Fandom: Harper's Island
Word Count: 602
Ship(s)/Character(s): Abby Mills/Henry Dunn
Summary: It’s funny, she thinks, that he actually seems to think he’s given her this great gift.
Notes: Mentions of violence and minor sexual content.
It’s funny, she thinks, that he actually seems to think he’s given her this great gift. (He speaks as though all that he’s done is a work of art he presented to her; a symbol for his undying devotion and incomparable love.)
This life designed in the hollow ribcages of the dead with blood painted walls and unblinking eyes. It was designed over years and with great thought and designed with smiles and bloody fingers and hate that bubbled around love to protect it like bubble wrap so nothing bruises, nothing shatters.
She tries to rationalize what’s happening around her (though rational is fleeting in moments like this) and pushes denial above all other things. (Denial tastes sweeter than bitterness and hatred and soul shaking fear.)
I did this for you, Abby. Only for you.
He had created this mayhem with his own two hands, molding it with trembling fingers like the sandcastles they built as kids. (The rushing around to finish them before the tide came in was the biggest adrenaline rush of their young lives and they would collapse laughing onto the shore when it was all over.)
He uses those same trembling fingers to brush her hair back from her face and thinks of all the times he would picture her in the place of Trish; his breath is warm against the side of her neck as he speaks to her in the same hushed tones they used to do when sharing secrets as kids. (They’d hide beneath the sheets of the forts they would build on her living room floor and would drop their voices down to mere whispers each time the sanctity of the room was invaded by her mother; his mother.)
You’ll understand in time, he assures her and the smile on his face is almost enough for her to taste the bitter tang of bile on the back of her tongue. (Him being so self-assured scares her more than anything that has happened thus far on the island; his inability to see the flaws in his logic makes fear curl up cold and hard in the pit of her stomach.)
He knows that when she stops and thinks she’ll find this world he created for them beautiful; she’ll understand that the people that he disposed of weren’t important to anyone anyway and that he would do it all over again for her if given the choice. (Charlie had sent her away anyway and her friends were never really her friends, just static filling the space to distract her from their destiny.)
He’d created a palace with blades and blood and muffled screams and had done it with a smile. (Sometimes he still gets turned on when he thinks about the way it felt to stick a blade into someone’s side and feel their life rush out of them into his palms, sticky and thick.)
He knows that in time she’ll understand and the tears she’s shedding now will simple turn into tears of joy; he knows that soon her hand will embrace his like it so many times in his dreams and her fingers will feel marvelous against his skin. (They’ll move on from the way they were as kids, from innocence to adulthood and it’ll be her breathing that turns him on instead of the memory of playing God to all of the people they knew.)
She’ll embrace this world he has given her.
And until then he’ll hold her heart within his own and look out at the desolate island he has emptied out for them, watching the sun disappear on the horizon.