Give and Take (poly) (bxb)

Fifteen

Diana left. With a brief kiss on Von's cheek and not so much as a goodbye to the rest of us, she finally left. She didn't leave us the servers like Romero wanted, but she left the bloodstained tablecloth.

"You've got to stop blaming yourself. I'm not even blaming you." Romero is still trying to calm Seven down even as L is now on stitch number 34 on his palm.

He inflicted the physical pain on himself to distract from the mental one. He feels guilty for hurting the gang, leaving a permanent scar on Romero's chest and another on Von's jaw. I gaged all of this from watery words he spoke to Romero as he's not talking to the rest of us. I embraced his cold body, not knowing what to do outside of feeling sorry for him. He was added to the gang after Von realized he could use him, and now three years later, Von and Diana are still testing his immense loyalty.

His story didn't include family or love, only loss. He sits on the counter, small body, head rested on Romero's shoulder, soft pink lips that I've kissed whispering words I can't hear. How he looks so fragile when I've seen his strength, when I've felt it, amazes me.

Von doesn't speak as he walks past us. L looks at him briefly and unexpectedly before continuing to put Seven's skin back together. No one says anything, so I do. He's on his way to his room and doesn't even look my way when I call his name.

"I'm talking to you." If not for my foot in the way, he would have slammed his bedroom door in my face mid-sentence. I push it open and push his chest. I don't know if it's the alcohol he had earlier or if all of the training I'm doing is making me stronger, but he actually moves. The apathetic expression on his face doesn't.

"You're such a piece of shit. How could you do that to him?"

He turns away from me, strolls further into his dark bedroom. I don't see any indicator that the room belongs to a human being and not some heartless beast. There's barely any lighting. The black wooden floors are cold, even through my socks. A sofa and rug sit picturesque and untouched. He has a desk with no photos, no friends, no family. Just a smooth matte black surface. His bed is made perfectly, every pillow neatly in place like he doesn't even sleep there.

I notice my black bracelet sitting at his bedside table because it, along with a vase of black roses, is the only thing there.

"Damian." This gets his attention. He stills but doesn't speak to me. Balled, inked fists. Strained muscle through his thin shirt. This is my first time seeing him wear slacks, and it's hard to ignore how well they fit his toned body. Everyone had to dress up for that disaster of a dinner with Diana.

"What did I say would happen if you called me that again?" He's speaking through gritted teeth and a sharp locked jaw.

"Nothing," My love of Seven is stronger than my fear of Von. "You aren't going to do anything but go out there and apologize."

He scoffs, makes a sound with his tongue, then pounces on me. I'm pressed roughly against the nearest hard surface, a mirror above his mahogany dresser.

"You don't know anything about us. A small glimpse you've seen in the past couple of months is nothing." His tone isn't rough like his actions against me. One hand holds both of my arms above my head, too high up and making me have to strain and arch my back off of the cold mirror. The other is on my jaw, gripping it to stop me from looking away from him.

He runs his index finger along my lips before putting it inside my mouth. His humiliation kink is showing, and so is mine.

"The fact that I told you about Seven's history, yet he's still trying to milk that innocent kid role is disgusting. He's nothing but a trained, cold-blooded killer, and that's all he'll ever be. The kid is good at what he does. I'll give him that."