Somehow all you ever need's, never really quite enough you know

[glass_beddau]

[Down at the Red Lantern, up on the third floor]
[Too late for patience]

"Perhaps I know him before than you do, Ms Beddau," and I can feel myself take slow cold umbrage to that; after all he had wrong, after all I have seen, to say that. "And no, I will not be sick again.""That's good," flat words, but not cold; I think I am too tired to put in

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[oscar_merton]

"Does it help you to say the same of me?" I'm too tired to really force the laugh and it's a choked snort that comes out instead. Thankfully, I am also too tired to really care. "Of course it does. How does one fuck a murderer without being good at lying to themselves?"

I want something to drink but I will be damned if I ask her now. "But, no, I am sure you are right. He is not a feral dog to roam the streets, but only misunderstood. I will be fine."

[glass_beddau]

"Of course it does. How does one fuck a murderer without being good at lying to themselves?" and the room shrugs, there's a hitch and a blip and I blink to refocus.

"Well," I say, and it is not the first thing I think of saying, because the first is monstrous cruel and I am a little shocked to even think it--Oya would be disgusted with me, that's what crosses my mind, "you tell me how one commits murder without lying to themselves, if you're such a paragon of hard truths and insights. Maybe we can swap notes, see if there's a point of commonality."

"But, no, I am sure you are right. He is not a feral dog to roam the streets, but only misunderstood. I will be fine."

"You sound," dry again, "like his old employer. I didn't much like her either." I shake my head in disgust, rest my forehead on the heels of my hands. "He is not a dog, and I do not misunderstand him. Can't speak for you." Or if you'll be fine.

[oscar_merton]

His former employer? I have to think for a moment, through the painful exhaustion and the drunkenness leading to hangover. "Ah, you mean the Oriental whore." Hmph. "I am certain we have nothing in common."

I wish she would leave. That would be too much like a blessing, would it not? And life has proven that God has no interest in me. "So you do not misunderstand him, and yet here you are," I say, closing my eyes and wishing the bed didn't spin as soon as I do. "I will never understand women like you. Or at least I hope I never do." Blinded by some base compulsions and I tell myself that I should be thankful, to not understand, but the lie catches for once and I have trouble forcing it down.

"You cannot lie to yourself and take a life," I say after a long moment. "It is too honest an act." After, perhaps, there will be rationalization, lies to keep the hands from shaking. But not during. No, not during.

[glass_beddau]

"Ah, you mean the Oriental whore."

"Pimp," I correct.

"I am certain we have nothing in common."

"You're certain of a lot of things," I say, looking around the room and deciding that it actually won't make things worse if I tap ash onto the floor. Run my foot over it and it ghosts into just another smear, a little paler than some. "Why didn't you kill him, that first night? When you found him at Lee's?"

"So you do not misunderstand him, and yet here you are," he says. "I will never understand women like you. Or at least I hope I never do."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," smiling a little. "You're young, not stupid. You've got time to figure it out. Besides, me being here..." I trail off, shrugging. "He's here for me. I'm not here for him." For what it's worth.

[oscar_merton]

Clenching my jaw, it does not help my head, and I force myself to relax. I want another drink, as completely stupid as that is. "You spread your legs for the dog that butchered my mother," I say, calmer than I have any right to be, "and you say that you do it willingly, that you understand what he has done and it changes nothing." And in that moment, I wish I could hate her for it. "What is there that I should ever hope to understand?"

Why should I ask questions that I do not want answered...

I open my eyes and the room is much brighter than I remember, cold and filthy and much too bright. My eyes are tearing again, though this time I can say it is from the light. "I thought, once, that understanding would make it better. But there are no answers that could ever make it right. It is better not to ask."

[glass_beddau]

"I came to terms with him," I say quietly, "before any of that. Do you expect that..." I hiss air between my teeth. "You're a fool to think I'd behave the way you think I should. You never knew of anyone who cared for any of the thugs you worked with?" My mouth thins a little. "Even if it wasn't mutual."

"I thought, once, that understanding would make it better. But there are no answers that could ever make it right. It is better not to ask."

