chosehumanity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chosehumanity) wrote2010-07-26 10:07 am
chosehumanity) wrote2010-07-26 10:07 am
Entry tags:
Streets of Bristol, Monday Morning
Everything that could possibly go wrong, Mitchell reflected, tended to happen whenever he went to get groceries. That was the only possible explanation for this.
"Mitchell!"
He was halfway down the alley when she called, sounding desperate and all wrong in so many ways. Fuck. Lauren.
He stilled. "You're just a bad penny, aren't you." Frustrated, annoyed, and guilty: a trifecta of feelings he rarely indulged in back at Fandom.
"I wanted to make sure you got your present," she said, sounding more earnest than he'd heard her since she was changed. Fuck. Fuck, why now, why couldn't she just go away? "I was thinking of you the whole time," she said, bringing unbidden, unwanted memories back to his mind of her DVD, of that man dying and writhing on the bed, blood pooling onto the floor-- "...thinking of you watching me."
She stumbled closer to him, grabbed a hold of his arm, yanked on it until he couldn't look at anything but her. No, no. Go the fuck away. "You know when I was a kid, my mum, my brothers, everyone said I was pretty enough to be in films." She smiled, a desperate little grin. "Guess I finally did it."
Mitchell pulled his arm away violently. "Yeah, they'd be so proud," he snapped. He didn't want to look at her.
"You did this to me," she shot back. Now all the fake cheer was gone, leaving something brittle behind. Fuck. "You made me what I am."
He shut his eyes tight. "And I take responsibility for that," he said, articulating every hateful, guilty word, and turned slowly. Facing her, at least, about this: "But everything you've done since then?" Not his fault. Not his fault.
"He was horrible, the guy that they picked. He was cruel, and he hurt me."
It came out as a horrified, choked little whisper. Mitchell ignored the slight twinge of a dead organ under his ribcage.
"What do you mean? The guy who picked?"
She swallowed thickly. Her eyes were big, almost frightened. Pleading. But he couldn't fall into that. Not now. "Herrick and the others, they made me do it, I didn't want to," she said, half-sobbing. "They thought that if you saw the film, you'd want me and you'd come back. They thought that you wouldn't be able to stop yourself!"
He hated himself a little more, then, knowing how often he'd rewatched that little blue disc over the past few weeks. "Yeah, well, they were wrong," he said, really wishing that was true, wishing he could just run back to Fandom and wrap himself back in all that again, pretend like none of this was real. "I nearly threw up."
"Tell me what to say to him, so he'll know that I've tried," she begged. "He got so violent the last time I came to you. That's when he made me do the film. I'm afraid of what he'll make me do next." She reached out for him, staggering closer. "He's strong, you know. So powerful."
And he knew. Knew who Herrick was. Knew what this was. Knew how fucked up everything was Lauren was, and how he couldn't, absolutely couldn't get pulled into this, not in any way, couldn't or he'd be right back there.
"I don't know what you want from me, Lauren," he said, thickly, and turned his back. "I can't help you anymore. I can barely help myself."
Hours and hours at the house with pretend-family, days and days at Fandom with pretend-kids, little sisters and little brothers and then he could pretend, he could hide, he could be normal, not a murderer, not something else, ignoring the craving. Fuck.
"Mitchell, don't do this!" she cried, but her words grew softer the further he walked. "Don't keep walking away from me!"
He hardened his heart. He walked away.
[[ NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. Taken from Being Human 1x03, and contains mentions of non-con or at least very dubious consent, depending on your judgement of Lauren's motives. And I am off! ]]
"Mitchell!"
He was halfway down the alley when she called, sounding desperate and all wrong in so many ways. Fuck. Lauren.
He stilled. "You're just a bad penny, aren't you." Frustrated, annoyed, and guilty: a trifecta of feelings he rarely indulged in back at Fandom.
"I wanted to make sure you got your present," she said, sounding more earnest than he'd heard her since she was changed. Fuck. Fuck, why now, why couldn't she just go away? "I was thinking of you the whole time," she said, bringing unbidden, unwanted memories back to his mind of her DVD, of that man dying and writhing on the bed, blood pooling onto the floor-- "...thinking of you watching me."
She stumbled closer to him, grabbed a hold of his arm, yanked on it until he couldn't look at anything but her. No, no. Go the fuck away. "You know when I was a kid, my mum, my brothers, everyone said I was pretty enough to be in films." She smiled, a desperate little grin. "Guess I finally did it."
Mitchell pulled his arm away violently. "Yeah, they'd be so proud," he snapped. He didn't want to look at her.
"You did this to me," she shot back. Now all the fake cheer was gone, leaving something brittle behind. Fuck. "You made me what I am."
He shut his eyes tight. "And I take responsibility for that," he said, articulating every hateful, guilty word, and turned slowly. Facing her, at least, about this: "But everything you've done since then?" Not his fault. Not his fault.
"He was horrible, the guy that they picked. He was cruel, and he hurt me."
It came out as a horrified, choked little whisper. Mitchell ignored the slight twinge of a dead organ under his ribcage.
"What do you mean? The guy who picked?"
She swallowed thickly. Her eyes were big, almost frightened. Pleading. But he couldn't fall into that. Not now. "Herrick and the others, they made me do it, I didn't want to," she said, half-sobbing. "They thought that if you saw the film, you'd want me and you'd come back. They thought that you wouldn't be able to stop yourself!"
He hated himself a little more, then, knowing how often he'd rewatched that little blue disc over the past few weeks. "Yeah, well, they were wrong," he said, really wishing that was true, wishing he could just run back to Fandom and wrap himself back in all that again, pretend like none of this was real. "I nearly threw up."
"Tell me what to say to him, so he'll know that I've tried," she begged. "He got so violent the last time I came to you. That's when he made me do the film. I'm afraid of what he'll make me do next." She reached out for him, staggering closer. "He's strong, you know. So powerful."
And he knew. Knew who Herrick was. Knew what this was. Knew how fucked up everything was Lauren was, and how he couldn't, absolutely couldn't get pulled into this, not in any way, couldn't or he'd be right back there.
"I don't know what you want from me, Lauren," he said, thickly, and turned his back. "I can't help you anymore. I can barely help myself."
Hours and hours at the house with pretend-family, days and days at Fandom with pretend-kids, little sisters and little brothers and then he could pretend, he could hide, he could be normal, not a murderer, not something else, ignoring the craving. Fuck.
"Mitchell, don't do this!" she cried, but her words grew softer the further he walked. "Don't keep walking away from me!"
He hardened his heart. He walked away.
[[ NFB, NFI, OOC-okay. Taken from Being Human 1x03, and contains mentions of non-con or at least very dubious consent, depending on your judgement of Lauren's motives. And I am off! ]]