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namorres · 4 years

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GIVE ME YOUR WORD ∞ ELIJAH MIKAELSON

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wc | 3.3k

warnings | none yet

summary | anastacia ward is a mercenary, brought back from the dead and out to hold up her end of a crooked deal. never did she think she’d have to kill the one man she ever had the chance to love, but if it brought an end to her debt, she’d have no choice.

notes: this is the introduction! this story is an x oc, but i promise it’s still good :) alsoooo, since this is the first chapter, ‘lijah won’t be in it too much. but stick w me and i promise it’ll get fun ;)

masterlist

“You have one job,” he said, risen from his seat, fingers steepled on his desk as he looked her dead in the eye, challenging her will to deny him. “I suggest you do it.”

She nodded, a hard line in place of her mouth and narrowed eyes looking over her employer. He was giving her no choice, giving her no chance to say no. She had no option – she was going to go through with this job; it did not matter who she hurt, who she killed, who she broke. Even if it meant herself.

Standing from her seat, she let out a sigh and looked down at the file folder that lay at the lip of his desk, papers starting to fall out of the edge. She could see words, edges of pictures printed out, but those were all in her peripheral. Her focus remained on the words written in scrawled pen across the tab.

“You have the time you need to get it done,” he looked at her before sitting down, fixing his tie and deciding to no longer give her any attention. “I expect reports. You know the consequences.”

She watched him for a moment, wishing she could lunge across the desk and slash his throat, or perhaps tear his heart from his chest. Or, maybe, she could spray his blood all over the walls and send his head to his lovely wife. But she couldn’t – he would take everything from her and he'd spare no mercy while he did it. Pinching the corner of the folder in her fingers, she dragged it off the desk and into her arms. A growl left her chest, a chuckle resonated from him in response, and she turned on her heel, walking out of the office.

∞

The streets of New Orleans crawled with every type of character there was – the tourists who had no idea what they were in store for, the tourists who came back every year because they knew exactly what to expect; there were the locals, eccentric in their own ways and trying to get through their day, and then the overly-eclectic locals who embraced the culture perhaps too much. Underneath all of the humanity, the culture, though, lay the true heart of New Orleans.

The supernatural reigned the streets, especially in the French Quarter, where battles for control were always waging, just out of sight of the humans. Vampires against werewolves against witches, all fighting for something that was truly unachievable – total kingship. The witches held magic in their hands, the werewolves strength, and the vampires immortality. Alongside their aging advantage, they held the numbers required to keep their grasp strong on the Quarter – feedings and turnings every other weekend, vigilantes wanting to start up new regimes that would give them the key to the city.

Witches fought for the same thing, repulsed by creatures made from their own magic. The two factions squabbled and squashed each other at every turn, going to every length possible to ensure the eradication of the other. Werewolves, though, well – if they fought for anything, they fought an already lost battle. No werewolf survived the streets of the Quarter; the enemy of the enemy is the friend was an honored rule. Witches and vampires alike detested the sight of the “mongrels,” wanting nothing more than to see them dead or banished. Preferably extinct, but they would take whatever they could get their hands on.

It was what truly made her almost pity New Orleans – the naïvity of the residents who lacked supernatural powers, the envy that drove the witches to madness and the anger that drove the vampires to their downfall. They all were so blinded by their own wants and needs they didn’t seem to care that someone new could walk in at any moment, didn’t seem to care that if an ally was taken down, it would mean sure doom. Selfishness was blinding. And the roots of NOLA had no shortage of it.

But, due to this, she could pit the city against itself, use the Quarter’s neverending feuds to her advantage to make this kill quick and clean. But it would take time, and it would take misplaced trust and it would take bloodshed. She was willing – she was no stranger to such tactics. But the deeper she got into this, the harder it was going to be for her to get out of it. Her target was not someone she was unknown to, her target was not someone unknown to her.

Her employer had been well aware of what he was doing whenever he’d assigned the mission to her. He knew that she had a history here in this beautiful city, knew that she’d do anything to at least come back here again. So, as was his fashion, he exploited that. He’d called her a couple weeks prior, asked her if she was interested in a hit in NOLA, to which she very promptly said, “Absolutely.”

It wasn’t until she’d gotten to his office in New York that he explained everything that went with coming back to a place she once called home. “Your target is not going to be easy to get rid of, but I can guarantee that doing this will,” he raised a brow, watching the breath in her chest catch, “bring a quick end to your debt.”

