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Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Hide-n-Seek [23]

dacnorthxx: pretty girl <3 sfcommm: OMG?? ok they're def dating wtfsally: I thought Vi and Sal were gunna end up together butttt honestly this is a vibe. I like it belongingtoash: VIOLETHHHHH LETS GOOOOOOO toodswithouthed: @dacnorthxx BROTHER THE RIZZ??????????             dacnorthxx: @toodswithouthed they don't call me the rizzler for nothing            belongingtoash: oh he definitely pulled her. but does he pull out?            dacnorthxx: @belongingtoash what's the name of that lil debbie pie?            larrysbitch: @dacnorthxx LMFAAOOOOO I KNOW YOU DIDN'T             dacnorthxx: @larrysbitch how do u know i didn't if i literally did violethshipper: ^^^omfg someone give this man a medal.

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I want to go back to Sal's house.

If anyone asks, I never said that. Never admitted it. I will take those eight words to my grave and into the afterlife. But standing in the middle of a pot-hole infested road in the middle of Nockfell's forest with no prior reasoning to be here has me on edge.

Todd and Neil ditched us for another date night, which is starting to sound like an excuse to get way from us. So Ash gathered me, Sal, and Larry out here (apparently Larry is in on the plan) and told me the weather would be chilly, so I should 'dress appropriately.'

It's fucking colder than a witch's tit out here. Chilly to me translates to long sleeves, not coat weather.

But we're here, the sun drifting toward the horizon behind my best friend's sunset-encrusted silhouette and an evil grin dominating her partner-in-crime's handsome face.

"I've gathered you here today to participate in a life or death simulation," Ash chirps, like that statement isn't going to strike fear in the hearts of all-- well, me.

I purse my lips, turning from Ash and Larry to glance at Sal. He's dressed comfy; in the same Breaking Benjamin hoodie I accidentally wore in Vegas-- I'm shocked he didn't burn the thing-- to go with black sweats and dirty shoes. And he did something different with his hair. Something that I hate him for.

Ash said 'the woods' and he proceeded to sigh, then put half his hair up into a little bun all while grabbing another string cheese. Then he walked out the house.

I really, really hate him for it. 

"Are you going to ask or what?" Ash's clipped words snap at the open air like a whip.

I pinch my lips together and focus on my darling Ash. "Why am I out here?" 

A stunning smile builds on her glossy lips. "I'm so glad you asked, bellissima! We are going to play hide-n-seek. You and Sal are going to be finding a hiding spot-- no context as to why you're paired up included." She holds a hand out to exemplify her point, stopping the obvious question before it can even form on my lips. My stomach drops out of my ass regardless though.

"Larbear and I will not be seeking you, we'll be hunting you." Her eyebrows raise as that smile on her pretty face turns cunning. "You have five minutes. We'll hike to Sal's, then back here and that will end your time to hide. I suggest you make haste, my lovely little victims."

I gape at her, the plan sounding more and more evil as she keeps running her freaking mouth.

Larry lifts a hand, index finger pointed in the air. "And you two are not allowed to kill each other either." Ash nods her head vigorously in agreement.

"So yea!" She chirps, hands behind her back as she grins mischievously at me, a malicious glint in her forest eyes. "Larry and I will see you two losers when we find you. Good luck!"

"Hold on!" I stammer over my words, taking a big step toward Larry and Ash as they... run in the opposite direction. Gone in the blink of an eye. I pinch my lips together, heart sinking into the depths of my despair. "This is going to end in murder!" I bellow for good measure even though they can't hear me.

I swallow thickly, blinking at the now empty street. It's just us two.

"If it ends in murder, I'll haunt you," Sal's voice makes me sigh. It's monotonous, nonchalant. No emotion. 

I spin on my heels to look at him. He's standing in the middle of the road, hands in his hoodie pockets. 

Half his hair is up in that bun, the rest hanging over his shoulders as he watches me, completely emotionless. And as empty as he seems right now, the nature around him still makes him glow. The sun setting behind him, the canopy of Nockfell's forest framing his body. What a sight to behold-- it's just a damn shame that he's the person that mother nature is admiring so lovingly.

A shiver takes hold of my body when the slight breeze picks up for a moment, but I do my best to mask it as a grimace instead. I can't let this monster of a man see me weak. It'll only end badly for me. 

Can't hide shit from Sal Fisher, by the way.

His eyes light up, his stance straightening a bit. "Are you cold?" he asks, a bit of something in his tone even if it was just to make his question actually sound like a question.

I grumble to myself. "It's Ash's fault," I snap. "She told me it would be chilly. Chilly in eternally autumnal Nockfell and chilly in blazingly hot LA are two very different things." I clench my teeth, begging them not to chatter. "Two different things she did not take into account."

My gaze gravitates to my black jeans and the tight-fitted, long-sleeved violet shirt that I borrowed from Ash earlier. Things could be worse, but this shirt is still thin as hell. 

Being that The Faces are so accustomed to the constant chill here in Nockfell, fifty degrees isn't cold to them. But in Los Angeles, I'm lucky to see fifty degrees in the winter. This, to me, is cold. Especially with the sun beginning to go down. 

I focus in on Sal again. He's staring at me. It's awkward, neither of us know what to do. Ash and Larry have taken off back to Sal's to count. I don't know where on earth to go. Sal looks like he'd rather be anywhere else and be stuck with anyone else. But hey, that makes two of us.

With a breath, Sal tilts his head down. Then he starts easing his arms out of his hoodie. For a moment, I fear that he's going to give that damn hoodie to me. But then I remember that this is Sal, I mean, come on. He's probably just warm because he's used to the weather here.

Was the fear of him offering me his hoodie wishful thinking?

No. 'Course not.

I purse my lips at the thought, continuing to watch Sal as he carefully pulls the hoodie over his head, careful not to mess up his styled hair. 

Where could we hide? Should we hide at all or just bump into Ash and Larry with a half-assed 'haha, wow you found us?'

My brows furrow when Sal walks closer to me, holding... out... the hoodie...

I choke on my own saliva, taking a staggering step back as the retaliation of my own traitorous ideas comes rearing it's fugly head. Had the thought not crossed my mind, I wouldn't be in this predicament right now.

Sal turns his head slightly, eyes narrowed like I freaked him out or something. Like I'm weird. Like I'm some kind of fairy with wings that suddenly popped out of the forest.

"Hell no," I cackle, holding a hand out in front of me and shaking it, hoping that my hand's movement will wipe away that damn hoodie. "Cut that shit out. Put your hoodie back on." The words come out in a maniacal shrill, but I don't know how to control myself in this kind of scenario.

My anxious, terror-ridden reaction seems to spark some kind of emotion in Sal. As if taunting me, he takes a step closer and presses the hoodie into my hand. I back away quickly like he's burned me and he has the audacity to laugh.

I have every reason to believe that he'd chase me around with that hoodie if I showed too much fear.

"Seriously, Sal," I warn, narrowing my eyes at him to show him I'm serious. "Stop."

In turn, Sal sighs. "Just take it. It's not to be cute or anything. You should know as much." Amusement tinges his raspy voice. "But if you freeze out here, you won't be able to pack all my shit tomorrow."

"Why would I pack your shit?" I ask, immediately offended. What does he think I am? His servant?

"I'm the only one driving. Most of our boxes are coming with me. Do you not communicate with anyone? Or do you not listen?" He inquires with a smack of his lips. "That's a fatal character flaw, Vi."

I scrunch up my face in distaste, rage flaring through me. He definitely does this on purpose. "For your information, no one bothered to inform me. At least know the full story before you start assuming my character flaws." I point an accusatory finger at him, watching him silently before my eyes flit down to the hoodie that he's still holding out to me. 

He called me Vi, not by my name. 

With a disgruntled groan, I snatch the hoodie from his grasp and start fumbling to get it on. I'm thankful for my mask in the moment since it hides the light blush working onto my cheeks. 

The hoodie's still warm from his body, wrapping me up in a lush embrace. I sigh as comfort takes hold of me-- I can't believe I initially fought this off. What was the point? Now I'm warm and I won't freeze to death. Plus, the collar smells just like him. A little minty, a dash of cologne that's a mix of pine and rainwater, and then a sweet detergent.

"I didn't know you drove," I grumble, popping my head through the hoodie while keeping a hand placed over my mask so it doesn't fall off. Sal tilts his head at me, hair looking completely untouched whereas mine is now a frizzy mess.

"You must not observe your surroundings," he replies. This time there's a little, lighthearted bite to it. His eyes seem brighter than they did just minutes ago. Some of his personality is coming back to him. I wonder what ever took it away in the first place. "Car in the driveway's mine."

I blanch, eyes practically popping out of my head. "That Camaro is yours?" I practically spit the words out, patting down my hair. "How are you even able to-- to drive? With the prosthetic?"

"Great question, especially considering I only have one eye." Sal's gaze never leaves mine, like he's testing me with that information.

While I didn't know that for sure, I could have assumed he was at least blind in one eye due to the dilation of only one pupil instead of both. But it's nothing surprising. The scars on his face said as much about him.

So I narrow my eyes as if I'm studying every move he makes. "How'd you trick 'em into giving you a license then?" I ask, nothing but scrutiny lacing my tone. "Did you kill them?" I point a finger at my temple. "Mind control?"

My aim was to aggravate him, but to my surprise, he actually chokes on a laugh. And it's an adorable reaction-- so much so that in the moment, I feel like we're friends. I like him like this. I feel... this feels...

His eyes scrunch closed and he tilts his head down, hair flowing over his shoulders and chest bobbing with his laughter. He even puts a hand on his stomach as the lovely sound continues to pour out of him. I can't help but add in a little chuckle of my own.

Sal takes a deep breath before standing up again, ambling a bit closer to me as his hair blows in the wind, only bits of it contained in his little bun. "That's a first," he says breathlessly. "And the best reaction to someone finding out I'm disabled."

I can't wipe the wide grin off my face as I shrug. "Seriously though," I say, giggles attached to the words. "How are you able to drive? Isn't that-- not being able to see fully-- wouldn't that be a hazard?"

Sal nods his confirmation. "I shouldn't be driving, but I can. My promise was to never drive outside of Nockfell, so once we get to LA, things are unfortunately going to change." His decent mood seems to diminish a bit at the mention. "And as for the license I have now, don't worry about it. Just know it's very, very illegal."

I tilt my head dismissively. "Alright then," I mumble. "I won't ask about the extent of your illegal activities." Even though I am really curious about it. "But where are we hiding?"

Sal, in answer, begins walking past me. He doesn't gesture for me to follow, but I do it anyway. I catch up to him in a moments notice, walking beside him and waiting for a vocal answer rather than a physical one.

"We aren't hiding," he murmurs, nodding at the road ahead of us. "We're going camp out at the apartments."

"Oh," I whisper, watching the buildings in front of us grow taller the closer we get to them. "So, they won't find us at all, will they?"

Sal snorts. "No. They'll be out here for hours."

"Karma," I say nonchalantly, stuffing my hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Hm," Sal hums to himself. "Yea," he says louder, looking ahead as we walk. "Ever heard of Darwinism?" he asks randomly. But something about his voice puts me on edge.

"Uh," I say hesitantly, wary of his next words-- or worse, his next move. "Charles Darwin? Survival of the fittest?"

"Yup," he pops the 'p', body leaned toward me for a moment as he adds, with a smile in his voice, "You are not the fittest, by the way."

I gape at him. Shock ripples through me at the audacity. Now he's just reaching for anything to insult me with. Sure, maybe I'm not the fittest. I didn't bring a jacket into cool weather. But that didn't warrant a Darwinism jab. "Fuck you," I snap, taking a step away from him. I grumble unintelligible insults to myself for a second. I'll curse Ash and Larry 'til the day I die. "Why did they send us out together anyway? They should have known this would be a clusterfuck."

Sal doesn't even spare me a glance, just keeps walking, sticks and gravel crunching beneath the soles of his Converse. "I don't know. Something about forceful bonding. I didn't care to listen," he replies and I want to punch him for it. That question was for myself, not him. And of course he wouldn't listen. That's just so him.

I keep walking, gaze glued to the buildings and darkening sky. I don't have words for him, not when he's being difficult on purpose. I can go the rest of this stupid little trip without sharing another word with him. See if I care-- he'll be the one to suffer. I can hold out. I don't need to fuck him here. My pride is bigger than his and my need combined.

In the middle of my solitary girlbossing, my foot catches on a pothole that I didn't see because I didn't bother to look where I was walking. Too busy bitching to myself about Sal. Nockfell's old. The roads aren't well funded. It seems I've forgotten that in my time away.

I stumble forward, ready to scrape my knees on the pavement and suffer the embarrassment of Sal watching me take a tumble. But I hear a grunt beside me as a hand latches onto my elbow, another grabbing my waist and hoisting me into a standing position. I gulp so hard that it hurts, gaze on my foot caught in the pothole while the warmth from Sal's hands envelops my arm and side.

"Watch your step, dumbass," Sal mumbles, a clipped laugh following the statement.

I pinch my lips together and swing my head over my shoulder to glare at him. He watches me, humor dancing in his sapphire gaze. Seeing him so unserious will always be shocking. Especially since he saved me without complaining for once. I half expect him to shove me back into my fall, but he doesn't. Puts a bit more of his weight into his arms and pulls me toward him until I'm able to free my foot from the hole.

"Had you broken your ankle, I wouldn't have carried you back, idiot," he says, voice chipper despite the constant back and forth of his emotions. Finally and thankfully he moves his dangerous hands away from me.

"And yet you felt merciful enough to lend me your jacket?" I ask, a sneer on my face. I'm still holed up with my pride... but it's slipping with every word I say.

Sal shrugs. "How can I fuck you if you're sick?" is all he says. And it almost sounds like an excuse, but... he isn't wrong either.

I shake my head, lips pressed together. "Are you going to tell me the truth or are you going to keep up with the fluff bullshit?" I ask him, inclining my head upward. Like I said, I don't have to fuck him here-- why is he so insistent on it? Does he need to christen his house before he leaves for good or something?

Well, we have a head start. We already checked his desk off the list.

Sal rolls his eyes at my words, a glimmer of aggravation in his gaze. "Can't you just accept help?" He kicks a rock with the toe of his shoe, launching into a walk toward the apartments again. I begrudgingly follow him. "I know I'm not trustworthy or anything, but not everything is meant to spite you. Yea, maybe most of it is for my own gain..." he trails off, a smug glance toward me that makes me want to kick his shins in. "But it works out for you."

"The more you talk, the less I like you," I force out from behind clenched teeth. Any kind of warmth I felt from his gesture with the hoodie is left colder than a piece of frozen meat.

"You like me?" Sal drawls, his body tilting toward me just to piss me off some more. But that prideful tone of his makes me shake my head again-- this time to get the smooth timbre out of my head. Is he flirting or being antagonistic? I can never tell with him.

"Not anymore," I chirp. "And when I did like you," I turn to him and hold up my hand pressing my index and thumb together until there's only a sliver of space left between them. "It was so little that it didn't fucking matter either way."

I watch as the bottom of his left eyebrow disappears behind his prosthetic. I can imagine the inquisitive eyebrow raise-- I just wish I could see the whole thing. "Is that anything to say to the guy who's made you cum how many times on this trip?" He holds up a hand, lifting fingers to count.

A snarl leaves my lips as I look away from him. "Once. You've made me cum once, dick," I inform him. "The point you were trying to prove is stupid."

"Dick?" He asks. My eye twitches when his slightly excited, very complacent tone travels over to me. "No, my dick hasn't made you cum yet."

I don't know what's gotten into him. And I don't know what's gotten into me when a little smile quirks my lips at his joke. But I hide it the instant it appears, shoving it deep down. "Shut up," I bite out, trying to come off as aggressive, but even he seems to catch the light, humorous tremor in my voice. 

All that anger has dissipated by now. It's almost as if he knew he bothered me and went through all this to make me forget it.

I purposefully ignore the flutters in my chest and cartoonish crush-y feeling as Sal and I fall into silence, continuing our trek to Addison Apartments. 

I'm thankful for the comfortable quiet, the only sounds around us being our shuffling footsteps along the street, birds chirping and rustling in the treetops. Other than life noises, Nockfell is quiet. Aside from the annual Pumpkin Fest, it's so quiet here that it nearly seems desolate. 

Sal is a specimen and whatever it is that's changed between us-- because there is a very obvious change-- I'm going to ignore it. I have to ignore it and focus on my career, on myself. Why acknowledge this growth in the first place? We're still fucking around and that's all it'll be. To do that, we have to hate each other a little less, right?

Sal turns a corner, so I cut my own steps to turn with him, stopping short when Addison Apartments suddenly towers over me. 

When I lived here the first time, the apartments were about to fall apart. But now... everything is refurbished. It looks like there are lights on in bedrooms on the fifth floor, where renovations had gone on forever it seemed. The building is a new color, no paint chipping or walls broken. It's pretty nice. There are buildings on either side now too, showing that there have been additions. It's nothing like I remember it.

"I take it you've met Lisa by now."

I turn my gaze to Sal, watching as he pulls out a set of keys. Has he had those this entire time? 

His head is tilted down, sorting through the same set of keys while his cerulean hair billows in the gentle wind. Cornflower blue Converse dusty and caked with mud in various spots. I take it these are an old, occasionally worn pair.

His prosthetic enters my field of vision and I snap back into myself. "Yes," I simply reply. I reserved that answer, but forgot what question, exactly, I'm meant to be answering. Because I was too busy ogling him.

He looks at me a moment longer, eyes narrowing like he can smell the fact that I got distracted. With the way he is, I wouldn't be surprised if he could smell something like that.

Sal opens the door though, passing through it and into the lobby as a nonverbal way of telling me to follow. I do, walking through the threshold and into the building.

It's stunning, reminding me a lot of The Faces' suite in Vegas. All white, pristine. I wonder who's keeping it all up, but the answer rings through my head. Most likely Lisa.

I hear hinges squeaking to my right, so I rotate my head to face the sound-- only to find a pair of ebony eyes gazing out of a mail slot about as old as these apartments are.

"Oh, Sal!" Mr. Addison's short, polite voice fills me with nostalgia. I smile warmly at the man. "Welcome back. Coming to visit, I presume?"

Sal nods his head once. "Ash and Larry are up to no good, as usual."

"Ah," Mr. Addison responds, followed by an endearing chuckle. "Who's your friend?"

"Not my friend," Sal answers, never missing a beat.

I roll my eyes. 

"Hi, Mr. Addison," I say sweetly, waving at him. "I'm y/n. Do you remember me?"

I watch those dark eyes widen in recognition and a little grin works its way onto my face. 

"My word," he says breathlessly. "It's been years! I hardly recognize you!" That mail slot opens a bit more as if he's trying to get a better look at me.

I giggle, leaning down a bit to talk to him more properly. "Ten years'll do that, I guess."

"I guess so." He laughs heartily. "Tell your father I said hello. Oh, and I shouldn't have to say it, but you two behave yourselves!"

A breathy laugh comes from Sal and I nearly mimic it. "See you later, Mr. Addison," I bid the man goodbye.

"Farewell." Then squeaky hinges and the disappearance of those ominous eyes.

I turn my attention to Sal, a glare clearly reflected in my gaze. I know he can see it because neither of us has to say a word to communicate what's happening. All he needs to do to rile me up in response is smile-- which he does, if the squinting of his eyes says anything.

I follow him into the elevators regardless of how I feel. There's still a thin veil of humor hovering between us despite it all, so I ignore his bullshit even if I desperately want to smack him for giving Mr. Addison a hard time.

He presses his knuckle into the '4' button and we slowly travel upward. It's a miracle that the elevators have been fixed in the years since I've been here. In fact, there's music playing. It's shitty smooth jazz, but it's better than having to listen to the elevator threaten to fall apart like I did as a child. I can still hear the janky, rickety sound of the elevator struggling to move.

We emerge on the fourth floor, still not a word exchanged between us. But I change that, curiosity getting the best of me.

"This place is nothing like I remember it," I muse, eyes trained to the little chandelier on the ceiling. Who the hell paid Addison?

Sal hums, as if to say he knows. "Once our streaming career took off, Larry and I shoveled a chunk of money into finishing renovations here. We had way too many close calls with death as teens to let it rot."

I nod, taking in the rest of the hallway. It's not much different from what it used to be-- a new paint job and some accessories here and there. "It was a good investment," I murmur.

"Larry would disagree," Sal snorts, grabbing the handle of a door to apartment 402. He pauses when the knob doesn't turn and grabs the keys he had prepared. "We had a failed ghost hunting Youtube channel going before this. Larry really wanted that to work out even though he was a chickenshit."

I bark out a laugh despite myself. Larry and Sal into ghost hunting? Preposterous. But believable considering all the rumors surrounding this place.

It's kind of sweet to imagine them walking around with a camera, going places they shouldn't with quivering voices and high-pitched, voice-cracking screams.

"That channel still up?" I prod Sal. He pauses at my question, never getting his key into the doorknob as he turns to me.

"Don't even try," he warns, head tilting in a half-heartedly threatening way.

I grin. "Well, I know what I'm doing tonight."

His eyes roll, karma for the eye-rolling he made me do downstairs.

Before he can retort, the door swings open and Sal whips around, making eye contact with Henry who beams at both of us. "We weren't expecting any visitors-- what are you guys doing here!?"

"Avoiding Ash and Larry," Sal simply states, keys back in his pocket.

Henry's smile transforms into one of understanding. "They're giving you trouble again?"

Sal releases a breath, clearly fed up with having to give the same explanation for his appearance multiple times. "When are they not?"

Henry lets out a dad-chuckle, clapping his hand onto his son's shoulder and ushering him inside, motioning for me to follow.

I could cry when I walk inside. This apartment looks the same way mine did. Sal and Larry didn't renovate this one-- maybe they didn't renovate the inside of any. It's a nice blast from the past though. I can almost feel Ash dumping her paint water on me in the corner of the living room; a fond but chilly memory from our childhood.

My focus transfers to Lisa though, a smile on her face as she wipes her hands off on her apron. But as I smile at her, her eyes narrow and she purses her lips. "You look familiar," she says, the statement sounding more like a question.

I walk over to her, my heart pounding the entire way. She was more of a mom to me than my own mother was. I owe this woman so much and it's been way too long since I last saw her.

"It's y/n," I tell her a bit bashfully. "It's me."

I pray she remembers me for a moment, but there was no reason to worry considering she breaks into a blinding grin and wrestles me into a suffocating hug that I'm more than happy to drown in.

"Oh, my little girl!" She coos, hand rubbing my back affectionately. Her cheek presses into the top of my head as she gives me a big squish. "Best day ever."

Of everyone I've met again recently, Lisa is the first person who hasn't prodded me about life recently or made the comment about how it's been so long. She hasn't said a word about the mask. She's just happy to have me here.

She pulls away from our hug and wipes a tear from her eye before it can fall. My heart about damn near cracks in two. "You're so beautiful!" She gasps, holding me at arm's length and looking me over. Best day ever. "How have you been, honey?"

"I've been alright," I answer honestly, smiling fondly at the woman. "How have you been?"

"Well, I'm wonderful now that you're here." She playfully scrunches her nose then pats my shoulder. "Come here and sit so we can catch up. I have dinner cooking right now."

Lisa leads me over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for me. So I sit and cross my arms over the table mat, watching as she moves over to the oven. This is exactly what I'd do every Thursday evening after school-- make my way down to the basement and have dinner with the Johnson's. 

"So," Lisa says excitedly, pulling out her famous lasagna-- fuck yea. "Tell me about what you've been up to."

I open my mouth to respond but flinch upon feeling my phone suddenly vibrate in my pocket. Fumbling to pull it out, I send an apologetic glance toward Lisa who only shakes her head, a gentle smile on her lips.

I look down at my phone, brows scrunching together upon reading "Heather" across my screen. Dammit. Is it really that time of the year again?

It's my mother. We don't talk much. And when we do, it's because dad hasn't paid her yet. For what? Child support? I have no siblings. She's just some important, top notch executive on Wall Street that still milks her ex husband and daughter of any asset they have.

Sighing, I debate on what to do. I should just decline it. But if I decline, she'll bother dad. And when they talk, I don't see my dad for weeks at a time. Not because he's avoiding me or depressed... it's because she convinces him to send her more money and that ends in him having to work much more than he already does.

I begrudgingly answer the call, bringing the device to my ear with a pounding heart. I don't want this. I never do.

"Y/n," my mothers brusque voice filters through the call and I grimace, jaw clenched tight. "Bruce is late."

"Does it matter?" I bite out. I have every reason to treat her this way. She couldn't even tell her own daughter hello after going silent for months. Why should I offer her any kindness?

My mother scoffs, disbelief in the noise. "Of course, it matters," she snaps at me, devoid of any kind of motherly affection. Not like it's surprising. "When we split, the deal was that I get $1,500 monthly. And when he doesn't have it, I have to come get it from you."

"Don't you have anyone else you can bother?" I sigh, thinking of the money stacking up in my bank account. Half of it's going to have to fall to her now. "Or are your other children from the rest of your failed marriages not talking to you either?"

Heather goes silent. I immediately regret my words, especially upon noticing Lisa, Henry, and Sal go still. Their attention on me. I hide behind my hair, tipping my head down so it falls in my face.

"You ungrateful brat," Heather seethes into the phone. I grimace, but it's not enough to make me back down. This isn't the first time she's said those three words to me. If anything, I'm used to it. "Don't you know how much I sacrificed to raise you?"

I pinch my lips together, wondering why she bothered to try and raise me at all. Not like she stuck around long enough to do much raising in the first place.

As if Lisa could tell things were beginning to spiral, she lays a hand on my shoulder and whispers, "Is that your mama?"

I swallow thickly, nodding in confirmation. Lisa and my mom used to butt heads constantly. Lisa loathed my mom and the tight leash she held on me as a child. I'm lucky I got to meet Ash, Larry, and Todd at all.

"Put her on speaker for me," Lisa says in response to my nod, a maniachal little grin on her aged face. That must be where Larry got it from.

My mouth dry, I lay my phone down on the table, ignoring the curses and insults my mother spews until I click the button that puts her on speaker. And then her voice echoes through Lisa and Henry's living room, Heather's harsh and aggressive words splayed out for everyone to bear witness to.

"You and your little ploy of being something special. Pathetic," she spits, her voice cracking. "Did you think you could hide from me?" A humorless laugh. "That you could hide behind that stupid name? What was it— VioletViolence? Should I tell the world about what a disappointment you are? Or how about I show them your face?"

I suck in a shocked, shaky breath, my eyes going wide as panic rips my inside to ribbons. My heart threatens to burst from my chest as a tsunami of fear and and anxiety drowns me.

My own mother, selling me out for not getting her way.

With nothing else to do but pant down at the screen, ignorant of the other bodies in the room, I leap from my chair. My hands brace against the dinner table, my mouth gaping as I try to find words and rifle through my thoughts.

A hand snatches my phone in a split second. Lisa.

"You're on speaker, Heather dear." The words are laced with ice. With hateful promises of revenge so vicious, I couldn't even begin to dream of the possibilities. "I suggest you watch what you say."

My mother starts spitting out nonsense again, but Lisa takes her off of speaker and disappears into the next room, no doubt to give her a verbal beating.

Fuck. What do I do? I need to talk to Ash. I need to talk to dad. I need someone to ground me because I'm free floating through my own terror at this point. Shame and panic have gripped me whole, threatening to take everything that I am. Claim everything that I've built up for myself and tear it all down.

I don't know what to do. Heather is big enough in New York that she can slather my name across headlines and leak every personal aspect about me. For the entire world to see.

And how could I stop her? I'm nothing. I'm just a random streamer that maybe a few thousand people know about. I don't matter. I never mattered.

Hands cup my cheeks— warm, rough ones. They force my head to tilt upward until I'm gazing into pretty, azure eyes. And while I'm not surprised to see cerulean hair, I am taken aback upon finding that the hair is long, rather than short.

Of every possibility, I expected Henry over Sal. In every lifetime. So maybe Sal knows something that I don't about anxiety and averting attention because his hands on my face and his eyes gazing into mine shocks me into stillness. A pause. A moment where no thoughts enter or leave my brain. Everything just freezes.

But I watch his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed, determination and confidence reflected in his light irises. A little spear of panic stabs at me upon seeing one of his pupils dilated. It's not a bad panic, but it's panic in the sense that he's very obviously worried for me.

I don't want his pity. But right now, with him conveying the words 'Everything will be okay' through eye contact alone, I grasp onto his pity. I hold onto it for dear life.

Hold onto the way his fingertips press into my cheeks and jaw, their grasp so tender but assertive. The cool bite of his rings against my cheeks. Our physical contact telling me to focus on him rather than outside issues. The warmth of his skin on mine. And when his index discreetly pushes a strand of hair away from my lips.

I latch onto all of it, the once in a lifetime comfort he's offering. I leech on the one tether I have to sanity, gripping his wrists in my cold palms and watching him the way his eyes beg me to.

"I am not doing this as a friend," Sal starts quietly, never blinking beneath that strong stare. His tone a perfect mask of calm, of stability. "I am not doing this as a companion. I am not doing this as someone who cares." All mistaken meanings combined— he's touching every base so that I don't misunderstand his approach. "I am doing this as someone who understands." His thumb rubs over my too warm skin, soothing whatever negativity is still roiling around inside. I try to ignore the sparks of want that erupt throughout my body. It's not insatiable, it's just an overwhelming desire to keep his hands on my face. To have him shield me from everything.

"Get your head on straight." Those words, spoken so gently but with a dominant edge— all to give me a mental launching pad so that I'm not fighting alone right now. "Remember that you have the power to sue the fuck out of anyone who comes for you. Okay?"

I swallow thickly, roaring at the tears that suddenly sting my eyes. Not now, not in front of him.

But I nod. And he pulls away. I feel the lack of his warmth immediately, the emptiness.

Another phone rings and Sal hisses in front of me, but I don't pay much mind. I'm too busy trying to reel myself in and remember that there's always a solution. I'll be fine, it'll all be fine.

"What?" Sal snaps, frustration lacing his pretty voice. Then silence, aside from Lisa getting real aggressive with my mom in a bedroom to the right.

I look up, noting his phone held to his ear and those baby blue eyes darting back and forth along the carpeted floor.

"Fine. We'll head back. When are you guys leaving?" Sal says, still a bit snappy but softer this time. I guess he's talking to either Ash or Larry.

Sal doesn't even say goodbye, just shuts his phone off and tucks it away before turning to his dad. "I'm sorry, but we have to leave," he says, voice emotionless like it had been earlier. My mood only seems to dampen at the sound. "Can you get Lisa?"

Henry knows the drill. He nods grimly then goes over to the room Lisa's in, pulling her out as she snaps a dark, "Rot in hell." into the phone before ending the call.

My eyebrows raise, a hint of amusement flitting through me at the remark. Heather deserved that.

Lisa rushes over to me, handing over my phone and cupping my face in her hands like Sal did just moments ago. "Don't let her scare you, honey. She's a mean old lady with nothing better to do," she tells me gently, smiling sadly.

A watery laugh leaves me, but being on the verge of tears, I really don't trust myself to utter a single word.

Lisa seems to understand. She rubs my cheek, kisses the top of my head, then pulls away. "Come visit me before you all leave."

I nod, swallowing thickly. Praying that I bounce back from this and set some boundaries with my mom. However that sliver of hell on earth will go.

Sal and I walk out moments later. Our journey back to his house is spent in the dark, crickets chirping and owls hooting. We don't talk. Sal was respectful enough in that sense, but I hardly remember the walk back. It went so fast, took so little effort with my mind trained on other things.

And Ash, unaware of what went down at Henry and Lisa's, greets me with a yelled, "Where the hell did you two even hide!? We checked, like, everywhere!" She pauses, assessing me. "And how the hell did you get into Sal's hoodie without either of you ripping each other apart!?"

"We didn't hide," I mumble, giving her a smile I don't feel and walking to the couch. I'm numb. Whereas the world was crashing down around me at the apartments earlier, now it's just stagnant. I can't find it in me to care.

Ash goes quiet, although I feel her gaze on me. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" She asks, tone comforting and sweet.

"Yea," I sigh. I don't want to worry her. I can tell her about what happened later if she's still concerned. "Just tired."

She hums like she doesn't believe me, but says, "Okay, so I guess you don't want to come out with Larry and I? We're going to a bar on main street."

I shake my head, turning on the TV and completely checking out of the conversation. My social battery is empty for the night-- I just want to be alone.

I vaguely hear Ash and Larry asking if Sal wants to join, but he declines. Walks over to his room in my peripheral.

Then the front door shuts, buffering the sound of Ash and Larry's conversation. Their voices are muted, hardly carrying into the house now.

I stay perched on the couch, turning to Sal when he doesn't immediately disappear into his room.

His one hand holds onto the door jamb, his chest and head poking out of his bedroom door while the rest of him stays hidden. His prosthetic turned to the front door, listening as his friends voices grow quieter with the distance they create as they walk away from us.

This should be an opportunity for me, but I don't have anything in me to start up a game with Sal right now. His pep-talk helped me earlier, but now I just... I don't want to socialize. I don't want to talk. I don't want to have to fight to get some short-lived distraction from Sal. Even if it would be nice, it just isn't us unless we're making it unique. Personal. Filled with hate and loathing. 

I realize I'm staring his way when his gaze suddenly cuts to me. Those haunting blue eyes glance around my body before settling on my face, both of us watching each other. Emotionless.

Then he disappears into his room, door shutting softly behind him. 

Sal may be a lot of things-- bad things-- but I have to give it to him. He knows how to read a room, when to be serious, and when to back down. He has never once disrespected my decision and he holds the championship for that kind of care even now. 

It's not much, but he treats me like an actual human being whenever I need it most. When I'm mentally stable is when he breaks free from that facade and creates chaos. And that-- that's fine. That's what makes being stuck in his presence fun.

I chew on my bottom lip, dissociating a bit as I watch his closed door, listening to automated laughter on the television before me. 

I blink out of my daze when Sal's door swings open again and he pokes his head out. He doesn't look at me at first, his fingertips pressing into the door jamb again. But when he finally does turn his attention to me, those darkened eyes catching my own, he says, "I don't know how to word this."

I'm unable to form my own words. He clearly wants to ask me something. Why is hesitant? It's unlike him. Unsettling. "You've never filtered yourself before. Spit it out," I simply reply. 

I hate that damned prosthetic. I wish he'd keep it off forever so I could see his expression. So I could get some kind of read on him, if at all possible.

Because he just stands there, just watches me. Hell, he doesn't even blink for what feels like ages. 

"Let me fuck you," He seems to force out, like the words weighed a ton. "With your permission, of course."

I don't know what kind of face to put on, what kind of reaction to have. I'm used to him being upfront like this, but the salacious claim still catches me off guard when I least expect it. I did not foresee him walking right back out of his room with a sex proposal. Never in a million years, at least not with the kind of mood I'm in.

But I debate it. I sit on the offer for a minute, let it percolate. I want it-- I really do. Our entire arrangement is for sex. But can I do it right now? Can I handle the arguments and strife that comes with our rocky situation?

"How about I lay down ideas?" Sal interrupts my train of thought, tone one of contemplation and hesitance, like even he's nervous about approaching me like this. 

I tilt my head, but nod nonetheless. I can hear him out.

Sal averts his gaze beneath my stare before he very obviously forces himself to look me in the eye again. Cute.

"You had a bad day. We all have those. So a distraction would be nice, right?" I watch his Adam's apple bob. "Lucky for you, I have a cock. I can't think of a better distraction to be honest."

I nearly scowl. Cocky as ever.

"I'll do whatever you ask of me tonight though. Just for tonight," he pauses, sensual gaze traveling over my body like he already knows his next words will make me fold. The same way the audible change in his voice-- from nervous to assertive, sure of himself-- makes me lean toward giving into him. "I'll let you make a request. You don't have to say a single word tonight. If you want it gentle, I'll give it to you. If you want it rough, I'll make you plead until Lar and Ash return."

My mouth goes dry as I hold his gaze, my limbs quaking at the prospect of him being my bitch for the night. What a day to be alive. No matter how tonight goes, whatever I ask for, I know it'll end well.

"I will do whatever you want."

My tongue runs over my bottom lip as my eyes travel down his neck and over the top of his chest, relishing in the edge of that tattoo on his throat. 

I suck in a quick breath. "Promise? Whatever I want?" The words are hoarse, raspy as they fall from my lips.

"Anything," he confirms breathlessly, impatiently anticipating my answer.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, already knowing my decision. 

My feet press into the floor as I stand, walking over to him with venom and adrenaline in my veins.

"Then let's see what you've got."

-----------

A/N::::::: y'all already know the tw for next chapter HAAAAHAHAHAHA

hiiii my babies :3 i liked this chap when i first typed it out like two weeks ago but now i kind of hate it o_e also, i planned on having this published MUCH sooner butttt unfortunately finals are approaching so that means i've been getting slapped with project and exams in preparation for said finals soooo.... i've been busy >~< haven't even had the damn time to come and think about my mean sal </3

PLEASE GIVE ME RECOMMENDATIONS SO I CAN IMPROVE MY WRITING-- what did you like here? what didn't you like? what's a suggestion for improvement? what should i omit overall? THANK U <333

as always, my love, my heart, and my soul go out to all of you. have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night!! <333

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Pretty Girl [22]

"You are never allowed to leave me with him again."

I point an accusatory finger at Larry, making him keel back in his seat and scrunch up his nose.

"What the hell did he do to you?" Larry barks out, voice cracking beneath the weight of his tone.

I scoot onto a bar stool, watching as Ash pulls out a pan to cook dinner. As Larry's settling in beside me, ready to hear about the latest gossip, Todd walks through the door. It's been about an hour since Sal dropped his intimidation tactic on me and I haven't seen him since. Larry walked in with Ash mere minutes ago, the two of them giggling over their perfect timing.

I don't have even an ounce of giggle in me.

I shake my head at emo buff daddy. "I'm sure it'll be the first words out of that monster's mouth. Give him five minutes. Tops," I reply half heartedly, knowing full well that as soon as Sal realizes we're all gathered in the kitchen, he's going to come out and confirm everyone's suspicions about me.

Ash turns to me, string cheese hanging from her mouth as she says, "While the boys are out tomorrow, I'm taking you on a tour of Nockfell." She gives me a cute little half curtsy then turns back to prepping dinner, I guess.

She's used to Sal and I bickering at this point so the fact that more has happened means nothing to her.

"A tour won't be necessary considering y/n's already lived here."

I stay silent, watching the way Ash gives herself whiplash, mirroring the action with wide eyes. Larry makes a single sound, something caught between a screech and garbled choke. And Todd merely raises his brows a bit, setting his bag by the door and taking off his shoes.

Tongue in cheek, I stare straight into the kitchen, avoiding everyone's gazes even as Sal crosses my field of vision to steal the rest of Ash's cheese. I try not to watch the way he plucks the cheese from her lips then lifts up the bottom of his prosthetic to eat the rest. 

Ash's brows furrow, lips parted as if she's still holding her cheese, then whirls around to smack the back of Sal's head. The man hisses at the assault, ruffling his cerulean hair where he rubs his head to soothe the ache. 

"What the hell did you just say!?" Ash proceeds to bellow, her emerald eyes cutting into the Smurf's soul. Damn Travis for giving him that nickname.

"The obvious," Sal murmurs, buckling the bottom of his prosthetic back onto his face. His pretty face that I really wish I could see again.

This time, Ash doesn't snap back at him. Her eyes, still murderous, only hold Sal's gaze as her glossy lips press together.

"So," Larry hops into the conversation, seemingly trying to bite down whatever kerfuffle is brewing between Ash and Sal. "It's true then?" he continues. I turn my head, noting Larry's raised brows. He looks hopeful and a little... crushed all at the same time. "Why didn't you tell us all?"

My mouth opens to spew out whatever nonsense fills my head because he doesn't understand. And I don't know how to make him understand either. But I take a moment, snap my lips shut, and think about my response.

"We figured you'd tell us before Sal of all people." Todd's voice fills the hollow silence and that's when Larry's question finally clicks in my head. He didn't mean tell them all in general, he thinks I opened up to Sal about it before everyone else. It sounds like me hiding my identity doesn't even offend them in the slightest.

"I didn't tell this asshole a single thing," I bite out, gesturing to Sal who rears his head back as if someone finally told him he needs to repaint his damn nails. Offended. "He--" I purse my lips, trying to quickly reword this afternoon's events in a way that doesn't spell out the fact that Sal Fisher feasted on me like Thanksgiving dinner laid out on his gaming desk. I blink. "He walked out of his room, had an epiphany or something, and called me out by name. What was I supposed to do?"

It's quiet. Quiet in the sense that I could hear everyone's hearts pounding simultaneously if I focused hard enough. Up until: "I told her that we all knew. You guys were being nice about it and, well, I'm not. Case closed. Vi is y/n confirmed and now we can squash out the hiding and tiptoeing. Welcome to the real world." Sal's less-than-chipper, nonchalant voice echoes in the near silent kitchen as he explains himself, leaning against the sink beside Ash.

"Does Ash know though?" Larry raises an eyebrow at Sal and his expression is wary, concerned. Like he's afraid of the moment Ash squeals in excitement over this discovery.

Sal just gives his brother a bland look. "Brain, Lartholomew. Use your brain, not your cock."

Larry's eyes narrow. "I'll have you know that my schlong has never led me astray," he says pridefully. "But as for Ash," He turns his head and levels a glare at the beauty. "You didn't say a single word about this. What's up with that?"

It's my turn to cut in now. Ash isn't at fault here-- not a single bit of this falls onto her because all she did was exactly what I'd asked of her. She's been perfect.

"I asked her to stay quiet," I say, shriveling a bit as all heads turn to me, clearly waiting for an explanation. So I take a breath and tell them the truth-- at last. Shedding the weight of lying after dying to let it out and be honest for so long.

"A day or two before I came in as VioletViolence," I start, glancing between Todd and Larry. I'm talking to them-- Ash already knows the deal and I know Sal couldn't care less. "I watched the video where you guys talked about me. And I heard everything Sal had to say. I called Ash later, ended up having a short and quick chat with Sal--" I try not to aim a menacing glare at him while recalling the memory. "And then Ash... knowing that things kind of sucked for me in LA, offered to help me get started with streaming. You guys know I like games, she does too, so I decided to try it out. But in between that, I was terrified of Sal for whatever reason and didn't want to say who I truly was. What if he called me out online or refused to play or something? It just felt... it felt so dire," I try to explain, accentuating with my hands, desperate to portray what went through my mind. What led to this. "That I couldn't come out as myself. And I'm sincerely sorry for all of it-- for not being open with you guys sooner, for approaching the situation with a disguise to begin with. I'm sorry."

The words pour out of me and it takes every inch of my sanity not to fold in on myself. Admitting the truth is scarier than visiting the dentist. I should have just been honest from the start.

"So it's your fault."

I focus in on Larry who practically scowls through each word-- his head tilted at Sal and fury dancing in his pretty, chocolatey eyes. 

My eyebrows raise as I watch the stare down between both men, taking a mental note to bet on who would win. Maybe I can make a couple bucks.

Unfortunately, my bet is on Sal simply because he's normally incredibly calm with his responses-- unless it's him and I arguing, of course. "If it's any consolation," he says, watching Larry without an inch of fear in those azure eyes. "I kind of feel bad about it."

I suck in a quick breath as some kind of tie unfastens around my heart. It's not an apology, but it's an emotion. From Sal. From the aggravation and... acquaintance he's slowly turning into for me... that has ailed my soul for months now.

It's not an apology, but it means something.

"Then do better, Fisher," Larry warns playfully, smacking his lips. "Y/n's family. She's not going anywhere. You have to get used to it."

Sal rolls his eyes, slipping back into his usual, foul personality. "Joy," he blandly states. And like a phantom wind, Sal simply slinks over to the fridge, grabs another string cheese, then disappears into his room. No wonder he's so damn pale-- I have no doubt he has some kind of vitamin deficiency.

Todd sighs, breaking the temporary silence that had settled over us. And for what it's worth, instead of arguing that I'm not family, Sal silently accepted it instead.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The next morning, Ash has me up at the crack ass of dawn.

It's actually just 10pm, but it feels early enough considering Larry and I stayed up til 3am streaming together. We double-teamed heaping groups of poor, unfortunate victims in Among Us. It was really fun and our fans loved seeing us side-by-side on whoever's stream they decided to join.

Ash and I decided to spend the night too. Apparently, things didn't go down great at her house so she wanted to give her parents some time to cool off. I didn't want to pry, especially since it seemed like it wounded Ash too, so we pulled out the sofa bed and camped out in the living room together. The whole night, I could have sworn I felt something purring at my feet, but maybe it was just a dream.

I replaced my normal mask with a sleeping mask for the night. Doesn't cover as much but it's better than nothing, plus I had my head hidden under the blankets regardless. Either way, whatever I did managed to do the trick and no one discovered my other identity.

Both boys are apparently gone by now, having embarked on their own journeys that they claimed they had for the day.

"Come on, get up, time to go," Ash chirps like a mourning dove when all the morning glories begin to bloom. I am not having it, even as I follow her orders and change into some clothes for the day-- black skirt, Type O Negative merch shirt, and vans. Could be better, could be worse. Ash says I look 'smashing' though, even if the color of my outfit clashes with the violet of my mask.

When I walk into the kitchen, I grab a croissant resting on a paper plate and stuff it into my mouth for a quick breakfast. Ash grabs a crimson purse that looks like it costs more than my prospective college tuition would have, and gestures to the front door. "We're walking today, gorgeous," she tells me with a grin. "Nockfell's tiny. We get around on bikes or our feets."

"Feets?" I ask with a giggle, enjoying the cool breeze that flows into the house when Ash opens the front door. 

Ash nods proudly. "Yup. Feets."

So we use our feets and walk through the little town of Nockfell. It's everything I remembered it being-- a scene straight out of the Halloween franchise. Tall oaks shedding their leaves, glowing a golden brown and yellow in the dim sunlight. That is, whatever little sunlight manages to shine through the overcast clouds that threaten to spill their rainy contents every second.

The pumpkins aren't in season yet. The numerous, empty crop fields we pass on our trip onto main street tells me as much. But it's only a matter of time now, just a couple months until little pumpkins begin to pop up.

"For now, we're dropping by Henry's music store, mainly because I know you want to see it since you like music and all. After that, we can do whatever you want-- or just go home. Doesn't matter to me," Ash says as we finally reach Nockfell's main street. It's this one road that runs straight through the heart of Nockfell. The road that travelers take to get through the city as quickly as possible. 

I look over at my best friend, observing her wine colored lips that nearly match her purse, then her long-sleeved, grey crop top and black jeans. She's so pretty.

"Henry has a music store?" I ask once I remember that the goddess on my side spoke to me.

"Mhm," Ash hums, flipping her sort of short hair over her shoulder. "It's just a couple buildings away now," she continues, leaning toward me and pointing down the road ahead of us. I haphazardly glance, assuming that the giant record sign with an F in the middle is the store in question. 

Ash and I are walking into the store just seconds later. We hover near the door only until Henry catches Ash's eye. She launches into a speed-walk in his direction, but I admire the inside of the store before following.

Guitars of various types and colors litter the walls of the store. So many... so many that I can't even count. And then the floor houses different drums, add-on's for instruments, and a wide variety of records. It's stunning-- so much so that I swear I can hear seraphim singing all around me. Such an angelic thing to see; the makings of the best genre of music. 

When I snap out of my ogling, I walk over to where Ash is finishing up a conversation with Henry.

I smile at the man as he walks away from the front counter, moving over to help a young boy who's desperately trying to hold onto a guitar that's far too large for him. Sweet little thing.

I turn my attention to Ash who's chewing on the end of a pixie stick,-- I don't know where the hell she got it from-- gazing lazily at Henry's silhouette. Her eyes slide to mine, viridian irises shining in the various fluorescent lights that add a mystifying brightness to the space-y room. She gives me a bewitching smile, teeth imbedded into the stained paper of her candy.

With a smile back at her, I lean my elbows onto the counter I found her at and rest my chin in my palm. "Are we camping out with the boys again tonight?" I voice my internal question, watching as she purses her lips in contemplation.

"It's up to you," she murmurs, shrugging. "We've all been packed up for the most part since before we went to LA. We just have necessities to pick up— which, that's all at the boys' place because they all live together." I guess she's trying to avoid the topic of her parents. Her eyes glaze over me, thinking about the best option, no doubt. "We leave in two days— more than enough time to pack up their kitchen and get my boxes into a van."

"I'm fine with either option," I bashfully admit. I hate making decisions— I don't want to disappoint anyone, especially when I'm more than happy to do whatever.

Ash narrows her eyes at me playfully, scrutinizing me and my lacking decision lightheartedly. "I'll just ask Larry what he wants to do then," she chirps. Bless Ash and her ability to find a solution to everything. "Would you be able to put up with Sal for another night if we decide to stay?"

I snort. "Yea, don't worry about that. He seems to be the type to lock himself in his room for hours on end and never come out," I chuckle a bit as I think about how I was occupying a few minutes of those hours for him yesterday. "That means we'd hardly cross paths."

Ash tilts her head, lips quirked up lightly as her hair falls into her eyes. My fingers itch to push the strands away from the forest of green hiding beneath. "I think he's warming up to you," she counters my rationale with something so obnoxiously ridiculous that I nearly fall over.

"Yea, okay," I answer sarcastically, unable to hold back the crazed laugh that falls from my lips.

The music in the room suddenly grows louder, cutting off our conversation. Ash jumps out of her skin, eyes momentarily going wide. But then they narrow, brows bunched together as her gaze shoots to me.

"Why the hell is it so loud?" she voices my thoughts.

But that's the thing, it isn't just loud. It's suspiciously concert-like. "Is someone playing?" I ask, turning to see if Henry is the culprit— I hear guitar and drums. Someone is playing Save Me by Killswitch Engage beautifully.

Ash whips her head to the side like she got sucker punched. I watch as confusion flits across her features, and then stony concern. Clear apprehension exemplified by the pinching of her lips, but some frustration mixed in there too if her furrowed eyebrows are a hint to anything.

So I turn my head to look where she is too, finding that someone is playing. Well, people are playing. Todd's boyfriend, Neil, is going to town on a drum kit like a pro. I'd noticed the set up upon walking into the store but I didn't think it was usable.

I'm thinking Neil might play a big part in my life-- more specifically, he might play a big part in a very specific band.

And in front of him is a man with a guitar in his hands. A blue guitar and that red, gold, and black mask with music notes. Intricate, loud, mysterious. And I am one hundred percent hallucinating right now because why the fuck would North be in Nockfell of all places? The Faces' hometown or not, this is fever dream material.

"What the fuck." Words fall from my lips before I can really think better about them, my eyes darting over every inch of North's figure like an alligator staring at its prey-- probably something innocent like a bunny. I feel like such chaos compared to North who has been nothing but pure, sweet, and tender to me. But the way his fingers, clad in fingerless leather gloves, move along the strings of his vibrant guitar, his mask tilted down with his head as he watches his finger placement and movements, and the positioning of his entire body as he shreds through a guitar solo. What else is supposed to go through my mind other than unintelligible button smashing? My mental keyboard's letters are flying around my head like a fucking tornado.

A monotonous, mumbled reply from Ash makes me blink at the rockstar, my eyes never leaving his form. "Dark Autumn Complex recorded their music video here," she answers the question I failed to ask— she knows me so well. "I thought they'd left."

Tongue in cheek and heart racing a mile a minute, I say, "Why am I just finding out about this?"

"Because it didn't matter at first," she instantly replies, voice a tad louder. "But now I'm starting to wonder if what Larry said was true."

I gulp. I've been wondering about that too. About North's supposed crush on me. I assumed it was all in good fun, but Ash possibly finding some hidden truth in the matter makes my stomach feel queasy. And the queasiness isn't bad.

I bite down on my bottom lip, watching as North and Neil close the song, breaking off on a heavy chord before taking a moment to catch their breath. Neil wipes beads of sweat off his forehead, captivating smile enveloping his face and illuminating his mocha skin. Todd wasn't lying when he flaunted about his boyfriend being a complete catch.

North, on the other hand, lets his guitar hang from his chest and turns to Neil, uttering something quiet enough to the point that Ash and I can't hear. It's clear that the two men are communicating though because Neil is nodding his head in agreement, laughing heartily, and talking back to him.

I turn away, facing Ash who stands behind the counter. I don't need to get myself tangled up in another messy situashionship. Sal's more than enough in that department, plus North is too gentle for that. I wouldn't do that to him. I don't need all this strife and mess. It's probably better if I don't talk to North anymore, even if the thought pulls at my heartstrings a little too hard.

Ash is chewing on the inside of her cheek, eyes slowly roving around and growing closer to my own body. My breath catches in my throat as I contemplate what to do within the next few moments. My best friend looks anything but content and I know her eyes are tracking North's movements. Her calculated emerald eyes say enough.

My lunch leaps into my throat when arms cage me in from behind, hands resting on the counter on either side of me. I have, like, five seconds tops to decide on a plan before I address the man behind me and his very bold approach. Wow, never thought I'd be shooting down a hot guy like this.

I run my tongue over the surface of my teeth, tilting my head up a bit to find that fancy mask hovering over my body and showing off what looks like grey eyes that are solely focused on me.

My heart thumps like there are a thousand little miners embedding pickaxes into the crevices of the organ, trying to dig their way through to see what lovely minerals they'll find. It's almost too much— the little intrigued, shocked twinkle in the masked man's shaded eyes and the way his fingertips dig into the wood counter in front of me, arms encircling my body like a shield.

I slap a smile onto my lips, a smile that undoubtedly looks nauseated and a mess. But it's a smile. "Hi, North." The words pop past my lips and I thank my body's natural instincts for a moment. I always babble when I'm cornered and I appreciate that weakness at the moment. It might scare him off before I have to possibly break his heart. Hopefully it doesn't come to that.

My head tilts downward again and I carefully shift myself, turning my body around to face the man as he takes a step away. In addition, his head tips to the side almost as if he didn't expect me to speak.

So I keep speaking despite how badly I wish I could shut up now. The babbling worked a second ago but this consistency— I might as well consider myself a pile of vines wrapping my way around this poor guy's legs. I can't stop.

"My cousin thinks you're hot." I seethe on the inside, willing myself to just shut the fuck up. I've said all of seven words to him in the span of a full minute and it's already getting worse. "Can I get a picture of you to send to him?" Y/n, please, for the love of everything holy.

I'd never truly be able to explain the panic that coursed through me upon seeing him playing his guitar, but having him suddenly right in front of me has sent me into flight or flight mode. My fight instincts are to bargain my way out or yap until someone gets bored with me so... here we are.

Much to my chagrin, North fucking nods. This walking, breathing, living piece of sex on a stick nods at me to signal his agreement to a picture. And now I'm stuck and Ash can't see my face so she doesn't know the fear roiling through my limbs right now, taking over my brain and turning me into someone I'm not. Arguably.

So I lift my phone with shaky fingers and slap the most pathetically petrified grin on my face to take a quick picture of us and send it to Travis because now I have to follow through with the stupid last minute plan.

But things always get worse when it comes to me. I make a mental note to stop putting myself in tricky situations the moment that North moves beside me and stands so close that his arm has to wrap around my upper back and his chest is pressed into my shoulder. I lose every sense, falter for such a long moment that I forget how to breathe.

The warmth radiating through the right side of my body is intense, alongside the cool fingers gently pressing into the top of my left arm where his hand wrapped around me. I hear a sigh from behind— Ash.

His mask taps against the side of mine and I realize that I can just make out the sound of his even breathing. Quiet, muffled, unbothered. This is nothing to him— likely something he does with fans quite often. Does he get this close to them too? Is he this intimate with everyone? Based on how comfortable he seems, I'd guess this is routine. I'm nothing special— and I don't know if that's relaxing or the reason my own bodily functions haven't returned to normal yet.

I gulp, flipping my camera to take a picture of us together. I muster up the best little smile I can force, a slight tilt of my lips and squinting of my eyes. North presses his face a little closer against mine, the plastic of our masks causing a dull scratching sound that reverberates through my entire skull. A tattoo in the lonely, forgotten, impenetrable part of my brain that swore off any little desperate feelings of tenderness years ago.

I snap the picture quickly and bring my phone down, hastily clicking onto Travis's contact to send the photo. "Thanks," I shakily chirp to North, "I'll keep it forever." I say it with a subtle tone of finality, hoping that it'll result in him moving away... but he stays, chin on my shoulder as my quivering fingers hover over the keyboard.

Okay. I guess he's curious. He must be enjoying the way I'm very obviously squirming.

I type out a quick text before sending the picture.

Me: guess what :3 Me: (1 attachment)

Travis's response comes no less than a full five seconds later, the little text bubble popping up the way North popped into Nockfell today. I hate my life.

Simp for the Entire Male Population: BITTTTTCCCCHHHHH Simp for the Entire Male Population: Hold on, FaceTime me so I can show him my cock.

That brings me a little bit of joy. I snort at the message, noting that it's the exact moment that North finally moves— but it's not away from me, it's a laugh he's barely able to keep hidden, a snort just like mine if you will. I could love this man, I really could, but I won't.

And then he plucks my phone from my fingers which sets me into fight mode again, but this time I'll actually drop kick him. I have a lot to lose with my phone in someone else's hands— if he clicks out of my messages with Travis, he could see my real name somewhere. He could see my messages with my dad, hell, he could see my messages with Sal— that perpetually unsaved number sitting in my messages with his last text including the name Lexi.

A flicker of unadulterated fear and failure makes me feel as if I'll vomit, sweat building up on my forehead at the mere prospect. But North, he doesn't move my phone from my view— holds it out in front of both our faces as he types out a quick message that says,

Me: no doubt mine'll be bigger -N

I swallow past the dryness in my mouth. What a brave guy to test my cousin like that. Travis enjoys a challenge. I'm lucky that I'm family because otherwise I'd have an unwanted dick pic floating in, I'm sure. Maybe these two should exchange phone numbers.

Travis hasn't messaged back, but North starts typing again.

Me: post our picture.

He doesn't send the message, just leaves it there for a second for me to see. Then he holds down the backspace button, deleting the message entirely.

I blink. Once, twice, a third time before I fully process his message.

"You want me to post our picture?" I ask him, making the mistake of turning my head to look at him. And he's close, too close— so close that even he finally backs away, keeping a safe but friendly distance between us. He nods his confirmation while simultaneously allowing me to take my first breath of air without shuddering since he first walked over here.

North nods again, shifting his weight into a more relaxed stance, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Dressed the same way he was at his concert. So Noah Sebastian-coded.

I nod back, wielding a mental knife that stabs and slices at the awkwardness I've caused. I can't stand myself— I shouldn't be like this. If anything, he should be. He's the one who called me his idol the other day.

Regardless of my current circumstances, I open up Instagram and post our picture, making sure to tag North and their band account. I don't bother putting a caption though. I don't have the brain power to come up with anything smart or witty. I don't have the brain power to come up with anything at all.

I post the photo then lock my phone with lightening speed and stuff it into my pocket. I don't want to be present when the comments and likes start to roll in, especially not in front of him.

My attention goes back to North who's still standing in front of me. He tilts his head down a bit, as if to show me he's pleased then takes a step forward. He moves fluidly, like a gentle wave in a calm ocean as his hand lifts and his fingers tap under my chin. It's a featherlight, minuscule touch that tilts my head up just a tad before he pulls his hand away again. A thank you, nice to see you, wish I didn't have to leave, and see you later. That's what that touch was. All in one.

He looks over my shoulder at Ash, offers her a wave, glances back at me then turns on his heel. And like he was never even here to begin with, his presence is gone-- disappeared behind a door labled 'Employees Only.' I feel like I went through something that dreamcatchers are supposed to keep at bay. The only remnants and confirmation that what I just lived through was real being the most recent photo in my camera roll, one that I don't have the balls to look at right now. 

And then my body betrays me. A fluttering deep in my soul makes me press a hand to my chest as if I'm trying to release trapped butterflies. Trying to scrounge up a lost breath, searching high and low for a medical explanation as to why my fingers tremble. Why my legs feel like jello. Why my stomach is twisted into knots that are too tight to unravel. Why my body feels so light, but my mental feels so drained. Why I feel drawn to chase that man behind the door while battling the internal faint feeling that has me swaying on my feet.

This feeling doesn't seem as terrible as it did when I felt it with Sal. The attraction. The tender affection that grips me in its ambrosia-drenched, quietly dangerous vices.

I stare at the empty spot where North stood just seconds ago. The spot that Neil suddenly fills up.

"Hey," he drawls in such a milky tone, pretty smile stealing my attention for just a moment. "You're Vi, right? I've heard a lot about you from Ash and Todd!" His umber skin, illuminated by the low lighting in the store, captures my gaze when just a singular bead of sweat drips down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt. 

I'll never say it out loud but, damn, is Todd a lucky man. I feel like I'm looking at a god of old age right now-- the type that's too perfect even for statues.

I suck in a breath and force another smile on my face. I'll worry about North later.

"Hey, Neil," I start cooly, offering the man my outstretched hand. "Yea, I am Vi but I'm also y/n-- not sure if everyone else told you yet. But, nice to see you again."

Neil's brows raise in surprise. "Ah, no, seems Todd left me out of the teacup this time." He chuckles lowly, showing off that handsome grin again. "I haven't seen you since grade school! How have you been?"

I shrug, smiling in turn. "Not really thriving, but surviving," I admit with a chirp, drowning in Ash's silence while Henry's chipper form grows closer to us.

Neil tilts his head and purses his lips as if to say that he relates. But when he speaks again, it's the last thing I expected to hear. 

"You know, I noticed you kept perfect beat with my drumming earlier. Do you play at all?"

My eyes widen a bit. I hadn't even realized he noticed me, nor did I realize that I was keeping beat with the song he and North played. A little breathless, I reply, "I've played for seven years. Haven't for the last year though because of my living situation, but..."

"Wow," he whispers, leaning closer to inquire in that smooth voice. "Seven years?" He puffs his cheeks, blowing out a breath. "That's... a while. Would you want to play?"

Where my chest felt filled to the brim mere moments ago, it suddenly feels achingly hollow. Play? Again? It's been over or near twelve full months since I so much as touched my drum kit that's been packed away in three separate boxes. I've ached to wrap my fingers around drumsticks again and get lost in the beat of a good song. 

But there's anxiety deep in my gut because it's been so long. I don't know if I can even still play anymore.

"I don't know," I tell him weakly, glancing over his shoulder at the immaculate drum kit. Set up and spotless, drumsticks resting on top of the snare. "I don't think I'd be any good. Not what I used to be."

Neil shakes his head exasperatedly. "Girl, you played for seven years. That isn't just a talent anymore, that's second nature. Drumming is breathing. You could lose both your hands and still find a way to play. Get get on that kit before I drag you there." His voice is aggressive, but in that loving, coddling type of way. Still aggressive enough to make me flinch into a quick walk toward that daunting drum kit in the middle of the room.

Ash, Neil, and Henry follow behind me as I round the kit and plop into the chair, staring down at the instrument that haunts me night and day. The one thing that kept me tethered to this world when nothing else could. Cymbals, toms, snare, bass. It's all here.

I chew on the inside of my cheek and delicately pick up the drumsticks, flipping one around in my left hand. The little trick I used to flaunt in high school. 

My eyes drag up to Ash who's watching me with stars in her eyes. She catches my gaze and clears her throat. "I didn't know you played," she rasps out.

"You know I like my secrets," I croon, tilting my head a bit. "Got a song request?"

"Well knowing you, it's all rock or metal," she snorts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"You're correct," I snicker, waiting for a song name or band, something. I covered a lot of songs during my free time in high school. If Ash gives me the one hard song she knows, I'll probably be able to play it.

"Wherein Christine Daaé Becomes Her Own Phantom?" Ash asks, eyes narrowing as her face contorts into a nervous cringe. A Dark Autumn Complex song. Of course. One of their first from however long ago.

I giggle as confirmation, readying my sticks and giving myself a moment to think back on all the memories that Neil was right about. I've done this long enough. It is second nature and it always will be.

With the first hit of my drumstick, I fall into a bridge between dimensions. A bridge only available when I immerse myself, lose myself in the art that comes with music. Comes with creating and mimicking it. Time slips by on a breeze, slow but so death-defyingly fast. Quiet, but pounding in every inch of my being. 

And I only return to reality when I realize I'm nearing the end of the song, drawing off with a final note and staring at the echoing drums in front of me, my fingers numbing and sticks hot in my hands.

I missed this so much.

I don't have time to wonder how I did or feel stage fright because my lovely best friend takes that opportunity away.

Ash's loud, reverberating squeal drags my gaze up from the kit. My eyes meet her teary ones first. She looks so excited, hands curled underneath her chin as she grins brightly. Beside her though, the only really attention-grabbing figure is North who's resurfaced from his hiding place at the back of the store. But he just looks at me-- his dark eyes don't crinkle in a smile, he doesn't walk over to me or make a move at all. Just stands next to Henry who looks like he could cry with the kind of pride only a father can have. And Neil, he's at my side, I realize, when a warm hand clasps onto my shoulder.

I whip my head to him, gazing up at his much taller figure. "See?" he exclaims, gesturing to the drums. "I knew you had it in you. You need to get back on a kit and keep working. Don't give this up. You're really good." He gives me an encouraging smile that has my mind reeling with possibilities. 

That smile gives me hope. So I smile back at that hope.

As I'm standing to leave this gorgeous drum kit behind, I notice Ash angle a blinding glare at North beside her. The man doesn't acknowledge the expression, or her for that matter. When Ash looks back to me though, I wonder if I really did see a glare because she looks so happy, so filled with positivity. Maybe the look was in my head.

The woman comes bounding over to me, her dainty hand gently wrapping around my wrist. "Let's head home," she says, ditching her plan of letting me pick where to go next in the city. "I have to stop by the Nockfell Psychward first--"

"I'm sorry," I cut in, watching her warily. "The psychward? Nockfell has one of those?"

Ash waves me off. "Not an actual psychward, silly. That's just what we call our local grocery store. Filled with all kinds of people, customers and employees alike, who really need to be admitted." She looks off into the distance like she's reminiscing about something before her forest eyes clash with mine again. "Let's go!"

Ash begins dragging me out of the music store, the grip on my wrist going from gentle to dominating in a quick second. It makes me wonder what kind of rollercoaster her lovers must go through when it comes to her.

I turn a head over my shoulder, waving at Henry, Neil, and North who watch Ash kidnap me like this is a normal occurrence. All three wave back just as we disappear through the doors, but I watch North until he's nothing but a speck of dust hidden behind those tinted doors. Until we're already walking far enough down the road that I can see Nockfell's grocery store just a little ways away. Or, as Ash calls it, the Nockfell Psychward.

