I see my error, yet to ruin move,
Nor owe my fate to ignorance, but love:
Your life I'll guard, and only crave of you
To swear once more- and to your oath be true.
—Ovid, from Metamorphoses, "Book VII"
The Courier looked apprehensively at the man repressed and gagged in front of her. A present? Fuckin', fuckin' son of a bitch. More like a big fat pain in the ass, she though bitterly, as expected from everybody's favourite despot. For God's sake. What the hell was she doing in goddamn Fortification Hill and why was she so chill around that bunch of misogynistic assholes? Why had she accepted the frigging Mark in the first place? Whose brilliant idea was it?
Oh. Riiiight.
Good job, Six. Just when you thought you couldn't be any dumber.
She clenched her fists tightly, white knuckles bulging, and bit her lower lip in a gesture of repressed rage. She looked at his profile; studying his features, stopping in those populated and symmetrical eyebrows and in that aquiline nose in which her lips used to plant soft kisses. She admired his tanned, firm and contoured skin and, oh, that smile. That smile of his.
He could sell sand in the fucking Mojave if he wished to.
She then frowned.
Fuck, why did everything have to be so hard? Why? That man with the prominent jaw and powerful chin would be the death of her. Worst of all, she knew it. She knew it perfectly well. She always had—always did.
She continued watching him; letting herself be carried away by all their time together and by the memory of that night's caresses. She would have never guessed that someone could ever make her feel that way. But, was there anything she knew about herself after all, especially with those severe memory lapses?
Before giving it a second thought, he—Benny—looked up. His gaze fixed on hers.
A cold sensation ran through her body like tumbleweed rolling across the desert; almost as if her blood was running cold. The Courier felt it climbing up her spine, digging into the two scars on the side of her head. The way those hazel eyes studied her face, the scent of his cologne… It made her feel uneasy. He parted his lips and a defiant grin spread across his face.
"Got something to say, kitten?" he spat out in disgust, "Don't just stare in dumb admiration."
It was like a reality check through the skull. Like a couple of blows to the head, making her experience a numbing delayed reaction.
Then she remembered that feeling and how it had left her shaking with anger. The Tops' suite was so big without him... Cavernous and empty. And oh, how helpless she had felt the morning after their reunion; cold lavender-scented silk sheets wrapping around her naked form…
Alone. Exposed. Lost in him. Down to the marrow of her bones. His. As it always would be.
It was then that she became aware of the full extent of his power over her.
Her pulse began to beat with a fierce rhythm. She felt sick and about to throw up. She turned and went towards the exit, ignoring the legionnaires and the Old Tyrant Bastard's grunt. All eyes on her. She was determined to make her way out of the tent with both her pride and dignity intact.
She ended up stumbling.
Six arrived crawling, clenching her teeth as she struggled to resist the pain in her ankle. She dropped the curtain of her makeshift tent and went straight to the corner table, where she rested her hands. She cursed herself, holding her breath and trying to contain her emotions.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
There were no other words to describe her. She couldn't, even if she wanted to. She was too stunned to do so. In her mind, a flood of emotions threatened to demolish the wall that had cost her so much effort to build.
The famous courier of the Mojave Express had already died once only to rise up from the dead, crawling out of her little own grave with her bare hands.
Six definitely didn't want to endure pain like that a second time.
She breathed again and then sighed, noticing her irregular pulse. She was tired, tired of looking for the long-lost missing pieces of an incomplete jigsaw puzzle. The Courier felt like an overloaded brahmin, carrying parts of a life that she no longer needed. Just in case, she used to tell herself… What a fool. Collecting tin cans began to seem infinitely more useful to her.
Fuck!
She clicked her tongue and blasphemed, then dropped her right fist onto the table as if it were a hammer. Six closed her eyes, leaning her hips against the desk and feeling a knot twist tightly in her stomach.
F-Fuck… Fuck.
How could she have been so stupid? She had let herself believe Benny's beautiful words and he had betrayed her… again. How could she have been such a fool?
She put her hands on her shoulders. Shivers went down her spine as she recalled their encounter and the way he had worshiped her body with his hands and mouth, as if she were the most precious thing in all the world to him.
