Chapter 9
Seeing Williams at home makes her seem…different.
Maybe it's the warm glow of the lamps, or the way her shoulders seem to imperceptibly relax as she closes the door behind her. In the narrow entryway, you're a bit crammed together and you take the opportunity to glance up at her. Compared to the fluorescent lighting of the shop and the bright strobing lights of the club, she seems more real like this, softer, somehow. Closer.
Williams takes off her shoes, leaving them by the door and you follow suit, slipping off your heels and lining them up next to hers. You stare at them for a moment, your shoes sitting next to each other in the entryway. The sight is oddly domestic.
You turn away before you can think too much about it, following her into the main room. The floor is cold beneath your bare feet and you stand there, wondering if you should take off her jacket or not as Williams disappears through a doorway. In her absence, you take in the flat. Besides the soft lighting from the various lamps, there's also art on the walls, lots of shelved books, and a frosted cake under a glass dome on the kitchen counter.
It’s…cozy. Not at all what you would have expected, and you wonder if she lives here alone.
It doesn't matter. You tell yourself.
Now that you're by yourself, you begin second guessing everything again. Should you leave before she comes back? Go back to pretending that she was some figment of your imagination your lonely and sleep deprived mind conjured up late one night?
Before you can decide however, for better or worse, Williams reappears, motioning you towards the table. “Sit up here a moment.” She says, patting the surface as she tosses a few supplies to the side. You wait to see if she'll lift you herself, if she’ll grab your hips and move closer, but she just looks at you, waiting. You sigh, a little embarrassed, and hop up onto the table, expecting her to ask you about the stitches since she quite obviously wasn’t trying to make a move on you.
“I should probably wash my hands firs–”
You cut off, startled when she grabs your calf, fingers trailing down to your ankle.
The sudden touch shocks you so much you freeze. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that . “Sorry you had to walk in your heels.” She says, her thumb grazing against the skin on the inside of your ankle, and it shouldn't, but her touch makes you shiver. Her hands are warm as she lifts your foot, unrolling a pair of socks onto your cold feet. You’re so distracted it takes you a second to actually look at the socks, but when you do you find yourself smiling. They have little cartoon grenades on them.
“How…interesting.” You say, amusement taking over your surprise.
“They're my roommate's.” She says by way of explanation.
“That girl at the club?” You ask, trying to probe for more information.
She nods, distracted.
You look down at her own socks, almost expecting to see them decorated with guns, but hers are plain black.
Her hand lingers on your ankle and you stare at her, holding your breath.
Is this it? You think hopefully.
But then she pats your knee and lets go. “There. Better?” She says, moving to look through the other things she dumped on the table. “You always seem to get the short end of the stick when you're trying to help me.” She sounds almost apologetic.
At first, you're surprised that she even noticed how cold your feet would have been after a walk like that. Then, you feel disappointment crash through you. Does she really not want you? Maybe you're misinterpreting every little thing she does because you're overly focused on her. Maybe it really had been the liquor after all.
But then what the hell was that ? Maybe you're more touch starved than you thought, because even the feel of her hands on your calf was enough to make you nervous and red. For her though, she was probably being considerate. She had tried to clean your hands of blood so that you could sew her up last time. This was probably just the same.
You hop off the table, turning towards the kitchen to hide the way your expression falls. You mumble something about needing to wash your hands. She waves you on, more focused on reading the label on a bottle of what you think is antiseptic.
So she does have first aid supplies.
It’s not until you're patting your hands dry that you realize she had been holding the bottle upside down.
Huh.
• ───────────────── •
When you return to the table, Williams has replaced you, sitting on the edge of it as she peels her hoodie off, followed by her shirt. You don't have time to blush at the sight because you immediately notice a collection of bruises decorating her ribs, purple and dark blue blooming along her side.
“What happe–”
She waves you off. “It’s nothing.” If you didn't know better you’d think she looked almost…embarrassed? But then she's shifting on the table, her long legs spreading wider and it's your turn to look away. “I wasn't really sure what you’d need.” She says, gesturing towards the supplies on the table.
You look over them, assessing. “Not much. Just some small scissors and alcohol.”
“Think we've both had enough of that for tonight.” She mutters.
You don't reply, too focused on channeling your professional side once again.
She's just another patient, you tell yourself. Just don't look her in the face and you'll be fine.
It had been hard enough the first time, but now, you want her so badly it’s hard to think about touching her skin without closing the distance between you two.
Just another patient, you repeat to yourself.
You take a look at the stitches, camouflaged beneath the bruises and are both pleased and surprised at how well they healed. With the way she had been talking, you expected much worse.
But then, remembering her knuckles, plus the new bruising on her ribs and her evasive response, you realize something. “You’re not hiding any other new injuries, right?”
Did she get hurt again? Is she okay? Would she tell me if she wasn't?
