#krissyclaire

“But it’s a Halloween tradition!”

“Yeah, for people who think ghosts aren’t real!”

“C’mon, it’s just harmless fun.”

“It’s stupid, and I refuse to play into that idiocy.”

“Pleaaase,” Krissy wheedled, scooting closer to Claire on the couch.  She wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned in to rest her head on her shoulder plaintively.  “It’ll be fun, I promise.  Can’t we be silly teenagers just this once?  If you really hate it, we’ll never do it again.”

Claire rolled her eyes, but kissed Krissy anyway, effectively shutting her up for a minute.  They sat, making out slowly, thoughtfully, for a few moments before Krissy finally pulled away with a fake pout.  

“So you’ll come with me?”  

“Yes, I’ll come.  But you’re buying my ticket.”  Krissy scoffed.  

“Please, we’ll be sneaking our way in like the teenage deviants we are.”

“Delinquent,” Claire teased.

“Hooligan.”

“Hoodlum.”

“Punk.”

“Ruffian.”  

“Rapscallion.”  Claire finally gave into the laugh she’d been withholding.

“Okay, okay.  You win,” she conceded.  Krissy just winked at her and squeezed her tighter.  

“You love me.”

She’s never been afraid of the dark before, but tonight it feels like it’s wrapping around her like a poisoned cocoon. It chokes her, holds her tongue down, restricts her throat so she cannot even whisper for help.

Her voice is lost, but her hands are not. She reaches out her left hand to find Krissy’s arm, and when she finds her elbow, she slides her palm down until she’s touching skin. Skin on skin contact - Shakespeare wrote something about that didn’t he? He warned young lovers not to fall too hard or too fast because the love they felt was not real. What would the Bard think about the love that’s sprung between Claire and Krissy? Formed from blood and pain and the deaths of family members. They’re only seventeen, but Claire is certain she will never leave Krissy. Whether because their lifestyle will catch up with them or maybe they will miraculously live long enough to sprout grey hairs and liver spots.

She isn’t as afraid of the dark when Krissy is around. Like an anchor in a black hole, she holds her together, however impossible that may be.

"You need to be more careful," Claire chastises with the cap of the alcohol bottle between her teeth. Even though the words are muffled and Krissy’s halfway drunk, she’s heard, if not understood.

"You don’t get it," Krissy says. They’ve had this argument about a million times already, and Claire is so not in the mood to go over it all again, especially with all of the blood Krissy’s lost tonight and with all of the alcohol she’s drunk to dull the pain. Claire wishes alcohol was an option for herself, but one of them needs to have a level head, and that responsibility always falls to her. "Do you know how many people I’ve saved? I’m a hero!"

"And will you still be a hero when you’re dead?" Claire smacks. Her face burns, but she doesn’t take the words back. She doesn’t care how much they might sting Krissy. No, she doesn’t.

Except she completely does. It breaks her heart to see Krissy so full of pain. Claire’s seen Krissy near death more times than she cares to count, has seen her writhe in bed from excruciating menstrual cycles, has seen her beaten down and broken on a daily basis. But she’s never seen her look as hurt as she does now, and it’s all because of Claire’s words.

"I promise not to be a martyr," Krissy mumbles. "I don’t want to die. Not yet. Not anytime soon."

"Then what’s with this?" Claire gestures vaguely at all the teeth marks and claw stripes marring Krissy’s body, making her pale from blood loss. Krissy turns her head away from Claire, tenses her jaw.

"This is saving civilians," Krissy justifies. Claire snorts, and Krissy turns her wet eyes back to her. Fuck. Claire bites the inside of her bottom lip. "I’m making the world a safer place. You deserve a safe world. I’m making one for you."

Claire didn’t know Krissy had enough strength in her to do surge up, but she does that and even more. She captures Claire’s lips with her own, sucks and draws. Claire wants to stop. Everything screams at her to end this now. But this is only the beginning of what she’s been dying to try ever since she met Krissy Chambers in that church eons ago. This is the start of everything she’s ever wanted since that moment.

Claire hasn’t been to church since her father was taken away and her mother got lost, and she feels weird entering one now after so many years, but in some ways it feels comforting. His angels might be crappy, but she’s never doubted that God is always, in some way, watching her. And as she walks through the pews, she feels Him even more. Every step toward the altar brings her closer to Him. She feels so dirty, hasn’t prayed in so long, but He doesn’t care. He’s just glad she’s alive.

She sits down in the front. A stained glass portrait of Mary looks down at her from the wall. Claire bows her head, holds her hands together, and prays.

Dear God, I’m sorry.

That’s as far as she gets before the doors swing open.

Claire turns around. A brunette girl, about her age, holds the doors shut behind her. Her heavy gasps are loud bouncing off the rafters. Her eyes are closed.

What is with her? Claire wonders. She stands up and tries to approach her silently, but her toe bumps against the base of the pews, and the brunette startles.

"Fuck," Claire hears her say. The curse spoken aloud in a church crawls uncomfortably over Claire’s skin. "Shit. Sorry."

"Are you okay?" Claire asks. She doesn’t look like it: her ponytail is coming apart, her jeans are stained with grass and dirt, and there’s a harried look in her eyes.

Nonetheless, the brunette tries to shake everything off and play it cool. She pushes off the doors and stands by herself. “Of course.”

A raucous knocking rises from the other side of the door. The brunette startles, and the terror in her eyes magnifies.

"What is that? Who is that?" Claire asks.

"I’m Krissy," she replies. "Those are demons. We gotta get out of here, fast."

"Demons?" No. No, it can’t be. She’s done with demons, done with the supernatural.

Krissy misunderstands her, though, and pauses to say, “Yes, demons are real. So are vampires. And basically every other creature you can think of.”

"No, I know that." Krissy throws her a bewildered look, but Claire doesn’t have time to elaborate because the demons are breaking through the door, holy ground be damned, or whatever. One of them has a hand through the door and is dragging claws through the wood. "Claire."

"What?"

"My name. It’s Claire. Thought you should know that if we’re gonna die together." Her heart is beating a million times per minute, and despite this extenuating circumstance, it beats even faster when Krissy smiles at her.

"Who said anything about dying?"

Claire resolutely keeps her head turned away from Krissy. She stares out the window, tries to ignore her girlfriend’s apologies in favor of watching a family gathering at the bay outside. The tide is low, and the sun is making it’s slow, summer descent to the horizon. Smoke rises from grills and premature bonfires, but Claire cannot smell the smoke through the hospital wall or over the antiseptics.

"I said a billion times I’m sorry!" Krissy exclaims behind her, close to tears. Claire wires her jaw shut. Krissy knew she’s had issues with angels ever since her dad - and pretty much her life - was taken by one when she was twelve, and yet she chose to ignore Claire’s sensitivity and basically use her as bait.

Now Claire is hooked up to monitors and saline drips. It feels like winter inside when it’s summer outside.

Claire doesn’t have to look to know Krissy is shaking her head. “I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. Please. I’m sorry.”

If there’s one thing Krissy should know about Claire by now, it’s how far and deep her trust issues go. How can Claire be sure Krissy won’t pull the same stunt in the future, even accidentally?

The answer is simple: leave her.