It didn’t take much more convincing – she would do this if it meant freedom. Then he slid the file over, and she no longer felt so indifferent. He’d told her that it was a powerful target, an Original, and doing something of this magnitude would surely be in her benefit. He always reiterated things, just to reinforce her mind that it was worth it.

Her thumb scraped over the indented cardstock, a sigh leaving her chest whenever she’d finally taken in what she was going to do. Her target was a Mikaelson, the eldest living brother, for that matter. She would have preferred anyone else, but that wasn’t going to do with her employer – he wanted to raise hell and he would stop at nothing to do it, especially if it meant killing off the Mikaelson’s, one by one, starting at the top.

This mission was sure to be her downfall, for she knew far too much about the man to just waltz in and plunge the only thing that could kill him in his chest. Her greatest fear, though, was how much he knew about her. Elijah would not let this happen, he would not go quietly.

Elijah... this had been the first she’d thought of him, his face, his legacy, in decades. She knew of his characteristics – knew his tactics. He was ruthless, ready to spill whatever blood necessary in order to keep those he loved safe, even if it meant his own. Noble, always keeping his word when given, never breaking a promise. But he had a flaw, one she was once intimately familiar with – his ability to love. He loved deeply, and he did not let go. No matter the time, no matter the danger that came from it, he stayed true until she inevitably met her end.

Elijah Mikaelson’s curse was that he usually took a seat at the head of her death, always the reason innocent blood was shed. And it never failed to leave the man heartbroken.

This one fault, one crack in his defense, would be his downfall. And if she were smart, she would use it to her advantage, she would not get connected, and she would find no shame in it. This was her job – kill, or lose everything you hold dear, including your immortal life. She could not lose that. Not after so much time.

∞

Taking in a deep breath, she walked into an apartment building, climbing the stairs without words to the receptionist. Third floor, fifth apartment, her text had read. The thud of her heels echoed against the stone floor, the warm and humid air nipping at her skin and begging her to regret wearing an all black jacket and jeans. She counted in her head as she passed the third, then the fourth, then stopped at the fifth door. Knocking three times, she waited, staring down at her feet and wondering just who might answer the door.

To no surprise at all, an elderly woman was the one to open it, staring up at her with a kind smile, “Why, hello!”

Swallowing and suppressing a satiric grin, she leaned forward and looked the older woman in the eye, “You’re going to invite me in. I will stay here until I tell you otherwise. Nobody else will be allowed in. You will not ask questions, you will not worry about me coming in late. You’ll make a spare key, and give it to me, and only me. Do you understand?”

The woman stared blankly for a moment, then a smile stretched across her face, “Oh, deary, it’s much too hot for you to be out there! Come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Ms…” she paused, offering a kind smile.

“You may call me Ruth,” the woman, Ruth, nodded, waddling to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Ms. Ruth.” Tucking her hands in her pockets, she looked around the quaint room, noticing the crosses that lined the walls, as well as the distinct lack of pictures of family. She scoffed to herself – of course.

“In case of unforeseen circumstances, any humans that come of assistance to the company will be killed. It ensures the safety of the company,” or so her boss would say. It was always the elderly with no connections to the outside world. Easiest to get rid of, already knocking on deaths door with one foot in the grave.

She called out and asked about a room for her to stay in, to which Ms. Ruth explained that there was a room down the hall that hadn’t been used. She didn’t actually have any luggage, but she figured she wouldn’t need any – she was always given enough cash to buy herself temporary clothing to build an identity off of. Yet, for some reason, she felt having a different personality here would be pointless. If she was going to be home, she would make it feel like being home.

∞

It had been a few hours since she’d arrived in New Orleans, already having scouted out nearby clothing stores and picked from their shelves. She was aiming for comfort, for familiarity if she could find it. But she hadn’t left the same strip the complex resided on, knowing that if she ventured too far into town, it was sure that someone would recognize her face; that was another can of worms that she would rather leave sealed tight.

The room she’d be staying in was something remnant of a partially put-together guest room, a bed and a dresser and a bedside table just to fill the space. She wondered if Ruth had someone that had passed already, and perhaps they had lived here together, and they’d had friends. But knowing that Ms. Ruth was likely the best candidate to house her, she figured whomever the elderly woman had was long gone, and any connections she had were long lost.

