WOLF LIKE ME

within an hour ,     he ends up here ,     not far from the fibers     of scratchy carpet ,     crusted of mysterious sap ,     not far from leftover chinese ,     festering within white cartons ,    not far from his badge ,     discarded and deliberately left behind on stand .     he’s aware of the gravity of his mistakes ,     either impending or pending of fate ,     and these in particular have yet to be made  …     still loitering ,     left of room for revocation     before it’s too late ,     but alas ,     he never glances over his shoulder ,     failing to wonder the possibilities of what’s likely     –     the sweats to succumb ,     the dizzy of a nauseating headache to die ,     or for things to go horribly wrong ,     for blood to congeal     along the dirt already smeared down his fingers ,     and for dread to finally stimulate his senses     and fill     the empty gap     in his chest . 

outcome ?     the burden     dwelling inside his head tells him ,     who cares .     and when door hauls open ,     it’s more eagerness than anything else     leaning hand on frame ,     letting him almost leer in with confidence ,     some kind of wild ,  excitable stare     in the pit of bulldog eyes ,     epitomizing man of desire ,     of vices that can’t go amiss ,  albeit spoken .     “ followed a vine straight to here     – ”     faster than he would’ve expected     –     it’s strange how these routes are easier to find now at this time of night ,     than they are in the middle of the job .      and yet ,     he remains unfazed for regularity of affairs ,     despite a noticeable contrast between one     and the other .     he barely spares them a second glance , turning more attuned to the space around them ,     the air over their shoulder ,     among surroundings     and what threats could be hiding .      

then ,  finally ,     fixes back onto their eyes  …    “   –     you can empty my pockets ,     whatever ,     i just need to find a way to sleep . ”

—

it takes a split second to process the image before their eyes, and the inevitable thought that pops up as the man leans over the door frame is a harmless rendition of he looks like shit. not that they aren’t used to this — the puffy eyes, half-crazed look. that, if anything, is the sign of good business, or a loyal customer if you will. surely someone who’ll come again, and again, and provide reliable payments for fear of any trouble. kara smirks, head tilted in curiosity. perhaps they get a kick not just out of the business — there’s a soft kind of pleasure in supplying to the self-named good guys, isn’t there? to know the light of whatever bright, morally-guiding lighthouse leads them gets dimmer each time they show up on their doorstep.

“thought you narcs got them for free on the job”. a half scoff let out (their disliking for that side of the law does not come from a nature-dictated rivalry between their factions. they just really can’t stand the stupid faces they pull when they claim to be sacrificing themselves for the greater good). a distant corner of their brain echoes back the notion that perhaps they should be able to sense a deeper sympathy for the man before them: recognize parts, if not of themselves, surely of their brother in the way he looks worn, shadow-like, half faded out of existence. the awareness instead only turns them harsher, their clay-like demeanor hardening at the intrusion of a thought much rather buried deep within. 

“you look like shit”. the off-handed remark hides a secret message — i have the upper hand, it says. you have your badges and your cuffs, your monthly pay and dental care, but i own the filthy core of your shame and the one thing keeping you as sane as someone as fucked up as you can be. kara smirks, stepping aside just enough to give off the appaearance that they care enough to let him in. “what do you need?”

@roadklls​ — that’s my car. 

location: parking lot in north side.  time: late evening. 

“She’s a bitch,” Jack murmured as he paced around the parking lot. His wandering gaze never seemed to stay in one place, or on one car for too long before he’d go on to the next. And who did he have to thank for his sudden need to steal a vehicle? His lovely sister of course. She had fucked him over. Bonded by blood, his own sister had been the one to take away any meaning Jack had left in his life and now, his car. “Took my damn car.” Sure, that was four years ago but it was his and the money she got for the parts she sold belonged to him too. He kissed that good-bye the moment he put two and two together upon his return to Red Ridge. Now he was left to his own devices. Jack passed one car after the next without so much as a second glance to those cars that had price tag worth phoning the cops for. “Rich asshole.” The observation came as the tall male eyed one of those perfectly clean white Tesla electric cars. 

But Jack’s own self serving monologue had come to an end the moment he realized he wasn’t alone. A tall man lurking in a parking lot, didn’t seem to raise suspicion at all…”Shit.” He began to dig around in his pockets until Jack produced a lighter, close enough to appear like a key fob as he pressed the top of the metal with his thumb repeatedly. The smile he gave the couple that passed him failed to reach his gaze. The same couple that had glanced back to look at Jack who finally came to rest on the hood of the first car within his proximity. A 2004 white Ford Explorer. Easy enough to lift, possibly. 

