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 Seventeen

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Scottie Elisabeth
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PostSubject: Seventeen    Fri Feb 03, 2017 12:56 am

“Miriam told me everything,” I eagerly confessed to my wife when I returned to her in the earliest hours of the morning. “It’s fucking brilliant.”

Charlotte’s face lit up, her excitement evident. “Do you think so?”

I looked at her then, assessing her. What did she need me to say? “I’m so proud of you.” I reached to stroke her cheek with the back of my fingers. Her face flushed with uncertainty but she seemed to appreciate the affirmation. Once her eyes welled, she pulled from me to hide it.

“I can’t believe I doubted you,” she breathed, a slow exhale betraying her attempts to recompose. “Mir couldn’t stomach it, but you get it. You’ve always understood me. I can’t wait to tell Stew.”

I felt like I was betraying her then. I knew nothing about Charlotte and not much more about my wife. Her idea of me had long surpassed anything I was in reality, then or now. “I can be involved?” I asked anyway, hoping my tone sounded incredulous enough to be convincing. When Charlotte hugged me, I knew it had.

“Char,” I forced familiarity as I broke our hug, but my hands remained firm on her shoulders. “Who’s this Stew, though? Miriam doesn’t trust him.”

She rolled her eyes at the sound of Miriam’s name from my lips. “She wouldn’t, the jealous bitch. He’s an incubus, like you. He was my first friend here, when I moved to the city. He’s so intelligent; you’ll just love him. Leviathan is his baby. He will be so excited that you’re interested in being involved.”

“What’s his end game?” I prodded too soon, overestimating her trust in me. When she eyed me uncertainly, I continued with, “are you safe?”

“Of course, Col,” she breathed as she allowed herself to sink into me. “He’s power hungry, sure, but he’s logical. I don’t pose a threat.” Her tone faltered then and I waited a moment, hoping she would continue. “Henry did.”

I breathed this new information into the depths of my lungs. Henry wasn’t playing Stewart’s game, not Charlotte’s. Had she killed Henry for this incubus? Were they involved? Miriam had mentioned Charlotte and Henry being on again/off again, but what part in her romantic life did this Stewart play? Mine?

“What was the archdemon for?” I shook my head as I asked the question, trying to keep focused.

Charlotte shrugged then, not even bothering to look up to answer. “Fun?”

“Is that all?”

She seemed to think about my question longer this time, pressing her cheek against my collarbone as she stayed close to me. “I imagine he wants the position.”

“Of archdemon?” I asked incredulously. Of all the demonic positions, archdemon was undoubtedly the most tedious of all. Between the paperwork of each of the dozens of precincts they watched over and all the drama that came with, who would want to bother?

“Of Lucifer,” she purred then, clearly a follower of this psycho’s romanticized power trip. I breathed, my mind racing.

“Lucifer?” I scoffed a little too hard. “Is he fucking delusional?”

Charlotte pulled away from me, narrowing her eyes at me until she smiled. “Are you jealous, Col?”

“Jealous?” I immediately defended, but her tone made my heart pound. When she rolled her eyes, but her smile remained, I took a breath to compose. “I’m worried about you getting caught up in some murder’s delusions of grandeur.”

“They aren’t delusions,” she insisted, her eyes bright as she spoke of this other man. “Really, Col. He’s so brilliant. He’s got it all worked out. After ten years of trial and error with Henry’s machine, we’ve learned so much. And now with yours, I mean, we never even thought about using blood. We can push that to market immediately.”

My stomach flipped as Charlotte spoke so freely of what Miriam had so feared, particularly at how she was quick to defend his intelligence, but glossed over my accusing him of murder. At any rate, it seemed this Stewart was exactly who I needed to track down, but for what, exactly, I no longer knew. “Can I meet him?”

“Oh, he’ll absolutely want to meet you,” Charlotte insisted, her racing mind evident in her excited eyes. “We have to wait until he’s finished with your machine. Then I’m sure he’ll have tons to ask you.”

“Can’t you just call him now?”

Charlotte’s lit eyes dimmed a bit then as her smile faltered. “We have to wait, Col.”

