Malediction or Blessing?

Malediction or Blessing?

{onexone} Between Sweetiebelle & Heolstor

227 readers have visited this universe since Heolstor created it. Sweetiebelle are listed as curators.

Introduction

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Thank you very much and enjoy reading along.

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a roleplay between sweetiebelle and heolstor

He, once carelessly lived his life without thinking he does the people wrong, was cursed by furious witches.
He won't ever be able go through with stilling his blood thirst at all the times he desires; because now there
exist a requirement. He has to have feelings for the person he takes blood from. Thinking it was a joke he
drank some woman’s blood anyways, but it proved to be anything but a child's play since no word of affection
that he spoke was ever sincere. He simply didn't believe in the so called "love". Women were merely his
toys that he could toss away whenever he felt like, as new ones were sure to come. But now, he can't simply
do the same. The blood he consumed from those he has no feelings for will turn to poison, deadly poison,
making him unable to still his blood thirst for a long period of time. Until that day, he encountered a human
girl who changed his whole view of the world and awakened emotions he never felt before or believed exist.

Will the curse, the malediction, turn to a play of fate after all?
Or is the blessing merely an illusion?

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The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 2 authors

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

0.00 INK

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Was it supposed to end up like it did now? For that, Jerome never had an answer. He was to be an important heir, one who'd continue his family's name with pride. His future supposed to be already written! Nothing ever made him suspect that the situation could change so drastically, it was hard to believe even for his family members. He was busted alright, and can never turn back to what was before.

Estranged by his family, he ended up on the streets. Through various connections, he still kept alive somehow, but he knew it couldn't continue that way. He knew that the curse upon him should be lifted as fast as possible, so he would be able to gain back his status. However, he didn't know how; didn't know how to love or more importantly, whom to love. Being betrayed by his own family, it wasn't easy to trust once more. And without trust, no relationship could be established.

It's been month now since the last time he drunk someone's blood. He survived by drinking liquids that were chemically made similar to blood, but it was clear from the very beginning that it wasn't close to enough. It made him sick; so sick that no one was willing to take him under their wing, even only to give him a place to stay. He didn't belong no where, his whole surrounding seemed to make him understand that very fact he could never change. What's left for him was only to find comfort in drugs, or falling into despair.

He chose both.

Soon, the money given to him was all gone used up, and Jerome could be found in the alleys of the forgotten, of the criminals. At day times, he often strolls around in London, doing small criminal acts to keep living. Nighttimes, he'll be with drug dealers, getting his portions for the day or when without money, he'll lie around in the darkest corner and slept there. Nevertheless of this condition, where everyone might think his pride is long gone, he still held onto his survival. Fought his way so that he was respected in the alley where he stayed even though it cost him some blood. For those fights, he used much of his power, although secretive so that no one noticed. Humans were still oblivious about the existence of vampires, and Jerome liked to keep it that way. It was a duty of his family that he still did; despite never receiving any recognition from anyone.

Jerome was alone... and on the brink of death. He almost used all the produced, false blood up.

Of course there was a possibility to get some again, but in his state where the drugs clouded his mind and weakened his physic, he couldn't possibly sneak in with a chance of survival. It was simply impossible, and Jerome knew that.

Upon the question whether he became reconciled to the thought of his death being near, he would just chuckle. He wasn't a man who gave up, as he stubbornly hung to the living. Therefore while trying hard to get rid of his habit of taking drugs; he now strolled around in the city not only to do some pick pocketing, but also to find someone. Someone that might intrigue him and give what he needed to climb back onto his throne.

••••• x •••••


'Only three packages left' With a rough irritation, he had to discern that he merely had three weeks to live when he didn't get another load of false blood soon. And the possibility to get them was near to impossible. In fact, the attempt can even be considered as suicide. With an angry grumble, he smashed the little box where he placed all his valuable stuff (which weren't much) shut and ceased it so no thief shall find it in the darkness. Then he left his "house" that consist of a tent with holes, an umbrella as roof and a blanket surround it, and went into the direction of the city.

Of course he didn't come unprepared. His hair was done as good as possible and his clothes won't ever show that he was homeless. In fact, it might even tell that he was from a wealthy house (which in the other hand wasn't only an illusion). He couldn't possibly show his face on public wearing clothes of the homeless, his pride wouldn't allow it despite everything he had been through. And plus, he was there to find someone he can consider as lover after all; and he was in conviction that it was a rich and handsome man that any woman would want. Or so is his understanding from his experiences.

With no restrains and open mind he walked down the streets of London, greeting people here and there with a smile until arriving at a park. There he sat down below a tree, observing kids playing on the lawn. The sun shone strongly down to him, it almost killed him. He needed a pause, very much.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

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Brea Mitchell

Brea was always soothed by the chatter of the office. The sound of the printer scanning billions of adoption agreements, foster applications, child crimes, and all of the other things wrong with the world. It was difficult for her, knowing that for every minor finally getting the chance of a lifetime by being adopted or for every little boy or girl that was rescued from an abusive home, there was another child killing his brother or running away from home. Being a social worker isn't easy, her mother would say before she died, and when it is, you know you need to find another job.

"Mitchell!" Her boss, Mr. Calvin, called from his office. She stood and pulled her ivory skirt down so it wasn't bunched up at her thighs and straightened her sheer pink blouse. Making sure her ginger-colored hair wasn't mussed, she grabbed her current file and purposefully walked into the office.

