"You're one of those bastards?"

Honestly, sometimes, most of the time actually, she truly didn't think she deserved half of the shit the world had decided to throw at her, seemingly for it's own amusement, like it was a game to see how far they could push her until she finally snapped. Because Mallory was starting to suspect that the answer was very soon when her back slammed off of her own wall with such a vicious crack, she had to take a moment because she'd been sure the bastard she'd wasted her time and vile power on had actually broke her spine as it erupted in agony and almost made her cry like a bitch.

But considering the fact after she'd caught her breath she could find that she wasn't fucking paralyzed, she assumed he hadn't, not for lack of trying of course. And instead of feeling afraid, instead of feeling scared or cautious like a normal person definitely should after being flung around her apartment like a bastard rag doll, all Mallory felt was white hot rage as it laced through her veins, pulling them into a dangerous boil that had her shooting up on her own two feet with a glare that would make the devil himself shrivel in place at the vile wrath displayed.

"Do you have fucking brain damage you asshole! Who the fuck do you think you are, you ungrateful piece of dogshit, I should of left you to rot you stale sandwich of a cunt-" The words kept coming, insults rolling over her venemous tongue that made less and less sense as her rant grew on, waving her hands around like a idiot, absolutely consumed by his audacity because this, exactly this situation is why she never helped people, why she never got close to anyone, why she hesitated on saying a simple hello to the neighbours and that was because they were all so fucking weird.

"What the hell you doin' in my apartment?"

And yet, of all the things she'd expected him to reply with in that frustratingly deep voice of his that wrapped around her like gravel and smoke, that was at the bottom of the list as she froze, blinking down at him with her eyes wide and wild. What the fuck was she meant to say to that? And most importantly, why the fuck was he attempting to stand up? Mallory clenched her fists, resisting that human urge to help him as he grunted quietly, upper lip curled into a pained snarl that she could ease with a mere brush of her finger...however, there was a rather sadistic part of her that only wanted to amplify his agony tenfold.

"Bitch, does this look like your apartment?" Okay, perhaps she could of been nice to the obviously confused hulk of a man standing in the middle of her apartment practically touching her fucking ceiling, covered in blood that seemed to be a mixture of his own and others...however, Mallory had never been nice, not when spite was a far easier emotion to tame, a far better emotion to force the masses away from her mortal corpse lest they want to be taken for fools. "You're paying for that carpet by the way, I don't even know how to get spaghetti stains out, nevermind blood-"

However, that rant died as quickly as it had come about when she watched him try and move towards her door, and without truly thinking of the consequences of the action, she stepped in front of him and rammed her finger in his chest with a glare that was nothing short of deadly. "Hey! Look, I didn't spend all that time and energy stitching you up just for you to rip them, alright? Sit down before I put you down."

Sometimes, she truly did wonder where she pulled this confidence from, her ruined body shaking with unbridled rage as she stood by her door like a mocking wall, praying to whatever higher being there possibly was that he didn't take her up on that offer because she really had no desire to embarrass herself like that. And yet he didn't move, the two caught in a standoff, glaring at each other with one looking like he was on deaths door and the other like she was about to pass out at any moment...before Frank let out a noise, an amused huff through his nose as he took a step back and fell upon her couch with a grunt.

"You got any painkillers?" He muttered roughly, large hand hovering over his side, his knuckles split to show the red sin beneath his flesh that looked like it ached something awful. But Mallory was still in shock that her order had actually worked as she blinked down at him, her lips forming words that didn't escape her vile tongue as she continued to gesture to the couch on which he sat on...and then it finally clicked that he wasn't going to go anywhere while he still looked like Deadpools's left testicles, that he'd actually listened to her, and that he was obviously still in pain as she jumped.

"Fuck- yeah, yeah I do, somewhere." The words were almost as jumbled as her thoughts as she stumbled away from the door and into the kitchen, still keeping her cautious gaze trained upon him in case he decided to do a disappearing act like her father had did all those years ago, though she hoped he wouldn't think that she was as stupid as to believe the 'I'm going out for a pack of cigarettes' story again. Fool her once and all that bullshit, however, he seemed to be pretty content staining her fucking crappy sofa which she couldn't really complain about considering she did tell him to sit down...even though she'd actually meant the floor.

