Some secrets aren't meant to be told.

Peyton listened to him talk, and when he mentioned not going out much she felt a strange pang in her chest. "I-i don't either," She admitted. Peyton had dropped her hand from the shelf, but her eyes were still among the books. She didn't want to look at him then, wondering what ridiculing expression he might have had then. But, at the same time curiosity was washing over her. It was creeping up on her like an icy winter chill did at the change of the autumn season.


As she stood there, the book shelves towering over her, she felt very very small. Something in her was telling her now to go home and never come back out. But, there was something about Dante that made her want to stay. As Peyton stood there in the dust filled corner of the small book store, the light the poured from the one solitary window hit Peyton just right, making her eyes shine, and her pale skin glow like porcelain. She looked like a frail china doll standing there silent and still.
 
Dante breathed in, relishing a moment of silence, and he snuck a look at her face. She was a still portrait, all gentle curves and pale wash. Peyton positively glittered. But he dare not ask her to stay. Dante knew if he got too close, he'd lose control of his emotions at one point, and from then on she'd know he wasn't just Dante, he was two people. One was Blake, the ugliest human around, and Dante had a frayed leash on him that kept breaking, and Dante would take forever to fix until it broke again.


He was Blake the angry, Blake the viscous, Blake the ruin. This was a psychotic person who used Dante when he could. Nothing could stop him except sleep, and sometimes that wouldn't. Days, he'd be gone, and have to come back and fix things. So sorry, I can explain... Why did he even have to come out? Dante would rather hide this from the clean, pretty Peyton.
 
Peyton stood still a moment longer, but then a tight pain in her chest spurred her into action. Another attack was coming on, and fast. She had to get out of there without Dante seeing anything. "Well, thank you for the water," She said frantically. "I better get home, " Peyton rushed, twisting on her heels. It only took her a few moments to reach the door, but the coughing had started. Clapping a shaking hand over her mouth she pried the door open, a bell tinkling behind her deep in the shop.


Peyton had been such an idiot to leave home without her pills, and she wasn't sure if she'd make it all the way back to her apartment without a full on attack. Making it out the door, she pounded quickly down the sidewalk, her hand still clapped over her mouth. A small sweat was breaking out over her forehead, and the coughing was coming on stronger, blood splattering the palm of her hand.
 
Suddenly Peyton jerked away, and she was almost running out the door, and so soon. In fact, it seemed like she was trying to hurry away as quick as she could. Dante tried not to let it bother him, maybe she had an appointment. But the idea that she was leaving and he hardly even knew how to contact her, that was scary. Dante chased after her, leaning out the door and watching her hurry down the sidewalk.


"Hey, wait! Peyton, how can I contact you?" he called, and when he saw her shoulders shaking harder than the pace of her walk, it made him pause in thought. Was she ok? Was she laughing at him? A bubble of anger hit like a blow to the face.
 
Peyton hear Dante call from behind and she tried to walk faster, putting her head down. As she did this, though, someone who also was in a hurry connected shoulders with her, knocking her onto her butt. She fell back with a small pained yelp and tried to catch herself with her hands. When she lifted her hand from the sidewalk, all that remained was a small red stain. Her blood was staining the sidewalk and it made Peyton feel sick to her stomach. Quickly she pushed herself to her feet and wobbled, almost falling back again. But, Peyton caught herself on the side of a nearby building and coughing loudly into her hand again, blood replaced pale color of her skin on her palm. "Crap," She mumbled, trying to look down the sidewalk and see if Dante had followed her. But, Peyton couldn't focus as her head was spinning making it impossible to focus.
 
She was ignoring him obviously, on this silent noon with a lack of traffic to still his voice. He was about to turn away when the man shoulder-checked her, sending the thin, gentle Peyton to the ground. "Hey, Peyton!" Dante rushed forward to help her. She was only a few meters away, and he caught up quickly as she was stabilizing herself on a wall. "Hey, Peyton," Dante huffed after his jog, and a bright red shock hit him. "Peyton, where are you bleeding?" he gripped her wrist without any please or thank you, pulling it forward. No cuts were visible to break her skin, so he looked into her face. A splatter of rich color was against her lips like staining lipstick, and a salty, pukey taste hit his throat. Had she bit her tongue? She looked so sickly, so near death unlike the still and statuesque Peyton he'd seen a few moments ago. Dante may just call 9-1-1 for this.
 
Peyton watched his expression go from worried to horrified when he caught her wrist. She jerked herself free and wiped her lips with the back of her hand, smearing the blood onto her smooth skin. "I-i'm fine," She managed in a raspy and shaky voice. "D-don't call the hospital," She warned, as if she had read his very mind. Peyton wasn't sure if that were what he had wanted to do, but she knew that most of the time that was a person's reaction. "It's just hot out and I need to get home," Peyton tried to lie, but it came out weak and unconvincing.


Peyton laid her head back against the cool brink of the building behind her, her eyes now dark with shadow. She looked small and fragile there, as though she hadn't slept in days and with the slightest touch would fall apart instantly. And the truth was, that was how she felt sick, tired, and ready to fall apart.
 
