" i don't want your sympathy, i just want myself back "
---
no perspective.
The tired figure picks the lock to make his way into her apartment at this ungodly hour in the morning. The place that he's grown accustomed to is now flooding with morning light. The blandness, the simplicity, and the loneliness seemed to have found a way into him these past few months.
Someone who he set incredulous expectations for has suddenly turned out to be someone completely different in his mind. Someone he wanted to hold in his arms, memorize every feature on her beautifully imperfect body, and know everything going on in the chaos that he knows is her head.
He could understand better than anyone, he knew what pain was on the inside too.
His pursuit through the ear-piercing silence of her place only reminds him of the hurt he felt when she pushed him away merely hours ago. He assumes her to be asleep, more like hopes she to be, because that would make this all the more easier.
Gently pushing open the door, his striking green eyes glance around the room that makes vivid memories flash through his head. From sensual desires to morning banter to clouds of hazing smoke to soft comfort, all that was missing was that girl that accompanied every single one of them.
There was no small frame snuggled under the covers, prompting his ring-clad fingers to run through his tousled hair that he tugged one too many times last night.
At first, it came as a relief since he hated confrontation himself, but he knows he's in the wrong here for lying to her so long – for being selfish when it came to her.
The sheer proof of that was holding her crumbling facade in his arms last night, it was only proof when she pushed him away how much he truly lost.
His Ace – the only one he knows is just as good as he is in the ring. She's a prized gem that he has made his mission to keep safe. Whether the motive was his best friend's request or his own, is something he has yet to figure out in the chaos that inhabits his own head.
I mean, she's the only person he'll let touch him after getting hit during fights. The only one that can make his head go blank temporarily. The only one. And now cursing the universe for presenting comfort in a person, she's become that in his life.
Nevertheless, the reality of this set in for him.
Cursing under his breath, he nearly goes to call his friend waiting in the car out at the curb to track her phone for her unknown location, but the glow seeping from the cracked bathroom door makes his eyes keel.
He tucks his phone back into his soft pocket. Sweatpants weren't a commonality, but they would be today with the lack of sleep for some foreign reason that he has spent all night trying to figure out. It didn't help to see his angel's tear-stained cheeks every time he closed his eyes, or hear gut-wrenching sobs echo through his head.
But all in all, it all circled around to the singular thing that was her.
He cautiously pushes the door open to the blinding white lights illuminating the small space. The quiet dripping of the showerhead resounds through the quiet as he takes a step in.
There's no denying the knock of life from his lungs in that singular moment.
His eyes go wide at the sight of her small frame curled into a ball, passed out on the tile floor in her usual sleepwear to expose her bare legs. Her body misses the white bandages wrapped around her when she left the Pit last night. The fresh cuts on full display for his eyes while wondering why he didn't know that last night.
He crouches down, eyes glancing all around in curiosity of why his girl has fallen asleep right here in the middle of the bathroom. Reaching his hand to her, he tucks a wavy strand of her dark hair behind her piercing-adorned ear with her soft breaths.
Double-checking, his two fingers find the dip in her neck to press to her cool skin and perceive the steady thrum of her pulse under the cold skin.
He hates that he has to be the one to pull her out of the peace she deserves right now. He can only see the remnants of pain that linger on her calm body with puffy eyelids and a slight red hue to her closed eyes.
He looks back at this girl in her state of peace, and his head races with wonderment, wishing he could take the pain because he'd willingly do it.
But his phone buzzes in his back pocket, reminding him of his job right now.
He takes a deep breath, analyzing the situation at hand. Pulling a white cloth from his pocket, he sniffles lightly before lifting her petite frame up into his chest.
Her body jumps awake as he instantly presses the chemically laced cloth against her mouth and nose.
She starts to squirm in his arms at the sheer surprise of being woken like this, inhaling sharply to only breathe in more of this sleepy chemical.
Panic floods her body as he just holds her tighter with his legs clamped around her frame. She screams out into the cloth, receiving nothing but a tug tighter into his hoodie-clad chest.
He just savors the sensation of her warmth pressed up against him even though he shouldn't, not like this, knowing it could be the last as she continues to thrash.
"Shh, shh, you're alright." He whispers, even though he knows it's useless at the given moment.
His voice alone elicits her to jump even more but brings some reassurances. Still the last thing she expected at this ruthless hour in the morning, and she thrashes even more. She pleads with him to let her go as the chemicals in the cloth begin to force her head to spin.
"No, Harry–" she whimpers, so truly tired of all of this.
Her amber and green eyes get heavy as she starts to fall under the spell of the chemical itself. He continues coaxing her, holding her tight as her small body shakes out of panic, and she cries out into the cloth for useless help.
"Shh, you're gonna get your answers, Ace."
He reassures her and himself for doing this to her right now. Her wide eyes snap over her shoulder, meeting his green eyes that have fallen accustomed to the entrapment of her kaleidoscope eyes.
He watches her eyelids grow heavy as she fights but grows more and more tired. Her aching head pounds and pulsates from the night before – the piercing light and hazing chemicals don't seem to be helping matters at the moment.
He just takes in her glazed eyes, the sight of the bloodshot veins in them makes his stomach plummet to the cold floor.
Until those eyes of hers finally flutter shut and her body goes limp in his arms as the darkness consumes her with consciousness fading from her in an instant.
He slips the cloth from her mouth, glancing down to assure her back in that peaceful state of sleep again. One could literally call her Aurora now, he puckers a gentle kiss to her temple despite knowing she won't wake up from it.
He tosses the laced cloth into the bin to notice the crimson-stained gauze that she must have taken off last night.
Holding her for just a second more, he takes a deep breath before he lays her down on the floor again. Peace relaxes back to her nearly always anxiety-laced features, and it's all he needed.
Double-checking, he gently pulls her legs apart to ensure those scars that hide along her inner thigh aren't bright pink. He nearly sighs out of relief, finding himself shaking out the odd feeling that rippled through him.
