TEN
Somewhere inside this closet
Your whole life exists
An evil little secret
That keeps you so nervous
You're boarding up your windows
In fetal on the floor
But what you're keeping out is on the wrong side of the door
I know the reason you're running scared
I met the monster inside of your head
You never know the feeling of being alive
It's not enough, it never stops coming
It's not enough, so take a breath, say goodbye
- "Monsters," Sick Puppies
She's sitting in bed reading. It's pretty late, but it's a Friday night – thank goodness – so she'll be able to sleep in. The doorbell rings, and she hears her parents talking quietly, probably deciding whether to get the door or not. Most likely it's a solicitor. She hears her father sigh. Hears the sound of the door opening. And then, there's a gunshot. Her mother screams. She drops her book, hyperaware now, hands clutching at the covers. What's going on? Another scream. Another shot. The pounding of feet on the stairs. She clambers out of bed and runs into her closet, closing the door, trembling. It's a dream, it's a nightmare, she whispers to herself, over and over again. She tentatively reaches into her mind and recoils, seeing the images plastered in their memories.
It can't be. It can't.
She hears them kick down Oliver's door – please, no – and his scream, high-pitched and shrill, his sobs, cut off. But no shot.
Please, please, please…
"Find the girl. Quickly!"
She presses herself against the wall, hiding behind her clothes, but if they open the door they'll see her, they'll see her… she's going to die.
She hears them enter her room. Footsteps approach the closet door.
The handle turns.
Rough hands grab her, drag her out of the closet and she screams. One of them slaps her, the pain blooming across her cheek. "You idiot, he said he didn't want her hurt!"
She screams some more – the neighbors will hear, someone will hear, please, please – and is pulled down the stairs. She tries to push them away with her telekinesis, but it's weak and then she's in the hallway and she screams even louder, tears rushing down her face, as she sees the bodies of her parents sprawled across the ground. "NO!"
"Get the boy," one of the faceless men hisses. And then Oliver is downstairs too, and – oh thank heavens they blindfolded him –and he's gagged, but she can tell he's terrified and crying. One of the men places a gun to his head. Her heart nearly stops. "Do what you're told, Miss Cooper, and he'll stay alive."
She has no choice but to follow them out, as Oliver and her are placed in different black cars, as she is bound and gagged and blindfolded and driven far away.
And then the car stops, she is pushed out at gunpoint, and the blindfold is removed and she sees him for the first time, and his cold eyes are staring at her, a hand turning her face, seeing the handprint marking her cheek.
He turns to the guards. "Who did this?" His voice is soft and deadly.
The leader of the group points at one of the men. The man in the suit nods once, and a man in black – the one who slapped her - is shot. She tries to scream, but the cloth tied around her mouth muffles it.
"Miss Cooper," the man in the suit says in a singsong voice. "Oh, we're going to have so much fun."
Alana kept on punching the bag even after her knuckles were split and bleeding. With every punch, she saw her parents on the floor. With every twinge of pain that shot through her fists, she felt vaguely satisfied, as though she was repaying her debt to her parents and her brother. Blood for blood.
"You should really wrap your hands," a voice said from behind her. She scowled and punched harder, ignoring him.
"You're bleeding," he remarked, his voice inflected just enough that she could tell he was worried.
"I" – a punch – "don't" – another punch – "care!" She hit the bag again, tears welling up in her eyes.
And then he was beside her, his hands gently holding hers, preventing them from hitting the bag anymore. He raised her bruised and bloody knuckles to his lips. "But I do," he whispered. "I care."
She pulled away from him angrily. "I don't."
She grabbed a water bottle and took a quick drink, then resumed punching. "Alana," he said softly. The tenderness in his voice cut through her like a scalpel, but she would not cry in front of him. Not again.
"I remember now," she said roughly. "Being sixteen. And I honestly wish that I didn't."
He sighed. "I shouldn't have done it, Alana. I shouldn't have… let you talk me into it. I know that. And I'm going to leave. For good."
She spun around, and the fire in her eyes wanted to burn him to the ground. "Don't you dare leave, Loki. I'm getting my memories back."
"You could have a life, Alana! You could have a family! And I – I cannot give that to you. I have nothing to give to you."
The fire in her eyes abated, replaced by the wetness of her tears. "I don't have a family," she whispered, and she looked so small.
He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight, but he wasn't sure how she would react. "Neither do I," he said gently.
"Yes, you do," she said, her voice sad. "You have a brother. Thor."
He stared into her eyes, feeling the old hatred rise up in him again. "He is not my brother."
"Then you're blind," she stated simply. "He loves you."
"He's not my brother!" he shouted at her. "He is not. You saw the rooftop," he said, advancing on her, "and you heard my story and he. Is. Not. My. Family."
She shook her head. "Are you sure you don't need a punching bag?"
He turned away from her and started to leave the room, hands clenched, but a hand on his shoulder made him stop. "I'm sorry."
He spun, all hesitation gone, taking her face in his hands, pressing his forehead to hers. "This is why I need you," he murmured. "I need someone, Alana, I need someone to save me, I need you, I need your love or I swear I will die."
