she is your mission. he had to remind himself as he sat across from the woman with red locks, scratches and scars all around her body. she was your mission, finish your mission. but when henry looked at the woman in front of him, he didn’t see a file of all the things she had done. he did not see a file with stats about how strong she was, how fast she was, how deadly she was. he didn’t see that and that irritated him. he should not be so distracted but it was hard not to see what melody had painted for him. he didn’t see a file, he saw a person, tired and human. “ i don’t know if they want to be like me. i have secrets too, you know? ” he had an almost charming smile on his lips as he took another sip. “ and if anyone is american’s poster boy, it would be phillip. you see, i’m just the bad boy, the black sheep. i’m the boy that everyone wants to fuck but no one cares to marry. “ a persona he created to distance himself, to not have relationships that ran too deep, where they could pinpoint his lies and his secrets.
he was almost glad that melody no longer recalled who he was, what he was able to do–cause she was always the only one that could see right through him. at least now he can be alone behind the mask; like the phantom of the opera, he was better if he was alone with his secrets–after all secrets were the new found currency. “kiss and tell? a gentleman would never ask a lady–but then again, i never said i was really a gentleman, did i?” there was a teasing lift to his voice before he felt his frown deepen. that’s right, she’s phillip’s sister, she’s thomas’s daughter; she’s the link that melody had looked for, the one she died for. “is it? so how is it? being home? being here? being a lefurgey?”
“Everyone has secrets. That doesn’t stop anyone from wanting to be someone else. Hell, might even make them want to change who they are more.” Was that she was doing, deep down? Leaving her secrets behind, turning into one of them, shifting everything that she possibly ever liked about herself to appeal to others. She smirks back at him, teeth showing ever so lightly. PHILLIP LEFURGEY. Her brother, her blood. She still has the scars that he made on the inside of her thigh. He may not be the one holding the knife but he set out the order and that is just as guilty. It was quite obvious, wasn’t it? Phillip Lefurgey is white skin and blue eyes, dark hair and power. Phillip Lefurgey tells the american middle class what they want to hear: we are fighting communism. We are winning. We are so good. They are monsters. We will hunt those monsters. We will stop the red from invading our homes. Pathetic. “Ah, I’m sure it keeps you up at night, being seen as a one night stand. I’ll send you some flowers to heal your broken heart. Sign them as Jennifer from the third floor.”
“Let’s play a game, then, if you’re not a gentleman. You tell me something about you, and I’ll tell you if you’re lying or not. Then I tell you something about me, and you do the same. Everyone wins.” Except you. Here’s the thing: Anna is smart enough to acknowledge that she is not her entire true self. She is smart enough to know that she is vulnerable. She is smart enough to know that she could be taken advantage of, but she doesn’t care (and truth be told, she hadn’t felt this comfortable around anyone in a long time. Maybe she’s just trying to fill in a void. Maybe she knows that it will never work. Maybe she’s hoping it just might). She takes in a deep breath, pulling the bottle once again and taking a couple of consecutive sips, feeling the drink burn its way down her throat. “Oh, it is wonderful. Anything a girl could ever wish for. Diamond earrings, golden rings, a soft bed, egyptian cotton sheets. I’ve never been more at home.” It’s a lie, and one that comes with a high dosage of sarcasm. But here’s the catch: she might be vulnerable but she’s still good at what she does. And that’s why while she talked she also dragged the sharpest piece of shattered glass with her leg.