. “I won’t make your decisions. My future will listen to me.”
He started running again, noting the smell of the fresh, cool water from the sky, the pounding of his feet into the pavement, the feel of his heart. He chose to feel it all in the moment and fully and for the first time in a long while he felt truly alive. When he got home, he had Chinese lessons for the next hour, and he’d enjoy some hot coffee with cream and sugar while he learned the basics. He always thought it was interesting that even before they met, he and Marielle took their plain coffee the same way. Another odd coincidence? He tried not to think about it more as he started running again.
He had gone too far with Marielle the day before and he knew it. He shouldn’t have joined in a shared fantasy with her. She’d produced and added to more of those images than she knew, but he couldn’t convince her of that, she’d have to figure that one out for herself. All that it showed him was that they wanted the same thing; a life together. One where they learned how to be with one another despite their dangerous connection and trials; a life where despite his tumultuous, sordid past he could move on and decide to be what he truly wanted to be… the full weight of someone good, the right caliber of man… a good man. The kind of man who gets married, stays married, has children, remains faithful, figures out how to please his woman, and family day in and day out. He longed to be the kind of man who deepened his relationship with them through trial, error, admittance, acceptance of mistakes, and learning from those mistakes. He longed to be the kind of man who said, “I’m sorry,” and meant it, not to placate, or appease but with the true repentance of a saint.
Suddenly he realized his new biggest fear; breaking Marielle’s heart. If Hazal grabbed him right now and wormed into his mind, that’s what he’d see; a crumbled, broken Marielle on the floor screaming in emotional agony as she squeezed a dark bear in her arms. -Austin… she sobbed. -Austin, why…?
This image caused him to trip and tumble to the pavement, unable to handle the way that it made him feel.
A woman with long dark hair in a ponytail, tight workout clothes, a jacket, and earbuds in – who he hadn’t noticed until this moment – slowed to a stop and looked down at him as he collected himself. “Are you okay?”
He glanced up at her and nodded once. “Just exhausted.”
She gave him a raise of the eyebrow as she jogged past him. “Maybe get some rest, handsome,” she chuckled, continuing on.
He stood and dusted his knees and hands off and looked up at her as she jogged away. Then he kept still for a moment realizing that not only hadn’t he noticed her, but she hadn’t affected him in any way despite her obvious interest in him. She was the exact kind of girl that four months ago, he would have followed for a bit, then casually asked for her number, only to proposition her after some hot and heavy phone talk where he sneakily flirted with her and guided the conversation all the way to desire; she wanted him anyways. That was even more evident when she glanced back and smirked at him before she turned the corner.
He didn’t care.
Could he actually do this? Could he actually live the rest of his life in celibacy or commitment? Oh, God… Oh, God, he hoped so, for his own sake.
***
Time seemed to pass quickly for Marielle as Vincent, Klara and Sabine worked on the teleporters and Vincent worked on his second and fourth anchor; personal teleporter. One for him, one for Chamber. Vincent said that he wasn’t sure either of them would do any good, but he had to try.
Marielle caved and texted Austin one night, but it was simple. “How are you?”
“I’m managing.”
“Good. Anything in particular I need to pack for Thanksgiving?”
There had been a long pause and three dots blinking for at least two minutes. “No. Just warm clothes.”
Good, she thought. He’s learning to control what he says. “We’ll talk soon.”
When Marielle wandered from the bedroom after that text, Vincent was painting as he sat in front of the piano in nothing but gray sweat pants.
She leaned on the doorway for a moment and watched him, his eyes were so set on whatever he was picking at on the canvas, but the expression in them was distant, concerned. She couldn’t read his mind, but she knew that whatever Cory had told him the other night when he turned his earpiece off was weighing on him.
She wondered how long he would keep that secret, whatever it was. He wasn’t lying to her exactly; just not telling her what he’d said. She wanted to poke at this notion and outright ask him. He’d said that he wouldn’t lie to her anymore, right? Sighing, she thought better of it at least for the moment.
Shakily, he lifted his hand once more and stroked the canvas in front of him a few times.