"And that's why I can't, Loki," she whispered and her voice was so tender, so apologetic, that he wants to kiss her right there, "I can't fall in love with you again until I know, until I remember. I can't fall in love with you unless you can live without me."
"I will not live without you, Alana. Not again. I – "
"Don't say that, Loki," she cut him off, "don't ever say that – you can't do that to me. It's selfish, and cruel to try and force me into this. Just… don't."
"But I am," he whispered into her hair, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "I am selfish. I am cruel. And it was only because of you that I was ever saved, Alana, please – save me again."
She pulled away from him and her eyes were sad. "I can't. I can't save you, Loki, I can't even save myself, and look at me. If this is what I'm like after one memory, who knows what I'll be when this is over?" He began to interject, but she stopped him, a finger on his lips. "It's all right, Loki. I want the memories. I need them. But I can't love you. Not now."
She looked down at her hands, wincing slightly. "Ow. I probably should have thought this through."
Alana is before him, with hatred in her eyes. "You. You failed me, Loki."
He bows his head. "I know."
"Do you?" she hisses. "Can you still remember my screams? How you left me once it was through? Do you remember my promise to you? I take it back, Laufeyson. You are a monster, and no one can save you. You are a monster. A monster."
"Alana, please - " he begs, but she laughs cruelly. "You never loved me. Never could have loved me, a human, a mortal. Or do you not remember?"
And he is standing there, in front of Thor, the wind whistling in his ears. "This day, the next, a hundred years, it's nothing! It's a heartbeat."
He remembers how she screamed.
"You'll never be ready."
He remembers the pain in her eyes. I was never ready, he thinks.
And then she is before him again. "Forgive me," he whispers.
"Never."
He sat up, panting, his body covered in a cold sweat. The nightmares came every night, tormenting him, destroying him. She was always there, haunting his mind. Sometimes they would give him one blessed minute with her. Sometimes he was filled with regret. And sometimes, they ended with him holding her broken body in his arms.
He got up, running his hands through his hair, fingers shaking slightly. He turned on the sink in his bathroom and splashed his face with water.
He stared at himself in the mirror, seeing his hollowed cheeks, his red eyes. Who was he now? A monster? A mindless weapon? A king? A villain?
Whatever he was, he was not worthy of her.
But then, he had never been.
"One more," Alana said firmly, but he could see her hands shaking, how she closed her eyes when she thought he couldn't see, eyes that were too bright, cheeks too flushed.
"No. We're done, Alana, do you hear me? Go and rest."
"I don't need to rest," she retorted. "Come on, one more memory. Please?"
He shook his head. "No. Four memories are quite enough for one day. And you had two yesterday."
"You sound like my mother," she grumbled, then froze as she realized what she had said. He moved toward her, but she brushed him away. "I'm fine, Loki."
"So. Tell me again. What have you remembered so far?" he asked, trying to distract her.
"Up to you not knowing about pizza. Come on, that doesn't even count as a real memory! It's pizza!"
He looked at her, unwavering. "Alana. You're worn out. Go rest."
She sighed, exasperated, but got up, and immediately stumbled. She held up a hand to prevent his assistance. "I'm fine," she said insistently. "Just a little dizzy." He stood in front of her, his eyes filled with doubt. "You can't lie to me, Alana."
"I'm not lying," she said firmly. "I'm okay."
"And I'm a bilgesnipe. You're not fine. I've been pushing you too hard. No memories tomorrow. You need to get your strength back."
"What?" she protested. "No! I need to remember, not to relax."
"Final decision," he said firmly.
"Loki…" she growled, and tried to move toward him, (possibly to strangle him,) but she stumbled again and almost fell over. He caught her before she hit the ground, sweeping her up in his arms like she weighed nothing. "Loki! Put me down!"
"You're burning up," he said concernedly, feeling the heat radiating from her body. She tried to struggle out of his arms, but he held her tightly. "That's just because you're always ten degrees colder than you should be," she retorted. "Put me down."
"Fine," he answered. "If you can walk upstairs by yourself."
She frowned. "Of course I can walk upstairs by myself, Loki. Now put me down."
"All right." He gently set her on her feet, and gestured for her to go upstairs. She took three steps and fell into his arms again. "See?" he said, smirking.
She glared at him, beautifully. "I can't believe this," she grumbled. "I'm not three."
He smiled at her and carried her up the stairs. He stopped outside the door to her room. "I can make it from here," she insisted.
"You're such a bad liar, Alana Cooper."
He nudged the door open with his foot, stepping into her room. A flick of his fingers and the covers turned themselves down. He slowly lowered her onto her bed. Her arms were tightly folded over her chest, and she scowled at him.
He pulled the covers up, tucking them around her. "Sleep tight," he murmured and (before he could think) kissed her lightly on her burning forehead.
Her glare softened a little bit, but she rolled over. "Close the door on your way out," she said, her back to him.
He smiled and turned off her light, backing out of her room.