Again it became that time of the day when that pesky sunlight snuck in through those tattered curtains and Dante got a face full of unfiltered sunlight. A growl as she rolled to one side realizing she wasn't alone, there was a quick scramble for memories before she poked at the person there. A deep breath taken and she rolled out of bed stark naked and stretched her wings before shaking them out.
The room was a mess, clothes everywhere, empty liquore bottles, empty baggies, and used syringes. Kicking a bottle out of the way the sound it made caused her to bend and pick it up. Apparently he wasn't really a figment of her imagination unless her imagination was leaving half spilt bottles of cheap whiskey on her floor.
There was a sting from her arm as she pulled the bottle to her lips. Eyes shifted to see the torn open part where she jerked away from the stranger. She wasn't ready to believe any thing that had happened the night before, she didn't want to think about him, she didn't want to fall into the hole of wishing he was there. Her tattered haulter top from the night before was snatched up and she poured whiskey over the wound which had since been caked over with a disgusting mixture of dried blood and sweat. A hiss sprang out of her as she rubbed the wound raw so she could see it. A blown vein for sure. It began bleeding fresh again and she looked around for something suitable to cover it. Spotting a strip of his shirt, she grabbed it and walked to the window where she apparently had stitched herself up before.
The needle wasn't the picture of clean, but to be fair, she put way dirtier needles into herself anyway. She was quick when it came to the makeshift stitches. Thread held between teeth while she tied them off. A snip here and a snip there, it only took her three stitches to keep the wound shut. She wiped the blood up before wrapping that piece of his shirt tightly around her arm. She was clear minded and not fond of the feeling. Memories were piecing themselves together entirely too quickly for her liking. He was claiming to be her Raven, she didn't believe him, they were so similar, but he was empty inside, the part of him that belonged to her was missing. Maybe this was another spell to destroy her from the inside out.
It had been years since she had been tricked the first time. Max, that useless piece of half demon shit. He had tried so hard to find her. Used her own daughter against her. The thought of Jeza with Max made her want to throw up. Instead she pulled long from the bottle and looked out the window, a wonderful view of the alleyway between the two buildings. She had fallen for the trap of thinking she'd found her husband, that thing would be okay again, things would be normal, she wouldn't be alone. It was the sick realization that none of that would ever happen that sent her down the rabbit hole for the final time. It was then she realized that no matter how much she shot, smoked or snorted she couldn't numb the feeling permanently. That long goodnight wouldn't come so easily for her. No matter how hard she tried she always woke the next morning with sharp recollection of what she lost. It was enough to send even the sharpest of minds into complete oblivion, this was her lot, the hand she was dealt was to relive losing him every single day until she finally found the cocktail that would end it all.
Another long pull from the whiskey as she spied the syringe across the room. Getting up she made her way to it. A deep breath as she knelt beside it for long inspection. It seemed alright as far as she was concerned. Sliding it into the arm not stiched she pulled back waiting for the crimson, at first sight she pushed slow on the plunger. She slumped back against the foot of the bed and nodded lightly, needle still in her arm. Chasing that rabbit right down his hole again. A pleasant sensation washed over her and she sat there, head resting to one side on her own shoulder waiting for the sensation to ease up just enough that she could get herself back into the bed with the sexy stranger.
It seemed like forever of her staring at the door, or lack thereof. She watched as johns walked past looking in at her. They weren't pleased by what they saw, at least it seemed that way as they never inquired if she was available. The man passed out naked in the bed may have been the best deterrent.
Eventually the high loosened its grip enough that she could stand up, on shaky bare legs. Like a fawn in spring she made her way to the dresser in the corner of the room and pulled on a pair of panties and tied on a bathing suit top. Dressing around massive black wings was always a pain in the ass.
Eyes on the hallway as a woman ran by crying, a deep breath taken and a sigh released. It was too early for this shit. Her mind went to wonder if it was a dead call girl, or a seedy jon that had caused the young girl to flee. Leather shorts were pulled on quickly, barely hanging on to too thin hips as she tugged on her boots and reaching under the bed she found the glock holstered there before heading into the hallway. Another woman was peeking out her door, lucky bitch, every time Dante put one up she got fucked up and tore it down. Afraid to miss someone coming or going, she was terrified of being snuck up on. Not that she would admit to being afraid of anything, fear was en emotion, emotion was weakness, weakness was buried under the drugs and alcohol. The woman peeking pointed down the hall where Dante heard crashing and banging. A room being tossed, lovely. Pushing the door open with the gun cocked and raised she canted her head to one side.
It was a kid, well, he was no older than early twenties, so to Dante he was a child. He was clearly looking for something, or a sign of someone. This would be the part where a sane human would ask questions, try to get information, and tell the kid to scoot. The young man turned and at the sight of the gun put both hands up. A smile ticked against Dante's lips as she pulled back on the hammer twice. One shot through the heart and one in the head. There was never a question with her. She didn't ask Questions. Blood sprayed out of the back of the boys head. The blow back hit the wall, the ceiling fan and the mirror. As the gray matter and blood dripped off the ceiling fan and onto Dante she grumbled something unintelligible. Quickly she grabbed the kids legs and started dragging him down the hall. This was not how she expected her morning to go. She had a gorgeous piece in her bed and she was human covered dragging a corpse into the room.
