We're all rotten, buried and forgotten,

Living it up underground

Harley had ventured out of her hole of an apartment, she hardly left the place for days until everything was unpacked it was starting to drive her a little stir crazy. All that was left was shredding the boxes and the finishing touches that could make it hers. Everything was out of boxes and in their rightful place, it was quite the feat. But alas, her tattoo gun was did not come out unscathed, as it grew injured amidst the move. It sullied her decent mood, looking up the nearest place for a replacement that was open. This was how she found her way in the east end, parked at the edges of the earth to avoid paying abhorrent parking prices. No doubt she would have over payed for her gun in this ritzy neck of the woods, the east end was not friendly to people on a budget. Regardless, she ended up paying the absorbent price and maybe with a few extra attachments she didn't need to help ease her bad mood. Ace, unfortunately, didn't accompany her on this particular journey to the store, even with his medication his arthritis in his hind legs were getting bad. He just simply gave her that look that said it all, 'to hell with that, lady', all four feet were firmly planted as if he had grown roots instead of legs. He even went as far as shunning her at her pathetic coaxing of his favourite treats. Fine, there was no way she was going to share her leftovers with him, not after today's diva antics.

It got dark quick, the sun was already hiding behind the horizon and the glow of the streetlamps light her way along the worn and dirty sidewalk. She holds the bag with her purchases loosely in her right hand, her mind wandering to other places as though it drifted to a far off world. Her attention was caught by a couple bickering to one another, pulling her out of her distant reverie. She almost couldn't help herself opening her mouth to say something smartass but bit her tongue, perhaps miss Harley was getting wiser in her older age, here's being hopeful. Her free hand moves to remove a stray strand of her luscious midnight hair after a lone piece fell into her face from a cool breeze which assaults her pale, milky features. If it were not for the natural blush upon her cheeks, one might mistake her for a vampire. It could all be attributed to that smooth unblemished skin that ran on her mother's side of the family, which made it look as soft and touchable as satin. Vibrant violet eyes, stare off fixated upon that sidewalk before her, before an odd and displaced silhouette of a man leaning against a wall caught her eye. She normally wouldn't think anything of it, but something felt off. As though her skin seemed to crawl and she found herself unexpectedly on edge. This fearless little Valkyrie never felt so timid and weak, all those years she had honed such a perfectly strong mask and bravado, she could make most men whimper. But she couldn't seem to shake the irritated feeling, as her body grew cold as if imminent danger had a feeling, as though the very wind pierced right through her leather jacket and assaulted her flesh.

'If that fucker so much as utter a cat call, I am going to bash his face into concrete.' The voice in her head sneered in its venomous vehemence, the anger offered her pale comfort but it was comfort regardless. She would definitely take it for all it was worth. Yes, she was definitely on edge tonight. Yet, she wouldn't dare steal a look as she walked closer to that impending form. Even as he stood poised and perfect like a statue underneath the illuminating glow of a building light, that if only she could bring herself to look up she would see his face. If only her damn eyes could be willed to drift upward toward that figure of a man, she would see that familiar face watching her with that predatory stare that she was all too accustomed to.

A voice so strikingly familiar slices through the air that it stops her dead cold in her tracks, as though she had bashed herself into that concrete wall she thought of. She dropped the bag she was carrying, as it fell with a thud as the sound of his voice paralyzed her with a concoction of emotions she could dare make sense of. That couldn't be good for the delicate equipment she just bought.

The notes of familiarity made her heart drop into the depths of her stomach as her stare didn't dare look up, fixated on a car passing. No.. it couldn't be him. There was no possible way in hell after all this time, that he would suddenly be here of all places in the eastend of Sacrosanct. She had to be hallucinating. Yep, that seemed like the rational thing to explain all of this. So she finds that defiant courage to slowly lift her wild violet gaze, that could pierce skin just before the last word drops from his lips.

Every last etch, line and detail upon his face was exactly how she last remembered it. His stormy eyes conflicted in that dangerous blend of predatory madness and passion that she often got lost in. Wow, her mind trickery was damn good. But she simply couldn't stop herself, turning to face this figment in which her mind decided to display, now of all damn times. Serves her right for burying her emotions somewhere way deep, she should have known demons always found a way to bubble up to the surface in one form or another. They would scratch and claw, destroying any semblance of resolve. And her resolve quickly crumbled betwixt the grasp of her believed madness. So this is what true insanity felt like. She would have to get Isolt to commit her if things got worse.

It was as though her heart refused to beat and her mouth grew drier than the Sahara desert, but it didn't stop her for reaching for words, unsure what would come out if she dared to open her mouth. "You left me remember?" He didn't get to feel agony, he had no fucking clue the anguish he installed. The very massacre that was left behind in his wake, when he ran away without a trace.

"I am not about to argue with a figment of my imagination." She crosses her arms firmly beneath her chest, blinking as though as if she could blink hard enough her senses would soon return to her. But it never did, he never did. She had to fight the urge to touch him, to see if this illusion would ripple like throwing a stone in a mirror like pond. What the fuck was she thinking? "I knew I was a little different, but this is insanity." She mumbled to herself, musing at her muddled mess of her brain. It never betrayed her before. She willed herself to walk away, to escape his clutches; her body did not budge, not even an inch as if it were weighted down by 100 pound dumbbells to each leather boot.

She didn't even bother to reach for her bag that now looked rather limp on the ground. She needed nothing more than to move but her very limbs betrayed her. All she could will herself to do was lift her hand hoping it wouldn't dare tremble as she did, before firmly poking him square in the chest and the figment never wavered. Her face paled as she realized this was very real, that the man standing before her was the very man she tried so hard to forget. Amor? Her eyes narrow, casting that signature Harley glare his way, her voice mangled as though the name refused to fall from her lips. Chance just could not just let sleeping dogs lie. That bitch.

Harlequin Ray Westward