"Mr. Calvin, I have a file here that--"

"Save it, Mitchell. I have something else for you," he says. Brea looks up, perplexed. She hadn't had a new case in awhile, after Calvin had said that she needed to focus all of her energy on an abuse case. "The Pearl Family. Single mom, two boys, and a new baby girl. Someone reported the mom as being an unfit caregiver. I need you to go over there and check it out."

Brea nods, already turning to leave the office, when Calvin calls her back. "Hey, Brea. Be careful. Family that reported her said she can be volatile. If you need a police escort, don't hesitate to call." Brea nods, steeling her face and walking out. She grabs her jacket and notepad, almost forgetting her cell phone, and begins the semi-long walk to the Pearl home.

***

After her visit, she deemed that while the mother seemed to be handling the kids quite well on her own, the house itself wasn't deemed safe for three kids. She had seen cases like this before, and knew that her department could help arrange a separate living situation.

Walking home, because Brea never drove anywhere, she got a phone call and decided to take a detour through a small park that she always passed by. "Hello?" She said, but there was no answer. "Is anyone there?"

"Brea?" The voice said and she stopped in her tracks.

"Cam?" Saying that name, she choked on her own breath. All she could think of associated with that name was high school. All those weeks, trapped in his suffocating embrace filled with prescription medications and stolen vodka bottles. It was enough to drive a girl crazy.

"How ya been, babe?"

"I'm not your babe anymore, Cam. That's been over and done for many years, now."

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that. I seem to remember you enjoyin' yourself quite a bit with me now and again."

"Like I said," Brea says with an angry tone, "that's been over and done for many years now. Don't call me again." She hangs up her phone and shoves it in her jacket pocket. Just then, a strong gust of wind blows from behind and sends her notebook flying. "Dammit," she says, jogging after it. It lands right in front of a park bench and she sits down after she grabs it, shutting her eyes and leaning back with a deep breath.

"You ever think that God or whoever has something against you? Like, the minute everything is going really great all of a sudden is goes really bad?" She laughs miserably and sighs, looking at her bench companion and shaking her head. "Sorry. My name's Brea," she says, holding out her hand towards the stranger.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

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Upon watching the kids playing on the lawn so peacefully, it gave Jerome a slight feeling of tenderness. Whether Jerome was notorious to be a jerk in his golden days it did not matter now. He came to understand, even in small bits steps, to appreciate everything given to him. And despite everything, Jerome surprisingly adored children, even got along with them quite well. It was not necessarily their noise that annoyed him; it was more like the whole world had annoyed him thinking back. A sigh escaped his lips. Even in the shadows, the day was still so unbearable hot. He wondered whether the cheap perfume he bought could still do its duty with all the sweat practically streaming out of his body.

Suddenly, a fresh wind blew, comforting his stay. He closed his eyes, thoroughly enjoying the breeze that wind up to his face. Feeling refreshed after awhile, he opened his eyes again, found himself gazing into the direction of a woman who chased after the notebook she apparently lost through the blowing wind. Soon after she picked it up, she slumped down on the bench where he sat, seemingly been through an exhausting day. Or so her body talk told him. The first thing Jerome Degue Lagit did upon seeing a girl is obviously, checking her visual out.

She was a rather unusual ginger-red haired girl. Jerome wouldn't dare calling her ugly, but he wouldn't categorize her as beautiful either. She emitted something that Jerome called 'hard-working woman' charm, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was those kinds that Jerome in the past found very easily to get as too many of them were lonely singles, too many of them sought comfort that they'd only receive from a man. At the days where he wasn't sick nor despised after being estranged by his family, it was those working woman who provided him a place to stay; after all, they had the money for it. Nevertheless Jerome never liked to deal with working woman; as they had intelligence and experiences. It was hard to fool them.

As the woman suddenly spoke to him, she caught him surprised. He didn't think she would speak to him; or at least notice him. And even more, she mentioned a rather sensitive topic, a topic that he disliked. However, he couldn't help but to agree. "There's nothing you should be sorry about." He said friendly with his best smile. "I know exactly what you mean." His lowered his gaze for a second upon remembering the past, and ended up releasing a sigh. Then he blinked, apparently oblivious that he was in the presence of another person and smiled again, now showing a smile as an apology. "I must apologize, I have just so many thoughts these days." Faintly he showed a painful smile, but soon it disappeared as he shook her hand. "Deen. It is a pleasure to meet you." Then he leaned back, and gave Brea a sign to do the same. "In these days I just try to lean back. Breathing in and then out. Enjoying the sun, the wind, the faint chirping of birds in the background... even the laughter of the kids if you want to." Jerome's voice was calm, almost like a whisper. Then he winked playfully into Brea's direction. "It really works to calm my nerves down. At least, most of the times."

"So, Brea. What a lovely name. Brea. You have the same name as my cosine. She should be three by now." Jerome continued averting his eyes to the clouds for a second, showing signs of loneliness. "Now, tell me, Brea. What happened that made you in such a mood today? Talking will make you feel better, I assure you." He asked with an assuring smile and turned his head to her direction, gazing right into her chocolate brown eyes. Obviously, everything was insincere; an illusion that Jerome presented to be able to start off relationships. Starting from his name to his cosine who apparently named Brea... everything was made up by him on a whim. It is to give Brea a familiar feeling, so that the fact they were strangers one second ago faded to the background. It was one out of many of his flirting techniques... and on top of it, his acting skills made everything as realistic as it could be.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

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Brea Mitchell

"There's nothing you should be sorry about." The man said to Brea. She crooked her mouth and shook her head slightly, indicating that there probably was and he was just nice for not acknowledging it, "I know exactly what you mean." He sighed and then seemed to go off into his own mind.