Without all the time in the world, he whispers out profanity under his breath at the fact that she needs herself some pants. He groans under his breath, his phone vibrating in his pocket causes him to increase the pace of things at the moment.
He wanders into her bedroom coated in the predawn darkness to her dresser. He pulls out the top one, exposing the folded clothing, and beginning to rummage through her drawers after learning his lesson that her clothes were not in that closet.
He slips out a pair of forest green sweatpants just like him and calls it enough as he walks back over to her, crouching back down.
It takes more effort than it should to pull pants on her limp body and up her hips. Then he slides his hands under her warm, fragile body snuggled in those baggy clothes. He scoops her up with an arm under her delicate back and the other under her knees.
He peeks down at her as her head rolls to rest on his chest, and her dark hair falls over her face. Walking out with her in his arms, he crouches down with a struggle to get her shoes.
Lifting her back up with a soft huff and her shoes in his hand, he listens to her soft breaths as he walks out of her place. He locks the door from the inside before shutting it and continuing down the hall.
He stares down at her as he walks down the eerily quiet, run-down hallway with her eyes softly shut. Leaning down, he layers the faintest of kisses to her forehead just for the hell of it in remembrance of how much she hates it.
He jogs down the stairs, nudging the door open with his back. The cold gush of air hits his face as he maneuvers her out. The flickering golden street lamp accompanies his friend's expensive car waiting at the curb.
He pulls the door open and slides in carefully into the leather seat with her now in between his legs, curled into him. The third-party member glances down with his blue eyes and runs his fingers through his golden-brown waves.
"Fucking hell–" his Irish accent pierces through the dread that encompasses the shit planned today for the girl in the curly-haired one's arms.
---
aurora astor.
My eyes slowly blink open with a soft inhale entering my lungs, jumping up as I frantically look around in a resumed state of panic. My mind is hazy while throbbing headache pulses through my skull, and I softly groan under my breath.
I rub at my dry eyes with the back of my fist, noticing the congestion in my sinuses from completely shattering on the floor of my bathroom last night. I take notice of the warm blanket draped over my body, encapsulating me in the soft threads.
The simple action of sitting up on my elbow causes discomfort to ripple across the wounds along my body.
I only seem to remember bits and pieces of his comforting cologne and his words before it all went black. I screw my eyes shut, throwing my legs off the couch to sit upright, and I wince as my face twists up.
I sit here, waiting for the hurt to subside as I breathe slowly to regulate the strained breaths and holding my side with the large bandage splayed over the fresh stitches.
My mind functions in slow motion at this point until my stinging eyes finally blink open. I stay as still as I can because the pain isn't too bad when I'm frozen like this.
And then only does my brain actually process this foreign place, my eyes go a little wide as my lips part in absolute shock.
The dark-themed room with dim lights is set with a vintage classic aura. Finding myself on the dark leather couch set up under this rug that's more expensive than my life itself, a grand mahogany desk lays off to the side of this room.
The flicking fireplace in front of me coaxes me to stare and lose myself in the burning hot orange oblivion. The warmth from it radiates across my exposed skin while noting the sweatpants on my body, and can only pray to God that it was Harry alone.
I glance to the coffee table in front of me, regarding the crystal glasses and decanter of some kind of deep amber liquor on a tray that seems oddly tempting at the moment. It's just the crackling fire in the vintage, stone fireplace, and I decide to get myself up to figure out where the fuck I am.
I lift up to my feet and instantly regret it with a groan through my clenched teeth. My knees buckle, and I grasp the edge of the coffee table to hold myself upright while I curse under my breath.
I take a second, allowing the wave of pain leeway to subside, while I hold my waist. I give it another attempt as I stand myself upright again on weak legs, the discomfort pulsing through my leg and my side, as I exhale sharply.
I glance around while my vans tied onto my feet meet this soft rug on top of the stone floors. I limp with my arm wrapped around my waist, getting off the soft rug to perceive the hard stone under my soles.
I lightly limp past the warm fire, understanding the hurt with every step I take. I head right to the desk, taking in the laptop and monitors set up along the fairly organized space.
I walk around it, getting to the tall leather office chair, and glance down to the surface. The file cabinets and such accompany the massive desk, and instinctively I reach down with a sharp exhale and curse at the pained movement.
I tug on the cabinet and find no surprise in them being locked. I exhale the breath I was involuntarily holding in while I grip onto the edge of the countertop with my free hand.
That's when my heart lodges up into my throat, forcing my eyes to stop at the familiar photo. My face softly scrunches up as I reach for it and lift it up with an exhale at the work my body did to get it.
I stare down at the black-framed picture of the four of us, quite a long time ago actually. Griff was probably no older than 8, and I was 5 at the time with our parents hugging both of us on either side – there are childish grins along everyone's squished-together faces.
I swallow hard, pushing more and more sadness down.
Simply wishing I could warn that little girl in the picture frame of the hell she'd have to go through to make that sweet, uncorrupted smile eventually fade into this void of loneliness.
I gently set the frame down on the desk where it originally was, propping it up correctly with a moment longer glance at it. I pull myself away before I get lost in a reality that doesn't exist anymore.
Holding my side, I glance all-around to the bookshelves built into the wall behind the couch with spines of books of all kinds that can only be described as my brother. I swallow thickly down my dry throat, continuing to limp through the place slowly.
I manage to make my way over to the two oak double doors and I continue my pursuit there. Groaning under my breath as I hobble over, my free hand touches the cold metal knob.
I twist, pushing the door open to find the sight of a living room that's sunken in, a conversation pit. The intense bright sunlight makes my retinas burn from the natural light flooding in through the windowed walls.
"I fucking told you–" I hear a familiar voice ring through my ears. Instantly, I hear a boisterous barking resound through the ear-splitting silence that encapsulates this room.
"Shh, shh, relax, Leo–" an Irish accent murmurs to accompany the barking that still persists and jingling of what sounds like a collar tag.
I blink a few times to adjust to the harsh lighting, and my eyes slowly widen at the sight in front of me.
The group of them that I've weaved together in my head. It all makes sense now because he's the common factor, my brother standing there in sweatpants.
