Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 07

"Are you all right?" she whispered softly.

Sam sent her an incredulous look, "You did not just ask—"

Grey smashed the side of his fist into the window, nearly shattering it. This time both girls cried out in alarm as Grey slowly slid his fist down the window leaving bits of blood and glass in its wake.

"I. Am. Not. All Right."

The girls just stared open-mouthed at the display of self-destruction, only dimly aware of the bus driver striding towards them.

"Hey, I thought I told you--!"

"What?!" Grey snarled at him, "You told me what?" He shoved his way past the girls and strode towards the other man, fists clenching and unclenching. The poor man tried to get away from the rampaging monster on his bus but was too slow. Grey had clamped his hand around the man's throat and lifted. The other man's eyes bulged in horror, clawing at Grey as the life was being crushed out of him, "You forget your place!"

"Grey!"

Grey whirled around...

And with a sound like a cracking whip, Miranda slapped him across the face.

"Miri!" Sam cried out in terror, frantically trying to reach her lover so that she may protect her from the wrath she had just brought down upon herself.

Grey released the bus driver and stumbled backwards, spinning dizzily and slamming headfirst into the glass of a nearby window.

"I don't know what the hell is making you completely Kureijī," (crazy), "But I'm not going to let you take it out on innocent people!"

"Will you not?" she heard him whisper, his back still turned to her.

Samantha wheeled up in front of Miranda, "Get away from her you sick son of a --"

Grey lunged at them then with an inhuman speed and pressed his face nearly flush against Miranda. She turned her head at the last moment to avoid contact.

His teeth were bared and his eyes had narrowed to hateful slits. He made a sound in his chest; deep and guttural, it sounded like the unholy union of a hiss and a growl. Sam had only heard a sound like that once before: when her sister and her back in Tennessee had come across a very large and angry Copperhead. The hiss that it had made as it bared venom-filled fangs made a simple statement:

I will kill you.

He was close enough that his scent washed over them: potent and exceedingly male. His breath smelled of spices, tea, and fine tobacco. They could feel the heat of his anger pummeling their bodies.

"If you're going to hit me," Miranda said, her face still turned from him, "hit me. If not," she turned to face him, "Get out of my face, rokudenashi!" (asshole)

Their faces were inches apart; she could count the different specks of green in his shattered eye, the way the surrounding scar tissue caused the eye to take on a slightly slanted look. His hair was like pale gold and looked very soft. Even the stubble on his face, his perpetual five o clock shadow that she had come to associate with him looked somehow appropriate, fitting for him.

Very slowly, Grey stuck out just the tip of his tongue past his lips and inhaled deeply.

He's tasting me!

She saw him shudder almost imperceptibly before retreating.

"Get out," he said, "Both of you. I'll take care of this."

"But we're nowhere near—" Miranda protested.

"Get. Out. Now."

Miranda sighed inwardly, two steps forward, one step back.

"What the fuck?" Sam demanded as Miranda took the handles of her chair.

"Time to go Sammy," was all she said.

"First, don't call me Sammy," she said sharply, "Second, why are we leaving? Just because he says so?"

Miranda wasn't sure how to answer; instead, she hazarded a look at Grey: the man seemed to have recovered from his episode and was simply staring out the window almost completely oblivious to their presence.

"Let me put it to you this way, love," Miranda explained, "Would you rather take your chances with the people out there," she gestured, "Or the person in here," she pointed at Grey.

"Get me the fuck out of here."

"That's what I thought," Miranda began to wheel her lover down the bus's length.

Sam jerked to a stop, "No, fuck this," she growled and began to rotate.

"Sweetie?" Miranda asked concerned as her lover did an about-face and wheeled down to confront the man.

"Hey freak!" she yelled.

"Sam!" Miranda hissed urgently.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, you gruesome son-of-a-bitch!"

Slowly, Grey's eyes lifted and met hers with what seemed like a Herculean effort.

"You know something, you twisted fuck? I actually do wish you and Miri were in love, know why?"

Miranda's reaction was a sharp gasp of shock, Grey's was no reaction at all.

"Because it would at least mean that you were human! That you had a heart! You're an engine of hatred, fueled by self pity!"

"If that is the case," he whispered quietly, "What wretched creature would love me? Certainly neither of you right and proper ladies."

"Of course we wouldn't! What is left in you to love?"

Sam's hand flew to her mouth as the hateful words escaped from her mouth, her blue eyes wide in horror even as Miranda gripped her wheelchair with white-knuckled.

