Sookie Stackhouse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justsookie) wrote2011-10-14 01:52 am
justsookie) wrote2011-10-14 01:52 am
Entry tags:
like killing cops and reading kerouac
Seventh. It was the seventh time that Sookie Stackhouse had decided to look in the folder of Bill's that the island had left for her. An exercise that would only be marginally beneficial at best, she'd thought to herself. But after the first few days, she had to admit that limiting herself to a look every other day had been helpful, giving her the time and space needed to focus on her job, her classes, and on her personal life, rather than asking after a man who wasn't even a ghost on Tabula Rasa. Halfway through the month, and she was hoping to limit herself even further, to take an active step away from everything that existed back in Bon Temps, if only because she was beginning to learn that it was hard, nearly impossible to keep a decent handle on both at once. And for all that she missed Tara, for all that she missed Sam, Lafayette, Arlene, and the rest of them, if given the choice right then of where to stay, Sookie couldn't have said for certain that she would have chosen to go back.
They were just two different places. And frankly, the island was starting to show her that a calmer way of life wasn't necessarily the inferior one, and that a job mostly involving paperwork left her in far better shape than waitressing in an establishment where vampires zoomed in and out without a care for her or passerby.
It was the seventh time that Sookie Stackhouse had decided to look in the folder of Bill's, only to find that Bon Temps wasn't the only place in the equation. That Bill's secrets weren't the only ones she had to deal with. Confusion set in her features at first, at the strange notebook stuffed away among the other papers, the folder itself struggling to hold everything inside. But from the very first article pasted within, the city of Bristol standing out to her eyes at once, she knew that the island was far from done in turning her life on its side. Half an hour, she'd allowed herself, poring through page after page of horrific details, stories about loved ones who'd died in a massacre, seemingly without rhyme or reason.
Thirty minutes after the first article, and Sookie stepped into his hut, for once glad that Annie had moved out, and that George kept such a precise schedule. The book remained held tightly in her hand, slightly obscured from view.
"Mitchell?" she called out, voice soft, but cold.
They were just two different places. And frankly, the island was starting to show her that a calmer way of life wasn't necessarily the inferior one, and that a job mostly involving paperwork left her in far better shape than waitressing in an establishment where vampires zoomed in and out without a care for her or passerby.
It was the seventh time that Sookie Stackhouse had decided to look in the folder of Bill's, only to find that Bon Temps wasn't the only place in the equation. That Bill's secrets weren't the only ones she had to deal with. Confusion set in her features at first, at the strange notebook stuffed away among the other papers, the folder itself struggling to hold everything inside. But from the very first article pasted within, the city of Bristol standing out to her eyes at once, she knew that the island was far from done in turning her life on its side. Half an hour, she'd allowed herself, poring through page after page of horrific details, stories about loved ones who'd died in a massacre, seemingly without rhyme or reason.
Thirty minutes after the first article, and Sookie stepped into his hut, for once glad that Annie had moved out, and that George kept such a precise schedule. The book remained held tightly in her hand, slightly obscured from view.
"Mitchell?" she called out, voice soft, but cold.
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Wheeling around the sofa, not about to let her hide through this, Mitchell pointed a finger at her as he continued. "You're trying to accuse me of something here, Sookie. Me or a bunch of vampires back home. I'm allowed to be nervous. I have a right to feel--"
No, wait, that wasn't coming out right. He'd just admitted to being nervous after saying that he wasn't. What was he trying to do now? She wasn't backing down, only rearranging the possible story. Mitchell wasn't sure it worked in his favor. He wasn't sure he could let it work in his favor. Might some other cover have risen up and done this? Truthfully, no. Herrick had burned a good number of bridges even as he tried to unite the vampires. The leader of London still hated him. But Sookie might believe it. And she might believe Mitchell had nothing to do with it, if that were the case. He had been distraught after losing them all, sickened by Lucy's betrayal, desperate to get George and Annie back. She'd believe it, wouldn't she? Prefer to believe the best of him, the most human part of him, now.
