Love from, Hell

Julie and Malcolm sat on the ledge for a long time in an odd, but comfortable, silence now, looking out. Eventually, Julie's legs fell asleep and the sun had moved a perceptive amount in the sky. She stood up and stretched. Malcolm leapt up, staring at her guardedly.

Julie looked at him, startled, but then laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not going to jump. Are you ready to go?" she asked him.

Malcolm relaxed only a little, but nodded. He parted the hedges and let Julie through. They snaked through the garden quickly. Julie could feel Malcolm's presence behind her and she paused to fall in step with him. Malcolm matched his pace with hers easily.

Julie wanted very badly to hold his hand, to close the small distance between her hand and his, but she didn't; though the attraction was practically pulling at her skin. She glanced at Malcolm's face and was surprised. He looked devastatingly frustrated. Julie guessed he hadn't been feeling the same thing she had.

Malcolm skirted quickly around the temple, picking up his pace. Julie hurried after him, wondering at the sudden speed. Suddenly, something caught her eye.

"Look!" she exclaimed suddenly.

Malcolm stopped reluctantly. He looked back at her and his expression was pained.

"A cat," Julie stated.

A scruffy solid gray cat had slunk out from the hedges and let out a raspy meow. Julie approached the cat slowly, holding out her hand and making soft 'tsk'ing noises at it. It looked at her interestedly and crept toward her, too.

"Julie, don't. It probably has rabies," Malcolm said.

Julie could hear the extreme discomfort in his voice but didn't let it change her mind. "No it doesn't," she disagreed and knelt down.

The cat came up to her, close enough to touch. Julie hesitated though, quickly assessing if the cat was in fact sick. It looked up at her with clear green eyes and meowed again. It was a little thin and its fur was quite matted, not someone's pet, but it seemed reasonably healthy. Julie reached out and patted its back and down to its tail. The cat instantly began purring- a loud, rumbling noise.

"Julie… please. Can we leave?" Malcolm implored.

Julie looked at him, hearing the anxiety in his voice. He seemed very ill at ease… almost like he was being tortured. Julie looked down at the cat. It was happily rubbing itself against her knees, thrilled it had found affection. Acting on a whim, she picked up the cat. It wriggled awkwardly in her arms, trying to get comfortable. Julie came back over to Malcolm.

"What are you doing with that?" he said, momentarily disgusted.

Julie raised her eyebrows. "I don't want it to be sick and starving in the wild," she told him.

He gave her another withering look. Julie looked away from him and patted the cat on its head.

"Ok, well, let's… just go," Malcolm said and ushered Julie over to the dirt bike.

She settled in front of him, holding the cat securely in her arms. It jumped when Malcolm keyed up the engine. Julie could feel its claws dig instinctively into her sweater as Malcolm took off down the road. Its head whipped around every which way, jittery at this new form of travel.

Malcolm drove them home, grumbling very quietly under her breath. Julie noticed that even his grumbling sounded attractive. He pulled up into the driveway and let Julie off before he got off. Julie walked up to the house and Malcolm followed, sliding his hands forcefully into his pockets.

"Could you grab the door?" Julie asked, looking up at him. The cat looked at him too.

Malcolm eyes flashed from Julie, to the cat, and then back to Julie. Then he leaned around Julie and sharply opened the door. Julie walked inside.

"Julie? Malcolm?" Heather called. She came to the back door but then stopped in surprise.

"What… are you doing with that cat?" she chuckled, frowning.

Julie smiled. "We found him," she said.

Malcolm made a soft noise of protest.

"I found him," she corrected.

Heather made a face at her daughter, but came forward to pet the cat. "What, do you think your twelve and can just bring stray cats home? Who's going to take care of him?" she asked.

Julie rolled her eyes. "I am capable of taking care of a cat, mom. I'll take him with me when I go back to school," she said.

Julie's mom sighed and scratched the cat under the chin. It purred happily. Heather chuckled again. "Well ok. Give him a bath at least. I'll pick up some cat food when I go to the store tomorrow," she said.

Julie smiled; glad to have her mom warm up so quickly to the cat. Julie carried it up the stairs and she could hear Malcolm following a few steps behind. She set the cat down when they reached the bathroom.