“Why?” I asked carefully, watching the contemplation behind her eyes. She fidgeted, suddenly looking away from me, and when she left the room, it was too quick for me to object. I waited for her to return, as Miriam had when that mark disappeared to collect his cash, but when Charlotte didn’t return after several minutes, I followed her.

“Charlotte?” I asked as I knocked on the only closed door in the hall. It felt strange, knocking on a door with my wife on the other side, but this woman was more of a stranger to me than even Miriam now.

“Cassius,” I heard then, a name I hadn’t been called in ages, but not from the other side of the door. It was from my memory, a memory that so pained me now. Her voice was different then, softer, more timid as she sought my attention.

I felt myself turn in the memory, though my body stayed facing the closed door now, and my wife’s smile faltered as she saw me. Still, I could not remember her face. Instead, it was Charlotte’s, as my mind superimposed what I could not see. I was leaving a pub at the time and my sweet wife was walking home from the market, the market at which I should have been working.

My female companion at the time was lagging behind, still inside the pub, and though I hadn’t ever felt the need to explicitly hide from my wife, I was grateful to be the only one in her view. I didn’t remember what I said back to her, and my memory reflected that, as I said something utterly irrelevant about the flowers in her basket, but her face was heavy with disappointment.

“I apologize,” she insisted, though our tongue was a different one then. Over time, my memories had modified, almost modernized, as my mind continued to re-remember in an effort not to forget. Though it bothered me less then, it caused me significant stress now to think that she was so willing to apologize for seeing me dodging work, rather than looking for an apology from me. My wife was so different from Charlotte. Had I made her this way?

As my memory continued, my wife avoided my eyes, instead walking towards our home without me. I should have felt so embarrassed, but I hadn’t then, too wrapped up in what I wanted to consider how my wife might have felt. I hadn’t felt an ounce of shame then as I shared a smoke with a tramp on the street before returning to the pub, to my companion inside, despite it being only early afternoon.

I felt ashamed now, though, for the past me, and my past wife, and for Charlotte now, as she avoided me and conflict similarly, despite being so willing to argue with me before. What had changed between my last visit and now?

“Charlotte,” I called at the door again. “I’m sorry,” though I have no idea what you’re avoiding me for, “please come out.”

When the door cracked, I took my opportunity, embracing my wife the moment I saw her again. “I’m not trying to be pushy,” I insisted, hoping that was the right thing to say, and she returned my embrace without a word.

“I can’t contact him,” she admitted to me then. “I have to wait for him to contact me. That’s how it’s always been.”

I was taken aback with that. Miriam and Charlotte had both referred to him as her friend, both of them commenting on how involved he was with this project, and how involved Charlotte was as well, but she had no actual way to contact this guy? “Why?”

Charlotte shrugged, but her insecurity was thick in the air. He didn’t need her now, like I didn’t need her so long ago. Had my poor wife ever been needed? “He’s going to contact me when he’s finished evaluating your machine.”

I worried for her then. If she merely served as a friend or lover either one, kept at arm’s length when not needed, with the larger pieces of the puzzle kept from her too, she was a prime candidate for disposal when this incubus had what he wanted from her. I just hoped he didn’t have it yet.

“Will you stay?” fell from her lips then. She squeezed me tighter, her body begging mine not to leave her. I felt sorry for her.

“Stay?” I feigned misunderstanding, pressing my lips to her forehead as I broke from her. “There’s lots still to do. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight.”

“I didn’t ask you to sleep,” she insisted, her eyes desperate. “Just stay. I miss you, Collin.”

Again, I was transported through time, as my wife’s eyes begged me not to leave every time I would. She never confronted me, in all of my time together, but it was obvious that she knew. And now, as I saw those same eyes begging the same request, it felt heartless to leave her for another woman’s company.

“For a little while,” I finally conceded. “Just until the sun comes up.”

Charlotte seemed relieved all the same, and I received another grateful hug from her. When she broke from me, her eyes trailed up and down my frame, clearly sizing me up. “You’re so different now,” she whispered, and finally she seemed like my wife again, her eyes concerned as she deciphered all my differences. “You’re so pale.”