And that's when Six allowed herself to go back in time to a simpler life; to a fairy tale where the girl had left everything behind to run away with the scoundrel and true love had triumphed.
But in the end, neither happy endings exist nor lovers live happily ever after.
Shit!
She looked like a prime example of the so-called "Old World Blues", didn't she? She swallowed hard, suppressing a moan in her throat. That was the final straw! It was ridiculous! Not only was she an idiot, but a gullible kid as well. Realizing that was the worst thing that could happen to her. Worse than that new fucked-up life of hers. Worse than dying for the second time. A bullet would hurt less.
"Or two," she muttered sarcastically, analyzing how absurd the situation had become.
She took another deep breath…
"Breathe in, breathe out, and count 'one'…
Breathe in, breathe out, and count 'two'… and so up to 'ten'…"
… And then got bored by the sixth time.
Sixth? Wow! Her lucky number! Wonderful! So Hilarious!
This time around, however, The Courier didn't laugh. Instead, she raised her fist in order to hit the desk again when a strong hand grabbed hers.
Soft lips brushed her ear and warm breath lingered over her flesh. And then, she heard it. That voice—his voice.
A voice she wished she didn't know so well.
"Your little scene is the current talk of the fort," the velvety voice spoke in a half whisper full of sensuality, "I am confident you must be so proud of something as vulgar as that." The voice chuckled. A low, charming chuckle. Six felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. "Although it is not surprising; especially coming from such an uneducated creature like you."
Six frowned and wrinkled her nose. She was definitely stupid. Something worse than realizing she was being "in denial"? Of course, fucking of course.
After all, there was nothing worse than that man.
Stupid, dirty and uneducated. Three simple words to describe the famous Guardian of the Wastes. NCR's dog and the raider's nightmare. A mere woman who, against all odds, had managed to arouse the interest of the mighty Caesar.
The truth is that The Courier was like a diamond in the rough. Vulpes Inculta knew it from the moment he saw her in Nipton. From the very first moment she parted her lips but the words stuck like glue to them; stunned by the magnificence of The Legion.
She was a precious gem buried deep within the rubble, an apparently rough and dirty stone. The rough diamonds are carefully cut and polished into something useful, he used to say with a whip in his hand; screams of the captives echoing in his head—music to his ears.
He was sure that it would take him time. After all, he would have to dismantle her, piece by piece, breaking her. And he would enjoy every minute of it. New blood. Fresh meat to sink his teeth into. He buried his nose in her irregular locks and inhaled her scent. Then rested his free hand on the edge of her curve and released his hot breath, burning her skin. "I hope you had a good reason to disregard a gift like that, you stupid cunt."
Six didn't move a muscle, nor did she fight against his firm grip. That despicable man wanted to see her trembling, trying to make a pathetic plea.
There was no way in hell she would give him that satisfaction.
Instead, she widened her smirk and remained silent, still feeling Vulpes' breath on the back of her neck. Finally, after a few seconds or so, The Courier turned around to face those icy, icy cold eyes.
"What's the matter, Inculta? The Son of Mars got offended and sent one of his loyal dogs to stand up for him? Boohoo. Too bad," she spat. Six stared into his eyes and tried to suppress a chill. The one she always felt every time she got lost in his hypnotic gaze. "Or is it that the wicked courier has become one of those headaches he cannot bear?"
In one quick move, the man's hand went from her wrist to her chin. He lifted her face, staring directly into her. "Do not tempt fortune," he whispered with apparent calm. His grasp said otherwise. "You may bear the Mark of Caesar. But if he wanted you dead, you would be dead already, profligate."
The girl remained silent, but a disdainful smile flitted across her lips. Oh, there it was. Of course! "Profligate". His favourite word. The Legion's stock-in-trade gratuitous insult. How she had missed it!
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them willing to look away. Eventually, Vulpes loosened his grip and took a few steps away from her, giving her his back. And then, he turned to Six again, eyeing her in a way that completely unnerved her. She could feel her heart beat against her ribs, as if it wanted to get out of her chest.
