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Neon Moon
chapter twenty one

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❛ something waining in my head.
can't sleep and i'm seeing things.
and i can't stand the sight of myself. ❜
— Alright, Sam Fender

LIFE AFTER WASN'T THE DREAM SHE HAD HOPED FOR. Underlying trauma made nights hard to exist, hard to live through. Nightmarish images constantly painted the backs of her eyelids. Images of the doorman and Richie crumpling to the stone floor. Images of Seth being helpless, being tortured, and as she cried for them to stop, no one listened. He'd bleed and bleed until she'd wake up and be forced to continue on with life as if it had never happened.

But it had happened. Despite the measures Seth went through to erase it all, Marisol couldn't. She couldn't ignore the guilt and the pain that came with that place. She couldn't ignore the fact that Richie was gone; Kate was gone. Everyone was gone.

Police sirens blared from the distance. Red and blue began to peek in through the closed curtains of their hotel room. Marisol tossed the pillow she was fluffing and rushed toward the door. Swiftly, her hands worked the locks until the door was forced open. Seth, out of breath, collided with the brunette. He dropped the bag in his hand to press it into her back, using his foot to kick the door closed.

"Down," he whispered, and Marisol did as she was told. They both squatted to the floor, Seth pushing her underneath the window. Voices began to grow louder, the police alerting the residents in the shady motel that they were coming. Her brows furrowed. "I thought—" she began, only for Seth to clasp his hand over her mouth. Using the toe of his shoe, he dragged the bag he had brought in toward them.

          She could feel his breath fanning over her face. Their eyes clashed in an intense gaze. Flashlight beams fell over the floor through the cracks in the curtains. There was a knock at the door and Marisol felt him tense beside her. The police continued to announce themselves, shuffled footsteps thundering outside like a steady storm. Slowly, Seth withdrew his hand. His calloused palm no longer abused her skin.

          His eyes darted up to the floating curtain. "Seth," she tried once more, her fingers looping around his wrist. He flinched at the movement, surprise etching across his scruffy features. His eyes returned to collide with her gaze. "What?" he whispered back, thick brows falling over his eyes.

          He didn't wait for her response. Her hand fell from his wrist as he crouched by the window, looking past the curtains to check for the police. When he saw no one, he stood to his feet. He withdrew the gun from his waistband and set it onto the small table next to the bed. Finally, he let out a sigh, relaxing once more.

          Marisol pressed her back against the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her chin rested on the bone, her eyes glued on the floor beneath her. Just as soon as the coast seemed clear, there came another knock. "Marisol? ¿Está ahí?" A silent sigh left her nose. Seth's head snapped toward the brunette in confusion. "Sé que tienes miedo.  Por favor, dime que estás bien."

          "Estoy bien," Marisol answered, her tone bored. Her heart, however, was racing in her chest. "¿Está seguro?" he pressed, and she began to notice the tick in Seth's jaw. He plopped down onto the bed, hard eyes zeroing in on the woman opposite of him. "Estoy bien.  Solo estaba doblando ropa," she said.

          There was a pause. Her head hit the wall with a small thud. "¿Estás seguro de que estás bien?" he asked once more. Seth stood abruptly, snatching the gun from the table. Marisol jumped up, worry evident in her sienna eyes. "Seth," she hissed lowly, side stepping in front of him. "Get him to go away," he replied, his voice hardly a whisper. She shushed him, brows pinched.

          In one fluid motion, she tugged off her shirt. Seth's eyes immediately dropped to the exposed skin sitting prettily in the off white bra. She grabbed one of the towels sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapped it around herself. "Behind the door," she told him, nodding her head toward the door. He did as told, hiding behind the door as she cracked it open, coming face to face with the hotel manager.

          "Estoy bien," she repeated for what felt like the millionth time. "Estaba a punto de saltar en la ducha." Lying had become increasingly easier the longer she's around Seth Gecko. The bespectacled man heaved a sigh of relief, one hand moving over his chest. "Sorry," he exhaled. "I just had to make sure you were safe."

          Seth rolled his eyes, mouthing his concerns with a stupid face. Marisol almost hit him. "I appreciate your concern," she replied, "but I grew up with two brothers. I can take care of myself." He chuckled, cheeks flushed. Anyone could see that perhaps he liked Marisol a bit too much. "Of course," he replied, his tone laced with amusement.

          She nodded her head and went to shut the door, only for his meaty hand to stop it. "¿Necesitarás algo más?" he asked. Marisol shook her head with a snort. "No," she replied. "All good. Gracias."

