Chapter Text
/1978, May 17, Chicago, IL/
"What are you doing?"
I was startled, tensing to run, as I glanced up at where the voice had come from.
She was beautiful. Brown sugar skin, hair like snow, a night black suit, her eyes were interesting, they looked red in the fading light of the sun through the window-
"Shit!" I jumped up and dashed to the exit, but the woman was right in front of the door.
"I asked what you were doing. Why are you here?" I glared up at her. "None of your business. Now let me through." She stared at me, stone-faced. Another well-meaning adult trying to keep kids like me clean and safe. Far away from brothels and drug dens like this one. She can try.
"..."
Fuck it.
"I came here to work. I'm an assistant for the girls, and I learn how to read and write."
No reaction. Tough one, would need to knock the charm a few levels. "Please Ma'am, my mama and daddy can't know I was here, they'll kill me!" I work up some tears and pitifully gaze up at her. Nothing. Not even a twitch of concern.
"Nice try," I take a step back at her strange tone "but I am not leaving here without you."
Trafficker alert. I need to get out of here before she says something bad like 'Your parents asked me to pick you up' or some shit like that.
Her face gentles, as if she knows what I'm thinking. "I knew your daddy. Lonti Deios."
Oh no. Does she know what happened? This is worse, this is so much worse.
"I'm your auntie Laurna."
"What. My dad didn't have any siblin's." She frowns a little. "Yes he did, there were twenty of us. He told you nothing?" "No Ma'am." This was getting weird. She growled. "Quod ad nihilum de stercore exanimo frustum!" What the hell was that? She took a big breath and slowly let it out. "I'm sorry. I lost my temper there. I want to take care of you, Mera."
"... Like how my dad did?" Her eyes widen and she fumbles, trying to fix the situation. "No! No, not at all! I want to make sure you're safe, and happy, and never have to worry about a thing, and, and..."
She sighs, slides down the door, and sits down, looking the complete opposite of how she looked when she came in. Her silver hair is all ruffled, her suit is wrinkled, and she just looks a mess. I crouched down next to her.
"I haven't spoken with Lonny since Dante died. It's been almost 180 years. Imagine my shock when I feel his death. When I got to his house, and I found my brother lying dead on the floor, a mere meter away from a witch with strangle marks on her throat, I panicked. I searched the house for whoever could done it, ...and I found a child's room."
Oh.
Tears are beading in her eyes, face screwed up in grief.
"I realized what happened about two months ago." She looks up at me. "You killed him."
I try to back away, to run before she can hurt me or take revenge, but she grabs my arm and pulls me into ...a hug.
(I hated myself back then. I was a murderer. I didn't deserve love. I didn't deserve anything.)
"I'm sorry you had to do that. You should've never had to see or do anything like that. They should have protected you. And if they can't, I will."
I just sobbed. She cared. I killed my mother and my father, her brother, and she cared about me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't remember much else of that night. What I do recall, is the warmth of her arms, how it never ended. I didn't leave her arms much those first few days.
I was scared it was a trick, a dream, that it would fade away into nothing and I would wake up in an alleyway, and I would have to go work at the brothel again.
But it was real.
Because even though I was an asshole (I didn't like anybody but animals and plants), Laurna still tucked me in at night, kissed my forehead, and quietly turned out the light. If I broke something, she would help clean it up, take me to a storage room with millions of shelves, have me pick something out, and replace the one I broke. If I screamed at her for an hour, she would wait, and when I was done, get me a glass of warm lemon tea with loads of honey, wrap me up in a blanket, and hold me for a while.
I couldn't understand.
How could she give so much love, when I had done nothing but take and hurt and steal? Someone that wonderful didn't deserve to be stuck with me.
I tried running away a couple times, but she would always find me.
The last time I tried, I ran to Canada in the middle of January. It was freezing. I had hidden myself in a barn, on the edge of town.
She walked in, flawless, and gave me her hand, all delicate-like. I slapped it away, and screamed: "Why! Why do you keep finding me?! Just leave me to die, like I deserve!" My voice echoed in the empty room, then it was silent. When I looked up, all of my anger flowed away and left behind nothing but regret.
Her face. I'll never forget that expression. She looked like someone she loved had ripped out her heart, and stomped into mush. Not heartbroken, heart-destroyed. She got on her knees and crushed me to her chest. I knew she was strong, but I didn't know she was strong enough for her arms to feel like iron. When she had hugged me before, it had been soft and cozy. This was her begging me, needing me to stay.
"Please... Please don't leave me." Wetness covered my shoulder. "I can't lose any more family. I can't"
A giggle ripped out of her, and in hysterics, she said: "I literally can't! You're my last relative."
She pulled back, bruising grip still on my arms, and looked hard in my eyes. "Please. Stay with me. I will do anything. Just don't leave me behind."
I looked back at her, the monster that was barely holding itself together, pupils in slits, blood red, hair covering the floor, teeth too sharp.
And I said: "I want some tea."