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your-divine-ribs · 2 months ago

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Ice Cold 52

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Just wanted to put in a little warning that there’s some dark themes of past abuse coming up in this story (only touched upon lightly in this part). I’ll make sure to tag any future chapters though xxx

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"Always thought you were some kind of angel right from the very moment I first laid eyes on you."

Van's voice carried to me across the large open plan space and if I hadn't been so preoccupied with my current task I'd have pondered the meaning behind his words, the realisation now that the moment he was referring to in all likelihood was a very long time ago.

"Oh I don't know about that, don't you have to be pure to be an angel?"

It was hard to keep my voice steady with my heart beating out of my chest the way it was. I had my back to him, my hands trembling as I surreptitiously stirred the crushed sedatives into the cup of tea I was making. Van had specifically said no sugar but I couldn't risk him detecting the bitter taste so I quickly added a heaped spoonful, praying that he'd still drink it. If he didn't then I was in serious trouble.

"Well I don't know about pure, but you're definitely heaven-sent, there's no doubt about that."

The appreciative smile he wore was killing me, like I was actually doing him a favour as I handed him the steaming hot mug. I couldn't even look, averting my eyes as he raised it up to his lips.

Just hold it together Lyla... everything will go to plan...

"Ughhh... what the fuck?"

I tensed, sharp, icy fear drenching me like a cold shower at the sound of Van spluttering in distaste. His face was screwed up when I dared to look at him.

"Bit dramatic aren't you? It's only a cup of tea! Thought I actually made quite a decent cuppa!"

I tried for a giggle but it came out like a croak I was so choked up with nerves. Even though Van had saved my life and sworn to protect me the fact still remained that he was one of the deadliest men in the country and I had no way of knowing how he'd react if he realised I was attempting to drug him. Even I had to admit it was stooping to a new low.

"I said no sugar. I fucking hate the stuff."

He thrust the mug in my direction but I didn't take it. I steered his hand firmly back instead.

"I know you did but don't you know that sugar's good for shock?"

"I'm not in shock," he grumbled.

"You've just been shot! Your body will be even if you're not. It'll replenish your blood sugar levels, give you more energy. Just drink it quick and then I can make you another without."

He eyed me over the rim of the mug with suspicion but I could see the upturned curve of his lips at the stern tone I adopted. As much as it exasperated him he loved my wilful streak. It was one of the things that drew him to me after all. He just wasn't banking on exactly how wilful I was prepared to be.

"I'm not used to this, having someone here, looking after me, doing stuff for me. I've never had anyone to take care of me before."

My heart ached for him but I had to be strong, reminding myself why I was doing this as I sank down on to the sofa next to him and watched him take another fateful sip.

"Well, things are different now that I'm here, you're not on your own anymore. We're partners remember... like we agreed. Now are you gonna let me take a look at this arm like you promised?"

"I suppose I don't have a choice," he sighed, letting me take his wounded arm and rest it across my lap.

"Too right," I smiled, fingers fumbling nervously at his cuff.

I was glad of the distraction so I didn't have to look directly at him as I tried to tug the blood-soaked material up his arm. The fabric wouldn't give so I reached for the buttons at his chest instead, gasping in shock as he knocked my hands away, flinching like he'd been struck.

"No," he said firmly. "Leave the shirt on."

"But I can't get to the wound," I explained with frustration. "Can you at least take it off for me if you won't let me do it myself?"

I spoke cautiously, my hands resting in my lap. This was the second time he'd resisted me trying to remove his shirt and I was starting to wonder whether there was more at play than just his stubborn bloody-mindedness. A deeper, darker reason for his reluctance to let me uncover his body and assess the injury? I let my gaze slip down to the scars on his legs, briefly so as not to be obvious. I'd caught the guarded look in his eyes before as I'd tugged off his jeans, a flicker of something staining his features that I'd never seen before... shame maybe?

"It's okay..." I said, softly as I reached for him again. "I'm sure I can manage... somehow... if you just lift up your arm..."