There was only one issue, once again he wasn’t alone. The couple may have left but now there was some woman in the parking lot making her way for…God, was this her car? Jack’s gaze fell to the lighter in his grasp. His brows knitted together and his lips pursed. His jaw strained, teeth pressed firmly down as his index finger began to once again tap against that metal lighter, but as he looked up, his shifty gaze once again caught sight of the same individual. Shit. 

—

truth be told, kara was bored. reasons for boredom could be many, though they’d mostly all gather around the notion that business was slow and jordan wasn’t around. a thursday night would usually be spent in a corner at violet, waiting for that unmistakable look by someone needing just the right fix for their sad excuse of a night out. but people hadn’t been much in the mood to party, lately, and kara’d been forced to venture out in other forms of business. it had been a while since the last time they’d jacked a car, usually a task too tiresome and somehow not truly enticing enough to justify the effort. but it was business, still: and, at least, a decent way to fill up an empty evening.

they were quiet as they walked around the parking lot — mindful of streetlights, security cameras, dark-claden and discreet, the very definition of inconspicuous. truth be told, that car wouldn’t have been their first choice, but they spotted a man lurking around it, and the way they hovered around the vehicle didn’t exactly give off the vibe of them being the owner. kara kept their distance, eyes narrowed as they watched the scene unfold. a vague smirk crossed their lips as they saw him sit on the hood of the car, perform a rather convincing act — one that might’ve fooled them, had kara not seen the prologue. of course, there could be the possibility he was just a very awkward dude, or that he’d lost his keys, that he was just weird. either way, kara decided to take a leap of faith (if anything, fuck around and get a kick out of it).

approaching the car slowly, kara tilted their head and stopped just a couple feet from the back of the car, arms crossed. “excuse me, if you wouldn’t mind getting your ass off my car, i’d need it”.

for a moment, the outside world went dark. there was nothing but kara: their lips, their hands, their light to draw her forward. kara kissed her and it felt like instinct; something natural, like going back to the very beginning. kara kissed her and jordan wanted more, always. their touch was enough to silence her, and reduce her to a state of sheer want. all she could do was offer them a gentle squeeze of the hand — she: a woman burning.

jordan waited for the garage door to shut before unraveling, her smirk a mirror image of kara’s own. “i can say the same for you, can’t i?” like magnets, she found herself following their every movement, orbiting around them and the space they occupied — space that she wanted in on. jordan pulled them toward her and placed their hand on the warm skin of her hips beneath her sweater, doing the same with their other hand, too. she’d never voice it, but jordan often felt she didn’t know who she was if she wasn’t being touched. what little solace she could find was here: planted in kara’s very own palms. 

jordan let her own hands travel up their arms — flesh against flesh — before brushing the hair out of their face, hands careful as they held the most beautiful face she’d ever seen. her lips had parted to speak, but jordan couldn’t help herself — not anymore. she leaned down to kiss them again, humming against their lips. “sorry i didn’t text first.” their noses rub sweetly, purposely. “doesn’t really look like i’m ruining any plans, though.” 

—

the awareness that they could lose control came to kara very early, and just as early it had terrified them — they’d spend a lifetime fighting the external world and its many pathogens, unplanned incursions threatening this self-preservating existence of theirs. and yet this moment found them spinning out of their planned trajectory — always, always slipping out of their own grasp when it was jordan’s hands grabbing them instead, guiding them onto different, winding paths. learning the concept of fear in a form they could accept: drink it down in its purest form, unadulterated adrenaline. lips curled against jordan’s, slipping in and out of a shape that barely felt coherent anymore (their very act something transcending the laws of physics, the way bodies were supposed to have a container: it felt like nothing but electricity instead, a map drawn out of jordan’s touch along their feverish, eager skin).

“you say that like this wasn’t your plan”. they tease, they never show too many cards: each display of want must be met with an equal and opposite demand, for this can be sweet and hungry and warm but it is, most of all, a gamble. their hands easily accommodate jordan’s movements, trailing the curve of her back upwards, fingertips grazing the ridge of her spine. kara’s mouth inches closer, leaves a trail of gentle, silent kisses along her cheek and then moves back again, over their lips. “what’d you tell them?”, kara whispers, a hand moving to tuck jordan’s hair behind her ear, the back of their fingers then grazing along the profile of her face. “that you’d be out catching a bad, dangerous villain?”. their smirk is sharp, cuts their face in half: it is a reminder, of sorts.