“The sun didn’t feel the same after you,” I admitted and this seemed to both please and sadden her. Her lips wavered as she smiled, but in the end, she took my hand, her smile falling as she tried to maintain her composure.

“You didn’t need to go,” she insisted as her tears began to fall. “I wasn’t going to leave. I loved you so much.”

“I know.” My hands shook as I took her wrists. She was so different as well, though I couldn’t see all the changes as she could. I felt so guilty, unable to find my wife in her face, or her touch, but her eyes were so clearly her.

“Do you know what happened after you left?” Her question was edged in a way, but not so much an accusation as a questioning of how far my betrayal of her extended.

“I was immediately relocated,” I admitted, remembering how difficult it had been all that time ago, to move to a new land with a new language and be plucked down as an otherworldly being. “I was forbidden to seek you out, and I didn’t think you should have to be burdened with me any longer.”

Her eyes softened. The question had clearly weighed on her for our centuries apart, and she seemed lighter now to have it answered. “So you don’t know about any of it.”

When she didn’t elaborate, I accepted the bait. “Any of what?”

She moved to sit on her bed then and finally we left the doorway as I followed to sit next to her. “About my…indiscretions, after you left,” she admitted, folding her hands in her lap the way she always used to. “About our son.”

“Whose son?” I interjected, though she seemed far from finished.

“Yours,” she told me through bleary eyes.

My mind raced as I tried to remember the frequency of our encounters, ones I never thought twice about when she was my wife. The information was long discarded though and now I found nothing, no recollection of her outside of her wifely duties, of her breads and her careful stitch work and her freshly cleaned linens. My sexual interests never lay with her, and as such, were long gone from my memory now. The information seemed so casual now. A son, a child at all. I hadn’t seen it before, after, or now, and part of me felt she had just told me the weather of the night I had gone, while another hovered near devastation.

“Where is he?” I insisted before I processed my own question. Long dead, certainly, even had he lived a long life. My lifetime had never felt so long ago.

“There was an accident,” she confessed, her tears turning to stifled sobs as Charlotte remembered who she once was, when she was mine. “I tried so hard to protect him, Cassius,” and I fell back to Cassius, as this apology was always meant for him. “But in the end, we didn’t have much food, and when he got hurt, his body wasn’t strong enough to heal itself.” Her eyes rolled back as she closed them, her guilt palpable.

My heart panged for this child I had never known, while I simultaneously felt indifferent to the telling. My brain struggled as it tried to process the loss of something I had never had, and eventually, I found myself holding Charlotte as she cried against me.

After an eternity of sobs and her body shuddering as her guilt exposed itself, Charlotte sat back from me, wiping her eyes hastily, as she tried to force herself to her current persona, that of my wife long discarded.

“I met a swindler soon after,” she continued, though I didn’t realize there was any more to tell. “He told me my son had been taken by the gods out of anger at my indiscretions and that he could help right my wrongs.”

“What indiscretions?” I prodded, so curious about my wife’s life after me, as it occurred to me I truly knew so little of the woman I had married.

“There could never be another after you,” she excused, eyeing me sentimentally before her demeanor hardened. “I was living with a woman while we raised little Cassius,” my spine tingled with the bestowing of my name on a being I never knew. “So that I wouldn’t have to do it alone.” Charlotte seemed uncomfortable, shifting her weight as she perched on the edge of the bed. “He said he was a godly being, able to take life on a whim,” her eyes flicked to me then. “Like us.”

Charlotte shrugged as she continued. “He…showed me…and once I believed him powerful, I listened when he said I could trade her for him.” My wife sighed and her shoulders fell forward with her discomfort. “I didn’t realize then what he was offering, but I was so distraught, I would have done anything. I brought her to him and he withdrew her life from her.” Again, she shifted. “But he didn’t give me my son back. Instead, he told me she hadn’t had enough life to give. He enlisted me to help find others, explaining it as a sacrifice to the gods, and I listened. For months, I went along with him, believing him if only to keep myself from going insane.”

I watched Charlotte’s discomfort in her posture, but still I wasn’t sure if she was sorry or just embarrassed of her gullibility.

