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At Ahzrukhal’s newly deserted bar, she worked the end of a screwdriver into an old leather belt, ignoring the smell of blood and rotted brain that still permeated the place. Her new friend, or as he would say an employee, was straightening out the chairs that had fallen over the previous night. It seemed the logical decision to run the place for a few weeks, make some easy caps before they headed out - it had all been his idea anyway. She’d thought getting out of the bar would have been his top priority but he’d simply said ‘I’ve waited this long, a little longer won’t kill me...or you.’
So she’d agreed, in part because he had a point and because she wasn’t yet ready to venture outside its current safety, even if the nightmares were still all too real.
Even though Charon had vowed to protect her with his life, she’d yet to shake off her worries. Things had been better when she was chubby and safe in her vault, she realized not for the first time. The lack of rich food and a sedentary lifestyle had contributed to, what first she had thought a good thing and now realized was a curse. Her current physical state was an evil thing.
She caught herself looking over her shoulder more than once to see, with a strange sense of unfamiliarity, that her rear had formed into a heart-like shape. Her waist too had tapered, but a little pudge still remained where the junk food and bubblegum stuck. Honestly, the strangest thing was now that she’d gained a body that attracted men, she didn’t want one. Being unseen, or at the least, seen as a man, was much safer than the opposite. And her tits had refused to shrink like the rest of her.
But, maybe now that she had some backup she wouldn’t have to worry about hiding herself so much now. She looked over at Charon with a curious expression, he was sat down at one of the tables, taking apart that ancient looking shotgun with meticulous care. For longer than was appropriate she watched him, admiring him before finally breaching the leather belt in her hand.
He was as gruesome looking as any other ghoul, but early on she’d found something interesting about them, and no one - ghoul or not - seemed as interesting as Charon did. He didn’t even smell all that bad so getting up close during the past few days to look him over hadn’t been so difficult, aside from his nasty disposition.
She turned the belt in her hands, dusting away the shavings of worn leather. It still fit too loose, but she buckled it all the same. There really was no real need for the belts support thanks to the red suspenders she’d found, but it kept her pistol out of her pocket - easier to access in a pinch.
Again she peered over at the behemoth-sized ghoul, wondering briefly if he noticed her appearance like everyone else did. Apparently, she still had enough pudge on her to appear more like the pre-war women than the thin, malnourished women that were so common. Yet he never looked her way unless she spoke to him, or unless someone got a little too close. The drunken ghouls had been a problem only twice so far. Most of them seemed too self-conscious to push their luck with her, though. A good majority of them had been nice even.
It seemed strange that, here in Underworld where the time mattered little, the bar never seemed to gain any patrons until well after noon. In a way that was nice, but truly the quicker they got the caps the sooner she could continue on.
Ahzukhal’s safe in the back was still locked...tightly. Every morning she tried her hand at it, but the lock picks were dwindling and she wasn’t so good with the coat hanger...and Charon had admitted he knew little about lockpicking that afternoon after it happened.
Thinking about that day made her feel oddly hollow, like she’d not eaten for days and the acid leaking into an empty stomach was making her ill - yet she’d had breakfast less than an hour ago.
Charon seemed engaged in rubbing down parts of his gun with spit and a rag, despite the fact it hadn’t been used since she’d seen him and it was probably as clean as it was going to get already.
She itched for conversation now that her mind was firing up on cold thoughts and fears. The touch of a vivid memory threatening to spoil the day.
“So...” she called to Charon, fiddling with a nuka cola on the bar, “you ready to talk about it yet?”
As he’d done the other half-dozen times she’d asked, he shook his head and grumbled something heavy under his breath. It seemed like she should have been the one to shy away from talking about it, but he had been adamant about acting as though it’d never happened.
Her theory was that he was bitter. After so many years under that bastard’s foot, she was sure he had been biding his time until the day he himself could put a bullet in Ahzrukhal’s brain, and she’d taken that away from him. Not that he hadn’t made it clear he was happy his former employer was dead, it’s just that...maybe he didn’t like the way he’d died. It had been a quick, merciful death, nothing like the one he probably deserved. But alas, what was done was done and here they sat.
“Well,” she sighed, resting her elbows on the counter; cheeks in her palms, “let me know if you change your mind. Might make you feel better to-”
“I’m fine,” he barked, glaring hatefully down at the rag in his hands before baring his teeth and throwing it on his half-assembled gun as if he were slamming a chair on a drunken lout. His outburst made her skin rise in goosebumps but she held her ground as he stood quickly from the chair - it’s feet screeching on the floor. Her head still in her hands, she felt her cheeks grow hot and tacky.
