Valentine

"You should really quit that."

"Mhm."

Valentine rolled her eyes flicking the now extinguished roach off the balcony, barely even having felt the singe of it against her arm as she tugged the hoodie back down her arm, leaning against the metal railing, feeling the cold and condensation seeping in through her sleeve, "C'mon, it's cold out here." A rather rough hand rested on her shoulder, Valentine shrugged it off. "Mhm. Gimme a minute."

The hand came back to rest on her shoulder, gripping it this time to pull her from the railing. She tugged herself away, back to the cold arm that held her back from the empty air ahead of her, it was much more comforting than his. She refused to look back at him, she'd much rather stare off into the distance. She had to admit, his pad wasn't bad, pretty high up, the air seemed crisper, like the thick smog of the city rested below the lofty ivory tower of glass and steel they slept in. Of course, she wasn't really helping with that, the cigarettes she'd brought were almost all burned to the wind by now, the smoke from her lungs joining the rest.

They helped calm her nerves, she started to feel weird if she went too long without one. She'd taken to smoking on the balcony after sex, of course in her own home she'd smoke on the bed if she pleased, but many of her flings didn't take too kindly to it. She sighed heavily, feeling all the air leave her chest, down to the last dredge of smoke before she breathed back in, deep and slow. She heard the door open and shut behind her, she couldn't care less. She already couldn't stand this one. She didn't see it lasting long. Maybe she could just walk out the door and he'd never see her again. What an intoxicating fantasy that was.

She turned, leaning her tailbone against the railing as she stared into the smoked glass, swearing she could see something shifting behind them that wasn't just the man inside.

She felt little for him. He was just how she filled the lonely nights, and to be honest? She was probably just how he got off and where he outed his stress. Maybe that was why he was so rough. In all honesty, she couldn't really call it a fling. This was maybe the third or fourth time, though in all honesty she didn't remember half the nights she spent at people's places. She usually just counted the amount of times she woke up with a splitting headache at a person's place. This time was probably going to be no different. She could already feel the drink burning through her; it would hurt later.

She glanced to the side, staring out across the sea of lights, watching her breath boil from her lips towards the moon, escaping like the souls of long dead words. She could taste the smoke and whiskey, drawing her fingers towards her pocket to pick out another cigarette like a spider creeping toward prey in its web. She stopped herself, she'd rather not use them all up here, it would be a pain in the ass to get more tonight and she knew she'd want one in the morning. She shook her head, taking a moment to stare once more, wishing she could be out there, maybe at her apartment, maybe just out in the street having a smoke. But, the horizon was just as cold as the wind, empty for her despite how alive it may have been.

She turned away from it all, her gaze returning to the foggy glass, dotted with lines from where the condensation on the inside had grown too heavy and began to run as a droplet toward the floor. It was foreboding, the idea of facing another person at the moment, especially him. A poor stand in for the woman she'd loved.

She forced herself away from the edge, pulling open the door and stepping inside, a hot breath of heater-scented air wafted past as she shut the door behind her, glancing around the apartment. It was fairly spacious, too bad the owner wasn't as pleasant. She shook her head, she'd been ribbing on him enough, it was going to start bleeding into her regular thoughts. Valentine padded inwards, bare feet gentle against the hardwood. She paused by each doorway to glance inwards, finally coming across him in the bedroom, a sparsely decorated room with a window, bed and closet. Otherwise, it was rather boring, a table here, a stake of books there, a lamp on the bedside that cast no light. In fact, the only light in the room was the faint moonlit rays that pierced the curtains to paint the room in a somber gray. He was sat on the bed, which was still a mess, blankets thrown aside.

Valentine cleared her throat, "I guess I'm crashing on your couch?" She said, voice little more than a whisper in an attempt to not shatter the fragile silence.

"You could sleep with me," He suggested, "But it'll cost you." He continued, his tone suddenly dripping in smug confidence. It was so thick she could almost taste it in the air. She scoffed, "Couch it is." She said, shutting the door before she got a rebuttal. She knew she wouldn't sleep, but at least she could steal some coffee off him and be out by the time he awoke.

Valentine stood in front of the mirror, staring herself down in the silence. A hand came up, brushing against one of the bruises adorning her ribs. God, her ribs, she could see every single one of them but she still felt like the skin was too loose. Fingerprints and scratches, they covered her body, sprinkled around like flowers on a dying field. Her thighs, her chest, her back, her ribs, little escaped unscathed. She liked it that way, almost preferred it. It was something she deserved. Something to remind her of what she’d done, what she inevitably would do.

She reached up, gentle, cold fingertips pressing against the misshapen bruises on her neck, shaped like his lips. If she didn’t hate him so much, she’d think they were cute.

Valentine sighed, turning away from herself to pick up her fresh clothes, slipping them on. She couldn’t stand in front of the damn thing all day, she’d start finding more things to hate. Jeans, turtleneck, hoodie, and soon she was out the door, ready to tackle somebody else’s problems.

"Beg."

"No."

