Take Me Out

13 - Kiss Me Like You Hate Me

warnings: angst, mild fluff

***

It's been exactly three months and 13 days since you saw Tom. Going on 14 days.

You haven't slept right since that night. Since you learned that Harry died.

Since you learned that Tom was like every other man you've ever met.

You wish it wasn't as shocking as it was.

It shouldn't have shocked you, but after the gentleness and blossoming love that Tom seemed to show you, you never expected him to treat you as harshly as he did.

You haven't been back to Idaho since that day. You packed a suitcase and stumbled to your car, tears blurred street signs and exit markers but you drove. You drove until you ran out of gas and then drove some more until you ended up somewhere you never thought you would be.

**

"Y/N? What the hell are you doing- hey are you okay?" Ian asks, his blue eyes softening when he sees the bruises on your neck and your trembling form.

"I- I should go," you mutter, about to turn around. It's stupid to show up here. You haven't seen Ian in eight years. Haven't talked to him since you asked him to kill someone for you.

"Don't, Y/N, I-." he places a hand on your shoulder and you violently throw it off, spinning around.

"Don't touch me," your eyes are wide and Ian takes a step back, holding his arms up in defense.

"Sorry dear, why don't you come inside? I won't touch you, I won't hurt you, come on, promise."

"Promises mean nothing to me," you say through gritted teeth, dragging your suitcase up the steps to his brownstone.

"There's a meeting, but uh, we can go upstairs, do you need uh, tylenol or something for your neck? An ice pack?" Ian asks as he takes your suitcase.

"No, I'm, I'm perfectly fine."

"Y/N, your neck is covered in fingerprint marks, you're not fine."

"Ian! I'm sorry, I'm not fine I just, I've been driving since Idaho and-,"

"That's almost 4 days of driving-,"

"I pulled over at a Walmart halfway through and slept for like twelve hours but I-," you're interrupted by your stomach, making a sickening sound that makes whoever Ian is meeting with shout out toward you.

"Everything okay?" A British voice asks and even though you know it isn't Tom, a sob wracks your body anyway.

"When's the last time you had something to drink? To eat?"

"I had a water bottle at a gas station uh, in Ohio? Or New York? On the border of there, but I uh, I haven't had anything to eat since- since before uh, this," you gesture to your neck, unable to say anything more.

"Okay, let's get you some food, some water, jesus dear, do you need anything from me?"

"Where's the uh, where's the shower?"

"Up the stairs, second door on the left. Towels next to the sink are clean."

You nod, an unspoken thanks as you struggle to climb up the stairs, your entire body exhausted.

Ian watches you carefully, making sure you don't pass out before bringing your suitcase up to the guest room.

He gets a few snacks, realizing he definitely needs to go food shopping soon, and a glass of water before checking in on his meeting.