The Truth About Lies [Jesse Fforde]

[Phoenix]

Once outside with the cold air swirling around me, listening to the ******** Jesse's spewing, I can't help but laugh. There's nothing funny about what he's saying, nothing at all, but the whole situation - of him having the sheer, despicable arrogance to sneak in some bigoted, sexist quip when I'm about an inch from gutting him - that's just hilarious.

Without really intending to make this a covert affair, we end in the access alley to the back of the club. My laugh bounces off the close alley walls and just for a moment, I consider that I may be losing my mind. But I haven't - I taught him what he needed to know and then he lied to Micah. Now, he's here to atone for the ******** accusations and he deserves every lick of abuse I can dole out.

Once we're hidden away behind a dumpster, I whirl on him. The whole walk, my anger had been building to a boiling point. When I finally turn to look at him, my eyes are flaming. I can't see what he sees, but I can feel the hate coming off of me in waves. Does he think I'm stupid? Does he think I think he's stupid? Because really, that's the only possible way someone could just magically forget something they were explained in so much detail. Especially when that one simple thing was what kept you safe from and angry monster.

My nostrils flair and I wait just long enough before speaking to make the silence stretch on. Not that I think he's intimidated by the quiet, but I need that time to compose myself. If I immediately opened my mouth, all that would come out would be screaming. In the face of his outburst, I would remain calm, even if it killed me.

"What other conclusion is there to draw from this, Jesse?" When I hear the ice in my voice, I'm surprised. I didn't know I could sound that calm and assured with how positively livid I am. "If you're not playing some kind of game, if you're not just dicking around and trying to start ****, you just forgetting makes no goddamn sense. You're telling me you're ******* stupid enough to forget a lesson that keeps you safe from being attacked?" I pause and let that sink in. "You just mysteriously forgot how to keep yourself out of harms way and then blamed me for it? I don't think you're that stupid." The last words fall flat. I should have been bristling, angry, wanting to tear him to shreds and drag out whatever suffering I can impose on him...

... but I'm not. I don't. I won't cater to his desire to see me snap and prove right his accusations. No... That wouldn't do. I wanted him dead, but he would not get that satisfaction. I nod to the ground, a faint smile on my lips. He wouldn't have suggested we leave if he didn't expect bloodshed.

"Kneel."

It's probably the most ridiculously arrogant thing I've ever said, but it felt good. He'd either comply or rise to the bait. One way, I got to try to behead him with a dagger; the other, was far less civilized, but equally satisfying. Maybe I could cut him off at the knees and leave him no other choice. I'm sure that would satisfy my too-big ego for my too-little body.

[Jesse Fforde]

Laughter rises like bile in my throat. Maybe I should be a little cautious. Maybe I should not have followed Phoenix out here. Maybe I ought to listen to common sense, and to the voices of Velveteen and Micah as they ricochet around my head; memories of their anger, of their wise words. If they could see what I was doing now, they would be furious. If they could understand why I am here in this dark niche with a woman whose eyes are alight with fury, perhaps they’d want to kill me themselves. But they aren’t here, and the memory of their words isn’t enough to make me change my mind.

Adrenaline, or something a lot like it, kicks through my system. My eyes are no doubt bright with it, with challenge, and excitement. If my ego weren’t so large, and if my desire for death weren’t so prominent, I might try to talk reasonably with Phoenix. I might have calmly informed her that though I don’t believe myself to be stupid, generally, in that one aspect of our past – yes, yes. I’m a ******* idiot. I should admit to it, readily. The laughter that I emit should be self-deprecating rather than slightly insane. Maybe then, that fury in her eyes would soften, just a little. It is the route that I ought to take, the one that the reasonable half of my brain is telling me to take.

But I don’t. Of course I don’t.

I have no idea what Phoenix has planned or whether she will actually kill me. It certainly looks like she might. Death may as well be dancing around in those eyes of hers, brandishing a scythe with which it might chop off my head. It suits her, really, what with the fiery colour of her hair and the straightness with which she holds herself. This sire of mine is someone who I should be able to respect, but I can’t. Not yet. Not after everything that we have been through. Not with the words that spill from her mouth in this dark alleyway. I cannot take her seriously. She is a paranoid little girl who thinks she is a Queen.

I don’t bother trying to explain it anymore. I don’t bother reiterating the fact that I did forget. I do not, under any circumstance, admit that I am an idiot. Of course I could. I could say that I am not worth the space that I occupy and that she should take me out. Somehow, however, I feel like she wouldn’t. Phoenix is a sly beast who would do anything to keep from giving me what I want. If I want death, she won’t give it to me. And anyway – I have already laughed, I cannot help but spit the venom.

