Chapter 23 - Possession
Posession (noun) 1. The state of having, owning, or controlling something 2. Control or occupancy of property without regard to ownership 3. Domination by something (i.e. an evil spirit, a passion, or an idea)
Words from the Author: Hello my lovelies. It is kinda becoming my new tag-line, but: I know it's been a while. I've been, as some of you know, in a real crisis since November last year - wondering if what I wrote was good enough, what type of writer I am, if I should even call it quits. Thankfully, a lot of you guys came together in an explosion of love and support, piecing my shattered confidence back together again. I am truly grateful to have so many lovely friends that tell me that I am enough, no matter how many words I write or how frequently I post chapters. They were the fuel that relit the fire to create again and keep writing, and even though it's still not back to it's full blaze, the flames are being fanned and growing. So, on my birthday this year, I am very happy to give you guys a present instead of recieving one: The next chapter of Method. I dedicate it to anyone who, over the past months, visited my blog, left a comment, read what I wrote, sent me kind words in my dms, or just thought about something I created. It's all for you. Every word. And I will try me best to keep creating, to find my way back to the joy that is writing to me.
Warnings&Tags: Aftermath of SA, Depictions of displaced Anger, Projection of Anger, Hurt Attention: Apparently tumblr has a post word limit of 4097 (?!) so because of the lenght this chapter has to be broken up into 2 parts. You'll find the next part at the end of this post!
Pictures flashed before your eyes, memories of a life you once lived. Though the images were hazy and undecipherable– the feelings were all too vivid. Disgust. Guilt. Helplessness. Fear. But the most prominent of all, the one tainting every other feeling: Rage.
“Get your hands 𝕆𝔽𝔽 𝕄𝔼!”
The world became red and blurry before you heard a sound like splintering stone and two ruby red, glassy arms broke out of your chest with a force neither you nor the moth expected and shoved a screaming Valentino violently away from you. As soon as you were pushed out of the moths grip, the arms shattered into smoking ashes that drifted to the ground, and Ozul, catching your fall, wrapped himself around you like a suit of armor. He was burning hot, sizzling in what must be anger – close to the intensity you felt boiling inside. The moth stumbled back, all four of his hands pressed onto his chest, little wisps of fine smoke escaping through his fingers. Through the eerie silence you stared at the overlord, who – with wide eyes focused on the vanishing strings of charcoal vapor – slowly lifted them to reveal two blacked handprints on the voluminous tufts of fluff, the pink love hearts and white feather hairs burned off up to his purple skin.
“Well, look at that.” Valentino’s voice was ice cold, wrapped in a sham of blanketed casualty as his frown turned into a dangerous grin, “You are just a whole package of little surprises, eh? Not just sugar, but spice too, a full palette of flavors. I must say... I thought you'd be blander, amorcita. I underestimated your..." His eyes wandered behind you. You didn't dare to turn around, even if Ozul would let you. You wouldn't be able to hold your mask of indifference if you'd see what Alastor must look like right now, judging from the waves of painful static pulsing through the air. "... complex taste."
Valentino’s last words rolled off his lips as if it was something lewd and salacious, and it made your skin itch with repulsion knowing that they had been on yours. You felt humiliated and tainted, spoiled and stupid for having been so foolishly careless.
You were furious at him, and at yourself.
"And a taste is all it will be." Alastor’s voice remained calm, but it felt like a sharp edge of a knife as he spoke. He walked past you towards the gleaming moth demon, ordering Ozul wordlessly with a flick of his wrist and the shade grabbed you by your shoulders, already fraying on the edges as it hissed at the overlord. Ozul pushed you towards the corridor you came from, but you managed to throw a look back. Alastor came to a halt, just inches before Valentino, and even though he was taller than him, his presence was so intimidating you would've sworn the pompous, smug confidence of the moth demon crumbled before him.
"But I’d advise against sampling another one — We wouldn't want a bitter aftertaste... after all, how would you notice the poison?"
***
“You got it all, Voxxy? Your little Retro Boytoy and his pet pussy in HD?”
