I struggle to keep my voice and facial expressions intact, my fist curling inside the pocket of my jacket as I watch him stand up slowly, trying to mask his stupefied features. "What a pleasure, Dad," I grunt, but it is anything but pleasurable. I ignore the soft creaking of the other seat.
"I didn't expect to find you here," Dad mutters, definitely trying to cover up at my presence out of the blue. "I was just," he runs a hand through his hair, "-it was just a meeting with Declan. It's been-"
"I didn't question why you were meeting Declan or any other fu- anyone else, either," I shake my head, trying to keep the surge of the anger in control. No, no temper, no reaction. Don't let him get the better of the situation. Handle. Calmly. No panicking. No fumbling. Head on, frank and blunt.
"Sit down, Icha."
"No, thanks," I mutter, but my voice is anything but polite. Alaska Ice. My skin tingles unpleasantly as I note his figure, his fingers making the annoying clink as he stirs his coffee silently. Brown hair, the same shade as my Dad, falls over his eyes, but I can still make out his thoughts from mere movements of his- awkwardness and that feeling of not wanting to interfere.
And guilt. Remorse.
I don't want it.
"Achelois," his voice fades away slowly and I feel the anger surging through my veins again, this time not adhering to my control and I'm stuck between deciding to fuel it up or slow it down- because I find the answer looming right in front of me- there is no choice, but I create one, because I have to.
"Declan Montgomery," I mutter, "Or, maybe, we could cut out the fake parts, Declan Crimson."
He raises his head and there is a sorry feeling in his eyes. Deep brown, exactly like my father. "Achelois," he mutters, but his voice carries a sheen of respect and guilt, "It's been a long time."
"Indeed, it has been," I nod, but there is a hint of sarcasm in my curtness, "I thought daddy here had no time at all, but it seems, his child definitely comes first for him," I grunt, "Now, doesn't he, dad?"
"Isa," he frowns slightly, "He's your elder brother. You're supposed to behave."
"Yeah, behave," I mutter and leave out the rest but mutter it under my breath, nonetheless, "My foot." Declan has grown up, probably twenty eight or so now. I've never had much of a problem with his attitude- it's just Dad. After all, oh, just, JUST FUCK IT ALL.
"I'm getting late," I articulate solemnly, "I wonder whose face I looked at first in the morning today. By any means, do not pause your rendezvous 'cause of me. I'll survive, I always do. I'll now leave you alone, catch up some Dad-Sonny time, eh?" I plaster the fakest of all smiles and turn around sharply.
"Stay, Icha," Dad says in a parched undertone. I do not turn back, just shake my head. "I'd rather not," I shake my head, my voice melting into a sweet tone, "By no means, do not heed me, not that you do anyways. I'm sure Dad'll find time for me someday," I turn my head, not entirely facing him, but just to the right, "In a chimerical future, right dad?"
I do not wait for his response and storm out of the café, but not with anger. It's the sort of transitory anger that I flashed there- the reality is hurled back to my face, but like always, I'm blank, offering no reaction or entertainment to fate either- rather, it's a challenge.
I care about no fucking body.
The jacket is snug around my body, but it's colder than before, even with the jacket on. The lights illuminate the city, but I'm too distracted. My mind is trained on the soft tap of my sneakers with every step. The curb is full of the autumn leaves that leave a quiet crunch beneath my shoes. I regret walking to the gym instead of driving down here- I'm in no mood to walk. The leaves dance from branch to ground, each a colorful flag without strings or pole, free to roam. I feel the breeze, rich with the aroma of the earth, the keeper of the seeds for the springtime to come. There is a calmness, as if all the gold, berry-reds and browns that flutter about are a cozy quilt, but the disturbance that rages inside my mind is impossible to calm down. I feel like I need a drink, but no Tease Beat this time.
"Yo, bitch."
The familiar voice runs a creepy chill down my spine- but it is more annoying that actually scary- it's not scary at all, at that. I turn around to look at a face I have seen not a week back- but his attire isn't surprising, either, considering all the things Wolfe did. He's wearing a grey, faded sweatshirt with a hood over his eyes.
"It is rather unfortunate to have someone like you talk to me, but then bad things do happen to good people," I grunt and cross my arms, "He's not my boyfriend, if you're wondering. I guess his resistance for assholes is quite the same as mine- zero."
"I didn't know you were a private hoe, bitch," he mumbles angrily, "Quite the elite level of prostitution, eh-"
I drag the pocket knife I always keep in my attire for extra protection, but I don't raise it. I just uncover it, my arm still by my side, and the swish of it draws his attention towards the knife. He fidgets all of a sudden, his eyes widening just in the slightest.
"Fuck off before I decide to do something worse, asshole," I grit the words out, feeling consumed and conquered by the hatred, and feel his face redden. If women are considered fragile, then I've never seen something as easily wounded as a man's pride.
