Reclamation of the Hindered Heart
Sept 17, 2020 6:08:23 GMT -6
Ruthless Aggression and Elliot Bowman IV like this
Post by MERCENARY on Sept 17, 2020 6:08:23 GMT -6
THEN:
A caramel-amber puddle beside a broken glass. His hands shake. The pat pat pat of blood drops, the only sound that echoes in his ears. His eyes are wet. His voice is raw. He doesn’t understand how he got here but he knows the way was not a good one.
The whiskey tasted the way that dead things smell: sickly sweet, and he already had enough in him to make his head swim. The music was turned up loud and the bass vibrated deep down in his guts as he stood staring at the shadows of a burning candle flame dance across the wall. His recent loss had left him in a dangerous mood and he was trapped right in the middle of the storm. He took another long slug straight from the bottle in a vain effort to numb the haunting echoes of the thoughts that were mocking him in his mind.
He didn’t see her when he stumbled into the room. He didn’t notice that she was there until her arms tightly encircled his waist in what was meant to be a comforting embrace. He pulled away and turned to face her. He looked down and was struck by how beautiful she looked in the candle light. But the look of acceptance she wore caused an unexpected anger to rise again at the base of his skull.
“It’s okay baby. It’ll all be okay. It’ll go your way next time.”
Mercenary sneered and his expression grew dangerous without Dalilah recognizing the warning.
“Will it? Will it really? Will it be ‘okay’? Will it all be better the next time? Will it?”
He stepped closer to her. The rage rose from deep inside his guts. In that second he almost hated her. He hated her pity. He despised her understanding. Her perfection disgusted him. He caressed her cheek, his hand sliding gently down her face to her neck. His hand lingered there where he could feel her pulse throbbing just beneath the skin.
“You’re just so fucking sweet aren’t you? So damn sweet. So accepting. So understanding. You’re just so terribly…”
His grip started to tighten. Her smile lingered at first, thinking that this was a game. But as the pressure persisted and his face hardened her eyes went wide with panic. Fear gripped her as his thumb pressed into the center of her throat and his large hand robbed her of breath.
... Perfect.”
She clawed at his wrist but he didn’t let her go. Before her air was completely taken from her and she gave in to terror entirely she began beating at his chest hard with closed fists. In her panic she managed a labored gasp of protest:
“Michael. DON’T!”
The desperation in her words woke him up. He saw the fear on her face and he saw someone’s hand choking the woman he loved. It took a shocking second for him to realize that it was his own fingers tightly denting her flesh. He pulled away like she was made of fire. He turned from her and howled through clenched teeth in frustration and fear. It was the sound of something in his soul going rotten. In a rage he put his fist through the wall. His knuckles burst and bled. The pain was not enough to absolve him of what he had done. His hands were shaking and salty sorrow burned his eyes. Disbelief and disgust overcame him. He couldn’t feel any of his old or familiar self. He was a stranger inside a soft shell that might once have been a solid man. It was oddly sickening how well it fit.
Dalilah’s face was wet with tears but she was possessed with a strange sense of calm. Crossing the room she put her hands on his trembling shoulders. Despite a tentative apprehension she felt compelled to comfort him.
“I’m sorry. I don't... I don't know... What am I doing?” he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear.
“It’s alright baby." She seemed to hesitate and choke a little on the words. "It is... really.”
But it wasn’t. Nothing about it was or ever should be. He pulled away from her gentle touch and headed out the door without looking back. He couldn't look at her. He couldn’t stay here right now. The shame felt too much like a cage and the cage came with him as he quickly went, needing to put some distance between himself and what he had almost allowed himself to become.
NOW
The rooftop bar was lit by a string of soft white lights like the star filled Canadian sky. The place was almost empty but a few couples drank at quiet tables in dimly lit corners while on the stage a beautiful woman with dark hair played an acoustic guitar. The song was a cover of Lana Del Ray’s Born to Die. From his seat at the end of the bar Mercenary lay across the marble surface nursing a double whiskey. He watched her intently. She was beautiful, but it was her voice that had captured him the most as his mind was on a completely different kind of dark haired girl.
He had wandered in several hours after the show had reached its conclusion. His intention was to celebrate his win in the gauntlet match, but a few drinks in that joy had started to dissipate as his mind wandered to thoughts of Dalilah. It had been several months now since he'd watched her walk with her head down up the ramp in Korakuen Hall and in fact no one had heard from her since Scars and Stripes. She disappeared like a whisper in the wind. He wondered where she was now. He wondered if she was safe. He wondered if she was scared. He wondered if she would believe that he even still cared about her. He wondered if that would matter.
