remember your lovers who gave you more than love.
[ooc: I am sorry for spamming the comm, guys. >< But this might be the last weekend or week in general where I'll get to tag heavily, with school/work on the way. So I...decided to be crazy and make a multi-pup post. Tag in as many times as you'd like, with as many characters as you'd like! It's open like burning. ♥]
Anne Hamilton is wandering the ( Read more... )
Anne Hamilton is wandering the ( Read more... )
Or there should be. It's not a stranger that he gets to stumble upon, observe from the outside. It's Anne.
He drops the cigarette at the sight of her walking down the center of the road, looking like-- There aren't really words for it, but it tears up his chest like something's clawing inside of him. It hurts.
The cigarette drops, and he runs to her, grabbing hold of her and pulling her out of harm's way. "Anne?"
Cold hands slide down her arms, and he looks her in the eyes because he can. He can do that with her, and there's nothing more freeing than that. "What's wrong?"
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She's in the middle of a street.
The honking and the bright lights and her name are all blurred together. She closes her eyes to chase off the dizzying sensation. It's hard to focus when there's...there's a lot on her chest right now. It's pressing down.
It'll fade. It always does.
When she does meet David's gaze with bloodshot red eyes, she mostly just looks confused, words spoken slowly. "How'd I get here?"
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Hot, white like fire.
Rage.
Who did this to her? Who the fuck did this and what did they do?
But beyond that, there's worry. There's that intense protective feeling that he cannot ignore.
"I don't-- I have no--"
His voice comes out sounding thready and tight. Frantic. David shakes his head.
It takes that moment of hesitation before guardian instinct takes over. He is a guardian at heart as much as he wants to deny it, as much as he wishes he wasn't.
"Come with me." It's said firmly. "You don't have to know how. I don't know how. I'm going to take you somewhere safe. To my house. You remember it... right?"
He doesn't know what happened. He doesn't know how she doesn't remember, but he is going to make it better.
His hand slides into hers, and he pulls.
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It's thick on her tongue, and her face is pulled into a tight expression.
It's not her fault. She didn't do anything.
It just feels like it did. Like something broke and she's to blame. If she keeps remembering that, it'll be okay.
Her gaze is a little vacant at first. It takes longer than it should to recognize him when he's standing right in front of her. "David?"
If she was more coherent, she'd know instantly it's a bad idea. She should go back before her absence is noticed. It might not be, since her father never checks up one her after a punishment.
But he might. And if he does--
"Okay." Her hand is limp in his and she lets herself be led.
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There's something that shifts to the other side of himself when she says his name with a question like it's taken her this long to realize who he is. There's this burning in his eyes, and this tightening in his throat.
"Yeah," he says finally, a little brokenly. His hand slides against her face, and he careens it toward him. Like that can make her look at him, like that can make her see. "Yeah, it's me ( ... )
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She sits.
He kneels in front of her.
"What do you mean it always--" He freezes, and there is that unfamiliar, shaking, red rage. "Your father? He did this? Did he do this to you? Anne-"
David reaches for her arm and slides that sleeve up her arm. A sound dispels from him at the sight of that bruise, and he slips back.
"Anne, I don't-- This is wrong. What he's--"
Breathe. It's almost like a panic attack, but there's so much need to protect that he can't quite spiral into one. It's hard to breathe. It's hard to think.
His hand remains over her arm.
He shakes his head, tears in his eyes. "Anne-"
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It's different now that she's older.
There's just very little she can do about it.
She remembers how her father would send Jason away. Jason wouldn't want to, but her father is powerful and he could make him think he wanted to leave.
"He was angry. I don't--I don't think I can go back to the Tower."
Anne flinches at the sound she makes.
She hates that she has made him sound this way. She'd be having more of a reaction if she wasn't numb aside from the guilt swirling in her chest.
She wants to speak and she can't. The words are seized by the thickness of the guilt choking at her throat. She can't tell how much of it is her and how much of it is not.
"I'm sorry," Anne croaks out. She rubs the side of her face with her hand, knuckles wiping at the wetness there.
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"It's not fair," he says, and there's something in his voice that's trembling. "That's abuse, Anne. All of it is. You need out. You can't afford to wait. You can't."
She's already been going through it for her entire life, and there's no telling what kind of negative effects that it's had on her.
His chest is aching, and he feels sick.
David shakes his head. His hand slides up against her face again before it falls quickly, much too quickly. "Don't be. You didn't--" The pain in his chest. It's making it impossible for him to speak. "You didn't do anything wrong, Anne. It's him."
He is the one that's wrong.
He presses his lips to the bruise on her wrist. It's something he does without thinking. Kiss it and make it better, they were told as kiss ( ... )
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"It's not that simple."
It's really not. It may sound like an excuse but it's not. She remembers telling him her father was a Glaysa and that was how he married her mom. That it was how he did other stuff. She just...never elaborated on what the 'stuff' was.
Robin was right. 'Stuff' doesn't explain anything.
"He's my dad, David," she whispers shakily.
Wrong or not he's her dad. The same man that can do this is also the one that cried when she was born, and she doesn't understand how they can be one in the same, much less explain it.
"I'm gonna be eighteen soon, anyway. We talked about it, remember?" she asks, almost hopefully. She doesn't want him to be sad for her. I think you'll do it, he said to her, sitting on her windowsill, once she finally admitted what she wanted out loud. New York. Dance ( ... )
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It hits deeper than it should. Maybe it hits at exactly the right spot.
He never told on his father for killing his best friend. Part of the reason they sent him away is because he might have. He thought about it. The words were on the tip of his tongue at the funeral.
My dad did this...
My dad...
The words never came but they sat right there. His dad saw it in him, and he was sent to Chicago to live with an aunt and uncle who needed someone to watch their house anyway. Perfect arrangement. It's not that simple.
"Okay," David says finally. There's a quietness to the words that's deep. He glances at her, head low, bangs falling in front of his face. "A year is a long time."
It's all he'll say. Sure, he can take care of her when he finds her on the street or when he climbs up the side of her house to her windowsill. But she's stuck in that environment where she can't fight back, and there's no telling what can happen in a year ( ... )
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"It won't be a whole year," she says so quietly it almost can't be heard, the heaviness sinking into her chest again. "My birthday's in November, and the Gauche helps demons out the same way the Kashtta does angels and...anybody that needs room and board. They even take angels in if they don't like the Tower."
It really isn't as simple as she's making it sound, but she does have an idea.
If executed correctly, it could ensure her dad doesn't bother her, even after she's moved out.
There is no perfect arrangement and she never expected one.
Anne has been saving up for years to go to dance school and to be able to live out on her own.
Once she does hit eighteen she'll be able to start managing some of the money her grandmother left for her and she can choose who would run her funds ( ... )
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It can't be so easy.
If her dad's willing to do that to her, it won't be so easy, but he has faith that when that time comes, they can fight it. They'll get her out of there. People in the supernatural world, they know how to fight for each other.
"Okay," David says. Again. "You can move out. In November."
He'll be remembering that month for more than one reason now. It's her birthday. It's her month to get free of that man who does this to her. He still remembers listening to the yells when he visited her windowsill.
David doesn't view her as his pseudo ward.
He doesn't view her as his responsibility either.
It's difficult to put into words exactly what he views her as ( ... )
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He believes she needs to do it, and he will be there to support her ( ... )
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