cannibal; kendall roy

45

Kendall chose to go straight to Marguerite's place, rather than his own, and wasn't disappointed by what he found in the dusk. The man was drained, he felt split into pieces from his own mother, a woman so incapable of listening that he felt like it was going to break Marguerite further, by asking her to listen.

But he didn't care. He didn't care if she was upset, or the slightest bit stressed with her own work and company. That was a choice, and he was Kendall Roy. A boy who needed attention. Desperately. He could make her give it to him, he knew that.

But he didn't think it would be much of an issue, as he looked down at the woman who appeared to be a mess, her usually pristine makeup smudged, while she handled a glass in her left hand. A few bottles were spread across the table, as well as one of the familiar leather bound books.

Usually, a sober and regretful Kendall would feel sympathy for the girl, and would take the book. But today he felt vengeful and he wanted her to feel the same as him. He was feeling reminiscent of the pair in the rain that night at his sister's wedding. He felt empty, and knew that she was feeling similarly.

He was feeling vindictive as he stalked over to her.

"Lou, honey" Kendall sat down next to her, pulling her into a tight embrace, watching her nails partially dig into his back "It's okay. I'm back."

It wouldn't have mattered if he was back or not, she would've sobbed into anything. The pillow. The cushion. Her bed. Her father's chair.

He felt a hand move up to stroke her hair, gently clamping up into it, fingering strands of it as he continued to attempt to soothe the drunken woman in front of him "Do you want to talk about it?" He asks "We can talk about it."

His eyes glancing over to the page the diary was open to, picking it up and skimming its content. It was a newer one. He could tell that much. The page was what it usually was, Louis dragging on about how he felt he did his job wrong, and how he loved his daughter, but she once again scorned him. It made him feel dull as he shut it "Lou, watch this."

And then he threw the book against the wall, causing the woman to pull away from him, shakily standing up to go grab the book, which landed below a bookshelf, where she stuffed the other diaries.

"Stop it" she hissed, picking the book up, and placing it back on the shelf "You're being cruel."

"I asked if you wanted to fucking talk about it. Didn't I?" He clasped his hands together, then motioning for her to sit down on the sofa.

"Why?" She narrows her eyes "We never do. We never want to."

"Look, I want to talk too" he picks up one of the bottles and shakes it, then taking a swig

"That's vintage. Can you use a glass?"

"Fuck you" he says bitterly "Sit down and talk."

She listens, sniffling a little and sits down next to him, watching him now use a glass to drink her wine "Thank you."

"I said talk. Lou, talk."

"I'm not doing good" she starts "You said it. I think you're the first person to tell me the truth. Everyone else says I'm doing great. My numbers aren't great. They're fine."

"I said you were doing fine. Fine isn't awful. Fine is uh, fine."

"Fine isn't great. Louis was great. His father was great."

Kendall shrugs "Sorry"

"Sorry?" She questions

"Here, uh answer this. Can you accept fine?" He leans into her "Like, can you live with being fine? Or does it make you sick?"

She scoffs "What do you think?"

"I'm not talking about me. It's you, Lou."

Marguerite looks down and sighs, staring at the carpet on the ground for a minute, then reaches for a bottle and takes a swig, not noticing Kendall's change in expression.

"Lou?" He asks "Honey?"

"I think I miss him"

"Who? Uh Louis?"

"Who do you think?"

He rolls his eyes "Your life has a revolving fucking door of guest stars, sorry for not being up to date."

Marguerite doesn't say anything, instead taking another swig from the bottle and sighs again "If I'd taken it from him when he offered, maybe he'd still be here."

Now Kendall doesn't say anything.

He feels like he'd been pricked slightly, as if he was jealous of the fact that she'd been offered something Kendall constantly had to fight for, and that he still didn't have. The drunk woman in front of him had it practically gifted to her. It made him sting.

"Do you ever think about that?" She asks "Like if we'd lived our lives differently, things would be better?"

"Yeah. Maybe you wouldn't have killed your father" he muttered, before taking her bottle and taking a swig from it.

She looks at him strangely, as if she's about to cry, but instead sighs, and then straightens her shoulders. As if the words couldn't make her cry because she herself thought they were true.

Normally, Kendall would've never said anything of the sort.

But he wanted to switch the conversation to himself, and death, was the only way it could switch. And then, she'd be all over him.

"Maybe you shouldn't have killed that boy" Marguerite said wryly, grinning a little

The pendulum had swung in his direction. Finally. At last.

"I uh, I tried to tell my mom about him" He starts off, watching her face soften and turn towards him "She, she uh, my mom.." he trails off, feeling his own affliction and affinity for sadness kick in.

"Ken?" She asks, forgetting the horrific game they had just played with one another, watching him start to heave himself in and out, laying his head down in her lap.

"Ken.." she trails off, kicking herself internally for having decided on being awful to him earlier. Even though he had started it, and her head wasn't even in the right state of mind.

"She didn't want to hear any of it" he states, almost spitting on her knees "She fucking, she cut me off. Again and again."

"I'm sorry."

He doesn't say anything instead whittling out a few coughs and whimpers, sitting on her lap, quivering, sputtering, watching her pet him. It was strange, but comforting that Marguerite, who was about ten years younger than him, gave him the motherly love he had always craved.

He wanted it from her constantly, and he'd desperately needed it upon his return to the city. After the rejection from his father, and now his mother, he wanted her in his arms, or him in hers.

Which was why he'd been so pleased with her appearance when he'd come home.

He could give her the love she wanted, and in return she'd give it to him.

God, they were perfect for one another.

Suddenly, his upset wasn't with his mother, or any of it, but rather his fixation with the girl in front of him "I uh love you." He stated plainly "I love you,"

He sat up, one of his hands grabbing hers and pulling her over and onto his lap.

"I love you too" she whispered, as if any of this made sense to her, the pair had danced around nearly fifty emotions within the past ten minutes.

"Yeah?" He asks

"I do."

Nothing was about how either of them felt internally, or about the worlds crumbling around them. Currently it had to do with keeping the other satisfied, while slowly creating what they wanted. Nothing was how it seemed.

Sure, they loved one another.

But one of them had a different set of desires. Different motivations.