TW: Violent Descriptions; Death

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[LOVEY]

⚘

IT FELT STRANGE TO BE A TOURIST AGAIN.

I've known Paris for a long time, and after years of visiting, the novelty wore off bit by bit. Its beauty became second nature to me, though I hate to admit it. I often took it for granted now that my lifestyle lets me visit so often.

I glanced behind me as I walked, stifling a laugh. Creep was striding behind me, bags upon bags of my shopping items dangling off his arms. His lips were pressed so thinly together, I would have thought he had none at all. Clearly he didn't like that he had to carry all my things (especially after buying them on his card).

"Turn back around, Lovey," he said thinly, "remember the rules."

Don't acknowledge his presence in public.

I shrugged. "I hardly think the rules apply anymore."

"What makes you say that?"

"The past twenty-four hours."

"Unless there's something that I don't remember happening, I don't know what you're insinuating."

I stopped walking, the click of my heels against the pavement ceasing to echo. Creep stopped to stare at me, but I could tell he was truly confused. Good. That was my plan all along.

A few hours earlier, I fell asleep in that tiny, moldy safehouse, wishing I could be anywhere but with the man. He was boring, rude, and lacked any sense of compassion. Even though his job was to protect me from harm, I felt like the only thing he was there for was to start arguments with me. I can't recall a single civilized conversation.

So I decided to end the feud. On my side, at least. I'd play innocent—agree with everything he said, not care when he insulted me or my boyfriend, etc—and hopefully it would drive him absolutely insane to the point where he stopped trying to fight me.

It was working. I think. There was a strange moment in the department store, when I noticed the first sliver of emotion in his deadpanned eyes. I was standing in front of him, donning a bright red dress, and asking him how I looked. I was daring him to. He'd always made a point to look at my eyes, only my eyes, as if he was scared I'd accuse him of being a pervert (which he still could be, considering my theory that he watches me sleep). And he looked at me.

Not the kind of casual glance Percy gives me most days. Creep made me feel like he was seeing through me, counting every crease on my skin, and making a blueprint of my body in his mind. It felt invasive. It felt weird. It felt different.

But I didn't mind it. I just couldn't tolerate it.

"You say I'm supposed to pretend you don't exist," I said, taking a step closer to him, "but then you follow me into my friend's home, shove me into telephone booths, and take me shopping."

Creep narrowed his eyes. "Those situations left me with no other options."

"Just admit it, William."

His jaw clenched at the use of his first name.

"There's nothing to admit," he said.

"You enjoy being stuck with me, I know you do."

"You know nothing about me, Lovey. If you did, you'd know you're wrong."

"Prove it then."

"Prove what?"

"That you can't stand being around me," I smiled, blinking up at him, "turn and walk the other way."

He knew what I was doing. I could see it in the way he shook his head, a soft scoff slipping out of his lips.

We were standing in the middle of the pavement, blocking the path of many people around us, but neither of us dared to move. It was a showdown of the most stubborn proportion. I wanted him gone, he needed to stay, but neither of us wanted to be in each other's presence.

Bending down to match my level, he frowned. "How about you turn around and keep walking."

I narrowed my eyes. "I don't want to—"

"Now."

The way he said that word was so harsh and raw, that I felt it chilling through my bones like ice. If I hadn't grown numb to his presence, I might have even flinched. He wasn't entertaining my games. Instead, he flipped the table entirely without batting an eye.

Letting out my own scoff, I spun on my heels, stalking away from him. I could never win. I refused to lose, at the same time. We were always at the same bloody stalemate no matter how many times we argued.

I wanted him gone.

⚘

THE ARC DE TRIOMPHE REMINDED ME OF A WINDOW.

I could look through it to see the other side, yet I'd rather remain right where I was. Here. Sitting on this bench, staring up at its towering structure and wishing I could climb to the very top. Paris might look even more beautiful from up there.

After our debacle a few minutes ago, Creep and I hadn't spoken a single word to each other. He lingered by a metal bin a few paces away from the bench I sat on, my shopping bags littered around his feet. I was bothered with him (again), but I took another moment to observe him.

He wasn't looking at me. His gaze was focused up on the Arc like mine had been earlier, but his seemed more of a wistful expression. Almost as if he was seeing it for the first time, though it was clear it wasn't. He never had his emotions on display, which meant I had to pry into the quiver of his lips in order to know that.

The breeze drifted through the wind and against my arm, and I felt a chill shiver down my spine. It was already evening, and the sky was turning from grey to violet. I didn't want to budge from my seat. I wanted to revel in this peaceful silence we'd created, staring up at a beautiful landmark.

"Your job doesn't leave much room for tourism, does it?" I asked quietly, risking a whisper.

Creep heard me. "No, it doesn't."

"Is this your first time leaving England?"

"I never said I was from England."

"I can hear it in your accent," I said, turning to look at him, "maybe you weren't born in England, but you're English all the same."

He didn't say anything for a moment, eyes pointed at the Arc. I knew he didn't like me imposing on his personal life, but I couldn't help but be curious. I hardly knew who he was, other than his constant agitation and bad mouthing habits. I wondered if he had a family he'd left behind. If he had friends. If he was married.

