Spiral
Chapter IV: Roses
By EclipseKlutz
PG-13, T
Still not sure…
Disclaimer: Don't own Incredibles, all right? Has that been laid out yet? Now excuse me while I try and find a way to drag Edna into this fic…
"Fumbling his confidence and
Wondering why the world passed him by
Hoping he's bent for more than arguments
And failed attempts to fly, fly…"
Switchfoot: Meant to Live
The earlier hysteria had died down, only to be replaced by a shifty silence as Violet limped over to the cupboards and dragged a cardboard cereal box to the counter, a slight frown occupying her face, "I have nothing worthwhile here…"
Syndrome didn't bother to object as he unceremoniously dropped the last bag of attempted popcorn into the trashcan, and reached into the refrigerator for the milk. What he wound up with, however, was slightly outdated and possessed a rather unappetizing moss-green tint.
He grimaced, "You need to go shopping."
"I know," she sighed in response, motioning to the trashcan. "I meant to…"
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye; the fashion in which she'd allowed her voice to trail off had given his curiosity a jump-start. Her voice had shadowed over slightly, in a dazed way, and it was beginning to irk him.
"What happened?" There was no point in being subtle or beating around the bush, one of them would get horribly confused if he resorted to such a tactic.
At her questioning stare he reached over and grabbed her arm, pulling up her sleeve just enough for her to see the bruises blotching and swelling across her flesh. She seemed to understand this, and her earlier frown creased as it deepened, "It… It's difficult to explain… and it'd take a while."
He ignored the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he shrugged and offered rather blatantly, "We've got time… Hell, it's four in the morning. You don't have school tomorrow, do you?"
She shook her head, 'no'. "School doesn't start again for another few weeks."
"Well, then, explain," He said it in a breezy manner that was all-too false to his own ears. "I won't talk 'till the end…"
"It's not so simple," Her voice was shaded over again, cloaked beneath layers of emotions he couldn't quite place.
He nodded, shrugged, and resumed raiding the refrigerator as though he truly didn't care for her problems. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't; at the moment, he wasn't quite sure himself. Any other time, he might have found his situation humorous, but now… now he was just another faceless person stumbling through the streets, unable to find what they've lost, and incapable of healing their scars. When he'd owned Nomanisan, when he'd had the world in his hands, hadn't he sworn to himself that he'd never be like that? When he…
Syndrome turned quickly to face her, "I need to make a phone call."
She cocked an eyebrow at him, suspicion etched across her face, "What for?"
"Well, first, private, then I want pizza," He hoped she'd catch the sarcasm dripping off the last few words. He'd never been pizza's biggest fan, yet it sounded quite nice after he said it—an upgrade from the vegetarian hamburgers the hospital had shoved down his throat for lunch along with some off-orange mush.
As he'd wished, she caught the sarcasm. "You can't work the microwave, you're not gonna get anywhere with my phone. Though feel free to try."
She pointed at something attached to the wall beside the door, and he turned to inspect it. Upon doing so, he had a feeling she was right—it was a fading yellow square with scratches from what he assumed to be years of wear, and a long, curled chord dropping down and looping back up.
He looked over at her, resentment as plain in his eyes as the mild amusement was in hers. He groaned, huffing in a manner befitting a three-year-old, "This isn't fair."
It wasn't difficult to notice just how hard she was trying to suppress the laughter as she shook her head, "Weren't you supposed to be some sort of technological genius?"
"This," he pointed at the alleged phone, "is not technology. This is more primitive than the shit the Aztecs came up with."
"Actually, the Aztecs were pretty advanced."
He glared at her, "Incas, fine."
"Them too."
"Whatever. You get my point."
"That you've definitely lost half your brain? Yeah, I got that."
He tried very hard not to groan—she was getting her revenge for his earlier taunting, and succeeding quite well. Syndrome opened his mouth to respond, though unsure what exactly would come tumbling out through his lips, yet shut it again as he noticed that she was suddenly looking past him, the unmistakable expression of fear poised on her face.
He followed her gaze to the blank slits between the blinds sheeting the room's sole window, or rather, to the turquoise vehicle parking nonchalantly on the neighbor's driveway. He looked back over at her, noting how the pigmentation had suddenly drained itself completely from her face, and the way she'd suddenly gone rigid.
It was an interesting effect, yet sparked his curiosity even more. "Who's this?"
A pause, then, "My problem."
Without further commentary, she grabbed his arm and dragged him across the kitchen into the bathroom. Pulling open the shower door, she shoved him inside and slammed it shut, draping a beach towel over the top.