Ash and I are finished with our shopping trip within just ten minutes, the two of us holding three bags each on one arm and coveting hot coffee in our other free hand. 

Ash sips from her coffee, licking her lips clean of the brown liquid before she turns to me with something fiery flashing in her eyes. Our walk back to Sal, Larry, Todd, and Neil's place is just about five minutes as far as I've heard.

I match Ash's steps as she watches me, holds my gaze, starts brewing something in that beautiful, jewel-encrusted mind of hers. 

"Is there something going on that you haven't told me about?" She asks, an edge to her voice that makes my limbs lock up. I almost trip over my feet.

Does she know? About me and Sal? We've been careful, covered our tracks fairly well, as far as I'm aware. Maybe Sal's been talking? Maybe I'm overthinking? But for her to hit me with this kind of question...

"Uh, not that I'm aware of?" I force out through trembling lips, hoping that the veer-off from the truth is believable enough.

Ash's eyes narrow and I feel like I might dissipate into the afterlife right here on the side of the road.

"So North's infatuation with you is just... random." She states-- states, not asks-- and tilts her head forward like she can read the lies and truths swirling around in my head.

Oh, she's thinking that me and North have something going on.

I almost feel inclined to lead her in that direction-- to think that maybe North and I are involved so that it keeps her away from suspecting me and Sal. But I'm already hiding enough from her. Lying to her again, roping North into it... it feels unnecessary. Feels cruel.

"Yes," I say truthfully, taking a quick sip of my peppermint mocha. "I'm as confused and shocked as you are," I tell her, gesturing with my cup. "But I'm not opposed to it either."

It pains me to watch the grim expression that takes over Ash's face, the way she pinches her lips together like she knows she's going to disappoint me. 

"It's..." She trails off, looking up to the cloudy, grey sky as she tries to find the right words. "It's... odd. The whole thing is weird." She jerks her head to the side as if to take back what she said, but adds to the statement instead. "I know it's not my place to get involved, but it just doesn't sit right with me. It's so... just..."

"Wrong? Random? Unnecessary? Misplaced?" I fill in the blank for her, voicing my own thoughts on the matter. These words have been plaguing me regarding North's sudden focus on me. I'm nothing but the dirt beneath his feet-- so why is he into me at all?

"Well, now that you say it," Ash starts. "I can tell why he's interested. You're beautiful with a stunning and selfless personality to match. Literally, who wouldn't fall for you?"

I smile at my dear friend, red painting my cheeks from her words. I don't have a response, not when she's completely countered both our thought processes. 

"I'll just bully Sal about it since they're close," she quips, shrugging. "I've never seen North go for anyone but fuck buddies and I don't want that for you, so I'm gonna get the message to him in some way. I'll make sure he knows of my wrath."

We walk a little ways farther up the road, turning into Sal's driveway. I'm so immersed in what Ash has said that I nearly miss the very well cared for '67 Camaro parked beside the house. It's a little worse for wear, shows its age, but the black paint is fresh, glistening. It's clearly loved.

My guess is that it's Neil. He was the only one who wasn't at the house yesterday-- he probably beat Ash and I home. 

But I focus on Ash as we walk up the front steps to the house. "Just don't hurt his face," I joke to her, watching as she turns the doorknob, pushing it open with her hip. "I know he's pretty beneath that mask."

"How do you know that?" Ash snorts, setting her three bags on the table. I follow suit.

"All masked men are hot," I say, shrugging. "I know North is going to be beautiful the same way I knew Sal would be."

Ash snaps her head to look at me. The action is so quick that I wonder how she didn't snap her neck. "You think Sal is beautiful?" She asks, her words a grating, exasperated shrill.

I wince, watching her with furrowed brows. "I'm stating the obvious," I argue, holding my hands up in surrender. "I mean, come on, he's a handsome man with a pretty face."

I mean those words. I've meant them every time I've said this. Sal has such a nice face-- scars and all. 

Ash seems to contemplate, those viridian eyes roving over me the entire time. "Yea...true," she finally settles on, "Sal is pretty." But there's something in her gaze that says she's wary.

Movement seems to catch Ash's eye the moment she utters those words, because she snaps her head forward again. Her neck is really going to hurt later. But I follow her gaze, coming to the horrible realization that Sal is just... here. He's leaning against the edge of the kitchen table across from Ash and I, watching with those haunting sapphire eyes.

I don't have words. They've failed me. Someone needs to put me out of my misery.

"You," Ash practically growls, pointing a finger at Sal like it's a Sith Lord's lightsaber. Her voice is menacing, holding a fuck ton of hidden, murderous desires. "Put your friend on a fucking leash."

Her seething words make me take a step back. The sheer, bloodthirsty undertones take me back to the conversation we had on the way here. She told me she'd bully Sal about North, but maybe she only put up that front to keep me off her tail. So I wouldn't freak out or tell her to leave things be. Because the way she's stomping over to Sal right now, getting in his face with a nasty scowl taking over her features, says that maybe she really is angry and put-off by this whole thing with North.

Sal looks down at her, prosthetic face perfectly masking his emotions like it always does. His eyes do a great job of holding up that nonchalant expression as he carefully says, "If my friend did it and I didn't, then there's no reason for you to come at me like this." Those words are meticulous. No yelling. No anger. Just... words. But that alone seems terrifying, especially when he adds, "Back off."

Ash concedes to his request, taking a singular step back to put some space between them. My body grows warm beneath the tension, the pressure of watching these two stare at each other-- one hot-headed and ready to knock the shorter one down, and the other the complete epitome of calm aggression with no fear in his stance.

"I'm serious, Sal," Ash warns. I've never heard her so grave before. "He's playing with fire and if he adds anymore fuel, the results won't be pretty. Talk to North. You need to talk to him." She takes a deep breath, harsh voice softening a bit. "And you tell him that I said he needs to figure his shit out and leave y/n alone. Because I know him. And I know that he's going to play her like a fucking fiddle if he isn't threatened."

Oh. So when she said that North only had fuck buddies, she meant that she doesn't trust him with me. Even if she doesn't realize that I'm in some kind of shituationship with the man right in front of her-- fuck buddies-- whichever it is. She's just looking out for me, obviously, but that assertive stance she's taken against it... I can't help but feel like letting her dig a hole for this blooming thing between North and I is the best decision.

Sal doesn't reply to her. But he does stand a bit straighter, puts his hands into the pockets of his sweats. And then his head turns to me. 

A dark ocean of endless blue meets my gaze as he asks in a low, authoritative tone, "What did he say to you?"

The question catches me off guard. The way he articulated the words, the tone he used. All suggesting someone playing a protective role. It sends that fluttering feeling through me again.

My mouth goes dry as I battle my own mind, fighting for the right thing to say. But I don't know what to say. Between Sal making me feel things I shouldn't and North leading me into a corner, I'm stuck.

I subconsciously shake my head, mouth gaping like a fish as my heart pounds wildly in my chest, my body still warm with anxiety. "It's-- He--" I falter, swallowing thickly before I try again. "It's nothing bad, per se." I shrug shakily as Ash turns her head to assess me too. "Some flirting online, and-- and we took a picture today. He grabbed my chin. That's about it. It's really... not a big deal."

"Wait, he's been flirting with you online?" Ash asks, emerald irises zeroing in on me just as her voice grows harsh yet again. Even Sal tilts his head, eyes narrowed.

Ash walks over to me and I already know what she's silently asking for. Proof.

It may not be a big deal to me, but if Sal is actively getting involved... maybe it's bigger than I think.

So I pull my phone out of my back pocket to show her our interaction from a couple days ago. But it turns out I don't need to.

The very first notification on my phone, among a few others, is from North. A comment under the picture I'd posted of us.

dacnorthxx: pretty girl <3

My lips part in surprise at the same moment Ash lets out a grumble of frustration behind me. 

And Ash, ever the leader and queen that she is, leaves my side and walks up to Sal again. She puts a predatory hand on his arm, fingers gripping his clothed skin. 

"Handle it," she seethes from behind clenched teeth. "Or I will."

---------

A/N:::::::: hi my sweet babies :3 I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONGGGG and i hope this chapter is okay too! i've been daydreaming about it tbh, i LOVE it but i always feel like i can never fully portray my thoughts with words sooooo

so-- a couple things before i leave you guys for the night: 1.) spring break was not very restful for me so i've secluded myself to self-isolation. it's been really hard for me to even message family back. between forced proximity with the man who assaulted me and never getting a moment to rest, i've just been to myself. i apologize for that because i know many of you have been messaging me and commenting. i'll be getting back with everyone as soon as i remember that i'm in charge of my life, i pinky promise! thank you for sticking around <3 2.) i've been trying to follow you guys' recommendations! i appreciate seeing the tips you guys have for me because it prepares me for the future and helps to improve my writing. thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the help! that being said, one of the things i'm trying to do is limit the amount of detail i put into certain things. too much detail gets boring, so i'm trying to drive away from that. because of this, i feel like the chapter might be lacking. so, to further my own progress, please let me know how you liked the chapter AND tell me something i can do better!! thank you >.<

anyway, i've been fucking FLYING through the ACOTAR series lately. i'm on the second to last book and close to sobbing over it :,) but it has kept me very sane these days so definitely go give miss Sarah J. Maas a shot if you haven't yet!!

i feel like there's more i want to say but i can't remember??? i'll just put it in the comments if i do remember~ ANYWAY!!! thank you all for the support, the love, and your presence. i love you all so infinitesimally much and i am eternally grateful for you. have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night! MWAH <3333

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Beg For It [21]

TW: smut :P

_______________

dacnorthxx started following you.

sallysusedtoiletpaper: VI WHO IS THIS WHO IS NORTH WHY IS THIS INTERACTION GIVING ME LIFE??? t0ddles2: @sallysusedtoiletpaper frontman of dark autumn complex sallysusedtoiletpaper: @t0ddles2 oh omg ok... I've never heard of them are they any good?? ashypoops: I haven't heard of them either. What genre? More importantly DOES VI HAVE HER VERY FIRST SHIP toodswithoutthed: @ashypoops I WAS ABOUT TO ASK BC THE CHEMISTRY!?!? they're obsessed w each other... I went stalk his profile. Ship name options: northlence, violeth... t0ddles2: they're rock/metal. even if u don't like the genre, they're worth a listen sallysusedtoiletpaper: WORD I just followed him and their band account >:3 also @toodswithoutthed I'm personally a fan of violeth. I'm linking this shit in the faces fan discord ashypoops: THERE'S A FAN DISCORD??? can u send me an invite pooks🥺 sallysusedtoiletpaper: @ashypoops ofc😘 sallysusedtoiletpaper: OMFG SOMEONE BEAT ME TO THE CHAT EVERYONE KNOWS NOOOOOO

———

Yea, so I lost my job. Big shocker.

Once my boss found out that I dipped mid-shift, the text was typed out and sent by the evening.

In any other situation, I'd be fucked. Indefinitely. Completely broke and flailing to get a new job. In fact, that was my first thought. As soon as I got the text, I clicked onto my bank account to check how much I'd have to live off of until I found a new job--

--only to find out that I had over $2,000 just sitting around, which was such a nice surprise. I don't think I've ever had so much money to my name before in my entire life. And all the transactions were straight from all my streaming apps. All within the past two weeks since being back in LA.

To say the least, losing my job couldn't have happened at a better time. Now, I can put my focus into something I actually enjoy doing.

But first, a trip to Nockfell, which is proving to be more chaotic by the second.

"Todd, dude, there's a chemistry to this thing, okay? It's a ritual," Larry says, all seriousness and business face as he stares back into Todd's uninterested gaze. "I can't fly without it."

Todd blinks, a flash of frustrated disappointment crossing over his features. "You're not taking an edible before the flight, Lartholomew."

Ash had a ticket ready for me before she even got to LA yesterday. Her entire mastermind plan was to abduct me whether I liked it or not-- not that I would've said no to begin with. And besides, having her at the apartment to help me pack last minute made pre-flight stress non-existent.

Travis is camping out at my apartment. He was more than happy to kick me out of my own house, claiming that my bed is comfiest anyway. Regardless, he said he had no desire to return to Nockfell anyway. And dad was just excited for me to go visit considering how much I've complained about missing the little town over all these years.

Sal and I haven't spoken since his last commanding text to me. Right before his very sudden face reveal. He's caught in an almost petrifying silence-- has been since he put his prosthetic back on. I, on the other hand, very much resemble a little puppy whimpering and begging at his feet. Metaphorically, of course. I wouldn't dare to physically exploit my internal thoughts.

The really sickening truth is that I'm so desperate to see his face again that I'd trip him down a flight of stairs just to recreate yesterday's scene.

Just kidding. I don't mean that. I definitely don't.

"All our seats are kind of screwed up, so I have no idea where you're sitting, sugar." Ash pokes my cheek, her chin in her palm and elbow propped on the armrest of her seat. "I bought them kind of last minute so I took whatever they had available."

A little smile tips my lips as I turn my attention away from the grumpy smurf and focus on my stunning best friend. Her viridian irises glow with renewed joy and energy like our plans check off so many bullet points on her bucket list. "That's okay," I reply, tilting my head. "At least we actually have seats, right?"

Ash grins, her maroon shaded lips accentuating the light freckles along the bridge of her nose. "See?" she chirps, arm winding through mine to pull me closer. "You get it. When do you not get it?"

Our plane calls for us to board, and so begins the toxic, anxiety-inducing split-up of the century. I lose all The Faces somewhere in the crowded line that gathers at our gate in just a matter of seconds. That's okay though, I'll probably end up sitting with some old lady that smells like an odd mixture of peonies, Dial soap, and Lysol. You know, a funeral home and two colds away from death. So long as she's nice, I'll catch her dentures when they fall out of her gaping mouth as she naps.

Anything for MawMaw.

I hobble my way into the plane, brain set on finding my seat before stressing about all other one hundred and fifty two things I have to worry about later. People are everywhere and it's, expectedly, a huge plane. Three rows-- two seaters against each wall and a row of three seats down the middle. Sickening, really. Social anxiety's worst enemy is looking for means of escape only to be met by even more people.

I block everyone out as best as I can, pretending that the people I bump into are just very dense pieces of furniture. Or, actually, even better-- a bunch of really buff kitties. Yep, just passing through a horde of Maine Coon's and Munchkin's.

I spot row F, my pupils zeroing in on the letter like a scope on a gun. Target acquired.

The majestic way I veer around what my mind imagines is a really tall Siamese and their spouse, a yellow Persian, is something that the directors of The Matrix are pissed that they couldn't come up with. I swing my foot around a figurative pair of paws and reach my free hand out to grip onto my seat-- F20. That's right bitches, I did it.

I swing my suitcase up, somehow managing to actually get it into the overhead compartment. I give it a good shove with both of my hands and a grunt, then pull the backpack off my shoulders to keep it at my feet when I sit down.

But now that I've stopped, cats are pushing past me and it's so aggressive and rushed that they suddenly aren't sweet, fluffy kitties anymore. They're people again and I'm starting to get dragged away from my seat by this sea of shared distress.

Nimble fingers latch onto my wrist from the seat beside mine-- the seat against the window. The hand tightens around me, giving my body a good yank forward. I use the aided force to weave my way around a few more people up until the hand pulls me into my seat.

I huff out a breath, pushing my hair out of the eyeholes of my mask. And begrudgingly, I turn my head to meet bright cerulean hair.

Sal isn't looking at me, he's facing the window. His entire stature gives off a mixture of unbothered and ashamed. He shouldn't feel that second one-- never. Granted, he shouldn't feel angry half as much as he does but that's besides the point.

Ever since it happened, I could tell that the abrupt exposure of his face has been heavily weighing on him. I don't owe this man a single thing-- he's been awful to me in so many ways, but I give credit where credit is due. Not only did he own up and apologize to me yesterday, he helped me to my seat... and he is handsome. Regardless of how he views himself.

He's my biggest enemy and I, his. But if I plan on getting fucked during my visit to Nockfell, I have to give him the Beating of Truth.

"So," I mumble, chewing on the inside of my cheek. If you couldn't tell, I'm absolutely forcing myself to do this even though it's the last thing I want to do. "How are we working around Ash, Larry, and Todd when we get to Nockfell?"

Sal's head tips up a bit, like he's wondering to himself if I actually just spoke to him. Then his head pivots sideways so that he can side-eye me.

"What?" He asks, voice genuinely shocked and confused. It makes my heart stutter a bit. Any time he speaks in a tone that isn't aggressive, it completely reboots my system.

"How are we going to follow through with this arrangement?" I try again, simplifying it into Sal terms. He has a wide vocabulary range; maybe using bigger words will snap some sense into him. For added effect, I lean onto the armrest separating him and I, trying to show that he doesn't repulse me or anything of the sort.

Sal doesn't move away, instead, he adjusts his body so that he can address me. Fully turns his prosthetic face to me and settles into his seat. I didn't realize how tense he was when I first sat down, but watching him relax now shows me how much my simple mention of our agreement settled his mental turmoil.

He's quiet for a moment, eyes dancing across my mask and body before his gaze meets mine again. "You still want to?" he finally decides to ask, eyebrows lifting beneath his prosthetic.

"Yea," I snort, scrunching my nose up as if his question is ridiculous. "Why wouldn't I?"

Okay, stupid question. I know the answer and the words came out before I could stop them. In more ways than others, that was a genuine response though. I can't accept that Sal would be so put off by his own appearance because I truly think it's so lovely. I have to remember though that not everyone sees themselves the way I see them though.

Sal's brows bunch together again, his eyes narrowing. "Stupid fucking question," he echoes my own thoughts, voice even and void of tone. Whoopsie.

I roll my own eyes, sighing. "Well, to settle the whole debacle," I start, aiming to just bite the bullet and extinguish the awkwardness and misplaced fear vibrating between us. "I think you're quite the catch."

Friendly banter is weird. Borderline uncomfortable, but... not quite. Just so that I'm ready to get this over with but I'd be prepared for it to happen again.

A nasally snort leaves Sal and he rotates his head so that he's facing the pair of seats in front of us.

"So," he prods, ignoring my statement. "North?"

Mission success. I know he'll never admit it and he doesn't need to, but I think he appreciates the compliment.

"What's it to you?" I counter, adjusting my position in turn. I sit criss-cross applesauce in my seat, making sure my feet don't touch Sal because God forbid. "You still get to fuck me."

"Not much," he says lowly, hand moving to ruffle up his fringe. There's that dagger tattoo again. And then his head tilts just a bit, haunting sapphire blue piercing straight through my soul like the weapon etched onto his skin. "But you're mine. North can't give you even an ounce of what I can."

Fuzzy fingers, a pounding heart, and the worst case of cold sweats possible dominates my body for the rest of the flight. My brain replays that statement over and over again, plaguing me with recurring physical reactions like I've just heard it in real life again. I wish he hadn't said anything at all if it was going to leave me like this.

Neither of us said another word. The only sound between the two of us was the constant cracking of my knuckles accompanied by me putting my feet on the ground-- then sitting criss-cross again-- then having to readjust again and again and again. He left me quite literally restless and I'm sure he's relishing in just the knowledge of it.

Landing in Nockfell was a quick divergence from bubbly hearted affliction in my being. A good distraction from Sal.

Perpetual autumn. Nockfell never gets too hot or cold. The air is always misty, the sky always grey and cloudy. Tall, ever-growing trees dominate both night and day, stealing all the light from the sun and hiding it in their leafy treetops. Nockfell houses the kind of atmosphere that I've dreamt of returning to for years now; the gentle eeriness and chill that I've longed to bask in ever since I left.

We step out of the airport and into the small parking lot where a suspiciously blue haired man is waving at us with a big, dad-like grin on his face. Not a question in my mind. That's Sal's dad-- the cropped, receding cerulean hair was the first obvious sign but as we grow closer, his bright azure eyes are the second giveaway.

"Wassup, daddio!" Larry exclaims, wrapping Sal's father up in a huge bear hug (which is so Emo Buff Daddy of him). I nearly forgot that Sal's dad, who I now know as Henry, is also Larry's step-dad. Crazy.

"Not much, big guy!" Henry chuckles, rubbing Larry's back affectionately once the hug comes to an end. He pats Larry's shoulder, that big smile still on his aged face. "You guys brought the friend back! Convinced her to come huff up our humid air?"

Henry moves over to Ash, Todd, and then Sal to hug all of them. He purposefully places a discreet kiss on top of Sal's head before turning to me.

He holds his arms open suggestively and my heart flutters. "You okay with hugs?" He asks me. "Everyone's family here."

A grin of my own sneaks onto my face as I take a little step toward Henry and wrap my arms around his middle.

Henry's arms latch around my body, shielding me from the moist, heavy air of Nockfell and anything else that could possibly hurt me here. His embrace is so comforting, so familiar, so protective that tears I've been holding back for weeks suddenly rush to the surface.

I love my own dad, he's perfect, but being hugged by his near doppelgänger reminds me of how much I miss him. I wish dad and I weren't apart so often. But that'll change soon with the money I'm making.

I don't allow myself to weep, I hide the tears and pull away from the comforting hug I needed so desperately to smile sweetly at Henry. Lovely man, his own smile widens.

The group of us piles into Henry's old 2000 Nissan Pathfinder to navigate around Nockfell.

We first stop at Ash's place-- a home I haven't seen in a decade now. Everything is so nostalgic-- the tall, two story, white-painted, wooden home and the canopy of evil-looking trees that hide it from the road reminds me of a time that's been ripped away from me.

Ash leans on the door of Henry's SUV, the window down for her to speak to me before she disappears. "I'll come by Sal's or the apartments later to scoop you up, 'kay? Parents and I have a meeting with some guys to transfer ownership of some things to me before the move." She chews on her lip, a deep yearning in her pretty eyes. "I'd let you stay with me if I could."

I shake my head at her-- I don't want her to feel guilty for handling business. "No that's okay." I tell her sweetly, grabbing onto her hand. "I'll kickback with the guys."

Ash smiles, squeezing my hand in hers before breaking off to head to her house.

Now, I never imagined I'd end up coming back to Nockfell in general, but to stand in Sal Fisher's home? These were even more improbable odds.

And worse, Todd suddenly slips out of the house with the very mean (he's ditching me!) excuse of meeting with Neil for a late lunch. That just leaves me, Larry, and Sal standing in the spacious kitchen of their shared two-story home. It's quaint, roomy, and pretty nice. I imagine it's kept up specifically because Sal tends to it.

And Sal, he doesn't say anything. Which is typical behavior from him. He only, swiftly, spins on his heels, luggage in hand, and disappears into a room right past the stairs. Okay, fair. It's late in the afternoon-- naptime.

And now it's down to two.

I look to Larry with a grin. And he's grinning back excitedly, wiggling around like an antsy child who's about to go on a field trip.

"I can't believe we managed to get you over here," he whisper-yells, screaming silently. You know, just open-mouthed and head tipped to the ceiling in pure excitement.

"Even Copernicus wouldn't be able to debunk this turn of events," I joke, watching Larry dance around his kitchen. I put my bags down. I'm sure we'll figure out this situation later when Ash returns.

Larry opens up his refrigerator, moving around some bottles before uttering an expletive. "Ah, fuck," he hisses out, quickly lifting his head which results in him slamming said head into the freezer door. I pause, wincing, eyeing his silhouette warily while awaiting whatever he has to say next.

He resurfaces from the fridge, rubbing his aching head and chewing on his bottom lip. "I left my fucking bags in Henry's car." He curses again, glancing up at me with agitated eyes. "I have to run over to the apartments real quick." Larry starts inching away from the fridge and I feel my heart leap. How could he forget his luggage in the car? And is he really about to leave me here with the master of aggressive seduction himself? We're bound to tear this house apart either via sex or a physical fight. I just don't know which one.

"I'll be like... ten minutes at most," Lar says, squeezing past me and around the kitchen table, rerouting to the front door. He gives me a look that screams vulnerability and urgency. "Please don't kill Sal, and don't let him kill you. Okay? I'll be back in a jiffy."

I blink at him, running my tongue along the inside of my dry mouth. This is not going to go well. "Okay," I say anyway. I can already see the headline on the newspaper-- 'Masked Streamer, Sally Face, Brutally Murders and Chops Up Rising Streamer, VioletViolence, With Kitchen Knife.'

Larry nods at me, pinches his lips together in a moment of concerned hesitation, then disappears through the front door.

I stand in the empty kitchen for a moment, watching the back of Larry's head through the front door window. "In a jiffy..." I murmur to myself, recalling the most soccer-mom words I've ever heard come from Larry's vicinity. It was so odd, I mean he would never say something like that, but here we are.

The house is empty aside from myself and Sal. What the hell am I supposed to do? Watch The Office?-- well, that actually doesn't sound bad at all.

I can literally do anything I want, though. I have been given the most opportune opportunity to act upon my will as I see fit. With that in mind accompanied by the suspiciously good conversation a certain blue-haired individual and I shared on the plane, I think I have an idea of what I could do. And I know I'll have a willing partner. 

This will either end in a homicide via kitchen knife or an orgasm. I'll take my chances.

A sly little grin fights its way onto my lips as I spin on my heels, trekking over to Sal's room. His door is closed, giving him an ample amount of darkness to hide in while gaming or sleeping or whatever he's doing. But for me, it's the ample amount of darkness to create a moody setting. It's perfect.

The cold, metal doorknob sits comfortably in the palm of my hand as I give myself one last chance to think about this. I really shouldn't do this, but the timing will never be this good again. With everyone moving to LA, I may never get a chance this convenient since someone will always be around.

That's the last little bit of encouragement I need to twist the knob and slowly push the plain, white painted door open.

The wood squeaks on its hinges, making Sal turn his head up from his PC. His dark, shadowed eyes meet mine. They go from curious to a bit miffed in half a second— but he doesn't say anything, really just ignores me and turns back to his setup.

My heart races. He didn't turn me away or tell me to get the fuck out of his room. That's a good start. But that also means I can actually follow through with my very sudden plan— a plan which has no plan. I didn't even brainstorm what I could do because I genuinely didn't think I'd get this far.

I watch him closely, noting the way his computer casts a cool, blue glow against his prosthetic. His hand moves the mouse around and he clicks on various things, really paying me no mind at all.

My teeth clamp onto my bottom lip as I step past the threshold of his room, grabbing hold of the door and slowly closing it behind me. Once it latches into place, I wait, simply observing the man with my back to the door. For good measure, I turn the lock. You know, just in case I manage to get somewhere.

And he still doesn't look my way. The fact that he's ignoring my presence right now makes anticipation build up within me. My heart thumps a little faster than it already has been. My cheeks feel warm, I can't keep my hands still. It's like my brain is kicked into overdrive, forcing me to take notice of every little thing.

I lick my lips and take a step forward, scratching at the skin on my knuckles. I take another step, then another, my body growing warm with anxiousness all because I may stand in front of this man, present myself to him, and come to regret it. I really might embarrass myself. Just because we agreed doesn't mean he wants me at this exact moment.

But before I'm even really prepared, I'm standing right beside him. And he's sitting there without a care in the world, comfortably propped up in his gaming chair and pulling up different comments on what looks to be YouTube.

I've done about all I can for right now, but we are on limited time. So I watch him for a moment. He has to know I'm right here— I wasn't quiet, I didn't avoid his field of vision. I'm right here.

And I still get nothing.

Time to think. Should I say something insulting? That usually gets him riled up. Maybe then, one thing will lead to another.

I bounce on my heels for a second as I think up a quick insult. "Is this how you waste your time? Figured you'd at least reply to some of your fans if you were going to read their comments. Kinda shitty of you." Low blow probably. I don't really mean it, but I'm sure he'll take it seriously. His fans mean a lot to him, it's the best way to gain his attention.

But Sal doesn't even react, only scrolls through a few replies under a comment and clicks 'like' on a some. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't look at me. Never makes a sound.

I roll my eyes. Playing hard to get are we? He fusses at me for not complying all the time— he's such a hypocritical asshole. I hate that I'm into it.

I swallow thickly, putting my hands behind my back to try and hide my nervous fidgeting. "Sal," I try, cringing a bit. That was desperation— he has to know that.

Again, nothing.

He really must be trying to piss me off, that or he isn't interested at all. But thankfully, the zero interest half doesn't stink like I was afraid it would. Instead, it spurs me into action.

He can ignore my words all he wants, but he can't ignore me.

"I'm going to touch you," I warn because consent is important. "If you don't want that, you need to tell me."

I wait a good thirty seconds but he stays silent.

I pinch my lips together then grab onto the armrest of his chair, pulling it back just enough to place my body between him and his computer. He simply looks up at me with disinterested eyes, so I go further, fueled by the spark in my soul and the rage of him purposefully pretending I'm not even there.

I take a step forward and put a gentle hand on his shoulder for balance, then easily slide myself onto his lap. His thighs are warm beneath my own, his skin smooth under my fingertips. The dark ink on his biceps contrasts beautifully with the milky color of his skin and it's quite an honor to finally run my hands over his art.

I watch the way my fingers drag down his arm then up again, returning to his shoulder. I'm on top of him and he still hasn't said a word, still hasn't touched me. At this point, I'm yearning for something— anything.

The only good sign I'm getting is that he hasn't pushed me off.

I glance up, looking into his blue eyes that are darkened by the shadows of his room. They're watching me closely, no ounce of emotion reflected in them. He's just observing.

My other hand travels to his prosthetic face, gripping onto his jaw in the way that he does to me so often. "Think you can ignore me?" I whisper, a little smirk quirking my lips despite how badly I wish I could contain it.

A slight furrowing of his brows is what I get in return.

Ha, got him.

He still doesn't say anything, but I've piqued his interest at least.

"Larry's gone," I say next, my eyes traveling to the rough prosthetic in my hands. I run my thumb over the underside of his jaw, feeling a number of scars.

"I assumed so," he says, voice a bit deeper than it normally would be and toneless like it seems to have been all day.

My gaze meets his again, and this time there's a little fire in his pretty eyes. There's desire, interest, slow-building exhilaration. I love seeing this look on him.

"Mhm," I hum, moving my other hand from his shoulder to the side of his neck. "Are you going to sit here and ignore me like the asshole you are, or are you going to have mercy on both of us?"

Sal slowly blinks, eyes traveling over my form, drinking me in like I'm the last drop of water on earth. "You called me an asshole for a reason," he bites out. "Don't expect much. Unlike you, I can actually hold out."

"But what's the point of holding out?" I counter, tilting my head to the left. "Larry's heading to the apartments. We have about ten minutes. That's enough room for one of a couple options. Stop being a little prick and do something."

"More like twenty. Larry takes his sweet ass time." Sal's eyes narrow. "You think insulting me is going to coerce me into this, you little bitch? Thought you knew our dynamic well enough by now." My words are getting to him. That's exactly what I want.

"I do know our dynamic," I whisper, leaning my head down so that my face is level with his. I look into his cerulean eyes and they gaze back at me, one pupil dilated. Then, I bend lower until I'm at the nape of his neck, his hair tickling my jaw.

I use the hand holding his face to tilt his head up and away from me, using the angle as leverage to place my lips onto his warm skin.

I hear a muffled sigh from him in response and it takes everything in me not to smile.

My mouth moves slowly along the side of his neck, placing meaningful, wet kisses along his throat. But when I get to the hilt of his tattoo, I bit down gently.

He flinches at the feeling of my teeth digging into his skin, then completely aborts his mission to ignore me completely.

Sal's hands fly to my waist, one gripping tightly onto my hip and the other trailing up my back and into my hair, gripping the strands tightly before yanking my head back.

My teeth are ripped from his neck immediately and Sal pulls me away from him by the base of my neck. I gasp, staring into his captivating azure eyes from just centimeters away. His prosthetic nose bumps my mask's and he holds me there without a word.

His eyes trail down my face and heavy breaths follow his gaze. His cold fingers are curled into my neck, his nails digging into my skin.

I swallow, wondering if maybe I should have just minded my own business, stayed in the living room and waited for Larry to come back. Maybe I pissed him off.

I lick my lips and blink at him, my mouth gapes open as I try to find something to say. He's silent. It's not awkward, just scary. Scary is ten times worse.

Sal must see the regret and fear in my eyes because his own eyes lessen their harsh glare a bit and then he rasps out, "Can I touch you?"

Every inch of my body goes rigid with shock, anticipation. "Yes," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers tighten ever so slightly on the underside of his jaw while my heart runs an entire marathon in my chest. Now is not the time to get nervous because I sweat when I'm nervous. I need to be horny– not nervous.

Sal takes a deep breath, eyes set on mine. I feel his chest rise ever so slowly, then go back down the same exact way. The pause between us is utter agony and I feel like I'm going to start spazzing out or something. Honestly, with the way I'm sitting on top of him, I might just fall over and die on the spot. That feels less incriminating than whatever is about to ensue.

Cool fingers grasp onto my thigh, his palm flattening against my skin. His hand drags up to my side, followed by his other hand leaving my neck to grab the other side of my waist. The feeling of him touching me, just like he'd asked, fills me with memories I tried so desperately to forget just a couple weeks or so ago. This is deja vu in the best way.

In one swift motion, Sal lifts me up and plops me on top of his desk. I brace myself with my hands on either side of his keyboard that lays behind me. Questions of concern start flowing through my brain because this is an odd place to be.

"Don't knock over my shit," Sal breathlessly informs, eyes glancing up to me. HIs hands move to the waist band of my bottoms and I suck in another anxious, anticipatory breath.

I nod quickly, watching him with wide eyes as he looks down at my waist, his hands circling to the front of my stomach and fumbling with the button of my shorts. Oh my gosh.

I gulp, looking at anything but the man between my legs, currently pulling down the shorts I'd traveled in. His cold fingers brush along the outside of my thighs, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin. He's slow, purposeful, dragging this out to get whatever reaction out of me that he can. It feels like my heart is about to explode.

I have no idea what he's about to do, he doesn't warn me either. I don't have the guts to watch this scene play out. The prospect of his dilated pupils, messy hair, and that glare in his captivating eyes is too much-- so much that warmth pools between my thighs before he can initiate anything.

"You look scared," he murmurs and I flinch at the gentle, comforting tone he uses with me. I've never heard something such as this come from him and be directed at mebefore.

"I am," I answer honestly, licking my lips while his fingers slowly pull my shorts down my legs. I lift myself a bit to aid him, shivering when my bare legs meet the cold surface of his desk. "A bit."

"Why?" Sal asks, hands pressing onto my thighs. With how warm my skin is and how cool his fingers are, the contrasting temperature is enough to spark an aneurysm. He drags those hands of his up my legs until he reaches my panties, hooking his digits into them.

I shake my head, chin quite literally tilted up to the ceiling. I'm not quite sure what has me so scared. Am I afraid of myself? Him? Getting caught? Being dropped again?

One risky hand leaves my hip and Sal's prosthetic comes into view. He's hovering over me, in a standing position now. His hair falls onto my shoulders, shielding us from the rest of the world like a curtain. I blink up at him, breath caught in my throat as a rush of chills invades my body.

"Hey," he says. His voice is a bit on edge, but it's concerned. So concerned that it distracts me from my own fear for a moment. "You're okay," he continues, his hand gripping onto my chin and pulling my head down so we can be eye level. I look between his bright eyes-- his eyebrows are risen a bit, as if to communicate to me that I can trust him. But can I?

"I'll take care of you. If you want to stop, if you don't want to start-- let me know. Say anything and I'll end it immediately." He tilts his head a bit, eyes glancing over my face. This is different. This looks vulnerable. "If I made you uncomfortable at all, I--"

My head shakes in opposition. I don't even have to think about it. "No, it's not that. It-- I trust you." The words spew out of my mouth and I immediately regret it. Something smug takes over his expression and I press my lips together, grabbing onto his wrist connected to the hand that's still holding my chin. "I trust you with this. If I was tied to train tracks, I wouldn't even think of calling you." I narrow my eyes at him to exemplify my point. His eyes squint as if he's... smiling? I'll ignore that. "But you've never... made me uncomfortable. You always ask. You always check. So..."

I watch him nod slowly, our gazes never disconnecting. He seems to contemplate what I've said, measurably formulating his next move. "Do you want to talk about what's stressing you then?"

My head rears back and my eyebrows furrow, his hand falling away from my face. "What brain eating amoeba has overtaken you?" I blurt out, holding a hand out between us. It's incredibly odd-- this is out of place. "You are never concerned about me-- what is this?"

If you can't tell, I'm not a fan of change. I greatly prefer stability even if it's toxic.

Sal drops the caring act almost immediately, his eyes rolling so hard that I'm worried they'll sink into his body. "I can't go down on you if you're freaked, can I? I wouldn't even feel comfortable doing that. I'm an asshole, not a monster."

I pause, every facial feature relaxing as his statement slaps me in the face. Key words: go, down, on, you, asshole, monster. Yep, only monstrous assholes go down on their enemies. I'm the very brave, very eager, very shocked recipient of this going down.

I take a deep, shaky breath, blinking at Sal who watches me with what looks like a raised eyebrow. "Okay," I breathlessly whisper. "How are you-- are you..." Why am I rambling? What kind of answer am I looking for? Obviously the prosthetic is about to come off and I just have to contain the desperate, whore-like rage within.

"Shut up, Vi," he chuckles over my nickname, grabbing onto my thighs and tugging me to the edge of the desk as he sits in his chair again. My fingertips press into the wooden surface while my heart threatens to pound its way through my ribcage. "Just let me taste you."

Cue internal screaming. I'm so going to faint-- and the addition of watching his pretty guitar-playing hands leave my skin to unbuckle his prosthetic is pushing me to astronomical heights. I don't even exist anymore. I'm just a wisp, a little phantom fairy watching her favorite sex movie play out in real time. It's called Faceless Fixation. She's the Fellatio Fairy. I don't even-- whoever is writing my life needs to give me a break.

I'm shivering like I have hypothermia by the time Sal carefully pulls the prosthetic off his face, making sure to not mess up his hair. And then he glances up at me. Bright eyes hesitant, sort of wide. Eyebrows risen just a bit and lips pressed together like he wants to say a thousand things but can't. He looks so nervous and it's a moment we can both share.

For reassurance (I think we both need it) I smile at him. Just a slight upward tilt of my lips as I press my thighs together. He's so beautiful. Every scar, every indentation, every feature, every little freckle. Just wow-- he's a sight to behold.

Sal's gaze flits to my lips, then down to my legs and he grabs onto them again, purposefully pulling them apart. His black polished nails dig into my skin as he gazes down at my underwear. I'm so used to watching his reactions and feelings portrayed only through his eyes, but watching the way his jaw tenses and the moment his lips part like he can't wait any longer makes me feel like I'll implode. 

His fingers run up my legs to my hips, dipping into my panties and pulling them downward. I gulp over the sight, relishing in the deja vu. How kind of him to not rip these this time. 

I lift myself up as he shimmies them down my legs, finally pulling them from around my ankles and holding them up for me to see. I blink, warmth rushing to my face at his boldness. And Sal, well-pleased, quirks a little seductive smile at them before switching his gaze to me.

"I haven't even touched you and you're soaked," is what he murmurs, eyes dancing over my half naked body with very little focus on my face. It's like he's glued to what hides behind my clenched thighs, eagerly awaiting what he'll find between them. "You're inflating my ego way too much," his voice is a bit louder this time-- darker, more sinister. The pronunciation of his words shows off charming, slightly crooked front teeth and sharp canines. I'll never know how I haven't ascended already.

I shiver, trying and failing to hide my reaction. But it doesn't really matter, seeing as Sal caught onto it anyway and his hooded eyes are on mine, a dangerous glint clashing with the hypnotizing azure shade of his irises. 

His hands are on my legs again, fingers roughly squeezing my skin. He isn't putting off his plans again though. When he separates my legs and I try my best not to push him away out of fear, Sal leans forward and presses his lips to the inside of my left thigh.

I take a deep, shuddering breath as I bathe in the feeling of his soft, jagged lips moving along my sensitive skin. I commit the image to memory, absolutely astonished over the way his blue eyes are closed while he inches closer and closer to my pussy.

I'm unable to take a full breath at this point, my body is tense while I try to hold myself in an upright position, pathetically falling apart as his mouth dances along the inside of my thigh like he's studied and perfected each step he takes. His hands are molded into my skin, they've become a part of me. He's pressing my thigh up to his face, leaving the most inebriating kisses. I wish he would stop teasing me already.

At the same time, I'm obsessed with the way he's handling me. Delicately, carefully, but he's in full control and making me wait. Testing me. Seeing if I'll push him, hoping I'll give him a good reason to punish me.

Sal's eyes open again, glancing up to meet mine. I suck in a breath, watching as he opens that dirty mouth of his and bites into the sensitive skin at the top of my thigh.

I hiss, wincing at the slight pain but my eyes never leave his. They could never. And he loves that, takes it as a challenge because those sky blue eyes close and he bites down harder, sucking my skin into his mouth to leave his mark. 

Some kind of satisfied, sickeningly delighted feeling swells in my chest at the knowledge of having a mark from him on my body. It's primal, it's a little weird, but I adore the idea and maybe he does too. After what he said to me about North on the flight to Nockfell, I'd guess he's more than happy to stake his claim even if it's invisible to the outside world. 

Sal finally pulls his teeth from my leg, revealing a gnarly, dark purple mark in his wake. He places a quick, soothing kiss to the abused skin before trailing his way closer to my pussy. He masks his destination with more wet kisses and bites and I'm so worked up by now that a light sheen of sweat has formed on my forehead. I can't be doing this-- this is complete torture.

"Sal," I groan out, flinching at the sinful tone of my voice. It makes him pause his movements as well. "Please," I tack on, the word quiet and agonizingly pleading.

He hums against my skin, eyes zeroed in on mine. I hate being so direct, it's terrifying, but it's worth it if it'll end up with his tongue buried in me, right? 

"Beg for it," he says lowly, a slight rasp to his voice. His tone makes me shiver, as well as his words and I would drop to my hands and knees if he told me to right now.

My lips part upon hearing him and I release a shaky breath, thighs drawing together until he stops them with his tight grip. My heart is running a marathon, my limbs are trembling and I'm wondering if maybe this is all just a really awesome dream.

"Please," I repeat, voice coming out as a whine. For once, I don't regret it because this is what he wants. "I'm desperate." I don't know how else to portray to him that I need this-- the wait is nearly excruciating. "I need to feel you."

Sal pulls away from my skin, tongue lapping at all of his bite marks before a sadistic smile pulls at his lips. "How much do you hate me?" And he's waiting, waiting for a wordy explanation of my distaste for him. But now, with the way things have changed between us-- even if it's slightly-- describing my loathing somehow feels harder.

So I snort, trying to coerce him into putting his mouth on me again regardless of the location. But all the shivers, waiting, and very slow building orgasm is slipping away into the distance. "A lot," I whisper shakily.

He gives me a look, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together as if I've disappointed him. "You can do better than that, Vi. Where's the fire?" He leans toward the thigh he hasn't captured with his mouth yet and skims his teeth along my skin. "Should I give you an example?"

I lick my lips, a sudden fluttering in my chest making me feel light headed. I hesitantly shake my head-- the longer he isn't paying attention to me, the farther I am from cumming. I can come up with something to say can't I? Of course I can. He's infuriating enough.

"Alright then," he mumbles monotonously, finally ditching my thighs. He yanks me a bit closer, eyes still rifling through my soul. "Then tell me. And if you stop," he warns as I swallow against the pounding in my chest due to his positioning, face mere inches from my sopping cunt. He's dragged this on long enough. "I stop. Keep that filthy mouth of yours moving."

He waits for me to launch into a monologue of detest. His mouth so close to my clit, breath tickling my skin and forcing a quiet little whimper from me. 

"I fucking hate the constant foul mood you're always in," I force out, feeling my heart leap into my throat the second the words leave my mouth. Because Sal keeps his promise and with an inebriating grunt of approval, he finally attaches his lips to my clit, tongue running over it like he's desperate to soak up every inch of what I have to offer.

The feeling of his mouth on my pussy is incomparable to any other type of satisfaction in the world-- this is what I've waited for. And he happily makes up for the lost time, expertly flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves and sucking it farther into his mouth. He moans against my cunt, hands dragging up my thighs to cup my ass and force me even closer to him. He squeezes my skin, a reminder to keep talking.

I dig up all the things I can't stand about him, slathering them across my brain so I can tell him about it. "You're a brick wall. No matter what I say, you refuse to listen. How come you're never open to hearing anyone out?" I whimper between words, squirming around on his desk and trying my damn hardest not to ruin any of his belongings.

Sal lifts my legs over his arms, pushing them onto his shoulders and I swear I'm about to combust. The way his tongue maps figure eights and circles around my clit does nothing to help, only sends me further toward falling apart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers curling over the edge of his desk, heavy breaths and quiet moans falling past my lips no matter how badly I wish I could keep them inside. "You have some kind of God complex. You think you're right about everything, have to be in control of everything and I can't stand it. I can't stand you and your constant need to have everything you want."

His teeth graze over my clit and my mouth falls open, waves of pleasure rolling through my body like I've never experienced before. He moves downward, his tongue buried between my folds and licking up every bit of my arousal that he can get. Upon getting a better taste of me, he moans and I can feel the vibration of it everywhere, all the way up to my fingertips.

"I hate how easily you turn me on, how wet I get just from a simple touch," I admit, teeth clamping down onto my bottom lip as his tongue explores the inside of my pussy like he's been starved of me for far too long. His nails dig into my skin, the action eliciting a stinging sensation that only adds to the pleasure he's giving me. This is everything. "And you're so unfair. So pretty, so damn attractive with that horrible personality of yours. Why can't you be pretty through and through?"

I open my eyes again to watch him, drowning in the prospect of his face buried between my thighs, cheeks flushed and hair a mess. I watch as he drags his mouth up to my clit again, drawing patterns and shapes I don't care to know over the bundle of nerves. The rough, slick feeling of his tongue on such a sensitive place is addicting. So long as he's around to bring me to new heights like this, I don't need anything else. Maslow's hierarchy of needs has never been so wrong-- this is my sole need.

I can't help myself-- I reach a hand out, my fingers burying themselves into Sal's hair. It's soft. Just as soft as I knew it would be. And he doesn't seem to mind, only continues to suck on my clit and abuse it with his tongue. I close my hand into a fist, lightly tugging on his hair. I need something to hold onto.

"And your stupid fucking mouth," I groan out, sucking in a breath that never fully fills my lungs. His tongue dips into my pussy again, making another little groan follow my first. My thighs are clenched tightly at this point, quaking furiously. Sal never tries to stop me, doesn't calm me. It's clear how much he enjoys bringing me to ruin. "All the awful things you say, so many dirty words and you are so good with your tongue. I've never craved and loathed something so much in my life." 

Sal smiles against my pussy-- I watch in pure amazement as the corners of his lips curl upward like what I said was everything he's always wanted to hear. It's so lewd, so perverted and I absolutely will never forget this moment.

One of his hands lets go of my ass, trailing down my thigh again but moving to the inside this time. As his teeth gently nip at my clit and his tongue laps at my pussy, the tips of his fingers press against my opening, a silent request for more of my profession of hatred. A profession I'm more than happy to give him.

"I can't imagine how much I'll hate the way you fuck me just because I know it'll be better than any sex I've had before," I tell him, watching his mouth move against my cunt with furrowed brows and my lips parted in intrigue. Oh, he's so good at what he does. 

Sal's eyes meet mine again. Eye contact with him when he's in such an erotic position is incredibly intense. I feel like my entire body is going to crumple before he can finish me off and it all counts on if he's able to hold me up or not. But as soon as his cerulean gaze meets mine, two of his fingers sink into me. The action is slow, drawn out, and drags a nasty moan out of me in turn.

Sal whimpers against my pussy, taking care of me like he promised he would. When his fingers reach as far as they can go, he curls them, causing me to flinch at the sensuous feeling. There's so much going on to the point that every inch of my body feels impossibly overwhelmed. 

My sensitive clit gets sucked into Sal's mouth again, but then he pulls away. His fingers make up for the absence of his tongue, pounding into me in the same salacious way he's done before.

"Is that all you've got?" he grumbles breathlessly, glazed eyes glaring into mine. This is the expression I'm used to with him-- anger and dominance. 

I choke on the breath I try to take, my thighs pressing into his neck as his fingers slam in and out of my soaked cunt, digits only pausing their relentless pace to curl into me. I try to fight against my one working brain cell, try to form words for him, but-- "I can't." is all that I'm able to create, the two short words coming out as an imploring cry.

Sal stands, finger-fucking me into an alternate dimension. He hovers over me, his hair brushing my shoulders and neck. I watch him, an absolute mess beneath him but I can't look away-- even through the panting breaths that morph into whimpers and moans. 

His eyes glance between mine, seemingly contemplating something in that meticulous mind of his.

"Yea, you can, gorgeous," he grinds out behind clenched teeth, using the hand that's gripping my ass to press me against his chest. Our even closer proximity somehow forces his fingers deeper into my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit. "Tell me more." My mouth is dry, I'm going to cum soon, and hopefully I don't actually fall over before that.

Sal takes a page out of my book, leaning closer to me and nipping at the skin of my throat. A little gasp falls past my lips and I finally let go of his hair, dragging my hand down to his neck. Those fingers work me to the core, never ceasing their movements and pushing into me with so much perfectly applied force. 

His mouth moves along the side of my neck, his lips still wet from my juices. I have no idea what gave him the confidence, but I'm not mad. Everything that couldn't be done with his prosthetic can be done now and he's taking advantage of it. "Speak," he snaps, tone not so gentle or comforting like it was when this first began. "Or else."

My mind is blank. "I'm about to cum," I begrudgingly whisper, completely overtaken by his fingers thrusting into me and his thumb focused on my oversensitive clit.

I shut my eyes, my free arm wrapping around his shoulders. Every inch of my body is tense, senses heightened and alert. I don't think I can possibly hold on any longer-- I doubt Sal needed my confirmation to tell that I'm close.

His digits curl into me again, repeating the action. I follow up with a loud whimper, my nails digging into the skin of his neck as he sucks on the skin behind my ear. I wish he'd have ditched the prosthetic sooner because I've really been missing out.

The hand still gripping onto my butt retreats to my stomach, fingers disappearing under my shirt and crawling across my ribs to my bra. He treats it as if it isn't even there, hand easily dipping beneath the fabric. His palm envelops my breast, squeezing gently and massaging the skin. It's such a considerate touch compared to the way he treats the rest of my body-- he knows exactly where the sweet spots are. 

"Cum," he commands, lips brushing the shell of my ear and fingers pounding into my sore cunt, thumb running over my hardened nipple.

My head drops onto his shoulder and with one more curl of his fingers, I do as he says and fall apart in his arms. I burst almost instantly, doing anything to keep myself silent over the feeling of his fingers gently caressing the inside of my pussy, riding me through my orgasm just like he did the first time. My teeth sink into his shoulder, a muffled whimper following soon after. Sal tenses up in my arms, a pleasured breath falling from his mouth and fanning over the side of my neck.

"Good girl," he purrs into my ear, lips skimming over the warm skin at my throat. He leaves one more sloppy kiss to my neck then pulls away to look into my eyes again. I can hardly hear anything he says as my teeth are forced away from his shoulder, still reeling from the orgasm that slammed into me nearly unannounced. My limbs feel like jelly as chills run up my spine. "You listen to me so well," he continues. I can't even look into his eyes; I just watch the way his lips move. How his tongue presses into the back of his teeth to pronounce a syllable. His sharp canines that undoubtedly left their own bruises on my skin. 

I gulp, unable to peel my eyes away from the mouth that masterfully brought me to climax. For the first time ever, I wonder what his mouth would feel like against mine. How soft his scarred lips would feel, not on my skin, but captured by my own. What his tongue would taste like. What his teeth would feel like nipping at my lips. 

Sal doesn't move away from me-- keeps our close proximity with his nose nearly brushing my mask's. He slowly, delicately pulls his fingers out of me but only continues to gaze into my eyes.

This is dangerous territory. Very dangerous. Because the impossible is coursing through me right now and I... somehow can't find it in me to hate him in this exact moment.

But then he blinks. Stands to his full height, moving away from me. His azure gaze turns to the desk I'm sitting on and he grabs my panties, offering them to me. Not an ounce of emotion evident on his face. I'd always wondered what he'd look like simply because I was curious if his face gave away his emotions better than his eyes could. It's pretty impressive how he's able to keep a straight mug though, RBF and all. Especially when he lifts the hand he fingered me with to his mouth and licks my cum off. He doesn't even look at me as his tongue runs up the length of his digit, just turns away from me and walks to the other side of the room.

I'm floored, jaw dropped and pussy wet. Again. That's really fucking hot.

I watch him strut away, follow his movements as he drops to his haunches and opens up his suitcase with his clean hand. He grabs something then faces me again, beginning to walk back with a finger still in his mouth.

My chest tightens at the sight. He can't be doing this to me. Not when Larry is going to be home any minute-- he needs to keep both his hands at his sides.

Thankfully, Sal has some mercy on me and finally finishes cleaning his fingers, eyes darting up to mine again. He walks up to me, right where I'm still sitting on top of his desk and drops fabric onto my bare thighs.

My brows furrow and I look down, grabbing lace. I lift it up, unfolding it to see that it's a near replica of the lace underwear he'd ripped off of me in Vegas. Only it's a completely brand new pair. No rips, no issues. My heart swells a bit at the gesture-- he bought a new pair like I'd told him to. I wasn't even serious, but he did it anyway.

I puff out my cheeks, contemplating what to say. Thank you's are virtually nonexistent between us. My eyes flit up to meet his again and he stuffs his hands into his pockets, watching me.

"You taste good," he nonchalantly comments, causing an infuriating blush to heat my cheeks.

"Thanks," I murmur, holding up the lace panties to show that I'm thankful for them too. "You taste pretty good too." He does. I'll have to return the favor to him when I get the chance.

A barely audible snort comes from him and I almost smile. 

"I'd fuck you, but Larry will be back any minute and Ash probably isn't far behind him," he says, turning on his heel and walking toward the door. "I suggest you put your clothes back on. Panties are clean, I washed them."

My eyebrows raise and I pinch my lips together. Huh. "How kind of you," I say half sarcastically. Only half because it's helpful that they are clean-- it's almost like he knew he'd place me in a predicament where I needed fresh underwear. "You trying to kick me out?" I add. Of course he is, I'm just trying to make my way out of here as awkward-less as possible.

"Hell yea," he says proudly, "I have shit to do."

"Are you calling me a distraction?" I ask, looking toward him as I shimmy my underwear and shorts up my legs then start working on the button.

Sal tilts his head, hand on the doorknob. "And a mild aggravation."

"Oh, wow," I gasp, feigning surprise. "Mild? I must be working my way onto your good side."

"Fuck me good enough and we'll see how far you get," he replies, eyes watching my every move but face still unreadable as I begin walking toward him. 

I roll my eyes. Of course. I pinch my lips together and give him a disinterested look. This is my lesson to never try to have a casual conversation with him again. He clearly doesn't want it, which, fair. Our agreement is sex, not friendship. "Okay," I say dramatically when he opens the door for me. "Bye, Sal."

The man nods his head, acknowledging the shift in the room. His eyes stay glued to mine like they have been the entire time I've been here. Now that I'm not distracted by his mouth on my pussy, I realize that this is an odd thing for him to do. He looks at me every once in a while, but not in such a... scrutinizing way. 

He purses his lips and says, "Bye, y/n."

Every nerve-ending in my body suddenly shuts off. Everything is still. I have no thoughts for a moment, no physical reaction. Just stillness. I don't breathe, I don't move. I just watch him.

There's no way— he has to have mixed up my names. It has to be that.

And then everything hits me. Sal Fisher just said my name. And not the fake one that I've been hiding behind. He said my actual name— the one that's on my birth certificate. And now my hands are shaking, my heart is racing, my breaths are uneven, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"What the fuck," I say shakily. I'm not ready for this. I'm going to completely switch his thought process around-- "did you just say?"

The look in his eyes changes, they light up a bit as if he's caught me. And still he decides to mess with me. "Huh?" he innocently asks.

Okay, I'd really like to wake up now.

My eyes narrow. So that's the game he wants to play? This isn't the time and I don't have the mental capacity to handle this. Not only am I recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm, but I was just getting over the overwhelming anxiety I suffered from yesterday.

"I'm not y/n, if that's what you're thinking," I rush to tell him, even adding in the fakest little smirk I've ever slapped onto my face. Anything to get him off my tail, whatever I can think of to save my ass. This really can't be happening to me.

He's still watching me speculatively and it's making my brain itch. "You know," he finally starts, voice disgustingly pleased. "I went out on a limb with that one." I watch in horror as a little smirk begins to grow on his face. I don't want to accept it yet, I really don't, but I think I'm fucked and not physically. 

At the end of the day, he's still managed to fuck me in multiple ways. I cannot stand Sal Fisher.

"What are you even talking about?" I ask him, clearing my throat quietly while taking a safe step out of his door and into the living room. I try my best to keep my eyes on him while extinguishing the fear from my gaze. If I act horrified, he'll sniff me out instantly. That is, if he hasn't already.

Sal chuckles deeply— it's, shockingly, an amused and prideful one rather than something sick, dark, and twisted. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. I try my best not to adore the way his scars stretch with his laugh and the sight of his pretty teeth. "Any other woman would have assumed I was sleeping with someone else if I called them by another name," he says lightheartedly, tilting his head down a bit. "But you didn't. And that can only mean that I'm right."

I open my mouth to decline, fear thrumming through me. He caught me red handed. I can't fucking believe this.

"And don't try to deny it, you won't change my mind. I've been very sure of who you are for months now."

My head slowly begins to shake of its own accord. He never fails to shock me. "How..."

Sal shrugs. "You couldn't have timed your introduction more horrendously. Think about it," he says, chewing on his bottom lip. "I bitch at y/n over a phone call, then the next day, a wild VioletViolence pops into my life and isn't too surprised by my shitty personality. The second you were added to the Discord server, I had my suspicions." He shrugs nonchalantly, like the confirmation doesn't bother him in the slightest. "I talked it over with Larry and Todd too. They're pretty sure of your identity as well. They were just nice enough to wait for you to tell us on your own." His eyes narrow, sly like a fox. "But I'm not nice and wanted to know for myself. Wanted to scare you a bit too."

I swallow over the bile rising in my throat. Scare me, he did. I have no idea what to do with myself. I must look like a deer in headlights nearing its death sentence. "It... it doesn't bother you?" I decide to ask in a small voice, unable to blink as I watch him closely.

That same smug little smile is still lighting up his marred face as he says, "Regardless, I still can't stand you and I'll still fuck you stupid."

-----------

A/N::::::: OMFFGGGGG I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CHAPTER FOR AGESSSSSS PLEASE!!! more specifically the end of it! i've had this last scene written since like... 2022 o_O 

i want to give a HUGE thanks to my very good friend, Phoebe, who inspired me to write the catalyst of the smut scene with this AMAZING piece of art that they drew :3 i am soooo so grateful for having the opportunity to see the art in general, but getting to write it too??? OMG so incredibly grateful <33

side note: this is my first time writing a smut scene like this one-- well, actually any time i write a different kind of sex it's new for me LMFAO i am exploring EVERYTHINGGGG and i also have no idea if this is any good. so like last chapter, if y'all could give me some tips or things you like and didn't like, i would GREATLY appreciate it :3

i'm going catch up on my neglected homework. as always, have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night. my heart belongs to all of you <3

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Consonance of a Tragic Villain [20]

I swallow down the panic that sears the inside of my body, flames edging closer to the corner that once protected me-- or so I thought.

But I'm none the wiser. Just when I thought I was free of today's bullshit, more slapped itself onto my figurative plate. But I can handle this, definitely. I'm a strong, independent woman and my borderline insane, naive cousin is not going to ruin everything for me.

The only person allowed to tear me down is myself.

I take a breath-- a deep, shuddering breath as an ache builds in my chest for the umpteenth time today. I'm going to be okay. And besides, me and the man before me are close enough. He'll do what I say, no questions asked. Especially if I stress how important this is to me.

I nudge the door of my apartment shut, finally completely separating myself and my cousin from The Faces. I'm alone to speak my mind in the comfort of a familiar presence without worrying about the group of people who don't know that I'm hiding huge, relationship-altering secrets from them.

Seeing my cousin again after a couple years is refreshing. It's a good distraction from all the perturbance that ails me on this hellish day.

He looks so familiar and so different all at the same time. After ditching his parents just last year, it seems my dear cousin has been working on fixing himself up. He's wearing a navy blue NYU sweater, white collar peeking out of the top. Dark khaki pants to match the whole prospective college jock thing he has going on. His dark eyes seem a bit brighter, the mocha color lightened to a sunkissed gold that reflects the excitement in his wide smile. His once horribly dyed, mustard-colored hair is now a dirty blonde that suits him terrifically. I'm happy to see that he's taking care of himself. Working and going to a top-notch college has to be hard on him, but it looks like he's prevailing. I'm incredibly proud of him.

And dammit, he's grown since I last saw him too. Maybe Larry's height, actually. I have to tilt my head back to look up at him.

"Am I getting a hug after three years or fuckin' what?" He squeaks, eye twitching lightly to exemplify his impatience.

I narrow my eyes at him. Is he for real? "First, you address me as bitch. Then you vaguely threaten me. Don't I get a 'hi' after two years?" I counteract his reasoning with some of my own.

He pinches his lips together and puts his hands on his hips, switching his weight to his left foot. "C'mon. Every time I greet you, it's with 'bitch."

I chew on the inside of my cheek, gaze trailing over him again. He's not wrong. Even on phone calls, the first word out of his mouth is 'bitch.' "Fair enough," I settle on. "You get a hug after I tell you this, okay?" I tilt my head, showing that I mean business. That I'm serious. Because if he doesn't get this, everything I've built up could fall apart before I'm ready for it to.

His brows furrow in wariness and concern. "Okay..." he murmurs, voice trailing off as he waits for me to continue.

"You absolutely, under any circumstances, must not call me by my name. I am Vi to you from here on out. Once you enter this apartment, you call me nothing else but Vi." Monotonous, serious, and straight to the point is exactly how I portray these words. I watch as my cousin nods subtly the entire time I speak, his expression adopting a look that shows his sincerity as he listens.

"Got it. No questions about the sudden name change. You're Vi," he gives me a strong nod before shutting his eyes and grinning brightly.

"Good," I sigh. I shake my head to rid myself of the agonizing fear that has gripped me like a boa constrictor for a large part of the day. "Thanks, Trav. It really means the world."

Travis snorts, standing to an upright position. "Don't mention it. You've done a lot for me, bending to your will is the least I could do."

With a simple shrug in my direction, I take that as my cue to twist the doorknob, opening it so that no one is separated any longer.

But then Travis does his Travis thing and comes barreling toward me, his arms latching around my waist and smacking the both of us into the door. The hunk of wood flies open with our weight, slamming into the wall and damn, this time I don't think I'll get away with no damage.

I hiss, giving in and just allowing Travis to wrap me up in one of his big, aggressive bear hugs that he always greets me with without fail. I pat his back with a little smile as he flings me around like a doll, the bastard.

My eyes glance over to The Faces behind Travis. They are all wide eyed and silent. Every single one of them.

Heat envelops me. Travis lived in Nockfell for a while too. I'm sure they all know each other. Ash, at least, knows that Travis and I are related. I've told her about him many times. Maybe she just... didn't know I was referring to the Travis Phelps who used to live in Nockfell.

Travis finally sets me on my feet, a big, infectious grin on his face as he instinctively walks over to my kitchen. I hope he doesn't say anything bad... he clearly has not seen the rest of the people populating my small household yet.

"So what's with the mask? You into some kinky business?" Travis asks as I follow him into the kitchen, keen on watching where he travels to.

I sigh. "Trav, can we not? Come on, give me your bags." It's a wonder how he managed to keep hold of them while body slamming me through the door.

"What?" He scoffs, a little grin taking over his face. "I haven't seen you in years because you're a fucking recluse. I need to catch up on your life and if part of your life is being some kind of BDSM mistress, then I'd like to know."

I swallow thickly. I can't believe my friends have to watch this. I turn to look at Travis who's watching me over his shoulder. "Yea?" I ask humorlessly. "And what about you? It's been years and you still always have some kind of wound." It's true. His bottom lip is busted. "What the hell happened to you?"

He shrugs, narrowing his eyes at me in a playful way. "I've been boxing the last couple months. Really helps with the anger issues."

My lips part and I stare at him like he's stupid. It's like he's addicted to pain at this point. "Well," I decide to say. "I'll be cheering for you when you join WWE I guess."

"You better," Travis chirps, dropping to his haunches and grazing through my refrigerator like he owns the place. Which, he's family. He knows he's welcome to do or take whatever. Dad and I have never minded, especially given his upbringing. "You can root for me on the sidelines. I'll just be fucking hot buff guys behind the scenes. It's a win-win."

A song suddenly comes on, one by Bullet For My Valentine. It's a heavy hitter and Travis immediately flinches at the instrumentals. I guess someone managed to figure out how to turn on the speakers my dad spent a fortune on.

"Still listening to your nasty metal music, I see," he murmurs, grabbing a container of sliced strawberries. He pulls the top off and picks up a fruit, throwing it into his mouth before his eyes meet mine. "You still making it?"

I raise an eyebrow. "No," I tell him. "Ever since dad and I moved out here, I haven't had the space or the time to do so." And not being able to play my drums hurts, even the mention of it is painful.

I guess Travis can see the change in what little of my expression he can see with the mask, that or he already knows well enough. He frowns a little, wincing. "Sorry," he says gently. "I know you liked making music. Sucks that you can't now."

I offer him a little smile. Travis had his asshole phase years ago, but he's been so kind ever since he grew up. "Thanks," I respond, chewing on my bottom lip. "It's fine. I'll figure something out."

Travis winks at me then pushes himself into a standing position. He walks out of the kitchen and past me, heading toward The Faces who are sitting in my living room. Right in front of me.

"So do you still have that hot neighbor?" My cousin asks, stopping in front of me. He pulls a strawberry out of the container and holds it up to my face, raising his eyebrows.

"Why don't you go knock on his door and find out?" I murmur, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch my... dear cousin. He always hits me with a million and one questions but he must be majorly jet-lagged to still miss the four extra heads in the room.

"Mmm, maybe later," he murmurs, shoving a strawberry into my partially opened mouth. My brows furrow in shock, but I close my lips over the fruit anyway. "Remember my high school crush though? He's, like, super famous now."

I chew on the strawberry, nearly drowning over the sweet juice that coats my tongue. I push through the ocean in my mouth and answer him though, interested by this news. "Yea," I manage, swallowing a bit of the strawberry. "The one you bullied like the cunt you are? He's famous? Good for him."

