Sick Veins
She sat on the edge of the bed, sheets strewn about on the floor from a night of humid thrashing.
Alone, though never really alone are you , Jill Valentine?
Head lifting, her frosted gray stare shifted to the wallpaper of the hotel room. British, late 20s. The place would have been a dump had it not been for the wooden flooring that creaked its happy tones under her feet between treading to the bathroom then back to the bed. Musty smells in her nostrils, the room had been lonely for some time. Lack of humanity. Lack of Jill's sunshine until now.
He sang it at one time in muffled tones against ghostly blonde strands clean from a shower. Sang how she was his sunshine. Bourbon always did that to him after binge drinking. Progenitor had a funny sense of humor, a sick one at that. The ghost was let out of the locker to breathe only to be drowned again once the poison had lost its effects.
"He always sang off key." She laughed to herself. To him. To the walls.
You liked it.
"I did." Eyes burning, her long surgeon's fingers lifted to wipe away the tears attempting to find their way free.
No more tears.
"I'll cry if I want to." She hissed to the silence.
It's your party?
"Don't sing." Her stomach rolled inside her hollow form. Hunger hadn't caught her attention half as much as this phantom and its words had. Fingers wandering down to her naval, she pressed both hands hard against the pain. No effect. Lump pain.
Starving isn't punishing me, dear heart.
Eyes flicking their gaze, she nipped at her bottom lip in thought. "Let you watch me die the same way I watched you die every day." Wobbling to her feet, she managed her way to the table next to the television that ranted its adoration of Chris Redfield in the local news channel. Godiva chocolates, a still wrapped sandwich and Sprite. Her nose wrinkled at all three in dismay. It wasn't enough…
"A hero for the modern age!" The newscaster said with glee.
Jill's 'Oh really?' look spread across her face in as a distorted fashion as cold butter goes on a slice of bread.
Without warning, the television was out the window. Drywall chipped, cables shredded and outlet cover cracked in half. Far below, the beautiful sound of destroyed glass and a car screeching to a stop hit the air like a cannon. Staring down, she abandoned the balcony swiftly after.
Mature, but thank you for standing up for me.
"Shut up. You're dead." Valentine replied, picking up the sandwich. At this point, she couldn't decide if it was withdraws from P30 or she was truly haunted. Haunted would be unfair, she wasn't Chris. Taking a bite out of the stale food, she chewed slowly. Maybe she'd been chosen because nobody else was worth haunting.
Tossing the can of Sprite in the trash can, she gave it a kick for good measure across the narrow hallway. "It's been… fifteen hours."
Keeping count already? I'm touched.
Sitting back on the bed, the springs gave her a growl of retort for the sudden weight applied. "Fifteen hours, seven minutes."
Freedom isn't what you thought it would be?
"Without you… It's worth losing." She grumbled, stuffing the sandwich in her mouth as it was decided that socks were not welcome on her pale feet.
Still my sunshine.
"Shut up. You're dead."
Maybe I'm not?
Sandwich retrieved from her mouth as she scooted back onto the bed, the blonde woman sighed. "You're dumb."
I know.
"You should have just taken over New Jersey. Nobody would have cared and I wouldn't be alone now."
He laughed. That laugh only heard when they played checkers in the park. That had been years ago now. Back when they both stared at the sea dwelling in the eyes of one another. He was the Atlantic, she was the Arctic.
Rising and closing the balcony doors, she shook her head. Flicking out the light on the nightstand, she tossed the sandwich in another squatting trashcan next to the bed. It would suffer later from another outburst of Jill playing trashcan soccer. She curled up on the only chair in the room, staring out at the star littered night sky. No moon in the sky tonight.
Too busy mourning losing its mate, she thought. A moon without a wolf is no moon at all. Waxing and waning is pointless without one to howl its joy.
Face burying into her knees, the gates finally relented. Stinging hot tears spat from the ducts and rode her cheeks. Lava tears, painful until she went numb. "I am nobody now…"
You're a nobody too? That makes two of us now.
"Don't tell… they'll banish us."
Too good to be somebody.
"It must be boring to be like a frog."
Telling your name all the live long day.
