Pretty When You Cry - Chapter 9
TITLE: Pretty When You Cry
FANDOM: Ginger Snaps
RATING: Hard R
DISCLAIMER: I wish I owned it. Ginger Snaps would've been more about the already existing werewolves in all three movies and instead of just the sisters. BUT I don't own it, so I must settle to write fan fiction that no one reads for free. Life sucks, huh?
9. DISTURBED
He was taking longer than she’d expected. A little walk to a shop around the corner shouldn’t take hours. Had he fled, taken off without a word upon realizing what a lost cause she was? How fucked up everything was with Ginger Fitzgerald in your world? But she didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to lose the last familiar face she could still look upon and recognize in an unfamiliar world.
She sat on the edge of the bed, watchfully listening to the sounds outside, hoping to hear his approach. Everything seemed so futile. They weren’t any closer to finding Brigitte, or even getting rest. Every day was the start of a new fight, new problems, and the old desire. Soon they’d be out of money, forced to get some by shady means and it didn’t even bother her.
Ginger didn’t want to live the rest of her life in different hotel rooms, looking at Jason with changing amounts of lust and hate. There was nothing exciting about this, the weight of the situation forced her lungs to collapse and made breathing difficult. She couldn’t anticipate what came next, couldn’t read him as easily as he seemed to read her. Sure he was drawn to her, definitely wanted to close her inside his fist and keep her there, but there was something more: A kindness when he took care of her and made sure she didn’t lack anything he could give her. He did it with an attitude but the affinity was there.
The key turned in the lock of the door, making her turn her head towards her arriving companion, who already stood by the door with a sullen expression in a few seconds time. His head was still bald, the regeneration hadn’t begun yet. He’d changed his clothes though, gotten something more fitting for him to wear. When he entered the room he brought a cloud of smoke alongside with him, filling her senses with the lovely stench of tobacco. He looked too grim, too contemplative.
Ginger evaded the approaching disaster that every cell in her body was warning her of by getting up and reaching for the plastic bag he was holding in one hand. She got closer to him than she would’ve liked, her steps reaching farther than she’d expected and she froze as their chests touched when she grasped the bag. She glanced at his face that was stripped from emotion, left blank. Her breath was heavy, her lip instantly slid between her teeth and tongue as she sucked it nervously.
It was the same feeling as last night; the restless in him was almost violent. As if to save herself at least she yanked the bag from his hold and pulled away, conjuring up a relaxed expression her face.
“I’m starved! Did you bring something to eat?” As light as her voice was, it failed to deceive him, failed to keep him from seeing how she sensed the change in him. Jason didn’t know whether he wanted to hold her or strangle her like the cruel little bitch she was, so he stood still by the door, letting the cold outside air to invade the room.
She sat down on the bed, brought the bag to her lap and went through everything. She buried her accusations and the doubts she had so deep that he couldn’t possibly see any of them. He should be talking by now, speaking his usual bullshit nonsense that she could scoff at, but he wasn’t. Something was seriously wrong about him; there was a presence eating him up, almost like it was time for the wolf to emerge again. Ginger didn’t dare to turn to him, she felt safer with her back at him.
She’d found the panties and rags by the time he closed the door. The stream of cold air stopped and warmth returned to the room. Ginger pushed off her jeans without further notice and pulled on the underwear, attaching the rag onto them while at it. He watched her do it, smelled the blood like it was a word she’d spoken. And still he couldn’t move, couldn’t forget about the vicious words that’d made him feel so small, so unimportant. He was at his limits, and she didn’t seem to realize why.
Ginger got her jeans back on, and continued searching the insides of the bag. He’d brought barbequed chicken with him, albeit a cold one. She also noticed the condoms, but didn’t respond to them in any particular way. There was a razor too, she instantly took it in her hand and half-smirked lazily. When she looked at him though, the smile vanished at an instant and she felt something cold move inside her. What was more wrong than usually? Why the fuck was he looking at her like that!?
Jason moved finally, brought his exhausted self to the bed and sat down next to her, avoiding looking at her puzzled face. “I need to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth.” His voice was thick with tension, contained anger.