His arms crossed over his shirt as he intently stares at me across the room like the rest of the fuckers, the only person doing anything is Mia.
Her curly, dark hair is tied up in a messy bun with strands of springy curls falling over her face. They all look like they haven't slept at all, but I don't have it in me to say a word. I just can't seem to find where that barking is coming from, possibly I'm imagining it.
"Griff, can you make tea and get some painkillers?" Mia calls out, smiling softly at me before her arm laces around me to hold me up.
I accept it for now, "Let's sit you back down, sunshine." She mutters, walking with her and my slight limp exuding off my right leg.
Groaning under my breath, she walks me around the couch and past the coffee table to sink into the leather cushion again next to the soft knit blanket.
"How's the pain today?" She gently asks, sitting down in front of me on the edge of the coffee table.
I just stare at her as she tries to give me a smile, but not even the slightest of one graces my dry lips.
"What am I doing here?" I rasp out, noting myself speaking for the first time today with my sore throat.
Ouch- seems to be the word on repeat in my head.
She sighs a little, leaning her elbows on her thighs as I stare at her amber eyes with the puffy circles underneath them.
"It's kind of fucked, I know, but he might have assumed you wouldn't want to come on your own, and he can't have you knowing where this place is in the city yet." She mutters, almost like she feels bad for me, and there it is, that pity that every single stare in that other room had towards me.
I just stare at her still, unable to perceive any sort of feeling run through me.
"But you knew?" I softly ask her, watching her sigh under her breath, as I tilt my head to observe her genuine reaction.
My brain finally processes the fact that she is with my brother, that's the guy she's apparently sleeping with. Maybe he really did get himself lost in his own world that only exists in the pages of books he reads, maybe he found it in her.
Christ–
"You all knew that he was my brother?" I gulp, and her sympathetic eyes remain locked on mine before slightly nodding. I bitterly scoff a little under my breath before I can stop myself.
"Uhm- can I maybe check your cuts really quick?" She asks, changing the subject, and I exhale under my breath.
Extending my arm to her with my palm up, she scoots closer and accepts my silent offer that's dwindling right now. She lifts my short sleeve to reveal the dried blood scabbing along fresh-cut being held together with little white bandages.
"Jesus- where's the bandage I wrapped around that?" She mutters worriedly, and my eyes lift to her amber ones.
"Took a shower," I tell her, my voice itself monotone, as she gives me a knowing look and shakes her head.
"You have to take care of yourself, sunshine." She murmurs, and my eyebrows tug together a little.
"Let me get something to wrap those up again." She gets up again before I have a chance to argue otherwise and lets my arm go. I exhale, melting back into the plush cushion.
My eyes fixate on the crackling fire as I rub at my dry eye with the back of my hand, knowing the pulsing ache reverberating in my head still and in the rest of my body.
Quick footsteps re-enter to glance over at Mia with the roll of white gauze in her hand as she sits herself back down next to me this time. Taking my arm, she rolls up my sleeve. I continue to stare off into the fire, getting lost in it.
The bandage gets wrapped around my bicep as the pressure sends a subtle aching ripple through my arm. I hear the gauze tear, and she smoothes it down to stay.
"I'm assuming you took the other off your thigh?" She asks, and I glance down, watching her crouching down before I can even give her an answer, and I huff.
"I'll be quick." She offers, and my hips lift up slightly from the leather couch to tug my sweatpants down just enough for her to see the laceration on my upper thigh. I watch her wrap the white gauze in a strip around the cut, definitely feeling a wave of slight pain like it did on my arm.
Gulping again, I watch the gauze tear, and she smoothes the end down for me to lift my hips back up and pull my sweatpants up over my hips with a sharp exhale.
I sink back into the couch, and she stares at me for a second almost as if to say something, but her full lips clamp shut. Her eyes wander over me to meet eyes with the only person that could be in here.
Patting my thigh lightly before getting up, she disappears to notice a figure out of the corner of my eye before the double doors shut loudly.
My eyes train on the fire crackling while their presence joins me on the couch, shifting the cushion and entering a mug of steaming liquid in my field of view.
The scents of herbals and honey drift from it as I take it from him in dire need to try to get rid of this ache in my head and soothe my throat. His tattooed hand flips to palm up and sticks out with two blue pills, and I shake my head.
"Don't need it," I stubbornly mutter under my breath, and his hum vibrates through the silence before I watch him take them himself, swallowing them down dry, and I don't give it much thought.
Sipping on the steaming hot liquid, the thick blanket of tension starts to build between the two of us the longer we sit here listening to the fire crackle in front of us.
His cologne fills my nose lightly as I sip this tea that's doing wonders for my head right now.
"I don't really know what to say, Rory," He whispers to cut through the awkward silence, and I hum a little in acknowledgment.
"Sounds like your problem." I fire back tenaciously. He frustratedly groans under his breath, noticing his movement out of the corner of my eye as he pinches the bridge of his nose and leans on his forearms.
"Will you just stop being stubborn for one second?" He has the audacity to say. I simply take another sip as he nudges me closer to snapping, staring at the fire still without looking elsewhere.
"Explain then, since you felt the need to kidnap me in order to do so."
He huffs under his breath, getting up quickly from the couch, and my eyes finally lift at his abrupt actions.
Everything about this is absolutely insane, the absurdity of him being alive right now – in front of me – is not a reality I ever pictured to exist.
I sip my tea, welcoming the soothing liquid running down my sore throat from the screaming this morning and the sobbing last night.
I simply watch him pace back and forth, blocking my view of the fire, with his hair in disarray right now with the opportunity to take in more of the black ink whorling along both of his arms.
His hair is grown out now, the trimmed beard along his facial features didn't exist in his teen years. The ink alone is blatantly different. Maybe he's taller? I just couldn't tell because it's been that long.
He glances up at me, trying to put the words together in his head before tangibly letting it out to me. I attempt to mentally prepare myself for this, but my brain already knows the answer.