Marielle went to the kitchen, made a cup of herbal tea, returned, and sat on the couch staring at the roaring fireplace as she arranged a coral shawl around her shoulders and pinched it shut as she wondered what he was painting. He wouldn’t show her.
“Where do you want me to take you tonight?”
She tapped the side of the cup with her fingertips. “That little French place that we love?” He smiled wanly and nodded his approval. He scraped at something on the canvas, then sat back for a moment, looking it over. “Something new, love?” she asked sipping the hot beverage. If he was painting, he must have been traumatized and this set her nerves more on edge.
She had been too preoccupied with the last few days to think about what might have been said between he and Cory when he’d switched the earpiece off. Now she felt that whatever it was, it was bad, and the fact that he wasn’t telling her was worse.
He dragged the tip of his little finger on his right hand across something on the canvas. “Something new, yes,” he whispered, straightening his back and lightly cleared his throat. He hadn’t looked at her yet.
“Where’s the painting of me?” she asked, glancing around the living room. He turned to look at her over his left shoulder, his expression was odd to her. Like he hadn’t realized that she knew that the picture he’d painted at Valorant when they first met was – in fact – her. “Well, it is me, isn’t it?” she asked as color tinged her cheeks.
“Yes, it’s you,” he replied looking down and lightly clearing his throat as he swirled the brush in some water, then dipped it into some black paint. “It’s in your closet,” he said quietly. “In the back…” He let that hang in the air and his meaning was unclear.
Her heart slammed against her chest. “Right or left?”
“Right.”
Now her heart was really pounding, but she hid it well as she took a sip of her tea. She was fully expecting him to say, “behind the dress that is only for you and Austin.” But he didn’t. She wondered if he knew. Surely, he knew that Austin’s favorite color was red, the “new dress” wouldn’t have been difficult to figure out.
She decided the best thing to do was focus back on the picture. “It is? Can I put it up somewhere?” She asked.
“You can,” he replied with a diminutive smile. Before she could say anything, he got up as if going to the bedroom to go get it.
She rushed after him, knowing that her actions looked like those of someone guilty. He parted the doors, bent into the closet, and rustled around for a moment before pulling the painting out with his left hand. Then – as she had suspected he would – he produced the dress.
“Why don’t you wear this tonight?” he asked, cocking his head at her.
Tears rimmed her eyes and she let out a ragged breath. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“Oh? Why not?” He knew the answer already. It was in his tone.
“You know why,” was all that she could offer him. She wiped a tear away, but showed him no other signs of crying.
“Why do you still have it?” he pressed, the fact that he remained so controlled always terrified her. He spoke to her like she was a child who’d been caught doing something naughty. She was silent. “Are you still clinging to hope for him?”
“A bit.” She pulled her shawl up around her shoulders feeling the icy room becoming ever colder.
“You go to bed with me, but your heart is with Austin. That’s how it is, isn’t it?” he asked.
She looked down shamefully. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes? Not always?”
“I haven’t even spoken to him in the last ten days or…” she looked at the nightstand clock, then flicked her gaze to the calendar on her wall. “Longer, actually.”
“Really?” His eyebrows drew in inquisitively.
“I mean besides minor work stuff,” she explained. “I’ve been going over his folder. I asked how he was tonight,” she explained and at this she lifted her phone with the text on it as if producing evidence of what she had just said. “But that was all.” His eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set as if trying to process this. Had it really been two weeks since Kirra died? Seemed odd, but he knew that it was true. “You know that I’m not certain what I want. What I can tell you is that I’m trying,” she whispered. “I’m trying to understand all of it, to reassess my thoughts. I see that you’re trying and I love you for it. I see when you stop yourself from lying to me, and how you are trying to treat me less like I’m breakable and more like I’m your equal.”
“I know that you are my equal, Masin… my treatment of you has always been from fear. The fear of losing you again. I’d rather die than lose you to death again.”
She nodded, understanding him for that one and silence past between them for a few moments. “Let me rid myself of that dress in my own time,” she gestured with her head. “I understand, but let me be ready to fully let go.”
Vincent curled a finger at his chin as if thinking. “You’re going to be with him for Thanksgiving. Do you think you’ll screw around again?” he asked tightly.