“Obviously that isn’t how this works,” she whispered, her tone resentful. “And by the time I realized, it was already done.” Her gaze returned to me, but it wasn’t looking for my reaction. “If I had Henry’s machine back then, or even yours, I could have saved him. Leviathan will revolutionize everything.”

“Charlotte,” I whispered as I reached for her, but she pulled from me.

“I’m not stupid,” she insisted as she stood. “I’ll never have him back. But I have you. It won’t be the same, but it’s more than nothing.”

But I have you. The words were largely upsetting to me now that I too was burdened with my wife’s pain, with pain I hadn’t known existed. I couldn’t even remember her name and yet she had me earmarked as the thing to right her askew world.

And what of Stewart, her modern day swindler? One tended to join our kind when their demise involved sex or intimate betrayal. This incubus had a past the same as the rest of us and though Charlotte did not want to look directly at the holes in his persona, I wanted to illuminate them, to shatter her image before she was again used and discarded by someone she was convenient for.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as I retrieved it. I had received a slew of texts from the concerned Miriam, but now she was calling. “I need to take this,” I apologized, but Charlotte wasn’t in a forgiving mood. She stormed from her room, leaving me behind to answer the phone.

“Where are you?” Miriam immediately gasped upon my answering. “Jesus, Collin, I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages.”

“I’m,” I hesitated. Though Miriam knew my destination, it still felt antagonistic to tell her I was here. “I’m where I said I’d be,” I finally settled on.

“Come home.” She insisted, no room for argument in her tone. Home? Is that what her place was now? My home?

“What’s wrong?”

“Just come home. I was at the office earlier and I found this letter…just come home, Collin. Please.”

“Miriam, can’t we talk about it later? I can come by in a few hours.”

“Collin,” Miriam snapped, “Henry says you killed him.”

Suddenly, my mind refocused. This wasn’t about Charlotte or Stewart or bullshit Leviathan. It was about self-preservation. If Henry had named me as his killer, there must have been a reason, and if I considered it for even a moment, it was evident that Charlotte was behind it. Until I knew why, it wasn’t safe to be alone with her or anyone.

“I’m coming,” I insisted as I hung up.

Charlotte appeared in the doorframe then, her arms crossed over her chest. “You said you’d stay,” she accused. “Or are you as selfish now as you’ve always been?”

I eyed her, unsure of her game, seeing little more than an embittered lover behind her eyes. “Henry bullshit,” I apologized, pretending not to know she was involved. “I need to go clear something up.”

“What?” she stopped me with a hand on my chest as I approached the doorway. “What’s the matter? I can help.”

“I’m sure you can,” I assured her, pressing my body to hers to guide her from blocking my path. “But Miriam has what I need to look at, and you two don’t exactly play nice.” I kissed her forehead before I parted from her. Part of me worried about letting Charlotte in on anything, while another part was certain that as long as I didn’t seem to distrust her, she would want to believe I didn’t.

It felt awkward departing from her after how much she had revealed to me, but still, she didn’t feel like my wife. My wife didn’t have a child or take a female lover to help raise it. My wife didn’t then betray that lover for her own gain. My wife wouldn’t sell her soul. But she had. She wouldn’t set me up. But she has.

“I’ll see you soon,” I promised her, though I wasn’t sure the circumstances under which I’d look at her again. Was I another lover to sacrifice for her son? “Call me if Stewart gets in touch.”

“Collin,” she spoke from close behind me as I opened her front door. “I love you.”

I hesitated, afraid my lack of response would expose me. Instead, I turned to face her, closing the gap between us as I pressed my lips to hers, and startled Charlotte had little choice but to melt into the kiss, as taken aback as I hoped she’d be.

“I’ll see you soon,” I promised again, and with Charlotte too stunned to speak, I made my way into the night.


Last edited by Scottie Elisabeth on Sun Feb 05, 2017 2:14 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Seventeen    Fri Feb 03, 2017 1:57 am

“Char,” I forced familiarity as I broke our hug, but my hands remained firm on her shoulders. “Who’s this Stew, though? Miriam doesn’t trust him.”---Who is this Stew, Char? Who the fuck is this Stew? Goddamn, I'm so mad at her. She's the complete and total worst. Hate.