"Don't move, don't make a sound," She warned hastily, continuously glancing over her shoulder, "And whatever you do, don't leave."
With this stated, she walked out of the bathroom, eyes wide, pulling the door closed behind her just as the light buzz of the doorbell rang throughout the bungalow.
He watched through narrowed eyes as the door's latch fell back into place, and he strained his ears to hear the conversation as she opened the door. He caught fragments, yet this was enough to leave his already disturbed mind slightly more unsettled. It was a notion he didn't like.
Not one bit.
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Her fingers slipped and tumbled as she fumbled with the door handle, and she found it nearly impossible to keep her hold on the latch. Finally, she enclosed her sweating palms around the handle and twisted and pulled, and the door swung open uninvited before her.
He stood there on the porch, strained patience and cautious concern engraved in his face, his fingers clasping the bouquet of white roses in his hands. White roses, perfectly colored with a hint of strawberry-orange blush. He'd always claimed it to be her favorite, and she'd never had the heart to tell him otherwise; she hated roses.
His face lit up upon seeing her, yet the temporary light extinguished itself as he saw the way in which she held herself. He reached over with his right hand, lightly brushing the side of her face with the tips of his fingers, "I'm sorry, baby…"
She pulled away, her grip suddenly very firm on the door handle. Her quiet voice held much less derision than she felt as she responded, "You were last time too. And the time before that…"
"Vi, we discussed this," he stated, his expression and tone crestfallen. "I know I have a problem, Vi… I'll fix it. I will. Vi, you know I'd do anything for you."
"Anything to me," she corrected darkly, glaring at him through otherwise gentle coffee-brown eyes. "You've always said this! You never follow through, Tony, never!"
"Yeah, but… look, this time'll be different. I promise, baby, I promise," He was getting desperate, it was obvious by the tone in his voice, and she allowed her grip on the handle to tighten once more.
She shook her head, "Show me."
"What?"
"You want me to believe you, Tony? Then prove it. Prove to me you can do it."
His eyes had gotten wide, as though this was something he hadn't counted on, "Vi, I can't do it without you here. Beside me. I can't do anything without you beside me…"
"You're going to have to. I can't do this anymore… I just… I can't."
"Are you breaking up with me?" He responded, his eyes suddenly narrowing dangerously, as though daring her to answer.
She ignored his expression, his menacing eyes, and instead looked passed him as she answered, her voice quiet and calm yet precarious all the same, "Yes. And if you don't leave now, I swear to you I'll take this to court."
"Bitch," he sneered his response, yet didn't let off any signs of planning to leave. Instead, he lunged forwards, wrapped one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, and pressed his mouth hard against hers.
She shoved him off, only to have him come at her again. His hand suddenly enveloped her wrist and he pried her fingers away from the door, slamming it shut behind him. With this, he shoved her back against the table, and she collapsed to the floor with a loud 'thud', where she laid sprawled and dazed on her stomach.
He approached her and violently rolled her onto her back, trying to get a decent grip on her wrists once more. Before he had the chance, however, she pulled her knees up and kicked him off her with all her strength, yet hardly managed to get off the floor before he rebounded, pinning her against the wall.
"What the hell are you doing?" She cried, fighting against him as best she could without invoking the aid of her super powers. "Get off of me!"
He responded with a maniac grin and a silence that left her more terrified than the events playing out around her. This time, he'd gone too far.
A/N: Eh… hate writing stuff like that, so please excuse crappiness of writing up there, but I needed it to happen.
J752572: Yippee—another reader! Yup, had to do something with the popcorn (which seems to be more evil than Syndrome is acting, course I don't think he was ever evil, but that's a very long story for a different time…), and you liked the impulsive part? Cool! Thanks for reviewing!
Melady101: Wow; you're exaggerating aren't you? No, don't tell me. Makes me feel all happy-like. Anyways, thanks for the comment on the conversations—I was kind of iffy about how it was working out, so this was very, very nice. Hope this was a soon enough update, but school is evil…
Angoliel: Um… I think I'm going towards either cliffs, roadblocks, corners, or the marathon. Not quite sure yet… Thanks for the review!
PitBullLady: You're not psychic are you? No giving away plotlines (although that one was kind of obvious…). And "boyfriend" will suffer, just not so soon…
Xalias: Ooo, thanks—smiley face and a badge—I feel special. Hm… I wonder if anybody does know what that check box is for…
R.K.R.: Updating, updating, updating… is this okay for you?
Silver Salamander: Yeah, I know. Currently I have it in my mind that Violet's grown into a semi-decent person, and at the moment is thoroughly confused and slightly damaged. It might be effecting her judgment…
Alright, review, please!