Similar

The bar is loud. Sebastion slides 3 whiskey shots in front of me, and I down one. I've settled into a routine of sorts. I attend meetings, organize paperwork, send soldiers to war fronts, drink, then sleep. Mare and I haven't talked in a few weeks. I could just say I'm busy, but we both know the real reason, and I'd rather tell a lie that no one believes than a truth that provokes me to suicide.

A month ago, while I slept in a Lakeland's Guard safe house, an assasin (maybe more) came for me. I assume they traced my former family and home to the Red Huntress and knew they couldn't get me to stand with the Cygnets and tell 15 year olds to fight in the Choke.

Our watchmen were killed, and the house set aflame. Clara was with me, as well as 4 Guard members tasked with protecting us. One soldier and I made it out.

I'm in Ascendant now, keeping Montfort and the Guard well aquainted, but I don't think I want this. I hope another assasin comes. 

I down the next shot and a lean patrol officer with silver hair slides into the bar seat next to me. Samos usually sits across the bar, out of my sight, but it's a crowded saturday and we need drinks.

Her eyes have held a similar light to mine since she too, has recently lost a love. I'm not sure if I've ever outright spoken with Elane, but I've caught her eye when she and Evangeline would drink coffee every thursday morning at a local cafe. I never once saw Samos's political smile on a thursday morning.

Now she doesn't smile at all, and orders herself a whiskey shot. I down hers as Sebastian walks away, and hope to feel something from it. I don't. Samos definitely does.

The blade resting against my thigh trembles, drawing cool blood when it rotates slightly. I don't move, don't flinch, don't speak. And the blade lays motionless against my thigh once more. A red line splotches into view on my gray pants.

She downs my last shot, setting the glass gently against the counter. Seems neither of us can summon our spite. I order 2 shots, and slide one to Samos, not even glancing at her. She drinks.

As mine burns down my throat, she stares at me in my periphery. I turn my head slowly and meet her gaze. Its no secret news what happened to my daughter, as before I could collect myself, Montfort and the developing Nortan States used Clara's relation to me and recent death to incite the reds of Peidmont and the Lakelands. They could never get me on the screen for that, but random photos and newspaper articles were enough for them. Mare informed me, as I won't look at anything about her.

Evangeline's voice is quite raspy. "Another round."

I turn to her fully now, meeting the void that is her dark eyes. I study her face. Hollowed cheeks, bloody bitten lips and eyebags that will never be un-sunken. We must look as similar as we feel. 

Our glasses clink, and while alchohol lessens the intensity of mental torment and dissatisfaction, I set my legs on the supporting rungs of her stool.

Our thighs brush against each other, red smearing on her patrol pants. I knew we'd touch but I've still somehow startled myself. It's been a while since I've touched another person.

She flinches, but does as I do. We drink in silence.

Later in the night, when 20 minutes or a few hours have passed, I stare at Evangeline and sway in my seat. If I close my eyes, she's just a random person. A random woman whose legs are halfway tangled with mine, whose shoulders I grasp to keep from falling over when she stands us up.

I maybe drank once in my life before Clara, and it was when I was 10 and the winter's bitter cold was too much to handle. Now Samos drags me out into the bitter cold of Ascendant, and I stumble against her as she supports me. She drank less and probably has more tolerance, as when she catches me, we hardly sway.

I look down into her eyes, still black and filled with nothingness, but not so tense as earlier. She wets her lips and asks "Where?"

I swallow thickly. "Evan's road." My words are rather roughened by the alchohol instead of smooth, and when she gives me deadpan look because not everyone knows where every street is in Ascendant, I point down the street. "That way."

I shouldn't let her do this; walk me home as if I need or want her help. I hate her and her brother and hope they die in a fire, because they deserve to and so do I and Clara didn't.

We're almost to my temporary little house on Evans when I shove Eve in a fit of rage. The anger fades back into numbness as quickly as it appeared in the first place. She stumbles a while, but doesn't fall, doesn't meet my eyes with conviction or anger herself. Again, she supports me by an arm before walking me up the steps of my house. I can't figure her out, figure myself out.

Finally at the door, we lean against it, my head slumped above Eve's. We stay there for a while. She digs the keys from my pocket and unlocks the door, walking me in.

The place is small enough that she finds the bedroom quickly, and sets me down on the twin bed. Then she turns to leave.

My hand clasps her wrist, and I dig my nails in. She stops. Our heavy breathing is quiet compared to the bar.

I stand with effort, but lean against the near wall, learing over Samos. She meets my eyes. When I tip away from the wall, she grabs my waist and yanks me back into place. The touch and alchohol and her eyes make me so dizzy, and I hold tightly to her toned shoulders, covered by the patrol uniform. I feel the muscle beneath, flexing and unflexing. Our gazes are tense. My eyes trail to her chapped lips. I look in her souless eyes again and it feels like I've been stuck in a nightmare my whole life.

I lean my face slightly closer, tasting her breath. She didn't drink as much as me, and I want to taste the difference. I want this. I want a silver whose related to Shade's killer. I dig my nails into her shoulders and press her into the wall with my body.

I kiss her. In this moment, I don't believe there's a difference between pleasure and pain. Her hands, soft and without callous from years of skinhealers by her side, squeeze my waist and I know it'll bruise.

My lips slot with hers, wet and needy, tired of holding myself to a standard I'll never live up to. I grasp her slender neck, pulling her closer, hands moving wherever they desire to go.

I can't taste a thing.

I can't feel a thing.

She pushes me off of her.

I trip over myself and fall onto the bed, tears brimming my eyes. What I've become without love or rage or purpose to anchor me. I'm not myself. I'm drifting away from whatever I've ever wanted, and the currents won't let up.

Evangeline clambers over me on the bed. I expect her to hit me, but she doesn't. Her hands caress my cheeks, while our salty tears mix and slide down my face. I wish I died in that fire.

A light shines in my eyes. My body comes to life painfully and I assume I must have been injured or knocked out in a fight, because why else would I be getting blinded?

A bird chirps outside the window, the curtains wide open, sun beaming into my room. It gives me a headache, but I stare out the window anyway. It's pretty.

When I've stared outside long enough, I turn to get out of bed. And there's someone else in it. I whip the gun from the nook between the bed and frame out of instinct, nearly shooting the... bed stowaway? Her chest rises and falls, slowly, silver hair fanned out—

Evangeline Samos is in my bed.