Villanelle was losing control, and it was crushing her inside.
She was a woman who craved control, fed off of it; she was sustained by it. Because she knew that even dealing with an adversary, a superior, or a stranger, she had the upper hand. She was always one step ahead, ready to exhibit her carefully crafted unpredictability. Because even when Villanelle was completely unhinged, killing without abandon, she had control. And that control was the only thing that kept her safe.
She had shot Eve, her very own Eve, because Eve had rejected her, caught her off guard, and stepped out of her control. Though it upset and infuriated her, that was one of the things about Eve. She was a woman so driven and focused, and yet from the moment their connection began, she had allowed herself to be controlled. To let her ambition guide her, and her work, and her family and friends. She let herself be moved by the pain of losing her loved ones, and losing her life. And that was something that Villanelle had never done, she assured herself. Because Villanelle had control, and she would never let that go.
Except in the days, weeks, and months that followed their "breakup," as she liked to call it, there was a nagging in the very back of her mind that she could not ignore. She conducted her investigation quietly, unlike her normal ethic, and obediently relayed her findings to Madame. She was in control because she had to be, not because she was out of prospects. But the loss of Eve had created a rift in her heart, or perhaps enlarged the stab wound that Eve had given her initially. The blade had been laced with something foreign and new, which was Eve. And Eve represented the lack of control that Villanelle so desperately tried to avoid.
Villanelle had always struggled with her emotions. They all said she couldn't feel anything, and she truly didn't believe that she could. After what her childhood and her upbringing had created in her, she had nothing left to feel about. Yet in her contracts and her targets, she had something that distinguished her greatly from other assassins. Yes, she was violent and ruthless, as is the job of an assassin. But Villanelle wanted to be noticed, to be recognized, to be admired. Villanelle wanted to be feared, and she wanted to be loved. So she let her wildness out in spurts, seeping into her work and overwhelming her personal life. And that was what distinguished her from another assassin. She was full of emotion, she could not control it, and it would be her ultimate downfall.
The investigation was going nowhere. Every time she found a lead, the one person she needed to interrogate was the next one dead. Villanelle was growing frustrated, and angry. She tried to be like Eve, to think like her, but she could not. Trying to think like Eve only made her think ABOUT Eve, and that made her heart ache with madness. Eve was dead, she had killed her. No more Eve to worry about, no more Eve in the world.
With each murder victim, she saw herself in the killings, and she saw mistakes and oversights, which she scolded herself for. Although she was not the killer, she found herself becoming every killer in her mind. Because she needed to kill, if not people then problems. And lack of control was a problem. Just like Eve was a problem.
Monotony. Eve loved monotony. She loved the way it made her feel, comfortable and safe. She loved the way people pitied her, when inside she was perfectly content being poor, sad Eve who lost her husband, her best friend, her job, and her life. Those who knew what had happened either pitied her or thought her a fool, and thought that she had been humbled by her shooting. They expected her to keep going about her life, keep being predictable Eve. What they didn't know, however, was that Eve had a secret. The affair she had with Villanelle, rampant and reckless, had no definition which could be assigned to it. By the terms of normalcy, Eve was a victim. By the terms of Eve and Villanelle, she was in love.
Villanelle's love terrified and thrilled her. For someone who does not feel and kills for a living, Villanelle's love was the epitome of passion. Niko was her husband, safe and comfortable. Villanelle was her lover, insane and beautiful and lavish. For Eve was not a fancy woman, but Villanelle made her feel fancy. She looked at her as the most beautiful object in her wardrobe, the one accessory which she would not cast away. Although she did cast her away, like she would an out-of-season Prada shoe.
And that was why Eve found herself jealous of Villanelle. Because of the way she cast aside people in her life the way Eve never could. She was not in love with her husband, but she loved him and could only abandon him until she needed him again. Villanelle didn't seem to need anyone. While Eve had thought that she was the only one that Villanelle did need, she had been wrong. In reality, she had been incredibly, deeply right. Villanelle needed Eve so greatly that she could not bear to be alive in the world without her, and so she shot her. She shot you, she shot you, she shot you. The mantra in Eve's mind. She shot you and she walked away, she left you there to die. She doesn't want you, she doesn't need you. But the other voice in her head would not let her forget their bond. Villanelle pushed you up against a wall and dragged a knife across your chest. You promised to give her everything she wanted. She wanted you, and you said no. But you want her, and only her. Villanelle doesn't feel things, but she feels things when she's with you. You love her, you love her, you love her. You can't stop thinking about her. You need her. But she walked away.