          "Bueno." He pulled back his hand, placing it once more against his chest. "Dulces sueños," he said. She offered him a forced smile before closing the door. Seth pointed the gun at the closed door, his jaw tight and a fire within his eyes. He waited a moment, listening intently, until he could hear his footsteps walking away.

          Marisol turned the lock and flipped the lights on with a sigh. "The guy's harmless," she said, withdrawing the towel and refolding it. Seth shook his head. His hands moved to her hips, his chest meeting her back and his chin resting on her shoulder. "Not to me," he whispered, littering featherlike kisses against her shoulder. She sighed.

          "So, are you going to tell me why the police followed you back here?" she asked. His eyes rolled skyward. His pelvis pushed into her as he leaned away, an annoyingly loud groan leaving his lips. "It's not important," he replied, moving away from Marisol and back toward the bag discarded on the floor. "Things got a little dicey, that's all."

She threw the neatly folded towel back onto the bed with a scoff. "You said everything was going to be lean and mean," she stated, her tone growing firm. He scoffed, tossing the bag onto the table next to his gun. "I don't know that I used those exact words."

"No, I'm sorry. I believe the word you used was "stroll". Like taking a stroll in the park. You said "Mari, I'm going to stroll out of there like Paul Newman"," she replied. Seth paused what he was doing to glance at the brunette. "Look," he sighed. "The manager tried to be a hero. So I had to rough him up a little bit. Then some knucklehead called his cousin, must have been a cop."

          "You've got to be kidding me," Marisol muttered. Her fingers moved through her hair, nails scraping gently against her scalp. Seth shifted his weight onto one foot. "Baby, you're not... you're not being careful." His brows pursed together. His thick arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed tightly together. "I can work. An honest job. That way we don't have to keep running. Keep moving."

          She approached him slowly, her hands sliding over his biceps. Her touch ran up his arms to his neck, where she connected her hands together behind his nape. Instinctively, his arms uncrossed and his hands fell to her hips. "It's either that, or you let me help you."

          His head shook, a sigh leaving his parted lips. Gently, he squeezed her hips. "Stop," he exhaled. "Stop it, okay? We won. We got the money." He slipped one hand behind her, a finger hooking into the belt loop of her jeans. Their chest met, their faces inches apart. "Can't we just... celebrate for a little while?"

          His other palm pressed against her cheek, fingers tangling within her freshly washed hair. He could smell the strawberry of her shampoo. A small smile curled at the corner's of her lips and Seth couldn't stop himself from pecking the areas. "C'mon, Mari," he cooed, his hand at her waist traveling lower until he had a good grip of her bottom and was pushing their hips together.

          A small gasp escaped her mouth, followed by a giggle. He pecked her cheek, then her nose. The scruff of his growing beard rubbed against her skin painfully. "We can—" His kisses traveled to her neck, his hand returning to her hip and giving it a tight squeeze. "We can celebrate after we check out the winnings," she whispered, wincing as his teeth bit into her shoulder.

          "That's fair," he muttered against her skin, kissing the area he had bitten to soothe the sting. He kissed her cheek, nice and gentle, before placing a kiss to her mouth. The hairs of his mustache tickled her upper lip. She retracted her hands with a light smile, plopping down on their single bed, her eyes not once leaving him.

He reached over to snatch the two bags he had brought with him. The brown one was dumped onto the bed, rolls of paper spilling over the surface. Marisol eyes the items before picking one up. Printed on the side in red was the word 'cancelled'. Her smile disappeared and she heaved a heavy sigh. "Seth, these are canceled checks," she said, holding up the roll to show him.

He snatched it from her hand, a scoff leaving his throat. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, now leaning over the bed and rummaging through the rest. "Son of a bitch!"

Marisol's head fell into her hands. "Three months," she exhaled. "We've been doing this three months and have nothing to show for it. First the Corvette was stolen, and now you're bringing back canceled checks."

Seth's fist collided with the bed before he pushed off of it. His hands found purchase on his hips and he tried to steady his breathing. "I get it," he retorted, his tone tight and irritated. "Let me do something," she said, grabbing at Seth's hands. "Let me help you. I can get a job. I could even do house keeping here so we don't have to pay for the room."

"No. No, no, we still have the cash," he said. Her hand slipped back into her hair, brushing the strands away from her face. "That's not enough," she argued. "You said it yourself, baby. We need passports, new names. How are we supposed to get those when we still need to eat?"

