cannibal; kendall roy

18

Kendall Roy wasn't the only one who kept calling on Marguerite Garnier during her summer vacation, in fact, to be perfectly honest—she had several lepers crawling around. It was just that the only one she had chosen to act on was Kendall, and that was how it had now been for months.

Kendall and Marguerite in the clubs.
Kendall and Marguerite doing drugs.
Kendall and Marguerite and Stewy.
Kendall and Marguerite fucking.
In the car.
In a house.
In a bathroom.
On a plane.
In her bed.
In his bed.

Or— for the more tragic and melancholic days, which looked like Kendall on the verge of having a nervous breakdown due to his father, and him running off and away from the comforts of Rava to Marguerite—who would've otherwise been in France. Work, had seemed to have gotten to Kendall as of late, it seemed to sort of crawl up his spine like a chill, and then personify a pair of hands as it choked him. Marguerite had always understood Logan Roy to be a mean or at least, superficial man. She had gathered that much from Shiv. But from her, she had also gathered that he loved his kids, and was just a workaholic. The sort of naive stand point that only a child could have, let alone from the one who was still receiving nicknames from their father.

A good one, at least. Shiv had always been affectionately Pinky. His other children had been less than fortunate.

Marguerite had been set to fly off for France however, she had delayed her flight for about two days. Maybe less. Her bags had been packed and everything, it just depended on how long it would take for her to wean into the idea of staring across the dining room table while Louis just sort of picked at his food in silence.

He didn't eat much these days.

That's what their housekeeper had called to tell her about a month ago. That he wasn't eating much. She'd told the housekeeper to stuff him with wine then, or give him a chocolate covered lamb. What was she supposed to do? She was barely eighteen. Her father was a grown man—a man who should've been capable of feeding himself.

In her eyes, she didn't understand at that moment in time, what the woman had been trying to tell her.

That had all been before Kendall had barged into her apartment. Yes. He had a key now.

"You can't go yet" he protests, sort of willfully panting, as if he had physically run to her apartment "I mean—"he realizes how controlling his sentence had sounded "Please don't go yet"

She frowned looking over his obviously malfractured state and put one of her bags down on the ground "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He says sort of sputtering, trying hard to hold back wherever was bothering him "It's nothing. I just don't want you to go yet."

"Well, there's got to be a reason" she waves her hands around "I mean, Kendall. Come on. You've known about this for weeks."

"There isn't a fucking reason, okay?" He says irritatedly, causing her to take a step back "I just think you should stay here. If you want a vacation so bad, I'll take you on one. Fuck it, where should we go?"

"I think you should go home. Or, you can stay here if you'd like." Marguerite motions around the apartment "I already delayed my trip once."

"What? No. I'm being serious. Let's go on vacation."

"I can't. I have plans."

"So?" He questions "it's to see your fucking Dad, who really sucks at being a dad. Consider this as a fuck you to him."

She squinted at him and sat down on the sofa, leaning back and watching him pace around her apartment, tossing words and ideas up into the air. "You got any blow?" Marguerite asked, interrupting.