Chapter Text
His hands are fumbling with the zipper of her pants, while his mouth is still preventing Carmilla from saying anything. His kisses are rough; he bites her lips almost breaking the skin. She uses her hands to put some distance between them.
„Alright Champ, not so fast,“ Carmilla says. He is still panting furiously; his hand halfway down her pants and his body still trapping her effectively against the hard wood of the door to his apartment; he's pressed up against her, the little shove she gave him barely gave her enough space to breathe. It's not the most comfortable position to be in and she doesn't really feel like being fingered in front of the guy's house. She takes his hand that is still unsuccessfully trying to sneak it's way into her pants. „Let's go inside, babe.“
He nods, his eyes glassy. She made sure that he didn't get completely wasted, so it's probably mostly the excitement of having a female pressed up against him. He gets his keys out and his hands shake violently, while he tries to open the door. Carmilla watches him over his shoulder and can't help but smile. Men are so easy.
As soon as the door open, he takes her hand and drags her inside, pulling the door close behind them. Again her back crashes against the hard wood - though this time they are at least inside. He starts kissing her again. Damn, he's eager. She hears the clanking of the keys, when his key ring falls to the floor. He doesn't seem to care. His hands are roaming her body again, utterly lost in the touches.
She uses her hands to give his shoulders a push, giving herself some space to herself. Carmilla leans against him and gives him one last, tender kiss, before she wriggles herself completely out of his grasp. She takes his hand that is still exploring every inch of her body he can reach and drags him after her, farther into the apartment.
„Wow, this is amazing,“ she says.
„Huh?“ he asks indistinctly. She turns around, noticing that his eyes are glued to her ass. She can't really blame him, there is a reason she chose to wear her cutest pair of leather pants after all.
„Your apartment. It's beautiful, cutie. What is it that you do again?“
„Umm, I... I'm a stock broker.“
Right. She remembers him telling her. Right before he started going into some details about numbers, corporations, sales and shares. It didn't get any more boring than that.
„Could you get us a drink? Some champagne maybe... to celebrate?“
He nods eagerly. She's suddenly reminded of a stray dog that she had nearly adopted a few years back. Well, that was before it got hit by a truck and ripped into a million pieces. He kisses her again, then takes her hand to show her into the living room.
"I'll just put on some music, and then we can get comfortable."
He turns the lights on, and then fumbles at stereo. Carmilla uses the moment to take a quick glance around the room... assessing everything. It's not what she expected. Most guys like him had only the bare necessities in their apartments. White walls, basic furniture they ordered from some high class shop, maybe a picture or two, but this guy. The place actually looked like an actual human being was living here.
The cabinet next to the huge flatscreen TV was filled with books, actual books with pages out of paper and words written in ink. She resists the urge to get up and take a closer look reminding herself she will have more than enough time to snoop around later. There are also some DVD boxes and video games in the cabinet.
The guy is still going through the CD rack, apparently not finding what he is looking for. He sighs and puts on some classical music. He didn't seem like the type, but she isn't about to complain, when she hears the first notes of one of Beethoven's earlier symphonies.
“Mhhh, damn; it's the only CD I have got,” he says turning around again. He smiles sheepishly.
“It's cool.”
„Great. I'll be back in a second. Don't run away,“ he pleads. She laughs, promsing she won't do such a thing.
Carmilla shrugs out of her leather jacket, while taking the flask that was safely tucked away in a hidden pocket out. She puts it into her back pocket. Letting the jacket fall onto the armrest, she sits on the couch. The leather squeaks, when she moves. It must be pretty new to the apartment. Most of the stuff looks new. He can't be living here for very long.
The guy comes back only minutes later balancing two glasses of sparkling champagne in his hands. He grins at her, appearing much younger than he actually is. There's something innocent about him. Carmilla smiles back - a forced, sad smile, but of course he doesn't notice.
„Thank you.“ She takes the glasses from him and puts them on the table. „You know, I'm really glad I met you...“ She tries to remember his name, but realizes that she forgot it. So much for being professional. „You should know I don't normally do this. I mean, I have never done this before, but you're just so... you are special.“ She stumbles over her words, and doesn't look at his eyes. A moment later she feels his hands on her chin, when he angles her face up to look at him.
“Neither do I.” She smiles at him. She has to fight the need to roll her eyes at the guy. She knows that the only reason he went to the bar tonight was to get laid, he wasn't fooling anyone. But at the same time she sees the way his eyes light up at her words. She knows it's not only desire and lust, the guy has been alone for a long time. He needs to feel wanted, loved. She smiles and softly caresses his cheek, before leaning in again.