But any further words were stolen from my lips as he suddenly reached up with his uninjured arm and grasped the sleeve of his shirt in a fist. He grunted with exertion as he yanked on it hard, the stitching coming away with a vicious tearing sound that made me grit my teeth.

"There," he muttered as he tossed the torn fabric to the floor. "Is that better? Can you get to it now?"

"Uh... yeah... yeah I can... thanks," I murmured, battling to keep my voice from cracking.

Now his arm was exposed I could clearly see the gash on his bicep. It was deep enough to warrant medical attention but it was nowhere near serious enough to be life-threatening. It wasn't the fresh injury that he'd sustained that made my breath catch in my throat though. It was what I could see above it, partially hidden by the jagged edge of the shirt. A network of scars, some fine and silvery, others thick and deeply carved, trailing down the tops of his arms like vines. They lay amidst small patches of puckered skin that looked remarkably like burn-marks. I shuddered internally as I resisted the urge to pull back the ruined material for a better look, morbid curiosity mixed with horror for what he might have endured in the past.

"I told you it wasn't serious," he said, keeping his eyes averted as I took a deep breath.

I didn't reply, not trusting myself to speak straight away. I reached for another gauze pad instead, dousing it in antiseptic before starting to dab gently at his bloodied skin. He flinched slightly, but he didn't pull away. I knew I had to fill the silence so I made an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

"You didn't have to tear the whole sleeve off. Don't you think it was a bit dramatic ripping a good shirt to shreds like that?"

"It was ruined anyway," he finally looked at me, forcing a smirk. "But you're right... and it was designer ya know... cost a bloody fortune."

"Well, well," I said with a small laugh, grateful for the temporary distraction. "You're full of surprises. I didn't have you pegged as a fashionista!"

"Let's just say there's still a lot about me that you don't know."

And just like that the tension was back, heavy and oppressive, settling over us like a suffocating blanket of mystery and buried truths, thick with the weight of the dark secrets he was withholding. He was right, there was still so much I didn't know, what happened to him after his family were murdered, where the photographs of me came from, how he'd endured the scars that littered his body. I was loathe to press him about his past but I knew it was all connected somehow and I was partly driven by intrigue but also the knowledge that I needed to keep him occupied so he didn't feel the effect of the sedatives when they started to filter into his bloodstream.

"I want to know you."

My voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but my words were loud, a plea for him to lower his defences and let me in. His eyes flicked to mine, full of caution, but he didn't speak so I continued.

"I mean really know you. All of you. Your whole story... your past... even the parts that you think you have to hide."

"Everyone's got a chapter they don't read out loud," he muttered, voice low and edged with gravel. "Even to themselves."

I reached for the hand that was holding the now empty mug, fingers brushing the backs of his knuckles, a gentle encouragement. "We all have our stories, but they often weigh less when other people are there to carry them. I'm finding that out for myself these days."

His jaw clenched and he shifted where he sat, his grip loosening on the mug handle. I could see the battle taking place inside him, roiling beneath his skin, the desire to let himself go fighting against his natural instinct to put up the wall he'd been painstakingly constructing his whole life. I didn't back off this time.

"You don't have to tell me everything all at once. I just don't want to be yet another person in your life who you feel you've gotta hide from. You know everything about me but I feel like I've barely scratched the surface with you. You've seen me at my absolute worst..." I gave a soft chuckle "... all those broken parts of me...what a fuck-up I am."

He tilted his head back as his body sank deeper into the sofa cushions, and I wondered if the sedatives were finally starting to take hold. His pupils were just a fraction off when he looked at me, his eyes hooded.

"You're not a fuck-up Lyla, not even close. It doesn't compare with what I've done, not by a long way."

"I'm not here to judge," I whispered, taking the mug from him and placing it on the floor. "I just want to understand, to help if I can."

"You don't know what you're signing up for with me. You might think you want the truth but... shit..."

He paused, blinking slowly, shaking his head like he was trying to dispel the fog I could see settling behind his eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked cautiously, my heart hammering, my throat dry.

"No, I feel strange... like my head's full of cotton wool."