“What’s his end game?” I prodded too soon, overestimating her trust in me. When she eyed me uncertainly, I continued with, “are you safe?” -----Love how Collin is gauging the situation. He's such a player, but I'm starting to wonder if he's going to be good at it. Charlotte has been stalking him for 15 years. Surely, she's come to understand how he is. As if being his wife didn't teach her that. Laughing

I breathed this new information into the depths of my lungs. Henry wasn’t playing Stewart’s game, not Charlotte’s. Had she killed Henry for this incubus? Were they involved? Miriam had mentioned Charlotte and Henry being on again/off again, but what part in her romantic life did this Stewart play? Mine? ----Absolutely love that first line. It's amazing. But yeah, S is raising a lot of questions. He has to be a super bad ass antagonist. Please let him be super bad ass. But, I mean, with a name like Stew how badass can he really be? Laughing All the same, he's got to be somewhat intelligent to go around making people believe he's an imp, disguising his identity and junk.

“Of archdemon?” I asked incredulously. Of all the demonic positions, archdemon was undoubtedly the most tedious of all. Between the paperwork of each of the dozens of precincts they watched over and all the drama that came with, who would want to bother? ----This was a nice way to reveal exactly what the archdemon is without having a big info dump. And fun? I beginning to like this S even more. I mean, for fun? That's just maniacal.

Charlotte pulled away from me, narrowing her eyes at me until she smiled. “Are you jealous, Col?” ----Hate Char, love the detail here.

-----I really love how I feel like I'm outside of Collin's body with him during the memory. It felt like he was frozen in front of the door, but everything around him changed, and he had some sort of out of body experience. That was really neat. And I love how you alluded to what he was doing at the pub and didn't come directly out and say it. This almost made me feel sorry for Charlotte, but I still don't. Collin is a jerk, and I love him for it just like Mir does.

Charlotte shrugged, but her insecurity was thick in the air. He didn’t need her now, like I didn’t need her so long ago. Had my poor wife ever been needed? ---Don't call her "my poor wife" again, Col. Do you understand me? Never again. I don't feel sorry for her, so you can't either. Okay? Awesome.

Again, I was transported through time, as my wife’s eyes begged me not to leave every time I would. She never confronted me, in all of my time together, but it was obvious that she knew. And now, as I saw those same eyes begging the same request, it felt heartless to leave her for another woman’s company. --- Okay Col, I'll level with you. I completely and totally understand your guilt, but you can't forget about the woman who actually gives a damn about you. Charlotte is obvs dillusional. If she even thinks for a second she can have you back, she's wacko. I mean, you never wanted her in the first place, and the only reason your staying is strictly because of your guilt. That's just sad. Pity is always sad. Always. So stop. Just stop pitying her. Apologize if you feel the need to, but don't fucking pity her. Miriam never pities you. She slapped the shit out of you. She isn't putting up with your shit. You NEED her. You fucking NEED her, Collin. Don't do this. Don't start being a big pity party for yourself AND everyone else.

“I know.” My hands shook as I took her wrists. She was so different as well, though I couldn’t see all the changes as she could. I felt so guilty, unable to find my wife in her face, or her touch, but her eyes were so clearly her. ----Love. This totes reminds me of two people that I write about *wink* But I don't love this woman. I don't love her in the least. Also, I wanted to mention above and forgot about when Collin sees Charlotte's face on his wife because he can't remember her actual face. That's so cool, that you thought that deeply about how his memories would be constructed. That's awesome. Because that's how our memory actually works. We don't remember things the way they actually happened. We can't. That's a note I need to take. Laughing

When she didn’t elaborate, I accepted the bait. “Any of what?” ---Uhmmm, love. Love, love, love, this.

