#cmlsan

“Aaand I would just need another signature here aandddd here.” Blonde Blazer tapped the paper on her desk, the sound of her gloved finger on the wooden surface made a nice 'tap' sound, satisfactory really, you wanted her to do it again. “Sorry, I know it's a lengthy process, we just want to be… thorough”.

“I wouldn't expect it to be any other way”.

“Of course, Mister Grim”

“Doctor Grimm, I have a PhD”.

“Oh yeah, my bad”.

“And he studied medicine” You added.

Blonde Blazer gave you a puzzled look, quizzical, yet gentle, THAT, was a hero. Now, if she could only tap her fingers again.

“Well, doctor, I am overjoyed to finally say your daughter is now a proud member of SDN” Oh yeah, that wasn't so cool.

Doctor Grimm (not Grim though it is certainly fitting) is a powerful sorcerer, the most powerful magical user known to the public, an interplanetary and interdimensional diplomat, one of the global top heroes and unfortunately your father; many people (specially in this economy) dream of suddenly getting an inheritance from a distant relative, to get picked from a crowd by an artist while reading, to get noticed by a talent agent in the middle of a busy street, just get noticed by someone so that their life can be suddenly fixed, you knew better than anyone else that all of those fantasies were bullshit.

At the tender age of 10 you were found by the all mighty Doctor Grimm, you had stolen his wallet and while he chased you trying to get it back (because apparently sorcery is not such a good business that you have to run through the streets of New York just to get, what? Ten dollars and a costco card?) he found promise in you, a hidden talent, a gift.

And so he took you in, began training you, and soon enough he had legally adopted you, little miss Grimm.

Not that that was your hero name, no, that was so corny.

Your father simply called you by your name, you called him doctor, on the occasion that you felt more affectionate you would call him father, and it was in those heartfelt moments that you called him dad; contrary to popular belief and his cold exterior, the Doctor was quite affectionate to those who could withstand the rougher edges of his personality, considering you came from a very strict household yourself, living with him was much more lenient than you were used to, “this must be why white kids get away with so much shit” you said one day at the age of fourteen.

It was a good life, certainly better than many are able to claim, but it was still such a heavy burden.

“So, when would she start?”

Being the daughter of THE Doctor Grimm meant you had to take his place one day.

“I was thinking maybe next week would be good. She can rest and be fresh for her first shift”.

It meant being always on edge.

“Oh”.

It meant being ready for anything.

“I was expecting she would start this shift”.

It meant dealing with that type of shit for starters.

“Oh,” Blonde Blazer looked at you for a second, “Um, maybe it's best to wait, the team is kind of busy right now so I don't think it would be a great idea to send her in right now.”

“So what I'm hearing is your team lacks adaptability.”

“No, I mean-”

“That is not good, what would they do if they were ambushed right here?”

“Weren’t they-” you cleared your throat, “weren't they ambushed during the whole Shroud thing?”

Blazer shoot you a gentle smile, finally realizing you were on her side, maybe.

Your father looked at you, then at Blazer he let out a sigh, while the not Blonde hero may have thought him to be demanding, demeaning and severe, you knew his words came from a place of genuine worry and concern for their safety, the safety of civilians, but most importantly, your safety.

"I suppose... it won't hurt to wait."

"What if she begins tomorrow?"

God fucking damn it.

"She can get to know the team and the innerworkings of the company, for the remaining days of this week we can send her as a second to the other members, on Monday she can go solo, if her dispatcher deems it fitting that is."

You and your father pondered the possibility, for you it was not great, you knew that this thing was happening, your father's decision was final and you had no way of salvaging or changing your fate, but you had at least hoped you could get some days of freedom before chaining yourself to corporate heroism, kind of like a bachelorette, starting tomorrow wasn't going to give you much room to freak the freak out or whatever. You turned to your father, in your eyes a silent plead, a plead he didn't take into consideration as he just shook his head dismissively (it was impressive how despite having his eyes closed he still knew what you were doing. dad powers or just powers?), deep in thought he furrowed his brows and answered calmly, "Agreed".