"What you looking at?" she snapped and turned pale. "What you looking at?" she repeated, trying to stifle the slight tremor in her voice. Her throat dry.
"Just thinking," he purred, "thinking about the beautiful sight of your back after receiving forty lashes," Vulpes smiled, showing his sharp pointed and curving canine teeth. "Just like that degenerate's. What a lovely pair."
The Courier swallowed at the mere mention of Benny and her face contracted involuntarily. Big mistake. After all, the first rule of hunting was pretty simple: the prey could not show weakness.
"What is it? Oh, have I said something I shouldn't have?"
He circled her, like a vulture flying over a corpse; his gaze fixed on her.
"Don't worry, nobody will put a finger on him. That honor belongs to you after all," he hummed. "Have you already thought about his punishment? Come on, Courier; I know you can be very witty if you want to. Or have you forgotten how you cleansed Cottonwood Cove with radiation?" he concluded amusingly. "It was a privilege to be your source of inspiration."
Six's gaze returned to Vulpes. She then shivered. Instead of a face full of resentment, she found herself staring at one overflowing with amusement.
Even without the grotesque coyote carcass adorning his body, she could see what he truly was.
A murderer. A psychopath. A real son of a bitch.
A monster.
She clenched her fists and sealed her eyelids. Anything to avoid having to see him.
"Tell me Courier, have you heard of Ovid's Metamorphoses? Oh, silly me. Of course not. I doubt you can even read," Vulpes gave a small, amused laugh and continued. "He wrote about a woman named Medea. She was a savage that lost her senses and her will to live when her husband decided to leave her for a younger, more fertile woman. Overemotional and pathetic, don't you think?"
He approached her and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Six felt the warmth of his hand against her and felt dizzy. Her stomach contracted involuntarily and she realized that she was aroused and disgusted all at the same time. She jumped away from him, trying to repress those feelings ricocheting inside her.
"You are all the same."
She lifted her head—eyes wide with surprise, lips parted in a mixture of astonishment and indignation. And then, in a passionate and impulsive response The Courier raised her hand and slapped Vulpes across the face, slamming his head sideways with the force of the blow. A clear mark of five red fingers appeared on the man's pale skin. Vulpes put his hand to his own cheek and, for a split second, Six could see confusion flickering in his blue gaze before rage took over his features. He turned on her, returning the slap twice as hard.
"You stupid, weak little whore," he spat. "Did you not learn anything from Nipton? Or is it that the desert sun has fried your neurons?" he took her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Don't worry, I can repeat it until that damaged head of yours learns how to behave."
The Courier couldn't think of anything to say. She didn't know what to do; she didn't know what to feel. Her brain wasn't functioning and she was speechless and stunned. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She couldn't believe what was happening.
Weak; that word alone was more than enough for reality to catch up with her. Neither stupid, not whore; not even her bruised cheekbone. Weak. She narrowed her eyes at Vulpes in a strange gaze full of hatred, repression and pain. That word was the tip of the iceberg of the stigma that she carried on her shoulders each and every day of her life. She breathed hard, trying to stay calm. She still had not recovered from his blow and her head was spinning. But did that even matter? All that she knew was that the legionnaire had accused her of being what she feared the most. Weak.
She parted her trembling lips to reply, but a low moan drowned in her throat. She protested, or so she tried. In fact, everything would have turned out differently if she had. But she didn't. Instead, his tongue moved across her lower lip, invading her mouth with impatience just a few seconds later.
"Got any objections?" he murmured, breaking the kiss and placing his lips near her ear. "Prove me wrong."
The torrent of repressed emotions arose like lava from a volcano, frightening her. But it was too late, Six was unable to stop. She grabbed him by the cheekbones, crashing her lips against his.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
She hated him. Everything he represented and all the atrocities he had committed. She hated him to the point of wanting to see him dead. She hated his regal demeanor, the fathomless depths of his gaze and even something as irrelevant as the width of his strong shoulders or the way his golden locks of hair fell over his forehead. She hated him, hated him more than she hated anyone; even more than Benny. That was the only absolute truth in her life.
But she hated herself more for craving his touch so badly.
