And if you knew just how I felt, you could kill me, with just one look.
-iwrotethisforyou
This fic is written for my dear neesan, doroniasabi. I hope you like it!
~ THE NAMELESS ~
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WARNING NOTES
This fic will contain mature themes, such as smoking, drugs, blood, guns, implied underage sex, rape, and things like that. Please be aware of this before reading. Also, most of this is written in third person without a name, since Calisto/Shih-na never was revealed to have a name. I didn't want to destroy this, since it feels wrong.
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For her, life was the very essence for boredom. Maybe for those who had a place in this society it wasn't so, maybe for those who had something to gain, something to live for, it wasn't so. But she wasn't any of those people. She did not have anything to live for, or any sort of goal, any sort of desire.
But why the fuck not? She might as well have lived on. Being born into a middle class family with a doting elder brother, with parents who still care, and self-talents that can't be called ordinary, she has things that proves that God, or whoever else was up there in the sky that was in charge of deciding people's fates, must have been saying that she could be great (with a bit of work). She could be awesome. She could be somebody. Not just a face in a crowd.
That thought appalled her and almost, to a point, disgusted her, but it was also the same point that saved her from jumping off the next building she could see.
Which was––what did they call it?—irony.
Holding the cigarette in two of her fingers, she took a long drag and watched the smoke rise into the air and felt the taste down inside her. Downright addicting.
Damn this weather. She sneezed, and that reminded her just how much she hated the cold. It was only to be expected, being early December, but she never really got used to it, even with a thick coat weighing down her shoulders.
Laughing to herself, she moved to sit outside the fire escape door and lean against the faded red paint, and decided to stare out to beyond the street where her fancy private school lay and allowed her mind to wander.
She fished out a pair of dark sunglasses from her coat pocket and put them on, instantly feeling a bit better, for some strange unexplainable reason.
The smell of cigarettes was hypnotising, alluring, yet it made her want to puke out her intestines, if that was a good way to describe it. Sure, she'd tried a few drugs out before, but they couldn't compare. They gave her a thrill, yes, and her heart was kept racing, mind gone, eyes lucid, but she still preferred the lulling of cigarettes if that made any sense.
After about half an hour of random sitting around and staring into space (which was surprisingly adapting into her daily routine) she got up and left her little smoking area, and re-entered the airy art room where her favorite teacher taught class. It was strange how every time she passed by the tables and the displays of excellent art, she would smile. And she knew, she didn't smile at a lot of things.
She sighed as she left the gates of the high school. Patting down her skirt, she shivered again but tried to shrug it off. She fished out a pair of headphones from her school bag to distract herself from everything, and found it successful. It was easy to block everything out and pretend everything was just fine, no, she wasn't bored and sick of life, no, she wasn't seeking adventure and trill through alcohol, smoking and drugs, the general three things that would lead to one's death and or downfall.
It was getting dark quite early, and even at five the sky was darkening. Agh, so boring. She needed something new, and quick. Each day dragged on in such a mundane manner, and she was sick of it. Where was the fucking excitement? The spice of life? The danger?
Maybe a trip into town would be good, cure a bit of boredom, whatever. Maybe later she could look for a few dealers, since her pay came yesterday. The boys from nearby public schools were usually nice and gave her a bit of a discount in exchange for a blowjob or something. It didn't resort to sex since they'd usually be on the floor before they could suggest it. No, she didn't really think much of sex before marriage, she just didn't want to lose her virginity to a stoned guy who barely passed his tests in school. Nah, wasn't worth the hassle.
She'd had guys swoon over her and shit, since her hair was considered silky and pretty without even doing much to it (she just brushed it in the morning), and her skin was fair and well despite the amount she smokes, and she would always wear a bit of lipstick or lip-gloss out of habit. Her eyelashes, apparently, were long and feminine and her eyes were big, but not too big. Not that she cared. Looks were just another advantage she had over someone else. It wasn't as if she were the prettiest girl in the school, so that didn't matter.
She was in an alleyway with a guy she'd met a few times. He was a nice guy for a stoner who fucked chicks so often that it was more important than eating to him. Apparently, the girls were so desperate for him they even paid up, which was even better for him, since it would feed his cigarette and weed addiction. At the best times, they were like two peas in a pod.
"Hey." He waved at her, and she noticed his uniform was still draped over his shoulders and clinging over his entire body. This was rare, since he didn't like to be called 'the rich kid' and to be looked down upon because of the school he went to. But she supposed he was too desperate for some let-down to go home and get changed before coming back out.
The air was more cold than it was cool.
"Hey there, partner." She chuckled, and leant against the wall next to him. "Got any weed?"
"Sure." He moved his free hand to reach into his jacket pocket and passed her a clear packet of weed. She took it eagerly, and opened the stuff.
"This is nice," she smiled slightly, as she smelled it first. "Fine, fine stuff."
"Of course it is. You got it from me." He laughed heartily, and she wondered why the guy found himself so funny, the egoistic bastard.
"Well, I can't complain. I'm getting this shit for free." She laughed with him, hitting him playfully on the shoulder.
"Hey." His tone turned serious and low, and she wondered whether he was sober or not.
"I love you."
She turned to face him, and her eyes grew dim. "Don't fucking mess me about, shithole."
His face looked sorry, but the voice that judged was almost never wrong – the guy was fucking serious.
"Well," she smirked. "This is my answer."
Her fist collided with his face within a fraction of a second, and she kicked him in the balls for added measure. She then walked off with a laugh and a thrill running through her veins.
After that unfortunate run-in with lovesick boy, she weighed her options and actually thought about what she had done. Wonderful, all his guy friends who were supposed to be his 'brothers' were going to want her head, never mind never wanting to deal with her again. Agh, she should have just lied and would just fucked him and gotten it all out of the way. Oh shit, with a condom, too, she wasn't particularly interested in the amount of STD's he was probably carrying.
She popped a bit of LSD into her mouth, and sighed in content. Everything grew lighter – just as she wanted. No fucking worries, no weight, no pull, nothing. Yes, she was happy like this.
She didn't face the consequences until the next morning.
Oddly, the dream she has that night is sweet, and she remembers it. That is rare in itself, with the amount of drugs she forces down her body at times, it's a wonder how she's still alive.
She dreams of happier days, happier moments. Moments when the depressant called reality never really existed. Moments when she didn't care about anything (not in the way she feels now) because she didn't have to. Moments when she was normal with a normal family who loved her, cared for her.
She's long lost the feeling of guilt.
She doesn't remember what exactly happens, but she remembers the feeling. The smell of apple pie her mother used to bake every now and again. The rustic smell her father used to carry with him when he got home. (It used to linger on his suit.) Her brother's deep voice (she remembered it being deep even before his voice broke), and his chuckles when she used to say something funny.
Hey, my little girl. One day, you'll grow up to be an lawyer or someone as amazing as that.
What's a law-yer?
Well, darling, they protect people and argue for them. Just like you did when Johnny from next door got accused of stealing yesterday.
Oh. She used to think, back when she never understood but nodded anyway.
Yes. You might not understand what mommy's telling you right now, but maybe one day you'll look back and remember.
Okay.
It is funny, how mothers always seemed to be right. Not that she'd ever gain any motherly wisdom, seeing she's such a messed up case. How the fuck is this chick, who's an expert at hiding, spying on people and doing judo any good at being a mother? No way in hell.
But that dream... it is warm. If it were a color, it would be a pale chocolate brown that would be chocolate but a shade lighter. It reminds her of cookies and cream, strawberry, and fluffy vanilla ice-cream.
She choked.
She misses it.
She woke up in a bed. Naked, no less.
She had to admit, she's shocked. Didn't take a lot for someone to realize whether or not they'd been molested in their sleep. She couldn't say she was surprised though. She'd been on drugs and she'd been in town, on her own, no less. Didn't take a genius to figure out that it was easy for someone just to take her away and fuck her.
But hey, she was in a fancy hotel room. Ew, she hoped the guy who'd bedded her for the night wasn't an old man who was rich. A stoner on the street was one thing, but an old guy reached high levels of wrong.
The possibility that she was still under the effects of LSD did pass her mind, but she doubted it. She'd only taken a little, and it did feel like reality. Usually, when she was under LSD, everything was fucking sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, and everything was bright as fuck. But it was pretty, so she didn't hate it.
After a few moments lying in the huge double bed with white sheets (such a stupid colour for bedsheets), she got up, found her clothes in a mess on the floor, and despite aches and pains here and there, she managed to put them on and go out of the room.
Strangely, even though she obviously didn't give a shit (rape and sex had been through her mind very often), her heart felt like crying. The emotion was so raw and intense she was almost crying and hugging knees and all that jazz, but no, she wouldn't. She gave herself a moment before heading out the room, a small part of her hoping her rapist was still there.
And he was.
That shocked her to the core. What kind of rapist raped and didn't run? If he had, perhaps she could have gotten over it and moved on during her shitty little life and become a lawyer and stopped taking drugs that often.
