Work Text:
"I don't think I like wine."
"You will soon."
You take another swig of the grog and burst out laughing. "I can't believe you remember that."
Marie smiles. "Of course I do. That was our first night."
Our first night fucking.
The words go unsaid, just like they always do with Marie. You've known her for years yet not at all, always an enigma, always a ghost just out of reach.
"I'm glad you went blonde, it looks natural on you." Marie's hand that's not holding her hooch strokes through your hair.
You close your eyes for a moment, pretending you're sixteen and destroyed innocent, pretending you're in Marie's living room and that she still loves you.
"Bea dyed my hair once, y'know. She was a hairdresser. Knew what she was doing."
The sudden tightness in Marie's grip makes your stomach twist. "That's nice," she mutters, but the bitter anger in her voice indicates anything but.
You take another swig of booze- if you drink enough, you will forget. You will be numb. You will not feel pain, you will delude yourself into thinking Marie's love is not conditional.
"I don't think we should talk about her anymore, sweetheart."
That's when your stomach drops, when your blood runs cold, when you nearly drop the bottle of hooch.
"About Bea?" you say tersely, already knowing what she means.
"It's just you and me now, darling. No need to dwell in the past." Marie smiles at you, sickly sweet like she hasn't just stuck a knife in your heart and twisted.
Once the icy blare of shock has faded, it is replaced by fury.
"She was the love of my life, Marie. I can talk about her all I bloody well want."
Marie shakes her head, clenches her jaw, and that's how you know you've really gotten to her.
"No, Allie, I don't think so," she says gently yet not kindly in that way she always does. She smiles again it doesn't reach her eyes and reaches out to cup your face, and your skin burns at her touch like you're a demon and she's doused you in holy water.
"I…don't doubt you loved her," Marie continues. "But she didn't love you the way I do. Nobody can."
What scares you, what has always scared you about Marie is how manipulative she is.
Even when you know she's lying, she's made you think she's telling the truth, even when you hate her you love her.
Marie's got you in a vice like grip.
And you don't think you'll ever get out.
You don't think you want to.
Maybe that makes you sick.
"I'm sorry," you murmur despite knowing you're in the right, and even though every fiber in your body is screaming at you not to, you lean in and rest your head on Marie's shoulder.
Her body is stiff and unwelcoming against yours, and it makes your mouth fall open in a helpless sob, your arms wrap around her even tighter, desperate for any semblance of affection.
Marie acquiesces you, returns your embrace, kisses the top of your head as she murmurs sweet nothings in your ear.
It's an endless cycle, one that you've long since accepted you will never break out of.
That's what Marie is to you.
As horribly as she treats you, you can't get enough, you will never get enough.
Marie has poisoned you and twisted you into a monster, she has kissed away your tears until you don't know how to cry anymore, she has broken you and built you back up and you are hers.
You will always be hers.
But she will never, ever be yours.