He still frightened her. At night she still felt his hands around her neck, squeezing with open cruelty.
When his eyes met hers - all that repressed anger centered towards her, she swallowed and looked away. There was nothing short of a gun at the back of her head that could get her to look at him right now. If anyone should have been angry it should have been her, but she didn’t dare say that. He may not have been allowed to hurt her now, though she’d never be fully convinced of that, even so, he was terrifying.
“I’d like permission to go have a smoke.”
Again she swallowed, trying to clear her throat as silently as possible before muttering a clogged, “...okay.”
He left shortly after she’d gone quiet. Only when the door slammed did she let out a heavy breath, taking in shallow gulps with her palms flat on the bar. Her arms shook. Her heart slammed back and forth in her chest. Sweat beaded up on her brow and upper lip. A feeling of dread fell over her shoulders like a fifty-pound cloak.
Then she cried.
She sobbed and mewled into her palms, ignoring the wet of her tears and the slime of her snot while it all poured out of her; fears, pity and the worst of it all...uncertainty.
That night she’d first come into the bar, the place had gone dead quiet and as she stood in the center of the place, feeling a sense of terror sink into her bones, everyone had quietly stood and filed out. She should have followed them out.
Knowing what she knew now, Ahzrukhal must have told them all the plan, but she couldn’t remember which ones had been there that night, nor would she ever. And she’d never dare ask Charon, but she was starting to notice the choice ghouls he stared hatefully at and the same ones that avoided him like death itself.
When everyone had gone and it had been just Ahzrukhal, Charon and herself, the chaos had started. With a snap of that cretin's fingers she was seized by those hands; Charon’s hands. Even now she can remember his soft, rasping warning, “Don’t fight it.” as fresh as the first time. It had hit her skin like a hot stone and sank hard in her stomach just as heavy. Nothing had ever sounded so rehearsed.
The whole struggle had ended quickly. She was weak compared to him and without the good food from the Vault it was even more apparent than it had ever been before.
All she’d gotten on him had been one sharp jab of her elbow, nestled right under his ribs. He’d choked, but he’d choked her back with one hand around her throat. The bruises were gone now, but the memory of that overstuffed feeling in her head wouldn’t fade so easily.
He’d thrown her in the back room with Ahzrukhal wringing his hands behind them, eyeing her murderously. When the door was locked on her and Ahzrukhal she’d found her strength then, but like before it hadn’t done her much good. Rape, she’d found was a common thing in the wasteland, and she’d been a victim of it before. The second time had been less traumatic than the first - as disgusting as it had been, he hadn’t held a knife to her throat or beaten her, just held her down until he’d finished with her. His mistake had been to assume her stillness after the fact was submission. When he fell asleep she smothered him, rifled through his things - mainly to procure a weapon against Charon outside the door - and found something more effective.
Charon, she’d found, hadn’t given much sympathy for her when she’d shown him his contract in her hand. The torn clothes and bruises did little to gain an apology from his throat, but a sorry wouldn’t have helped her anyhow. His anger over not being able to kill his previous employer must have overshadowed any of his kindness, she assured herself. He couldn’t have been that devoid of empathy.
As one p.m. rolled around, the first few ghouls entered the bar. Most of them drank beer, but that just left more whiskey for her. As the place filled with the sappy patrons - the smell of sweet rot touched her nose. She swallowed the rest of her glass with a wrinkle of disgust before looking back at herself in the clouded mirror.
This body was a burden.
She found herself working on her third glass, a pencil in hand and sketches of a ghoulette in the corner on her yellowed paper by the time Charon came back in, looking around at each occupied table before coming her way. She made a point to not look at him, instead drawing swirls on the paper to avoid him. Those at the bar parted, retreating to tables as the taller ghoul approached. He sat down at the now empty bar in front of her - the stool making a whine under his weight. Secretly she hoped it would crack under him and he’d bust his ass, but ignoring was working better. The rumble she felt must have been him growling.
Eventually, his stare started making her itch and she put her pencil down.
“Long smoke break,” she muttered, pushing her cheek in one palm.
“I fucked someone while I was outside.”
A chill crept up her spine at the malice in his voice. He was doing a good job at being nasty and as he probably wanted she finally went pink in the cheeks and glared up at him.
He smirked, “I was starting to think you couldn’t be angry.”
Her lips thinned at his tone. An emotionless man talking about how she didn’t have any? “Did you just let him rape you, or did you just not care?” His voice was low and spiteful.