But hey, at least he was a young guy.
He wore a typical black and white suit, and with his neatly-styled hair and that earpiece on the coffee table, he was probably some sort of bodyguard for some rich old dude, which was a reality that seemed like a lie. Why would she, of all people, get a rapist that actually had a decent job? To her, guys who could fight were a real turn on.
He was taking a drag out of his cigarette, but he placed it in the ashtray that seemed to await it.
He then gazed at her, and for some reason, she felt naked even though she was wearing her creased and crumpled uniform. She looked back at him with bored eyes, but didn't make a move or say anything.
"Hey. Sorry about last night, although you seemed to enjoy it for your first time." He smirked, and that smirk grew when she didn't react in much surprise.
"Did I?" She taunted, raising her eyebrow. "Well, it might have been the LSD talking."
"That makes me kinda sad, y'know?" His voice was rough and deep, and he reminded her of the doting older brother who'd moved to another state and married a perfect girl with perfect hair who would produce perfect children for him.
"I see." She shrugged.
"I have to say," he half-grinned, "I do like your personality, and you seemed just as messed up, or even more messed up, than I am myself."
"Cool." She yawned. She was missing school, but that didn't matter. She'd just go somewhere and cry and then go home after this shit. "Do you have anything else to say? 'Cause I'm a highschooler and highschoolers have to go to school."
"You're shitting me. I just raped you last night and you don't even care?" He laughed even louder now, and his similarity with her older brother was really uncanny. It was ridiculous to the point she didn't want to stay in the room for any longer.
(She loved her brother.)
She rolled her eyes and moved to the door, façade threatening to break. The grip on her bag was stronger than usual, but she was sure he wouldn't pick up on that. She just wanted to get out of the door, run to a place that she was familiar with, and cry, and cry, and cry.
She didn't even notice him behind her and grabbing her arm to stop her. She did, out of some bizarre reason she won't really understand, she stopped. It might have been a reaction of shock or something.
"Fall in love with me."
She felt her brain melt slowly until it was mere slush, and yet, she still did not understand, but she allowed herself to be turned around and French kissed.
She felt like an empty shell as a tear rolled down her cheek, then followed by several more.
He only lapped them up with his tongue.
His name is Andrew Matthews, but the name sounds too corny to be real, she thinks. She plays a game with him, too, and tells him she's called Marina Thornton. She can tell that he's sure she's lying, but he doesn't care. A name is a name. It's just something you call someone.
But after a good crying session and a few cigarettes, she realises she could actually fall in love with him.
Falling in love has always equaled bullshit to her. It is all lies just to get some skinship and to get rid of some pent up desires and sex. That's that, really. All that dating, loving, passionate kissing is all bullshit. Why do all of that? If you like someone and you want to fuck them, why don't you just do it?
And he does exactly just that.
He is good looking, she has to give him that. Lean, heavily built, but not too much. His skin is rough with a few scars, which she finds fascinating. He will always answer her questions without lies (she knows enough to know when someone is lying, it's blatantly obvious) and if he can't be bothered, he'll say so. Perhaps one of the things she admires about him so much is his carefree manner of speech and downright honesty. It is like he has nothing to hide, and he even tells her about his job and what he does for a living and a bowl of noodles.
She, of course, isn't going to let up too easily. She only answers vaguely and goes on about her drug and cigarette addiction the most, but he will listen. It is oddly refreshing, having someone who actually gives a shit about you and your boring life.
They have sex quite often, and for a twenty-one year old bodyguard, he was quite gentle. Only when he's sober, though, when he's drunk he often fucks her until she's broken, and then has some more. But every time that happens, the morning after is always filled with loose apologies to the point where she doesn't even bother listening to them any more, and accepts his guilt money to go and buy some drugs.
Sometimes, sex is wonderful and everything seems bright, and nothing seems to hurt. Sometimes, when they kiss and his hands are wandering down her shirt, she actually feels normal, like one of those girls who will walk around with their boyfriends and will laugh and make meaningless chatter. Yeah, her mind is ridiculous, but it doesn't stop her. No, it is exciting. It is something new, something thrilling, something altogether made to be hers.
"Hey," she asks one night, when they meet in a hotel room. She never really questions why they are always at hotels, because making this relationship complex has never been her intention. "Why did you say you love me?"
"Because I do," he chuckles, and sucks on her collar bone. "I fell in love with you at first sight, and no, don't give me that look. It does sound like bullshit but that's how I feel."
"So you bring me up to a hotel room and fuck me to showcase that." She rolls her eyes, and Andrew laughs harder.
"Oh, Marie, I love your wit. It's beautiful." He then starts licking her collarbone and she sighs lightly.
"You don't realize how messed up you are to do that to me?"
"Aren't we all, in our own little ways, messed up beyond repair?"
"You have a point."
She gasps when his mouth trails further down.
Throughout her life, she was never close to people. She didn't need them, and they didn't need her. She was perfectly fine with that, really. But there was a girl who she knew for years, who succumbed to drinking just as she herself did with smoking. She was somewhat a childhood friend, which made her sound old seeing how they were only teenagers themselves. But she hadn't seen her for a long a time, since she'd been so occupied with seeing Andrew. It was amazing how he'd interfered with their relationship as two drinking buddies who got pissed together every week or two.
"Hey, I haven't seen you out lately." Lucy pointed out. Honestly? She couldn't really care less. Her little relationship game with Andrew was addictive and fun.
"Oh, sorry. I've been busy with stuff." She shrugged, and Lucy nodded slowly.
"You know, you've got to keep your grades up. Even I've got grades higher than you!" Lucy warned, in a serious manner, which was unlike the girl, since they usually got pissed together and she was infamous for her lack of care for almost everything.
"Oh, why do you care all of a sudden?" She raised an eyebrow. It was definitely strange behavior, and the only time Lucy Thompson was ever caught serious was if someone deprived her of her favorite drinks.
Lucy then laughed cynically for an answer. "My parents are catching on. They paid shitloads of money to get me in this fucked-up place, and they expect me to graduate with good grades or I'm getting kicked out."
She then looked a little worried for her friend. Usually, getting kicked out of the house was one thing; she knew for a fact Lucy wouldn't give a shit, but there was her little sister she had to think about, the only person she would truly love.
Lucy fisted the grass, and she could feel her frustration. She had no other choice. Plus, Lucy was the type of person that had to push her feelings of pressure onto others to feel better, and while it was a terrible trait, she didn't complain. Lucy was a good person to be around, and she could trust the girl with her life. Fuck a bit of humanity, she was going to stay by her for as long as it took to make her feel better.
"Well, sure. You know I'm a genius, Luce; I can always bump up my grades if I put a bit of effort in." She laughed, as she took another drag out of her cigarette.
"You know, I'm not so sure. I think you know better than I do what drugs tend to do to the brain – are you sure you can recover that quickly and that easily? I know you're strong, and I know despite you always bragging about how much you actually have, you don't usually take a lot of stuff, but they play an effect you know. It's just... I'm worried for you."
Lucy looked into her eyes, then Lucy backed off when she recognized that look on the other's face.
She did not like to be lectured about her drug intake.
Definitely not.
"Look here, Luce," She snapped, "I've put up with your insecurities and I've helped you through most of your troubles. What do I get back? All this shitty back-chat about how I should fucking change this, fucking change that, but guess what? I don't need to fucking change. I don't care if I don't wake up tomorrow! I know you have your sister to live for, and I respect that, but don't fucking go barging into my business! I am fucking messed up! I am a stupid slut who doesn't know better! I. DON'T. CARE!"
She grabbed her bag and stormed off, away from the patch of grass in the park that nobody came across, away from the memories of a girl who tried to imitate Michael Jackson when she was pissed out of her head, away from the girl who used to never care what other people thought of her.
Away from the only person that she thought understood her, knew her, and loved her for what she was.
She is wandering the streets alone while she is on the phone. She waits patiently to get through.
"This is Matthews. May I ask who's calling?"
"Your little bitch." She spits out; she is really in no mood for formalities and playing around. Her mood is so low, Lucifer is having tea parties with it.
"Marie! It's rare of you to call me! What's wrong?" He seems to ignore her obvious lack of spirit, which is rather admirable of him. She doesn't remember anyone else who didn't hide when her volcano blew. Ha, he must be getting used to her. He doesn't even ask where she got his mobile from.
"I need to see you right now." She glares at the taller people in front of her as she prepares to cross the road of certain death.
His voice then drops several octaves. "I can't see you right now. But I can get away in half an hour. Ask for a room at our usual hotel, and ask them to put it to my name."
She doesn't reply straight away as she processes this information. "Alright. If you're late, that's a $100 fine right there."
