Chapter Eighteen:
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(Bo's POV)
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"This is a mistake." Enobaria's voice carries through the emptied Dollhouse, causing a chill to shoot through me. Turning around I find her standing at the edge of the main stage, arms folded over her chest, disappointingly glaring at me.
I shrug. "Maybe."
"What are you even going to do now?"
"Kenzi has an idea…or two. Don't know if it'll ever work but I'm suddenly up for it."
"What is it with you and humans?"
"It's not humans," I manage to let out a little laugh, handing the bag in my left hand to the right. "It's particular humans."
"No-you have a thing for humans, period."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Is it because you want to be one?"
"I don't want to be one Enobaria, I want to be me-I just want to know who that is." Rolling my eyes at myself, I look away from here out into the darkness. "This is about freedom. About being who I want to be. Love who I want to love. Be with who I want to be with. I thought you'd understand."
"I do."
She says she understands, but her voice is flat and if she hadn't been the one to start the conversation, I'd think she was being forced to speak. Feeling like I'm talking to a brick wall, I go to turn again and walk out of this place once and for all, only to find myself compelled to turn right back around and ask her what has been bothering me for weeks.
"Don't you want to be free?"
"Of course I do."
"Then why don't you-?"
"It's not simple Bo. You see the world in this black or white scale, but there are a lot of gray areas. And sometimes we have to live in this gray area because what we would have to do to get out of it, isn't always something we can live with."
"To me, it's all excuses."
"You'll learn one day."
Turning to walk away once more, I find myself turning back around curiously. "Wait. Does that mean you know a way out of this?"
"Bo, what I think you're planning, let it go."
"I don't-."
"Know what I mean?" She laughs, maneuvering into a seated position so she can slide off of the stage. "I'm sure, but heed my warning Bo, you and Dyson and the Santiago boys and your little humans could all take him on and you would barely give him a workout. Hell, you could go get Jason and Evony and a whole little group of her men and still wouldn't do much."
"Is that what you really believe, or just what you tell yourself to make yourself feel better that you do nothing to leave?"
"You cannot take him Bo, you will die." She comes within arm's reach. "And you could never truly be sure which way she would come down."
"Who?"
She laughs, shaking her head. "Lauren."
"You didn't answer my question." I find myself snapping, ignoring her comment which I'm sure is more of a way to get at me than anything else.
"Things are changing." She trails off, glancing around the club. "A window opened recently, but, I don't know if I can do it."
"Do what?"
"Syra."
"That means nothing to me."
"No, she wouldn't." She takes a step into me and for the first time in a while I feel like I should take one back. "Bo, Syra is not a savior, she is the lion you'd be inviting into your tent."
"A lion you say?" I smirk, irritation getting the better of me at her crypticness. "Even better, as it turns out I think I have a little wolf problem too."
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(Lauren's POV)
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Patience is a virtue or so they say.
Perhaps it is. However, where many see patience there is mere more than a mildly thought out assumption. It is not necessarily patience I have, rather a lifetime experience of waiting. I have a theory, well a hypothesis really, that a person cannot be taught patience.
A person can be taught how to wait, but not patience. Patience is something one is born with the capacity for or not. With patience one is calm, collected, undistracted and often unbothered in any manner. There is a natural air to the exhibition of patience and the lifespan of patience is often indefinite. One more often than not has little idea how long they might have to be patient for and are unwavering in their dedication.
However, waiting is different. With waiting one can be just as calm, collected and undistracted although unbothered is debatable. The demonstration of waiting is often forced in some manner, an unnatural air to it as one is either too calm or too antsy. Most of all there is generally a date, a time in which the waiting will end.
While patience may not be a virtue of my own, waiting is most definitely a skillset. A not only sharpened, but refined skillset. Perhaps the most defined memory of my childhood is waiting. I would wait for my mother to come home and for my father to pay attention. I would wait for tutors and classes. I would wait until I was old enough to garner my own freedom, my own choices rather those imposed on me by my mother. I would wait until I had enough determination to walk away from them.
From there my skillset would be refined, if you learn anything in the military it is most certainly waiting. Waiting to make it through basic training. Waiting to make it through technical training. From there you wait for deployment and your transitions through rank. Upon deployment the waiting only increased. We waited for orders, for missions, for promotion, for news and of course our next deployment.
