You had no idea how much time had passed with you just staring at Alastor, trying not to break down and sob in front of him, your brows knitting together while your lip quivered. The brunette noticed, or at least you thought he did, and he engulfed your form into a hug, burying his nose into your hair. Your body ached from the wounds born into your flesh, a whimper of pain leaking out of your throat when the man squeezed you. He had evidently heard the cry, almost immediately releasing you from his grasp and holding your shoulders while a look of worry settled behind his eyes.
"What happened? Did I hurt you?" he queried, grasping both sides of your face in his hands while he examined you for injuries. You stepped away from him, stopping his inspection.
"N-no, I'm alright." Alastor tilted his head, cautiously reaching his hand out to encase yours in it. Alastor, Zandor warned, but he still took your hand, ignoring the Loa's hisses of disgust. "(Y/n), what's wrong?" he pressed, pulling you close to his warmth. Such a comforting warmth to be near, there was no other way to describe it. He made you feel so safe, no matter what the circumstances. "I'm alright, I promise." The radio host was unconvinced, his eyes narrowing. Zandor, make yourself useful. Is she hurt? Alastor demanded the spirit.
A grim sigh sounded from his friend. Fine. With that, Zandor fell silent, only the murmurs and occasional shriek resonating within the walls of his mind. The Loa never slept. They always cried out. They always had something to say. They never let Alastor rest easy. Fortunately for him, he developed an immunity to their wails and managed to block them out most of the time. She's bleeding, Zandor growled after a long moment of solitude. Alarmed, the brunette let go of your hand and cupped his palms around your shoulders again.
"You're bleeding," he whispered, leading you to your couch after he closed the front door. Your limbs froze in shock, "How did you-?"
"Where?" the man cut you off, seating you while he crouched down so he could be eye-level with you. When you didn't respond, he began searching on his own, starting by what was exposed and checking your neck and your arms, which were clear.
"Take off your shirt," he ordered, your face contorting into one of disgust. "Alastor, that isn't very appropriate," you retorted, but he wasn't exactly in the mood. Once more, Alastor grumbled, "Take it off; I need to make sure you're okay." Your eyes moved away from his as you reluctantly removed it from your body, lifting your arms up so you could slip it off. Blood was smeared all over the inside of the white fabric and your chest wasn't any better, the crimson fluids trickling down your abdomen, turning a deep brown and black as it began to dry.
"Jesus," your friend muttered, carefully tracing his fingers down a long wound leading from beneath your bra and to your stomach. Of course that wasn't the only mark he saw, there were plenty, that one just happened to be one of the longest. "Who did this to you?" Alastor raised his head to look at you, ignoring the fact that your face was red. "I... I can't say..."
"Tell me, now," he stood to his full height, towering over you, his gaze filled with hatred for the one who could have possibly done this.
You cowered; actually cowered. Your body curled into a ball as you looked up at Alastor with fear, shaking in the slightest. "Will you hurt me if I don't?" The man stopped, feeling his chest twist around his heart. He'd never laid a hand on you in a way that was meant to bring harm upon you, so what made you think he would do such a thing now?
"What? No, of course not, my dear," he dropped back down so he was at your height, taking both of your hands in his. "I just want to make sure they can't hurt you again. Because this," Alastor gestured to your bruised and sore body, "this is not okay. I don't want you being in harmful relationships." Relationships? Does he think-? Oh...
"It's not like that, Alastor! I don't have a lover," you said truthfully, letting yourself unroll from the ball you had been curled in. "I... I know his name though." This was risky territory, you knew that better than anyone, but Damien wouldn't need to find out about this. He wasn't going to. Just like how Alastor wasn't going to find out about your status.
Your friend was waiting for you to spill, still holding your hands. "Jeremy Rogers," you mumbled, Alastor's grip tightening. "Jeremy...Rogers?" he reiterated, as if he couldn't believe what you were saying, but you nodded. "Is something wrong?"
"He's a colleague down at the studio," the brunette hummed, his brows furrowed, not even the slightest trace of a smile on his lips.
Before you could get another word in, Alastor pulled you to your feet; a white, hot pain shot through your sliced up legs. Wincing, you leaned against your friend for support, his long arms carefully coiling around your bare back. "Come on. We need to get these wounds cleaned," he cooed, beginning to lead you down the hall and to your bathroom. "Do you have disinfectant?" Alastor asked as he began sifting through the cupboards. You sat down on the toilet lid, pointing to the top cabinet on the right. "In there... There should be some."
The brunette reached for the cabinet you pointed to and opened it, finding what he was looking for before closing it again. "The cuts aren't deep, they shouldn't scar. If they do, they won't be very noticeable," he assured you, pouring some of the alcohol onto a cotton pad. "Thank you, Alastor," you said quietly as he lifted the cotton to one of the wounds and began carefully cleaning it, your jaw clenching at the burning sting that followed his actions.