"Right, whatever." He then turns off his phone, and his last reply is really interesting, to say the least. He's probably in some shit, and she just called in on him, wonderful. If he's pissed off with her, great, she doesn't care. All she cares about is that someone is there to hold her, feed her lies by the spoonful if he's feeling merciful, or kick her down to below reality, it doesn't matter. Anyhow, it would show whether or not she'd be better off cutting ties with him. It would be easy – she could just get a new phone, get a new haircut, maybe transfer is she's desperate, but it's a big country, and if she doesn't want him to find her, that will happen. She is confident of that fact.
She's been in the hotel so many times the fucking receptionist even recognizes her, and she knows the hotel Andrew likes is posh, and very, very popular. So she gets the room card easily and avoids their looks of disgust, since for sure they know, or least, have an idea, what she gets up to with him.
She walks the hallways alone, with her headphones in place blasting the curse called silence away. For some reason, she walks slower and more careful than she does usually, and it's like she's admiring the delicate detailing of each door, each wall, and even the carpet. Andrew, despite his not–so–glamorous status as a bodyguard to a rich bastard, is still considered a semi-vip, which means that he got nice rooms and awesome room service, not that she's going to complain.
Opening the door to the room, she scans the place that the male receptionist gave her. It's okay, nothing special, but she appreciates the modern twists rather than the traditional theme that seems to go through the entire hotel. She leaps on the bed and makes herself comfortable as she switched on the large TV to avoid silence.
And just like that, she falls to sleep.
When she woke up, the sky was already so dark she was sure she could see the stars come out. But that was only by lifting her head up slightly, though, since Andrew's bare arms were snaked around her petite and thin body. Strangely, that brought a small smile to her face. It was corny how he just decided to sleep on the same bed topless, (she knew he didn't do anything since her clothes were still on) but hey, it was sort of sweet, and sweetness was a taste that was already foreign on her tongue. Nonetheless, she was still curious, and a little nervous, to hear what he had to say about the phone call she made. Actually, when she looked back upon it, she felt embarrassed by her weakness.
So instead of clinging onto those hideous feelings, she just leant in and shuffled herself to be closer to him, attempting to block out everything and focus on the buzzing sound of the TV, not on the words, or the language.
But she still could not drift off again. However, she insisted on not moving since the position was comfortable and warm, both things that seemed so easy to get yet so far out of reach.
He woke up then. He smiled, said some chatter that didn't really process into her head, touched her hair, and moved away.
It was also then when tears started to trail down her cheeks, and a horrifying, disgusted emotion begun to boil down in her stomach. This was stupid. He was going to slap her and break it off between them, stop his façade of kindness for no return and start hitting her and abusing her. Yeah, maybe then she could be alone forever and just take life as it goes.
But he didn't. Instead, he made her sit up, and embraced her in a sort of awkward manner, which made her want to cry even more.
"Cry all you want. I'm here for you. Don't worry."
She must have been high on something, because those lies felt so real. Maybe it was his smooth, alluring voice that sounded like something from a sweet dream. Or perhaps it was because she felt a desire to believe them, and to believe the fluttering feeling down in her gut.
But no, she couldn't. Trusting him this early in the game's only going to hurt herself more.
No. Why would anyone in the right mind would want to love someone has messed up, screwed up as herself? Nope, the world wasn't that kind. She knew. She of all people would know.
It was late Saturday afternoon by the time she closed the door behind her. She slipped off her shoes in favor of fluffy slippers, and ran upstairs for a long overdue shower.
By the time she had gotten out of the shower with fresh clothes on, her mother had returned. She could tell. But she wasn't in the mood for another confrontation with her. It was too tiring.
So instead, she grabbed the hair-dryer and made a run for her room, hoping her mother wouldn't quite notice her arrival just yet.
She hadn't quite yet, as she heard her go into the kitchen to unload the shopping, she supposed. Whatever, if it meant she got a few more moments of peace, then good. For sure, she'd come asking where she'd been just because she was the type that didn't ever give up.
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She fiddled with her spaghetti before placing it in her mouth, and it was lovely, as usual. Her mother always had a thing for Italian food, and she was good at it too.
The crinkle under her eyes told her that Mother was going to start lecturing her again, but maybe, it would be the last time. She just looked so tired and it was like she hadn't slept for days.
Shit. Guilt trip. She should really have cut it out with those underhand tricks of hers.
"Where did you go last night, darling?"
"I went to stay over at a friend's place. I wasn't feeling very well." She half lied. That was how she worked – by spinning out lies, but not ones that were completely untrue. Therefore, she wouldn't ever feel guilty for lying. It was only a matter of time until she would learn to lie through the skin of her teeth.
"Then why didn't you come home? You shouldn't stay over at people's places, it would only bother them." She said in a small voice, scared of her own daughter blowing up and shouting at her. The stupid woman never would understand that she would be the only person she wouldn't shout at. Even a girl like herself had morals. Like it or not, the woman sat at the table opposite of her was still her birth mother, who cared and provided for her.
"It doesn't matter, Mother. Just drop it." She sighed. She couldn't really blame her mother for being scared and intimidated by her, after she had pointed a knife at her last year to get her to shut up. She hadn't meant it. She had just been too high on drugs to notice.
Her mother nodded slightly. "So, do you feel better?"
"Yeah, strangely. I really didn't expect to."
"Ah, is that so? That's good. You can let people in you know, not everyone out there is out there to hurt you."
She looked at her with wide eyes, as the other smiled weakly and tidied up her plate and glass to wash in the sink. It almost pained her to see her mother look and act so old when she wasn't so in reality.
Another example of 'motherly wisdom'. Another example of a person fucked up because of her.
She does not understand why she is so hung over Lucy. Sure, they've been friends for over five years and know each other like the backs of their hands (now she isn't so sure, but that's what she thought before that confrontation) but surely, missing a bit of human company shouldn't leave her at this state.
But it does, and it's fucking annoying.
In fact, she should be used to it by now. All the girls, including the ones who are drugged up, avoid her because of the rumors that go around all the time about her insane personality and general lies–like she goes to steal your boyfriend or something as stupid and pointless as that.
Humans are all creatures who judge and feed off opinions of others.
Lucy always tells her how she shouldn't generalize, and how by saying 'humans' she herself is immediately involved in this bracket too. But that was when Lucy felt judgmental.
A voice inside her says that their friendship can be repaired, if only she just swallows her pride and says sorry. But of course, pride's been ruling over for quite some time now, and generally when that happens, no matter human or emotion, they won't let up so easily.
She generally doesn't fight. It's too much of a hassle, and she's tired.
It's funny, life. How it tends to spit back all of its harshness all over your face until you're on your knees, then smooth the wounds over ever so slightly, making you feel weak and dependant, then hit both your legs with a metal baseball bat.
She laughs to herself. It has a rather cynical after-taste.
She supposes that it's because she holds onto Lucy like a child to its mother. It is with Lucy whom she shares silent conversations. It is for Lucy whom she uses judo to fight. It is because of Lucy that she strives to become stronger, not only in body, but also in mind.
It is probably because it is Lucy she is thinking about.
She is the reason why she is sobbing like a human who's lost everything and knows they can never turn back. She is the reason why she is grinning while trying to breathe.
Lucy Marina Thompson is the reason why she feels so human.
"You find it hard to trust people, don't you?" Andrew asked, with a coy smile.
"What gave you that idea?" She rolled her eyes.
"Your whole personality."
"I'm too tired of boring conversations." Her head was ringing. Was it nicotine she needed? Or was it another drag of weed or some LSD pills? Well, those were the only drugs she liked to touch.
"How about a date then? I'm sure you're tired of us meeting in hotel rooms like this, Marie." He was sitting upright, leaning against the bed frame after they'd had sex. She was loosely making bodily contact by huddling close. She hated to admit that she liked his warmth, and that sometimes she had trouble sleeping without it.
"Why do you always call me Marie?" She asked randomly.
"I like that name better than Marina. Plus, it's shorter." His smart-phone started vibrating on the bedside table, and he reached to read the text. Usually, she would want to be sneaky and try and catch what he'd try to text in a hurry, but today, she didn't feel like it. Plus, she was over seventy percent sure that it was business-related. She could feel the stress and annoyance coming from his features, never mind the air surrounding him.
She was no stranger to bad air.
She tried to hide her distaste for that subtle lie. Something was telling her she would know the reason all too soon.
"What's gotten into your freaky little head to want to go on a date in fucking December?"
He would normally playfully scold her like a five year old when she talked in a 'disrespectful' manner. She as usual, would ignore him and tell him to fuck off.
"It's the twentieth, isn't it? It's near Christmas, plus, I'll have to work all the way through the holidays. I thought it would be nice spending some real time with you, rather than hotel rooms all the time. And yeah, please don't call me until New Years after today, okay?"
Her mouth was dry to the point that it ached, and it hurt. Her head was spinning circles of neverending emotion that dragged like stones in a river – small and insignificant, yet it slowed movement of the whole river down and forced the water to do it's will.
She was shaking.
She then moved away from him to hide it. She knew, if she did that, she wouldn't be hurt when he would ignore her and go on about his silly little ideas for a date.