Her fingers were trembling as they frantically searched for the bottle, only reminding her on the fact that her armour was gone, still laying around somewhere and leaving her bruised skin out to rot in the open air that felt like it was burning her flesh like acid, and when she finally found what she was looking for, she practically fell over herself in her effort to plop them onto his lap so she could start searching for her gloves, desperate to shield herself away from the overwhelming feeling of vulnerability clawing at her.

But she didn't get far, hell, Mallory had barely taken a step away from him before she felt his calloused palm wrapping itself around her wrist once more, holding her there but not pulling, not hurting as she twisted around like a startled animal backed into a corner, her teeth bared and eyes wild and skin beginning to shift and ripple with unease. And yet, there wasn't a hint of malicious intent upon Frank's bloody face, still swollen with the blows, still mottled yellow as he looked at her wrist...where she followed his gaze to find his hand print stained into her skin, where he'd grabbed her viciously, where he'd thrown her violently.

"I'm uh, I'm sorry about this. Thought you were someone else, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am and we're even." No way in hell was she ever going to be a ma'am, it only reminded her of her fucking mother and she'd honestly rather shot bleach than be anything like her, Mallory thought with a grimace, yanking herself away and avoiding his eyes as she began to move around her apartment, wondering how the fuck it was so easy to lose her fucking lifeline and trying desperately not to show just how stressed she was starting to get as she kicked throw cushions to the side and move away the rubbish that had quickly accumulated once more. "So, there a reason you look like Rocky at the end of that Godawful movie?"

Frank let out another huff of laughter, the noise strangely warm that had something in her stomach twisting as he rested his head against the back of her couch with a barely there smile curling at his busted lip, a grim looking thing that looked more like a snarl as he unscrewed the lid and popped two of the white capsules into his mouth with a sigh that ached. "Trust me, safer if you don't know."

"Such a clique. Not like I fucking asked for a reason or anything." She scoffed under her breath, not even attempting to hide the roll of her eyes as she moved around her living room like a ghost still haunting the mortal earth, feeling her heart begin to pound, begin to twist in agonized torture as terror formed it's way inside of her stomach and hooked it's way inside of her body to make it feel too small, too large, just too much for the girl who was flirting with destruction like it was a game that only death would win. Where the fuck where her stupid gloves? Where the fuck did she put them?

"You lookin' for these?"

And then she heard a rustle, heard his rough voice as it washed over her like a shin upon the cruel gravel of the pavement outside, and she looked up sharply to see her armour, covered in blood and ruin, resting in his hands gently, like they belonged there, and felt her heart drop to her fucking asshole as she swiftly stood up from where she'd been searching on her knees looking underneath her table. "Where did you get them? Did you take-"

"I was sittin' on them, fuckin' hell what's in these? You were bouncin' round like a junkie without it's fix." Frank said, looking at her with those dark, almost accusing eyes of his as she scowled, wanting to tell him to go fuck himself, to tell him to get out of her apartment, to fucking do something instead of stand there and stare at him because of the absolute shame she felt at being seen, at having her unsightly weakness bare and uncouth in front of him because the thought of being perceived, of being found at her fatal flaw, at being so utterly powerless.

"Hilarious, asshole, try not to choke on those painkillers by the way." Mallory snapped as she stormed towards him, practically ripping them from his hands as she swiftly fumbled with her gloves, desperate to get them on, desperate to have her defences, desperate not to feel naked, as if she'd been stripped of her humanity, her mortality as she trembled...and finally slipped them upon her aching skin to feel the cool velvets embrace, releasing a breath she was honestly unaware she'd been holding as she almost collapsed to her knees in relief at the numbness that greeted her like a long lost lover, which she supposed was an entirely different type of pathetic indeed.

But as that high died down...she realised that Frank something or other may of actually had a point as she paused, blowing the air through her lips thinly with a grimace, rubbing the sharp panes of her face and wondering what the fuck she was meant to say now.

It was hard to think honestly, not with the wind howling outside, bashing against the walls of the apartment complex and making the remaining window rattle, not with the way the ominous moon, drunk in her pale grief some upon the broken fragments of glass and made them shine like diamonds, not with the cold breeze making her living room feel like death itself was holding her prisoner in some kind of limbo, not with the way she hadn't interacted with another human for six months now and yet here she was, struggling to think because she definitely wasn't prepared for a situation like this ever.