"Are you alright?" She asked, but he didn't seem to hear her. She recognized that look. It was look of forgotten memories, one she tried to avoid as often as possible. But, since Cam had called her, she knew what she would be dreaming about tonight, and she was certainly not looking forward to it.

"I must apologize, I have just so many thoughts these days," the man said and she smiled. He had never introduced himself, but as he smiled a painful smile, he at last shook her outstretched hand, "Deen. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well," she said. Deen leaned back against the bench, and Brea followed suit, looking up at the clouds, remembering the days in her innocence when she would look for shapes and animals. But, apparently, a side effect of growing up was that you could no longer see the fun things, only big white puffs emblazoned in the sky. "In these days I just try to lean back. Breathing in and then out. Enjoying the sun, the wind, the faint chirping of birds in the background... even the laughter of the kids if you want to." She listened, breathed, and tried her best to hear the relaxing things but for some reason her mind was jumping from place to place, never landing on anything. Deen winked at her and she smiled, almost laughed, but then didn't. She didn't really do much laughing these days, always burdened by a heavy work load and now ex-boyfriend drama that should have stayed in high school but didn't. "It really works to calm my nerves down. At least, most of the times."

"Hm, doesn't seem to work for me, though. Oh well," Brea said. She sat back up, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand, looking back at Deen with a slight smile on her face. He really was quite handsome, though she'd never been into guys who styled the longer hair. Too bad she didn't have the time or the mental preparedness to date or she might actually try something. Who knows?

"So, Brea. What a lovely name. Brea. You have the same name as my cousin. She should be three by now." Brea smiled at Deen, liking that they had something in common. She imagined a three year old version of her and almost snorted with how ridiculous the picture was, but covered it up with a cough. "Now, tell me, Brea. What happened that made you in such a mood today? Talking will make you feel better, I assure you." Deen looked into her eyes and Brea looked away uncomfortably, not really wanting to scare off an actual human being so soon. As pathetic as it was, this was Brea's first real conversation with someone other than a coworker in a really long time, and she didn't want to put that in jeopardy for as long as this was going to last.

"Oh, you know, this and that. Work, personal life, everything mixed into one. No different from other common grievances I suppose," she said, looking towards the trees as she remembered a particular night when a broken beer bottle had been slashed across her face by the aforementioned ex-boyfriend. She hadn't delved into those memories in a long time, but sometimes her subconscious would bring them in when she was in a particularly exhausted sleep and that was the only times when she wanted to remember them. Only when she didn't have a choice but to experience them all over again. She didn't want to experience them again, and she also realized she must have been in her thoughts for quite some time now. Shaking her head, she smiled at Deen, "Sorry, apparently I have too many thoughts today as well. I should be going, it was nice talking to you," she said as she stood up and grabbed her notebook. Pulling out a business card, she held it out to Deen, "If you ever need a social worker, you know who to call," she said. She walked away without a backwards glance, wondering if she would see him again, or if she even wanted to. But, she asserted that she did. He did seem like someone she would like to have an actual conversation with sometime.

Getting back to her apartment, she threw her stuff on the counter and immediately opened the cupboard and retrieved her favorite bottle of red wine. Pouring herself a generous glass, she sat at the marble counter top and closed her eyes, breathing deeply and trying to come to terms with the fact that tonight was not going to be a very good night after her earlier events.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

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"Hm, doesn't seem to work for me, though. Oh well,"

Without her noticing, Jerome's eyebrows twitched out of irritation. Jerome caught one ridiculously honest one. All the women he had been with until now would just nod, only pleased by his presence. This woman was different; and Jerome couldn't exactly say he liked this diversity. Nonetheless he continued despite with a rather insecure feeling. Even as she averted her eyes away to avoid his gaze. Usually, he would have interpreted such action as mere shyness, but she was truly rejecting his offer to open up herself to him. He didn't like it one bit; but of course, his fake friendly smile didn't let up.

"Oh, you know, this and that. Work, personal life, everything mixed into one. No different from other common grievances I suppose,"

No details. No hints. No nothing. Jerome swore in his thoughts. This woman was difficult; she didn't intend to one bit sharing any experience with him. He knew; he had chosen wrongly. This woman was too much work, it wouldn't go well. As he thought that, he noticed that her gaze didn't meant for the trees she'd been staring at for quite awhile. She looked back to her past. He knew it; such expression. Expression of sadness, loneliness... and past disappointments. Jerome knew just too well. That's why he didn't say anything, hoping she would tell something afterward to continue the conversation.

But something he didn't predict happened. She went. She just went! Alright, she did excuse herself by saying: "Sorry, apparently I have too many thoughts today as well. I should be going, it was nice talking to you,". Everything out of manners and all. Nothing rude of course, but it still angered Jerome and slightly confused him, too. Jerome still remained friendly at the outside, took her business card with words of gratitude and spoke words of goodbye. Or rather, he said: "See you around and have a nice day." To be really exact but did it matter? By the time Brea couldn't be seen any longer, he stood up and surprised some pigeons as he kicked some stones towards them, expressing his irritation. It was his first time that the woman excused herself to go, not Jerome.

