Take Care {of} You [Chelsey]

[arx!!]

I know you've been hurt by someone else
I can tell by the way you carry yourself.
If you let me, here's what I'll do:
I'll take care of you.
I've loved and I've lost.

Just another crack of the whip and it will be over. Just one last burst of pain and I will need no more punishment. "Do you understand what you have done is wrong?" I nod in the hopes that if I acknowledge him this torture will stop. But blood stains the floor and too much has been spilled - I fear the end may never come. A whimper escapes my throat before I can stop it and a smirk grows across his face. "Would you like me to order your tongue be removed?" A shake of the head, sweat dripping from my bangs and onto the floor. Sweat and blood - it can create a sweet smell. He leans in close to my face, his gray eyes glowing, even in the dim light. "Then I suggest that you beg for me to continue with your current punishment." My back feels raw and probably looks like ground meat but I'd rather keep my tongue. I still have a few words to share. I still have a story to tell. A few words to whisper to the boy that got me here - before I kill him. "Please."

But now years have gone by and I still have just a few words to share. I haven't yet found my brother - he has gone and passed, spreading trouble to some other part of Panem no doubt. Maybe he got himself stuck in the Detention Center after all. The edges of my lips perk up at the thought of Damian locked away in a dark dingy place that smelled of mold and blood. He deserved hell for awhile - and then he also deserves to see me again, if only so I can put him out of his misery. And then when the deed is done, I will find a place to let the body rot away as scavengers pick off of it for food. Sure it may be a bit of a cruel idea, but it is only putting him in his rightful category. He is not a gangster or a drug dealer - he is crow food and always will be. Sure I'm not much better now a days, but I wasn't the one who made his little sister eat a bullet.

I give a sigh as I sit up in bed. I throw my hand through my hair wishing for it to cut itself shorter. My eyes glance over to the window. The moon does not light up the room, but the street lamp does and that's my cue. It was time for my act - costume, stage, and all. I set my bare feet to the floor, my blood running cold as I get into character. The menace is thinking up strategies for the night trying to determine the best possible scenarios in order to gain cash. It was a weekend. The rich kids would be going out to see movies. The hoodlums would be jumping from windows to do some dirty work. The amount of Peacekeepers in the streets would double. There were gangs east of the house and the richer kids were farther north. It took longer to get to the movie theaters and took an entire night to scrounge up a mere $150, but they were such easy targets. Stupid teenagers that thought the world was perfect and safe and no one would ever dare harm them. So when someone left the packs that always roamed about, it was easy to pick them off. Like lions hunt the old and frail gazelles just because it is easier. Sure they have the ability to chase and kill the strong and fast gazelles, but why waste the time and energy?

My black hoodie, my jeans, my sneakers, and the most important part, my knife. Sadly, no matter how many times I have worked with it, no matter how much money the sharp gleam of steel has gotten me, the handle still feels foreign in my hands. It is a lot like a child you are afraid of, want so badly to get rid of, but can't because you love it too dearly. I slip the knife into it's sheath and shove it into my jeans pocket, hoping it can work some more magic tonight - better than it had been for the past few weeks. It was growing nearer and nearer to payday, and I had just under $10,000. Another month that I will have to lose money - that can't happen again if I want to stay alive. But the last thing I would ever let happen is for Magnus to shoot me. No way in hell is that bastard going to get the honor of shooting me. And no way I would let everyone here know that I was too weak to kill for money. If it came down to taking a life to save my own, I would do it. For sure.

I twist the knob on my door open, making sure to lock it on my way out. I may be a teen, but I'm not as stupid and naive as the kind that I hunt. I know what is out in the world. Monsters - the kind I live with or the kind the residents here are forced to deal with - are out there. Most homes are quiet at night, but at the Nox residence everyone is awake getting ready for work. Except Miss Bitch Daughter who I'm assuming is locked away in her room, sleeping soundly, dreaming of unicorns and rainbows, safe from every possible threat in the world. Even me. I may have a knife and the ability to break into a room, but she was untouchable on every level. I swear if any of us even look at her we have to have a "little talk" with Magnus. It is the most disgusting thing I have ever had to deal with. Sure, she may be quite the girl with all the genuine jewels and designer clothing, but she lets people die in her house. Couldn't daddy's little girl beg him to stop the contract? I'm sure if she tried he would easily give in. That's how all dads worked for their daughters. Mine was no exception - when Rhine was born, she was no doubt his favorite and as a child got everything she asked for. But my dad was also not a manipulative asshole who thought it would be fun to make kids crazy by showing them dollar signs.

