In the lamplight

[ivegotmypride]

I’m the lamplight, she saw him. She would never be able to not pick him out in a crowd. Whatever it was that had drawn them together in the first place, that supernatural magnetism, it had never left. not after everything.

She knew it was him. even before she saw the scar on his neck, peeking out from his overcoat, over the girl’s shoulder. It was Bill. Bill Sikes fucking some other whore, balls deep from the looks of it. Her ha Sa flew up over her scarred mouth when she saw it and it took no time for Nancy to dash off, taking the quickest route back to their Bethnal Green flat.

Her response is typical. When she arrives at the flat she throws her things to the floor and goes for the first open bottle of gin and then the second. With the place empty again it was easy to fall into the habits. Somewhere, somehow, on the second bottle she’s on the floor near the fireplace, leaning against the table leg. It won’t take long until she’s half slumped, near unconscious in the last place Bill should have ever left her.

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[readyoualecture]

“Nance–“

Ah, hell. Christ fucking hell, that was Nancy, sure as anything, a flash of red running like the devil was at her heels, running like she’d seen something profane and Christ, Christ, Bill knew well enough what it was.

It’d only been a harmless bit of relief. A brief moment of release, minor and inconsequential. Didn’t mean a thing only she’d seen and he knows she’d seen and now he knows he ought to go after her.

So he leaves. Pulls out and unceremoniously departs, though he takes his time getting home, wanders the streets and thinks about the situation without thinking too much about the situation because it’s not anything he wants to fill his head with, only he can’t not think about the situation because the way she’d run off, odds are she’d gone home to get plastered, and he can’t leave her in that state for long. So. So. So finally, he heads for their flat.

His first thought is she’s dead. In the instant he opens the door, he’s convinced he’s killed her twice over (that’s nonsense, he hasn’t killed her, not ever, there was never a first time), and there’s a hitch in his chest, a moment where he can’t catch a breath or even remember how to breathe.

But she’s breathing. He can see the rise and fall of her chest, shallow but discernible. And he moves toward her, cautious, hesitant.

“…Nance? Hey. Nancy?”

[ivegotmypride]

It didn't mean a thing. Bullshit. They'd been apart for how long? He'd had all the time in the world to get his jollies out with other women, both before her, and after That Night. The fact that she'd seen him with another girl- a girl she knew, Mary- a girl who knew about their relationship? It stung in a way she'd never expected.

It wasn't fair to expect him not to be with other women, part of her said. She was with how many men a night? How many pennies had she earned from others?

But it was different, the other part said. They had a commitment to one-another, they'd defeated death to come back together again. Furthermore, he knew how much she hated taking to the streets. With Fagin dead, it was better, but it was the best way to make money, for a girl like her. He'd always said what she did, that was a job.

Bill was not on a job. Bill had been fucking another girl.

Her eyes are closed when Bill comes to her, her hand still wrapped loosely over the neck of the gin bottle. She gives a small moan at her name, still conscious enough that he can rouse her simply by approaching. She stretches an arm over her face, grumbling. When she sees who it is that's roused her, she scowls, tears still drying on her cheeks. "Don't you Nance me, William."

Oh, yes. She's not so drunk she doesn't remember why she's so drunk in the first place.