STRANGER, jesper fahey

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Perhaps you should consider buying yourself some gloves if that's your reaction to merely brushing against dirt."

"No, then it would truly be impossible to tell us apart, wouldn't it?" Gwen smirked, something hollow aching in her birdcage chest as she finally looked up at him, the scrutiny of his stare making her skin feel like it was being boiled alive, like the flames of hell licking at her heels, dancing ever closer with every mistaken breath as she desperately thought of a way to change the subject, to get him to stop looking at her that way, like she was something to be pitied, and not yet realising she'd tear such emotion away with bloodstained teeth.

"You know, I still can't believe you kept Archibald for all those years, thought you hated that thing." She muttered quietly, silently praying that he'd take the bait, that he'd leave the subject alone because she truly felt unsightly, like she had been proven to be human, all the while she was still learning to make room with the darkness battling inside of her, angry at her for ruining what would of been its completion, angry at her for coming back with fingers stripped to the bone as they clawed their way put of her cage prison of mourning just for a mere brush of love, gobbling it all with her greedy mouth that only took.

But for a moment, it looked as though Kaz wasn't about to grant such a mercy, still staring her down with his brows furrowed and his lips set in a thin line...before that expression finally eased out into feigned nonchalance as he leaned back into the chair beneath him, picking some imaginary lint ball from his sleeve, all the while looking bored out of his mind. "If you must know, I kept it as a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"Of what Ketterdam had taken from me, and of why I was going to tear it apart." He said, and that dark gravel of his voice was nothing short of dangerous as it filled the room like vile smoke...and it really was easy for her to see just how her brother had earned the title of Dirtyhands when he looked like death itself had become him. Saints, they really were far too young to be this twisted, to be this cruel and fucking destructive and broken...yet there they were, so ruined by the world that was meant to let them grow, only to try and abandon them in the dirt, to wipe their history into mere dust, and yet, like a Phoenix from ashes, they'd risen to make the world bow instead.

Gwen truly wanted to laugh, wanted to laugh until her throat bled because she was afraid that if she didn't she'd cry, but instead, she just cleared her throat quietly, deciding to change the subject into something less heavy, less traumatic, tucking her hands underneath her armpits and trying not to physically grimace at the way the raw skin seemed come alive in agony, protesting the way it was being smothered by the dreadful heat her body was radiating. "So, why are you here? Didn't Jesper already tell you how our little misson went?"

"He did, yes. Also told me that you saved his life."

Saints, why did it suddenly feel so...awkward in here, she thought to herself, shifting around uncomfortably and avoiding Kaz and his accusing eyes as if her life depended on it, because there was obviously a motive in his question, and she wasn't all that sure that she wanted to know what it was as she focused on the crooked tile upon her kitchen floor, wondering if she just ignored he'd eventually go away, however, after a minute of almost painful silence, she grunted tiredly and rubbed her palm down her face swiftly. "Yes, and he saved mine too...where are you going with this?"

"You know exactly where I'm going with this, Stranger." The bastard of the Barell, dirtyhands, Kaz Brekker was definitely about to have that kind of conversation with her, the talk, and honestly, Gwen was contemplating either throwing herself out of a window or just sticking to what had once been her job and killing him dead as she blinked at him, mouth dry with her every swallow feeling like sandpaper in her mouth, the mantra of this wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, doing absolutely nothing to deter the fact that it seemed to definitely be happening...because of course it would be.