"Dickenson…. You gave me her book that day."
You burned it out of defiance.
"I read it first."
Did not know that.
"You didn't know jack shit about me." She garbled, fingerpads treading over bony knuckles.
That's not true. I know lilacs are your favorite.
"So does everyone else."
Nobody else took them to your grave.
"I remember that."
I know that a Jill Sandwich is a nutter butter with sprinkles.
She laughed at that, head lifting and the sound cracking the silence like a sledge. "In my own insanity I find peace." His hands found her shoulders, working away the stress. No gloves. It was always rare. Soon enough, he was at the foot of the chair. Two oceans staring at one another.
"I know that I am not who I should have been."
"Me either." She breathed.
"This world never was good enough for either of us."
"Birds of paradise in guilded cages." She whispered, a hand reaching out to touch his cheek. He was warm, but he'd always been warm. Now it didn't feel like she stuck her hand on a cooling skillet.
"We shed our feathers for teeth after Umbrella."
She tipped her head away, staring out the window. "You did… I died."
"Then you lived again, because I loved you." He rose, pale blonde swept back out of habit. Barely inches from her face, he stared. The P30's wearing off had twisted this phantom now. He never would have said that before. Except that one time…
Who cared? Not her.
She didn't hesitate, lips fusing to his in an act that was too good for the world to ever view. Their mouths that tried to mend wounds found some peace in heated tongues. Digits lacing around to the nape of his neck, she held tight. Tugged from the chair, they were soon on the bed.
Black shirt and white tanktop were gone in mere seconds. Fusion again, though now more than just lips. Chest to chest, fingers locking with that of the other, it had been long overdue. Pajama pants were wormed free of, two sizes too big now that she had no appetite. Graceful fingers drummed along the taunt muscle lining his left side. He squirmed. He always squirmed when she did that.
One hand wretching free, she grasped onto his hair. A tug on her part and his head arched back. He allowed her the little victories. It was all she'd ever had to cling to while they were together. Bare legs wrapped around his waist, she grinned like a wild animal.
An amused sound escaped him as she attempted to push him back. One hand meeting the nape of her neck and he pushed forward. Their little games- always a battle with many terms that neither would betray. It had always been that way between them. Two ships passing in a night filled with fire and brimstone with small moments of this. Always that way, yet nobody took note of it.
Mouth meeting hers once more, his tongue begged for entry. She allowed it after a little coaxing of wagging fingers against her ribs.
It had always been this way. Or had it?
What did it matter now?
Pale blue ice stared up at him once he released her and allowed her head to fall back onto the bed. Rising, his black combative pants were removed swiftly. Nothing beneath. She always appreciated his lack of undergarments. Less time wasted between Excella's meetings when the P30 was low and lust was an acid tab both were tripping on.
He crawled back onto the bed, stopping short of her as she yanked the lacy pair of panties that always adorned her round rump.
"You caught me staring that one day."
"I never saw that pair of black lacy ones again…" She replied with the cheshire's grin.
"They're at the bottom of a volcano now if you want to go retrieve them."
She laughed again, white lacy bra unfastened and tossed to the floor. Sitting up, her fingers traveled to the flesh stretching between his thigh and member. He inhaled sharply, though that delicious grin was stretched across his perfect face.
A single freckle resided on that patch of flesh. It probably was the only one on his body, but he would never let her investigate between his toes so she could be sure. She loved it. Named it Frankie. Didn't speak to him for a month when Excella badgered him to get rid of it and he didn't smash the woman's face into the nearest wall. Worst month. It snowed a lot and she sat in it trying to freeze to death. He sat with her for a while at times, then drug her in by her arms when it began to get dark. P30 did these things to her brain. He didn't break her fingers for it, she wasn't at fault. Just the fingers of the twats too stupid to figure out why it made her behave so strangely. He would have figured it out. Her black knight would have saved her again.
But he was dead.
Such thoughts were shoved aside as she came back from the past. His fingertips played a silent tune against the edge of her face, simply watching in wonder. P30 knew what she always wanted and it wouldn't fail in the twilight of its existence.