She sighed and looked off, “I don’t know, Vincent. I’m still confused as to why you insist on us being together if you don’t trust us.”
“You have to have full understanding to choose,” Vincent said. Then he tossed the dress onto the bed, put the painting aside and turned back to her closet, pushing through the clothing, taking stock of each item. “Will you give me control tonight, love? Do you want me to remove those thoughts from your mind?” he asked.
She nodded, wanting him to ease her with his dominance. He continued to pour through her clothing until he found the same dress that she’d worn the night they’d first been lovers. He took it out and handed it to her. “Wear that,” he said.
“I’ll be cold.”
He crossed his arms and turned his spine to steel. “I want you cold,” he said darkly. “You’ll have to rely on me for warmth.” He took a step toward her, “And I’ll give it to you,” he explained. “I’ll wrap you up in my jacket, and my arms, and press my body to yours every moment that I get.” She shivered with desire. He pinched her chin and tipped it up to meet his eyes as he pressed her against the wall with the full weight of his body. “You will wear that for me, you will speak when I allow you to, I will whisper into your ear of all of the ways I’m going to have you, and you will let me make love to you as much as I want and however I want when we return. Am I clear?” She shivered under his need. “Do you want this, Masin?” he asked desiring her consent. She nodded. “Then tell me, with your mouth.”
“I want this, and I want you.”
He smiled softly. “Then go get changed.”
She did and came back into the bedroom. “May I speak?” she asked.
He was adjusting his tie and staring at the red dress on the bed. “Yes, you may speak,” he replied gently.
“How do you want my hair, make up, and jewelry?”
He looked her body over possessively, “exactly as it was that night,” he went to her, understanding that her hair was different, but knowing that she’d remember the rest. “These, black,” he said huskily as he ran a thumb over her bottom lip. Then he leaned down and gently bit it, sucking it into his mouth, then letting it go. “You’ll be reminded of whose you are again, and why.” She bristled. “Now, go finish,” he gestured to the bathroom. She nodded.
As she obeyed, she knew that this was his way of stalling in regards to whatever Cory had told him. She had a feeling that he’d tell her. He had to tell her, but not now. He was probably hoping that she’d just let it go. After the affair, she realized that she had some of her own secrets. Not that they were secrets, but the details of the affair? She wouldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t tell him about them clutched together in the night, whispering about how much they were in love. She wouldn’t tell him about dropping her shirt and letting Austin gaze at her upper nude body, nor about his spontaneously writing a song because of it. She wouldn’t tell him about the many tears that they’d cried or how those tears had hurt after they seemed never ending.
She poked her head out from the bathroom as she inserted her earring, and paused to watch him. He didn’t see her.
He sighed and gingerly picked up the red dress looking it over like he was imagining her in it. His cheeks tinged red and she knew that he was thinking about how Austin had gazed at her – his wife – in this dress.
He probably wanted to set fire to that dress… Instead, he carefully put it back where it’d come from, and tenderly picked up the skirt, then let it fall.
Marielle came back into the room in her thick black lipstick and the golden pendant she’d worn that night dancing between her breasts and her high heeled black boots. She looked just the way she did that first night. She raised her hands. Was he pleased with her? His adoring, dreamy smile said yes.
He gestured to the door and they drove to the restaurant with him whispering to her the entire way about what he wanted to do to her, what he was going to do to her, how long he was going to take, and how desperate he was going to make her for him. If he had his way, she wouldn’t be able to stay silent anymore despite his orders to do so.
She tried to turn the heater on, and he reached over and flicked it off, leaning into her ear. “I will give you your warmth,” he reassured, and he removed his jacket at a red light and put it over her shoulders. It radiated with heat, and her skin warmed to it and his touch as his fingers clamped over her right knee. He dragged them up her thigh, scratching her skin lightly, but he didn’t touch her. She made no noise but knew that he was enjoying watching her try to focus on the road. “Whose are you, Masin? Answer me.”
She kept her eyes forward as he lingered his lips near her temple. “Yours.”
“Who can touch you? Answer me.”
“You.”
He wasn’t satisfied. “Who can touch you, Masin?”