After realizing that an old man stared oddly at him, apparently in the process giving bread rest to the pigeons, Jerome exited the park, clearly still furious about what just happened. Jerome even went so far counting it as a failure. How unpleasant. As he walked with quick steps, he regarded the business card that was given to him. Brea Mitchell, social worker. There's even the adress where she worked. Perhaps it wasn't a complete failure? He had no choice but to be satisfied with that thought until the end of the day.

••••• ♦ •••••

Jerome had no mobile phone. It was clearly too expensive. However, he needed one. Pronto. Not like someone can date without exchanging numbers, right? He couldn't really say he had no mobile phone... which reason should he present for not having one? That he is broke? Jerome couldn't afford that, all women going to run away hearing it.

That's how he ended up stealing one. It was not particularly difficult; out of carelessness the man had left his phone unguarded. Jerome took it with ease, disposed of the SIM card and went to get a new one. It wasn't easy to get a contract as he never did it before. Jerome might have been eyes strangely by the one in charge dealing with him, but Jerome couldn't care less. He got what he needed and that was more than enough to be satisfied about. And right after that, he went to type down a SMS to Brea's phone number.

'Hey Brea,
this is Deen from yesterday. I hope I don't disturb you in your work? I only wanted to ask how you're doing after yesterday. If I can help you with anything, I would very much be willing to! Around 8 PM you can always find me down in the Old Ship, just when you need someone you can talk to.
Deen
'

Almost, almost Jerome wrote his true name. Jerome shook his head, trying to wake himself up and pressed sent. He guessed he will have to hang around in that Old Ship pub everyday now, who knows when that Brea woman will come. That time though, Jerome didn't bother himself about it, rather he was concerned about the money he had to spend for it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

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Brea Mitchell

Brea focused on her work for the next couple days, not choosing to acknowledge all of the messages Cam left on her phone. Calvin gave her more and more cases, and she handled them all in stride. An adoption was successful, a child murderer was convicted, and the Pearl family was given a new home by her firm. She had been the one to choose it and when she showed it to the family, the kids went straight for the playset and the mom hugged Brea tight with tear-filled eyes. Those were the moments that Brea lived for. The moments when she was able to truly help someone.

Later that night, she opened her phone to find a lengthy text message from Deen. It had been sitting there since yesterday, but she'd forgotten to read it. "Well, no use in responding now," Brea muttered as she got out another glass of wine. She had finished her other bottle and was now on to her second in one night. She wasn't a drinker, in fact she made a point not to be, but with the stresses of work and high-school drama, she felt that she deserved it.

It was when she was passed out on her counter top that she heard the knocking. Or, it was more like an insistent pounding on her wooden apartment door. She looked around at the mess of spilled wine and an embarrassing amount of drool before getting up off of the stool. Groaning at her pounding head, she clumsily walked towards the door. "I'm coming, I'm coming! Jesus," she exclaimed at whoever was at the door. The knocking stopped and when she swung the door open, she was bombarded with an extra weight pushing her against the wall.

"Hey, Brea. You missed me, baby?" The person said and she gasped, sobering up quickly and using all of her strength to push him off.

"Cam! What the hell are you doing!" Brea yelled at him but he moved closer, pinning her to the wall and angrily kissing her.

"Mmm, I missed kissing you, baby. I missed it a lot," Cam said as he used the hand that wasn't pinning her wrists to assault her chest. "Mmm, I missed those too..."

She brought her knee up violently and he yelped, falling onto the ground. She used that opportunity to leap over him and make a break for the door but he grabbed her ankle and she went down, slamming her head on the floor. She screamed but the worst part about living in a crappy apartment building was nobody really cared about anyone else. Cam reached up and grabbed her thigh, and she used her free foot to kick him in the face. He howled and let her go and she scrambled to her feet, sprinting down the stairs and out the door, not really knowing where she was going only that she had to escape.

About a mile later, she slowed to a limping walk due to running so far in high heels and began to sob quietly. Touching her fingers to her forehead, she felt a welt there and when she pulled her hand back her fingertips had faint splotches of blood on them. "Great, just great," she whispered, sniffing, not caring how she looked right then. She stopped and looked up, surprised to find herself in front of Old Ship. Looking up, she saw Big Ben, the clock you could see from anywhere in London, and saw that it was a little passed nine. "Even if he's not there, doesn't mean I still can't have a drink," she whispered and made her way into the bar. Looking around, she was surprised to see Deen still there and walked over to the bar stool next to his, sitting down and putting her elbows on the table. "Care to stay a little bit longer?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

0.00 INK

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He was not a new customer at the Old Ship, of course. It wouldn't make sense otherwise. The bartender there was one of the few men who he had a relationship with, thinking back it was not an unpleasant time. He wouldn't know about his condition as Jerome never stayed at his because he never thought of him; until now. He came relatively early, around 7 PM, down to the Old Ship. It was a good location at least for him, not really crowded and therefore pleasantly few customers. No loud drunks and random people; it was perfect.

He entered the Old Ship with no particular feeling, not even one second he thought that the bartender might feel bad when eventually seeing him with a woman. Their relationship didn't last long, like all other relationships Jerome had. And plus, they had a clean break-up, nothing was there for Jerome to feel bad for. Not like he was one of those guys who minded to meet his ex; on the contrary, it rather excite him to see those different kinds of reactions, expressions. In his golden days, such a thing was his favourite thing he did to pass his time with.