Lips finding his once more, her hands wandered over the inside of his thighs. His wandered to the backs of her arms, pulling her up and to him. The room was cold, she was warm.
Her forearms were crushed between them. An annoyed sound made on her part and he loosened. She never liked it when he got in the way of her working him over until he was melting in her hands. The blonde man was the same.
There was something he wanted to say, he was sure of that. It was cut off by her long fingers lacing over his shaft and stroking it eagerly. He loosened further on his grasp of her and her lips found his collarbone. Love bites and a wanton tongue wandering over the skin caused him to release her. She rose and shoved him back. Demanding woman always got her way.
It was different than Excella. There was no whining, nothing pathetic.
It was primal. Genetic superiority finding other genetic superiority.
Something the Italian never could understand.
He could.
Jill could.
Her tongue flicked over the length of his shaft, a pleased sound freeing itself from her throat. He always tasted good, better than the chocolates on the table. He was the blood after a long hunt that left her sweaty and exhausted. A reward that few ever could comprehend.
Laid back, eyes shut, the blonde man exhaled sharply. Fingers finding her long strands of blonde, he gently swept them from her face. Too gentle. P30 wasn't playing its part. Her head tipped as she bit him right on the thigh. A wince and growl from him and her hair was tugged sharply. Much better.
He was probably the easiest lock that she'd ever come across. Tongue wagging along the base was soon followed by long laps along the shaft of the member. Lips encompassing the head of his member, she swirled her pink little tongue over and over until he whined and bucked his hips.
Too easy. It was almost not fun anymore.
Without warning, the hand grasping her hair shoved her head down onto him as far as she would allow. A pleased sound escaping both of them and she bobbed her head repeatedly, stimulating him. He hardened against the roof of her mouth. A feeling that she'd wrapped around her thoughts on more than one occasion when alone.
Pulling off of him at last, she slipped back to the headboard. He followed quickly, a panther looking for a morsel. Lips fusing with hers, a free hand found its way over her chest. Feathery touch over one of her stiff nipples always made her squirm. His retort to her teasing.
Unfair man.
Right hand urging his teasing palm down between her legs, she bathed her tongue over his own. Fragmented tastes of his own body on her tongue did arouse him but he would never tell. Neither would she.
One finger played over her entrance, thumb grazing the pearl. It would drive her insane in minutes. He'd been popped upside the head for such a cruel game on more than one occasion. It made him laugh when he angered her, especially during these moments. Only made her try to make him pay and pay he did. Walking was a nightmare one of those da-…
"Stop it." She hissed, hips rocking under his hand. Attention back to her, two digits sank inside of her sex.
"Sorry, dear heart." He whispered, lips working against her jawline. Thumb probing over the tiny bundle of nerves soon was rewarded with a low moan. Fingers gently worked within, it was by the numbers now.
Dragging his hand free, she wrapped her legs about his hips.
"Now?"
"Now…" She replied under hooded lids.
"Say please."
WHAM!
Red marking smeared itself across the side of his face from her strike. It'd only taken her a few weeks in the beginning to get used to doing it. He suffered from being a leader, with many of the same symptoms that others did. She made sure never to break skin.
He chuckled, head tilting to stare at her. The blue was gone, replaced by the hellish felines. "As you wish." He whispered, lips meeting hers once more before he shoved his girth inside of her.
Nails clawed, teeth scorned flesh. They had always been a pair of wild wolves as they practiced beneath the moon.
A shame that Fate was unkind. The moon bathed herself in red in Africa. Much as Jill would in the years to come.
She rolled away after, sweaty and exhausted. "You're leaving again." The words burned like a hot brand.
No sound of reply, though she swore she felt his hand on her pale hip.
Eyes squinting shut, Jill sighed deeply. "I'm going to die every day waiting for you, aren't I?"
Still no reply, and when she rolled back over to gaze at those savage eyes…
Alone.
It never was enough…
The empty vial of P30 stared at her from the nightstand as she settled back on the pillow.
Seventeen hours…
Five minutes…
Twelve seconds…
Hope you enjoyed reading. ;D Will be working of 'Fathoming You' and 'Requiem of Paradise' soon. 3