All of your wonderful comments and all the faves makes my day. Thank you so much, and I hope you continue to enjoy!
psyche b
9. Little Things You Hide
It had taken the frail less than eighteen hours to go from terrified to pissed off. He'd expected the shift would happen, he just hadn't expected that it would happen so fucking fast. At breakfast, he could tell that her posture was different. She hadn't said a word about the night before either. In fact, she didn't say a damn thing that was any different from any other morning. It was fucking weird.
He was supposed to be the one who shook things off. Frails were supposed to cry and cower and do all the shit she had done last night. Maybe she got it out of her system, but he doubted that. It wasn't like he'd shredded some article of clothing she liked; she saw very clearly that her life was threatened. Now she was asking him how he wanted his fucking eggs. There was definitely something going on in that head of hers. So he waited, smelling her anxiety growing with each passing minute.
It took until she was cleaning up the breakfast dishes for her to say it. "Are you going into town tonight?"
That wasn't what he was expecting. It put him on edge immediately. "Why?"
She fussed over the dishes, keeping her back to him. "I want to go with you."
Where the fuck was she headed with this? "I ain't taking you into the bar I go to, so you can just get that out of your head." Being with the frail had gotten more comfortable, but that didn't mean he was going to give up all of his other bitter comforts.
She took a deep breath. He watched the force of it make her shoulders rise and fall. "I don't want to go to the bar with you. I want to go into town with you. There's a knitting group that meets at the yarn store. I thought it would be fun to join them."
He stared at her back while what she just said sunk in. "Well you've just got great fucking timing haven't you? Last night you were ready to crawl under a rock. Today you want to go running around town alone?"
She turned and looked at him. "You're half right." The note of sarcasm in her voice came through clearly, and it pissed him off.
He was across the spacious room more quickly than she could react. He turned her back to him and in the process twisted her arm up behind her back. The smell of her tears and the pained squeak filled the room. He felt her knees start to buckle, so he wrapped his arm around her waist. He might just break her fucking arm; it'd be a good lesson to her. He wasn't going to let her do it before he was ready. "You were saying, frail?" He growled close to her ear.
She trembled. "Victor please-"
"Please? Now you remember your fuckin' manners?" He pushed just a centimeter further. Her cry was sharper this time.
She took a several quick, shallow breaths. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded." She spoke through clenched teeth.
He'd expected apologies and reassurances that she wouldn't do it again to come spilling out in a terrified jangle of noise, she was still fighting to keep herself in control. It set her apart from so many others he'd put in this position. "Then you better tell me how you meant it. Real fucking clear. Real fucking quick. Got it?"
"Yes." Her voice quivered.
The potent mixture of pained sounds and frightened smells was as close to intoxication as he could get, and he was enjoying every delicious, heady second. "Start talking, and if you piss me off again, I ain't gonna hesitate."
She took a trembling breath. "You're right, the timing is bad. But if I hide that means Stan gets what he wants in a way. I've fought so hard to never give in to what he wants; I don't want to start now that I'm not even under his roof anymore." She whimpered again. "Victor please, let go."
He tightened his grip on her wrist, but he didn't push her arm any further. "So you thought you could get away with being a smart ass to me?" His voice was quieter.
"I'm sorry." She went limp against him. "That's not how I meant it. I just...I was nervous and wasn't thinking of how it sounded. Please, let go. I can't feel my fingers."
He moved her arm down carefully, his arm still around her waist. He waited until she seemed stable on her feet again. "Finish up."
He walked away, a half smile touching his lips as soon as his back was turned. Fucking frail had brass ones, he had to give her that.
*~*~*~*~*~*
It took her longer than usual. The strain he'd placed on her arm made it weak and achy. Her hand trembled. Pain shot through her overstressed shoulder. She took more time with anything breakable. She didn't want to give him another reason to be angry with her.
As soon as it was out of her mouth she'd known it was the wrong thing to say, but she'd been too wrapped up in working up her nerve to ask to go into town. The idea of being around other people at all made her nervous because she'd been so isolated for so long. The idea that anyone might have seen that broadcast only added to that discomfort. While it was true that the Wednesday night group at The Village Knitiot wasn't exactly ordinary, they were still all strangers. That alone made them dangerous. She looked a lot different, but probably not so different that an observant person wouldn't notice the similarities. Being around other people without Victor was a completely terrifying. Scared as she was, she knew hiding wasn't the answer.