“Oh great…” she mumbled, submitting unwillingly to this new game he’d come up with. Whatever it was, she was sure he’d picked something that’d make her lose it.
“Can you do that?” he asked, his hand sliding over hers, closing it inside as if he sought to hold onto her almost possessively. He looked pained. What’d she done to torture him now?
“Give it your best shot.” Not more resistance. If he spoke, maybe she could smack that bitch down and get rid of whatever was troubling him. He didn’t speak at first, just ran his thumb across her hand absent-mindedly and stared away from her. Then he shifted a bit, became stiff and motionless.
“Did you have a crush on Trina Sinclair?”
“What the fuck!?” She yelped and jumped up without wanting to realize just what he’d just asked. The mere thought was wrong, ugly. What the fuck was wrong with him? Was he blind, had he been blind?
“Did you, or didn’t you?” He repeated the question with irony resolve, forcing her to deal and answer. Had she wanted to ravish the girl and maul her exanimate? For revenge, yeah she had, but that had nothing to do with misguided hormones or a chemical addiction of the brain.
“No,” she said sharply and made him make eye contact with her flaming eyes. “I could hardly stand the bitch!”
He got up took, straightened to his full height that matched hers brilliantly, brought them to an equal footing. She could tell instantly he wasn’t buying it, that some stress vein on his temple was still throbbing on overlaps. He was taking this hard wasn’t he? His confusion over her sexual preferences would’ve been fun to watch, if it hadn’t been so fucking insulting. Trina Sinclair? Seriously, she had better taste than that!
“That’s no proof.” His face invaded her personal space when he inched closer while he spoke and eradicated her reasoning. ”I can hardly stand you and yet here we are: One happy fucking family!” His voice was saturated with authority by now, like he was done taking her shit and lies and would make her pay dearly if she opposed to him now. Yeah well, she was telling the truth this time. She wasn’t that homicidal after all.
She didn’t move back, just stayed right where she stood and stare directly at him. Like the wuss even knew anything; he was probably blind from jerking off by now, which could explain why he went on and on with this stupid fixed idea of his. Ginger actually growled at him, starting to regain her edge.
“I hated her,” she clarified, putting weight on the hatred between her and the bimbo. “And I wish to God I’d buried her sooner.”
Jason didn’t relax though, no, he seemed even more vexed and tired. What, was there more of this bullshit? Ginger thought of forcing him silent but figured he might’ve just gone all freak without a leash mode on her in that case. She wasn’t too eager to see if the sex had made him regret his earlier promise any.
“What about Brigitte?” He asked; the turmoil visible on his face. Ginger frowned. “She’s my sister, I love her,” she answered out of habit and watched him clench his teeth together and grimace in agony like he couldn’t get what he wanted out of her. She even noticed his teeth were starting to look pointy. Oh fuck.
“She was your sister,” he clarified, weighting the words like they were essential in his train of thought. She was beginning to fear what he’d come up with during his little break. Too much thinking had to be rotting his fucking brain.
“Now she’s hardly anything… or is she?” His eyes were on her, alert and full of something primal. She knew this Jason from before. It was the same one that’d carried her away from the woods, promised her salvation if she’d become his pack. She knew him and she feared and respected him - just not enough to let this slide now that he was about to insult her with this.
“What’re you implying McCardy?” She didn’t back down an inch; no, she pushed onwards, meeting his aggression with her own strength. She felt stronger, full of power that was just waiting to be unleashed. She could take him if she wanted to. Bring him down and make him fucking regret ever saying a bad word to her.
He could hear those words again, the mischief and cruelty in them resounded in his ears. That mockery she’d showered him with was tormenting him. The beast inside was angry, so fucking angry, and jealous. “Did you fuck her? Did you want to?!”
She grabbed the collar of his shirt, holding it tight in her grip that made her hands turn white. The storm in her eyes was as beautiful as it was terrifying. “You’re one sick fuck!” She screamed, too tired to believe he’d actually said that. Actually implied that she’d touched her sister, that she could’ve ever…
He tore her hands from his shirt, pushed her back just enough to get a breather. “You think I had much caring for my sister?” He asked his voice unnecessarily loud and offended. He sounded really hurt, guilty. “No, she was just a meal.”