In a quick movement Vulpes rested both hands around her waist, cornering her against the table and laying her on top of it. He attacked her throat, nibbling and sucking—marking her. He heard her cry out and felt her nails dig hard into his arms. He smiled, ignoring the pain and ran his tongue over the tooth marks, tracing the cavities he had left, licking the purple spots that had sprung around the milky column of her neck.
He continued kissing the hollow of her throat, biting the tender skin he found there. Six arched her back and tilted her head back to allow more access; then gave a breathy, steamy little moan. The circles he drew with his tongue prevented her from thinking clearly. She allowed a sight to escape her lips and ran her fingers through Vulpes' hair, pulling him closer as he abused her neck. He moved forward, putting his knee between her thighs and separating them effortlessly.
The Courier didn't resist. In fact, she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking them at the ankles and found herself pressing her hips against his in an erratic and impatient movement.
That reaction caught him by surprise. Vulpes tried, without success, to stifle a moan and cursed himself for letting himself be carried away by such primal instincts. He pressed up against her again, growling from the friction created between their clothed sexes.
"No wonder you have so many allies," he groaned, pressing the hardened member under his baltea against her, "especially if your persuading methods involve—"
"No," she interrupted, shrieking, "don't go there."
"Then, where do you want me to go?" he turned away and stared at her with those cold blue eyes, "What were you expecting?"
She withdrew her legs from his waist. Vulpes frowned, already missing those thick thighs around him.
"What do you want, Courier?" he demanded. "Answer me."
"I-I…"
Six parted her lips and looked away. She didn't dare to look at him, she didn't dare to meet his gaze. At least, not now. She felt that if she did, her eyes would give her away and her lips would disclose all that she had carefully retained so far. She was still confused and could not get Benny out of her mind—his betrayal, his caresses, his current martyrdom… Weak. The word resounded in her head. Weak and clingy. Like other women.
Except not.
She shook her head and brushed all those feelings aside. She wasn't like other women. She had goals, dreams and a brand-new life to live. If she were weak woman, she wouldn't be there to begin with. She wouldn't have crawled out of her grave and made her way to New Vegas or fucking Fortification Hill. If she were a weak woman, she would still be in the Tops' suite crying after Benny's departure. But you know what? She had struck out to make a life of her own and that was exactly what she was going to do.
She would prove Benny and all the fucking Mojave if need—she would definitely prove Vulpes what she was capable of.
"Destroy—" she murmured under her breath, "I want to destroy him; destroy everything."
She looked into his eyes, her gaze full of raw resolution.
"Help me, Vulpes."
Her tone was like an order rather than a plea and Vulpes realized that there was nothing in the world he would want more. And then his lips were on hers again; kissing her so fiercely that it was like he was unleashing all the repressed feelings that he never dared to show to anyone. She parted her lips almost automatically, devouring him with the same starved aggression.
His left hand run down the outside of her thigh, while the right one grabbed a dagger hidden in his armour to tear down the fabric of both her pants and underwear. Six gasped, feeling the cold breeze raising goose bumps across her now bare legs. It was when Vulpes removed his tunic and went inside her in one single thrust, earning another small cry of surprise from her.
He pressed his lips together and frowned; he felt the muscles in his back tense and exhaled deeply several times. She was very tight—tight and wet and hot. He blinked twice, feeling sweat running down his forehead. He wanted to endure, but he was so excited that he was afraid to explode if he moved.
Then she began to move, wrapping one leg around his waist and pressing herself against him, allowing him to penetrate her deeper. She had her head tilted back and her face was flushed and red—a vivid shade of crimson, like the colour of desire. Small, unintelligible sighs of need, came out of her throat and an undeniable feeling of sheer lust and vicious possessiveness ripped through Vulpes as he watched her.
"Eyes on me, I want you to memorize every detail," he demanded, moving inside her and earning yet another loud moan from the courier, "just so you're clear on who's fucking you."
"Do you always talk this much while fuck—Ahh! Fuck!"
Six whined, unable to finish the witty remark, as Vulpes pushed inside her once more, hitting her sweet spot with every thrust, making the table beneath them creak. His hand moved down her thigh to her crotch, massaging her core in slow—almost painful—circles.
