lets make this sin sincere

“Yeah.” He wants to shake her off and get outside without another word, but it’s a little more complicated when it’s his home they’re inside of. He’s not thinking about the key she’s been given – about how a demon has access to his apartment, or about how he’d like to agree with what she’s saying. Of course he doesn’t have to force her away. But he has to start punishing himself now, and let himself go. Otherwise… there’s no telling what could happen. “Yeah, I do.” And he takes one hand, lifting it just a tad to touch her upper arm and brush over the flesh… (not hers, either) before pulling back and moving for the door. “Bamboozler. Guess you really weren’t lying about that shit, huh?” Frankly, he can’t find a point in caring about the clothes he does or doesn’t have on in front of her. There’s nothing she hasn’t seen, anyhow. Vulnerabilities with her are almost endless. “Can’t look at you anymore. Beth, please.”

The last thing she wants to do is return there, but that’s not a choice she gets to make. Not when Adriel wants her to leave, and he says it again. As much as she’d like them to, her hopes don’t even budge when she feels his light touch against her arm, because for a moment, she thinks he may lead her out himself. Instead, everything stays gentle, and the brush of his skin against hers leaves a faint trace of goosebumps. Still stuck, her eyes fall down to the floor when he pulls away to start for the door, and she knows she has to move. Let him be. For how long - that’s something she doesn’t know. She can’t even find it in herself to offer a smile at the nickname she earned long ago - because it was true all along. More than he knew until now. 

Giving up so quickly, however, it doesn’t seem like an option. “Just– can we–“ Any suggestion to give him, to give them, she cuts them all short. She doesn’t know what she wants to say. Everything is still so fresh, so raw. Her brain has yet to translate the details she will mull over, and again, he’s telling her to go. A part of her wants to respect that request, the other half wants to plant herself where she stands and continue fighting. She’s always been stubborn, he knows that too well. Still, she moves toward the dress that hung discarded over the back of his couch, staring down at the fabric before removing his shirt over her head, and slipping on the dress in its place. The door is just over there. Steps away. Should she go through it, it feels too much like putting this all behind, and she can’t have that. So against any better judgment, against her nature of self preservation, she approaches him with a few steps instead, careful to avoid the holy water. “You don’t have to do this, cowboy. You don’t have to send me away.”

It’s not about only being worth something to Beth – ‘cause she’s enough. Always has been more than enough. But the only one who could ever find any faith in him is a demon, and that takes a heavy toll. “Wish I didn’t want to believe you so bad. But here I am.” They’ll throw him in the nuthouse again for this one – or they sure as hell should, even though he knows it’d make a mess of him. But his blood’s still boiling, surging up and it’s hard to fight it. “And it’s you or me.” So he chooses her. “Get out of here.”

Just wishful thinking, she already knows it. Even before he tells her to leave, and that’s an offer she should take. She should grab her clothes and leave as quickly as she can. All the lies, all the facades, everything was to keep out of hell, and she’s been sharing the bed of someone who can send her back. Now that he knows, it’s a risk. But part of her forces herself to believe he wouldn’t do that. That’s why he’s letting her go. “Adriel–“ Beth takes a second to straighten her voice before continuing, “What would I have to gain? After all these months? If I’m truly lying to you about how I feel, why would I go along with it for so long?”

Even though he wants to believe what Beth is saying, there’s no way he can. Even if he took her word for it, he could never get the memories away from what she is. Because he’s not in love with the girl this body belongs to - and he doesn’t think he could ever be, if something from hell wasn’t inside it. And that all comes down to how poisonous it’s become, and his pulse picks up the pace. “And it didn’t matter? Not like I was ever worth that much and you know it.” It’s the final truth. One that she has to already know. His lack of self-worth was already demonstrated once to her, and now it was out on the open. 

His words make her feel sick the most, but she doesn’t have trouble finding her own. “No, I don’t know that. You’re worth more than you think.” Her voice loses the sad edge just for a moment, because she’s serious. Beth’s been aware of his thoughts about himself, even more so of the severity when she found him with bleeding palms and distant eyes. Taking care of him, healing rather than killing, it had been strange how easily that came. But not so much when it was only toward him. “And you’re worth more to me than anything.” Was that much evident with how much of a risk it was to stay with him? She hoped so.

“It’s not like I’m in on some system. Not like I can help you or get you good shit.” That much is true – the best he can get the blonde is a trip downstairs, which he imagines she’s been avoiding above all else. “When’d you decide you were lying to yourself, and it wasn’t you just pulling fuckin’ strings?” 

It was always an excuse, that much was true. A lie she told herself to make the situation seem less ridiculous. To make herself feel better for what she was doing and how she was feeling. How he made her feel, when it was the last thing he should have been doing to her. “I wasn’t–– I wasn’t pulling strings. I was always lying to myself! By the time I found out you do what you do it was too late.”

She keeps saying it: it’s not a scam. She hasn’t tricked him. It’d be different if he was a hunter in the wake of a death in the family. If someone had been drained by one of the bloodsuckers, he’d have less of a bias. He’d think less about some girl inside the blonde he’s come to – god, fuck forsake him – fall in love with, and more about who could actually mean what they were saying. “Why’d you stay with me if you figured it out? Why’re you still here when you know you could’ve gotten killed?”