"Sam, that was unconscionable."

Sam just nodded, biting down on her hand, her eyes clenched in shame as tears ran down her face once more.

"Sticks and Stones will break our bones but words shall break our hearts," he whispered softly in a voice that could only be described as 'haunted'.

Sam opened her eyes and looked at the man and her heart hurt at what she saw. He looked wounded and she knew it was her fault.

"Grey I—"

Grey held up a hand.

"February fourteenth, nineteen ninety eight."

Miranda cleared her throat, she was so afraid that she was going to make things worse, but she had to do something. As cruel as he was, the man deserved better than this.

"What does that mean, Grey?" she asked him gently.

"You already know."

"I don't know, please Grey, tell me what it means," she felt so vulnerable. Saying 'please' to this man made her feel naked

Naked.

"Nanite koto!" (Oh my God)

She shook her head vehemently, her short hair swishing with the force as she tried to deny the horror of his revelation, "What you're saying...that's not possible. That's not..." she began to reel and had leaned heavily on Sam for support.

"What? What?" Sam interrupted, "Would someone please explain?"

Miranda had to swallow several times before she could proceed, "Do you remember, the other night, when I was naked?"

"Uh yeah, pretty vividly," Sam frowned. Getting Miri to say "naked" usually required a lot more effort on the part of the bashful girl.

"I asked him—"

"Right," Sam acknowledged, "Something about 'a woman's touch'," she frowned at Grey in disbelief, "Wait, you're telling me you haven't had sex—"

"That's not what I asked him," Miranda said as she numbly began to recite her previous words,

"How long, Grey? How long has it been for you? A kiss? A touch? One warm word or a woman's body against your own?"

"Feb--," Sam began to make the calculations, "Fifteen years—"

"—seven months and eight days, yes that's correct, Ms. Adler," Grey finished.

"Fifteen years!" Sam cried out, "You've been abstinent for fifteen years?!"

Miranda was trying very hard not to cry as she shook her head, "Not abstinent, Sammy, worse. Worse than abstinent."

"What in the name of all fuck could—?"

"Alone, Sam. Completely and totally alone," Miranda felt her heart crack at the agony of it all. "Fifteen years without a kiss, fifteen years without a hug, fifteen years without being told 'I love you', fifteen years without anyone to open your heart to, to confide in, fifteen years of being alone from the moment you open your eyes to the moment you close them—" she couldn't continue and just held her hands to her chest, trying to make the pain stop.

"Fifteen years where your only human contact is violence and pain," Sam croaked out, "Why?" she gaped at the man, "For God's sake, why?"

"Perhaps you should ask God the next time you are talking to him," he hissed.

"Christ even serial killers don't spend fifteen years in solitary confinement!"

"And if murder was the worst of my crimes, the point would be moot."

Sam wheeled closer to him; she wanted to touch him, to show him she cared despite everything.

"What crime could you have possibly committed to deserve more than fifteen years in Hell?"

"What were Brutus, Cassius, and Judas's sins?"

"Betrayal," Miranda answered automatically, "Motivated by hubris that ended in their death as well as the deaths of others."

Grey just smiled bitterly and said nothing.

"Who, how," Sam was struggling to make sense of it all, "I mean, are you a murderer?"

"Would it make any difference if I was, babes?" he replied calmly.

Sam swallowed and looked at Miranda; the poor girl was not dealing with the truth of the matter very well, "I don't know."

"I've been called a murderer more than once, but actually guilty of it?" he tossed away his cigarette and took out a new one, "That's open for debate, I suppose."

Sam reached out then and touched his arm,

"Anything that you have done, no matter how terrible, can be forgiven, if you are truly repentant."

Grey gently removed Sam's hand and placed it back on her lap, "I see we've been ingesting a steady diet of Southern Baptist propaganda."

Sam scowled, "Hey, according to those assholes, I'm going to Hell because of me and Miri."

"And if they were right? If you were, in fact, condemned to burn for all eternity because of your love for each other, would that change anything?"

"Not for one, fucking, second."

Grey smiled then a little, "Well said, Leviticus was never worth the paper it was printed on in that overgrown press kit of a bible." He shook his head in disdain, "You want to hate people because they're different than you, feel free. Just don't pretend God gives a shit because as far as I can tell, the only thing God has going for it is that it does discriminate when it comes torment."

"You're familiar with the Bible?" Sam asked.