And just like that, you were screwed.

"Great!" Blonde Blazer beamed almost literally, "So it's settled then, your daughter will start tomorrow!"

You gave her a smile, you were internally screaming and pulling your hair but you had to smile, otherwise you would not hear the end of it on your way back home "Can't wait".

"So, for the hero name" your father spoke.

"Oh, I was thinking about something like Starlight, has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Sounds hopeful and it doesn't sound too old, but it is the kind of name that doesn't sound too youthful and grows with you... am I making sense?"

"I do like how it sounds." Your father added.

Well I don't.

"What do you think?"

OH FINALLY THEY ASK YOU.

"It's okay."

FUCK.

"Okay, so I will get everything ready for tomorrow".

"Miss Blazer," your father spoke "Don't go easy on her."

Blonde Blazer let out a small laugh "I won't."

Yeah, that wasn't great either.

“So, Starlight.”

“I hate that name.”

“It's better than Eclipse.”

“It's so corny.”

“And Eclipse isn't?”

The flight to your apartment was turtuous, why did you need to fly anyway? You could just portal up! That required way less effort, it was more practical.

“Listen, you need to make a change, rebrand.”

“Since when do you care about branding?”

“There's a lot of power and charge in a name, when does a fairy own you?”

“When you tell it your name” you groaned out.

This apartment in which you were to be living for the next few weeks (hopefully) was half an hour away from SDN, (a second away by portal actually), it was new, it was cold, it was white, it was almost empty, perfect for a fresh start. Your father had bought it for you (how?), he wanted to have you as far away from New York as possible, but still within reach, a different continent would be too far away and that was an issue.

I cannot stress enough how that issue could also be solved with portals.

“Why are we flying?”

“Training.”

“No, you hate flying out of battle, why are we flying?”

The doctor stood still, the wind moved his cloak elegantly giving him an air of mystery, he turned away.

“How is the Theremin going?”

Deflection, as expected. 

“Cool, I guess.” You went along with it, “I like it, it makes a groovy sound, y'know like-” you made a wiggly movement with your arms and head, “like that.”

The doctor smiled, “I'm glad”.

You arrived at the apartment, cold, almost empty, white, new, the only thing installed was a TV on top of an empty cabinet and a small table in the middle of the room, this was to become your new living room. Your father snapped his fingers and a bunch of boxes appeared before you, all of them labelled “stuff”, “other stuff”, “cositas”, “shredder”, “clothes”, “ropita chida”, “blankets”, “shitty blankets”.

So he couldn't open up a portal to the apartment but he could just snap some boxes?

You snapped your fingers and a couch appeared in the middle of the room. 

“You really should be unpacking.”

You layed on the sofa, stretching your limbs, flying could be really uncomfortable. “I really don't want to.”

“Have you forgotten you start tomorrow?”

You extended your arm and opened your hand, making the tv remote slowly levitate towards your hand, your father caught it mid air and you remained with your arm still up. 

“Your laziness is astounding.”

“Whatever.” You rolled to your side and faced the cushions, not wanting to face him or the consequences of your actions for a long time.

The Doctor walked towards the boxes, his eyes seemingly scanning them, he kneeled down and opened the boxes labeled as “clothes” and “ropita chida”.

“What's the difference between these?”

“One box has cool clothes, the other just has clothes.”

“Are any of them safe for work?”

“I used all of them at my job.”

“As a club singer.”

"Cabaret, and it was fancy cabaret too so."

"You do realize that makes it worse, right?"

You rolled your eyes and stood up from the couch, you went to the kitchen, it was fully equipped fortunately, nothing fancy but it had all you needed. You opened the fridge, empty, you closed the door and after 2 seconds you opened it again, full. You took two tomatoes and bit into one of them like it was an apple, then tossed the other to your father who caught it effortlessly without even looking at it.