„Close your eyes.“
He does. The kiss is much softer than everything they have shared this evening. The guy runs his fingers through her hair. Carmilla keeps her eyes open, watching him intently. She tilts her head, locating the glasses on the table. The guy still has his eyes closed and seems completely lost in their kiss, she uses her left hand to silently pop open the flask and empties it into the glass.
Quickly she hides the flask again, her movements so smooth that he doesn't even notice a thing. That was easy. She smiles against his lips, and he copies the motion. She sits back. He's still grinning like the idiot he is.
She takes the glasses from the table and hands him his. „To us!“
They clink their glasses and then he gulps down the champagne in one swallow. Money didn't always mean that they had manners. He puts the glass back, and watches her. Carmilla smiles at him knowing that the drug won't take long until it's effect will become apparent. She only takes a sip from her glass. She never really understood the appeal of alcohol anyway.
*~*~*
His speech is slowly becoming slurred, the words harder to find, the mouth no longer able to form the right syllables. Sh quickly checks her watch, it didn't even take ten minutes. She catches his hand mid air, while he tries to grab on to something, anything.
„Tha- I,“ he starts, but never finishes whatever it was that he was about to say. His lids flutter, and he looks around the room bewildered. She wonders what he is seeing. He doesn't look panicked, only befuddled.
„Don't fight it, sweetie, it's okay. Your tired, just lie down, come on.“ She helps him lie back on the sofa; he doesn't put up a fight. She takes of his shoes, before putting his legs on the sofa as well. „That's good. You are good.“
He blinks a few times, trying to make out more than vague shadows in front of him. Carmilla massages his temples, trying to give him even a little bit of comfort, before he will disappear into the world of nothingness. His hands twitch, but don't move.
She hates this part. She hates how familiar it feels, how she can so easily think herself into their position. She mumbles some soothing words, knowing that he won't be able to hear them anymore. His eyes have fluttered close, in his condition it takes too much effort to keep them open. She stays a while longer, running her fingers through his hair and holding his hand.
They look always so peaceful - like they have no worry in the world, like everything is perfect. "You are okay," she whispers in his ears. He doesn't react any longer. His body is just still, he is completely gone.
She gets up, getting a blanket to put over him, tucking him in. She likes him. He is cute. For a douchebag that habitually picked up girls at the local bar, when his girlfriend was away. There has to be a girl. Maybe even a wife. She noticed the cloak at the coat rack, a very female cloak. But most of all this doesn't look like the apartment of a bachelor.
She's been in enough of those to tell the difference. No, somebody took a lot of time and effort to turn this into a home. There was a lot of decor around the flat, even some hand painted pictured on the walls, small things, little figurines and scented fucking candles. This wasn't the work of the guy, this must have been his girlfriend. Or his mother. Either way, she was going to find out.
Before anything else, she's curious as to what she'll find in his apartment. She had noticed his watch, that will probably make her a couple of hundred bucks. But there has to be more. If she's right, and he has a girlfriend or even a wife living with him, her jewlery must be around somewhere. But her jackpot, the only reason she even let the guy woo her still lay on the floor, where he dropped the keys. The keys to his brand spanking new Mustang. She fell in love with the car as soon as she saw him navigate it through the parking garage. A damn shame that she couldn't keep it. When she watched him arrive in his shiny, new Mustang at the bar, she knew that he was the guy for the night.
Her palms get sweaty, when she imagines touching the leather of the steering wheel. She had tried to get the guy to let her drive his baby home, but he had just laughed and told her to get into the passenger seat. Prick. She would take the car for a short trip, before selling it. She wanted to, no she needed to know how it felt to drive the car.
She sighs, finally getting up to get on with it.
Knowing that she has all the time in the world, she takes the glasses to the kitchen first. Getting rid of the most obvious evidence. She pours the spiked champagne into the sink, then proceeds to clean the dirty glasses. She searches the cupboards to put the glasses back where they belong. Once she's gone, there will be no more evidence of her ever being here. She remembers the lipstick stain she left on his shirt, but she'll take care of that later.