"You're just tired," I said quickly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair back that had fallen over his face. "Your body's in shock, remember? You've lost a lot of blood. You need to rest."

He groaned low in his throat, eyes flickering as he fought to keep them open. I shifted closer, letting my hand linger at the side of his face.

"You don't have to fight it," I murmured. "It's okay to let go sometimes."

His lips parted slightly, brows pinched in confusion. "But it feels... wrong," I detected a slight slur in his words. "I hate not being in control... not being alert."

"I know, but like I said, you're not on your own anymore. You don't need to be in control all the time now I'm here."

He didn't reply but the tension seemed to dissipate a little, his shoulders slumping as he looked down and blinked, slow and heavy-lidded. I took his hesitance to respond as permission to keep going.

"You said I don't know what I'm signing up for," I continued, fingers gently brushing the coarse stubble along his jaw in an effort to relax him further. "But you can't make that decision for me. Why don't you let me decide for myself? Why don't you tell me one thing, just one, something you've never told anyone before? Something real."

His gaze drifted toward mine, even slower this time, like his brain had to remind his eyes to focus. Despite the cloudiness I could still see the pain beneath it all, raw and visceral, carved deep enough that the passage of time couldn't erode it. I didn't want to push too hard, not when he was teetering on the edge like this. I couldn't lead him to the gates of hell before I let him plunge into oblivion, so I turned down a gentler path instead, hoping to soothe him whilst I still had time.

"How about a good memory if the bad ones are too difficult to share?" I urged hopefully, my mind flicking back to the photos on the wall of the study. "I'm sure there must be some?"

I was expecting him to shut down but instead a tentative smile tugged at his lips, the faraway wistful look that clouded his eyes not just the effect of the sedatives. It was a memory, temporarily chasing away the pain, I was sure of it. I felt like I was seeing him... really seeing him... a fleeting glimpse beneath the hardened mask. Unguarded and vulnerable, just a man rather than the monster the rest of the world saw.

"Those days... back when I was in Marchwood... they were some of the worst, but also some of the best..."

"Marchwood? The care-home for kids? You were there?"

A memory coursed through me like a thunderbolt, images flicking through my mind of an imposing Victorian-style building which had been notorious in my childhood neighbourhood. It was a care home for children but not a place of refuge and safe-keeping for youngsters in need. When I was growing up we'd all heard the rumours, they were rife in the community, and they didn't stay rumours for long. I recalled local news reports detailing ongoing investigations which eventually turned into a full blown scandal by the time I'd reached my teens, leading to multiple prosecutions and a closure of the facility. It had finally been demolished after lying empty and crumbling for years, like the act of razing it to the ground might somehow erase the odious stain it left on society behind. Of course it didn't... not for some... not for those who'd experienced it firsthand.

"Yeah, the care home," he muttered, the bitter huff he let out sending a shiver down my spine. "Never did understand why they called it that."

"It got shut down in the early 2000s didn't it? There was some kind of scandal... multiple arrests of the staff... it was all over the news for months."

I swallowed down the revulsion that simmered thick at the back of my throat, the puzzle pieces that made up Van's early years all of a sudden threatening to fit into a horrifying picture I wasn't ready to see.

"Well all those stories you heard were true," he confirmed, the slur in his words more pronounced now, words bleeding into each other like smudges on the pages of the story of his life. "Except it was worse... much, much worse."

His face twisted in anguish but only briefly, the drugs dulling the sharp edges of his memories, dragging him under as he fought to stay conscious. Guilt and sorrow drenched me, the fact that I'd wanted to desperately hear his story for so long, and this was how it was being told... the sedatives acting like some kind of accidental truth serum. I felt sick to my stomach at my betrayal.

"Hold on, I thought this was supposed to be a good memory, 'some of the best times' you said?"

I was eager to try and steer him away from the trauma of his past, conscious that time was running out, the ticking time-bomb in his system counting down quicker than I'd anticipated.

"And some of them were..." there was a flicker of warmth behind his tired eyes, barely perceptible but there nevertheless. "I had friends there... some of the only friends I ever had... it's crazy how close you can feel to someone who's experienced the same brand of hell you have... the kind of bond it can forge."