“I’m gonna put a spell on that” he bit into the tomato, “you are going to start a job, a legitimate one, so you will be able to pay for your own groceries, not portal up my fridge.”

“What is even the point? It's not like I'm gonna die of hunger, also, you always forget to eat and your food gets spoiled, I'm doing you a favor.”

“That's the issue, you give your body for granted, you don't take care of it. You may not die of hunger, but you will live sick your whole life and that is not good for someone in your condition” He took another bite from the tomato “besides, I am in full control of my eating habits.”

“I once saw you faint on your way to the kitchen after working on a spell for 6 hours.”

"I am in full control of them."

You couldn't help but let out a snicker.

You went back to your father's side, looking at all the boxes, you really didn't feel like cleaning.

And neither did he.

"Maybe," he spoke "you should use magic to put this in it's place."

"You know what? You are absolutely right sir."

"And we should order a pizza."

"And watch White Chicks."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

In just a blink you were both in pajamas, sitting on the couch, waving your hand you began moving all the things in the boxes towards your room, hoping they didn't break, moving stuff was easier when you knew by memory the layout of the place, which you didn't but you did not have any interest in standing up, fortunately you knew where the theremin was, so you were sure you wouldn't knock it over.

That shit was expensive.

"Do you have anything in you room? At all?" Your father asked while selecting the movie.

"Yeah, the bed and the desk."

"I put that there, yesterday."

"And it's still there."

You took out your phone, "Do you think Cesare has opened yet?"

"It's 3 pm, I think he opens at 5..."

"Oh so he's open."

"I belive so."

You looked in your contacts for Cesare, there he was, "Cesare, Pizza" you dialed the number and a voice answered.

"Sup." A girl answered.

"Hey Felicia-"

"Héctor isn't home."

"Oh, it's okay, I'll have a half pepperoni half mushroom, a black olives with serrano ham one and uhhh the one with the pears...?"

"Pick up, right?"

"Yup."

"Ready in 45 minutes."

"Okay, thank you!"

You turned around and gave an awkward thumbs up to your father who was waiting for you to play the movie.

"Did you put it in spanish?" You asked.

"Yes."

"Okay cool."

The movie went on for 40 minutes, behind you all the clothes and trinkets in the boxes floated out of them and into your bedroom, so far no crashing sound was heard, the only sound was you mumbling every single dialogue of the movie until your phone rang.

"Bueno?"

"Hey girl, your pizza is ready."

"Pizza is ready" you mouthed to your father who proceeded to open a small window-like portal, he took out his wallet and gave cash to the girl on the other side of the neat looking rift, she handed her the boxes and you waved hi to her as you finished the call and your father closed the small portal. You set the boxes on top of the small table, you opened the boxes one by one, pear and gorgonzola, black olives and serrano and finally, half pepperoni half mushrooms. You eagerly took a slice of the pear pizza as your father peeked at the half pepperoni and saw the horrors.

"This is not half and half"

"What do you mean?" you asked with your mouth full and quickly swallowed.

You looked at the pizza and saw he was right, it was mixed.

"Was Héctor not available? He is the only one who gets it right... I don't want to eat this anymore"

You sat there, looking at your dad with disbelief in your eyes, that meant he would eat more of the black olives pizza, that's why you had asked specifically for a half and half, this man was not going to eat ingredients that touched each other, you closed the box and let it cool before putting it in the fridge, that would be your breakfast lunch and dinner for the next day. You closed the fridge, and opened it again to find your father's fridge's contents once again and took a wine bottle, you closed the fridge, open the cabinet doors above the stove, empty, you turned your eyes to the ground, the kitchen utensils and glassware were still in the boxes, you looked at the empty cabinet once more, you closed the doors, you closed your eyes and focused every fiber of your mind on picturing the way the cabinets in your old apartment were stored, you opened the doors once more and the whole glassware was there, you took out too wine cups and filled them up, you turned to the now empty boxes, picked them up and threw them in the trash, then went back to the couch with both glasses.

