In less politically correct times in schools children who came bottom of the class or were struggling at particular subjects were called dunces and were even forced to sit in the corner wearing a pointed hat. In my day, I recall the term being used, although no one was forced to sit out or wear a hat. Nowadays, of course, teachers will strain their thesaurus to find an adjective that gives a…

Dorian looked up at Isobel quizzically, the lyrics he’d been half-assing while plotting their next kill immediately forgotten. He didn’t like her tone almost as much as he didn’t like what she was saying, but since she was his best ally, he’d give her a chance to explain. “’We’re through’? No, love, I daresay we’re just beginning. Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I am all but positive that the Sandman boy is Seraphina’s recycled soul-tether and I vote we act on it now. Waiting until her wedding every time is growing old and predictable, and even if we’re wrong, well, no one will miss him, will they? So let’s have some fun and rid the world of him tonight.”

He expected enthusiasm and excitement from his partner who was just as bloodthirsty as he was and even moreso sometimes; of all the reasons he valued Isobel, their shared bloodlust was one of his favorites. However, she looked bored bordering on hesitant which was just... odd. Dorian and Isobel had killed his heartless ex’s soulmate more than a few times now and she’d never reacted like this. “We could kill more people than just him tonight, if you’d like,” he suggested, thinking perhaps her problem with the plans was that she thought he was going soft. “Seraphina has some friends that we could take out as well while we’re at it.” 

Isobel shook her head and turned away, reiterating that she didn’t want to do this anymore. When she emphasized that word, the this, Dorian first thought that, stupidly, she was referring to their band, and he thought it was an odd time for Isobel to try and quit Original Sin. Perhaps he’d been too distracted during band rehearsal by this murder plot and she’d grown tired of it? But no, the way she was looking at him made him think it might be something else. Did they even have another this? 

That question was even stupider. Of course they had another ‘this’. They had a strange bond that was built on dreams of her that made meeting her eyes the next day difficult, on waves of silent understanding that flowed between them whenever their eyes met during carnal activities, on the words of the songs they sang to each other, on the way whenever they got too close his body’s first reaction was to both hold something too tight and to throw it as far away as he could. It was the same kind of bond he had been running from ever since someone he felt that strongly for had broken his heart once after dooming him to an eternity alone, and if he didn’t know that the way he had once felt Seraphina was the way he felt about Isobel now, her telling him that she wanted out certainly let him know. 

Isobel wanted to leave him. Just like everybody else did. 

“And I won’t let you go, so, appears we’re at a bit of an impasse, doesn’t it, Isobel?” he hissed. Dorian rarely used anybody’s name but calling her ‘love’ under the circumstances felt wrong. The idea of simply asking her to stay never even occured to him; forcing people came far more naturally, especially when he felt backed into a corner as he did now. “You can’t leave, I forbid it.”

He was fully yelling at her, and most other people would shrink away from it but Isobel didn’t. She stood up and demanded to know why she couldn’t leave, and something in the way she asked made Dorian think she already knew the truth -- that she was too important, too necessary, and not just because they were bandmates or best friends but because he needed her. Life made more sense when she was around. She’d made it fun for the first time in so long, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he ever felt as alone again as he did before meeting her.

Damn it all if that gleam in her eye didn’t made him furious. Whether or not she did know why he cared so much, Dorian was now convinced that she did and was merely trying to force his hand, and that was unacceptable. He’d already folded a little bit by reacting so much to her wanting to leave; if he said anything else, it’d be giving her all the power, and it’d be admitting what he’d been dreading more than anything else -- that he’d fallen for somebody again. “Fine,” he spat, “if you don’t want to do this anymore, then what are you waiting for? Leave!” He grabbed the nearby guitar and threw it hard at her, missing on purpose but grinning at the satisfying crunch it made as it broke against a concrete wall. “If you’re not with me, you’re against me, so get out of here! And don’t let me see you again, because if I do? I will destroy you.” She stood for a moment and he screamed, letting out some of the pain by tossing the closest speaker to him that missed her head by just inches before splattering against the floor loudly and messily. “GO!”

And that was just how it had to be. Because even though a large part of him wanted to chase after her, or hoped she’d come back, Dorian knew that the only thing worse than being alone again would be loving someone and giving them the chance to kill him from the inside out.