She wanders around the room, running her fingers over the books. Mostly crime dramas, thrillers, but also a lot of romance novels. Either he is a secret romantic, or these belong to the girl in his life. She takes some more time to inspect the apartment. And she's right. She finds some jewelry that is most definitely not the guys. It's in a cute, little pirate chest on a cupboard in the living room surrounded by loads of pictures. She looks at each one of them.
She likes to get to know her... targets. Not only because she is nosy as fuck, but also because most of the times the people she steals from have secrets. Secrets they never want anybody to find out. She has to smile when she remembers the photos and evidence she has on her phone, that kept a lot of those guys from ever filing a report. It's her fail safe.
She likes the intimacy that this offers her. It's the only intimacy she allows herself. She likes to get to know them, every little part of their life. Every secret they hide in the darkest corner of their closets. She still finds them. Most of the guys she steals from are pigs. Either cheating on a wife, at least twice her age and treat her like she's worth shit. She never feels bad about any of them.
The guy's different. The con only started, because of his car. He was only a few years older than her for a chance and easy to talk to. She glaces at his figure on the sofa. He's still out cold. She thought she heard something, but she must be imagining things, since he is still exactly where she left him.
She turns back to the framed pictures. Surprisingly the guy is in none of them. She picks one of the pictures up. It features a petite, brunette girl surrounded by two huge guys in some kind of jerseys. Football players maybe? She doesn't care for sports, so she wouldn't know.
„Don't move!“ a small voice suddenly says. Carmilla winces. The girlfriend? Why would the douche bag bring her here, if his girlfriend was home? Had he planned for this to be a little ménage à trois? Fuck. Fuck. This was not part of the fucking plan.
There was nobody supposed to be here. The guy had said he lived alone and that they would have the apartment all to themselves. She wasn't stupid, she always made sure beforehand that she wouldn't be caught. Believing guys when all they wanted to was get laid, wasn't the smartest move on her part she realized.
Carmilla halts and puts the frame back.
„Who are you? And what in hell or Hogwarts are you doing in my apartment?“
Despite the dire situation she somehow found herself in, Carmilla can't help smiling at her choice of words. But wait... her apartment? Something was seriously going wrong. This wasn't how the night was supposed to go.
„I'm sorry, cupcake. I'm...,“ she says trying to sound as harmless as she can. She starts to move around, but the girl stops her.
„Don't. Don't turn around.“ Carmilla doesn't, for all she knows the girl has a gun leveled at her head. She's not about to risk getting shot in the face. „I'll call the police and then you can start explaining. No funny business, do you understand? I have a weapon.“
Carmilla can't risk that. She doesn't do police, she can't get caught.
„There is no need to call the police,“ she says as calmly as possible. Carmilla puts her hands up in the air, trying to appear even less dangerous. „I'm going to turn around now, don't do anything you will regret later, sweetheart.“
She turns. The girl from the photo is standing on the other side of the room watching her wearily. She's tiny. In one of her hands she's holding a spatula, in the other a huge can of either pepper spray or air freshener. So, no gun. And honestly, that's her choice of weapons? If Carmilla gets caught because of this... ridiculous girl, she'll never forgive herself. She's faced far worse threats than a girl waving a spatula at her.
She is only wearing a huge tee that doesn't leave much open for imagination. It barely covers her panties, Carmilla can see some red fabric under the shirt. Her hair is a mess, she must have been sleeping. She's pretty. No scratch that, she is beautiful.
The guy is an idiot.
„I said, don't...,“ the girl starts, but she doesn't finish her sentence. Her eyes dart to the phone that is only a meter away. Carmilla wages her chances of getting there before the girl is able to dial 911. She could probably make it, but she won't let it come to that. She isn't a con artist for nothing. Up until now she's been able to talk herself out of every imaginable situation.
„Just calm down, okay... I'm very, very sorry. I didn't know that this was your place. I was invited. I didn't break in and I'm not a burglar, if that's what you are thinking.“ The girl tilts her head, not really believing what Carmilla is telling her, but at the same time she has stopped moving towards the phone. „I didn't mean to scare you. Fuck, I'm so terribly sorry. He told me that this was his apartment.“
„He?“ the girl squints her eyes.
Now would be there right moment to remember the name of Mr. Stock Broker, but Carmilla is lost. She has to try to appease the girlfriend, before she was going to jump at her throat. „Your boyfriend? I was just bringing him home, we met at a bar. He was nice, that's all I swear; but I guess he had too much too drink, so I offered to drive him home. Nothing happened, I promise.“ Granted this isn't her best, but she doesn't have much to work with.