"Have you thought about cutting the alcohol?" your father asked as he swayed his glass.

"Not really, is not like I drink all the time, it's not that I like the alcohol" you took a sip of your drink, "I like the fruity taste".

The movie went on and after a pause your father spoke once again.

"So, about your suit... what are you wearing tomorrow?"

"I... actually hadn't thought about that."

"What about you training clothes?"

"Nah"

"You are not thinking about using the Eclipse suite, are you?"

"No. Speaking of suits though," you took another sip, "Did you already know Blonde Blazer or...?"

"This was my first time meeting her in person, I had already contacted her some months ago, via e-mail... I suppose she was busy with the whole Shroud ordeal, she only got back to me a few days ago."

"But how did you know that woman was Blonde Blazer?"

"I reconized her amulet from a book, so I already knew that her civilian identity would not be a one on one resemblance."

"Oh, I see."

You took another slice of pizza, trying to focus on the movie, but that sense of dread forming in the bottom of your stomach kept growing and turning so you decided to actually speak. "Father... I don't... want to do this."

He didn't look at you, his eyes fixated on the screen, but you knew he was listening to you.

"Dad-"

"This will be good for you."

"From where I see it, this only benefits you and your so called image."

"Is that really what you think? That I'm doing this for me?"

"Well yeah, who else is worried about people seeing the GREAT Doctor Grimm and his screw-up daughter?"

"You should be worried about that, not because of what others may think, but because I don't want to find you passed out in an alley with a bullet in your brain!"

You paused, his jaw was clenching.

"That was one time-"

"Here we go!"

"You weren't even there!"

"Well now I am! And I am not letting you throw away your life, not again."

Fine.

"Fine!"

The movie was almost finished, it wasn't even 5 pm yet, and you were already tired.

"Dad."

The Doctor turned to face you, you didn't say anything, you just looked at him and he knew what was going on, he hugged you and stood up.

"I'm going now, you will be fine, Blonde Blazer will take good care of you and you will meet new people."

You looked at your feet and sighed "I guess so."

"Speaking of which," he took the remaining slices of pizza and put them in a single box, "you will need to find a new pizza place."

"What? Why?"

"Cesare's is all the way in New York, that's too far."

"So? that's what portals are for."

"Yeah, well you can't use them anymore."

Now that was unacceptable, you stood up quickly and followed him as he made his way to the kitchen. "What? Why?! HOW?!"

"Think of it this way, you avoid people and other nuances with portas, right? Well, now if you walk or fly you can't!"

"Which means I'm gonna have to deal with lots of unnecessary shit."

"Which means you are going to meet new people."

"For what purpose?!"

The Doctor opened the fridge (making sure it was your fridge and not his) and put the pizza and the wine bottle inside it "Take this- all of this, as my housewarming gift."

To make things worse, the Doctor opened a portal to his own studio, scattered papers and the smell of ink seeping throug the portal, he gave you a firm handshake and a quick kiss in your forehead, and you felt it; he had put a spell on you.

"Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me."

The Doctor stepped through the portal and once he was on the other side he spoke "It's for the best, you have no idea how much exercise you get by going up and down the stairs."

"THAT'S LITERALLY THE WORST THING EVER!"

"You can always fly!"

"I HATE YOU SO MUCH."

"I love you too kid." and with that, the Doctor closed his portal, leaving you alone with your movie and a sealed power.

You wanted to be the impossible:

A film maker.

Not only was filmmaking a male dominated field, but it was so hard to get in that even said men struggled immensely to achieve it; you tried your best to enter it, at first as an actress, you were an amazing actress, and given the industry's demand for ladies in musical roles (at the time) you were on your way to become one of the greatest leading ladies of all times.

But you wanted to be the one writing and directing.

