Discovering

He had forgotten her name, or was it that she never told him. It didn’t matter.

Blood had soaked into the crisp white sheets.

What a fucking mess. He should call maid service.

She stirred on the bed, her body moving slowly, not wanting to damage her already strained muscles.

The needle lay next to him on the table; a bit of clear liquid dripping out of it, the rest had gone into his arm.

His arms lay limp on his knees. Slummed slightly, head bent to the side, he watched her.

He should not have used the knife. The blood was covering the bruises and damn it, the bruises were important.

He started to stand, she watched wearily from her place on the bed.

Why the fuck was the bitch still here?

“Why are you still here?”

“I can’t move.” She attempted, but fell back sharply.

What a god damned mess. He should call Mark.

Fix this Mark. Fix it quickly.

Walking hurt. He found the phone laying a few meters away from the night stand. He picked it up slowly, aware of its awkward shape and heaviness.

“Mark. Mark.” The line was silent.

“Fix it Mark.”

“They’re coming. Be ready. Just be fucking ready.”

He hung up, not needing to hear more. He looked back at her. Her eyes were frightened.

“I’m done.” She still didn’t relax.

The ding of the doorbell was too loud. The two bulking roadies said nothing as they moved to the bed, it was a familiar situation.

He moved to the bathroom, not bothered by the groans and moans that the girl was making.
He turned on the hot tap. Steam engulfed the bathroom quickly. His image was only a blur in the mirror.

His skin screamed, it burned a bright red.

He sighed.

Fucking whore.

The drugs still hadn’t taken affect, he was still thinking.

You fucking broken whore. I’ll find you, you fucking whore… Tear you apart…

His eyes were closed, his breathing even, and his image still a blur.

****

She had that dream again. The one were everything was fine. Where things didn’t hurt.

There was something resting on her arm, it was heavy.

His head was turned towards hers. His gentle breaths ghosted over her cheeks. His cheeks were pink, mouth rosy and pouting, hair glowing pale gold in the sunshine.

She smiled.

His skin was so soft, that when she kissed his cheek, they felt like his lips.
His eyes fluttered. He was reluctant. But soon those pretty blue orbs came into view.
His smile was pure calm joy. The single dimple endearing him to her even more.

“Ready?” He buried his head into her shoulder as an answer. She snuggled closer. She smelled the freshness of last night’s bath.

“Okay. Just a few minutes.” He kissed her neck.

They lay there, covers around them, the light shining into her eyes.

“It’s time.” He clung to her as she rose. She pulled him into her arms.

She thought about his father.

Not today.

His little hand was warm and soft in hers.

****

It wasn’t morning yet, plenty of time to get off with this one.

He walked slowly to her.

“Your name is Lily.”

“My name is Lily.” She looked like a screamer. He would make her scream, but no knifes tonight, just fists.

“You love me.”

“Yes. I love you.” Stupid bitch thought he was asking a question.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

“No. I shouldn’t have.” He could feel the anger rising. It burned hot, so hot he thinks he might burst into flames from the inside out.

“Are you sorry Lily?”

“I am so sorry.” He caresses her cheek lightly. She even looks like her. All soft pale skin, large brown eyes, innocent expression.

Her had slams into the wall behind her.

He raises his fists again.

I’m sorry.

****

Her shoes make a little tip tap sounds on the cobbled street.

He held her hand tightly. He looked at the vendors; apples, tomatoes, fresh from this farm, organic from that farm.

“Treat?” He smiled up at her and she moved into the direction of the ice-cream shop. It was too white. The walls, the floor, the cashier’s jacket, all pristine white.

She ordered the usual.

“Mama.”

“Hmm.” It was too sweet.
They don’t make them like they used to.

“Mama!”

“Yes?” He smiled in delight and pointed.

“He looks like me.” She turned around. On the wall, poster upon poster of him.

Her body ached.

****

“Come on man. Don’t fuck this up.”

He should fire this annoying tool.

He turns to Mark, his face stoic, Mark doesn’t say anything else.

“Take care of my room.” He watches them talking about him, the television people. He can just imagine the willowy one in the short skirt ramming her fingers inside her cunt moaning his name.

They always are.

“Did you find anything?” He turns to Mark.

“No man…nothing.” Fucking bastard is lying. “She just disappeared. Don’t think about her. Just do the show, man. Just do the show.”

