[fic] Lover I Don't Have To Love
Title: ‘Lover I Don't Have To Love’.
Characters: Leon Warner, Scarlett Langford.
Notes: Spawned from the initial two prompts Ai and I wrote. Scarlett is high and drunk and Leon is over and bad things happen. I am a horrible person.
WARNINGS: Nothing too overly-explicit/graphic, but I'm warning anyway. Dubious consent, drug abuse, taunting/bullying and ... violence?
Word Count: 892.
Prompt: Three Sentence Ficlet Meme
Snow - Written by Cheryl
It’s been a long night, the questions of why she let Leon come round to her home have long gone, washed away with heavy doses of alcohol and - as she slips into the bathroom - a few lines of cocaine. Floating back into the room, she gives the drunken angel a heavy smile, flashing a row of white teeth as she rides the high flowing through her system. Scarlett doesn’t care how he feels about it, but now she’s ready for some real fun.
Mirror - Written by Ai
Leon didn't know why he let Scarlett drag him into her room, or why he accepted the beer she thrust into his hand or why he drank it with her, except she seemed to want to do it and it was better than talking about what he did. When she came out of the bathroom, Leon could see in the mirror her dilated eyes, her messy hair, her trembling lips, and he watched himself rise unsteadily to take her hand, drawing her body against his. He tore his gaze away from the mirror to lock eyes with her pupils as big as the sun, and he shuddered into her, their lips brushing before he drew back, hazy mind unsure what to do next.
---
Scarlett laughs, it’s almost nasty in its sound as she rolls her head back. She’s not sure why he did that and she’s too busy enjoying her euphoria to start complaining. She’d probably have punched him if she were sober. Well, maybe not, because she knows he’d like it and she has a problem with doing him a favour like that.
She’d begun to question why she invited him round in the first place when he first came over. If she hated him so much, why was she giving a fuck? She felt pity, because he’s out on the streets, because he’s just as fucked up as she is. And when she’s on her own, her Dad out of town, maybe she wanted someone round. Someone who’s like her. She doesn’t know and it both scares and frustrates her to try.
She doesn’t care about him, she hates him. He’s not important to her.
But she invited him round.
Alcohol and drugs soon makes her forget, stops her thinking.
“What’s the matter?” she asks him darkly.
Leon says nothing. He glances back at the mirror, stares back at himself and feels angry at himself for kissing her. He doesn’t know why he did it, doesn’t know what he should now he has done it. He just stands there, feeling her racing pulse in her wrist. He shouldn’t even be touching her, she’s drunk, high and he’s not.
She reaches up, lets her fingertips brush across his bruised cheekbone with a brief feeling of smugness. She did that, she knows she did-remembers it like it was yesterday. With that dark, heavy smile of hers, she presses down on the bruise and watches him flinch.
“You gonna thank me again, then?”
Leon doesn’t reply. She laughs again, the feeling of supremacy taking over her brain. She’s better than him; he’s the one who’s more fucked up. Nothing will change that, and she feels so fucking fantastic about it.
“C’mon, don’t tell me I have to really start smacking you again to get you to talk,” she drawls, grabbing his face roughly with one hand as she starts mocking him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh, Scarlett- thank you,”
“Fuck you,” Leon glowers, eyes on the floor.
She starts to laugh once more, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. Leon screws his face up; she’s pushing his buttons just like how he pushes hers. It’s fucked up, they’re both fucked up. And this isn’t helping. He moves forward, pressing his lips against hers, it’s to shut her up - but he knows that he should have done something else. Anything than this.
And she’s kissing back, only just; lazily, dream-like, as if trying not to rush her high away. Leon isn’t sure what to do, but as he reaches up to pull at his hair, still trying to laugh - he just kisses her harder. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it’s not right. They’re both wrong, and it’s all fucked up-he tells himself this over and over in his head. He knows it shouldn’t go any further than this.
It does anyway.
When Leon wakes up the next morning, he turns over to find her gone. He panics, hit with waves of disgust and shame. He’s done something he knew he shouldn’t. It takes two, but he only sees blame placed on himself. He’s crossed a line and he already hates himself for it. What has he done?
Looking up, he finds Scarlett sat on the ‘sill of her bay window, blowing cigarette smoking out the window. Uncertain, she watches her for a moment, trying to find something to say. She notices and tilts her head to the side, giving him a blank stare. She remembers through the haze and she’s not sure what to make of it. Things just got more fucked up, she knows that.
But what does she do with Leon?
“Scarlett-“
Sniffing, she rolls her shoulder back, looking indifferent.
“Nothing’s changed, you know. Just because we fucked doesn’t mean I like you,” she tells him coolly, “I still hate you.”