Prologue.
...
It's silent.
Eerily so.
Thick, poisonus. Silence.
The kind of silence that lays itself on one's skin, and engulfs the whole space rapidly like laybrinth vines. It seeps into her blood, her brain, her heart. It makes it beat too hard and too fast and too eratically and she swears she can taste blood on her tongue.
Metalic.
It tastes metalic. Like old, dusty bronze. It sticks to the roof of her mouth, makes it's way to her nose and she can smell it now. It's all over the air. It's neauseating. She's going to be sick. She can feel it from the way her stomach churns, and her throat becomes smaller and smaller until it collapses within itself. And the world spins round and round and round.
Her feet move back impulsively. A pair of unconditioned, wobbly things. And she's certain she's going to fall. Until she feels her back hit the wall, and she slides down like molten grease till she's on the floor. Her knees pulled against her chest like a child hiding from the dark.
Her eyes are trained forward. They're the only parts of her that she has any control over right now. She can feel the sting of tears somewhere behind them, hot and unrelenting. Either from sheer panic or fear or whatever other feeling is that's coursing through her very blood. But she's not going to let herself cry, she's afraid to even let herself blink.
Brown eyes look back at her. Wide, stubornly determined. Determined not to be scared, determined not to cry. Failing. Miserably.
Emma can see the fear peaking from behind them. It's in the restlessness in them. The way they won't settle on just one thing. Jumpy. Here, there- everywhere.She can see her lower eyelids, watery, wet. Tears just waiting for her to so much as think of blinkingso they can make their way out.
The silence stretches between them. Full of unspoken words and unasked questions. It covers any and all space so much so that it's all they can hear. It's too present. It's too loud. It's suffocating and she feels like if she doesn't talk in the next seconds, she might lose what little is left of her mind. Or worse.
"What-" her voice comes out trembling and clipped, like a faulty instrument. She shuts her mouth, swallows against the taste on her tongue. Then she tries again, "what are we going to do?" She whispers.
Brown eyes blink, wiping away her tears before they've even had a chance of falling. "We'll get rid of it." Her voice is sure, to the point. Like she's stating the weather.
It's sunny outside.
It's warm today.
We'll get rid of this body of a dead man in the middle of our living room.
Emma feels her eyes widen with panic. "We can't do that!"
"Then what do you suggest we do?" She hisses. Her voice showing lingering threats of anger.
"I don't know, go to the cops or something."
"And tell them what?" Regina asks like she's entirely too stupid. "There's a dead man, in the middle of our living room. With his head split half open. Our bags are packed and there are tickets with our names on it and you were seen fighting with him, yesterday in front of a public place. Tell me again Emma, tell me how we're supposed to go to the cops."
"We'll say it was self defense." it sounds flimsy. Even to her own ears.
"No one is going to believe that!"
"But it's the truth!"
"The truth doesn't matter. God Emma, this is the worst time for you to think of things as black and white."
Her brown eyes are blazing. More angry that reluctantly scared now and Emma places her head between her knees. her palms moving to cover her ears to drown out the noise of her heart pounding back and forth almost in an effort to break out of her.
"Emma." The voice sounds distant. Far away, like an echo in a too large room. "Emma please. You can't check out on me right now. I need you."
It's the last part that makes her raise her head. It's more of a plea than a sentence. Three words drowning in vulnerability. She takes in a huge breath, too much and too fast and it hurts her chest but she welcomes the pain. She needs it. It's a distraction. She's never been that great of a multi tasker and she can't be in pain and think at the same time. And right now pain is the better option.
"What do you need me to do?" Her voice sounds more sure, more put together than she actually feels.
if relief had a look, it would be etched in Regina's face right now. Her whole being slacks and her face softens and her eyes regard Emma with something she feels underserving of right now. So she looks away and steadies herself with a hand on the wall and gets up, her muscles hurting as she does.
(Good, more pain.)
"There's bleach in the bathroom, under the sink. Get it. And towels, as many as you can grab."
"Bleach."
Regina nods. "And towels."
...
I wrote this a while ago. It's darker than anything I've ever written. But I had fun with it so..Idk if it's too dark though.
A bulk of the chapters (If I post them) take place in the past. Detailing how exactly they got to this point. Then the second part deals with how they move past it.