I walked through the halls, breathing deeply, trying to figure out the exact time I would arrive at the theater. Surely very late - might not get back here until well past dawn. Maybe I wouldn't work tonight. It was so late and my idea to get another $2,000 in one was an impossible one. I was set - I had enough money to pay up. I would just have to work harder next month. And I could suddenly feel myself lying back down in bed and sleeping all through the night dreaming of unicorns and rainbows and lollipops. I stopped, dead in my tracks and turned on my heels hoping to slip back into my room before anyone noticed - but I stopped again as I noticed Kris' door. Had she left for the night? Was she already out ... hunting her own prey? The thought made me feel sick, as it always did, and I knew then I had to see if she had gone yet. I tapped my knuckles against the door hoping I wouldn't have to go out with her if she was working tonight. But she was usually working ... Or is it called selling? I clamped my jaw, and swallowed hard. Thinking of her work was enough to make me want to kill every man out there. If you weren't good enough to get a girl the regular way, then you had to be too much of a scum bag to get any girl any way.

"If you're in there, I was thinking of staying in tonight ... Maybe."

You won't ever have to worry.
You won't ever have to hide.
You've seen all my mistakes,
so look me in my eyes.

[/size][/right]

[chelsey]

K R I S O N D R A Q U E E N S

[/font][/size]

"You disgusting whore!"

Those three harsh words slam against my ears repeatedly, pounding the insides of my head with heavy and undeniable guilt. They're like venom, seeping into the dark tunnels of my veins, the pain languidly embracing my body in a rush of cold acidity while the purple flesh near my right eye throbs with the quickening pulse of my heart. A shaky finger gleaming only by the moonlight that streams in through closed blinds cautiously lifts itself to the forming bruise, and, involuntarily, I wince when it makes contact. From the other side of the room, I hear Damea sigh in her sleep as she slightly rustles her bedsheets, then all stills again and I'm left in bitter silence.

Brown, livid eyes stare at me, thin lips move quickly as the booming voice behind them screeches at my ears, and sharp hands claw at my face. "Get out of my fucking bed, you goddamn whore!"

This wasn't the first time I've been caught in a man's bed by his wife.

The palm of her hand had slapped my right cheek, and, even hours later, I can still feel the burning sensation it created when it met my skin. Scrambling to pick up my clothes (or maybe lack of, that is)

[/s][/color] I hastily jumped out of their bed and made a mad dash for the front door.

No, it wasn't the first time I've been caught by a man's wife. But it is the first I've been caught by his children.

There was a staircase by the front door that I had to pass in order to get out of the house, and right as my hand reached for the door knob, a little voice asked me, "Who are you?" Snapping my head towards the voice, a little boy sat on the bottom foot of the stairs, elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. His light blonde hair and deep blue eyes reminded me of a girl I knew a long, long time ago - a girl who still believed in anything was possible. I don't know where she is, today. (Probably hidden within the caverns of my heart, suffocating in the darkness I've grown accustomed to for so long, now.)[/s][/color] My hand stilled on top of the door knob, and my lips parted as if to speak - but I couldn't say a single word. "Oh. You're one of them aren't you?" My hand dropped to my side and I could feel Shame crawling against the shell of my body in the form of a bright red blush. This boy couldn't have been more than seven years old. And the way he had so bluntly stated that I was one of them, that I was one of those "disgusting whores" his mother screamed at, one of those random girls who slept with his father. I was am one of them. Although, he didn't look at me like that. He stared at me from his place on the stairs with wide blue eyes, almost curious - even. "Daddy does this a lot, makes my mommy angry. I don't know what he does, but it make mommy very upset -" Down the hall, a door slammed and the muffled sound of a vase crashing against a wall echoed under the threshold. Piercing shouts echoed in my ears and I flinched. The boy, however, seemed unphased by it all. He just continued to stare at me with wide eyes. "Do they fight a lot?" I asked quietly, barely a whisper under the strings of obscenities and curses flowing form the closed bedroom door. The little boy sighed, and shrugged, dropping his head back on his hands as if he was so used to it, already. I could feel a knot in my stomach as I dryly swallowed and nodded at him. "What's your name?" He had asked me right before the bedroom door opened again, and the livid woman, upon seeing that the "disgusting whore" was still in her house, came striding towards me, her hand up and ready to strike again, the words, "How dare you still stand in this house, you filthy slut -" leaving her lips right before I fled the house as quickly as my sore legs would allow.

I wonder what that little boy is doing right, now.

