A Thief

It hurt.

Her words.

His hands.

Mistakemistakemistakemistake-

My eyes snapped open as I sat up, drenched in my own sweat. The hiss of the fan made me dizzy. Bile rose in my throat as tears stung my eyes. I found myself... Retching. All over my sheets. All over myself. God, and what a mess I was making. Those awful words still rung in my ears. In that oh so disgusting slurred tone, accented and cruel. And hands. I still felt them. Calloused and unforgiving. Along with my heaving and sobbing, there was a thunderous knocking that seemed to shake my home. The fan screeched and I cried and the knocking continue and... Oh. My head. You can't imagine the stress my nightmares had on me back then. Now? Now I don't dream. Don't sleep. Too hopped up on... Well. Back to the story. Now.. Do not assume I was on anything at that point in time. In all truth, I didn't even know how to smoke it. I had merely gone to bed after discovering what it was, unsure of what to do with it.

"Blimey..." I gasped out between heaves. I would appear a wreck if I went to open that door then. I knew that. And so, I willed the knocking to stop with my mind. And for a moment... It did. The noise just stopped. Everything. Even that blasted fan and it's insufferable hiss. It was a second of just phenomenal bliss and silence. And then everything came back full force. I took a shaky breath as I wiped at my leaking eyes. I knew there was no point in curling up into the fetal position among my vomit and the tangled sheets. So, with a strangled grunt I gathered my snapping nerves and stood. "Calm down." I murmured soothingly, my voice coming out in a type of scratchy croak. The knocking had grown ever more insistent, and so... I made my way out of my room and to the front door. The ominous looking bag of 'mud' left to sitting on my dresser.

"Kirkland residence." I murmured in a hoarse voice unlike my own. On the porch stood a rather tall gent, and I had to squint and really focus to see. The far off flickering streetlights weren't of much help, you see. And then of course... It was a new moon. After a moment of adjusting to the lighting, I could make out plump lips... That horribly familiar scarred flesh... And those captivating- No, intimidating, blue eyes. I did my best not to purposely inhale that deceiving aroma that draped over the boy like a blanket of sweetness. Apple trees. "You look like utter shit. Move." That's the first thing he said to me. Of course. The impolite yank. I would've called the cops right then, if I weren't so shaken up. And so... He shoved passed me and inside my home. Heading right for the kitchen. Lord knows how he knew where it was. Or where my home was in general, for that matter.

I shut the door with my shaking hands, reeking of fear and vomit. I then made my way into the kitchen, where the lights had been switched on. I was momentarily blinded by it, but that was alright. Wasn't like I wanted to see the mess the teen was making. I could hear cabinets opening and closing. Dishes clattering and drawers being pulled open rashly. He had been searching for something. "..You just gonna stand there staring, or are you going to offer me something to fuckin' eat? Man... Or at least something to drink?" I could hear the desperation underneath all that almost causal sounding irritation. I didn't care to point it out, though. I didn't care to know what the boy was doing inside my home at... One something in the morning. I had work later. I had responsibilities. I had... I had to meet Katyusha that day! I didn't have time for that problem. It wasn't mine. I didn't ask for it.

"What do you want...? Does Mr. Bonnefoy want something? Why... How did you...? I don't... I don't..." I trailed off, feeling tears prick my eyes. It wasn't a good time for me, in the middle of the night. I was weak and tired. Drained from my nightmares and my day's work of getting the brat off my back. And here he was again. Like a stench that refused to go away. "Nah. I'm here 'cause I need something bro." And that was the moment I looked at him. I mean really looked at him. His lips were not plump. They were, in fact, swollen. That tan skin of his? It was puffy and purpling in some areas. He had said I looked like 'utter shit'. Well. What did that say about him? His left eye twitched when he noticed me noticing. I did my best not to cry out when he grabbed at my hair, bringing me closer. Forcing me to meet his eye. Up close, I could see the new jagged slahes joining the jigsaw puzzle of his face. If the situation were different, this could've been considered an intimate moment. But it wasn't different... And I'd prefer being harassed like this over that ever happening. So... I of course, began to uselessly struggle.

"Like what ya see, princess?" He snarled out. As if it were my fault. As if everything that ever happened to him was my doing. Like I orchestrated it all. I must say, nothing is as refreshing as being covered in your own throw up as a male, bloody younger than you, is ripping out your hair. I'd known him for a day... And already, I couldn't think of a single human being in the whole city of London I hated more. Well, maybe Francis Bonnefoy. But he didn't truly count. Everyone hated him. The boy was twitching, his accent getting thick with some type of southern twang. He was... jittery. Oddly enough... "Mattie... My Mattie. Ya know, he's got way worse than this.. Way worse. And you... You-!" The teen was cut off by a knocking that was perhaps... Even louder, than that of Alfred F. Jones. He visibly tensed. His eyes were... Distant. Dare I say.. Wistful?

The teen gazed at the door as I stopped in my squirming. His grip loosened for the briefest of moments. He then tightened it instantly, causing a guttural noise of pain to leave me. "Answer the door. God, and stop looking like such a pussy. I ain't done nothin' to you." I did my best to ignore how snug the word 'yet' would be in that sentence as he released my hair. I then proceeded to scurrying off for the door, rubbing at my stinging scalp. The boy really did have quite the grip. Upon opening the door, I found myself looking at a chest. I had to look up to meet the somber lavender eyes of the man standing there. The stranger wore a smile that was as delightful as my 'guest's' presence. Each lock of his platinum hair was in place. Perfectly so. Ah... And his features... I... It was like seeing double, for I'd seen that facial structure before. Seen that hooked nose and those short lashes. And his lips... Everything screamed her name. My love's name. And so... The instant fear I felt was only natural.