Although I owe the fae the most praise for perfecting my skill. Every moment of every day I find myself waiting for something. I wait for Cunningham to leave and to return. I wait for my prison to change, cell to manor. Manor to hotel room. Hotel room to the compound. The prison is ever changing. I wait the game that will be played that day, whether it will be violent or psychological or something else altogether.
I wait for it to be over—for death.
Surprisingly as of late in my own momentary selfish indulgence I find myself waiting for something else too—her. I wait for my moments with her and more so the moments we share alone. I wait for the glances and touches. I wait for the brief moments of solace the memory of her brings me. I wait for the sound of her voice.
I wait for the feeling she brings me—life.
Regardless of what I find myself waiting for, I'm good at it. So tonight, when I had to wait an hour for the last of Helix's clientele to clear out and the staff to follow, it was of little inconvenience. Then I found myself waiting another fifteen minutes to watch the lights above the club turn on and then off in a sporadic pattern. If I had to venture an educated guess Bo and Kenzi had gone home, grabbed a snack or drink and then went to bed.
Unable to prevent myself from going there, I wonder if she went alone or if Dyson was there with her. If he went upstairs along with her and to her room. I wonder if he'll be spending the night again as I am sure he has done quite frequently now. I wonder if he has these moments when she vanishes to meet me. I wonder if despite his distain and superiority to myself, does he feel a pane of jealousy at wondering if she's with me and what happens.
As much as I would love to stand here, indulging in my own insecurities and immaturities I remember I have a very small window as it is and it is only getting smaller with every moment spent here waiting. Sighing, I push myself off of the wall of the building I had been leaning on. Stepping out from the alley, I glance around the street looking for any prying eyes, there are none.
It's unusually quiet tonight. The fae can feel something is coming, something is wrong with Cunningham and so something is wrong overall. The death of Julius has sent ripples through the fae and it does nothing to quell the anxieties building. Although they only account for one third of the local population, the humans have reacted just as well. They may not know what they're reacting to, but they react none the less. They can feel it in the air.
If only they knew the truth.
I cross the street quickly, wanting to keep out of sight as much as possible. There is the off chance that she will happen to look out of the window and see me. Or Kenzi might. There is a chance that I've missed someone, missed something and they are waiting in the comfort of darkness simply waiting to see what I am doing.
Slipping inside of Helix, opening the door only enough to allow myself in. For a moment I await in the darkness, back pressed against the now closed door letting my eyes adjust. Comfortable that no one is awaiting, luring in the shadows I move forward. Impulsively my eyes linger on the door near the bar, the door that leads to the stairs that lead to her.
Always so close, yet so far away.
With a sigh of disappointment, I push forward, making my way to his office. The door ever so slightly ajar for me, a very pale-yellow light seeping through. Cautiously I push through and shut it behind myself just as I had with the entrance. Due diligence not something that either of us could afford at this point, if ever.
"Lauren-."
"We don't have much time, Enobaria has warned of his wavering attention. And I cannot be sure, but I believe he has a suspicion about me. He doesn't seem to know what he is suspicious of, but he is."
"Lauren." His hand raises slightly, as he remains motionless behind his desk. His elbows resting on atop, and although the lack of light makes it difficult to see his expression, I can tell he is isn't scared.
"Hale, our window is closing—and I don't just mean tonight."
Abruptly I stop myself. I don't move, I don't speak I just stare at him. He isn't angry or scared. He isn't relaxed or himself either. The darkness is unusual for him, the silence is unusual for him. I would never venture to call him a friend, however I would venture to call him a fond acquaintance and this is unusual for him.
Although it isn't exactly him that causes me to stop, it as peculiar as it sounds coming from myself—a feeling that does. It's a feeling that is familiar and foreign all at the same time. I know it well, yet hardly at all. It's distinctive and as exhilarating as it tends to be, now I find a twinge of fear. Entirely dumbfounded I angle myself to the right, looking over my shoulder to confirm what I already know.
She's here.