"Don't overstep it, you-"
"The next time, it'll be direct moves, hoe; no announcements. You better lose yourself before I light that bitch up," I cock my head up and flash my eyes at him, quite sure that the electric blue in the sides have crept towards the pupils, covering up much of the middle of my orbs.
"You'll try to threaten me, girl," he sneers, "But he is coming for you. For him. You'll be the first sacrifice he'll be making, girl," he laughs in a roguish manner, "Count your days."
"That's quite cliché, don't you think?" I give him the last fuck-off glare plus smile and he disappears as he steps back into the side of the curb and melts into the shadows and whatever and I flick the pocket knife into my back pocket stealthily and walk over, my feet now taking me faster than ever, the sounds of the tapping sneakers now faster.
I vacillate between anger and confusion of what the man said. Anger at the second encounter with that piece of shit, and confusion regarding what he even said. But what if this is just the beginning?
What if I've unknowingly tangled myself up in some shady shit?
I need to dispel some of this nervous energy building up in me like a bomb, and I can't just be on the sidewalk here, fuming over some bullshit a totally random asshole spewed and twiddle my fucking thumbs. My hands get unusually clammy and blood pounds against my ears- I don't hear my shoes or the hustle of the city anymore. I force my brain to finally block out the events towards the back of my head and there's just the sliver of the evening, waiting for me to tap into it.
I have important matters to think about right now. Particularly, Declan and Dad- a trivial one at the moment.
The guards at Oakwood Buildings- the high-rise buildings I stay in. Glimmering in the night with all the lights on, it looks like a huge slab of silver and black. The guards check me in and I jog inside when the receptionist spares me a curious glance. I wait over at her counter. "Layla. Is everything okay?" I ask just oh-so-casually. She stares at me for a split second or two before she pulls herself back and nods nervously. "Yeah. Have a good night, Achelois."
"I definitely need it," I mutter under my breath, as I jog over to the elevator.
Twenty seventh floor. Yep.
I step into my building and a cold air is the only thing that welcomes me. "Hi, honeyyyyy!" I shout and then facepalm myself- my usual habit. "Oh, shit, I'm single because I'm more than capable of ruining my life on my own!"
"Sure you are, but it seems like you're going for a tiny change in your plants, aren't you, Ace?"
Melian's sharp, prim voice rings out from behind me and I jump slightly. Shoulda closed the door in her face but I didn't. I let her in and she makes herself comfortable on my navy blue sofa and pats the leather with a motherly tint. "Gorgeous."
"I know I am," I wink at her playfully before washing my face and tying my hair up in a messy bun. I indicate at her that I need a minute to change my clothes and she nods casually and whips her phone out, almost determined and confident.
I change into a pair of sweats that says 'Fuck You' all across it and a boxy sap green tee. I walk out of my bedroom towards the kitchen counter, fishing for some snack to binge on. Now that Melian is here, we'll probably binge watch Demon Slayer or some other anime as if we haven't watched it before. Truth be told, we've probably watched every fucking thing in the history of anime.
"Will you lend me an eye here, Ace?" she grunts, "I've been waiting for your grand entry since ages."
"For me?" I point at myself incredulously, "I feel quite important now. Now, now," I walk over to her and sit down on the bouncy leather bean bag across her. "Wassup-"
"Would you care to explain this, Achelois Crimson?"
My blood runs cold.
A/N:-
What does Melian show Isa?
And to everybody who thought that our gentleman Wolfe would swoop in to save his gal- nothing of that sort is happening soon. For all I know, Achelois is no damsel in distress. Her pocket knives are at work- but someone wouldn't just carry pocket knives all their lives, right? Has this little detail got a bigger past to it?!
ENoUGh!
How are ya, duckiiieezz!?
Most importantly, we've crossed 2K reads on Fallen Queen, and I'm so goddamn happy! Dang, dang, dang- we were only on 1.11K during chapter 11, and not two chapters later, here we are, with a shining 2K to our names! Yahooooooooo! This calls for a pawttttttttttttyyyyyy, and a bonus gift!
So-------
*drumrolls and streamers*
*taps mic*
*starts singing but then notices that mic hasn't been switched on*
*switches on mic and inhales deeply*
*falls back. 'why don't we do this tomorrow, i'm lazy'*
*gets shoved by her angry readers*
*fine, pipal.*
TA-DAAAAAAA!
The first bit of Fallen Queen Aesthetic!
Fine, lol.
A huuuuuuuge thank-you to all my loyal and great readers who have supported me with comments, advice and votes and have kept up with me for so long. I hope we'll have many more to keep looking forward to. Thank you, guys!
QOTD: Would you rather read a book or write one?
Me? I honestly can't decide. Whereas it is absolutely thrilling to read books, it's enticing all the same to have a world of your own- where you are the master of the world and your pen creates all the twists!
Bye! I love y'all.
Yours,
Disha😍👊