then they’re moving away. gently slipping like water, but welcoming jordan in the hazy, orange light of their garage. “want a drink?”, they muse, turning sideways towards her as they cross the length of the room to the tiny, camping fridge in a half-abandoned corner of their living quarters — there’s no alcohol they can offer anyway, just an ungodly amount of cola and a couple drinks that look far too pink to be anywhere near healthy. still, theirs isn’t really a suggestive question: more an excuse to get her to stay 

♡

jordan was too baked to think of a witty response, much less a safe one. it was a bout of insomnia that’d brought her there — having since learned that tossing and turning in an empty bed wasn’t, in fact, the antidote for this bone-deep restlessness. see, it was kara that she thought about when she closed her eyes, when she was stuck staring at the ceiling, and when she decided to put a hand between her thighs. it was them; always them. this fixation felt metaphysical — cosmic, almost, in the way it beckoned her, having drawn her to this very doorstep. she swallowed, helpless against the way her heart raced. it didn’t matter that she’d smoked before this — jordan couldn’t hide from kara if she tried. her gaze followed the dip and swell of their form, eyes ever careful not to linger too long. she didn’t want to give them any ideas — not that the way she’d dressed would even allude to anything. her hair was mildly disheveled still, smelling of citrus and cannabis; her body hidden beneath a black hoodie and cotton shorts. it was sleepwear, pure and simple. 

her lips parted as if to say i’ve missed you, but there was no sound. only air — the same air that nipped at her skin and painted her in hues of pink. it was in that shared, quiet moment that it came to her: finally, the ‘safe’ answer. “if i let you touch my tits, will that cover it?” jordan stepped closer, a wry smile blossoming on her lips. behind them, she could hear the distant sound of a television running. she wanted to ask if there was someone else there, too, but that was a query better left unspoken. kara wasn’t hers; that wasn’t a thought she had any right to claim — and yet.. jordan ducked her head. smaller, softer now: “can i come inside?”

what a sick, twisted game they loved playing. kara had never been one to gamble, and poker had always felt far too slow, too strategic for them — but they figured this, whatever this was (the unspoken pull between their molecules, pulling into one another, pulling back, crashing, tossing, colliding) had to look a lot like it. laying out their cards, hiding them again — kara could feel blatantly exposed now, obscenely so, jordan’s gaze washing over their features and awarding them a new concept of body. they’d never much cared for the container of flesh keeping their organs in place — not until her eyes had begun giving them shape. they could feel something tingling, a flutter somewhere deep beneath: the smirk that raised the right corner of their lips was its physical expression, for lack of words to explain it. 

a knock on the metal door, this late at night, was far from unusual. over time, they’d come to consider it as part of the natural soundtrack surrounding them — the cars speeding not too far from their garage, on the highway. the distant howling of dogs and coyotes, as if becoming one by a rule of the wilderness. the gunshots, now and then, which somehow always brought a faded smirk along their lips. the knocking — among those sounds, perhaps it was their favorite. meant there was business to be done. meant, most of the time, that there were reasons to get bloody. lazily, kara dragged themselves out of the messy, disheveled bed they’d been lying on, absent mindedly watching a movie from the old, grainy tv in a corner of the room. crow raised his head lazily as they passed him, and kara patted his head delicately, letting him go back to sleep. (it’s alright, boy). 

when the loud, creaking door was dragged open, kara leaned against its frame, unashamed by their half nudity (on their person nothing but underwear and a shirt from the 1998 red ridge summer camp they never attended, but got a leftover shirt from one of the other kids at st. david’s — shouldn’t be so surprising that it still fits). arms crossed, there’s a curve to their eyebrows — half skeptical perhaps, but intrigued. “so? there’s a night fee for emergencies, you know”.

hello, rylan (27, she/her, gmt+2) again, introducing you to my lil angry hedgehog by the name of kara davidsen + more info, wanted connections. / @redridgeimp​

name: kara davidsen nicknames: n/a age: 31 ethnicity: Indigenous (Awaetlatla First Nations + Himalayan; this is unknown to them, as their arrival in the orphanage was not met with any information regarding their biological family). gender/pronouns: genderfluid, they/them, she/her sexual/romantic orientation: pansexual/demiromantic been in red ridge for: on and off all their life occupation: criminal (mostly drug dealing atm) affiliation: none (deviant, though occasionally will lend a hand to valencia or whoever needs it) positive traits: loyal, observant, clever, headstrong, generous, determinate. negative traits: proud, aggressive, cold, hot-headed, cruel, resentful.

BIOGRAPHY —

(WARNINGS for child abandonment, abuse, bullying, substance abuse, medical misconduct / patient abuse, overdosing, death, violence).