(always an) angel (never a god) [fallon x mallory]

Sticky fingers always got what the want. Never asking for permission as they wrap themselves around the object of desire, yanking them free of price tags. The monetary chokehold on society was something mother and I frowned upon with full lips pumped with lip-gloss swiped swiftly off of the shelves.

”If you want something you need to take it. No one will give you anything in this world”

Mother would smile proudly as she preached her own gospel. The one she had written down herself as she proclaimed to the world with such utter pride that she was next coming of christ. Brushing my hair promising me that one day I would understand what she meant.

Thanks to her lessons, the study of one selves… I never feared authority. Her guidance teaching me step by step that even my mother would one day loose control of me. She would however, never loose my respect.

Her whispered words of praises guiding me through the night. The dirt crunching beneath my steps as I stomped out the first sprouts of the season. The hill had proved to be more of a challenge than I had thought, my thighs burning from the climb, unable to stop. At the top was a prize, a reward for me. A fresh bottle of wine that I had longed for a while.

A few weeks prior, I had found myself at the dinner table. My uncle to my right and my cousin to my left, mother was no where to be seen. They passed around a jug with wine red as blood, the taste on my lips light up the entire room. For our family dinners were often unbearable, I almost believed they played the game of “Who could upset Fallon the quickest”. My eyes would roll at their snarks and “constructive criticism”. With my arms folded across my chest, I would shoot daggers from my eyes instead of serving desert.

”She will be a spinster one day”

Probably. I burnt every damn cake I had ever made.

That dinner was different. The wine mixing itself into my blood, the alcohol finding its home, and everything became bearable. The unrest I had become so accustomed to, was gone. A weight constantly pressing down on my chest had been lifted and I no longer wanted to cry.

The conversation full of life as long as our glasses were never empty, my uncle quick to inform everyone where he had garnered the liquid remedy to our family feud.

I knew I had to have some more, for when the sun would rise our problems would return with the sun god’s cycle. Well aware that the bliss was only for a moment.

As I arrived at the top of the hill, I placed my hands on my hips, inhaling the fresh air that tasted sweet of the grapes used to for the wine. The lights were mostly out, except for the ones of the hearths burning bright. A home for those willing to call this place a refuge, but it did not mask the eerie feeling as I headed through the grapevines.

If I wanted the wine, I would have to get it myself. Claim it as mine, taking what I desired. Moving my body trough their house, hoping to be quiet. Footsteps placed with ease as I had found my way to the stair leading to the promise land. Stone walls surrounding me as barrels of the drink formed circles around my body.

Slowly I attempted to navigate the space in the dark, feeling my way around to get to the bottles. I promised myself I would save one for the next time Reldexx decided to show her face. The two of us sitting on my living room floor, getting drunk whilst we exchanged war stories. Our hands franctically noting down plans of our next great adventure. Manic eyes in a red frenzy, the time of our fucking lives.

Unknown footsteps echoed from above. Ripping me out of the world of what if’s and back into the cold cellar. I ducked bellow a barrel as the door opened, a singular candle blinding out the face of what I assumed as a girl. Carefully I had glued my site onto her, confident that I would stay hidden behind the drink. Down on my hands and knees, I slowly started crawling away from her as she began her chase. Unaware of who she was after, oblivious to the fact she was indeed the prey.

A sweet voice calling out a name. Destress straining her chords as she was drowned out by the sound of the rain pounding against the door. Waiting for us to leave before the weather would attack. The masked fear was something I recognized from the career academy. Unmistakable when someone was not cut out for the games.

A clear sign that she was not a threat.

I stood up from behind the barrel, my eyes met the blinding light with a sly smile. ”I have been called a lot of things, but Vanessa was never one of them.”

My hands were dusting off the gravel from my knees, waiting for her to strike. Hoping she would show her hand before I let her even count the number of cards I held. ”You should probably head back to bed. You never know what dangers the storm will bring” I shrugged ignoring her presence as I began to stuff the bottles of wine into my bag.

The girl gives a bittersweet attempt at what I believe was intimidation. Spewing slurs from her mouth, when they obviously do not escape her lips often enough to mean anything. In her return I raise my eyebrow and my eyes dancing with the devil in the dim candlelight.

Her outburst was helpless, hoping it would cast a net wide enough to scare me out of the cellar. Unfortunately, I knew a thing or two about cries of helplessness. Begging on your knees with tear filled eyes for someone to listen, being dismissed for the danger was not nearly as well portrayed as you thought. I saw a mirror of myself hiding behind the flame of the candle, more importantly I hated what was being reflected back at me.

An anger. No. A resentment towards her hits cold against bones only to be enforced by the cold water dripping away from the ceiling. My hair damp as I knew my natural born curls would begin to form. After all, in this dark sanctuary it would seem as if both of us were presenting our true colors. Through her empty threats, I smelled fear. I was a hound dog trained to recognize danger, following the scent to prey and striking bellow the belt.

Nothing was fair in life. The only way to land on your own two feet after a fall was to make the rules as you go. Once you established a set of regulations, burning them in blaze of alcohol and sin was the best way to go. I thought of grandpa, and his words slicing through my skin like a whip. I thought of the panic in his eyes if he ever knew what I was up to. Memories of when I was a child, the fights in background…his haunting voice arguing with mother that she was raising a menace.

A girl with no sense of authority would only ever make a harlot of herself. Selling herself to the highest bidder or to whatever adventure would ruin her next.

I had no intention in handing over the bottle glued to my hand (or the ones stuffed in the bag hanging from my shoulders). With every step I took towards the girl, the rattle of the stolen goods sung their song loud and clear. I could have not cared less, what would she do? Punch me? I fucking doubted that.

My teeth dug themselves into the cork of the bottle in my hand. Diggin deep, leaving prints, a memory of the girl who stole it. A clue for the peacekeepers if she ever did report me. In my mind, I almost hoped the peacekeepers would come after me. Dragging me away in chains with a devilish grin on my face as my dear old family stood in shock. Family first, family values….blah blah blah blah.

I spat the cork towards the side, watching it land in one of the puddles with water dripping from the ceiling. My hand guiding the bottle to my lips, before taking a long sip. I felt the taste explode on my tongue, the alcohol leaving a trail of a slight burn in my throat. The taste of a day worth my while. The savor of success.

”Well I’m definitely not Vanessa.” I wiped the last drops of wine away from my smiling lips. ”Can’t you see I’m having a drink? You really do have a lovely cellar. Where are my manners? Here, have a sip, you look like you could use one.” I held out the bottle for her to take. A test, would she pass or fail? Would I have to sacrifice the rest of the wine and hit her over the head with the bottle?

The tension. The excitement of her next move. The thrill of the kill.