Fortunately your acting career didn't last long, after getting into an argument with the star of the movie where you were performing as a dancer. Whatever, you didn't want to be an actress anyway, if anything this was good, you got to work on set and now you knew how to handle divas; but when you went to other studios, none of them let you in.

So you made the rational choice and left your dear homeland to venture into Hollywood, unfortunately destiny and its funny ways made you end up in New York City.

Whatever, still good. Right?

The year was 1944, you had recently turned 20 and landed a work in a studio as a secretary to the producer of a talk show, the host was gorgeous, a tall, freckled man, charismatic, friendly, a team player, but a whisper reached your boss’ ears:

Vincent Whittman.

A news anchor from some place called Delaware, a former weatherman who took over the position after the former anchor was found dead in an alley.

Gruesome.

And just like that murder scene, Vincent Whittman was breathtaking, no one could look away. Handsome, slick, elegant, charismatic, yet there was a certain oddness to him that only added to his charm.

He came into the studio multiple times, your boss was considering him as an addition to the chain, perhaps he would have him as a guest in the talk show, “Let's see who the public likes more, Mister Freckles or Mister Eyes”.

You turned to look at him, he was chatting and laughing with the crew and some members of the audience, truly a man of the people, somehow he must have felt your stare as he turned and looked at you directly in the eye, sending a shiver down your spine, he gave you a cocky smile, you felt blood going to (or was it from?) your cheeks and turned away to be met with your boss' knowing smile, “Mr. Eyes it is then”.

And he was right.

The audience adored him, they roared with laughter at his quick remarks, blushed at his suave attitude and sultry voice, and if that wasn't enough to give him the spotlight, a few days after, during a late-night rehearsal, a spotlight fell and crushed the former host.

And so, Vincent Whittman became the new host of the show.

“Oh Bob,” he said as he shook your boss’ hand, “even if the circumstances are less than ideal, I am excited to be part of your team.”

He went back to his former studio for a quick thank you and goodbye, he almost convinced you with how sad he sounded, but it was understandable, you would do the exact same if they offered you a place in the writing team.

Lucky him.

In just a matter of days Vincent had taken over the whole studio, women were throwing themselves at his feet, and while you didn't actively pursue his attention, you couldn't deny you yearned for that gaze to fall upon you once more like it had done the first time you saw him. You were embarrassed to admit that you too were falling prey to the allure of having the attention and desire of an older man.

Soon enough you too caught Vincent's eye, how couldn't you? You were young, beautiful and “exotic”, and something about getting the producer’s secretary was so tempting. At first, he just wanted to fool around with you, saying hi to you every day, walking near you, getting a little too close to make you blush, then leave you hot and bothered, and it worked, you were completely head over heels for this man.

“Well hello miss,” he stepped into your line of sight one day while the crew was busy and your boss was on a meeting.

“Mr. Whittman.”

“Oh doll, no need to be so formal” he grabbed your shoulders and then his voice dropped, “Call me Vincent.”

Doll, you hated that term, and yet it poured like honey in your ear when he called you that.

“Oh sir, I couldn't call you just that, you are far too important.”

“Oh, kid.” He chuckled and gave you a squeeze but didn't try to correct you. “Say, is it true? That you want to get to Hollywood?”

“Where did you hear that? … Sir?”

“Ah so it is true.”

Vincent knew then how to get you, and so his faux courting began.

But it only took one conversation for him to be head over heels too.

He had told you to meet him at some restaurant in Little Italy, intimate but discreet, he asked for a booth that was far away from the window view, he didn't want you to focus on anything else but him, but also, he didn't want anyone to see you two.

The conversation began with the usual pleasantries, he faked interest until he finally popped the question.

“So, why is a girl such as yourself working as a secretary and not an actress? I know some people that may-”

“Oh I beg you not to tell them about me.”

“What do you mean? Why?”

“I've acted before and… well I do enjoy it but frankly I think it would just be a distraction, say I take up acting again, I make it big time, I would be just a pretty face, and I wouldn't get to write or direct movies.”