She was speechless, numb and breathless; she had completely lost track of time and space. More moans and pleas came out of her mouth until she didn't know what she was saying. She couldn't think. She didn't remember anything.
All she could see, all she could feel was him—Vulpes—the Monster of the Mojave.
He continued shoving inside her until she reached her climax, wave after wave of pleasure chasing over her. She closed her eyes and felt stunned by the sudden burst of emotions that swelled inside her chest. She opened her mouth to scream, but any sound she could emit was overshadowed by Vulpes' grunts when he reached his orgasm. He gripped her harder, digging his nails into her generous thighs and buried his face in Six's neck to muffle the sound of his spasms before exploding inside her.
Eyes tightly closed, bodies interlaced with one another and their heartbeats pulsing in her ears.
Silence followed. A deadly, awkward one.
They remained silent, neither moving nor speaking for what seemed like forever.
The Courier frowned and drew a distrustful grin at what appeared to be the strangest afterglow embrace in the world. Heck; is that what it was? A frigging cuddle? No wonder it felt so bizarre. After all, hugging was for lovers. The same as kissing and spooning each other for warmth. It wasn't for… Whatever they just did. Basically, because Vulpes didn't strike her as the cuddling type. It was therefore impossible for her to imagine his name and the word "embrace" in the same sentence. And yet, there she was, with her head resting against his chest while she regained her breath and balance. Her right hand landed next to her head and she felt his erratic heartbeat drumming in her fingertips.
Well, she'd be damned; there was something beating deep in his chest after all. Who would have thought?
"S-so what happened…?" she finally muttered; her cheek against the legionnaire's rough armour.
"Mmm?"
"What happened in the end? I mean, to that woman—Medea".
"She chose the path of revenge," he pulled away, staring into her eyes with those cold eyes and smiled. "What else could such a barbaric woman have done?"
He approached her ear and whispered, "What's interesting it's not what she did, but rather how…"
Even though he was no longer inside her body, his strong arms were still wrapped possessively around her waist. Six bit her lip and inhaled his scent, filling her nostrils with a combination of sweat, iron and leather. She continued to listen attentively while her gaze wandered around the tent before it settled on the junction of her thighs; his seed still dripping from her, drenching the scraps of denim and cotton that still partially covered her legs. Fuck, I liked those pants…
"After being abandoned, she didn't give up until she found him—not until she cornered her prey. In fact, she moved heaven and earth until they met again and, when they did, she became his executioner," he muttered. "She murdered their children and didn't cease until she reached her goal of reducing him to the state he had left her. She stripped him of his dignity and crushed his pride with an iron hand—she deprived him of everything that was important to him."
Vulpes' hand went up to her lower back; the warmth of his palm burning her like a brand. "And then she fled, not caring in the slightest about his fate."
The Courier furrowed her brow and her skin bristled as she realized how familiar the story sounded. She narrowed her gaze, analyzing the implications of his words. Caesar had been very clear about Benny's impending punishment. She remembered his words, his broad English accent echoing in her head; "you get to decide how Benny dies."
How Benny dies.
There was no room for doubt. Neither double meaning nor ambiguity. Then, what the hell was Inculta thinking? She looked at him, eyes full of suspicion, but stumbled across an emotionless face. She parted her lips to ask, to enquire about the fucking mind game that he was playing with her, but—
"After all, death would have set him free, but she didn't give him that satisfaction."
She noticed how his hands gripped her hard one last time before moving away without even looking at her. He then fixed his clothes and walked towards the exit.
"Do not keep Caesar waiting."
He gave her one last impassive look before disappearing.
A couple of hours later, she pushed aside the heavy curtain, entering Caesar's tent. It wasn't long before she realized she was alone. Almost. She started walking towards a specific spot—a seemingly random spot—without giving it any extra thought. Her steps were certain and precise, her heart beated loud as thunder and his figure was illuminated by a dim light.
"Have you just come to gloat? Wasn't once enough?" he whispered piteously, his bloodshot eyes full of hatred. "I wonder how many of those fuckers you have screwed in order to be able to walk freely around this shithole—Damn!" Benny stirred and spat blood out on the floor.