She stood from the bed in her room, fingertips grazing the front corner of the file folder. Throwing a glance toward the mirror, a smirk passed through her features – she finally felt like her. A tee that fit, no leather to shroud her in the shadows, and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. It reminded her of the days when she didn’t have a contract looming over her head, when things weren’t a matter of life and death. Carding fingers through her short, dark hair, she let out a sigh, looking away from her own reflection. It wasn’t often she got to see it, and it wasn’t often she cared to see what she’d become, either.

She walked to the doorframe, sparing one last glance toward the folder, then flipped off the lights. Walking down the hall, she called out, “Ms. Ruth?”

“Yes, dear?” The elderly woman sat on her chair, knitting something that had no distinct pattern. It was laughable, the cliché that sat in front of the mercenary.

“Do you happen to know where the Mikaelson compound is from here?” She had kneeled down at the chair’s side, talking to Ruth with a soft voice and a sweet smile. Regardless of the compulsion, she wasn’t going to be rude or torturous to the woman – the same could not be said about her hired-gun-counterparts, but she could hardly turn off the politeness switch.

“Oh, of course! It’s two rights and a left!” Ruth was excited to tell her, it seemed, her brown eyes lighting up and her feet wiggling against the carpet. “I used to pass it all the time! The palm trees are quite the sight, if I must say!”

She smiled, thanking Ms. Ruth with a kiss on the cheek and promising to be back soon. Ruth was very quick to go back to her knitting, calling that dinner would be on the stove for her when she got home. By the time she was at the door, Ruth had already gone back to her knitting, laughing at something on her game show. Another grin, softer, traced her lips – this woman was just… adorable.

As she stepped out into the cool evening air, that familiar feeling pooled in her stomach. It had come about when she was called into the office, when she was talked to about having to not compromise the mission, and then again whenever she saw the name on the file folder. She hadn’t needed it – her employer knew that much. “A formality,” he pressed, “humor me.”

That folder was sitting on the bed in the room Ms. Ruth had so kindly let her stay in, yet to be opened.

Her eyes flicked to each sign she passed, each restaurant and bar, each clothing store and witch’s craft. The familiar buzz of life filled her veins, and she found that a small smile had made it to her face, joy invading her senses and boosting the dull mood that had made itself a home in her mind. If someone ran into her, she only offered an apology, and if there were laughter, it was likely contagious. Anger, aggression, it felt like it had been lifted from the air the minute the sun went down, too many people here worried about having fun rather than confrontation.

It felt good to be here, if she were honest, even if she had to make sure she didn’t see anyone she might’ve known. She would be sad to leave again. But after she had done what she was here to do, staying here would likely get her killed, however ironic it was, and that was just not a favorable outcome.

Rounding the corner, she peered across the street. She gazed upon an elegant architectural sight – one of the biggest, and likely oldest, buildings in town – the Mikaelson compound. Trees lined the balconies, the bricks newly painted and vibrant in the nighttime glow of the city. The windows were numerous, the lights of countless rooms shining through them. A faint smile graced her lips before it faded, her gaze darting to the balcony as a door opened.

Ducking behind a post, her eyes narrowed as she tried her best to see the figure that stepped out. It was a man, hands tucked in his pockets and clad in a suit. Blinking, her mouth fell agape, a quick breath swifting through her lungs. Elijah stood on the balcony, looking out over the French Quarter. The longer he stood, the more she could focus on him – the glow on his cheekbones, the clench of his jaw as he thought, his downcast eyes narrowing without focusing on anything. When his mouth began to move, she took a breath and focused as much as she could, listening in to what he was saying.

“You are blinded by this, Niklaus,” his voice was muddled, but clear enough that she could make it out amongst the chatter of the crowd around her.

“Forgive me, brother, but I don’t recall asking for your insight,” his younger brother bit, joining him on the balcony. Her eyes shifted to him, wearing something that was exactly the opposite of his brother. A relaxed henley, a pair of black pants, necklace hanging from his neck and the same yellow and purple glow on his face. His eyes shifted across the crowd, too, not looking in any particular direction.

“You must realize this is not the way to go about getting what you want,” Elijah still had not looked at him, the two keeping their focus on the streets below. The elder of the two breathed out a sigh, eyes closing temporarily before they opened again, “Striking fear into those you love will never fail to do more harm than good. You must know this, Niklaus.” He turned to his brother, leaning against the railing beside him with a forearm.

Niklaus growled, “Do not lecture me on what to do with my family, Elijah! You do not seem to understand that I know what I’m doing, and I never asked for your help, nor do I need it.” His stare was rock solid as he looked down upon his brother, near chest-to-chest.