"The same way a virologist is familiar with Ebola, yes."

Sam's eyes widened, she had no reply for that.

"This is personal for you, isn't it?" Miranda whispered, "Your grudge against the Church."

"Best bloody believe it is," he took a drag from his cigarette, "but you keep good company. I knew I liked you for a reason."

Sam blinked in surprise, "You like us?"

"You sound surprised."

"It might be because you constantly lie, insult, and belittle us when you're not busy playing head games."

"Let me rephrase, babes, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't bother with all this, you would just be...ignored," he coughed once and rubbed his chest, "Tossers," he muttered.

Sam and Miranda both scrutinized him with concern, "Your injuries?" Sam asked.

Grey nodded and the girls saw that there were still portions of his face that were swollen and looked very painful, "Yeah, and I think on that note, it's time to turn in, I am well and truly right buggered," he gestured towards the front of the bus, "Virgil's got you where you need to be by now, I'll wager."

"But tomorrow--?" Sam asked.

"Leave that to me," he growled as removed his shades to look them both in the eye, "I'm not going to let these people hurt you, savvy?"

"Okay then," Sam replied shivering a little as she saw his eyes ignite at the intensity behind his vow, "I'm convinced."

"We'll see you tomorrow then?" Miranda asked quietly.

"With bells on," he assured them both, "Sleep peacefully."

"You too, and Grey? Thank you, for everything, including opening up, that couldn't have been easy."

Grey ground out his cigarette and gave a small shrug, "You are the only two living people on this planet who know that, that means you two know me better than anyone. Period." Again, there was that same intensity as if he felt his words could not simply be heard, but actually driven into the listener with tremendous force.

"I understand," Miranda replied solemnly, "We will prove to you that we are worthy of your trust."

A flicker of a smile across his scarred face, "We'll see."

The girls reached the front of the bus and turned to address Virgil.

"I'm going to bet twenty dollars your name isn't 'Virgil'?" Sam asked wryly.

"Naw," the other man drawled in words that could only have come from Cajun country, "But he likes to call me that and I don't mind much."

"Why?"

"'Virgil' is the name of Dante's guide in the Inferno," Miranda replied quietly, "We already know Grey is a fan of his work, this is his way of being clever I suppose."

"Right then," Sam replied trying to figure out how that was being clever, "Where're you from originally?" she replied as her own Tennessee accent began to rear its head at the sound of the other man.

"Originally? Lake Charles, but I was living on Bourbon Street until recently."

"Pre or Post-Katrina?"

"Both, Cherie."

Sam flinched, "Ouch, sorry."

The man shrugged, "Thank you for stepping in there earlier, ma'am, never seen him angry before. It's a good sign."

Miranda gaped at him, "He nearly throttled you. How in the world is that a good sign?"

"Because, miss, in order to be angry, you first have to care."

That drew both girls up short. Virgil just grinned as he opened the door to the bus; they were right in front of their apartment.

"Now you girls, just go on ahead into your house, I'll wait here."

"That's not necessary," Miranda assured him.

"Like Hell," he laughed, "That man would kill, skin, and eat me alive, if I let anything happen to his friends, hopefully in that order."

Miranda sighed, "He doesn't have 'friends', he has 'contacts'."

"Well, I have seen him talking with his 'contacts' and I can tell you this mon ami: he's never once lost his cool with them the way he did tonight," he shrugged, "things change."

"Some things," Sam whispered, "Not everything."

Sam and Miranda walked up the path to their front door and went in. It was only when Miranda waved from the window that the bus pulled away from the curb.

"Fifteen years..." Sam whispered, "How could anyone...?"

"They can't," Miranda replied, "They can't and remain whole."

There was a very long break in the conversation as both women built up their courage.

"He's insane, Miranda, you have to know that," Sam whispered, giving voice to their shared fear.

"'Insane' is a subjective term—"

"Miri..."

Miranda's strength then reached its limit and her face crumbled with an audible sob. She placed her hands over her face as she closed her eyes.

"I know," she whispered from behind her veil of flesh and tears.

"What are we going to do?"

Miranda's arms went limp; lacking the kind of strength needed to cope with this kind of anguish.

"Whatever he has planned, whatever it is he's going to do, we have to stop him."

"How?" Sam wheeled up next to her lover, taking her hand and pressing it against her face.

"God help me, I don't know."

"I'm scared, Miri."

"Yeah," Miranda whispered, "I'm scared too."