"You know I was really into this shit in school ..." he mumbles, and I stare blankly. "Well, I owed my dealer a shit ton of money, so I joined to pay it off." His throat bobs as I nearly roll my eyes.
"And it was supposed to stop there. I was supposed to pay it all off and be fine, but I dug myself way too deep into this. I couldn't back out then, sure as hell can't now." He's being brutally honest with me as the annoyance just piles up with this shitty excuse.
His reasons seem to be the same as why I continue to fight at the Pit but I press on as the persistent, tenacious person I am – or have become.
"Right, so you're still not giving me an actual answer?"
I say bluntly and he groans loudly, making me roll my eyes now.
"Jesus, fuck- Relax, I'm trying to- I'm trying to put this shit into words, alright?" He scoffs. I rub my temple with my thumb, staring at him and signaling the silence for him to actually do what I asked.
"I know this is all fucked, trust me. But this is something I built with all of them, there wasn't any way I could just leave, Rory. I'd fucking die for these people, I couldn't leave this- them." He tries to justify it, and it just gets worse if we're being honest.
"But you could leave your actual fucking family?" I snap at him, he apprehends the anger is evident all over my face. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don't give it a chance.
"So let me get this straight–" I exhale sharply as I lean over my knees with my mug in my hands, and I look up at him. "Your role in this?" I question, my voice is still scarily monotone.
I watch his throat physically bob as he swallows, rubbing his jaw nervously as he towers over me on the other side of the coffee table.
He just shrugs, "I guess- I- we kind of run it?" He shyly murmurs.
My lips actually part now, "All of it? Crescents? You–" I scoff, and he tips his head, nodding slightly. I throw myself back against the back cushion of the couch with a harsh scoff.
"Are you fucking–" I exasperatedly groan out loud, shooting my eyes to him in absolute vexation.
"You left us for this shit?" I dig the invisible knife in deeper with my words to watch his face scrunch up.
"You left us for more drugs," I deadpan with pained annoyance painted all over my face. His jaw clenches as he curses out at that statement, knowing damn well I struck a nerve.
"I cannot fucking explain it to you, you'll never fucking understand." He snaps.
I let my tongue run over my teeth, actually reacting with a sick laugh.
"And this conversation had to wait 7 fucking years–" I bitterly mutter, and he cuts me off to answer.
"Because I'm protecting you, Rory, that's what all of this is. You were supposed to stay out of all of this, you were supposed to get a better life." He protests, and I grit my teeth at that protecting bullshit, again.
"Well, I'm involved, aren't I?" I bluntly respond, and he scoffs sharply at me, shaking his head while tugging at his roots.
"Will you shut up and actually listen?" He snaps, raising his voice slightly, and I scoff back at him. The ease of the clashing between us is honestly scary.
"My reasons are completely valid, asshole. Your fucked up excuses for leaving haven't justified a single thing." I fire at him, raising my own voice in the slightest, but my tone is indescribably sharp.
His puffy brown eyes narrow at me, running his fingers through his hair yet again. "Of course, you wouldn't fucking understand, you had everything handed to you–" he lividly begins, and I snap at him.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
I raise my own voice at him now, getting up on my feet now. He scoffs at me, pointing at the couch.
"Sit the fuck back down, Rory–" he grinds out, and I hold my side with anger coursing through my veins.
"Yeah, sorry they loved me more because I didn't fucking leave without saying shit!" I snap at him with sarcasm that he doesn't seem to pick up.
He groans out, tugging on his unruly hair. "You had it so easy, you had no idea–" he scoffs.
I throw the warm mug in my hand so fast, it flies with the steaming liquid. He reactively ducks, and it shatters across the wall.
"What the hell!" He yells at me and I scoff at him, noticing a vigorous barking muffle through the door the second the mug came in contact with the wall but it drones out with our screaming voices.
"Fucking idiot, you're wrong, Griffin. There was not a single fucking day that mom and dad didn't sit out on the porch at night waiting for you to just come home." I grit out through my teeth, and he takes a semi-step back, watching his lips part in shock.
"They waited every day for you, and you never came back to us!" I snap at him, and he starts pacing again.
"Mom had to get back on her meds, and dad started smoking again while you were off having fun? You broke both of them, so don't you dare try to play the victim here." I harshly spit out, remembering every second of it while continuing to dig the knife in.
He adamantly shakes his head, glancing back on me with the intent of being right himself.
"You've always been oblivious, Rory. Our family was broken before I fucking left–" he snaps.
My heated anger simmering in me begins to boil over entirely.
I grab another crystal glass resting perfectly on the tray, flinging it at him with my good arm. He curses out, ducking quickly under the trajectory, and the crystal shatters and rains glass onto the floor.
"We were fine! We were fine until you–" I yell at him, utilizing everything in me to keep my voice steady, and he scoffs at me.
"You're going to pretend you didn't hear them arguing every fucking night?" He fires at me, eliciting my heart to snap in my chest as I run my fingers through my own hair.
It takes everything in me to simply stand, nearly sweating from the work my body is exuding at the moment with my angered anxiety swirling into nausea.
"No? Tell me–" he begins, sharp as a knife, and I scoff at him again.
"What did you expect, Griffin? Nothing's ever perfect, people fight–" I justify, and he counters quicker.
"People don't fight like that," He shakes his head in distaste.
I scoff at him harshly, holding onto the cut along my waist on weak legs. "You fight with people because you care about them because they're worth the effort–" I start.
He abruptly laughs out loud to cut me off, forcing me to clamp my lips together while denying the pinch in my heart from it.
"Get your head out of the fucking clouds, that's not real–" he snaps at me, being the headstrong one himself. I walk over, closer to him with my arm encompassing my waist.
The fire is still crackling with the intensity of this pent-up conversation we've suppressed over the years and years he's been away.
"You're telling me you left because you couldn't handle mom and dad fighting in the house?" The venom seeps off every syllable of my voice as he scoffs sneeringly.
"There is so much more to it, Rory. You would never fucking understand because you've had life easy! They never treated you the same because you were their little angel, right?" He snaps, noticing the hurt in his voice, and I shake my head in disbelief right now.