As Elijah breathed in to speak, her focus was interrupted by an abrupt collision. Looking to her right, a drunken man donning a rather ridiculous-looking fleur-de-lis hat giggled. He was standing against the wall behind her, mumbling out an apology and then pushing off the wall to make his way once more. But instead of even getting the ground to take a step, he fell forward, and without second thought, she raced to catch him against her chest.

Not a single person paid attention to the small scene, and she groaned when she felt a wet pool against her shoulder. Looking over his heap of helplessness, she spotted a bar a few feet away that would likely find a way to nurse him back to sobriety, and quickly took him in, leaving him at a table and calling to the bartender that he needed a water. When she stepped out, her senses were muddled and it took her a second to find where the Mikaelson brothers had been standing.

Leaning against another pole, just enough to peer around it but not enough to be obvious, her gaze locked on the balcony, only to see that Niklaus stood alone. His jaw clenched and his hands gripped the railing so tight his knuckles were white. Words had been exchanged in her brief absence, and her curiosity nipped at the edges of her mind. There was a moment of pause, where he just looked out about the town, made no movement. Then he pulled in a quick breath and slammed his hand against the railing.

She flinched at the loud impact that rang through her ears, her mistake having been listening too closely. Drawing in a breath, she swallowed and shook her head, looking back up at where he’d been standing. Expecting to see him staring out over the city, like he had been, her heart got caught in her throat when she realized that they were making eye contact. There was no mistaking that he was looking at her, no mistaking that he’d seen her.

“Ana,” he muttered, just barely audible to her, but enough to make fear spark in her veins. Her jaw clenched, and in a blink, she’d disappeared into an alleyway a few feet away from where she’d been standing. She could still peer out to see the hybrid leaning on the railing, eyes trained on her previous position.

She fought against the heaving breath in her chest, wanting to quell the sudden adrenaline spike. She needed to play ghost, and that was too close of a call – anything like that would likely get her found out before she was ready, before she’d gotten the information she needed.

That wouldn’t work.

She followed his figure as he pushed himself off the balcony rail, taking one last look across the French Quarter street, then disappearing into the Compound. A breath of relief left her, and she closed her eyes with a shake of her head. Klaus had seen her, yes, but she needed to focus on what she’d heard before that – what Klaus was doing that pissed Elijah off the way it did.

This was going to take longer than her employer was likely anticipating, and if she were honest with herself, the longer she could postpone the inevitable, the better.

#elijah mikaelson #i'm hella excited for thissss #*gmyw #elijah mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x reader #the originals x oc #the originals x reader #the originals imagine #*to #ash

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lupanaoflaminar · 7 years

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The First Tears of Summer

Annabelle and Lewis angst/fluff Word Count: 4,263 Warning: Mention of physical abuse and violence

A little intro/backstory of my darling OCs. No spoilers for the actual novel or anything, so please, enjoy!

The dismissal bell had long since stopped ringing, but Lewis was still not on the bus. Instead, he was racing through the hallways of the school, hoping that the bus hadn’t left yet. If it did, he would be forced to make a call to his father, or worse, Angelia. That just could not happen.

He burst through the front doors of the school at long last just as the bus was starting to leave. Panic shot through him, but a moment later, it stopped and Lewis was able to scale the steps. By the time he was actually on the bus, he was panting heavily.

“Colman,” sneered his driver, “you know what time the bus leaves. So don’t be late again, because I won’t stop for you anymore, understand?” “Yes, ma’am,” Lewis replied after he caught his breath. When the driver was finished scolding him, Lewis scanned the bus for his best friend and found her head of strawberry blonde among the other students. She was in their usual spot; ten rows back on the right.

Now wanting to make his bus driver mad again, Lewis hurried down the aisle while carefully avoiding the backpacks thrown haphazardly on seats and jackets laying in his path. He miraculously managed to park himself next to Annabelle before the bus began to move.

“Alright, mister,” Annabelle began with a smile and poked a finger into his chest. “You owe me for talking Miss stick-in-the-mud into waiting for you. What was the holdup this time?”

“Haha funny,” Lewis fake laughed and moved her hand away. “Mr. Johnson wouldn't let me leave until he talked to me,” Lewis explained. “He kept going on about how disrespectful I was being during class throwing those spit wads, but didn’t believe me when I said it was Kevin and those other basketball guys. He’d rather believe them than me.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “What a bunch of losers. What's their problem anyway?”

“I don't think they've forgotten the time I showed them up during the championship game last semester,” he said grinning. “You have to admit it was a huge blow to their egos.”