„I don't think I'm following. I don't have a boyfriend and I live alone, nobody...“ The girl stops. This is the moment she realizes that they are in fact not alone here, but that there is an unconscious figure lying on the sofa. She recognizes him at once.
„Wilson,“ her voice is worried.
Her eyes dart from Carmilla to the unconscious Wilson that is tucked into a blanket and has a blank expression on his face. Carmilla can only imagine what is going on in her mind. Her eyes display a whirlwind of emotions.
"He passed out once we got here. Wilson told me he lived here... he had a key, so I had no reason to doubt him."
In the end, she puts the spatula down, and quickly scurries towards him; though she still cradles the spray bottle in her hand. Apparently she chose to believe Carmilla. Carmilla smiles in triumph. Now she needs to get the fuck out of there.
The girl kneels down next to the guy. She is gently slapping his cheeks, trying to wake Wilson up, but he doesn't stir. Of course he doesn't. It will take hours, before he will come to his senses again, the drugs made sure of that.
„What's wrong with him?“ she asks uneasy.
„He just had a few drinks too much. At least as far as I know.“
The girl nods and looks at her friend again.
„He told me he stopped, he's such an idiot.“ Even though she seems angry at her friend, she still sweeps the hair out of his face and tucks him in again. Alright, so Wilson had dabbled in drugs before. She sighs a breath of relief; otherwise it might be hard to explain the situation.
„I haven't had the pleasure of him passing out in my flat since college. I'm sorry for, you know,“ she says raising the hand that is still holding the bottle. „Thank you for bringing him here, I guess. I just don't understand why he would tell you to bring him here, instead of his own flat.“
„He doesn't live here? With you?“ She is still confused by that as well. It is apparent that they aren't a couple, but rather good friends. Luckily. She doesn't think, she could have dealt with a jealous girlfriend or wife tonight. He told her he lived alone; he must have thought his friend was gone for the night.
„No. Wilson's an old friend. I have to travel a lot for work. I gave him a key to look after my cat, when I'm gone. His condo is only a few streets away.“
Carmilla nods; she knows exactly why he brought her here. If you wanted to impress a girl you took her to a place like this; not to your own sad, one room flat full of empty pizza boxes and dirty clothes. She wonders how many random chicks this Wilson had fucked in his friend's bed.
„Maybe he thought you weren't home.“
„Why would that matter... Oh... oh,“ the girl must have come to the same conclusion. Carmilla remembers the lipstick stain she left on his collar. She is pretty certain that the girl had noticed how messy his hair was as well. „I had an appointment in Chicago today, but it got postponed last minute.“
The girl looks at her with wide eyes. Carmilla tries to imagine what she's thinking about. Is she imagining Wilson and her having sex in her own bed? Carmilla's throat suddenly feels rough, when images invade her mind. She's naked in the stranger's bed, but the person trailing kissed down her leg is not the guy, but the cute, brunette girl. Fuck. She shakes her head willing the images to get the fuck out of her head.
It's been a long time since she wanted somebody. She had kissed and fucked so many people in her time, that she hadn't felt anything for, that attraction had stopped to matter along the way. If anything attraction was dangerous.
„Oh god, I'm mortified,“ Carmilla says burying her face in her hands still playing the part of the innocent girl. She needed to get out of there. „I'm really sorry. For everything. I'll just, you know let myself out, now that I know he is in capable hands.“
She shoots the girl one last look; she's watching Carmilla her mouth slightly agape like she wants to say something, but doesn't know how to. She hurries through the room, when she is in the hall, she notices the key chain that's still where the guy dropped it. Maybe the night wasn't a waste after all. She could still take his car, that is parked on the street in front of the building. For a moment she thinks of the money his Mustang would pay, but she quickly shakes the thought off. The girl had seen her and she would most definitely remember her. She couldn't risk it.
„Wait!“ the girl shouts after her. „You forgot your jacket.“
The girl hands her the jacket. Carmilla can't believe that she nearly left her jacket. She remembers the second vial that is still safely tucked inside the hidden pocket. She is an idiot. She smiles again at the girl and mumbles a thank you. She already has her hand on the door handle, when the girl calls her up again.
„I can't let you leave like that,“ she says her arms crossed in front of her chest, „I mean, do you even have a way to get home?“
Home. Home. She hasn't had a home since she was seventeen years old.