"We don't usually work like that, but maybe-- If they'd heard about Bristol, it could have been read as a threat." He said the words quietly, resting both hands on his hips, unconvinced by his own words. "Maybe. Or maybe it's just your run of the mill human serial killer. Vampires usually have the wisdom to clean up after themselves."
Why was he so nervous? Why was he so scared to admit to what he was, when humans were little better?
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Pressing her lips together, Sookie exhaled again, eyes falling shut. If vampires really did see the human attack as a threat, why didn't they just target the religious factions? Or, if they thought killing innocents would make a greater impact (but even then, Sookie thought that it was surely a dangerous move; humans always outnumbered vampires, and humans were capable of moving in droves, and nothing got them up in arms than getting to point a finger and villainize someone), then wouldn't it make sense for the display of violence to be left public, as a warning sign, to strike fear in the hearts of the populace?
"It still feels like you're covering something up."
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He was getting really, truly sick of this and in short order. For weeks, months he had been trying to keep himself in check, to make sure that his dark little secret didn't leak out and destroy the happy little lives they had all built for themselves here. For himself as much as anyone, but now that he stood here, feeling the weight of Sookie's look, the changes in his behavior listed out like guilty burdens he was supposed to carry, Mitchell had to wonder if this really was doing him any favors. He had enough guilt to contend with, to make amends for, to wrestle with without Sookie adding more to it.
He knew full well what he was and what that meant. He knew the life he had to lead, the constant atoning that would do no good, the constant fuck ups that only set him back further. He knew that this was terrible, yes, but just another drop in the bucket compared to all his other sins. Mitchell got it. It looked more and more like Sookie didn't.
Now he seemed calm, on the surface, a thin layer of coolness spread over not nervousness, but that low-bubbling anger hinted at before. Why did he have to justify himself? Why did he have to explain? Because Sookie couldn't do it her own self. "You came here for a reason, Sookie. You got a bunch of clippings that paint the picture of a murderer and you came here. So why can't you just say it?" The smile that spread over his face was far from warm and in no way meant to reassure her. "You want some straight talk? Why don't you start."
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She would never know what it was like to be a vampire, and so Sookie tried to understand that as well as she could. But this wasn't about that. It wasn't about the fact that he'd killed, so much as it was about trust, and the fact that there was less of it between them than she'd hoped. Than she'd imagined. And if he lied about this, if he was able to pull that over everyone, including a best friend that had known him for far longer, what else?
Did she need to know? (But she did, a voice protested in the back of her mind. She clearly did.)
Her expression began to falter, and her throat grew tight, constricted. "I want to be wrong. I want to believe that my boyfriend really means it when he says that he doesn't know what's going on, or I want him to just tell me if he does, not buckle down because I found a fucking scrapbook in my hut," she breathed, words shaking.
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"You don't get what you want," he said darkly. Folding his arms over his chest, he took a deep breath, never breaking his gaze away from Sookie, and answered her straight out. "I killed those people. My coven went off blood, stopped killing people full stop, and they bombed us. They killed every last one of us but me and Daisy. And when I tried to prove to Daisy that it was the police, trying to get back at me for refusing to do their dirty work, for refusing to feed criminals they couldn't keep behind bars to my people... I got spit in my face. I got told we deserved it. I got told it was Lucy. So I got angry. And I couldn't fathom why the fuck I was doing so much for people who couldn't give a damn. For people who would as soon murder their own for stupid pointless reasons before they'd look me in the eye. So I took some revenge. Twenty people. Well, technically, Daisy took ten and I took ten. But that's not the point, is it?"
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She tried to understand. She did. She tried to understand how it would feel to have all of one's family suddenly torn away, tried to justify everything that Mitchell had done with that, but even then, it seemed too thin. "Not even Eric," she breathed to herself, hardly even realizing that she'd said anything aloud, thinking of Dallas and the bombings there, thinking of how the Fellowship had taken so many innocents out with a single bomb. But the vampires had held their calm.
Even Eric, who Sookie had never gotten the impression from as caring about the lives of people, even he wouldn't turn around and do this.