“You want to be a director?”

“I do, sir.”

“Well… I was not expecting that… But you're from south America, right? Mexican?”

You couldn't stop the change in your face.

“Mexico is in North America… Mr. Whittman, and yes, I am Mexican.”

Perhaps it was at that moment that he began looking at you differently.

“Oh, right, sorry, but what I mean to say is,” he took a sip of wine, trying to hide his embarrassment, “the movie industry is flourishing there, isn't it? Why come all the way over here?”

You took a sip of wine and spoke.

“I yelled at Silvia Pinal, they blacklisted me.”

Vincent erupted in laughter then and simply stared at you.

You just smiled.

Ever since that night Vincent took more notice of you.

You were fierce, as a woman you didn't get a chance to talk back or give orders, but you were cunning, slippery, silent, you played like a perfect porcelain doll to pull the strings of those around you.

It was intoxicating.

For you it was refreshing, sure he could be condescending at times, but you knew better than to put him on a pedestal, he was ignorant, the very face of the stereotypical All-American White Man, in a way it amused you, but sometimes you couldn’t help but want to strangle him with a wire. He also had a habit of trying to lecture you, grabbing your shoulders, letting out a soft condescending laugh, and always starting with “Oh my sweet innocent doll, don’t you know that everyone knows that…”, always speaking for the rest.

“Vox Populi.” you had thought out loud one time.

“What?”

“Oh, you know, vox populi, it means “the people’s voice.””

“Oh yeah I knew that,” he lied, “I just didn’t quite hear it, you have a terrible habit of mumbling, you know, doll?”

You didn’t.

“But what does that have to do with what I was saying right now, sweetheart?”

“I was just thinking that you know all these things,” you lied, “about people and sharks and other things too, but specially people,” that wasn’t a total lie, “so you uhhh are like, the people’s voice, you know what they want to hear and see, you make everyone feel so good… and cherished.” That was a nice save… and also the truth.

Vincent smiled, letting out a soft “oh”, it seemed to be that for the first time he was the one blushing, it was evident to you then that this man loved praise above everything else, especially when it was (or at least seemed) sincere.

And so Vox became your little pet name for him, a name you would use every time he was being annoying, because what he thought was genuine praise turned him (a man almost twenty years older than you) into your very own obedient little Pavlov puppy.

Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he found you to be actually interesting, in a way that wasn’t threatening to him, your age factored in as well as the fact that you were looking into a different area in which he had no desire to participate, not yet at least, but he also knew that despite your passion and efforts it would be very hard for you to thrive, and so he removed a few obstacles for you. It was then that he knew for sure, he wanted you by his side as long as he were on this earth.

One night at your humble apartment he got on one knee and popped the question.

“Will you marry me?”

You couldn’t speak, your body went numb, unsure of whether it was fear, remorse or excitement you broke down in tears.

“Yes”.

He only had another request, it had to be a secret.

You agreed for a variety of reasons; you didn't want your life to be reduced to just “the wife of that famous host” (if you did manage to enter the film industry people would think it had been because of him), Vincent had always respected that, he never helped you climb higher, he knew you wanted to do it yourself, but he would tell you every time a spot was open in any filming crew, and when one of the skit writers in the talk show he oh so graciously took over went missing, he made sure to give you the info to send your work and join the writing team.

But you were not naive, despite how much you loved him and how much he loved you, you knew, he didn't just ask for the secrecy out of respect for your career, men in his position would have gladly thrown a lavish wedding to show off their super young wife, just like Elvis! Any other woman would have feared infidelity, but you knew him, if he had asked for it, it would be because he was getting something out of it that could benefit his own career; despite him saying it was all for your sake, you assumed that it was merely because him being single was much more attractive to his audience.

You agreed anyway, if you were being honest, you probably would’ve done the same.