The live entertainment came to an end and many of the patrons decided to call it a night. The speakers in the room began to play The Kill by Thirty Seconds to Mars. The tune matched his mood. He started to sing along mid-way. He was only a little bit off key:
“Look in my eyes, you’re killing me, KILLING ME! All I wanted was YOU!”
The bartender called LAST CALL and Mike sighed heavily to himself. He bought a bottle to go and wandered off to try to remember where the elevators were and what floor that his room was on.
Eventually he found his way back to the door that responded to his electronic key card. The room was pitch dark when he went in, even though he could have sworn that he’d left a light on when he left. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness one of the shadows over by the windows moved enough for him to take notice. For a minute he was convinced that he was seeing spirits brought on by a brain that had become way too Southern Comfortable, but when she flipped open her lighter and brought forth the flame to illuminate her calm and cutting features he knew for sure that she was really there.
He hesitated to close the distance between them. She bit her bottom lip. Her expression seemed conflicted with only the slightest hint of something cruel boiling behind her eyes. The silence was thick and hard to inhale and he felt that it would suffocate him. After a momentary eternity she started to walk to him, gliding across the floor with slow and deliberate steps. When she was close enough for him to smell her sweet scent and the savory sweat beneath her perfume he had to resist pulling her to him. He wanted nothing more than to feel her heart beat fast against his flesh. He wanted to hold her and to never let go again.
But he resisted that urge. He fought against it. Because the last time he’d touched her he knew that he'd caused her pain. As much as he wanted to replace the memory of that night with a more gentle association, he also knew that such a thing was not in his power. Such a redemption could come only from her alone. Only by her forgiveness could she cause that scar to fade.
Slow and hesitant she reached out her hand. It was like she was testing the water to see if it was hot, all the while expecting that the eventual contact would scald her trembling fingers. Gently they brushed the lapel of his leather jacket. In a swift and sudden move she gripped the front of his jacket with both hands, yanking him close to her in a single violent motion.
She exhaled directly into his face before she kissed him on the lips, biting his lower lip gently as she pulled away. He was so caught up in the thrill of it that he never saw the stiff slap coming. She hit him hard across the face, bringing the stinging burn of a bloody lip that only moments before had tasted the honeysuckle sweet flavor of her soft affection. She shoved him away.
“You hurt me.” she accused with naked anger. His expression cracked and threatened to crumble at the bitterness in her voice and the cold expression on her pallid face. The second strike stalled his apology before he could breathe life into the platitude.
“You HURT me. You said you never would. You promised me. You PROMISED! You LIED to me.”
The force of her words hurt him more than her hands ever could. He stood with his own hands stiff and motionless at his side. Drops of blood fell from his chin, leaving small red stains on his grey t-shirt. With the tip of a finger she took a drop as one might take the tear from the eye of a grieving lover. She stared at the dark red droplet with an intense fascination before putting her stained finger between her lips and cleansing it with the tip of her tongue. There was the faint hint of a smile that came with the taste but it was quickly replaced with a scowl that found its full form, marring the beauty of her once delicate features.
“You listened to all those haters. You blamed me for your failures. You thought that you needed to protect me… that I couldn’t fight for MYSELF!.”
She struck him again, this time with the back of a partially closed hand.
“You think I'm weak... But I don’t need YOU to protect me. I don’t NEED to be taken care of! I don't need YOU. I don't need you. I don't need...”
She went to hit him again but this time he caught her by the wrist. His grip was as gentle as he could manage.
“I KNOW you don’t. I know… But I do. I need you. I can’t help it. I fight for the people that I love and I. Love. You. I want you. Even when it makes me insane. I can’t stop. I don’t want to. I never want to.”
He loosened his grip a bit more and she wrenched her arm out of his hand. She punched him hard in the chest, a jarring echo of the the last time that they were together. The force knocked him back a step. She threw another punch, and another, but this time he avoided the assault. She was backing him into a corner but he refused to fight back, even when his back was against the wall.
She lunged at him, but instead of pressing her advantage she grabbed at his hair and face, again pulled him into the depth of a lasting and passionately violent kiss. Breaking the embrace she looked up at him with a weighted expression.