Lewis noticed her smiling at this. He had played a great game despite the disapproval from the other players.

“You know, for someone who didn't want to play basketball in the first place, you sure had a knack for it,” Annabelle pointed out.

Lewis began to laugh. “Yeah, I guess I was pretty good.” He sighed and leaned his head against the seat, putting his hands behind his head. “I'm so glad it’s finally summertime. No more homework, no more long nights of studying... this summer is going to be great!”

Annabelle smiled but shook her head. “What’s so special about this particular summer that makes it so great?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I just have this feeling. It will be a real special summer. I just know it!”

The bus jerked to a stop as it approached a stop sign. Lewis recognized the area and knew he was only a few seconds away from arriving home. Why had the ride seemed so much shorter this time? When the bus stopped a second time, Lewis stood up and glanced down at his best friend. As he met her deep green eyes, he wished the ride had been longer. Instead of letting himself drown in his feelings of regret, he gave Annabelle a lopsided grin.

“Have a marvelous evening, my dear Annabelle,” he gave her a slight bow. “We will see each other soon for a fantastic summer!”

***

Arriving home, Lewis was pleased to discover that he was alone. After flinging off his shoes, he raced up to his room, tossing his bag into a corner and retrieving his guitar from his closet. What better way to start off summer vacation than with a song? His fingers fell naturally into place around the neck of the guitar, and within seconds, he was leaned back in his chair strumming a personal favorite, My Girl.

Losing himself in the music, he nearly missed the sound of the front door opening downstairs. When a slam followed, he knew without a doubt that it was his stepmother. Scoffing, Lewis continued on with the song as if nothing had happened. As much as he wanted to, it was impossible to ignore her forever. It wasn’t a moment later when he could hear footsteps coming down the hallway. The bedroom door opened, and he glanced up to see Angelia standing in the entryway.

The surprise at seeing the look of disdain on her face was enough to cause him to stop playing abruptly, which ultimately messed up the careful timing he was trying so hard to perfect. This annoyed him greatly and he made no effort to hide it. “I don’t think you know this,” he started, “but that wonderful invention you almost violated is called a door. You see, when it’s closed, the common courtesy is to knock before charging in, out of respect for the resident. Not that I expect you to know anything about that—”

“Listen,” she sneered, getting straight to the point and ignoring his quip, “I just got a call from Mr. Johnson today. You better start shaping up in class, young man. I swear, if I have to go to that school and miss my stories, I promise you there will be serious consequences.”

Lewis held back a mocking laugh. She was too much of a ditz to realize that her soap operas were not in any way reality, but she was still addicted to them. “Nice try, prissy-pants,” he huffed defiantly. “It wasn’t me throwing spit wads at him.”

She blinked and the look on her face was priceless. Ever since she and his father had married, she insisted that Lewis call her ‘mom’ instead of Angelia or Angie. Obviously, that wasn't even an option for him. Lewis normally would have called her by her name, but nicknames sounded much more suitable at the moment. Plus she hated them even more than she hated not being called ‘mom.’ It was too bad he could only pull off the nicknames without his dad’s listening ears.

Lewis almost laughed aloud at the faces she was making, but since he was by no means finished, he had to control himself. “Kevin and the others were acting out, not me. I was sitting in the corner being quiet, making a list of all possible things you’d want to spend my college money on after graduation and sarcastic remarks to go with it.”

Angelia managed to relax herself and didn't show any reaction to Lewis’ words. Instead, she kept herself occupied by preening herself with the mirror hanging on the wall behind his door. “No amount of your charming and clever wit will change anything. Besides, you're on the basketball team. Why would they blame a fellow teammate? The word ‘I’ is not found in ‘team’, you know.”

Oh, how Lewis itched to comment that ‘I’ was a letter and not a word. “Well, you never got to hear about that little thing Kevin said to me the other day. Oh... what was it again...” He tapped his fingers simultaneously on his guitar, as if straining to think of the conversation. After a short pause, he snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, something about me being a disease, a waste of space, and dead meat? I couldn’t catch everything because I was too distracted by that enormous hairy mole on his face.”

Through the reflections in the mirror, Lewis could watch Angelia as she narrowed her eyes. “Kevin is a very lovely boy, Lewis. The sooner you start treating him and the others as equals, the better your life will be. You’re just making a bad name for yourself with this behavior and coming off as jealous.” She laughed softly to herself at this. “Although I can’t say I’m surprised. I suppose you’re just not that likeable, sweetie.”

