in bad faith

@malxfide liked for a starter !!

She's in the kiddie pool with the beers. Her matching skirt and bralette cling to her like shrink wrap, like she got her hands on a picnic blanket. All red and white plait, Coors in hand. When Vincent drifts closer she readily dispenses a drink to him. Her touch is ice-cold compared to the sweltering summer air. A heat wave has gripped them and slowed all progress to a crawl. Miriam, in turn, has pivoted to preaching the merits of sunscreen.

His head tilted in her direction as the subject shifts, eyes opening to give her his full attention. "Utah?" There was a brief moment of consideration. "Can't say I've ever been. We should have enough to get us there." He'd make sure of that at least.

by the time her feet hit the pavement, office lights are out and the door’s locked. she clips her keys onto the front loop of her shorts, rushing to slip her shoulder under his arm, “the hell happened to you?” voice low, deeper than some would expect, a ghost of the place that raised her lingering.  

she changes her mind, “don’t say shit.” not that he’d’ve answered. never know when some local dickbadge is around — all that church money raised for new cruisers just for a specific few to resist. oscillating between their old ones and unmarked department cars.

bullshit aside. at least their colors have range. complicit cranberry. bury-evidence brown. ignore-witness indigo.

tugging him with her, teresa does her worst pretending there is nothing strange about the truck … or how every shift of her hand finds a new stickywet spot. she waits to look down until they’re standing outside a vacant room.

a vein, old and deep, pulses beneath the pavement, at odds with her forced apathy. above them, the dim yellow bulb flickers, teasing flashes of red on him — now her — until she finally slips her skeleton key into the lock. one more minute of fumbling and she would have fooled herself into believing the blinking is morse code.

even as she drags him into the bathroom, drops him onto the toilet lid, she’s not entirely convinced it isn’t. teresa leaves only to lock the door and grab towels tucked above the sink. soaking a few questionably stained, but clean, in water.

her knees are quick to press into tiles. first, she fiddles with the remaining, still slippery, buttons on his shirt. next, her attention is on wiping vincent’s hands, his arms, and over his shoulders. teresa is well practiced in the art of cleaning messes. grateful when each spot of drying blood, so far, isn’t hiding something worse. despite an attempt at softness, “how much of this is …” she looks up but does not focus on him, “you need stitches or not?”

Mouth opened as if he was going to actually answer but he quickly fell silent at her instruction not say anything. At least she able to think smartly about those who might linger around. His brain was too far jumbled to think that far out.

Someone might as well have put his brain in jar and shook it up before putting it back.

Vincent didn't complain or protest or resist anything. But he can feel the way that her hand finds the wet spots in his clothes, cold wetness pressing into his own skin. It's all a mess. And that was starting to add to problem. The longer he stood there in ruined clothes, with crimson spatters and smudges on his skin, the more it fed into the panic.

Once ass hit toilet lid, Vincent blinked and found himself more in the moment than he had been before. He watched as Teresa knelt down in front of him and he didn't fight it. Instead for once in his life he was far more acquiescent than he had ever been before. A shower would be needed but for now he was fine with letting her assess everything.

He just continued watched her, hands and arms pliant for her move as she needed. It wasn't until she spoke that hazel eyes moved to find hers, shaking his head. "The blood isn't mine." Partially true but in his mind, it was fully true. Most of it wasn't his own. And he had blocked out any pain that might have been radiating from under his skin.

A skill had had learned far too many years prior.

A skill that made it easy for him to ignore the gash on his right side. Fabric sticking to dried blood around the edge didn't even call his attention to it.

adapt to the hand that you were dealt. show them that you are s t r o n g e r than they could ever imagine.