"Why did you come over?" Alastor answered softly as he worked, "You seemed upset over the phone. I thought it would be best if you had someone with you for the night..." You looked away from him at those words, feeling the slightest of blushes creep on to your cheeks. How does he do that? How does he just keep getting better?
"That was very thoughtful of you," you said in a hushed voice, the stinging pain fleeting as Alastor finished cleaning the first wound and moved onto the second. "I wouldn't want you to be alone, darling. You know that." He chuckled as he wiped some of the blood away from a small cut on your side. Once he was done with most of your upper body, he proceeded to ask you to remove your long skirt so he could tend the wounds on your legs and thighs, having you do so without a question.
"Asshole," Alastor murmured, wrapping gauze around one long mark that led from your thigh to your kneecap, his pupils small and brows furrowed. "I'll be sure to speak with him tomorrow." You tensed. "Please don't mention me! I'll get in trouble!" The man looked up at you with gentle eyes, taking your hand in his before gently pressing his lips to your knuckles. "Trust me. I'll have it all under control."
It wasn't much longer until Alastor was done tending to your wounds, leaving only the one lengthy cut that led underneath your bra. You could see Alastor swallow, clearly unsure of what to do, so you set your hand over his to calm him. "Hey, Al, it's alright," you comforted. "I can take care of it. It's only one opening." Smiling softly at you, he nodded and stood up. "I'll be in the kitchen, come out when you're done."
-
"Why are you awake, Alastor?" Zandor grumbled as he marched down the hall next to the brunette, Alastor's amber eyes lazily half-lidded. "I'm going to make her some breakfast before she leaves to go to work. After all, she hasn't been eating much lately and I want her to be ready for the day. That's all," he shrugged. The Loa stepped in front of the murderer, his blazing red eyes narrowing while fumes of shadows discharged from his body. "You slept in the same bed as her."
"She said herself that the couch was too small for me."
"You could have gone home."
"I offered to stay the night to keep her company."
"Having her in your arms while she sleeps is more than keeping her company, Alastor!"
He paused by the kitchen's entrance, dragging a scarred hand down his face as he groaned, "Zandor, you're overthinking things just like always." The shadow followed him into the kitchen, watching as Alastor opened the fridge and took out two eggs and set them on the counter. "You said she was a pass time."
"And she is!" he drawled, taking a pan out of the cupboard and spinning it in his hand while chuckling. "But entertainment needs to last."
"Is it Ghede?" Zandor suddenly asked, seeming worried. The man turned to face his friend, "Excuse me?"
"Is Ghede making you think like this?" Alastor frowned. "No, I don't know why you would think she would have anything to do with this." The Loa hummed, turning the stove on for his host, the man thanking him with a nod.
"I do not understand why you cannot just confide in Mimzy. Why must you go to that woman?" There was a moment of silence, only the soft sound of an egg being cracked against a bowl ringing throughout the small area. "Because, Prince Zandor, it's good to change things up a little, don't you think?"
"You said you wouldn't get attached."
"And I'm not."
"That's bullshit and you damn well know it, Alastor."
Another aching silence passed over the two, Alastor's fist clenching. "It's only been a month and a half. You have no say in any of this, Zandor." A cold shiver ran through the man's body as the antlered being coiled around him, glaring at Alastor.
"We share a mind. A hive. A queen and her workers. Nothing is keeping your secrets from me. I know what you feel and I know what isn't good for you, for us. It's nothing like what you feel for Mimzy — because all you see her as is a business partner. Someone you can lay your tracks on when the dogs sniff them out," Zandor's voice was deep and threatening as he spoke, his clawed hands gripping Alastor's shoulders. "However, what you feel for (Y/n) is much warmer. Friendlier. You cannot let someone like her ruin what we do."
"Alright, Zandor, you got me. What I feel for her is something you wouldn't recognize because I only felt it when I was still in school," Alastor grinned psychotically, weaseling his way out of the Loa's tight hold. "And that feeling is friendship. Stronger than the friendship I feel towards Mimzy. But what would you know, you're just a prince of the voodoo Gods," he laughed, pouring the eggs out of the bowl and into the pan, beginning to scramble them.
"And what about me? Am I your friend?" Zandor couldn't feel what Alastor felt towards him. Just like Alastor couldn't feel what Zandor felt. Like two magnets cancelling each other out. A bit of a strange paradox, but it still happened. "I see you as a friend, of course I do... Much more of a friend than Mimzy. Much more of a friend than (Y/n)," he ran his hand through Zandor's shadowy locks and gently rubbed behind his left ear, a soft rumble echoing in the beast's hollowed chest. "Always remember that, Zandor."
-
Alastor tangled his fingers through his hair and inhaled deeply, looking up at the sign that read 'RECORDING AND PRODUCTION STUDIOS'; his workplace. Hopefully Jeremy would be around that day, give him a little info on what happened before he could took the man's life. Plain and simple. Putting on his best smile, he pushed the doors to the studio open and walked into the lobby, the young female secretary waving happily. "Hi, Alastor! It's been a while!" she giggled, to which Alastor just gave her a sly wink before heading for the stairs.
