Author's Notes: Confusing; implications, possibilities, [potentially] disturbing
Lenalee Lee does not know if she believes in God.
She looks down at the battered body of her brother and wonders if Heaven has a vendetta against her. She feels the breeze curl around her empty neck and thinks that whoever it is, they are determined to strip her of everything she has.
- - - -
Sometimes, she has nightmares.
The ribbons around her wrists are tight; they are so tight her fingers turn into blue stars and wither away. That man—that man with the polished boots and sharp eyes stares down at her, his face carved by the shadows. He is no man, he is a monster. She crumbles to the ground as he lets go of her throat disdainfully, before casting his gloves aside. Lenalee chooses to stay there with her face against the cold marble and her hair pressed up against her back, not unlike an embrace. As he walks away, she sees through the thick strands of her hair his heels rising and falling like tides. Click clack click clack.
Filthy
She hears him say, before she sinks into a sea of red.
- - - -
Spring breaks, and her mouth is warm against Allen's. Their teeth clash, which hurts, and his fumbled apology is almost soothing against the cut on her lip. She is about to laugh, but then she sees him. He is walking past the courtyard, back straight, his arm tucked against the small of his back. He turns ever so slightly. He smiles like a heartless man should, before he turns sharply and walks away.
Lenalee can barely feel Allen's hand on her arm, only the dig of her own fingernails as she scores her palm with fear.
She kisses him again, wishing he would erase the intrusive memories and the taste of ash and blood in her mouth.
- - - -
"Don't bother struggling again," he tells her nonchalantly as Lenalee curls around the thin fabric of her cell's cot. He shrugs his uniform back on, fingers climbing up the polished buttons. She closes her eyes and wishes to be anywhere but there. Even so her mind spirals back. Her hips are bruised, and by morning they bloom the color of rot.
Lenalee Lee wakes, stifling screams into the curve of her pillow.
- - - -
Lavi is a Bookman, so half the time she believes he suspects something. But his eyes are hooded, sleepy half the time, so Lenalee reserves her hope.
- - - -
When her legs were recuperating after her fight with the level 3, she looked dully down at the spots like blood-red targets and felt dull and useless. Being carried around like a porcelain doll certainly gave her enough time to think, though.
She felt herself grow heavy with resentment towards her brother, since she was so far away.
If he hadn't been so late—
Why did it take him so long—
What if he had stopped them from taking her—
The scars on her wrists and waist beg to differ. They are there every time she lets looks in a mirror, and they make her ugly.
- - - -
"Whore," his teeth have been sharpened to points, she notes without much feeling, only a flat sense of resignation curling in the pit of her stomach. Allen's fingers tighten around hers, and his eyes flash, but he offers her small comfort.
For the scars remain, ugly half-baked offerings of the crudest form of love.
God, she thinks cynically, is going out of his way to make her the ugliest being on Earth.
Disclaimer: I do not own D. Gray Man.