Travis scoffs and rolls his eyes dramatically. "Take the 'c' word back, hoe." He sends me a mean glare then shuts his eyes. "But yes, he does deserve it. You know," one of his dark eyes pops open, narrowed in my direction. "I made out with him."

My stomach tightens in excitement. Travis told me he'd kissed some guy years ago and he was really happy about it, but I didn't know it was the crush.

"Really?" I push out, finally finishing off the fruit he'd forced upon me. "When was this?"

"Oh," Trav waves me off. "A while back. In high school. It's actually all thanks to you-- you told me if I didn't shape up, apologize to him, and confess that I would be alone forever and you would banish me from the family. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Of course I did what you said. It was so worth it." He gives me a roguish, exhilarated grin that says the night he shared with his crush will go down in his mental history book and stay there forever. "I owe you a cake, lovely," he continues

I smile, my cheeks warming at the prospect. I'm happy Travis had his time with his crush.

"We haven't talked in God knows how long though," Travis sighs, looking off behind me like he's reminiscing. "Which it's better that way." He chews the inside of his cheek contemplatively, thick brows bunching together softly. "I still think about Bluey every once in a while, though..."

Now it's my turn to narrow my eyes at him as Bluey claws its way through my mind. "I'm sorry," I choke out, "Bluey, like the dog show, or Bluey as in blue, like a Smurf?"

Travis turns his head to me quickly and I know I hit the mark. His eyes are wide as he says, "Perfect analogy. Blue as in a Smurf." A little impressed smile works its way onto his lips. "He may as well have been a Smurf actually. Short as hell, blue hair."

This time, my stomach tightens in a different way as my brain slaps me in the face. Trying to open my damn eyes because... I only know a select few people with blue hair. I only know one famous person who has blue hair.

My eyes snap over to Sal. And, my God, he looks like he's about to explode. His neck is painted a deep scarlet and he's nervously playing with his fingers. Azure eyes saucer-sized.

I sit on that one. I sit and really contemplate it while Travis goes on and on about, fuck, about how he tasted. And how his skin felt. And his voice. He goes on like the man he's talking about isn't in the room-- because he doesn't know he's in the room. He keeps talking like he doesn't know I nearly fucked the guy who gave him his first make out sesh.

"I'm going to throw up," I murmur to myself, but Travis catches the words and frowns at me.

"Girl, I have told you worse. You've heard my NSFW stories and this makes you fold? Very ableist of you." Travis tuts at me, disappointed after probably saying something about Sal that I don't know about, especially because the ableism accusation came out of nowhere.

"No," my voice quivers as I force the words out. I've committed the ultimate betrayal. I feel sick. It doesn't matter if I never knew that Sal and Travis had a moment, I nearly had sex with him. This is.... this is bad. Really bad.

"Are you okay?" Travis asks, suddenly concerned. He walks over, rubs my arm comfortingly but it doesn't make me feel any better.

I don't have to answer him because, thankfully, Larry has broken the barrier between us all and said what I had been thinking.

"Sal!?" He coughs out, the deep baritone of his voice making Travis flinch. "What the fuck! You swapped spit with the enemy!?"

I watch Travis spin on his heels and then he jumps like a startled cat would. I can practically see all of his body hairs stand on end.

Travis turns back to me, his face the epitome of shock and betrayal. "You bitch!" He squeaks out, glancing back at Sally. "You betrayer!"

How come I never made the connection before? I had this bullshit coming. This sketchy plan was bound to blow up in my face at some point. I knew Sal was a bad idea.

"I didn't know!" I splutter out, eyes flitting back and forth between my cousin and the bluenette. Sal looks alert— eyes wide and never blinking. He's struck silent, that sad excuse of an asshole.

"You weren't supposed to invite my first kiss over," Travis yells, voice cracking while gesturing his hand to Sally behind him. "I only told you about it— how did you find him?"

My stomach drops out of my ass. Everyone's silent as confirmation of what we all feared rings throughout my living room. The only person who has any kind of reaction is Sal who slaps his hands onto his prosthetic, leaning his head onto the back of the sofa.

It's quiet for a little while longer, bile searing the back of my throat. Travis still has wide eyes, his gaze directed at Sal and an embarrassed blush flushing his cheeks.

I watch as Ash blinks, her expression beginning to morph into something both predatory and unreadable. This entire day got so much worse, right when I thought it was over too.

Have I ever said that Todd is quite literally the best at reading rooms, and the best at being the best? I owe him a lot of credit because he saves mine and everyone else's asses, even if only for a moment, by saying, "Dark Autumn Complex released a new song a couple hours ago."

My head tilts, my focus suddenly zeroed in on my friend who watches us blankly, no emotion or real reaction to the silent standoff in my living room.

But no one else cares. Larry, Ash, and Sal are having a staring contest with Travis who look beyond overwhelmed.

Todd sighs. "Travis and Sal are old news. It's not something any of you should be surprised about. Plus they clearly have been over for ages. Take the information and cry about it in bed tonight if it ails you so." I stand corrected when Travis drops that load of reality on us. If anything, he seems a little agitated. How can he be so... nonchalant with the prospect of Travis and Sal floating around us like a melody? I'm, personally, petrified to the core.

Travis shrugs nervously beside me. "He's not wrong," he murmurs bashfully, sniffing to hide his awkwardness. "I made out with him once and that was it. Gay awakening?"

Larry snorts, his eyes squeezed shut and tears building at the corners. I can't quite tell if he's laughing or wailing.

I crack a little smile. Larry's comedic relief, whether his tears are positive or negative, and Todd's direct approach make the situation not as serious as it originally seemed. Sal is still sitting pin straight on my couch like a scarecrow hung up in a corn field. He couldn't be more displaced with this turn of events. I bet he's cursing me and my family in his head right now. If anyone dies, I know it's due to his vexation, at least.

Todd is nice enough to follow up on his first statement by snatching my TV remote from under Larry's ass and loading up Youtube. He doesn't even have to search, the new-- holy shit-- the new music video is the first in my recommended section.

DAC has never made a music video. Ever. And it's a new song in general, I'm about to combust. I never thought I'd see the day. And why the hell didn't I get a notification?

I briefly travel through my memories, picking out the moment I watched North playing his guitar on stage. His eyes, shadowed by his mask but looking straight at me. His hand shaking mine, cold leather beneath my skin.

It takes every fiber of my being to not smile over the thought of him. He was just so nice, and hot, and talented... I can't help myself.

Travis and I jump forward whenever Todd clicks on the video, flocking in front of my television to watch what's about to unfold. Travis has heard more than enough about this band to know that I love them, so his accompaniment is merely moral support. He knows damn well I'm about to fall apart so he'll be there to pick up my pieces.

"They're metal, right?" Trav tuts, tone dispassionate due to lowered expectations. He's such a metal hater. "Hot members though..." he tacks on, trailing off as the song opens up.

"They're mine," I proclaim, drowning in adoration for DAC. They're literally just standing with their instruments right now for the intro, no words no music. Just a blank slate. But I'm enraptured, eyes glued to the screen as I thrum with energy.

"Our castle was built in Spring; We longed for books and bricks. To fantasies we did cling, So our castle was made of sticks.

Of worn and cracked logs-- Papier-mâché, our key, Of fragile and brittle walls Our castle came to be."

I shiver over the string of lyrics invading and possessing my soul. Oh, how I obsess over North's voice and the sweet symphony of Dark Autumn Complex's instruments.

"You can't lay claim," Travis scoffs, elbow knocking into mine when North stops singing to play his guitar. "Suppose they're gay, huh? I get to fuck them and you don't." He pridefully tilts his head up, small grin playing on his lips as he continues, gaze drifting toward me. "And you better believe I wouldn't spare you a damn thought during doggy."

I damn near break my neck to glare over at my cousin. I can hear Ash wheezing behind me and Larry's suspiciously quiet-- my only guess is that he's laughing so hard that not even a single noise can be heard. Todd simply sighs.

"I guess it's a good thing the lead singer probably thinks I'm hot, then," I boldly state, even though I know it's a really long shot. I'm putting words into poor North's mouth and the fucker doesn't even speak. But, hey, all is fair in sex and war. Travis can suck it so long as 'it' is not North.

"You yearned for an out of reach jewel; Opulence, luxury, and solace. All this greed made you cruel, Made you break your promise.

You readied your match and flame-- Cursed our castle and thought it trash. Without warning the fire came And reduced our memories to ash.

My romance of choice is Death Where you don't reside. By silence I abide, And keep you-- I tried. Alone at last, I take my final breath."

The living room is dead silent as North sings again, his gloved hand wrapped around the microphone in front of him while East and South dominate the sound, taking over in place of the guitar for a moment.

Listening to cathartic music, so much emotion filling my entire being, is better than therapy ever proved to be. Good sound and touching lyrics are all I will ever need to heal. To feel less alone.

My thoughts turn to Sal who's watching the video, seemingly disinterested. He looks so calm regardless of Travis and my presence. I want to slap guilt into him. I want to make him hurt the way I did the night he hurt me.

"Delusions were a precious fairytale; Tender was the slow fester. Expectations in minute detail, But failure greeted the jester.

You placed me in the guillotine-- Bound, blind, and confined. My blood's your nicotine, So pull the lever, love, be kind.

I laid myself out for you to walk on So the castle sticks couldn't pierce your skin. I was the throne you sat upon From whence we became potent sin."

Larry interrupts my internal solace when the lyrics stop again. It seems to be a longer song-- I guess DAC took a chapter out of Avenged Sevenfold's book.

"I'm not the one who said it, but," Larry's mischievous chuckle sets off the danger alarms in my mind. Emo Buff Daddy likes to slap me with things I refuse to comprehend. "North totally has some kind of Joe Goldberg infatuation with you."

My mouth goes dry, my heart stammering with flutters and quick beats, like little fairies hammering away at my organ in an attempt to keep it together. He's joking. He has to be. But my tingling fingertips and empty lungs say otherwise-- they want this to be true. But then there's Sal, and somehow I'm concerned over the validity of Larry's statement. Why is Sal even a factor here? I'll never know.

I smile at Trav-- a smile that I really don't feel, but one that comes easy. "See?" I taunt. Travis scrunches up his nose in faux jealousy. "Thanks for the backup, Lar," I tell my friend with a little wink his way. I'm just going to assume he's trying to help me out with the spaced out, friendly family altercation happening between me and Travis.

"My romance of choice is Death Where you don't reside. By silence I abide, And keep you-- I tried. My essence in Macbeth.

Eat my thoughts; Drink my soul. Exchange silence that haunts For the the peace you stole.

I am a fiend, a monster, a disgrace-- All the things you crave. I am a lover, a believer, a warm embrace; All of which led me to my grave."

"No problem, Vi," Larry chirps during another break in the song. I blink, heart falling a bit. With the deep lyrics resonating within me like this, the knowledge that Larry was just trying to help me out is disappointing. As much as I want North's affections, it wouldn't work out. Wouldn't be right. I have to accept that-- it's not like I'll ever get a chance to talk to the guy again anyway.

"Just spreading the truth," Larry says in a sing-song voice. Just like that, my soul is alight yet again. Is he still fucking with me or is this for real? My only notice is when Ash smacks Larry in the back of the head, her lips pinched together and eyes piercing into his soul.

What in the hell is with those two?

"I rot in this cage of reminiscence, Watch our connection burn. Sob in the name of innocence And for what was lost I still yearn.

This was never self-love-- Hypocrisy residing in my longing. Of my naivety thereof, To my own soul I'm desperately calling.

My romance of choice is Death-- Where I don't exist, So my thoughts can't persist. Extinguish what demolition kissed; I sink into abysmal depths."

I don't know who wrote this song, but they're hurt as hell. And I relate. I feel like this song popped up at the perfect time. Dark Autumn Complex understands me like no other and I resonate so deeply that I feel like I've known each member all my life. There's this ridiculous, false connection between me and them that I wouldn't admit to a single person.

My lips part as I watch the video zoom in on all the members, slowly centering on North who harshly whispers,

"It was never an alias, Nothing spontaneous. This is the half of me I have always wanted to be."

He repeats the words over and over again, voice slowly fading out until the screen goes black. I feel like I'm in a trance, like North just hypnotized me and I willingly went with the entire bit.

Travis clicks his tongue disappointedly beside me, stealing my attention away from the song that I'm going to play on repeat later tonight.

"Damn you for always pulling the pretty people," he grumbles, turning to face me. "I take back your cake. You have the hot male lead, you owe me food now."

"I'm so glad you've accepted reality," I chirp, patting Travis on his broad shoulder.

This entire spiel is something I have to ignore. North isn't crushing on me, he isn't interested. He never will be. And I can live with that! I've shaken his hand and gotten to see him play live. Totally don't need his tongue in my mouth or anything.

I walk toward my kitchen pulling my phone out and opening up Twitter. I'll do exactly what I've done every single time DAC's put out new music.

"Everyone okay with eggs and bacon?" I murmur distractedly, uploading the link to the new song, Consonance of a Tragic Villain. I tweet the link then turn my head over my shoulder to look at my friends. Sal's head is trained down to his phone since the TV has been turned off, replaced with Breaking Benjamin, courtesy of Ash. Is he embarrassed or something? He can't even hang out with the people around him. Even Todd is standing up to go and converse with Travis.

"Just hurry up and cook, woman!" Larry exclaims, grinning at me with that handsome face of his. And the tattoos littering his toned arms. And the... yellow stain... on the front of his shirt. But it's fine, even the most beautiful people can't be perfect.

I narrow my eyes at him as I turn into my kitchen, feeling my phone vibrate in my hand. "Watch yourself, Lartholomew," I bite out, flicking off the metalhead. Larry has to be short for Lartholomew.

"Lartholomew?" He stumbles over the word. "Stupidest shit I've ever heard. You could've done so much better than Sal's middle name."

I was about to check my notifications, but my head snaps up before I can see. I nearly choke on air as my gaze falls onto Larry. "Sal's middle name is Lartholomew?" I ask, disbelief and amusement bubbling up in my body. I have to agree with Larry, that's fucking hilarious.

"No, no, it's Bartholomew!" Larry cackles, pointing a finger at me. "Isn't that hilarious?"

Sal sighs exasperatedly, throwing his head back. "I'm going to castrate you Larry," He grumbles, frustrated and on his last mental leg as he lunges toward Larry, throwing an arm out to slap. With Ash between them though, the altercation is broken up very quickly.

"Fuck. Off." Sal bites out at his step-brother who really gets a kick out of the scenario.

I turn my attention away from the brothers, taking out ingredients and utensils that I need to cook with. While the bacon is sizzling on the stove, I finally check on the notification on my phone.

It's from Twitter.

dacnorthxx: 🖤

My eyes go wide. The comment is under my tweet of their new song and I'm really going to fall apart right here. Does this mean he remembers me? Or is this mere coincidence? My thoughts are running rampant, tummy bubbling with excitement. I can't breathe, all the oxygen is trapped in my throat under lock and key.

I comment back, my thumbs moving a mile a minute as I gulp. My entire body is a carnival of pins and needles. I feel faint.

violetviolence: @ dacnorthxx OMG?????

Someone get me a diaper because I think I'm going to pee myself.

dacnorthxx: @ violetviolence OMG!!! my idol

Is this real life? Can't be. Nope. No way. I'm about to throw up and the bacon is burning-- oh shit, the bacon is burning.

I throw my phone onto the kitchen counter and quickly pull the food off the stove, setting each strip of bacon onto a separate plate so they don't burn even more.

"Food's done," I say as loud as I possibly can considering the heavy amount of excited stress I'm undergoing. My voice comes out trembling, so I cough to cover it up as best as I can.

Dark Autumn Complex is quickly becoming my favorite band, North most prevalent out of all the members. I swear I'm not delusional-- well, maybe.

I type out something in response to his comment.

violetviolence: @ dacnorthxx STOP UR JOKING

Then I tuck my phone into my pocket. I'm being crazy. He's just being kind and he might like my comment after this but that's it-- that's as far as the exchange will go. I'm not stupid, I'm not delusional, I'm not insane.

Each of my friends, including Travis, files into my kitchen, grabs a plate of food, and then walks back into my living room like a train of preschoolers. It's a little humorous until the straggler comes in, it's not hard to tell who that is at this point anymore either.

Sal grabs a plate of food, comes to a stop behind me. The counter that peers into my living room separates us from the rest of our friends and having this kind of partial privacy with him smoothes out the wrinkles in my brain. This is horrifying when throwing in the context of our last meeting into the situation.

My heart skips a beat upon noticing his presence beside me. I glance up at him, noting the way he peers down at me with lidded eyes. Speculating, curious, leering. There's something hidden there, something he's locked away in a little mental box.

But I'm mid-chew and staring over at him like a deer caught in headlights, so I couldn't care less about whatever the hell he's hiding.

He watches me a moment longer, then drops his plate onto the counter beside mine. My eye twitches in pure amazement and agitation as he moves to stand beside me, leaning his elbows on the surface of the counter. As soon as he's settled though, he turns his head forward to watch the rest of The Faces and Travis who are all, surprisingly, catching up rather than being awkward.

The unspoken question of why he's standing beside me never gets spoken, the unknown simply percolates in the energy we somehow seem to share. I can't explain how I simultaneously wake up and lose brain cells when he's near, but it's definitely something I can't deny.

I watch him, wait. He wouldn't stand here to bask in my presence, I'm not that naive. That still doesn't answer why he's here though.

That dagger tattoo of his is on display right before me, just inches away from my eyes. He's that close-- so close that I can pick out every point of the ink on his skin. The soft waves in his layered, cerulean hair. The piercings in his ears. The sharpness of his jawline, edges of scars peeking past his expressionless prosthetic. And I can smell him. Something good, something masculine, something so him.

"Your bacon's shit," he rasps in that infuriatingly pretty voice of his. He never looks at me.

My wary expression turns into a glare. See? What did I just say?

But before I can bitch him out, something cool gently brushes along the top of my bare thigh.

I flinch in surprise, gasping as I glance down to see what the hell touched me because that's not normal. I've never bumped into anything while standing here, and this is my prime eating spot.

And as I frantically turn my attention to assess my mental commotion, I notice Sal's hand near me, his index finger just a centimeter away from my skin. I swallow against the realization-- it was him. He touched me.

I look up at him, eyes narrowed in question. What is he getting at? What is this game he's playing? I don't want him to string me along just so he can say he doesn't want me anymore when he inevitably leaves LA again. When he leaves me again.

He tilts his head inconspicuously as if to ask if he can continue, and I stare at him. I don't move, hell, I don't even breathe. I don't know what I should do. Because I do want him to touch me, but I know I shouldn't let him. Both for myself, but also because of him and Travis. I really shouldn't.

And Sal looks like he's about to apologize, this regretful look enveloping his eyes-- a look that makes my chest ache because there's such strong emotion, so much guilt. Guilt that he doesn't need to feel regarding this because... because he always double checks. He always asks for consent. That's something I've never had to worry about with him.

And maybe it's just the hurt in his eyes, something I haven't seen before and something I don't want to see again, but I nod at him. I nod to tell him he's okay. He can touch me.

He blinks, the emotion that was building ever so slowly slipping away from his gaze in a flash. I feel like what I saw was a hoax, a hallucination. It leaves his cerulean gaze that quickly.

And I can't watch myself fall back into this again. I know I've made a mistake, but it's one that I can't find myself regretting. Whether I like it or not, I have this insatiable attachment to-- obsession with-- Sal.

I turn away from his eyes that bore into mine, gaze at my living room again and bite down on a piece of bacon. Wait for the inevitable, which happens the minute my eyes aren't on him anymore.

Cold fingers crawl across the back of my thigh that's closest to Sal. The feeling of his fingertips dancing across such sensitive skin, slow and purposeful. Meaningful in that frustrating way of his. Just fingertips up until he's gotten across enough skin to grip my flesh in his hand and squeeze.

We're in a bad position. We probably look so suspicious right now-- if anyone were to glance over here and see us, they would be wondering what the hell was going on. Because the two of us? Willingly standing beside each other and not bickering? Preposterous.

I don't look at him. He doesn't look at me. Just runs his hand over and squeezes the back of my thigh to his heart's content. But I see him out of the corner of my eye, my heart fluttering all the while as goosebumps rise all over my body. Just barely seeing the way his chest rises and falls calmly, his hair brushed aside to show off his tattooed neck, the feeling of his skin on mine.

I lick my dry lips, start drumming my fingers against the counter beside my plate because I can't take this.

Maybe Sal saw my nerves getting to me, whether he was able to hear my pounding heart, see the way I nearly started hyperventilating, or just from my hands unable to stay still. But his touch is gone instantly, very suddenly.

I swallow thickly, blinking at my friends. Larry... has Travis in a headlock. Things might be bad! But in the moment, that's not my concern. Sal's phantom touch still lingers on my skin, the delicate brush of his fingers along my thigh much like a whisper now, but still there. My brain is still living in the fresh memory of what happened thirty seconds ago.

He doesn't speak. Neither do I. There's nothing to say-- this was random, unprepared. So what the fuck has just transpired? Figment of my imagination? Is the psychotic breakdown happening? I've been awaiting its arrival.

I'm not quite sure what kind of reaction I'm having, especially when Sal slides his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling like nothing just happen. An unwanted lump forms in my throat, my palms sweat. I feel used. Again. And I knew I would feel like this because Sal is Sal-- he's not kind, he isn't gentle. He just gets what he wants. I'm at fault too because I've fed into that behavior, reinforced it by giving him what he wants.

"Sal!--" Ash bellows. I snap my head up, eyes wide. Why is there yelling? "I swear, guys, he's a literary genius." Ash's eyes are alight with mirth and pride. She trusts Sal to back up her statement, but I don't think he's going to. Sal Fisher is anything but a literary genius-- he is not a book boy. A misogynistic, old ass man wrote his patriarchal Smurf ass. God, I can't stand him. But, here I am, standing...

"Recite Poe!" Ash yells again, gesturing to Sal with her hand like she's the Phantom of the Opera. That's quite an image.

Edgar Allan Poe is a recurring and foreboding theme in my chapter today. Literally, not breaking the fourth wall.

I side-eye Sal who has no reaction. He doesn't even look up to acknowledge Ash, simply cocks his head to the side with his eyes still glued to the phone, typing something out.

And then his voice. His stupid, stupid voice. Monotonous, uncaring. But the feeling-- the emotion-- embedded in his words makes me want to topple over. And he didn't even write them.

"For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea-- In her tomb by the sounding sea."

That's what he says. Completely recites the last stanza of Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. The same poem that the poet used to capture the hearts of so many women at his public readings.

He's not Poe though. Sal is not Poe. And the raspy, unfeeling tone of his eclectic voice will not capture me. Not when he's been two migraines and a stroke. Never.

Is it wrong of me to appreciate the tender way he pronounced 'Annabel Lee?' His voice danced around her name as if it were a waltz, something precious and rich with his affection. And his voice grew with passion when mentioning the moon and stars, dying off into something gentle and warm once he repeated 'my darling.'

Envious isn't the word. Ravenous, on the other hand, is. In every word, in every recollection, in every universe.

I turn my head to him, chest hot with esurient rage because how dare he be so...

Sal turns his head to me, emptiness reflected in his cobalt gaze. A darkness so ever-present, one that never disappears. And I forget all the strife in my mind.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket, but I ignore it, holding eye contact with Sal while Ash's excited screams of praise fade into the background.

Before angry thoughts can filter into my head again, Sal turns away like he was never even looking at me in the first place. He grabs his plate, hair swaying slightly with his every movement, and he walks away. Meets with everyone gathered in my living room.

I chew the inside of my cheek, watching Sal come to a stop beside Travis and I loathe the way some kind of abhorrent, negative, spiteful feeling rips me in two. Those two men want nothing to do with each other and the last thing I need to be worried about is Sal to begin with. He's bad, awful, terrible.

I'm going to have to socialize soon before Travis starts batting me about being a recluse, but I need just a moment to push aside whatever ancient Transylvanian spell Sal casted over me with his recitation first. So, to distract myself, I pick up my phone to see what caused the buzz.

My jaw instinctively clenches shut, an uncomfortable chill crawling up my spine when seeing the discord notification followed by Sal's username.

I click on it.

SALLYFʌCɜ: i'm sorry. SALLYFʌCɜ:and you'll never hear it from me again, but you deserve it this time. the way i broke things off was insensitive, it was sudden with no warning. and i promised i'd fuck you. and i want to. if you don't want that anymore, perfectly understandable. figured i'd give you the offer instead of silently regretting what i did.

I blink at my phone screen, nauseating butterflies kicking and screaming inside my belly. Begging me and peer-pressuring me, telling me I better not skip out on this.

I won't skip out on it, but this is the last time. From what I've gathered in the short time I've known Sal is that he's careless and unkind. He'll attack you given whatever means necessary. And when he goes overboard, he apologizes with the assumption that everything will go back to normal and all is forgiven. I mean, kudos to him for even apologizing to begin with, but repetition makes all the sorry's meaningless.

I shut my eyes and let my head droop a bit. I shouldn't. I really, really shouldn't.

I swallow down the bile working its way up my throat and start typing.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: had i not been here today, would you have ever apologized and extended the offer?

My gaze travels upward until I'm looking at everyone again. Sal isn't involved in the conversation. In fact, he's on his phone. And I suddenly feel like I'm going to collapse again.

Remember the first time I met him? When I assumed he would be the type to avoid confrontation? Fuck me for being wrong because he's the one who brings confrontation.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

SALLYFʌCɜ: no. SALLYFʌCɜ: i'm taking these circumstances as a sign. i've been thinking about it

I run my palm over my forehead. He's being honest with me, I respect that. Maybe this is a sign then, like he said. He's been bugging me for weeks, picking at me and being aggressive. Maybe that was a result of how torn up he was over internal guilt? I'm not sure but I'm not one to turn away from something this obvious sitting right in front of me.

VIOLETVIOLENCE:okay. when are you leaving?

The reply is instant.

SALLYFʌCɜ:6am tmr. that problem's solved though. ash is going to invite you to come with us SALLYFʌCɜ:i would be pissed and angsty like usual at the idea, but if you accompany us, that just opens up more time and opportunities.

To go with them? Ash? Where the hell are we going?

My eyebrows scrunch together in both confusion and intrigue as I start typing back.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: how do you know ash is even going to invite me to go with you guys?

SALLYFʌCɜ:it's ash. use your fucking head.

It takes everything in me to bite down the snort that so desperately wants to be released. He's right. And my ignorance aggravated him. This is everything I've grown used to, everything I want.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: typical of you to assume. suppose she doesn't invite me, then we both lose out, prick.

I hear a soft, quiet, and distinctly Sal-sounding chuckle from a few feet in front of me. Damn him and damn the way a smile starts growing on my lips at the audacity, the familiarity, the chaos of it all.

SALLYFʌCɜ: i wouldn't have made the promise if i didn't intend on keeping it. watch what you say and give ash five minutes to remember that you're in the room. actually, give her brain a boost. SALLYFʌCɜ: come here.

No questions asked. I shut my phone off and slip it into my pocket, looking up to assess my surroundings.

Everyone is in a huddle. Wherever I surface, someone will move over to make room for me. Given that Sal and I were so close a couple minutes ago, I should probably stand away from him now. I'll just scoot in on the other side of Larry. That feels safe, he's standing beside Sal so it's a simple excuse too.

I walk over to everyone, my feet feel heavy like they're covered in 15 snuggly kittens each. I'm weighed down, reluctantly making my way over to them. My cheeks feel hot. I'm second guessing everything.

I don't like hiding from my friends, it makes me nervous and I feel terribly guilty. Like, if Sal and I are fucking around, they should know. But something about their group, about The Faces, says they do not date within the circle.

Date? What the hell am I talking about? I meant fuck.

I come to a stop right behind Sal and instinctually pinch my lips together. This was not the plan-- I meant to curve to someone else. But I got distracted by my own anxiety, which, this wouldn't be the first time. I just wish it wouldn't furl my plans like this.

Upon assessing the small group gathered in my living room though, I can tell that Sal would be the only one to allow me access into the circle. Ash is dramatically talking with Todd who seems zoned in and solely focused on the conversation, shockingly. Todd's not one to be very engaged in conversation often, so my guess is that they're talking about business or science. Given Ash's infatuation for the arts though, I'd bank on business as the topic.

On the other end of the small circle, Travis is grinning awkwardly at Larry who's deep into an explanation about Dragon Ball Z lore. Throwing up his hands, nodding his head vigorously, and leaning into Travis's personal space. They squashed beef rather quickly.

And Sal, he's just present. Not involved, simply there like he was when he walked over here.

He's also the only person expecting me.

He turns his head over his shoulder, glancing down at me with his emotionless but bright eyes. I gulp down the nervousness crawling inside me like poisoned bugs; it's hard though. Every time we make eye contact today, I feel stuck. It's almost unbearable. Did I miss him or something? Or-- oh, yuck. Do I have a crush on him?

I hate to even think it, but I find him attractive. That's the roots to the plant. Just because there's a sprout doesn't mean it has to grow into anything-- and I surely won't grow with this ass. Nope, major pass.

Meh, it's not a crush. He's just pretty and mean. I'm flustered is all. Who doesn't like a handsome man with an attitude?

Sal takes a step toward Larry, making a tiny little spot of space for me beside him. The move is so inconspicuous that it's impressive. It makes me wonder how many things he's tried to get away with in his lifetime, to be able to know what, how, and when to move so others don't notice his unfolding plans.

I start moving forward, eyes still on him. And his eyes are on mine too when Larry's elbow whacks him in the back of the head.

There's a hiss, a resounding pained yell, and a clatter. I simply blink, watching Sal grab onto the back of his head in pain and Larry with tears in his eyes, snuggling his elbow close to his chest.

There's something wrong. Something wrong with Sal's messier-than-it-was-moments-ago hair and the expression of unadulterated fear that strikes Larry's face. He looks as though he's stabbed Sal, betrayed his step brother in the worst way possible.

And Sal. Sal.

His eyebrows nearly match his hair. And they're furrowed, signaling the contempt in his soul. He tilts his head up, eyes glued to the floor before they flit up to me. I watch him with wide eyes, unable to fight off the shock plaguing me.

Half of Sal's face is emaciated, the other is almost completely untouched. It's a wonder to look at-- out of everything, I didn't expect to ever see his face. I didn't expect it to look like this either. His left cheek is sunken in, a scar running up the middle, the shape and placement reminding me of a Glasgow smile. His cheek bone is ragged, uneven with sharper points and parts that are sunken in, much like his jaw. And part of his nose is missing too, making the half that's still there more prominent with the way the scar healed. Other little scars litter the wounded side of his face-- plenty through his eyebrows, over his lips.

And the scars on his lips stretch up to the middle of his cheek, his chin, all in various place. A lightening strike permanently etched onto his face. A beautiful work of art that he lives with every single day.

The other half of his face, the one that seems nearly untouched, gives me a glimpse of what he'd look like had he never been scarred. Little, light freckles are splattered across his nose and the apple of his cheek. His lips are full, pink, soft-looking aside from the cracks here and there-- undoubtedly a result of constant biting. Sharp jawline, like I'd assumed.

He turns away from me, his expression slackened a bit. Then he starts yelling at Larry and I have to process the unfortunate truth that I couldn't look at him longer.

Maybe it's a crush now.

I take a breath as Ash suddenly flinches in my peripheral vision upon noticing Sal's bare face. In the meantime, I lean down and brush my fingers over his prosthetic that landed on the floor. It feels surreal to touch something that is so impactful in mine and Sal's life. I find myself hating it a bit because, as much as I loathe admitting it, Sal is pretty. I knew he would be. And the added confirmation sucks me into a dissociative state. I don't feel real, this is just some immaculately designed psychological horror and I'm the spectator, watching as everything falls apart. Forgetting that I'm a main character, falling apart with everyone else.

I swallow the internal panic and revelations and close my fingers over his prosthetic, lifting it into my subtly shaking hands. I need a nap and an edible or something.

I stare down at it for a moment, hesitating to look up when the yelling pauses for a moment.

When I do lift my gaze, Sal has turned back to me, his lips pressed into a thin line and brows still furrowed. And this time, it's not impenetrable and never-ending anger in his sapphire eyes. It's fear. Disgust. Regret. A lot of negativity and I think it's directed toward himself.

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, chewing on it incessantly in an attempt to stomp down the immense number of emotions suddenly awakened within me. I'm feeling way too much. Feeling blissful over his beauty, but broken over his reaction to himself. I can't imagine how long he's gone feeling so disgusted about himself-- I can't say anything to make him feel better because it wouldn't matter. My view of him doesn't come close to comparing to his view of himself. I can see it in his eyes.

My hands move toward him, silently offering the prosthetic back. Sal's gaze drops down, seeing his lifeline in my hands and his nostrils flare like he's on his last leg before he absolutely breaks. I know that feeling.

His hand clasps onto the mask, not gently but not aggressively. Just grabs it like I'm a completely normal person and not someone he both despises and craves.

His fingertips brush over the back of my hand, and he's suddenly ripping the prosthetic away like I've murdered his pet in cold blood.

I watch in dissociative shock as he turns back to Larry, prosthetic still in his hand.

"Sal, man, I'm really sorry," Larry rasps out, that terror and worry still on his face. He's not scared of Sal, just scared for him. "I didn't mean to."

Sal doesn't utter a word. He lifts the prosthetic and smacks Larry upside the head with it. A resounding, hollow thunk echoes through the room as Larry yelps in pain. My eyes widen a little more and Travis breaks out into cackling laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth to unsuccessfully hide his reaction.

And Sal doesn't react to the abuse of his brother, just walks over to my couch and situates his prosthetic onto his face again.

I can't get the image of him out of my head. His doe eyes and exotic face tattooed into my temporal lobe for life. My eyes follow him, watch as he opens up his phone again to escape reality. Clearly, the device is a crutch for him. It's a getaway from present events.

A nudge on my waist makes me slowly peel my gaze away from Sal, who I seem to be viewing in a new light. I've gone through fresh hell today, this was the bittersweet cherry on top.

I switch my focus to Ash, who's now standing beside me and, I would guess, the person who nudged me. She gives me a hesitant, rueful smile.

"We're going back to Nockfell tomorrow," she says softly, hand lifting to graze over my cheek affectionately. Her crimson nails clash with the ethereal color of her foresty eyes, but it works. They clash wonderfully. "Do you want to come with us? Reminisce a bit?"

"Why did you guys come, by the way?" I ask in a small voice, eyes flitting between hers curiously. I'm still in a state of shock too, so her comfort is appreciated.

Ash's features change, an excited grin slowly building on her lips. She's holding back something big. "We found an apartment a few buildings down. I've been researching for a while, trying to find a place near you ever since we built up the money to move."

My expression falls. They're moving? Here?

My very essence is filled with immense joy, contentment, and happiness. I don't know how to correctly portray how wonderful it feels to know that Ash is going to be near me every single day again. I can walk to her now, I don't have to fly. I can hug her, I don't have to watch her through a phone screen.

I blink at Ash as she swipes her thumb under my eye, grabbing onto my cheeks and pulling me foreward until our foreheads touch. It takes me a moment to realize that where her finger rubbed over my skin left a wet residue.

And so begins the break down.

I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to gather myself and to stop the tears before I start full on sobbing in my best friend's arms.

"So will you come? To Nockfell?" She asks softly, tilting her head to kiss the tip of my mask's nose. "If I tell you we need help packing, will that be an an acceptable excuse?"

I sniffle, unable to stop myself as I nod my head vigorously. I can't find the right words or think the right thoughts to use my voice to answer her. I can't even quite understand my own emotions.

Ash nods against me, an elated smile building on her lips.

"And so the prodigal daughter returns to her hometown."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N::::: NORTH FANS RAISE YOUR FUCKIN HANDSSSSSS!!!!!!

okay soooo yayyyy!! after twenty chapters we finally have half a face reveal *cue really shitty white girl dancing* my babies in the comments have been asking for a y/n face reveal but, hehe, you know i'm a little shit >.<

anywayyssss, sorry this chap is a little late! i left a comment to someone saying i would post yesterday LMAO but it's here now and i hope you guys like it <3 please, feel free to leave some constructive criticism because i would like to publish a book someday and can't do that if i don't make progress and improve!!!

task for everyone: TELL ME SOMETHING I CAN IMPROVE IN MY WRITING!! and be nice please or you'll break my heart :3

as always, sending you guys all my love! have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night and remember to eat well, drink water, and go out in the sun for a bit! FUCK VITAMIN D DEFECENCIES!!

[ryverbind]

source

[ryverbind]

Sal: When will Ted himself… finally show up to the talk?

Ash: The final boss.

Todd: You guys know TEDtalks stands for technology, entertainment, and design talks, right?

Larry: I will not let Ted hide behind these lies any longer!

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation: Through Our Minds That We Ravage [19.2]

Sal's Lore (Part Two)

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TW/// mentions of SA, self harm, and su!c!dal thoughts. If these are triggering topics to you, please skip this chapter! it does not pertain to the main storyline.

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Life is a storybook. The book makes the rules. Your plot is decided before you can think for yourself. The pages turn to the next chapter of your story before you're ready. Before you've embraced change. Before you've even decided to move on. Sometimes, characters may never be ready for their plot alterations.

Included in this storybook is a fairytale. A fable for all those who crave deeper meaning and search for elation in the little, hidden aspects of their tale.

Sal Fisher dreamt of things he would never achieve. He hoped for options and happenstance that would never come to him in this life or the next. He was but a hopeless soul floating in his own oblivion. He was a side character in everyone's novel and he knew it. Sal was the backup person in a fantasy story that was so insignificant, he didn't even have a name. In fact, he was akin to the opening kill.

This felt too true for him. He had his alias, Sally Face, but never was he Sal.

His bed was too rough. He tossed and turned throughout the night, restless. His chance at a decent life thwarted.

A loose thread from his comforter was wrapped around his index finger, pulled tight to cut off circulation as he yanked on it. A dull snap alerted him that he'd managed to pull the string from the fabric. If only he could separate himself from this miserable world like he'd done for the worn piece of twine.

He counted invisible numbers in his head, mentally repeating passcodes and combinations as if he were a machine. It was a pathetic mantra that ceased to end. Nockfell High's locker combination, shed code, safe's passcode. He was running laps in his own mind and he didn't know how to stop. He didn't know what to do to calm the anguished storm in his head. He was lost, hopeless, beyond rectification.

Sal's body was in a state of rest, his dissociated plight forced all his limbs to be completely immobile, frozen like a statue. Caught in perpetual stillness while his mind was in full motion. No amount of physics could possibly explain or debunk the haunt in his brain. These ghosts stalked him in the night, waited until the sun went down to sneak up on him.

The nooks and crevices of his darkened thoughts came to life, melding together in the form of a horrible creature like frost in the dawn. Shadows crawled inward, creating the shape of a monstrous, inhuman being. Wisps of sheer terror dripped off its back, an image similar to the draining of blood after a most horrendous, psychotic act. A kind of act he had intrusive thoughts of daily.

This shadow man reached for Sal, urged him to allow the entity to wrap its clawed, stringy hands around his throat. To peel the flesh away from his bones. To gnaw on his innards and feast on every organ populating his body. The being wanted control over Sal's life so badly, wanted to end him. Yearned for Sal's death to transcend this mortal plane. It needed the essence of Sal's life to be freed from humanity.

Sal was this shadow man. He was the monster that tortured his every waking moment.

Gizmo was nestled at the end of the bed, his paws wrapped around Sal's legs in a snug, soothing hug. Even in his sleep, that little old man felt Sal's agony.

Tree branches scraped at Sal's window, an ominous invitation in the dead of his lonesome night. Spirits of his zombified mind begged to be let in; reminded him of Edgar Allan Poe's, The Raven.

His regret knock, knock, knocking at his chamber door.

The wind howled with pure wretchedness, broken apart in otherwise tormented whispers by torturous affliction. Acting in kind as a reaction to Sal's deteriorating mental, he thought, a tad amused by the prospect.

A slight, unamused grin pulled at his scarred lips, a product of his dark humor. It wasn't even that funny, he countered to himself. A tinge of embarrassment washed over him and he wondered how pitiful he'd seem had he laughed at something so trivial in front of anyone else.

Sal, in truth, hated himself. He cursed himself in ways he couldn't understand. He was so distraught with damning thoughts and ideas. He was doomed to an ill mind. Trapped in a broken body. Vexed for eternity both mentally and physically.

Nothing in the world could match the toxic amount of abhorrence he held toward himself. He was an abomination. Plagued by a hankering appetite for something he couldn't distinguish. Forced to yearn for inconsequential necessities that he could never luxuriate in.

For many years, Sal had wanted to die. And this night was worse than others, for his regret was incomparable to any other deprecated self-loathing in this universe.

Giving himself to fans hadn't been his plan at first. When Sal lost himself in the streaming business with his childhood friends, he planned to stay impartial to oddities that weren't directly related to him.

But when he started getting direct messages, when people started telling him about how attractive he was, how charming his persona was, Sal felt like he'd achieved those dreams of his that seemed so out of reach.

He indulged. He overindulged. He knew he would come to regret it someday, but to such extents as this... he hadn't expected this.

Coming face-to-face with a woman who ripped his prosthetic off without permission, touched him without his consent, and told him no one else would bother with the likes of him was an experience that he couldn't even quite comprehend.

Sal swallowed against the onslaught of tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks at the recollection of last night's events. He had been stomping down the memories, desperately defending his heart with a sword in hand like a mighty and brave knight. But he was no knight. He had no sword. And it was always in the late hours that the lacerations of veracity came crawling out of the umbra.

He didn't want to fall apart yet. He didn't want his hands to do things without his permission yet, so he allowed his feet to do the work instead.

Sal carefully slipped his legs out from under Gizmo's comforting embrace, wincing with his teeth lodged into his rough bottom lip. Gizmo stretched upon being awoken by the sudden movement, his paws on display for Sal's tired eyes. The yellow cat's beans spread out to accentuate the lovely stretch he was getting in, all the while releasing a yawn from his wide, open mouth and showing off sharp canines and teeny tiny "teefs" as Ash liked to call them.

A quiet squeak followed Gizmo's yawn before he curled in on himself again, let out a sigh, and shut his eyes.

A swell of clarified adoration gripped his heart. Gizmo was his kryptonite, his lifeline. How could he leave his little man?

Sal slowly moved to sit up, letting his legs drop to the floor at his bedside. His feet brushed the cold wood beneath him and he hissed, a shock shooting up his skin. He ignored it after taking a moment to rebuild his comprehensibility and shoved his feet into a pair of cat slippers that Larry had bought him for Christmas. They looked just like Gizmo, according to his step-brother.

Gingerly, Sal tiptoed to his bedroom door that had been left ajar. He nudged it with his slipper, effectively pushing it open without a sound. He knew his home and its noises by now, having grown accompanied to the sudden change of moving to a new place a couple months ago.

He trudged into the kitchen, each step of his about as quiet as the cicadas chirping in the woods beside his home. Hardly noticeable to the unconscious.

And on the contrary, Sal's subconscious was in charge while his brain wept itself to pieces in suffocating silence.

There was a piece of him that disappeared yesterday. A part of him that would never return. It was a reality he was forced to come to terms with far too soon, a scenario in his storybook that he wasn't prepared to embrace.

Sal swallowed his unuttered pleas for help yet again, opening a cabinet door in his pristine kitchen to grab a can of peaches. They were his comfort food.

His kitchen wouldn't be pristine forever once Larry finally moved in. He and his step-brother were on two opposite ends of the organization spectrum. Once Larry came, his Kit-Cat clock wouldn't tick, tick, tick in the quietude of this room quite the same. The tap wouldn't drip, drip, drip like it did now. The fire alarm wouldn't squeak such as it did just seconds ago, when the sound of silence had begun to invade his mind.

Sal's fingernails bit into his palms as he squeezed the handles of the can opener in his hands, releasing his grip upon hearing the light thunk of metal piercing the tin. And then he cranked the lever around and around until the lid popped open, sharp edges glaring at him in the dark.

He gazed at the lid of the can, caught in the moonlight bleeding in from his kitchen windows. Orange peaches glistened in the depths of the tin, floating in sugary syrup that brought bliss to Sal's ailment in any other situation.

But the metallic lid, dagger-like edges and the color of a pernicious blade, called to him, bellowed at him to swipe his skin along the serration. Beckoned him to exsanguinate himself of his wretchedness, bathe in gore and the stench of defeat.

Sal blinked, licked his trembling lips. Stuck two fingers into the syrup and resurfaced with a peach.

"Sally?"

The honeyed, gentle voice startled him. Sal flinched, ultimately tricking him into bending to the can's will. His finger caught keen edge, successfully drawing crimson from the digit in just a mere, incidental second.

He didn't make a sound, simply watched his blood drip into the freshly opened can of peaches. Marveled in the way such hellish red fanned out amongst the liquid populating the can's contents. His orange peaches now stained pink.

"What are you doing up?" The voice came again, followed by the clearing of a throat. "It's late."

He didn't move. Dread infected his nervous system upon realizing he'd been caught by the singular person who knew him best. Even better than his brother.

Because she'd been through this with him before.

Sal didn't notice her steps growing closer to him, his hearing blocked out by the assault of dismay rattling his bones. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. He longed to be alone, away from prying eyes and glances of sympathy. More than anything, the harrowing yearning to be in his mother's arms again ripped at the impenetrable fortress he thought he'd built up.

Beyond all his urges to hide away, he simply wanted to be held.

Sal pushed down the bile that had clawed its way up his throat when her hand clamped onto his wrist and wrenched his scarlet index away from the material perpetrator.

"Sal," Ash's voice was plagued with unease. "What's going on." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Sal was a tripwire the moment he pulled out the can of peaches. "Why are you eating those?"

He couldn't form words, not with the lump in his throat and his blood dripping onto the white kitchen counter in front of him and his dearest friend.

Ash knew that when the peaches came out, it was bad. Incredibly, disastrously bad.

When he went a full beat without an answer, Ash lightly tugged on his wrist. "Come on, sweetheart," she purred, her soft timbre soothing him so efficiently. He felt tears biting at the back of his retinas. "Let's sit down. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

Maybe it was fate that Ash had decided to stay the night since Todd and Neil had gone on a trip with their parents. The house was still fairly new to Sal, so he'd mentioned to her that he wouldn't mind having an extra head in the two-story.

Had she not been here, Sal's night may have turned out drastically different.

Ash managed to guide Sal's emotionless shell over to the the living room, where they sat on old pillows that doubled as a couch for now, seeing as the home didn't have one yet. And she didn't ask or pester him anymore, only read his mind like he'd been praying for.

Ash wrapped her arms around Sal's quivering shoulders and pressed his head against her chest.

He felt the dam beginning to crack, his body suffering a power surge that altered the chemicals in his brain completely. The fog cleared, reality had settled upon him, the weight of millions of regrets, of guilt, of hatred.

Tears swam down his cheeks, a torrent of emotional flames fueled by the sound of Ash's beating heart pounding against his ear. Buh-bump, buh-bump, buh-bump. He gripped the sound, the thumping a salvation for him. It was his last leg in this world, the one thing that tethered him to this despondent plane of existence.

Sal's chest was hollow, void of the life and exuberance he once emanated. His lungs felt empty, scorched by the blazing lamentation contaminating his very soul. Every digit on his hands had pins and needles, his limbs pierced and scorched by the flames of his insatiable need to revert back to the person he was just two days ago. He couldn't even find it in him to be angry, the prospect overshadowed by how crestfallen, inconsolable, and grief-stricken he was while being cradled in Ash's arms.

Ash shushed him delicately, careful with her words and her tone. Her dainty hands smoothed his cerulean hair with the gentleness a mother has with a newborn. Sal sniffled and quaked in her hold, but never uttered a word. That was okay, so long as she was here and he wasn't alone with himself.

In the midnight hour, in the darkest dark, unknown devils lurked in the abyss just beyond bedroom walls and creatures rose from the ashes of people who could no longer be. Spirits roamed in the night, phantom's haunted by their very own blunders and missteps in life.

Sal Fisher now qualified himself as a phantom. His very soul had been discarded and there was no replacement. He was simply and strictly a passionless husk of his former self.

His days no longer consisted of hours. They were a never-ending hell that forced reality upon him no matter the time. Restraining orders, court dates, emotionless fans that refused to understand his absence, his anguish and agony after the sun went down. But when the sun rose again and cursed him with its blinding rays, he was just... numb.

After the woman that assaulted him was imprisoned for two years, he no longer knew anything. He couldn't think, couldn't comprehend even the simplest information presented to him.

Something he knew for sure though was that nothing would get better for him. There was no remedy for the damage that had been done. At twenty years old, he was still in just as much pain as he was the day his mother died.

There was no reason for him to continue. None at all. His friends, his family, his furry fellow that warmed his feet at night were only temporary. One day, they would all be gone too. Everything he had was both immeasurable by means of necessity and also not permanent in his life-- regardless of how badly he wanted to chain them all up forever.

Sal's storybook had ended. There would be no new chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:::: HEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY >:3 okay so first of all, i don't wanna scare yall with that last line LOL the "no new chapter" is just a symbol of sal's hopelessness. y'all know damn well i can never abandon

furthermore, it's integral that i talk about what's happened to sal here. as mentioned in the chapter, he was sexually assaulted by a fan. if any of you have read maybe today, you aren't unfamiliar with this topic being mentioned in my work. this addition to his lore is NOT something being used as a plot point or something to make him 'stronger'. in fact, i may never even bring it up again in the story. as a victim of SA, i include this as a means of self-therapy. it is devastating insight into my own mind for one, but these sickening feelings are something that other people go through too regardless of the trauma or circumstances that provoked it. depression is real. abuse is real. both of these are incredibly torturous and painful and worst of all, ignored. i tend to use my platform as a way to advocate for things such as this that many people turn a blind eye to. the mention of this within this chapter is not simply just something that happened to a character, it's reality.

if you have experienced anything related to what's mentioned here and are in need of help, please feel free to dial any of these numbers-- National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 Crisis Text Line: text REASON to 741741 Self-Harm Hotline: 1-800-366-8288 LGBTQ Hotline: 1-888-843-4564 National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) Helpline: 1-800-950-6264 National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233

so, moving onto a lighter note, i am working on the next chapter for the main part of the story! i'm super excited and i hope you all are too :3 until next time, babies! never forget that i love you all to the cosmos and back and forevermore!! have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night <333

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation: Cat-FISHER [19]

A/N: in honor of 50k on Wattpad, LET'S GET ITTTTTT!!!!

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VIOLETVIOLENCE: it's really pathetic that i have to pull you aside like a child to tell you to tone down your shit.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: grow up.

SALLYFʌCɜ: grow up? look who's talking. might i remind you of a verbatim quote by yours truly... "lint licking, cunt flap, cum infested puss bubble of a fucklet"

VIOLETVIOLENCE: i give back what i receive. you can dish but you can't take?

SALLYFʌCɜ: i can take twice as much as i dish.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: i'm so sure that you can. fuck off, sal. quit being an asshat.

SALLYFʌCɜ: so now it's asshat? what happened to llcfcipbf? you're losing your creativity. do better, your fall from grace is disappointing even to me

VIOLETVIOLENCE: fuck you.

SALLYFʌCɜ: i'm sure you want to

He's real fucking cheeky. Excited, if you will. What's gotten into him?

Three days ago, while purposefully and pleasurably butchering Sal's character in Dead By Daylight, if anyone would have told me that the bane of my miserable existence and I would have a personal chat box open— I'd have laughed in your face. I'd have gone full Edgar Allan Poe. You would be in a Speed Bump Grave™️. I'd hear your phantom heart beat under my floor boards.

And now, here I am, simultaneously working through the worst shift of the week and having to bitch at Sally Face Fisher via discord DM's.

I don't know what I've done. Maybe it's just my existence, I'm not sure, but he's targeting me. It's horrifically bad. Every message from him, even if he's in the middle of conversing with one of the other of The Faces, has something about me included. And it is always shitty.

I'm not scared of him, how could I ever be? So I opted (more like I was seconds away from punching his scrotum through my phone screen) to reach out to him personally and nicely ask him to stop... okay so that's obviously a lie but I had to threaten and insult him back. It was the only way I'd feel better.

But now I'm stuck with this loaded last message from him and I have no idea how to continue. Because it's a repeat. A repeat of that fated Discord call that threw my entire existence askew for a week. Or four. Maybe I'm still askew.

His necklace isn't under a shoe in the farthest corner of my room for no reason, after all.

Today was supposed to be simple. Not easy because working at the diner is never easy, but simple. Simple fucking worked. And now I have this conversation with Sally hanging over my head when I was actually looking forward to what's meant to come after I finish my shift.

I brought my mask with me today. My plan is to immediately go back to that mask store after my shift and convince the sweet woman who helped me to sign her work, give me her name, a business card— literally anything so I can tell the world who gave me my start. But now I'm anxious enough to plead not guilty by reason of insanity due to not-so negligent or accidental arson. And on top of that, I'm starting to map out an intricately laid out plan for Sal's Speed Bump Grave™️. Today's ordeals have taken my mind by storm and I'm about to bring everyone down with me in this descent toward madness.

I'm just angry. And bothered. And low key wanting to message Sal back with, "Yea, I am. What are you gonna do about it?" But I must stay strong. I must soldier on. I know the repercussions, I've tasted them for myself— felt them burn my lungs to a crisp. I went through what felt like decades of chain smoking in just mere seconds.

And it's all because of—

A chime rings. A chime that came from my phone. It echoes through the diner's break room, startling me so hard that I nearly leap out of my chair. It's like waking up from a dream where you suddenly start falling.

What was that? What just popped up in my notifications?

Unknown: are you a poe fan, by chance?

My kingdom. My entire kingdom for a chance to start making a Speed Bump Grave™️. For myself? For Sal? For the inexplicable human race? I don't even know anymore.

I thought he'd given up on Lexi. So what the hell is this? Why now? Why today? Why right after he finished— flirting? Baiting?— me.

My mind goes blank. Maybe... maybe he's onto me. Maybe he knows. That I'm Lexi. And now he's finally decided to enact his revenge. On today of all days, when I feel so sick with anxiety and paranoia that I could throw up every square inch of my bowels. My feminine rage is so ragey that I wouldn't be shocked if I sprouted a pair of testicles just so I'd have an excuse for whatever bruised masculinity I'm experiencing right now. Sal must be projecting on me all the way from Nockfell.

Never in my entire life have I felt so hopeless, so cornered. Every time I feel this way, I think it can't possibly get any worse.

And yet.

Me: umm, can't say that i am! don't know much about him.. but how are you, sally!

I don't know what's possessed me. In a normal world, I would have blocked him by now. Or better yet, if I wasn't so disgustingly deplorable and had a damn backbone, I'd have texted him a picture of myself and said "Haha, gotcha bitch!"

The sad truth in this way-too-real life scenario is that I don't have a backbone. And I'm too far gone to go back. I can't revert. There's a part of me that still holds onto my first live interaction with Sal. I just can't get the memory of him— smooth, gentle, kind, and likable— out of my head. No matter how hard I try.

One thing I can be proud of is the amount of petty packed into the fact that I never saved his number in my phone.

Unknown: good. perfect, actually. i brought some poe with me today, a story i think you might like

Some kind of doom-ish feeling washes over me. Like a storm cloud forming above my head. Poison seeping into my pores, infesting my blood. I don't like the way he said that. I don't like it at all. It feels a lot like the time some kid threw up all over me in second grade.

I'll never forget the sickening chill that spread through my body as soon as I realized what happened to me in the middle of educational centers in Nockfell Elementary. This situation feels threateningly similar.

Me: oh cool! so i guess you'll be having a chill reading day? wish it was me :,)

Unknown: not quite. but hey, are you working today?

That storm morphs into a hurricane. And there's twin tornadoes in the background, growing closer and closer to make a torrid, lethal combination. I have to take this in stride. Be smart, y/n. Whatever hell may come, handle it accordingly and do not make mistakes.

Me: ah, no! out of town to visit family :) really, crappy, awkward family get together... yikes...

He'll totally buy that right? I didn't overdo it. It was perfect. Overdoing it would have been an entire paragraph about how much I hate my mom. This is good, this is fine. I'm totally not breaking out into a cold sweat with clammy palms to match.

Oh, God. What if he sent someone to spy on Lexi? What if he hired some murderer off the dark web to take care of me and clean up the mess? I wouldn't put it past him. And this scenario isn't even worst case!

Worst case... I don't even want to think about it. I can't.

Unknown: damn, lex... on the day that i'm finally back in la and you're out of town? :(

Oh, thank God I'm a paranoid chicken shit.

Then again, fuck the fuck off. It's worst case scenario, the thing that I didn't even want to think about. The thing I wouldn't allow to cross my mind.

What do I do. What do I do? I leave work— that's the smartest decision. Naturally, this is the place he once went to and, out of boyish fantasies, he'll probably come back here with some expectation that Lexi will miraculously pop up despite her being in like... Iceland or something, whatever it is I manage to come up with in my next text to him. Which—

Unknown: i'm at the diner rn. was hoping we'd get to hang out this time. when do you get home?

Oh, no.

It's a fucking disaster on top of twenty other disasters. This is what a pregnancy scare must feel like. This must be the equivalent to walking into a room full of snotty, sick toddlers. This is dropping an uncut birthday cake.

I think I'm gonna puke.

I look up from my phone and take in the empty break room surrounding me. The off-white, paint-chipping walls are closing in. I have no escape— this is prison. Trapped in my mind's clawed vices with no way out. Except, my mind's fears have transcended into reality. My worst fear has come true and I had no time to prepare for it. The time is nigh. Ruin is, unfortunately, now.

Think, y/n. It's not so bad. I can just leave through the back door and tell my boss I'm sick again. The door is literally to my left.

But to get back to my apartment, I have to cross in front of the diner that's full of windows. Sal is here, meaning he's paying attention to everything in hopes of finding me... even though I told him I'm not here.I just know he's that kind of romantic, if he even qualifies as such.

He'd spot me in a heartbeat and that can't happen because maybe Vi's mask concealed Lexi who was hidden beneath, but he's about damn near fucked Vi. He knows her body better than she does herself— than I do. Fuck, I have so many different personas I can't even remember that they're all me.

Clusterfuck. That's what this is. A massive clusterfuck, all of my doing.

I'm going to have to bite the bullet. That's my only option. And by bite the bullet, I'm going to fight tooth and nail to keep this bit going. I should just admit the truth, but I'm not humble enough for that, apparently.

My chest begins to ache. It's a slow-to-develop pain that only catches my attention when it hurts a little too much. And then the shallow, short breaths follow. And then the phantom feeling of something lodged in my throat, blocking my airways and filling me with dread.

This is a panic attack, one that is long overdue. One that still can't breach the surface quite yet. I need to make sure I'm home free first— I can weep and be dismayed later. Because the harsh truth is, yes this fucking sucks, but it's not going to kill me. It's just hard for me and my body to truly get a grasp on that.

I swallow down the anxiety that's billowing in my body like linens ominously drying outside a house in the middle of nowhere. I take a couple deep breaths, calming the doubt and fear raging within. My limbs shake a little less, my breathing is better controlled, and my chest doesn't hurt half as much. The pain is still there, but this is bearable. I can do this.

I rifle through my cubby which doesn't give me much to work with. I don't have a change of clothes. I have nothing to hide me, not even a hoodie.

"You... good, y/n?"

I whirl around, hope scraping at the insides of my cranium. Fuck yes. Best lobotomy ever.

I could really cry right now because this is a clear sign that I'm not as alone as I think. Even if it feels like I am, even if my dear coworker Ophelia can't really help me out all that much, she can definitely help me in some way.

I don't have to girl boss everything on my own.

"Lia," I start with, breathless as I practically teleport over to her with the quickness of my panicked steps. "Do you have something I can change into? I can't explain right now but... I would really appreciate your help."

Her big doe eyes take me in curiously, one of her perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question. She bats her long lashes, seemingly processing what I've asked of her before giving me an answer.

"Um, I was planning on going out after my shift tonight? Would a dress work?" She grimaces a bit, probably worried that she won't be able to help me out because Ophelia is just like that.

"That would work fine!" I say excitedly, but think better of it, my hopes crumbling a bit. "But I don't want to take your outfit for the night. I can probably come up with something else."

Lia rolls her eyes lightheartedly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I follow the action, noting her long and sharp blood red nails. I gulp, looking back into her pretty ebony eyes. "Y/n, take what you need. You know Mike can drive me back home to get another outfit! We don't live too far away, and we don't need to be in Anaheim until 9 anyway. Do what you need to do-- you know I'm cheering for you, girl."

I grab onto her hand and hold back the intense admiration infecting my soul. I'm giving Ophelia the most visceral care bear stare I can possibly muster up and she notices, giving me a cute little upside down smile.

"You are an angel," I whisper, "And your future husband is too. Power couple of the heavens, really."

Lia giggles and bends her head down, forcing her pin straight black hair to fall into her face, thus accentuating the really eye-catching red money pieces that match her red nails. I aspire to be this woman. "It's not that serious, Ducks," she says, using my dads nickname for me that she overheard a couple months ago. She thought it was precious, so it stuck. "Let's go get you changed, 'kay?"

Change, I do. But I see where she was concerned about me wearing it too. It's for clubbing, cock-tailing, socializing for sure, but... I can make it work. I've got this. It'll be fine. Thank God I am an avid Doc Martens-wearer. Doc's go with absolutely anything.

Lia has taste too, it's a short, little red dress with spaghetti straps that flares out at the ends. It shows a lot of leg, but not much of anything else. I can't imagine how amazing she must look in this.

"You're super sure that you're okay wearing this?" Lia asks, looking over me. "It looks great on you, I'm inclined to tell you to keep it, honestly."

I scrunch up my face. "No, I'm giving it back to you tomorrow," I laugh gently, using my phone camera to try and get an idea of how I look. I can't see much, which is kind of a blessing because I might hate it and be too afraid to brave LA if I end up not liking it.

"I won't argue with you," Lia sighs, patting my back in a reassuring way. "So do you want to talk about what's going on?"

"Um," I murmur, a shiver running down my spine. I almost forgot why I'm having to do this. It feels like hours have passed, but it's only been five minutes at most. "It's very hard to explain, but I might have to get you or Mike involved, whoever's hosting today." I can't help but grimace as the words leave me, but it's the unfortunate truth that I'll have to talk to one or both of them. I'm ever so slowly hashing out a plan in my head.

Sal is undoubtedly going to ask about Lexi, and what the hell am I supposed to do whenever someone goes, "Lexi? No Lexi has ever worked here." So I have to bite the bullet, again, and stick around to at least inform Mike or Lia about that part of my major, gargantuan fuck up. That also means there's a good chance that Sal will see me, but he'll likely ignore my presence, and then I can slip away quickly.

"Mike is up front and hosting today," Lia says, frowning at me. She's so pretty, like if Marilyn Monroe was alternative. Goth mommy and whatever. No shame on my part.

The chef's booming voice carries into the break room, Lia's name floating along with it. She winces at the sound, flinching in surprise. She gives me a pitiful look, tilting her head almost as if to apologize for having to do her job. Poor little love, she is.

"Will you be able to talk with Mike?" She asks me, heading for the door.

I nod hesitantly. "Yea, I'll get to him. Thank you so much for all your help, Lia. I really appreciate you." I send her my most genuine smile, one that she returns.

"Anytime, y/n! You look beautiful, by the way. Go knock 'em dead, literally or figuratively!"

And she's gone, but she hyped me up in the gentlest way possible. Bless her dark, lovable heart.

I take a breath-- a deep, fortifying, 'ohfuckohfuck' breath that does nothing to calm my soul, but I try to trick myself into believing that it worked... at least somewhat. Then I move over to my work cubby (because we're all still in primary school according to my boss) and grab my old backpack that I bring every day. It's raunchy at best and holding on by a thread. I kept it from my high school days. It's a plain black Jansport with coffee stains on the bottom and questionable white splats that are front and center for everyone to see. I'm pretty sure it's just crusty white paint that I never bothered to peel off, but I won't correct anyone if they guess something else. What's the fun in that, right?

I open the zippers and dig in, working past a random beanie from winter, pads and tampons, and a makeup bag. All the way at the bottom, buried under my other things for protection, is my mask. I put it on then look down at myself one last time.

The flashy red of the dress I'm wearing does not match the deep violet of my mask but not everything can go right, so I'll take my little loss. Things could be worse-- oh wait, they are. Sal Fisher is outside this room. Whoops, forgot things were already devastatingly bad.

I run my fingers over the forehead of my mask, feeling that ache creep into my chest again. I wish things weren't going this way. I wish I was brave enough to go outside and just keep working. Because I'm undoubtedly going to lose my job after today. I'm backing myself into a corner, even risking my finances because of this guy that I'm too scared to face as my real self. I've reached peak pathetic.

My dad must be disappointed to have such an incompetent daughter. No wonder my mother and I don't speak anymore.

I swallow past the uncertainty, the guilt, and the unadulterated fear gnawing at my soul. Then I follow through with my plan by throwing my backpack onto my shoulder and pushing the back door open despite knowing that this is not worth it. It's not worth it at all.

I circle around the outside of the diner, heart rumbling like an earthquake as the putrid scent of garbage wafts into my nose from the dumpster I'm currently passing in front of. The sounds of cars honking, people laughing and chatting idly.

Los Angeles is the people's place. It hosts all necessary components of life, some more than others. Socialization, food. It's a dopamine powerhouse. But when it's me, when I've been living here for over a year and seeing the same things every single day, it's stripped me of all my feel-good chemicals. Especially right now when LA is only bringing me problems and trouble (Sal Fisher).

This doesn't feel real. I can't believe I'm doing this to myself. I can't quite wrap the fact around my head, that I'm about to be in Sal's general vicinity yet again. I thought I had time.

I turn the corner, coming out onto the sidewalk in front of the diner. I don't stop in my stride, eyeing my apartment building that isn't very far from me. A five minute walk. I'm almost home. Almost free. I just have to get inside the diner, unfortunately inform Mike of the tea, and hopefully dodge Sal. So long as I keep my eyes on the host table, I may not even have to see him. I might just be psyching myself out. Everything's going to be just fine!

My heart is in my throat, my limbs jittering nervously as I push the glass door open and look forward, noting the short line of people waiting for seats. Sal isn't one of them, so I assume he's been seated already.

I walk past the people in line, getting a few looks from them. That'd be the mask's fault.

Mike's looking down at his seating chart on the host table, most likely mapping out where someone could go whenever I stop in front of him, placing a hand on the table to discreetly get his attention.

He looks startled for a moment before tilting his head up, brows scrunched together as if to say 'The audacity!' but then he sees me and his eyes widen a bit. And then I'm not sure what his next expression says.

