Chapter 5 FINN
FINN
Monday Evening
I grit my teeth as I shoved the other three down again, locking the door to the drab room behind me. It felt like trying to swallow when something was caught in my throat, constantly threatening to come out any way it could. And violently. Very violently.
But my metaphorical room was working well enough, keeping them out of the life I intended to live unless I wanted them present.
Daemon kept trying to rip me out of the driver's seat but I was more annoyed at Killian for not being able to hold it together.
He had said all of three sentences to me in the last few days and the crying facade had the other two pitted against me. Fucking liar was what he was.
I wasn’t going to dwell on it though because since I had been out, I had fallen back into the skin I could call mine.
The new piercings had hurt like hell, additional ones added to the queue because the artist had told me I would look damn fine with the extra metal jutting out of my face.
It was a rouse for me to spend more money but fuck if I hadn’t nearly orgasmed at my reflection afterward.
Bar just over the eyebrow? Check.
Nose stud? Check
Nose ring? Also, check
Lip ring? Tongue ring? Check and check.
Finding a new set of studs to adorn my ears had been motherfucking Christmas and as I found myself seated in some posh Italian restaurant, across from a man we used to call ‘Dad’, I realized that my very appearance contradicted everything this man stood for.
I oozed criminal ambiance with my dark attire and overwhelming piercings.
However, I didn’t hate him for the reasons the other three alters did.
I knew he had put Mom away because we couldn’t support her debilitating state alone.
It still hurt that he had abandoned her there but I understood his initial reasoning.
As for Aeron, I would have never walked away from him had I been conscious.
Dark and Daemon would have never existed.
They wouldn’t have needed to exist.
Stop pushing, Daemon. You’re not getting out to play.
Letting Daemon out to play meant that he’d have us popping those pills the nurse had given me.
Sitting in the underwater haze was the last thing I wanted to do.
While it would loosen my hold on the other three, it wouldn’t give us control over much of anything.
Worst case scenario, they would fade into the background and I didn’t want them gone.
Not yet, anyway. So, no playtime for Daemon.
The real reason I didn't like our father was because of his lack of parenting.
He immediately assumed that I was as useless as my mother when I was diagnosed with HMD.
Everything became rules and arguments were abundant.
College was the best thing to ever happen to me at that point.
My father's desire to have me home where he could watch over me wasn't entirely selfless on his part.
He didn't want to be a father again. He just wanted control.
Like my men.
But in an entirely nonsexy, nonfun, overbearing way
I watched the man in front of me, tear into his steak like a wolf.
He scissored a bite that was socially unacceptable for the setting, stuffing it into his mouth before speaking to me.
“I was really glad when you came back home, son. I didn’t know if you even wanted to speak to me after everything that has happened.
” His words came out in a garbled mess as he chewed and my hand itched to reach out and slap him across the face. “After you were with my detective… I-”
"I thought we talked about the son thing.
I agreed to come back but we're not jumping back into some white picket fence life where we pretend you cared about me all these years.
You told Ki—you told me and I quote, 'journalism was a bunch of kids who did crack investigative work and posted pseudo-facts for popularity-pissing contests'. "
Nice save, Finn.
A frown followed my words, clearly marking my boundaries. When my father began to explain himself or apologize or whatever the fuck he was about to do, my fist clenched in my lap.
He’s your father; remember that. You can’t go around attacking the chief of police!
But it would feel so good to watch him deal with the pain.
I could barely focus on the man across from me without thinking about all the ways I wanted to rip out his tongue just for not being able to chew with his mouth closed.
Also, why the fuck had he ordered steak at a place known for its pasta?
My dish had some sort of red wine sauce but I needed red meat, preferably on the rawer side, and nothing I’d find in a restaurant.
If I had been the least bit sane, I wouldn’t have even allowed our father to pick me up when I was released.
Stupid fucking laws in Primrose meant that I had to be delivered to a guardian or a parent since I no longer had a place to stay.
Apparently, not paying rent meant that the one-bedroom was no longer mine.
The alternate option was being delivered to Samael and that wasn’t going to happen. Not yet.
He’s waiting for you to answer… I didn’t hear the question though.
Me either.
I waited for Killian to weigh in but he was still eerily silent. Fucker. “It’s fine. Can we just eat? This was nice and I don’t want to get into all the specifics.” It was, in fact, not nice. It was not fine. Unfortunately, the details were what mattered. It was all part of a larger picture.
“Yes, of course,” He responded, taking a disgustingly large gulp of red wine.