"Could you close the door?" Julie requested.

Malcolm slipped in the bathroom and shut the door behind him. The cat started sniffing around the toilet.

"Are you really going to keep it?" Malcolm said incredulously.

Julie knelt by the bathtub and turned on the water. "Sure. What's wrong with cats?" she asked, letting cool water fill the bathtub a couple of inches. She could hear Malcolm shift behind her.

"Well nothing… in theory. But why do you want it?" he wanted to know.

Julie looked back at him while she turned off the water. "I always wanted a cat. They aren't too high maintenance and they're quiet," she mused.

Malcolm was leaning against the door, not quite convinced.

"I wouldn’t have minded a dog, but Kyle's allergic and I can't keep one at school," Julie said.

Malcolm stayed quiet. Julie scooped up the cat and tentatively began to lower it into the bathtub. It twitched unhappily and flattened its ears. Julie held the cat in the water. It testily touched the water with its paws, displeased. Julie began scooping water in her hand and letting it run down the cat's back. It sank down lower, growling a little under his breath.

"Malcolm? Could you pass me the shampoo?" Julie asked.

Malcolm paused and then was suddenly next to her, holding out the bottle of shampoo.

"Could… you squeeze some in my hand? Please?" Julie asked, smiling sheepishly up at him.

Malcolm threw her a hard look but obliged.

Julie gently lathered the shampoo in the cat's fur. "I wonder if it’s a girl or a boy," she mused. She looked at its back end, feeling foolish, but couldn't distinguish either way.

Malcolm surprised her by leaning forward, over Julie and glancing quickly at the back of the cat. "Male," he informed her.

Julie nodded. The cat looked up at her grouchily.

"Hmm. What should we… um I call him?" Julie wondered.

Malcolm didn't supply any suggestions. Julie rinsed off the shampoo with more water. The cat growled unhappily, pressing his ears even flatter against his head. When Julie was finished, she lifted the cat out of the tub.

Malcolm was holding out a towel. Julie smiled at the gesture and settled the cat in the towel, rubbing him dry. She could tell he didn't much like this either, but he'd stopped growling. Julie looked up at Malcolm. He was watching her. Julie suddenly wanted to drop the cat and close the space between her and Malcolm. She didn't though and awkwardly rubbed the cat a little harder. He grumbled.

"How about we name him… Malcolm?" Julie said, her joke a little breathless and very stupid.

Malcolm narrowed his blue eyes at her. "Very funny," he said dryly.

Julie smiled and looked down at the cat. He looked up at her, hopeful that the torture was over.

"Bert? A gray cat named Bert." Julie tested.

Malcolm shocked her by snorting. "Bert?" he clarified.

Julie frowned at him. "What's wrong with Bert?" she asked defensively.

Malcolm composed his face with difficulty. "Nothing," he said, but his mouth twitched.

Julie narrowed her eyes now, and felt defiance solidify her decision. "His name is Bert. Say Hello to Bert," she decided.

Malcolm looked at her condescendingly. Julie ignored the natural instinct to cringe at the look and held up Bert expectantly. She raised her eyebrows.

"Hello Bert," Malcolm said stiffly without taking his eyes off Julie, his voice making it clear he was only saying it to placate her.

But she took what she could get. She dropped Bert to the ground and he shook himself automatically. He looked much better after the bath. He went to the bathroom door and scratched lightly at it. Julie let him out. He darted out and down the stairs to explore the house. Julie looked at Malcolm. He sighed very quietly. Julie hid a smile.

~

Ken was disgruntled by the cat when he came home from work. He'd gone to sit in his chair and Bert was lying there so Ken had a minor heart attack when a cat was suddenly squealing underneath him.

At dinner that night, Heather and Ken went on about their days to each other. Malcolm was quiet as usual and Julie threw in a few details about their day, mostly ones about the cat. Ken made a face every time she mentioned Bert and Malcolm seemed to be in silent agreement.

After dinner, Ken and Heather went to sit and read in the living room. Ken first made a big show of checking to see if the cat was anywhere near his chair before sitting down. Julie sighed. So her dad wasn't a cat person, no big deal. She and Malcolm went upstairs to continue the film education.