“You can’t abuse my trust Michael. You can't take advantage of me. I just can’t let you. Promise me that you’re better than all the rest of them. Promise me!”
He rested his head in her hair and the two just stood there still in the silent shadows: The manic beauty and her bleeding beau. A stark and scary depiction: A portrait of the beast that love can sometimes allow you to become and the fine line that some souls must walk to discover the balance between a combined and lasting destiny or mutually assured destruction.
A caramel-amber puddle beside a broken glass. His hands shake. The pat pat pat of blood drops, the only sound that echoes in his ears. His eyes are wet. His voice is raw. He doesn’t understand how he got here but he knows the way was not a good one.
*****
The whiskey tasted the way that dead things smell: sickly sweet, and he already had enough in him to make his head swim. The music was turned up loud and the bass vibrated deep down in his guts as he stood staring at the shadows of a burning candle flame dance across the wall. His recent loss had left him in a dangerous mood and he was trapped right in the middle of the storm. He took another long slug straight from the bottle in a vain effort to numb the haunting echoes of the thoughts that were mocking him in his mind.
He didn’t see her when he stumbled into the room. He didn’t notice that she was there until her arms tightly encircled his waist in what was meant to be a comforting embrace. He pulled away and turned to face her. He looked down and was struck by how beautiful she looked in the candle light. But the look of acceptance she wore caused an unexpected anger to rise again at the base of his skull.
“It’s okay baby. It’ll all be okay. It’ll go your way next time.”
Mercenary sneered and his expression grew dangerous without Dalilah recognizing the warning.
“Will it? Will it really? Will it be ‘okay’? Will it all be better the next time? Will it?”
He stepped closer to her. The rage rose from deep inside his guts. In that second he almost hated her. He hated her pity. He despised her understanding. Her perfection disgusted him. He caressed her cheek, his hand sliding gently down her face to her neck. His hand lingered there where he could feel her pulse throbbing just beneath the skin.
“You’re just so fucking sweet aren’t you? So damn sweet. So accepting. So understanding. You’re just so terribly…”
His grip started to tighten. Her smile lingered at first, thinking that this was a game. But as the pressure persisted and his face hardened her eyes went wide with panic. Fear gripped her as his thumb pressed into the center of her throat and his large hand robbed her of breath.
... Perfect.”
She clawed at his wrist but he didn’t let her go. Before her air was completely taken from her and she gave in to terror entirely she began beating at his chest hard with closed fists. In her panic she managed a labored gasp of protest:
“Michael. DON’T!”
The desperation in her words woke him up. He saw the fear on her face and he saw someone’s hand choking the woman he loved. It took a shocking second for him to realize that it was his own fingers tightly denting her flesh. He pulled away like she was made of fire. He turned from her and howled through clenched teeth in frustration and fear. It was the sound of something in his soul going rotten. In a rage he put his fist through the wall. His knuckles burst and bled. The pain was not enough to absolve him of what he had done. His hands were shaking and salty sorrow burned his eyes. Disbelief and disgust overcame him. He couldn’t feel any of his old or familiar self. He was a stranger inside a soft shell that might once have been a solid man. It was oddly sickening how well it fit.
Dalilah’s face was wet with tears but she was possessed with a strange sense of calm. Crossing the room she put her hands on his trembling shoulders. Despite a tentative apprehension she felt compelled to comfort him.
“I’m sorry. I don't... I don't know... What am I doing?” he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear.
“It’s alright baby." She seemed to hesitate and choke a little on the words. "It is... really.”
But it wasn’t. Nothing about it was or ever should be. He pulled away from her gentle touch and headed out the door without looking back. He couldn't look at her. He couldn’t stay here right now. The shame felt too much like a cage and the cage came with him as he quickly went, needing to put some distance between himself and what he had almost allowed himself to become.
*****
NOW
The rooftop bar was lit by a string of soft white lights like the star filled Canadian sky. The place was almost empty but a few couples drank at quiet tables in dimly lit corners while on the stage a beautiful woman with dark hair played an acoustic guitar. The song was a cover of Lana Del Ray’s Born to Die. From his seat at the end of the bar Mercenary lay across the marble surface nursing a double whiskey. He watched her intently. She was beautiful, but it was her voice that had captured him the most as his mind was on a completely different kind of dark haired girl.
