This doesn't make sense it's rushed and it's got no real plot other than Rapunzel has to kill Jack 'cause she's some assasin okay and Jack's indifferent to it because he secretly loves Rapunzel- even though he never admits it- and he doesn't believe that she loves him in return. Because everything is a lie. And Rapunzel has to kill him, and she doesn't want to because she genuinely loves him, but she's so scared of dying that she has to do what they say. "They" is just her employers. Idk just made that shit up I just wanted to write this. Based on the song "Yeah Boy and Doll Face" by Pierce the Veil (hence the story title).
It's cold and he doesn't want to be here.
She smiles, slow and careful, running hands down his chest. Rubbing circles in his sweatshirt. He doesn't stop her and he stares at the ceiling. Turn right, turn right, a fan roars over their heads. It's a blurry mess of shingles and wind.
She presses kisses to his face but he doesn't return the gesture. He lets her play with his hoodie hem, toy with it in nimble fingers, and he only moves to help her remove it. He's tired. He wants to go to sleep. She won't sleep.
"You're not wearing a shirt." Said with disbelief. "It's cold."
Yes. What was your first clue? He liked to feel cold. So he's not wearing a shirt. Big deal. It's just a shirt. Her fingernails are painted pink. Her fingers are tanned, compared to the paleness of his sculpted chest, and she takes the time to run them over each curve, dip, and line of his abdomen. He inhales when she brushes over his bellybutton, he exhales when she kisses his cheek. Breathe. Breathe, because she's there.
"I could never leave your bed," she whispers, and her thin arms wrap around him. Smile. She smiles, radiantly, green eyes shifting to look into his blue ones. "I love you."
He doesn't believe her. Scoffs at the idea, even. She can't love again. Neither can her. She always lies, she always lies. He turns to his side, brushing her hands away.
"Jack." She says it like it hurts. Tears prickling at her emerald orbs. Save it. She's lying again. Always lying. "Jack." Said more urgently, brushing bare skin with her palms.
"No." He says it. Says it because she doesn't understand why he pushes her away. Because they'll both get hurt and he wants her to stay away. Because they both know why she's here and she won't come clean about it. Because he wants her to say it.
He wonders if she's honest when she said that she could never leave his bed.
She's crying. Crystal tears dripping down rosy cheeks. Soft heaves in her chest and she grips her knees to her chin. "I can't do this." Buries her face in her hands. Plays with golden hair, spilling over her shoulders in rippling waves. He likes to play with it. Braid it. Today, he doesn't. He stares over his shoulder.
"I can't, I can't-" she keeps sobbing. Shaking her head. Hair flying. Like his ceiling fan. Quivering shoulders. Heavy breaths.
"Do it." He says it, low and dangerously. "Do it."
Shake. Keeps shaking her head. "No."
"Do it quickly."
"No."
"Do. It."
"NO!"
She grabs his shoulders, shakes, shrieks with screams of pain and anguish, clutching at any part of him that she can. He stills in her arms but lets her hands wander, lets them explore, even when she's dripping tears down her adorably freckled nose onto his bare shoulder.
"I love you," she says, though she doesn't mean it. "I love you. I love you."
"No you don't." Said with a smirk. He wants to smirk at her. Needs to. It helps him. Helps her. She cracks a small smile.
"I'm sorry."
Shrug. Nonchalant. "S'okay."
It's silver. With a black handle. Point firmly pressing against his spine. She's pressing down, pressing down, it's carving a line across his skin. Red droplets slip down the curve of his back, stain the bed. It's dizzying. He watches.
Crying. She's still crying. Digs it in, firmer, and he feels it prod past his surface skin. There. It's wedged in good and it hurts like hell. Hurts- hell- the blood drips faster on his sheets.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" It's a constant loop. She must say it a hundred times. Doesn't help him. He's dying. Dying with her in the room. She buries her face in her hands. Shoulders keep shaking.
The knife moves uncomfortably when he shifts to the side. She was supposed to take it out, to let him die sooner, but she didn't want to. It's a selfless thing for her to do. He takes it out for her.
Silver stained red. It clatters to the floor with a thunk and she shakes her head, grabs his face, pulls him close.
Kisses him desperately. He feels woozy. She's starting to blur. Like the ceiling fan. Blurry mess of gold, pink, green. Beautiful. Like the paintings she loves to do. He almost smiles. Almost.
"Jack!"
He falls. Hits the floor. Wants it to end. It's not quick. Maybe that's what was supposed to happen.
"Why can't you believe me?" she's shuddering out. "Whenever I say I love you- you think I'm lying, you think-" Still lying. Always lying. Shaky words and sobs. He knows she is. Eyes start to close. Hands cup his face. "I love you."
No she doesn't. Why would she? She just stabbed-
Blur. Keeps blurring. Close, closes his eyelids. Keeps them shut. It'll end. The pain will go away. Tears drip down his face, but they're not his. They're hers. She keeps his head on his lap, laces her fingers through his hair.