"It was one fucking person, Mitchell. One fucking religious fanatic, that's not— that's not everyone. That's not enough to throw away your humanity for, killing innocent people, I— that's not you." She squeezed her eyes shut again, breaking eye contact, tears freshly trailing down her cheeks, and when she spoke again, it was soft, pleading, no longer a yell or a cry, but instead almost pleading. "You wouldn't have hidden it if you were proud, if you thought it was right."
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All that vitriol, that hate that he kept locked inside, that was usually focused squarely on himself came spewing out now. In a better world, Sookie's tears would have stopped him. He would have answered with his own and agreed. He hadn't been proud, not even then. It had felt like justice, it had felt like the start of something. But pride didn't fit in with all the other emotions. But he saw Sookie crying and believed, genuinely believed, that she was crying for the loss of the lie that she had told herself.
Had she ever really loved him? How could she? He looked at himself and felt sick every single day. He swallowed it down and carried on, but the truth of it was that he was a monster. Who could love a monster? Not even someone like Sookie.
"I didn't have any humanity to throw away. I was a vampire," he growled. "It was me. Me, Sookie. I killed them and I've killed hundreds of others. You want to try and pin it on someone else? Say I was a different person?" Mitchell shook his head slowly. "It's who I am. It's more who I am than who I used to be."
Decades of killing. Blood-soaked nightmares. The face of every victim, crying for mercy. Even if he wanted to, Mitchell couldn't go back to the man he was, not ever.
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Taking a step forward, Sookie held out a hand, as though to reach for Mitchell, as though a kiss could fix it, as though a simple touch to the back of his neck could bring him down from all that anger, all that bottled energy, help him to take a step back. But he only shook his head, stepping further away, and Sookie came to a sudden halt in the middle of the room, nothing to hold onto, only a chill which remained on her skin.
"You tried to save them. People, vampires, everyone. You tried to do a good thing, and— that's the kind of person you are, Mitchell, the person that I love, and I'm— I'm sorry, okay? Can't we just calm down? Let's not fight, let's just... figure out what to do."
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But Lucy's voice cut through it all. How could he justify this? How could he let Sookie justify it? How could he let her twist her own definition of wrong and right to fit his needs? How could he take her forgiveness for this like it meant something, meant anything to those twenty people who had died, the hundreds before them, their families?
Had he really changed at all? Had he become human again? Or had he just traded in blood for love and forgiveness at any cost?
He shook his head and pulled away from her, feeling sick, pressing his lips together tightly to stop himself from crying. He wouldn't let her see him cry. She might think there was hope yet. Monsters didn't cry.
He kept shaking his head, looking at the floor, until he felt he could manage. Could get the words out that he needed to say. "No." Mitchell raised his head, every muscle tensed against something dying to be let out inside of him. "There's nothing to do. I can't take it back and I won't." He felt ready to fall apart inside, like he should be shaking like a leaf, and yet... The words took their sweet time to come out, but they did not falter. "I am a bad, bad man, Sookie. It's time we both faced up to that."
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Destroying everything along the way. A year, just like that.
A voice sounded in the back of her mind, reminding her of what Mitchell had done, reminding her that she wouldn't be able to remain in a relationship without trust, that the lack thereof had always been the greatest burden between Bill and herself. That he'd gotten angry at her countless times before, for keeping secrets from him, that everything she'd held to herself paled in comparison to this. A lack of balance would never work.
But all reason fell apart at his words, Sookie shaking her head, stepping forward again, as quickly as she could manage with her heart pounding in her throat, with the world spinning. "You're just sayin' this now, you're just sayin' this because you think it's the better way out. It's not. Mitchell, I love you, we can work this out. Please, just don't tell me—"
Her lips pressed shut.
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And how much of it was for him? How much was she trying to save herself now, as much as Mitchell? She had chosen to turn a blind eye to it, forgive where she had no fucking right. She had chosen to demand honesty, but how much of a virtue was that, when she knew it would only hurt him? When she had no right to hurt him. She wasn't anywhere near as bad as Mitchell, no, but she'd committed her own crimes here as well.