In the far corner between two decorative cabinets, she has concealed herself. She leans against the wall, arms folded over her chest as she stares me down. For a solid minute she just stares me down, as if attempting to control herself. I can hardly see her face, but I can hear the long, deep breaths she takes. With a sigh she steps forward, the distance between us a mere three feet now.
She leans in, arms still over her chest and I don't believe it's meant to be threatening, although I think this is the most I have found her to be. Her lips over my ear, shoulder pressed against my own. She whispers, "I guess he isn't the only one who likes games."
There isn't another word said, she simply pulls away and runs her eyes over my face making sure I understand the full impact of her words—I do. I also understand the implication she intends as well. We both know there was no whisper soft enough, not at this distance that Hale couldn't hear, however she wanted to make it clear that was for me. That the way her words cut were intentional, they were meant to be direct and unmistaken—they were meant to hurt.
When she looks away its to Hale who says nothing, only looks down at our bodies attempting to avoid her stare or my own. At this point it is hard to say which.
"This wasn't the plan." I say.
"Plans change." She shrugs. "Your BFF here will fill you in." Without another word she walks out, not bothering to shut the door behind herself.
"Hale." I look back to him. "This wasn't the plan."
Running my hand through my hair, my eyes fall to the floor or more accurately the toes of my boots. It's what I do, what I always do. I bow my head and wait for one reason or another. I wait for the situation to pass. I wait for it to be over. I wait for the next one to arise. I wait for my feelings to pass, whatever the feeling may be.
This is what I do.
However, against my nature, against reason I find myself ignoring whatever it is that Hale is saying, and I hastily walk out in an attempt to catch her. She's already more than two thirds the way to the door. When I call for her she momentarily ignores me before she spins around so quickly she almost loses her footing. Even in the darkness I can see her scowling, fists clenched.
"Don't Lauren—just don't." She waves me off.
"There's a lot you don't understand."
"Spare me." She snaps. "Everything about you, everything you say is a lie, Lauren."
"It's not."
"It is!"
"Bo, there are things happening that you cannot begin to fathom. You're angry and you have these moments of bravery that border stupidity. You see the world a particular way and it is amazing, it's one of the things that makes me—that is—it's a favorable quality." I stumble over my words. "You cannot be involved in this."
"Unlike you, I make my own choices."
Jaw clenching on reaction, I glance away from her. "A great deal of things I have done is to keep you away from this. To keep you safe. How can you not see this by now?"
"What I see is someone who is constantly lying to me. Lying about how you do or don't feel. Lying about what you're doing. Lying about what you've done. Lying about who you are."
I hesitate. "Sometimes lies are all we have."
"You lie enough Lauren and eventually the truth doesn't matter."
Shaking my head, I start to turn away. This is all too much. Too many emotions. Too much truth. Too much her—too much me rather. Just all too much and I have to focus, I have to remember I am here for a reason. She is simply a distraction, just as she has been since the moment I laid eyes on her. From the moment at Saint Dymphna's Asylum, in that little room. From the second I saw her weeks later in the park that one particular morning, she's been a distraction. She doesn't know it, doesn't remember me, but I had seen her weeks prior to that night in the Dollhouse. I was with Cunningham as he met with Evony and another Overseer from Asia. She was jogging, nothing particularly stood out about her in the obvious fashion. She wasn't dressed overly sexually despite it being a rare warm day here. She wasn't particularly made up, only light makeup and her hair pulled back.
I noticed her from afar, across the way. It was one of the few times I wasn't staring down the toes of my boots. It was a glance, but there was something. I looked down and then when I looked up again, she was already passing us by. She looked over at me and smiled so naturally. It was just a moment, but it was the first of many.
"What do you want from me?" Unable to stop myself I turn back to face her, matching her same level of discomposure.
"What I wanted from you was you—what I want from you now is to put an end to whatever the hell your boyfriend is up to."
"Please, don't do this." I nearly beg.
"Hurry back Lauren, we wouldn't want to keep him waiting."
Without another word she turns her back to me, heading for the door. I want to go after her, I want to give into this wave of barely uncontrollable emotions. I want to figure out a way to put what I feel into words. I want to make her understand—everything. However, what I choose to do is turn around and head back to Hale's office.
Some people aren't meant to have what they want.