”You’ve got to be ******* kidding me. Kneel? Who do you think you are? No ******* way,” I say, that bilious laughter still underpinning my tone. ”You’re not a Queen, Phoenix, whatever you might think. You have no power over me. Deflate that ego of yours just a little bit and maybe I’ll be able to take you seriously,” I add, still laughing.

[Phoenix]

A sick twisted part of me is glad he doesn't given into my request. At the same time, I am a bit disappointed; it would have been nice to see just how hard it is to decapitate someone with a butter knife. Not to mention how much it would hurt him. That would be the fun bit, watching him bleed and scream... comes a sinister little whisper from the back of my mind. It's the part of me that wants to cause as much pain as possible; the part of me that wants to lash out and hurt people before they get a chance to hurt me. That little ***** is the sliver of my personality I've been trying to crush for over a year.

So I do exactly what I always do when she rears her ugly head: I ignore her. I don't need petty vindictiveness to fuel my anger: all I need is one look at those pretty blue eyes full of excitement. Like this is some kind of extreme sport Jesse's using just to get his rocks off. The realization doesn't surprise me - not after what I'd seen at fight night when he'd rolled over and wanted to die. Not after he stabbed me at True Blood over a year ago. That's just the way he is, the way he always would be, trying to laugh in the face of things from which he really should be running.

I smile as he speaks, but the warmth doesn't reach my eyes. They remain cold and calculated in their absolute conviction that he isn't worth my full on rage. A hundred retorts to his moronic statements come to my lips, but I reject most - they're childish and unnecessary. Instead of an immediate retort to Jesse's verbal vomit, I just keep smiling at him as I try to figure out exactly what it is I want from this thing that had so much potential - or so I'd thought.

Do I want him to suffer? Yes, said the little voice, but the answer was no. Do I want to destroy him? Yes. No. Do I want him to beg for mercy? Forgiveness? Yes. No. Or do I just want him dead? No... Yes.

Strangely, his laughter has as much of an effect on me as being flapped with a wet paper towel. It's unpleasant, and it's really trying to be offensive, but ultimately it's a harmless, wet little paper towel. It's irrelevant. My eyes meet his for a moment and the certainty of that realization is compounded. Hatred is one thing, but this is something completely different. I just want him gone, removed from the face of the earth, never to walk it again. The smile vanishes as my hand slips into my bag, fingers brushing over the leather binding of my ritual journal before coming to rest on the small dagger I'd brought with me. My fingers tighten around the hilt and pull it free, slowly and deliberately, so he can see.

A car passes by, illuminating the alley and the reflective steel blade just long enough to highlight its extra fine edge. That keeps my attention for a moment, looking at the steel and wondering how it would feel to plunge this into Jesse's eye socket. I really have a thing for wanting to pop those pretty, pretty eyes. It's a strange feeling having apathy and resignation wage war on icy rage. I want to be angry and I want to lash out, but I've worn myself out. I'm all out of fucks to give for Jesse and I just want this over.

"I think I'm me." Simple enough, though I can hear the glass and metal straining nearby. If my voice doesn't betray my agitation, my inability to keep my power in check will. The shadows in the alley shiver and twist, dark energy sending pebbles skittering across the cracked pavement. "Being me, I know what I'm capable of and if you want to call that ego, feel free. Your opinion holds no sway over my ability to choke you with your own intestines." Of course, that wouldn't kill him, but the visual was interesting.

"You can either kneel and we can get this over with as quickly and cleanly as possible or you can put on a show of trying to defend yourself and ultimately just die anyway. What's it going to be?" If anything, I sound bored, tired... exasperated. Why the **** couldn't he just have left well enough alone?!

[Jesse Fforde]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--



<Jesse Fforde> The atmosphere is rife with tension. There’s a cold calculation in Phoenix’s eyes that I do not like. I want her to be more predictable, but then I suppose the challenge is worth it. Bright light washes the alleyway for a second or two, and it bounces off the shiny metal of a blade that Phoenix pulls from her bag. I cant my head to the side. I wonder if it’s the same one that she slit my throat with the night that she killed me the first time. I wonder if it’s the same weapon that she’ll use to kill me again, tonight. It’s kind of poetic, if that’s the case.