Slowly “Vox” stopped being just a silly name to get him to do things for you or to stop being an asshole, but it became a reminder of the secret you both shared, the world may have Vincent, but Vox was yours and yours only.

And so the years went by, as all marriages do, you had your issues, but you solved them like all couples do.

A good example would be your initial shock to finding out his rising to the top was thanks to him being a serial killer.

It was an issue quickly solved.

It shocked you, yes, you had always thought that it was just his white man charisma, but obviously there was more to it.

You were at home, it was very late, 2 am, Vincent had told you he would be late again, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, so you got up, threw on a coat and made your way to the studio, once there you told the sleepy guard about how you had lost a pair of diamond earrings and had looked everywhere but the writing room, perhaps they had fallen off during your coffee run, and you were tossing and turning and couldn't sleep or wait until the morning to go look for them and you simply had to-

“Okay, just go in doll”. The guard cut you off and simply let you pass, he offered to help you, you said there was no need and walked in.

'Doll’, how you hated that word.

You made your way to the writing room so that Vincent wouldn't see you on the set’s main entrance, and there he was, cutting up a body, you could not tell who it belonged to, the face was beyond recognition. You stepped back and tripped on a wire making your body hit the floor, you let out a yelp and Vox turned around to face you, his eyes were wide, those beautiful eyes of his that looked at you with a special kind of warm every single day were now staring in your direction, a cold stare freezing your body in place, your brain screamed at you to move, to scream, to do anything at all, but you were there, paralyzed, not by your own fear but by his cold stare. He walked in your direction, slow steps, the weapon he had used still in his hand, he looked disheveled, his hair was messy, his breathing uneven, his sleeves were rolled up and his coat was nowhere to be seen, blood was smeared all over his dress shirt and slacks, and a few drops were at his pants and shoes. He looked at you and his face changed.

Fear.

“Doll, I-” his voice trembled, “This is-” couldn’t even form a full sentence, “I didn’t-”.

“How long?” Was the only thing you were able to ask.

“Long before we met.”

So that’s how he got that job…

He extended his hand to you, and you took it, despite how pale he looked, his hands were warm thanks to the blood of the man still laying on the floor.

“Who is that?”

“Doll-”

“Who. Is. That.”

You had never raised your voice at him before, and you immediately regretted it as his gaze changed to a subtle annoyance.

“Charlie.”

“The head writer?”

“No, the rookie writer, head writer is Charles…”

You walked over to Charlie’s body, after a close inspection, you determined it was indeed Charlie, a boy younger than you, with no experience and really bad writing, but he was passionate and dedicated, he had a full life ahead of him, everyone saw the heart in him, that’s why when the producers received the submission’s for the newly opened position for a writer they had chosen him and not you.

And that was when it hit you.

“Did you… do this… for me?”

Vincent felt relief wash over him, you understood him, you knew this was out of love and devotion for-

“Even after I told you NOT to help me?”

Vincent stepped back, you were so scared when you saw him covered in blood, but what got you to snap was not the fact that he was a murderer but that he had opened up spots for you to advance your career. Vincent was at a loss for words, but he was also ecstatic, you did not mind the murders, or at least it seemed that way. He chuckled, and he was back to looking at you with nothing but the purest form of devotion, he grabbed your cheeks and caressed them with his thumb. “Oh you pretty” a kiss on your right cheek, “young,” left cheek, “beautiful,” forehead, “thing.” your lips.

“This isn’t funny, Vincent.” you held his wrists, “Do you really think that little of me? That I didn’t have what it takes to move up? Is that why you keep me a secret? You would rather have some floozy actress by your side, someone people knew? Well too bad, you fell in love with ME. You hate that, don’t you? To love someone who is nothing, someone who can’t help YOUR career.”

“That’s not it, I swear!” tears began forming at your eyes, Vincent wiped them. “I was scared that… if I ever got caught… you would be harassed for it.” A lie. “I love you too much to let you suffer that fate, but I am too selfish to let you go.” The truth.