"Anyone with a pair of hands and an ear for music can play, but singing needs more talent," she whispered to herself as she felt her grip on everything loosen, "And I really look down on those who love so easily,"
"Andrew. I need some acid." She jumped on him and spoke in a cracked whisper.
Surely, she was seeing things, but she saw a flash of worry being written on her 'boyfriend''s face. For some reason, that made her gut hurt more and her head drowsy.
He searched the second drawer on the bedside table, and when his hand found what he was looking for, the small, opaque bottle with no label; he brought it out, unscrewed the lid, and handed two tablets to her.
Her face was so weak she could not even smile at him, or say a word of thanks. Instead, she quickly popped them in her mouth and rolled over to lie on the bed, with a loose wonder in what she would see this time.
She learned that her mind had already settled down with the twenty-one year old liar who liked to warm each other's beds during a growing harsh winter. Colors were warm, in the familiar stripy pattern, and everything seemed bright, warm, and soft.
It was probably the best trip she'd ever been on.
When she woke up, it was already the night. The darkness loomed, and she couldn't see much in front of her. It was then that she turned and noticed spilled chemicals from a green glowstick glowing in the dark, sitting on, what she guessed was the bedside table.
"Go to The Primrose in town, the one that shuts at eleven, tomorrow. I'll meet you at ten." The card read, after she managed to switch on the lights. A pack of fancy chocolates was placed under the tub of LSD pills Andrew kept for her to keep her happy.
No one should care. She was just scum. No one cared about the litter and dirt on the floor, so why start now?
It was snowing at ten P.M. the next day. Of course, it was nothing special, seeing it was snowing lightly almost all week, but she had to say, it was prettier watching it from inside a restaurant. She found it stupid how she was dead on time when she was thinking about arriving fashionably late, and she found it even more stupid how she actually cared so much.
She knew The Primrose was one of the poshest restaurants around this area, so she made sure she didn't under-dress or over-dress. Wearing a fucking prom dress? No thanks. But she'd rather not cause unwanted attention to herself, because even she, the girl who was so trashy and messed up, didn't like people staring at her and talking about her for long periods of time.
She was kind of proud of herself. Wearing a blouse with ruffles, a winter coat and an adequate length skirt and tights, plus a pair of sensible boots for the weather. It had been funny, her mother's reaction, when she had asked her if they could go shopping together.
Did she pinch herself? Thought so.
She took off her hat and scarf and smoothed out her straightened hair (from her mother), and she was proud that she looked at least eighteen, which meant if Andrew came, it wouldn't look like anything illegal.
A waiter came by immediately, and she noticed he was about Andrew's age, if not slightly older. Haha! He had the hots for her. Oh great, she sure had a knack with pretending. (And fashion, surprisingly.)
After she ordered her food (fuck, she was not going to wait for Andrew, she was starving!) she decided to flirt with him for a bit. He looked like the innocent type, anyway.
"So, when are you getting off work?" She asked, in a low, seductive voice. She even batted her eyelashes twice.
"Uh...um... In about two hours..." He stuttered. She smirked. It had obviously worked.
"Thanks. You can go now."
He then trotted off elsewhere, probably full of embarrassment. Well, that had been fun.
It was at that moment did Andrew pull back the once-empty chair that was opposite hers with a curious look. She ignored it, and chose to look outside instead at the graying sky as snow danced down, setting down it's foundations for a good layer of white icing.
"Oh, sorry, have I sat at the wrong place?" Andrew teased. He sat down anyway, and waved his hand for service. That was when she turned back to look at him.
It was then that she noticed that three-quarters of the female population in the restaurant was staring at him. She actually found it rather amusing instead of harboring feelings of protectiveness and jealousy.
"No, unless you aren't Andrew Mathews, I don't think you're sitting in the wrong place." She grinned, and he chuckled.
"You look really... mature tonight. Pretty, too, of course."
"Corny, aren't you?" She laughed, but it was one of no malice, no ugly hidden meaning.
She never knew she could enjoy herself and let herself go like that.
"Hey, was that guy you were having dinner with yesterday the reason why you've grown cold to me?" Lucy confronted, when the two had escaped to the fire exit where she usually smoked.
"So you saw?" She took a drag out of a cigarette, and tried not to shiver. It was annoying how being outside was the only way to avoid getting overheard in school. She could easily get expelled for the stuff she did on a daily basis.
"Look, I'm sorry I've was at your case last time, and you snapped, I understand that. I won't say any more bullshit because I know you hate that more than anything else. But can I just say, as a friend, that you shouldn't get mixed up with guys like him? He must be shady, right? He has that aura. You know how messed up society is nowadays – no one is as they seem."
I'm sorry, Luce. She thought to herself. I should say sorry, but the words can't form.
"I know."
"Anything I say won't stop you from seeing him, and I think something might happen to you even if you stop seeing him, but please, please, be careful." Lucy then took one of her un-gloved, dry, hands into both of hers.
She turned to look at her.
She then wrapped her arms around her, and tears almost came, only, almost. Lucy's body heat was fluffy and warm, and she'd missed it.
She told her everything. From the rape, to his mixed personality, to his kindness, which had a drug-like characteristic.
"Please, please see something in yourself." Lucy gave her another hug, but she couldn't find the strength to say anything else. "You don't need to rely on him. You're the strongest person I know! Don't let him mess you up, okay? Hang in there. I'm sorry for hurting your feelings last time."
Suddenly, something came over her. So unsure, so unsure was she of it. But it left her speechless to the point where she could only shake and nod, but her smile, Lucy's smile, it was the warmest thing she could have ever held.
She didn't even realize she was crying as Lucy held her in her arms again, and she hated herself for crying so fucking much.
It was several days after Lucy's little talk, and she didn't want to talk to her friend about it any more. She spent the days without Andrew smoking, drugging herself up, abusing teenage dealers when they got too cocky, and when she was felt alone with nothing to do (which was all too often), she would sit and think.
How long has she been with Andrew now? Only a few weeks. But those few weeks felt like eternity, like they'd known each other for a lifetime rather than a few collective weeks. She is sure it is an illusion of the mind – since she so rarely acquired human comfort, suddenly getting it makes her feel...complete. Makes her feel like she is in the norm that society accepted. In fact, she doesn't know why she's been feeling so weak lately, or more accurately, she doesn't want to know. Never once did she bother, or care for society and its harsh eye, but now, the human instinct of wanting to fit in suddenly comes over, and she doesn't know how she feels by that.
She hated herself for being so easy to be shot down, so easy to have her walls crumbled by the foundations, so easy to be opened like a door with no lock.
She thought she was further away than this.
And if you knew just how I felt,
Her eyes dimmed, as she sipped the hot coffee in her hands and gazed into air that almost took on a gray color. Her breath hitched, and a moment of worry suppressed the crushing feeling in her chest.
You could kill me,
She would become distorted. She would die. Even if her empty heart kept beating soulless thuds, she would never be truly alive again, if what she was living now was life. Yeah, that much was true.
With just one look.
Once is enough. Once he sees through her, she is lost. In fact, she is sure he's already seen her everything, and she feels so naked it's like he can feel under her skin.
She feels sick.
Being an outdoor person, she spent most of the Christmas holidays walking out in the snow and hearing it crunch underneath her boots. Actually, the snow fell heavily the day after the last day of school to the point it caused major problems. Which said a lot since the city was used to heavy snow during the winter season.
Lucy wanted her to come over for some Christmas cheer or something or other for Christmas Eve. Her mother was going to travel to meet her brother for Christmas, and she decided to stay.
(Seeing her brother now would only reduce her to ripped paper.)
Lucy's parents, who were the worst sort of parents you could get (she was convinced – they spent a lot of time away from home, yet they put a lot of money on their children's talents, forcing them to be objects they could show off to other people) were out on holiday in Europe for the Christmas holidays, so it was only Lucy and her little sister Laura. Laura was the cutest little girl she's ever seen, with her cute dimples, sweet smile and her total oblivious to the evil of the world, which was also thanks to Lucy and her own work.
It was just too cruel for the little eight year old to know of her cruel surroundings and the reality behind every lie.
If she was never superstitious before, she was now.
A black cat scurried past her as she was walking through the park to get to Lucy's place. A loose, manic, yet under-control panic somehow swept over her emotions.
No, no, it was nothing wrong, surely.
She tried her best to hurry on, and did so without much difficulty.
Lucy lived quite far away in a quiet neighborhood that very obviously screamed wealth and excellent upbringing. What a lie, but then again labels weren't made to be accurate anyway. Still, she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. So she hurried to the door.
A scream stopped her footsteps.
"JUST KILL ME, KILL ME NOW!" Lucy.
Lucy.
LU
LUCY
She almost lost it, and she knew if it weren't winter and if it weren't cold, she would have been in there now, with god knows how many fucking people there, messing her about.
The blood in her ran cold with terror, and it was a fear she had never, ever felt before. Just at that scream, her whole body began trembling as more hysteric sobs echoed, from Lucy's strong voice.