He looks at his reflection. The make-up artist is fidgeting in the back, unsure of what to do after he shoves her hands away from his face.

He goes out. They practically climb over themselves to get to him.

When he strums the first few cords, and the roar of the audience is almost deafening, he almost forgets about her. Almost.

****

After she puts him to bed, she sits on her bed and cries.

It’s time to run again.

****

Another city, another show, another Lily. This one left with only a few scratches, no broken bones.

He’s snuck into the suburbs. It’s only nine, nigh is already upon the town, windows illuminated, children tucked in nice and safe.

A cobbled street.

He chuckles, but isn’t happy.

The air has a slight bite to it.

When he sees her, he isn’t sure it’s her. The tip of her brown lock disappears behind a back alley.

He doesn’t breathe. He is running after that lock. She is also running.
It’s too dark. He sees her a little further up. As if sensing him behind her she runs faster. He is after her. He is faster. He will catch her soon, she is already slowing down. Her back is just a scant inch away from his fingers.

She turns her head. Her mouth is open in a pant.

He stops.

Lily.

She is lost behind a corner.

Lily.

****

He is in the same neighborhood again. Large sunglasses obscure his eyes, blond hair tugged under a baseball hat. He has been coming here eight days now.

The tour was cancelled.

Mark had raged. It didn’t matter.

Where is she? Where?

****

She hasn’t left her house in eight days. She had called her job and told them that Adrian was sick and that she would not be coming in for a few days.

Her boss had raged. It didn’t matter.

Keeping a four-year-old entertained in for eight days without leaving the house was hard work, she realized.

It had been eight days. He had to have left.

“Mama, Mama, please?” He had to have left.
She takes his little hand. He squeals and his wet eyes are quickly dried. He laughs the whole way to the park.

****

One mother wouldn’t stop throwing suspicious looks his way.

She was too old to be a mother, he thought.

How long would he keep coming back?
What if she didn’t live here? What if she had run?

He would keep coming back.

He wouldn’t have looked if it wasn’t for the laughter.

She stood there, happy.

And next to her was a little boy.

The fury was quick. He wanted to run to her, bleed her, make her sorry.

She bent down and kissed him, holding his blond head in her hands, making a show of her love for him.
Why couldn’t she love him like that? But then he remembered, she had. At one point, she had. And then those looks of love and adoration had been replaced by fear.

I’m sorry.

****

She was sitting on the grass.
Adrian was telling her about the monkey bars, about his lack of fear dangling so high up.

She was proud.

Three suitcases would be enough. South Carolina would be a nice home. The small town especially. The house was very pretty, it had a porch. Mark had told her it was already paid for. So all they had to do was move in.

Adrian went back to the monkey bars. She closed her eyes, smelling the air.

When she opened her eyes she saw Adrian talking to a stranger.

Adrian never talks to strangers.

Her pulse jumped.

The stranger picked up her son.

She rose…

They were coming towards her.

….and almost fainted.

****

“Lily.”

“Andreas.”

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to hurt her.

“I have a son.” He looked at the boy in his arms. Adrian was watching him intently.

“You’re mine.” He told the little boy. His little face scrunched up in confusion, he turned to his mama.

“Mama?” His voice was hesitant.

“Meet you daddy, Adrian.” Tears slid down her cheek.

No more running. Fear.

“Daddy?”

“Yes. Let’s go home.” He held his hand out for her. She took it.

“Let’s go home.” She repeats.

Fear.

****

She never let Adrian see the bruises. They happen rarely now. Only a few times a month he loses himself and hurts her.

Adrian screams Daddy whenever he sees him, he runs to Andreas’s arms.

She chooses not to remember the hurt.

She is happy. There is no fear.

****

He doesn’t want the needle anymore.

His son smiles when he sees him. He has never and will never have fear in his eyes.

His wife smiles now. There are no more pseudo-Lilys, only the real Lily. Lily with her shy smile, innocent eyes, and welcoming figure. And his son, so much like him, yet so unlike him.

He is happy. The anger doesn’t take over anymore. There is no fear.


A/N:
This is what you get from an too much Muse and Bret Ellis. And yes, in my world suburbs have alleys. trust me on this. Sorry for any errors, I have no beta, and frankly I'm already kinda sick of this story.