I’m me, she says, as if that’s an explanation for her actions. I could tell her, rather philosophically, that obvious ego on those with whom it’s justified looks far worse than ego on those that have nothing. The latter is unnecessary preening, a ridiculous fluffing of feathers if not done right. The former is just plain ridiculous. Those with a reason to have an ego should keep those reasons hidden. One day they’ll be brought down simply because they’re a challenge. And there are so many out there who relish the idea of seeing those in power brought low.

That’s not my intention tonight, though. My teeth grind together only momentarily before I take a step toward Phoenix. My fingers clench and unclench. I figure she’s right – she is capable of far more than I am, and if she intends to kill me there’s not much I can do about it. It would only bruise my own ego if she were wrong. But I am a reasonable man, I know when I am out of my depth. “I’m not kneeling for you, Phoenix,” I tell her, voice steady and calm as I hold her heated gaze with my own.


<Phoenix> I watch him advance those few steps and unconsciously reverse my grip on the dagger. The blade is the perfect size for what I want to do: ram it up into one of his eyes. I’ve wanted to do it all night, but now that he’s within arms’ reach, I hesitate. It’s not fear that holds me back, far from it. He’s taller than I am, but so are most people or creatures or monsters that I’ve taken on. I could just as easily go for the heart and end it all as quickly as possible. But I don’t.

“I don’t care if you kneel, Jesse. It’s just more practical.” Standing there poised to strike, my eyes flick from body part to body part, seeking a place to sheath that little blade. “Will you come back once you’re dead?” I have to know. I want this to be permanent. I want the fade to suck him in and devour every last bit of his essence, but I know that’s not very reasonable. As angry as I am, I know that killing him will be far more drama than its worth. Unless he stays dead.


<Jesse Fforde> My body is tense as I wait for Phoenix to pounce. I wait for the bite of that dagger, and it doesn’t come. But it doesn’t. She asks another question, and I have to lament. What is it with people and their desire to talk? Talk, talk, talk. It’s so ******* overrated. At least when I’m dead I won’t have to talk. The necessity will be taken from me. Any irritation that I might feel at her tendency to ask too many questions is overwhelmed by the irritation at the specific question asked.

Phoenix won’t know how personal a question it is. Silence billows between us as I consider how to answer, or whether I should. My head spins with the implications. It’s not something that I had thought about. I hadn’t thought beyond the dying part. Of course I know that we can come back, but what’s the point? The urge to die is foremost in my soul. Why the **** would I want it so badly only to come back? Again, something Micah had said to me echoes in my mind: some who are turned will thrive. Others aren’t quite cut out for this life. I give a small smile. Maybe, without realising it, I am one of the latter.

“Just for you, Phoenix, I’ll do my best to stay dead,” I say, voice low. I had intended it to be sarcastic, but instead the words are buoyed by sincerity.


<Phoenix> Watching him in silence was almost painful, but patience has been something I’ve been working on for far too long to let it crumble now. Calm, cold and calculated, I watch him like hawk circling its prey, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. Premature attacks would serve neither of us well in the long run. The fact that I’m thinking beyond the present moment to the bigger picture surprises me. Tunnel vision had always been one of my many great weaknesses.

When Jesse finally replies, his words surprise me in no pleasant way. For the first time since I’d seen him tonight, an emotion that isn’t anger fills me, almost overwhelmingly. My lips curl back from my teeth in a derisive sneer. It’s his tone that gives it away more so than the words - everything finally snaps into place: he wants to die; he wants me to kill him so he can then play victim, play the martyr and somehow come out of it on the other side, cleansed of all his ********. He How could I ever have thought this limp, impotent creature was worthy of being turned?

Wiping that ugly sneer off my face and replacing it with a falsely sweet smile, I give him a nod. He could figure out what it all meant for himself, later… Because just after that little nod, the blade of the dagger plunges for his left eye.


<Jesse Fforde> When it comes, it’s not what I expected. I expected the knife to plunge into my heart. Or even into my gut, so that she could twist and wrench. When finally she acts, however, swift and sharp as a snake, the knife plunges into my eye. It’s got to be the most fascinating pain that I have ever felt – more a sensory experience than anything else. I am unaware of making any noise, am not sure of what noise I might have made though I am sure there is probably a gasp or a shout. I am not aware of any noise that I make simply because I do not make any. My vocal cords rescind to their favoured silence and instead, my mouth is open and twisted in agony.

Vision is lost, obviously. Although I still have the one eye, it is clouded and blurred with tears of pain, bright sparks dancing where otherwise there could have been clarity. I can even hear as the blade grinds against bone, as the power of the thrust vibrates through my skull. But of course the blade also sinks into the fleshy mush of my brain, resting so neatly behind that eye; I know from here on out, I won’t have much of a chance to put much thought into my actions. All thought flees the building.