Vincent looked you in the eye, silently asking you to trust him, to listen; you let go of his hands and wiped your tears, mascara smeared all over your face, you didn’t even notice when you began crying, but it was certainly not after seeing the body. Vincent tried to hold you, you stepped away.

“I need to get home, now.”

“Honey, I-”

“You better dispose of that body before anyone finds it and blames me for it.”

“… Yes.”

“Well then, I’ll see you at home.”

“Wait!” Vincent walked over to the stage where his desk was and took his coat, he walked back to you. “Give me your coat, that stain is not gonna clean off.”

You took off your coat and reached for his, he didn't give it to you, instead he put it on you, you could see the remorse in his eyes, the way his hands shook with regret.

With nothing more to say you made your way back to the main entrance and left for home.

Stepping out of the taxi you greeted the doorman at the entrance of the building you now resided in, as you walked to the elevator you couldn’t help but curse at your beloved Vox for getting you to move to this gorgeous building, sure, you loved it, the apartments were enormous, the staff was discreet, and the Upper West side was certainly a lot nicer than the slum you lived in before, but it was just another thing he had bought for you, you hadn’t earned it, funny how a dead body could turn love into resentment.

Once the elevator doors opened you made your way to your apartment’s door, once you entered you fell to the ground for the second time that day. You wanted to scream, to break everything, but you couldn’t, instead you crawled to the bedroom and threw yourself on the bed, you didn’t even bother to change out of your blood stained pajamas, or to fix your makeup so that your husband didn’t see your bare face, but why would you have such pleasantries for him? He had just shown you his bare face, wasn’t it fair for you to do the same? Fuck him.

You stood up and made your way to the kitchen, as you rummaged through the cabinets looking for wine, images of the night flashed in your head, you thought about how he held your cheeks, how his body loomed over you, how you felt knowing he could strangle you with his own hands if he wanted to right there, he had probably done that before, the thought of it alone made you sob, you were pathetic, you could not have done anything to defend yourself, you were weak. You had to be stronger, you couldn’t let Vincent think he was the only one with power, he was not better than you, he was an ignorant buffoon who had only been able to get far in life by killing, HE was the pathetic one, not you.

You found the bottle, and went for a corkscrew, as you opened it, some drops fell on Vincent's coat.

His coat…

You took the coat off and made your way to the laundry room taking the wine bottle with you. How dare he? Had he been throwing away all his blood stained clothes? No, he cleaned them himself, or at least he had someone else do it, couldn't he do that for the rest of his clothes?

Once in the laundry room you looked at his shirts, white, expensive, if he had no problem in cleaning blood off his shirts, surely, he could get wine stains out of them too. You took off the coat and threw it with the rest of his shirts, you took one of them, the one he had used the day before, you took in its smell, his scent and his cologne, his aftershave and his sweat, you wanted to take it all in, the scent of the man you used to know.

You put down the wine bottle for a moment, soon you discarded the pajamas you were wearing and put his shirt on, then you reached once again for the bottle and poured wine all over the clothes. That oughta send a message alright.

You went back to the bedroom and tucked yourself in, your silk sheets would have make up smeared all over them, but who gave a shit, right? That was the least of your worries.

You laid there, quietly sobbing into your pillows, you were so angry at him and yet the lingering smell of Vincent soothed you. How dare he? How dare he make you feel this way? You were not even sure what you were feeling anymore, were you truly angry he had meddled in your (inexistent) career? Was that why you were so upset? No, no, it couldn't be that, because if that was the reason then that meant you were as sick as him, and you weren't. You were scared your husband was a murderer, yes, that was it! You were not a sociopath.

Another lie.

"The sincerity of your loyal mirror put vanity in you, you know my anxieties and take pleasure in the woes your pride makes fore me. Beauty, turn to pieces your mirror to see if maybe then I'll stop suffering from your haughtiness."

— Germán Valdés "Tin Tan"