As expected, the Old Ship wasn't too crowded, perhaps also because of the time. At nights, most of the unpleasant people would show up and he just hoped he would be gone from there by then. "Welcome." The sound of a familiar voice greeted as he entered. Then a pair of two, slightly shocked green orbs widely stared into Jerome's eyes like paralyzed, but soon it changed to its usual indifference. He didn't change the slightest, was Jerome thinking that second. Slowly, he sat down on one of the bar stool far away from the others and glanced to the bartender. He on the other hand just seemed to be busy shaking a cocktail. "You're alive." He uttered with his low voice Jerome never could figure out. To that statement, Jerome only smirked.

"The same as always for me." One could see his eyebrows twitched for a second, but soon he prepared a martini after being done with the cocktail from before. "You remember." Jerome stated as the bartender placed his glass in front of him and searched for his gaze, but he avoided it skillfully. "I remember all my customer's preferences." He merely said without looking at Jerome. Jerome only smirked. "Distant as ever, Zen? Come, look, I only came for a drink and do not intend to mess with you." He made a doubtful expression and Jerome lifted both his hands, as if saying he was telling the truth. "Let's talk about the good old times, shall we?"

••••• ♦ •••••

It was late until he finished his little talk with Zen. He had always been an amusing fellow, it was too bad that he was gay, perhaps they could be friends if it was otherwise. He just can't accept a gay guy as friend, it made him uncomfortable honestly. As he finished his fifth glass, he wanted to go but surprisingly Brea stepped in and went straight to sit down beside him. "Care to stay a little bit longer?" Actually Jerome desired to ask her why she didn't just answer her phone, but he knew he had to restrain himself. "Sure. What do you want? It's my treat." He said with a sweet smile as he finally looked up to her, obviously a bit surprising the bartender. It was indeed unusual for him to wait for someone until this late. Now the bartender had to smirk secretly.

At the very first second he looked up to her, Jerome noticed her condition, all her attire. And then... his sensitive nose was smelling the scent of blood. He gritted his teeth and quickly turned to the bartender. "One martini for me again, please... and do you have a first aid box?" Now the bartender had to chuckle, of course, unnoticed. "Please". Jerome never brought such a word over his lips in his presence. It made the bartender wonder about the woman and he may have glanced several times to her as he brought both the glass and the first aid box. "... what happened?" His voice turned serious as he opened the first aid box, trying to press his urge for blood down and concentrate on what is. Slowly, he touched her forehead. There he thought he could treat her wound with just what is, but it looked worser than he thought it was. "Brea, this is bad. We need to go to a hospital, right now." He stood up, grabbing her hand with force. No, through only his gestures and expression, one could see that he won't accept a no as an answer. Therefore he pulled her, uncaring about whether she already finished her drink and placed the money on the counter. "See you." He said, slightly waving to the bartender and dragged her out of Old Ship.

"Brea, who did this to you? It wasn't because of an accident right?" Finally Jerome asked looking seriously at her after calling a taxi with an impatiently concerned manner. "You don't even need to tell me a lie. I won't buy it. Tell me. I am not such an incapable guy who'd let a woman in trouble alone." There he smiled convincing and for the first time, he told the truth. Despite him being a jerk, he was truly a gentleman to women. At least, when they didn't do anything that annoys him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

0.00 INK

Brea Mitchell

Brea sat down next to Deen at the bar and watched as his surprised gaze fell on her. She knew what he must be thinking: Why is this woman just showing up here after not even responding to my text, and she would have answered but at the moment all she wanted was strong liquor and no feelings attached. "Sure. What do you want? It's my treat." She smiled her thanks and looked up at the bartender, not even wanting to try and decipher what that smirk was. Tonight just wasn't an analyzing night for Brea. The first in a really long time.

"Vodka. Please," she said and the bartender nodded, pouring her a quarter of a glass and then filling it to half with a surprised look after she took it quickly. She didn't really care what anyone thought of her tonight. Cam had shaken her up and most likely ruined the rest of her week, that was, if he didn't show up again. Deen asked for another martini and a first aid kit and that's when Brea looked up at him. "You don't need to do that," she said tiredly. He didn't respond, just looked at her as the bartender handed him the kit. Brea thought she saw something...something odd...in his eyes as he stared at her wound but again, she wasn't really in the mood for analyzing anything.

"...what happened?" He asked and Brea looked away, biting her lip and taking another long sip of her vodka. The strong alcohol was doing a good job of numbing everything, but she wasn't nearly as intoxicated as she wanted to be. She knew she had gotten buzzed from the wine earlier, but that left the minute Cam walked in the door. Deen touched her forehead lightly, and she winced, but still said nothing. "Brea, this is bad. We need to go to a hospital, right now," he said, pulling her from the bar stool. She groaned in distaste and finished off her glass before Deen dragged her away.

"Was that really necessary?" Brea asked as she stood outside waiting for a taxi, and aggravated Deen by her side.

"Brea who did this to you? It wasn't because of an accident right?" Deen asked her and she pursed her lips. "You can't even tell me a lie. I won't buy it. Tell me. I am not such an incapable guy who'd let a woman in trouble alone." Brea sighed and turned away from him, sucking in a shaky breath and running her fingers through her hair. Turning back around, she bit her lip and looked up at him.