At least I am at least coherent enough – maybe stubborn enough – to remain standing. To slump and hold myself up against a dumpster rather than to fall to my knees, as my body first urged me to do. Blood spills from my eye, down my cheek, pooling at my lips. Only now, after the fact, do I shout. I don’t try to defend myself or fight back, even though my body twitches to do so.

“Just ******* do it, Nix,” I cry. Underneath it all I want to be able to trust her now, just in this last moment. I cough, though it is only to dislodge a sob. I am serious. I’m going to die, and I’m going to stay dead. And if she doesn’t finish the job, I’ll go and do it myself, somewhere. I’ve finally reached the end of my tether.


<Phoenix> Everything seems to happen in slow motion. The knife headed for that pretty blue iris, perfectly aimed. It seems to take forever to get there, each millisecond drawn out to an eternity. The moment the tip hits his cornea, I see it all happen in perfect detail; the cornea dimpling as more and more force concentrates on that one point. Finally, that mushy little orb pops, clear liquid oozing around the sides of the blade. His lovely iris is destroyed half a few millimetres later and, then the vitreous humour spills out, glistening and clear and thicker than I’d have expected.

With every further inch of steel that slides into Jesse’s eye socket, that clear liquid is replaced by thick, red blood. Inch by inch I find myself more and more disgusted – not with him this time, either, but with myself. Once the hilt of the dagger cracks against his cheek, I twist the blade. I hadn’t expected the force of the blow to be enough to shatter his sphenoid, but lo and behold… With a frustrated scream, I yank it back, shuddering at the wet sucking of torn flesh. I watch him stumble and cry and bleed, all while hating myself more than I hate him.

[Phoenix]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


<Phoenix> The dagger feels heavier than anything I’ve ever held; my fingers clench and unclench around the hilt as I step over to Jesse. He has another eye, still. I lick my lips, feeling like I should say something – anything – but I come up blank. I have nothing to say to him and I’d rather let the little dagger convey whatever it is I’m feeling, even though right now I can’t be sure. Everyone always seems to think I’m so sure of myself, but I’m not. Standing here, outside, with a blood-slicked blade in my hand, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I feel, other than conflicted, and I hate that the last thing he probably sees before I go for the other eye is me crying.


<Jesse Fforde> Of course there’s a whole part of me that doesn’t Phoenix to see any kind of weakness. But the darkness has been there for a very long time; since the fight night, when I’d begged for Micah to finish me off. They’d all continued on regardless of my little meltdown, and every meltdown that I’ve had since has been greeted with anger. Not wholly anger, I know – there’s been concern, too, but in this moment, right now, I can’t help but think they’d all be better off without me, regardless of what they might say. The weight of my surety crushes me, and as that pretty dagger plunges into my remaining eye I finally crumple to my knees.

There’s anger there. The last thing that I see are tears glistening on the cheeks on the woman who, only moments before, had been full to the brim with fury. How dare she? What the **** has she got to be sad about? Not here, not now, good lord don’t let her find some semblance of a conscience when the end is so close. I can taste it. As darkness cascades around me I feel like I could reach out and touch the Shadow Realm. Agony is a searing white light that I want to banish, if only so that I can crawl toward the shadows.

I rock forward on my knees, elbows sharply colliding with the harsh pavement. My fingers dig into the hardness of the ground. Agony coils from me in a shout, a wail of desire and despair. I am a beggar on my knees, please, please just finish me off. Blood pours from the gaping wounds that my eyes have become, a mess of gelatine and gore. It gathers on the pavement at Phoenix’s feet.


<Phoenix> This is exactly what I wanted, isn’t it? Jesse on his knees, bleeding and knocking on Death’s door. Half an hour ago, this would have been the ideal outcome. I saw myself kicking him when he’s gone down, laughing at his misery and pain. Now that I’m in this position, it’s different. I stare at the hand holding the blood-slicked blade, wishing it belonged to someone else or that I could claim someone greater power was controlling me. But it’s just me standing here, covered in Jesse’s blood.

My tongue flicks over my lips as I watch my once childe’s pain through watery eyes and feel nothing. There’s just a vast, empty pit where my anger had burned itself out. It wouldn’t have been hard to rake the coals and rekindle the flames, but I’m satisfied with the wreck of a person collapsed on the pavement. He’s learned his lesson… I think. I hope. And if I really want him to suffer, killing him isn’t the way to go about it. No… killing him would be a mercy he doesn’t deserve.

