It was consuming her,
the madness.
She could feel her sanity slowly slipping through her fingers.
Sooner or later she had to let her self go, and she did.
[Jerome Valeska x OC]
[Gotham]
previously titled Orphic
-acidity 2017
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"Oh I must be walking on eggshells Trying not to sell myself out"
-Lauv, Comfortable
By the time the two decided what to do, the rain soaked their clothes. Neon signs from shops and clubs created oddly shaped shadows on the streets and blinding reflections in puddles. Those who passed by huddled under black umbrellas, walking quickly to get out of the rain.
Violet and Jerome were too engrossed in their conversations and joking around to notice the cold seeping through their drenched clothing. They walked through the streets bantering back and forth about whatever came to mind. A few times, Violet tripped over her own feet, sending herself straight to the ground. She'd laugh at herself and ignore the fresh cuts and bruises she acquired.
Jerome found her amusing, intriguing. He laughed at her corny jokes and her dark humor. Perhaps she got him, he would think while he admired her spinning in circles with her arms out and face towards the sky, enjoying the way the rain hit her face. Violet killed people, he killed people- well, his mother but he'd up his numbers- it was a perfect friendship.
The walk to Violet's house was a long one, a walk that neither of them wanted to take. They got a cab and once they arrived at the house, Jerome almost had to do a double take. He knew Violet came from money, she also mentioned earlier that her remaining family moved into a smaller house after the murder. This house was massive.
"I thought you said your house was smaller," Jerome said as the two of them walked up the walkway to the house's cement steps.
Violet only laughed.
"Compared to our old house, this is small," Violet said, taking out her house key when she paused. "Oh, I don't mean to sound entitled or whatever, which I do right now, but I totally don't mean to. I mean, the house is definitely smaller but it still is huge for a house and-"
Jerome cut her off with a smirk, "Vi, stop. You're fine. If it makes you feel better, you don't sound entitled. You never do."
"Thanks."
They continued their walk up the stairs with only the patter of rain hitting the ground filling the silence. Violet quickly unlocked the door, swinging it open to reveal the dark interior of the house. Without lights on, it resembled that of a horror movie.
"So this is my house." Violet stood in the doorway, nervously playing the house key.
"Nice place," he commented as he entered, taking in the house. It was so much larger compared to his trailer at the circus. He slipped off his shoes and shrugged off his soaking wet sweater, hanging it on the silver coat rack. His movements were timid like he didn't know how to act in the house.
Violet followed him into the entryway, carefully watching the red-headed boy. She found it interesting to see his reaction as it was almost always different depending on the situation. For instance, his reaction to Violet's confession to murder wasn't what she expected: he smiled, laughed even. With Jerome around, Violet felt safe enough to let her guard down and to act how she wanted.
