CH 9: What Is Love Anyway?

** WARNING: Violence, blood, murder, and strong language used in this chapter!**

After a couple of moments, Esme emerges from the dressing room. She's wearing a navy blue button up with black trousers, but she still looked as radiant as ever. It wasn't extremely common for ladies to wear pants, but it was becoming a growing fad that some were indulging in. She removes her hat from the rack and fits it snugly on her head, taking a moment to scan the space at the patrons who were still lingering. Mimzy soon returns to the front of the house, now in her street clothes as well, putting on her coat.

"I take it that's my sign to go." Alastor says bluntly, downing the rest of his drink. His frustration was slowly subsiding thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed. He welcomed the warm feeling, enjoying how the tension melted away from his muscles, freeing him of their pained torment.

"Sure is." Mimzy whistles loudly to the rest of the patrons, "Come on, shop's closed. Scram, all of ya." She demands causing them to stand up and begin to head for the door. Esme chuckles in amusement and catches Alastor walking towards her out of the corner of her eye. 

His stance was a lot more relaxed than it was previously, with his hands tucked in his pockets and a light sway to his back. The cad looked as if he would be ready to curl up in her lap if she asked nicely. 

"May I walk you home?" He asks softly, his voice gentle but still as confident as ever. Esme's nose scrunches at the smell of alcohol on him. Was he just hanging on by a thread? He usually holds his alcohol well, but she doubted that he could hold himself together forever without a lapse of judgment. 

"Well, are you sure you don't need assistance?" She raises a brow and places the back of her hand to his cheek to check his temperature, noticing how flushed he was. 

"Oh no darlin', trust me." He responds, his accent slipping through slightly.

"It's true lovey, he can pound it like no other." Mimzy says smirking.

Esme jumps at her choice of words, "I - Is that so?" She clears her throat, "Well, in that case, sure." She smiles sweetly as to not alert him to the change in her demeanor. As the three exit the speakeasy, Mimzy locks up, and joins them for the walk. 

The night was calm, with only the sound of distance crickets keeping them company. The trio was exhausted in their own respective ways, so not much was discussed aside from Mimzy's occasional, nonsensical yapping. Her apartment is on the way to Esme's, so she quickly departs from the two to head upstairs.

When the two are alone, Alastor slowly begins humming as he's walking. It's a light and cheery tune. The sight was almost comical considering how reserved he had appeared only a half hour earlier. The sight brings a giggle to Esme's throat, "Someone's happy." She says, the sound of her heels clicking on the cobblestone.

"A good whiskey will do that to you, dear." He smiles, still humming. He wasn't drunk, by any means, but the alcohol had just begun to lightly buzz him. Just enough where he was no longer as on edge as before. He had a clearer head, less of those pesky thoughts from before. Why would he worry about such childlike feelings that may exist between the two? It was irrelevant, he was stronger than all of this. He had countless women swooning over him over the years. If she were to be foolish enough to fall prey, then that was entirely on her. The two quickly approach her house and Esme notices the lights on, seeing Margo pacing back and forth from the window, not noticing the two.

"Oh dear, I better go see what has her all flustered this late." Esme says before turning back to Alastor, "Thank you for walking me home...again." The light of the street lamps highlights the caramel silk of his skin, making her chest tighten at the gorgeous sight.

Oh dear heavens, she needed to redirect her mind before it wandered away. 

"Have a good night." She smiles before turning away, walking up the stairs, and entering the home. The moment she is gone, the street feels slightly more empty. The buzz he was feeling begins to dissipate, and now he is left with a vacancy within him.

Goodnight ... mon amour.  He thinks to himself before turning away.

 As he's walking, he notices a man standing close to Esme's house, peering at the street signs and lurking near her windows. It was the man from the parlor, with his greasy hair and lanky body. Why on this sordid, green earth would just a piece of scum be seen creeping around his friend's house? 

It seems like I will have a good night, indeed.

Oh, but he did need to blow off some steam...

Meanwhile, inside the home, Esme turns to Margo who is pacing back and forth writing in a journal. "Now Margo, what has you so upset?" she asks, taking off her coat and sitting down on the couch. She had never seem her sister so frazzled, jumping from spot to spot like a jumping jellybean. 

"It's Harold..." She begins, picking her fingers nervously and refusing to make eye contact with her sister. Her housedress swayed back and forth as she pivoted around the couch, her eyes pinned to the floor. 

"The boy next door?" Esme cocks her head in confusion. To her knowledge, she was getting along swimmingly with all her friends here, "What happened, dear?"

"He - he wants to take me out on a date! To the movie theater this Saturday." Margo says sheepishly.

Esme jumps up from the couch with a shriek, "Oh my, well, how wonderful!" She grabs Margo's hands, giving them a small squeeze. The little thing was growing up so fast. Her pride beamed through her, wanting to celebrate her baby sister finding romance for the first time, "That's amazing! But, why are you still upset?"

"What if he doesn't like me back?" Margo asks, looking up at her with wet eyes. This was new territory for her and she desperately needed the guidance of a wiser spirit. She knew Esme would never lead her astray, but the thought that someone could look at her with romantic interest and be repelled by her personality, looks, or otherwise ate at her chest with a damning ache.

"Oh now..." Esme leads her to the couch, "A good man won't ask you out unless he has some kind of interest in you..." she continues, "You just have to know how to protect yourself in case he gets too handsy. Set clear boundaries with him, and don't be afraid to leave if he pushes it. You call me, I'll handle it." She smiles. There's a pause between the two. "Do you like him?" 

"How do I even know what love feels like anyway?" Margo queries hopelessly, "I've never felt anything like it before!" 

"Well, you love me!" 

"You're my sister."