The room was a mess, clothes everywhere, empty liquore bottles, empty baggies, and used syringes. Kicking a bottle out of the way the sound it made caused her to bend and pick it up. Apparently he wasn't really a figment of her imagination unless her imagination was leaving half spilt bottles of cheap whiskey on her floor.
There was a sting from her arm as she pulled the bottle to her lips. Eyes shifted to see the torn open part where she jerked away from the stranger. She wasn't ready to believe any thing that had happened the night before, she didn't want to think about him, she didn't want to fall into the hole of wishing he was there. Her tattered haulter top from the night before was snatched up and she poured whiskey over the wound which had since been caked over with a disgusting mixture of dried blood and sweat. A hiss sprang out of her as she rubbed the wound raw so she could see it. A blown vein for sure. It began bleeding fresh again and she looked around for something suitable to cover it. Spotting a strip of his shirt, she grabbed it and walked to the window where she apparently had stitched herself up before.
The needle wasn't the picture of clean, but to be fair, she put way dirtier needles into herself anyway. She was quick when it came to the makeshift stitches. Thread held between teeth while she tied them off. A snip here and a snip there, it only took her three stitches to keep the wound shut. She wiped the blood up before wrapping that piece of his shirt tightly around her arm. She was clear minded and not fond of the feeling. Memories were piecing themselves together entirely too quickly for her liking. He was claiming to be her Raven, she didn't believe him, they were so similar, but he was empty inside, the part of him that belonged to her was missing. Maybe this was another spell to destroy her from the inside out.
It had been years since she had been tricked the first time. Max, that useless piece of half demon shit. He had tried so hard to find her. Used her own daughter against her. The thought of Jeza with Max made her want to throw up. Instead she pulled long from the bottle and looked out the window, a wonderful view of the alleyway between the two buildings. She had fallen for the trap of thinking she'd found her husband, that thing would be okay again, things would be normal, she wouldn't be alone. It was the sick realization that none of that would ever happen that sent her down the rabbit hole for the final time. It was then she realized that no matter how much she shot, smoked or snorted she couldn't numb the feeling permanently. That long goodnight wouldn't come so easily for her. No matter how hard she tried she always woke the next morning with sharp recollection of what she lost. It was enough to send even the sharpest of minds into complete oblivion, this was her lot, the hand she was dealt was to relive losing him every single day until she finally found the cocktail that would end it all.
Another long pull from the whiskey as she spied the syringe across the room. Getting up she made her way to it. A deep breath as she knelt beside it for long inspection. It seemed alright as far as she was concerned. Sliding it into the arm not stiched she pulled back waiting for the crimson, at first sight she pushed slow on the plunger. She slumped back against the foot of the bed and nodded lightly, needle still in her arm. Chasing that rabbit right down his hole again. A pleasant sensation washed over her and she sat there, head resting to one side on her own shoulder waiting for the sensation to ease up just enough that she could get herself back into the bed with the sexy stranger.
It seemed like forever of her staring at the door, or lack thereof. She watched as johns walked past looking in at her. They weren't pleased by what they saw, at least it seemed that way as they never inquired if she was available. The man passed out naked in the bed may have been the best deterrent.
Eventually the high loosened its grip enough that she could stand up, on shaky bare legs. Like a fawn in spring she made her way to the dresser in the corner of the room and pulled on a pair of panties and tied on a bathing suit top. Dressing around massive black wings was always a pain in the ass.
Eyes on the hallway as a woman ran by crying, a deep breath taken and a sigh released. It was too early for this shit. Her mind went to wonder if it was a dead call girl, or a seedy jon that had caused the young girl to flee. Leather shorts were pulled on quickly, barely hanging on to too thin hips as she tugged on her boots and reaching under the bed she found the glock holstered there before heading into the hallway. Another woman was peeking out her door, lucky bitch, every time Dante put one up she got fucked up and tore it down. Afraid to miss someone coming or going, she was terrified of being snuck up on. Not that she would admit to being afraid of anything, fear was en emotion, emotion was weakness, weakness was buried under the drugs and alcohol. The woman peeking pointed down the hall where Dante heard crashing and banging. A room being tossed, lovely. Pushing the door open with the gun cocked and raised she canted her head to one side.
It was a kid, well, he was no older than early twenties, so to Dante he was a child. He was clearly looking for something, or a sign of someone. This would be the part where a sane human would ask questions, try to get information, and tell the kid to scoot. The young man turned and at the sight of the gun put both hands up. A smile ticked against Dante's lips as she pulled back on the hammer twice. One shot through the heart and one in the head. There was never a question with her. She didn't ask Questions. Blood sprayed out of the back of the boys head. The blow back hit the wall, the ceiling fan and the mirror. As the gray matter and blood dripped off the ceiling fan and onto Dante she grumbled something unintelligible. Quickly she grabbed the kids legs and started dragging him down the hall. This was not how she expected her morning to go. She had a gorgeous piece in her bed and she was human covered dragging a corpse into the room.