Seth frowned. He turned to Marisol. "Where would we go, huh?" he asked. There was a silence. Marisol had been thinking about this a lot. A month ago was when it really started hitting her. Her nightmares had changed. It was no longer Seth she needed to save, but Scott. She needed to save him to get rid of the guilt gnawing at her organs. She swallowed. "To find Scott," she replied, her voice wavering nervously.

His head tilted to the side in confusion. He took a single step toward her, towering over her sitting frame. "I need to do this, Seth," she whispered as his hands rested on either side of her face. His thumb rolled over the skin of her cheek. "I can't keep going like this. It's eating me up inside."

Silently, he crouched before her, his eyes softening. "Mari," he said, voice gentle. "He's dead. Even if he's alive, he's dead. You need to accept that." She shook her head. Her eyes were beginning to burn. "I need to do this, Seth," she argued.

          A tear spilled over her healed skin. It trickled over the apple of her cheek and rolled down until it pelted off of her skin. Seth sighed. "I'm not going to let you get yourself killed for a dead kid," he told her, his tone more stern. More tears began to spill over. She grabbed his wrists, fingers wrapped tight and digging into the skin. "I'm scared that I'm going to die, anyway," she whispered. "Please, Seth."

          "I just got you back," he hissed. "I'm not about to fuck up this chance of being with you. You can't ask me to do that." He yanked his arms away from her, standing up and stepping away from her. Her hands moved to cover her face, the tears now freely falling. That guilt was like a hot stone in her stomach. It burned and burned, and it left a sick feeling in its wake.

          She could hear Seth digging through his special bag. The sound of rubber hit skin and something sizzling tore her attention away from the pain in her stomach. She wiped her eyes and stood up, ignoring the scene before her. The needle slipped easily into his skin, flushing the deadly venom into his vein. He sighed, body relaxing, until he fell back onto the bed.

          "Asshole," she whispered, situating the pillows on either side of him so he wouldn't fall off of the bed. Quietly, she brushed a bit of his growing hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering at the bite marks healing on his neck. "I'm sorry, my love."

          Once she figured he was out, she moved to take his gun from the table. She checked the clip to make sure it was still full and slipped it into the waistband of her jeans. She then snatched her shirt back and slipped it over her head, fixing it over the grip until it disappeared. "I'll be back," she told Seth, though she knew he hadn't heard her.

          With one final glance, she left the safety of the hotel room on her own mission.

═══════ ❃ ═══════

          Botanica. Esoterici y hierbas. Marisol stared up at the big, yellow sign, fingers clutching the bag thrown over her shoulder. Behind a counter sat a man. Lights decorated the space in different shapes, sizes, and colors. It reminded her a bit of her grandmother's back room.

He was leaning against the counter, his eyes beckoning her over. So, she did. She approached the counter with a small smile. The smell of incense made her feel right at home. "Hola," she chirped. He grinned back. "Hola," he replied. She scanned the span of the counter. There were sangria candles and figures. There were small statues of the Virgin Mary. "How much for a candle?" she asked.

"For you, ehh... fifty pesos." Her eyebrows raised slightly, a smile stretching across her face. "Generous. I hope it stays that way." A sliver of confusion puckered between his brows. With swift hands, she pulled out a bible Seth had stolen. He released a heavy breath. "Oh, great," he exhaled.

He watched her in disbelief. "Estás aquí para convertirnos. Tu propia gente," he blurted out. Marisol opened the bible, flipping through the pages. "¿Incluso hablas español?"

She slammed the bible onto the counter. His eyes landed on handmade drawings of the goddess. "Oh," was all he could say. She smiled sarcastically back at the judgmental man. "Debes saber que no todo es lo que parece," she said. "Now, I'd like some information. Preferably right now."

          There was reluctance at first. He watched her closely, eyes flickering between hers and the book. And then he pushed away from the counter and flicked his head toward the curtain behind him. She rounded the counter, pocketing her bible, and followed him to the back room. Beyond the curtain was a shrine, a painting of a woman with two older women praying before it. The space was lit solely by candlelight.

          Her eyes seemed drawn to the painting. "Who is she?" she asked, her tone breathless. He stood a short distance behind her with his hands deep in his pockets. "No one knows her real name," he answered. "Many believe she was was called Kisa by the ancients."

          Sunlight, Marisol thought. It seemed to fit with the halo and all. "She's our savior," he continued, and the reality of it all seemed to dawn on her. She was drawn to the painting because she recognized her. "She consumes our sins."