"What the--" he chokes out, "Shit! It's you? Hold on-- wait-- mind-fuck--"

I lift a finger to my lips, eyes wide as I hope he takes the note to shut up. Adrenaline is starting to spike in my veins and if he draws anymore attention to us, especially since my mask is already drawing enough, I'm going to piss myself right here. And sue him for public embarrassment, or whatever that thing is. Public defecation? No, that's public defamation... anyway.

Michael's mouth snaps closed, but he keeps watching me. I watch him. We just watch each other as I forget absolutely everything I had planned.

I swallow, blinking at my friend and coworker. "Mike," I say quietly. He flinches at the sound of his name. "I need you to do something for me and I am sincerely sorry about this but..."

"Yea, Yea, y/n-- um, what should I call you...?" He cuts himself off viciously, slapping a hand over his mouth. At least he cares.

I lean my forearms across the table, settling my weight against the front to relax myself at least a little bit. I'm so tense. I feel eyes on me. I need to get out of here.

"Don't call me that," I say lightheartedly, puffing out a breath. "Just call me Vi. For now." I lick my dry lips. Mike of all people finding out about my identity as VioletViolence is the very least of my worries. "There's a guy in here. He has blue hair, can't miss him. I'm sure you already know who he is. He's looking for a girl named Lexi and he'll probably ask his waiter about her. Just say that Lexi isn't here today, you don't have to answer anything else about her."

"I'm guessing... you're Lexi?" He winces, leaning forward a bit.

"Wow," I say sarcastically. "How did you figure that out?" I send him a little smile then focus on the task at hand yet again. "Anyway, I need you to be his waiter. Please. I'll take your entire shift on Friday. I will do anything." I tilt my head down, peering up at him through my lashes in an attempt to portray how badly I need this.

Mike's brows bunch together again and he mutters, "Yea, of course. Whatever you need. But it's-- he came in with the rest of The Faces. Do you want me to... entertain them too? Do they know about Lexi?"

The world stops turning. Everything pauses, no one's moving anymore and I feel like I'm going to vomit with fear, burst with excitement, and pass out right here from exhaustion. The plan I had is ruined, and I couldn't be more equally devastated and exhilarated about it. Ash is here. Larry's here, Todd too. What the hell is going on?

I blink, the action bringing me back to the present.

"Hey, is that Lia's dress--"

"The Faces are here?" I cut him off, holding a hand out in pause, trying to drill this information into my head. Trying to make it real so I can come up with a new plan.

Michael watches me like I'm stupid, a rueful expression on his boyish face. "Yes. I already said that they're here. Why are you wearing my girlfriend's dress?"

"Because we're fucking on the side and she came all over my work outfit." I watch as he makes his little offended face, and my tongue prods at my cheek as instant regret slaps me in the face. He's trying to help me, I shouldn't be giving him this attitude. "Sorry," I admit. "You know that's not true. I'm just-- I'm on edge."

"That's okay," he says hesitantly. "You know I'm going to get you back for that, anyway."

I pinch my lips together, accepting yet another minor defeat. "Fair." I shrug. "I was going to go back home and leave you to the wolves but... I'd rather risk myself. Ash is my best friend. You won't have to handle them alone now, so yay!" I give him a cheerful grin that I'm really not feeling. I even throw in jazz hands.

Michael runs his tongue over the surface of his teeth, clearly not looking forward to the fiasco I've dragged him into. "Alright," he settles on, sighing as he looks down at his feet while grabbing another menu. "Let's see how you manage to back yourself further into whatever shitty corner you've created. I'm eager."

"I'm sure," I grind out, knocking down all the fear that overtook me on my way here and replacing it with impenetrable, desperate yearning to find my friends. I finally cast my gaze around the diner, quickly zeroing in on the one head of blue hair in this entire building. They're seated at a booth all the way at the back of the restaurant and next to the bar, the one place that's away from most prying eyes. A request of theirs, I'm sure.

But my next question, now that I know everyone's here, what the hell are The Faces doing in Los Angeles? And why wasn't I told?

Ash didn't say a word to me. Do they not want me around? Maybe they don't like me as much as I thought they did. Maybe Ash would rather hang around with other friends than me. And that would make sense because we never see each other, besides Vegas, of course. But just thinking about it makes pain erupt throughout my entire body, a pang in my heart. Especially while watching the back of Ash's head tip down while Larry laughs in front of her. Sal and Larry, I can see them, but Todd and Ash are facing away from me.

Another deep breath.

"I'm going to head over there," I tell Michael, looking over to him again. He's watching me closely, his expression of pity mimicking Lia's from earlier. The sight makes me a little sick.

"Alright," he says gently. "I'm going to be there to take orders soon. I hope everything goes well. Don't be nervous."

I huff out a humorless laugh. "Are you and Ophelia psychic or something? Or is my face just that readable?"

He shrugs, grinning slightly. "I can't see your face, so I guess we're psychic. I'll be in your dreams tonight."

That makes me laugh. It wasn't forced or fake, it was genuine and I need that right now. I think Mike knows that too.

I start taking quick steps over to where The Faces are, nerves slapping at my insides to make me turn around and forget that I ever saw them. I'm attacking myself with my own mind, and my mind is attacking my body in turn. Mental illness is crazy, right? Death by anxiety and whatnot.

But, you know, I'm already here. My job is in purgatory, I'm five steps away from them and Larry has noticed my movement, his head twisting toward me to see who's growing near.

Poor Larry. When he sees me walking toward them, he shakes his head and rubs his eyes like he doesn't believe what he's seeing. He looks at me again, and that's when his eyes start to widen, when his jaw drops. And he doesn't say word, that open mouth just turns into the brightest smile I think I've ever seen.

Seeing his excitement makes my insides flutter about and I feel a little better about actually going over to them. Imagine I get there and they shoo me away? But I can tell that Larry won't. That look on his face screams barely held back hugs.

I gulp, trying to ignore my major cotton mouth. I need water. Or tequila. Something.

I also don't give my brain even a second to psych myself out. When I reach the table, I simply plop myself down beside Ash and act like it's a normal, every day thing for me to do.

All heads turn to me (Larry's never turned away from me to begin with) and then I hear a quiet, uttered, "Fuck" followed by incessant, eardrum bursting squealing in my ear.

Arms. A lot of arms. A ton of squeezing. Lots of kisses all over my mask and face. And all the love makes me think that my sweet Ash had a good reason for not informing me of her visit.

I struggle, but I throw my arms around Ash too, squeezing every little inch of her that I can get. Her sweet, coconut and strawberry scent overwhelms me and I feel so at peace. So calm. Home. Back in Nockfell. Comfortable.

Her hair is in my face and I know she's crying because my bare shoulders are wet, thanks spaghetti strap dress. I don't care though because I'm seeing Ash again much sooner than I imagined I would. I thought it would take us years to have some time together like we did in Las Vegas. And Ash is so emotional, I feel like she's being ripped apart by the sight of me alone-- that's both adrenaline-inducing and terrifying.

This is a nightmare, but a dream come true at the same time. I'm so glad that I was paranoid enough to force myself to tell Mike about the Lexi situation. Things couldn't be any better.

"Ash, fucking let go, man. It's my turn." Larry's voice is right next to me, and then another pair of hands that envelop my waist whole. I'm then yanked out of my best friends arms and spun around to face Larry who hugs me so tight that I have to stand on my tiptoes.

I shut my eyes, grinning as I reach my arms up his back, hugging him the best way I can as he nuzzles his face against my mask. The smell of cigarette smoke and pine trees lingers on his clothes, yet again overwhelming me with familiarity. The smoke is a more recent addition, but he's always had a unique scent to him that's always reminded me of Christmas in a way.

The scruff on his cheeks scratches against my jaw, his skin is warm, his grip tight. I really miss home... and LA is not home. Home is back with all of my friends. I don't want to stay here anymore. I don't want to be where they aren't.

Larry takes a deep breath into my shoulder, likely bathing in my comfort just like I did with him. Then he backs up, holding me at arms length and I look up with tears welling in my eyes no matter how much I wish they weren't there. I hate crying, especially in front of other people, but I'm just so happy. It's like the anxiety I felt while walking over here never existed.

"What the hell are you doing here, Vi!?" Larry exclaims, dragging his hands up my arms to cup my face in his large palms. "I thought you lived in Connecticut?"

I place my hand on top of his, a spark of what I thought was fantastical anxiety rushing through me at the instant fuck up I've just made. Again. Crap. I forgot that Ash told them I live in Connecticut...

"Uh," Ash voices beside us, her tone taking the form of the smartest kid in class who's about to correct a mistake. Todd-coded. "I said she's from Connecticut, not that she still lives there." Good save, Ash. "Word choice is important, Lar! Pay attention!"

Larry's eyes swing between Ash and I before settling on me, stars dancing in his irises. "Wait, so do you live in LA, then?"

I can't help the excited little grin that's slowly climbing onto my face. It's Larry's turn to squeal as he suddenly realizes.

I look back over to Ash, catching Sal's gaze momentarily before I look over at Todd to wave. He waves back at me, a soft and pleased smile on his thin lips.

"So," I say, letting go of Larry whenever he backs away from me. I sit beside Ash again, leaning against her side as she throws an arm around my shoulders. "Why are you guys here?"

Ash hisses, frowning suddenly. I frown back, wary of her reaction. "Crap!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes. "Well, I was going to surprise you and the guys. But I guess you ended up surprising us instead..."

"Oh, so it's not just y/n that we're visiting while we're here? You knew Vi would be here too?" Todd asks, chewing on his bottom lip contemplatively.

Another spark of nervousness. They're here for... fuck, all three sides of me are expected in this situation. This... maybe was not really worth it. I'm erasing all the sides of my corner. Everything's starting to get really small and very tight.

Ash side-eyes me, a discreet little look before she answers Todd. "Yea, but I'm not quite sure where she is in LA. I'm going to have to call her later to get some updates on her whereabouts."

"I could just call her now. I'm super excited to see her, I'm sure she'd love to meet Vi too-- oh, and to tell her why we're here!" Larry says, excitement making him shimmy around in his seat as he pulls out his phone.

My body reacts instantly, tensing up like a cat in shock. Ash jumps too, nearly leaping over the table to stop Larry. "No! She's working!" She yells. It's so loud that you'd think she's trying to flip Larry's phone away from him with sound waves alone. True Stranger Things style.

"Oh...kay..." Larry trails off, pulling his phone closer to him so that Ash can't reach. "It's not that serious. I'll call her later, then. What's your deal?"

I swallow. Her reaction was really too much, but at least she's trying to cover for me. I would've sat there and let Larry call while my phone went off in my pocket.

Ash clears her throat, sitting back now that she threw the scenario into the trash. It was rocky, but her deflection was successful. "I know, just don't bother my girl while she's making money," she says matter-of-factly, holding her head high.

I note the way Sal shakes his head across the table. I haven't acknowledged his presence, nor has he acknowledged mine. It's awkward for the most part, but I think that awkwardness is only stemming from me. He seems to be perfectly in control with his short sleeved, black Iron Maiden shirt that shows off his tatted arms. I guess the LA summer heat was too much for him to wear a hoodie for once.

His electric eyes meet mine, no emotion in the endless depths of his irises. Like he couldn't care less that I'm here, which sounds a lot like him. And still, I fidget in my seat under his gaze. Can't help myself.

The edges of his dagger tattoo peek out from behind his hair, the shape of his Adam's apple clear due to the sun shining in through the window, casting shadows in all the right places. Necklaces are around his neck, some kind of silver chain and and old, really intricate cross necklace hanging right below it. And then his hand comes into view, the one that folded into a fist as a result of my touch just weeks ago in this exact restaurant.

There's something different though as he moves to grab onto the drink in front of him, dragging it closer.

The bottom of his prosthetic lifts as he sips from his straw, but that's when I notice what's different. It's a new tattoo-- Saniderm wrapped around his hand. It looks like... a skeleton hand tattooed onto his own. It's pretty sick and I'm so tired of him having great taste in art. Damn. Now I have a terrible excuse to stare at him some more when I shouldn't look anywhere near him at all.

On the other hand, have I ever mentioned how much of a blessing Michael is?

"Hi, everyone," his cheerful voice effectively distracts me from ogling Sal. I look over to my friend, noting his pink cheeks. Huh. "I'll be taking over as your waiter tonight. Your waitress had to leave," he glances at me as if to tell me that I made a good call by stepping out when I did. That's exactly the moment I realize that we're sitting in my section of the diner. Talk about a close call.

Okay, I should get the hard part over for him right? To thank him. I've got this. "Oh, hey, Mike!" I say, "Long time no see."

Poor Mike looks at me like a deer caught in headlights. "Hey... Vi..." he says quietly. Oh, Michael, please don't crap out on me now... I'm going to have to buy this man a cake for carrying me like this.

I smile at him awkwardly, trying to bypass this horrible excuse of an excuse that he and I are about to do horrible improv for. "So, how's Lexi?" I don't dare look a Sal whenever I say the name, but I do feel a shift in the energy at the table. "It's been weeks since I last saw you guys."

"Lexi doesn't work here anymore," Michael spits out nervously, sweat beginning to build on his forehead. Oh no, don't fucking fumble the bag, Mike!

I give him a look. One that has so many emotions and so many questions, but I just force out a simple, "What?" because what else do I say to that? Things are already beginning to go terribly. But it's okay. I'm a pathological liar at this point, and a catfisher? Maybe? Ha... Cat-FISHER.

I'm going to have a panic attack.

Michael pinches his lips together, red-faced as he glances at Sal. I turn my gaze to Sal too, noticing the way he's eyeing Mike like a hawk.

"Lexi is my girlfriend and she doesn't work here anymore." Michael says, his tone brave and assertive, but his facial expression says an entirely different thing.

Great heavens. Okay, so he's radically screwing everything up but that's okay— I'm a flexible person. He's... doing his best. I can work with this. I hope.

I have this image of him and I duking it out in my head. I have him by the collar, shaking him around like a ragdoll while I scream in his face that he's fucking up the plan. And in my mind he's just taking it because he's playing pure sub right now. I'm not even this submissive-- Michael is straight up breaking the BDSM spectrum.

I shove down my nerves and tilt my head at him. "Okay," I start with, slowly, feeling out what little room I have to work with. "I already knew she was your girlfriend," I say, raising my eyebrows even though he can't see. Saying this feels less incriminating for some reason. But I notice Sal snap his head down to the table. I almost feel bad. "But why doesn't she work here anymore?"

Michael looks off to the side, tapping his fingers against the menus in his arms. "Um, she's... she is..." I narrow my eyes at him. He's not even answering the question. I try to communicate with him through eye contact, bellowing at him to not. Fumble. The. Bag.

He gapes at me like a fish, our intense eye contact freaking him out even more. I sigh to myself. He fumbled whatever bag I'm going on about before he even got to our table.

He finally finds his voice after a second and says, "Lexi is working. At a... sperm... bank."

It takes every little inch of my being not to burst into tears. Holy hell. If anything I'm glad he fucked this up because the sperm bank excuse is hilarious no matter how you look at it. Even better is that it's so ridiculous and random that it's going to distract the entire table from the way he's royally screwing up this conversation.

Ash snorts beside me. Larry chokes on his coke. Todd is silent and so is Sal. Maybe the sperm bank thing will officially scare Sal away from Lexi. Yea-- this could work.

"That's a unique job," I struggle to push out, my voice wavering despite trying to forget what Mike just said. But it's hovering in my mind, like old memes from Vine that still make me cackle to this day. I really wish someone would have caught this entire interaction on video.

Michael glances to Sal again. And that's when I turn to find that the bluenette is glaring at my coworker with his arms crossed over his chest, a dangerous glint in his pretty eyes. Wow. That's a scary look, one that he hasn't even pulled out on me yet.

Mike is gaping again, trying to get words to, you know, word. I try to help him by saying, "I hope she likes it there! That's a big deal." But the words don't register in his mind. I can tell by the look of terror on his face, his gaze still glued to Sally.

My friend takes another second to gather himself, and right as a syllable leaves his lips-- one that he used his one working brain cell to come up with-- Sal interrupts him. He took perfect advantage of Mike's vulnerability.

"I'm not sorry for flirting with your girlfriend."

My eyes squeeze shut as butterflies slap at the lining of my intestines. This is ridiculous and I shouldn't feel flattered. I tilt my head down for a moment, trying to gather my wits. I figured out everything for Michael and I, but I didn't take Sal's response into account. I didn't think he'd have a response to begin with. I never would have thought he'd come up with this either.

"We'll, um," I say hoarsely, clearing my throat to regain my voice, but my heart is flitting about with excitement. I wish Sal never would have spoken. I look up at Mike, sending him a dismissive smile. "We'll order in a little bit. I'm still not sure about what I want. Thanks, Mike."

I've never seen someone scurry away so quickly before in my life.

"Is Lexi the chick you were trying to see over here?" Larry asks as soon as Michael's gone. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, watching as Sal glares at his step-brother. Yikes...

"I'm gonna head to the bathroom," I say, scooting out of the booth before anyone can stop me. I need to not be here right now. Ash is quick to stand up behind me, grabbing onto my hand. I turn, fearful that she's going to stop me, but she just smiles and juts her head forward, signaling me to keep walking.

I hope she doesn't ask me about Lexi. You couldn't even beat this information out of my dead body.

Ash and I take a singular step toward the bathroom, only to get stopped by my least favorite customer. I just want to die at this point. The stress is not worth anything. Not at all.

I've said before that many of the men that come into the diner are assholes of the patriarchy, the ones that tell me to stop talking and make them a sandwich, or comment about women's bodies. The shit that ticks me off beyond belief.

This man in particular smells like mildew and three years of straight sleep and bad breath. He's also not a looker, mind you. And then he's an asshole on top of it? I hate when my boss sends me to his table.

Even worse is watching him eye me after calling out to Ash and I with the words, "How much do you charge?"

My eyes narrow and the boys go quiet behind us. We're close enough for them to hear, especially for Ophelia to hear behind the bar.

She glances up at me, cleaning a glass and frowning.

I look back at the man. I never bothered remembering his name. "Excuse me, sir?" I ask, confused. I don't want to converse with this dickface.

"You're dressed like a whore so you gotta be selling yourself right?" he continues, a humorless chuckle following the grubby words.

I open my mouth then snap it shut, heat taking over my body. I'm embarrassed, really insecure about myself now, and pissed off. He thinks he can just say shit like this to anyone? What a pathetic joke.

Usually I can't do anything about this man since I'm the one serving him, but he doesn't know who I am and I'm not working at the moment. I can reign whatever hell that I want.

But I'm also exceptionally tired. Tired of this horrible job and little pay. Tired of holding up some persona that's already beginning to crash around me. Just tired.

"I'd rather look like a supposed whore than look like I just stepped out of the dumpster, sir. Have a day," I say dismissively. I don't have time for him and I've said my piece. If I go on any further, I'll get kicked out anyway and I've already given my coworkers enough trouble today.

'Have a day' is my favorite thing to say to customers who piss me off because they don't know if I forgot the 'good' or purposefully left it out. It's ominous and vaguely threatening.

Ash and I go to the bathroom and we don't stay there long. Neither of us talk. She just waits for me, like she knew I needed space but that I also needed her companionship. Just a moment away from the mess. Silence. Which is so much more than appreciated, I can't even begin to explain how much I adore my best friend.

She watches me wash my hands through the mirror, her arms crossed over her chest and a content smile on her lips. As we start to walk out, she says, "I'm not sure how long you'll be able to keep up the lie about y/n." and she's right. I'm going to face a dead end soon here. "You're obligated to have a sleepover with me tonight so we can come up with a plan, and so you can answer some major questions I have about you right now. My spidey senses are tingling super hard."

Her hand rubs my back and I nod, smiling thankfully at her. Of course she has questions. My entire presence here is questionable right now.

We resurface next to the bar, but looking up at where our booth is shows that it's empty. I'm about to voice my confusion to Ash, but then I notice Lia running around the bar to get to us.

My eyebrows scrunch together as my coworker stops in front of me, eyes on Ash before they focus on me. She mulls over her thoughts for a moment, gaping just like her boyfriend does. Did the boys do something bad?

"We had to... We kicked Sally Face out," is what she says, shocking both me and Ash.

"What?" Ash asks, startled. "What happened?"

Ophelia blinks at Ash, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "He, uh, he walked up to that... that guy at the bar. Kicked his stool out from underneath him. Then he asked me for a drink. Malibu and pineapple."

Ash sighs and I blink at Lia. I don't even know what to think. Did Sal do that for me? And to ask for my favorite drink on top of that...

No. It's impossible. There's no way he would. He just did it for the sake of feminism. That feminism that is nonexistent when it comes to me. Yea, he definitely didn't do that to avenge me. And he was probably just in the mood for alcohol and pineapple juice right? He could never remember the one drink I ever brought up around him. There's no way.

"Sal doesn't even drink all that much," Ash hisses. "What the hell is he doing?" She bites down on her thumb nail, free hand on her hip.

I swallow down all the emotions building up in me. There are so many that I don't even know how to distinguish a single one right now. This is too much. This entire day is too much.

"Okay," I whisper to myself. "Thanks, Lia," I say gratefully. "And thank Mike for me, too, please. I'm going to get everyone out of here before-- yea." I nod to myself, but it isn't very reassuring.

Lia grabs my hand. "We didn't call the police because that asshole had it coming, but someone else might have. It's better to go now."

I nod again, taking yet another deep breath before guiding Ash to the front doors of the diner. The boys are standing right outside, no doubt waiting for Ash and I.

I feel very similar to the way I did when Sal ended our shit-uationship. I'm so confused and so hopeless, but hopeful. So pained, but relieved. I don't know how to handle the way I feel. I can't work myself out of this awful situation now because he's here. He's here and his hair is billowing softly in the wind, showing off his tattooed neck. And a cigarette is between his index and middle finger as he looks out at the jam-packed street. And then his boot is stomping out the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

The nail in the coffin is when he bends over to pick up the cigarette butt and throw it into the trashcan right outside the diner. He would be perfect if he wasn't such an emotionless prick.

I want to cry. I want to feel him again. I want to shoot him with a paintball gun one more time. I want to run my fingers over all his tattoos. I want him to shiver in fear and pleasure because of me. I hate him so much that it's become obsessive.

I lick my lips as I come to a top in front of my friends, more notably, right in front of Sal.

He turns away from the trashcan behind him, his shoulder-length hair following his movements. When he notices me, he stops and stares disinterestedly. The action is so forced though that it feels like it's hiding something else. Like he doesn't want me to know what he just did in the diner.

I watch him. My eye contact is a threat, a warning, a question, begging. Everything, I try to show him through my gaze.

And then I nod at him subtly despite myself. Even if it wasn't for me, he put that guy in his place and I think that's something to appreciate. But at the end of the day, he still left me upset and he's an asshole so I can't find it in myself to physically tell him thank you. The nod will do.

I turn my attention to the rest of The Faces. "I can make brunch in my apartment if that works with y'all?"

And that's how I've made another mistake today. That's why The Faces are walking down the streets of Los Angeles, my apartment just two buildings away.

There's so much wrong with this decision I've made. I should have never invited them over. What if dad is home? He shouldn't be-- but still. There's so much that could go wrong.

But the walk is going disturbingly well. Ash and Larry ooh and ahh at the streets of Los Angeles— which are normal to me. But I understand the charm too. I was very fond of LA when I first came here.

We walk into my apartment building, everyone speaking a little quieter as we traipse through Lobby. I don't speak, I just listen. And I take it that Todd and Sal are doing the same.

My apartment building is nothing special. It's boring, it's the lowest end of mainstream you can get. It's like a 90's apartment in Manhattan, but make it modern and LA. To put it short, it's the cheapest Dad and I could find here.

Having The Faces step into my territory feels like a time bomb ticking down the last few seconds. It's scary, and it puts me in a vulnerable position. I don't have much of a choice— I'm the one who thought of this idea. And I feel like I owe it to my friends to make them something to eat after they got kicked out of the diner. Not that it was my fault, but it was my customer's fault. I feel guilty for some unreasonable reason.

There's always risk though, and I run through my list of said risks as we take the elevator to my apartment. Being in someone's living space is daring, considering that family stuff is all around. Photos on the wall, artwork with family name's on them, doctor appointments and reminders on the refrigerator. Everything is risky, risky, risky.

Lucky for me, dad and I still haven't quite settled in yet. It's been a year, but we're also both constantly moving around. Dad is in hotels for weeks on end and I work most days. We unloaded and fixed our necessities, but other than that, our walls are bare and nothing of note is on our refrigerator. I should be fine.

We finally empty out into the hallway that leads to my apartment and I have to swallow down the anxiety rushing through me. Nothing has gone wrong and I can only hope that the last leg of this walk will go well for me. I just want one thing to go right today, just one. That's all I'm asking.

I get to my door, I shakily slide my key into the lock, and I open it and let all my friends in, watching their eyes bounce around the living room. I nearly slam the door shut once everyone is safe and inside.

I got my wish. Thank you to whoever granted me a little bit of peace on this unfortunate day.

"You need to get a new carpet."

It's the second time I've heard him speak today. The raspy, monotonous, alto tone of his makes me pause. He wasn't insulting, the way he said that was just commentary. But his voice alone feels like a declaration of war and all the panic and fear I've been enduring for the past— what? Half hour?— is replaced with some kind of desirous agony. Like I've been waiting for him to just... just speak.

"You have a problem with everything, don't you?" I respond, my voice biting into the stale air of my living room. I should've simply asked why he felt that way, but I have reasons. For example, the shit I've put up with today has me on edge. Another reason is Sal bombarding me on all ends without him even realizing it, then being so tense with all these horrible decisions I'm making. I'm really itching for a fight right now and I know I can get it from him. I can practically feel my eyes dilating with the excitement that's ransacking my body at the mere prospect of an argument.

Sal's head turns over his shoulders, body somewhat rigid. One hand in his pocket, the other with the fresh tattoo resting at his side. His eyes are narrowed, scrutinizing me and no doubt wondering who the hell I think I am.

"There's a giant fucking stain on your black carpet," he snaps, gesturing his tatted hand at the light green splatter that dad fussed me for weeks ago. That time I was watching The Faces' Youtube video and spilled my damn mint chocolate chip ice cream. When this entire thing between Sal and I was started. Because he had to go and judge me without getting to know me first. "Be happy I even mentioned it," he mutters, tone clipped.

"You think I didn't notice?" I laugh humorlessly. I wasn't lying when I said he has a problem with everything. Seriously— he just stepped foot into my home and has something negative to say about it. "And why don't you guess who's fault it is that the carpet is stained, huh?" The words rush past my lips, all hardly held back fury and expectation for the worst.

Sal tilts his head in a way that begs me to try him again, then turns his entire body to me. He shuts his eyes and holds up a hand, pausing before saying, "It surely isn't my fault if that's what you're implying." He even adds a snort at the end.

"Actually," I say cheerily, chin up and head high because it's quite literally all his fault that I dropped my ice cream whenever I heard him talking about me all those weeks ago. "Yea it is. I was sitting right there," I point to the edge of the sofa nearest the stained part of the carpet. "While listening—"

I feel like I've been punched in the stomach, and I did it to myself. Again.

How could I be so stupid? Here I am, openly and happily about to expose my true identity just to make a point. Just to be right. To win. To gain some catharsis from a meaningless argument.

I snap my mouth shut, swallowing over the relentless pounding of my heart. I blink at Sal who's waiting expectantly for me to finish what I was saying. What do I say? How do I save myself?

My palms sweat, my legs quake. Oh, this is so bad. Is this my real downfall? Is this where I break? It's going to happen. I'm going to pass out or have a psychotic break. Maybe I'm going insane— maybe I've been clinically insane for weeks now. At least I could plead not guilty at my murder trial. I've had a lot of murder on my mind today, haven't I?

But there's a knock at the door and bless the heart of whoever is about to punch my door hinges off. Any other situation and I'd be losing my mind over someone knocking so hard, but my savior is behind this hunk of wood.

I let out a shaky breath and tilt my head downwards, pretending like I'm too fed up to continue my argument. It's perfect. The best excuse.

But Sal's eyes burn into me, the scrutinizing, heavy blue trapping me in my own guilt. A narrow waterway hidden behind the confines of his prosthetic, haunting me day and apparently at night too. I find myself stuck, my gaze piercing his and waiting for something that will never come. I don't even know what that something is.

"Never mind," I grunt, spinning on my heels and taking a singular step toward my door.

I twist the knob, relieved by the silence behind me. No one cares enough to ask what that was about. I escaped... somehow.

And then I swing the door open, gaze up at the last person I expected to see, hear a resounding and excited, "Bitch!" and intellectually (smartest decision I've ever made) slam the door back in their face.

Oh no. Oh no, oh fuck.

I forgot.

____________

A/N:::::: 50K is such a dream come true and i really wish i could find more words to explain how excited and whole i feel. when i first started writing at 13, i was also reading on wattpad and fanfiction.com. I saw all these writers getting so many views and comments about their works, and i wondered if that would be me some day. i worked hard for the first couple years of my writing career and my only reader was my lovely sister (thank you amititty) and i realized that i needed to do something different. i started practicing more, and then i got into fanfiction rather than just fiction. and that's when something changed. i'll never forget the day when maybe today got 1k views-- i cried and wept like a baby for HOURS because it meant the entire world to me. little 18 year old ryver had no fucking clue that we'd get this far. that 1k on my trial book would turn into 50k on the next. i'm in tears typing this right now, in disbelief. every single one of you are my reason for writing, for brainstorming, for getting through my day... i consider you guys in everything i do. all the love in this world-- every ounce of affection, of adoration, of admiration-- does not compare to how special all of you are to me. you are all so dear to me, my friends and penpals that keep me going and remind me that the world isn't all bad, that not everyone is bad. so thank you for following me down this road and i hope we can continue like this. i wish we could all stay this way forever! but maybe, just maybe, i'll get to sign published copies of my books for you guys someday. get to follow through on my dream to hug all of you. there's never a way to tell what the future holds, but i believe it's pretty bright. thank you. i love you all with all the working neurons in my brain and numerous blood cells in my body <333

so about this chapter-- i have been looking forward to it since the very first chapter of this story. a lot of things have changed since then, including the chapter, but i still think the contents are a nice surprise and fucking HILARIOUS >.< i just hope you guys like it too! it was kind of hard to get out because i had all these ideas and images and feelings that i desperately needed to portray perfectly, but some things are just unable to be captured by words. my goal was to get as much as i was feeling onto paper (or computer?), so i hope you guys feel all the fear, desperation, and admiration going on! i deleted, retyped, and deleted again so many scenes and parts of this. and jesus christ this is an exceptionally long author's note MY BAD

anyway, as always, you guys own my heart and i love you to infinity and beyond!! i'll link pictures of y/n's red dress and sal's tattoo below <3

p.s. i have an announcement coming soon! nothing big, but i am trying something new so stay turned :3

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation: Brownie Boy [18]

I've never really been much of a skeptic. If it has a name and a meaning, I think there's always a possibility for it to be real.

Take dreams, for example. In my mind, they always have some kind of connection to the waking world and to the psyche. Your mind knows your greatest fears and your crutches— if you lose teeth in a dream, you feel like you have a loss of control. If you search up something on Google for an answer while in a dream, you lack at decision-making.

There's meaning in everything we do. And our minds, while belonging to us, have an entire personality of their own. Once our conscious shuts off, our brain makes its own decisions. We are but a shell for our mind to manipulate. And this is why we see what we fear most in our dreams— what we love most, what we value most, what we appreciate. Our dreams are what we want and despise most on this earth.

So tell me why the fuck Sal has been in my dreams for the past week.

It's despicable. It aggravates me to no end. Every dream is some rendition of his sky blue eyes glaring into mine. Discreet touches-- his fingers brushing the back of my thighs, his hair on my neck, his leg pressed against mine.

"Y/n, there's three customers up front waiting for a table."

Michael's voice beside me is suddenly followed by his hand clapping onto my shoulder. I flinch in surprise, turning away from the chef with my hands full and my anxiety maxed out.

"I'm not hosting right now," I say frantically, glancing between my fellow coworker and the chef. A lot of the work that I don't normally get has been dropped on me the past few days and I really haven't been appreciative of it. I say that sarcastically, of course. And I don't blame Michael-- he isn't at fault, he's just delivering orders to me that are coming from the boss.

But as of current, I'm sweating from rushing around for lunch, and that's also mixed in with how nervous I am. I can't even take a single breath without someone telling me I have something else to do.

And the reasoning behind this? According to my boss it's, "because you were out so long, you have to make up for the work you missed out on."

An empty wallet has never looked so appetizing before.

"Here's a proposition," Mike says, leaning against the counter beside me. The chef is done with our shit. Usually if we talk to him, he stays silent anyway. "You grab those fellas up front to make our boss happy and I'll take a few of your tables. Sound good?"

I look up at Michael with the best puppy dog eyes I can possible muster up. "Please," I whisper, cracking my knuckles and bunching up the fabric of my apron in my hands.

Michael grins and pushes off the counter, stretching his arms. "Sure thing. You might want to get up there before Mr. Krabs comes stomping out of his glory hole, though."

That makes me perk up a bit. A hand slaps over my mouth to contain my internal giggles just as Mike shoots me a wink and walks off to one of my tables, likely to inform them that he'll be their server.

It's bad and I'd certainly rather be anywhere but here, but I can make do for now, especially if it means repaying Michael for all his help. So I ignore the anxiety (said anxiety is so anxious that we're both trembling) and I walk over to the front of the restaurant to sit some hungry customers.

Thankfully, most of the rest of my short-ish shift slowed down a bit after lunchtime. Upon finally reaching my apartment at about two in the afternoon, I quite literally launched myself into bed and... consequently, I wished I was working again.

For the past two hours, I've sat here staring at my ceiling and reminiscing on my recent past. Thinking about the opportunities I took and missed. Remembering all the fun I had, just wishing I was back with my friends in Las Vegas. It's been a little over a week and June is finally here, but it still feels like I was sleeping in with my best friend just last night.

Thinking about what I've lost and gained within the past month or so is both depressing and incriminating. The sheer amount of down-bad that overran my body is impressive, but wasn't worth it. Never was worth it.

I've slain myself with the sword I wielded. And it was only a matter of time— I knew the consequences, yet I still went along with it. It's not that I'm sad or whatever, I'm merely disappointed in myself for getting involved with someone so heartless and vile.

I feel like I've betrayed myself. I was nothing but a speck and I knew that, but I still allowed myself to be used. That's what everyone would say, and it's what I'm starting to feel. Is that all I am? Is this all I ever will be to someone? Just a body with no mind. Something to be used and defiled over and over again.

By far, the worst pile drive of grief came from having to see photo after photo of Sal and I together on every social media site in existence. It was painful in an unfamiliar way-- a way that I don't quite understand. It was all photos of photos, photos I didn't even realize existed, or the two of us with fans. I clearly remember liking the pictures that Lexi and Kennedy posted. Oh, and apparently the handsome emo knight's name is Timothy. But even the nice memories of my time in Las Vegas doesn't feel as comforting as it once did.

Everything I experienced with my friends is slowly being altered every second that I'm alive. The way I lived in Vegas will never be exactly the same as I remember it now. Being aware of psychological changes is damning. It's depressing. I will never experience anything, or those memories, the same way I did at the time I was really there.

Fuck you, Freud.

My ceiling spins above me, a kaleidoscope of misery and darkness that I haven't suffered through since before being diagnosed with depression. I'm not even quite sure what it is that I'm so down about-- missing Las Vegas, feeling far from my friends, or Sal's asshole persona. It's something, but I feel sick being so torn up over something that's perceived as trivial by everyone else.

Why do I have to care so much? No one else is like this. So why me?

I pinch my lips together, finishing my recount of the tiles on my ceiling. There are 133 whole tiles. 24 half tiles. Add them together and there are 157 total, but it feels weird to bunch those two shapes together when they're clearly different.

I feel like I'm going insane.

Before I can think harder about how frustrated I am with myself, I force myself to sit up then sling myself out of bed. My heels smack into the floor beneath me, cushioned by grey carpet. It's saved my soles, but it can't buffer the deep grief in my heart. A grief that has no explanation or source.

This afternoon will be the first time I play online with The Faces since before Vegas. The first time I see my friends in a week. The first time I face Sal since briefly making eye contact with him the morning I left Nevada (he didn't even bother to come to the airport with the rest of us). And most importantly, the very first time I show my face while streaming-- and of course, when I say my face, I mean my mask. But I haven't shown myself at all. Anything that anyone has ever seen of me has been from pictures shared on social media.

For once, I'm not terrified by the prospect. I'm more worried about having to face Sally Face and more than eager to talk with Ash again. I really, really miss her.

I'm bundled up in my trusty Twenty One Pilots sweatpants (that are still falling apart), Ash's merch hoodie, and slip on the brand new pair of Kuromi slippers that my dad had waiting for me when I got home. If I'm going to endure the hell-spawn that is Sal Fisher, I might as well be comfortable.

A sigh slips past my lips as I drag my feet over to my PC and turn it on, slumping into my chair. I grab my mask that's been sitting on my desk, untouched for days, and fix it onto my face.

My computer whirrs to life as I stare blankly ahead, slipping into a hypnotic state. Dissociating. Wishing this life was anyone else's but mine.

I blink past my own distracting mental state after mere seconds of waiting for things to get moving. I log onto Discord, clicking into The Faces' server and catching up on all the messages I missed.

The first thing I notice is that Ash, the owner of the server, has apparently discovered that she can change everyone's names. Which, honestly, is news to me. It's apparently causing an uproar in-chat.

Two Face: haha. funny ash. hilarious. very original.

Subtract Thine Father: wut did u expect from Ash??? unicorn cum nd fairy shit???? Subtract Thine Father: omfg mine is rad

He Who Pegs: Much like the joke you made in Vegas, right, Sal? He Who Pegs: My username is correct. I am a pegger.

I'm scared to find out what my new name is. These are personal attacks on absolutely every single member of this chat.

With quaking hands, I type out a quick message and hesitate before pressing send. I'm terrified of what Ash has managed to come up with. But it's whatever, surely it couldn't get worse than Two Face, right?

Closet Dweller: these are horrendously accurate names... i'm a little scared...

My stomach flies out of my ass when I see my name. Good God, I'm not sure how Ash managed to come up with that one but... it's not too far off the marker. I'll give her props.

Closet Dweller: dear god.

Subtract Thine Father: LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO VI

He Who Pegs: Do I smell a fellow homosexual?

Closet Dweller: i will neither confirm nor deny. maybe i'm just locked in my mother's closet or something, ever think of that?

He Who Pegs: Like an Oedipus Complex?

Closet Dweller: NO TODD!!! NO!!!!!!!

It's impressive how simple socialization has managed to cheer me up a bit. I know Todd is really into psychology like I am, so I'm not surprised that he threw something like that in, but I am shocked that he hit me with a joke that heavy.

He Who Pegs: Laughing my ass off.

Subtract Thine Father: srsly todd, just abbreviate it i'm guna die of erection Subtract Thine Father: embarasment**

He Who Pegs: That was an epic fail and epic foreshadowing. Bravo, Larry. Quite the Freudian slip.

I shake my head at my two friends, tears brimming my eyes as I try to contain the fit of laughter that so desperately wants to be released.

Closet Dweller: what's ash's name?

Kween Pussy Popper: Hi :3

I have to shut my eyes and look away from the screen. Her name is funny enough, but her little emote and the casual entrance just makes this entire thing ten times funnier.

My hand slaps over my mouth and I shake my head, tapping my fingers against my desk. I'm so going to get in trouble with these people.

I'm going to cough up a lung or something later, but it'll be worth it, so I look up at my computer again.

Subtract Thine Father: waddup pussy kween Subtract Thine Father: can u share sum bc i am lacking. Subtract Thine Father: u kno how the grinch's heart grows 4 xmas? well my dick shrinks the longer i go wo a snazzy lady Subtract Thine Father: save a horse ride a cowboy, as they say Subtract Thine Father: i am the cowboy. where r my bitches??????? lonesome. desperate. choking. dying.

The chat goes quiet momentarily so I smile and scoot away from my desk. The objective was to roll across the floor-- no, glide-- and look like some kind of fairy in slo-mo, but I forgot that I have carpeted flooring. So my chair rolls for not even a second before coming to an abrupt stop. Pathetic and not so glorious.

My smile slips off my face as I push myself off the chair and walk across the rest of my room to my bedroom door. Lame. 

Getting to talk with everyone has really upped my spirits in a way I didn't expect. It's really odd how the little things just so happen to matter so much when even big things don't seem to matter as much anymore. Even I don't feel like I matter much anymore, but Larry, Ash, and Todd somehow manage to remind me that they care in their own little ways. Whether it's through goofy conversations that don't even include me or silly nicknames, they're the sole reason for my overflowing dopamine.

My feet pad through the hallway and into the kitchen where I get my hands on the #1 best struggle meal that America has to offer.

Microwaveable ramen. Beef, specifically.

The funniest thing about microwaveable ramen is that hardly anyone makes it the right way. And if you do make it the right way, great job! You have an extra brain cell. The rest of us heathens, on the other hand, put the little styrofoam cup in the radiation incubation tank anyway and call it a day. Warnings be damned. 

So I walk back to my room with my little cup of ramen, styrofoam nice and warm, fresh out the microwave for all my haters, and I plop back into my desk chair with chopsticks at the ready.

But my eyebrows furrow when I place my headset back on and catch up on the Discord conversation I'd walked away from.

Kween Pussy Popper: Can we get on a call now? I miss Vi and starting early is my excuse to talk to her now :(  Kween Pussy Popper: OMGGG!!! It's also a really big day bc Vi is going to be on camera for once!!! eeeee >.<

Subtract Thine Father: ya getin on now >:)

I scroll down on all our channels to find all four members of The Faces in Ash's VC. I'm late to the party. Now, the issue with this is... I'm stuck. My cursor hovers over the voice channel, but I just can't find it in myself to actually click on the thing. My finger lightly sits on top of the mouse, ready to press down but I can't. My heart physically jumps into my throat, choking me with emotion and grief and unadulterated fear that has absolutely no fucking business hanging around in my body like this.

Truth be told, I knew I'd get tired of my fear sooner or later. I'd get so tired that I'd just grab my issue by the balls and disrespect it doggy style. And I'm close-- so close to finally following through with this aggressive exhaustion. But I need one more excuse to tip me over the metaphorical edge. 

My chopsticks dip into my steaming ramen and pick up brothy goodness in noodle form. I slurp up the last bit of dignity I need to be restored and finally click on the option that launches me into the chat before I can stop myself again.

Only, when I do this, I'm staring at all four other members of our server... but also myself. Noodles hanging out of my mouth, broth drip-dropping onto my desk because I'm a messy eater. Dignity not restored, but even more lost in exchange. 

I love life so much. Note the sarcasm.

Larry grins while everyone else kind of watches me, stuck like a deer in headlights and unable to just eat my food like a normal human being. "Gobble, gobble, Closet Dweller," are Larry's first four physically spoken words to me since I hugged him goodbye in the Las Vegas airport about a week ago.

A small smile tugs at my own lips as I quickly suck the rest of my way too big bite of noodles into my mouth and, well, gobble as Larry suggested.

"Closet Dweller was targeted. I'm only a little offended, but I think that name would be better suited for Todd, right?" I ask, eyes glancing between Ash, Larry, and Todd on the screen while purposefully avoiding a no doubt brooding Sal. I refuse to look at him.

Ash's nose scrunches up in disagreement, her melodic voice flowing through my headphones to follow the action. "Todd is out of the closet. You, on the other hand, are still playing hide and seek behind your mom's pajamas like you're looking for a passage to Narnia. Plus, Todd is a renowned pegger."

Todd nods, pinching his lips together. I wait for him to laugh and say 'Jay kay' or something, you know, odd like he is, but he doesn't. And even freakier is that no one seems alarmed.

"He also has a shirt that says 'I got pegged at Cracker Barrel' so no one is more worthy of that nickname than him. King Arthur ain't got shit on my guy," Ash chirps proudly, tilting her chin up with a little smirk on her lips. Her cat ear headphones glow a bright green, reflecting the joy and pride she feels regarding the nickname she came up with.

My eyebrows pinch together beneath my mask and my attention turns to Todd. "You have a shirt that says 'I got pegged at Cracker Barrel?'"

Todd gives me the sweetest little upside down smile and quickly rises from his seat, showing off the back wall of his room that is... plain as fuck, to be quite honest. But that's okay because Todd is organized, so it's only fair that his walls are organized as well. 

Todd reappears just two seconds later, holding up a long-sleeved, mustard yellow shirt that says exactly what he and Ash claimed it would.

I break into a face-splitting grin. "That's sick," I voice, moving closer to my computer to get a better look at the shirt. I didn't lie either. I'd assassinate some really important government leaders to get my hands on that.

"See! You're such a closet hermit!" Ash exclaims, pointing a finger at me with wide eyes and an open-mouthed smile.

"Since when?" I counter, crossing my arms over my chest good-naturedly. This is all in fun, Ash knows damn well I wouldn't have kissed her or even entertained the idea if I wasn't a little fruity. "Sal should get the nickname, he was the one trying to bed Hot Excalibur Emo Knight."

Yea, the acknowledgement and statement left my lips before I could remember that I was inadvertently giving Sally Face the silent treatment. Hades' personal hellhound is a taboo here. That man is a curse word in this house. I set myself up and now I have to put a quarter into my mental swear jar.

I note how Sal shifts in his seat out of the corner of my eye. Not that I care. In fact, I saw nothing.

"You're missing the point, Vi!" Ash shakes her head, faux disappointment marring her meticulously designed facial features. "Sal is out of the closet. He's as much of a cooked noodle as he is a raw one." Her distinction between gay and straight is fascinating. "You, on the other hand, are a recluse and hiding betwixt MawMaw bras and old, dusty infinity scarves from your mother's regretted youth. You want a different name, then come out of your hidey-hole already."

My jaw drops and I stare at my friend who looks quite proud of her outlandish accusations, even if they aren't so outlandish.

Larry is red-faced and Todd couldn't care less; he's too busy folding up his Cracker Barrel shirt. 

"How come I'm a target today?" I snicker, leaning my head on my fist as I look back at my best friend. 

"Because I'm feeling extra aggressive and a little frisky. In other words, the fruit is ripe. Flirt with me and I'll be in your bed within two to five business minutes," Ash winks at me, tongue swiping along her bottom lip.

I frown. "Well that sucks. I don't have any good pick-up lines. I only have really shitty psychology jokes. I guess I'll be sleeping alone tonight." I sigh and take another bite of ramen, dramatically looking off into the distance-- which is just the wall behind my computer. Blank space, baby.

"There's so much sexual tension packed into you two that I'm starting to suffocate," Larry pipes up, voice soft and astonished. "I'm drowning and I love it." He has stars in his wide, hickory-colored eyes.

I can't stop smiling. This expression is permanently etched onto my face, a tattoo. "We're just picking, Lar. Don't get your hopes up."

"Picking?" Ash gasps, feigning shock. She leans back with a hand to her chest. "All this time, your affection was a lie?"

"Alas, it was never real," I reply, dipping my head down to hide the my happy smile again. I have to play my part, but I can't do that with my face set like this.

Larry cackles in response. "The one woman you can't get, Ash!" He exclaims, wild giggles filtering through the call. I look up again, watching the way Ash's eyes narrow.

"I never thought this would happen to me. Not my Vivi..." She trails off, shutting her eyes to express her sadness.

"The fuck did you expect?" Larry prods, scooting close to his camera so that all we see is the bridge of his nose, dark eyes, and his thick brows-- one is arched in question. "Unicorn guts and fairy shit?" He quotes himself beautifully, reusing his remark from in-chat. "Fellatio and scissoring? This isn't Disney, Ash. If anything, we're wrapped up in a Grimm Brothers' fairytale."

I have to put my fist over my mouth to hide my reaction because that's the most accurate thing that Larry has said all day. And he even brought out big boy words like fellatio. Has he been studying?

Sal lets a boyish chuckle slip and my gaze cuts to him despite my better judgement. He's bent down, instinctually covering the mouth of his prosthetic, seemingly forgetting that we can't actually see his facial expression. It's such a normal action, one that I'm not used to when it comes to him. It's a moment where I can't look away. A rare moment where I get that weird feeling for him again-- one that I've only experienced maybe three times since meeting him. It's that domestic and naive feeling, where he's a normal person that I yearn for a bit. He's not an asshole, he's not hidden behind a prosthetic. He's just a guy that I know. A guy that I'd like to touch and see and feel on a deeper level.

I blink when he tilts his head back, revealing his pretty dagger tattoo and a veiny hand that runs through his hair. He pushes his fringe back, making little blue strands stick up in different directions.  

I can't help but straighten my sitting position. Slouching gone, body attentive. I don't know if I'm nervous, wary, excited, or stuck in some admiring state. But it's weird. And I do not want to be feeling it. I never asked for this.

And yea, he still looks the same. Painfully the same. Like a beacon in the dead of night. Tales of his past on his skin, his hair like streaks of bright cerulean paint on a canvas. The worst aspect of him is his eyes. They haunt me. 

He looks up at the camera again, having finally collected himself a few moments ago, showing off the feature of his that I loathe so much.

All the colors of an Aurora Borealis dance in his irises; the natural blue hue darkened into a teal from the lack of lighting. Little flashes of green and pale purple reflect onto his eyes from his computer screen, creating a kaleidoscope clash of colors that cover his entire prosthetic face. So many shades of life that mix to mimic something I've always wanted to witness for myself. I just didn't expect to see it in the eyes of who I both despise and desire most in this miserable life of mine. 

What the hell is wrong with me? How dare I fall into this kind of depression over Sal Fisher? No one has ever betrayed me as many times as I've betrayed myself at this point.

Ash's voice steals me from my mind's ruthless vices. "That's a pretty morbid scarf, Vi."

My gaze flicks to her and I scrunch my eyebrows again. "Scarf?" I ask. I'm not wearing a scarf. It's summer. In Los Angeles. "What scarf?" She's probably going to make some kind of joke that she's been holding out on for a while.

Ash scoots closer to her computer, eyes filled with confusion. They squint and she says, "Yea... scarf. It looks like a hand. Is it a hand?"

"Ash, what the fuck are you talking about? It's summer. Why would I wear a scarf?" I give her a bewildered look that's buffered by my mask, but the conversation attracts everyone else's attention too. Larry and Todd both move closer to their computers and, shockingly, Sal even tilts his head, eyes glued to the screen.

I look down, but I can't see anything near me or on me. Is this some elaborately planned joke or something?

"Uh," Todd says, voice a mix of confused and concerned, which sets off alarm bells in my head. "Yea. There's a hand. That's a hand."

I plan on answering, but then Ash screams and then something cold wraps around my throat and I scream in turn.

My reaction is instant-- I shove myself away from my desk, headset ripped off my head and the hand forced off of my neck. I hear a resounding 'oof' as I knock into something, or more like someone.

My room is dark, pitch black, so I leap off of my chair and into the darkness. My heart is racing a mile a minute, my hands shake with fear and adrenaline, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. Who the fuck is in my room. What the fuck is going on?

I see the silhouette of a tall figure through the low light of my computer. It's bent a bit, pale arm wrapped around their stomach.

I back up toward my wall, listening to the quiet, panicked voices of my friends yelling for me to answer them from my headset. And then my phone rings in my pocket-- for fuck's sake-- so I have no choice but to rush to the knife hanging on the wall right beside my door (I'm paranoid and clearly for good reason) and flick on my bedroom light, ready to launch and attack whoever's dumb enough to be here.

I hold my breath, wide-eyed with a war drum hammering away at my chest as light floods my room. I'm going to either get charged with homicide or be the homicidee. Is that even a word?-- actually, I don't care. It's a word now.

But as soon as I see the supposed figure squinting in the sudden brightness, I'm so relieved that I nearly fall to my knees, whimpering despite how embarrassing that might seem to someone else.

The Faces start yelling again.

"Did I scare you?" His hypnotizing, baritone voice fills me with an eerie calm that melts away the string of adrenaline keeping me afloat as of present.

"And my friends who think I'm about to be murdered? Of fucking course, you thundercunt," I hiss, stomping over to what I previously thought was going to be my demise.

"That's for never bringing back my screwdriver."

I roll my eyes, groaning in a mix of anger and exasperation once I stand in front of my neighbor and long-time friend. Nate looks down at me with a handsome little smirk on his full lips and forever messy black waves hanging over his forehead. "Fuck you," I grunt, taking a step past him to kick in the back of his knees. Said knees buckle and he yelps, quickly catching himself with a hand on my shoulder as a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest.

I grab my headset off the ground and lean down so my friends can see me. I watch relief flood their faces instantly, with the exception of Sal, of course. I grab my mic without putting the headset on and say "I'll be right back."

Setting them back down, I turn away from The Faces and look to Nate again, arms crossed over my chest. I pull my mask off just so he can see how astronomically pissed I am.

The asshole only laughs harder. The charm in that singular sound alone makes me want to punch him in the face. 

Nathaniel Emilio Luis Espinosa has been a daredevil since I met him, always raging over danger and reaching for that incomparable fear factor. He has lots of personality, and a lot of that personality has been met with a chancla to the face, courtesy of his overprotective mamá that won't take his bullshit even after she's in the grave. 

And that's why Mrs. Lucía and I are besties at heart. And in sandals.

But to go with Nate's desperate yearning for bad things is social anxiety. He hardly ever leaves his apartment and he'll claw at his walls to stay inside. I think that's why he's more than happy to make brownies for me and get absolutely decimated in Mario Kart whenever he comes to visit-- he isn't really leaving the apartment building, but he isn't alone either. 

He's also quite a looker. I have no doubt that if Sal ever met him, he'd be drooling all over the guy. Nate has sharp facial features that are just... perfect in almost every way. Little beauty marks on different sections of his face, angular nose, a jawline that could cut air. Everything is only accentuated by his shoulder length, wavy, midnight black hair that he hates so much (all he ever talks about is how aggravating the upkeep is) and his equally as dark eyes that still entrance me to this day. Plus, he's tall. 6'4 last I checked and built like Stonehenge-- gorgeous and unbreakable. 

Basically, he has no problem getting pussy. I'm never concerned about his sex life. His love life, on the other hand...

"You're in deep shit," I huff out, looking away from my friend who grins proudly. I move over to my bed-side table and dig in the one drawer it has, pulling out his beloved screwdriver. I turn back to him and hold it up for him to see, waving it dramatically before walking back over to him.

I grab his hand and slap it into his palm. "You're lucky I don't scrape off your kneecaps for that. I ought to call your mom and tell her what you've done. I could have had a stroke!"

Nate's eyebrows pinch together as if to sarcastically say 'sure bitch' but then he seems to process what I said. He suddenly hisses and his sable eyes go wide. "Please, I'm actually really sorry. Don't call my mom."

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't," I counter with, stepping up so we're nearly chest-to-chest.

"Because you love me," Nate bats his eyelashes at me, but that ship sailed years ago. He can't get me with that look anymore. He licks his lips, pink tongue darting out quickly. "And because I'll make brownies for you every week for the next month?" he tacks on.

I purse my lips. "Let me continue to borrow your screwdriver and it's a done deal."

Nate looks like a kicked puppy over our game of deal-or-no-deal. But he accepts anyway, sniffling over his loss. 

"How did you even get into my apartment?" I ask with a scoff, putting my mask back on and plopping into my desk chair. I face my friends who watch me in confusion, terror, and intrigue. 

"With the key you gave me. Duh," Nate says matter-of-factly, walking up behind me. I need to go get checked out or something because how could I forget that I gave Nate a key? "What's with the mask?" he asks.

I suck in a breath. "That's a really long story for another time," I tell him, grabbing hold of my headset and situating it back on. 

Nate leans over me, settling his chin on my shoulder from behind as his hands grip the armrests on my chair. I watch him through my camera as he gazes at my screen, meeting the eyes of The Faces. 

Tongue in cheek, I address my friends again. "Sorry, I'm not a victim of murder," I say quickly. "this is my neighbor, Nate."

Larry blinks, "Oh. He's brownie boy?" I snort. "He's kinda..." A sexy grin forms on his face and I roll my eyes. 

"Yea, he'd love to hear that," I say pointedly, glancing at Nate who's still hanging around.

"Wait," Nate murmurs, lifting his head and moving closer to the screen. "Why are you talking? You're just watching a video, right?"

"You're late to the party," I tell him, unable to stop myself from giggling a bit. "This is a discord call. With The Faces. I know you've heard of them, I talk about Ash all the time." 

"Of course I've heard of them. I just... didn't think you meant this Ash," he says bashfully, shaking his head a bit so his hair falls into his eyes. It's a little anxiety thing of his, makes his hair fall into his face in an attempt to hide however much he can. 

I put my hand over his that's still holding onto my armrest in hopes of both calming and reassuring him. He gets so nervous...

He lets out a little sigh behind me before setting his chin on my shoulder again. He doesn't say another word. That skill is lost on him at the moment, which is a frequent thing for him in social and social-ish settings. 

I look back to my other friends and give them a little smile, but they're still staring. They look so confused that they don't know how to act, which, okay. Fair.

And all is quiet up until Sal talks for the first time since the call started.

"You moved on from the hot knight pretty quickly." 

It's said in a very... suggesting way. It makes my eye twitch in response. It's so aggravating that he still manages to piss me off by simply breathing. I swear if his mic was too close to his face right now and I heard him take a breath, I'd have to fly to Nockfell just to slap him. 

"Hot knight is still on my list," I say tastelessly. "But I didn't see him interested in you so I don't understand why he's a topic."

I watch Sal's eyes narrow in agitation and I match his emotions and expression. He thinks he's so important. What was the point of bringing up Timothy the knight? He's been quiet this entire call. Why couldn't he have just stayed that way?

"I can talk about whatever I want. You just piss me off. Your boyfriend tried to kill you and he's getting in on our call. I have an issue with his presence. Yours too, honestly," Sal says, voice monotonous and bored, like it's a waste of his time to have to explain himself.

"He's not my boyfriend, jackass," I say in a grating voice. I'm at that tired point again. Just fucking tired of him... and not at the same time. Part of me is yearning for the aggression. The vexation. The resentment we share for each other and all the delicious arguments and loathing it brings. I miss it-- everything before we embarked on our short-lived shit-uationship. "And I have an issue with your presence too. You piss me off. I see why Ash nicknamed you two-face-- you're so nice to everyone, but you're a wolf in sheep's clothing. You're actually just a lint licking, cunt flap, cum infested puss bubble of a fucklet."

"Damn," Larry hisses, leaning back in his chair and staring at his screen like he's been stabbed. "I felt that in my prostate."

Nate's head moves from my shoulder and I turn to address him, but end up watching his form crumple to the floor in a heap of laughing mess. He shoots me a quick thumbs up, but whether it was an agreement, pride, or to tell me he's okay-- I'm not sure.

Ash is holding herself together by a thread, bottom lip between her teeth as tears well in her eyes. She doesn't dare blink, or else those tears will fall (and crash around me, or whatever Bullet For My Valentine once said).

"You're lucky as fuck that I'm not in your general vicinity," Sal barks out, fire blazing in his otherwise frosty eyes.

"Or what?" I taunt, tilting my head. He wouldn't hit me. He's a self-proclaimed feminist after all, if that's even true. So what would he do? Punish me? Tarnish my squeaky clean online image? He could still do that without being in my general vicinity. That statement was so loaded that I'm starting to get a little nervous...

"Military weapons-grade, apocalypse-inducing, soul-severing revenge. That's all," Sal says nonchalantly. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed and ring-clad fingers tapping his biceps. And he's... hot. And terrifying. And so, so infuriating. I hate him.

"I'd like to see you try all that," I reply, sucking my teeth. In truth, I'm not as on top of my shit as I could be because I'm still upset and confused over him. I'm angry, but not enough to properly express it. Sal's been an issue from the start, but now he's becoming even more of one.

"Watch me," is his snarky reply. And I know I can't actually determine if it's me he's staring at like that, but the feeling I get says that his glare is baring right into my image on his screen. I can feel his detest across the country, aimed directly at me. It makes a shiver run down my spine and I grip my armrests tighter.

"Is that a threat?" I bite out, swallowing thickly.

His eyes light up a bit, and then they squint. Almost like he's smiling. And then he says, in a sickeningly gentle and dark voice, "It's a promise."

________________

A/N::::: On today's episode of Ryver Rhoulette: is that a decomp stain or is it just moldy cum?

SORRY anyway, HI I AM BACK <333 i spent most of my break sick and suffering from writer's slump... it's not a block because i know what i wanna write, just couldn't get the thoughts out o_e

first off, i know this chapter is a little shorter and i'm sorry about that. i know it's been a while, so i definitely owe you guys a LOT more content than what's in here (especially since it's pretty much filler...) but next chapter is going to be VERY fun :D i can't promise or predict when the next chapter will be, but i have plenty of time to work on it before i go back to school on january 12th! so if not soon, definitely whenever college starts up because i have a yucky habit of procrastinating and getting WONDERFUL fic ideas instead of doing work >:)

also of note: i will be posting a Sal-lore chapter again soon. it may come before the next Faceless Fixation canon chapter, just fair warning. i literally have no idea which i will get inspo for first LOL

until next time, my sweet doves! i love you all so infinitely much <33 have a great morning/day/evening/night! sending big squishes and loves :3

P.S. GUESS WHO NATE IS BASED ON I FUCKING LOVE HIM SO MUCH LIHEIWHEL

P.S.S. huge thanks to @weaslebeeps for coming up with Todd in a "I got pegged at Cracker Barrel" shirt AND for drawing it??? LIKE ACTUALLY????? i love u sweetness <3

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Twitterpated Brat [17]

TW/// smut!!! :D

__

Ash throws a cold, soggy fry into her mouth, stumbling around with her arm linked through Larry's. The two look like they're about to start line-dancing through Caesar's Palace. They kick their legs up with each step, giggling about nothing and everything all at the same time.

And that leaves Todd, Sal, and me to scramble around and try to cover their tracks.

Between the two of them, Larry and Ash managed to kill all three dozen jello shots. When you slap those on top of the giant daiquiris they both drank earlier, and then the screwdrivers they grabbed somewhere on the way back to the hotel-- they're pretty sloshed. 

"Let's take the stairs," Ash gasps, squeezing Larry's toned arm. She points up at the spiral staircase that she and I climbed just two days ago. 

"This is why I love you," Larry whispers, leaning toward the woman with his best, award-winning smile. In reality, he looks deeply pained... but he's trying, I guess. "You have the best ideas," he praises, booping Ash's nose with his index finger.

Ash scrunches her nose and closes her eyes, pushing her face closer to emo buff daddy.

"Yea," Sal says nonchalantly from beside me. I glance over at him-- his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his black cargo pants, cerulean gaze focused on our mutual friends milling about in front of us. "So that's what we're not gonna do," he continues, shifting his stance and tilting his head. "It's time to head up to our room."

For once, I'm inclined to agree with him. Have pigs started flying? Did Sal miraculously become a nice person in some alternate universe? The world is spinning off its axis.

Ash turns her head over her shoulder, her hair slapping Larry in the face. She's wearing a pretty pout, eyebrows furrowed and lips puckered in disappointment. "But I want to go gamble and walk around. Larry wants to, too. Right, Lar?"

When she looks back at Larry, he's too busy pulling strands of Ash's hair out of his mouth to even realize he's been brought into the conversation.

Sal and Todd simultaneously sigh.

"Do they... do this often?" I ask no one in particular, staring at the pair that start bickering. It's kind of wholesome, actually. Ash is fussing at Larry for not moving out of the way when her hair swung around and Larry's just telling her about how pretty and soft each little strand is.

Todd casts me a glance. "Every time we go out somewhere. Every single time." He bites into his cheek, turning his attention back to Larry and Ash to keep an eye on them. "Sal and I have to parent them. We're just lucky that they somehow have some common sense packed into their brains even when they're drunk."

"Larry is even more of an issue when he has alcohol in his system though," Sal murmurs, adding on to Todd's overview of drunk nights with The Faces. "His actions are already questionable when he's sober, but when he's drunk, there's nothing holding him back."

Yea, I watched him decimate the entirety of today's photoshoot so I have no doubt that he's capable of some pretty bad things when the consequences don't matter. 

Wincing, I nod subtly. Maybe letting Ash and Larry wander around, even with the three of us watching them, isn't such a great idea. This wouldn't be a good look for them online, especially if they would end up getting involved in some risky (cough, illegal) business.

"Hey, Larry," Ash whispers loudly. "Do you still have weed? Or like... something better?"

"Hell yea, I do!" Larry chirps back to the beauty, squeezing her arm closer to him. "We're in Vegas, baby, it's time to live it up!"

I dip my head down, pursing my lips. Todd flinches and Sal jumps into action, walking up to the two and grabbing their arms. It's definitely time to bring them up to the room. "Hey," Sal snaps, but ultimately lowers his voice after checking to see if anyone was watching us. "Let's not do this right now. Come on, you two can do whatever the fuck you want in our room, but not here."

Watching Sal take on the authoritative role for Ash and Larry is... something. He's obviously worried for them, trying to keep their reputations intact. He's handling them with care too, tactfully gaining their attention with physical touch. Keeping eye contact while he talks to them. He really must do this often.

We somehow manage to convince Ash and Larry to get into the elevators. I think what really got them to comply was our promise to let them be once we finally get to the suite. Right now, they're planning this slumber party. Where they're going to do it-- I have no idea. But Todd and I are carrying everyone's leftover food and clothes. Sal has a good grip on both of our drunk friends, his pale fingertips digging into their skin. 

Poor little Sally Face does not seem impressed. 

I don't really have an opinion on the current matter. Ash and Larry just want to have fun, but I can also understand why its stressful for Sal and Todd. Having to take care of them when they can't do it themselves. They're the designated dads. Not drivers-- dads.

Our ride up to the suite doesn't take too long and we don't run into many people, thankfully. I guess since it's evening, everyone's either in bed or getting lit in the casinos. No issue there. Makes things much easier for us.

By the time we burst through the doors of our suite, Ash has tears running down her face and Larry's a giggly-gaggly mess. They're on two opposite ends of the drunk spectrum. Ash is reminiscing on her past and Larry's just vibing.

I let out a quiet groan when I finally put the bags of leftover food and clothing down on the dining table. Todd's right next to me, pulling boxes from the plastic bags. 

"Help Sally," he says, opening one of the boxes to see what's inside. "I've got this."

"Are you sure?" I ask, brows furrowing as I take a hesitant step away. Putting me and Sal together with a task to complete isn't exactly the best idea to exist.

Todd just hums, focused on his job. Okay then, that's fine. I'll just help Ash get ready for bed and Sal can take Larry to their room. It's not like I have to be stuck with the sexual bane of my existence.

Still, as I walk over to where Sal has corralled our friends into one section of the couch, I feel this nauseating sense of destruction slowly climbing up my spine. It's like a knife in the back, utter betrayal. It's a bit humorous given that I'm the one with the own knife to my back. I chose this. 