(  we  love  angst  on  this  blog,  what  can  we  say.  here’s  some  more  dialogue  prompts  for  you.  a  warning  for  potentially  triggering  themes  below.  )

❛ everything you touch, you ruin. ❜

❛ the only one who gets to kill you, is me. ❜

❛ you can’t make me disappear. ❜

❛ memories are only there to make you bleed. ❜

❛ i don’t need your permission. ❜

❛ don’t shut me out like this. ❜

❛ the less you know, the better. ❜

❛ i won’t stop killing until you kill me. ❜

❛ why is it whenever we see each other, you’re covered in blood? ❜

❛ you think i felt something for you? you’ve forgotten what i am. ❜

❛ the last time we talked, didn’t you say you wanted to kill me? ❜

❛ i felt something loosen in me that shouldn’t have been loosened. ❜

❛ pull yourself together. we have work to do. ❜

❛ stay back, i have a demon inside of me. ❜

❛ let me get closer, i have a hell inside of me where your demon can live. ❜

❛ people like that don’t deserve to live. ❜

❛ just do what you’re told. like you always do. ❜

❛ why do you have to make everyone hate you? ❜

❛ it’s better that you don’t get involved. ❜

❛ i’d do anything to make you stay. ❜

❛ who cares if it bleeds. ❜

❛ is this what you think love is? ❜

❛ just breathe through it. it gets easier. ❜

❛ don’t pretend that you cared about me. ❜

❛ i’m starting to think you like wasting my time. ❜

❛ we wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for me. ❜

❛ i will never, ever, give you a moment’s peace. ❜

❛ the world doesn’t hate us. but it doesn’t love us either. ❜

❛ it hurts that you still can’t trust me after all this time. ❜

❛ a darkness with voices is better than a silent void. ❜

❛ it’s safer to be feared, than loved. ❜

❛ am i not good enough for you? ❜

❛ a burnt child loves the fire. ❜

❛ i’m tired of dying. ❜

❛ what if you hurt because it feels good? ❜

❛ don’t try to fix me, i’m not broken. ❜

❛ if you want me to die, you can just say so. ❜

❛ you don’t have to be afraid of who you are. ❜

❛ that line disappears once you cross it. ❜

❛ how can i believe you after all you’ve done? ❜

❛ i won’t let you forget about me. ❜

❛ the person you once knew me as, died. ❜

❛ are you going to leave me again? ❜

❛ i have nothing i could offer you. ❜

❛ no one is going to save you. no one can. ❜

❛ maybe you’re / i’m already dead. ❜ 

❛ you have blood on your hands. ❜

❛ what, can’t take a punch? ❜

❛ i’m your mind giving you someone to talk to. ❜

He was at a loss, his mind refusing to comprehend what he was seeing -- even when the conclusion had to be abundantly clear. He should at least have an inkling of what had just happened. Or at least a hypothesis.

Instead, his mind drew a complete blank. He felt numb. Numb and cold. And so very alone, despite the fact there was someone right there with him.

Part of him wanted to scream, for a reason he couldn't even start to explain.

The rest of him just idled and won out, keeping him quiet for a few moment longer.

"... me?" He looked at the other with wide eyes. "I--" He shook his head minutely. "I- I didn' do anythin'..." Not that he knew of at least... He slowly got up, wavering a little. But the marks around him--

He felt dizzy.

His hand shook when he reached for his head. It was wet. Wet with blood -- and that made him shake even harder -- but underneath, his flesh was unmarred.

"I- I got shot--" He recalled with a shaky voice. "I got shot, but--" But he was alive. He was alive and he was unharmed despite the blood that should say otherwise. He was alive, and his attackers were dead. Charred beyond recognition. And the marks around him--

He held his head in both hands, gripping his hair tight. The urge to scream was getting stronger and stronger--

But there was someone there with him. And that was enough to anchor him.

For now.

He watched him as he finally stood, checking a spot on his head. A hum escaped his lips as he saw the blood now coated on his hand but it wasn't like he moved to try and help if there was a true injury. He was not exactly in the business of helping people.

Still rather curious and unable to stay put for too long, Vincent let himself wander over to one of the charred bodies. "Well, not fatally apparently." Of course he didn't know the context of it all. Just the details that were before him. He could make some assumptions given what he was seeing but he had to force himself to take one step at a time.

Even if there was some more excitement bubbling beneath the surface of his skin.

The toe of his shoe made contact with the body, the first layer of char flaking away at the agitation. He would have kept pushing to see just how burned they where but he kept some bit of decency not to.