Rabbit Blood

Chapter 48 - Not Like The Movies

As Alastor dropped her home at the end of their too-eventful night, Leslie asked for time to process and make herself sensible. She didn't want to go to pieces in public and make people suspicious, she said, and he agreed.

They shared a final rusty kiss at her door, and she was alone at last. No more red light, no more chirping and croaking. She backed against the cold, comforting stone of the wall. What had happened? What had she just allowed to happen? It wasn't all bad, not by a long way, but... Leslie's hand went to her shoulder. Healed, like nothing. Still hers. She should have cried, but the tears didn't come. Instead she took a shower, exhausted and glad to get everything off: the sweat, the remaining dried blood, and every trace of Alastor.

Characters from movies always sat under the shower spray in times of crisis. For this reason, she abstained. It was too clichéd... and besides, her sister once got a UTI from doing something similar at a public pool.

Leslie kept the dress with her in the bathroom, hung over the curtain rail with the handkerchief still in the pocket. Something for Rosie, if she decided to take her offer. That would be dangerous. Sure, it might get Leslie out of this bind, and give her some powers, but Alastor would be immediately suspicious. Nobody else got that close to him, except for his barber. Nobody else could give Rosie what she wanted.

Then, atop the crumpled dress on the dusty floor beneath her bed, Leslie lay still, quiet. She made herself a twistedly idealized fantasy version of the night's events, and waited for morning.

o - o - o - o - o

In the following days, Leslie coped better than she expected. While her previous traumas in Hell affected her quite directly, she felt herself burying what happened in the bayou, and that was fine with her. She didn't need to dwell. Denial was fine. She was quite good at it.

It was tricky during dance sessions - which recalled her brush with oblivion in Alastor's office - and it got trickier still when she actually saw him. As he roamed the halls as usual in his confident way, antagonizing the guests, it was hard to tell anything had changed. Happy, smiling and singing was his default. The signs were subtle - practically invisible, if you didn't know what to look for. And most people wouldn't look; they wouldn't think him capable of such subtlety.

During one of Leslie's teaching sessions, he lurked in the doorway, watching her, picking his teeth with the claw of his pinky finger. Reminding her of their sharpness. His eyes sparkled almost imperceptibly, like a gem stuck in some stony riverbed. So hard to catch, but Leslie saw it. Oh yes, little bunny... I have known you so very, very well...

He was a goddamn panther when he wanted to be.

On this day, annoyed at the provocation, she gave a pretend idle stretch, and rubbed the side of her neck, close to her shoulder, like it was sore. Maybe she did project weakness, but she could at least tease him a little, knowing exactly what he desired about her. Let him think about biting, just when it wasn't possible.

Another stupid decision. Leslie saw his eyes narrow before he swept off; Alastor would get her back for that little display.

o - o - o - o - o

Leslie began to sleep exclusively in low-traffic areas of the hotel. Usually she picked an armchair in the library, or curled up by the first-floor fireplace after last call. A different place every time. It wasn't that she was scared, she told herself; Leslie just wanted some control over the meetings with Alastor. Her room was linked to his, after all - it was too easy for him to come a-creeping and find her in her bed.

When she did sleep, she dreamt about him. If she was lucky, they were together in some cozy, darkened space with a glowing exit. Mutually exploring, making heat, swallowing lava. There were good memories from the bayou, buried in her subconscious, and sometimes the theater director in her brain gave them center stage.