"When I was in high school, I had this boyfriend. Let's call him Cam, for namesake," she said. She thought that maybe if she said it like that, Deen might not think it was his real name and do anything about it, because Brea definitely thought he seemed like the type who would do something about it. The taxi arrived and Brea got in, waiting for Deen to get situated before continuing. "I wasn't the greatest kid in high school. I didn't care about my grades, and I certainly didn't care where I was considering how many times I bounced around from foster family to foster family," she took a deep breath and accepted that she was finally going to tell her story, even if she didn't really want to. "I got in with the wrong crowd, but I liked it. We partied every night, we drank, we smoked, and it was fun. That is, till Cam came into the picture. He was the leader of the bunch and they treated him like God, and he even considered himself God of all the misfits, which is what we called ourselves. And when he saw me," she laughed a little bit, remembering before it got bad, "when he saw me he knew what he wanted, and nobody stood in his way. I thought I was special, getting chosen by the "pack leader". But all he wanted was a sex toy who stayed on his arm all night long, and after a while that got tiring for me. So I ventured off, joined a club or two, and didn't spend as much time with the group. He didn't like that, and he got every connection he had in that school to box me out so I would come crying back to him. After that, I just stayed. I got drunk with them, I got high with them, and I didn't care. A year of this went by, and that's when Cam started taking me for granted," the taxi pulled up to the hospital and she waited for Deen to get out before she did so herself, but now that she was already almost halfway done with her story, she didn't know how she could stop. So, she kept going and sat down on the curb, not really caring what Deen thought about her. He had asked what happened, and this was it. "He started forcing me to do things, stealing, hitting, all sorts of things. One night, after he was done using me, he took a broken vodka bottle and hit me as hard as he could across my face with it. He said it was because I wasn't good enough that night, and that was my punishment. He did that a few more times, but he didn't like just seducing me anymore no, he wanted more control than that." She rolled up her dirty jacket sleeves to show faint abrasion marks on her wrists that looked like they had been put there by ropes cutting into her skin. "He would leave me on his bed, tied up and naked, for hours after he was done, and wouldn't untie me until he saw fit, which sometimes wasn't for a whole day. After a while, my foster family got tired of me and shipped me off to the States to finish my last two years of high school. I went to college out there, and then I moved back here to start my career. It was all going just peachy until that day in the park, when Cam called me out of the blue. I ignored him, and all of his phone calls after that. But, of course, he decides he wants to show up, that he wants to relive the past. I tried to get away at first after he...after he came in," she stumbled a bit, not really wanting to share with a new acquaintance how he had assaulted her chest and mouth and pinned her to wall. Good choice, Brea. She swallowed and touched her fingers lightly to her forehead, "He grabbed my ankle and made me fall, which is how I got this, but I kicked him in the face and ran. He wasn't expecting me to fight back this time but I wasn't going to let him use me like that again. Not after all these years."

She looked up at him, her face flushed with embarrassment, "I'm...I'm sorry. I definitely didn't mean to dump my entire life story on you like that."

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Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

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Jerome couldn't believe how careless this woman can be. Letting her injury be just like that? Treatment is not necessary? What he was doing is nosy and stupid, is that it? Jerome just didn't get this woman, how often he might use his brain, it's meaningless. Wasn't she afraid of death? Every human should be afraid of death; as far as his experience goes. What the hell made her so depressive that showed her uncaring side like that. Truly, this appeared to be rather ridiculous. Jerome was silently irritated at himself because he's irritated about this whole stupid thing. Now he saw everything he did as a mistake. He shouldn't have to fix her as a target in the very start; it won't ever end up good with this woman.

As he asked the question that been bothering him, she just sighed and turned away from him. On the brink to explode, he wanted to grab her shoulders and ask her one more time, but as he approached her she suddenly turned back around. Facing him while biting her lips. She was ready to tell him. "When I was in high school, I had this boyfriend. Let's call him Cam, for namesake," In highschool? He frowned. She didn't seem to be that old, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Still, for someone from her highschool to still bother her until this day... As the taxi came, she went in first and just going with the flaw, Jerome took a seat afterward, closing the taxi door. "As quick as possible, please." He demanded the driver who was already told about everything and their destination, but he still wanted to make sure. The one being talked to understood and nodded, drove as fast as he could.

Putting back all his attention to Brea, he just sat there and listened carefully. Indeed, Jerome wasn't one to feel sympathy, at least in his heart. He might show hints of it, but those were most certainly not sincere. He wasn't the kind of guy who'd be by someone's side and say 'oh poor you' and try to get them feel better. In such situation, he often just hugged his partner not saying anything, but he didn't deem their relationship to be that ready for it. That's why while she talked, he touched her hand gently and continued to listen. She was an orphan, from what Jerome understood and didn't lead a very colourful life; in fact you can say she was unlucky. Nevertheless Jerome didn't get a thing. He didn't comprehend the feeling to be disappointed; for hopes to be crushed. Heck, he didn't even know what's so pleasant to be called 'special' by someone.

The taxi stopped, and Brea didn't continue to talk. She seemed to be ready to blurt out everything; to get rid of something that had been bothering her ever since long. Jerome painfully smiled. Sharing his sadness had never come into his mind; and he was sure that he won't do that. He exited the taxi and wanted to tell Brea she should hurry but she sat down on the curb, uncaring about her injury but more importantly him. Did she forgot the whole purpose to go to the hospital?

