#pre-polyamory

“Jus’ the truth,” you slur, a crooked grin painting your cheeks as you spit a mouthful of iron onto the ground. These cobbles have seen worse.

She huffs in outrage, and adjusts her grip to support you better, which is helpful because you’re starting to lose feeling in your legs.

It takes an uncomfortably long time for you to notice the newcomers to your late-night party, and even longer to realize who Violet was bickering with. “Riorson?”

His gaze snaps to you, dark eyes taking in your hunched form. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to be so much shorter than him, and you try to straighten up, to match his height the way you usually did when you weren’t pouring buckets of your life on the ground. “Come ‘ere often?”

“What happened.” His tone is flat, no-nonsense, and he doesn’t respond to your flirty tone, even as another arm hooks itself on your other side, taking some of your weight off of pretty Violet, who’s seething like a spitting cat. Cute.

“Well,” you drawl, long and slow and strained as your vision spots out again. “I was havin’ a lovely dream ‘bout our pretty bird here.”

Your fucking accent. Gods-be-damned, you caught enough eyes on you for it when you kept it tightly under wraps, little hints of it seeping out every now and then, but now the thick drawl of an unfamiliar world is unmistakably and obviously foreign. And you might be leaking blood, but not so much that you don’t recognize the way Xaden’s eyes narrow, or the way the new arm around you tenses momentarily.

“‘N then I woke up, wet ‘n leakin’ all over the sheets.” The grin is painful and sharp and ugly as it stretches across your face, explicitly revolting and full of implication even as another cough wreaks your form, blood splattering on your front. Distantly you hear Violet calling you a “fucking idiot” but that’s neither here nor there.

Lolling your head to the side reveals Bodhi holding you up, and to the other reveals that Garrick had replaced Violet at some point and the pair had you sandwiched between them, dragging you towards the infirmary as Violet fretted and hovered with Xaden trying to pry information out of you.

“Look,” you interrupt, groaning as you stumble and aggravate your wound just a little bit further. “it ain’ so big a deal, jus’ gotta… gotta…”

You frown, furrowing your brow as the words slip away from you, and your head drops. And between one moment and the next, you go from the edge of the courtyard to the middle of a hallway, and Violet’s still spitting mad, she refuses to leave your side and abandon you to the upper years who had every reason to kill you (because of her, because she was a Sorrengail).

“Pretty bird,” you drawl, struggling on the inhale as you loll your head to the side to watch her over Bodhi’s shoulder. “Don’ do nothin’ stupid now, ain’ worth it, lovey.”

“They stabbed you in your sleep!” She hisses, and gods-be-good, you loved that voice. “It’s a violation of the Codex, you-“

“Lovey.” You cut her off, stumbling over your feet a little again as you try to get them under you. Had they been dragging you? “I’ll sort it, yeah? Don’ worry your pretty little head abou’ it.”

“As wingleader it’s my responsibility to-“ Xaden starts to explain, like you didn’t know it already from your pretty birds rambling, and you roll your eyes, huffing and glancing over at Garrick.

“You hearin’ tha’? Big man thinks he go’ any place in my bus- busin- busy- fuck.” You curse, dropping your head as the word trails away from you, darkness stealing you once more, and the next moment you’re in a different hall, closer to the infirmary.

“You’re gonna be okay.” She whispers, your pretty little Violet. Far more resilient than a flower, sturdier than any frail petal.

“Pretty bird?” You slur, mouth full of wet and iron that dribbles down your chin.

“I’m here.” She says, reaching for your hand over Bodhi’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be alright.”