I imagine him huddled under layers of blankets in a tiny bed, his bedroom encased in darkness save for the strip of light filtering through the crack under his closed door. Maybe a pillow would be thrown over his ears, to drown out his parents' screams, or maybe his little fists would clutch the thin blankets, in an attempt to let out the anxiety built up inside of him. I wish I could be with that little boy, right now, hold his tiny frame in my arms and rock him to sleep while assuring him that the world is a good, kind, and safe place. (But then I'd just be lying, now wouldn't I?) The world is far from good, kind, or safe. Yet, I still wish that this boy didn't know that - would never know that - at least, not for a very long time. I would tell this boy to cherish his innocence, to keep it protected within him, to hold it like a precious treasure - to never grow up. I sure wish I had.

I wish I could still drown in seas of sweet, sweet innocence, where nothing could hurt me, where no one could harm me, where the only things I was scared of were the monsters that hid under my bed. I wish I could stumble back into that past, run across the the globe of Earth until it started turning backwards and I could collide with the fairytale dreams of my old life - and roam that land with new appreciation and I'd actually let myself be kissed, or hugged, or touched - because in those times, touching did not sting me. I would drown blissfully in pure ignorance if it meant forgetting -[/i]

[/color]"If you're in there, I was thinking of staying in tonight ... Maybe."

His voice is small and quiet behind the wooden door, and, out of instinct, I smile. My bare feet meet the hard wooden flooring of my room, eager to leave these thoughts behind, and it creaks under my weight as I walk towards the door.

But, once my hand reaches the brass door knob, I pause. The bruise on my right cheek will, undoubtedly, catch his attention. Knowing Dex, he'd probably force the address out of my mouth and steal all the money from that house. But, why should I care about the benefits of that man and his wife? (Not to mention, I didn't even get a chance to be paid before the woman came barging into the room) That man is sick - just like all the rest of my clients, and my stomach clenches with anger once I recall his wife's fist meeting my face. Why not steal from them? They deserve it.

I already know the answer before I can admit it. Their son.

Because, stealing from that household means to steal from that little boy - and God forbid I take away anything else from that boy than what he already doesn't have.

I freeze at the doorway, and think about silently retreating back to bed and just seeing Dex tomorrow, where I can patch up the nasty purple skin with pounds of make up make up that's usually reserved for work. But, of course, Dex has probably already heard me, and I let out a small sigh when I press my ear against the cool door frame. I can hear his heavy breathing and can imagine him shifting his weight from one foot to the other, an act of impatience. I look back at Damea, then, grudgingly, grab the hooded jacket resting on the edge of my bed and slip it on, exiting the room.

"Hi." I whisper while gently closing the bedroom door. There's a slight draft in the hallway and goosebumps tickle the surface of my bare legs, which are clad only in sleeping shorts, and I hug the jacket closer to me. I purposely turn the right side of my face away from his and gesture down the hallway, taking lead and walking ahead of him. "I would let you inside, but Damea's sleeping." [/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

NORMAL // 664433
EMPHASIS // 996644
CHARACTER SPEECH // 884433
OTHER SPEECH // AA8866
THOUGHTS // DDBB99

[/size][/blockquote]

[arx!!]

I know you've been hurt by someone else
I can tell by the way you carry yourself.
If you let me, here's what I'll do:
I'll take care of you.
I've loved and I've lost.

Five synchronized knocks told me that it was Damian. A sixth knock told me that Rhine had decided to tag along. And sometimes there would be the occasional seventh knock when my dad insisted he wanted to see our little fort. Sure, it was only a cardboard door stood up against a few chairs, and the fort was made out of nothing but blankets and rubber bands, but it was ours and we had made it all on our own. Rhine even helped by letting us borrow her jaded hair ties and even though Damian complained how it was a man cave and no baby girls were allowed, Rhine made sure to get in anyway. And then my mom would yell from the kitchen, telling us that it was time for dinner and we needed to come eat - except we wouldn't until she came and found us herself, tickling us all to death for hiding from her. And then dad would carry me and Damian to the table, thrown over his shoulders while we laughed and screamed that we wanted down while mom held Rhine's hand close behind and pointed out how red our faces were getting. And then we would all take our seats at the table after washing our hands and eat as a family. And we would share what the best part of our day was. Damian and I said something about the fort. Rhine said seeing our faces get all red and my mom agreed with her. And my dad looked around the table and said we were the best part of his day. Everyday.

