"Faeilr!" He was surprised. He had clearly not been expecting her or watching her tracker that day. His hair was slightly dishevelled, he had kept it long after Stow, and he was wearing, she noticed with a smile, a tight black t-shirt and grey tracksuit bottoms. Very different from his normal dress, it made him appear softer, more human. He rubbed his chin. "You're early" he noted. He looked at his… what was the word? Companion, hostage, pupil? He was stunned at how much she had changed in such a short amount of time. She looked utterly shell-shocked. She seemed outwardly frailer and her eyes had a dull, vacant sheen to them. She was dressed in a denim jacket, a green top and loose fitting jogging bottoms. Unusually for her, she also had make-up on. Blackburn had, of course, spent hundreds of days with her, and memorised every freckle on her pale face. She rarely wore anything to enhance her natural looks. She didn't really care about what other people thought of her, in personality or physically. Now she had dark eyeliner framing her eyes, and black eyeshadow, giving her a masked, desolate look. She was clearly using make-up to reflect her mood, he thought archly. Her lips were a dangerous shade of red, imposing, and her brown hair had been straightened to a sheer velocity, cutting through the air.
"You complaining?" she asked, sourly. She stomped in, not waiting to be invited and kicked off her shoes before making her way to one of the hard-backed wooden chairs. She noted how bare the place was, save for a scented candle on the mantelpiece. She scoffed, inwardly. Ridiculous. He had no interest in such things. She took in the glass of red wine on the table, an empty plate sitting neatly, and realised there were no personal effects at all. She dumped her bag on the floor, tapping her hands. The rest of her suitcases she had arranged to be taken to the Spire at the end of the week. She had only taken what she needed to see her 'friend'. Looking round nervously, Anna made her way to the kitchen and began loudly searching through the cupboards. "What. What are you doing?!" He called, storming into the kitchen. She had simply walked in here without any warning.
"Looking for glasses. I'm thirsty", she answered, continuing her search until she found them. She then helped herself to juice from the fridge as he looked on. He wasn't too bothered about manners and the like, but this was too much.
"Stop girl!" She ignored him, rooting through the cupboards for a frying pan, and grabbing some eggs. He reached for her arm, tugging her round hard. "STOP!"
She started. She gave the impression she had barely been listening, so absorbed was she in whatever was going through her mind, making her clang and batter the pots and pans as she searched. "What?" she sounded sullen, belligerent.
He narrowed his eyes. "What is with you? What's gotten into you?"
"What do you mean?"
He laughed, a hard bark. "What do I mean? I mean this. Coming here early, charging in, no decorations or manner."
"I owe you nothing."
"And yet, you shall still give it!" He sighed. "Sit down girl. I'll make your eggs." He poured her a large glass of red wine, refilled his and placed the scrambled eggs in front of her with some toast and butter. She wolfed it down greedily. They both took what they could with food, Stow had seen too many hungry nights. He watched her carefully as she slurped the wine. There was no doubting that something had happened. For her to be here willingly in the first place was a huge warning sign, but it was more than that. She looked as if something taunt inside her had broken. She looked damaged. He poured them both more wine, noting it was probably more than he really should give, but decisively not caring.
"So. What is it?" She bit her lip and drunk from her wine to avoid answering. "Okay, you are going to tell me. You can trust me. Despite everything, you know I am not about to go running to anyone with anything you tell me." He narrowed his eyes as he spoke, noticing how she flinched slightly at his first word. "Why does the word 'okay' bother you?"
"It's not the word" she mumbled. "It's how you used it. My Mother uses it as a marker in her conversations." The way she said mother made his knuckles tighten. She looked so small in this moment, so distraught and forlorn. She avoided his eyes, staring, boring a hole into his velvet sofa as he sat next to her, twisted round so he could look at her. He had considered one of the chairs but had disregarded it. "You, you know the situation with my family, my parents." It was true. He did. He probably knew her better than anyone when he thought about it. She had let things slip at Stow, hinted at things about her family life, and once or twice, talked about it at length. "My parents used me as an experiment." She reached into her pocket and handed him a crumpled piece of paper, a case note and a description of the experiment.
Blackburn read it with mounting fury. His fingers clenched at the paper. He wasn't a good person by any means but to see someone used like that was too much. The paper tore slightly and he tossed it into the fire. He didn't say anything, he didn't need to. She took some more wine and pulled her knees to her chest, hunched over, rocking slightly, for once not hiding her distress. Something pulled at his chest, his eyes were soft and for some inexplicable reason he felt protective all of a sudden. He reached out with a large hand and pulled her towards him. She pulled back instinctively but he tugged harder until they were incredibly close. He was acting largely on instinct now as her eyes met his and he had an urge to comfort her. He moved the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear and leaned forward, kissing her with surprising tenderness.