"It is not--" I shake my head. "Answers aren't for making things right. Answers are for starting from. I-- Do you want to die?" Suddenly curious, and half-surprised to hear the words coming out of my mouth. "I mean, really. Because you say you do, but you don't act like you do, and pardon me for saying I've seen you lie before."

[oscar_merton]

"No, I think you should behave like any decent person would!" The handcuffs are digging into my wrists again, brittle white pain when I move one way and numbness when I move the other. I focus on that. It's easier.

"It is not-- I don't believe that. I mean-- Do you want to die?" I look at her. For the first time since she sat down, as though I could pretend she wasn't really there before, and all I can see for a moment in the bruise on her neck. I did that. My stomach twists and, yet, I don't feel nothing. "I mean, really. Because you say you do, but you don't act like you do, and pardon me for saying I've seen you lie before.""And how should I act?" I ask quietly. "Should I be broken? Should I cry?" And part of me really wonders, strange as that is, as though I should be in mourning for myself when I could barely muster the energy for my parents. "I choose how this ends. And I choose to die." It's my choice, not hers, not his, but mine. Nothing else has been mine, my entire life. Petulant, yes, and childish too, but I don't care

[glass_beddau]

"No, I think you should behave like any decent person would!" and I flinch at that, and cup one hand in the other to keep from slapping him.

"And what does a decent person do?" I'm not a prize, I'm not a reward for good behaviour or a fucking allotment, my company is not a moral sanction. "If I'd had nothing to do with him, he'd still have followed me. Still have wanted me, watched me. And with all that still true--are you telling me you wouldn't have cornered me in a garage, threatened me, kidnapped me, beat me? Wouldn't have tried to send a message, to use me? Would you have left me alone if you thought I was decent, are you that much of a fucking saint, Oscar?" I can see him all too clearly, drawn back and distant, some trick of the light or the night or just the goddamn stress making him seem impossibly far away.

"You knew what he was," I say. "You knew. And I begged you not to make him angry at me. Don't tell me you stopped to see if I wanted him before you hurt me. Given what he was like when you saw him, Oscar, in

[oscar_merton]

"And what does a decent person do? If I'd had nothing to do with him, he'd still have followed me. Still have wanted me, watched me. And with all that still true-- Justification, nothing more than an easy excuse. "Are you telling me you wouldn't have cornered me in a garage, threatened me, kidnapped me, beat me? Wouldn't have tried to send a message, to use me? Would you have left me alone if you thought I was decent, are you that much of a fucking saint, Oscar?" I'm going to be sick again. I feel the blood drain from my face and I bite it back.

"You knew what he was. You knew. And I begged you not to make him angry at me. Don't tell me you stopped to see if I wanted him before you hurt me. Given what he was like when you saw him, Oscar, in exactly what fairy tale do you think a woman in my situation who behaved decently would make it to the next sunrise?"

I close my eyes against the nausea and my face is hot enough that I almost do not feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. "You think I should die on your fucking principles? I

[glass_beddau]

"Yes. It is the only thing I have left," and the anger that comes up then helps, rolling heat and an ache to hurt someone, sink in nails or teeth.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" and oh, fuck, when did he start crying again, when did-- "It wasn't enough? You won! Leave me alone!"

"I am not trying to win, you--" Groan and put out my cigarette on the sole of my boot and stand up, and then I'm just looking at him.

"You're drunk," I say, wishing I could stop sounding angry. "You're drunk and-- look, just-- shut up?" Please? It sounds all wrong, angry and awkward and shakey. "What the fuck do you think I'm trying to win? Oscar. Just." I run the back of my hand across my face and take a look at the handcuffs, which at least are still looking solid.

"Christ on bacon," I say tiredly, wiping at his face. "Oscar, I'm trying to--" I don't even know.

[oscar_merton]

"You're drunk," of course I'm drunk, drunk and exhausted and crying and still alive, still here. "You're drunk and-- look, just-- shut up?"

"Jdi do prdele," I say under my breath.

"What the fuck do you think I'm trying to win? Oscar. Just."

And suddenly I realize how very close to me she is. I freeze. "Christ on bacon. Oscar, I'm trying to--"

And I'm just tired, so tired that I close my eyes, so tired that I don't pull away. "Don't touch me."

"What the fuck? It's a fucking kid, Dorian!"