She shouldn't have ever met him. She shouldn't have ever gotten to know him. She shouldn't have ever fallen in love with him. She should've learned that she was supposed to kill him. Should've learned that in basic training. All assassins do. Here, here's the man you have to kill- quick reminder, don't like him. He has to be dead by a certain date.
Oh, look, then he's dying on his apartment floor. Your fault. But if he's not dead, she is. Killed by her superiors. He's a bad man, they say. Jack did so and so, Jack ruined the lives of these people. He didn't. He never did anything. One regrettable thing he ever did was bully a kid who turned out to become a killer. She believed them because she had to. Because she ran away from a mother who never let her do anything and then they offer her a job. A home. Support. She accepts it. Then she meets him. Learns she has to kill him. Tries but always fails.
Until tonight.
He can't love her and that's why he never believes her. Their relationship has been a lie. But he's known. Known that she had to kill him. He always did know. Kept in inside in case they found out. Because he loves her. Even if she doesn't feel the same way.
He wants to die, why is he thinking? He's not dead yet. She's calling someone. Maybe they want his body, too. But she's crying.
"I- I just- my boyfriend. He's dying."
He wants to laugh. She just called him her boyfriend. It's hilarious to him but at the same time he feels calm inside. Like he can finally leave. She crouches near him. He can smell flowers. Her perfume. The scent's slowly spreading, spreading over the other smells and invading his nostrils.
"Yes, he's breathing..."
He doesn't want to be.
"N-no, he was stabbed-"
By you. He wants to laugh again. Oh, she's always like this. Naive and terrified and always lying, always lying. Lie, keep lying.
No one else can be hurt by it. He's already done for.
She hyperventilates. Grabs at Jack's hands. She cries, keeps crying because his pulse is weakening. In her head, voices fill the empty space. Remainders from the past, tearing at her mind and making her sob harder.
Her mother, what she used to say, and she can picture the woman's conniving face and bony hands.
"Oh, Rapunzel, look what you've done."
Smile. Watery green eyes. Pink painted nails digging into the steering wheel.
"Jack."
Cool stare. Limp arms swaying at his side. Bandaged torso a grim reminder of two days ago.
"Hey, Punz."
He slides into the passenger seat. She starts driving. It's hot in there. She doesn't like the air conditioner. It's stifling outside as it is. He leans on the window and stares outside. Blurring landscape. Cars. Trees. What else is there?
Nothing. Nothing that can save him.
Drum his fingers on his thigh. Lean back in his seat. Shift away from the tight seatbelt. Ignore the pain shooting up his spine. Ignore her sniffles.
She's crying again. Silent tears drip down her face. Splash, splash, dot dark onto her lightwash denim jeans.
"It's tomorrow."
He knows what tomorrow is. She does too. He already knew before he had even gotten into the car.
She lied to them, like always. Made excuses. Oh, Jackson Overland Frost is out on business. Oh, he wasn't at his home. Oh, there were cameras. Oh, there was this man-
Lying. Always lying. Saving his skin for as long as she could. She didn't want to die. Didn't want him to die. He had offered to run. To move to another country. She'd declined. Said they'd find him wherever he went. He then offered to hide her. She had said no, said that they'd kill both of them then. Jack just had to accept that he was going to die. Rapunzel was supposed to bargain, beg, repent, refuse, but it never worked.
Nothing worked.
Her arms are tense as she clutches the wheel. Not relaxing. Lip quivering. Tears rolling off her chin. She's going fast. Jack sneaks a look at her car dashboard. Sure enough, she's twenty over the limit.
"Rapunzel."
Shakes her head. Silent pleas for him to ignore this. So he does. Leans back in his seat again. Looks straight ahead. Warning signs flash, construction signs. She dodges cones that are placed to warn the cars from proceeding.
He's calm. Collected. Every rational part of him screams to run away and he's firmly strapped in his seat. He places one hand on the car door to steady himself and that's it. He can already see it.
The unfinished highway that's a steep drop, at least a hundred feet, probably more, much more. Rapunzel keeps driving. Jack thinks of other things.
Jack be nimble.
From that height, he can see everything.
Jack be quick.
She presses hard on the accelerator and it soars, soars right over the highway that's unfinished and he can see everything, feel that feeling in his stomach that means he's high in the air.
Jack jump over the candlestick.
It plummets. Everything's a crunch of metal, glass, and screams. Maybe they're his. Maybe they're Rapunzel's. But one thing's for sure. He's not dead.
He feels pain, fresh pain from his wound, but also new ones. Blood drips down his scalp. His arm's at a weird angle. His leg's twisted. He can't hear anything over his hurting, aching body.
Pain. It's everywhere. Spreading. But all he is is worried. Where's Rapunzel? She's not in her seat. He thinks she crashed headfirst through the window because it's completely shattered.
Rapunzel- wake him up and let him know you're alive.
But she's not so she won't answer.
"Do you want to let me know that you're okay?"
No answer still. She's not there. Why did she have to lie, always lie?
He wants to hear her voice again. He won't.
She's dead.