Your worried thoughts evaporate when Williams smirks at you. “Maybe.” She says, a mischievous gleam in her blue eyes as she leans back onto her hands. “Maybe you should check. You know, just to be sure.”
Oh. Fuck.
That was definitely flirty.
“I thought you said it was nothing?” You reply, silently cursing yourself for always saying the wrong thing. You had been dying for an excuse to touch her, now here it was and you were throwing it away. She makes you so nervous, you never feel on even footing around her.
“It is.” She agrees after a moment. “It’s nothing. I get hurt all the time. Part of the job, don't worry about it.” She straightens up and you almost insist on doing a full examination to make up for fumbling the bag so hard.
But then you force your attention back to her side, to the stitches, the strange little threads which seem to bind both her skin and you and her inexplicably together. Will cutting them also sever your connection to her?
You shake your head. You have no connection, you remind yourself.
But, you think that maybe you’d like one, as you run a finger along the stitches noticing the way they lift up from the healed skin beneath. They're definitely ready to come out, and you briefly wonder why she didn’t just do it herself, or have her roommate do it for her. It’s a fairly easy thing to do, and you wonder why she had been putting it off. Wonder if she had had the same thoughts you're having.
But that's ridiculous.
You're both quiet as you disinfect the scissors, carefully sliding the blade beneath the thread and snipping away the stitches. As you brush aside the discarded pieces, you try not to think of the act as too symbolic.
It's just thread. You tell yourself.
Williams is very still as she watches you work.
“Healed nice.” You say into the silence. “It’ll probably scar though.”
Williams shrugs. “Just a sign that I made it out alive and put down the bastard who wanted me not to.”
Whether it had been her being so polite with you as you walked, or giving you her jacket and putting socks on your cold feet, you had momentarily forgotten that she was probably a hit woman. She wasn't some cute girl you met in the club–she was a killer you had met by accident, a stranger. And yet, you’re intimately familiar with the feel and smell of her blood, of her skin as it's slick with it.
It’s a strange paradox.
You think that you’d like her to not be a stranger, wanting to know more about her. You don't know if you should ask, don't know if you can .
She doesn't seem like she'd hurt you, but you're suddenly aware of the situation you've found yourself in. Your heart has been racing non-stop since she first grabbed your waist in the club. Your brain, so accustomed to the easy slide of panic, can't tell the difference between desire and fear, and your thoughts descend down a slippery slope of doubt and paranoia. You're alone with her and you already have seen how quickly she's able to kill someone. Does she have her gun on her now? You think back to her little charming actions and realize maybe she lured you here to kill you and and and–
“I better get going," you say quickly, moving away from her and towards the door. At the feel of the first familiar trickles of panic, everything else is wiped from your mind.
I need to get out.
Williams catches your wrist and you're uncertain if the spike in your heart rate is fear or nervousness. It’s most likely both. Heart still racing, you stop, more so because you don't think you’d be able to make her let go anyways.
“I…” She looks away.
In the short time you've known her she's been nothing but confident, her eye contact lethal. But now, she's looking at the floor, not quite embarrassed, more puzzled.
“I regret that night, you know.” Williams says.
You hold your breath, not entirely certain you want to hear her next words.
‘I regret that I didn't shoot you too.’ You almost expect her to say and then shake your head. You hate when you get like this, hate that you can't make it stop, because why would she say that?
Unless…unless she saw you tonight and planned to fix her mistake. She knew that you found her attractive, maybe all the little flirty things she had said were just to get you to lower your guard. After all, it seemed to have worked, as she somehow got you here alone. You try to retrace your steps and realize that she had distracted you so much you have no idea what part of the city you're in. You feel you're breathing begin to come shallowly.
I need to get out of here.
“Hey you should prob–”
“Pleasedon'tkillme.” It comes out as one breath and you notice you're starting to shake. Fuck .
Williams drops your wrist like it burned her, staring at you. “Why the fuck do you think im about to kill you? Is that why you're doing it again?” She asks incredulously.
“I– I don't know.” You gasp, wrapping your arms around yourself. You assume that by ‘that’ she means panicking, again. Williams doesn't move any closer, but the way she's staring at you makes you feel a little dumb.
But maybe that's what she wants you to think, that nagging little voice in your head says.
“Why did you want me to come all the way here, alone?” It makes you ask. “You could have easily taken the stitches out yourself. You didn't need me.”
“So–do you think there's a chance that you might be a little bit stupid?” She asks, and ouch .
When you say nothing, she shakes her head. “Sorry. But–seriously?” She slides off the table, moving to pace in front of the windows. “If I make you feel that unsafe, feel free to leave. The doors unlocked.” She glances over at you, agitated.
“There's something I haven't been able to figure out.” She says when you hesitate, staying still. “I regret that night.” She says again. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.”
She had said as much in the club. You're not sure if she even remembers that she told you.