However, as it turned out, Mallory didn't actually have to think of something to say, something that was actually bordering on an apology for being so quick to snap with her whip of a tongue that spat out cruelty as if it were a blessing. And that was because Frank, by chance, had brushed his elbow over his side accidentally as he tried to shift around on the shitty couch, but where he'd expected agony, expected his breath catching, expecting something fucking painful to happen from where he remembered the bullet tearing into his skin...there was nothing but a mere uncomfortableness, like he'd brushed against a bruise instead of a gaping wound.

"I got shot."

And just like that, she froze, a muscle in her jaw clenching until it appeared like the bone was about to jump from her skin as her eyes flickered anxiously, because it seemed like she'd forgotten that snippet of fucking information that he'd probably remember just how bad he'd actually been when he crashed through her window. Fuck, what was she going to tell him? Hey, so, I have this thing, I call it taking, and it means that I pretty much just sucked the death right out of you and I'm currently storing it inside of myself. Yeah, because that would go well...gaslight it is then. "Oh? Did you? I didn't see anything when I was fixing you up-"

"Yeah, don't fuckin' try it, sweetheart. Ain't nothin' in that shitty first aid kit that can make a bullet wound disappear." Frank laughed but there wasn't anything funny about it, his tongue curling over the bottom of his split lip as he stared up at her with something dangerous taming his features into a deadly look, because he didn't like many fucking things, and being lied to definitely was one of them as he sat up straighter, broad shoulders taking up more space, and looking like some forgotten god of war instead of a man, instead of a person, instead of a human.

But Mallory just glared back at him, her words dying in her mouth, swallowing down her bloodied throat like sand scraping against the scars there, because she wouldn't be intimidated by him, she wouldn't be intimidated by anyone when her vile hands had been made to maim and harm just as well as they had been to take. And yet, it seemed like it didn't take long for the pieces to fall into place, for him to pick something up that she wasn't aware she put down as his gaze lingered upon her gloves, a humourless chuckle filling the room as he sighed quietly. "You're one of them bastards."

You're one of them bastards, that's what he said...but that wasn't what she heard as she began to tremble with hatred. You're a punishment for my sins, you're a monster, you're nothing, you're a freak, you're worthless, you're the work of the devil, you're one of them, you're not my daughter, you're not anything...her mothers voice was a burden, her weight to carry, to never put down as it followed her wherever she went, every sentence that she'd spit out cruel and unjust, always filled by a shap pinch, a slap, a shove, such thunderous disgust and horror at a fucking child who didn't know any better, a child that she had been sure who'd only grow up to bring destruction.

Sure, she was one of those bastards, one of those freaks who could do things no one else could...but most importantly, Mallory was the so called bastard who had saved his life.

"First of all, Frank, fuck you. Second of all, I saved your life, you get that? Huh? I could of let you rot but I didn't, I didn't have to risk exposure, risk my own life to save yours but I did because I'm obviously stupid so you don't get to say shit about how I'm 'one of those bastards'. Now, here's what's going to happen, I'm going to go to bed because I have work in the morning, you are going to sit you big ass right there and try and get some sleep...and in the morning, we're going to discuss some shit about my carpet and my window? Okay? Great."

And sure, she heard him say something else, heard him grunt, heard him do that stupid fucking huff of amused laughter through his nose, but she was done with the drama of the night, and definitely done playing nurse as she stormed away into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her and practically trying to drown herself in her bed sheets, not even bothering to take her socks off, not even bothering to take her gloves off because she'd wasted so much of her bastard time trying to make sure Frank something or other didn't die in her apartment because she was weak and pathetic and too merciful for her own good.

Mallory wished she could say it took her ages to fall asleep, on guard from the quite possibly dangerous man she had outside of her bedroom, wished she could say she stayed awake listening for a sign that he'd taken a turn for the worse and she was ready to rush to his side like an angelic saint sent from god to save him...she wished she could say all of that, but the truth was, the moment her head hit the pillow...she was completely and utterly gone as everything faded to black, and she fell into the dark abyss of her own unconscious to greet it like it was a blessing.