He cringed inwardly at the false term of endearment. He hated those the most. “I’m almost positive that Annabelle would disagree with you on both of those statements.” At her surprised reflection in the mirror, he rolled his eyes and turned back to his guitar, intending to tune her out completely.

Angelia crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Lewis with fire in her eyes. ��Are you suggesting that some pretty little brat knows better than me?”

Lewis stared at her with a completely deadpan look on his face. His raised brows, wide round eyes and set lips screamed, ‘Are you serious?’ Seeing his obvious defiance, Angelia raised her own eyebrows before composing herself once more. She knew he had won this round, but she was already planning her premature victory for round two.

She took a few steps towards Lewis, keeping her arms crossed and trying to be intimidating. “Be careful of your actions, dearie.” The false affection was forced off her lipstick-covered lips, which curved into a threatening frown. "They can get you into trouble someday."

Lewis locked eyes with her for one final, silent showdown. There was the scent of that disgusting perfume coming from her that almost made him gag. God, did she ever not wear that stuff? He took a deep breath anyway, determined to see this through. “Are you done screwing with my life now?”

“Oh, of course not, my dear Lewis,” she crooned in an overly pleasant voice. "I'm just getting started." With a mischievous grin, she turned on her heals and left, leaving a baffled Lewis behind to try and make sense of it all. While he wasn't sure how to interpret what had transpired, he decided not to worry too much. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad. What more could she do to him anyway? Pleased with himself at his performance, he went back to practicing his guitar.

“Like you’ll be able to ruin my life more than you already have,” he mumbled to himself.

The rest of the evening passed with minimal problems with Angelia. In fact, Lewis had been naïve enough to think that the dangerous period had passed. But then, sometime in the middle of the night, Lewis began to wake up from a deep sleep as he heard footsteps in his room. Then he heard the gentle vibration of guitar strings accidentally strummed. Wearily, he opened his eyes and after blinking a few times, was conscience enough to see that his precious guitar was in the hands of his stepmother. She had almost removed one of the middle strings when he sat up with a start.

“What the heck are you doing?!” he demanded, mouth hung open in shock. Angelia just smiled. To any outside viewer, it would have looked like a warming, caring smile. But Lewis knew better. It wasn’t one of warmth, but of maliciousness and victory. “I’m teaching you a lesson you won't soon forget,” she said simply.

Lewis wanted to retaliate with some witty comeback, but he found himself speechless. This wasn’t a battle of words anymore. “I can guarantee that once this is over,” Angelia went on, “you'll think twice about not doing as mommy tells you.”

***

An annoying, persistent buzz stirred Annabelle from sleep. Ever so slowly, she began to recognize the sound as a text message. Groggily, she reached for her phone, wondering who in the world was texting her. She was forced to squint as the bright light of the screen hurt her eyes. She could barely see the words, and it took her a moment to figure out who had sent it.

Look outside your window. - Lewis

She moaned and slammed her head back down on the pillow in protest. What could be so important this late at night? Glancing again at her phone, she was shocked to see it was only three in the morning. Why couldn’t it wait until after seven when she was at least somewhat conscious? She was now too awake to fall back asleep, and her loyalty wouldn’t allow her to ignore the text. So Annabelle sat up and half-stumbled to her window. She glanced out to see a mop of blonde hair ascending the tree that had to be Lewis. He was hard to make out because of the black shirt he was wearing and her sudden fuzzy vision, but she knew it was him. There was no one else who came to her house by oak tree. If she hadn't been half-asleep, she could have sworn that he was having more difficultly climbing it than usual, but she brushed the thought aside and opened the window.

Hearing the creaking of the glass, Lewis looked up and gave a tired smile of greeting. “I'm so sorry for waking you like this,” he said by way of apology. Annabelle rubbed her eyes. Under normal circumstances, she would probably huff out some sarcastic remark or tease him, but three o’clock was too early for that. Instead, she just replied, “It's alright. I guess it must be important though or else you wouldn't have come. But I swear if it’s not, I’ll...” she paused, hoping to come up with a plausible threat, but nothing came. “Oh forget it.” She watched as he reached up for a branch and his face grimaced in pain, then quickly readjusted his body and began climbing once more. It took a few moments longer than normal for what she saw to register. “Are you alright?” she asked in concern.

“Almost there,” Lewis replied, carefully avoiding her question. He made it to the final branch that would bring him from the tree to her window and almost stumbled into it. He caught himself, but the sudden movement caused him to cry out in pain once more.

