Cleo barely glances at him before she's pulling him toward a quiet room by the wrist. Expression all stony.
Deuce can't help but feel like he's done something wrong. A scolded child.
He tries to push it away. Cleo has no reason to be mad at him so surely he should have no reason not to look at her. Not to stare into those pretty blues in a world all tinted green.
Hm, this must be the room the Ghost kids use.
It smells like dust. Chilled because the usual occupants hardly care for the temperature.
Cleo must feel it to. Maybe. She's doing that arm cross thing she does when she wants to scream but screaming is socially unacceptable. Gripping one upper arm with red manicured nails while she rumages through her bag with the other.
She lines makeup products on the table in a neat row. He's seen her use them before and is almost embarrassingly aware of the purpose of each.
"Lift your glasses up," she says, "shut your eyes."
And suddenly Deuce is forced to face the reason that he knew all along. Cleo is not blind. Nor stupid, contrary to popular belief. She's, in fact, the most intelligent person he's ever met. Along with a plethora of other cheesy titles Clawd would tease him for.
He obeys. Just 'cause.
He still flinches when cold hands touch his face. Despite knowing she's close, smelling her perfume, hearing the overly deliberate click-clack of her stilettos.
"Oh Ra," a sponge begins patting carefully mixed product into his blackened, bruised undereye. "I cannot believe he does this to you, you should fucking stone him."
He snorts, despite himself. Sees the comedy in the encouragement from a girl who had only ever told him the opposite. That he is better than what others think him to be. Not violent or scary.
"I don't wanna upset Mom. She likes him. She went into the garden the other day, Cleo. The garden. You know how big of a deal that is with agoraphobia? It's a big fuckin' deal, Cleo." His voice is scratchy and its embarrassing. Almost as if he's trying to convince himself. "Besides, you know her, she's less... reserved than me. If she found out her boyfriend hit me-"
"Glorified lawn ornament, darling, I'm aware."
He exhales a little laugh and they sit in the silence for a moment. He can almost imagine her focused face as she rebuilds those lost patches of perfect tan. Covers the evidence like its something she was born to do. Or had to do too many times.
"I can't keep watching this, you know?" she says. Deuce thinks it's mostly to herself. She must be finishing up now because the hand previously forcing his face into perfect stillness has let up to pet his snakes. The only one to ever do so.
"I'll deal with it."
"You better." There she is, the DeNile he knows. A threat as well as a promise. He knew better than to dismiss it. "I trust you."
She pushes his glasses down on his nose. And suddenly they're back on air. He winks at her behind them before standing to his full height and pecking her in the forehead. She makes a dramatic display of brushing him off. Always does. Knows the routine. Straightens the lapels of his jacket and nods her head for him to put her stuff back into her handbag. Ever the princess.
Hold hands. Walk to class. Cleo will muss up her lipstick slightly to throw off suspicion.
A flawless routine.
And before they break away she'll look at him with a warning. If you don't, I will. And he'll tell her he trusts her right back because he does.
It almost makes him feel guilty for lying.
End