The Bone Thief

Chapter Eighteen

Every time Lucent punches Prosper, a year is added to my life <3 I love them both equally, but I also rly like aggression

Sorry for the spelling mistakes, I wrote this at work when I should have been working but I don't want to do that

Chapter Eighteen

Current Day

Prosper hasn't retrieved me in nearly a week. Usually, at this point, he makes a point to control me. Rarely does he go twenty-four hours without forcing me to do something with him.

I've heard nothing from him. It was unsettling, but I'm not complaining.

The silence was nice.

I haven't left the apartment once this whole week, which isn't like me either. Of course, Prosper would never let me stay home for an entire week, so I never got the chance.

I've slept more this week than I have in months.

I stretch my arm, testing out expanding it, seeing how far I can go without it hurting bad enough that I get dizzy.

Bullet wounds are so much worse than stab wounds. I'd rather lose my eye again than go through the experience of a second bullet.

There's a knock on the door, it doesn't surprise me, as I've been waiting for one all week. Still, that familiar dread I get before I have to see Prosper feels ten times thicker today. It seems the longer I go without seeing him, the harder it is to be around him.

I stand, and open the door. I don't know why he didn't just come in, usually he does.

Technically, this is his home.

When our eyes meet, he simply says, "Hello, Lucent, feel better?"

I stare at the large bruise on the side of his face, the bruise I inflicted, and yeah, suddenly, I think I do feel better.

"Is that supposed to be a genuine question?" I step aside, and he walks right in.

"Of course." He examines the place, as if he's surprised it was still intact. He then spins to face me, "My next execution is in three days, and I've turned down as many interviews I could this last week, but waiting this long was pushing it." He crosses his arms, "We've been radio silent since our coming out, and everyone wants to know where we are at. We have to make our reappearance look good."

He sat on the ledge of the couch, "I spoke to my family, they need time to adjust to the idea of never having grandchildren, but I'm certain they'll get used to it."

Of course they didn't reject him. I don't know why I thought they would. He's Prosper Halis, and his family loves him.

My family hated me before the coming out, I can only imagine what they think of me now.

"Good for you." I say, and suddenly, I need a drink.

He stares at me with a blank look, and I can't ever figure out what he's thinking. "I didn't say that to rub it in."

"I don't care about you or your family, Prosper. I don't care." I pour myself a cup of coffee, because it's too early to drink.

He moves beside me, "Of course you do, they're practically your family too. They've already accepted you as a Halis."

I slammed the cup down on the counter so suddenly, the hot liquid splatters onto my hand, "I am not a Halis. I will never wear such a fucking name."

"Hmm." Prosper barely registers that and then says, "While we are on the subject, I also had a little chat with your mother."

My heart felt like it had stopped, like the air in my lungs was suddenly trapped, "You what?"

"Yes, we had a nice long talk." I watched as he stole the coffee cup I had slammed down, and took a drink from it, wincing at the bitterness and lack of sugar, he began to rummage through the cupboards until he found the jar of sugar.

I waited for him to explain, as I watched him put one, two, three, four spoonfuls of sugar and stir it.

He then leans on the counter, seeming satisfied that he successfully stole and ruined my cup of coffee.

"Your mother has always been a bitch." This is the first time he has ever spoke of my mother in a bad way. I know he always knew her abusive tactics, but he never spoke of her as if she were a bad person. Part of me always wondered if it was because he felt like it would insult me to insult her.

My heart is racing, always, always racing, "What did you say to her?"

He stares at me, studying my reaction, his eyes narrow in curiosity, "Why do you care so much what she thinks of you?"

"I don't."

"If that were the case I wouldn't have this." He pointed to the bruise on the side of his face.

My eye sticks on the bruise, and I struggle to say anything that wasn't an insult, "You deserved it."

He accepts that answer easier than I suspected he would, "Not entirely wrong. Still, I don't think it had anything to do with me, this time anyway."

"Just answer the fucking question."

He shrugs, "If you'd like to know, we talked about you."

"Goddamn you, Prosper, why do you always have to stick your head in my life? Why couldn't you just let it go?"

"Let it go? She made it personal by wanting me dead." When I don't respond, he continues, "Besides, she sent her son to do her dirty work, that's pathetic, and I wanted her to know that."

I fight the urge to punch him again, even if everything he was saying made sense.

"So you just confronted my mother? That's it? No knives, no weapons of any kind?"

"Oh Lucent," he smiles and innocent, naive smile, "Haven't you ever heard the saying 'words are sharper than knives'?"

His ability to say so much, and yet give no explanation was infuriating. "What did you say?"

"I only threatened her life."

"Be serious."

"I think you know that I am." He set the coffee cup down, his expression suddenly cold, "You mother has ruined many things for me. Finding out that she sent you to kill me, that changed everything. I realize how different my, no, our lives could be were she gone."

"I think you forget that though she told me to kill you, I craved it. I wanted you dead just as badly as her."

He stares at me, "It's funny that you say that, because I was just thinking how badly I want your mother dead. Gone. Away from us."

"Us? What us? The only one she bothers now is me. You are nobody to her now."

"Stupid Lucent, anything troubling you troubles me. You know that."

"Don't act like you care when my biggest burden is you."

He sighs, "Are you still pretending you don't enjoy my company? I was told you haven't left this apartment once all week. Did you miss me? We're you waiting for me to come back?"

I shove my hands in my pockets, or else I'd probably hit him again, "This past week has been one of the best weeks of my life simply because you weren't in it. You flatter yourself, you narcissistic shit."

"Hmm." He nods once, and I can see it in his eyes, a dagger, so sharp in the form of words he throws, "Well, this narcissistic shit will be announcing his victim tomorrow on live television. I made it clear I wanted it to be your mother."