"Look at what you're fighting for, Sookie," he said, voice cold, a bare hint of hysterical humor to it. It was all but done, in his mind. Just words to be said, final notes of a soundtrack played during the credits. "Do you even know? Me, Bill. Do you really want me to feel better, or do you just want to feel better about yourself? Do you really think you can make that much difference?"
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She was fighting for the one she loved, Sookie wanted to say. The man that she'd come to know over the past year, the man who she couldn't honestly remember living without on the island, the man who had become her family in every way, her best friend, closest confidante. Was that selfish? Was it affected by a need to prove her point? A need to show the world that vampires weren't all that they seemed. It was easy, in the wash of guilt, to add other criticisms on, but the driving edge was none of that.
The last grain that tipped the scale was a lack of confidence that Mitchell had in her.
"Is that what you think?" she managed to ask, sounding defeated, rubbing the heel of her palm against her cheek, brushing trails of tears dry. "You think I'm doing this for myself."
Spoken as a statement, and not an accusation.
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A year was shattering before his eyes. No, had shattered. His life was as good as in shambles, propped up for the moment only by Sookie's presence. Someone to take care of him. Someone to change for. He hadn't been wrong this time. Sookie was that. Mitchell was the one who didn't fit. He didn't deserve to change.
"Get out," he said. "Before you embarrass yourself." He needed to lick his wounds, crawl into bed, into a bottle and never come out. He couldn't do that with Sookie standing there, trying not to try.
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"No." Ultimately, her choice was only one half of it, but whether or not it was the selfish thing to do, she couldn't be the one to let go. Not then, not so soon. "No, Mitchell, I'm not goin' anywhere."
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"What do you want to do with this, Sookie, huh?" he asked, rounding on her, stepping in now to fill that gap that he had created. "You want the truth? You want to forgive me my wrongs? You want to believe that as long as I felt bad after every kill, it's okay? Well I didn't. I enjoyed it. Not just back then, with Herrick. And oh, oh, I had fun with Herrick. I built a name for myself, and it felt fucking good. Even years after I'd left his side, tried to scramble onto the wagon, they still talked about me. And you know what else? The looks, the looks on their fucking faces when they saw us, when they really saw..."
It came rushing back to him then, like the memory of a hit after so long without, tingling along his skin, yearning for it burning low in his belly. "That's the best part. It's like a rush, better than anything else in the world. The screams, the tears, the way they fight." He flashed a cold smile, suddenly. "It's not use at all, but it's fun to watch them. And the blood. It tasted so sweet. We bathed in it, Daisy and I. We fucked after, our bodies slick with it, and licked it off each other's skin. And I didn't .. feel .. sorry .. at all."
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But she had a line. And he'd crossed it. And it didn't take a moment's hesitation after his last admission before Sookie slapped him across the face, without a word, without warning, though she felt her breath immediately break after. Gaze falling, she turned around, her steps measured, regular in pace, before bending down to pick up the fallen scrapbook, letting it hang from her hand.
Casting a look over her shoulder, her lips pressed in a thin before she tossed it lightly on the couch. "That's yours," she said. "You decide how you want to tell the others. But don't take too long."
Because, she thought to herself as she stepped out the door, if he decided to keep silent about this with George, with Nina, with Annie even now, well. Sookie wasn't sure that she could do the same.
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She shouldn't. It was only right. Who wanted to love a killer? Who in their right mind would want to be with a man like Mitchell?
Her words were what stung the most and for one fleeting second he really did want to hurt her. Destroy their relationship, fine. That was her choice. But the threat -- and he read it as a threat -- to his friends, to the family he had built, that he couldn't stand. (Even if, and this made it worse, a voice in his head said she was right.)
The door shut behind her and he let out a howl of rage, a half-formed curse spilling out of his lips as he took up the damn notebook and hurled it at the door. It fell with a dull sound to the ground and Mitchell retreated to his room, slamming the door behind him.