"God- I am so sorry life was so shitty, Griffin, but did running away fix any of your fucking problems?" I grind out at him.
He goes quiet now, knowing that trauma runs deep enough that not even extracting away from it can do you any good.
"Exactly, prick," I mutter under my breath, and he glares at me.
"I'm going home," I mutter, turning myself around in disappointment with myself even more.
"I need you to stop fighting, Rory." He finally mutters behind me, his request carrying through the crackling tension boiling over in this collapsing space, and there it fucking is.
I turn on my heel, glaring at him as he chews on his bottom lip.
"I need you to stop fighting, Rora." He says again, the nickname I haven't heard in years is like a brutal shot to the heart.
I stare at him, the agony seeps through every part of my being now.
"You've clearly changed a lot, and I've done the same, it's been 7 years if you've forgotten. I'm not some little girl anymore. I can take care of myself, and your opinion here has no value anymore." I confidently tell him, watching him throw his head back in dramatics with a loud groan again that only elicits an eye roll in irritation from me.
"You have pulled yourself into something so much more fucked up than you know. I have spent all this time making absolutely sure you stay as far away from this shit as possible–" he grits out, and I cut him off, taking a faulty step to him.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Griffin!" I fire at him in frustration, hearing enough of this shit without an actual explanation for it.
He huffs again, raking his fingers through his unruly hair while it takes a lot for me to remain upright.
"That is what I've been doing for all this time, I've been keeping you out of this and keeping you safe–" he starts, almost assuring himself, and my jaw oscillates with intent.
My eyes go razor-sharp like my jaw, "Yeah?" I snap at him, and his eyebrows crease together.
"Wanna know how I found out about the Pit in the first place?" I dare, the sick tone of my voice is even scaring me right now.
He just stares, chewing on his bottom lip again, as his eyes are tired and his hair is true wild mayhem.
"You left all your fucking journals at home," I reveal, and his eyes widen a little, making me harshly blow out a laugh under my breath in disbelief.
"You read–" he starts, watching his face slowly heat an embarrassed hue of rouge. I hold up my free hand, not wrapped around my waist, to stop his next thoughts so I can finish mine.
"You should have fucking thought about before you decided to just vanish," I counter at him, and he groans out, rubbing his jaw in even more frustration.
"I didn't write about any of this shit–" he yells out in defense, and I shake my head at him slightly.
"No, you let it slip once. Something about medicine, ringing any bells?" I nearly taunt, and he curses under his breath in realization, forcing me to roll my eyes again. "One thing led to another, and my friends helped figure out that all roads lead to that goddamn place." I snap at him, and his hands are on the back of his neck. "Just couldn't help myself when I found out what was going on down there." I cruelly tell him, and he shakes his head.
"You couldn't even kill spiders yourself, Rory–" he starts, and I huff sharply at him.
"First off, that's different, and second, you don't know shit about me anymore," I argue at him. He scoffs, starting to pace around again.
"We'll, you're still a stubborn bitch." He snaps in a comment.
I grit my teeth with coursing anger, grabbing another glass before I can stop myself and hurling it right at his head. He dodges with a loud curse for the glass to collide against the wall and shower on the floor loudly.
"You better start watching your fucking words, you know you're in the wrong here, Griffin–" I spit out at him with everything in me. He runs his fingers through his hair over and over, rubbing his face.
"I know, trust me, I know." He mutters, and I scoff at him, exhaling under my breath at the pain vibrating through my limbs.
"But you cannot keep fighting, especially not with Moore–" he starts,, and the second his name falls out of his lips, my brain cancels it out. I don't have the time, patience, or energy for this right now.
Both of our anger issues are turned up to full intensity right now, just letting it all out in a heated vent that hurts like a fucking bitch.
"This is pointless–" I scoff, starting to go to the door.
He walks over quicker, stepping in front of me, and blocks me from it. His cologne engulfs me in soft scents of cedarwood and amber as he towers over me, being the closest he has since last night.
"Wait, just wait–" He says sternly, grabbing my shoulders while being careful of my wound across my left arm to force me to look at him above me. "This shit you've pulled yourself into ... I know about the pictures and the stunt you pulled with Moore, Rory, please–" He pleads.
I scoff even louder, shoving his hands off me as the tangibility of it becomes all too real, as I take a step back.
The thoughts of Harry swarm my head and the lack of authenticity to everything I've known about him these months. I swallow down the lump in my throat from him alone, pinching this pain through my chest that becomes slightly overwhelming, and shake my head at Griff in front of me.
"I'm done. I'm–" and he presses on anyway.
"No, you don't understand the kind of people at hand here. They will not hesitate to make your life hell or- or hurt you, Rory." He wearily mutters, his eyebrows pinched together with his amber eyes on me, and I slowly shake my head at him yet again.
"My life's already hell, Griffin," I murmur.
His sharp features soften a little, causing me to narrow my eyes at him even more.
"It's quite amusing though, that you just started caring–" I scoff, and his jaw clenches as he curses loudly at me, almost flinching from how sharp it was.
"Were you not listening to a single thing I fucking said?" He outright yells, flushing his cheek an angered shade of red.
I click my tongue in a harsh scoff, "Since you claim to care so fucking much, Griffin, where the hell were you when I almost died last year?" I finally stop walking around it, and it pinches at my heart to do so.
His entire body freezes up, but that look on his face tells me he knew.
He knew.
I breathe out a depressing laugh, holding my side even though that pain doesn't compare to the kind cracking through my heart. He takes a half-step back and slumps back into the wall with a thud.
"Would you fucking look at that? You knew ." I muse, and he rubs his face, burying his face into his palms to only show the tattoos trailing along the backs of his hands.
"Better yet, I'm sure you already knew they died then." I pour salt onto my own wounds, and the heels of his palms press into his closed eyes with a huff.
"Yeah, you did know," I mutter in disbelief, shaking my head with a knot deep in the pit of my stomach tightening with sickness.