"I've missed you too, Benny," she couldn't help but smile at his comment. He was scared and nervous but he still tried to pretend otherwise. Typical macho reaction—so typical of Benny! "Especially after that night. Do you remember? Because I do. As well as the ones we shared before you… You know." She formed two fingers and her thumb into the shape of a gun, then lifted it to her scarred temple theatrically. "Bang, bang," she said quietly.
Silence enveloped them; those two last words echoing deep in his brain.
"D-don't just stand there looking stupid. What do you want?"
"Tell me, Benny, honey," she crouched by his side. "How about I untie you?"
"What do you expect me to say? No thanks?"
She grinned, that's why she liked Benny. How could she forget that arrogance? As intelligent and humble as Narciso, who was killed by his own egocentric stupidity, she thought while chuckling.
"No one likes a tease, baby." He tensed by her lack of response. "B-baby?"
She approached him and ran her hand over his cheekbone, the way she used to years ago. Benny tried to suppress a chill, without success.
"Don't worry, darling. I'm being totally honest here… I've always been, remember? Unlike you." She pouted her lips and ran her finger along the length of his neck, caressing the veins she found there. "What I mean to say is…"
"Yeah? What about it?"
"You're a dirty traitor—a rat—you know? I gave you my life, I supported you and I took part in that stupid plan of yours… For what? Come on, tell me, Benny."
"Tell me!" She clenched her fists and ground her teeth together.
"Shhh! S-Sammy, baby, keep it down… Please, Sammy."
"Oh, for fucks sake. Don't you "Sammy" me now! You didn't even pronounce that name when you had me on all fours a few days ago. Don't fuck with me!" She inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. "I should thank you, you know? If it were not for you—for everything you've done to me—I would have never realized how miserable you are."
He shivered and swallowed hard.
"Oooh, Benny, honey, don't tremble," she ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to kill you; at least not now." She whispered in a low voice, her lips brushing gently along his ear. "I have better plans for you."
"I'm going to destroy it, Benny. Everything and everyone. Swank, Hadrian, Bruce, Billy… All of them; all and each of the Boot Riders—I mean, the Chairmen. That's how you call yourselves now, right? I will destroy everything you worked so hard to build—everything that made you so proud." She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look up at her. "Eye for an eye and bullet for a bullet, Benny. The whole world will go blind. Everything we were, everything we knew and everything we cared about will burn."
Benny's stomach twitched anxiously with Six's words. His brown eyes wide with fear, his lower lip throbbing.
"Oh, don't look at me like that, baby. This is nothing new. In fact, you always took me for a fool, don't you? A crazy and hysterical fool." The corners of her mouth curled up into a crazy and eerie grin. "I understand very well the terrible acts that I'm going to commit, but my judgement can't control my anger, and that is exactly what incites the greatest evils that human beings do."
"And when the time comes, you will be free to run whenever you want. Scramsville or Hell itself—you name it." Her fingers left his handsome face as she stood up. "I won't go after you. You're not worth it."
She held her breath, restrained her thoughts and observed with delight the expression that had registered on the man's face. If she had stopped for a moment—just for a very small moment—she would have realized whose words and actions she was mimicking. Whether she realized it or not, it didn't matter. At that very moment, she was far too absorbed in her desire for bloodlust and retribution to even realize it.
It is said that, that revenge is empty and unsatisfactory, right? Oh, how wrong they were! It was insane, reckless, and she didn't care. She only knew she was enjoying every moment of it and that she had never felt more alive. She hadn't experienced such a sensation since… since Cottonwood Cove.
"Goodbye Benny. We will meet again… Soon."
She got up slowly, hearing Benny complain about Godknowswhat; she just caught something about "those Legion boys hoisting him up". I hope you enjoy it, then, she spoke between her teeth and headed for the exit, but not before giving him a cold, cold look.
The Courier Six then left the tent and looked up at the sky, at that orange dome where myriad tiny stars started to materialize, shimmering high across the fluorescent expanse.
And thus, she breathed again.