Had I just never created this online persona, Sal and I never would have become this. The topic of y/n would have died with that one Youtube video. Nothing would have come of it-- I would be back in LA going to work and paying bills like I always have. 

I don't think I regret making this decision, I just think I should have gone about this differently. Of course, I don't regret it-- just the thought of getting a second alone with Sal fills me with a kind of giddiness I've never experienced. But the fact that I'm still stuck arguing with this man constantly makes it all seem... not so worth it sometimes.

Ash suddenly looks up at me with her watery green eyes and I find that my depressing internal monologue is replaced with mind-numbing love almost instantly. 

Things with Sal are weird and they kind of suck, but this was worth it. If I didn't start streaming, Ash and I would have gone much longer without seeing each other. And she's someone that will always be worth any struggle of mine.

"I don't feel good," Ash mumbles to me, her words slurred and her arms wrapped around her tummy. 

I gulp. Okay, so that's not too good. I should have expected it too. 

I grab onto Ash's wrists carefully. "I know, honey," I tell her softly, looking into those forest green eyes of hers. She's on the brink of tears. "Look, let's go to the bathroom. We'll sit in there for a while until you feel better." I try to keep my voice as light and comforting as possible. Feeling sick while you're drunk alters the mood so quickly and it sucks. All the freedom and happiness gets replaced by shackling anxiety and fear in a moment's notice.

"No," Ash yanks her hands away from me and curls in on herself. I glance at Sal who's watching the ordeal, sitting between Ash and his step-brother with his hand on Larry's back, trying to get him to sit up. And poor Larry looks like he's just about to fall asleep right here. "I don't want to throw up. I really don't wanna," Ash speaks again, pulling my attention away from our one-man audience.

I frown at my friend. Poor thing, I know that fear. 

Instead of trying to force her to stand up, I scoot in beside Sal. It's not ideal, but I don't really care. If he has a problem with my thighs squished against his, which I doubt he does, he can just move.

I wrap my arm around Ash and pull her into my side. Her head plops onto my shoulder, a soft whimper leaving her lips the moment we touch. "I didn't say anything about throwing up, sweetheart," I coo, setting my head on top of hers. I run my hand over her hair, gently threading my fingers through her slightly tangled hair. "We can just go sit in there until you feel better. And if you do end up feeling so bad that you have to use the bathroom, we'll already be there. You can take a shower if you want."

She's quiet for a moment. I sit there, staring ahead at Todd who's opening his laptop on the dining table. At the same time, Sal sighs softly and uses his hip to forcefully push himself away from me and closer to Larry. It takes quite a lot to not roll my eyes.

One second he wants to fuck me, or something akin to that, and the next moment I'm carrying the bubonic plague, measles, and various other diseases. This guy needs to pick a struggle and go with it.

I feel Ash's head move up and down against my shoulder, so I glance down at her and frown at her quivering bottom lip. Sweet thing. I know she's just drunk, but seeing her so upset and feeling sick really pulls at my heartstrings.

"C'mon then," I murmur, rubbing my hand over her back before slowly standing up. Ash struggles to follow me, so I grab onto her elbows and shoulder most of her weight with a grunt. 

With her tall stature, the force of her falling into me makes me stumble a bit. I blink through my struggle and keep a good grip on her, looking up at her as she purses her lips and wraps her arms around my shoulders. Okay, she's up. Now we just have to take the short walk to the restroom.

I tilt my head back down, making quick eye contact with Sal. He's bearing dead eyes and that forever numb-projecting prosthetic. But our gazes turn opposite ways in a moments notice. Not like I really care to begin with. I'm more worried about Ash than anything else.

Ash drags her feet to the bathroom, her arms latched around my neck as she voices unintelligible pleas to help her feel better. I feel like my heart is about to snap in two. It's hard to remind myself that she's okay when she seems so miserable like this.

After a couple seconds, I gently kick the bathroom door open and flick on the light. My eyes squint against the sudden brightness, but I still lead Ash into the room and shut the door behind us. 

Sighing, I help lower Ash to the floor. Her legs are spread out in front of her and her pretty head is leaned against the wall behind her. "I feel so icky, Vi," she mumbles, the words slurred as they tumble from her lips. 

I shrug halfheartedly. "At least 'Vi' is a default now," I whisper to myself. I'd have been fucked hours ago if she hadn't been calling me Vi all this time. "I know you feel yucky, love," I tell her, my voice a little louder for her to hear. I squat down in front of her, running a finger over her forehead to push a strand of hair away from her face. 

Ash's vibrant green eyes open to glance over my face quickly, then they close again as a soft, pained moan falls from her pale lips. In fact, her entire face is a bit paler than it was moments ago.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. She needs to be closer to the toilet. 

I gently grab onto her dainty hand and pull her over to the toilet, squatting beside her again. "Tell me if you feel sick, Ash," I say, pushing her hair behind her ears again. "You might feel better if you get it out." 

She groans again, but her arms grab onto the back of the toilet almost instinctually. "I know, but it sucks so much," Ash admits. 

I pinch my lips together, smiling tightly at her. "Trust me, I know," I reply, moving to stand behind her. I can't do much for her right now. She can't take any medicine with alcohol still in her system and I don't want to leave her to get a bottle of water. I'd hate to not be here for her if she does get sick. So I do the only thing I can do and gather her hair into my hands. I pull a ponytail from my wrist with the intention of wrapping it around her hair, but she cuts me off.

"Play with my hair," Ash whispers, head lolling to the side. 

I smile a bit at that and let the band fall onto my wrist again. So Ash and I sit in silence while I run my fingers through her hair. I braid it, then undo it, twist it around my hands, then braid it again. It's a back and forth motion in loud quietude. But only for a few minutes.

The bathroom door flies open, the wood hitting the wall with a deja vu-like thunk. I can almost hear my dad running through the house to check out what happened in my memories. 

Mine and Ash's heads both snap to observe whatever the hell is happening, but all I get to see is a blur of blue and brown. I hear the squeaking of quick footsteps, and then "Bathtub, bathtub, tub!"

My eyebrows scrunch together as I assess the situation. Not Larry too...

I swivel my head around like an owl to look at the tub just in time to watch Larry drunkenly dive into it like it's some kind of pool. Then the sickening sound of vomiting follows immediately after.

I suck in a breath, turning my gaze up to Sal. He's leaning over the ledge of the bathtub, his hands holding Larry's long hair away from his face.

"Oh, fuck," Ash groans, her voice shaky. My attention leaves Sal quickly upon hearing the inconspicuous alert she gives me. I gather her hair in my hands again and rub her back as she mimics Larry. 

It's a mess and it sucks for all four of us.

After a couple minutes of what feels like a never-ending rendition of The Exorcist-style vomiting, but in double, both Larry and Ash are finally in the hard relaxation phase of their drunkenness. And hopefully it'll stay this way.

I sigh to myself, feeling relieved now that the worst part of this is over.

Ash is moaning and groaning about how gross she feels, and about how her teeth feel like fresh cement. Sal just leapt to his feet and bolted out of the bathroom, likely to get something for Larry. 

"Here," I murmur to my friend, helping her to her feet. My hands are gently pushing on her arms, giving her some leverage to stand. She and I stumble over to the counter in the bathroom and I start looking for necessities. Because, oh, Ash, I understand. "What color is your toothbrush?" I ask her.

"Purple," she sighs. "For VioletViolence."

I blink, my gaze cutting to my friend who smiles gently. I can't help the smile that grows on my face either, or the way my cheeks warm up a bit.

"You're so silly," I giggle, opening up a drawer where... apparently all members of The Faces keep their toothbrushes? I just pack mine up in my suitcase every night. I guess they feel like family. 

But I find the purple toothbrush pretty easily. It's glittery and a deep, dark purple. Just my style, in fact. 

I put a bit of toothpaste onto the bristles, wet it (because what psychopath doesn't wet the toothbrush before brushing?) and then turn to my friend. "Open up," I chirp. "I'm playing dentist today."

Ash frowns at me. "But I hate the dentist," she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest. "And what if I throw up on you?" 

"Then I'll take a shower," I reply with a tilt of my head, trying to ease her worries. She seems to think of everything while drunk. Who stresses when they're drunk?-- well, Ash does, apparently.

At that moment, Sal walks into the bathroom again. He has a frantic, exhausted look in his bright blue eyes when they meet mine. For a moment, I'm wondering why he's even acknowledging me, but then he holds out a hand, gesturing to me. I narrow my eyes then look down, noting the bottle of cold water in his grip.

"For Ash," he says quietly, pushing the bottle closer to me.

"Oh." I snap myself out of my confused state and take the bottle from him, nodding. "Thanks."

I get nothing in response, but I expected as much. Sal simply turns his head back to poor Larry who's sitting on the edge of the bathtub and rushes over to give him some water.

The bathroom actually smells horrid, but I power through just like the other three people in the room are doing. Sal's getting Larry ready for bed and I'm doing the same with Ash. Both of us silently and simultaneously prep our friends for a good night's sleep. Hopefully. Even though I know they're both going to wake up with the worst case of acid reflux known to man-- headaches and body aches too. But they'll be fine.

It doesn't take me long to brush Ash's teeth. The time consuming part was trying to stop her from biting down on the toothbrush-- and my fingers.

At long last, which is only five minutes later, I rinse Ash's toothbrush and hand her the bottle of water that Sal so graciously brought. 

"I'm going to go grab some clothes for you, 'kay?" I inform Ash, putting her toothbrush back into the  drawer near the sink. I help move her over to sit on the floor so Larry can brush his teeth or use some mouthwash-- I don't know. Something.

Ash sleepily grumbles in acknowledgement of my statement. I'll just take that as an 'okay.'

I grab onto the doorknob with the intention of slipping out then quickly slipping back in, but Sal calls to me.

I pause, turning my head over my shoulder to look at him. He's holding Larry up with one arm and digging in the same drawer I just returned Ash's toothbrush to with the other. He glances up at me, hair falling into his eyes and forming a halo around his forever expressionless prosthetic. "Can you get Larry some clothes too?" He asks, looking down at the drawer again. "He's sleeping farthest from the door. Stay away from my shit," he tacks on.

I roll my eyes. Typical Sal behavior. But I reply with a quick, "Sure." It's not about Sal and I fighting right now, it's about making sure that our mutual friends are safe and comfortable.

My heart beats a little faster when I slip out of the bathroom and quickly grab a change of clothes for Ash in our shared room. She already had her pajamas laid out and ready to go, so I didn't even have to go looking. But walking to Sal and Larry's room puts me on edge. Something about being in a place that Sal would never even allow me to get a glimpse of in any other situation is both invigorating and terrifying. Imagine I still pick the wrong bed by accident? Suppose I knock over his guitar or something? These are high stakes.

I swallow the anxiety building in my belly and throw open the bedroom door, trying to keep my eyes downcast as I walk to the bed occupying the far end of the spacious room. Todd must have gone to bed by now, that or he's doing work in his room. He wasn't in the dining room when I passed it. Somehow, that makes being in here feel criminal. 

If I snooped, no one would know.

But I'm not a fucking idiot, so that's not even on my bucket list of things to do in Vegas. I'm already on Sal's shit-list. I don't want him to put me even higher on it-- though, maybe working my way up that list might make for a good hate-fuck or something...

A side-tracked mind results in borrowed time. And my borrowed time is probably going to end up with Sal murdering me in my sleep if I take any longer.

I still can't help but look up though. Just to see something. To keep my knowledge of this room a secret forever.

My eyes glaze over the entirety of the room as I reach Larry's bed. The mattress itself is cleared, but all of his clothes are thrown on top of his suitcase that's hiding beside his bed. My guess is that Sal told him to clean up the place and this was Larry's definition of "clean."

I sink to my knees and dig under Larry's pile of clothes. There's a couple pairs of shirts and shorts still folded way at the bottom of his suitcase, so I grab those and then pinch the waistband of a pair of boxers between my index and thumb. I have no idea if they're clean and I have no desire to find out if they're dirty. 

I fold the clothes under my arm then acknowledge the room once more. It's pasty white, as are the beds. But I pay closer attention to Sal's side of the room for... reasons.

There's a glass of water on his bedside table. I have no idea what it's there for. Maybe he gets thirsty at night. But there's also a guitar case leaning up against his bed. His suitcase rests neatly on top of the white comforter on his bed, all his clothes folded to perfection and stacked inside. He's so much more organized than Larry. In fact, he'd have been better off rooming with Todd.

It's so... normal. And I didn't think his belongings would be normal. I didn't think his room would look so domestic. I half-expected to find a blue wig hanging off the bed post, or taxidermy animals, or furniture made from skin-- inspired by Ed Gein, of course.

But he's normal. Hell, he seems more normal to me right now than Larry given the different states of each half of this room.

I swallow down the odd feeling of having different results than I'd originally expected. It's not saddening, it's just... weird.

My time here is done though, so I quickly skitter out of the bedroom, shut the door behind me, and speed-walk back to the bathroom. 

When I walk in, I happen upon another thing I didn't originally expect to see tonight. Or ever, for that matter. 

Sal's standing on the toilet seat, all focus and dedication as he carefully brushes Larry's teeth for him. Much like I did for Ash earlier. I don't even know how to react upon seeing the scenario because Larry's even holding onto Sal's waist. It makes me want to laugh my ass off, but it's also kinda cute. Seeing them work together and not caring about how others perceive it is just sweet. But it's still fucking hilarious. 

My eyes tear up a bit as I try to hold in the laughter bubbling up my throat. For God's sake, I need to get out of here before I lose it.

I put Larry's clothes onto the bathroom counter then drag Ash into a standing position. "Larry's clothes are near the sink," I say, my voice wavering as I try to bite down the giggle that so desperately wants to be released.

Sal answers me with a nonchalant, emotionless, "'kay."

I puff out my cheeks as I help Ash over to her room, biting my lips to hold in my little giggles. But once I finally get us both inside and shut the door, I let the giggles flow. Not like anyone but Ash can hear me anyway.

"What are you laughing at?" Ash asks, her words drawn out and so, so soft. I lift her shirt over her head and push her arms through the new shirt I'd grabbed for her. "Do I look ugly?"

"No, no. You're gorgeous, as always," I quickly say, grabbing onto the collar of the shirt and pulling down until her head pops through the hole. Her hair is a static-y mess and splattered across her face. "I'm just laughing at the position I found Sally and Larry in earlier." I use a finger to brush strands of hair out of her face, then I run my fingers through it to tame the frizz.

"Oh, yea," Ash opens her watery, sleepy viridian eyes. "I saw that. Sal wanted Larry to sit for him but Lar said something about not wanting to hurt the bacteria living on his skin." Ash squints her eyes in obvious confusion, then closes them again.

Larry is so ridiculous. He's just like Ash-- worrying about things that don't need to be worried about. Come on, body bacteria?

I just shake my head, smiling at my sweet Ashy-poo while she unfastens the button on her cargo pants before shimmying her way out of them. They get stuck around her ankles, so I kneel down and gently pull them off of her.

But then she drops her panties without even an ounce of a warning to me. 

I spin on my heels and purse my lips. I take it she's got the rest of this on her own.

I let Ash do her thing, tapping my feet against the ground and acting like this isn't my room too. Just puts me in an odd position knowing that Ash is just... yea.

With the way I'm standing, arms crossed and posted up awkwardly, I feel like a guard. Or a princess's personal knight. Damn, I actually wish I was the princess to that dark knight from earlier.

Oh, no. Now Larry's gotten the Batman reference stuck in my head forever.

Speaking of Larry, he and Sal are suddenly in the doorway and Ash is still getting dressed behind me-- crap.

I rush up to the two men and slap my hands over their eyes. Not that it matters much considering that Sal is wearing a prosthetic and Larry's so tall that his head almost hits the top of the door frame.

"What the fuck?" Sal gripes, grabbing onto my wrist and yanking it off of his face.

He glares at me, eyes so incredibly close that I can see all the different shades of blue populating his irises. I'm momentarily distracted, which ends up sucking because Sal's eyes snap to Ash.

They widen, meeting my own eyes again. And then he does the last thing I'd ever expect-- which seems to be my motto tonight. He grabs my hand and slaps it back over his eyes.

I take a breath, trying to calm the panic that's wreaking havoc on my body.

"What the hell are you two doing in here?" I snap at the boys, blinking at their stone-still figures. Sal and I are shoulder-to-shoulder, but since my arm is raised, it's more like chest-to-chest. And the same goes for Larry, but that somehow doesn't matter as much.

Sal huffs. "Larry wants to sleep with Ash tonight. It's.. it's their drunk thing," he grumbles, though his voice is a tad shaky which suggests that he might be nervous with a little spoonful of shocked.

"Okay, well, drunk ritual or not," I say pointedly. "You could've knocked."

"Fuck off," Sal bites out, but his rebuttal is weak. He knows he can't fight this, and he knows he's in the wrong either way.

I turn my head over my shoulder to see if Ash is done changing. She finally has underwear on-- thank God-- but she's struggling with her sweats now.

Not like these guys haven't seen Ash in panties before, I suppose.

I rush over to my pretty friend and help her as best as I can by grabbing the waistband of her sweatpants. She bounces on her toes, trying to work the fabric up her legs. And I almost giggle when I realize the boys haven't moved farther into the room. Poor Sal must still be recovering.

Once Ash finally has her pants on, I guide her to the bed and pull the blankets back, helping her to flop onto the clean sheets. 

"Take my pants off," she whines, scrunching her face up as she rubs her legs all over the mattress, stretching her arms over her head.

Sighing, I place my hands on my hips and stare down at her. Sal has finally walked over to the side of the bed that I sleep on, trying to help Larry get under the blankets as well. "Larry can help you out of your sweatpants, I just got you into them," I tell Ash, watching as she sticks out her bottom lip in an adorable pout.

"Well then get in bed, I'm tired," she murmurs a bit more, rolling over to throw an arm and a leg around Larry. And Larry, in turn, wraps an arm around her waist and buries his face into her neck. It's quite cute. I can't help but smile at the sweet embrace.

"There's no room for me, lovebug," I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight. Get some rest, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

Before I leave. And then not for another long period of time which hurts so, so bad. I gulp down those words before they can leave my mouth though. I don't want to make Ash feel bad for anything. She had fun tonight-- we all did.

"But how will I make it through the night without you?" Ash asks, starting to stir a bit. Larry looks so comfy, I don't want either of them to interrupt their positions or their sleep.

"The same way you always have, honey," I say solemnly, leaning over to run my hand over her hair. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. You're a strong, brave girl."

"Yea." She yawns, settling in beside Larry again. "You're right. I'm strong and brave."

"Vi, just sleep in my bed. Don't rot on Sal's smoking couch," Larry slurs, his voice muffled from Ash's shoulder.

"Fuck no," Sal instantly bites out. I glance to him, noting his arms that are crossed over his chest and the disdain in his eyes that are shadowed by the darkness of the room.

For once, I can agree. I absolutely will not sleep in the same room as Sal. That's the very last place I want to be on my final day in Las Vegas. The smurf would slit my throat. 

"No, that's okay, Lar." I wave him off even though he can't see it. I'd much rather take the couch, especially since I suddenly feel like crying. I have to leave everyone tomorrow. No matter how many nights I've slept wrapped up in Ash's limbs and no matter how long I've gotten to hang around Larry and Todd, it still just doesn't feel like anywhere near long enough. And tomorrow, I'll be back in LA. Back to where I was before. To where we all were before. Distanced and displaced.

"Vi, don't fight me," Larry sighs, squeezing the fabric of Ash's shirt in his fist. "It is my dying wish for you to sleep in my bed. And don't let Sal scare you off either. He couldn't harm a fly, let alone a pretty girl like you."

Pretty girl. That's what Sal called me earlier. Maybe he stole that line from Larry.

I lick my dry lips and swallow down the lump in my throat. I'll appease him with agreement and take the couch anyway. It's not like he'll remember telling me to sleep in his bed anyway. But I just need to be away from the things that make me want to cry. Sal makes me want to do multiple things, so I'll just attach him to that list anyway.

"Fine, fine." I push the words past trembling lips, trying to ignore the way that the weight I've been ignoring for the past couple hours is suddenly starting to crash down on me. 

"You guys fucking suck," Sal hisses, uncrossing his arms and moving to the door. And even though he's voicing his opposition, he hasn't fought against the plan for me to occupy Larry's bed. He's just... going with it. If anything, it seems like he's complaining just to keep up appearances. There's just no bite to his words.

Weird. But whatever.

I roll my eyes at Sal to try and ignore my own concerns about his behavior. I was sad a moment ago, I don't want to circle back to confused. Or maybe I do? I don't even know anymore. I think I'm officially starting to go crazy.

"Um," I voice, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I look down at my two cuddling friends. "Thanks for the bed, Lar. And don't hesitate to call if you need anything. Both of you."

"Yep," Ash mumbles, followed by Larry who says, "Night."

Well, that's that. And I can't hold off the awkward moment where Sal and I are going to walk out of this room together.

I turn on my heel, keeping my head down as I walk over to where Sal's at. But he's already swung the door open and stepped out, making his way into the dining room. 

I close the door softly behind me, making sure to switch off the light right before it's fully closed. I guess it's time to move to the couch. I'd really appreciate Larry's pillows and blanket now, come to think of it. I'm basically a kitten stranded in a tundra-- I can't sleep in this place without a blanket.

Aware that I might get my head bitten off, I awkwardly walk over to the dining room and peek around the wall, eyeing Sal who grabs another bottle of water from the fridge, but this time it's for him. 

He turns to walk to his room, no doubt, but finds me standing there watching him. Which only makes me feel even creepier than I did a moment ago. I should've just said something, but he's constantly so hot and cold. I'm walking on eggshells here.

"Would you, um," I purse my lips, trying to think of a way to put my thoughts into word form. "Could you bring Larry's blanket and one of his pillows to me? I'm just going to sleep on the couch." I try to keep my voice as even as possible. I don't want him to know that my thoughts are taking over every inch of me like a never-ending typhoon. That I feel so out of control right now with no way to organize my emotions. 

His eyes go from wary to disbelieving. "Don't be weird about it," he says, a tad aggravated. "Just take his bed. I don't care."

"You really think I'm just going to sleep in the same room as you?" I ask him, quite seriously in fact. He must know how much I don't trust him.

He seems to raise an eyebrow beneath his prosthetic as he tightens his hold on the bottle in his hands. The plastic crinkles, the sound echoing through the large room. Disrupting the quiet. "Nothing bad is going to happen to you. The most you'll get is fucked, like I said I'd do earlier."

My immediate reaction is a tongue-in-cheek, wide-eyed stare in his direction. He was serious about that earlier? Even after I pelted him with paintballs? Or is this his way of getting back at me for covering him in paint? Hell, neither of us have gotten a chance to change out of the tactical gear we left the shoot in. 

At least I have the clothes I originally wore sitting on the dining table. I can change into those later.

I take a deep breath and hold onto it for a moment. Sal watches me, waiting for a response. In truth, this is the kind of distraction I need right now. To ignore all the guilt and sadness building up in me. Fuck the pain away, I guess.

"Okay," I say, attempting to sound more sure of myself rather than bashful and fucking shy. Of all things. I sucked him off earlier. He's had his fingers in my pussy. I couldn't be more sure about disappearing into his room with him-- but something just makes me feel... "Lead the way."

He doesn't say a word. Simply walks past me and into the hallway, heading for the door to his room at the end of the hallway. So I follow him, tiptoeing behind him and keeping my distance because I'm still wary. For all I know, he could open that door and then slam it shut in my face. 

Very Sal of him. I wouldn't be surprised.

But when we do make it to the room (and we get there way too quickly), Sal opens the door and he leaves it open, allowing me to walk in behind him.

He looks at me for a moment, watches me come to a stop a few steps away from him. 

And just when I'm beginning to rethink my decision of coming in here with him, the air in the room suddenly shifts. The situation I'm in feels primal now, like I'm being hunted. And again, I'm shocked by how quickly Sal's able to diffuse an awkward situation. He hasn't even said a word, hasn't even touched me. All he's done is tilt his head down a bit and change his stance-- the action so small that I hardly even noticed it.

He walks past me, so close that his shoulder brushes against mine as he aims for the door. A chill erupts along my spine and images and ideas of all the other places he could touch me take over my brain like a disease.

Sal slowly shuts the door, the lock falling into place with a soft click. Everything feels tense. He's standing there, I'm standing here. I know he's going to walk over here and dominate me to pieces soon. I'm so enthralled in the idea alone that I don't know what to do with myself. All of the pain I felt just moments ago is gone. Disappeared into thin air.

And I couldn't be happier.

He turns to me after locking the door, but never moves. Only stares. His blue eyes seem dim in the bright room, the ceiling lights reflecting off of his white and pink prosthetic. One veiny, ring-clad hand, decorated with bracelets, rests at his side while the other is safely tucked away inside his pocket. His stance isn't rigid, but it's on guard. It's waiting for a singular move from me to set this plan into motion.

The air condition blows a few strands of his cerulean hair, making him bring a hand up to push it away from his eyes. But other than that, he just stares my way.

I stare back, fidgeting with my fingers and lightly tapping my foot against the ground. Maybe Sally changed his mind all of a sudden. Maybe he doesn't want to do anything with me; he may just want to go to bed. And that's perfectly fine, I mean, I'm leaving in a few hours now anyway. It's uncharacteristic of him to change his mind when it comes to anything sexual, but who knows. He may have lost interest.

Sal's head tilts to the side a bit. "Are you just going to stand there?" He asks, voice coated in a mixture of agitation and hidden expectations. "Are we going to continue where we left off or are we going to go to bed hating each other as always?"

I purse my lips, picking at my fingernails. "Even if we continue, we'll still go to bed hating each other." I look off to the side, a little miffed over his words. We can't stand each other, even if all we crave lately is each other.

"Might as well have some fun before the hate then, right?" Sal says matter-of-factly, seemingly waiting for my consent. "I remember saying something about scaring your fantasies away, after all."

Adrenaline fills up every inch of my body. It happens so quickly, so viscerally. The only thing I can do is squeeze my thighs together and chew on my lip. Otherwise, I'd probably do something weird and ruin this entire moment. "Show me what you've got then. Because I still don't believe you," I say, my voice low and on the quiet side.

Sal takes that as his cue and closes the distance between us. I assume he'll start off like he did last night, but he takes me by surprise instead. 

He grabs me by the nape of my neck, sneering to himself. His strong hands force me to turn around and then he slams me into the vanity against the wall, his painted nails digging into my skin.

I hiss when my chest and face press into the dark oak surface beneath me. I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch my lips together, trying to stay quiet. There was so much in that one little push— so much dominance, anger, even satisfaction. On the other hand, my mask is pinching into the side of my face. It even lifted up to uncover the tip of my nose. I move my hands to hold onto the edge of the vanity, using one to quickly fix my mask.

My heart screams in my chest. He can't see me. Could he have seen me? And he couldn't recognize me just by the tip of my nose, right?

Sal leans over me. His warmth envelops me so quickly and I suck in a breath, shivering when his hair brushes along my jaw. One of his hands is still clutching  the back of my neck and the other comes down harshly against my ass. I flinch at the contact, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth to contain whatever filthy sound that was about to be released.

Things have taken a dark turn and I'm here for it.

"You keep testing me. Every single day. Can't you shut up for once?" he hisses into my ear while his lower half presses into me from behind. More specifically, his thick cock against my ass. The only thing separating our skin is our cargo pants that are covered in neon paint splotches.

He presses down on my neck, pushing my face into the cold wood. "You think you're all special and pampered because I went easy on you last night, don't you?" He harshly says, grip tightening. "You haven't seen even a fraction of what I'm capable of. And I'm not sure you're ready either."

I snort. He doesn't know a single thing about me. This is what I want— I want to be scared. I want to be hurt. Doesn't he realize?

"And honestly, I don't give a fuck whether you're prepared or not. You're walking into my world now." His voice is an aggressive whisper in my ear, making goosebumps rise along my skin. His hand moves from my neck to grab at my hair, right against my scalp. He gives a tight yank, causing me to tilt my head up and arch my back to relieve some of the pain.

My mouth falls open as I stare at him through the mirror before me. He's hovering over me with the most devilish look in his pretty blue eyes. His hand in my hair, the other resting on my butt. He looks like he has perfect control over the situation.

"Do you wish to proceed?" He asks, this time more seriously, taking a second to focus on consent before continuing.

"Not if you talk like that, Todd Morrison," I rasp out, grinning mischievously at his reflection.

His eyes narrow in response. "I'm serious, Vi," he growls out.

My own eyes roll in response while butterflies kick up in my belly. "Fine," I murmur. "Yes, I want to do this." The words tumble from my lips so effortlessly. It was so hard for me last night, even just a few moments ago, but seeing our position fills me with anticipation. I can't pass up such an offer when he already has me bent over a piece of furniture. This is a dream come true.

Sal hums, the vibration transferring from his chest into my entire body, making some unknown exhilaration soar to life within me. I grip onto the edges of the vanity, trying to hold myself together. But the truth is that I'm falling apart in his hands. The world around me is absolutely nothing-- I have no worries, no thoughts so long as he continues to touch me. 

He drags his fingers from my scalp to the end of my hair and wraps it around his fist before shoving my face back into the wood. Thankfully, this time he's a bit gentler so I can adjust my mask by simply moving my face against the wood. "Give me a safe word," he commands hoarsely, palm running up my ass to the top of my pants.

I let out a breath, finding it hard to get in a good dose of oxygen at the moment. His touch is so rough, but nowhere near enough at the same time. I want to feel him everywhere. I want him underneath my skin-- something. Anything more than just this little bit he's giving me.

"Safe word?" My heart skips a beat. "So we're getting really slutty then."

"I won't say it again," Sal warns, absolutely done with my antics. "Don't test me. I'll fuck the brat right out of you."

His words make a shiver crawl up my spine. Yum, how fun.

I shut my eyes again and release another shaky breath. "Okay, uh," I trail off, taking a moment to ponder. Coming up with safe words is always so hard, especially when I'm put on the spot. Naturally, my first thought is to make it something that only he and I will understand. We don't have many memories, but we've done some dirty stuff, so we do have a couple things in common. I think he's hot and hopefully the same goes for him.

"Time's ticking," Sal says, voice monotonous but much deeper than it was seconds ago. Patience wearing thin.

The only thing that comes to mind is the argument that Larry and Sal had the day I got to Caesar's Palace. And then an image of Sal and Larry dressed as deer follow the memory.

"Twitterpated," I quickly spit out, gulping down the flash of embarrassment that's overcome me. I don't want to risk having this moment ended because I couldn't come up with a simple safe word. How ridiculous would that be? The one I chose is ridiculous in and of itself.

Sal snorts quietly. "Alright. Twitterpated. You say that, everything stops. I say that, everything stops. Got it?" He asks me, wrapping his arm around my waist and fumbling with the buttons on my pants.

I lick my lips while my heart jumps into my throat. "Got it."

"Prove it," Sal says, fingers squeezing my hair tight.

My mouth gapes open when a spark of pain ignites along my scalp. It renders me speechless for a moment while I relish in the blissful feeling. "Twitterpated," I say, loud enough for him to hear even though I feel so breathless.

Sal's hands stop. One moves away from my pants and the other untangles itself from my hair, but he still hovers over me. "Good girl," he purrs. "Ready to continue?"

I swallow thickly, my cheeks turning a dark shade of red over the praise. My breasts uncomfortably squish into the vanity while I impatiently wait for Sal to touch me again. "Yes," I say softly, eager to see where this goes.

Without a second of hesitation, Sal's hands are back where they were a moment ago. Only now, he's quickly and effectively undone the buttons on my pants. He hooks his fingers into the waistband, gives a quick tug, and then the fabric is pooling around my legs.

"Pick up your feet," he demands, bending away from me to grab the piece of clothing. His cool fingers lightly trail down my thighs and calves, making an involuntary shiver take hold of my body. He knows exactly what he's doing. That much is obvious when he drops to his haunches and wraps one large, ring-clad hand around the top of my thigh. His fingertips brush the edge of my panties and I feel like I've lost all ability to breathe.

I lift one foot at a time, letting him to pull the article out from under me. He haphazardly throws my pants to the side before returning to me, one hand still wrapped around my thigh and the other palming my bare ass like it's some kind of science project. "How pretty," he purrs, fingers dancing over my skin— down the inside of my thigh then between my legs, teasing my clothed pussy. His index finger presses into my clit with purpose and I flinch, heart racing as I press my legs together. The light touches and teasing make me want to whimper, but I refuse to give in so quickly.

Sal hums amusedly, pulling his hand away from my core to drag it up my back. "You're behaving so well. How long will that last?" He muses. His hand trails down to my underwear again. For a moment, every one of my bodily functions stops. He ripped my panties apart last night, who's to say he won't do it again?

But thankfully, Sal only pulls those down my legs too, allowing me to step out of them.

I let out a little breath of relief, blinking at the cream wall to the side of me. "It'll last as long as you let it. Up to you," I tell him. He must be able to tell that I'm holding on by a thread from the sound of my voice.

"As long as I let it?" He repeats my words, forming them into a question. I can feel his hard dick twitch against my bare ass, the feeling of it sends a shock through my body and straight to my core. My chest feels heavy with satisfaction as I shut my eyes and lick my lips. He's just as enraptured as I am-- the knowledge of that will never not fill me with an insatiable amount of pleasure.

"Treat me well and we'll see how long I can keep up the good behavior," I say quickly, trying to hide how affected I am, though there's no reason to do so. If I wasn't so worried about looking like an idiot, I'd be panting like a dog right now.

I hear a grunt behind me, his fingers flexing against my skin and scalp. "I don't treat anyone well. This is all for me and you'll do well to know that. Now shut the fuck up."

My eyes are still closed when his hand wraps around my waist and moves down to my swollen clit, his fingers expertly teasing the bud. He's skilled. Knows what makes me tick and what gets me going. He's only done this to me once before so I can only guess that he just has a good amount of experience.

Sal's fingers leave my clit, exploring downward to dip into me just a bit, soaking up all the wetness that had collected between my folds. The light intrusion is both unbearable and incredibly pleasing, I can't decide what I want to feel.

My thighs unintentionally squeeze together as my emotions battle each other. I've been waiting for this all day. He's only just brushing the surface of this experience and I feel like I'm going to fall apart. Hell, maybe I've already fallen apart but my pride won't allow me to acknowledge it.

"And there we are," he suddenly grinds out between clenched teeth, the sound of his aggressive tone spooking me momentarily. "Keep your legs open."

"Or?" I say without thinking.

I open my eyes when Sal's fingers leave my folds. Then his feet push my legs apart, keeping my feet firmly planted into the carpet with his own legs. My pussy is on full display for him, my back arched and ass pressed into him.

"I told you to shut the fuck up," he hisses quietly, voice so dangerous and delicious. His prosthetic face is right beside mine and I flinch at his words and our proximity, a little thrum of unease passing through me. It's soon replaced by excitement though.

Suddenly, without warning and despite my initial worry, Sal plunges a finger into me. And he doesn't stop.

Everything moves insanely quickly and I feel like my eyes are going to pop out of my head, that or I'm going to cry— in a good way. Sal's finger thrusts into me at an unforgivably fast pace and each time he sinks into my pussy again, a garbled moan falls from my lips.

The skin of his wrist repeatedly slaps into my ass, creating more friction and tension. There's so much happening— his fingers in me, his skin on mine, his hand buried in my hair.

I squeeze my eyes shut, whimpering when he curls his finger at just the right angle, sending a rush of pleasure through my entire body. I shiver, digging my fingers into the wooden surface beneath me.

Sal yanks my head up by my hair, forcing me to look at this salacious scene through the mirror in front of us. I can see him, bent over me with his prosthetic lips pressed into the side of my head and his arm moving so quickly behind me, so brutal and unrelenting.

The feelings that build up within me hit hard. There's the cliff I'm trying to chase, the one I want to jump over. Reach the peak. Anything to feel more of what he's giving me.

"Look at yourself," Sal says breathlessly, his eyes meeting my own through the mirror as he turns his head, keeping his cheek pressed against mine. "Dirty little whore. You like being used. You like being disobedient. You like being broken," he says these words to me, each syllable coming out in a light, controlled pant. He's definitely enjoying myself. "I'll break you if that's what you want," he continues, finger curling into me again. "But it comes at a price."

My eyes roll into the back of my head. If I could form words, I'd tell him "please" but lucky for him, I'm afraid to open my mouth. With his finger slamming into me like this, I'd wake up the entire suite. I don't trust myself and I sure as shit don't trust him, but what I do trust is his ability to make me cum. He's good at it, after all.

"Come on," he growls out, yanking my hair a bit more. I'm forced to bend my neck due to his grip. My back is pressed against his chest, there's no way for me to move to find some kind of solace. And still, I'm quickly gaining on an orgasm that only he can bring me to.

My legs squeeze together of their own accord, but his thighs keep them from completely closing. He's still pumping his finger into me at that same, beautifully addicting pace that he started at. I think I'm seeing stars.

"You gonna cum for me like a good bitch?" he rasps out, squeezing my hair tighter in his hand. I only moan as quietly as I can in response, still not trusting my ability to speak. Even then, the sound was still easy to hear.

"Speak," Sal commands, hooking his finger into me yet again. He's buried deep, to the hilt with his hand cupping the bottom of my butt and his finger moving quickly inside me. It's overwhelming in the most amazing way. My heart flutters in my chest, already running a marathon regardless. My lungs can't hold in a good breath and my limbs are quaking furiously.

"Yes," I say hoarsely, reaching my arms up to grab onto the back of his hair. I need to hold onto something; pleasure doesn't come to me in sections right now, it's one huge tidal wave that ceases to end. I'm practically drowning in the oncoming orgasm. "Please, I'm so close," I groan, biting down on my bottom lip while squeezing my eyes tightly.

Sal's neck is pressed against mine. I can feel every breath he takes, feel every little grunt that leaves his throat. His skin is hot, a little sweaty. His azure hair is mixed with mine. My mask and his prosthetic are cheek-to-cheek. I can't tell if the deep breaths and panting I'm hearing are coming from me or him.

"Really?" He says, voice condescending. Each syllable reverberates through my entire body, only pushing me even closer to the edge. I don't have enough time to focus on him— the end is in sight and he's thrusting his finger so hard, so deep, so fast. Just one more—

But there's never another thrust. When he pulls his finger back, it leaves me completely. And then I'm feeling empty, out of breath, fluttery all over, and quite frankly, a little pissed off.

I open my eyes, looking up at Sal through the mirror. His gaze travels over the image of my body before meeting mine in the reflection. "I told you all good things come with a price," he says, probably reading the negative emotions in my gaze. "You don't get to cum until I say you do."

Eyes dark with desire, malice, and sinful intentions, Sal lets go of me and turns his head. My hands fall to my sides as I watch him take a step or two away from me. "Move and I'll kick you out," he grunts out quickly. "You're going to be a fucking problem with all the touching," he continues, moving away from the vanity and out of my line of vision. I stay rooted in my spot, orgasm slowly fading away from me and being replaced by an almost painful yearning in my gut. Fuck, how dare he.

But from the sound of it, he's not finished. He just has an issue with me touching him. He said something about that earlier today too, which, fine. Hard limit— okay. I won't touch. I just wish he would get back here and finish what he started because I'm about to go feral.

I can hear what sounds like metal clanking together quietly behind me, and then Sal reappears in the mirror with a leather belt in his hand. I can't help but tense up my entire body, mind going blank.

There's a little glimmer of amusement in his cerulean eyes when he notices my reaction, so he holds the belt up, shaking it a bit. "This scare you?" He asks, but I shake my head, gulping down the exhilaration that threatens to practically crawl out of my skin. I'm so excited.

"It should," he says pointedly, tilting his head down slightly to intimidate me. And... okay, it definitely works. I've never done this type of thing with him before so this could go one of two ways. But I don't say anything, I just stare back at him, lips parted while I try to catch my breath.

Sal blinks then looks down at my bare ass. "Do you like pain?" He mumbles, running a teasing finger down the slope of my butt.

"Yes," is what I reply with, my voice shaking and my thoughts completely clouded. It's like we've gone the complete opposite way from last night. I couldn't get a word out yesterday— too nervous and embarrassed. But now I'd do anything to make him touch me, hurt me. Anything.

His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, then he lifts that belt and swings it down, the leather cracking against the skin of my ass harshly.

I yelp and jolt away from him instinctually, my hips slamming into the wooden vanity. My eyes shut as pain closes in on me from all sides and I grip onto the oak in front of me, taking a slow breath.

Then comes the good part, the satisfying feeling of being hurt. The wetness that gathers on my folds, the delightful queasy feeling in my tummy that spreads through my chest all the way to my toes.

I lick my lips, blinking my eyes open when a pleasurable cry threatens to build in my throat.

I'm too close to the vanity to tilt my head up and look at Sal's reflection, but that doesn't stop him. He takes a step toward my retreated figure, palm enveloping the skin he'd just abused. His fingers expertly massage my sore butt, only bringing out more feelings for me to indulge in.

"Well, aren't you fun," he purrs into my ear, chuckling softly. He pulls my hands off of the vanity, putting my wrists together against my back. Then, he moves his hand from my ass to the spot between my shoulder blades and pushes my upper body down onto the surface of the wooden dresser. "Stay there. Be good." His words are drowned out the second he wraps that leather belt around my wrists like he's done it a thousand times before.

He loops the fabric around one wrist, then does the same to the other, leaving absolutely no wiggle room for me to get out. Next, he puts one end through the belt buckle and yanks it tight, making the leather pinch my skin uncomfortably. I hiss at the feeling, squeezing my hands into fists as a spear of gratification stabs into me. This is borderline embarrassing, but definitely worth it.

Sal huffs out a quick, disbelieving laugh at my reaction, his hands pulling harshly at the belt to make sure I won't be able to get out. "I guess I underestimated you," he acknowledges, albeit he does so hesitantly, like he hates to admit that he may have been wrong. "Maybe I can't scare you off. Maybe you've been a freak all along."

His hands spread over my back and to my waist, dragging up my sides and pushing my shirt up with it. His cold, nimble fingers trail over my ribs slowly, feeling each bone and every inch of my heated flesh. Then, two of his fingers push into the skin right below my breast on the left side of my body. I clench my teeth together when a dull ache follows the action. He found the bruise that his paintballs left on me earlier today.

"Did I hurt you?" He asks, tone patronizing in a way that would cause an instant fight in any other situation. Being belittled in this scenario is oddly satisfying in a way I can't quite explain though.

Sal leans over me again, his hard cock rubbing over my skin. His fingers are still gripping my sides as he whispers to me, "I'd bite that bruise if I could-- make you hurt even more."

A groan is ripped from my lips despite how badly I wish I could have kept it hidden within me. I really wish he would bite me.

As quickly as he'd grown closer to me, he pulls away. But this time, I hear the rustling of clothing and my breath is stolen from me again. I can hear my heart, feel it beat in my fingertips. This is it, the moment I've been waiting for for... well, weeks now. 

My legs quake in anticipation when Sal presses a hand onto my lower back, settling me against the vanity. And he doesn't say a word-- neither do I when I feel the soft skin of the head of his dick pressing gently against my cunt. I bite into my bottom lip, my head feeling fuzzy as adrenaline grips me. 

I push myself backwards, hopefully discreetly enough to the point that Sal's unable to tell, but just the very tip of him sinks into my pussy from my motions. A shaky whimper comes from Sal and it's so quiet that it seems to have been ripped from him, like he hated to even make a sound so soon.

"Stay fucking still," he bites out, voice higher pitched than it was the last time he spoke. The way I can tell exactly what he's feeling just from the way he speaks is incredible. He's so easy, yet so hard to read. 

I still don't say a word. Damn him for momentarily taming the brat because this is a violation of my own personal rules. But I can't help myself-- so long as my silence brings him closer to me, I'll give up my voice box. I'd give it up forever.

"Good fucking girl." The words are barely audible, only meant for himself as his thumb rubs over the top of my ass. He pushes his cock just a bit farther into me, taking his sweet fucking time. I don't know how he has so much patience because I'm really about to lose my mind. I can't hold out, I can't.

"Sal," I almost cry out, taking a quick breath to try and regain my composure," Please."

"I said to shut up, Vi," he rasps, but his voice has no aggression or bite. He's losing himself. "When will you learn your lesson?" 

I turn my head in an attempt to shake it, but find that the vanity's surface stops me from doing so. I couldn't care less about his no-talk thing right now. "Can you just--"

The sound of a jiggling door knob results in Sal quickly pulling out what very little bit of his dick had actually entered me. I jolt upright myself, taking staggering and panicked steps back until I bump into Sal's front. His hand instinctually grabs onto my waist to stabilize me as we watch the door. Fear is thrumming through my genes at the terrorizing thought of someone entering this room with Sal and I almost completely naked like this. So much is going wrong-- 

But the door knob stops jiggling and that's when Sal and I both suddenly realize that the door is locked.

I physically fold, bending forward in relief as a cold sweat suddenly takes over me.

Sal removes himself from behind me. When he walks around me, he's holding his pants up by the waistband and taking a couple steps toward the door. He doesn't say a word, confusion and pure, unadulterated fear is written in his body language.

"Sal, I want to come back in here with you." It's Larry, and poor thing. He sounds so desperate. 

Sal glances back at me, his bright, icy blue gaze unreadable. I watch him, glancing between those eyes of his with a pout that I can't hide. We were so close. 

"Okay, Lar," Sal says monotonously. He makes no move for the door though, likely because I'm still half naked. 

"Alright," Larry says, voice muffled from the hunk of wood separating him from us. He sounds so relieved. "I'm going use the bathroom real quick. Can you unlock the door for when I get back?"

"I will," Sal mumbles back in response, walking back to me with a little glare in his eyes.

I suck in a breath. I'm disappointed, in truth. I was excited for this. We had both agreed and we were right there, but the opportunity is gone.

Sal stands behind me, undoing the belt around my wrists. I pull my hands away from my back when the belt is removed and flex my fingers, admiring the red marks left on my skin from the leather.

I glance off to the side after a moment and grab my clothes, quickly pulling on my underwear before I take a chance and turn. Sal has been quiet, which is weird. It's unsettling, even. Makes me kind of uncomfortable.

When he finally enters my field of vision, he even looks a bit awkward. Maybe it's because the moment is ruined and I'm literally almost half naked, fighting to get my cargo pants over my ankles.

"This is over," Sal finally speaks, his eyes boring into mine. Well, duh, it's over. Larry interrupted us. I don't have to say a word for him to see the words on my face.

"This thing," he continues, all nonchalance and unbothered as he gestures between us with a hand. "It's over. No sex over the phone, no hand or mouth stuff, no sex in general. I'm done with you. I was done with you yesterday."

My breath gets caught in my throat for the umpteenth time tonight. His words don't necessarily hurt-- I should have expected them. But the point is that I didn't expect them, and now I'm leaving Las Vegas in the morning... but I likely won't see Sal for at least another year anyway. So why am I shocked? Why can't I think? Why can't I process that he just ended our sex agreement?

I just watch him, trying to hide all of the panic, the disappointment, the fear, and the sadness I've been trying to bite down all day. I don't know how to feel. Again. I simply keep my gaze locked on his as I finally get my pants up my legs and begin buttoning them.

Just like that. It's done and I didn't even get the full experience. I feel... upset. I feel angry knowing that I was just a quick fuck for him. Not that we even got to fuck. But, then again, he was the same thing for me. I shouldn't be angry-- I can't be angry.

I should be relieved.

"Okay," I say evenly, peeling my eyes away from him.

I can't look at him. I'll cry or punch him. Maybe I'd yell at him. I don't know. And I don't know why I'd do any of those things to begin with. Maybe it's just because I'm upset that I have to leave tomorrow and all the negative feelings that come with being separated from my friends again is finally starting to make me crack.

"Okay," he responds, voice just as emotionless as mine.

I do the walk of shame to his door, unlocking it quickly and pulling it open. My head feels heavy, too heavy from my neck. My body weighs too much for my legs to uphold right now. I feel like crumbling to the floor. I said that I was falling apart earlier and now I really am.

Sal and I don't exchange a word as I step into the hallway and start closing the door behind me. I swallow my emotions, trying to keep my tears at bay. I don't need to cry. I shouldn't-- there's no reason. None at all. And crying's only going to make me have a terrible headache later.

I look up, tears brimming my eyes as I make quick eye contact with sleepy Larry. Fuck, terrible timing.

"Hey, Vi," he slurs a bit, smiling gently at me. "I'm not kicking you out, you can bunk with me." He's so sweet, but I need to be alone. I need separation or else Larry's going to wake up to me weeping beside him.

"That's okay," I give him my best smile, which probably isn't even really that great. "I'm going to go lay with Ash. I'm pretty tired. Plus your bed is a twin size-- we wouldn't fit."

"Fine." He pouts, following the expression with a yawn. "I'll see you in the morning then. Night."

I swallow down the lump in my throat so I can answer him without giving my feelings away. "Goodnight," I say quietly, because whispering is easier than saying it out loud.

I continue my trek down the hallway, my footsteps picking up speed as I turn a corner and make my way to the bathroom. I can't suppress the urge to cry and the frown marring my face is horrific. I can't keep it away no matter how badly I wish I could feel differently.

I never should have gotten involved with Sal. I never should have come to Las Vegas. Leaving is so much harder. Missing out on this opportunity to see everyone wouldn't have hurt this bad.

I regret everything.

My hand slaps onto the light switch, flicking it on and enveloping the spacious bathroom with blindingly bright light. I shut the bathroom door behind me and grab onto the counter, facing myself in the mirror.

I look sexed out and exhausted. I look broken. He said he'd break me. Fuck, he said he would. It wasn't just him though-- it's everything. Everything that I should have done differently. And now I'm stuck here, pitifully watching myself holding back tears in the mirror and unable to control my raging guilt, disappointment, and regret.

I should shower. That might calm me down, might shut my brain up for a few minutes. 

Without a moment of hesitation, I yank my paint-stained shirt over my head and spare myself another glance in the mirror as my hands work on the clasp of my necklace.

But seeing the necklace in my reflection-- hanging around my neck and resting right between my breasts makes me feel so, so sick. Because it's not my necklace. It's Sal's. It's his guitar pick. And for the last few weeks that I've had it, I've forgotten it was there because it became second nature to take it off before my shower and put it back on right after. It became a part of me-- so much so that I forgot it was even there. I forgot about the meaning it holds, and the power it holds over me.

I pinch my lips together, aggressively pulling the thing away from my body after unclasping it. I squeeze the pick in my fist while leaning over the sink, watching myself in the mirror.

How could I have done this to myself? Every decision I've made recently has ended up being the ultimate betrayal. Every second. Even since right before I became VioletViolence. The day I met Sally Face is the day that everything started going wrong, and it's my own damn fault.

My reflection suddenly has wet, hot tears flowing down her cheeks and a pitiful look on her face. And she's the only one who feels as terribly as I do right now.

_____________________

A/N::::: hiiiiiiii!!! :3 UGH i've missed you guys so much! and i've missed writing so terribly much as well. it's been over a month and that fact literally makes me SICK. i hate being away from the thing that brings me so much joy :( but the good news is that i have less than a month in the semester which means plenty of time to write starting soon!! i've been hellaaaaa busy with my big, really important courses this semester. the amount of work piled onto me is atrocious, but we'll make it through. pinky promise <333

so about faceless fixation-- GRRRRR I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CHAPTER so many of you have been asking about the necklace and i've literally been clawing at my own soul with anticipation for this final moment!! i have so many plans for future chapters and the only thing i can say with confidence is that it will literally never get any less shocking. i'll keep you guys on your toes forever.

anywho, it's 3:30am and i have class at 9:30, so goodnight my darlings!! i hope you all have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night! and never forget i love you all with my entire heart and soul <33

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Viper of Fear [16]

I'm crouched behind the one piece of protection I was able to find in this abyss of unspoken horrors. This battle ground of malice and revenge. 

My heart pounds against my ribcage, a war drum thrumming within my own body. My chest is splattered with the lost hopes and dreams of my enemies. My veins are filled with the icy bite of fear-- fear that strikes with the accuracy of a viper. 

This is a wasteland. What once was is nothing anymore. The ground beneath me held up opportunity mere minutes ago, all for it to be stripped away in a moments notice. And it's all my fault.

The surface beyond my safe space is riddled with the neon blood of my foe. Synthetic shotgun shells cover the floor, acting as hell's very own field of bones. The desert scene that earlier reflected a symbol of goals I never thought I'd achieve now mimics Vlad the Impaler's wet dream. 

I take a shaky breath, adrenaline pumping through every millimeter of my being as I listen to the war waging behind me. I don't spare even a simple glance over the box I'm hiding behind. This box is the stone that Arthur's sword once resided in-- this bitch will never break as long as I believe in it.

My fingers flex around the weapon in my arms, my muscles tense and my mind alert. If I'm not on edge at all times right now, I'll get caught. And getting caught means death. All hell has broken loose amidst the cloud of contentment that blinded me just minutes ago. I should have know that karma and revenge go hand-in-hand. They're best friends. They are a repeated process and know each other good and well. 

I acted on revenge, and karma was quick to collect my debt. 

"You've been hit by..." my heart stops upon hearing that deep, sultry, amused voice. He's having the time of his life, relishing in the screams of his victims. "You've been struck by..." I hear the barrel of his gun snap, releasing a plague of venom upon the person at his mercy. And the sufferer bellows in agony, spreading their unfortunate and horrific fate to me. I sympathize, my heart skipping a beat. I'm trapped in the clutches of hesitance, of terror. I squeeze my eyes shut. "A smooooth Larry Johnson!"

I swallow thickly, a guilty grin quirking my lips. Everyone's fair game to Larry right now. We aren't his friends at the moment, we're pawns in his chaotic chess game.

I set my gun on my knee, wiping my clammy palm against my chest. My hand comes up sticky though, so I look down at it, grimacing at my neon orange skin. I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the memory of how I became covered in paint.

The issue with my win against Sal earlier is that I expected him to silently fume over his loss. I wasn't prepared for him to throw paintballs into his mag and pelt me with three almost immediately. I was too confident. Overzealous. And... I guess I had it coming.

I can't wipe the image of that moment out of my head, when I finally looked up at Sal to see him stalking over to me with a fire in his pretty blue eyes. As soon as our gazes clashed, he launched into fighting position with his gun up, aimed at me, and at the ready. His finger slammed on the trigger with no regret, effectively slathering me in the ugliest colors I've ever seen. What's worse is that he came at me short-range, so my gut and chest are throbbing in pain. Probably have some bruising, but hey, that's game. This is war.

What I want to know is how the hell Sal and Larry know how to work a paint ball gun. I underestimated my enemies.

First rule of gaming and life: never, under any circumstances, underestimate the enemy. And for fucks sake, double tap! Don't be like me, apparently.

Larry very thankfully moves away from me, probably laying his mayhem upon Ash somewhere else in this tumultuous room.

No one has found me yet, and it's already been about a full five minutes since the metaphorical shit hit the fan. I guess physical shit too, seeing as we've completely wrecked this photoshoot set. I kind of feel bad for The Faces; no one's ever going to give them this opportunity again.

I hear Todd yelp somewhere in the distance and my body stiffens up automatically. I can't afford to feel false security in such a dangerous situation. This box of props isn't my savior, nor will it ever be. I have to be prepared no matter what.

I feel a brush against my leg, so I whip my head to the side half expecting a threat and half expecting me to just have been stupid and hit the wall. Preparation can work or it can backfire, but it's better than walking through the unknown.

But seeing Sal crouched beside me makes me want to bolt into the crossfire that Larry's creating.

And Sal hasn't noticed me yet either. He's simply hiding from Larry too, trying to escape the fiend his step-brother has become. His gun is propped on his knee, his finger hovering over the trigger in fear of being found. His sapphire colored hair is stringy from sweat, sticking to his neck and prosthetic. Dots of neon green and orange are littered along the long strands, his fringe much the same. He pants heavily, probably from bolting across the room as quickly as he could. His chest rises and falls quickly, the action attracting my gaze. And then his eyes that map out the battle ground behind the box we're both hidden behind-- his cerulean gaze that swallows me whole no matter when or how I get to see them. And those beautiful, veiny, bruised hands of his that handle the weapon in his arms like he has the strength and confidence of all the mightiest men in this world.

He glances down at his gun, using his hand to swipe a patch of neon green off of his black gun. But when he looks down, he also spots my boot.

I gulp, the viper of fear sinking its venomous fangs into my skin. It was only a matter of time-- I should have snuck away while he was still distracted. But as I said, karma and revenge work hand-in-hand. 

Sal's head snaps up, shocked gaze meeting my own. As soon as he realizes who he's looking at, the emotion in his eyes flips completely, turning into a horrendous glare. And there's nothing I can really do but wait for him to probably shoot me again. It's better than risking an onslaught from Larry-- I'm actually scared of him. Kinda relieved that Ash and Todd have to face him instead of me. 

"Bitch," Sal bites out quietly, trying to make sure that Larry doesn't find him. "Fuck you."

My lips quirk into some kind of sneer and grin. If this is all he'll do then maybe it's time to repeat the karma-revenge process. I'm about ready to get back at him for bruising my ribs earlier. "Yea," I whisper back harshly, "I bet you want to." 

Sal's piercing eyes narrow and a wave of impending doom and ferocity carves away at my insides. I can feel the sting of murderous intent like flames licking at my skin. Maybe I need to reevaluate my life choices.

He doesn't say a word-- doesn't drone about how much he hates me or how I'm nothing compared to him. He just lifts one hand from his gun and slams it into my throat, his fingers gripping my skin tightly and robbing me of fresh air.

I choke on the sudden pressure on my airways, leaning forward to try and relieve myself even if just a bit, but Sal doesn't let up. He only yanks me closer to him. It's almost embarrassing that he knows what turns me into putty in his hands-- we've only been doing this for two days. But it seems that anger and aggression is his go-to when it comes to me, whether he truly feels it or he's just trying to wrap me around his finger.

I swallow, taking quick and raspy breaths as I look into his eyes that are mere centimeters away from mine. His bright blue irises hold so much intrigue, so much contempt. Every shade of blue, every fleck of golden stardust in his gaze resents me. I'm borderline obsessed with the way he hates me at this point. It's such a strong emotion, to be loathed so deeply by anyone at all. It isn't love, but I don't need love. 

Maybe this is why I didn't move when I realized he was next to me. Because I craved to fall victim to the indignation that constantly radiates between us. He just hates me so good.

I wrap my hand around his wrist, tears starting to form in my eyes as I do my best to hold his gaze. I won't bend to him-- that would be too easy. Nothing about this is easy, and it shouldn't be. He and I both know it.

"You don't want to fuck me," he says condescendingly, raspy voice full of veiled fascination. He hides most of it with his anger, but I know he enjoys the way I react. It's painfully obvious. "You couldn't handle me."

I snort as best as I can with my airways blocked off, a little smile pulling at my lips. Is he really trying to scare me? He should know by now that trying to freak me out only makes me want to show him how wrong he is. "Wanna bet?" I challenge with a scratchy, barely audible voice.

His eyes glance over my face, soaking up the position he has me in appreciatively. "I'll rip you apart," he warns, pretty gaze snapping up to meet mine again.

"Wasn't that always the plan?"

Sal takes a slow, deep breath before cocking his head to the side in an admonishing way. Then he drops his hand and a rush of air abuses my lungs. I choke on the oxygen invading my body and scoot away from him as quickly as possible. He looks away from me, peeking over the top of the box. "If it wasn't the plan before, then it is now. Someone needs to set you straight." 

Oh, that's nice. So when are we fucking? "I don't want to be set straight," I scoff, taking the opportunity to glance around the side of the box too. Larry's been pulled aside by the photographers. And holy fuck, it looks like a neon tornado tore up this entire room. We're in so much trouble. "I want to be reminded of why I want this to begin with."

"No," Sal bites out. "You just need to fucking go to therapy. Bratty bitch-- I'll scare you out of this stupid BDSM fantasy you have."

I turn my head to him, eyes wide. Did he really just blindly read me and guess correctly? "How fucking dare you?" I seethe quietly. "Who are you to tell me I need to go to therapy? What does that say about you, huh? Hypocritical cunt."

Sal looks down at me in return, gaze as wrathful and irritated as usual when it comes to me. "Only delusional people like you think they want to be tied up and fucked into stupidity. But since you won't stop lying to yourself like a dumbass, I'll just have to be a good Samaritan and show you, I fucking guess." 

"Ah, yea," I hum, feigning disappointment while excitement rushes through me. "Such a shame that you have to go out of your way to fuck me hard enough that I lose the last few braincells I have left." Sal rolls his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. "You're such a hypocrite. You're judging me for being a freak when you're one too," I continue.

"Because it fits me. I've been a freak from the start, why not make it into something I can actually utilize?" He counters, voice still laced with agitation that only continues to grow.

"So no one else can have the same desires that you do? Are you really gatekeeping your sexuality right now?" I hiss at him, adjusting my stance to face him-- anything to be more intimidating than I already am. He's such an asshole involving absolutely everything. Who does he think he is? The bouncer of BDSM? Be fucking for real.

"Only you would take a warning as gatekeeping." Sal runs his paint-covered hand over his prosthetic, realizing too late that his face is slathered in neon. This only fuels his obvious vexation. He grumbles quietly to himself before saying. "You're such a simpleminded moron. Think with your head instead of your pussy. I mean, really think." 

Rage suffocates me like I'm swimming in a sea of way-too-fluffy bunnies. I might be attracted to him in a way that's so down horrendous it makes me question myself sometimes, but that does absolutely nothing to distract me from how awful his personality actually is. I've never wanted to punch someone the way I want to punch him. Every single second I spend with him-- sucking him off or arguing with him-- fills me with some of the most potent emotions I've ever had the displeasure of experiencing in my entire life.

"Sal," I say calmly, turning away from him to watch as Larry turns around and starts calling out all of us. His gun has been revoked. "I say this honestly, and for your own good," I tell the man beside me. I could pistol-whip his ass right now. I'm so pissed. "I think I'll be the one to rip you apart."

That makes him laugh humorlessly, but I don't dare look down to see it happen. If I see him right now, my boot is going to be somewhere on him and it's going to hurt. "I'd like to see you try," he rasps out.

I scrunch my face up, trying to control the anger that radiates off of me in toxic waves. I'm innocent in all of this. Someone needs to set him straight. Not me.

"Try to wipe my handprint off your neck," Sal mumbles, standing up and walking around the box. "If anyone gets any ideas, I'm blaming you."

Asshole. I sneer at his back as he walks over to Larry. I bend down, swiping at my neck and only being able to smear the paint since it's starting to dry. But whatever-- if someone thinks it's a handprint, I'll just pass it off as my own.

"Yea, man," Larry says as I finally start to make my way over to him and Sal. "They aren't pressing charges because they got good pics out of the whole mess, but they are kicking us out. So..." Larry says in a serious tone, one that I don't hear all too often. He almost seems a little timid. "Ash got to talk with them while they stripped me of my fun stick. Thank God she's the bargainer because I would've landed us in jail." Emo buff daddy snorts, trying to smoosh down a little smirk.

So we're given a good reprimanding. I hate this part of getting into trouble because I always feel bad. Mainly since I'm usually the one who was the bad influence and started everything. Some things just never change and Ash can attest to that. 

So many times in my life, I've done things that have landed me in situations where I definitely could have gotten a juvenile record. I've just been lucky all this time-- I need to stay lucky because I don't qualify for juvie anymore. 

There was one time my band buddies and I had the bright idea to carve out the batter head of a school-owned bass drum and trick this asshole kid into crawling into it. Duck-taped him to it in record time and also got caught immediately. We were going to roll him outside of the building. This paint-ball situation reminds me of that time. It's literally almost the same situation-- defacing property, basically. 

I need to stop doing this to myself.

The Faces and I do the walk of shame out of The Venetian, catching a taxi over to Excalibur since they apparently have these giant sword-shaped daiquiris and we all need a drink after what just went down. The one downside is that we're all in tactical gear and covered in neon paint. But, whatever. It's Vegas.

We all stand in line at the daiquiri stand, waiting for our turn to order. It's pretty cool in here, set up like a castle with life size chess pieces lining the front walkway. Not to mention, male strippers are taking pictures with old ladies beside us and, holy hell, no matter the time or day that is just a glorious sight to behold.

Ash and I stand beside each other, giggling over the horny old ladies beside us when a group of people walk around the corner. They're all dressed in old, medieval clothing. All men. Kings, in fact. I think back to what Ash told me earlier about there being jousting tournaments in this casino. I didn't think they dressed up though-- they all look so cool. 

But then there's a straggler-- a man dressed as some kind of dark, medieval knight. His hair is long and curly and he has face make-up on. Black around his eyes. He's hot as fuck and Ash and I both quiet down while he walks by, strutting like he owns the place. He's tall as hell too. Larry's height.

The group of actors crawl into line behind us. I lick my lips, trying to get a glimpse of the dark knight, but Sal's stupid head is in my way.

Ash leans over, whispering not-so-quietly to me. "Did you see that hunk of walking fucking sex? Damn," she says, voice starstruck and eyes filled with hearts. "Men don't affect me all that often but imagine if I could sneak him into bed."

I suck in a breath, standing on my tiptoes to look between Todd and Sal's heads. All I can see is the right side of the knight's face, but that alone is satisfying to me. "I'd sleep on the couch so long as at least one of us got to get with that. He's beautiful," I admit, sending Ash a sideways glance. She giggles, nodding her head in agreement.

"Who's got you two twitterpated?" Larry asks, winking at me when I look over. Good use of new vocabulary, Lar.

I nod to the men behind Larry. "If you look behind us, there's an actor dressed as an emo knight, so to speak. He's pretty hot," I tell him.

I could slap men. They live off of one singular, shared braincell. I'll even include Todd in this statement because all three guys turn so hard that anyone else would think they'd all snapped their necks. Keep in mind, all of these actors are just a couple feet behind us so the staring is painfully obvious. 

Ash and I fold in on ourselves, turning to face the daiquiri stand and grumbling to each other about how stupid they all are. Oh, this is terrible. So bad, in fact, that I'm blushing profusely. Yuck.

Sal's the first to speak, shamelessly saying, "Fuck. He's hot as shit."

"I'm not into guys," Larry says, "But he is pretty."

Todd hums in agreement, deciding to stay quiet since he has a boyfriend, of course.

"Just pretty?" Sal hisses, clearly offended by Larry's response to the knight. "Ash is right. That's walking sex." 

Apparently I have to compete with men now too for a fuck. I can't tell if that's a tad disappointing or fascinating.

"Then go get his number or something if you're so shocked by my taste in sex partners," Larry hums. "You're the eternal rizz master. You get any woman and man you set your eyes on. Might as well bag the dark knight."