"Hello. I apologize for bothering you at this time of night... But my boss has sent me. You took something from a Spanish man, da? Green eyes? Brown hair? He was... How you say..." The man trailed off, struggling for the proper English term. "...Never mind it. Anyhow... He was not supposed to give you that. I am here to retrieve it. Please, fetch it for me." Fetch. As if I were a dog. I suppose I might've argued, if I weren't so off at the time. What had I done to deserve the man on my doorstep showing himself to me? Ivan. Did he know how many times I had fooled about with his sister under the shade of some majestic tree? I swallowed thickly. "...Your boss, I'm guessing, is the Frog?" He blinked a few times at the name, as if never having heard such a thing. He then gave me a nod, his smile becoming more and more strained the longer he stood outside.

Reluctantly, I moved out of the way. Perhaps Alfred was intimidating, if not flat out frightening. But he was not Ivan. And Ivan, I knew from stories told to me by Katyusha, was not one to hold back. He didn't smell like apples, and there was not a layer to him. He was cold and collected. With an empty smile to top it off. I doubted he cared about anyone but his siblings. And even that, I was not certain about. "Ah... So where is it? The... bag?" He was not a user. It was something one could tell right off the bat. I didn't know what he was to Francis, if not a customer. He had said 'boss', but... Well. I didn't want to know, actually. I didn't want to know why Alfred F. Jones was in my home, looking like a used rag doll. I didn't want to know what Katyusha's little brother was to Francis Bonnefoy. I certainly didn't want to know why 'the Spanish man' had given me drugs if he wasn't supposed to. I just wanted to take a shower then sleep on the couch. Get all of these people out of my life before I was stuck. Like the woman at the motel. Like the people on the street. Like Alfred himself. They were all perpetually stuck. I didn't want any part of that.

"On my dresser... I'll... I'll get it." I murmured, not bothering to take note on the odd silence coming from the kitchen. Where had that silence been when I was hurling? Where had that silence been when I was sobbing? Probably in Alfred's mind. The boy probably didn't have anything but dust up there. Barbaric twat. "Hm... Alright. Please allow me to accompany you. Also... There seemed to be a ruckus before I got here... What was it?" If the man wasn't taller than me... If he wasn't obviously powerful... If he wasn't the brother to a woman I loved... If, if, if. I lost my point at the third reason of why I couldn't blow off such a question. It was more of a demand anyway, in the smooth and icy way he had put it. Ivan should've been in politics. I suppose bashing in skulls of people without payment for drugs suited him better, though. "...A... Guest, I suppose..." I said in reply, beginning to lead the way down the hall.

The other was quiet for a while longer as we neared my room. It was a short walk, I assure you. My apartment was the equivalent of... Mr. Bonnefoy's guest room. "..What was the guest's name?" He inquired, peering into my room. I'd need to wash everything. Or burn it all. "Alfred..." I trailed off, my eyes fixing on the window. Wide open and letting a draft in. I broke out into goose bumps. Ivan merely cocked his head to the side, unaffected by the chill of night. My room was a bit of a mess, but it was not the mess that I had made previously that drew my attention. After all, the only thing I ever left out was bills and my work shoes. The place looked as if someone had turned it neatly upside down. If that makes sense. Like... You could tell it had been searched, but it wasn't so untidy that one could pick something missing out.

"...Jones." I finished, sure to keep the F out in a type of defiance. Because that boy? He was certainly no hero. Not even to his twin brother... Who apparently preferred sticking himself with needles over being saved by his own god damn flesh and blood. Not that I knew how that went down, but even now... I assume Matthew got his intake of drugs and settled for blowing.. 'comforting' his dear supplier. Ivan glanced at me, the corner of his lip twitching. He took a slightly sharp breath, and his hands shook for the briefest of milliseconds. I will never forget him saying, "...The merchandise is probably gone, then." It was not the words that struck me. Not really. It was... The way he appeared. The way his somber eyes had the oddest flickers of need. Need. I couldn't comprehend why such an emotion would be there at the mention of Alfred. Couldn't comprehend why his smile got so limp. Couldn't comprehend why... He stared at me so strangely. As if I... Were a pig being sent off to slaughter.

I suppose I should've asked him questions. 'Do you know him'? Or, 'why are you so upset', or... 'I'm in love with your sister. Do you mind that'? Yes, well... 'could've, should've, would've' and all that. It didn't really matter, though. I'd be seeing a lot more of him. I tore my eyes away from his, getting uncomfortable from the way he looked at me. Through me. And that was when my eyes landed on the dresser. It was by far, the neatest thing in the room. Everything was in place. Just as it should be. I hardly noticed anything was wrong with it. Until it came to my attention that... The little ominous bag of mud? It wasn't anywhere in sight. "...The hell?" I don't know why I was so surprised. Probably because I had left him in the kitchen just a minute ago. I flinched upon feeling a hand on my shoulder. The tall sod chuckled, though there wasn't a hint of amusement to it.

"...My boss... He is generous man. Do not worry."

A/N: UGH. I'm sorry if this one is a little... I dunno... Cliché? Arg. I hate stories like that. Plus I took forever. And it's kind of hurried. I did this like, at twelve in the morning with a sudden burst of inspiration... But it's kind of all over the place. Plus Artie is a little bit of a sissy in this chap. I don't like making him that way.. But it makes everything run smoother. Bah. Shoot me if you wish. I deserve it for such crap. And Ivan... I worry I got his character a little wrong... I just like to think of him as nice but not nice, ya know? Hm. Well. Hope you enjoyed. I swear the next chapter will come faster. I'm just caught up in finals and crappy crapola... I promise to edit this as soon as I can. -Fool