Another glance at you and then, “I want to stop thinking about it. I need to. And if I kiss you, I don't know if it'll make it worse or better.” she says at last.
Your brows raise as you stare at her. Pardon?
She sighs. “I wanted to, before. Kiss you, that is. But then you seemed so unstable, with the blood and all.” She gives you a significant look, as if to emphasize how ridiculous you're being right now, and you cautiously let a little bit of your previous excitement seep back in at her words. “Seemed better to just leave. And then when I saw you tonight…I wasn't thinking very clearly. That's the only thing I’ve wanted to do to you, not fucking kill you.” She finishes with a roll of her eyes, exasperated.
“So you… want to kiss me to get me out of your system?” You ask skeptically and slightly insulted, like your presence is an infection she wants to get rid of. A few minutes ago you would have jumped at the chance, regardless, but you feel so frazzled now that you don't know what to think or feel anymore. Mainly, you just feel a bit offended and confused.
“Sure,” She smirks. “You could say that.”
Williams tilts her head at you, shrugging. “You could also say that I have a weak spot for pretty girls. Don’t overthink it so much.” She adds, takes a cautious step towards you.
If only, You think, wistfully, watching her carefully but not moving away.
Aloud, you just reply, “Unfortunately, overthinking is one of my few strengths. You, on the other hand, don't seem like the kind of person who has many weaknesses.”
She chuckles, moving close enough to whisper in your ear, “Everyone has weaknesses, love. Some of us are just better at hiding them than others." A pause, and then she's right there. "How would you like to be one of mine? At least for the night?" Her voice is low in your ear. "Bet I could take your mind off things.”
She says it like a promise, and you suck in a surprised breath at the request, feeling her hands wrap around your waist. You want to say yes, to lose yourself in her, but you need to make sure she's safe, or you’ll never be able to fully relax.
“And if it doesn't?” You ask shakily. “Help, that is. Kissing me.”
You expect her to shrug off your question, but she genuinely seems to consider it.
“Wait…” You say, suddenly realizing something, and then feeling embarrassed about it immediately. But you have to know. “If it doesn't ...you're not going to kill me, right?”
At that, scoffs, pushing away to pace the floor again. “Yes. I’m going to fucking murder you for being too distracting.” She deadpans, then adds with a sigh, “No, I'm not going to kill you. Why do you keep thinking that?”
You raise a brow at her. “Given the circumstances in which we met, I don't think it’s that crazy of a question. Besides,” You glance down. “Like you said, I’m not the most…stable. My mind likes to run away from me sometimes.” It’s embarrassing to confess, but you feel like you owe her an explanation since you're pretty sure she's not going to kill you anymore, and you feel a bit ridiculous about it now. “I think it's a subconscious attempt at preparing for the worst, but it usually just makes me panic in unnecessary situations. Don’t take it too personal.”
Williams bites at her nails distractedly, gaze faraway. “Look,” She says, glancing up at you suddenly, the focus in her eyes startling. “I know what it looks like, what I must look like, to you. Those guys I killed–”
You cringe slightly. You've been dancing around it, not wanting to say the actual words, but she seems to have no qualms about it. And maybe that's a good thing.
“They were work, nothing more.” Williams stresses. “And they were only there because they were coming to kill me. They wouldn't have left you alive either. I don't go around killing people for no reason.”
“Right. You only do it if someone pays you for it.” You deadpan, feeling a bit bad about it, but not enough to apologize.
She dips her head with a grimace. “Well, when you put it like that…Yeah. I guess I do. It’s a job like any other.” She shrugs. “I made my peace with it long ago. You don’t have to like it, you just have to know I’m not going to put a bullet in your back.” She grins at you. “No one pays me to go after pretty, nice girls like you. And no , before you ask, I wouldn't take the job even if they did. I have my own code.” Williams scrubs a hand over her face. “This isn't what I wanted to talk about.” She mutters.
“You just wanted to make out with me.” You say sarcastically.
“Yes!” She exclaims. “You’re finally starting to get it.”
At your incredulous expression, she sighs. “Okay, look.” She comes back to stand next to you again, slumping against the back of the couch as she meets your eyes.
“I'm not going to kill you, now or later. Understand?”
You begrudgingly nod. You believe her.
“I’m sorry if my being there the other day traumatized you, but hey, at least you're not dead right?” She grins at you, raising her shoulder sheepishly before continuing. “Obviously, I'm not gonna force you, but if you don't want me to kiss you, you should probably leave. I can't offer you anything else.”
Her bluntness is a bit shocking, but honestly? At least she's clear with what she wants. If you said no, you'd rather just leave instead of awkwardly making small talk for the appropriate amount of time before excusing yourself to go home.
“And if I said yes?” You ask, your heart racing a bit again, but this time you allow yourself to acknowledge it for the true desire that it is.
“Well,” She grins at you. “Then I'd ask you how you like it.” She says with a smirk before leaning towards you.