Kelly lingered in the kitchen, straightening things and brushing at imaginary crumbs. She knew that if it wasn't over, he would have finished it then and there. That didn't mean she felt entirely comfortable about approaching him after she'd upset him. In such a big house, there had to be something else that needed rearranging or polishing. She should be able to keep herself busy until at least lunchtime. After that, she would figure something else out if she needed to.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Lawton, Maine had tried to develop a tourist trade, but the location was never right for it and neither was the attitude of most of the locals. It had never caught on, but there were vestiges of the attempt still left in town. The Olde Towne Tavern was one of those places. Creed knew that when it was first built it had probably been designed with that stupid rustic distressed look that people seemed to love. Over the years, the illusion of distress had settled into a dilapidated reality. Not someplace he'd bring the frail, but she was down the street at her knitting group at the yarn shop.
He hadn't liked the idea at first, and he sure as hell hadn't like her approach but he'd appreciated the reasoning behind it. He knew the shop owner was a mutant, though not a terribly powerful one. Her Wednesday group was for mutants and those with mutant mates or children. It made him feel a little better about leaving the frail there alone.
Better. Not comfortable. That first week he'd lingered outside the building, listening, watching exists. Looking for any sign that she was in danger. Sure she was only a frail, but she was his and no one took something of his without a fight. Surprisingly, she'd seemed to be less comfortable than he was. He'd been certain she wouldn't want to go again, but the second week she'd been waiting by the door with her bag. Goddamn determined little thing.
She wasn't as apprehensive as she'd been that first week, and this time he had business to take care of. As soon as she was inside, he'd gotten himself a bottle of good whiskey and a glass at the bar, then took over a dim booth in the back of the Tavern. He poured himself a drink and checked his watch. He fucking hated waiting.
In the beginning, he'd planned to leave her alone while he was gone. The house was built on a promontory. The fence cut it off from the rest of the surrounding area. The array of motion sensors and alarms on the edge of the cliff and on the fence itself were enough to keep most things out. When he was there alone, someone would have to be pretty fucking stupid to try and get in anyway. He'd figured that and the security features on the house itself would be enough to keep her safe, like they had during his brief trips into town.
Then Stan had to go fuck up everything. If someone was determined, she'd be an easy target, no matter what kind of fence he kept her behind. That meant he had to trust someone else to keep her safe while he was gone. The idea alone pissed him off, but he wasn't about to let asshole Stan have the upper hand.
He'd thought about having someone simply watch, without having any contact with her. Knowing her, that would last all of three days - if that - then she'd call him in a panic and he'd have to figure out something else from a distance. Leaving her alone with someone else was the option he liked least, but it was probably the most rational under the circumstances.
Ironically, the first person he'd thought of was Jimmy. That was just plain stupid and he knew it. The only reason he'd thought of the runt at all was because she was just the kind who brought out that pain in the ass noble side of his. He'd take one look at the frail and see the bruises and scratches, that too-small frame and those striking eyes and completely miss the steel and fearlessness that she managed to carefully hide from damn near everyone. Jimmy'd go into 'rescue' mode as soon as he saw her, keeping her away from anyone and anything he perceived to be a threat. That also meant that he'd try and get her away from his 'monster' of a brother. Even if he were speaking terms with the runt, he would have rejected the idea for that reason alone.
Creed checked his watch, and poured himself another drink. The only advantage of having the frail so close was that if this little meeting went bad, he could grab her and be heading out of town in five minutes or less. Fucking frail. She was one big complication wrapped up in soft skin, sweet scents and delicate touches. He drained the glass in one, burning swallow.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Kelly sat in one of the mismatched armchairs at the back of The Village Knitiot. She kept her eyes on the sock she was working on and let the conversation and laughter flow around her. The first week, she'd been suspicious of the others in the group. She hadn't wanted to be, but suspicion had become so much a part of the fabric of her daily life that it was reflexive. This week, she just didn't know what to say. She wasn't a part of the world in the same way these women were. Maybe in a few more months she would be, and she might be better off to stay away from groups until then.
"Kelly?"
She lifted her head to see the six women staring at her. She managed an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry. I guess I was a million miles away."
The older members of the group went back to their conversation. Sarah, the one other knitter under thirty, smiled a little. "It's okay. It looked like you were counting. I just asked if you got that yarn here."
The sock weight hand-painted merino wool blend was something she never would have been able to afford before. The blend of blues, purples and pinks had caught her eye immediately. She'd reached out, hesitant to touch it. Victor had stood back and watched her return to that shelf three times before he'd gotten tired of watching her indecision. He'd took two of the larger hanks and tossed them in her shopping basket.
"I don't think I need-"
"You got it. Get creative." He'd said, a little twitch of a smile on his lips. If she hadn't gotten used to his tiny flickers of expression, she would have missed it.
