(no subject)
Chelsea lay awake long after Nico and Connie had fallen into an exhausted slumber. The house was quiet, except for the usual night noises, dark and peaceful. Nico had cleaned the blood up downstairs while she and Connie had bathed, and had washed off the bathroom tiles while she'd gone with Connie to Vegas to get a few things she didn't want to leave behind and more clothing. By the time they'd gotten home, you couldn't tell it had all happened, which she supposed had been Nico's goal. She'd thrown out what they'd been wearing, everything, even though she probably could've gotten the blood out of most of it eventually. It hadn't escaped her that the dark purple tank top she'd been wearing had been blood blackened. It felt accusatory to hold it in her hands, as though it were her fault for wearing something other than black, for attempting to attain some sense of normalicy. It struck her as ironic, that the same normalicy she and Connie both strived for in their lives as a means to control their avatars was the same thing Henry had sought to disrupt in the name of his own lust for control of others.
Smiling in their faces
While filling up the hole
So many dirty little places
In your filthy little worn out broken down see through soul
She sighed and shifted restlessly under the comforter. Nico was spooned against her back, one arm over her waist in what had started out as a death grip and relaxed as time had passed and his sleep had deepened. He was feverishly hot compared to icy cool presence of Connie on her other side, curled under the covers like a child. She was pleasantly surprised Nico had asked Connie to bunk with them. She had known Connie wouldn't want to be alone, and it saved her having to make a decision between having her husband near her, which she desperately wanted, and comforting her student. Chelsea scratched absently at the fresh scar tissue on her stomach, which itched like any freshly healed wound. She was laying on her side, where most of the scarring was, but if she rolled over, she'd wake Nico, who would go back to the death grip. It only added to her restlessness.
She kept trying to justify it in her head. She understood what had happened, but not why it had happened. She had understood Henry had a control problem ever since Connie's seeking in St. Louis. She knew he was starting to crack when he had fooled around on Connie and made her watch the video, too arrogant to understand she'd leave him. She just didn't know why he had turned on them, on his nearly defenseless wife, on her and Nico, when all he had to do was walk away. Why hadn't he understood that?
Baby's got a problem
Tries so hard to hide
Got to keep it on the surface
Because everything else is dead on the other side
It bothered her that she'd understood the problem and still not seen the break coming. It always bothered her when things happened in a way she didn't predict, or understand as events unfolded, but this was particularly unsettling because of the threat it presented to those she held dearest, as well as her home. All she had wanted was this house that she and Nico had built after they were wed, her husband by her side for as long as she could have him, and her family close by, blood and otherwise. Why did Henry feel that should be taken away from her, from Nico? Why did he try to kill Connie, and pass the plans to the Conrad manorhouse to the Order? What was the point? Had he never really loved Connie? Never been Nico's friend? She'd never expected him to be her own friend, but he had made Nico feel a bit more accepted, and that had meant something to her. Connie's happiness meant something to her.
It wasn't that anyone had wanted Henry to die; it was more that no one was going to die for him. She wondered if the Order would insist someone do so anyhow, and if they were capable of forcing that decision. She didn't think they were, if they played their own cards right. After all, this was the third time in three years the Order had been out to kill her. She was a walking monument to the Order of Hermes' complete inefficiency.
Teeth in the necks of everyone you know
You can keep on sucking till the blood won't flow
When it starts to hurt it only helps it grow
Taking all you need
But not this time
No you don't
"Chels?" Nico murmured in her ear. She startled, not realizing he'd woken, and his arm tightened around her.
"What?"
"Go to sleep." She smiled. He nuzzled his face into her hair, took a deep breath of lavendar scented shampoo and the smell of her, and went back to sleep. She stopped tossing and turning and waited for sleep, but it wasn't coming. You could clean up the blood, heal the wounds, erase the mark of it upon the world, but she still didn't feel safe anymore. There was something inherently wrong with being shot, without armor, in her own home. With feeling that had she had a reason to wear something under the tank top besides a bra, that she'd be safer. She was tired of being restless, tired of being on the run. Henry knew that. Why did he have to do this?
And just for the record
Just so you know
I did not believe
That you could sink so low
Chelsea glanced at Connie, curled up on the edge of the big California king bed. She wasn't going to let this crack her. Any more than Nico would let it take their home.
You think that you can beat them
I know that you won't
You think you have everything
But no you don't
No you don't
No you don't
How could Henry do this?
And why didn't she see it coming in time to prevent more of the damage?
Sleep came long before any answers did.