"Shall we watch Indiana Jones next?" Julie asked Malcolm as she sat down on the futon, folding one leg under her. She looked over her shoulder.

Malcolm was standing at the pool table, examining it.

"Do you want to play?" Julie offered reluctantly.

Malcolm looked up at her and smiled. "We don't have to if you don't want," he said, reading her tone.

Julie stood up. "No. It's not that. I'm just not that good. Kyle was awful. My mom is the pool champ," she said as she walked over to the table.

Malcolm looked amused. "Your mother?" he asked.

Julie grinned and leaned against the table. "Yeah. She's won a couple trophies. I'm sure she'd gladly show them off," she said.

Malcolm smiled and looked down at the table again. "Would you like to play?" he asked, glancing up at her.

Julie's breath caught at his look. "Sure," she agreed.

Malcolm smiled. "I'll go easy on you," he said. The way he said the words sounded so chillingly sexual, although Julie wasn't sure if he intended it to come out that way.

"Just rack 'em," she said roughly, her legs feeling pleasantly weak.

Malcolm did go easy on her. Once he assessed her skill, he began giving her pointers. She followed his advice the best she could, and found that, of course, his advice helped her play. However, when it came to be his turn, he made a quick, complicated shot with unfair ease. Julie sighed and leaned against her cue stick.

"What?" Malcolm asked.

"Nothing. You're just damn good," Julie complained playfully and held up her cue in a very poor position, willing to throw her whole turn.

Malcolm shocked her when he put his right hand on her right wrist. "Maybe if you took my advice consistently," he began reaching around to hold her left wrist with his left, so he was directly behind her and consequently against her.

Julie inhaled sharply.

"You'd have an easier time…" Malcolm continued, bending them both down lower into a better angle.

He made the shot for them, moving Julie's arms. Julie found that to be ok, since having Malcolm on top of and against her body left her slightly incapable of concentrating on pool.

"Beating me," he finished straightening up and releasing her.

Julie turned around to face him. He looked down at her, his expression light.

"But then… if you know how I play… couldn't you use that against me?" Julie asked breathlessly.

Malcolm paused then smiled a little. "I could… but I wouldn't. You're not that good of a player, so it wouldn't be fair," he said and then frowned at what he was saying, as though he were surprised he'd said it.

Julie, on the other hand, huffed, pretending to be put out. "Thanks a lot. I'll get my mom to coach me and then I'll kick your ass," she told him, but the threat was weak while she stared at him.

Malcolm smiled again. "I'll await your challenge," he promised. "Indiana Jones?" he offered.

~

That night, Julie tossed and turned in her bed. She was looking forward to the wedding tomorrow. Not so much because it was Connie's wedding, but just because a wedding was such a beautiful thing… literally. Everything was beautiful: people dressed up, the bride was beautiful, the groom was beautiful, the location would be beautiful, the flowers, the decorations, everything.

On the other hand, though, the pressure to be happy and social was heavy and not something Julie particularly enjoyed. But she was looking forward to seeing all of it anyway. She hoped Malcolm would enjoy it too, or at least have something interesting to say. That is, if Malcolm would take her to the wedding.

Julie exhaled and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Malcolm might pull a move and decide that he wouldn't go to a wedding. Although his recent participation in all of Julie's events debunked her theory that he'd do a 180, Julie couldn't shake the fear that he would pull one anyway. Malcolm just didn't follow any of the rules Julie had learned to expect in males.

And she liked him. She knew herself well enough to know the signs of a silly crush versus a deep, unnerving liking. A silly crush was the kind you might have on someone who had a great smile and who made an occasional joke you found to be a hilarious.

This deep unnerving liking sent chills down Julie's body, the strange connection she felt would spark up and flame when she was around Malcolm and then would slow and lick at her heart when she was away from him, awaiting his return. Julie sighed. How stupid was she? To fall so hard for someone who merely tolerated her.