“No one except for you.”
Then he gently bit her earlobe and began to whisper to her in French as he tenderly stroked her right knee.
Once they were seated at the restaurant, and after Vincent ordered for them, he folded his hands under his chin and looked her over with a soft, adoring smile. He reached over and stroked her hair back from her temple. “Do you know why I tell you to be silent, Masin?” he whispered tenderly. She cocked her head at him and shook it. “It’s because it clears your head.” He took a sip of wine. “You told me this many times when we were together. Your head is too loud, my love,” he said cupping her cheek and stroking her face with his thumb until he came to her lips and parted them with the tip of it. “When I tell you not to speak, it translates to your mind as well, and calms you. Doesn’t it?”
She was thinking on his words, it was true and she hadn’t even realized it. She nodded.
“It gives you freedom to think, and gives me total control to protect you, to care for you, to warm you, clothe you. I wouldn’t do these things if I didn’t know you, Masin. If you didn’t want them. You know that.” She nodded again. He continued to stroke the soft flesh between her lips, then he leaned in and kissed her gently. He bent and gently bit her bottom lip. “It’s why I ask for your consent,” he whispered against her mouth, “I’m in control- but I want to know that you want this…and me.”
“I always want you, Vincent,” she mouthed. He heard every rounded word in his head.
She saw him bristle, a hand drifting down under the table, the movements of his arm telling her that things had gotten uncomfortable and he was fixing that. “Do you have any idea what that line does to me?” he asked. She shook her head slowly. There was a pause; both knowing that there were other things on the brain. “You may speak, I can’t hide from this forever,” he whispered after a moment. “Go ahead and ask the question that is on your mind.”
Marielle swirled the wine in her glass, looking down into it, the red reminded her of blood. “What did Cory tell you when you turned the mic off?”
He sighed heavily, wringing his hands together. “He said several things.” Vincent reached across the table to the bread bowl, and tore off a piece before dunking it into his French onion soup and taking a large bite. Then he wiped his mouth and sat back before he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Marielle, what would you do if we couldn’t have children?” he asked quietly.
She tried to keep composed, but this was the last thing that she expected him to say, and she knew that he could visibly see her spirit deflate. “Um…” She sighed, and looked down into her bread plate. “I don’t know, Vincent. Is that what Cory told you?” He continued to wring his hands as his eyes met hers and he nodded. She took a large swallow of wine. “How would he know something like that?”
“He got you pregnant, and you lost the baby,” he replied also taking a large swallow of wine.
She tried to keep tears back. “What if-”
He cut her off. “Then he tried with Austin. He said it’s something about the different dimensions.”
“He… could be lying.”
“He could be.” Another large swallow of wine. “But he doesn’t. It’s not in his nature. He could just be wrong.”
“Wh-” She didn’t want to ask the question. “What happened?”
“He said that the baby died after about ten weeks gestation each time he tried.”
“That…” She paused and looked off, sadly; words escaping her and all thoughts dying on the corner of her mind.
He stared at the table. “I might not be able to give you children, Masin,” he said shakily.
Silence past between them as their orders came and the waiter left them with their food. “I have… kind of a weird question, then,” she began. He looked to her, turning from his lobster tail. “Since you and Chamber are the same person – DNA and all – would it work to-”
“Artificially inseminate, I didn’t even think about that!” He looked distant for a moment, as if really considering it.
She twisted her hands in her lap where he couldn’t see. “Do you think he’d do it?”
He turned back to her and smiled, “it’s you,” he explained. “And Chamber-”
She cut him off, dreading the rest, but knowing it. “-Loves me as much as you do?”
He smiled softly on the side of his mouth; a knowing smile. “Oui, yes he does,” he said quietly, wringing his hands again. “He saved one of you, had a love affair with you.” She nodded.
Her world felt like it was spinning too fast; she’d heard the words, but none of them were falling into the right holes in her mind. “Let me just continue to think about all of this, love. There’s always adoption,” she said with a weak smile.
They drove home in silence after sharing a decadent piece of chocolate cake, and Vincent drove all his passion into her as he promised, trying to fill a growing void.