She had to get out of the doorway and get a better look at what was going on. Only after frantically searching her coat pocket did she remember that she had decided to leave her mobile at home.
She let out a cry of frustration, but managed to climb over the back gate to take a look through a window.
She almost screamed and blew her cover.
The picture was so clear, yet the memory was so fuzzy around the edges. She could not contain her shock, and had to cover her mouth to stop herself from screaming and lashing out, trying to take out the six, what she was sure, professional men who knew way more self–defense than she ever would, who were all making their exit. Her breath was hitched, and she could barely get over the fact that she'd almost died,and that she could have rung the doorbell and died for not knowing anything.
That-that-that
Isn't that
Andrew?
She couldn't understand why, but part of her wanted terribly not to believe that this was happening... or happened... and that the guy she actually went and foolishly trusted do that THAT to her best friend.
Her. Best. Friend.
Her blood ran cold, and it was perhaps a double-edged sword to not be able to move or speak. She could barely breathe, with more and more tears running down her face and she was sure she could be easily noticed. But they were leaving. All those men. Laughing. Laughing to their sick-minded selves. And Andrew. That sorry prick was laughing with them as they made their leave. She never quite caught what they were saying, hiding underneath a window, but she was sure it was something vile and inhumane.
She swallowed as she heard the door close from behind them and scarce laugher as a car drove away really quickly. The few seconds in which she decided to go around to the kitchen window and break it with a hammer from the shed seemed to be the longest she had ever had to deal with.
Jumping through the window to land on the kitchen floor was an impressive feat she did not bother thinking about. She hurriedly raced out the kitchen to the living room, where she was met with pure terror that beat every single horror movie and nightmare she had ever faced.
The uncomfortable stench of blood overwhelmed her senses. If she wasn't sick before, she might as well make her mark right now and puke all over the dainty rug on the floor.
Lucy's body was loosely hanging onto the sofa, with dry tears and blood mixed in together on her face. Her eyes were soulless and glassy, her lips hung open, purple and bruised. The white liquid leaking out slowly from her lips told a story she did not want to hear. Her body was completely naked, and blood was still present on her leg, and some semen trickled down, too. Numerous cuts and bruises littered her body, and...and...
She just wanted to sob, but no tears came.
Her little sister, delicate, tiny Laura had tight rope clung all around her tiny, undeveloped body. And seeing her expression of fear even during her final moments, led her to believe those fuckers didn't even let a tiny eight year old go.
Lucy had died from blood loss. And it seemed they were still intent on fucking her even when she was dead, stone cold. Laura had died from suffocation and possible puncture to organs. Both were raped right in their own homes.
Right on Christmas Eve.
At that point, she knew she was gone. All of her scarce sanity had already flown away. She picked up the remote from the sofa and switched on the TV. She walked, like a robot, to the dining table where food had already been set up. She took a bowl and took some food. She ate it even though it was cold, as cold as her frozen heart.
Only after that did she call the police and told them about what she did, what she saw.
Logic tries to grip her insanity after that, and she runs away from everything. From the witness protection programs, from the asking, from the questions, from everything.
She knows she will have to leave this city soon.
The days feel so long, and even more meaningless than ever before. The only light in her life has had it's weak flame taken out with sinful water. All because of her. All because of her.
You just make everyone unhappy.
It is true. Everything that was important to her is gone. Her brother ran off to another state with his wife because she couldn't stand her, her mother is forever traumatized by her own daughter, her farther lives in hotels and cheats on her mother with that mistress called 'work', her best friend was murdered in the most disgraceful manner possible because she was looking out for her, and Andrew. Andrew.
He just stabbed her in the back with the knife that would hurt the most. Make her bleed the most.
And she can't bear to see Lucy's grave without paying back the favor.
She was convinced it was Andrew who was the root of all her problems after she received news.
Her mother, Isabella, a loving, caring woman, was killed in a car crash on the way back to see her daughter after she was sure her daughter would be traumatized.
She could not shed a tear.
Her father, Patrick, a man whose love and kindness were never really on show, died in a plane crash while he was going to meet an important client somewhere she couldn't remember.
She could not shed a tear.
It was a week after New Years. All three people's funerals were going to be during the final weeks of January. Mother was going to be buried alongside Father, and a loose thought, shaped like a thread, thought of her joining them.
Andrew had contacted her before, for a late New Year's meeting.
She merely saw a chance.
Andrew wanted her to come to his apartment – something that only happened during several special occasions – to celebrate New Years like some kind of twisted couple.
It was scary how easily it had happened.
He was washing up the dishes after their meal, which had been a difficult ordeal for her since it meant having to be someone she was not. Having to be someone who was in love with the guy she was eating with, having to be someone who enjoyed his presence, not detesting it.
But it was worth it.
She knew where he kept the knives. She knew, despite his age, despite his strength, he would never make a move on her, because she was sure that he was in love with her, despite the string of lies woven together to produce a blindfold made for her to wear.
And she had the speed.
"Andrew?"
"Yes?"
She pushed the knife deep into where she was sure the lung was. She then placed a few other knives in his hands and arms, just in case.
What will hurt you will only make you stronger.
She found herself wearing a tired smirk as he withered at the loss of blood. After a few squirmy moments, he gave up trying to save himself, and did what annoyed her most:
Smiled.
He smiled.
For if his objective was to make her stab him with another knife into his heart, so be it.
After his eyes were closed, her hands started trembling. That familiar... sickening feeling... she could feel it. The blood... it felt heavy. It was no longer a liquid. It smelt exactly like the scene of Lucy and Laura's death.
Her breath hitched. Her stomach churned.
It took her all her might to start cleaning the blood off her hands. It took her all her willpower to change her bloodstained clothes into the clean set she had brought with her.
She had actually...done it? Ended a life? Forced it to a close? She knew she imagined the scene and planned it out to every bit, but it felt...so heavy. Like she suddenly was thrown a burden she never asked for. But... how could she get away from this? Evidence... was everywhere. Evidence she was here before. Evidence she had had a relationship with him. Maybe not evidence for a grudge, but it was everywhere.
Panic overrode her emotions, and she opened the door from his apartment complex and ran. Ran until the breath was kicked out of her. Ran down the stairs when the lift was taking too long, despite him living on the top floor. But it didn't stop her.
Her wind was kicked out long before the time she made it to the entrance.
A black, shiny car, no doubt a limousine, was parked on the opposite side of the road. When she saw the door open and a heavily built man, even taller and looking much more stronger than Andrew, come out, panic rose to her chest again. She wanted to run, but she could not.
Instead, she allowed herself to be dragged into the car.
Once in the car, she was placed in-between two other men who were probably there to stop her from escaping. Then, the first man, who sat by the driver, passed her a flat piece of equipment, which was at first black, then after he switched it on, flickered to life.
She met face to face with an old man. Ironically, that old man fit the exact image of the kind of guy Andrew would have been working for...
Why the fuck was she thinking of him in the first place?
His words almost ran through her head, in one ear and out the other, but a few key points stayed. First, the sad old man wanted her to be his adoptive granddaughter. Second, he would clean up the mess she made and everything else. Third, in exchange, she would have to listen to his every command.
That old man... too suspicious. He was probably rich with too much money on his hands, seeing the way he conducted himself. How the fuck did he know she had just murdered a guy? How the fuck did he know she was an orphan after the two deaths of her parents?
Alarm bells were ringing, but it felt more like a step into Spring, the changing of seasons rather than a sign that things could turn ugly and that she should refuse now. Even though she wished not to acknowledge it, she could feel it. The heavy air that seemed to stop her from thinking clearly, which was often connected to a strong, life-changing decision. Even if her answer could change her life in so many ways, she understood it wouldn't always be better. There was no perfect way out. There was always going to be a price, for there was to be equivalent exchange. Both paths available to her would lead to a sad, sorry death anyway.
At that point, she didn't see any other choice she could do. Either spend her life having her freedom stolen from her, or have that but add a bit of excitement and an illusion of freedom?
So she agreed, but not without a fight. She could tell she was demanding slightly unreasonable things, but he seemed to accept them.
A tub of blood of Andrew's. Studying law. Having a substantial amount of freedom.
They came to an agreement then, and she could feel it. The start of a new story.
"Why do you want me, of all people?" She asked to the live feed.
"You are the granddaughter of a friend of mine. Plus, I believe you to have talent."
She nodded, and the screen went blank again. The driver then began to start driving away from the apartment, and she couldn't help herself but to feel relieved, so much so she asked one of the guys in the car for a smoke.
But, could she really put it all down?
Maybe not.
During her last few hours in the state, and the city, she visited the only graveyard around the area. She probably should have felt frustrated about the fact that her loved ones were in such a cluttered place. But she hadn't.
After her brief visit to her lost parents, she stood in front of Lucy's grave, in the rain, funnily enough, away from the umbrella that her very own slave (or butler, whatever shit that is) was holding, and opened the bottle of blood, then scattered it all over the petals of the striped carnations.