The back of every blonde head had her pining for Villanelle's lopsided smile, wishing more than anything that she would turn around and tease her, kiss her, shoot her, anything. Every time the bell at the restaurant rang, she couldn't bear to look up, knowing that Villanelle wouldn't be there. She was ashamed that Villanelle occupied her mind more than her own husband. Or the man barely still her husband. Husbands don't want nothing to do with their wives. Husbands don't resent you. And wives don't love psychopathic female assassins.
So, when she was approached by a dark vehicle and invited inside, offered work for someone unknown, she accepted. Because Eve would not stand to be jealous anymore.
"Hi, Eve." The expression on Villanelle's face was almost serene, although she couldn't mask her surprise at seeing Eve. Her Eve, her beautiful Eve who looked entirely shocked and not entirely pleased to see her. But of course, Villanelle loved when she would pretend to be annoyed.
As it turned out, Eve was not pretending to be annoyed with Villanelle. She was livid, and as she lunged forward with flying hands, her counterpart was taken aback at the ferocity behind her eyes. Wild, with curly hair spread as a lion's mane, she roared at Villanelle. Her strikes were met by Villanelle's forearms, blocking each swing rather than swinging back. Villanelle would not harm her Eve, but she easily overpowered the smaller woman and held her against the seat of a frightened passenger.
"I'm not here for you." Eve either did not hear this or did not care, as she continued to struggle. She was thrown onto another seat and Villanelle climbed over, grabbed her by the shirt and forced her down, arm at her neck. She stared intensely into the deep, dark eyes of the most ethereal beauty she had ever beheld. Heart ignited, she searched the wide-eyed gaze of Eve. "Smell me, Eve." She felt her blood throb in her extremities as she tightened her grip. "What do I smell like to you?" With an almost imperceptible intake of breath, she felt Eve take in her scent. Power. And then Eve, strained up to kiss her, freezing her from head to toe. She couldn't think, she couldn't think about anything except the lips on hers. Eve, Eve. All I want is you, I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop thinking about you.
She wanted to take her and kiss her and grind into her while Eve sighed beneath her. She wanted to hold her and caress her, kiss every inch of her body until she knew it by heart. But that didn't happen, because Eve reared back and headbutted her. And it stung like love.
When she exited the bus, she stood in its wake a frozen fool. Beaming uncontrollably, she felt her spirits climb higher than she thought possible and watched the bus pull away, and with it her inhibitions. Eve.
Death was far bloodier than Eve remembered. Though much of her recollection of her first murder was clouded with the trauma of being shot shortly after, she did remember some things. She remembered the blood, and how it accentuated Villanelle's sharp features and bright red outfit. How it splattered across her cheek and ignited her wild eyes, and how Villanelle's pupils darkened with desire at the axe in her hand. She remembered the feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, and the panic she had felt afterwards. The panic that was not for the life she had taken, but stemming from the thrill and the fact that she felt no remorse. The way the adrenaline surged in her veins terrified her, and the way that her heart begged for Villanelle's approval. They way that the blood on the assassin's face sparked an image of being devoured by her, covered in the blood of a kill they had made together, being rewarded for her violence by Villanelle's lips.
But this second death was different. She did not feel thrilled, she did not feel proud. A man lay slashed open before her, a buffet of ruby ribbons dancing on his flesh. He was pale and mustachioed, too similar to Niko in his youth, and he had clutched at Eve's face in the moments before his death. Leaving two handprints on either cheek, and trailing down her front as he had fallen still.
Tears streamed from Eve's eyes, but she had no time to mourn, with the barrel of a gun pressed painfully between her shoulder blades. She was pushed silently through the back door of the man's house, and into the back of a truck. As it sped away, she rested her teary face against the window.
"This is what they said it would be. I wasn't supposed to be killing people." With a smooth chuckle, the gloved driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
"This is exactly what they said it would be. If you want Villanelle to stop killing people, someone needs to pick up her contracts. You agreed to work for us, and this is the work you need to do."
"Couldn't you just stop killing people in general?" In an attempt to sound sarcastic, Eve wiped away her tears and frowned.
"It's your choice. The contracts will be fulfilled. It is either you or her."
"Fine. Now take me home." For the rest of the journey, Eve pressed her eyes shut tightly and longed to be away, somewhere safe. Somewhere alone with Villanelle, where these people could no longer find them. But she knew that no matter what either of them tried to do, they would not escape. And now that she had killed in cold blood, she wasn't even sure that escaping was a good idea.
I wish you were here.