          A chill escalated up her spine. The hissing of a serpent rung out deep within the recesses of her mind. Unconsciously, her arms wound tight around her middle. "Santanico," she blurted out. Her mouth felt entirely too dry. His head snapped toward her in confusion. "What did you say?" he asked.

          "She's not... she's not your savior," Marisol stated. She brushed a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "If anything, she would most likely be your downfall." His body tensed defensively. It made sense for it to. A stranger walked into his shop and began shitting on his religion. She remembered how angry she would get when Seth would tell her that God isn't real when she had believed in Him her whole life.

          "Who made you the expert?" he asked. She shook off the uneasiness that settled in her belly and turned to face the stranger. Her features turned to stone. "People like you," she replied, "when you attacked my friends. My family." The curtain slid noisily over the metal rod. Marisol didn't spare them a glance. "Culebras," she spat the word like venom.

          He took a step toward her in an almost threatening way, but she didn't seem scared. She held eye contact and continued. "I know what you are. I know what you do to survive." The newcomer stepped forward, circling the two with his eyes trained on the woman. Her top lip twitched into a scowl. "I also know that if you or your friend decides to bite me..." she whipped out a perfectly carved stake and pressed the tip in the center of his chest, "you'll have two choices."

She paused, allowing him the chance to wave his goon off. His retreating footsteps were heard not moments after. "And what choices are that?" he asked, his head tilting curiously to the side. One corner of his mouth curled up into a lazy smirk. She pressed the blade firmer against his chest, piercing the fabric of his shirt and digging into his skin. "You can either kill me and consume my soul, or you can pump me full of venom and turn me into a monster just like you."

His tongue peeked out from his lips and caressed his top one, eyes turning green with slotted pupils. "Who wouldn't want that?" he asked. She snorted. Her grip on the stake tightened until her knuckles turned white. "What, are you going to try and convert me now?" He grinned, taking one more step until the stake pierced his skin.

A low hiss slipped through his teeth as she advanced on him. Dark, crimson began to pebble against his smooth skin. He followed her movements until he was backed into a wall with nowhere to go. "I was stuck in a blood draining temple for a full twenty four hours, surrounded by starving culebras. I've killed too many to count, what makes you think I won't hesitate to kill you too?"

He rested his head back against the wall behind him. A heavy sigh fell from his nose. "I just need information. There was a kid who got turned. And... I want to help him. Make sure he's okay." Confusion puckered between his strong brows and his eyes flickered back to the usual brown. When he didn't make a move to harm her, she withdrew the stake. Her arm dropped to her side. "How could you ever help him?" he asked.

"He's just a kid," she echoed from before. "I don't... I want to make sure he's safe and— and I just need to do this, alright?" She swallowed nervously. She wasn't sure how she'd help Scott. Maybe she'd stay by his side, help him feed without the guilt. Or maybe she'd kill him, if he asked her to. Either way, she needed to do something. She needed the guilt to end; the pain to end.

"Is it possible?" she suddenly asked, and he watched her silently. When he didn't answer, she figured she'd clarify. "Not feeding on people." He shook his head, then, and Marisol felt her stomach flip. "Around here, though, it's not that hard to find people who cry out to become a little antojito."

          He motioned his head toward the curtain, one arm reaching to pull it back. Marisol glanced between him and the shield from the outside world. Slowly, she approached the sheet, standing a few inches away as he pulled it back. Several feet away, an exchange was taking place. A man wearing a denim jacket was taking money from an older gentleman. "He extorts everyone in the mercado," he explained.

          "He and his matrona make a lot of money off our backs." The dispute didn't seem to be going too well. Marisol drew in a short breath. "That's the way of the world right now," he exhaled.

          "Is he..." He turned toward Marisol. She didn't have to finish her question. Silently, he shook his head. "Then why let him run all over you?" she asked. "Why not... kill him and get it over with?" His eyes flickered from her eyes to the twitch of her nose. "I pick my battles," he replied. "You should learn to pick yours, too."

rumi says . . .
welcome back to neon moon!!

i am having mariseth brainrot. i
haven't stopped thinking about
them at all. and writing them so
freely affectionate feels like a
weight has been lifted off of my
shoulders.

i'm trying to change up kate's scenes.
as you can see, kate isn't there. so, instead
of just using marisol in place of kate, i'm
attempting to make them her. which is a lot
of dialogue changes & some action changes.

how was the chapter?
what was your favorite part?

i hope you guys enjoyed it!
feedback is seriously appreciated!
& thank you for reading!!!