Anna was shocked. She had told him about her parents, shown him the paper, there had been no point in hiding it, he knew her too well. And she had to tell someone, it may as well be someone she could guarantee would not tell anyone else. After all, if someone had done you wrong and knew you could not tell on them, they were not going to tell on you for fear of their own crimes being uncovered. It was how victims often became victors in the films, they said "what are you going to say?" The villain could not report any assault or property damage without telling about their own acts. So she had confided in him. She was feeling rather tipsy from the wine, and sleepy. She hadn't minded that he had sat next to her for once, she felt safe. Then Blackburn had reached towards her and gently pressed his lips to her's. She had been unsure what to do, but then suddenly disregarded all caution, all common sense and kissed him back, fuelling the need for contact, to know she was not worthless, that someone in the world actually wanted her.
Oh their relationship was complicated, she knew this as they exchanged kisses, and she scrambled onto his lap, desperate to be closer, to fill this dreaded void. They knew each other's secrets and in some ways were closer in their absolute trust that not a thing said between them would be repeated. She could say anything to him because he wouldn't repeat it. And yet there was the hatred, the hostility and threats. She was terrified of him but he was the one person she could trust. It was messed up she knew, but right now she didn't care. She moved her hands to the underside of his t-shirt, sliding it up and helping him as he shrugged it off, revealing his clean-shaven chest. She ran her hands over his smooth chest, as he lay down so she was on top of him. Then he reached for her top. She was unsure how she felt about this, but allowed him take it off her and discard it on the floor. It was rubbish, she was the prize and he only had eyes for her. He took in her face, her makeup, tear-streaked, and her sharp cheeks, begging for comfort. His eyes fell downwards and she watched him scrutinising her but with smiling eyes, as he reached, cautiously, to undo her bra strap. She shook it off and they continued kissing as the wind blew in cold and harsh from the open window to the night.
Later as they lay huddled together, Blackburn stroked her cheek, wiping tears away. She had cried, wearing her tears as badges of honour against the hurt her parents had done her. "You know, you aren't worthless Faeilr" he muttered into her neck. "They shouldn't have done that." She scoffed, and pulled on her clothes, getting up from his warm embrace. "You know you aren't getting five more days of this" she teased as she wriggled away from his hands and moved towards the spare room. She missed his glorious smirk, marking his face, transforming it.
The next day felt distinctly odd. Neither of them mentioned the night before, swigging water to ward off the hangovers. But there was a difference between them, an electricity. Largely however, things carried on as normal. "Faeilr" he called her over. "Last night was…"
"I know."
"I don't want you to think that…" he tailed off as she looked at him, resignation in her eyes. "You are still bound by our agreement." She rolled her eyes. "Don't lose sight of the situation" he reminded her, looking incredibly awkward. They had both lost sight of the situation. She was a hostage. And yet perhaps that was precisely why last night had happened. She had needed comfort, their relationship was so twisted, so unpredictable but it was very real and she was too tired to dwell on the morals of it today. "I know" she had replied.
The rest of the week passed strangely. Almost as if they were back on Stow. Anna cooked, Blackburn worked or exercised. He carried on teaching her fighting, something he had started on Stow but had stopped when they had arrived at the Spire. She had only participated because of the exercise and the thrill it gave her to arm herself against him. But she had never been able to beat him. She had never been sure why he had taught her such things, she could only imagine that it didn't matter as he would never allow her to be better than him. There were moves he would never teach her. She ducked and dodged his fists and struck back as they sparred. "You're slow. You haven't been practicing" he growled, rallying her with a series of kicks, one of which caught her waist, parrying her backwards. "Oww!" she responded with blocks and parries, finally hitting him with her elbow so he hissed in pain. They watched tv whilst eating, Blackburn laughing at the jokes on the comedy programmes. Neither of them watched sport. It had never interested her but she found it even more trivial now, rooting for a team. So superficial. The week flew past, and it wasn't so bad. It was a bit like later days on Stow, where she no longer had stomach clenching fear at the sight of him, just sifted along relatively comfortably knowing things were liveable until something happened to upset the balance. Like returning to lessons. Then all hell was back on, all rules broken and anything went.
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