She stared at him, fazed by the revelation he’d just given her. He’d killed her? He’d killed his own sister?
“Hardly like Brigitte who got close enough to stab you.” He really believed it, didn’t he? That she could’ve tainted Brigitte like that? Used her for fleeting pleasure? No… No!
“I never touched her and I never would’ve!” Oh she was irate; she wanted to rip his torso apart just for suggesting such. All she’d wanted was for them to be together. His mind was twisted for thinking anything else!
Jason moved closer again, almost pathetic in his appearance when his face finally softened. “Tell me the truth now, Ginger,” he begged, desperate to be rid of those thoughts, that venom in his head. She was his for god’s sake; Brigitte wasn’t here, she’d stabbed her and ran! He was the one who’d saved her, been there for her. He wouldn’t let that ghost come between them, he couldn’t allow it.
His fingers reached for her cheek, she shifted to flee his touch, didn’t want him complicating a simple matter by bewitching her with intimacy. He just felt the rejection, the hatred she felt for him - it was all further proof for his brain. “You weren’t that interested in guys were you?”
Maybe she hadn’t been, but she had let him get to her. She’d let him bring them both here: under this roof, under this confusion.
“You used me to replace someone. You’re still using me to replace someone!” He screamed it aloud, threw his hands on both sides of her head and held tightly. She wouldn’t escape; she’d answer this right now!
She felt kinda dizzy, could hear her blood rush across her body. His angry face was almost distant for a moment. She didn’t realize there was blood coming out of her nose, staining her face. “Oh I wish to God I was!”
The pressure inside her head went down, his hands landed on her shoulders. The noises diminished and she blinked rapidly to clear her out of this muddleheaded state. She tasted blood in her mouth; his hands were trying to clean it from her face. She’d felt like fainting for a moment there, but now everything was calmer. Even the anger was gone back to being mere crankiness.
Jason felt like an asshole and a pioneer at the same time. She hadn’t lied, or jumped him with the rage she’d been sizzling with unsheathed. The voice was lying, fucking bitch, trying to drive him insane as it was. All he felt was relief, because that lie had been too hideous to bear. To lose her when the battle hadn’t even begun… he really wanted to win; make it good, make it worth the shit they’d had to swallow.
“I hate you,” she whispered, her bitchy eyes reflecting his impaled image as it was in her morbid fantasies. Yet they didn’t move apart. “You’re all I have.”
All she had? It was enough for now. Everyone else was gone, she even cursed their ghosts. He wished he could get rid of his that easily too. Jason glanced at the door, the space there that was empty to Ginger’s eyes, but that withheld another venomous red haired bitch in his eyes. The source of his delusions, the voice that wanted to bring him dismay - she was from Hell. He then tore his eyes away from the non-existent Ginger and looked at the real deal again.
Her eyes were red and there was blood still all across her lips and face. A vision of disorder she was, and yet so enthralling. Not like the ghastly version in his head. Was there really anyway to get things right between them? Live a day without quarrelling and bitching? He had no clue.
Jason was contemplative and the dark aura was gone again. Good, she didn’t ever want to discuss their last topic again. She wanted to bury it alongside with all the memories where she’d called Brigitte sister and actually had to bare with Trina’s existence.
“I’m tired,” he said, his face bearing marks of exhaustion. She nodded.
“We don’t have much money left,” he continued and glanced at the bag again. “We take what we need tonight, then skip town. This place doesn’t feel… safe.”
No, it didn’t and yeah, hunting was a good idea. There was nothing to make her forget today like good violence. She checked his teeth again, finding them normal. The cycle evaluation was beginning to sound thin if Jason could manifest small aspects when his moods went out of control. It had to mean she was capable of that too, and that it might be possible to change at will.
“I’m in,” Ginger answered and withdrew, walking to her bed and laying on it, her back at him. He watched her find a suitable position before settling on his own bed. He kicked the bag on the floor and stared at the ceiling.
It was cold when she didn’t lie beside him.
TBC