Private Finished The more you know the less you'll eventually find out

It was spring.

Lochlann's scars had mostly healed, but he still had to keep his hand wrapped for work. The bar had hired him back after all and he was slowly getting used to the idea of living above the Rusted Anchor again. He was taking classes and, with some encouragement, had even started to finally write the book he'd been thinking about. It was a children's book, so it wasn't like he was working on the next Great American Novel, but it was keeping him occupied. By all accounts Lochlann was doing, well, maybe not well..but okay.

The problem was that behind the scenes he felt like a livewire.

He was jogging every day, sometimes for over an hour, sometimes a few hours each night. He was having trouble sleeping. He was running out of things he could do to control the cravings. They were so, so bad.

The spring was wet, as it usually was, and god, with the rain came the headaches and the want. The want for sex, of course, but also the want to eat, eat, eat.

Lochlann had been avoiding food as much as he could. He'd been avoiding eating around other people, especially the people he liked, to try and break the association of friends are food. He felt like he was stretched so tight he would snap.

The bar was finally starting to slow down for the night and Lochlann leaned over the counter, resting his elbows on it. The place had no uniform so Lochlann was in his regular jeans and a dark t-shirt. His hair looked like it might have been recently cut. He was lean and cut and looked like he actually belonged in this bar. He looked like sex.

The door opened and Lochlann didn't even have to look up fro the counter to know who it was.

he could never get the taste of her out of his mouth.

"It's been a while," he said, and he looked up right into the eyes of Guinevere Haze.

@Kyros

Even though Lochlann called her here, even though he knew she was here, he wasn't ready for her to actually be here.

"Yeah," he said, after a long moment.

Then, he cleared his throat, and said it again. "Yeah."

Maybe this was a bad idea. Lochlann thought he could see her. He thought he could be safe with her, here with the bar in between them. He thought that maybe, in this setting, he wouldn't want to grab her and pull her up onto the bar and kiss her until his lips were bruised. He thought that maybe, he wouldn't hurt so much with the need to hold her.

Fuck, how hadn't he killed her before?

It was horrible, seeing her this way, seeing her without something to numb the intensity. His fingers itched automatically for his flask but he didn't have it. He touched the packet of cigarettes instead, but he didn't pull one out.

He took a deep breath and regretted it because now he had the scent of her trapped inside him.

He exhaled.

"I didn't think you would come," he confessed. "I called to ask if you had any contacts within the police department."

Had that really been the reason he called?

Seeing her hurt him, but not nearly as much as the feel of her knife slicing into his chest had. Just remember, he told himself. Remember that she hates you. Remember that you just need to do this one last thing, just make sure that she's safe, that you're safe, and then you don't ever have to see her again.

That was a bad thing to tell himself.

He amended it.

Then you don' have to think about this ever again.

But of course, that wasn't any better. He couldn't touch anything without seeing the mark she left him.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked her.

"You don't do a lot of things," he told her, flipping his bandaged hand palm up. "And yet here we are."

He poured her a ginger ale and slid it across the counter. He did his best to avoid looking at her. If he didn't know she was human, Lochlann would have wondered if she could lure him in with her eyes. If maybe she was one of those creatures that wasn't fatal until she trapped him in her gaze.

But he knew now that, even if she was human, he didn't need to look at her for her to be fatal to him. Just being in the same room with her was intoxicating.

"If you do, I suppose I would appreciate if you could push the contacts my way," Lochlann said. He wasn't worried about speaking with her like this in the bar. No one would be listening. "I will just go ahead with things as planned. It would make things easier for me, but I'll find a way if I have to."

He poured himself a gingerale and pulled up a stool from beneath the bar on his side and sat.

He could have cut the current that simmered between them when he looked at her with a knife. A knife she probably had hidden somewhere on her.

"I think I was rash in asking you to be involved. It's not needed. I will do my best to clean this up, Guin, and then it'll be the end of it."

He stopped and frowned, and then Lochlann searched her face.

This was familiar.

They'd had this conversation before. Maybe not in the same words. But they'd been here before, and it always ended the same way: he and Guin in bed, his heart hurting as much as whatever part of him that she stabbed.

Why did he keep thinking it would be any different?

