Disclaimer: nothing's mine.

For the Darkship Prompt Meme in LJ.


What a mess you made

He likes to think about her. He likes to daydream, sometimes -always far away from Kelly, of course-, and imagine that, even if it was just a second, she was sincere. He knows he's lying to himself, but who cares.

She made everything feel weird. Good, for a few days, but just that. Then she had to go and spoil it all – because that's just the way his life functions. Nothing good can come without everything getting messed. And oh, what a mess she made, in the end.

He goes to that room once a day, at least -to keep her some company, to be with someone, himself, even if that someone's a frozen corpse that can't answer, can't love. Even if being with her all these times makes him think about the other times, the ones when she was alive and breathing and pretended to like him, to actually care. She did it well, really. He believed her blindly.

Hi, Sally, he says. She's there, just like every other day -and that's good; he likes order. Chaos is more for people like Nathan, people with something that resembles a life, who can go out and not be called weirdo, freak, melonfucker. Chaos is for funny, interesting people -like Kelly or Alisha, or Curtis.

Not for him.

Hi, how you've been?, he asks, kindly -because what's the point in being harsh to a corpse, no matter what they did when they were alive. You're not too uncomfortable, are you?

It would be easy, talking to people, if everyone was like her. Not now -though now it's even easier-, but before this. Before the kissing and the killing thing, before he knew she could hit with so much strength. It would be easy, because Sally seemed eager to listen, and nodded in the right moments and actually let him talk, not like the others. She waited for him to be ready; she wanted him to speak.

That rational part of himself, the one that works most of the time, tells him it was all pretended, of course. That she didn't care at all, that she – that she was lying. Why would a pretty woman like her notice someone like him? Why would anyone notice you, Simon? But there's another part, tiny and mostly quiet, that wants to believe. It couldn't have been all a fraud, it says. It can't. Her smiles were too open, her kisses -few and light- too real. It had to be something, it had to mean something.

Hey, Sally, he says, and kisses her hair. What do you think?


Danny