Valentino plucked the blackened bits of his chest fluff off with sharp fingers, throwing Vox a nasty look. As soon as Alastor’s shadows had swallowed both of them he zapped himself through the cables into the studio, although not out of concern for his partner.
“What was that?” he just asked, ignoring the scowl Val sent his way as he nursed the burnt skin underneath the white feathery hairs. “These red arms, what did he do to…”
“Oh, me? I’m grand, baby, doesn’t hurt like a bitch at all thank you. Gillipollas. I don’t care what that was, she can count herself lucky I didn’t rip out her fucking tail for that. Me cago en todo lo que se menea!”
But Vox already turned his vision and hearing inwards, replaying the recording again and again in loop. Gem as they had called her – not Roxy or Rocky – reaching out her hand like a goddamn amateur in deal making. Val, playing into her naivety, doing what he does best and kissing that skank for the sheer fun of it, with her getting stiff and almost stone like in his arms. Red glow engulfing her before two red arms broke out of her ribcage, shimmering as if they were poured out of molten glass, just for a few seconds. Black dust settling in between the space created between them as they exploded into flames and ashes as they pushed Valentino off of her.
He rewinded again, this time focusing solely on Alastor’s distorted face as it happened – he still kept this stupid static shield up so he would be blurry and frazzling on recordings, knowing all too well that there were more than just the pimps eyes to be weary of in the Vee Tower. But Vox was accustomed to that and he learned (and programmed himself) to see in between the frames, watching and analyzing the hints of the overlord’s recognizable expressions. Shock and… Jealousy.
He felt ice cold as the bluescreen hit him, sudden and quick before he caught himself again. Before Valentino saw.
Alastor had been jealous, no doubt, and it ate at Vox. Alastor had no business looking like that. He was beneath that feeling, incapable. Had been, for forever. Some things could change in hell, but not this. This could never. Not for that worthless excuse of a soul. And not him. Never him. Alastor, who told him eons ago that he never felt anything more than mild appreciation for companions. Alastor, who kept everyone he encountered in hell at least at arm’s length. Alastor, who deemed everyone unworthy of more than thinly veiled insults wrapped in alluring charm. Until Vox. Vox was the first exception. The only exception.
Friendship .
He had been Alastor’s first friend. The only real friend – not like that cannibal tramp that came after him, worming her way into Alastor’s life after their fallout. Vox knew for a fact that after him, Alastor never shared so much of himself with another sinner. Memories. Dreams. Weaknesses. Feelings. Feelings…
“Are you listening, Amorcito, or do you need a wank to get that red wimp out of your system long enough to go on with the plan?”
Vox turned around, keeping his face straight and his boiling anger hidden. In a few hours, when Val was back with his whores on set, and his shows were done for today, he’d have enough time to fight through the storm of rage he felt. He’d have to keep his composure for now – lest not to spoil what he wanted to do – and keep his partner in crime happy and distracted. He spent too much time on his jovial, indifferent image of a cool-headed, slick CEO that hates Alastor to his core (and of being totally over him) now and he knew just what would distract Valentino enough to keep his dull mind off of his long-lingering envy.
“Oh please, Val. Who needs him when I got someone so much better to keep my dick warm and my bank account stuffed?”
The moth pimp’s frown sat a moment too long on his face for Vox not to notice. His expression was measuring, calculating…. scanning. But then it became what Vox wanted to see: A grinning face with hungry eyes and nothing of worth behind them but lust.
“Charming, baby. What a coincidence I am that this little power play got me in just the right mood…” Vox was already on his way to the back room where Val kept one of his many massive, fuck-friendly chaise-longs he so loved to use when he froze as he heard the tone in his nearing partners voice change. There was a hint of malicious teasing behind it, a mock that was too prominent not to hear. Intent to impale him.
“I do admit that that bitch has one thing going for her even I can’t deny – her taste truly makes anyone wanna fuck her...”
Valentino passed him, his hips swaying as he threw him a taunting look and disappeared into the red-tinted room.
