A/N: a short story per manga chapter, focused on alex/nic. chapter titles will most likely be pulled out from song lyrics, because im absolute shit at titling things. rating may go up in a few chapters, we'll have to see bout that in the future
o1 / alex
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Barry's steps echo out, into another alley, another dark street, and Alex sits up, leaning against the wall. Her cheek is stinging, still warm from the heat of his ringed hand, but she keeps her face level, impassive. She's still glad she can feel something, anything, even if it hurts. It means she's not yet gone, it means she's still alive, still here, even if she'd sometimes wish she weren't.
Above, behind the glass pane of a window, someone steps away. A phone is ringing, unheard.
A woman is only beautiful when she's happy, someone once told her, though she can't remember who, why, or when. Her nose drips red as stained hands hurriedly buckle a belt, and she waits until he's gone to stumble out of the alley, knees sore.
Barry won't buy her a new dress, and she hates wearing the other one, so she tries to wipe her nose on her hand. Her blood smudges, leaving a trail, from the wrist bone to her knuckles, and Alex wonders what she would look like if she were to open them, let the life flow from her arms like the desire to live from her soul.
And then a fleck of white settles atop her head, and she looks up, letting the fabric slip between her fingers, admiring how soft it feels. She's too used to roughness, nowadays, and it hardly surprises her to find no one when her eyes lock onto the upper floor.
She keeps it in her hands when she prays.
Barry's bloody face leers up at her even in death, and Alex thinks, when she shoots him, wasn't this supposed to make me feel liberated? It doesn't. It makes her feel sick to her stomach, and she wallows into another side-street, wiping her eyes, expecting to feel the smooth cut of the dark-haired man soon, anytime now, but—
All that comes is a heavy, warm arm around her shoulders, and a bright, warm grin, surrounded by blond hair. All that comes is a clean kick into the police car's lights, and a rough, choppy voice, threatening someone else for her sake.
She signs, thank you, from the alley, and Nic doesn't reply, but when she climbs the stairs, he doesn't leave, either. At least, not right away.