"Yeah, I suppose that's right..." Esme pauses, "Well, in the books I've read, and from the experience I have, it's supposed to feel like you're walking on a cloud. As if everything is light and airy, but sometimes storms approach and either they're hard to push through or the rain is just that more beautiful." She explains in a daydreaming state.

She could remember the bliss and hope she had when she was Margo's age. Sometimes she wished that she could have stayed within that mindset, but she had learned that men were much less than she hoped. There were only a few that truly captured her attention, those in her novels, and particular ones she came across...

Margo listens closely to her, hanging on to each word she describes. Esme continues, "The things they do will drive you crazy sometimes, like the way they prefer dark chocolate to milk, or the way they roll their eyes when teasing you. But those things you will cherish because without them you don't know what you'd do."

"Have...have you ever felt like that?"

There's a beat that hangs in the air for much longer than it should. 

"Well, I've had a boyfriend before yes but, I don't think I've ever truly felt that for someone in New York, no." Esme shrugs with a sigh - what was she to do?

"In...New York?" Margo asks. Esme nods with a raised brow, not understanding where her younger sister was going with this, "What about outside of New York?"

Esme pauses, "I've...I've felt..." her mind goes blank for a moment, "attraction, of course, but I'm not sure if I would call it love." Margo looks like she's about to interrupt her,  Esme prevents it, "BUT, that doesn't mean you can't - my dear." She stands up, taking Margo's hands again, "After all, he seems like a charming young man. Perhaps this could be a new beginning for you. Just remember what I say, remember my advice." 

Margo nods, giving her sister's hands a little squeeze. "I will." She yawns softly as her tiredness slowly begins to take over her body, "I think I'm going to head to bed." She hugs her tightly, relishing in the comfort of her embrace, "I love you."

"I love you too, lovey. Now go~" Esme smiles, patting her on the back in the direction of the stairs. She watches her sister fade into the darkness of the upper hallway and waits until her bedroom door closes. She walks over to the couch and sits down, soon slumping onto her back. She kicks her shoes off and props her feet up on the arm cushion. 

Have I felt that before? Her thoughts race as she listens to the crickets sing outside her window.

Could she even allow herself to feel that here? What is love was nothing but a useless myth to influence women? What if it only brought despair and pain? Worse, what if it bore the same disgusting feeling that those men did when they laid hands on her years ago...

Was love supposed to be painful? No, she knew better than that. To love means to be willing to grieve, but also to feel peaceful and serene. 

The question was, would she be willing to fall again? Was it even her choice?

Meanwhile, outside Alastor is closely following the creature that was outside of Esme's house. He keeps checking his watch or taking a hit from his cigarette each time the man turns to look at him. Finally, the man walks into the nearby park. It was still unclear what his intentions were as he sulked away from the Luciano residence, but one thing was certain, our lovely radio host was in need of some entertainment. 

Alastor smirks as he takes one final drag from the stick and tosses it on the ground. He waits behind a tree as the man passes, taking out a small vile from his vest and dropping it on a handkerchief. As the man passes, Alastor swiftly grabs him from behind, quickly covering his mouth. The man soon goes limp and Alastor tosses his body to the tree. 

This should be fun

A few moments pass before Alastor kicks the man in the side, "Wake up, you piece of shit." He growls. The man winces as his eyes slowly open, quickly widening in fear. He tries to run, but is being held to the tree by a mysterious black figure. Alastor crouches down to his height, "My, isn't this interesting. I could've sworn I saw you at the parlor that night drug that poor girl. Don't tell me that was you again I saw, attempting to do the very same thing..."

The man shakes his head, "N-No you have it all wrong. I was just offering her a drink." He says, struggling. His body is shaking as a cold sweat forms all throughout his body, seemingly terrified being at his disposal.

"Now, it's bad enough you're a low life, but don't tell me you're a liar too." Alastor says with a wide smile, "What exactly were you planning on doing to her anyway, lurking outside of her house like that...and this time...the truth, or I promise I'll make this a lot more agonizing for you~"

"I..." The man pauses, "She deserved it. Did you see how that bitch threw that drink in my eyes!?" He screamed, "We were just having some fun with her is all, not our fault she can't handle he-" There's a loud smack as Alastor backhands the man with the same hand he's holding his knife in, causing a gash on the man's cheek. He begins to scream in agony, but the shadow covers his mouth.

How dare he speak about her in such a manner?! She was a woman, after all! She was deserving of his respect, not his manipulation and grotesque mindset.  

"Tsk tsk...how I hate such vile language." Alastor says, gitting his teeth and licking his blood off the knife. "My, now if only your personality matched the sweetness of your blood, then maybe you wouldn't be so god damn revolting." He smiles wildly. The man begins to cry while being held down to the tree, Alastor crouches down once again, "Hmm I imagine this is what you wanted to do to her, am I right? Feel helpless yet?"

The man soon realizes that he's not getting out of this. He smirks, well if he's going to go down, he might as well say it how it is. He finally gets his mouth free from the shadow, "She's a whore - a tramp!" He laughs viciously. Alastor grabs him by the throat and lowers himself to his face. "If...if you love this one, you're the fool." He growls at him. Alastor doesn't say anything. He just plunges his knife deep into the man's chest and twists. He's practically foaming at the mouth with anger and disgust. He repeatedly slams his knife into the man's chest, causing blood to jump out at him, staining his shirt. He needed to get this frustration out, and this was the perfect way. When he's decided he's had his fill, he stands back up, and drags the blood on the man across his mouth to paint a smile.

"You look better like this anyway, you bitch." He says, snapping his fingers as he's miraculously clean and walking away into the night.

"If you love this one, you're the fool." The man's words replaying in his mind.

What is love, anyway?

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~ Artemis 🦌💗