The information seemed so casual now. A son, a child at all. ****I hadn’t seen it before, after, or now, and part of me felt she had just told me the weather of the night I had gone, while another hovered near devastation****. -----OMFG TOMMIE! Yes, I just called you Tommie. Let me explain why . . . . I was going to go on this all-caps-lock rant about this 'son' issue. I was going to have like five paragraphs about it to try and explain exactly the way I felt when bitchtitties mentioned that Col might have a son, and to scream about the fact that this might be Stew. But, instead, I'm just going to fucking bow down and kiss your feet at how genius this goddamn fucking line is. I literally cannot believe how awesome this line is. Like, I'm so mad right now that it isn't mine. I need jelly school like uber bad right now. This is one of the best line's in history, of course, in the context of this situation. Like it wouldn't work as a quote for the book or anything, but Collin literally just put my feelings into words (by doing so for himself). Like omg. How did you do that?! That's so fucking awesome. I totally get what he means, because I'm so in tune with his idiosyncrasies. Wow. I don't know how you did it, but you did. Like, he's not even shocked. He's either in so much disbelief, like it's so ludicrous that his mind just chooses not to investigate it, or he accepts the fact that it is what it is. And this also goes back to how our memories work. Wow. Genius.

----Going to comment on Char's story and son at the end.

“I’m,” I hesitated. Though Miriam knew my destination, it still felt antagonistic to tell her I was here. “I’m where I said I’d be,” I finally settled on. ----I actually love Collin's response here. It was kind of "take charge" and hot. I was like, "Yeah shut up Miriam, he's where he needs to be." But then I was like, "No, that's Mir. She's worried. Don't be a dick, Col."

It felt awkward departing from her after how much she had revealed to me, but still, she didn’t feel like my wife. My wife didn’t have a child or take a female lover to help raise it. My wife didn’t then betray that lover for her own gain. My wife wouldn’t sell her soul. But she had. She wouldn’t set me up. But she has. ----Beautiful effing paragraph. Collin is deducing this exactly how I want him to. Yes, Collin. But she has.

---Omg, hadn't even thought Char would still believe she could get her son back. Good thinking Col, she might be looking to sacrifice you.

I hesitated, afraid my lack of response would expose me. Instead, I turned to face her, closing the gap between us as I pressed my lips to hers, and startled Charlotte had little choice but to melt into the kiss, as taken aback as I hoped she’d be. ---I'm actually not the slightest bit mad that he did this. My ass would actually be way burned if he would have said it back. Nice way to keep her on the hook while also making the reader question if his guilt is causing him to have real feelings toward her. Who knows? But at this point, I'm just gonna say he has no feelings other than guilt, and he's a pretty good player. So, suck it Char!!!11!!!

----Okay, commenting on Charlotte's little story. I actually don't hate her now as much as I did. The kid thing was a good card to play. I totally get it. I almost feel bad for her, but I'm to scared to actually dedicate myself to that feeling. She might turn out to be a vengeful bitch and make me regret it, so for now, I'm just going to continue to hate her. But thank you for not making this a huge deal, the kid thing. Yes, it's sad, and yes, it's a perfect excuse to do what she did, but I'm glad you didn't have them harp on it. And I don't think it's Collin's style to harp on it. I mean, he harps on Sophie, but he knew Sophie. Charlotte telling him he had a kid really changes nothing for him. Especially since that kid is dead (so you say and I'm going to begrudgingly believe for now). But yeah, I thought Col's reaction to that was perfect, as said in the rant above. And you wrote Char's dialogue there so well that you made me feel sorry for her, making me hate her less. You know when I harbor hate that it doesn't just go away. So, your writing is amazing. Obvs. Somehow, you and I have both managed to have a child in our stories and not use him as a scapegoat. GO US!!!!

Over all, this chapter is beautifully written. The sexual tension completely dies at the end, thank god. Who could be sexually geared after hearing that tragic child story. Collin is starting to wisen up. I'm actually proud of him. It's kinda hot the way he acts toward Mir and Charlotte at the end here. He's such a baby sometimes, and he's such a jerk too, but at the end he's really starting to take charge and be a fucking man. I have to say, it makes me super attracted to his character. Also, lots of questions answered here. Looks like S. IS our antagonist. But hey, where's Lucifer and why isn't he telling this bitch to quit causing chaos because he totes for real can't be him?

Love, Bf
!!!!!!11!!!!!

PS. Though your only in the first draft, this story is coming together so beautifully. Jelly.

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