He removed his coat while he marched up the three stories where both his and Jeremy's offices resided, his bowtie being adjusted a little as he set the brown coat on the coatrack. "Mornin' Al," one of the many employees of the building waved to him, the brunette's head bobbing up and down to return the greeting silently. "Oh!" he stopped in his tracks and looked over at the man sitting at his desk. "Say, Derek, you wouldn't happen to have seen Jeremy anywhere, would ya?" His coworker nodded.
"Ayuh, saw him head down to his office. He had one of those smug looks on his face, you know," Derek twirled his wrist, "the one where he looks like he did something that he shouldn't have but he really hasn't?" But he has. "Hm, quite odd! I'll have a chat with him. Toodles!" Alastor waved and headed down the hall to the door where the name J. Rogers was inscribed on a small plaque. Grinning, Alastor gave a couple of knocks with his knuckles, waiting for the signal to enter. As soon as he got permission, he entered and shut the door, wandering to one of the armchairs in the room.
Rogers was a well known in the studio, definitely one of the more popular fellas here. That made him competition for Alastor; despite Rogers' lack of charm and looks, he was still a man that most enjoyed listening to and being around. "Al! Long time, my friend!" A hiss echoed in Alastor's chaotic mind, but he forced it away. Down, Zandor. "Indeed!" he laughed, watching as Jeremy stood from behind his desk and joined Alastor in the armchair across from him.
"How have you been?" the man grinned, Alastor's smile tightening like tripwire. "Oh, you know. The usual. Broadcast this, broadcast that, oh another corpse has been found on the streets," he sighed, fixing his glasses a little. Jeremy nodded, Alastor speaking up again, "I'm lucky I don't have a show today. But what about you, Rogers? Anything you've been up to?" he attempted to pry, smiling innocently.
Jeremy gave a grunt, "Hah, you would never guess." I'm sure I could. "Oh? What happened for fun and excitement this time around," Alastor chuckled and leaned back in his chair, watching as his colleague took a pack of smokes from his pocket and popped it open. "Oh boy, wouldn't you like to know. Luckily, I'll tell ya," he paused, taking one of the cancer sticks out before holding the open deck to the brunette. "Want a smoke?"
"Don't mind if I do," he grinned and slid a gasper out, taking a lighter from his own pocket and waving the flame beneath the end of his cigarette until it began to burn.
The two puffed their cigarettes for a short moment, Jeremy's eyes closing calmly. He then spoke, his voice gruff as usual, "Right. So last night — fuckin' amazin', Al." Alastor waited for the man to continue, the Loa in his mind already beginning to whisper hushed plans of how to mutilate this man in the slowest way possible. "Those women you see on the streets, the 'ladies of the night' as some would call 'em," he twirled his hand. "Those are the lower class bitches, Al! Couple months back I found out there's a whole organization that's got the best at the top! Hidden from our eyes — gotta make reservations." Jeremy chuckled dryly, inhaling after he had set the cigarette between his lips.
"I know you ain't that interested in that type of BS, but with our money, we can afford the best of the best," he said, taking the gasper away. "Anyway, met some nice chick last night, a real deal. Nice curves, round face, gorgeous eyes — like something you'd see on the cover of some fashion magazine!" Alastor clenched his fists. He feared what he might hear next. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he just knew what was coming.
"So I called this guy, Damien Amatores — been getting bitches from him these past few months," Jeremy went on. "Normally it was this blonde, don't know what happened to her. But her replacement was twice as good!" Alastor tapped the ashes off his cigarette into the small tray. "I think Damien mentioned her name being something like (Y/n). She was so small, Al, tight as fuck." There it is. That was it. "Sounds like you had a real hit," Alastor mumbled, feeling awfully uncomfortable talking about his friend in such a lewd way.
"Mm. Maybe I could get Damien to hook 'er up with you one night, eh? You could see how it is?" Rogers grinned and pressed the cancer stick down to the bottom of the ashtray, the remains of it crumpling into a small butt to sit at the bottom until it was cleared out. "I'm quite alright. I'm glad to know you enjoyed yourself," Alastor hissed, tossing his cigarette into the ashtray as well before hastily taking his leave, suddenly feeling very dirty with himself. She lied to me. More than once.
But he simply couldn't find it within himself to be angry at you. You did nothing wrong. He suddenly felt ashamed for what he had said about the women on the street just the day prior, guilt gnawing at his belly like a hungry wolf. One seeks what they wish to find. But what they find may not always be what they seek. That sentence made him want to laugh, a wild cackle being pushed to the depths of his throat. Now he understood why there had been lingerie thrown about your room. Now he understood why you never made time for yourself. Now he understood why you had always seemed so quiet after you had gotten your job. Now he understood everything.
Don't fall victim to her, Alastor, Zandor's words echoed within his skull. But how could he fall victim to one that was already prey to begin with?
{3082 words}