"Stop it with the Batman references, Larry," Todd says, giggling shortly after.

Larry groans. "Come on! Stop hating on the game, Todd. That was a perfect opportunity."

I hope this line moves quicker. The longer they talk right in front of the topic of discussion, the more horrified I feel. Ash isn't any better either. She's chewing on her bottom lip, face red as a beet as she finally gets an opportunity to run up to the counter and order us all a daiquiri.

The five of us start walking past the group of actors with giant daiquiri swords hanging around our necks. It's almost comical having to do the walk of shame again, but I'm more terrified of the fact that this poor man probably knows that we were all fawning over him.

We're almost out of dodge but someone calls out to The Faces. We all simultaneously turn, quaking like leaves on dead tress because that definitely came from the group of actors.

And there's Mr. Emo Knight, walking toward us in all his glory with an excited little grin on his handsome face. 

I'm going to vomit.

He walks up to Sal and Larry and shakes their hands, sharing quick introductions. Then the knight looks past them and at Ash, Todd, and me. My heart skips a beat in childlike elation when his gaze lingers on me.

"Oh, hey," he says in a surprised tone. "VioletViolence! I've seen pictures of you online for the past couple days. You're even prettier in person."

My entire body tenses up with excitement and I struggle to hold back the huge smile that wants to rip my face apart. This is phenomenal. Good job, y/n. I don't know what I did to deserve the compliment, but I'm glad I did it.

"Oh, thanks!" I tell him. In a stroke of confidence, I say, "You're pretty, too." 

I want to rip up the floorboards and make a shrine for this guy when a light blush paints his cheeks. To think that I've done absolutely nothing but stand for a picture and he's already blushing over a compliment from me. That's incredibly encouraging.

"Thank you," he says bashfully, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Could I get a picture with all of you? If you don't mind, of course."

"We don't mind at all," Sal jumps in to say, already moving closer. "You look cool as hell, man."

I narrow my eyes at Sally Face. How do I read this play? Is he jealous or is he trying to steal this guy from me? I can't tell. 

"Thanks," the knight says, scooting in beside Sal so we can all take a picture with him. One of the other actors does the honors, snapping a few quick photos. 

We separate after a moment and Sal breaks the silence by saying, "We should grab a drink so you can tell me about those tournaments. I was thinking about trying out some new things and maybe horses are the way to go."

It's almost fool proof. So good that I choke on the sip of strawberry daiquiri that's halfway down my throat. Larry wasn't kidding. Obviously I'm unfortunate proof of it, but Sal really can pull anyone he wants.

"Ah, I wish I could," the knight says a bit awkwardly. "We have another tournament coming up in about fifteen minutes though."

Oh, that's a burn. I wince over the rejection simply because it's so obvious that the knight is lying. If they had another tournament, they wouldn't be buying heaps of alcohol. 

I chew on the inside of my cheek as Ash's eyes go wide. Larry turns around to face Ash, Todd and I while trying to hold back a laugh, his face perfectly mimicking the red shade of his daiquiri. Todd wiggles his nose, sniffing quietly. That's funny to see-- he's trying to hold back his reaction too.

Sal's lucky he wears a prosthetic because it can hide anything he's feeling. That is, as long as he's able to keep his emotions out of his eyes.

"Yea, that's no problem!" Sal responds, shaking off the rejection like a pro. "You guys have a good night."

Larry's already snickering as we continue our walk out of Excalibur, and as soon as we cross the threshold of the front door, he and Todd burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

"That was bad, bro," Larry cackles, ruffling Sal's hair. The bluenette shoves his step-brother away from him in response, sending him a pair of aggravated eyes.

"It was worth a try," Sal grumbles. "Hop off my dick. It's not the first time I've been shot down and it won't be the last. No pun intended."

I don't quite understand what the no-pun part is about, but the entire group gasps through giggles that they desperately try to squash down into the depths of their soul. 

"The worst part about him rejecting you was that he would've absolutely gone out with Vi. He was so into her," Todd says after a moment, trying to deflect Sal's most recent comment.

"He only called her pretty. Doesn't mean he wants to dick her down or anything," Sal says in response. Poor guy, he's so jealous that I pulled the hot knight.

We're all walking side-by-side along the entrance to Excalibur, making our way down to the strip instead of catching another taxi. It's evening, fun city lights are on as the sky darkens, and we need to pick up dinner. Not to mention, we have loads of alcohol so why not make our trip back to Caesar's palace eventful?

I tip my head forward to get a glimpse of Sal-- more importantly, to meet his gaze so he can see my smug expression. I want nothing more than to bask in his rejection. 

I see the side of his prosthetic instead-- the bottom half of it is lifted slightly as he sips from his transparent pink straw. It's likely stained from the strawberry daiquiri he has in his hands. His pale, scarred jaw and chin are visible to me, but dark from the shadow of night and his prosthetic. No matter how little I see, I still feel a fluttering in my chest because this is the most I've ever seen of his face. It gives me some kind of theoretical rush-- sets me into a daydream.

His lips are probably tinted red from his drink. His tongue must taste like an inebriating mix of vodka and artificial strawberries. And the shape of his lips, if his teeth are straight or crooked, what kind of nose he has, the curve of his eyebrows. What it would be like to taste him, to feel him in ways that I haven't yet. I could go on forever.

But I shouldn't go on because wanting more from a man who's only willing to give me the bare minimum is setting me up for disaster. He told me himself that I shouldn't expect anything from him. One thing he's failed to do is lie to me, so I'll take his word for it and consider Sal-centered expectations to be detrimental. 

This entire time, I haven't wondered about what he looks like beneath his prosthetic-- not even once. It's like a delayed reaction; now I'm overcome with this horrifying yearning to rip the hunk of plaster off of his face and get a glimpse of the real thing. I was fine literally two hours ago, so what's changed? It's not because he's been kind to me because he hasn't shown any emotion that could resemble kindness at all. 

Maybe it's the fact that I'm leaving Las Vegas tomorrow and my brain is just subconsciously reminding me of my dwindling time here. 

"So anyway, since Sal's butt-hurt," Larry says, interrupting the silence that had overtaken the group. And it was never truly quiet, just felt like it. Cars were still zooming beneath the walkways under our feet, people were still bustling about, music still swelled in the air around us-- but we were all caught up in our own heads. "Let's play a game. Vi is the victim since we virtually still know nothing about her."

I swallow, leaning back so that Sal is out of my view before he can turn to look at me with those evil eyes of his. I don't need to be pining after him anyway-- this is just a nice agreement he and I have. That's all this will ever amount to and that's perfectly fine. No strings, no attachments. Just casual sex, hopefully. If we ever fucking get there.

I turn my attention to Larry. "There isn't much to know," I murmur. I have to be worried about this, not Sal. Larry's trying to quiz me because he thinks this is our first time meeting. I have to be careful. "What kind of game do you want to play?"

Larry slurps his daiquiri loudly, gaining the attention of a few people around us. "Got any weird kinks? Guilty pleasures? Fun scars? Creepy interests?"

My eyebrows raise of their own accord. I'm not sure if these questions are an opportunity for him to relate and feel better about his own odd interests, but I'm a little shocked. Where do I start and what do I keep to myself?

"Um, no weird kinks that I know of--" I start to say, but Ash holds a hand up to my face and slaps her palm against my mouth. 

"Liar," she proudly yells. "You are such a degradee."

Heat envelops my entire body. Why did she have to say anything? Keep it in the fucking bag or something-- anything.

"Come on, Ash," Todd huffs. Oh, thank you, sweet angel. If anyone has my back, of course it would be Todd. "We already know Vi's into degradation."

My gaze snaps to Todd and my mouth falls open. So much for trust.

The situation is hilarious, honestly, but also mildly concerning. Am I so submissive that I wordlessly scream it to everyone? Since when have I become this people-pleasing monster? 

I choke on an embarrassed laugh, staring at my feet as we walk. My cheeks are flaming and I really just want Thanos to snap his fucking fingers right now.

"Fuck all of you," I sniffle, eyeing my giggly friends. I can't be mad-- this is all in good fun. Still can't wait to get back to the hotel and disappear until I have to leave tomorrow though... "And Larry, the best I've got for you is that I got my finger stuck in the lock of my classroom door in fifth grade," I proclaim bashfully leaning over and holding up my hand.

Larry's eyes light up, much like a cat's pupils dilate when they're focused. He grabs my hand and exams it. "Which finger?" he asks, all focused and adorable as he takes a quick sip from his daiquiri.

"This one," I chirp, lifting my middle finger with no shame. 

Larry's smile drops immediately. Then his eyes slowly lift to meet mine, absolute numbness in their chocolatey depths. The nonchalance in his pretty gaze makes a little shiver trickle down my spine. It's both scary and entrancing-- he's just... he's hot...

Larry pinches his lips together then yanks me toward him. My eyes mimic saucers when I trip over my own feet before stumbling into the behemoth of a man. My weight slamming into him pushes him into Sal who snaps at both of us, but I couldn't care less about him when I'm trying not to peel cement with my fucking teeth. 

Larry stabilizes us, holding himself up with Sal-- who's still grumbling-- and grabbing onto my waist to keep me upright. 

I take a breath, gripping onto Larry's thick biceps for dear life. And you know what? I hold onto the moment (his biceps) for a good couple seconds and appreciate it because at least I have an excuse to touch the build that this man has going on. 

So after a second of squeezing this poor mans arms and pretending that I'm recovering instead of literally copping a feel, I furrow my brows and look up at emo buff daddy. He's grinning down at me nervously. 

"I swear I just wanted to intimidate you a bit," he snickers, finally releasing me from his hold.

I say a silent, solemn farewell to Larry's arms then huff. "By throwing us into oncoming traffic?" I snort. "That's not intimidation. That's a literal trip to the pearly gates, my brother in Christ."

Larry looks off to the side, upside down smile on his faces as he hides his hands in his pockets. He knows he's guilty.

"But... do you actually have a cool scar then?" Larry asks after a moment, finally falling into step with the rest of us who walk the strip. 

I purse my lips. "Not really. I have scars, just not cool ones," I admit. If I've ever gotten a cut or gash, it's always healed pretty quickly. Most of my childhood scars faded years ago and the ones that stayed have no interesting meaning. "Do you?" I ask, leaning forward to send him a smile. I'm able to see Sal again, but he looks aggravated now. Daiquiri dangling from his fingers as he looks out at the city.

I lick my lips before looking back up at Larry. Ignore the brooding little bitch, y/n.

"Um," Larry trails off, sucking on the straw of his daiquiri in an almost suggestive way. Even Todd looks over to raise an eyebrow. "Me and Sal have matching scars."

My eyebrows raise. That's interesting. "What, was it like a brothers pact?" I giggle. 

Sal looks over now, his eyes meeting mine. He looks angry though, much angrier than he did just seconds ago. Something tells me this is a story that he never wanted out for prying ears. That makes it all the more intriguing. 

"No, it was actually pretty stupid," Larry swipes at his nose and looks off to the side. "Sal hates this story so much because it landed both of us in the hospital."

Hm, hospital tales with The Faces. Sal's reaction was fishy up until Larry mentioned that it was just a stupid little thing in general. I'm a little desperate at this point-- I need to know more. "Tell me about it," I chirp, looking out at the city lights around us. We're walking up to The Venetian now. I have some strange feeling that we're all going to try to sneak past this building pretty quickly after what happened earlier-- especially since we're still in paint-covered tactical gear.

"Hold on," Ash jumps into the conversation, pointing at an Irish Pub a little further down the street. "We're grabbing dinner there. Take out. All the same order. No if's, and's, or but's. I'm ready to get home." She leans over and snatches Todd's wrist. "And fruit roll-up is coming with me."

I watch Larry turn his attention to Ash. "Just as long as you get me some kind of alcohol," he says, grinning all the while. He's going to get so slammed.

Larry is an odd specimen. Of course, we all know that, but he has this kind of aura about him that's so different from the rest of The Faces. He's such a welcoming person-- you look at him and want to trust him with everything. But it's also incredibly obvious that he's devious and chaotic to the core. He'll keep everyone's secrets safe, but he'd probably commit homicide too, I think.

Larry turns to me as Ash rushes ahead of us. There's this gleam in his eyes that screams excitement and focus. 

"So I'm gonna spare you the confusing details because Nockfell is just... in a state of sin constantly. You'd be so lost if I told you why exactly this happened," the man waves me off, smacking his lips and looking off to the side. I look up at him with raised eyebrows, patiently waiting. If I'm being honest though, I want to know the confusing details. What was going on in Nockfell?

"Larry, can you not?" Sal bites out. "You tell this story constantly. Just give it a rest. Not everyone wants to talk about scars."

"Sir," Larry scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks down at Sal beside him, giving the blue-haired gremlin a 'try-me-bitch' look. "You can go and be insecure somewhere else because I fucking love telling this story. And Vi wants to hear about it, obviously." He turns to me and grins, showing off his sweet, little gap-toothed smile. "Look at that precious face. It's so eager." Larry grips onto my masked cheeks and drags me toward him. 

My heart jumps into my throat when Mr. Metal-Head himself winks at me before dipping his head down to kiss the nose of mask. I can't feel his lips, but just the fact that he's so close to me and showing me this type of care through physical touch makes my cheeks heat up. Makes my fingers go numb. Makes my thoughts race out of my body, skittering along the pavement in excitement-- all with love hearts littered about them. If romantic love were a thing between him and I, things would be much different right now. But this feels more like... I'm a princess and he's my devoted, caring knight. Instead of kissing my hand, he brought his feelings to the very tip of my nose.

This is twitterpated.

Sal and Larry start bickering as soon as the little peck is done and over with. While they do their step-brother thing, I mull over Larry's small token of affection. That kiss meant so much even though our skin never touched. Did Sal feel the same way even though our lips were still separated by his prosthetic? Did he feel like he was cared for, loved? Was he high off the prospect of someone actually wanting to kiss him, innocently or lovingly, just like I am right now? 

I almost feel bad. To have all of that mental opportunity ripped away from him the moment it was revealed that I was VioletViolence. Sal must have felt terrible. Maybe... maybe he's actually justified in hating me.

"So anyway," Larry grips my shoulder, making me flinch in surprise. I turn my gaze up to him, meeting Sal's frustrated, glaring blue eyes for just a moment in the process. I'm going to think about how bad I must have made him feel all the time now. 

"Sal and I were running, right." Larry leans forward, swiping his hand horizontally before us. I follow his pretty hand that's littered with patchwork tattoos. "Midnight, pitch black outside." Larry tilts his head, pinches his lips to exemplify these points. I simply nod. "Nockfell has this giant forest that's super thick, 'kay, thicker than your juicy thighs, in fact." His eyes snap to me and I have to turn away while my mind runs rampant again. I can't stand Larry, but in the best way.

"Before you get to the forest though," he continues. "There's this old fence that's lined with barbed wire. My guess is to protect old farms from predators and whatever. But Sal and I were young and thought we could simultaneously clear this six foot fence like fuckin' track stars." Oh. I kind of get where this is going-- they were idiots, basically. This story also lines up perfectly well with what Sal told me earlier. I'm incredibly relieved to hear that his scar story was true. This also means that I have no unnecessary stress regarding him and his well-being. Not that I should worry about that to begin with.

"So next thing you know, Sal and I are hooked by our calfs and ankles on the top of this fence. Ripped us up. We couldn't get free, so we were just kinda hanging upside down on this fence for like thirty minutes until Henry came to pick us up." Larry breaks off into scattered giggles while trying to finish the story, meanwhile my stomach threatens to leap out of my body. I feel sick.

"Larry, shut up," Sal mumbles again. "You don't have to give so much detail." 

He's so fucking guilty and it shows.

"Come on, bro," Larry chortles, giving Sal a light shove. "It was so stupid, I still laugh about it every time. Look," the man turns back to me and stops walking. He bends down and grabs the edge of his black cargo pants. He yanks them up over his knee and shows off this gnarly, jagged scar on the back of his calf. It's a couple inches long for sure-- must have been deep. "Sal's is on his ankle. We were actually pretty worried he might have sliced his tendon. I remember screaming and yelling at him about how he would never walk again," Larry snickers, pushing his pant leg back down.

I gulp, forcing a smile onto my face. I don't have it in me to laugh at the story. Not when I know that Sal lied to my face about the scars on his thigh earlier. 

I'm battling myself. Sal and I aren't close-- he doesn't have to tell me at all if he wants. His mental health and his scars are his business, not mine. It's my fault for feeling so torn up about it. I feel like it's my job to save everyone, but I forget that not everyone wants saving. That, and I just can't save everyone in general. 

I don't have a God complex, I just have this unbeatable savior complex that I'm still at war with to this day. I need to get over myself-- not everyone is going to trust me with their secrets. Not everyone needs me. Not everyone will like me. Literally, this tracks with Sal and I's timeline. And besides, if he's ever having mental struggles, I'm sure he trusts Larry, Todd, and Ash enough to seek them if he needs help. I don't have to worry.

I catch Ash rushing toward us with her arms full and Todd trailing behind her with a bag full of God knows what.

"That's a silly story," I finally speak up, smiling up at Larry who gives me this devious little grin. I really just need to ignore the conversation I had with Sal earlier. It was never my business in the first place. "I don't have any cool scars, but I did have something similar happen." I shrug, patting the side of my hip. "Got a fish hook stuck in my side. Pulled it out on my own because I was afraid to get in trouble."

I'll actually never forget the day I yoinked my dads fishing pole with the intention of developing my rad fishing skills all to accidentally yoink myself in the end. I'm just lucky the hook was unused prior to getting stabbed into me. The story is mainly to help me forget about Larry's right now though. 

"Perfect timing," Larry whispers excitedly. He crosses over to stand in front of me and my brows furrow in confusion. "I can finally get on my knees for you."

"Nope," I spit out immediately, taking a step away. I'm too insecure and timid for that-- his sweet nose kiss was more than enough. This man needs to have mercy on my hopelessly romantic and decrepit soul.

Larry rolls his eyes. "Fine. But I do want to see. Plus, it's an excuse to finally see your tattoo."

I purse my lips. That's risky. I'll have to lift up the edge of my bra strap for that and I'm a little nervous about being so open.

Ash pops up beside me though. "I just bought, like, thirty jello shots. You fuckers better start throwing some back while I throw this ass back and get laid by a pretty bitch." These words come out in one breath and Ash never breaks her nonchalant facade as she holds a bag out to me.

"Can I be the pretty bitch?" I ask with a smile, sidetracked as I look into the bag to find a plethora of multi-colored plastic containers full of alcoholic jello.

"I thought that was the plan from the start, beautiful," Ash purrs, stealing my attention. I glance up at her, noting the playful little gleam in her bright green eyes and the smirk playing on her full, glossy lips. 

I swallow thickly, frowning at how easily I end up falling into these traps that my friends set out. They're too attractive. 

"Give me one of those," I murmur, fishing out a handful of shots from the bag to distract myself, and hopefully everyone else, from how shy I've suddenly gotten over a little bit of Ash's shameless and effective flirting.

"Yea, share-- but fuck off, Ash," Larry sneers. "Vi's mine. Stay away." He grabs both of my shoulders and walks me a step closer to his chest. I cannot be fucking doing this right now. I feel like I'm snorting coke just from being stuck between two of the hottest people I know-- and I've never even done drugs.

I open the top of an orange flavored jello shot then very quickly down the contents. Sal's hiding behind Larry right now, but I'm still able to see half of him. And he watches me go through all five stages of grief as soon as the flavor settles on my tongue.

I swallow quickly then choke on the leftovers, making the most disgusted face possible. It burns, and it tastes awful. So not worth it. That was a good reminder as to why I shouldn't consume alcohol in the first place. 

"Ash," I splutter, traumatized and betrayed. "These are terrible. I'm sorry but... it's bad. Try one," I say, popping the lid off another and shoving it toward her. This one's green.

Ash doesn't say a word, just wraps her pretty fingers around the container and takes the shot like a pro. She doesn't even flinch. All she does is contemplate it for a moment then shrug at me "Tastes like alcohol." 

I roll my eyes. At least she doesn't care all that much-- the shots won't go to waste. 

I turn to Larry, intent on finally pulling up my shirt for him as we start preparing to walk again. But when he finally enters my field of vision, his arms having left my shoulders a few moments ago, I notice five empty containers stacked in his palm. If pregaming was a person, it would be Larry.

I blink at the man, then look up to see him quite literally tonguing a very clearly empty container. I don't know what more he's looking to get out of it, but at least he has some good work ethic.

Larry catches my eyes and pauses, tongue buried in the plastic like he's looking for water after going days without it. It's pretty comical.

He quickly pulls the plastic away from his face and swipes his hand along his mouth. I press my lips together to hold back giggles.

"Here," I say, lifting the edge of my shirt and bringing it up to right under my armpit before I can think harder about it. The one shot I had isn't even enough to give me a buzz, but assuming it'll have some kind of affect on me later gives me false confidence. I'll walk this fear off like a pro.

I lean over to look at my side, noting the small and uneven crescent shaped scar right under my ribs. Then I grab the very edge of my bra strap and move it, revealing the top half of my tattoo so everyone can get a good look at everything if they so wish.

Larry bends over, hands on his knees as he inspects my bare side. "Nice to know we officially aren't being catfished," he murmurs, eyes glancing over every inch of my skin. He's way too close.

I gape down at him. "Did you really think I was someone else all this time?" I ask, swallowing down that statement when I realize how much of a hypocrite I am. Because I am someone else.

Now that I'm leaving tomorrow, I just suddenly feel so guilty for tricking and deceiving everyone.

I run my tongue along the surface of my teeth, looking at anything but Larry as he lightly rubs his fingertips over the words engraved into my skin. His touch tickles, but I try not to pay any mind to it-- especially when Sal's eyes are glued to my waist from a couple feet away too. He watches me shamelessly, all while I fall apart on the inside. 

"You're bruised here, Vi," Larry murmurs to himself, pressing on another part of my skin that makes me wince. It's sore, for sure. I try to see if Sal has some kind of reaction because we all know it's his fault.

His bright eyes look emotionless from over here. The splashes of neon orange and green on his black tactical gear brings out the cerulean color of his hair and the midnight blue of his irises. He's so pretty in such a unique way. Watching him look at me feels like I'm gazing at something forbidden, like I'm not supposed to catch him with his focus directed at me. It feels secretive.

But all of him feels like this one, giant secret that I'm not supposed to figure out. His prosthetic, his scars, his life story. I don't know any of it and I shouldn't. My brain is hardwired to understand things that confuse me, and Sal really confuses me. He also really pisses me off, but there has to be some kind of reason as to why he's so angry with me to begin with.

I have so much I want to figure out and so little time, so little trust. So little self-confidence. Things are fine right now-- Sally Face is silent, Todd is too. Larry is running his fingers over my skin and Ash is resting her chin on my shoulder, watching Larry. I should be enjoying my time. So why am I regretting my decisions and worrying about someone who couldn't care less about me?

_______

A/N::::::: HIIIIIII sorry it's been so long babies... college :(

i have soooo so much planned for this story right now. i've been writing a lot, i just have to write in short spurts because i also have so much school work to get done. i miss getting to write for hours soooo freaking much!! 

fair warning, next chapter is smutty again >:) i'm excited. I'M ALWAYS EXCITED TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS AHHHH

anyway, i love and miss everyone so much, so deeply!! have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night <3333

p.s. emo casino knight is actually a real person but we're not gonna talk about that hehe....

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: If You Miss Me, Say Hello-- If You Want Me, Then Say So [15.2]

Sal's Lore (Part One)

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A/N::: Step Out From The Inside and Say Goodnight by Bullet For My Valentine are really good songs that scream Sal for this chap if you want to give it a try <3

—————

Sal was a bitter, revenge-driven soul by the time he turned eighteen. He had fought off his wrathful demons for years, but he could only keep them at bay for so long. In fact, to this day, he remembers the turning point for him like it was yesterday. The day he stopped the war being waged in his mind.

It was cool in Nockfell, a bit chilly. October. Halloween was just around the corner. The city was just like it always was and is-- trapped in an eternal autumn where the trees are always dead, the leaves are always crunchy, the air is always crisp, and the unique scent of Granny Smith's mixed with freshly carved pumpkins was a constant.

Nockfell was stagnant. It never changed. It wasn't much and the population was so small that it was technically Nockfell Village, but one thing that no one could deny was that it was beautiful and had its interesting points.

Sal had just finished his classes for the day-- it was nearly three in the afternoon on a Friday. There was supposed to be a bonfire down at Wendigo Lake once the sun went down. The bonfire happened on this day every year. It was a Nockfell tradition to ring in the official start of their pumpkin harvest.

Pumpkins were an important part of Nockfell's rich history. Just as sugarcane harvests are something to celebrate in Louisiana and California has their lemon festivals, pumpkins were Nockfell's thing. Wendigo Lake's Annual Pre-Harvest Bonfire was important; always happened the night before the city's Pumpkin Festival.

Everyone was prepared with pumpkins littering every inch of open space possible, so the afternoon was a breath of fresh air to Sal. It was nostalgic. It was the part of his childhood he preferred, the part that wasn't so tragic.

Sal trudged home in his new pair of cornflower blue-colored Converse. His original pair had long worn away by this point, but he found another pair to replace them.

He was alone, gaze glued to the world of orange and yellow around him. All the big white houses with their wide porches looking like props from horror movies. He half expected Michael Myers to pop out of a bush. The Halloween decorations on display only helped to liven up his imagination. What he wouldn't give to have a moment with Michael Myers over their shared masks.

Children were beginning to return home now, too. They would shoot off of their buses and run straight to leaf piles that were freshly raked up by their busy fathers. Sal watched a pair of twins scatter the dead leaves all over the ground again, only for a man to stomp around the corner of his home to yell at his children for pushing his work back.

But again, Sal was alone and he couldn't have been more aware of it. It wasn't unusual. Ash went home in her car, Larry dropped by Mr. Addison's recently purchased grocery store to collect his weekly work check, and Todd went to Neil's house for the weekends.

It was just Sal on Friday afternoons. Him and his constantly raging thoughts. And his feet crunching leaves and pine needles that littered the sidewalk. And his shoulder-length azure hair billowing in the soft breeze. His fingers pulling at the straps of his backpack.

Most importantly about this particular day's scene was that Sal felt numb. He was tired-- exhausted. Completely drained and so sick of acting like he had forgiven the person who tore his life apart before it had even really begun.

Everyone always said the right thing to do was forgive, but Sal didn't understand why that was the solution. He would write down the things he wanted to say to the person who ripped him apart. He cried about how disheartened he was, screamed at his ceiling while he showered, begging for the pain to go away. Forgiveness had done nothing to heal him, and he was absolutely sure that his forgiveness didn't matter to his mother's murderer.

For far too long, he had held back every single emotion and reaction that he should've gotten out. He was starting to wonder why he ever did that in the first place. In the way shaking a bottle of soda would cause it to burst, Sal was doing the same with his own feelings. He was constantly being shaken up and he knew he would blow any second at that point. He kept trying to push it down, but on that day, walking along Nockfell's near empty streets, Sal suspected his moment was right around the corner.

Cutting away at his skin offered only little relief at one point, but now it did nothing. He itched for emotional release, for catharsis-- but he was too afraid to look for it and didn't know how to achieve it. He was stuck. At a dark, twisted standstill with himself.

All he ever felt deep down at that time was envy and anger. He constantly craved the lives his friends lived. They were able to show off their faces in peace. They slept well at night, and for eight full hours he begrudgingly presumed. They had their parents, their families. Sal had his dad and he had his friends-- he was grateful for them, but it was just never enough. No matter how badly he wanted what he already had to be enough. He was always yearning for something, but he could never really figure out what it was that he wanted.

Did he want someone to love? Someone to love him? A face? His mother? A good night's sleep?

Sal was disgusted with himself, with his indecisive and ungrateful shit. With his horrible luck. He was his own personal pity party. How pathetic.

He couldn't do a single thing. Sal was just doomed to suffer forever.

He was starting to feel restless, like a zip-tie pulled too tight, just seconds away from snapping. And the sudden howl from beside him only tightened that tie. He went rigid in his stance, one foot caught mid-step. His head snapped up, blue hair falling into the eyeholes of his prosthetic, tickling his eyelashes.

Sal brushed his hair away from his face when a little giggle followed the scream he'd just heard-- he wasn't about to be attacked. He didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

He blinked at two teenagers running around someone's front lawn. They looked happy, energetic. Unbothered by the terrors of the world around them. He felt jealous, but he felt like scoffing at their ignorance too. Didn't they know that people were suffering somewhere in the world? How could they be so carefree-- how could they be happy?

Sal had to remind himself every single day that he couldn't actually think that way about other people. Everyone was allowed to be happy at some point, he was allowed some relief too. He just didn't get it often enough for it to really... matter.

But one little splash of joy in his deadened life was curled up in his bed at home and waiting for his afternoon snack. So Sal turned his attention away from the happy kids, focused on getting home yet again. But when his head swerved to look back to the placement of his feet, he noticed a pair of shoes a few steps away from him.

Sal's gaze traveled up the person's body, his blood going ice cold once he realized that it was Travis standing before him. Not to mention, the horrified expression on the bully's face was a bit startling to the bluenette.

Travis's face was always bruised or scratched in some form or another. Sal felt a bit morbid when thinking that Travis's abused skin just so happened to bring out the mahogany shade of his dark eyes. And the bully's hair was in a purposefully messy state that was just so exemplary to Sal. Even if the dark roots of his bleached hair needed to be dyed again, he still managed to make it into something attractive. Sal was, again, envious. But more prominent than his envy was his rage and his fear.

Sal stood there, assessing Travis's fearful figure with wide, wary eyes, even if only one of them worked anymore.

A wave of disdain cursed Sal. Every single day, he had to find a way around Travis and that afternoon he had to do it again. He should have been free of his bully for the rest of the weekend, so what business did Travis have there?

Whether their interactions were verbal or bloody, Sal still despised having to so much as be in the blonde asshole's vicinity. He didn't mind watching Travis-- watching him was simple, noninvasive, and even interesting at times. But actually having to be near him and listen to his insults? Sal would rather avoid that.

So he tried to go for the ignorance route-- sidestep Travis and pretend he never saw him. But as soon as Sal took a single step forward, Travis barked out his name. It was so frantic and desperate that Sal couldn't help but flinch. And despite his better judgement, Sal stopped moving. He couldn't help it, the pause was instinctual. He stared at Travis, wide-eyed and trying to hold up a half decent glare.

Travis and Sal had one singular moment of understanding years ago-- their freshman year of high school. The bully's vulnerability now reminded Sal of their one moment. The bluenette had always been too empathetic to ignore someone in need-- even if it was Travis who bothered him to no end when Sal happened upon him crying in the bathroom one day.

But that didn't matter anymore, or it shouldn't at least because the day after that moment, Travis reverted back to his well-known asshole persona. Sal had been so disappointed in himself for wasting his time that day a few years back. He thought he had finally made a friend of the closed-off bully, but it turned out that nothing changed.

On the sidewalk, standing before Travis, Sal was reminded of the day a stall door separated the two young men. Watching the more grown up version of Travis made Sal feel like he was just going to waste his time again by assuming that the blonde had changed. Sal shouldn't keep hoping for change, but he couldn't help it.

Sal continued to wait to hear him out anyway. Watched a fidgety, red-faced Travis who looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

"I'm moving," Travis finally spoke, his voice was quivering. "Away from Nockfell."

That was news to Sal. Not like it mattered much-- this just meant that he could finally be at peace with his not-so-normal, every day life. If anything, Sal was actually elated.

"And I'll probably never see you again," Travis continued, looking off to the side. "So I wanted to tell you something. Before I go." The boy frequently paused, unable to really look Sal in the eye or keep the tremor from his deep voice.

Sal chewed on his scarred bottom lip, trying to ignore the way it felt like biting on ripped leather. "If it's to call me a freak like you've done for the past four years, you can just leave now," he snapped, his tone soft like it always was because God forbid he release all the pent up rage and aggression. Losing his filter in front of Travis was never on Sal's list of things to accomplish.

Sal could hear Travis audibly gulp at the cold words directed at him. "No," Travis squeaked, "I-- I never meant any of that."

Sal scrunched his face up at such a sad attempt at a lie. The tip of his nose brushed the inside of his prosthetic, teeth bared as he snorted tastelessly, "Could have fooled me." Just like he thought-- a waste of time.

Without a moment of hesitation, the bluenette stepped onto the curb of the street, passing up Travis. He didn't look at him, didn't acknowledge his presence anymore. He was done dealing with this asshole. He had a date with Gizmo, Travis didn't matter.

Sal resurfaced on the opposite side of Travis, their backs to each other. He tried to clear his mind, to ignore the burning rage scratching at his spine. Travis was leaving, things were going to be better. He just had to remember that. He had to hold onto that.

"I'm in love with you!" A soft, almost inaudible whimper followed that declaration. "I always have been..."

Sal's mind turned to mush. He suddenly couldn't think, couldn't form words or comprehend what was just said. He simply took pause-- his steps and thoughts simultaneously ceasing. He was at a standstill with the rest of the world around him. Where was he even supposed to start in dissecting what Travis had just said?

Sal's heart thrummed wildly inside his chest. He was enraptured by the prospect of being loved-- didn't matter who loved him. It was the fact that maybe just one person loved him romantically. But then again, how could anyone love him? Especially homophobic, ableist Travis of all people. What was going on here? Obviously Travis was lying, but why would he drag himself down with Sal? What was the purpose?

Sal didn't know how to calm his mind, he didn't know how to pick a side. He wanted to be excited so badly, but he knew better. He knew that this was just another one of Travis's devious plots in stomping him into his grave. Sal grew increasingly disappointed in himself. Every. Single. Day. But hoping for Travis to love him? Trusting it even if just for a moment? Getting excited over it? That was breaking boundaries. He needed to draw the line for himself.

But the issue was that he had already crossed that line he was struggling to build last minute. All of the build up over the past few years was coming to a breaking point and he could feel it. He could smell it. He could taste it. The numbness traveled throughout his entire body-- it was in his blood, in his bones, in his DNA by this point and he was going to snap. There was no holding it back anymore.

Sal turned his head over his shoulder to address Travis, hands clenching into fists as he fought for clarification, for just a moment of relief. His fingernails bit into his palms, a sweet little stinging sensation following the sudden puncture. "What?" He snapped at Travis.

Travis took a breath, his entire body rising with the intake. Sal's gaze was caught in a snare-- eyes glued to the bully's red cheeks and watery eyes. "Do you remember when you found me crying all those years ago?" He asked Sal, voice cracking and quivering. Had Sal not been so pissed off and confused and saddened and every other emotion in the world, he'd have been intoxicated by the sound of Travis tripping over himself. "I was just beginning to acknowledge my feelings for you that day," he continued, swiping a hand over his bruised cheek. Travis' lips trembled, effectively showing off the healing cut on his bottom lip.

"I wrote it all down to try and get the thoughts out of my head, but it only got worse. I couldn't--" Travis stopped, clutching his shaky hands to his chest. "It was hard for me. I shouldn't be gay, I can't be. But... I've learned over the past three years that I am. And I've loved you from the start, no matter how much I hate to admit it."

Sal's head began shaking immediately. He was in disbelief for multiple reasons. The audacity of Travis to-- to... the audacity. There was no way Sal was going through this right now. He couldn't believe it. He refused to-- for his own sake. But that damn expression on Travis's face struck fear and relief in Sal's heart. And he fucking hated it.

It was relief for himself. Maybe he wasn't unloveable. And apparently Travis didn't hate him, he was just struggling with his sexual orientation. Relief for Travis for finally accepting himself and his feelings-- for being brave enough to be honest about it. Sal didn't want to be relieved though, he wanted to be angry. Which is exactly why he didn't want to hold back anymore. He couldn't keep doing it. Fuck everyone else, he had to ride or die for himself. He was the only one who ever would.

Travis might have been gay, but there was no way he could love Sal. It was impossible. The devil and angel battling on his shoulders was finally chipping away at the last bit of resolve that Sal had held up all those years. It was a cave in the trunk of a tree, and that tree was starting to tip over. This was the end.

He was tired of the lies. Tired of the excuses. Tired of the tip-toeing-- either to protect him or at his expense. Sal didn't need protecting and he sure as hell didn't want it to begin with. He didn't need someone trying to convince him that he was a freak either. Because he was a freak. And, right then, with his blood pumping and rage consuming his very essence, maybe being a freak wasn't such a bad thing.

Sal's fists squeezed even tighter, his fingertips smeared with his own blood by that point. He was done in every sense of the word. In every meaning. Completely and utterly finished. The days where he once wasted his time and bowed down to everyone were over.

He blinked past the red sheen in his vision, eyes locked on Travis who looked like he was about to faint, cry, piss himself-- he wasn't sure but it was something.

And again though, Sal couldn't care less about anyone else's feelings, let alone Travis's.

"F--" Sal seethed behind his prosthetic, instinctually biting into his tongue while his lips pulled back in a frustrated, angry snarl. His vocal cords were betraying him, trying to stop him from saying what he really wanted to say. Wanted to remind him of his calm exterior and to hold up his good reputation. That was old Sal, though. New Sal said what he thought-- what he felt.

"Fuck you."

The seal was broken. Sal's last ledge of hope disappeared, leaving the young man to free fall in his own rage and revenge-driven vices. The fight was over. The war was won. Wrath had prevailed.

"Fuck you," Sal spat out again, voice so aggressive that it nearly turned into a yell. "I'm fucking tired of your manipulation. Don't you know how pathetic you are? You're a waste. Such a waste of space, a waste of time. What was the point of torturing me for years just to come spew some bullshit about love at me? You don't love me-- you don't even fucking love yourself."

Travis flinched, falling a step or two away from the monster Sal had suddenly become. The tears that had been building in the bully's eyes finally spilled over his flushed cheeks. His mouth worked wordlessly while he stared at Sal for a bit. He bent over to hide his face, furiously wiping at his wet skin.

He took a quick breath then lifted his head again, a deadly glare quickly being directed at Sal. It was the same expression the bully wore every day. And Sal matched it with his own. He was ready, prepared for everything and anything. He'd beat Travis into the ground if he had to. Honestly, he'd feel better if he was able to get his frustrations out. Adding another pretty bruise to Travis's face felt like the best way to do just that.

Neither boy said a word, they only glared at each other for two beats of silence, and an extra beat of contemplation.

Then Travis started stomping over to Sal who was only four or so steps away, his bruised fingers squeezing into fists. Sal recognized that stance, that walk, so he prepared himself with one foot in front of the other and dropped his backpack to the ground.

"You're right. I don't love myself," Travis murmured, voice condescending. Sal held his ground confidently.

Travis hadn't seen that from Sal before. The bluenette would usually just step away and try to leave the scene— but Sal's confidence didn't deter the bully either.

"I'm sorry," Travis ground out behind clenched teeth. "I don't know how to prove it to you."

"What?" Sal laughed humorlessly, breath growing rapid to match his racing heart as Travis trekked closer. "Fighting me is how you'll prove it?"

Travis's brows bunched together in confusion for a fraction of a second. He stopped right in front of Sal, the toes of their shoes brushing and their chests just a hairsbreadth away from each other. "No," Travis breathed in disbelief, shaking his head lightly.

The bully could see everything in Sal's pretty blue eyes. The baby blue of a clear day's sky. The brightest stars in the universe captured in his irises, showing him a world of opportunity. A world of dreams. Everything he wanted. But he could also see the desperate anger in those pretty eyes that he seemed to love so much.

And Sal couldn't quite comprehend what was going on in Travis's head, didn't understand when he leaned down and pressed his lips to his prosthetic either. But the pressure was there, he could see the top of Travis's head and marveled at how impossibly close he was. And then the little kiss to his lips.

Sal's real lips parted, absolute bewilderment taking hold of him. His heart fluttered with thousands of cruel butterflies, his stomach churned with wildflowers and warm sunshine. He couldn't understand how a meaningless, fake kiss could light him up like a carnival but there he was.

Travis separated himself from Sal, wary and watery eyes watching the boy he loved through two little holes.

Sal simply looked back at him, eyes wide and his entire body trembling with adrenaline.

There was a second snap in Sal's mind that day. A snap that allowed him to see that while he loathed Travis with all his being, he felt connected to him too. He didn't by any means love the bully, but the surprise affection awakened him to something he didn't know existed within him.

And later that night, Ash, Todd, and Larry got an excuse that Sal wasn't feeling well and that he'd be skipping the bonfire.

In reality, he and Travis were hidden somewhere in Nockfell's forest, spending Travis's last day together. Sal had his first real kiss, one that went past the surface of his prosthetic. He had many other kisses that night too. He had a lot of desperate moments, Travis had a lot of desperate moments too. They were desperate together.

They found serenity, peace, and the depths of desperation in each other. They found anger, they found depression, they found secrets. They created secrets and they carried them well, kept them hidden for a long time. With certain exceptions on Travis's part— unknown to Sal, of course.

Sal will never forget the moment he pulled off his prosthetic in the darkened woods. Travis had looked over him, smiled, and kissed him again.

They stayed out well past midnight and Sal hoped Gizmo would forgive him for not making it back in time for their afternoon cuddle session, but this was too important. Sal hadn't known how, but it mattered. It mattered a lot.

It changed him. And when he and Travis parted ways that night, both boys knew it was the start and end to whatever little opportunity was there. They wouldn't try for more. They got their hours and that was enough.

Sal went back to Addison Apartments, Travis went back to his parents yelling at their near empty home.

And they never spoke again.

————

A/N:::: heyo :3 figured I'd started this up. I've had a few comments saying that Motherf*cker Sal is SO unlike canon Sal, which is true. But this is a universe where instead of being soft and shy to the end, Sal got tired of being something he wasn't. He was never whole, never healed from his trauma and his past— that's very evident in the game. So here, Sal snaps and develops a new persona. He's cold and a bit closed off, but most importantly, he tries not to bottle up his emotions. He gets out what he's feelings instead. He's still lovable and so sweet, just not to certain people for certain reasons ;)

This is one of either three or four parts. I'm not quite sure yet— but anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

As always, thank you for the continued support! I love you all so incredibly much💕

our first chapter back with a new title </3 :,)))

[ryverbind]

Hey everyone! So I just have to bring up this kind of serious note for a second. It KILLS me to make this decision, but for my sake and for all of my readers’ sake, I’ve decided to change the title of Motherf*cker to something different. I have no idea what it’s going to be yet, but what led me to make this decision was an issue I had with Wattpad this morning. I logged onto my account to see that the entire title was censored, I’m just really lucky that the entire story didn’t get taken down. So to avoid any repeats of this circumstance in the future, I just think it’s safer to go with a new name. If any of you guys have any ideas for the new title, please let me know because I have zero clue on what to change it to! Thank you so so much for following me on this journey and I appreciate all of you. I’m so sorry again, but I’m doing everything I can to make this story as accessible as it can be to all of you🖤

[ryverbind]

Idk I just know that Larry Johnson and Sal Fisher would have loved Ice Nine Kills and INK would’ve loved them back like tenfold idk it just works to me that’s just perfect

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Emo Buff Daddy [15]

TW::: smut, mention of self harm

And quick A/N: i know a couple people were upset with me for not using the keep reading option-- i'm very sorry but i'm still new to tumblr so i didn't quite understand how it worked! i've added this feature to all of my chapters so anyone can skip past it if they want. i hope it's better now-- happy reading!! <33

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"I don't see why you're still standing."

Sal's dark tone and breathless voice catches me off guard. What's that supposed to mean? My gaze snaps up to his and our eyes meet. His are slightly narrowed as though his brows are furrowed behind his prosthetic.

His hand suddenly wraps around me and presses into the small of my back, his nails digging into my too-warm flesh. The stinging sensation pushes me over the edge and I suck in a breath, still looking up at him inquisitively. What does he want me to do if not stand?

His free, gloved hand reaches up and aggressively latches onto my jaw, setting my face right before his. The rough surface of his prosthetic nose scratches against my mask as his eyes glare into mine. I feel exposed to him, all my thoughts, feelings, as well as my entire body completely bare to him.

The edges of his fingerless gloves brush over my chin, making me gulp down any visceral reaction I may have because of the light touch. It's teasing, almost. A soft, barely noticeable touch makes me feel more than a complete, full enveloping touch does. Because no matter how ridiculous it may seem to someone else, a fleeting touch has so much withheld intention. There's a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it-- the prospect of someone holding back makes every nerve-ending in my body light up. I could power an entire city right now.

Sal's head tilts slightly to the left. His fingertips dig into the hollows of my cheeks, his breaths are a bit ragged and muffled, his knee is propped between both of legs with reason. His combat pants rub against the inside of my bare thighs, creating a friction so delicious that it's nearly painful. He moved us into a compromising position before I could even really notice.

"I said," he starts, voice low. So low that it carries off into the air around us to the point that I almost miss it. "I don't see why you're still standing."

I blink up at him and he squeezes my face. So I suck in a breath that's been deprived of me for the past couple minutes and lick my dry lips. He makes me nervous in an exhilarating way. "What do you--" my voice cracks and I quietly clear my throat, casting my gaze off to the side. "What do you want me.. to do?"

As if my head began to lean away from him, he readjusts his grip on my jaw, gripping it so tightly that I'm forced to look into his eyes yet again. His ocean eyes that seem more like the depths of a dark sea rather than clear water once you're near the surface, just about to breach.

"If your knees aren't bruised by the end of the night, then there's a problem," he rasps out, dark eyes capturing the image of my parted lips before our gazes clash again. "So bruise them."

I swallow thickly over the sudden shiver that passes through my body. Sal notices my light tremor, his fingers loosening around my face.

We stare at each other for a moment or two longer as I replay his words in my head. He obviously wants his dick in my mouth, and honoring up on our bickering that I thought was merely some harsh jokes a few weeks ago feels a bit horrifying now that the opportunity is being presented to me. Obviously I want to do it, but if it's anything like what I felt last night, I'm not sure I'll be able to do such a great job at taking all of him into my mouth. There's no way.

"Hey." Sal regains my attention again, his eyes blazing as he stares at me. His voice is just as serious as it's been since we ran into each other, but the underlying lust is filtered out for a moment. "Are you uncomfortable?"

I gulp, shaking my head vigorously to let him know that I'm fine. I guess my silence made him feel the need to make sure that I'm cool to do this. That's... uncommonly kind of him.

Sal relaxes a bit, his shoulders dropping as the tenseness falls away and he moves his fingers from my jaw. To replace that bit of control, he slaps my cheek gently and holds my chin up with two fingers, tilting my face toward him. "Good," he breathes. "Then don't fucking make me say it again."

My lips are uncomfortably dry, so I lick them again and nod once at him. I swallow down all of the surface level fears I've developed in the past second and grab onto the waistband of his cargo pants. I'm so glad the photographers put him in this getup because I've never seen him look more drool-worthy in all my life.

"You--" I say quietly, looking down the empty hallway that we're occupying. I slowly pull my fingers from the fabric of his pants and crack my knuckles. "Here?" I ask.

"C'mon," he taunts suddenly, taking a little step closer to me. His combat boots scuff the cement ground at our feet and his eyes squint. "You always have so much to say. Where's that dirty mouth of yours now? You nervous over the possibility of getting caught?"

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out as a rush of heat filters through my veins. He's not wrong. I'd hate to get caught sucking him off in a fucking hallway. I can't be vulnerable like that.

But Sal's on a warpath today and he isn't showing me any mercy. But then again, when does he ever show me any mercy?

His eyes drop to my mouth again and he snickers beneath his breath. "That doesn't turn you on? The prospect of someone finding us while I'm buried in your throat? You're such a little slut, I'm shocked you're not into that."

There he goes again with the degrading. His voice alone is enough to sway me, but his words are manipulative too and suddenly his desires are my own. Maybe the looming threat of someone walking in on such an obscene act is pretty invigorating...

Sal's calloused thumb rubs along my wet bottom lip, pulling it forward. "So soft," he mumbles, eyes never straying from where his fingers touch. His hand wraps further around my back just as he dips his thumb between the seam of my lips, the digit barely brushing over the surface of my teeth. "They'd look so pretty wrapped around my cock."

My breath catches in my throat and I effectively pause everything-- my thoughts, my breathing, my movements, even my fucking heartbeat. Sal seems to notice the moment I've reconsidered his offer. Just as he releases my lip, I drop the tactical gear in my hands, grab his biceps, and reverse our positions. I back him up with shaky breaths until he's pressed against the wall, then I drop to my knees right in front of him.

"Good girl," he purrs, praising me prettily as he drags his fingers over the underside of my jaw. I waste no time after his words shoot through me. I trail my hands up the sides of his legs and keep eye contact with him the entire time before finding my way into the top of his pants again.

I hook my fingers into the fabric and give a light yank, watching as Sal's pale hips come into view. His boxers are just barely visible, hardly hanging onto him at all. I brush my thumb over his warm skin and swipe my tongue over my bottom lip when Sal sucks in a sharp breath. He's sensitive.

I pull his pants down the rest of the way, which didn't take much effort on my part since they're pretty loose. They pool around his ankles and then the only thing in my way is the thin fabric of his underwear. Even with that covering him, his member is incredibly apparent and there isn't a single thing that could hide him right now.

And then there's that tattoo on his hip. Earlier today, mere hours ago, I still couldn't make out what it was. I have so many opportunities now, I can rip his underwear off him and finally answer the question I've had since Larry sent me that damned picture of him over Discord.

His shirt is covering the very top of the tattoo from me, so I'm only able to see a set of vertical curves and lines along his skin that never connect at the top that's hidden from my view.

My fingers carefully trail along his bare leg until I reach his boxers, crossing over to the front to palm his thick cock through the fabric all while looking into his mesmerizing blue eyes.

Sal's breath stutters as I rub my hand along his length, teasing him until he cracks-- hopefully. He was rough with me last night, deliciously so, and that's the type of attitude I'm looking for again.

I squeeze his dick lightly, not enough to set this scene in motion, but it's enough for him to shut his eyes in ecstasy. "Vi," he says darkly, a grating edge to his voice. "If you don't start choking on my dick in the next second, I'm going to do it for you."

My hand tightens around his member again and I tilt my head up at him. His eyes are still closed. "I don't think you'd be able to choke on your own dick, Sal," I say softly, sensually.

His head snaps down to look at me, eyes blazing with lustful rage. Within the next second, as promised, he's shoved his boxers down with one hand and buried his hand into my hair. His fingers wrap around the strands and he yanks my head back roughly so I'm looking up at him. He doesn't give me a single chance to finally find out what kind of tattoo he has on his hip. "It's about damn time I shut that dirty mouth of yours, you fucking brat," he barks out, nearly sneering down at me with that impressive fire in his eyes and the tantalizing grip he has on my hair. Then he pulls me back a bit more, tilts my head down just a tad, and taps my chin. "Open the fuck up. Now."

My mouth willingly falls open and before I can fully prepare myself, Sal drags my face forward and bucks his hips up at the same exact time. His dick slams into the back of my throat and my immediate reaction is to choke.

Thankfully, he doesn't move. He sits there for a second while I gather my wits and adjust to something so large intruding my airways. But I quickly close my lips around his length and blink over the tears that brim my eyes.

"You're going to cry?" He says through pants, letting out a single laugh. "Pathetic. You can do better than that."

With his cock filling up every inch of my open mouth, I can't make a sound no matter how badly I want to. I simply blink up at him quickly, relishing in the way he gazes down at me with glazed eyes that drink me in so devilishly.

So instead, I moan around his length and shut my eyes again, hollowing my cheeks as I suck on the part of him that's in my mouth. I lift a hand and wrap it around the rest of his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. My other hand moves to his bare thigh. As soon as my fingers brush his skin though, Sal uses his free hand to slap mine away. "No touching unless it's my dick. Got it?" he breathes, fingers tight around my wrist.

Fuck it, whatever. If that's what he's into then fine. It's not going to stop me.

Sal drags his fingers through the strands of my hair until he reaches the end, then he wraps it around his hand, holding on close to my scalp. He pulls my head back then pushes his dick further into my mouth.

And then he's thrusting into my throat, pushing my head forward to meet him halfway. I'm just the added pleasure-- he has no patience, doesn't want me to help him at all.

I do everything I can to use my tongue, licking under his shaft and using my leftover saliva to pump the rest of him with my hand. But Sal fucks my mouth rough and quick-- so much so that this is simply so he can cum as fast as possible. It's not about a slow build up, it's about using me to chase his high.

Too bad he chose the wrong bitch for the job.

Tears threaten to stream down my cheeks as his head repeatedly slams into the back of my throat. I choke on his cock multiple times and it has to be music to his ears. Sal's a whimpering, groaning mess above me, bucking his hips into my face and tilting his head to the ceiling.

Sal's hand is still clutching my wrist, but I want to drag this out for as long as I can, especially if he orgasms quickly like he did last night.

I tug on my wrist a bit and Sal pauses his rough thrusts, taking a breath. "What?" he asks, shockingly a tad concerned. "Are you okay? We can stop?"

He's let go of my arm and that's what I wanted. Instead of answering, I glance up at him and pull back so just the tip of his dick is between my lips. Then I suck gently, swirling my tongue around him to lick up all the pre-cum that had leaked. Sal shivers, a deep groan following the action. The sound forces my thighs together either to hide the evidence of my own arousal or to provide some relief for myself-- I'm not sure which one.

I wrap my hand around his velvety cock to give him a tight, slow pump, all while looking into his eyes. I want to watch him squirm.

He lets out a quivering breath when I separate my mouth from him with a reverberating pop that makes him flinch. He moans quietly and my eyes catch the way his hand squeezes into a fist then slowly stretches out beside him. That's hot. Mr. Darcy who?

I use my hand as leverage, placing my tongue at the base of his cock to slowly lick a stripe all the way back to his tip. Then I suck the head of his dick into my mouth again, my tongue wrapping around his throbbing member and eliciting a pretty little whimper from him.

Finally, I start bobbing my head along his length, sucking and licking up as much of him as I can. The salty taste of him coats my tongue deliciously, making me eager for the moment he finally climaxes.

Sal lets out a deep, trembling breath as I repeatedly take him in and out of my mouth, going as deep as I possibly can to force him into making some kind of sound again. He pushes a hand through my hair, gently massaging my scalp with his long fingers. It's almost intimate, but I know better. This is praise for doing well.

"You can take more than that, Vi," he says, voice audibly shaking. "Keep going, pretty girl. Don't make me take the reins again."

I know he'd love to take control and shove his dick down my throat again, but hopefully I can get him to cum on my own. I just know he'd cry for me. I want that bad.

I pull him out of my mouth and use my hand to pump the entirety of his pretty, soaked cock that I'm finally able to lay my eyes. He's definitely a good size. Gorgeous, pink, and so incredibly sensitive.

And there's the tattoo. My eyes were pinned to it as soon as I had a moment to admire his cock. It's faded, something he must have gotten years ago compared to the newer, darker marks on his arm and neck.

A crescent moon and stars around it. Fitting for him, actually. I find myself admiring it while I take my time to pleasure him. It's detailed, pretty. If there were any perfect words to describe him, this perfect little tattoo says it all. Dark, night, a little bright, definitely a dreamer. A hoper. It's him, more personal to him than any of his other tattoos.

I'm brought back to reality, heart thumping affectionately in my chest when Sal twitches in my hand. I look up at him, panting heavily since I'm finally able to get a good breath of air in. Saliva and pre-cum is smeared across my face and Sal seems drunk off of the image when he glances down at me again.

His fingers stop their gentle caress and tighten around my hair again, quickly using that grip to keep my head still as he shoves his throbbing dick back into the depths of my throat.

He doesn't say a word as he repeatedly thrusts in and out of mouth, making more tears flow down my cheeks. He doesn't have to say anything-- I took my mouth off of his cock for too long and right after he warned me. This is his nonverbal way of telling me that karma's taking control.

No matter how many attempts I make to bring him closer to climax with my tongue, by sucking every inch of him I can, it means nothing. All he cares about is making me crumble beneath him. All he craves is the sound of me gagging on him. All he wants to see is his cock filling up my mouth and the tears that have begun to paint my cheeks.

"Just like that," he moans out pathetically, beautifully. "You're doing so good." I'm hardly doing anything other than acting as his fucktoy, but if that's what he wants then I'm more than happy to oblige. Watching him fall apart, pleasure himself, and show this vulnerable side is enough to satisfy me. I don't even need to cum if it means he'll do it for both of us.

"I'm about to cum," he rasps out, still pounding into my throat roughly. I might not be able to speak after this, not with the way he's fucking my throat raw. "Swallow every drop or you'll fucking regret it--" his voice falls into a sinful whimper and he shudders, his fingers tightening impossibly around the strands of my hair.

I moan against him, squeezing my eyes shut as he picks up the pace, his dick roughly pumping into my mouth. It's brutal and I love every second. He feels good, he tastes good, he sounds good. I'm obsessed with the way he falls apart so viscerally. It's intoxicating.

For just a second, I'm thinking I might actually orgasm over the sound of his salacious moans alone. He's so vocal and so dirty about it-- how could I not? But he bursts into my mouth before I can think harder about it. The salty flavor and warmth of his cum envelops my tongue so quickly and I try to keep it all contained, but he continues thrusting into my throat. A bit of the liquid seeps from the corners of my lips, dripping onto the floor.

I don't care and Sal doesn't either for the moment. He simply whimpers between breaths above me, sucking in as much air as he can before he looks down at me and begins to pull his cock from my mouth.

I suck on him to lick up whatever cum I can. He jolts at the feeling of my tongue on him, hissing as his head tilts down to look at me.

I run my free hands up his thighs, absolutely reveling in his post-orgasm bliss with him. He's so pretty-- takes his hand out of my hair to run it through his, pulling strands away from his sweaty forehead. And now that the moment is over, he's not stopping me from touching him.

But as I'm feeling his skin, I notice something. A row of thin, raised lines. Not just one, multiple.

I try to rationalize it in my mind. There's no way-- but what if there was a way?

My heart thumps wildly in my chest and I flatten my palm on his thigh, rubbing my thumb gently over the protrusions. I swallow the remnants of Sal's orgasm and watch him with a renewed mind. He looks down at me and wipes his cum off of my chin, sticking his thumb into my mouth to slather the liquid onto my tongue.

He's still glowing right now-- he must not realize what I've discovered and I can't even fully wrap my head around it myself. I know what this is. How do I bring this up? I don't know if these are from two months ago or from years ago and if he's not happy... I can't just act like I haven't noticed anything.

I gulp down my nerves. It's going to be uncomfortable for both of us but I'd rather help him. I know I would have appreciated it when I was going through a tough time. Whether I hate him or not, I don't hate him enough to let him suffer alone.

"Sally," I say hoarsely, clearing my throat. "Are these..." my voice is barely audible from the way he abused the inside of my throat, but I rub my fingertips along the lines on his thighs again and Sal suddenly returns to the land of the living.

He roughly shoves my hands off of him, nearly pushing me onto my haunches. His boxers are back on before I can even regain my balance. "What?" he asks, taking a breath to recover from the marathon-like orgasm he just had. My heart thumps in my chest, an overwhelming mix of anxiety and shock taking hold of me. "I have a lot of scars, Vi. If that's going to gross you out then let's just stop this now."

My head rears back at his sneer and accusation. He's deeply offended and I can't help but feel like he's acting this way because someone's turned him away because of the scars before. That's not my intention-- I'd never do that.

"No, they don't--" I gape up at him, brows furrowing. "I'm the last person who's going to be grossed out by scars, Sal. I'm just..." I pinch my lips together as a wave of fear washes over me. He's going to think I'm insane for actually worrying over him. "Fuck, this sounds crazy," I warn. "But I'm just worried."

I watch him with wary eyes, but Sal scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Don't be worried about scars from my delinquent past with Larry. If anything, I deserved these," he grumbles, looking down and grabbing his pants. He shimmies them up his legs just before I can get a look at the scars that I felt. And I don't believe him. Those are too meticulously placed.

"Deserved? Delinquent?" I ask softly. "These are--"

"Yea. Delinquent. Larry and I hopped a barbed wire fence and my unlucky ass got caught on it. That's what those scars are. I broke laws, karma broke me. That's the circle of life." He says this all so nonchalantly, all the while swiping another drop of cum from my lips.

No one would be able to lie so efficiently. Not even I could. Something's still sketchy about this and I want to question him more. But that's invading his privacy and I can already tell that he's on edge. One wrong move-- which is the direction I'm heading in-- and he'll never open up about this regardless.

But what if he's telling the truth? Maybe I'm just bringing up past trauma. I didn't get to look at the scars on his thighs anyway.

I should keep asking anyway though. If he needs help...

I'm driving myself insane. I want to pester him, beg him to be honest with me just because I know how desperate I was at one point for help with my mental. I couldn't leave anyone to stay silent when I suspect that there's something wrong, even my enemy. It's just not--

"Now, I remember saying something about you having to regret not swallowing everything," his voice suddenly turns sinister in a very pleasurable way. He pulls me back to reality quickly, and I find my heart racing for a different reason. The truth always comes out. Obviously he wouldn't trust me enough now, but maybe he will in the future. I will find out.

For now, there's nothing more I can do. I tried.

Sal tilts his head down to the floor between us, so I follow his gaze to notice the various drops of milky white on the floor.

I gulp, swallowing the remnants of what was left in my mouth. The salty taste begins to die away-- I can hardly taste anything, in fact, as anticipation takes hold of my entire body. My mind goes blank in an instant, my worries replaced with expectations.

My eyes instinctually look back up at Sal who's already gazing at me. I'm guessing he's waiting on some kind of reaction from me.

Half of me wants to let him do whatever it is he's undoubtedly planning, but the other half of me is hyper-focused on the clothes I'm supposed to be changing into. And what I discovered just seconds ago. This doesn't feel right, not when there's so much else to focus on. But memories of last night have plagued me all day. What to do, what to do...

I really should just get dressed and start heading back to the other room. If Sal and I are away for too long, it's going to look really suspicious. And I mean, if anything, we can find another time to continue this. If he's adamant on punishing me, so to speak, he'll make time to do it. That'll give me time to figure out a plan on how to get the truth out of him too.

With that thought in mind, I grab the pile of clothes and push myself off my knees, standing to my full height. I take a breath and then a step back, all while Sal watches me closely. His eyes are so bright right now-- they look like they're glowing. The hardly contained desire swimming around in his cerulean irises does nothing to help.

I open my mouth with the intention of telling him that we'll figure something out later, but I don't even get a chance to say a syllable-- I only squeak out in surprise when Sal lunges toward me, sweeping me off my feet with no effort.

My hands automatically latch onto his shoulders once he wraps my legs around his waist with a little grunt. My eyes widen significantly when Sal turns on his heel and starts heading for the room that he just came out of. The clothes that were previously in my grasp are pressed between him and I-- they miraculously stuck around during whatever just happened.

Sal's hands grip my ass tightly, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he quickly walks us closer to the changing room. "You're lucky I don't make you lick that off the floor like a fucking dog," he bites out, a short chuckle following.

I have too many responsibilities for him to be talking like this.

My legs tighten around his waist and I squeeze my eyes shut. My lips pinch together as I try to remind myself why I can't just let him tear me apart in the room that he's carrying me into. My thoughts are clouded-- rational mind is completely missing because Sal is in tactical gear, I just sucked his dick, and he has his hands on me. How could anyone think?

Sal moves one hand to grab the heavy metal door leading to the changing room. He rips it open like it weighs nothing, but the way it scrapes across the cement floor says different. Maybe it only makes a scary sound, but it's actually pretty light? Who knows.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into the room, the door slams shut behind us. Then, Sal's unwrapping my legs from around him and dropping me to my feet. The sound of my shoes hitting the ground echoes in the room-- cement floors again.

I swallow thickly as my clothes drop to the ground. They're going to be so dirty. My hands slide from Sal's shoulders to the top of his chest due to the sudden height difference. The same goes for him; his hands move from my ass to my waist, my shirt riding up from the contact. His cool fingertips press into the skin of my hips, and he uses that as leverage to yank me even closer to him.

"You have to be quieter than you were last night, Vi," Sal breathes, leaning his head down to rest on my shoulder. His prosthetic nose runs along the length of my neck, causing shivers to erupt along my spine. As those words roll off his tongue, one of his hands crosses over to my stomach.

I have two options: get pleasure and get caught or wait it out and play it safe. Either way, I'll see to it that he makes up for this later. I have no doubt that he'll make extra sure to handle me later too.

"Wait," I say, wincing over the fact that I'm not going to go through with this. Truly, it hurts to push him away for now.

I can always count on Sal to listen to me when it comes to our situationship. He doesn't listen regarding absolutely anything else, but he at least takes this seriously.

His hands pause instantly and he pulls his head away from my neck, looking into my eyes. He's wary, concerned, alert. "What?" he asks. "We don't have to."

I lick my lips and take a deep breath. "Don't get me wrong," I tell him. "I want to, but everyone's expecting both of us to come back any minute now."

Sal looks off to the side, his hands slowly dropping from my waist. The loss of contact makes me want to whimper. There's a far-away look in his eyes as he seems to think. "Oh," he murmurs. "That's true," he whispers to himself.

I gape at him. How could he forget? He's literally clueless. I've said it once and apparently I have to fucking say it again. I place my hands on my hips and roll my eyes. "Really?" I scoff. "You forgot that you're supposed to be modeling right now? You're working for Treyarch but you let pussy blind you?"

Sal's eyes meet mine again and his eyebrows furrow, a glare taking over what little features I can see on him. "You don't have room to talk. You're not even supposed to be modeling with us so why do you have clothes?" There's that snarky, aggressive tone again.

"You never fail to prove how self-centered you are," I sigh, taking a step back and leaning down to grab my clothes from the floor. "Larry mentioned me and the photographers heard. They asked me-- well, more like told me to go change." Just thinking back on what happened a few minutes ago brings a smile to my lips and a fluttering to my heart.

Sal snorts, "Tasteless," he says in regard to the photographers choosing me. He turns away from me and moves to a corner of the room. The corner has a fancy chair with a pile of clothes on it-- if I had to guess, those clothes are for Sal. And then a vanity with a mirror and table with makeup and other essentials. Those probably all belong to Ash.

They're tasteless for choosing me when he chooses to hang around gothic beauties like the one from the bar the other night?

"Says the man with a preference for emo barbies," I murmur halfheartedly. I'm too focused on ingesting the room. My words were a mistake though-- I'd gone back to the night that woman sat with him at the bar and I let the argument get to me. I really shouldn't have said that because it shows that it bothers me. But, it doesn't actually bother me.

A wave of anxiety slams into me like twenty puppies running to a newcomer at a daycare. Fuck, he's going to attack me for that one. It's so obvious that the woman bothered me.