He had wandered in several hours after the show had reached its conclusion. His intention was to celebrate his win in the gauntlet match, but a few drinks in that joy had started to dissipate as his mind wandered to thoughts of Dalilah. It had been several months now since he'd watched her walk with her head down up the ramp in Korakuen Hall and in fact no one had heard from her since Scars and Stripes. She disappeared like a whisper in the wind. He wondered where she was now. He wondered if she was safe. He wondered if she was scared. He wondered if she would believe that he even still cared about her. He wondered if that would matter.
The live entertainment came to an end and many of the patrons decided to call it a night. The speakers in the room began to play The Kill by Thirty Seconds to Mars. The tune matched his mood. He started to sing along mid-way. He was only a little bit off key:
“Look in my eyes, you’re killing me, KILLING ME! All I wanted was YOU!”
The bartender called LAST CALL and Mike sighed heavily to himself. He bought a bottle to go and wandered off to try to remember where the elevators were and what floor that his room was on.
Eventually he found his way back to the door that responded to his electronic key card. The room was pitch dark when he went in, even though he could have sworn that he’d left a light on when he left. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness one of the shadows over by the windows moved enough for him to take notice. For a minute he was convinced that he was seeing spirits brought on by a brain that had become way too Southern Comfortable, but when she flipped open her lighter and brought forth the flame to illuminate her calm and cutting features he knew for sure that she was really there.
But he resisted that urge. He fought against it. Because the last time he’d touched her he knew that he'd caused her pain. As much as he wanted to replace the memory of that night with a more gentle association, he also knew that such a thing was not in his power. Such a redemption could come only from her alone. Only by her forgiveness could she cause that scar to fade.
Slow and hesitant she reached out her hand. It was like she was testing the water to see if it was hot, all the while expecting that the eventual contact would scald her trembling fingers. Gently they brushed the lapel of his leather jacket. In a swift and sudden move she gripped the front of his jacket with both hands, yanking him close to her in a single violent motion.
She exhaled directly into his face before she kissed him on the lips, biting his lower lip gently as she pulled away. He was so caught up in the thrill of it that he never saw the stiff slap coming. She hit him hard across the face, bringing the stinging burn of a bloody lip that only moments before had tasted the honeysuckle sweet flavor of her soft affection. She shoved him away.
“You hurt me.” she accused with naked anger. His expression cracked and threatened to crumble at the bitterness in her voice and the cold expression on her pallid face. The second strike stalled his apology before he could breathe life into the platitude.
“You HURT me. You said you never would. You promised me. You PROMISED! You LIED to me.”
The force of her words hurt him more than her hands ever could. He stood with his own hands stiff and motionless at his side. Drops of blood fell from his chin, leaving small red stains on his grey t-shirt. With the tip of a finger she took a drop as one might take the tear from the eye of a grieving lover. She stared at the dark red droplet with an intense fascination before putting her stained finger between her lips and cleansing it with the tip of her tongue. There was the faint hint of a smile that came with the taste but it was quickly replaced with a scowl that found its full form, marring the beauty of her once delicate features.
“You listened to all those haters. You blamed me for your failures. You thought that you needed to protect me… that I couldn’t fight for MYSELF!.”
She struck him again, this time with the back of a partially closed hand.
“You think I'm weak... But I don’t need YOU to protect me. I don’t NEED to be taken care of! I don't need YOU. I don't need you. I don't need...”
She went to hit him again but this time he caught her by the wrist. His grip was as gentle as he could manage.
“I KNOW you don’t. I know… But I do. I need you. I can’t help it. I fight for the people that I love and I. Love. You. I want you. Even when it makes me insane. I can’t stop. I don’t want to. I never want to.”
He loosened his grip a bit more and she wrenched her arm out of his hand. She punched him hard in the chest, a jarring echo of the the last time that they were together. The force knocked him back a step. She threw another punch, and another, but this time he avoided the assault. She was backing him into a corner but he refused to fight back, even when his back was against the wall.
She lunged at him, but instead of pressing her advantage she grabbed at his hair and face, again pulled him into the depth of a lasting and passionately violent kiss. Breaking the embrace she looked up at him with a weighted expression.
“You can’t abuse my trust Michael. You can't take advantage of me. I just can’t let you. Promise me that you’re better than all the rest of them. Promise me!”
He rested his head in her hair and the two just stood there still in the silent shadows: The manic beauty and her bleeding beau. A stark and scary depiction: A portrait of the beast that love can sometimes allow you to become and the fine line that some souls must walk to discover the balance between a combined and lasting destiny or mutually assured destruction.