Andromeda's Poison

Three weeks.

How the fuck had he lived through those three weeks without slamming her against a wall and slipping his hand under those new, frilly panties Eduard and him went shopping for, he didn't know. He had no absolute clue. When he first bad bought her he had realized she was quiet beautiful, even with gooey shit dripping from her body. She had those kinds of delicate, sexy looks that unbelievably hard to find in any girl nowadays. She didn't have to try to be hot. No. All she had to do was strut those smooth legs of hers, let that long hair trail down her back, and shake those perfectly curved hips of hers across his house and his little buddy would come out to take a peek.

He should be grateful she hadn't acted up for the past twenty-one days. She had listened and followed the rules of the house, she had stayed inside, she had only communicated with the doctor, Eduard, and him, and best of all she hadn't used her powers at all to hurt either of them. He hadn't felt threatened at all for the past weeks. If anything he had just felt slightly insulted, but that came with having her around the house.

Her. He still didn't know her name. He started calling her Consuela, the name of his Mexican housekeeper he first had when he arrived in the states. Sweet, old Consuela possessed the same deep, mossy eyes the girl had, and he couldn't help but be reminded. A little part of him was also curious as to what she would say. When he first called her out, she had used many colorful words he hadn't heard since he was in Russia. He couldn't help but slightly grin, as she raised up two fingers to go along with her nouns, verbs, and adjectives.

The doctor hadn't helped much either. He didn't even bother coming out of his room for anything but "Consuela's" daily shots. Hell, Dr. Kaplan didn't even bother to get out of his bathrobe unless he was going to a meeting outside the house. Each time Yurik tried to ask him about her name or her life, he would change the subject or simply walk out of the room.

Not that she was any less mysterious. She hardly ever spoke to him, looked at him, or acknowledged him. He had gone out of his way to go out with Eduard and buy her decent clothes with expensive brand names, he had gone out of his way to buy her shoes which he later had to go back and trade for smaller ones, he had gone out of his way to actually try to communicate with one of the most sarcastic girls born in this world for what? To hear her grunt in acknowledgement?

He couldn't even fathom why she had refused to talk to him, but instead chose to speak with Eduard. Eduard.

Freakin' Consuela chose to talk to Eduard.

What did he have that Yurik didn't have? Yurik was hot. Hot, hot, hot. It was almost worrisome how sexy he was. Girls poured around him like rain falling from the sky. He had that sexy grr-ussian accent, those soft curls, that chiseled jaw. And best of all? He was filthy rich. Filthy rich.

What did Eduard have aside from his sex appeal, his abs, his ridiculously attractive voice, and his-

Fuck this.

And worst of all.

Eduard acknowledged it. Each time she left the room, he would turn his head towards Yurik, wiggle his eyes, and slap the air over and over chanting, 'tap that booty, tap that booty, The E-Man's gonna tap that booty, tap that booty.'

Yurik felt sick to his stomach.

"Yo."

He turned his head slightly, his eyes peering at the girl who was poking her head inside his studio, dark hair sliding from her shoulders. He nodded for her to step inside, his left hand wrapped around the fingerboard of his cello and his right holding on to the bow. She was wearing some yellow shorts with a teal pullover that slid off one of her right shoulder, her three-quarter sleeves slightly pulled up to her elbows. Her hair was braided loosely, strands dripping across her face and neck, her feet bare, her eyes staring down at his hands.

"What is it?" He spoke up, his voice surprisingly stern.

"You play?" She avoided his question, her legs stretching out and coming closer towards him as she knelt down, pressing her fingertips against the wood. "It's been a while since I saw one of these."

"You played?" He was astonished.

"No." She retorted. "My neighbors were the musicians. They used to babysit me when my parents were away and the lady always used to play for me. The man played the violin with her." She let herself tip backwards, falling on her butt, stretching out her arms as she lied back on the floor. She turned her head towards him, his eyes watching hers.

"What were their names?" He asked, his eyeballs practically licking her up and down.

Her shoulders shrugged up and down, as she let fiddled with her hair, looping it around her fingers and then stretching it out.

"What is your name?"

She smiled. It was that kind of smile that taunted him endlessly, the smile that he knew could easily bite. "Do it."

"Huh?"

"Do it." She lifted herself up effortlessly, her arms wrapping around one of her legs. "Order me around. Tell me what you want me to do. You know you want to."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. True. For the past days he hadn't once asked her what to do. He hadn't done what the Poison had asked of him to do. He hadn't taken advantage of the fact he could control her to the tee. He certainly could've if he wanted to. All he had to do was tell her. Tell her to press those lips against his, open her mouth, and let his tongue slide in. Tell her to slip off her clothes, unzip his pants, and go for it. Tell her to walk to where he was, climb on his lap, and whisper her name.

But if there was one thing he hated was to cheat in a game he knew he could win.

"What is your name?" He insisted calmly enough, standing up and letting the cello lie against his chair while placing the bow right on top of the seat. He stood right above her, his eyes trying their best to show no fear as she stared him up.

"Do it." She hissed back, pushing herself up and standing right next to him, their faces inches from each others. "Don't tell me you think you're that much of a fucking pussy to let me do what I want to do? Or is it that you've never told a woman what to do? I don't doubt you've have your own share of whores to know what it means to give 'instructions'. Why did you buy me then? What, in God's name, gave you the RIGHT to buy another fucking being without a reason? What am I to you then? A guest? You've got to be kidding me. I bet you just bought me out of pity."

"That's not the-"

"Poor, little girl stuck in a fucking tube. Let me rescue her and act like a nice guy, maybe later on she'll be happy enough she'll suck my dick in gratitude. Is that it? Is that why?" She spat, her body pressed against his as she quickly shoved him back. "Or is it because you think that I will help you in any way or form to rule this world? Is that why? Well aren't you the evil genius."

"That's not it!" He yelled out, his voice echoing through the room. For a second there he reminded himself this was a sound-proof room and that if she were to massacre him, Eduard wouldn't hear his cries. She let him continue, her arms crossed over her chest. "That's not it at all. The reason why I bought you was because… because I know how it feels to feel secluded."

She snorted. "Oh I'm sorry. Poor, poor, little rich boy, who's mommy and daddy forgot to love him."

"Wait, no, my parents were awesome."

Her eyebrow twitched in response.

"What I mean is that, having money doesn't mean it got me any friends. I was that kid that was driven to school in a limo and nice clothes. I was also the kid who came back home in a limo with no shoes, torn shirt, and a big, bruise on my cheek. Kids didn't like me and I got why. I was and still am a cocky bitch. But I couldn't understand why they didn't care for you."

"Who?" She muttered.

"The doctors. All those doctors looked at you and the rest of those people like… things. Not people. And it just kind of… I don't know. Something told me to buy you. That's all." He finally finished his answer, letting out a deep sigh. He just realized he had made himself sound like a douchebag.

She rolled her eyes, walking over towards the door, placing a hand on the knob. "Mishka."

"What?"

"My name is Mishka." She paused, waiting for his response.

"Mishka." He murmured. "Can I still call you 'Consuela' for short?"

She walked out of the room, yet again raising those two fingers while coloring her words.