This father of ours was the very picture of wealth given to the wrong people.
He didn’t embody grace or dignity as some of the other patrons in this fine establishment.
Had I been Killian, I would have been thoroughly embarrassed.
But I wasn’t. I was here for one purpose—the money I was owed and a roof over my head that didn’t involve the three men I was currently toying with.
I sipped at the wine in front of me, cringing at the bitter taste on my tongue.
My head buzzed with warmth and I hated Killian just a little more, this time for not being able to stomach wine.
I had no tolerance for this shit. I fiddled with the pasta, wrapping it in different ways around my fork, enjoying the way the sauce splashed against the porcelain plate.
I imagined a very different setting, crimson liquid splattering the walls as shrieks and terrified screams fell on my ears.
“Is it good? You mentioned years ago that you loved Italian.”
He was trying to be a good father, that much was apparent.
Unfortunately, he was years too late and I was a tad bit too crazy to fall for it.
“Yes. Love the sauce.” Reminds me of blood.
Pleasure shot down my spine and made a beeline for my dick, the beast thickening between my legs as I remembered moments with Slash after he came back from a kill.
Had my men not been so dense, they would have realized that that was all me.
Dark and Daemon had been driving those moments but I enjoyed every last second of it.
However, because a fourth personality was so wild a thought, it hadn’t been one at all.
I shifted my pants to relieve the pressure, thinking of a way to redirect the conversation when my thoughts fell on the three terrors living in this town right under the chief’s nose.
Our father was a laughable detective who had the hardest time catching what was right in front of him.
He promised results and yet all he had to give was failure.
I shifted again, thinking about my men, which was making me impossibly hard against my will.
Get it together. I’ll give ya’ll a wank when we get home.
Don’t want Daddy dearest to see
how bloodthirsty we are, do you?
Goddamnit Finn! Let me out.
Fat chance, Daemon.
You guys had your moment in the spotlight.
It’s my turn. Sit back and watch.
We’re going to end up in jail.
It’s so cold in here.
Killian had surfaced but I had no idea what to do with those words.
It was becoming more and more difficult to figure out if Killian was playing a game or if this new personality of his was real.
Regardless, if Killian fell apart, we’d all cease to exist. I was tempted to let Killian out for a spin, but I also wanted him to suffer just enough to know how I felt.
I didn’t remember complaining this much when he had shoved me into the void.
“Dad,” The word felt like acid on my tongue as I laid down my fork, squared my shoulders, and stared at the man across from me, “I want to come back permanently.” He choked on his last bite of steak, quickly recovering as he dabbed his napkin along his lips.
“Home. I no longer have my apartment.” I faked a look of despair at crawling back into that god-awful studio room.
Sleeping in silk sheets made it impossible to return to a space like that had it still been an option.
“Yes. God, absolutely, Killian I hated worrying about you. What do you—"
I watched him sputter out words, unable to form a coherent thought as the idea of me staying like the old days made him nearly bust a nut.
I stifled the giggle threatening to unearth itself when I decided to sweeten the deal with a bunch of lies I would never stand behind.
“As much as I wanted to believe that journalism would take me further.
It won't. You were right even though I fucking hate the way you said it.” Our father was dumb enough to believe that even though I had just lashed out at him a few minutes ago.
A lone tear traveled down my cheek and I silently patted myself on the back for being such a damn good actor. “I'd want to go back to school.”
“For what?” This man was doing absolutely nothing to hide the enthusiasm in his voice.
“Not sure. I want to do something with my hands.” Like, holding carving knives. I snickered at the notion that the man across from me was thinking about Engineering or architecture while I was thinking about carving up some poor sap and dumping his body in the middle of town to display my skills.
Really selling it out there, Finn.
Don’t you dare put me in the driver’s seat for math. God, I thought we’d only have to do this shit once.
Is no one else cold? I’m dying here.
God, Killian was such a bitch, even if this was him trying to act. However, if he really was cold, that wasn’t good. Our personalities couldn’t feel. Instead of addressing the issue, I ignored it like a normal, sane human being.
Dad’s smile warmed as he scooted around the booth cushions and pulled me into a tight embrace, “Killian, I’ve been waiting and hoping you’d see reason.
We’ll talk more at home and create a plan, but god, it’s just so good—” I did my best not to tense up and hug him back, however awkward his hold was. I’d gut him later. Or not.
It was still up in the air.
If he didn’t start calling me Finn instead of Killian, I'd start planning just which knife I would use.