***
Alastor hadn’t bothered with taking the same way back to the hotel.
His last composure was hanging on a thread as he let his shadows drag you behind him, out of the pink room into the now empty corridor, and wordlessly melted into his shadows, Ozul pulling you into the black void right after him. You thought you could see Angel’s worried face at the end of it, near the elevator and hunched over the little robotic imp, but only a heartbeat later you were back in the hotel, safe in your room and dizzy from the abnormal speed of the shadow-travel. Ozul softly brushed over the red thread on your finger as he unwrapped himself from you, hesitantly returning to his master who didn't even look at you.
He hadn't looked at you at all. Hadn't even touched you since Valentino's assaulting kiss. A lump in your throat made it hard to speak up.
“Alastor, I’m sor…”
"ɨ ɖօռ'ȶ աǟռȶ ȶօ ɦɛǟʀ cv ǟ աօʀɖ." (I don’t want to hear a word) He stood, his back to you, next to your dresser, one hand on the polished wooden top and you didn’t know whether to be grateful or scared not to see his face. His voice was enough to make your eyes sting with tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks.
“You were foolish. Foolish and Careless, to let yourself be…”
A sudden sharp crack cutting through the silence of the room made you flinch. With a harsh breath his claws dug into the drawer, cracking the wood underneath the lacquered layer and splinters slowly fell to the ground.
Before you could think about what to reply or how to feel, he whipped around. Still not looking at you, his claws wrapped painfully around your wrist and he pulled you almost violently with him into your bathroom, shutting the door with bang so hard the hinges ached.
For the first time since you were under his care, you wanted to pull your hand out of his grasp. Guilt and hurt replaced the confusion you felt. Guilt because you knew he was right - you had been too careless, too confident and in dismissing all the warning s your studies back in Alastor’s townhouse and in the conversation you had with him before going to Valentino.
Hurt because it felt like he treated you as if you wanted it to happen. As if you voluntarily invited these foreign and revolting lips and hands on you. As if you felt nothing as another man violated you in such a profound way.
Caged in your thoughts and your lips sealed by his angered command you didn't see Ozul angrily hiss at Alastor as he roughly turned you around and pulled the shower curtain away. He pushed you into the small space, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his fringe and turned on the faucet. Cold water hit your back and you gasped as it drenched your clothes. Instinctively you tried to jump away, but strong hands held you in place.
"You reek of that wretch."
With wide eyes you watched his swirl of shadow minions hand him your soap bottle, and it stung in much more ways than one that he poured it all in a gush over you. You suppressed the sob sitting in your throat, choked by the scent of sandalwood, his cold command and the injustice of it all.
It felt like being punished for something that was committed not by you, but upon you, as Alastor emptied soap bottle after soap bottle over you, holding you under the streaming shower. Your tail went between your legs as you shivered, and even though it slowly began to warm up the frigid water quickly took away any warmth you contained as he feverishly rubbed any- and everything his shadows handed him on you.
His claws began to tear on the fabrics of your cloth that clung on you like a second skin, his movements more and more frenetic by the second. You didn’t know when your tears mixed with the drops of water running steadily down your face, but when you felt your skin give in under the force of his hands, you couldn't hold your broken voice back anymore.
"Stop. Alastor, please stop..."
In an instant, his movements ceased.
The dripping stream of water was deafening as you and him stayed still, his hands firmly holding your shivering form in place on your arms, his own hair and suit soaked and dripping, his face turned to the ground. The sharpness of his fingers around your bruised arms was gone, as if the little word stop had been a needle, popping the balloon of his anger and mania. He wasn’t keeping you in place anymore, but more so holding onto you.
“Maybe I’ve been too harsh…”
The hand that held you so forcefully before came to gently wipe streaks of soap and tears from your cheek. You shivered at the touch, wary if pain or pleasure would follow, and the thought of even anticipating the first shocked you. Through the soaked red bangs you could see his eyes searching for you, and when they found your own, your heart stopped beating when you saw only conflict in them.