Sorry I can't be with you. How I wish I could be with you. I will always love you.
She placed them gently near her tombstone, and walked away as the fresh rain plummeted down onto the packaging, the flowers, and the blood – making it thin and wear away.
The newfound information and knowledge of her 'grandfather' should have shocked her at least a little, but it had no effect. It only seem to make the message clearer, for which she was grateful.
From living in a large maisonette near the main city with everything she could wish for – enrollment in a famous senior high school (she was then promised enrollment in all the best places after that) – a butler who took care of everything, and numerous material items.
And the price was too little. Just for her to quit drugs and start smoking less. Sure, that mental commitment was not easy to stick by and the defeat of the general craving that the body got was not easy to defeat, but it seemed scarily little, the price.
Grandfather Quercus Alba was a man of a high social status, and that was shown by the way he would talk to her every so often, via the flat laptop thing that was shown to her when she was first shown the deal. He would usually answer her questions very vaguely when it was about himself and the reasoning behind his plans, and it was easy to tell that he was hiding under his words that sung of a gentle nature.
There was something bigger under this façade, and she had to admit she was a little afraid of what she would find herself landing into.
Alba was an old man who liked to play by tactics that were old and outdated, just like the man himself was. But she had to admit, they worked. His plan did push her down until there was no one but him to turn to.
So she'd play along with him. Pretend she was loyal and stab him like she did with that sorry Andrew.
It was two days after graduation did she find herself get pushed along onto the next step in Alba's little plan of seemingly secret mental manipulation.
Her large maisonette was replaced with a small apartment at the very edge of the city. She had to find other means to get to school, as her butler was dismissed. Other that and a lack of spending money, that was all there is in Alba's plan.
Little did he know that this was the life she was used to living.
It was during her years in university (she was nearly out of it) when he gave her another rare message. Messages from him were getting rarer and rarer throughout the years, not like she cared. She would only live on his money, and perhaps pay him back for it, that was all. She would never miss his cynical outlook on life or his coy smiles–which hid every intention, every lie, and his eyes – sharp, rough, and brimming with experience.
"It is your time to pay me back, woman. This time, we will no longer be related with a relationship that is just a lengthy lie. You will work for me. I will be your boss. You will espionage for me and protect my growing group from people who threaten to harm it by killing them from their insides. If you don't know, you will learn." Then, the most frightening smile graced his thin lips, and even she, with fear levels as low as you could get, could feel a horrifying chill.
"You know what will happen if you happen to fail," his eyes narrowed to go in for the kill, "Not only would you'd have no one at your back, you will die. I'm sure you've studied law enough to understand this."
The screen flickered, and returned to black. She laid back onto her desk chair, and was silent as her brain took in the words he spoke.
Espionage. Spying. That in itself carried heavy laws in almost every major country. It was hard not to laugh at the aspect, since espionage was what ruled a lot of fiction, and there haven't been a lot of major known spies in the real world. Well, she couldn't complain. It wasn't as if it were boring. In fact, it could be interesting, throwing her life on the line. She just had to be careful not to do it without bringing Alba down first while she found out what he was doing.
If she would think of this situation logically, she might end up being used as a 'Sleeper Agent' for a while, before probably being a mole, which was probably the riskiest job in espionage one could do.
No wonder he didn't object to her studying law. One must know the rules to break them, right?
She let out a breathless laugh, before smirking to herself. How the fuck did you learn how to be a spy, anyway? She was sure he was hoping that she was a genius at this kind of thing.
Wait.
He took her in because of her very own grandfather, right? Knowing his personality, she doubted he would plant full lies. It was not very interesting that way, and she found that he thought in a similar manner as she did, which made predicting easy.
Was there anything special about her grandfather? Darn it, she couldn't really remember anything specific, but there was something... about him being in wars... and intelligence.
Intelligence?
Human Intelligence?
That was ridiculous. She was sure he made her join him because of that. If she could connect this properly, her grandfather might have served as a spy, and Alba knew that. Perhaps her real grandfather was a darn good one, too, and he might think that she had the talent too.
Did she, though? She was sure even a feeble, insane old man would act on more than just apparent inherited talent. Well, she wasn't sure if he thought so, but she must have done something to impress him and made him think that.
But that would mean he'd been watching her... in a creepy manner.
She swore never to let her thoughts run wild again.
Having no book in existence (in public reach) on the subject of 'How To Be A Successful Spy', she read up and studied the consequences as shown in books of law, and fiction books about past spies who died in jail or got sent to be executed. (A light-hearted subject, yes, she realized this.)
She did as much as possible in her spare time, which was whenever there weren't projects or essays that needed to be handed in. It was tiring, but oddly, she found it fascinating. The pros definitely, even to her pessimist mind, outweighed the cons. If Alba meant to make her happy without saying it, he sure was successful.
It was around a month later did Alba, the pest, popped up on the flat laptop screen.
"I have a job for you to do, which would perhaps bring some hands on experience to perhaps greater jobs. You should be grateful for this experience." He nodded to himself when she did not nod.
"There was a employee of Amano Group by the name of Cece Yew – one of our major financiers – threatening to expose of our secrets," he began, his voice low and solemn. "I had my second hand, Manny Coachen, take care of her. Now what did he do? Messed up, and got arrested. In normal circumstances, I would not have saved him, but the Amano Group will help him, as a gift after that slip up. I want you to become 'Calisto Yew', Cece Yew's sister. You will watch the trial and see to anything that goes wrong. Be thankful of this rare opportunity. All the details would be in the file that should be sent to your laptop. Be sure to write a report afterwards."
At that, he flickered off before her lips moved to say 'Yes Boss'.
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Since spying was all about the air 'to pretend', and since she was going to be undercover, she did her homework on theatre and the arts, which she found she had a particular talent in. She found 'becoming' a different person easy, after figuring everything about them out.
Physical appearance was crucial, and she knew she had to get it right in order to pull one over every person she would come by as that particular 'character' or 'persona'. That meant even if she had to buy colored contacts, or force her eyesight to become bad enough for the need of prescription glasses, she would have to do it in order to become that character. Every detail had to be accurate, as first impressions would be hard to break away from, and it would often make connections to personality and traits.
(Thank god for that psychology minor.)
So, in order 'to become' Calisto Yew, she to leave behind every aspect of what she is, to become someone different. Someone, although fabricated, could be seen as real because the person was living and breathing in her. That was right.
Which was why she requested money. And she received it.
The royal, navy blue suit was neat and professional, typical of a smart lawyer who operated in Los Angeles. It was fitting of a woman in a man's world, yet she was one who wore it with flair. Her long, black hair was only needed to be styled straight and cut neatly, nothing more, as Calisto was a woman who was minimal with what she did, what she wore. Yet, her high heeled boots, eye-catching earrings and her habit of putting on make up all the time would do their job of ensuring and showing that Calisto Yew, although a woman who slipped into a man's world, still had her femininity and still embraced that. Also, Calisto Yew would be an excellent lawyer who knew the two worlds of right and wrong and contrast – shown by her shirt and tie.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she widened her eyes and promptly placed more mascara on her short lashes.
That was it.
She's Calisto Yew now.
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"Boss," she began, a few days later. "I have my report ready."
"You should have just sent it to me." He narrowed his eyes. "Unless... it is something of importance? Did something go wrong?"
"Well boss," she replied, "The Prosecuting Party came up to me for a strange request. Namely, Prosecutor Byrne Faraday and his partner, Homicide Detective Tyrell Badd. After they saw my performance, they wanted me to join their group... of thieves. They said we could become the 'Yatagarasu', a noble thief who stole the truth when the law could do nothing. They were thinking of the three of us using one alias, and that we would target companies who made illegal deals."
Alba made a troubled expression. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. That is troubling. You... join them. There is a high possibility that they would want to come after us. Join them. Become our mole. Make sure they never get there."
She made a courtly nod. "Yes sir."
"I expect a full typed report soon. Meanwhile, work with those two idiots. Make them play their little games. Provide them with help. Only if you are forced, do you escape, understood? Take them out if they are in the way."
She nodded again. "Yes, boss."
"Contact me if you have anything pressing to inform." He then cut off the connection.
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Calisto Yew's first impression of Miles Edgeworth was that he was a kid that grew up too fast. He dressed like an idiot, never smiled, and it made her laugh. She couldn't help it! The kid was naturally charming that way.
But it was also Calisto Yew who saw that Miles Edgeworth was a kid who had talent. And anyone who had talent and smarts would become deadly as an enemy.
So she smiled. She put on her make up like nothing was happening, nothing would happen, and there certainly wasn't a Woman Underneath Calisto who was planning something big.
However, even if Miles Edgeworth were a kid with smarts, she had them both, too. And experience. If worse came to worse, she had a backup plan. She wasn't one to look down and underestimate people, unlike the Woman Underneath's boss.
Shit. She was cracking. This character had lasted for three years, and it was taking a toll.