My fingers loosen on the dagger and it clatters to the pavement, close enough for him to grab. I stab back, out of reach and watch him for a long moment before speaking. “If you want to die, do it yourself.” I could have stopped there, but with the tears streaming down my cheeks and my voice trembling, I feel like I owe him some kind of explanation. Something – anything. “You’re your own worst enemy and you always have been. All I ever wanted was to help you and you turned that on me. You’re and ungrateful, unrepentant asshole even when you know you’re in the wrong. All you do is hurt people that care about you because you’re too selfish and self-loathing to pull your head out of your own ***. And you’re too much of a coward to do what you want others to do for you. If you want to die so badly… there’s a knife. Have at it. ”


<Jesse Fforde> The breath that I suck into my lungs isn’t needed; I have to hold it there as the knife clatters to the ground. I can’t see it, but I can hear it. My head is booming, cracked open and broken, and the sound is far too much. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as the back of my throat aches. It aches for blood, but it also aches to keep back the tears. Tears that probably can’t fall now anyway, simply because my eyes are completely ruined. I want to cry because she won’t do it. She won’t kill me. I can sense more than I can see that she backs away from me, and her speech only confirms what I had already feared.

My forehead hits the ground and I curl into myself. My back arches as I assume a kind of standing foetal position. At first, the words are only sharp truths that I accept, and there’s that voice telling me to take the knife and plunge it into my own heart, over and over until my body scatters into ashes. But there’s another voice, too. A warring a voice. The voice of the man I once was. The one who would never consider this an option, and would never have let it get this far.

Again, the faces of Micah and Velveteen flash through my mind. The two people who I think care most about me; and I know that they do, otherwise I would be dead already. And then, oh… my heart flips painfully in my chest as I think of Grey. She won’t have any idea where I’ve gone. She’ll be alone, and she will have no explanation. Although Velveteen knows about her, would Velveteen go to find her, to explain that I have died? Would Velveteen care enough? Because that’s it, isn’t it? If I kill myself, I know that I will incur disappointment from Velveteen, and from Micah. The only two people whose respect I don’t want to lose.

I don’t want to lose their respect. That’s it, that’s what the voice keeps shouting at me – my voice, the one that matters. Oh, how badly I want to die. But Phoenix said it herself. There are people I care about, who do care about me. And if I die, I’m hurting them, not just myself. And I won’t do it here. I won’t kill myself in front of Phoenix. I won’t give her that satisfaction, not when she’s got me on my knees. I fall sideways and instead of reaching for the knife, I reach inside my jacket. My fingers shake as they fumble, and finally close around that piece of parchment. The tome. The one that will easily take me out of this place, and home.

“**** you, Phoenix,” I finally manage to wheeze as I incant those words that I know by heart. She hasn’t given me what I wanted, and so there’s no reason to stick around. Just like that, within moments, my body begins to disperse – not in ashes, but into the ether. One second I am bleeding for her, and the next I am gone, the only evidence of my having been there is the blood that I have left behind.


<Phoenix> Do I really expect Jesse learned anything from this? No, not really. I could lie to myself and say that I hope he learned something tonight, but that’s far too optimistic. He won’t ever learn because he refuses to listen and to understand. Yes, I’d stabbed him, but he’d wanted the pain and the suffering. I didn’t expect thanks for giving him something he didn’t know he needed, but the last words he spoke rattled around the emptiness of my gut. Some part of me thinks the curse should sting, but it doesn’t because I know he didn’t mean it – not really.

Once he’s gone, I lean against the wall, staring off into space. I don’t know how long I stay there, alone, but it’s long enough that my legs cramp. The situation amuses me, deep down. Jesse had been so critical of what I’d done – when I’d taken a knife to my own heart, he’d called it cowardice. I laugh and shake my head. What I’d done wasn’t cowardice; this was cowardice. He wants to die, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Again, I laugh.

I don’t want to touch the dagger, slick with Jesse’s blood, but leaving it there is begging investigation. So is the pool of blood, but soon enough the snow would drift and cover that up. I swallow my revulsion and pick up the blade before doing the same thing Jesse had done – I close my eyes and recite the faeish words that will bring me home.

After cleaning the blade of all that blood, I take a quick shower. Just before curling up in bed, I grab my phone and send out a text message:

“Jesse’s in the basement of the Eyrie. He wanted me to kill him – I blinded him instead; seemed fitting to match his inability to see what’s right in front of his stupid face. Sorry about the mess.”

Recipient: Velveteen