Her intuition told her that wasn't why Malcolm hung around and that she shouldn't have so much self doubt. But too many years of self doubting had built up the argument against her intuition. However, sometimes her intuition and her logic teamed up. Right now, they'd moved on, temporarily, from Julie's irrevocable attractions, to something more immediately important. Like who Malcolm really was.

Julie sighed again and impatiently turned on her back and stared at the ceiling. She felt like she was missing something. Some clue that was evident, but the actual answer wasn't easy to detect. Julie ran through everything she knew about Malcolm, but came up short on her list of hard facts: like name and age. She didn't even know how old he was!

Julie tried again, trying to think up the things about Malcolm that she knew for sure: traits she'd noticed. That was easier, since she'd embarrassingly noticed everything and had cataloged it all as important. He was intelligent, his speech sophisticated; he was brave, as demonstrated in his constant role in her life saving; he was impatient at times, with ignorance and silliness; and then extraordinarily patient at others, with her parents and with she herself.

Julie blinked, an image from every trait complimenting her list: Malcolm reading, frowning, climbing, smiling, pushing assholes. Julie frowned as her brain remembered Malcolm pushing Josh as the party. Why had he pushed him again? Julie moved on to the skate park, where Malcolm had gotten in Luke's face after provocation. Provoked by Hell.

Julie sat up suddenly in her bed. Bert's eyes looked up at her alarmed from the foot of the bed, his green eyes glinting in the moonlight. Julie put a hand to her head. Malcolm had said he wasn't religious though. What did it mean, then, for him to get so hung up over "Hell" if he wasn't religious? Julie scrunched up her eyes, feeling stupid. Maybe he was a Satanist.

For some reason that made Julie giggle. She'd have never pictured Malcolm as the type who'd be in a cult like that… although, stereotypes were meant to be broken. She thought of Malcolm participating willingly in a cult, with his head shaven and dancing around candles and it should have frightened her. Instead it made her giggle harder.

Julie sighed once her hysteria had passed. Malcolm wouldn't participate in such acts. But maybe that was the problem. Right there: the participation, the induction, the having to be outside first before moving in to a way of life. Maybe she hadn't been so off the mark with her erratic thought about Malcolm being a prince. Maybe Malcolm had been thrust into something against his will, born into without a choice.

Julie shivered at the thought. She couldn't comprehend whatever horrendous thing that was holding Malcolm captive. And whatever it was, it was causing Malcolm to think of himself as an evil person, someone with a black heart. Julie trembled again, but this time mostly with sadness. She had an overwhelming desire to suddenly get out of bed and give Malcolm a hug.

The feeling of wanting to help Malcolm, ease whatever pained him, came back to her tenfold, hitting her more intensely than it ever had before. Because although she wasn't sure Malcolm wanted her help or reassurance, she was pretty sure that there was something that Malcolm needed soothing from. And whatever it was that caused Malcolm such distress had to be an awful thing.

Julie lay back down in her bed, trying to think up what awful thing could be plaguing Malcolm, but instead her mind dwelled on the more pleasurable idea of ways she could soothe him. Julie sighed, not completely satisfied with her answers, and let her brain lull her to sleep.

HELL

Dasia waited impatiently in the hallway, hovering on the opposite wall from the counsel room. It was silent in the hall, the room that held the council was completely sound proof from both sides. Nothing could get in or out.

Suddenly though, one of the tall doors opened and old, uniformed men of prestige leaked out, muttering quietly amongst themselves in twos or threes as they left. Dasia unfolded her arms and her eyes darted about. Jevon walked out alone, frowning and looking incredibly perturbed.

Dasia hurried over to his side. "Well?" she hissed.

Jevon sighed, frustrated. "Nothing. No one knows a damn thing about where Malcolm's evaporated to. The king wouldn't answer a single question from any side," Jevon said and ground his teeth together.

"Questions? You badgered him with questions?" Dasia demanded angrily, though she kept her voice low.

Jevon drooped his shoulders, like a whiny child. "Obviously not straight out, blatant questions," he shot at her, narrowing his watery eyes.

Dasia glared at him and suddenly grabbed his upper arm and steered him into an antechamber to the hallway. For such a delicate looking woman, she had a vice like grip. Jevon had no choice but to go along with her. Dasia locked the door behind her swiftly.