Calisto Yew wasn't usually one to space out during court, and when caught, she apologized. She was tired, she said, a painfully simple lie to the point she doesn't even have to bat her eyelashes.
"Miss Yew," the kid playing prosecutor began. "You are the double murderer." His eyes narrowed, and it was Calisto Yew who wanted to tell the kid that he was not capable of standing in the Court of Law just yet.
But she knew he would be back, standing at the prosecutor's corner like it was made for him.
"I admit it." At that point, Calisto Yew was thrown away. She had the key with her, which she managed to take like candy from a little boy. She took in the sudden gasps of the jury and the other people in the courtroom.
"I did everything. I killed Faraday. I planned the murders. And I also happen to be working for the smuggling ring." She smirked, as she acted quickly to save herself. Taking a shot at Miles, she ran out the courtroom and managed an escape.
Miles Edgeworth, huh? She huffed. She was sure that fate was weaving other stories for her. He just might have been the guy that would bring a stop to it all, that egoistic bastard.
By night, she is already taking a drag out of her cigarette. Her old apartment is now empty and her lack of things have been sent to another place hidden in the centre of the city. All the things that marked Yew – her clothes, her make up, her perfume, her case files, everything – have either been disposed of at different places or burned to a crisp.
She gets a taxi to the nearest salon possible and gets herself curly, red hair, and dresses herself in a casual outfit consisting of a long coat for the September wind and smart jeans.
When she gets into the next taxi, by then, her name, age and general identity have changed.
And now, Carla Smith, a temporary character to be used in emergencies, sighs softly as she waits for her manual laptop (not the flat thing that she uses to contact boss with) to load up. Carla would rather write a report than speak to her heartless, stupid boss at the moment.
After a sip of her instant coffee she made for herself and a bite of her favorite blueberry muffin, Carla Smith begins writing her fake spy report for her book.
Two years later, Alba decided that it would be good to have someone in Interpol to somehow act as a mole again. By then, she obviously thought that he didn't care if she died, since Interpol never had a reputation of treating traitors very well. Plus, having no experience with policing made the matter even harder.
But she knew that Alba was totally set on with this plan, seeing he spent a fortune on fake documents and went on trying to clear her background. (She didn't know how he managed this but he did it without any problems.)
During a live feed, she happened to drop the question.
"Should I apply for citizenship in Zheng Fa? I hear the country's small, and the criteria to become part of Interpol there isn't difficult at all." She might as well spend some time away from the US, since the polluted air seemed to play a big part on having an unhealthy body.
"I don't see that as a problem. Stay there and we'll make sure you get citizenship. Your persona may become handy in the future... I believe so."
"Thank you very much boss." She gave him a long and polite nod.
"Your plane ticket will arrive in three days. Make the necessary preparations."
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Zheng Fa, although was a country small in size, was very impressive. The air was clean, just as she expected it to be, and the scenery reminded her of pictures in books. The population wasn't overly large since citizenship was difficult to get, and how Alba managed to get her in there was a complete mystery.
After settling down in Zheng Fa, she decided to get familiar with the area first, as she knew her next character had to be convincing, otherwise it would only pull her down and get her arrested, or even worse, get her put on death row. Working on speaking Chinese fluently was a problem, however, but she was sure that Alba would give her a lot of time, since the last time she heard from him, he didn't look like he was in any rush for a plan at all. (She had learnt how to read his facial expressions and the tone of each sentence.)
If she did not convince the Interpol Headquarters that she was from Zheng Fa and was a good asset to the group, she would not get in, documents or no documents. Then, she would be killed under Alba's gun - or at least, by gun from one of his agents. She'd heard that he had numerous agents all around America and most of them mainly stationed around Los Angeles and key points where the smuggling group did their dirty business.
Well, this wasn't so bad. Step out of line if make you make it into Interpol – die. Fail to get into Interpol – die.
She narrowed her eyes. It wasn't much fun when your choices seem to get narrower instead of wider as you aged.
It took her a few months walking around the town she was living in to get used to Chinese. Plus, she managed to create Shih-na, one of the best sectaries Zheng Fa had to offer. Shih-na liked to wear a traditional Chinese dress that oozed femininity and matching gloves plus pumps, translucent black tights and short hair styled into a bob shape. Shih-na's eyes were piercing, and she solemn spoke unless addressed to properly. She was also a hard worker who was efficient on her feet and was capable of carrying out investigations on her own.
On the tenth month, she sat in front of several agents from Zheng Fa, who obviously fell for the fake documents which stated she was qualified as a detective in America, where she studied criminology before coming back to her home country, Zheng Fa, to support the country during a time where Interpol police from there were at an all–time low.
Yes. Shih-na was born and raised in Zheng Fa as a young child, and got taken to America by her father when her parents split up. Shih-na always wanted to help catch criminals even at a young age and worked hard to get there.
After the half hour interview and two days, Shih-na received the letter of confirmation that, indeed, Interpol had accepted her application as a secretary. Far cry from the investigator or detective she wanted, but she got somewhere.
Shih-na, although a woman with few expression, smiled, and made herself a promise that she would work to the top of the chain, and do her best to support her bosses.
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In normal circumstances, she would not have risen to the top within two years of working with Interpol. But Shih-na had been offered up to Top Investigator Lang, who received only the highest of respect worldwide as an Investigator. Shih-na was offered up because Lang's last secretary was a useless bitch who ended up eating his trust like a free buffet. And Lang could not last without a second in command for long – his workload was heavy, and although he hated to admit it, he could not do it all himself.
It was an awkward moment, getting called into Lang's office. The office was large and airy, typical of a place that housed a top agent. There were a few potted plants here and there, and behind his desk was a bookshelf of data that covered the wall. Other than the sofa and coffee table opposite the next for guests, there was nothing else in the room.
Lang's desk was neat and tidy – with papers that he was in the middle of signing neatly stacked, a laptop that sat waiting to be used, and the man himself looking down and signing papers with a fancy pen that she was sure was famous and was made somewhere in Europe.
"So you're Shih-na?" She did not like the tone of voice Lang was speaking to her. Almost like he was looking down on her...ability. Shih-na had heard good things about the way Lang treated his subordinates, and that underneath his thick skin of tough shell, he was a gentle man of a gentle nature.
That sounded a little familiar.
"Yes, boss. I was sent here to see you."
Lang gave her a good look, as if he was trying to figure her out, see under her skin, or something as ridiculous as that.
"Listen," he began. "From today onwards, you will be my new secretary. But I hear that you would like to be an investigator, also. I can allow you to take over some cases if I believe you can do it. I won't give you everything on a plate. You have to work for it, and that includes my trust."
She allowed a small smile to grace her lips.
"Yes, boss." Shih-na gave him a long nod.
The ones who have their trust broken won't easily make the same mistake again.
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The first time it happened, he was drunk. Shih-na had known him for over a year by then, so he knew that he wasn't the type to get drunk easily. It was ironic how she felt that something bad was going to happen.
Lang was in a sour mood, seeing that he didn't manage to get information out of a witness, and the witness was behaving even more like a bitch then he was used to, so it took him all his might and professionalism not to smack her in the face to see how she liked getting damaged.
They were away on business, so they weren't in Zheng Fa, meaning that they had to stay out in a hotel, and being Lang's right hand woman, she had to be the one to drag Lang away from the bar, to the elevators, and up to his room. She had to skillfully look into his jacket and fish out his room key and get him into bed.
Lang, to his credit, had not said a drunken word since his embarrassing collapse at the hotel bar. He only mumbled and grumbled, and muttered things that didn't make sense and were more like noises than words of any language.
Shih-na was just turning to leave his room to return to her own when she felt a strong hand grab onto her own, which was impossible, seeing how -
He was standing behind her.
Shit.
Was Lang the type of guy to turn on or something when he was drunk? It seemed like it. He had a smirk on that said something bad was going to happen, and he moved, although with a bit of a sway, a lot quicker than he usually was.
Shih-na was caught off guard when his lips crashed onto hers, until she gave up and kissed him back. It was getting heated with open mouths and tongues – and by then, Lang's hands were wandering. They wandered to the side of her dress and begun unzipping it and tried to lead her onto his bed at the same time, which sort of worked, Shih-na had to admit. Shih-na was turned on at that point whilst Lang was removing her tights then getting at her bra, but the Woman Underneath was threatening to come back. The Woman Underneath was going to make Shih-na cry, and Shih-na had no reason to cry – she was enjoying this.
It ended up taking all of the Woman's willpower not to cry and start weeping over lost memories and instead focusing on Shih-na's pleasure. By now, Lang had already unhooked her bra and thrown it somewhere, while playing with her breasts as Shih-na's delicate hands moved to rid Lang of his clothes too.
The night was long.
Shih-na woke up in the morning with mascara that had run all down her face. She swore next time, she would use waterproof mascara, and next time, she would remove her make up before going to sleep, sex with your boss or no sex.
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The second time it happened, he was wide awake and knew exactly what he was doing.
