thirteen

there’s nothing to look into. that’s what she’d been told, but sarah wasn’t accepting that as an answer — it was too suspicious, there had to be something that was missed. director graham had insisted that she not pursue this, that she prepare for her next mission, and leave all things jeremy hadley related alone. she was off book with this one, but intended to pursue it never the less. agents died all the time, but not like this; there was something more to this, and she’d be damned if she didn’t find out what it was.

it’s easy to stay quiet for as long as she needs to; she’s been trained, she can enter a room silently, only alerting her enemy ( though, perhaps not in this case ) of her presence when she wants them to know she’s there. the thud occurs intentionally, as she closes the window behind her, gaze scanning the room carefully. she’s aware the other woman had addressed her, but she needs to assess the situation first, check the perimeter and assure that they’re secure, that they’re alone. rather than answering the question, she shoots out one of her own: “what do you know about jeremy hadley?”

   she is as stunning as remy is stunned. her head  snaps  to the direction of a foreign    voice that remy had half expected to be her sister. but a dreamer can only count on    wishful thinking in desperate times. amy’s  been gone ever since she  could run. no,     there  were  never  any  blondes  in  the  family  anyway.  natural ones, at least. long     cotton sleeves swipe away at tear stains that gave away more information than she    liked  but remy figures there’s little left to be known if the woman could speak of his    name. remy shakes her head,  molars grinding. jeremy never mentioned a girlfriend,     nor a colleague for that matter--  but  perhaps  he’s  just  a  good  a  liar  as  she  is.     was. perhaps he was  just as good as her. but look where that got them. she knows    never to answer first. 

   she is  trying not to think of him. but no matter how many pillows or arms she’s     buried  herself  in, the stain of him stays painted behind the lids of her eyes. all    she did was push the plunger-- then everything stopped. everything was quiet.     no sister grows up thinking that an end like this might inevitably come, but she    did. the way that their house moulded their experiences prepared them for the    worst-- she just never prepared for what comes after. hell, if taking a man’s life    was easy, it would’ve become fashionable years ago. 

   the thought forces her to smile, amid the  salty  tears she’s given up on wiping    away. it would’ve been just  like  jeremy to have said something like that to her.     it was just that  remy  never  realised that once she had  completed  her duties    as a sister, she’d be alone, truly alone, for the  first  time. who was going to be    there to teach her to fight, or help her stay clean? who  would  tell  her  to stay     behind him just as they hear a foreign thud from behind? she startles. 

there’s a mischievous glean in addison’s eyes, her hands extend outward reaching for remy’s whilst she stands on her heels.  slowly, she spins herself into the other’s embrace, gingerly placing her hand on her own neck.  “ dance with me? ”  cue love don’t cost a thing playing in the background – someone’s been watching tiktok dances lately… a lot of them, actually. 

@prxdigaldaughter​ 

      “trick question?”

   prickling blue eyes flash upward at the invitation.  remy  had  never been much of    a dancer outside of the comfort of a dark room and its neon lights. all that money    her father spent on ballet classes, she now realises, were  perhaps spent in effort    to keep her out of the house moreso than to grace her with the  sense  of rhythm.     her hand reaches out  nevertheless,  setting  down  the  glass  of  merlot--  she’d    humour addison,  but addison’ll be the one to settle  for  remy’s  teetering  about.     fingers gently grace the small of addison’s waist. 

kindred are a rare sight here.    it’s a human bar.    she works there wishing to remain as close to them as possible   ——   not to feast whenever she wants,   but to hold on to that part of her.    maybe rare,   however not impossible;    many come to find prey,   or to pour booze down their aching throats,   desperate for the numbness it brings.    a busy night,   but she catches her regardless,   her kin stands out in the crowd like she’s glowing   —   scent lingers,   pulls Megan forth,   in the mass of mortality she’s alone.    they match.    ❛  anythin’ I can get you or are you just browsin’?  ❜ 

  like how a paring knife makes quick work in the hands of nimble fingers,    she peels away from the growing crowd to hone in  on the only figure of   interest. to be frank, the only thing she had missed about  being human   was how it felt to be high. sure, being  drunk  on  a  human  came close   aplenty-- but there  was  never  anything  else  quite  like it. alcohol had   always been personal. 

  fingertips drum against the countertop,  with  each  thud  attempting to    toss out the anxious thoughts plaguing her. meeting another of her kind   alone rarely went  as  smoothly  as  she  liked.  for  things  that’ve  seen    centuries, civilities can truly fly out the window in haste. remy measures   her words with a teaspoon. 

@prxdigaldaughter​

it has been   ——   a while since she had gone home early.    her activities kept her up late and away from home that seemed cold.    whether it was her work or gym,   or a pub with unknown faces surrounding her,   each time she ended up at the same spot   ——   dozing off on the couch of their   (  their?    her?    who could tell anymore,   feeling a stranger in her own house  )   living room.  

❛  so this is where all the cool kids gather after school,   huh?  ❜    Lucille’s nursing a beer,   her feet won’t carry her home until she’s buzzed   —   just to snooze the tension.    the crowd is young,   and although she had reluctantly accepted the proposal to go out on a Friday night,   she doesn’t rush to leave.    ❛  real…    hip.  ❜ 

   remy eyes up her counter-partner. not to be rude-- it’s just how she tended    to be, particularly after a long day and with  a long   stiff  drink  in  hand.  of     course, as much as she needed stiff, there was nothing quite as welcoming    as a gentle smile. so she offers one. 

  a saturday night like any other-- another blip in time it’ll become now   that she’s gotten slapped with a curse that remy  preferred  over  the   one her mother handed down. its a bar she’d been intending  to  visit   for a while now. and as the moon trails  behind  all  six inches  of  her   heels, all remy knows now is to have a good time. 

@prxdigaldaughter​ because.

a pair of inquisitive eyes run through the buttons before her.         some were yellow,   green or orange,   others a boring gray,  but there,   bright red and popping out like a sore thumb.         her damned lack of self control!         Satana’s reaching to press it.        ❛  ooh, what does this one do?  ❜

  the lull of the incessant whomping is almost meditative, if not for the curious case   of satana buzzing above the thumps of the mri  machine. she shouldn’t be in here,   both remy and her infernal pal, but her hunches  are almost  never  wrong and her   boss was nothing more than a  stick up an asshole (cuddy, of  course).  she  leaps,   up and out as hands flicker around the emergency stop button. 

     “no!”

  they didn’t need to be around for yet another hour to redo everything.