She reeled back, clutching her hands to her cheek, now painted red with a handprint,

"I said beg."

"And I said no."

Another, caught largely by her temple as it slid off her hands. Valentine winced, but made no noise. Reluctantly, she spoke through gritted teeth.

"Fuck me."

Rough, callused hands ran through her hair, snatching at knots rather roughly. She winced again, wordless as she felt him lean in. She shut her eyes as his breath caressed her neck, ignoring his breathing. It sounded like he was trying to steal the scent from her, what with how sharply he was inhaling before tugging harshly on her hair to bring her in. Her skin was cold, but his was cooler, sapping what little she had after sitting half naked in his bed, doing her best to not give him what he wanted at her expense.

Too bad she had little power to escape.

"That's better, babydoll." He muttered, causing her to grimace at the term. His hands trailed from her hair to her cheeks, brushing them before he continued down, one hand pinching her cheek to tilt her head back, the other assaulting her torso, running all too harshly over her bruised ribs up to her bra, slipping below the wire to brush her skin with all the respect one might show a cut of beef. She reserved her words, while her tongue was as sharp as a knife, she knew it would mean nothing to him. She was his stress reliever, and you don't stop squeezing when it tears, do you?

She felt the bed dip, she couldn't look down as her head was tilted back, his lips and teeth meeting her collarbone and neck. Everytime he came away from her skin, he left another mark that she was his. A bite there, a bruise here. Valentine was silent, she just wanted it over with.

She didn't know why she came back.

Her mind began to wander as she tried her best to tune out the world, leaving her only with her thoughts. Was it because she felt an obligation? That she must offer reprieve to him? Was it because she liked the pain?

Or was it because she was afraid to be alone at night?

She was snapped back into her body as a hand wrapped around her neck, shoving her down against the bed, yet she was still silent outside of the slight gasp after her breath was forced out of her, raspy against his palm.

"D-Dy-"

"Shut the fuck up! Just… Shhhh…."

His hand bore down harder, she could feel her adam's apple, nestled deep in her throat, press inwards as breathing became a struggle. Her breaths came laboured, her rather weak diaphragm spasming with the effort as she dug her nails into her hips to keep from hitting him. She knew she couldn't fight him, she just hoped she could live through another night. Her chances would become poor if she retaliated.

She blinked hard, trying to squeeze the sleep from them like she would tears.

If she had any, at the moment, it would’ve worked on them, but not the lingering tiredness. She couldn’t help it, what with how comfortable she was, wrapped up in Arabella’s grasp, lost among her tides of chocolatey brown hair. How sweet it was, tarnished only by the words that frequented her mind. She thought now, as she did normally, of how it could go wrong. She was well aware that it was a trying time at the moment to be a woman in love with another, the world’s eyes bearing down on them when one left the other’s house in the morning, wondering what two women were doing all alone all night. There’d been talk of things getting better, somehow Valentine didn’t see it happening soon.

Gentle lips graced her forehead, pulling her from her thoughts as she glanced up, finding her cheek against Arabella’s shoulder, her fair features giving her a slight smile, messy hair dipping from it’s crest to slip past one of her eyes as she tilted her head, “I know that look,” She said, offering Valentine a squeeze around the shoulder. “It’s the same look you get when something tastes bad.” She said, rounding off the words with a well natured giggle.

Valentine huffed quietly, unable to fight the smile creeping over her lips. “I don’t look like this when I eat your cooking, do I?” She asked, returning the soft chuckle, a gentle hand resting on the hip opposite to her, the other around Bella’s hip as she squeezed a little tighter. The arguably shorter woman offered a wince, laughing as she hugged Valentine closer, adjusting the blanket that rested on their laps to tug it back up over their legs to their waists. “Ouch.” She said simply, biting her lip to keep from smiling any wider. Valentine shut her eyes, breathing the vague scent of almonds and cheap cherry perfume in, sighing quietly in content.

“Ah I’m kidding. You know your food is all I’ll ever eat.” She said, straightening just enough to kiss Bella’s cheek before resting her head back on the brunette’s shoulder, relishing the soft feel of Bella’s sweater against her skin, as though she never wanted to forget. Bella laughed inwardly, shaking her head, “I wish you’d eat out with me sometimes. I feel weird being the only one at our table with food.” She commented, turning her head just enough to nuzzle her nose into the still vaguely wet, black hair of her girlfriend. “So I heard~”

Valentine rolled her eyes, “You heard wrong.”

“I heaaard, somebody gained a pound or two.” She said, squeezing Valentine into a tight but warm, cozy hug. Arabella knew Valentine’s physician well, which pissed Valentine off, because her physician loved to spill her secrets to Arabella.

Valentine cleared her throat, “Yeah yeah…” She mumbled, looking down. Quietly, she hated it. However, she knew logically that she was much too thin, and that it was a good thing, it still plagued her. But, her worries were swept away by Arabella’s hand rubbing her shoulder, her voice gentle as she congratulated Valentine. It made it bearable.