Sal tilts his head at my words. "Is that what you're calling yourself now?" he says and I perk up a bit. I don't know how I should react to that. He didn't realize I was talking about his lady friend, but he also just admitted that I'm part of his preference in women. "I think bratty little bitch sounds better."

I lick my lips and try to contain the smug smirk that so desperately wants to take over my face. He's so preoccupied, I doubt he even realizes what just came out of his mouth.

I glance around the room. There's not much in here-- some ugly orange rug on the floor, a black leather couch with Todd and Larry's clothes on it. Todd's clothes are neatly folded whereas Larry's are just thrown into a pile-- that's how I was able to distinguish who's were for who.

Then there's a little folding screen. Ash's clothes are hanging over the edges. Besides that, there's a mini fridge in the corner adjacent to Sal. That's pretty much it.

"I wouldn't have to be a bitch so often if you weren't such a dick," I finally respond to his words after letting them percolate in the air for a short while. "Fix your attitude and then I'll fix mine."

Sal glances over his shoulder, black-lined eyes meeting mine. "Fix yours first and then we can talk," he says disinterestedly.

I shake my head. "Guess we'll never agree then."

I walk over to the folding screen and step behind it, laying my clothes on a little stool that the photographers were gracious enough to place back here. I start pulling my shoes off with a little grunt, moving onto my socks afterward.

Arguing with Sal comes so naturally now. It's mildly aggravating, but it isn't making me want to retrieve heads on pikes like it usually does. Maybe it's because we're both distracted right now.

"You're only well-behaved when you're being a whore," Sal says, and I look up because his voice is a lot closer to me now than it was before. And now, his slightly monotone voice is replaced with a nagging, agitated tone.

My head snaps up as I'm shimmying my skirt down my thighs and I make unexpected eye contact with Sal who's standing right in front of the folding screen.

I pause my movements, heat enveloping my cheeks at the same moment that Sal realizes I'm almost half naked. His eyes latch onto my thighs and then he takes a step back, then another until he can't peek over the top of the screen anymore.

I release a sigh of relief. "Do you watch all your women change or something?" I grunt out, watching him with a raised eyebrow-- not like he can see it. I know it doesn't really matter-- he's seen a lot of me so far. This is innocent compared to what he saw last night, but it still feels awkward and it seems he feels the same way.

"I didn't mean to," he snaps, crossing his arms over the armor plate on his chest. "I actually had pure intentions for fucking once. Don't make me out to be the bad guy."

"Funny," I respond, pulling my shirt over my head. "You always play the villain so I never expect anything else from you."

"Wow," he sarcastically says. "High praise. Considering me a villain is the nicest thing you've done for me."

I glance up at him while pulling on black cargo pants. He looks so proud and smug. What an ass. "It wasn't a compliment," I grit out.

"And that's exactly why I took it as a compliment. It pissed you off."

I shake my head, roll my eyes, and go back to changing. The entire reason his fingers aren't in me right now is because we have somewhere to be, so I don't understand why the hell he's sticking around and pestering me.

Then something slaps me in the face. Well, my mask.

I blink, shocked at the audacity of Sal to throw something at me, but when I look down to where the unknown object dropped, I see a little rectangular piece of foil. I tilt my head, wondering if I'm seeing right.

I lean down and grab it. Yea, this is gum.

I stand up again and eye Sal curiously, warily. Did he poison this?

Sal must see the contemplative look in my eyes because he scoffs in disbelief. "It's just fucking gum, dick breath. I'm doing you a favor."

I cringe at what he just said. "Oh my fucking--" I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Get out of here, Fisher. There is absolutely no reason for you to be hanging around with me. I literally cannot stand you." The more I think about what just happened, the words that came out of my mouth, the more I want to jump over this folding screen and choke him out.

Sal cackles evilly, backing over to the metal door with his hands in his pockets. "You're just upset because I'm right, like I always am."

"Fuck off, asshat," I fire back. It's a weak comeback but it's all I've got. Of course this would happen after I thought about how mild our argument was earlier.

Sal's laughs die off when he opens the door, but then he calls me. "Vi," he says and I hesitate to look up. But when I meet his bright, cerulean eyes, I see determination. "We'll continue where we left off later. Okay?"

I watch him. Those are good words. Those are expectations. So I nod gently. "Okay."

And then he's gone. Completely disappeared from my view in the blink of an eye.

Every inch of malice and aggravation I felt just seconds ago melts away like candle wax. It'll reform all over again later, but for now, it's just replaced by butterflies making my stomach turn excitedly. So there's something for me to look forward to later. Absolutely wonderful.

I pull off my shirt and replace it with the long sleeved grey one that I was given. It's a little big on me, but no one has my body proportions either so I expect as much. My chest plate is adjustable, which helps tremendously. It makes the loose shirt stick to me like glue and because of that, it's hardly noticeable that the clothing isn't even my size. Said chest plate is much like Larry's-- camo and cargo. If anything, it's more like an armored vest with gun magazines and extra storage.

I secure it over my arms and to my chest then move on to the belt that holds a couple holsters for what I presume will be prop guns that I get later.

All that's left is for me to tug on the tan combat boots, which I lace up fairly quickly, and from there I'm home free. The issue now is walking up to my friends like I didn't just have their friend's dick I'm my mouth. I have to face Larry and pretend that I didn't suck the soul out of his step-brother's cock.

Simple. Easy job.

I take a breath and watch the door, begrudgingly unwrapping the spearmint gum that Sal was oh, so generous enough to give me. I want to be mad at him— I am mad— but he did help me out, even if it was only because he didn't want everyone else to smell the clear evidence of whatever happened in the hallway.

My feet trudge toward the big metal door while I chew on the stupid fucking gum. This couldn't be any worse... but no regrets.

My hand fits around the handle easily, but when I push it down to open the door, a little tug does absolutely nothing. I pause and stare at the door, bewildered. Sal threw this thing open earlier? One-handed? No way.

I give another tug, this one a bit more forceful. The door squeaks on its hinges, slowly moving to follow my weight. It's not extremely heavy, but I have to put some weight behind it and physically walk with the door. Am I tripping or am I just pitifully weak? Both?

I'm finally able to get the door open enough to squeeze my body through. Even then, the door gives me a little shove in the right direction, hitting me as it slams shut before I can move out of the threshold. My glare pierces through the inanimate metal while I rub my abused back. I did not ask to be the target of everyone's hostility today.

The hallway isn't nearly as eerie to me now as it was a few minutes ago. I walk through it quickly, the buzzing lights on my mental back-burner once I reach the door that separates me from reality.

I purse my lips, blowing out a sigh. Ash, Larry, Todd, and Sally Face Fisher are on the other side of this door. I am not going to fuck up. I am going to be brave. And I'm not sure why I'm so nervous— maybe it's because any one of them could have very easily walked in on Sal filling up my throat like it was a common occurrence. Yea, probably that. But, we didn't get caught, so there's really nothing for me to worry about.

I guess my fantastic, trauma-induced ability to lie is a plus here. Not like it's fed me all too well in the past. Seriously, I'm playing three different people right now and all it's doing is tangling me up in a sick mess that I created. There's Vi, who no one knows, there's y/n who everyone loves— except Sally-- and then there's Lexi who just so happens to be the object of Sal's affection.

Things literally couldn't my be any worse. But damn if I do, damn if I don't. I'll lie my ass off when I leave this hallway if I have to.

With my little pep talk finished, I pull this much lighter door at the opposite end of the hallway open and cast my gaze upon the darkened room. The Faces are perched in front of a large, stretched out tapestry being used as a background. It's this dusty looking city scene from what I can tell. And my friends are just milling about, talking with each other. Well, most of them. Todd is in the corner stuffing his fishing hat under a pile of prop rubble. I guess the photographers tried to make him keep it.

I amble toward them, a little unsure of how to address anyone after what I just did. I actually got to sleep on the knowledge of Sal and I last night, but now I have no time to recover.

Relax, y/n. Everything's fine. No one's going to suspect a thing.

Upon finally reaching my friends, Larry's the first to acknowledge me. His eyes glance over me appreciatively and he nods his head, furrowing his brows as a little smirk pulls at his full lips. "You look delicious. But you always do," he chuckles. Then he walks over and claps a hand onto my back. "So what took you so long, Vivi? Found some good dick to munch on?"

There's no way to describe the way my stomach suddenly drops out of my ass. I've seen this scene so many times. It's like when Jim gets caught flirting with Pam in The Office— that initial reaction of fucking book-it or use the worst excuse known to man while awkwardly looking around.

So I intellectually hit my friend with, "Yea. Why else would I be chewing gum?"

I make a face akin to the expression that anyone would pull after sucking a lemon or taking a shot of tequila. I genuinely want to disappear. This is going terribly.

Even Todd turns his head toward Larry and I, raising an eyebrow in my direction. Ash and Sal are just out of my direct line of sight and they can fucking stay there. If I meet any more judgemental gazes, I'll probably vomit.

But Larry's a giggly mess, something I didn't take note of because I'd panicked. His hand is squeezing my shoulder while he bends over and wipes a fake tear from his eyes. "See?" He says, giving me a wide, gap-toothed grin. Cutie. "You get it. That's humor, baby!"

I giggle nervously, slowly letting go of the nauseating bout of anxiety that just swam through me. "Mhm," I hum. "Don't worry, Lar. I'll always take good care of your jokes." I cannot form good, coherent responses for the life of me right now.

Larry can't answer me in time because there's suddenly a huge prop gun shoved into his arms. I step away from him, baffled when the weapon clatters loudly in his unprepared hands. It's a shock to my system and the same goes for Larry who juggles the hunk of— metal? plastic?— with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"This shit is heavy," he gasps out, finally getting a good hold of it. "These— these aren't real, right?" He asks, looking up at the photographer who's currently holding out a big Resident Evil-esque gun toward me. Assault rifle, maybe? I know nothing other than Leon Kennedy when it comes to those games.

I take the weapon carefully after Larry's nervous remark. He's not kidding— it's heavy as hell, definitely metal. They wouldn't give us actual weapons right? There's a serious issue going on in the world with these things and the last thing I want to do is hold a real one.

I look up to the photographer, my gaze questioning, hoping to get an explanation for Larry's question.

"No," the photographer says, snickering. "Well, they were once." I cock my head to the side. Were?

I watch the photographer drop a hand gun into Ash's awaiting arms, then a shot gun goes to Sal. They both look pretty shocked by the weight too.

"Hold on," Ash says. "We didn't come here to fuck around with real guns. Fake ones, fine. No one can get hurt. This is different—"

"I said they were real at one point," the photographer cuts her off, heading toward Todd. "They aren't real anymore." Todd trades in his fishing hat for a gun similar to mine and the photographer rolls his eyes. "Our crew found these on eBay. They're refurbished military-grade guns, basically. They were either damaged or deemed as duds. But someone bought all of them and got creative, took them all apart and put them back together as paint-ball guns. So no, they can't hurt anyone. Plus, since they're remade and no longer used for horrendous shit, they come pretty cheap."

My lips form into a little "o" at the explanation. See, this is more acceptable. Perfectly explains why they seem so real.

"That's actually pretty interesting," Todd murmurs, turning his weapon over in his hands. "Sounds like something I'd be into."

"Leave the Super Gear Boy in seventh grade, Todd," Sal pipes up, sighing at his scientific friend.

I roll my eyes. He always has to kill the mood, and for what? I think this is a good way to kill off guns instead of letting someone fix them up to resell as actual weapons. Todd would thrive in the paint-ball industry.

"What's paint-ball even like?" Larry asks, completely mystified if when putting the sound of his voice into account. I glance to him, noting the way he looks into the barrel of the gun. Even if it's not real, that shit still makes me nervous.

I close an eye, recalling my limited paint-ball experience. If I wasn't doing something band related or reading in bed, I was playing paint-ball, truth be told. I grew up in two of California's— no, America's— major city's. If you weren't old enough to hit the bars or clubs in town, there was virtually nothing for you to do, period. That left me with dad's favorite little hobby and a run down storage building for me and my two or three friends to go rip open the gates of complete chaos. It was fun.

"I don't quite know how to explain it," I tell Larry, shrugging. I hold my gun at my side, gripping it by the handle. "Think Call of Duty. You load it, then you shoot it basically."

"And how do you know?" Ash asks, scrunching her nose up at me when I turn to acknowledge her. I love her little nose scrunch. It has to be the cutest thing I've ever seen.

"I had a lot of free time as a kid. So I used some of that time to play paint-ball," I tell her with a smile.

"You'll definitely have to teach me one day," she grins, viridian eyes twinkling in the bright white lights.

The photographers move us into place mere moments after Ash's request. I'm not used to photoshoots— so I do my best to follow the directions aimed at me. Move here, step there, pose like so.

There's a lot of straight faces and eye work. "Look angry," "look determined," "look scared but in a way that doesn't show it." None of it makes much sense to me, but I do my best, aiming my gun in random places and trying to keep the awkward grin off my face.

It's tedious work if anything. I'm stuck changing positions second after second or having to hold a pose with this heavy ass gun for ten minutes at a time. I agree with The Faces now— it isn't half as fun as models make it seem.

"My arm is killing me," Sal grumbles to himself, but I catch his words and Larry seems to as well. Sal is positioned behind me, one of his elbows on my shoulder and the other aiming his gun forward. If it's not already obvious, he fought like hell to convince the photographers to put him with someone else for this shot.

I've been trying to smoosh down all of the excitement I feel because his knee is positioned between both of my legs. His chest is pressed into my back. I can feel every breath he takes, I can smell his shampoo, I can hear every word he speaks before he even says it. Every single syllable that leaves his throat. It consumes me, leaves me a drunken mess below him.

But I try to hold onto my sanity and I do that through negativity.

"Yea," I grunt, discreetly rotating my arm. "Well, you're killing my shoulder with that bony ass elbow of yours."

Sal doesn't respond immediately, only presses his elbow even harder into my shoulder. I bite down a gasp, sneering at the photographer in front of us.

"Hold that expression, VioletViolence— perfect, beautiful!"

I want to roll my eyes. Maybe they put Sal and I together for a reason. Somehow they know we bring the worst out of each other, and thus, the angry facial expressions.

"Stay strong, broski," Larry calls out from beside me. Yea, right. He's one to talk. He's laying on his stomach with his gun propped on the ground, all he has to do is put his hands on it. "Free style match!" He suddenly yells. I furrow my eyebrows, confusion swallowing me whole. "I'll go first," Larry continues in a sing-song voice.

"Okay, so... actually, someone give me a topic." I shake my head at Larry's request. He went back on his word immediately.

But Ash is quick to jump in. She's positioned to mine and Sal's left. "Ooo!" She says. I can't look up at her or I'll get scolded for moving. "How about cake?" I almost snort and break character. Cake, of all things. It had to be Ash.

A sudden flash blinds me for a second, but I blink through it, trying to hold my angry gaze.

"Cake?" Todd mutters, huffing out a quick laugh. "That's all you could come up with?"

"Hey," Ash snaps, disappointment evident in her sweet voice. "I think it's a good topic. It's definitely going to be hard for Larry to—"

"Got something," Larry says, an evil chuckle following his statement. My eyes widen— that's a concerning laugh and he actually managed to come up with something in, what, half a second?

I need to fear this man. This buff daddy, tactical gear-wearing, snarky, humorous, emo man.

"Alright," Sal sighs from above me, finally pulling some of the weight off of my shoulder. I groan at the instant relief. I'm definitely going to get back at him for this later. "Please, do go on," Sal continues sarcastically. My guess is that he doesn't believe Larry could come up with something like that on the fly. I hate to say it, but I'm with him.

"Okay, alright," Larry whispers. "Prepare for absolutely malarkey."

I guilty grin quirks my lips and I truly struggle to hold back a couple giggles. Larry is ridiculous.

"Do you like watching people eat cake too?" Larry asks and I glance down at him, noting the shit-eating smile taking up his entire expression. He's going to get in trouble for that. And why is he asking about cake? I thought he was going to bust a few free style rhymes.

And bust some rhymes he does, taking me by complete surprise.

"Nah, I prefer watching them eat my dick. When she sucks my soul like a motherfuckin' tick. Love it when she goes in lick for lick— errrrrrr. Resident Evil, baby, I know those zombies would pick herrrrr. Got her lips around me, getting stifferrrrrr Getting kinda goofy like Stiflerrrrr."

I snap my head down to Larry, eyes wide and a cackle working it's way up my throat. Did I hear all of that right? Is this motherfucker kidding me right now?

Every single one of us breaks character— Sal snorts as soon as Larry ends his verse, Todd actual smiles and pats a giggling Larry on the back, and Ash is in tears. Her gun has clattered to the floor and she's fighting to regain control of her emotions.

I join them, giggling with Ash who's borderline moaning in humorous pain on the ground beside me, on her hands and knees. The photographers have given up on us for now— all four of them moving away to chat about the pictures, no doubt.

"Honestly, should I say that?" Larry asks, taking a deep breath and swiping a hand over his face as he calms down from his insane laughter. "That was a little much."

Sal hums next to him, so I look up. The man looks like he's holding onto his sanity by the thinnest piece of string known to humanity. All of that just to drop his own free style continuation of Larry's monstrosity.

"It's never too much, she can never get enough. She's always barking at me like a dog, ruff ruff. She's a fucking baddie, you know she likes it rough. My girl's all pretty like Hilary Duff. She begs and she pleads, she likes that kinda stuff. Transformers Megan Fox vibes, I feel like Shia LeBeouf."

"You have to be fucking kidding me," Todd bites out, voice wavering with barely held back amusement.

Ash grabs onto me for moral support and I look toward her, tears building in my eyes while I try to contain the laughter that so desperately wants to be released. How on earth could both boys come up with something like this?

When I finally see Ash, she's got a permanent gaping mouth with her eyes squeezed shut in that awesome silent laugh that tells everyone something really funny just happened.

It's a wonderful, core memory moment where everyone's keeled over, giggling or crying their guts out. Sal and I aren't angry with each other, Larry isn't flirting with anything that has a pulse, Todd isn't stoney-faced, Ash isn't plagued by constant worry. We're all just friends being goofy and enjoying our time together. I hate to say it, but this is something we don't get very often.

I look around at my friends as they recover. Larry finally takes his hands off the floor, kneeling on the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks. He swipes a hand over his face as Sal walks toward him. They do a quick fist bump, praising each other for the perfect lyric session. Sal is still bent over, his eyes scrunched together with glee to accompany his horrible attempts to contain giggles that tumble out from behind his prosthetic.

I wish he looked this happy all the time. I wish he was this happy all the time. No matter what, I can't help but imagine what it would be like if we were different people in different universes. Maybe we would have met sooner. Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty for wanting him like I do. We could have been friends. We could have been lovers. We could have been more-- more than whatever this is. Fucking around when we feel like it because we both clearly have issues, both personal and regarding each other.

But I guess it doesn't really matter now because none of those universes are achievable. I can't unlock upgrades in life-- I just have to hope and assume that things will get better between us. To do that, I have to stop being so angry with him all the time too though. And that might be hard to do.

"She can't hear you bro," I hear Sal say. My kidney twitches at the sound of his voice. I'm being overdramatic, but that's how keen I am when it comes to his voice. I instantly tune in and feel frustration build up in me. I just know he's talking about me. "Vi's just mad she isn't Hilary Duff." I turn away from Ash, narrowing my eyes at Sal who then turns to me with malice veiled by amusement in his pretty gaze. "She isn't Megan Fox either. Must suck."

"What point are you trying to make? That I'm not successful? That I'm not pretty?" I sneer, tilting my head in question. Anyone would find that offensive. I don't know what he'll say to that, but I'm prepared for anything. If he wants a verbal battle, I'm absolutely down.

Sal shrugs, hands readjusting their grip on his gun. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying that you're not as successful or pretty as them."

I can't believe I put my everything into a blowjob for this absolute, complete, stuck up, and disrespectful cunt.

Tongue in cheek, I spin on my heel and look down at the ground. I can't tell if the flame of rage is growing in me, or if the embarrassed, insecure pin is about to officially pop my ego balloon.

Ash looks up at me, finally getting to her feet again, but she isn't laughing anymore. She isn't smiling either.

"Ash," I say shakily with failed attempts to hide my shaking hands. "I'm going to fucking strangle him," I bite out.

It seems like every time I try to look at him in a positive light, Sal's able to tell. Like he's a mind reader. And he jumps in every single time to completely obliterate any chance I was willing to give him. Even just a sliver of hope gets thrown back three miles the very moment he detects it. And now, we're ten steps back compared to the half step we had taken forward.

I can put up with most things he shoots my way, but shots to my insecurities really tear me down.

"Sweetheart, no one's going to strangle anyone, okay?" Ash says, bringing her small, cool hands to my cheeks. She lifts my face, forcing me to look into her eyes. When I do meet her gaze, those viridian irises are filled with the big R's-- regret and revenge. "Not until I do it first," she continues sweetly, her voice sugary like melted chocolate. To anyone else, it would seem like a joke, but that look in her eyes is real.

I feel a little better now.

"Ash," Sally spits out quickly, voice panicked. "I was kidding. Don't strangle me." How very pathetic of him to be scared now.

"Yea," Larry cuts in, chuckling. "He'll moan if you do."

Larry's barely able to finish his statement when a loud thwack echoes in the big room, followed by a resounding "Fuck! I'm sorry!" from emo buff daddy himself.

Ash looks off to the side, fuming with grace-- something only she can achieve. "You're lucky, Sal," she says coldly. "Larry handled you well enough, I think." She lets go of my face, so I finally chew down my anxiety and embarrassment and turn to the two boys again. Sal's looking like he's caught between contrition and anger, like he can't tell which emotion he should feel. "You need to cut this shit out, Sal. Vi didn't provoke you, there was no reason for you to say that. There's never a good, viable reason for you to target someone's looks. That was low, even for you."

I watch him with a glare, staying silent. Ash handled him better than I could. She said everything I wanted to and more.

Sal scoffs, "I wasn't serious. I'll even give Vi a compliment if that fucking helps. A real one." I don't believe him. There's nothing he could say or do that would make up for the damage he just did. Hearing his attempt at appeasement makes infuriation boil in me again, and his stupid blue eyes glancing my way only make that worse. It doesn't matter if he looks good in all that tactical gear.

"Actually," Ash chirps, "I think that's a great idea. Both of you give each other one compliment. And be serious. Don't be generic either, say something that sticks out about the other person."

Is Ash on fucking drugs? Did she smoke too much again because there's no way she dragged me into this.

"Okay, cool, fine," Sal grunts, looking to me again with a gaze that spell out the most genuine form of nonchalance. He couldn't care less about me. "I'll go first. Vi," he starts, tilting his head down. The light illuminates his azure irises, trapping me in that gilded cage I repeatedly find myself in upon simply looking at him. I hate this. "I think you have gorgeous eyes. They go with almost any color I've seen you in."

I gulp. Not only did he steal my compliment for him, he also hit me with the same compliment he gave Lexi. Does he know that we're the same person? Was that him trying to discreetly tell me that he knows my secret? But, then again, why would he go out of his way to fight me about Lexi and even text her?

Well, I've done that too, actually. But he's not like that-- so did he really mean that then? That's the only thing I can really think of.

I gape at him like a fish for a couple moments, blinking quickly while I try to come up with something to say. Blush on my cheek, fingers dipping into the pockets on my vest, boots toeing at the cement beneath me all while my heart races and my insides tremble. I shouldn't react like this after he said I wasn't as successful or pretty as famous women. I'm being ridiculous.

"I--" I say, voice barely a whisper. "You--" I try to speak a bit louder, but my voice cracks so I clear my throat, tilting my head down. What kind of compliment can I give him? "You..."

"What? Nothing you can think of?" He snaps, crossing his arms, gun still in hand. His tone blazes with fury. "You're such a hypocrite. You can get mad at my joke, but then you can't find a compliment for me even after I gave you an honest one."

I pinch my lips together. He's so fucking aggravating. "Shut up," I seethe, "I'm trying to pick one." The truth falls from my lips before I can think better of it. Please don't say anything-- please don't say the obvious. Please don't point out that there's actually things I can't help but admire about you, Sal. There's a lot that I hate, but there's a few attributes that I respect too. "You have pretty and talented hands," I finally say, lifting my left hand to gesture toward him. But that sounds like I'm referring to his expert ability to make me cum. "You're really, um, a talented guitarist," I tack on, wincing. I'm trying so hard to keep the heat off of me that I may very well be attracting it instead.

I take a quick, quivering breath as true terror grips my mind and body. Anyone would be able to tell how hard that was for me, how shameful it was. This is awful, this entire day has turned into a mess.

I pull a mag from my vest, inspecting it to pass the time and ignore my surroundings. But when I look into the cartridge, expecting it to be empty, I'm pleasantly surprised to see it completely filled with neon blue and green paint-balls.

Surely these photographers aren't that dumb. They can't be, right?

A satisfying shiver runs through my body, making goosebumps rise along my skin. This is just the distraction I was looking for. Everyone's had more than enough time to think over the compliment I gave Sal, but I won't let them get a chance to say anything about it.

"Hey, Ángel," I call loudly, glancing up to survey the room and find the photographer who told us about these guns in the first place. I finally catch his confused gaze and nudge my chin in his direction. "Do you guys have extra tactical gear?" Come up with something, y/n. No one can suspect anything. "I'd love to bring this home if I can," I lie smoothly, offering up a shy smile. "You know, for... memories."

Ángel shrugs, giving me a look that screams that he thinks I'm a little crazy. "I mean, we always have extras but you can't take it home. Activision spent money on all of this."

"Ah," I hum, returning to examining the weapon of mental destruction in my hands-- a fully loaded magazine of paint-balls. "Bummer," I mumble.

With an energetic grin on my face, I shove the mag into the holder right in front of the trigger. This is unlike any paint-ball gun I've ever seen, so I'm taking a guess-- but it clicks into place easily, so I assume I'm doing something right.

"Well," Ash says softly, awkwardly. "That was a... nice compliment, Vi." I can tell she's trying to make me feel better, but she's struggling too. I don't blame her. What I said was so sad, really.

But I have this paint-ball gun to make me feel better.

"Yea," I murmur distractedly. "Hey," I ask her, looking up for a moment. "Does this thing have a safety? Does it work?" Using what very little knowledge I know of weapons here. I'm a fan of knives for a reason.

"Um," Ash purses her lips, leaning over my shoulder. She turns my gun over and flips a little switch, showing a red dot. "Yea, look," she continues. "When red shows, safety's off." Then she switches it again.

I nod my head, letting that information go in through one ear and out the other as soon as I flip the switch again, taking the gun off of safety. I'll never need that knowledge anyway.

"Thanks, Ashy," I chirp, grabbing onto the barrel of the gun with one hand and the handle with the other, lifting it up so I can look through the scope. It's one little red line line at the end of the glass so I move the weapon, glancing around the room until Sal is in my sight.

"Nothing's better than revenge, my dear friend," I mumble to Ash as I close my left eye to get better focus on my target. I lick my lips, waiting for Sal to acknowledge me, finger hovering over the trigger. Energy reverberates through my body, hitting the top of my skull and bouncing back down to my toes, only to repeat the process over and over again.

Ash gasps and I really wish I could see her expression right now. "Vi," she hisses excitedly," Are you really--"

Before she can even finish her sentence, Sal turns his head, blue eyes flashing when he notices me. I see panic fill him for a brief second, right before I turn my aim to the armor plate on his chest and press down on the trigger before I can give myself time to change my mind-- or give Sal time to talk me out of this.

There's a loud thunk that comes from the gun as soon as the paint-ball flies out of the barrel. Then the splat heard around the fucking world the exact second that Sal's armor plate gets hit with neon green.

Paint gets everywhere. It's on the bottom half of his prosthetic, all over his chest and black shirt, spilling down his pale arms.

Sal staggers on his feet, taking a step back to catch himself from the velocity and force of the paint-ball. It didn't hurt him-- he didn't make a painful sound, plus the armor plate protected him. But he's a mess now which makes this evil plan of mine so worth it.

I lower the gun, opening my left eye to get a good look at the damage. Todd's jaw is dropped, his eyes wide. He caught a bit of the paint too, a couple green dots littering his freckled face. Larry starts laughing as soon as he gets a good look at Sal too, tears streaming down his cheeks for the second time today as he drops to his knees again.

Ash giggles beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This is why I love you," she tells me confidently. My smile widens. "Great minds think alike."

Sal looks down at himself, lifting his arms up to examine his now neon green chemical spill. All that black polish on his nails is covered in green. His shirt sleeves: green. Veiny, guitar playing hands-- you guessed it, green. It's a beautiful catastrophe in my opinion.

And then he looks up, absolutely murderous blue eyes locking onto mine. Now he feels just like I felt earlier-- ready to attack at any second.

I grin at him, putting my arms in a comfier position over my body so I can hold onto my gun. "What a shame," I say, feigning disappointment. "I ruined those pretty, guitar playing hands of yours." I stick out my bottom lip in a fake pout. "I guess my compliment to you is obsolete now."

__________________

A/N:::::: HI SWEET BABIES!!! i'm back with another ryver original. the lyrics that larry and sal spit out during this chapter was the outcome of an idea bestowed upon me by my friends. i mentioned that i liked watching people eat cake, and they said, "that sounds like either the intro to a porno or a lyric in a rap song." so... i wrote a a couple verses for it LMAO i can't control myself, i am very much an embarrassing disappointment.

ANYWAY i really wanted to post this sooner, but i had my first day back at college yesterday and i was utterly exhausted. i literally fell asleep at 8pm and all of you know that i'm an unapologetic night owl so going to bed early was WEIRD-- but needed apparently. I didn't wake up til 9:30 this morning and that was only 'cause i had a class at 11am :3

huge thanks to MadamMilky on Wattpad for coming up with Sal's tattoo-- i think it's such a cute, unique idea for him and it just fits so incredibly well <333

so here you go, dropping a 12k word load on you guys again. thank you for the continued support, for the love, for the friendship. thank you for everything. i love you all eternally, more than the sun loves the day and the moon loves the night <;33

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Simon (Sal) Riley [14]

Fingers threading through my hair, gentle and soft, summons me back to life. Seconds ago, I was consumed by the deepest sleep I've had in weeks. Months, really. I mean I really slept good. I didn't have a single dream. It was just bliss.

I blink my eyes open and glance at Ash who's staring down at me with a grin that's holding back a series of laughs. Mirth dances in her jade eyes and I'm really curious as to why she looks like she's about to laugh at me.

I take a deep breath through my nose then sit up, closing my tired eyes while I do a long and well-deserved cat stretch. "What's wrong?" I murmur, my voice hoarse.

"Nothing," Ash whispers, standing to her full height. She's still in her pajamas, which consists of a pair of Hello Kitty sweatpants and a black sports bra. The epitome of comfy, basically. "You were snoring, for one. And I mean it sounded like you were choking on some really good dick. Sorry if I interrupted any kind of-- hehehehe-- dream, but I wanted to make sure you were alright." While she obviously couldn't help but giggle, she does seem a bit concerned.

I grimace. Was I really snoring? That hard?

"I'm fine," I rasp, shrugging while trying to keep my eyes open. "I wasn't even dreaming. Was just in a deep sleep." I smack my lips, swallowing thickly over the heavy cloud of exhaustion that hovers over me.

"Okay, hun," Ash says softly, pushing a strand of hair out of my face. She tucks it behind my ear then cups my chin in her dainty, cold hand. "You can go back to sleep. It's only nine in the morning. I'll be moving to the living room, so you can have the bed to yourself."

I shake my head. No way am I going to sleep my day away-- it's my last day in Las Vegas. I want to spend it with my friends. "No," I tell her, trying to perk up a bit. "It's my last day. I want to spend it with you guys. I just need some coffee, or something."

Ash giggles. "Whatever you want, sweetness." Then, she stands with a little sigh, stretching her arms out. "I'll send Larry to go downstairs and get us a few cups of coffee then."

"That sounds wonderful," I reply, yawning loud and proud. No matter how hard I try, I can't jump over this sleepy hurdle. I've gotten about six hours of sleep so I shouldn't be this tired.

Ash puts on some slippers and I secure my mask onto my face before we walk out. I stop by the bathroom to brush my teeth quickly, only to nearly choke on the toothpaste frothing in my mouth upon seeing the half open shower curtain.

I have to face Sal Fisher soon.

Oh, boy. I genuinely don't know how this is going to go. I want to act like nothing even happened-- that feels like the safest route. But if he acts awkward around me, then how am I supposed to work around that?

I rinse the toothpaste out of my mouth and stand there with my hands on my head for a moment, reeling over the situation I've put myself in. I don't regret any of it. Sal really did show me a good time and I slept good as fuck afterward. If I'm being completely honest, I'd do it again.

His touch was so addictive. I've never had such a visceral reaction like that in my life. Just a brush of his fingertips had my brain practically vibrating.

He's special, talented. That's for sure.

I'll figure something out, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, I'm in the clear because, as far as I know, Sal is still sleeping in his and Larry's shared room.

I finally decide to rid myself of the memories for now and walk back out into the living room.

Ash and Todd are sitting beside each other at the dining table, seemingly reviewing the rest of their work plans for this trip. I know that they didn't just come here to party, based on what Ash told me a few days ago. Apparently they had some things to do.

I walk up behind Ash and lean over the table, holding myself up with a hand on the back of her chair. "What's going on?" I ask, attempting to stop myself from yawning yet again after the last syllable falls from my lips.

Ash turns her head, her hair brushing the back of my fingers. She smiles gently at me, her eyes flitting across my undoubtedly sleepy face before looking forward again.

Todd glances up at my intrusion, giving me a nod and a smile. I return both, following up with, "Morning, Todd."

"We're trying to figure out which time is the correct time to go to a meeting later. It's just Todd and I going. Sal and Larry did theirs already. One email says that it's at 10:30am, the other says 11:30am," Ash informs me, voice slowing with confusion as she talks.

I tilt my head curiously. "Huh," I voice. "That's weird. Did the email say anything about a time change?"

"No, that's the most frustrating part," Todd answers, turning the laptop back to him. "And I emailed to ask for a correct time confirmation, but I haven't gotten anything back."

"That's awful," I admit, frowning at my two friends. I'm stressed for them. "I mean, I'd hate for you two to have to sit there and wait for the meeting, but it wouldn't hurt to go at the earliest time, you know, in case. Just a suggestion."

Todd sighs in response, pinching his lips together as his eyes glance back and forth across the screen in front of him. "Yea. If I don't hear back before 9:45, that's what we're going to have to do. It's just extremely frustrating. I like to be punctual and this is entirely unprofessional on their end."

A little amused smirk quirks my lips. Todd has so many admirable qualities. One of them is that he hardly ever gets mad-- so seeing him on the border of it is just a bit goofy to me. I'm witnessing the impossible. Either way, I really do feel bad about the time mix-up and he's right-- it is unprofessional.

"I get it. They need to be on top of their shit," I say matter-of-factly, moving over to the white couch that Sal and Larry were gaming on yesterday. I sprawl out on my stomach, stretching my legs out until they can't anymore. Damn, this feels nice.

Ash and Todd get back to talking, so I grab the TV remote and switch it on. Hopefully there's something good playing.

I scroll through channels, humming softly to myself when all I see are soaps. I really don't feel like sitting through The Young and the Restless.

Eventually, I settle on a rerun of Two and a Half Men (which isn't bad at all, I was excited to see it) and lay my head on my arms. It's hard to get into a comfy position with the mask, so at least my arms acting as a stand prevent my mask from pressing into my face.

But as I lay there, exhaustion lulls me into more sleep. I try to hold it off, and I will. I'm stronger than this. It won't hurt to shut my eyes for just a second though. Not at all.

Within what feels like mere seconds, I feel my legs being lifted then gently placed back down on top of someone else's thighs. It takes a moment for me to realize that I actually managed to betray myself and fall back asleep, but I don't even have the strength to open my eyes, so I let myself fall back into a deep sleep.

But again, it feels like hardly anytime has passed when I feel my phone vibrating beneath me followed by the piercing sound of a ringtone. It shocks me awake, much to my disappointment.

Without opening my eyes, I yank my phone out from under me and somehow manage to accept the call.

I slap the device to my ear and grumble out a raspy, "What do you want?" I couldn't care less about who it is.

"I don't see my screwdriver."

My eyes fly open and my heart seems to pause. I throw my upper body forward so I can get my face out of the sofa, using my arms to keep me upright as panic grips me in its ugly vices.

"Okay," I squeak out. "Wait, I can explain--"

"I told you what my conditions were," Nate replies, cutting me off. His deep, monotonous voice turns my blood to ice.

I whimper disappointedly, frowning at the empty dining table next to the kitchenette. "Nate, please," I say sadly, trying to make him feel bad. Anything to convince him to forgive me. "I'll have your screwdriver back tomorrow, it's a promise."

"It's too late. You told me I'd have it back..." he trails off thoughtfully, "Oh, yea. Yesterday." His reply is so snarky that I wince.

"Please don't take away my brownie privileges!" I say quickly, my voice high pitched as I scrunch my eyes shut. "I mean no harm, I swear. I just... decided to stay in Vegas longer."

"Your problem, not mine," he says nonchalantly, deep voice rumbling through the call. Fuck. No mercy, I guess. "No brownie's for a month. Oh, and your dad's the one who sold you out."

"Of course he sold me out," I hiss, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth while shaking my head. "Dammit dad," I murmur. "You're really taking the brownie's away?"

"Yes. Bring me my screwdriver and then we can talk about maybe lessening the punishment."

I groan, plopping my head onto the couch under me. "Wait. Nate--"

But he's hung up.

I sigh, shoving my face into fabric and letting my arm fall off the side of the couch. My phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. Well, that was a wake up call if I've ever heard one.

"Who the hell is Nate and why is he taking your brownies away?"

My head flies up again, eyes wide as I look behind me and see Larry sitting at the other end of the couch with my legs thrown on top of his. Ah, so that's who sat beneath me.

He has an Xbox controller in his hands, gaze focused on the TV in front of him. No shirt on, red sweatpants. My eyes almost roll into the back of my head. These men need to stop walking around shirtless. I'm going to combust if I'm subjected to this much hotness any longer.

I take a deep breath, keeping my eyes on his handsome profile. "Nate is my neighbor. He makes the best brownies I've ever had. Unfortunately, I won't have them for a while because I was supposed to return his screwdriver yesterday," I answer Larry's question, blinking the remnants of sleep away.

"Well that's just rude," Larry scoffs, eyebrows furrowing for just a moment. Then he places his controller down and looks to me, a grin forming on his pretty lips immediately. He puts a hand on my bare calf and squeezes gently. I'm going to evaporate. "I'll make brownies for you."

That makes me giggle lightly. "Thanks, Lar. Very appreciated."

It's time for me to get up. I didn't even mean to fall back asleep in the first place.

I sit up, grabbing my phone to glance at the time. 10:45am.

With an obnoxiously loud yawn, I pull my legs off of Larry who pouts. "I liked those there, you know," he grumbles.

"Sorry," I laugh. "I need to get up and eat something. It's almost lunch time."

"But you didn't have to move those gorgeous, silky legs, dude. Sal would have gotten up to grab you some food," Larry complains, frowning at me when I turn to look at him.

"No I wouldn't have." Sal's nonchalant and uncaring reply makes me flinch. Has he been here the entire time?

I swing my head to the side, noting his presence. Sal's laying on a chair, his legs hanging over the arm. And, for fuck's sake, he's also shirtless.

"Have any of you heard of shirts?" I breathe, unable to help myself as I turn back to Larry.

He throws a sexy smirk my way in response. "Shirts suck. They take the attention away from our hotness."

I pinch my lips together and roll my eyes to pull the attention away from my damn blush. Fuck this. I can't stand this bullshit.

"By the way, though," Larry says, turning back to whatever game he and Sally are playing. "I grabbed a chocolate croissant and a caramel macchiato for you when I went down for breakfast this morning. Ash told me your order."

I hope Ash gets her titties sucked. I'll do it for her if she can't find someone-- but she really deserves it.

"Thank you tons," I say happily, rolling off the couch and hissing at the cold tile flooring beneath my feet.

Just going to ignore Sal's presence in the room for as long as I possibly can. If I acknowledge him or the reminder of last night I'll probably have a panic attack.

Larry grunts, grabbing my wrist before I can even take a single step away from the couch. His warm fingers yank me toward him a bit, so I turn around and watch him with what I hope is a questioning look.

He tilts his head in a way that beckons me over, so I walk closer to him, wondering what on earth he stopped me for. I'm hungry.

Once he leads me to a stop directly in front of him, he releases me and scoots closer to the edge of the white sofa. His long, tanned legs cage me in and he looks up at me with lightly furrowed brows. I gulp, a wave of heat enveloping my face.

"Lean down," Larry whispers so seriously and softly that his voice goes raspy, eyes flitting across my face the entire time.

Oh, holy hell. "Wait, Lar," I say, moving to back away, but the serious expression on his face suddenly makes way for an eye roll.

"Just lean down, Vi. I'm not trying to pull you onto my lap or something. Just trying to fix your hair," then he raises one perfectly arched eyebrow and waits for me to move back to where I was.

I gulp. I'm not sure if I can handle that. Not only is Larry obnoxiously hot, but hair-fixing is a little too intimate to me. It may not be intimate to him, but even the thought makes little pink butterflies seep into my peripheral vision. I don't need confusion when I sat on top of Sally Face Fisher's dick last night.

But as I stand there and stare at Larry with wide, hesitant eyes, he seems to look a little wounded. So with a metaphorical knife pointed at my chest, a take a quick step toward him and lean down so that we're eye-level.

I don't have to lean much, and it thankfully appeases Larry. The hurt expression leaves his face immediately as he lifts his hands and runs them through my strands, shaking my hair out and untangling where he can.

My eyes are glued to his. They're such a dark, gorgeous brown. The sunlight hits them directly right now, making them just a bit brighter than they normally seem. Melted dark chocolate. Autumn leaves scattered on top of the Earth. Fresh soil. Clay molded to absolute perfection.

Larry sighs and pulls away from me with a content smile. I blink at him, my eyes still trapped in his pretty irises. How does this man not have a girlfriend?

Thankfully, I'm not fluttering into oblivion. I'm honored and blushing, but I don't love him any more or any less than I did before. That's good.

"Go ahead and get your brekky, Vi," Larry tells me, manspreading right in front of me as he picks up his Xbox controller to start playing with Sal again. Well, okay then.

I purse my lips to contain an amused grin and walk toward the little kitchenette thingy majigg that's going on in the suite. I mean it's really just a small cabinet with a mini fridge, microwave, and a sink with a couple plates, cups, and utensils. Then right next to it is a giant dining room table that's way too large and elaborate for the lack of normal kitchen-required things.

But yea, right on top of the behemoth table that could totally be Larry in furniture form is a little bag and a cup of coffee.

I pop the top off the cup then mix my macchiato with the straw, lazily looking around the room that's contributed to Larry and Sally's The Hangover lifestyle. It's nowhere near as large or gorgeous as the suite from the movie. It's lacking the Grecian architecture, lavish furniture, statues, and fun floors. It's way too fucking white, a bit plain for my taste, but it's still beautiful in its own way.

White fabric furniture and walls, birch tables, marble cabinets and flooring. The only real intricate part to this room is the carvings on the ceiling-- and even that isn't extensive. Maybe I'm just too dark to truly admire this setting, I'm not sure. I have a love/hate relationship with it right now.

I take a sip of my heavenly coffee and break my croissant in half. It's the largest I've ever seen and chocolatey as all hell. I can already tell I'm going to love it.

But I also have some matters to tend to. And I hate that I have to handle anything at all right now, but the truth is that I owe Sal something. He apologized to me in his own way and made me cum twice, the least I can do is give him a bit of closure right?

I open up my phone and pull up the unknown number that I don't have the balls to save. I think about my message-- I just want to let him down easy, keep him away from Lexi. Make him hate her or something, I don't know. Just something to make him not pursue her anymore.

Me: hey sally! sorry for the late reply but i'm really in kind of a weird spot in life right now... i owe it to you to at least give you a reason why i haven't replied. i shouldn't get into any relationships for my health and honestly yours too. i'm sorry to let you down, but it's the best i can do for both of us :(

I feel borderline terrified as I reread the message over and over again. This will probably crush him and I'm going to feel terrible. But I just... I need him off my back, especially since he's going crazy with VioletViolence right now. Actually, I'm really not sure what any of this means. He texted Lexi and we did a lot last night-- maybe he's a fuckboy.

With that thought in mind, I send the text and wait.

With half my breakfast in one hand and the cold cup of coffee in my other, I finally and anxiously return my attention to the boys occupying the rest of this large suite with me. Sal's still perched on the love seat like he hasn't a care in the world. Meanwhile, Larry's got a mean glare on his face as he aims his controller at Sal.

"Hey, fuckhead," Larry grinds out, leaning his arm back.

I puff out my cheeks as I watch Sal turn to acknowledge the other man in the room. The second his prosthetic comes into view, Larry launches the controller at him.

I hold my breath, my entire body going stiff as the entire scene plays out in slow motion. My eyes widen just as Sal's head rears back to avoid impending doom.

Oh, fuck. It's going to hit him in the face. His fake face is about to get pummeled and for once I actually feel bad. Maybe I feel bad because I know my text might crack his tiny little heart.

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and cower a bit. He's going to be pissed for the rest of the day and we all know I'm constantly on the receiving end of his bad moods.

But just as the controller is inches away from his face, Sal's hand slaps the plastic, altering its trajectory entirely.

The entire room is still while Sally shakes his hand out, no doubt feeling some pain from it. The controller has clattered to the floor and Larry's groaning at his miss. And I can't understand why he threw the controller to begin with.

Why am I colluding with the enemy?

My brows furrow and I wait. No more thinking about who was wrong or right.

"Do you feel better now?" Sal asks condescendingly. "Do you ever feel better after chucking a hunk of plastic at me?"

"No and I'm starting think I never will," Larry grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. "You effectively block it every time. What are you? A cyborg?"

"Wouldn't that be nice," Sal mutters tastelessly before turning back to the TV. "Least I'd have a face."

Ooookay, this is getting a little... too deep.

Sal looks down at his phone and suddenly scrambled to grab it, knocking his own controller to the floor. I feel my heart skip a beat as his eyes flit across the screen, and then his fingers fly across the keyboard.

I'm shocked for a second, he had almost no reaction other than urgency. No sad expression, no pause. What?

My phone vibrates in my hand but I wait a couple seconds to look down at it. I don't need Sal sniffing me out already just because I checked my phone at the wrong time.

When I feel that I've waited long enough, I lift my phone to my face again.

Unknown: yea, no. that's perfectly fine, lexi i was actually going to say the same thing. I just feel bad for insinuating that i wanted a relationship a couple weeks ago just for me to text you now and say that i've changed my mind. i feel a lot better knowing that you feel the same way though. would you still want to be friends?

Well, this outcome is much better than I expected it would be. And maybe he's not going to go fuck a bunch of other girls while he and I have this going on. I mean he obviously is interested in Lexi, but still decided not to pursue anything with her. Is it because he and I are...

But now I have to slowly distance myself from him as Lexi because I'm way too fucking nice to just outright say, "No, fuck you, I don't want to be your friend." even though he would absolutely say that to me...

With a quiet sigh, I type out a message.

Me: sure! :) glad we're on the same page!

It feels so odd to be nice to him, and for him to be nice to me. Honestly, that text message he sent is one of the few nice things he's done and/or said to me. Like, one of five instances, I think.

But I'm going to block it all out for now. I got the big worry out of the way.

I take quick steps over to the couch that Larry's sitting on again, smiling awkwardly at him. "Hey," I say, hopefully distracting both boys from whatever's going on between them and pulling myself away from the text conversation I just had with Sal.

I'm not sure if what I witnessed between Sal and Larry is typical step-brother behavior or if they have some kind of feud that hasn't been directly acknowledged. Either way, it's hard to be a spectator. "The croissant is really good. Wanna try?"

Larry raises a perfectly arched, amused eyebrow at me, lips pulling into a little smirk. "Yes I do wanna try, thank you, ma'am," he chuckles, leaning forward and pulling off a piece of the pastry. He pops it into his mouth then stands up with a satisfied little groan-- knees cracking and all-- then starts walking toward Sal.

A little flash of anxiety pulses within me as I turn to watch the two. Are they actually going to keep this up?

"By the way, Vi," Larry says, his voice a bit monotone. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt Sally. Sorry if that left you freaked, but it's been a little thing of ours-- as crazy as it may seem." He takes the controller from Sal's outstretched hand. "This dude can block anything that comes his way. You'd be shocked."

My eye twitches. A little thing of theirs? Is the little thing to give everyone around them a fucking heart attack?

"Anyway," Larry continues, ruffling Sally's hair. The bluenette grunts frustratedly in response, kicking his dumpling sock-clad foot into Larry's knee. Lord Metal Head himself cackles wildly as he stumbles over to me. "Take my spot, I'm gonna force Mr. Angy to practice since he can't seem to do it himself today." Larry's voice turns into a sarcastically taunting baby voice as he hands me the controller.

I watch my friend with wide eyes. Surely he must know that Sal is going to either metaphorically or physically kick his ass. But Larry simply sends me a sly wink and waits for his brother's response.

"I hope you choke on that fucking croissant, cunt," comes Sal's timely response, aggressive and filled with malice as per usual.

Larry snickers, nudging me with his elbow. He wiggles his eyebrows at me as if to say 'watch this.' And while I'm terrified to watch, I'm also very intrigued.

"It's moist, I think I'll be fine. Ever had anything moist before, Salamander?" Larry asks, shit-eating grin plastered on his face despite his faux-innocent tone.

It's official, Larry is literally insane. I've always suspected it, but he's genuinely a shit stirrer. I don't now if that's fun or damning.

"Had something moist last night," Sal murmurs.

I curl in on myself like a fucking dead spider. Ever seen the first season of American Horror Story? I'm Violet's dead body.

Did he have to say that? How the fuck is he going to play that off because if he's expecting me to get into defense mode, he's never been more wrong. Such a damn idiot. He's obviously trying to spook me, but he's going to get us caught in the process.

"You know," I start, scooting into their tense conversation. "Speaking of moist, I had a wild dream last night." I'm hoping this distracts them enough to the point that Larry drops the subject. I really can't do this today.

But Larry whirls on me, an animalistic type of excitement on his face. He sends me a terrifyingly pretty smile, eyes widening significantly. "Oh? Did you?" He asks, intrigued. "You know, Sal has some pretty interesting dreams too. You'd be shocked."

My own eyes widen, but this time it's in a good way. Larry's reminded me of the conversation I heard last night while hiding in the tub... and the way Sal's head snaps towards us shows me that he knows he's in for deep shit.

I've been wanting to quiz his ass about this ever since I heard Larry bring up Sal's supposed wet dreams about me. Key letter: S.

I smile at Larry, tilting my head as a rush of exhilaration runs through me. Sal watches us, sitting up quickly once he realizes the exchange isn't going to die off. "That's interesting," I chirp, turning my attention to Sally who looks like he might flip his shit in a moment here. "Why don't you tell us about those dreams? Are they fun? Are they moist? Because wet dreams are fun. Ever had one of those? I can't imagine you wouldn't." I turn back to Larry, unable to keep the maniacal grin from enveloping my face. "Does he have wet dreams?" I whisper loudly, leaning a bit closer to the giant man.

Larry's jaw drops in psychotic delight. "How'd you know!?" He bellows, voice caught between a holler and a giggle.

"Why am I the target today? Can you two fuck off?" Sal grounds out from behind clenched teeth. I turn to watch him just as he stands up, taking a slightly intimidating step toward us with his arms crossed over his chest.

My eyes follow his that are aimed at Larry. It's sad to say, but even with Sal's smaller stature, his presence is still just as overwhelming and intimidating as Larry's. I guess it doesn't really help that both men are taller than me. I'm just unlucky.

Sal's gaze cuts to me and when our eyes meet, his narrow in silent warning. I throw my hands up in surrender-- not that I mean it in any way. He had this coming and I'm really relishing in the karma of it all.

"Fucking diabolical dicks," Sal seethes, sending Larry another look before he pushes past us.

I shrug at Larry, looking to Sal who trudges off to his room. "That's what she said!" I yell, which ultimately causes Larry to let out a resounding guffaw.

One of the best parts about whatever's going on in this group we have is that I get to connect with Larry and piss off the one man who's ever managed to make me feel like I'll commit mass homicide. I know he heard what I said, but he's so wounded right now that he ignored it. That's another point in my book, thank you very much.

I leave Larry as close to a sobbing mess as he can possibly get, giggling as I walk over to his previous spot on the couch. I flop onto the plush fabric and take a quick sip of my macchiato then start a new game of Dead By Daylight. I'm going in solo-- I'm in the mood to kill.

And unfortunately, Sal resurfaces in the dining room mere moments later which makes me turn to look at him despite my brain yelling for me not to. He's bearing that gorgeous, shiny, blood red guitar that makes me take pause. That same guitar in the picture that Larry was shitty enough to send in Discord.

Sal is the epitome of aggression and frustration right now. The strap is around his neck-- one hand is wrapped around the middle of the neck of the guitar while the other hangs over the body. He taps the red coat with his black nails-- an action that's probably the only thing preventing him from blowing up.

And he still doesn't have a fucking shirt on. I feel like I'm watching that photo in real time.

Now that he's standing up and I can see all of him, I get a good glimpse of that tattoo peeking out of the waistband of his sweatpants. I still don't know what it is, but it's hot regardless. He has tattoos on his arms and neck, but other than that he's bare-- I think. After all, I haven't seen his legs yet and based on the tattoo hiding on his hip, maybe there's more.

When I look back to his face, his striking blue eyes meet mine rather suddenly. They only seem to hold even more aggravation than they did a couple seconds ago. My guess is that he's pretty salty over the way I brought up his wet dreams about me. But, hey, I'm flattered! Really, I am. But the memory alone makes a grin work its way onto my face and I have no doubt that he can feel how smug I am from across the room.

With a click of my tongue, I snap my head back to the TV screen and hope that I can fight the urge to ogle his hotness.

"Awe, I'm so proud of you for listening, little guy," Larry coos. I snort almost immediately, only taking a second to wonder if I heard him right. Larry knows every little pet peeve of Sal's and that's blindingly clear now that I've been around both men long enough.

"Shut the fuck up," Sal hisses out, "Do you want me to practice or not? I was going to wait until we got back to Nockfell and I'm close as hell to reverting back to that plan." Poor guy, he's not pleased.

I don't feel bad, by the way.

"I'm sorry, kitten," Larry's voice is extra pouty and I really need to know how he's keeping it together right now. I'm about to burst at the seams-- I can't even get a single kill on DBD right now. "Lord Lar didn't mean to upset you."

"Now it's really just fucking weird," Sal grumbles, taking a few steps toward the chair he was perched on when I woke up earlier. A quick glance in his direction shows me tense shoulders and clenched, veiny hands as he plops onto the furniture. "Save your BDSM talk for someone else, that shit's disgusting."

Okay, so, sure. It's disgusting in the sense that they're step-brothers-- but what a fucking hypocrite. Like Sal wasn't handling me in a similar way last night.

"Weird would be actual BDSM talk, dude," Larry says, voice turning into something more thoughtful. "What, do you want me call you a dirty little slut? That's when things take a funny turn."

I don't even bother to pause my game. My head turns to Larry so quickly that I'm a little worried I may have given myself whiplash. My eyes are wide to the point that it hurts. I can't not give the man a look though. Did he really just say that?

"Dude..." Sal whispers. I can't see him, his head is turned to Larry so I'm only able to see the back of his head, but the desperate concern in his voice is enough for my jaw to drop.

Larry, on the other hand, grins satisfactorily. "Too far?" he asks, narrowing his eyes curiously. He's proud of himself for that one.

I blink at the situation, but ultimately decide it's probably time for me to return to my game and pretend I never witnessed that interaction. Just the thought gives me giggly shivers.

But just as I'm going to turn my head back to the television, Larry averts his gaze to me. He tilts his head, grin spreading. "Vi, are you blushing?" he says teasingly.

I flinch backwards. What? No, I can't be. "How would that even be possible? You can't see my cheeks," I remind him.

"But I can see your ears and your neck," he informs me, taking a couple steps toward the couch I'm on. "So why don't you tell me what the fuck kind of freaky shit you're into."

Hell no. "Sorry, I don't know what you mean. I'm killing people," I grumble, trying to focus on my game yet again. It feels like I've been more focused on focus rather than actually playing. Not only that, I'm fighting for my life right now. Larry is about to scratch the surface of a little secret. A secret I would prefer to stay a secret.

"Oh, no." Larry takes quick steps toward me and Sally starts snickering as the giant man grows closer in my peripheral vision. I'm so going to get back at Sal for this later. "I was just fucking with Sal but now it's getting personal."

"I refuse to speak," I tell him shortly, growing distracted by the poor soul I'm chasing in my game.

"Awe," Larry says, not a single amount of remorse in his deep voice. "Sucks to suck."

The loudest and most obnoxious guffaw I've ever heard echoes through the room. I don't have to look, but Larry throws his head over his shoulder to look at Sal. The bastard is giggling on his chair, running his fingers along the strings of his guitar.

He must consider this to be good payback for the way Larry and I ganged up on him earlier. He's getting a good little ha-ha out of Larry's regurgitation of the same words Sal and I exchanged last night. And really, I know I can't blame Sally. I deserved this. But fuck does it make me angry, and most of all, I'm really fucking embarrassed. If Larry looks at me again, he's going to really start wondering why I'm so red.

"I didn't think it was that funny," Larry mumbles to himself, watching Sal as he quickly tunes his guitar then starts running through a few chords.

Sally simply shakes his head at Larry's words, choosing to ignore him as his chuckling dies down. He repositions his hands on the neck and body of his guitar, probably getting ready to play something.

I bite into my bottom lip and hang someone up in-game, effectively killing them within the next few seconds. It's my first kill of the game, but I'm not even excited about it. I'm more worried about the shirtless men using me as a metaphorical punching bag right now.

I feel cornered and I don't like it much. I didn't think too hard about getting into this situationship with Sal, but I should have. I really should've thought about why I should stay away from him-- I'm hiding from my friends and suffering from embarrassment that no one understands. Is this even really worth it?

My conscious was flooded with possibilities at the time, I had no regard for the consequences. And here I am, caught between a rock (Larry's teasing) and a hard place (Sal who is a walking red flag).

Larry's still watching Sal. He hasn't returned to heckling me about why I was supposedly blushing-- I still think he's lying about that-- but he's watching the guitar closely.

"I'm gonna try 'Carrion' again," Sal murmurs quietly, glancing up at Larry.

Larry nods in response, all seriousness as he says, "Alright. I'll stop you if you hit a wrong note."

"No," Sally cuts him off with a short shake of his head. "Don't stop me, I'll know. I can't learn if I can't catch it myself."

Good point.

I mindlessly continue my game, failing to catch and kill players even if I am genuinely trying. I'm more focused on Sal's gorgeous introduction to 'Carrion' by Parkway Drive. It's good, it's perfect, and it takes every little nerve and all the pride I have to not watch him play. Because I know he looks good. I know he's playing that guitar so professionally that it just looks incredibly hot. I've never seen him play, and I don't want to. I think I'd spontaneously combust almost instantly.

There's a kind of euphoric bliss that I get from hearing really good music. It's a type of stagnant and continual happiness that I've only felt either while listening to or making music. I feel it now, listening to Sal makes goosebumps rise on every inch of my skin. There's a hum that passes through my body, a vibration of sorts. It's not happiness or excitement, just contentment. It's beautiful.

The one thing I've always regretted about having to move to the little apartment that dad and I are in now is that I can't practice music anymore. The drum set I used during my time in band in high school followed me around for a while, but I had to pack it up for good last year. I haven't felt the cathartic release that comes with creating unique sounds in months. I miss it so incredibly much. I can't play guitar, but I'd steal that instrument from Sal just to feel that relief again.

As I'm reminiscing, I unfortunately lose my game and also unfortunately, Sal hasn't finished his song.

My eyes nearly water while I try to fight off the painful urge to steal just one glance. There's an unignorable weight on my chest that will only be relieved if I get just a little glimpse of him. A yearning in my soul that won't be appeased until I watch him.

Refrain, refrain, refrain.

But my eyes go to him either way. His fingers move so quickly, expertly along the neck of the guitar, his other hand copying the movements on the body. The red coat on the instrument glistens in the sunlight, casting a pink glow on his pale, bare chest. HIs eyes move quickly to keep up with the notes he's playing.

I suddenly feel like I can't breathe. There's so much happening in my mind that I can't get a good breath of air in and part of me doesn't want to. I just want to sit here and watch him play forever. To watch his intense focus, his fingers, the way he moves his entire body with each note he plays.

This type of feeling is unhealthy-- for me, at least. There's a fluttering in my chest that doesn't work well with whatever's going on between us. Of course, I'm interested in finding pleasure in Sal, but I don't want a relationship. He's the shittiest person I've ever met. I absolutely refuse to get butterflies over someone who called me a slut yesterday... no, it doesn't matter if I enjoyed being called that.

As I'm watching, his electric blue gaze slides up to meet mine and I feel my heart stutter. The light catches the bright color of his eyes so well, captures the hue and imbeds it into my memory forever. I feel caught, stuck. The exchange was so short that I'm not even sure if it was real, but that cerulean color will never leave my mind. It had to have happened.

He's getting to the end of song, mainly just replaying the same few notes since the song kind of just fades out, but there's a slam on the front door that causes him to play a wrong note. His soul nearly leaves his body too if the sudden flinch tells me anything-- but he stops, glaring at the door.

Not going to lie, it scared the crap out of me too. Sal can be mad about not finishing his song, but I'm more worried about dying within the next second.

The sound had to have been a boot against the thick wood keeping us safe in this room. The door has the equivalent to fucking four-factor authentication but that doesn't matter if someone has an ax or some shit right?

The bang comes again, this time with three more to follow. I flinch into the back of the sofa, watching the door with furrowed brows and a pounding heart.

None of us say a word. We just watch and wait as silence ensues yet again.

I glance at Larry, he glances at me. Larry glances at Sal, Sal glances back. I glance at Sal, regret it when he glances back at me.

The silence is so loud that I can hear my rapid heartbeat. At some point, I start to wonder if it's mine or someone else freaking out just as hard as I am. There's just so much quiet that the little voice in my head sounds like a whisper beside me-- and that only fuels the panic, truth be told.

I let out a little yelp when I hear, "Can you dumb motherfucker's get the door? Please?"

It's Ash. Ash was the one banging on our front door like the fucking police.

I can't help but sigh in relief and start walking over to the front door with quick steps. All that worry for nothing. I undo the locks and then throw said door open, glancing up at a disgruntled looking Ash and an agitated Todd.

Thankfully, Ash's expression changes when she sees me. She brightens up a bit and smiles, grabs the sides of my mask, and plants a quick kiss onto the plastic protecting my forehead. "Hey there, lovebug," she says cheekily. It feels like all the anxiety and embarrassment I felt just a couple minutes ago washes away. With just a simple touch-- it's all gone.

"I wish I got that kind of greeting from everyone," I tell her, smiling back as a little giggle falls from my lips.

"I bet," Ash says, scrunching her nose up cutely. She's adorable. "You're just my exception. Ask the boys-- I'm a bitch!"

Ash looks past me, scooting over a bit to let Todd in. Her face instantly turns to stone, so I follow her and notice the way Larry instantly changes his stance. He goes from calm and collected to on guard, wary, and with the most hilarious horrified look on his face. "What?" he asks, voice monotonous like he's expecting the worst. "I swear I was gonna get the door."

I hear Ash sigh, so I look over and catch the way she rolls her eyes tiredly. "It's no one's fault," she says. "It's just that Todd and I couldn't shoot down this offer. You all need to go get dressed. Now. Vi included because we aren't just going to leave her here on her last day in Vegas."

I'm shocked when Sal only narrows his eyes at Ash's command. I expected him to fight tooth and nail to keep me cooped up here while they go do whatever it is they need to do, but he stays quiet.

"What's changed?" Larry asks, relaxing his posture now that he knows he isn't in trouble. He does have a serious expression though-- eyebrows bunched together and a little frown pulling at his full lips.

"You guys won't believe it." Ash takes a big breath then puffs out her cheeks as she lets it go. "Just put your shirts on," She pauses, her mouth suddenly dropping open. "Actually, why are you two shirtless while we have a guest in the house?" There's a little bite in her tone that has Larry immediately turning on his heel.

A guilty grin forms on my lips when Larry disappears into his room without a word. He really is terrified of Ash, and I mean I would be too. She's nearly his size in height and has already thrown me around like a rag doll on multiple occasions. She could totally bring Larry down. 

Sal's eyes are still on Ash. There's a look in his blue irises that spells out concern and intrigue, but it all mixes up to create a scary little glare. 

His gaze meets mine without warning and I choke on my own spit-- joy. I try to hold in a cough, tears springing to my eyes as Sal's brows furrow just a bit more. He examines me, pretty eyes flitting across my face quickly before he turns around and walks off to join Larry. 

The way he looks at me, that angry and predatory look in his eyes, makes my body warm. I can't quite explain it. He communicates so much without words, but then again, I can never get a good read on him either. It's like the only emotions he can express are negativity or desire. No in-between-- I've never seen a happy face on him.

Well, there was that time when he was talking with his fans. Other than that though, he's only been the equivalent to a really hot gripe. And that doesn't even make sense.

I huff out a breath, trying to recover from the buzzing in my brain thanks to mere eye contact with Sally. It's a little pathetic at this point. The only thing holding me back is the intense disdain I feel for him. Maybe it's the same for him, too.

The group of us get dressed quickly. Ash pushes us to move quickly, so I end up in her Dark Autumn Complex shirt that she wore to the concert yesterday and pair it with the last clean skirt I have. I have limited options.

I throw on my Vans just as everyone's beginning to walk out of the door. I hop toward the entryway, yanking on my last shoe and trying to tie it with each step I take.

I pass Sally with a little grunt as I finish tying my laces. He shuts the door behind me and murmurs, "You're just a walking piece of caution tape, aren't you?"

My teeth clinch. I still have so much against him right now for earlier. And what's worse is that I seem to be a constant target for him. I don't understand why, but he isn't going to get lucky by being a prick all the time. "Says the jogging-- no, running-- actually, flying red flag," I grit out, throwing him a look as he walks up next to me.

There's a nasty, disapproving glare in his eyes that only fuels the argumentative fire in my soul. "And you think you aren't a red flag?" he asks. "You call yourself an anarchist."

"And I wasn't fucking lying," I inform him confidently, finally standing up straight once I'm comfortable with the way my shoes are tied. He gets me heated so quickly. At least his attempts to make me upset or turn me on are effective-- the process is good for him but, fuck, it only manages to piss me off.

