VIRTUE, frank castle

CHAPTER FOUR

"What is wrong with you?"

He was gone when she awoke the next morning, disappearing like a phantom in the night with only the crimson stains of his morality sunken deep into her carpet to assure her it wasn't some kind of dream, some kind of nightmare of warped reality. That was going to be a bastard to clean, that much Mallory did know, and she had half the mind to send the dry cleaning bill straight to his apartment because how the hell was she meant to get blood out of her carpet, most specifically his blood? And better yet, how did she not look like some kind of serial killer while she was doing it?

She didn't even dare look it up on Google, only slightly terrified that it would put her on some kind of radar which she definitely didn't want to be on considering her touch was poisonous and curing and the last thing she needed in the absolute hell she called a life was to be slapped on some lab table like a limp fish to have sketchy scientists poking and prodding at her to find out just how she worked...and knowing her luck this far that would definitely happen and she'd already had plenty of panic attacks over such looming thoughts of her own death.

And Mallory would probably be more upset about her ruined carpet and window that was still smashed to bloody pieces by her feet...if she hadn't slept through her bastard alarm and was going to be so late for work which meant that she was probably going to be on dish washing duty which, would usually be somewhat of a godsend considering the people who usually frequented the bar slash crappy restaurant were absolute creeps, the garbage of society if you would who refused to take their eyes off her rack or their hands from slapping her backside...however, working at the back meant no tips...which meant that she was probably going to have water for dinner again.

I wonder how much I could get for my liver, or my kidney, I'm sure I can live without one of them on the blackmarket, she thought to herself absentmindnessly, forcing her foot into her stubborn boot that just refused to cooperate, curses and grunts slipping through her lips like a mocking prayer as she stumbled around the hallway, limping towards the elevator and hoping that no one could actually see her just for the simple fact she knew that she looked like half a corpse that was spreading its disease all over the place. And if someone asked why she looked so gaunt it's not like she could even explain if she wanted to.

Oh, how nice of you to ask, well you see my powers, my curse, my damnation is so fucking draining that most of the time, I actually think it's only a matter of time before it kills me or I kill myself, and last night, that good old catholic guilt kicked in and almost made me a martyr to a man who'd once opened a door for me and apparently that was enough for me to die for him. Yeah, strangely enough, Mallory didn't see that going well at all, in fact, she was sure it would only end with her being sent to the loony bin which hey, wouldn't be that bad because of the simple fact she probably got to ate everything.

God, she was hungry.

Well, she was also severely depressed but she was pretty sure only one of those things could be fixed at that moment. Then again, could depression ever technically be fixed? Or was it just something that would always linger? That would hide in the crevices of humanity, just waiting for a moment to consume and condemn. So many questions and so little time to answer them...especially considering she was, once again, extremely late for work and if she lingered around any longer there was a very good chance she wouldn't have a fucking job to complain about anymore.

Mallory forced her feet to stumble along just a little faster, refusing to spare a glance at Frank something or others door as she ran past it with rage simmering in her gut like a viper.

After all, how fucking hard was it for the bastard to leave her a note? Something as simple as hey, sorry about the blood all over your apartment, thanks for not letting me die! Just a little something to assure her it hadn't been some weird ass dream, or to just assure her that he hadn't died during the night and was just carried off by vultures or eaten by rats or something equally as gross.