Keeping it to herself, was that just continuing to lie to him? A different kind of a shaky breath escaped her lungs, a stark contrast to the one before. She was already over the edge, wasn’t she? Taking the plunge, being truly honest, that was an unfamiliar thought. But maybe her best option. “Told myself I was taking advantage of the circumstances.” Beth admitted, finding her eyes downcast moments later. Fingers pushed messy blonde curls away from the side of her face, telling herself that if he could look at her, she could do the same.

If the girl ‘Beth’ – (if that is her real name) is using, too, is still awake… what choices has she not gotten? What’s been stolen by her, and what part has he had in it? Even the thought of touching or kissing her again, which was all he wanted a few minutes ago, is nauseating. Worse. Because then he’s an accomplice to a crime committed against him, just the same. Calming down and trusting her isn’t an option. “You know I’d wanna buy it. You knew I’d believe you cause I didn’t have shit else to believe in!” 

That, he was a witness to. She had no idea what he did when they first met. Not when they started spending all their time together, not when they started messing around. That revelation came after - he knew that. It was discovered right in front of him. “I wasn’t trying to get you to buy anything! This wasn’t some plan!“ Maybe that wasn’t completely true. It wasn’t an active decision on her part, not something that was a focus, but she did need him to believe that she was human, and only human.

Disdain takes shape in his brows when they knit together, trying to understand and grasp all the signs he missed. Even though Adriel wants to blame her, it’s a defense mechanism to regulate and keep consistent. All he can do is think about his faults. What he’s done wrong and what he could’ve done to make this turn out differently. How he could be less attached, and face this with strength instead of weakness. But all he is now is weak. And she must see it. 

“Adriel what? The hell are you gonna tell me, another lie?” She has to know. Has she been diverting his attention the entirety of this time? “What’s it like, Beth? Whose face are you wearing? Who’d I just fuck?” Only it’s worse. Because he knows what it is to have no say. And now, that’s happening to some girl with no control. 

Her desire to somehow fix this, it preservered. Eyes that had already flickered back to the normal clear blue, peered down to the puddle between them. His voice made her knees weak, and no matter how hard it was to pull her gaze back up to his face, one that expressed so much hatred so suddenly, a piece of her felt that not all was lost. Maybe she was a bigger idiot that she thought. “No— look, it wasn’t all a lie!” She insists, but the words sound even worse coming from her mouth.

Content to tease right back, Adriel wastes little time in quirking a brow. “Yeah, like I fuckin’ wouldn’t.” They’ve a terrible habit, or maybe a gamble between the two of them… and though he doesn’t always confess, it doesn’t take much for him to kiss the sense right out of him (if there was anything to begin with). 

But she takes a drink of something he belatedly recognizes as a weapon for later on - a precautionary measure that doesn’t belong in her hands, and almost feels worried until it clicks. His insides turn to rot. His mouth tastes like ash. He can feel the blood on his hands again, see it clearly underneath muscles he couldn’t control. 

And even bare-skinned, he jolts to his feet and darts for the bottle before it all spills out. 

Toward the bottle. Away from her, and with that look on his face. It shatters her heart and leaves her lips agape, scrambling for words to say. He beats her to it, and the soft, loving atmosphere screeches to a halt. It becomes something toxic. Bloody, and raw. 

“Adriel–“ She begins, but he repeats himself and her breath catches in her throat. It’s just in her nature to remain composed, no matter the wild feelings tumbling in the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t allow her hands to tremble, doesn’t allow her fear of losing him to show. But knowing their relationship, she has no doubt he can see it anyway.

The trouble he has with such a hungry heart and clotted conscience is never-ending. What, it’s been months now– that he’s gotten used to the long nights and blood on his blades, and all the while a little blonde’s been smothered in playful kisses and more happiness than Adriel knows what to do with. It’s too late now. He can’t look at her without his stomach doing somersaults. 

So he shifts comfortably and without fear of the creature who took him for the voyage of a lifetime. Lets her use his home as she will, and kisses her until they’re both breathless, the sheet over each couch cushion smooth against her flesh and his balmy hands. But the rest is short, and he’s in for a downward spiral (though he can’t be sure if this one’s any better or much worse than the last several). 

Only now, she’s come to think of it as hers. Every moment they’ve shared, everything they’ve experienced, it’s hers. It’s theirs. The rules of Hell be damned, because she no longer feels that way. She’ll do what she has to do, but not without this. “Dunno, maybe.” She repeats with the same amount of smug that he exudes. “Only if you make me.” 

Too easy to flirt. Too easy to look at him and know that she’s in over her head, but she doesn’t care. The cap of her water bottle turns off easily, and she takes a sip to wet her mouth that felt dry from endless kisses.

It’s too late when the water burns her mouth. Sears. A pain she hasn’t felt in months, and it’s so severe that the bottle slips from her hands and drops to the floor below, spilling out. Her eyes turn that charcoal black as she sputters and coughs.