Annabelle grew more worried. This was not like him at all. “What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

He finally climbed inside, and with a sheepish voice replied, “Um... just a little.” Annabelle ran to turn on her lamp, her sense of urgency giving her enough energy to be alert and focused. The instant the light appeared she noticed how pale his face was and how sweaty his shirt seemed to be. Her worry intensified. “Lewis Theodore Colman, you tell me what's wrong with you right now! I will not have you fainting on me or worse!”

“It will be easier to show then to tell,” he answered with a sigh. He tried to pull off his shirt but cried out and his back began to twist in a strange mini-spasm. Even his eyes squeezed shut as the pain rippled through him. After he collected himself again, he turned back to Annabelle and informed her that the answers she wanted would be revealed after she helped him remove his shirt. Annabelle walked over and began to lift at the hem, but when he turned around, the sight before her made her gasp, and she covered her mouth with her hands.

Lewis’ entire back was covered in small streaks of red and many discolored welts. It was also beginning to swell rapidly. The lines of red were straight but varied slightly in size. They went in every direction, every area of his skin. They sliced and divided his body into sections like some messed up tic-tac-toe board. There were also large bruises and several streaks of blood trickling down to his pants. That was when Annabelle realized that his shirt hadn't been covered in just sweat, but with blood that was made invisible by the dark color of the fabric.

“What happened?” was what she managed to ask as quiet as a whisper. She hadn’t meant for her tone to be so low, but found she couldn’t force it any louder.

“Who else do you think? Angelic Angelia,” he answered weakly. Those two words explained so much and yet so little at the same time.

“Oh my God... come over here and sit.” She led him to her bed and threw back the sheets. “I'm going to go get something to help clean that up, but first we have to take your shirt off.”

The task was easier said than done. Lewis tried to help the process the best he could, but his efforts were minimal at best. His back muscles were so sore that every time he twisted his arm the wrong way it caused severe pain. Annabelle was amazed he was able to climb the tree in the first place, and cringed whenever he cried out like that, as if she too could feel his pain. Eventually the shirt was removed, exposing the few marks and bruises on his chest. These were minor in comparison, but still Annabelle’s breath caught in her throat.

“I'll be right back,” she said at last. “Just lay down on your stomach for me.” She hurried out of the room and returned moments later with a damp hand towel. Gingerly she spread it across his back, covering a nice sized area. The coolness of the wet fabric felt so nice on his hot flesh that Lewis momentarily closed his eyes. The quiet between them went on as Annabelle worked up the courage to question him. “So... what exactly did she do to you?”

The wait for him to speak seemed to be ages as he searched for the strength to keep his voice steady. When this was finally achieved, he merely said, “She came into my room and beat me with the strings of my guitar.” Though he couldn’t see Annabelle directly from his position, he caught a small, almost inaudible whimper from her. He didn’t want to make her cry, but also knew she would pester him until she knew the whole story. “Then when the strings all broke,” Lewis continued, “she started to use the guitar itself. She used something else too, but I can't remember... I think I may have blacked out at one point...” He shuddered suddenly as the memories returned and never finished. “I came here because I didn't know what else to do.”

Annabelle stared at his face, spending a long time on his eyes. One look in that sea of blue and she could see all the pain he was in; both the physical and emotional. While he hadn't started crying as she had, he was on the edge of a breakdown. She knew it would be wrong to keep questioning him, but she just had to know a few more details. Besides, he needed to let it out, if only once. “Didn't your dad know what was happening and try to stop her?”

“He's not around right now. He had to go on that business trip,” Lewis explained, trying to keep himself together. His resolve was quickly failing. “That's right, I forgot about that.” Silence surrounded them, but Annabelle still wanted to know one last thing. “Why?” It was just one simple word, but even Lewis knew what she was really asking.

“Mr. Johnson called her… said that I was disrupting class,” he said sadly. He went to lift his head and another ripple of pain shot through him, forcing him to stop. “It hurts so much, Ann,” he whispered, voice cracking. When he again squeezed his eyes closed, tears leaked out.

Anger filled Annabelle’s chest. She knew the lengths Lewis' step-mom would go to make his life miserable, but this time she had gone too far. With her now emotionally heavy chest, Annabelle took the towel and continued to try cleaning up the wound. Lewis flinched suddenly and she pulled away to keep from hurting him further.

