The light outside filtered lightly in the room, casting a refreshing brightness to the black satin sheets of which Lip lay on his back. Vivette's head was tucked under his chin, one of her pale legs thrown over his hips. His eyes blinked open, and he was confused. What the fucking fuck?
Then last night's events flashed through his mind sluggishly, and it all came down to when him and Vivette fucked repeatedly. No, he thought bitterly, she didn't fuck me, she made love to me.
Which was why he had to get the hell out of dodge. Having a girl like her LOVE him was a fucked up idea from the go, and he was too blind to realize it. She belonged in gilded rooms and satin couches and delicate English gardens drinking tea with lots of sugar; he belonged on street corners, stealing cars and dating sluts like Karen. They should have never mixed.
He slid out from under her, allowing himself to gaze down at her sleeping form, snoring delicately. A smile teased her lips, and she groaned, grapping a pillow and latching onto it, petting it softly and mumbling quietly before stilling again.
And damn if he wasn't willing to sell his black soul just to replace the pillow with himself, to feel her warm touch.
Cursing silently, he turned away and located his rumpled jeans and shirt. He pulled them on, and not giving himself just one last look at Vivette, slipped out the door.
He found Ian, Fiona, and Steve sitting at the kitchen table. OR, to be more correct, a big tea-stained canvas as the tabletop with four tall stacks of books as the legs.
"Well, look at that," purred Fiona with a glance at his wrinkled clothes. "Someone had a nice time last night, didn't they?"
"Yeah, nice," whispered Lip, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Ian narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?"
Lip ignored him. "We have to go today, right?"
"No," interjected the oblivious Steve, "Since everyone seems to love it here, I thought we could postpone leaving. Maybe even invite Vivette to stay with us," he added with a waggle of his brows to Lip.
The thought of pristine Vivette being in the same house with his father, beer, drugs, hobos milling about, half the stuff there stolen for fuck's sake, shook him to the core. He couldn't allow Vivette to see that. He had to leave, and never come back.
Even in his memories.
"No!" he cried without thinking, and everyone turned to look at him in confusion and alarm.
"Sit your ass down, and explain what's wrong," snapped Fiona, pointing to a rickety wooden chair.
Lip didn't want to sit, he wanted to leave. "I…" he began, then swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. "I have to go make up with Karen."
"What?" They all whisper-yelled.
"Yeah, being with Vivette made me realize that I really miss her."
"Then why do you sound like those words are like acid on your tongue?" pointed out Ian with a twist to his lips.
He should have come up with a smart reply that would have thrown them off his trail. He should have made the right decision and simply kissed Vivette and tucked her into her bed of dark passion. He should have just stayed the hell away, but he didn't. He had had glorious sex with a siren high above the streets of New York, and no words came out of his mouth now. Because, even now, he likes to think, subconsciously, once he had tasted an angel, a demon just wouldn't do, even if he was one himself.
Sensing his thoughts, Fiona touched his arm. "Do you really want to leave Vivette, Lip?"
He squared his shoulders. "Doesn't matter what I want, she needs to stay here, and I don't deserve to do the same. So, can we please go so I can track down my…" 'my' nothing. A whore who freezes me inside out "Girlfriend."
An hour later
"Come on Lip," called Fiona from the passenger seat as Lip looked up the tall, magnificent Waldorf Astoria, trying to get one last look at her flaming hair and glinting green eyes, but her window was too far up for him to catch a glimpse.
He got in the cramped backseat, and they drove down the road in silence. Rain poured openly now on the black streets, shading Manhattan in gloomy grey. Fiona quietly rustled through her purse, and when she gasped a little, it was loud in the silent Impala.
She gulped audibly, and turned in her seat to wordlessly hand Lip a little envelope, the one that she had apparently been surprised to find in her purse.
It was dark red and made out of smooth wove paper, and in black calligraphy, 'Lip' was written in the middle on the back. On the front, in was sealed with black wax, stamped by Vivette's family crest.
He gulped and slowly opened it, careful not rip anything, and he pulled out a sheet of coffee paper. Unfolded, he read the following message to himself:
Dearest Lip,
Were you not happy with me? Did I not please you on the few days that we were together? Although the distance of time and account of days may be either forever or a few hours, dependant of your repugnance, or perhaps fear, of me, the want of your presence shall quietly haunt me. The time in which I write this letter, at four fifteen in the morning of the day you are scheduled to leave, and the time in which you will decide whether to leave me, will seem an eternity. For life as I know it rests in your hands.
But how am I not to know that you have another love awaiting you at wherever you resided before your short jaunt here in New York. Perhaps your love of me, if you have any at all, simply is eclipsed by your love of someone else obviously worthy of you. The more I write this, the more angered I am at your actions, because if this letter actually reaches your hands, it means that you have indeed abandoned me. Coward, that's what you are if you read this letter. But if you do not, if you chose to stay with me, a wayward girl, then may I thank the gods above. Alas, I sincerely doubt that you will stay, and is that not a horrid thing? When the love of one's life cannot even be trusted to stay. And even then, I understand you not wanting me. I scarcely want myself, my heart.
Every time I think of you to leave, I grow sad and melancholy to a fevered degree. But then I love you even more every time I think of a universe in which you stay. However, you need not think of me any more, for as you have made up your mind, I make up mine as well. As they say, "the first thought that comes to one's head is the way they truly believe."
Never come back.
Adieu, Lip, and may you live a very happy life as I shall live one as well, alone.
V.V.V
Tears coursed down his cheeks, like he imagined they did her as she penned this letter filled with sadness.
The whole car felt his anguish, and stayed deathly quiet the whole ride back.
Yeah, so. I cut this chapter very short and do not intend to proofread it, because as a reader, I hate to read these inevitable plot twists and sad moments that make you teary, and as a writer, it's awful to type and makes me quite depressed. So, just overlook typos, and wait patiently as I recover and get to work on the next, hopefully cheerful yet no less drama-filled, with a perhaps surprise appearance from good ol' Karen. Maybe. I don't know yet….
