Cherry Pies, You and I (P.S the Devil Lies)

Becoming

She shut off all the lights in the house and moved through it like a ghost. In a way, she supposed, she was. She glided around gathering odds and ins, removing all traces of herself and leaving nothing but a memory, before floating onto a kitchen stool with a pen and paper.

Her head fell into her hands. She didn't know where to begin, but she tried her best anyway.

Dear Marie,

I'm not sick, but you've probably already figured that out. Long story short, my 'dad' is in town. He left one of his so-called gifts for me at the diner this morning, and I knew I had to leave. I'm sorry to leave you without any help. I really don't want to. I like it here with you and Caliban. Oh god, Caliban. Tell him I'll call. I don't even know what I'm going to say to him. I won't even be able to ask you for advice. It's not safe here for me anymore.

I'm going to really miss you. You gave me a lot more than a job and a place to stay. You were kind of like another Aunt to me. Thank you is what I'm trying to say. Thank you for everything. Thank you for laughing with me, and listening to me. For caring for me, and trusting me. I want you to know that I was really happy here. I don't know how I could ever repay you. I promise I'll write.

She hesitated, unsure of how to sign it. Marie didn't know her real name, but she knew that Victoria wasn't it. She never called her it anyway. It was always 'chérie' or 'Rhea.' After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, she decided not to sign it.

She attached it to the fridge with a magnet, scooped up her things, and headed for the front door. Unlike earlier, she doesn't hesitate before opening it and stepping out. She shoved the key through the mail slot and turned away.

"Princess?"

She jumped at the voice. The grocery bag that was perched on her shoulder slid off and caught in the crook of her elbow, preventing its contents from spilling onto the wooden porch.

"Caliban," she greeted, readjusting the bag on her arm, "Hi."

She isn't sure what to say, and, for a moment, they just stand there. An invisible weight settles onto them, and they both shift in an effort to disperse it.

"Marie told me you were feeling unwell, so I-uh brought you some soup." A take-out bag was in his hand, and he extended it to her, bridging the gap between them. She reached for it, fingers brushing against his for a moment before letting her arm fall back to its place by her side.

She tucked the bag up to her stomach and the warmth from it seeps through her sweater into her skin. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and was starting to feel the dull rumble of hunger in response to the promise of a meal. "Thanks."

"Are those all of your belongings?"

She nodded, "I have to leave."

"Without saying goodbye?"

"I was going to call," she informed him, but it sounded meaningless and empty.

"Just like that?" There is the slightest hint of anger in his tone, and it surprised her. She had seen him sad, frustrated, tired, amused, and happy, but never angry. "You are going to pack up your things and leave just like that?"

"I don't have a choice."

"Why not?"

"Because my father's here!" she snapped, "I can't stay because my father's here!"

"So your solution is to run?"

"What the hell else would you have me do?" she demanded, "One of his minions showed up a the diner. Marie was there. You could've been there. It's too dangerous for me to stay. Someone could get hurt. Leaving is my only option."

"That is not good enough," Caliban retaliated, "You can't just leave the people who care about you. People who I'm certain would gladly endure pain if it meant they got to keep you by their side."

"No matter what I do, I'm going to hurt people. I've accepted that. But I would rather have them crying in their beds than dead in the ground."

"That is not your call to make!"

"You would make it too if your father was Lucifer fucking Morningstar!"

She said it. She had actually said it. Well, she had screamed it. Silence washed over them like a tidal wave, and all traces of their anger seemed to fizzle out.

"Morningstar?" he echoed, "That arms dealer that's in the news all the time?"

"That's the one. I'm his offspring. His progeny. His daughter. His heir. And whatever other words describe the blood that we share," she's hysterical now, rambling on in a way that must make sense only to her, "He wanted to raise me to have his life. His job. To be guilty by association in the deaths of god knows how many people. Do you wanna know how I know that? A federal agent told me. A federal agent who went undercover as my nanny so the FBI could put him in prison! Then she found me here and he followed her. She led him straight to me! The icing on the cake is that if he never got out of prison, I never would've met you."

"Princess..."

"I never would've met you, which would mean that I wouldn't have to leave you," her rambling ground to a halt, "And if I didn't have to leave you, I wouldn't be so sad right now."

"Princess," he repeated, extending his arms to her, "Come here."

The bags fall from her arms and hands on their own accord. They land on the porch with a thud that she barely registered.

All of her senses were completely consumed by him and the comfort that he provided. All she feels is his strong arms anchoring her to the ground and her head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat seemed to be shifting from a faster pace to a natural, steady rhythm. She took several deep breaths in time with it, inhaling the, now familiar, scent of leather, earth, and ocean water. She took another deep breath, and she noticed something peculiar.

There was another scent clinging to him. Something familiar, but it eluded her. His hand, which had been rubbing soothing circles onto her back, reached up to card his fingers through her hair. The satisfaction the gesture brings is enough to momentarily distract her, but not for long.

It was something sweet. It was sweet and warm and delicate. It was her soap. Her milk and honey soap mixed with the smell of Marie's baked goods that she spent all of her mornings in the kitchen assisting with.

It was like they were becoming a part of eachother.

They held onto each other for a long time. Everything was still. She could hear crickets chirping and birds singing. It's peaceful, and she's shocked that the same guy who was capable of setting every nerve in her body alight with a kiss could elicit this type of contentment from her.

She felt better. A lot better. Saying it out loud made it better. Having someone listen made it better. He made it better, but it had still been a very emotionally exhausting day, and despite her impromptu cat-nap earlier, she was still tired.

She lets herself hold onto him a little tighter and didn't really notice when he took in a deeper breath than usual.

"Come home with me."

She didn't have the willpower to refuse.