I wonder if I am still the best part of his day, even if he never sees me and I have no idea where he is. I hope so. Because those memories are still the best part of my day. Memories are about the only thing that makes my day anymore - at least the good memories. But there is so much bad that sometimes I can't remember any of the good. Evil consumes all the good in my mind and makes sure it will never resurface because evil is strong and good is weak. How is a guy like me supposed to hold a knife to someone's throat if all he thinks about is how much he loves his family? That's why my mind is filled with my dead sister, my lost father, my homicidal brother, the whips that gashed my back, the cold, dark, smelly cells of the Detention Center, and the threats of Peacekeepers. It helps me focus on the task at hand - getting money. Evil makes sure I don't worry about my victims circumstances. Evil makes sure I don't wonder if they need the money for their dying grandmother, or if they got the diamond from their dead mother. But I don't like evil, I like good. But good is never around, not anymore. Except maybe deep down inside - good memories still loom there. And sometimes they resurface. Those are the moments I like to live for.

I hear the creaking of wood and can't help but smile. She is here and she hasn't left yet. I can feel her at the door, see the shadows her feet make as they stand just behind the door. But the knob on her door doesn't turn. I take a step closer to the door, leaning in close, listening. I hear a sigh, as wistful as the wind during a summer day, and take a step back. I think about telling her that it's okay if she doesn't want to talk or that we can just see each other tomorrow morning, when the door opens on old hinges, making small squeaking noises as she shuts it slowly behind her again. "Hi." she whispers, keeping herself turned away from me. "Hey." is all I have time to whisper back before she gestures down the hallway, away from her room, and walks quickly ahead of me. I take a few longer strides to catch up to her so I am walking beside her. "I would let you inside, but Damea's sleeping." Then I remembered what hour it was and realized I must've woken her up. And sleep was precious around here, sacred almost.

"I didn't mean to wake you." I hadn't meant to wake my sister the night she dies either. But it seems the gun my brother held in his hand had wanted to and even had a bullet with her name on it. I shook the thought away. I didn't like thinking about that night - especially if I was applying it to Kris. She wasn't going to die just because I woke her up, even if sleep was a precious and ultimately valuable thing around here. Sure she had trouble with money sometimes, but everyone at the Nox residence did every once in a while. But that wasn't what I worried about - she always had the money when the time came. But when she came back to the house with bruises everywhere it was hard for me to ignore it. She always insisted she was fine, but the purple and black bruises that were sometimes etched across her face told a much different story. I hate the men she meets, maybe just as much as she does. But I try to leave her to her work as much as I can which is really a very little amount. It got so bad at one point for me to just drop it that I followed her. She didn't notice, I made sure of it but after she was done at the house I went in and killed the guy. It was one of the very few occasions that I used my knife and felt good about it. The bastard fucking asked for it and I honestly don't even regret it.

The grand staircase reaches my view and as we walk down the stairs, no doubt making our way towards the living room, I couldn't help but admire it all. My family had always had it pretty well off, and our house was really quite nice, but this was a mansion and it was beautiful. If I didn't have to think of it as a dungeon I would probably enjoy staying here. And despite it all, I really do like watching the flames of the fireplace dance around the floor at night. We had a fireplace at our house and when I was really little, mom would let me sleep near it during the winter and would wake me up with a cup of hot chocolate. And sometimes there would even be a few marshmallows floating in the froth at the top. My dad would always pretend not to notice the mustache it left on his upper lip and I would laugh endlessly as he asked why I was laughing. But those sleep overs in front of the fire ended as I got older. And my mom worked a lot of the time and my dad started to drink more than he probably should have. But I couldn't blame him for it. It was hard to live with a kid who hung out with gangs and did drugs and robbed a jewelry store and killed his little sister.

I sat down on the couch, thinking I could easily pull off ignoring the urge just to lay down on the floor and watch the flames make light dance over my fingers, but I found that it took most of my concentration to stay sitting on the couch. I could just hear my mom humming a soft tune to herself and my dad's footsteps as he came home from a late night at work. He would come in and kiss my mom and then lay down next to me and ask me how my day went. He always smelled like cologne - the cheap kind sure - but always the same. I blinked as I remembered Kris was here. I turned to look at her, thinking I could tell her the about my parents and those nights I slept in front of the fire but she looked more distracted than I had been a moment ago. "Have you ever slept in front of a fireplace?" I asked still looking at her, the light of the fire just touching her face, sparkling in her eyes.

"Do you want to?" I asked, smiling a bit at the thought. A piece of her hair dangled in front of her face and I brushed it away, gently tucking it behind her ear. I waited, knowing full well she may say no and then I would be left feeling silly for suggesting it. Or maybe I would crawl down on the floor either way. Because my fingers wanted to dance with fire and I could feel the fire asking for the dance - and what kind of guy would I be to decline such a beautiful thing one simple dance?