Yet Jerome stayed, paid the taxt driver who soon disappeared in the darkness of the night and sat down closely beside Brea. Continued to listen to her story until she was finished, without interrupting her, or even attempt to stop her. She may talk her soul out, it didn't matter. Jerome wasn't a coldhearted guy; seeing all her injuries made him slightly pissed at that Cam guy or whatever his real name was. Soon though, his frown appeared again. Phone call? Whether she was the one not changing her phone number, or simply that Cam grew to be her stalker, he didn't know. Rather it was creepy. Was he the type of person who was a sadist or something? Why so fixed about one woman, there were plenty of them walking on the streets. Cam was, in Jerome guy a pathetic, sadistic and lonesome guy. That he was the boss of such a group though, made him wonder. If he tried to search for that Cam guy, maybe he'll be successful.

Jerome eyes widened, and he turned his face to her, staring with concern. "No, that's okay but... he came in? What do you mean by that? He knows where you live? How?!" His face now totally confronted hers while he grabbed her shoulders almost too fiercely. "I am sorry... did I hurt you? Everything was just so... overwhelming. I am glad that you managed to escape." He apologized, backing up after smelling the sharp scent of blood. He stood up soon after and offered her a hand with an assuring smile. No pity, nor sympathy was displayed; but honest serious concern. Actually, everything piqued his interest a little bit; made him wanting to meet that Cam guy. "Come, let's treat your injury first." He opened the door for her and then entered afterward. For a second, a sly smile hushed on his face. Merely for a second, revealing an unnoticeable evil intent.

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Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

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Brea Mitchell

Brea flinched as Deen grabbed her shoulders with almost inhuman strength and ducked her head away. "I don't know how he found me! He just did!" She clenched her shoulders until he let go, and shuffled away from him a little, but not a great distance. "I am sorry... did I hurt you? Everything was just so... overwhelming. I am glad that you managed to escape." He backed away from her as well, seeming alarmed by something and she shrugged. The last thing she needed was another rough guy, and she really hoped Deen wasn't one. He stood and offered her a hand, which she took after a moment's hesitation and allowed him to pull her up. Looking into his eyes, she did not see pity, which she was grateful of. The one thing she hated about sharing her story was the pity. Instead, she saw simple concern, and was comforted by it. "It's fine, I would probably do the same thing," she said, realizing she never answered him.

"Come, let's treat your injury first," he said and she nodded, walking through the door he held open for her. She allowed him to catch up before walking into the emergency room and up to the counter.

"Hi, how can I help you?" The nurse said, looking up at her. As if it isn't obvious, Brea thought but only smiled in return.

"My friend here insisted that I get this bump on my head checked out. I tripped in my apartment," she said, jerking her shoulder towards Deen. It wasn't a total lie, she did fall in her apartment, it just wasn't because of spilled water on the floor or some other trivial accident.

"Sure thing. Have a seat over there and the doctor will come get you in a moment," the nurse said and Brea nodded, taking a seat in the waiting chairs. The ER wasn't as busy as it usually was this time of night, and Brea was grateful. The last thing she wanted was bustling, puking, kids who didn't have a 24-hour pediatrician.

The doctor came out and called her name, and she began to stand. "Wait here," she told Deen, "I'll be out in a moment." She followed the doctor back to the exam room tiredly, leaving her jacket on the chair beside him.

***

Twenty minutes later, Brea walked out with four stitches and an ugly white bandage on her forehead. Retrieving her coat, she paid the doctor the small fee for the stitches and walked out, waiting for Deen to follow her. "Thanks for taking me, I guess it was a little worse than I thought," she said. She rocked on her heels and bit her lip. She knew she didn't want to ask him, she really really didn't want to ask him, but at the same time she was nervous to return alone. "If you don't...that is if you don't mind..." she blew out a frustrated breath at her awkwardness, "could you walk me to my apartment after we get back to the city? I don't know if there will be something waiting for me when I get there."

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Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

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By her words towards the nurse, Jerome's eyebrows twitched a little. Friend. Well yeah, what other thing she could refer him as? Stranger? They knew each other barely for a little more than half an hour by now, but seeing that she had shared with him her problem, it was just natural for her to call him a friend. Yet Jerome was a little insecure by the 'friend' she spoke of. Friends Jerome knew were merely business partner, people or contacts someone had to survive and to take advantage from. What was that Jerome wanted from her? Her blood? Was he even able to love?

Shaking off those nasty and simply unnecessary thoughts, Brea stood up and told him to wait. Jerome merely smiled to her and winked her off. Upon her absence, he began to relax. Finally the scent of blood wasn't closely lingering in the air and he could hold back his urges better. His mind cleared up and his thoughts could be processed better than ever. He wondered why he had concerned himself of the needless things; his objective was clear after all, getting her in love with him-- Now a frown appeared on his forehead. No, the requirement went like... he was the one having to have feelings for her so that he was able to take blood from her! How stupid was he?

He swore in his head, everything seemed so ridiculous now. What the hell was he doing here anyways? It didn't have to be her, after all. However he had to admit that he could relate to her sadness in the past; betrayal and disappointments was also the reason for him to end up alone. For the first time it was Jerome who just couldn't leave her alone like that. Plus, her blood was smelling unnecessary delicious, it hurt his throat.