"Although, I suppose that's really up to you," he said. He shrugged and took a sip of his gingerale. He scanned the bar for a moment and then forced himself to return his eyes to her face.

They went right to her lips.

"I don't know what you want, Guin. I've never been able to figure it out. I've asked and I still don't know. I've told you what I want from you," he told her.

He meant the names of her contacts in the police, but that's not what he said.

He told her the truth

"I always want you. Naked. Flushed. With my cock buried in you."

He shrugged and took another sip of his gingerale.

"But i'd settle for the names of your contacts, if you have any."

Lochlann was watching Guinevere's face and he noticed something about her he had never noticed before.

He wished he hadn't noticed it because, now that he did, it was hard for him to reconcile the thought that he and Guin were very similar creatures even though he was a monster and she was a human.

What he noticed was this:

Guinevere's face was blank. It was always blank. As a creature that spent a long time looking at expressions, learning to mirror and mimic and adapt to the environment on the surface, Lochlann was well versed in having a blank mask. It was almost easier sometimes, but there were still gestures he couldn't fully control.

But her blank expression was different from her being expressionless.

Lochlann took note of that, and he took note of the blush that followed.

Her voice was softer and for a split second, Guinevere looked like any other girl Lochlann had ever flirted with. Because she had done it, Lochlann mirrored her blank face while the wheels in his mind turned, though the temptation to lift an eyebrow was strong. For a split second, she seemed more vulnerable, and the girl in his kitchen drinking syrup came to mind.

She took a sip of her gingerale and it was back to business.

Lochlann mirrored her but this was calling into question what she had said. She hated him. But did she? He knew hate was a strong enough factor to bring her here, but was that all there was?

Why was he wasting so much time thinking about Guinevere Haze? Did he know this wasn't going to end here, no matter how hard he tried?

"What I am thinking is that someone has a photo, and that disturbs me, because if they have that, I don't know what else they had," he said. He hesitated for a moment, only a moment. "I came back to the island the last time, after Christmas, because the police called my house asking for me. My parents don't know about Dani."

He knew he'd just given her something against him, but he was taking the gamble that she wouldn't use that, because after all, it was against her, too.

He wondered if she knew how badly he was afraid of being killed by his own family.

Of course, when he'd returned to the island and wanted to confront her, thinking it was a plot by her, she'd been in the hospital. He wasn't surprised that still hurt him, but the intensity of the pain did. It felt a lot like the knife she'd raked over his heart had.

"I don't know how much the police have," Lochlann said. "And I want to know."

He took another sip of gingerale.

And then, Lochlann stared to hunt Guinevere.

"I also want to know if you're wearing panties this time."

Lochlann watched her face carefully.

This time she kept it blank.

Not expressionless, but blank.

"That's good," Lochlann said. It was good, because she would be able to do it significant easier than he could, but this betrayed her even if she didn't realize it. She was doing pretty badly at hating him.

It's not that he expected her to feel anything else. But Lochlann doubted hate was the only thing she felt. Which was another thing they had in common.

Lochlann wasn't sure he could hate her anymore. He kept trying.

"What am I planning?" he asked. He tapped his fingers across the counter and blew up at his hair, which wasn't long enough to fall into his face, but it was an old habit. He looked over at her, and then he looked her up and down.

"Guin, why don't you answer me a question," he said. "Did it hurt?"

"When you fell from heaven," Lochlann finished with the lamest pick-up line from the joke. Of course, falling from heaven could imply that she was a demon. Lochlann knew enough of that folklore, but it still applied.

He leaned over the bar, getting close to her ear to whisper the next part, as though he was telling her a secret.

"I've been planning how I'm going to take your panties off--if you're wearing any--" he said. He made sure to speak so his breath would move her hair and caress her neck. "I was thinking I'd pull them down with my teeth nice and slow so you get to feel that fabric trace down your leg and that first beautiful touch of cool air on your waiting cunt."

He sat back then and resumed tapping his fingers on the computer. He stopped after a moment to pick up the cup of gingerale and take another sip. His fingers itched for a cigarette. His mouth ached to kiss her.

"You keep asking what I want and I'm not sure how many times I have to tell you. What answer are you looking for, Guin?"