You won't ever have to worry.
You won't ever have to hide.
You've seen all my mistakes,
So look me in my eyes.

[chelsey]

K R I S O N D R A Q U E E N S

[/font][/size]

Dexter's steady footsteps trail behind mine until he's standing right beside me, and I glance towards his face when he says, "I didn't mean to wake you."

I sigh and shake my head, stuffing my cold hands in the baggy pockets of my jacket. My fingers scratch at the itchy surface of the fabric, searching for warmth that isn't there. I want to tell Dex that he didn't wake me, that I wasn't even sleeping, that guilt had succumbed me tonight (as it does almost every night), and that I'm so goddamn tired of losing sleep over it. That I'm tired of forgetting who I am, because the men - my customers - always take away my identity, wash away any evidence of who I was in a past life, and they grant me an entirely new existence of someone I desperately do not want to be. And, yet, these men - these filthy bastards - are the structures that I entirely depend upon for my own survival. That the only reason I'm still alive today (the only reason why I'm alive to feel pain, despair, and worthlessness) is because of them. I have them to thank for my breath - and it sickens me.

But all I say back to Dex is, "It's okay."

The fire is hot and comforting during this cold night, and I find my body slinking closer towards it while seated against the couch. My hands crawl out of their pockets and splay out in front of me, reaching towards the blazing source of heat. Sparks crackle along the seams of bright reds, oranges, and yellows, flying out from the edges and threatening to land on my flesh, but even with the threat, my fingers still stretch out forwards. The flames flicker back and forth, like a dance, swaying to the rhythm of our quick pulses and steady breathing. They begin to lick up at it's metal bindings that keep it from burning anywhere further than the hearth, but they still charge up against it, begging to be free.

My fingers curl back against my white palm, and I rest it on my lap, turning my face away from the fire. (I'm like that fire, fighting to reach past the chains that bound me, begging to roam new lands and discover new worlds, wanting to tread uncharted territories and unknown earths - always desiring something beyond that cage I'm trapped in. But I am stuck, confined to a world I know all too well...) Out of impulse, the blood boiling under my bruise throbs beneath the purple skin. My trembling hand reaches for it, my palm masking the mark, as if I could shield it away from this world.

Shame creeps back into my skin, blanketing me until I'm sure that I'm suffocating (I can't do this, I can't break down in front of Dex.) and I can feel my lungs shrivel up inside of me and every shaky breath that passes my lips is a panicked one and my knuckles turn white as they grip on the edges of the stiff sofa (He's all I have left, what will happen if I drive him away, too?) and I shut my eyes as the darkness reaches out for me, grasping me past the boundaries of mere mortal flesh, but looking at me through the window of something entirely eternal and I just wish that I could push my Shame away, push him out of my life forever (Dex, don't abandon me like everyone else, please, please stay with me.)

[/i][/color] but I know, already, that Shame won't go. He's here to stay as long as I'm always putting a price on myself.

"Have you ever slept in front of a fireplace?"

My eyes open and I'm almost confused to find myself still seated on the couch, gripping on the edge of it while the fire blazes before me and Dexter - oh God, Dexter's still here. My muscles begin to relax a bit once I realize he hasn't left me yet, and that I'm not alone. He has a small smile on his face and a question on his lips. "Do you want to?"

I blink at him, momentarily struck at the question, still climbing out of my previous reverie. A strand of my hair hung before my face, and I feel Dex's rough fingers pulling it back, tucking it behind my ear. My heart begins thump in my ear, beating wildly like the wings of a hummingbird against my ribcage, and I briefly wondered if he could hear it, too. I turned my face away from him, not wanting him to see the blush that's creeped onto my skin or the smile flickering on my lips. (But me and Dex aren't like that, he keeps me sane and I him, and that's all. Right? Right.) From the corner of my eye I could still see his face, his smile illuminated from the light of the fire while the shadows of the flames danced across the room. How could I ever say no to him?

I drifted from the couch to the rug in front of it, laying down on my back with the fire a foot away from the top of my head, shifting in my position until I felt comfortable. Looking up at Dex, I smiled back at him, patting the space next to me. "Let's hope Magnus'll make a hell of a fuss out of this."[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

NORMAL // 664433
EMPHASIS // 996644
CHARACTER SPEECH // 884433
OTHER SPEECH // AA8866
THOUGHTS // DDBB99

[/size][/blockquote]

[arx!!]

I know you've been hurt by someone else
I can tell by the way you carry yourself.
If you let me, here's what I'll do:
I'll take care of you.
I've loved and I've lost.