"I'm so fucking done with this shit–" I scoff as he pulls off the wall and stops me before I can get to the door.
"Rora, please–" he pleads, and I snap again because that's all I've been doing lately, and it's exhausting, it is so exhausting.
"No, fuck no–" I crumble slightly, trying my best to hold myself sturdier than I was last night.
His warm brown eyes meet mine as I scoff when I only see dad.
"You don't get to say shit because you weren't the one that had to wake up alone in a hospital room to hear that you killed your own parents, Griffin!" I yell at him, unleashing pent-up words that I haven't ever made tangible before, and I watch the color drain from his face to a pale.
"You didn't kill them, Christ–" he curses, and I clench my jaw in anger, knowing better than him.
I just continue my pursuit to make him feel the same hurt I've felt for the last 7 years.
Revealing the ugly side of this perfect life he envisioned for me, "You didn't get every single medical bill after they died. You didn't have to stop eating just to be able to pay for your own bills or to be able to go to school. You didn't have to worry about a damn thing because you loved life without us, right?" I spit out with anger seeping all over my sharp tone, ensuring he heard every damn word I said.
His eyes just soften as he stares before muttering, "No, you shouldn't have gotten the bills–" he starts in confusion, and I scoff.
"You were gone, so guess who was willed to get their estate?" I bitterly spit out, and his eyes widen.
In most cases, bills dissipate after the clients pass, but since Griff vanished, my parents willed me as the owner of the estate if they were to pass.
And little did I know.
Little old me didn't understand how cruel society was and just how much the two of them were struggling to pay to live when they were putting most of their savings into hiring private investigators.
"Rora–" his voice tumbles off as a whisper of more distress.
"So forgive me for being a little bitter right now." I half-scoff with derision coating my voice, walking over to the door for another attempt at leaving.
Yet he seizes my shoulders again, pushing back a step away from the exit from the unpleasant confrontation.
"Griffin, I swear to God–" I yell at him when he steps in front of me again, guiding me away from the door.
"I'm sorry, alright, I'm sorry–" he starts, but the word itself isn't enough this time.
"I don't care, Griff, feel sorry for yourself since it was your choice–" I mutter. He crumbles in front of me, his brown eyes pinned on me.
"Rory–" he attempts, and I painfully scoff at him, shoving at his chest with me with my own dwindling energy.
"I- They never fucking stopped looking for you, prick. You know that? They waited and looked for you for so long, but they were the lucky ones to fucking die first before they got to see you again." I shove him again.
He physically swallows, hiding his beet-red face from me as he looks down nervously. I stare at him, waiting for the blowback to hit me hard in the gut.
"I did tell them," He whispers, and I swear my heart rips in half in my chest.
My body stumbles back a half-step as he rubs the back of his neck nervously, gripping his tense neck muscles.
Feeling surges through my body in the form of indescribable pain, overwhelming everything in my brain to weigh down on me and sicken my stomach.
"What?" I ask in sheer disbelief as my voice breaks, the aching cracks through my chest, as the word whispers out like a breath of air.
It only forces me to bite down hard on my bottom lip to stop it from trembling right now. My eyes widened and glossed over at the moment, making me nearly sick from his words.
"I talked to them ... and then it turned into letters because I couldn't have anyone tracing calls ..." he murmurs, and a puff of air leaves my lips as I clasp my hand over my mouth to contain myself,.
I pinch my eyes shut for a second, processing all of this in front of him. Vivid memories of mom always so adamant about the mail a few years back come flashing back and more realizations hit me left and right like blows to the face.
Yet after all of these years of trying to find my older brother, after all these years of praying he was out there alright, after all of these years of just hoping he was alive and happy ... I was the one left in the dark.
My breath decides to lodge in my throat, "You didn't think I deserved the same! Do you understand that I've never stopped looking either! Everything–" I crumble with the hurt like a back-handed slap to the face radiating through every inch of my soul.
He cuts me off quickly, "They agreed with me, they wanted you out of thi–" he attempts to counter with his brown eyes bound on me, softer on my pity, but it only fuels my frustration and anger.
"They'd at least tell me! They'd tell me!" I yell at him in such immense pain, and he shakes his head.
"The less you knew the better, that was the plan." He murmurs like it was rehearsed.
The plan? Oh god, the knots in my stomach hollow the pit in my stomach, and my throat closes up in agony.
I throw one of his books across the room at him, listening to it stridently smack against the wall and thudding on the floor.
"Fuck- will you stop throwing things at me!" He snaps, watching his face heat up. I do it again out of pure spite, all of them come slamming onto the floor with the hardcovers as he groans at me.
"I can't even look at you, I can't–" I swallow the sting in my sinuses, shaking my head to myself as I stare at the door. "You have no idea the damage your actions caused–" I selfishly mutter to him, wishing I could have that little girl in that photo frame back more than anything.
"Stop walking away from this–" he harshly protests and my eyes shoot daggers at him.
"That's what fucking happens when everyone you love leaves you, Griffin. You start to do the same," I spit out once more as he huffs under his breath.
I reach out, coming in contact with the cold doorknob is like ice to the fire rushing through me right now.
"I'm sorry–" he mutters again, giving me the same sympathetic eyes Mia gave me earlier.
I can't help but shake my head slightly towards him, "I don't want your goddamn sympathy, I want myself back. I want the person I was before you fucked all of this up," I ask the impossible, my voice wavering in the slightest, with my glazed eyes upon his brown ones.
"I- fuck, I'm–" he stutters out, and I scoff harsher than intended.
"Yeah, you're sorry," I bitterly mutter for him as I push down on the doorknob, unlocking the mechanism.
"Oh! And if you think this little conversation changes anything, it doesn't. I'm still fighting, I couldn't care less if you approve or not," I mutter at him with malice and harsh bitterness all over my quiet, stern words.
His brown eyes go sharp, unable to look at them any longer, or it would just hurt more.
I push the door open, hearing the heavy door open loudly and echo through the large unfamiliar space. My eyes burn at the contrasting piercing light while every head turns up to me again as that barking resumes out of nowhere.