“Shut up,” she hissed, pushing her palms back on the counter; nails curled into the soft, musky wood. “Shut up...”
He didn’t though, “The other ones fought back. You just gave up. The only redeeming thing you did was kill him, even then you did it in his sleep like a fucking coward. Once he was done.”
If he wanted her to hit him, invalidate his fucking contract, then fine. The shock of anger was quick and as much a rush as anything else in this world. She felt anger and sadness as much as the next person, but maybe not him. The only thing that stopped her fist from slamming into his face was a sudden clatter of chairs and glass. A fight broke out in the far corner. Two ghouls were swaying with arms tangled; hands smacking and grappling at the others face.
Charon gave her a heated stare - her fist still raised - before rising from the stool to take out the trash.
Her fist lowered slowly, and when her eyes started to sting against her will and the tears welled over her lashes, she stood and walked out of the bar, passing Charon as he stepped back inside. He stopped and she knew he was looking back at her - had seen the tears running down her face as she’d gone. Fuck him.
Let him see her, she thought. Let him ignore her if he could now.
Outside Underworld, beside the stinking mammoth, she sat down on the podium; legs crossed and face in her hands. The weight felt suffocating - the memories ripe and fresh. Over and over she thought about walking out into the Mall, leaving and never returning. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d had to start over, with nothing but the clothes on her back and a pistol in her hand. Even with a knife instead of a gun, this time, she had experience now and that would make up for it. But a strong individual would suck up the pain and continue on. So she resigned herself to simper under the ancient creature and expel what she could.
Maybe an hour went by when her head started to ache after the tears stopped. Even her fingers were pruned when she looked at them through swollen eyes.
The smell of nicotine turned her head around.
Charon stood a few feet away from her, a cigarette in his mouth and a strange look in his eyes. There was a splatter of blood on his chin where a cut was raised - she didn’t care.
“You told me,” she began with a throat hoarse from sobbing, “to not fight. If you remember. Smart words, even if you don’t agree. Fighting wouldn’t have saved me...suffering through it saved me. I learned that the hard way the last time.”
His eyes narrowed and as his mouth parted his smoke fell from his lips, sparking on the ground. The cigarette flared red from the impact, and she stared at it with a frown. She stood a moment later, bent down before him and picked it up, putting it in her own mouth and inhaling the acrid smoke until she thought her lungs would burn. It was the first time she’d smoked one, and it felt good.
“I wanted to kill him,” was all he said.
“I know.”
“No,” he growled, running a hand down his hideous face, looking away briefly before looking back down at her with a new, brittle understanding. The hate in his stare had faded for the first time since she’d shown him his contract. “You were the last straw. After you went quiet I figured he’d killed you. When you came out and he was the one that was dead I was angry. He deserved far worse than what you gave him. I should have fucked him to death - it’s what he deserved...”
A moment of quiet understanding settled between them. For a moment she thought it was eerie, but then - long after the cigarette had burned out - she gave him a sad smile.
“If I’d done it any other way I’d probably be dead, and you’d still be under his thumb...sometimes we don’t get everything we want, just enough to keep us going.”
His eyes lowered until they were closed, and with a heavy breath, he opened them once more, giving her a look that made her turn away. Whatever was in that look she wasn’t ready for it. Not for a long while. His apology wouldn’t do her any good anyhow. Better to start over and push it under the rug like so many other terrible memories.
“I will never talk to you like I did earlier again. I can promise you that.”
She nodded, taking her now cold seat on the podium once more. For some reason, her knees felt weak.
“And I will protect you. Contract or no. Nothing like that will happen to you again.”
She wanted to tell him his promise was a lie - that no one could be sure of the future, but she didn’t, only nodded. When he sat down next to her she stiffened.
“Cigarette?”
Again she nodded, biting back another rush of fresh tears.
He leaned in and lit her smoke after she put it to her lips, his palm curled to keep the flame steady, and as she sucked it in the tears fell once more. Thankfully, he said nothing, nor did he do anything, just sat beside her as she fell into the lull of nicotine and despair. It felt like forever that they sat there, but when his pack was empty he was there, standing nearby as she rose.
“Did you really fuck someone while you were on your smoke break?” she asked, arching her brow.
“No...” Whether it was a lie or not, it made her feel better. “I wanted to make you angry. I wanted to see you react somehow.”
“How did you react after someone made you do something you despised?”
A strange, sad smile made it to his lips before he extended his arm for her to take, almost like a fucking gentleman, “I didn’t.”