Bad Blood (6Questions)

Day 10

"Where are you going?" I stop her tiredly.

"Grocery," she retorts.

I sigh and glare at her standing by the door. It's been a week locked together in the apartment. And it's left its marks - everywhere but on her pretty neck so far, surprisingly. I've never felt more bored and under the weather just by these damn annoying trifles. "There's still enough food in the fridge. If you just bothered to cook something..."

"Only I'm not gonna cook for you," she tosses her head almost disgustedly. I never asked her to, but maybe it isn't the worst idea for her to try a bit harder to deserve my leniency that may or may not last dependently.

"Then I guess I may just feed myself on your blood," I utter sarcastically. Not so bad idea either, but still too early for that, isn't it.

Marianne grimaces and reaches for the door handle. I hate she makes me stand up. The last few endless days I've spent mostly on the couch while she pretended to search some databases and write some documents. I can't stand the room anymore just as much as herself, but that doesn't give her the right to arbitrarily walk through that door any time she pleases.

"One more step and you're over," I say darkly behind her back.

She turns, half hiding her never ending surprise I appeared there all of sudden. But her revolt beats it. "It's locked anyways, isn't it? Give me the key, Damian. Or I swear to god I'm gonna lose my freakin mind."

I step closer with an irritated scowl. "Did you get your job done? You didn't do shit yet, honey, so for your own sake stop whimpering and give me some results first."

Marie clenches her teeth and makes her jaw line more prominent. Folds her arms on her chest with surprisingly persistent boldness. "You didn't do shit for your darling friends either," she spits out. "I made the Supreme court accept my appeal, isn't that enough to you?"

"It's never enough as long as they're in jail."

"Well, they may stay there forever if you're mean to me," she plays back daringly.

Oh, honey. I can't help anymore but squeeze her neck. My nerves are on the edge, very easily these days indeed. Just a mordant glitter of her eyes, a wrong tone in her voice, biting remarks, they truly get on my wick. And right now, I think I'd nearly choke her if my phone didn't go off all of sudden.

"Chris," I pick it up unenthusiastically, never leaving my glare from Marianne that pins her in the little space between me and the door almost as dependably as my grip previously.

"Dam, it's Mark."

"Nice to hear from you, Mark," I pout with a hidden sigh. This is inopportune.

"Yeah... Listen, I just wanted to check on how you're doing."

Caring as ever, dear man. Checking on me on and on... Screw it. I don't need a babysitter forever, Christ. "Better than you, I imagine. Please, don't worry about me."

"Well, I'd like to do well myself once again..."

"I'm working on it," I interrupt him impatiently.

"Yeah. Not the whole reason I'm calling though," Mayor indicates meaningfully. And if not before, then now I'm damn convinced I don't wanna lead this conversation. "Christian gave me this disturbing idea about you and the sweetheart, what's her name, that shut us behind bars..."

"Chris is a dick, tell him I say hi."

"It's true, then?" Mark insists urgently. He's still asking, but it almost sounds like a deadly cold stating already. And I sure wouldn't love to hear his speech when he gets a hundred percent certainty. The lesser being in Marianne's place...