The conversation pit is draped in bright white furniture that contradicts the darkness in the previous room, set in a modern living room with the city on full display through the crystal clear window walls.
I attempt to take just a mere step and a hand grips my upper arm, digging his fingers into the fresh-cut and I strained out a profanity that cuts through the unbearable silence.
"Fuck, get off–"
I yell at him, everyone shooting up to their feet at that singular moment as chaos erupts at the rough turn of events.
"Griff!" Mia starts quickly walking up the few stairs out of the pit as well as Harry with that odd skidding across the hardwood.
I just get a hint of his worried, wide green eyes for a fraction of a second that feels endlessly infinite.
Griff yanks me back into the room, ripping the moment from me, and slams the door shut for my body to stumble and collide with the ground.
I groan out, clenching on my teeth, as I choke out a curse at the pain. I glance down to notice the deep red blood seeping through the white gauze on my tricep from landing on it.
"I did not do all this shit for you to just continue to be stupid. I promised them you wouldn't get hurt." He yells at me.
I cut him off, pinching my eyes shut with a sharp exhale of pain, as I sit upon my elbow from his violent actions.
"Well, they're fucking dead, Griffin. So you can stop holding onto promises you can't keep." I truthfully grind out, trying to get myself up as I groan out of the pain pulsing across my injuries.
"I'm trying to get you to understand, you're not even trying here–" he starts.
I scoff at him, half out of pain and the other is just hateful anger.
"Apparently you know this shit better than I do, Griff. I fucking won last night, I'm already in the tournament–" I squint at him, baring my teeth at this incredulous pain.
He rubs his face, sniffing lightly while shaking his head. "I can pull strings, get someone to take your place–" he lays out there, and I scoff with bitter sarcasm.
"As if." I nearly laugh, "It's not up to you," I cruelly smile up at him in opposition to the pain inside.
He just scoffs at me, glancing down at the blood seeping through my shirt. "Why the change? Daddy's little angel sure as hell wouldn't be pulling shit like this if they were around–" he drives his own knife right in my heart.
"I stopped caring," I blandly tell him.
His teeth grit, oscillating his sharp jaw, as I softly groan with the re-emerging pain in my side.
"Look in the goddamn mirror, Rora! It's not your lack of care, you're just fucking pathetic–" he frustratedly yells, and the door slams open when that word falls out of his mouth.
My heart slams in my ears at the abrupt sound while I watch Mia and Harry barge into stiff tension.
Harry grabs Griff with a death grip on his white shirt and shoves him into the wall, causing my eyes to go a little wide as I hear yelling voices in my ringing ears.
Mia comes running over to my side in an instant to hold my weak self up as I hiss under my breath. Glancing down, the crimson seeps through my gray t-shirt, and I curse under my breath.
"Shit- you ripped the stitches, god, I'm going to kill him–" she mutters to herself, and I huff under my breath, close to just shutting my eyes and letting sleep take me again.
"... better watch your damn mouth, or I will fuck you up myself if ever try that shit with her again. That is your fucking sister ... get your shit together, Griff." I hear Harry scoff, shoving my brother into the wall, and Griff huffs as he slumps back.
His tall figure walks back over in a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that are identical to mine – this motherfucker.
He towers over Mia and me, noticing his angered green eyes pinning on me on the ground.
"Can you get her up?" I hear Mia softly. I instantly shake my head at the request, watching her get up to her feet.
She walks over to the door, not without deviating to swiftly smack Griffin in the side of his head. He just groans, burying his head further in his knees.
I guess that's what you get when you put the two stubborn as fuck Astor siblings in one room with years of unresolved problems and every type of issue in the book. The sick fucks that convert sadness into anger.
"No, no, I'm fine–" I start, but he reaches down and lifts me up without another word, eliciting a strangled groan from the back of my throat. My eyes screw shut while I hold my breath before I exhale sharply, his all-too-comforting cologne enveloping me.
He starts to walk through this mysterious apartment, but my eyes are squeezed tightly shut. I can only hear my blood pumping in my ears, with the odd accompaniment of incessant barking, while I try to regulate my breathing.
Suddenly, I feel his lips get dangerously close to my forehead, fanning his warm breath across my buzzing skin, and I swallow hard.
"Breathe, Ace, you've gotta breathe. You're shaking,"
He whispers, not even realizing it myself. I clench my hands into tight fists, arching the knuckles up against my skin to spread a white hue across the bruised features and trying to calm myself down as he continues to walk.
Suddenly he props me up to sit me down on a cold countertop, and I suck in a breath through my teeth at the transition as he holds me upright.
I hear rapid skidding paws across the hardwood floors before none other than an excited German Shepherd with its all-black coat of fur wags its tail in excitement.
I pray to God the pain isn't making me hallucinate the fluffy dog with its big ears pointed up on the floor. My eyes instantly widen in even more shock than I can process right now as the puppy's adorable eyes looks up at me, panting with its pink tongue out at me and baring his teeth to me in a smile, of sorts.
The creature weasels its way in against Harry's leg, but he's not paying attention to it, just listening to whatever Mia's saying.
I just take notice of the position we're in. Harry's large hand, glittering in those rings and now that ruby ring he once gave me, rests at the top of my thigh to make my stomach twist yet again. His body in between my legs without a care in the world and his attention still fixated on Mia to display his side profile to me.
The puppy easily stands up on its back legs to grab onto the edge of the countertop of this kitchen island next to me since Harry's blocking his spot.
It allows a slight smile to hug across my face as it attempts to reach closer to me up on the counter, wildly wagging its tail behind him.
Harry finally takes notice, slipping his hands from my thigh, and gently guides the all-black puppy out of the kitchen to its eager protest, "Leo, come on, not now ... hey, Z!" His raspy accent calls out across the apartment as I watch the odd dynamic.
Mia's presence meets me again as Harry scratches behind the dog's pointed ears to distract it.
"Can you take him out?" Harry requests, noticing Zayn's pitiful amber eyes flash to mine for a second.