I wasn't expecting him to respond, but surprisingly he did.

"I've been to Paris before," he said stiffly, "but I was too occupied with other things to take a look around."

I tilted my head in interest. "Occupied with your job?"

"Yes."

"It's all you ever do."

"It's all I have."

I blinked. I wasn't sure what to say to that. It made him seem lonely, and I never labeled him as so. At least I can't remember if I did. A small skip in my heartbeat made me queasy with discomfort, and I wondered what I was feeling. Pity?

"Well, you're stuck with me," I shrugged, "I guess that's another thing you have."

I shouldn't have said that. He didn't respond. Maybe he didn't like the idea of being pitied, if that's even why I said it.

I looked back up at the sky, wondering if it would rain. The sky had gone from blue to grey, and the wind had picked up through the trees. Creep cleared his throat, bending down to pick up the department store bags.

"It's getting dark, let's go," he said.

I didn't answer. Perhaps it was better for me not to speak; he was obviously avoiding my previous statement. I wanted to eat dinner and sleep for hours, and forget that I didn't know what was going on in my life.

We walked through the 8th arrondissement without another word, none of us bothering to incite anything more. I regretted every word that had ever left my mouth. I regretted being in Paris in the first palace. Mori and Percy were probably worried sick about me, and I had no way to contact them.

I kept my head bowed as I walked, the dark sky submerging me into a state of silence. Of all things I regretted, one of them should have been now. The awkward situation from earlier and my overall disappointment made me distracted; I didn't notice I'd lost sense of my surroundings completely.

And then it happened. I don't think I could ever be prepared for something like this.

I hadn't taken more than a single step around the corner of a street, when I felt someone grab me by the hair and yank me through an open doorway. I stumbled over the step and fell onto the ground, my head banging on the tiled floor as I let out a petrified scream.

It was dark. I couldn't see. I could only hear the sound of someone's deep chuckle as they bent down over me. It wasn't Creep. It was someone I didn't know, and that's what made me thrash my arms around, hoping to push them away from me. Instead that made them grab my jaw in between their course hands, forcing my head to still.

"They said you were a pretty one," the voice said. It was coarse and dry, almost as if void of any emotion. I wouldn't doubt it. "It's a shame they want you back unspoiled."

I opened my mouth to yell back, but I couldn't move my jaw from under their grip. I could only let out an incoherent babble. The man laughed. I was pathetic and helpless, and I was going to die. I was going to be murdered in a dark room, and no one would find me, because no one cared. No one knew where I was. No one knew I'd had the worst few days of my life. I was going to die, and I was alone—

The door flew open, and I was blinded by a stream of dim light. There was yelling, the sound of the door slamming shut, and then I felt the coarse hands slip off of my face.

Creep was standing still as a statue, his eyes trained directly on my attacker. I hadn't had a chance to see before, but now the man's bearded face was clear to me. If my head wasn't still ringing from being slammed to the ground, I might have tried to throttle him right there and then.

But Creep already had that in mind. Grabbing the man by the collar, he tackled him onto the tile floor, pinning him down with one hand and beginning to punch him with the other. It was the sort of sound that faded into the background the more you listened. A steady rhythm.

One. Two. Three.

My eyes began to tear up with horror as I watched the scene in front of me. This was the first time I'd seen him hit someone. The first time he'd done something other than follow me around and kick doors down. It was horrifying. There was blood trickling off of his hands, but he was still going.

"Where are they?" He spat out, yanking the man up by the hem of shirt, "how did you find us?"

My attacker had blood spilling out of his mouth, and while I hadn't seen him for too long, he looked unrecognizable. The left side of his face was a thick shade of red and purple, and he didn't even look conscious. Creep was still screaming at him.

I wanted to throw up at the sight of it. It was everything I hated. Even though the man was a danger to me, I couldn't bear to see him in such a battered state—no one should.

Before I could think things through, I rushed towards the two and extended out my hand. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. All I wanted was for it to stop. My hand grabbed onto Creep's shoulder and pulled back, hoping. Just hoping.

But then, like a flash of regret, I realized what I'd done.

I'd touched him.

There was no pause in space, or flicker of questioning—it all happened so quickly. Creep spun around, grabbing me by the arm and raising his other hand. I could feel his nails digging into my skin, marking crevices and staining me with someone else's blood.

If he had the chance to kill me, he could. I remember that thought so clearly. I expected him to hit me, controlled by his violent habits, and push me away like a mere rag-doll. I expected him to yell at me, and tell me every insulting thing he could think of. I expected the worst.

But he was frozen in place, staring directly at me without moving so much as a muscle. His hand was still in the air, and his nails were still clutching my arm, but he loosened his grip. His gaze was a glimmer in the dark of the room.

And for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.

Fear that if he didn't stop himself, I might have suffered a worse fate. I could sense it in him. I could see the hesitation rimmed around his pupils, perhaps imagining what could have been.

In his shock, he let go of me and turned back to the man beneath him. This time his hands were shaking. I turned away, because I knew what he was about to do. He'd told me himself—it was his job to kill.

And with a splitting snap, only two in the room were left living.