Everyone was wrong, everyone was lying.
Even Elle, lying under him, kissing him back as she curved her leg around his hip, let him twine his fingers with hers, looking up at him like she trusted him.
An angel with a broken watch…and a secret agenda.
He pulled back, kissed her one last time, and then watched her face crumble as he told her exactly what was wrong. He wasn't good, he wasn't going to be good, and what's more – she wasn't either. She was everything her father had made her, and she wasn't going to change. He wouldn't change either.
The little gasp she let out as he traced his finger through the air nearly made him stop. The line appeared on her forehead, and she didn't struggle. She just stared at him with her big, blue eyes, little tears rising and pooling in the corners.
She could have said his name, could have begged him, could have sent electricity up his arm…but she didn't. She just curled her fingers around the hand that still held her and looked at him.
He shook his head, continued cutting. Fuck her, fuck her for coming into his life and ruining everything. Making him feel like she might love him, cooking for him and bringing him a pie, fuck her for bringing that boy to his ihome/i and turning him into a monster.
He'd seen her face when Bennet reminded her of what he'd done to her father. That the iGabriel/i she'd panicked for only hours ago had killed her father.
She hadn't forgiven him, not like he thought she had.
Beneath him, Elle's eyes started to flutter, little glimpses of blue behind her eyelashes, and her body jerked, an unconscious, last try for her body to save itself.
Her little hand never let go of his fingers.
She was sighing now, little breathy words he couldn't understand. He had to lean in, had to know what she was saying.
"Sorry…'m sorry…" her eyes blinked shut, her bent knee giving out as her leg straightened out, "…love."
His hand dropped almost without thought. She…she wasn't lying…no. No fucking way.
He touched her cheek, her pale skin growing wet from her blood as it dripped from her scalp. She was still breathing, just barely, her chest hardly moving as her body fought what she'd already accepted. What she'd accepted the minute she saw his hand go up, the hate in his eyes.
Oh god, he'd fucked up. She hadn't been lying, hadn't been stringing him alone. Bennet…Bennet had manipulated both of them. Had manipulated Elle since she was a little girl – he could get her to do anything. Got her to bring that boy to his apartment…but she'd fought against him. She'd come back and she had forgiven him.
She'd told him as much earlier that day, lying against him, looking down at him. He'd seen it in her eyes…she was already planning. They could have had a little house, she could have decorated their living room and he could have had a room just for his books…they could have gotten a pet.
Could have had a family.
And the look in her eyes when she'd seen the red dot ghost across his face, how she'd known what it meant and pulled him away. She'd taken a bullet he was almost certain was meant for him.
Elle's hips jerked and he moved away from her. He pulled his hand away from hers…how her little fingers were still clutching at him, he didn't know.
Oh shit, he'd made such a mistake. He didn't mean…didn't think…
He'd never done this before, didn't know what to do as he clawed at his wrist, opening a vein and then staring at her. Was he supposed to make her drink it? How was he supposed to this?
He wasn't bad, he wasn't. He watched a few drops of blood drip from his wrist as the skin knit together.
Fuck.
Elle's head rolled to the side, the blood dripping down into her face, dying her blonde hair a horrible red. Her chest was barely moving now, her limbs laid out limply across the sand where he'd kissed her not twenty minutes ago.
He'd never felt this before, this absolute sense that he'd made a horrible, horrible mistake. He'd felt guilt before, knew guilt as well as he knew the back of his hand, but had never felt this gaping sense of loss before.
He clawed again at his smooth, healed wrist, then squeezed around the cut, let the blood pool in the cut across Elle's forehead. His skin knit shut, and he ripped it open again, watching his blood mix with Elle's blood.
Elle let out a gasping sign, her chest rising and then falling.
And then she didn't breathe again.
No, no, no…this wasn't how things were supposed to work. He thought he'd had her earlier, had told she was his. Had seen the hope in her eyes.
He was so easily controlled, so easily manipulated, for someone who was supposed to be able to understand things, he'd let Bennet play him like a drum.
Now Elle was gone and he…fuck it, he was going to kill them all. Going to take them apart one by one. Forget Claire's healing, he'd find a way to take her out too.
He walked down the beach awhile, alone and cold and covered in blood. Alone. Again. He found the remnants of a beach party, a half empty case of beer, dirty cans strewn around, what had been a fire pit, circled with rocks and full with half burnt branches.
And a container of fire accelerant, like you'd put on your fire to get it burning nice and hot.
He picked up the nearly full bottle, staring at it, turning it in his hand. Probably the kids who'd been here had grilled hot dogs, made marshmallows, laughed and talked with their friends.
He was sick of everyone else having fun.
He took the accelerant and the leftover beer back to where Elle was laid out on the beach, her little body looking even smaller in his shirt, covered in her blood. Fuck it, she wasn't coming back. He'd done exactly what Bennet had wanted, had played Bennet's game perfectly.
He doused her leg first, soaking the bandage that he'd wrapped around her leg. He'd been so worried when she'd been shot…
No, no he wasn't going to think about it. He was going to take care of this, torch the body, and get the fuck out of here.
He knelt down, dumped the liquid on her stomach and soaked her shirt before he threw the can off to the side. He lit his hand up with her electricity; let the sparks cover his fingers and dance.
You'll be a gun slinger in no time…this time, give it some attitude. Some English.
They're all trying to make you into something.
We can't take what we want anymore…
He flicked his hand, getting ready to throw the sparks down onto her gasoline soaked body just as her body gave a shuddering shake, and her eyes flew open.
She panted, her head whipping up to look at him, kneeling next to her with a growing ball of lightning cupped in his palm.
"Gabriel…" she breathed, her little hands scraping along the beach as she scrambled away from him, her eyes wide.
The electricity in his palm went out and he reached for her, but she flinched, tears rolling down her cheeks, "You hurt me," she said softly, wiping a shaky, sand covered hand across her bloody forehead. She glanced down at her clothes, at his dress shirt that she'd flung on earlier, so happy to be with him, in his arms. "You…you were going to…" her eyes went from him to the empty can of accelerant, back to him.
"This isn't all my blood," she murmured, realizing as she touched her forehead again, "You…you never forgave me. You never trusted me, never…"
"I'm so sorry," he said, reaching for her again. She was too tired to scramble away any further, let herself fall limply back to the sandy beach.
"Please don't," she begged, "Please…"
"You called me Gabriel," he said.
"You saved my life," she returned, "You put me in the elevator…"
"I killed you."
Elle stared at him, unblinking. She nodded, "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For whatever you think I did. I swear. I swear I don't know anything I haven't told you. I'm sorry for before, I'm sorry…"
"Elle, stop apologizing," he pushed her bloody hair back away from her face, and she shudders under his touch.
She's afraid of him.
"Let me take you someplace for the night," he finally said, and she glanced around the empty beach before nodding slowly.
He carried her across the beach until he found a road. They were on the outskirts of a town, but he could see a Motel 6 in the distance. He cradled her close to him, aware that this was the last time she was going to let him touch her (and the last time he deserved to touch her). She fell asleep against his chest, exhausted.
He broke into a room instead of paying – they're both drenched in blood and gasoline and he's pretty sure no one is going to rent them a room. He laid her on the bed and tried to clean her off with a wet towel, but didn't take her shirt off.
Finally, exhausted himself, he dropped to the bed next to her, curling her body against him and falling asleep.
In the morning when he wakes up, she's gone, and there's a note on hotel stationary laid across the pillow.
I forgive you. When you're ready, you know how to find me.
TBC??? Maybe?