TW: drugs, rough sex (implied but not shown), borderline-nsfw-ish/lime, dissociation/trauma reaction
CHAPTER FOUR
claustrophobia
There was a horrid smell drifting down the stairwell, and I closed the door behind me with a disgusted sigh before stomping my way up the stairs, barging into the hallway above ours, and banging on the second door from the stairs. "Oy!"
The door opened a chink, a chain crossing over the face that appeared at the doorway. "Who is it?"
"You know perfectly fucking well who it is." I shoved my hand through the crevice, reached up and unhooked the chain. With a sharp push, the door fell open, and Greed staggered backwards, giving me a smirk and shrug. "I can smell your goddamn drugs down the stairs again."
"Can't help that you've got the most sensitive nose in history -"
I took a step inside and slammed the door behind me. "I don't care that you smoke crack -"
"I don't smoke it, darling. I don't shit where I eat."
"Well, I don't care that you sell it either, or that you hand it out as a damned favour to every fucking crack whore and junkie who wanders in. But I do care about having to put up with that fucking paint-peeling, nose-burning, brain-destroying smell every time I go out for a smoke!"
Greed pulled his sunglasses off of his nose and cleaned them methodically and carefully on his shirt. "Darling, I hate to tell you, I'm pretty sure there's more chemicals in that little tube of tobacco than there is in my whole flat -"
I shoved him. It was supposed to be a normal shove – it came out stronger than I meant, and his back hit the wall by the door with a clatter. "Asshole."
He pushed the sunglasses back onto his face, still smirking. "Well, I'm sure I could do more about the smell. But then you wouldn't tell me off so politely."
I found myself gritting my teeth. "Fuck you." I drew back my fist, ready to punch those dumbass glasses off his face -
He grabbed my wrist and took two steps forward. His breath was hot on my forehead, fingers squeezing just hard enough to hurt, the leg of his tight denim jeans sliding between my legs and against the bare skin below my lace skirt. "Well, I would, but you said last time was the last time," he mocked. "What's the matter?" He pressed a little harder between my legs, and I bit my lip, trying to stop myself from making any sound. "Changed your mind?"
"Nnn -" The correct answer was no. That was the reasonable, rational, intelligent answer. "You're still a fucking loser," I whispered back, trying to catch my breath.
His other hand found its way into my hair, fingers tangling through green-and-black locks. "Uh huh. Loser, is it?" Then there were teeth on my neck as the grip on my hair tightened and pulled my head back, and I couldn't stop it this time – a guttural moan escaped my mouth, and my free hand clawed at the wall instead of doing anything useful.
"Loser or not, you're making some delicious noises for somebody determined to stay away from me."
I gave in. It really wasn't worth the effort to try to be a good person. After all, I'm not – and there's something about sex you know you're not supposed to want, sex that's hard and rough and dirty and violent, that makes you crave it like a hit of nicotine.
Or maybe that's just me.
I stopped myself from falling asleep afterwards. I didn't want a repeat of this afternoon, not around someone like Greed. Instead, I stared up at his ceiling, tracing the cracks in the worn plaster and breathing in the scent of the cocaine he'd been burning before I showed up. It didn't bother me so much after a while. That was probably the scariest part of it.
I could feel myself drifting. Maybe I was still dreaming. I'm not supposed to feel like this anymore. It's supposed to be over.
Greed's hand tightened on my shoulder, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he curled around me like an overgrown cat. He still had his tank top on, but it had ridden up to let his stomach press against my side. I was still pretty much fully-clothed, skirt pushed up to my waist, boots lying somewhere on the floor, bruises scattering my arms and neck -
I sat up, pushing his arms away, and stared at my hands for a little bit trying to collect my thoughts. Then, almost on autopilot, I reached for one of my boots and started pulling it on, my ears ringing and a quiet chant starting up in the back of my head of why do you like it so much when it hurts and you are not you you are not
you you are not
you are n-
Greed's hand landed back on my shoulder, and I started at the feeling of his warm fingers, the ring on the middle finger still cold somehow.
"You okay?" he asked, and even the low purr of his voice wasn't enough to make everything snap back into place.
"Of course I'm okay," I snapped. (liarliarliar) "But I told you this had to stop happening -"
"Why?"
I looked back over my shoulder, almost expecting him to have that predatory look on again, but he actually looked... normal. Relaxed, still breathing a little hard, but that was normal.
He smiled disarmingly. "We get along great."
"You slammed me into the wall so hard I'm pretty sure I broke the plaster."
"And you did the same to me, and both of us got hard as fuck from it. I call that a success." Now he was smirking. I slapped him, but lightly. "Seriously, though, what's the big deal?" he asked again. He sat up, tousled hair falling a little into his eyes. It made him look younger – it softened the hard lines of his cheeks, hid the crows-feet that were encroaching early at the corners of his eyes. He was older than me, but I didn't know by how much. We didn't talk about personal things here. Your neighbour had a name, you called them that name, and you didn't ask questions.
Greed, apparently, considered himself an exception.
"I saw Ling today," I replied quietly, even though it didn't really answer his question. "Does he look that young most of the time or just in daylight?"
His lips curled at that, although I wasn't sure whether it was the crack about Ling's age or the fact that I'd spoken to Ling at all. "You really don't like me, do you?"
Oh, you're so wrong. "I have standards," I shot back, and finished lacing up my boot. My heart was still hammering in my chest, but it wasn't from the sex anymore. His hand traced the back of my neck. I waited for it to tighten, for him to pull me back onto the couch and hurt me, and I would deserve it because jesus, I didn't know him well but I knew him well enough to know that whatever he had with Ling, it was real. It should be beyond my snide jokes. Besides, I'd liked Greed enough to play games with him – but that had been before.
Before what? Be honest with yourself – before what? Hanging around at that fucking cafe is making you worse, not better -
"Honest question. If I paid you, would you be more comfortable around me?" It wasn't out of nowhere, really, and it wasn't a jeer or a joke – just a question. Really, just a question. Him and his goddamn – fucking – questions -
I snorted, and stood up, pulling my skirt back down and adjusting my underwear. "No, but I'd fake it better."
He bared his teeth, and I couldn't tell whether he was grinning or grimacing. "You're a real sweetheart, aren't you?"
"You couldn't afford me." And again, it felt easy, it felt like it could be more, but the ring on his finger and the boy in the coffeeshop and the fact that Greed was like this with everyone, I wasn't some special distraction or entertainment or anything more – that stopped me. Unbidden, Edward's face rose in my mind, if only because he'd been there with Ling earlier. God, they had no idea. Fucking innocent middle-class college kids, heads in the clouds, never knowing or realizing or coming close to understanding that Greed and Lust and I were fucked, we were empty, we were the kinds of things they heard about in Lifetime movies and DARE videos -
I walked out and didn't say another word. What haunted me more than anything is that I knew I was lying. It was just me. The rest of them were fine.
I was the empty one.
Greed didn't follow me. I could be happy with that, at least.
