We fucked all night long, barely stopping for breath.
Today is different; I’m not getting out of this now.
“My vows are … kind of like a poem,” I venture cautiously, lifting up the crumpled envelope between us. “Even though I suck at them, I try. They make me feel better for some reason, like writing down my feelings makes them easier to digest.” I exhale through my nostrils and stare down at the first word. Victor. It always starts with Victor. From that moment he pushed a little boy down the slide for pulling my pigtails until the day I stormed up to him in the hallway of Prescott High.
“I don’t think your poems suck,” he says, and I have to look up and find his eyes to make sure he’s telling the truth. They’re as dark as always, and shadowed by night, but I can still tell because I’m used to seeing in the pitch-black. He’s being serious. “I used to dig them out of the garbage and read them last year. Every Tuesday and Thursday after your third period English class.” He flashes me a white-toothed grin as my lips part in surprise. “You wrote a lot about us, about how much you hated us.”
“I—” I start to sputter, but Victor silences me with a kiss.
“It’s okay. Everyone needs an outlet; writing can be yours.” Victor licks the corner of his lip and reaches fingers up to his purple-dark hair, mussing up its perfection a bit. He always slicks it back like some fifty’s greaser, and I fucking love it. Wouldn’t hurt him to fuck it up a bit every now and again though. “Violence is mine. Wanna trade?”
I laugh, but it comes out so breathless. My hand is shaking, and I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt so vulnerable in front of another person. A close second would be me and Oscar, on the couch in Aaron’s living room. My lips purse and the small rush of anger I feel helps steel my nerves.
I keep saying I’m not afraid anymore.
What I mean is, I’m not afraid of anyone on the outside. I’m terrified of the people on the inside. Each letter in that dark acronym is a possible bullet headed straight for my motherfucking heart.
“Victor,” I start, looking down at the envelope, even though I don’t really need it. “I was eight when I first saw you. Fifteen when I hated you. I’ve loved you for almost a decade. Do the math. Add me and you together and you get one. One heart beating in a broken chest. There is beauty in havoc, peace in chaos, and wisdom in anarchy.” I wet my suddenly dry lips. “God, this poem sucks,” I murmur, but Victor says nothing, watching me with half-lidded eyes. Pretty sure that whether the poem is crap or not, I’m getting my brains fucked out tonight. “Two broken people can’t fix each other, but there are six of us.” I pause, looking up at Vic to see if I can figure out what he’s thinking. As usual, he gives me nothing. “Six hearts, twelve hands, ten years of history. Make me your wife, Victor, and I’ll be as loyal as the tattoo on your forearm.” I point at the ink on Victor’s right forearm. The word Loyalty is written in black cursive, surrounded by a dozen other pieces, so that it blends into a swirl of color. It isn’t immediately visible, but it’s permanent, unmovable, inked into his flesh. Kind of like loyalty is in real life, huh? “Do you want me? Please say yes, even if you don’t. Feed me beautiful lies and say I do.” I stop and look from the envelope to his face.
“Six hearts,” he says, rubbing at his chin. It takes him a moment before he realizes I’ve asked him a question and he hasn’t responded. “All that I want is you, Bernie.” He grabs the envelope from me and shoves it into the left pocket of my dress before snatching me by the waist and throwing me over his shoulder.
“Vic!” I scream, but he ignores me, carrying me inside and kicking the doors to the outside closed behind him. “You never said I do,” I growl as he chucks me onto the bed, and I bounce briefly. His body is covering mine before I can take a single breath.
“I do,” he growls, biting my lower lip and making me moan. My fingers dig into the blankets underneath us as Vic undulates his body against mine. “You’re mine, Bernadette. You always have been.” He pauses and narrows his eyes, flicking them toward the bedroom door. “I should kill this David motherfucker.”
“Except, how many girls have you been with?” I ask, but really, I don’t want to know. Victor very slowly brings his attention back to me.
“I’m going to kill David,” he repeats, rather than answer me. “Then we can fuck in his blood.”
“Victor,” I warn, but the idea isn’t totally repugnant to me. My hands weave together behind his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth, cracking the very small shields I still had up, opening me to him completely. Victor rocks his body against mine again, forcing my legs apart. The shimmery black fabric of the dress is like a shield between us, but that doesn’t stop him from running a hand up and underneath, fingers digging into my thigh. It hurts, but it also feels good too, the way he’s holding me like he owns me.
“I told you, Bernie: I need a way to let my demons out and you need a way to confront them. That’s what you’re going to get, the fucking demon inside of me.” Victor puts his lips against my ear and purrs this into me, making me thrash beneath him. I want more. All of him. Now.
Based on the feral expression taking over his face, I don’t think that’ll be a hard thing to convince him to do …
Victor Channing
Bernadette’s vows reverberate through my body, causing a seismic shift as I adjust my body against hers. Can she feel it, I wonder, the violence thrumming inside of me? I don’t want to share her with the rest of Havoc. Yet, I’m starting to feel like an animal backed into a corner. I get to make a choice: kill the other males after my female or … deal with them in a different way.
A growl escapes me as I drop my mouth to her neck, sucking on her skin and biting her just hard enough to make her cry out. It isn’t enough, so I bite harder, until she’s clawing at my bare back with her nails. She smells so sweet and soft to me, even though I know it’s an illusion.
My Bernadette Savannah Blackbird is one, tough bitch.
“You’re hurting me,” she whimpers, but she thrusts her pelvis against me, tilting her face to the side to give me better access. “Keep going.”
A sharp spike of lust shivers through me, and I find myself clawing at her dress, just to get it the fuck out of my way. Why did I want her to wear it again? Oh, that’s right, because she looks like a dark angel or a beautiful demon when she’s wearing it, not sure which exactly.
That day, the day after we got arrested by the Violent Gang Task Force, I got to see her in it for the first time.
Mmm.
If that isn’t a memory I’ll cherish until I meet an early grave, I don’t know what is.
“Tell him he can’t see it until the wedding,” Bernadette said, her voice groggy with sleep, her tone laced with irritation. “Not until I walk out the front doors of that goddamn creepy ass house.”
She couldn’t possibly know how scared I was though. Nah, not scared. Terrified. Shaken. Horror-struck. Hysterical.
If we didn’t have damn good lawyers on retainer, and a totally trumped-up charge made up by an angry daddy then … Don’t think that way, I tell myself, sitting up and pushing Bernadette’s dress up so I can see all of her. She hates it, being vulnerable and exposed beneath my dark stare, but I don’t give a shit. I need this; I need her.