Inside, he was trying to assess what that blink had meant.

Lochlann suspected he was getting somewhere, but he didn't know where he was getting to. Hate? Rage? Her weird combination of sex and violence?

He wondered what it would be like to be someone for whom Guinevere smiled with ease.

He wondered if she knew what it felt like to smile like that.

"I still haven't found a way back to juvie that doesn't involve me going there myself," Lochlann said. "But that's the other piece I'm working on."

Lochlann was watching.

Before, he was able to keep a blank expression. He did so at first, because he honestly thought Guin was faking it. He used to suspect she was a mindreader or an empath or something like that, and he never really ever ruled it out entirely.

But he realized the laughter was real and Lochlann let his face soften for just a moment, his eyebrows arching up in surprise, and he let himself enjoy this moment.

Christ, was she beautiful when she laughed.

The sight was so at odds with how he viewed her that it hurt him. This was the girl that drank syrup in his kitchen and had whip cream on her nose. This was the girl that Lochlann saw beaten in the hospital.

He wondered what happened to her to make her into the woman she composed herself into.

He wanted to make another joke, wanted to continue it, but he didn't think she would let him unbalance her for so long. He could already see her establishing her footing and Lochlann was glad she was looking anywhere but him so he had a chance to compose himself.

"What did your house look like in England?" he asked her suddenly.

The bloody hell reminded him.

He had a fever dream of her saying she lived in London once.

Lochlann was surprised she answered him.

He assessed her answer and wondered if it was true. Guinevere was a liar. His favorite liar, his favorite scar, but she was still a liar. He took in the raised brows, the way she looked away, and then the way she composed herself.

He decided to didn't care if she lied or not. He'd never be able to find out. It's not like knowing this would help him. To be honest, he wasn't sure why he asked. it was an impulsive question, really. He'd wanted to know who the girl Guinevere might have become was. He wanted to know how she became this instead.

"I know the context of my own story," he told her. It was easy. In the fairy tale stories, he was a monster. He grew up with this context. He learned the words, and then he learned them in English. Angehnfil. Siog. Monster.

He knew the pattern his story would take: he would terrify and devour women and livestock until someone finally killed him.

Or.

Maybe.

Like the other stories: until he fell in love and was magically saved.

Lochlann didn't put much stock into these other stories. They were for children. He didn't feel like a child anymore. He hadn't since the day he realized he could make people drive off bridges.

"I don't know the context of your story," he said. "I don't know how you got here. I don't know who you'll become. I don't know how you got into my story."

He licked his lips. He didn't like this, answering her questions while she doged his. He reacted the only way he knew how.

"But I know how I'd like our story to end, Guin. With you saying my name while you come all over my cock," he said.

He took another sip of his gingerale. It was almost empty. He'd need to refill it just so he had something to do with his hands, with his mouth, with his need to touch her and kiss her and posses her.

"Where did you live if you didn't have a house?" he asked. "Did you stay in apartments? With family?"

Lochlann did pick up on the we in that story. He wondered if that was her father. He’d never heard her mention her mother. That was a fact that he considered delving further into, but couldn’t quite find a way to justify bringing that up into the conversation. It had nothing to do with the matter at hand.

It disturbed him that there were more similarities between himself and this girl, this woman, this person who kept burrowing into his life.

He was surprised by the rush of anger that his him when she accused him of dodging the question.

He slammed his fist on the bar top. No one looked, which was telling as to what kind of bar it really was.

“I’ve told you already, Guin,” he said. “Just because you don’t like the answer doesn’t mean it isn’t the answer. God damn.”

Lochlann pushed off the counter and stood up suddenly, grabbing his cup and moving over to the soda gun to refill the gingerale just to give himself something to do. His dark brows were furrowed and his jaw clenched, but the rest of his expression was relatively blank. He didn’t know why he was so angry. He didn’t know why he was so…scared.

Maybe it was because the last time he was this honest she’d knifed him.

But then again he was already prepared for it. He’d bought a sterilizing wound kit.

He sat back down. He did not apologize for being angry. His bandaged hand throbbed.

“I miss Dani,” he told her. “And I miss you. I just want to get this wrapped up. I just want to make sure we’re both safe”