A flat look develops in his eyes, one that calls me a dumbass without words. I match that gaze with a little sneer, but he only tilts his head. "Oh, really?" he says, voice intrigued in the way a professor finds it funny when their student thinks they know more than their instructor does. It's a 'try me' type of intrigued. "Anarchy's going to kick your ass."

"It hasn't yet, so I'll stick to it," I tell him, prepared to walk past him and move to the front of the group with Todd. I know he has it out for me right now, courtesy of my teasing earlier, so I want to stay as far away from him as I possibly can. 

Sal has other plans, as always.

I take one more step forward only to be met by a pair of Doc Martens meeting my leg really aggressively-- kind of like he was attempting to sweep me off my feet, but definitely not in a romantic way. A yelp is ripped from my larynx as I stumble forward, tripping over Sal's boot again with my other foot.

I somehow manage to catch myself before I fall, holding my hands out for balance while I try to come to terms with the fact that Sal actually just tripped me out of spite.

He thinks he has so much audacity, doesn't he? I may have deserved a good verbal battle, but this shrimp dicked fuck nugget actually tripped me without an ounce of concern for my wellbeing.

He's beauty, he's grace, and apparently he'll kick you in the shin when he doesn't get his fucking way. Little bitch. Can't belive I was worried about crushing on him earlier.

Sal walks up beside me just as I'm beginning to recover. He leans down, his azure hair brushing against the top of my head. I feel a spike of pure, unadulterated anger grip my soul and I genuinely have to hold myself back from punching him into the backrooms. "Another one bites the dust," he whispers in that raspy voice of his. "Sucks that my little foot fucked up your path, right? Anarchy's going to get you in much worse predicaments." He stands to his full height and I look up at him, trying to communicate just how much malice I'm feeling through my gaze. He only meets my eyes with amused cerulean irises.

"If you were so worried about my life choices," I hiss, "You wouldn't have tripped me."

"Your mistake is thinking that I'm worried about you in general." Sal shrugs and passes me up. We're piling into the elevator now. "Only giving you an unfriendly word of advice. Stop fucking with me."

"Is that a threat?" I ask, knowing he won't answer me because he probably didn't even hear me in the first place. That, or he's going to ignore me regardless. His last statement was comprised of parting words.

Fucking dick.

Why did I decide it was a good idea to get into this situation with him? He's such an asshole and such a waste of my time, but he's good at what he does. That's the most I can give him, but I can't even remember how good he was to me last night-- I'm that pissed off. Leave it to him to cloud my judgement and my memories all at the same time.

We travel through the lobby and catch a taxi in the parking lot. Everyone was silent the entire way through Caesar's Palace, except for Larry who was bothering Ash with questions. I don't blame him, I've been curious about what's going on too.

"Okay," Ash huffs as we settle into the back of a taxi that's really just a suburban that could fit a family of eight. It's like a fancy, black, soccer mom van. "We have a couple minutes to talk about this now. But basically, we're heading to The Venetian--" Oh, hell yea. Dad wanted me to go there. "--for a photoshoot."

Larry groans, rolling his eyes. Sal doesn't have a reaction.

"Another one?" Larry asks, exasperated. "I hated the first one, why a second?"

"Wait," I cut in, my mind blazing with surprise. "You guys have done a photoshoot before?"

"We went to one earlier this week. It was just something for a magazine," Todd tells me, blinking his inky eyes at me, face emotionless. He has that little curl falling onto his forehead again while the rest of his hair is set perfectly into place on the sides and back of his head. How does he get it so perfect? "This is different though. This isn't for a magazine."

"What is it then?" Sal speaks up, seemingly tired of the way everyone's beating around the bush.

Ash pinches her lips together, a little flash of nervousness flitting across her features. "Don't freak out," she starts with, holding a hand out in a stop motion. "But, Treyarch wants us. Something about promoting Modern Warfare III."

Oh. My friends are about to model for Call of Duty.

I think that fact has to sit on all of us for a minute because both Sal and Larry are completely silent. Totally still. It feels impossible. This is probably the biggest thing to happen to The Faces since they first started streaming. This is exciting-- it's unbelievable. And it's all happening rather suddenly. Ash, Todd, Larry, and Sally must be incredibly surprised right now.

I'm starting to think that the rest of our little three minute drive is going to be spent in shocked silence, but Larry and Sal turn to each other just as we're pulling into the parking lot at The Venetian and they start yelling. All ecstatic and exhilarated for this opportunity. I can't tell what they're telling each other-- I don't even think they know what they're telling each other. But it's kind of adorable to see them so excited. Their words are incoherent and rushed, but they're gripping each other's hands and bouncing around in their seats like children who were just told they were going to Disney World.

Picture two men, both of which have at least decently defined or completely ripped muscles with tattoos covering every inch of their skin. Now put classic, long, emo hair and dark clothes on top of that. Finally, complete the image with a side by side of the men and puppies being presented with bacon. That's exactly what's happening right now.

I look over at Ash and she smiles softly at me, a sweet look in her eyes-- admiration. "They've been waiting for this for years," she says quietly. "They became friends because of metal and Call of Duty. Getting to work with the company is, like, the ultimate accomplishment right now."

My attention returns to the boys again. They're both squished in beside Todd who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than here, but he doesn't interrupt Sal and Larry's excited banter.

Soon, we're all piling out of the taxi and fighting our way through The Venetian which is as beautiful as it is absolutely packed to the brim. It's gorgeous with all kinds of art and statues, but there are way too many people for my taste. We're hardly even able to get to the reception desk.

Ash takes the reins and talks to everyone for us, all up until we're escorted to some room that's hidden away from the main part of the building. When we walk in, it's a basic, dark cement room that's filled with a ton of photography equipment-- cameras, backgrounds, lights. The works.

I feel like I'm floating when a photographer drops a handful of clothes into everyone's hands-- except for me-- and sends them into another room to change. I nearly salivate upon realizing that The Faces are going to walk back out here in full tactical gear. Yummy, yummy. I'm getting fed well today.

I can't help but bounce on my toes while I wait for my friends to come back. I spend the few minutes of loneliness watching the photographers move things around and set up specific scenes. I couldn't explain how much is going on even if I wanted to, but it's a lot for sure.

But as I'm starting to get a little anxious, Ash and Todd walk back into the room.

Ash is in camo cargo pants and a black turtle neck with a black armor plate over her chest. It shows off all her curves and expresses her femininity in a way that makes metaphorical drool drip from my mouth. There are straps around her thighs, one that holds a knife and another that holds a fake hand gun. She looks really good. And Todd is in almost the same getup, but with a camo jacket hanging over his shoulders and a little hat on top of his head. It's clear that the photographers are going for a Captain Price look for Todd. The issue is that he's absolutely not having it.

"The hat stays off," he tells a photographer who walks over to adjust the belt at his hips. There's a little frown on his lips that says he's less than pleased. I'm used to expressionless and unfeeling Todd, not actually upset Todd. The idea makes me grimace.

The door to the next room opens again and I look over, noting Larry who walks out with the biggest grin I've ever seen.

He's also wearing camo cargo pants, but he has a black cargo jacket to go with it. All the clothing skin tight on him, accentuating all of his unearthly muscles. Still can't believe Larry's jacked to hell. Anyway, he's wearing a tan armor plate with a bunch of ammo and other gear planted around it. I don't want to call that cargo too, but let's be honest. Then there's knee pads and elbow pads. To put it simply, he's decked out and he looks damn good.

I shake my head at Larry, unable to take my eyes off of him as he skips over to us.

"Dude," he says, looking at Ash and Todd. he puts a hand on my shoulder and jiggles me around in excitement. The action makes me laugh, he just can't contain himself. "Sal fucking looks like Ghost. I can't stress it enough."

"You do know they've got you dressed up like König, right?" Todd asks nonchalantly, folding his hands over his chest.

Larry grins, doing a little dance before he answers. "Damn right they do," he says, twirling a strand of his hair between his fingers. "They know I'm hot. I'm hot, right, Vi?" Larry turns to me with that ever-present grin of his.

"Yes, Larry," I say happily, smiling brightly at my dear friend. "You're hot."

"Fuck yes," Larry yells, fist bumping the air, wrapping his free arm around my shoulders. "The one and only VioletViolence approves of my look."

Heads suddenly start turning to address the commotion and I sink in on myself just a bit. I don't like having attention-- unless it's from The Faces, I guess.

I'm a little nervous when a photographer walks up to us again because her eyes on me. And she has a pile of clothes in her hand. My heart starts to race and my palms grow clammy. I don't want to get my hopes up and think that I'll get to participate in the photoshoot, but why else would she be walking over here like that?

"He just said your name right?" The woman asks me upon finally reaching us. "VioletViolence?"

I swallow thickly over the nerves, nodding quickly at the lady. My heart is about to sprint out of my chest. Holy crap.

"Good. Get changed," she says, dumping the clothes she was just carrying into my arms and instantly turning away. Okay?

I struggle to keep all the gear in my arms, looking at each of my friends with wide eyes. I don't know what to do and there's an obsessive kind of urgency and exhilaration building up inside me. I'll bet that this is exactly how Sal and Larry felt earlier.

Ash squeals, patting my head since she can't exactly hug me with all of these clothes in my arms. "Go, babygirl!" she says excitedly, giving me a little shove toward the door she came out of just a couple minutes ago. "The changing room is just down the hall. And don't be too afraid of the creepiness, the room you'll get to is a lot better than the freaky hallway."

I nod to myself thoughtlessly, taking quick steps to the door that will lead me just a step closer to the event that's going to change my life. I haven't been online in days, but Treyarch still wants me to model for them? I am so going to explode.

I slip past the double doors, a little guilty grin on my face. I've got an entire pile of tactical gear in my hands and I'm more than happy to have the opportunity to wear it. Who knew I'd get so lucky?

The hallway is dim. The walls on either side of me are cement blocks stacked on top of each other, painted white. There are little chips in the paint, showing off the grey color of the stone beneath the thin coat. The floor is shamelessly cement. The two rectangular lights above me flicker in time with one another. It's a bit eerie, but I don't have to be here long.

My feet tap against the ground. I'm used to the sound of my steps against hollow ground, with a room beneath me. But here, the sound is a high pitched echo around me. The sheer creepiness of it makes me pause for a moment.

Ash did warn me, but I wasn't expecting to be this spooked. This feels like a scene straight out of Resident Evil.

I've got this though. The changing room is literally just ten or so steps ahead of me. I see the door to my left. I'm brave, I'm strong, I am the epitome of feminism. I can do this. I lived in Addison Apartments, for fuck's sake-- of course, I can do this.

I puff out my chest a bit, all an ineffectual ploy to trick myself into feeling confident. It doesn't work at all. But I take a step forward anyway.

Before my foot can touch the ground again, the door I was just talking about opens. The metal squeaks on its hinges, mimicking some kind of heart-stopping siren.

I'm crouching in fear for a moment, but then Sal steps out of the room. Unfortunately, I only feel relief for half a second.

He stops just outside the door, letting it swing shut with a resounding, hollow thunk. The man shakes his blue hair out of his eyes, examining the fingerless gloves adorning his veiny hands. He pulls the straps around his wrists loose, fixes them, then flexes his fingers out in front of him.

And I watch. Oh, I shamelessly watch. I watch while he drags that hand through his pretty hair, setting it into place atop his head. He stands straighter, giving me a better view of the black jacket he's wearing with an armor plate on his chest, then his black cargo pants. There are straps around his thighs to hold up all the gear that goes with the costume. And then the black fucking combat boots.

I shake my head in disbelief. He was already hot enough, this didn't need to happen.

Sal lifts his head and his ocean gaze clashes with mine. His eyes seem wary and so much brighter and I quickly deduce that the reason for the change is because of the eyeliner around his eyes-- the black brings out the harsh blue of his irises.

He breaks our short stare, looks off to both of his sides. But when he tilts his head to the left, I get an unfortunate glance at the damn tattoo on his neck. It's something about the neck specifically, I don't know what it is-- truly.

His eyes meet mine again. This time, his gaze is a bit calmer, a tad predatory. I know that look.

"I know that look."

I flinch at his words. What a mind reader.

Swallowing thickly, I readjust my standing position and try to hold his gaze. "What?" I ask, pathetically trying to keep my voice monotone. It comes out too forced though and he can see it-- it shows in the amused tilt of his head.

Instead of standing there and keeping things as PG as it can possibly get for both of us, Sal sighs a little obnoxiously and starts walking toward me.

The way his gear moves with his body has me at a loss for words. The holsters on his hips quietly clank against the belt holding his pants up. Every little sound and movement attracts my gaze and I don't know where to look first-- I'm stuck, panicked.

Sal is gorgeous in this moment, I mean he always is, but there's something about him obviously being in his element with the perfect style to suit him that makes him glow. Makes him look like he's walking toward me in slow motion.

"I know that look," Sal repeats, pulling me out of whatever admirable trance I previously found myself in. Must remember he's a total ass. "It's a look full of slutty intentions." His voice is suggestive, teasing. I recognize it as part of the act he plays when we're alone. When we have room to do-- in his words-- slutty things.

I keep my mouth shut. If I speak, too much will leak. I didn't think it was possible for him to be even hotter, but he constantly proves me wrong.

My brows furrow as my gaze travels down his body before I can stop myself. I quickly look into his black-lined eyes again, but they narrow in my direction. The silence he greeted me with for a moment is gone as soon as it came.

"Words, Vi." Dark, raspy. He changes the tone of his voice so well, so easily. How could I possibly disobey him?

Haha, kidding.

My lips remain sealed until the toes of his boots are brushing my shoes. Even then, I try to refrain from letting my damning thoughts become vocal. I can't give into him, especially since it's so fun when disobedience seems to rile him up.

I was way too compliant with him last night.

Sal tilts his head up, making him seem even taller than he normally would be. I can tell he's thinking, wondering, waiting.

Then his gloved hand grips onto my wrist. The coolness of his fingertips is a stark contrast to the warmth of the fabric covering his palm. His digits trail along my skin— up my arm. Slowly in a way that makes me shiver.

I can't stay silent much longer.

A quiet huff can be heard from him just as he gently grabs onto my chin, his thumb caressing the underside of my jaw. My heart thumps wildly against my rib cage and a chill erupts along my skin. His gentle, warning touch is so, so good.

"Tell me why you're looking at me like that," he says lowly, eyes dancing across every inch of my face.

I run my tongue across the front of my teeth, doing my best not to give into him so quickly. He's being gentle— he must think that'll coerce me into behaving, but it won't. It never will. But his tone is a bit mouthwatering, that's the only thing I'm worried about for now.

Neither of us move— I don't even breathe while we look at each other, still waiting.

There's no visual difference when Sal decides he's done playing nice, but I can practically feel it radiating between us. The sudden change in energy, the way the coolness of his touch fills me with excitement instead of little butterflies.

The gentle touch on my jaw does a complete three sixty. He moves his hand, getting a good grip on my jaw. His fingers dig into my cheeks and he pulls me closer, then leans down just a tad.

Sal's cerulean hair brushes my chin and neck, and he watches me closely.

"I don't see why you're still standing."

------- A/N:::::: okay i'm not gonna lie i kindaaaa lowkey hate this chapter :,)) i obviously struggled with it since it's been like a full MONTH since i've posted like wtf????

i'm pretty sure the next chapter will be a lot easier for me to get out though! it's another smut chap ;)

anyway, i'm sure most of you know that i put out an announcement about my health about a week ago. i was really struggling with my mental and physical health and was really stuck. anyway, i went to the doctor and basically he told me i'm so stressed out that i'm making myself physically sick SOOOOOO cheers to me finally getting put on anxiety meds. i'm hoping this improves my health all around and helps me focus on what matters most: you guys and writing <3 i start my meds tomorrow so hopefully it all works

until next time, my babies. all my love to you as always <3333

update: THEY GAVE ME THE WRONG FUCKING PRESCRIPTION LOOOOOL

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Respect the Birth [13]

*SMUT WARNING!!!!*

Me and The Faces made it home hours ago. I still haven't texted Sal back and I don't plan to. Not now at least-- I'm going to have to let it marinate. He's still a dick and I'm exhausted from the hellhole that was the Dark Autumn Complex concert.

Don't get me wrong, the music itself and meeting North, East, and South was fucking amazing. But I learned way more than I ever wanted to.

Ash and I took quick showers earlier then climbed into bed, ditching all three of the other boys.

It's about two in the morning. Ash is snoring softly behind me and I haven't been able to fall asleep at all yet. I've just been sitting here, staring up at the ceiling and feeling sorry for myself. And worse, I've had to pee really bad for the past fifteen minutes.

But I'm afraid to get up-- I really don't want to disturb Ash. At the same time though, if I don't run to the bathroom, I'm just going to be miserable all night.

Todd was the pampered prince in this living situation. He got the one room in the suite that has a bathroom inside. Meanwhile, the rest of us have to venture out of our bedrooms to go do whatever we need to do.

After a minute of cursing my stupid bladder, I slowly scoot out of bed. I can't afford many expensive things, but I'm really fucking thankful that The Faces can because it's so nice to be able to sneak out without the floor or bed squeaking. My trip out of Ash's bed is so simple and quiet.

Before I slip out of the room, I grab my mask. I can't risk getting caught without it.

I walk toward the bathroom, mask haphazardly wrapped around my face just because I honestly couldn't care less. I'm tired and I need to pee-- no one can see my face even if I just threw this thing on half assed.

I drag my feet, smacking my lips and rubbing my eyes as I turn the corner into the kitchenette where our bathroom lies just beyond.

Moonlight glitters into the small kitchen, illuminating the cold, tiled flooring with a pale blue sheen. It lights up my path, making it seem as though it's almost glowing. If I weren't particularly groggy and exhausted tonight, I'd admire it a bit. But at the moment, I'm more than ready to crawl back into bed with Ash and snuggle into her warmth.

I pass the kitchen, walking right up to the bathroom door and leaving the hypnotizing moon behind.

I lick my lips and slap a hand onto the light switch, hearing a resounding grunt in response that has a shriek building in my throat. Since when do light switches grunt? And since when do light switches feel like skin?

A hand slaps onto my mouth and the building scream catches before it can leave my mouth. I just watch ahead of me, trying to see through the dark.

A bare, pale chest finally makes it's way into my line of vision and I blink, squinting my eyes as my gaze travels up until I'm looking into two prosthetic eyeholes.

Relief and anger simultaneously swell within me as I shove Sal's hand off of my face. "For fuck's sake," I hiss out, taking a step toward him. An intimidation tactic, I guess? "What is wrong with you!? I was about to drop kick you, dick-head."

"As if you could," he grumbles back, eyes midnight black with the lack of lighting. But the itching at the back of my brain says he's staring right at me.

"Oh, yea?" I bite back. "Wanna find out?"

I don't wait for answer, just shove past him and into the bathroom, finally switching on the light I was so desperately seeking. But as I go to close the door, Sal's hand catches it, his long, pale fingers wrapping around the side of the wood and keeping it in place even though I try to put more pressure into closing it.

Sal just meets my force with some force of his own, easily getting the door to open again until he's standing in front of me in all his... bare chest... toned tummy perfection.

I huff out a sigh, thankful that my mask can hide the sudden blush on my cheeks, though it can't do a single thing for the way my eyes immediately trail down his body. Still, I manage to force out the words, "What do you want?"

Once I finally peel my gaze away from his body and look at his face, Sal looks stuck for a moment. Something about his slightly wide eyes and risen eyebrows hints that he may be gaping under that damn prosthetic of his.

So, I tilt my head, waiting for a response through the mild shock of seeing him not so confident and all lost for words. It's... it feels really weird to see him like this.

But then his eyes relax, as do his eyebrows, and he steps into the bathroom. Crosses the threshold. And shuts the door behind him.

He's either here to bitch at me, or...

I gulp down the wave of expectations and emotions that rushes through me all at once. Part of me is warm, wondering if he's here to honor the promise I'd given up on. The other part of me-- a bigger part-- is on guard. This is not like Sal. In fact, this is a bit concerning.

I don't know. Maybe he's going to kill me. I wouldn't be all that surprised with how much he seems to despise me. Just as I despise him in some cases.

He still says nothing. And I'm tired of waiting.

I take a shaky breath and take a little step back. "Look, if you have nothing to say, can you let me pee in peace? Argue with me later."

"Do you have to go that bad?" He finally speaks. But his words are stupid as shit.

I stare at him, dumbfounded as awkwardness pulses between us. "What-- I-- why would you even fucking ask me that?"

Sal narrows his eyes and bends his head down, a tinge of aggravation flashing in his eyes. "Just answer the question."

"Holy fuck," I groan out, shoving a hand into his chest until he takes a staggering step back. "Yes. I actually do have to go that bad. Now fuck off."

Sal turns without a word and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Okay. He must be on drugs. There's no damn way that interaction just happened with both of us sober. Something has to be making him act all weird. I'm so... I'm so weirded out that I'm considering saying fuck it and just running back to Ash's room.

But I use the restroom instead, just so I'm not miserable through the night, wash my hands, then open the door and flick of the light.

Only to get shoved back into the bathroom.

Rage consumes me. This guy is starting to tick me off. Something weird is up with him tonight and I genuinely don't want to stick around to find out. "Sal, what the fuck are you--"

"I'm trying to keep my word and I don't know about you, but this seems like a perfect opportunity to me," his deep voice rasps at least an octave lower. Barely hidden desire is reflected in his tone that only grows quieter and closer as I find my breath catching in my throat.

I look every which way, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the darkness as my heart thumps wildly in my chest.

Is this really about to happen? Do I want him to honor his promise? Am I ready to do this-- here, with all of our friends just a door or two away?

Honestly... yes I am. Weird or not, I have this ridiculously frustrating attraction to Sally Face.

Still...

I'm about to tell him he doesn't have to do this. That our friends are too close and it doesn't matter anyway. But his fingertips brush over the shirt covering my waist. Desperately and hesitantly. But I don't move, and he pauses, assessing my reaction or waiting for one.

When I simply stand there and hold my breath, listening to my wildly pounding heart in my ears, Sal drags his fingertips farther across my waist until his entire hand is under the hem of my shirt and gripping onto my skin, pulling me a step closer.

This feels... it feels funny. Though, I suppose when any two people who have, for example, in our case, bickered so often and are now trying to appease some stomped down desires... I guess it's understandable to be awkward. I just hope that Sal can squash out the odd tension because I don't have the gall too.

Even weirder is how things are going to progress if I can't even kiss him.

As clueless as I may be on occasion (or more so, often), I'm not dumb enough to think that Sal is just going to miraculously pull off his prosthetic and kiss me willingly. He's not some emo knight in shining armor and his prosthetic isn't his weapon. It's a barrier. Everything about him is a barrier. The most impenetrable one that I've ever seen.

I push past the awkward bit just a little, wondering how he'll do this without either of us being able to use anything above our necks. It's incredibly intriguing, especially since, overall, he's pretty confident.

At least, I would assume he's confident considering his hand just moves lower, his fingertips brushing over the waistband of my shorts.

I lick my lips as electricity courses through my body at just the whereabouts of his skin on mine. As frustrating as he is, he manages to make up for his shit personality by being hot in everything he does.

Sal is meticulous. He makes everything he does personal, intimate. It always shows even if he tries to hide it. Shows in his blue hair that brushes my cheek as he leans a bit closer to me. Shows in the curling of his fingers against the fabric of my shorts. Shows in just the sound of his slow breathing. All confidence. All focus.

I wish I could see him more than anything-- even if I'd be looking into his prosthetic. Just to see his outline, his body, his eyes on me.

The odd tension is all but gone as Sal and I stand quietly, his one hand on me and anticipation of what happens next rippling in the air around us. My body is growing warmer by the second, my heart picking up speed and my fingers shaking just a bit.

"Do you remember what I told you that night?" Sal whispers, his otherwise monotone, but raspy voice holding back all of his emotions. But I can see through him. I know he's struggling to move slow. But like I said, he's meticulous. He wants to turn this into something that will resonate with him just as much as it will resonate with me.

And that's something I'm starting to like about him, especially when it comes to moments like this.

"Which part?" I ask in return, my voice coming out soft and shaky despite how hard I try to keep everything together.

The condition of my words must give Sal the last bit of confidence he needs to do something more. The way I nervously put my words together, regardless of how short, tell him that my walls are down for now. And he's him. Of course he'll openly take that opportunity.

Sal's other hand, previously at his side, trails along my other side, skimming over my torso then up the length of my arm. Leaves a trail of fire the entire way. It takes him a frustratingly long time to tease me, just with his hands on such a seemingly uninteresting part of my body. It's aggravating how easily he's able to turn something innocent into something sinful.

His fingers finally run up the side of my neck until they brush along my jaw. I take a quick breath, all of the air in my body stolen at just small, fleeting touches. Fuck, I hate the way I like this so much.

I look up to where I assume his face would be, but I still see nothing. In a way, that makes things ten times more tense. I can't see him-- I can only feel him. Every other sense is heightened and I can feel him, smell him, hear him everywhere.

Sal's hand moves farther, his palm enveloping my ass and squeezing roughly. The feeling shocks me and excites me all at once. I stagger toward him, which is what he wanted, and gasp as I stop myself from knocking both of us over with a hand on his bare chest.

"There you go," he purrs quietly. So that was his game. To get me to touch him too. "And I'm talking about a very specific part. I need you to remember what it is." His voice is thickly coated in lust that he's given up on hiding from me. He's felt how I'm reacting to him. He doesn't have to keep anything at bay when I'm not either.

"Are you--" my voice fails and I clear my throat quietly, trying to will my fingers to stop trembling as I flatten my palm against his chest. It's crazy to think that I'm finally touching him after all this time, even crazier to feel his soft, cool skin beneath mine. "Are you talking about... you wanted me to wait until you were-- until we were--" I can't seem to spit it out. I don't have the confidence to actually say it.

"Speak, Vi," he says, voice dark with warning. "Remember what I told you about using words."

A shiver runs through my body and Sal grips onto my ass even tighter, only heightening my emotions and senses and my nerves. Fuck.

I choke over my own breath, trying to stop myself from having such obvious reactions to every little thing he does. But I can't fucking help it. He's too good. Too good at this.

I swallow thickly over my anxiety. I need this to happen more than my fear needs to control me. So even if it makes me cringe slightly, I whisper, "The part where you told me not to cum until you had me in your hands."

Sal's fluffy hair brushes along the top of my shoulders as he leans closer-- close enough for the tip of his prosthetic nose to tap against the nose of my mask. I hold my breath, eyes wide when his hand moves from my butt to the small of my back, his arm wrapping around me. "That's definitely an important part," he rasps, "but not what I'm talking about."

My heart skips a beat as a rush of air passes through my lips. I'm not sure if it's because I'm relieved or disappointed, but if he doesn't want to make me cum, then what the hell is he here for?

"I--" Damn me and my faltering brain. Why can't I just fucking speak? "I don't know what you're talking about." There we go. Even as I finally speak the words, I feel my heartbeat thrumming throughout my entire body, just under my skin. It's so evident that I'm afraid Sal's going to feel it, but that's impossible, I'm just letting fear get to me again.

His fingers press into the side of my neck a bit harder and he hums, the sound one of satisfaction and a lot of pride. I swallow again, blinking into the darkness.

"Your pulse is impressive," he whispers. "Makes me pretty pissed about taking so long to approach you when you're so open to me already."

Fuck, maybe it wasn't just fear. I failed to realize that his fingers were perfectly placed over my pulse. I tried to warn myself and I just didn't even listen. Welcome to a day in my life.

"Fuck off," I bite out shakily, cursing quietly upon realizing I still have no control over my trembling voice. "Just tell me what you're getting at," I say quietly, the words barely registering in the darkness around us.

Sal breathes deeply, almost like an obnoxious sigh while his fingers play with the edge of my shirt at my back. "Careful with what you say. I want you to speak, but not like that," he grunts, forehead pressing into mine.

I take a deep breath of my own, almost choking on the sudden influx of fresh air into my body after I'd hardly been getting any for a good couple minutes. "Then say it," I hiss. "You're so worried about me using my words, why don't you use yours too?"

"Because I'm in charge," his rough voice holds so much edge, so little patience, and never-ending anticipation as his hand that barely brushes along my neck moves quickly until his fingers are gripping my jaw, forcing my face closer to his.

Sals fingers dig into my cheeks as my lips skim along his prosthetic. We're so close now, and all the breath I'd just taken in is lost on me again. "Maybe I don't want to tell you," he rasps out, fingers squeezing a little tighter.

A shaky breath falls from my lips and suddenly I can't look anywhere near him s as my palms grow clammy and my knees begin to tremble. I'm so close to... I don't know what I'm close to doing, but I really want to do something. It's killing me to sit here with his hands on me this way and play the submissive bit.

"You were the one who told me to speak more," I whisper, glancing from where I think his eyes are to the rest of his prosthetic-- all of which are, unfortunately, invisible to me in the darkness. "The same should go for you."

He's quiet, fingers still gripping at my side and my jaw. But after a moment, his hold loosens and then he's trailing his fingertips across my chin. His touch is featherlight, tickling every inch of skin that he touches until he stops at the middle of my neck. And he pauses for a moment, makes me wait with bated breath and a pounding heart.

Then, the breath gets knocked out of me when he quickly and aggressively wraps his hand around my throat. Sal squeezes, causing a rush of air to push past my lips-- a last bit I didn't know I had. "This seem familiar?" he rasps.

I blink through the shock, listening as Sal grunts quietly, waiting for me to do or say something. I gulp as best as I can with his restricting hand on my neck.

His fingers flex around my skin and he takes a step closer, causing butterflies to form in my stomach. They invade my mind, clouding all rational sense that I once thought I had. The butterflies are dark and carry around all the sinful feelings I've tried so hard to ignore, to push aside.

But the truth is that no matter how hard I try to hide it, I'm attracted to Sally Face and it's probably time I do something about it. It's time to get him out of my system. Once will do.

With a raspy breath, I drag my hand farther up his bare chest and all the way to his shoulder to wrap it around the back of his neck.

My heart pounds relentlessly against my ribcage, fighting to try and tell Sal to have his way with me itself. It's sickening, really, how far I've fallen into the depths of this ridiculous attraction toward him. And now I'm trying not to wrap myself around him. Trying to calm my racing heart. Trying to stop my quaking hands. Trying to prevent my legs from giving out.

With the last bit of confidence I have at the moment, I use my hand to bring Sal's face to mine. His prosthetic forehead meets my mask with a little clack that echoes around the small bathroom. He huffs out a laugh in response and it takes everything in me not to slap him fucking silly. "Yes," I try to say against his tight grip.

It's one word. One syllable. But it's all it takes. All it takes for just one of us to snap. And the snap is beautiful.

Sal takes a deep breath, like he's either preparing himself or trying to calm down. Either way, something in him loses whatever fight he was in the middle of. He wraps one arm around my back, tightens his hold on my neck, and walks me backward until I'm roughly smashed against the wall.

He loosens his grip just a bit so I can catch the breath that fell from me upon hitting the wall, but then he's using the hand he had around my back to trail it down the outside of my thigh. His fingers are cool against my sensitive skin as he grabs onto my knee and lifts it, wrapping my leg around his hips.

Neither of us make a sound. My heart continues to yell for Sal to do more. I'm starting to think he may hear my internal pleas because he answers them each and every time.

With my leg securely placed around him, he wraps his arm around my waist again. Then, he slides his hand past the waistband of my short and into my underwear until he's gripping onto my bare ass.

My mouth drops open and I shut my eyes. No words pass between us for a minute as he massages my butt, getting a good grip on it to yank me closer to him.

And then our hips meet. His sweatpants do absolutely nothing to hide his hard cock as it slams against my clothed pussy, creating such delicious friction that I nearly cry out at the feeling. And he knows.

His hand falls from my throat and is soon replaced by his prosthetic face, his nose running along the length of my neck. Just knowing he's so close, alongside the rough surface of his prosthetic leaving a trail of goosebumps on each inch of skin he touches, makes me push myself closer to him.

He hums, satisfied when I bring my other hand to the side of his throat. I can't see his tattoo, but I can imagine it there. Covering the warm side of his neck, just below my fingertips.

"Listen to me," he says against my neck, bringing his face up so that his nose is brushing mine again. His voice is shaky, deep, raspy. Dangerous. "I'm going to show you how to use your words. Okay?"

I nod softly against him, breathing deeply. "Okay," I whisper back, my voice betraying whatever front I was hoping to keep up. It almost sounds like a whine.

He nods back, running a veiny hand through my hair. He starts at my forehead, dragging his fingers through the tendrils until he hits the base of my neck, cupping it and tilting my head up a bit more. "Good."

"Here's what I'm going to do to you," he starts off, breathing deeply. He tilts his head and the only reason I can tell is because his nose is at an angle now, still brushing mine. And then his prosthetic lips gently touch mine again. "I'm going to slide my hand into the front of your shorts, under your panties, and I'm going to fuck you with my fingers." His voice is ragged and his hand squeezes my ass tighter. Meanwhile, my own breath catches in my throat and the panties he was just talking about grow wet. No way is he able to say shit like that and not feel nervous about it... but at the same time, his words definitively broke the last bit of that awkward barrier between us.

"And all you have to do," he continues, pulling his hand away from my butt and out of my shorts, bringing it up and between us. His tone is casual and a bit sprightly-- desire swirling around underneath, hardly hidden at all. "is take it like a good girl. That sound good?" Then his index finger boops the tip of my nose.

I'm so sure my stomach has dropped out of my ass and I'm thrust onto the cusp of cumming just because of his dirty words. It happens so quickly that I'm holding him tighter and mentally cursing myself when a low, quiet groan escapes my throat.

Sal chuckles in response. But it almost sounds like a childish, excited, dark little giggle. "Eager, are we?" he asks, using the same hand he booped my nose with to grab my chin, bringing me just a tad closer to him. "You need to tell me if that plan is okay. If you don't say anything, we'll sit here like this all night. Consent is key."

I couldn't speak right now even if I wanted to. There's no oxygen left in me. I lost it all when he told me this plan he formulated in the depths of his salacious mind. But I want him to implement that plan too. And it won't happen if I just continue to sit here, breathless with my leg around his hips and his hand buried in my hair.

"I can hold out, Vi," he decides to say, voice biting in a way that's meant to push me along. "But can you?"

No. I absolutely fucking can't. My pussy is aching and he hasn't even touched it yet. My underwear is uncomfortably wet and my legs are quaking like a leaf-- I'm sure he can feel it.

So I take a breath and prepare myself for the hell that is to come. "Sounds like a plan," I force out quietly, trying to keep the background mewl to minimum. I'm not a fucking cat and this guy isn't going to make me purr for him... though, he does have potential.

"It better," he replies to me, voice suddenly much deeper and dangerous compared to the last thing he said to me. The sound sends a jolt of electricity through my veins and suddenly, I think my expectations of this aren't set too high. If anything, my expectations aren't high enough. All this time, I assumed he'd never actually be able to do as well as I was hoping he would, but I'm starting to see that he may be better than I could ever comprehend.

Sal is desperate as he slides the hand on my chin down my body. Between my breasts, over my stomach, and all the way to the top of my shorts. He waits there, seeing what I'll do. But I'm breathless, shivering from his light touch and about to kick off my shorts myself because of how ridiculous soaked my underwear is.

A man can be good in bed, but a man who's good with words is ten times better. The two together? I didn't know it was possible. But I'm pretty sure this combination could cure the world of depression.

I hold my breath, pushing my hips a bit closer to him when he drags his fingertips along the waistband of my shorts. I can feel my heart pounding in every inch of my body and it's starting to make me feel insane. All I can hear is my rapid, pitiful heart waiting for something that... honestly, something that he's probably teasing me about. I doubt he'll actually do anything. He probably just wants to humiliate me, use this as leverage. Tell everyone that I tried to fuck him and he had to reject me.

This fear works through me quickly-- so quickly that the lust I was just feeling freezes and gets replaced with embarrassment. I'm about to pull my leg away from him and push him back, get him away from me. But he must sense something because he finally pushes his cold hand into my shorts and immediately under my panties, slowly inching closer to my swollen, aching clit that's skipped the anxiety and gone straight to wanting.

Where I was just about to get him away from me, I arch my back off the wall instead, hoping and wishing his hand would travel faster and relieve me of the ache slowly building in my abdomen. He's the only one who can do it now-- I wouldn't be able to finish myself off after this scene.

And as always, regarding tonight at least, he listens in on my thoughts. His cold fingers gently brush over my needy clit. It's a light touch full of meaning and unspoken promises. That alone has me tipping over the edge that I had to ignore the past few nights after Sal told me to wait for him over our phone call.

I swallow down a moan that so desperately wants to escape and hold onto him a little tighter, using my free hand to reach over his shoulder and grab onto his back.

He hums lustfully, rubbing his nose against the cheek of my mask. He's so close. I can smell the musky scent of his cologne and shampoo, the fresh rain-like scent of his body wash. I can feel his hair tickling my neck and shoulders. I can feel his heart slam against his chest-- and that's when I realize that maybe the quick pace of my heart isn't the only heartbeat I've been feeling this entire time. His embrace is all-consuming; makes my head spin.

"You're being so good and quiet," he whispers to me. "Keep doing that." He applies more pressure to my clit with his index and middle finger, moving them in a slow circular motion that drives me up the damn wall. "Such an obedient slut."

I'm about to pass out.

It turns out he's smart. Before he puts anymore focus on my clit, he moves his hand down and slides his fingers against my wet folds, breathing deeply upon feeling me. "Fuck, you're soaked," he acknowledges, voice shaking with what I would assume is barely held back consideration for what I want. But I really don't care-- I'll take whatever he'll give me. And right now, I'm desperate to feel his fingers sink inside me. And for some ridiculous reason he doesn't do it, just teases my folds and soaks up whatever little bit of my juices that he can.

He presses me farther into the wall, a groan following his movements. I think he's as desperate as I am now.

He finally does something more with his hand again, bringing it back up. Just as his now wet fingers touch my clit, a startlingly loud knock sounds on the door.

The spell that had captured us ruptures as Sal practically jumps out of his skin, fingers digging into the base of my neck as his other hand disappears from my shorts.

I swear my heart stops for a moment upon hearing who knocked on the door.

"Sally, is that you, man?" Larry's sleepy but frantic voice says from the other side of the door. I hold my breath, and Sal holds me. "I need to piss so bad that I swear my uterus is about to burst."

I can hear Sal audibly gulp and that's how I know that the situation is bad.

At any other time, I'd be cackling over Larry's claim. But right now, I'm horrified because Sal and I are about to get caught in the bathroom together.

Suddenly, I'm yanked away from the wall and pulled in another direction. I almost stumble over Sal's quick pace, but follow him anyway. But when my calves hit the edge of the bathtub and a gentle shove on my shoulder makes me lean back, I grab onto his wrist because no. Fucking. Way.

"Sal," I hiss quietly. "Are you insane? I'm not hiding in the fucking bathtub!"

"Just shut up, it's only for maybe three minutes, okay?" he whispers back, agitation tinging his voice-- as per usual.

"No! This is even more incriminating than you and I doing the walk of shame out of this damn bathroom together," I reply to him, squeezing his wrist tighter.

Sal makes an aggravated sound then grabs onto the back of my knees. He forces them to bend, holding me up with his weight as I fall back toward the bathtub. I want to scream. No way is this about to happen-- no way did he literally just force me into this tub.

My ass hits the bottom of the tub with a little thump that automatically makes Larry start banging on the door.

I look up to where I imagine Sal is, leaning over me as I curl up onto the ceramic floor. "Wait," he says. "Don't say a word. All you have to do is exactly what I told you, 'kay? Take it like a good girl. Sit there and be quiet. Don't even breathe if you think it'll be too loud."

He pulls his arms away from me and I feel like I'm going to vomit. "I'll reward you for this." I don't want a damn reward. I want to disappear. But before I can object, his fingers gently grip onto my chin. I'm shocked by the his soft touch, especially by his next quiet words that send a wave of heat through my body. "Don't worry, little lamb. I won't lead you to the slaughter," he adds that sweet promise of guiding me correctly, but I've never trusted him before. Why should I put my faith in him now just because he used that oddly adorable pet name?

But the curtain is slowly being closed and I find myself doing as he said-- curling up on my side and holding my stupid fucking breath. It's the only option I have left. Fuck, this is humiliating.

I hear his soft footsteps grow quiet, and then the door opens. My heart races and my entire body tenses up.

"Lar," Sal's raspy voice starts, tinged with equal amounts of amusement and frustration. "You'd be shitting out babies left and right if you had a uterus."

The light flicks on and my eyes widen. Oh, fuck.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Larry retorts, not even bothering to close the door as he moves closer to the toilet and, consequently, closer to me. My eyes are about to pop out of my damn head. "You don't know that."

"Actually, I do. You fuck so often that you'd have to have been pregnant a couple times by now," Sal immediately responds. I can just imagine him leaning against the bathroom door with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Larry.

And the Larry in question has pulled his dick out at this point because I'm suddenly able to hear a relieved groan. And then he's pissing. Larry fucking Johnson is peeing right next to me and his best friend was just about to finger fuck me. What the hell kind of situation is this?

"Yea well, maybe I'm immune to children then. I don't know," Larry mumbles. I'm trying so hard to keep it together right now. I don't know if I want to cry or laugh, but neither of them are a good idea.

"You better hope you are," Sal says in response. "I don't need more of you running around here. Not to mention, those children would have to be pushed out of your dick so... not sure you'd want that." His tone screams disgust and pain and just thinking about it makes me shiver a bit too. Sounds painful. But other people go through childbirth all the damn time too. It's a painful thing all around, I'd bet.

I hear Larry hiss as he flushes the toilet then turns on the water in the faucet, washing his hands. "Yea, I think you're right then," he says, pretending to gag over the thought. "I definitely don't have a uterus. I can't imagine birthing a kid from my dick."

"Other people do it all the time. Respect the birth," Sal says nonchalantly. "Now get out. I need to take a shower."

"What?" Larry asks, clearly confused. "You took a shower earlier. Oh-- wait," his tone changes into something more playful, knowing. And then, his voice goes quieter "Did you have another wet dream about Vi?"

I bite down onto my bottom lip to contain my betraying throat that suddenly wants to choke on that little bit of information.

Nah, no way. Larry's just fucking with him.

I hear a smack and then a giggle and "Ouch!" that sounds a lot like Larry. And then Sal grinds out, "Shut the fuck up. I've never had a wet dream before in my life, especially not about Vi."

"Ah, you're so in denial!" Larry laughs viciously. "You can't hide it now. You literally begrudgingly admitted it to me two days ago. You dreamt that you and Vi fucked. I'd call that a wet dream, man."

"You're fucking delusional, Larry," Sal grunts out ferociously. Oh, he's so pissed. And I'm about to piss myself in this tub. I'm so going to give him shit for this later.

"Um, I'm not delulu, dude," Larry says matter-of-factly. "That term is reserved for you. So, come on. Admit it."

"I'm going to punch you, dude," Sal says, and he's concerningly calm. Which, if anything, should be a warning sign for Larry.

But Larry doesn't heed that warning. He only continues. "Admit it or I won't leave," he says, giggling all the while.

I flinch upon hearing a loud thud followed by the bathroom door slamming against the wall. Larry starts throwing out whispered profanities. "Fuck, sorry!" he says, still managing to laugh. Did Sal actually punch him?

"I told you I'd do it," Sal says nonchalantly.

These two are going to be the reason I get caught. They need to end this shit before I actually start laughing.

"I'm not even worried about the punch. You've got a mean ass right hook. I bet you fuck bitches good with that hand," Larry says suggestively.

Sal scoffs, likely in disgust at Larry's words-- but I'm tuning in because hopefully he does fuck bitches good with that hand, especially since I'm currently considered one of the bitches in question.

"So I've been told," Sal says snarkily. "Now get out. Please."

Larry barks out a laugh that could very possibly wake everyone up. "Test that theory out on Vi."

"Okay, Larry. Seriously, fuck off." Sal's growing agitated again and he throws every bit of it into his voice.

"Fine, man. Fine," Larry says cooly, his voice moving farther away from me. "Respect the birth." Another cackle, and then the door slowly shuts.

I wait silently, too afraid to move. One sound might send Larry right back over here.

But Sal moves, and this time the light stays on.

He throws the shower curtain open and looks down at me with his stupidly pretty blue eyes. Right now, they hold a ton of agitation, but some very surface-level lust, too. I can see it so well.

He watches me as I move into a sitting position, both of us just staring at each other. I don't want this to be awkward. He's literally already had his hand on my pussy-- that's more than enough. I'm perfectly fine with calling it a night and heading back to bed.

Sal, on the other hand, has other ideas. He looks over at the shower curtain, grabs it, then hops into the bathtub with me, crouching down in front of me. He closes the curtain again, then looks to me.

It's so frustratingly nice to see him with the lights on now. Even though it's cramped with both of us in the tub together, he looks so pretty. Messy cerulean hair brushing his shoulders, azure eyes alight with curiosity and barely veiled desire. Pale, toned tummy on full display for me. His tattoos darkened by the obscurity of the curtain. While his dagger tattoo is hidden, I can see the other beautiful tattoos on both his arms.

My breath catches in my throat. Sal is nowhere near Larry's level, but he has some muscle on him. I've always assumed that his biceps came from playing guitar so much, but abs are a different story. And he definitely has those.

And that shirtless photo of him that Larry sent me a while back? The one where I could see part of a tattoo peeking out from the top of his pants? Oh yea, I can see it again and I'm about to start foaming at the mouth. Somehow, I knew deep in my soul that getting to see him during this entire ordeal we've created would make everything feel so much better.

And my claim still stands as Sal bends his head forward a bit, making a shadow cross his face. It darkens his pretty blue eyes and fills me with exhilaration.

"I'm not done with you," he says darkly, eyes raking over me. He leaves a trail of heat on every inch of skin that his eyes observe and I find my self scooting backward toward the other end of the bathtub. But, I still nod my head at him, watching his eyes narrow upon noticing my nonverbal response.

My brain is on overdrive as Sal follows me, crawling my way until he's hovering over me. Both of his hands are resting on the floor beside my bare thighs. He keeps his gaze on mine, watching me like a hawk. I feel like I can't breathe. Everything is so tense but... I like it.

"You don't have to speak," he says, tilting his head to the side. "I'll let it go for now. That's your reward."

That makes me furrow my brows even if he can't see it. "That's the reward?" I ask softly, still more than nervous with him leaning over me like this, knowing he had his hand in my shorts just a minute or two ago. "I expected something better," I add, sucking in a quick breath.

His eyes slowly squint, like he's smiling beneath that prosthetic. "Yea?" he says seductively, trailing his eyes over me yet again. "I don't think I need to say this, but you shouldn't expect shit from me. Ever." His eyes meet mine again and my heart stutters over the heat in his gaze. "But I'll humor you for once. Only once," he warns. "So, let's see if I can do better that."

He leans back a bit to distribute his weight, pulls my knees apart, then grabs onto my hips, yanking me toward him suddenly. I gasp quietly when my hips collide with his, creating that same friction between my pussy and his hardened cock just like earlier.

A little mewl echoes off the ceramic around us and Sal closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and seems to relish in the sound. He groans then looks down at me again, devilish intentions swimming around in his sapphire eyes.

My underwear never dried in the first place, but that sudden heat is back. I don't want to run away like I previously did. I'd much rather sit here and see what he has to offer.

I shimmy my hips a bit, rubbing over the bulge in his sweats. Sal groans again, gripping my hips tighter.

"Enough of that," he rasps huskily. "I'm not fucking you in this small ass tub."

I roll my eyes as if to say whatever, but he doesn't comment on it. Only narrows his eyes before letting go of my sides to lean over me again.

He puts one hand down beside my hips then uses the other to tap on my waist. "Take them off," he says quietly.

I gulp down my nerves. I don't have to be nervous. He probably won't even look down to see what he's doing, and even if he does, he'll literally be touching me so it doesn't matter.

With a quick breath, I lean down a bit and grab onto my shorts. I push them down as far as I can, then kick them off the rest of the way.

Sal nods once I'm finished and then that free hand of his brushes over my stomach, pushing my shirt up. His fingertips drag over my bare skin, and then he travels lower to meet the top of my underwear. My breath catches in my throat again, and even more so when he pauses. He gives me a sideways look that makes me cock an eyebrow in response.

"I meant these too," he says, hooking a finger into my really pretty and really expensive black lace underwear. And to my utter horror, he twirls his finger into the fabric, bunches it up in his hand, and then with a little grunt of effort, effectively rips it apart.

I'm gaping now. Lace isn't hard to tear, but I didn't fucking want him to rip my underwear off of me.

But the little smile in his eyes says that he wants to make me mad, and somehow, he just knew that my lace panties were the perfect way to get the reaction he wanted.

He pulls the broken fabric out from under me and I can't help but brood a bit as he does so.

It all falls away as he cups my pussy in his now warm hand though. It was cold earlier, but after fighting with my underwear, it's warmed up a bit and the feeling makes heat rush through my body in response.

I squeeze my eyes shut, whimpering pathetically beneath him. Sal breathes deeply, a satisfied little hum leaving him just like it did earlier.

He moves his hand, dragging two digits between my folds to wet his fingertips, and then he's rubbing slow circles on my clit.

Every circle he draws against my bundle of nerves is thought-out, methodical, and borderline painful. It's just the same movement over and over again, but it feels amazing. I can't help but wonder how much he's practiced to be able to get me with the simplest form of pleasure, but I don't care. He's touching me and it feels better than I ever could have imagined. That's what matters.

I let out a shaky breath, finally opening my eyes to see him nearly glaring at me. It's not something out of anger, more so intense focus. And he's watching me so closely, mapping out the way my lips part. Glancing to my chest as I take a deep, shaky breath.

"That feels good?" he says softly but darkly, blinking up at me.

I nod, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. He applies more pressure to my clit, nodding back at me as his slow circles pick up speed.

I shiver beneath him, gulping down sounds that so desperately want to be out in the open air.

"Do what you want," Sal says, seeing my obvious struggle. "As long as you're quiet, I don't care. Whore out all you want, I certainly won't stop you."

I keep my eyes on him, contemplating his words. I'm not sure that's a great idea. Larry could still be up. Ash could wake up. Todd could come out to look for food. It's too dangerous.

But Sal doesn't seem to like my reluctance. He uses his knees to spread my thighs, giving him more space to move his fingers quicker and to keep me pinned beneath him.

I sigh, leaning my head back against the back of the tub. Pleasure is rolling through me in waves. All the frustrating, desirous pain I felt earlier is slowly building up into what I'm sure is going to be an amazing orgasm.

I buck my hips up to force his hand to put more pressure on my sensitive pussy. Sal answers by leaning back a bit and using his free hand to push my hips back down to the floor. I open my eyes again, my breathing growing quicker the longer he teases my clit.

A lustful moan finally breaches the seal of my lips and that seems to sate Sal quite a bit. He finally answers my unspoken request, pressing into my clit harder and rubbing faster. I can't help but arch my back, nearly writhing beneath him.

Despite the initial fear I felt about being bare beneath him, I glance down at the space between us, noting the way his fingers work me so prettily-- chipped black nail polish, bracelets, and all. But, no rings.

I note that little observation in my head, my panting breaths catching in my throat when I realize he has all the opportunity in the world to make me cum like he originally promised.

The sight and the new knowledge makes me gulp and I look up again, trailing my eyes over his torso, over his tattooed arms, up his neck, and back to his prosthetic face. He watches me ogle him, taking me in as well.

But just this focus on one part of me isn't enough anymore. I'm in the clear for more and I know that now. So without breaking eye contact, I murmur, "More."

Sal breathes deeply, using his free hand to gently brush over my boobs. It's a gentle touch, but without a bra on, I feel so much especially when his fingers rub over my hardened nipple.

And then, I'm mewling like the kitten I swore I wasn't earlier. I can't help it and he knows that well enough.

Sal holds me still as I twitch and shake beneath him, calming me with a soothing, "Shh. You're okay. Stay still for me."

I try to follow his command, attempting to stop the way my thighs instinctively clamp around his legs. He doesn't seem to mind that bit all that much. But he keeps that free hand on the inside of my thigh, pressing it down and leaving me shaking.

Finally, his fingers move from my clit back down to my folds. But instead of sinking into my pussy, he teases me yet again, simply rubbing his soaked fingers up and down while watching my facial reactions.

"Do you want my fingers?" he asks, voice raspy and serious. So different compared to the usual icy tone he uses with me.

"I want your dick," I answer breathlessly, moaning out softly when his fingers dip just a bit into my dripping cunt. "But yes. Your fingers will suffice."

Sal laughs, finally obliging me by plunging two fingers into my sopping pussy. I cry out, wincing at the sound just as he slaps a hand over my mouth.

"Be good," he says gruffly, breath heavy as he glares into my eyes. He pulls his fingers out then shoves them back in, making my eyes squeeze shut. "And yea, they'll suffice," he continues, carefully pulling his hand away from my mouth as he curls his two fingers within me. A whimper fights past my lips at the sweet, carnal feeling he gives me. And then he whispers, "For now."

My eyes fly open and I stare at him in shock. For now? So, this isn't the end?

He seems to see the words dancing in my head, so Sal squints his eyes at me and starts relentlessly pounding his fingers into my pussy to shut me up. My head flies back, nearly slamming into the back of the tub. My lips part and the sound I'm about to make is going to be awfully loud, but Sal probably predicts that too.

He shoves two fingers into my mouth, pushing them back as far as my throat allows.

I moan against his fingers, quaking as his brutal pace never lets up. He continuously thrusts his digits into me quickly, pausing only to curl his fingers. Which only elicits more muffled and unintelligible pleas from me.

I don't even know what I'm begging for anymore-- for him to finish me off or to make this last even longer.

He pushes his fingers deeper into me even though he's reached the top of his hand and can't possibly go any farther. Doesn't stop him from trying though. He grunts, slamming his fingers deeper and harder. Curling his digits, using his thumb to rub quick circles onto my clit. Doing all he can to push me over the edge.

I suck on the fingers he shoved into my mouth, grabbing onto his wrist to keep him there.

Sal's breath hitches in his throat and he seems to choke for a second, but then he gathers his wits and continues to fuck me good just like he promised. His fingers curl again, hitting a spot that I didn't know existed before. I cry out, squeezing his wrist in my hand and grabbing onto his shoulder with my other hand. Fuck, that felt good. I could cry.

Sal repositions his legs between mine, bending a bit lower as he slams his digits into me, hitting that beautifully delicious spot again. "There?" he rasps out breathlessly upon hearing my dirty groan. I nod my head vigorously, silently begging him to stay right where he is.

I watch him with tears in my eyes and note the second his eyes widen a bit, never-ending focus and dedication dancing in his cerulean gaze. "Got it," he says darkly, "Give me thirty seconds."

Just as quickly as he says this, Sal pulls his fingers out of my mouth and wraps them around my neck instead, squeezing tightly. My quiet mewl is broken up from the lack of air, but I don't fight him. I hold on tighter and let him do his work because he hasn't led me astray at all. I trust his thirty second claim.

Sal pulls his fingers nearly all the way out of my pussy and I open my eyes, groaning at the loss of his digits that filled me up. But then he's pushing three fingers into me. They squeeze against my restricting pussy, but he still manages to hit that same spot that made my vision blur after about two seconds.

My mouth falls open and my chest rises and falls quickly with my panting breaths. I close my eyes, tilt my head up to the ceiling, and let the shivers and quakes take over my body as Sal's fingers pound into my sopping cunt with no hesitance. His movements are so fast, so deep, so filling that it's just enough to push me over the edge within the allotted time that he promised.

My orgasm hits me like a brick wall, making the building ache fall away and leave only the most mouthwatering debauchery I've ever experienced in my life. My ears ring, I lose all feeling in my limbs, my vision blurs again, and so many unintelligible words tumble out of my mouth. Words that he nor I can hear or comprehend because of the hand restricting my airways.

I cum all over his fingers and he rides me through every second of it. He slows his pace and his hand loosens around my neck, letting me breathe a bit easier.

I huff over the pounding in my chest, letting my body go limp against the bathtub floor.

I breathe heavily, still panting like I just ran a marathon when Sal slowly pulls his hand out of my soaked, worn-out cunt. But he keeps his hand languidly wrapped around my throat, praising me with a light squeeze followed by a purred, "Good girl."

After a moment of catching my breath after that ridiculously mind-blowing orgasm, I open my eyes to see Sal hovering over me with a refreshed look in his eyes.

Neither of us say a word. And I'm more than satisfied. I got far more than I expected from him and that's both awesome and a problem. Because I definitely don't want this to be the last time we do this. It was too fucking good.

I take a breath, watching Sal fully sit up from the corner of my eyes. He wrings his hand, tilting his head as he look down at it. "I did a fucking number on you, didn't I?" he proudly states, blue eyes glancing up at me. "I never took you for a dirty whore. But you're a good one."

His words make my cheeks turn a dark shade of pink while my heart slams into my ribs. Anyone else would think he's insulted me, but I know he doesn't mean it that way. If anything, this is more praise. This is common knowledge to me after finding out that he has a degrading kink. Shit, I guess I have one too, then.

I decide to sit up, face-to-face with him. My mask's nose brushing against his prosthetic nose. And I look him dead in the eye, watching and waiting for his reaction as I trail a hand up his leg, over his thigh.

I hear his sharp intake of breath and he leans away from me, getting into a position similar to the one I was just in moments ago. So now I hover over him, meaningfully passing my hand over the impressive bulge in his sweats. That's a nice size.

His eyes flutter shut and a wave of heat hits me again. He's really going to let me do this and I'm all in for it.

I grab the waistband of his sweatpants and work them over his hips and down his thighs. He does much like I did earlier, kicks them off and on top of my shorts. Sal groans when there's less restriction against his hard cock, his sweatpants quickly replaced by my hand as I palm him through his boxers.

Sal hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I should rip these off of you too," I say softly, sweetly. His eyes snap open again and he glares down at me, though that glare is clouded by the lust swimming around in those pretty eyes.

"Don't you fucking dare," he huskily replies, squirming a bit when I squeeze his dick.

"And why shouldn't I?" I ask him, tilting my head inquisitively. "Give me one good reason."

He grunts disapprovingly, glare turning into something more ferocious. "Do it and I won't let you touch me at all."

I shrug. "That's not too bad. After all, you honored your promise. As far as I'm concerned, I don't have to return the favor at all." I say this all while rubbing his dick, watching excitedly as he twitches with each stroke of my hand.

"So what, is this a pity job?" he says between breaths, gasping lightly.

"No," I answer him, squeezing his cock again. "This is me giving in."

His glare morphs, turning into a lustful gaze. He just stares at me, gulping. His hair falls behind him, giving me a perfect view of his dagger tattoo. I can't help but reach my free hand up to trace it, still keeping my hand over his dick that flexes here and there.

Suddenly, it's clear he's had enough of my teasing. He clamps both hands onto my hips, fingers still slick from my liquids. He growls out dangerously, "Come here." Then, he's yanking me toward him. I stumble over his spread legs and clamber on top of his cock-- and he stops me there. I'm tethered onto him, his biceps flexing as I try to move off of him, but he doesn't let me.

"Really?" I say shakily. "You can't let me have your dick? You said 'for now' earlier." I'm not sure where the words or the confidence is coming from, but it's here.

Sal scoffs, shuddering despite his conflicting emotions. "Who says you can't have it?" he grumbles. "Stop being a fucking brat."

"Don't tell me to stop the impossible," I tell him, placing a hand onto his chest to stabilize myself. Don't get this confused, I'm losing my shit on the inside. I didn't expect to be sitting on my arch nemesis's dick with just a thin piece of fabric between us tonight.

"You're gonna be like that? Really? You just came all over me. Be grateful and fucking behave for once," he says, gasping as I move my hips to try and get off of him again.

Our gazes connect when I realize what I've done. And that gives Sal the opportunity to do exactly what he had in mind when he pulled me on top of him.

He squeezes my sides and shimmies his body a little lower. Then, he uses his grip on me to grind my hips down on top of him.

It's a nice feeling, the friction against his swollen cock and my still needy clit. We both groan quietly, the combined sounds so dirty that they become pretty. And I guess that's the way all sexual things work.

I grab onto his shoulders and grind down onto his dick again, biting my bottom lip. Sal groans at the feeling, fingers digging into my hips. I don't mind this at all. In fact, I've decided that I won't be moving. But that doesn't mean I'm about to let go of what he just said.

"You're the one who should be grateful," I whimper, sucking in a breath through my teeth as I push myself onto him again. "I doubt you get cummed on every day, huh? I've behaved long enough tonight. That ship has sailed," I bite out, wrapping a strand of his hair around my index finger as I rut against him.

Sal guides my hips, pushing me to move faster against his throbbing cock. I mewl in response, digging my fingernails into his pale skin.

"That's not a good excuse," he says, his voice grated as he forces the words out through his undoubtedly clenched teeth. "You don't have to be a bitch all the fucking time. Give me a break."

"Never," I tell him immediately, grinding even faster against him as I feel myself working up to another orgasm. It's quick, seeing as I'm still sensitive from the orgasm I had just seconds.

A mind-boggling, erotic, and downright lewd moan leaves Sal's mouth when I thrust particularly hard against him. He sucks in a quick breath and throws his head back, staring up at the ceiling as ragged breaths make his body shake.

I repeat the motion, rubbing myself harshly against him just to hear him make that sound again. It was so unexpected but so welcomed. I felt it in my soul, felt it in my stomach. It was everywhere.

But when I do it a third time, Sal pauses our movements with a hand on my hips. "Vi, stop," he hisses. "We can't be loud. And if you keep doing that, that's what we're both going to be."

I look at him like he's stupid, though I'm reeling on the inside over his admittance of being pretty vocal. That'll be good info to utilize in the future. "How do you expect to cum if I can't make you feel good?" I ask him dumbly, shoving his hands off of me so I can grind my hips into his yet again.

He doesn't seem to like my blatant ignorance of what he just told me. He sits up, looking me dead in the eye with a nasty glare. I guess he expects himself to be intimidating enough to make me stop, but if that's the case, he's got another thing coming.

Even in this position, I slide a bit between his legs and rut myself against him again. Sal's glaring eyes quickly widen in surprise and he watches me for a moment, just lets me pleasure myself against him.

I guess he decides on the fuck-it option eventually because he soon joins me, meeting each little thrust I put out.

He groans out again, wrapping an arm around my waist and the other around my shoulders, holding me close against him. His head drops onto my shoulder as he pushes his hips up to meet mine, his cock brushing my clit so perfectly.

"So good," he whimpers breathlessly, holding me tight against him. I release a shaky sigh chewing on my bottom lip as I throw an arm around his neck, burying my hands in his soft azure hair. "Fucking slut."

My eyes squeeze shut and we're both feeling fucking amazing for the time being. He's decided to ignore me, which means I win, especially if that degrading pet name is anything to go by. And I'm going to cum for a second time. This is damn wonderful.

"I'm close," Sal warns, a whimper falling past his lips as he grips onto me tighter. Holy hell, it didn't take him too long. That's so flattering. "Say something," he breathes.

Say something? What does he want me to say? Does he want permission to cum or something? That's nothing like him. Doesn't feel right.

But then I think back to that phone call we had, when he told me to tell him how much I hated him.

I gulp, scratching a hand up his back. "You're such an asshole," I whine, burying my face into his hair. "You make me feel so dirty, disgusting. And what's even worse about it-- what's worse about you-- is that I fucking crave it."

He groans, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. I yelp quietly, opening my eyes as he takes control, thrusting his hips against me. The yelp quickly turns into a dirty moan that makes him grip me even tighter.

"Going to cum for me again?" he says between quick breaths and erotic grunts. "What a good bitch."

A shuddering breath falls from my lips as addictive pleasure works its way through me again. I want to tell him to shut up, but I really fucking enjoy when he says things like this. It's so damn nice, makes everything else we're both feeling ten times better.

"Please," I rasp out. "Faster."

Sal obliges, running his prosthetic nose down the length of my neck as we grind harder and faster against each other, the head of his cock rubbing my clit in all the right ways.

And suddenly, I'm thrown into my second orgasm of the night and fighting to stay sitting upright. What helps is Sal's strong grip around me. He lets out a primal grunt of his own before shuddering and moaning deeply, and the warmth that grows beneath me makes my own orgasm last even longer.

When it's all said and done, Sal and I are a mess of bodily fluids and heavy breathing, wrapped up in each other like it's natural.

But as we come down from our highs, the problem with this situation is that this isn't a natural thing for us. What's natural is anger, contempt, frustration. Hate.

So when I've finally caught my breath, I look into Sal's tired, glazed eyes. He looks back at me, no emotions visible as far as I can tell.

"I want a new pair of underwear," I whisper, watching and waiting for what happens next.

Sal takes a deep breath, eyes glancing over my face for a second before he lets the arm around my shoulders fall away. But his arm around my waist doesn't fall, only loosens. Then he shrugs. "Sucks to suck."

Well, it wasn't too hard to put us back right where we were all day. "Oh, you're such a dick," I huff out angrily.

"And you just rode mine," he says proudly, tapping his fingers against my side and tilting his head.

"Not by technicality," I inform him, rolling my eyes as I clamber off of him. I quickly turn around as I fetch my shorts off the tub floor behind me. I'd rather him see my ass over my still throbbing cunt. For fuck's sake. I can't believe I did this.

I step into my shorts and pull them up to my hips then grab the remnants of my lace panties and frown at them.

I turn back to Sal who's still sitting up, looking down at his boxers that are covered in his and my cum. "And what do you expect me to do about this?" He scoffs. "I'm a mess."

"Don't ask me," I tell him, opening the shower curtain and stepping onto the tiled bathroom floor. Sal looks up at me with glaring eyes. I smile slyly at him. "Sucks to suck."

He rolls his eyes and stands up, grimacing at the sheer amount of fluids on his underwear. I bet that's starting to get cold. "Don't be a bitch about it," Sal bites out.

I pinch my lips together and cross my arms over my chest. "I'm not being a bitch," I say. "I'm just... returning the favor."

Sal's head snaps up, that aggravation back in his eyes. That's what I'm used to.

"Get the fuck out," he says darkly. But this time, it's not in a sensual way. It's a warning.

So I turn my back to him and head toward the door, forcing my mind to go numb. This was our moment and that's it. It's smarter to keep this as a one time thing even if I'll still crave him for a while.

I twist the door numb. "Gladly."

_________

A/N::::: i did my best to edit in like the keep reading thing so i don't blind everyone with smut LMAO so we'll see if it works :3

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEHHEHEHEHEHEH

now i literally don't know where the story is going. this is a rollercoaster, you guys are just the unlucky bunch stuck on the ride with me.

i hope you all enjoyed :3 trust the process! all my love <333