"Just sign here." How is a kid off the streets supposed to know that those words are a death sentence? How is a kid who lost everything supposed to resist the idea of becoming rich? How can a kid who hasn't eaten or showered in days supposed to decline an offer where he can get both? And all for what seems to be free? Three words was all it took for my life to change dramatically. I didn't even hesitate. I didn't read the fine print. I didn't understand what I was doing at the time. Grinning from ear to ear after I scratched my name at the bottom of the paper, thinking I was signing over something much less valuable than my life. And I got new clothes, and got to take a shower, and eat whatever I wanted when I wanted. I was beaming as I entered my new room - but the sullen faces of the other residents told me there was more to it all than getting free things. We all have to pay. I have to pay and pay and pay and keep paying until there is enough to please Magnus. I saw him as my savior one hour and the next I found he was the devil in disguise. And then to watch more people walk through his doors, looking for a way out of their crummy lives and into a better one, only to discover later that they have been caught in a trap. And I couldn't stop them from making the biggest mistake of their lives. And I regret it. All of it. Usually.

And if I could go back to the day Kris walked in the door I would make sure she stayed away. Then, she was just another one of the sad souls that would have to figure out the hard way that Magnus was a sick asshole. Just some girl that thought she could escape her old life by signing her name. I regret thinking those things as she is my only true friend now. I regret not forcing her out the door and back into the streets. Is that a cruel thing to wish? I can never decide. Everything has its consequences. Signing gave me a place to sleep, food to eat, and clothes on my back, but forced me into holding a knife and scaring the hell out of people for their purses or wallets. I could've avoided ever having to harm people if I hadn't signed. I would've never had to threaten to kill, or have deal with seeing other people's looks of horror in my dreams, but I may have died out in the streets all alone - no one would've cared if I had died. Like anyone cares now ... But I can't help but wonder if death would've been the better option.

But if I were dead, then who would look out for Kris? Would anyone care like I do? They should. But they don't.

She turns away from me and I think she will say no. But then she crawls to the floor and looks back at me, smiling, patting the empty space next to her. That space next to her was made for me. "Let's hope Magnus'll make a hell of a fuss out of this." I have to laugh a little. I'm sure having a good time in any form is something he hates. I'm pretty sure he hates all happiness in general. Is that what she is referring to? Or is it that we are going to sleep on what I assume is "the finest rug in Panem - worth thousands of dollars!" Or is it that we are too close to each other for his liking? Whatever it is, I hope he dies of a heart attack at the sight. "Fuck him." is all I say as I kick off my shoes before crawling off the couch. I pull my hoodie off and throw it to the ground as a makeshift pillow, hoping it will offer more comfort than just the rug. And then I process the purple mark on her face and stop smiling. She is hurt and I haven't noticed this whole time? And she has been out tonight. Anger rises in my chest but is quickly replaced with sympathy. I can't get mad at her for something that is not her fault. And I could get mad at her for lying to me, but she never really did - I just inferred. Damn it.

I lay down next to her with a sigh. I should be going out to beat the hell out of guy that did this to her, but I can't. I can't leave this spot. Instead I stay silent. I don't want to ruin this night. It turned out so nice, even if I couldn't stop Kris from going out and working. At least she isn't still out working. At least I'm not out working. At least I still get that dance with the flames. I think about telling her that I used to do this when I was a kid but can't find words. It's amazing how saying nothing at all is sometimes the best way of putting things. I stare up at the ceiling, the light of the flames flickering through the dark. I turn my head to look at Kris. And I just watch. The light flickers across her face, in her eyes. I blink and turn my head back towards the ceiling.

"Light only shines in the dark, Dex."

I used to think my dad was right when he said that. Because I never really found an exception to the rule. But I think that this moment, even if it were set in broad daylight, would shine brighter than anything I've ever seen.

You won't ever have to worry.
You won't ever have to hide.
You've seen all my mistakes,
So look me in my eyes.

[chelsey]

K R I S O N D R A Q U E E N S

[/font][/size]

I feel his eyes on me and I have to bite back the urge to smile as his gaze settles around us like a blanket. I don't return it, not yet anyway, instead sinking deeper into the plush carpet and closing my eyes for the briefest second, relishing in the moment. The flames dancing above my head radiate a soft and glowing heat, but the kind of light that Dex gleams in is so much more pure and so much more warm that I don't think there's anything else in this world that could outshine him.

[/i] In this terrifyingly luminous second, me and my best friend are eternally tangled with each other's inner light, where mine has been left cold and dead and extinguished for so long - Dex ignites it once more. I wish I could take this moment in between the palm of my hands, safely hold it there as the warm radiance illuminates my world, and place it in the pocket of my coat, so that wherever I may go (and no matter how far I may venture into the dark) this light will always follow me home.