"Yeah ..." he softly mutters before his eyes drift down to the puppy, lighting up with a soft smile.
"Come on, buddy," he tells the dog, snapping his tattooed fingers, as I hear the soft jingle of a leash.
The fluff of a puppy makes a bee-line across the place, those paws clashing on the floors to a head of blonde hair and dark-brown hair at the door.
My heart falls to the pit of my stomach as Bella's vibrant eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, almost as if invisibly apologizing from there.
Only realizing now that these are the people that he chose over us – he chose this family over ours and I can't ever fathom the possibilities of what I did wrong.
"Lift your shirt for me," I hear Mia pull my attention back to her.
I stare for a second, realizing my breathing is somewhat steady again before my eyes lift to meet his tired green ones. I take notice of the fading yellow bruise at the corner of his lip, and it invites nausea, reminding me how I felt just a week ago.
His eyebrows crease together deeply like he hasn't unfurrowed them in hours. He nods at me before peeling my shirt up enough to show the wound across my waist.
Out of nowhere, the fucker stuffs the bottom of my shirt into my mouth to bite down on it, and my eyes instantly widen.
He ignores it with his moss-green eyes pinned elsewhere, forcing me to look down to regard the blood dripping down my skin from the reopened wound.
My stomach rises and falls with every short breath as Mia peels back the bandage to reveal the black stitches laced into my skin. I instantly pick out the two stitches that ripped and are now angry at me while I keep the shirt up with it in my mouth.
"Shit–" Mia mutters, and I simply stare. The rubbing alcohol burns my nose as it hits my sensory receptors and my ears ring for some odd reason from the chaos of thoughts and words in my head.
I just watch Harry dip his head over to turn his head away from me, whispering something into Mia's ear and all my brain can think of is more secrets.
She swipes the blood, the sting shoots through me as the rubbing alcohol seeps into my cut, and I flinch.
But the both of them reactively hold me in place as I pinch my eyes shut and tip my head back. I take a breath while I hear her mutter that she's going to re-stitch it really quick.
My eyes blink open at the sensation of Harry's hand slipping from my thigh and the sight of his tall figure walking away through the pristine kitchen in this apartment, it seems like it.
The white marble countertops blend well with the cream-colored cabinetry and shiny, stainless steel appliances that are nowhere near outdated. The windowed wall, opposite to the door Gigi and Bella escaped out of, casts the golden sunlight across the bright kitchen, making it appear grander than it truly is.
He grabs a clear glass from the soft-white cabinet shelf without having to reach up on his tippy toes. My attention fixes back on the open cut, watching her pierce the needle into my skin with precision and weave it through my wounded skin. The tugs of the stitches ripple slight pain through my weak limbs, and yet my brother is nowhere in sight at the moment in this large apartment.
She cuts the excess off after tying it, staring down the swollen and irritated red skin. She finishes off and smoothes a new bandage over the top of the scabbed broken skin.
Then she pulls the bunched-up t-shirt out of my mouth, letting it fall over my stomach right as Harry walks over. Mia switches over to my other side, lifting my sleeve.
"I'm just going to rewrap it." She mumbles, and I hum the best I can with the pain pulsing through my body. She starts to unravel it off as I breathe, trying to control the pace of it myself.
"Water," He holds up a glass of clear liquid, and I stare at it before I look back up to him. I don't smell alcohol, but the rubbing alcohol floating through the air is holding my sensory receptors captive to the sting.
His lips twitch up in the slightest at the action.
"Just water, Ace," He murmurs, allowing me to take the glass from him from the minuscule amount of subconscious trust I have for him and dire thirst.
I bring the glass rim to my lips, and I drink, his words confirmed as I swallow the much-needed substance. But I just watch him biting the inside of his cheek nervously as his green eyes glow, my once favorite shade in the sunlight beaming into this place.
He takes the glass from me to put into the sink, reliving the dryness in my aching throat, and I wipe my wet lips with the back of my hand. Mia smoothes the bandage down over the aided wound.
My sleeve drops again as I attempt to get up, but Harry puts a hand on my hip, securing me on the counter with his body ensuring that ring in front of me.
He shakes his head for me to not move, the lack of words evident from the both of us, but I scoff under my breath.
"I just want to go–" I plead and stop abruptly when the fucker finally decides to join me in this kitchen.
Harry and Mia take a step over to the other side of the kitchen without actually leaving, and I narrow my eyes in a squint at Griffin in front of me.
He sighs, stepping closer to me with his arms crossed over his chest. "Listen, I'm sorry ... I forgot how fucking frustrating you are–" he begins poorly, and I glare at him.
"You're not helping yourself right now,"
I point out, and he nods, taking a step to me to stand in front of me at my height. I sit on this countertop, gripping the edge of the countertop to counteract the pain rippling through me with this odd haze settling in my veins.
"I know," He mutters, his brown eyes reminding me of dad's still, and my head begins to slowly spin.
"I underestimated you for so long because you will always be my little sister, in my head. You weren't supposed to get hurt, and it was my job to keep you safe because they're not here anymore ... And I'm panicking, Rora." He mutters oh-so softly because there's company in the kitchen.
I bite the inside of my cheek, perceiving the metallic taste across my tongue.
My eyelids fall heavy for some reason as I fight to keep them open on my brother in front of me.
"You should have told me ..." The spinning sensation doesn't dare back down.
I inhale softly with the loss of control over my body. Spots fade in and out of my vision. The dark spots grow, I internally panic with a quick race of my heartbeat at the loss of control yet again.
"What the hell, Griff–" I weakly whisper before a wave of unconsciousness hits me.
The hazy consciousness state resumes causing my body to surrender forward off the countertop, in pursuit of plummeting face-first into the hardwood.
Griff's arms catch me to keep me upright, but my legs give out with the rest of my body as he holds onto me.
"I know," I hear him whisper into my fading consciousness before it all goes dark again, out of my control.
---
don't you dare listen to 'enough for you' and think about rory and griffin :)
do you think rory has a right to be mad ??
love you all,
h <3