„I'll just get a cab.“ She checked out of the hotel she had been staying in the last couple of days this morning, so she'll probably sleep in her car that is still in a parking garage downtown. She had planned to get out of this damned city after tonight's con.
„I could drive you.“
„No, it's okay. Really,“ she says quickly, desperately. Carmilla makes the mistake to look at the girl again. Somehow her shirt has become even shorter, so that she is now able to see the red, silk lingerie beneath it. God, she can't take her eyes of the girl.
This is not good.
„It's no problem. It's the least I can do. Without you Wilson would probably spend the night freezing to death on a park bench.“ Finally Carmilla is able to take her eyes off the girl, her words have the same effect as a cold shower. She remembers how she drugged the girl's friend and tried to rob her. And the girl is a fucking angel, she acts like she has never done anything remotely impure in her whole life.
„No, I'm okay. I'm a big girl.“ Carmilla twists the handle, swinging the door open. She doesn't turn around, she can't bear to look at the girl any longer. She is everything Carmilla is not.
Innocence has always appealed to her.
The girl catches her hand, when she takes a step into the stairwell. Carmilla turns around swiftly and the girl lets her hand fall again appearing flustered.
„Sorry,” she mumbles, “is there anything you want me to tell Wilson, when he wakes up?“
Carmilla is surprised for a second. There is nothing she has to say to the guy. It's not like he means anything to her. The girl watches her, and Carmilla realizes that she must think that she was still into her friend. She remembers the marks she has left on his shirt and probably on his neck as well.
„No, I... Just tell him I say hi.“
„I don't even know your name.“
Carmilla hesitates for a second. There are a million names she could tell the girl. She had been so many persons before, she's had so many names, so many faces.
„I'm Carmilla,“ she finally says. It's not the name she was born with, but it's the only name that she ever felt was hers.
The girl smiles. „It's nice to meet you, Carmilla. I'm Laura.“
She doesn't hold out her hand or shows any inclination to do so whatsoever. Carmilla nods, but doesn't leave. This doesn't feel like the end of a conversation, but like the beginning of one.
Laura notices her hesitation. „You don't have a place to stay, have you?“ Carmilla blinks at her, not really knowing how to react. It feels like this Laura can see right through her. She shakes her head trying to clear her mind.
„Of course I do.“ They both know she's lying.
„I'm sorry, Carmilla. I don't want to impose, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. It's just... I don't like the idea of you walking the streets on your own. There are a lot of fucked up people out there.“ Laura doesn't know that Carmilla is one of them. „I have a guest room, you know. If you want you can stay the night, it's no big deal.“
„I can't. Besides I have a place.“ She thinks of the many nights she spent sleeping in her car. She's used to it by now.
„Still. You helped my friend, I just want to return the favor.“
“I didn't help, because I expected something in return,” Carmilla shoots back with more bite than she intended.
“I didn't mean it like that, I just thought...” she trails off.
There is some commotion in the stairwell. Somebody else is coming home, noisily climbing up the stairs. Carmilla hears a rough laugh, they are probably drunk judging by how slurred their speech is. She is still standing at the threshold unsure of how to proceed. The problem is that she wants to stay. At the moment she wants nothing more than to say yes. But she can't risk Wilson remembering anything from last night, or getting to close. She hasn't survived so long, because she was taking chances.
"Look, Carmilla," Laura starts anew. "I... at least let me call you a cab. I-"
Two burly guys make it to the floor. They nod at her and she steps out of the way to let them pass. One of them halts and stares at her. She needs a moment to understand that he isn't leering at her, but at the still barely dressed Laura.
She steps in between them blocking the girl from his view.
„Keep your eyes to yourself, you fucking creep.“
She takes a step into the flat and closes the door behind her. She can hear the mumbled voices of the guys on the other side, they laugh loudly and then the voices become indistinguishable. Moments later she hears a door close above them.
„So, you're staying. Great! Come on, I'll show you the room.“
„I guess so.“ Carmilla has to fight the instinct to yank open the door and run away. It's just a night, she tells herself. It's certainly better than the backside of her car.
She follows Laura. Totally not checking out her ass on the way. Not even a little bit. She wonders if the other girl works out, it certainly looks like she does.
She's going to stay, she needs a place to sleep after all. But she'll be gone before anybody notices. That's what she does after all. Carmilla Karnstein is a ghost. She sneaks into peoples lives and leaves in the same manner. Leaving nothing more behind than vague memories, hazy images of a person they barely knew and stolen riches.
This girl is no different.