When that achingly feathery feeling that swims in the pit of my stomach becomes unbearable, I lean my head a little towards his direction, the softest smile a ghost on my lips, just in time to see his eyes lingering on my bruise before he turns his gaze back towards the ceiling. His lips grow thin as his eyebrows furrow in concentration, as if suddenly in deep thought. I crack a little on the outside, my smile faltering at the edges as I watch him think. My hand raises to my bruised cheek (to my impure and sinful flaw) wishing I could've covered it with make up earlier just so it wouldn't have dug into the center between Dexter and me, rooting itself there and growing into a wall, into a barrier. That frightfully scary feeling crawls back into my skin from earlier - Shame. I want to shake it off of me, rip it apart from my raw skin, but I'm too tired to fight anymore, tonight, so it settles around me and replaces the warmth I felt earlier into a thick chill.

"You know, Dex, you've always looked at me differently."

I say it quietly, the words barely slipping between my parted lips as they whirl into the atmosphere around us, the words hanging in the air as I let silence overtake us again for a few more seconds. "I mean, different from them." I don't have to clarify who "they" are, because he knows already. Them[/i] - my disgusting customers. The filthy men who stare at me with greedy and lustful eyes [/color](just thinking about it makes me sick to the stomach), whose gazes seem to sting my own flesh.

But, Dex, his gaze is different.

His eyes are soft and genuine and bright. When he looks at me, what I feel is something entirely different from what I feel when the men on street look at me. And, although I'd probably never admit it out loud, I've always felt safe and secure under Dexter's watchful eye. And tonight, I think, I've never felt more guarded than right now.

"It's a good different, though," I say after a while, looking back at him again and smiling. I drop my hand from my face to clasp his hand, holding onto his familiar and calloused fingers with mine. Once again, that fire in me begins to spark and the wall that built itself against us began to dissolve and all that was left in this ethereal world were no longer greedy men or stinging stares but just Dex and me. (It always has been, hasn't it?)[/i] For a second, I forget why I never trusted him to see the bruise on my face, tonight. I can't say sorry though, it's not in my nature and all it does is bring light to unwanted areas. Instead, I give his hand a gentle squeeze, hoping he'll understand.

It's not much of an apology, but it's all I've got right now. [/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]

NORMAL // 664433
EMPHASIS // 996644
CHARACTER SPEECH // 884433
OTHER SPEECH // AA8866
THOUGHTS // DDBB99

[/size][/blockquote]

[arx!!]

I know you've been hurt by someone else
I can tell by the way you carry yourself.
If you let me, here's what I'll do:
I'll take care of you.
I've loved and I've lost.

Only my thoughts could ruin the silence. My thoughts of nothing but pain. Not my pain - who could care about me? But her pain. Bruises are what everyone else notices, but I see right through them. Pain doesn't sit on the surface your whole life, only showing in the blacks and purples of bruises. No, pain intertwines with your being and slowly starts to strangle you like a snake squeezes the life out of it's prey. I've felt it before, but not like Kris does. It just isn't the same for us. Where my pain is nothing but scars criss-crossed across my back, hers is something deeper. I know she can hear them - her ... clients. Their voices ring in her ears like my victims' ring in mine. We are so different. I am a monster who hunts the innocent into dark alleys to steal everything from them. Kris is the innocent who is hunted by monsters. Monsters who'd I like to believe are not in the same category as me. Are they?

"You know, Dex, you've always looked at me differently."

I almost don't hear her. The words are barely a whisper and I wonder if I imagined them. I keep staring at the ceiling, dismissing the words as my imagination. But then she speaks again. "I mean, different from them." Them. The monsters. The sick freaks that try to pass as men. The bastards I hope die as slowly and as painfully as possible. They dare to hurt her and I will hunt them down, making sure that they will forever regret buying something that should never have to be for sale. I clench my jaw, suddenly angered by the idea that I could be like them. I am not like them - I could never hurt Kris. But what if I did? Not in the same way as the men she meets, but what if I did? What if I couldn't protect her? What happens if she runs out of money or gets stuck with some asshole she finds and can't get away? I can't let that happen - that will never happen. I don't know if she needs me (I doubt she really does) but I sure as hell need her. If I ever lost her ...

I throw the thought away. I can't think of what might happen if I lost her. Is that why I don't just tell her how much I care? Because I'm afraid she might leave me here all alone?