Then Brea appeared, her forehead treated and scent of blood was gone (though there were still traces lingering but it didn't necessarily made Jerome go mad. He stood up as Brea paid the fee and followed her outside. "Thanks for taking me, I guess it was a little worse than I thought," Jerome slightly gestured of him being right. "You really should look out for yourself more." He said with a smile and a concerned frown. "If you don't...that is if you don't mind... could you walk me to my apartment after we get back to the city? I don't know if there will be something waiting for me when I get there."

By her request, the frown got deeper. He was thinking, honestly concerning himself. Certainly it was a good idea to accompany her to her apartment, but the real question was whether it was alright for her to even go back there knowing that the 'something' knew the place. No, such thing wasn't really clever. There had to be another way. He attempted to suggest she should go to her family's place but then he had to think back to what she told him. And he really couldn't allow her to see where he lives; she would probably faint in shock at the worst. Seconds went by as he finally spoke: "Can't you go to your friend's place for the night? It would be more safe for you to be with someone else and not in your apartment that he knows where it is." Would it be too daring? Or should he just ask? Whatever her answer might be, if she refused and breaks off the contact, Jerome could still find other women right? Somehow he was still reluctant although well-aware of the fact. At the end, he said nonetheless: "I can stay with you for the night, if you allow me... but don't worry! I am not going to do anything stupid! I can stay up all night so you can be assured of your safety and rest. My house is rather far anyways... Of course, it's just an offer, I understand if you're uncomfortable with it." Stupid, stupid stupid stupid. Jerome swore in his thoughts, it was just too soon, she won't ever allow that. He cursed himself for being too hasty. He had to bite his lips and busied himself by excusing for calling a taxi.

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Character Portrait: Brea Mitchell Character Portrait: Jerome D Lagit

0.00 INK

Brea Mitchell

Brea bit her lip nervously as Deen thought pensively. She couldn't tell if he was thinking about whether it was safe to go back at all, or if she was stupid to ask if he'd go back with her. She was cursing herself internally for a minute or two when he said, "Can't you go to your friend's place for the night? It would be more safe for you to be with someone else and not in your apartment that he knows where it is." She shrugged and shook her head.

"No, I...I only really have one friend close enough that I could do that and she doesn't get back from vacation till next week," she said, speaking of her best friend, Rachel. Rachel was the only person who had reached out to her during her first week at the office, and she had instantly taken a liking to her. They had gone out for coffee and had been inseparable ever since. I wonder what Rae would do if she knew what had happened these past few days... She thought with an internal laugh. She could just picture Rachel throwing a flabbergasted fit at the fact that Brea had actually talked to someone of the male variety for more than a minute and not just a "hey".

Brea looked up as Deen began to speak again, oblivious to his internal conflict. "I can stay with you for the night, if you allow me... but don't worry! I am not going to do anything stupid! I can stay up all night so you can be assured of your safety and rest. My house is rather far anyways... Of course, it's just an offer, I understand if you're uncomfortable with it," he said, seemingly just as nervous as she was. She stayed silent, mulling it over, and Deen must have taken it as a refusal because he excused himself to call a taxi. She thought about it, listing the pros and cons in her head:

Pro: protection against Cam if necessary
Con: Deen at my house
Pro: chance to further our friendship
Con: DEEN at my HOUSE
Pro: not having to stay alone all night fretting in my bed
Con: Deen LITERALLY at my HOUSE with all the broken glass, old photos, spilled wine, etc.
Pro: just...Deen.


She sighed, knowing that she had in no way come to a conclusion, but by the time Deen had finished calling the taxi, she decided, what the hell? and walked over to him. "I can't promise a comfy couch or cleanliness since I left before he was finished with his rampage...but yeah. It would be nice if you stayed tonight. The taxi arrived and she waited for Deen to slide in first this time since he was closer to it, and then she followed. She gave the taxi driver directions to her apartment and when they arrived, she took a deep breath and climbed out.

"I'm on the fourth floor and the elevator is broken, sorry," she said with a backwards glance at Deen. She didn't really want to look when he saw the peeling paint on the walls and the door that still had tape on the glass from when someone broke in last week. The apartment was shit, but it was all she could afford. She climbed the stairs with haste, pausing ever few moments but she was used to it so it was mainly for Deen's benefit just in case he wasn't. Reaching the fourth floor entrance door, she took a deep breath and looked at Deen. "I'm sorry in advance. It's not pretty and it's actually more messy now because I'm sure he went through and broke a lot and I had been having...a few...glasses of wine before and the bottle had spilled before I had a chance to clean it up. I swear normally it's clean for company but well, you know. So, yeah. Sorry." She bit her lip and opened the door, walking down the hall to her apartment and finding the door wide open. Sighing, she walked in and stepped over the broken photo that had been hanging on the wall before he had shoved her against it, and turned left into the kitchen. It appeared as though he had left, but judging by the flipped over couch cushions and broken glasses, he hadn't left happy.

She opened the broom closet and pulled out a dustpan, sweeper, and vacuum. Walking to the kitchen, she began to sweep up the broken glass. Looking to Deen, she pointed to her right, "The lou is that way, and I'm pretty sure I have some of my dads old t-shirts and sweatpants somewhere in my dresser. I can get those for you in a moment. Once I fix up the couch it can be okay, but I'm totally fine with taking it instead if you want to sleep in the bed. It's no trouble, really," she said. She was nervous and mad at herself for not making a good first impression of her home, but there wasn't really anything she could do about it, so she didn't dwell.

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{onexone} Between Sweetiebelle & Heolstor