I swallowed hard, the words hitting deep, resonating like echoes of my own painful past.

"Can you tell me about them? The friends you had?"

He nodded as best as he could, his head lolling back against the sofa, eyelids fluttering. I clasped his hand tight, entwining my fingers with his.

"There were three of them mainly... the ones who stuck around. Bondy was the oldest, he used to look out for the younger kids. He wasn't big and strong, but that didn't stop him, he was always fighting for something... or someone..."

He trailed off, a hint of reverence softening the sharp angles of his features even more.

"He sounds like a good person to have around," I smiled, squeezing his hand, urging him to go on.

"The best," he replied with a drowsy grin, looking back through the years. "He wasn't like me though, he preferred to win his fights with words, but he could look after himself alright. And he was a genius on the guitar... he was the one who taught me how to play."

My thoughts drifted back to the night before, the beautiful haunting melody of Van's voice as he'd plucked out a lullaby of sorts. I smiled faintly, the ache in my chest growing as the seconds ticked by. "And the others?"

"There was Blakes," he murmured. "He was the brains, the smartest kid you'd ever meet. He was obsessed with superheroes, always had his head in a comic-book."

His voice was getting fainter now, every word slower, like a broken record playing on the wrong speed.

"And the last one?" I prompted, my throat tight as I felt tears prick at my eyes, the weight of what I'd done pressing down on me, a guillotine poised over my neck.

"Bob," his lips curled upwards in fondness. "He was quiet, didn't speak much but he saw everything. He used to carry this old camera around with him everywhere he went, it was his prize possession... never could understand why he gave it to me."

A camera... the photos... my breath caught in my throat...

"Lyla... what the fuck? Something's wrong..."

I froze, my heart stuttering to a stop as Van's voice twisted in disbelief. His body tensed under my touch as his eyes met mine, hazy but full of suspicion.

"You need to rest," I said shakily, snatching my hands away as he made a grab for my wrists and missed. "You lost a lot of blood... it's making you weak..."

"This ain't blood loss," he slurred, raising up both hands in front of his face, blinking as he struggled to focus. "Wait... was this you? Did you do this? Did you give me something?"

He tried to sit up but his muscles betrayed him, arms trembling as he tried to lever himself into a sitting position before they gave way and he slumped back down.

"Van," I croaked out, springing up out of the seat myself, suddenly fearful.

"What the fuck did you do?" He growled, accusation piercing my heart as I tried to hold back a sob. "How did you..." his eyes narrowed even as they rolled back in his skull "It was the tea wasn't it? That fucking sweet tea! I shoulda known."

He aimed a kick at the mug on the floor and it connected, shattering it into fragments as it dashed noisily against the far wall.

"I... I... it's not what you think..." I spluttered, taking a step back.

"You drugged me," he roared, fury drenching his words, his body twitching as he fought to stay conscious. "You fucking drugged me. Jesus Christ Lyla, I trusted you... you made me a fucking promise."

"I... I'm trying to... to protect you," I stammered, knowing my words would never be enough, that betraying Van not just once but twice was unforgivable, the worst kind of sin. The knowledge that he might never look at me again the way that I'd grown to need and cherish was killing me.... acceptance and adoration from the only man I'd ever truly loved.

A sob burst from me at the thought... the admission my heart had known all along but my head had resisted. I loved him... I fucking loved him more than anything... and I was betraying him... again.

"I don't even know who you are anymore," he slurred, a tortured groan escaping his lips. His eyes fluttered, blood-shot and blurred, hands twitching uselessly at his sides like they were trying to find mine again. My heart broke at the sight.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, no longer trying to hold back my tears but letting them flow, hot rivers staining my cheeks as I sank down on to my knees at the foot of the sofa. "I told you I couldn't let you do this alone and I meant it, I don't care if you hate me for it. I can't let you die... I... I... I love you too much..."

But he never heard my final words. The sedatives had won. I hung my head and I wept.

#ice cold #van mccann fanfic #au fanfic #vanfic

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