sidenote, i'm sorry if i'm offending any latinx folk out there. elle is not an angelic character. also my spanish is not that great and i'm sure i've messed up already lol
SOTC: Beggin For Thread — Banks
• My words can come out as a pistol / But I'm no good at aimin' / But I can aim it at you •
April still hadn't come back, and Carl wasn't sure if he should take this chance.
A letter opener, green-handled. In a pickle? Call Dill! printed in thin white type along the side.
It was stowed at the back of the dresser drawer, buried underneath a stack of Batman boxers and underwear. Hidden by someone. By whom—Carl was curious, but not curious enough to ask.
Carl pressed the flat of the blade against his forehead, thinking. He could make a run for it. This could be his ticket out of here.
His ticket out of here. He needed to get out of here. There seemed to be fingers under his skin, itching for him to get out in the open, out into where bullets couldn't travel far enough.
He instead slipped the letter opener into the lining of his mattress. The front, against the headboard, where he could reach in and retrieve it.
A fucking letter opener. Not like it was going to make a difference, but if there was something Carl could hold on to, it was this. Something that proved he had a chance, however small.
He had a chance.
♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛
"I've been sitting here for twenty damn minutes waiting for your slow ass."
Elle sat on the air hockey table, chowing down on a sandwich that leaked chicken salad onto the floor. April let a thin smile onto her face. "I didn't want to interrupt the passionate make-out session with your lunch."
Elle pressed a hand to her chest in mock hurt. "Sharp words, chica."
Ever since April and her father made their home at the Sanctuary, Elle had been her best friend. Her parents, a Cuban mother and American father, both worked at the World Trade Center. In one nightmarish day, Elle had been rendered an orphan. She'd been bouncing around foster homes for years before the outbreak had even shadowed.
Especially towards the beginning, Elle would ask her the same question over and over again: "Is it wrong for me to be glad everything happened?"
It wasn't wrong, it was having a shitty childhood.
Elle was nineteen. She had knotty cobalt-blue hair, and a scrawny frame. Her arms thin and bird-boned, her wrists popping out like hinges. Almost like her skin had only her skeleton at which to cling.
She shifted off the air hockey table, chicken salad spilling from her sandwich. "C'mon, let's play a match, then you can spill the juicy details."
April still had her own sandwich in her hands. She set it on the ledge, and pulled a mallet from her side of the table. "Fire away, you little shit."
Elle set down a puck. "Who the fuck was that kid? He's hot. And angry."
"Yeah," April mused. "He's both of those things."
She hit the puck into the goal, punching the air in triumph. "Fuck yeah!"
Her words rang out into strange silence. Elle brought her knuckles to her lips in thought. "Hun, I want to ask you something."
April's brows came together. She swept a bit of loose hair out of her face. "Ask away, I guess."
The room was too quiet. Elle swallowed. "Is he going to be like Oliver?"
YOU ARE READING
DEVILS ♛ C. G. 〖 #wattys2018 〗
Fanfiction[ c o m p l e t e d ] "She looked like a goddess. The kind that sends cities to their knees in fear. The kind that is never in picture books. The kind that twists people." - - - - - April is a devil. A demon. And above all, she is a...