"It's a good different, though." I blink up at the ceiling in surprise for just a moment when I feel her hand drifting effortlessly into mine. I turn my head back to her, watching her smile at me. I would kill have killed to keep that smile there forever. But just as it always does, it evaporates into nothing more than a memory. I smile back, hoping with my whole being that maybe one day that smile will stay there. I don't even have to see it, I just need to know that it is there and that someone will always cherish it.

"And you look at me differently," I say, knowing it was the truth. She doesn't look at me the way everyone else does. Everyone I met was frightened of me. My large stature, my black jacket, my glinting knife: They all cause fear and terror to shoot through peoples eyes. Even here the people in the house find me intimidating. Which I suppose isn't a bad thing, considering I'd rather keep my distance from most of them. "So I guess we are even." But even I say the words I have to wonder - Are we really even? Or am I looking at her differently than even a good friend would? All I know is I have to tell her. She should know, even if she doesn't believe me when I say it. She still holds my hand and I squeeze gently, holding on tighter to keep her here. She is always out and I can't stand it when she is. So maybe if I never let go, I can keep her inside forever, always safe from the outside - Always safe with me.

Frustration plagues me when I know I can't do that and I clench my jaw, trying to ignore my rage towards the world. Why does someone so amazing get the shittiest life across the whole of Panem? The purple on her cheek taunts me to leave right that instant. I swear I hear it whispering to me, telling me to find who did it, telling me to fix it - as if I could actually fix it. I turn my head back towards the ceiling where the light continues to dance. I can tell she feels ashamed of the blemish, as if it represents something more than some asshole, as if it makes her a failure. But it doesn't - not even a little. "I hope someday you realize how amazing you are, Kris." I say, still focusing on the ceiling. I know I should look at her, to prove how sincere I am, but I can't. Instead I roll onto my side, still holding her hand, and lightly kiss her purples cheek.

"You'll be okay, right?"

You won't ever have to worry.
You won't ever have to hide.
You've seen all my mistakes,
So look me in my eyes.

[chelsey]

K R I S O N D R A Q U E E N S

[/font][/size]

Silence pours over the empty spaces between the four walls of this regal room, sliding off the arrows of ticking clocks and hurdling across the flickering glints of the fire. Our hands are tightly coiled around one another, each entwined finger falling into place like the pieces of a missing puzzle. Every fiber and atom of my entire existence is so familiar with that of Dexter's, every heartbeat or breath or blink of his audible to me over the feather light thudding in my ears. The blood thickly pulsing through the thin veins webbed in my flesh drums next to his, and it's warmth is so much greater than any fire I could kindle.

"And you look at me differently." Dexter's soft voice reaches me, and I slightly turn my head towards his direction to look at him. He doesn't return my gaze, though, but instead stares at the ceiling. "So I guess we are even." A small smile finds it's way to my lips when he says it, so I just press the side of my face to the nook between his neck and shoulder, burying the smile in his ardor.

I know how Dexter esteems himself, and I know how our opinions of him differ. (He thinks he's a monster, he thinks he's reckless, he thinks he's worthless. Ironically, the only worthless person in this room is the person who puts a price on herself.) And, although Dex doesn't realize it now, the only reason why I keep treading through these infinite seas of darkness is because his shafts of sunlight illuminate the way home for me.

"I hope someday you realize how amazing you are, Kris."

Everything inside of me stills, my breath frozen in my lungs as if a single exhale could shatter the glassy atmosphere we've blissfully sunk in. His pulse presses against my cheek from where my head rests between his neck and shoulder, and my own heartbeat goes in tandem with his. I wait for his voice to continue, but silence prevails as the droning of a clock carries on.

When the press of his lips make contact with my cheek, the empty crevices in my spine are filled with the grinded grains of an imminent decree of ivory, the white sand slipping into the cracked vertebrae and filling in the cracks where there used to be silent nothings. And if I could harvest the light in this moment and water away the needles that pinprick our once clouded visions, I would. And if I could count each listless scar scattered across the brazen surfaces of Dex's knuckles and kiss them all away until the only scar left on his skin was the imprint of my lips, I would. I always would, and maybe if it wasn't until this moment ignited that realization inside of me, I might've never known I would.

So, when he asks me if I'll be okay, I know that, with Dex by my side, "Yeah, I will be."

[/justify][/size]

FINISHED.

[/size]

NORMAL // 664433
EMPHASIS // 996644
CHARACTER SPEECH // 884433
OTHER SPEECH // AA8866
THOUGHTS // DDBB99

ooc
omg sorry this took so long. and that this sucks.
idek what this is anymore.
BUT YAY IT'S BEEN AN HONOR THREADING/SHIPPING<3