Funnily enough, having boss – secretary sex meant that he grew to trust her a lot more, which also meant that the other woman would be able to actually make reports and send them to her boss of an old man. Lang was a responsible person, but he did say that although he shouldn't have done it, he was sure they both enjoyed it.
Shih-na was sure it was because he was too busy to have a girlfriend to take care of his sexual desires.
This time, they were back in Zheng Fa, and she was instructed to go over to his apartment to deliver some evidence photos that he wanted to have a look at. She didn't understand why, since all of that could be done on the computer and be emailed to him.
It was only after he greeted her, told her to put them down and started kissing her did she realize it was all just a scam just so he could get laid again.
Even though Shih-na and the other woman were both crying inside, both of them tried to keep it in and hoped that Lang got the hint when she never replied his gestures with the same enthusiasm.
He never did.
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After the second time, other times had existed, too. Shih-na was always confused by that relationship of theirs, in which Lang never probably saw as one anyway, and how she accepted it without much question.
It took Shih-na more than two years afterwards to realize that her admiration for him, all along, was love.
It won't ever happen anyway.
Shih-na didn't see much in Miles Edgeworth. Sure, the prosecutor was famous in Los Angeles and was incredibly clever, but she didn't see much in him. The reason why would be unknown – perhaps she just carried a general dislike for the man. She might have just rubbed off from Lang the hate he carried for every prosecutor he saw.
Kay Faraday, however, was a different story. The child was bright and had a good personality, one that never liked to give up and although not very intelligent, she pulled her weight and did well. She just happened to be the daughter of a man who cared too much and believed a woman's heavy lies.
Shih-na continued to work with Investigator Lang until her death. Shih-na knew he would have got to the leaders of the group he was chasing after anyway. He was good enough. No, he was even better. Sure, Miles Edgeworth took the limelight, but he did his part too. Shih-na could have loved him if she were real, for, when she set eyes onto the old man named Quercus Alba, a well respected Ambassador, Shih-na would die a quick, yet painless, death.
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Shih-na, no, the secretary was dead – yes, but she seemed to be holding such strong emotions when Lang took the bullet that was now lodged in his thigh. She scowled, and Shih-na, the last moments of her, knew her former boss was probably holding a confident smirk. That brought her panic – did he never feel anything for her? Were her feelings for him just... blind? Were their relationship just his little, sick minded idea of a game?
She couldn't believe it. Shih-na wasn't dead. She hadn't pretended to be the woman, the woman was there all along throughout Alba's plans. She just didn't notice.
Shih-na only really died when Lang threw her onto a chair and begun interrogating her. By then, she was so drained after taking on three lifetimes, she gave up.
Here she is, alone again. She thinks it's incredibly depressing, how humans are born alone and how they die alone. Within her small cell, she'd rather die at the moment. She believes, with both Yew and Shih-na's experience with that Miles Edgeworth, he would pull through. He would pull through and bring down Alba with the gift she gave them.
"I did not kill anyone."
She really, really hates her prison uniform more than anything else. Granted, she was probably given one of the nicest cells in the whole prison due to her 'contribution to court', but wearing the tacky uniform feels uncomfortable, and she would actually rather die.
She actually wants to die.
It would be nice, having a bullet through the head. Her life has been long enough, and she drank drama and thrills so much that she is sick of it, like a kid who ate too much candy and put on too much weight for him to handle.
It would be nice, being put on death row.
And that's what she says to Miles Edgeworth when he comes by with that child, Kay Faraday, who wants to thank her personally for the 'hair sticks'. It is funny, how the two people who shaped her fate are both the ones who gave her the thrill of her life and the very ones who took her freedom away from her.
"We really appreciate the evidence you gave me, even though you were the one who killed my father." She said, with an oddly light-hearted tone even when talking about her father's death. She knows the kid is strong.
"It doesn't matter, Faraday." Her eyes are droopy from the lack of sleep, and they're probably bloodshot.
"So," Kay begins. "I would like to grant a wish of yours too, Miss! But not to escape, hahaha."
"Well," she began, and a smirk graces her lips when she sees Miles Edgeworth take in their conversation. "It would be nice of you if you would bury my body with my parents -"
She could hear a soft crackling noise. Like snow on a TV channel with no signal, or a radio getting out of the service area. It sounded like it wanted her to stay quiet for an unknown reason, before the voice itself grew louder and louder suddenly, before the sound was playing at such a high hertz level she could no longer hear it.
She moved her hand to feel the lines vibrating around her. Sometimes, it would sting. Other times, it would burn. But there was one line, one line of movement, which made her see the impossible.
A Butterfly.
Lines curved to make the outline of the beautiful insect, and it jumped off the surface, the collection of lines that moved and sounded like snow. Then all of sudden, the collection of lines don't exist any more and she is the only person there, standing on water, watching the butterfly made of waves of sound fly around her, until it got bored and flew upwards.
As the butterfly flew further and further away, the sky and the water grew darker and darker and darker until the water turned into mud and the clouds worked against her to suffocate her.
As she slowly sunk under deep mud, her expression never changed. It wasn't surprised, it wasn't sad, it wasn't happy.
It didn't say a thing, it didn't leave a mark.
So much for watching your life go by during your last moments living.
Rain-pour sounds like a distant lullaby, like a soft tune sung by a hidden voice. He has no words to give, nothing to offer, only a small piece of silence.
In the long years, Miles guesses, the woman without a name's birth city has changed. Parks have been made small, smart houses turned into more tall skyscrapers that block the sun. Schools are stricter, inner towns have less places to hide.
And the graveyard is long forgotten. Since it's location was so easy to forget, people chose to bury their loved ones elsewhere. Vines snaked around tombstones. Grass grew tall, hiding secrets that have long faded away. Yet, there is an odd place next to an unfortunate couple who both died in accidents seven days apart from each other.
Miles does not know whether or not those two people are the woman's parents, but there is no other place to fit her in. It wasn't a job of high difficulty – it just took time. Before her death, the woman had revealed her birthplace and her wish. The wish merely took some time and money.
Every decent person he knew, after he showed them the piece of evidence, agreed to place money toward this wish. It was also after he saw this evidence himself, documenting every reason why he should bother did he devote his time toward this.
Even if he were a believer of science, he will not murder fate and chance when it is placed into his hands.
In his gloved hand, it is a letter packaged in a clear evidence bag he took from Gumshoe. The writing is faded, as a consequence of time, and the edges are slightly burnt. The recreation team did well.
Marina Thornton,
I hope this letter will get to you in some form or another. I hope my love will travel to your broken heart. I hope this will document the fact that you are still living, even if you are dead. I hope you will get my apologies. First of all, don't ever get involved with the man named Quercus Alba. At this point, I live to regret it, but I know I won't stay like this any longer...
Inside the letter laid a faded photograph of a young girl, aged around sixteen, lying in sheets of white. Her skin is pale and her eyes are red.
It is like she is dead already, even though it is proven that the photo and the woman who lived are the same people.
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NOTES
Many thanks to Frog-kun for reading this over and giving me suggestions to fill in the blanks (you were very arrurate) and The Jabberer for editing this monster of a piece and doing it so quickly. I love you both, and this story owes you too.
I hope you enjoy this, doro. I hope this fits in to what you were expecting.
1. There is one very important point about the spy's life that I don't touch up upon. Alba is the one that ruins her life. He is the one that ordered Andrew to go and rape her, he is the one that orders the 'accidental' death of both her parents. But things ended up turning not as bad as she thought it would.
2. There are a few points Dolasiar pointed out for me which I believe may prompt further questioning? Well, for starters, I think that the spy asked for them to be buried with her parents could possibly be a convenient lie of some sort. First of all, Lucy was buried there also, and even though she had a general dislike for her parents, I don't think any child could possibly fully hate them. The graveyard in question was where her parents and Lucy were buried, so that's pretty much everyone she had ever once loved. I think it would have been somewhat awkard for her to request to be buried with Lucy, and I think she would have wanted her past to stay secret, because she feels it's personal to her.
3. Next, Andrew would have written the letter after he decided he had fallen in love with 'Marina'. And also, I believe that he wouldn't have finished the letter anyway, so he didn't post it at all. But hey, how Miles got hold of the letter can be your imagination.
4. Andrew did not know who Lucy was, he was just ordered to be at Lucy and Laura's murder. Alba, through his many spies and stalkers, found out that Lucy's influence could mess up his plans to maniplulate her. So, of course, being Alba the Evil, he got rid of her. Laura was murdered obviously because she was in the house at the time too, and they probably found out that Lucy really loved Laura, not that it would be difficult to find out. But of course, the girl witnissing the murder is unplanned, so after she killed Andrew, Alba got wind of this and ordered people to be there. It was a fast change of plans, but Alba would have killed Andrew anyway since he would sooner or later find out the attachment he had for her.
I think that's all you really have to know. If you're confused by anything I don't touch up upon, don't hesitate to review and ask me. I will reply.
Well thank you very much for reading! I'd love to know what you guys think ~