They fought almost as much as they drank. The two events, incidentally, also tended to coincide, one feeding the other until it was all a mess she couldn't do anything about. It wasn't surprising, really; get any group large and monstrous enough and they'll step on each other's toes eventually. Still. Just because it was understandable didn't mean she had to like it. It was absolute hell for her when they fought, loud and indescribably messy, a menagerie of ill-thought words and misplaced threats. What she really wanted was to find a dark room somewhere, cover her ears with her hands, and sit very very still until it all went away. Unfortunately, that would only prolong the hell, as she would undoubtedly find herself dragged out and chastised for her disappearance. Such things were unavoidable.
This time it had been one of the women who got sore. Violet didn't know what exactly she was upset about, but it hardly mattered; they were all so easily offended, too wrapped up in their own egos. He had snapped his fingers to her, barely looking up as he indicated the empty bottle before him, and so against her better judgement, she now headed back into the lion's den of inequity, liquor in hand.
He didn't acknowledge Violet as he took the bottle from her hands, lacing an arm around the shrill woman, pressing it to her, "Come, now. It isn't at all what you think."
"I just don't see how you could possibly give the role to her, after everything we went through last time-"
"Don't think of it like that. You're practically the star. Come on, you know we can't do it without you. None of the men will be convincing enough."
Sulkily, she crossed her arms. Violet turned to leave, but without looking, he reached out, pressing a cold hand to her shoulder, "You didn't bring glasses."
"You didn't ask." Slowly, he turned to look at her, and she rather wished he hadn't. Rolling her shoulder out of his grip, she looked away, muttering that she'd be back. He smiled, a false toothy smile that dug into her gut.
They had fought before; that wasn't so unusual. Sometimes it was cruel, but it was never too bad, often settled with half-done apologies and some sort of unhappy compromise. But this? This was insurmountable. She was honestly surprised he hadn't just killed her. Evidently, it was what she would have done. The torture of waiting was almost worse, though. It crawled under her skin, kept her awake at night as she stared at the ceiling, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he was only a few steps away, no doubt not thinking of her at all. Or perhaps he was. She wasn't sure which was worse.
When she returned with the glasses, he snatched them from her hands without a glance, handing one to the still sulking woman.
"Don't be like that," pausing, he leaned back towards the table, effectively blocking Violet's only exit. "You know you're my favorite."
"Favorite?" The woman's eyes lit up.
"You're my best girl. You know I love you."
It was senseless, but damnit if his words weren't a knife slicing down her sinews, leaving her a gaping fish dangled bloodily for his own pleasure. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she knew he had seen the compulsive look of pain on her face from the way he smiled again at the woman.
"Oh god, fine! You know I can refuse you nothing." The woman smiled as well, loping her hands behind his neck. He caught her waist, thoroughly satisfied.
"And you know I would never ask you to."
Not caring about manners anymore, Violet ducked her head down, trying to squeeze past unnoticed. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry. She wouldn't give him that. She had no reason to cry after all; it didn't matter, couldn't matter.
Forsaking her better judgement she glanced back just in time to catch the tableau of the woman laughing at something he had said as he reclined against the table, the picture of a relaxed host, smirking carelessly. He lifted his eyes only long enough to know she was watching, and then, gently, tucked a strand of hair behind the woman's ear.
Thoroughly eviscerated, Violet made her way to the kitchen, her ringing ears filled with the sound of her own chest breaking, pumping blood rushing to fill the empty space left behind.