Mutilated love

Athame (Part 1) (CultLeader!Reader)

How long have I been here? It feels like hours have passed since I came, but maybe that's because I keep falling asleep...

The throbbing lights did nothing to help the silence inside his head, the haziness of his vision, or the desultory  blip of his existence. Though he preferred that over the sobering reality that the one person he treasured was gone. No- not only gone, but gone from only him. She was still alive, out there, probably enjoying the upgrade she had dumped him for. He felt more than betrayed, but guilty. For what, he didn't know. There wasn't a scrap of remorse in her manner however, she had almost convinced him that this was perfectly fair- for him to be used and discarded simply because he wasn't good enough for her.

The blurriness of his vision prevented him from seeing if his drink was gone, but when he reached for it it was replaced with a glass of clear liquid with a straw by an unknown hand. A flash of anger shot through him, before being snuffed by a hand at his shoulder. After giving his cerulean eyes a good rub, they were met with a pair of (e/c) ones, glittering with a mix of pity and amusement at his confusion. The intruder of his space sat back, allowing him to get a grip on his mentality. Sitting up he saw the club was all but deserted, closing time coming close.

"If you want to get out of here with some scrap of sobriety, you'll want to drink that," she says, crossing her legs on the stool right of his. She was wearing a red pocket vest coupled with a black apron- the bartender no doubt.

He took the straw begrudgingly in his mouth, expecting her to leave him alone. She stayed put however, staring at him with the same pitiful expression.

"What do you want?" he hissed, definitely not in the mood to be teased, silently or otherwise. She stayed silent for a moment, before speaking. "A breakup I'm guessing, or rather you were dumped; given you're inability to care too much about your situation. You relied on her a bit too much," The smile was gone from her expression, replaced with prying eyes and a straight mouth, gauging his reaction to her startlingly accurate 'guess'.

He had to take a double take, making sure she wasn't anyone he knew again, before spitting "How did you know that?"

"You are not the first person I've seen like this. This job lets you see people at their extremes, which are all the same no matter who they are," The bartender squints, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He scoffed, irritated at her blatant expectation of his life story. He turned back to his drink, remembering again that it was still water.

Taking his silence as a rejection, she rose and returned back to the other side of the bar. The last stragglers leaving, having been told to leave. The bar had closed yet no one talked to him. Left to be was confused as to why he had been given special treatment.

The longer he was left alone the more sober he became, and the more he thought about what happened. How could Jules do that to me? I gave her everything and more, and I would still do anything to have her back... What can I do?

Wails and questions sped across his mind, infuriating and depressing.

You can do nothing. Just like every other endeavor in your life.

The tears came before he could stop them, his misery rising once more, more painful than when she had left- now that he was no longer in denial. He wished he could go back and somehow fix what he did, but alas such a thing was impossible. He felt his will and purpose shatter and crumble, indifferent to how he felt about it. He no longer cared about his secondary degree, or his aspirations, is dogs- nothing.

"It's not your fault. There are horrible people out there," The same voice came to him again, consoling him through his pitiful sobbing. His bloodshot eyes rose again from his now soaked flannel jacket. She was still behind the counter, hands busy with preparing a basket of fries and a burger, had he not already heard her speak and had he not also known they they were the only ones still in the building, he would have thought she was talking to someone else.

She looked up and once again made eye contact. "How long has it been since?" she asked casually, noticeably delicate with her wording.

This time he couldn't look away. Before he had only noticed her uniform and eye color, wallowing in his own self pity. Now that he took the time to notice her, she was breathtaking. Every feature of her face fitting together to make a unique masterpiece he had never seen before.

"Two weeks.." He muttered, answering her question easily now. He was not painfully aware of the state that he was in. long black hair that has tangled into pieces, lips red from the blood rushing to his face, distinguished bags under his eyes from spotty sleeping.

She didn't seem to care, now finished with the basket, she spoke again. "Whatever happened is killing you on the inside, and I want you to tell me. In exchange I'll give you this, no doubt you rarely ate during those two weeks.." Her eyes passed over his cheeks, betraying the truth of what she said.

He meant to only tell the very least he had to, his appetite had returned tenfold, and he needed what he could get. But as he went on, the whole story bled through despite his best efforts. At some point she had given him the basket, and walked to sit on the same stool to his right. She rubbed circles on his back and neck, urging him to go on.

It didn't completely register in his mind that there had to be an ulterior motive to her kindness besides just to be a good Samaritan. But he didn't care, this moment was worth whatever she wanted. Eventually his story came to a close, and he had finished the basket.

"Harsh," was all she said, her tone saying much more.

He scoffed, that was an understatement. Oddly enough, the sharp pain of his sobriety had dulled to a passable throb. He was to preoccupied with the misplaced angel rubbing patterns on his back. He couldn't look away, and she still at unfazed, likely used to such attention.

"I don't mean to bring religion into this, but where I come from, dating is taken much more seriously than a..." She trailed off searching for the right word.

"Temporary entertainment?" He finished for her.

"Exactly," She winked playfully at him. "Any relation at all, platonic and romantic, are considered sacred in a sense. They are unspoken promises: to care for the other person to the best of your ability, keep them in your heart no matter what happens, and to never let them go. Then you hopefully aren't cheated by expecting the same from them."

They sat in silence then, the truth in her words striking envy in me. A key in the song of her voice unsettled some part of me, saying it sung of a possessive greed-- but was shooed away quickly.

"Well I think you ought to go home now. Its well past closing time." She said abruptly. That jarred him out of his stupor and he opened and closed his mouth with shock.

Eventually he got a hold of himself and nodded. Of course she was shooing him out, she probably wanted to go home, and he had kept her for nearly an hour and a half. Still he couldn't help feeling dejected at the sudden dismissal.

"Here's my number, and my address if you need to rant about anything else. And before you call me weird, just know that I consider it necessary-- you know.." She waved her hand in a 'you know' motion; implicating her religion she had spoken of.  "And I like your voice," She grinned.

Part 2 will come if interest is shown in this piece. Otherwise I'll just move on.