It made it okay.

She felt sleep sneaking back in with it’s soft footsteps, creeping in close…

She shook her head again, smiling as she let her head rest against Arabella’s shoulder once more, grinning idly as she felt her eyes shut, eyelids heavier than lead.

…

There she was, laying beside Bella in bed. Again. And it was all she’d ever wanted. Bella’s arm under her neck, her other arm around Valentine’s waist, legs tangled with hers as she felt Arabella breathing lightly against her own chest.

She rolled over slightly, just freeing an arm from the tangle to grab her pack off the bedside table, lighter rattling against the inside with her few remaining cigarettes. She fumbled about for a moment, getting a cigarette and her lighter out. She flicked the lighter, starting the cigarette’s end before taking a pull, flicking the ashes into the ashtray on the bedside. She brought it to her lips for another and she felt two fingers against her lips that weren’t hers, taking the cigarette from her before she could react. Arabella brought it to her lips for a short pull, breathing out to the side as she leaned over Valentine to put the cigarette on the ashtray, coming back to stare into Valentine’s eyes. The moonlight strayed in like a weary wanderer collapsing into a room that was only theirs for the night, caught by Arabella’s hazel eyes as she leaned in close. “Don’t smoke in bed, it’s dangerous.”

“Use my lips instead.” She whispered, leaning in to trap her breath against Valentine’s lips, her fingers gentle as they cupped Valentine’s cheek, smoke lightly tinging her tongue.

Valentine remembered now.

That was why she smoked in bed.

Valentine set a hand on your shoulder, looking away as she took a deep breath. "Yeah. Life kinda sucks." She cleared her throat, "I'm not good at my job..." She muttered, "But we all need somebody to tell us it's all gonna be okay." She pulled you close, taking a short step toward you to wrap her arms around you, resting a cheek on your shoulder. She smelled sweet, but not overly so, just a hint of vanilla and chocolate, an undertone of rich liquor slipping in. "You're gonna be okay."

"Everything is gonna be okay."

The night grew long, shadows whispering to her from the corners of her room as the lights shut off, the lamp on her desk blessing the table with just a little warmth, orange light cascading over faded white pages and abyssal toned ink. The world seemed to cave inwards as she rested her cheek on the cold wood. It wasn't necessarily of her own volition, she couldn't keep her head up any longer, it grew heavy with her lead thoughts, crammed in like letters into a long abandoned mailbox.

She missed him.

That fuckin' idiot.

She smiled softly, thoughts of him painting her cheeks a gentle pink as her lips twisted upwards. She sighed quietly, her emotions freezing back over as she hugged herself around the waist. She couldn’t help but think of him, he was heavy on her mind, a paperweight to keep her distant thoughts, her sanity, from slipping away from her in the wind. Memories she quietly cherished, hidden away in the dark corners in beige files like photos, some still hanging in the dark room where they developed. Her memories of him were crystal clear, though she was always wondering if they were accurate… She could still smell him on her clothes sometimes, even though she’d washed them countless times since he’d left.

She drew in a long, slow breath, imagining she could hear her ribs creak with the swell of her lungs, the lack of flesh making the idea not so insane. She exhaled, long and slow as her eyes fell shut.

She could almost feel his arms around her waist.

And so, she would sleep easy, just for tonight.

He wouldn’t have wanted her to stay up too late.

With shaky hands, Valentine brought the cold mouth to her temple, lips kissing skin and hair as she felt her lip tremble.

She'd always imagined she'd die someway more... Interesting. Maybe snagged by an SCP, maybe caught a stray bullet in a firefight, maybe finally got hit by a car again.

But no, this was how it went, wasn't it? She'd always known this was how it would be. It had never occurred to her that she wouldn't be the heavy hand to end herself like somebody pinching out a candle. A dim one, albeit, but a candle nonetheless. A glimmer in the dark. She gripped it tighter, the cold metal growing warm in her palm as sweat did it's job, covering her in a light film. Everything became loud, the air conditioning screaming in the background, footsteps vying for attention periodically as they passed by her door.

The world grew quiet again, her own breath slowing, as to not break the fragile silence that had settled in...

She reached over the desk, lightly brushing one of the fleshy limbs of the succulent on her desk. "Hope somebody waters you when I'm gone." She whispered, glancing towards the glass beside it. She looked away, she'd rather be sober. See the train coming.

She thought, about how her mother had loved her until the end, until she'd died. The day she'd taken this job she'd died, only to die again in her office. It was better than growing old at an office job, she supposed. Her last words still echoed, "I hate you." She let out a long, shaky breath before pulling another in, gripping the revolver with renewed vigor, finger tense. She shut her eyes tight,

"I'm sorry."

-

The bang echoed past her door, filling the hall like smoke.

Blood painted her wall, her desk still immaculate and neat, papers and half written reports to sit without the touch of her pen evermore.

Perhaps somebody else would finish them.

Valentine sat, finally with some semblance of peace, eyes shut as she slumped back in her chair.

Finally, some sleep.