“I just am...” , he started, his fingers coming to a rest at your neck, right over the place where – still hidden by your wet blouse – your scar sat. After a long moment, something in him had decided as he broke the contact of your gaze with dull, darkened eyes and his head sank again. “…I am not fond of others playing with my toys.”
Just before a couple of loud bangs made his and your head snap towards the door.
Another set of knocks, louder and more made you move. Hesitantly, you pulled yourself out of Alastor’s grasp, and with a last, unsure look at his hunched figure under the stream, you quickly turned around, wiping your face as best as you could and murmured “I’ll be right back.” Before you hurriedly slipped out of the bathroom and clicked the door shut. The mirror on the dresser next to the door showed a messy version of yourself. You took a few steps towards it, soaking the carpet with your dripping clothes and hair, but that wasn’t what captured your gaze.
No, it was your eyes. Never before had you seen them being so blue. And for whatever reason, seeing them shift from sky blue to indigo and back scared you. The banging on the door ripped you out of your trance and with a heavy heart, you opened it, trying your best to get a hold on your expression.
“What did ‘ya do?!”
Angel heaved, out of breath and looking almost as disheveled as yourself. It was obvious he had been running, and given the short amount of time he must’ve raced back home from the studios like the devil was behind him.
“Angel, listen, I…”
“NO! WHAT DID ‘YA DO?!” He grabbed you by your collar, ignoring the wetness seeping through his gloves. “A deal?! With Valentino?! Are you stupid – I mean, god-fuckin’-damn it, are you really that dumb?!” His hands trembled against your chest as he visibly restrained himself from shaking you. “It’s not like that, Angel. It’s nothing like your deal, just a performance…” Angel groaned as he shoved you away, burying his hands in his hair in exasperation. “It’s never just a “performance” with Valentino, Rocky! And I would’ve never brought ‘ya there If I knew you would make a fucking deal with him. For fucks sake, I thought at least Alastor woulda stop ‘ya – and for WHAT, huh? A stupid, dumb-ass dance that no one cares about at a fucking dumpster fire of a talent show?”
You felt punched in the gut – Angel had never talked about the event that derogatory, had been excited… hesitant and doubtful at first, yes, but he came around. Had fun in planning it, in rehearsing his act, in putting in the effort with you. There had been hope in his eyes, the prospect of becvoming something bigger than what he saw in himself. You would’ve understood worry, maybe a little anger… but not this. Why was he so enraged?
“What do you… Of course everyone cares. I care about it, Ange, please, I just wanted…”
“Ta’ help, yeah – that’s your fucking problem. Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, meddling in my fucking life when no one asked you to, least me. Yeah… You really took some lessons from Smiles, Rocky… but ‘ya know what?”
Angel turned his back to you, pulling the door with him as he exited your room. He stopped and tilted his head, not really looking at you, almost as if he didn’t care whether you were listening or not. “I - don’t - care - about that stupid event. I won’t waste my time dancing for it – so if ‘ya don’t go and cancel that deal yourself, Imma go to that fucking deer prick and make him cancel it for you. One way or the other – keep your ‘good intentions’ to ‘yaself from now on.”
Stunned and devastated you watched the door close with a final bang.
What the hell happened? How could everything go so wrong, when you just wanted to do a right thing?
Shaken by Angels words, you brushed some of the semi-dry strands of hair out of your face, noticing how your fingertips felt cold against the heat of your cheeks and your itching eyelids. Breathing felt like a labor that hurt as it took effort. Grabbing the dresser for some sort of halt, you remembered who you left in your bathroom, and you stumbled to the door, not knowing what you’d find once you opened it.
Nothing.
Alastor, along with his shadows had vanished, and the shower streamed into an empty tub. Not even Ozul hung back, and the emptiness felt like a lead chain on your chest. You didn’t have the chance to take the few steps to the faucet to turn off the water as your knees gave in, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself cry in thick, heavy sobs, and besides the endless sadness you felt you were grateful that their sounds were swallowed by the rustling of the water.
>> Here you'll find Part 2 <<