“I'm sorry,” she exclaimed. “I wasn't trying to hurt you.” She could have sworn she saw another tear roll down his face and she felt even worse.

“It's alright,” he tried to reassure her. “I know you're not doing that on purpose. It was just a reflex.”

She shook her head even though he couldn't see her. “No, it's not just that. I also mean about her. I'm sorry that she gets away with things like this.” “Oh.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Either way, I think it's going to hurt,” he said slowly. “Might as well get it over with...”

She nodded and slowly returned her hand to his sore back. While he didn't flinch or jump anymore, she could see another tear sliding down his cheek as he clutched her pillow tightly in his fists. She refrained from doing any deep cleaning and settled for just dabbing the blood away, wanting to be as gentle as possible. Little by little, she could see just how much damage had been sustained. The cuts were deeper where he had been hit multiple times in the same spot. As if those didn't hurt enough, the bruising he sustained was incredibly dark and she knew they would be there for weeks. He would be forced to rest and regain his strength before doing anything. He probably wouldn’t be able to sleep on his back for a while, either.

“So much for an amazing first day of summer,” she said regretfully. If Lewis had dared to move, he surely would have shrugged. “It could have been worse.”

Annabelle shook her head. She knew how much he hated being pitied, but usually didn't mind it when she of all people would try to sympathize with him. “You're just saying that to cheer me up, and you are in no position to do that at the moment.” The latter part of her sentence was somewhat playful, but overall she was still serious.

He smiled and laughed weakly. “It's true though. There are a lot of worse things she could have done.”

“No, that’s not true,” she insisted. “She's never done anything like this before. I swear this is worse than the previous times she’s ever hit you.” “Maybe,” he admitted. He was quiet as she started cleaning anot

her cut. “I'm sorry for waking you up so early,” he said after the silence grew to be too much. “And thanks for being here for me,” he added, turning his head just enough to look her in the eyes. “I don't know who else I would have gone to.” “You’re forgetting all those other girls you talk about,” Annabelle smiled, the humor finally coming out of her. “You know I'll always be around to help. But you don't have to apologize for waking me up. This is what I would call a major exception.” She waited to hear him laugh, but when he didn’t respond, she glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw him fighting to stay awake. Taking that as her cue, she stopped cleaning. “You need sleep, Lewis. And I'm not letting you out of here until you're rested and cleaned up.”

With the little strength he had left, Lewis tried to sit up, succeeding with her help. “Ann, you've already done so much. I couldn't possibly—”

She squeezed his hand to stop him from protesting and he unconsciously intertwined his fingers with hers. The effect made him fall silent as it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be holding her hand.

“No, you’re staying here,” Annabelle said firmly, never noticing what her touch was doing to him.

Knowing she would put up a fight until she got her way, Lewis settled for a sigh. “Alright, I'll stay. If you can just set up that sleeping bag…”

She shook her head. “Nope, wrong again. You're sleeping in my bed.” Lewis' eyebrows raised and his mouth dropped. “I'm not going to let you do that! I’ve already gotten you up in the middle of the night. I’m not going to take your bed too!”

“You don't have a choice. I've already made up my mind about this and you know how determined I can be.”

Lewis did know. He let himself yawn and replied, “Okay, okay you win. I'll stay here.”

Satisfied, Annabelle went to retrieve the sleeping bag from her closet. By the time she was finished laying it out on the floor right next to Lewis, his eyes were already closed and his breathing slow and steady. Instead of waking him to say goodnight, she reached over him to turn out the lamp and settled herself into her sleeping bag.

A few minutes later, she heard a voice. “Ann?”

She lifted her head. “Yes?”

Lewis hesitated before speaking. “It is kinda cold in here… maybe your bed is big enough to share?” He quickly added, “At least until I fall asleep. If you want to, that is…”

She thought about his request for a long moment before finally getting to her feet and climbed into the bed with him. She knew her body heat, along with the warm blankets, would be more than adequate to keep him warm. And maybe her being next to him would come as a sort of mental comfort to him and help ease some of the stress of the event. Lying next to him, she quickly turned her head away, amazed at how comforted she was by his presence alone. Surely then, it would do the same for him.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, not knowing if he had already fallen back asleep. When she got no reply, she smiled to herself and fell into a deep sleep. Not long after this, Lewis lifted his head slightly, saw that she was asleep and said in a quiet voice, “Goodnight, Ann. And thanks for everything.”

#TLC: TFR #laminar #the firefly rescue #short story #fiction #my writing #TFToS

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