"Now. Tell me exactly what you asked the king," Dasia demanded again, this time letting her voice rise.

Jevon crossed his arms and paced around the room. It was a boring office, with a lounging couch off in the corner.

"Well first everyone asked him why the prince wasn't there, and of course the old conspirator didn't answer except for a 'he is excused for the time being'," Jevon said.

"The time being? As in he will come back," Dasia interrupted.

Jevon grunted. "I don't know. The king never said either way. I slipped in things like "what is the prince's take on this legislature?" And so on and so forth," Jevon said, sulkily, since it hadn't produced any wanted results.

Dasia folded her arms under her bust and glared at Jevon. "You are a fool, sir. I told you, build the trust with Lucifer. Make it known to him that you're on his side, his counselor," she spat at Jevon.

Jevon stopped his pacing and frowned down at Dasia. "I was asking him concerned questions about his son. Doesn't that qualify as someone who can be trusted, someone who cares?" he asked rhetorically.

Dasia stepped closer to Jevon and narrowed her eyes critically. "As a matter of fact, it doesn't. Lucifer has no idea who you are or where you stand with Malcolm. You're probably just another probing, idiot aristocrat in his eyes," she informed him icily and then turned and paced away.

"Well you completely fumbled this one, but the mess isn't irreversible," Dasia said more to herself. She turned back around to face Jevon. "You've just made it more difficult. Quite unfortunately, since you can't seem to handle even the simple tasks," Dasia added.

Jevon's anger flared and he closed the distance between the two of them in a few long strides. "I can handle anything, my lady," he snapped menacingly at her.

Dasia glared back, unabashed.

Jevon continued to stare maliciously at her, his eyes raking in her condescending stance. "If I'm so inadequate, why don't you do it yourself?" he hissed at her, eying her intensely.

Dasia tensed her jaw. "I wish I could. But there's too much stake in my… being the prince's betrothed. I would have an impossible time convincing the king that I was more behind him then Malcolm; which, in case you can't put that together yourself, is completely contradicting and destructive to everything we've worked for," she explained to him.

Jevon continued to stare at her, projecting hostility. "You think you have that all sewn up don't you? Malcolm's betrothed. A fall back plan if none of this works out," Jhe accused.

"Of course. If I can't be queen the way I want," Dasia said, indicating their plan. "At least I can still be queen," she finished.

Jevon stepped even closer to her, so that their noses were almost touching. "And what will become of me? If this all fails?" he whispered venomously.

Dasia raised an eyebrow. "I assume you have some little twit of a lady lined up for you to marry."J

evon caught her by the throat and shoved her against the wall. Unafraid, Dasia snapped her hand up around his throat too, gripping it just as tightly and surely as Jevon held hers.

"You think you're going to come out ahead of me?" he spat.

"If you stick with the plan, if you follow it, there's no reason to care about the fall-back plan," Dasia hissed back.

"This could fail," he reminded her, his eyes mad.

"It could," Dasia said reasonably.

Jevon's clear, crazed eyes bore down into Dasia's unforgiving, hard ones. "What makes you think the prince will still take you?" he wanted to know, grinning manically at her, his eyeteeth gleaming.

Dasia glared at him and tightened her grip on his throat minutely.

"What makes you think that I still want to follow the plan?" Jevon said, softer now, unsure of himself.

Dasia, enraged by his weakness, gripped his throat harder. He gagged a little and tightened his own hold in response.

"You will," Dasia commanded, trying to hex him into doing her bidding.

Jevon leaned in even closer to Dasia. She choked him defiantly as he came closer, and she could feel his strained, struggling breath on her lips. He choked her back, but she ignored her need for oxygen. At the moment, something was more critical to her than air.

Jevon closed the tiny gap between him and Dasia and aggressively covered his mouth with hers, leaning into her choke hold, which she had willed to slacken. He released his hold on her throat completely, and moved his arms to lift her legs up around him, pushing her skirt back. He continued on like this in a fevered fashion. Dasia never fully released her grip on his throat, determined to keep the control over his life.

At the moment, making sure Jevon would follow her plan was more important than anything else.