Glass. He was reminded of glass when he looked to her. Taking a risk, Dante pulled her hand up again and lifted her from the ground, standing her against the wall. "Peyton, just stay here and I'll call a cab so you can get home. You're really sick," he said, as if it wasn't obvious. Dante pulled out his cellphone and dialed, keeping a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Her eyes looked so lack-luster, and her skin was a shade paler. Was she dying, right here? Once he'd contacted a service, they promised to be there soon. Dante stared at her with a stern face and kept his phone at the ready. "If you pass out, I am calling 9-1-1, and you will go to the hospital. You need help, and despite my judgement you are going home first," Dante reported a bit snappy. He could feel his emotions tossing, turning in on itself, and Blake was just waiting for anger to fly through. No. Relax. Dante focused on Peyton and breathed deeply, tapping his feet impatiently.
 
Peyton watched him as he tried his best to take care of her. He was just like everyone else now, pitying her and treating her as though she couldn't take care of herself. "Look, I'm fine--" She started but, she was cut off by another blood spraying cough.


She fell forward catching herself on Dante, feeling some color flood into her cheeks. It was obvious that she wasn't okay, and she knew that. But, she hated to have people treat her this way, like a poor injured bird. "L-look," Peyton choked, "This happens all the time," She admitted finally. Looking up at him, her eyes locked on his, "I just need to get home," Peyton told him, gripping his arm for support.
 
A fire had begun to blaze in her eyes, and Dante was scared now. She was trying to shove him off, but this made him grasp her harder, not enough to hurt but firmness like stone. And it happens all the time? What was going on? "You're really sick, Peyton," he said again, almost at a whisper. "As soon as the cab comes, you can go home." Dante promised her. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep between the time she left and whenever she decided to explain she was okay later. To his relief, a black Subaru came around the corner with a taxi logo and the number he called. Thank God. Dante supported her, hoping she'd come back and explain some day.
 
Peyton winced slightly when his grip tightened on her. It hadnt hurt her, but it did startle her. Biting her lip she slipped into the can with out another word. In moments she was gone.


(Make your next post about a week later, where Peytom hasn't shown up to the shop at all, and hasn't tried to get ahold of Dante!)
 
Dante stared at the book again, wondering if he should sit at the park and wait or stay indoors.


She hadn't called the shop, come back, or even bothered to let him know if she was alive. Peyton vanished in startling red and pale white like she'd come. And the dreams, oh God the nightmares of her vomiting blood everywhere. But one was nice, he remembered.


She lay in the tomb, lips still a little red but more like lipstick. He leaned down and brushed away a strand of red hair, in awe. "Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, had yet had no power upon thy beauty," Dante muttered before waking up in the twentieth century. Dante held onto 'Romeo and Juliet', staring into the pages as if it were a hidden map. Where could Peyton had gone? He had questions needed to be answered. But it was five o'clock, and it was time to leave the shop, so he placed the book down and slowly got ready.
 
Peyton, had been in and out for about three days. This attack had been one of her worse, and she hadn't been able to bring herself to call the bookstore, though she had looked up the phone number several times. Once she even dialed, and hung up when Dante answered.


Sighing, Peyton looked herself over in the mirror. She didn't look as sick as the last time he'd seen her, and she had done her hair up and slipped on a flowery light blue sundress. It was hot out, so her legs were bare and she wore no coat. As she looked herself over, she decided she owed Dante a visit. Leaving in such a sickened blur must have really confused and scarred him.


She didn't live far from 'Yesterday's Books' so it took her only about ten minutes to walk down the sidewalk. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she got closer. Peyton wondered what Dante's reaction would be to seeing her now, after she fell off the face of the earth for a week. Sighing, and shaking it off, Peyton tried to stay confident. But, when she made it to the shop, and was standing across the street she couldn't bring herself to move forward. What if he was mad at her? For some reason, that idea scared her beyond belief.
 
Dante tugged off his over shirt, leaving just the wife-beater tank top on underneath and grabbed his ice water. Mr. Dawson watched him and folded his arms across his hairy, Scottish-American chest. "Son, you alright?" he asked, and Dante nodded. "The girl?" Mr. Dawson smirked, the old mind reader. Dante nodded again.


"She just...left! No forwarding address, no word, nothing!" Dante fumed.


"Relax, son. Go take a cold shower and wait." Mr. Dawson advised as Dante flung the door open. He was about to start walking when the sight of a still, blue figure across the street in the strangling heat. There was a flash of a red halo in the afternoon sun...


Dante's heart stuttered, pounded, and leaped into his throat. "Peyton?" Dante called, staring like a loon across the street at her. His mouth must have been to the cement! No longer the heat bothered him, or the anger floating around in his head kept him constantly checking himself, Peyton was there! No questions even came to him as he started across the street.
 
Peyton was about to leave, but someone exited the book shop and was frozen in place. Looking across the street, Peyton saw Dante whose eyes were glued to her. Biting her lip, she stuck her hand up in an awkward wave.


He was looking at her as though she were a ghost of someone who should have been dead, but was seeing them right there with his own eyes. Though she hadn't died, she had disappeared from his life just as quickly as she had come into it. Now, she was back, not sure what to say or do only stare back at him across the road.


Peyton ran a hand through her fiery locks, and looked down at her small feet. Why was she so nervous to face Dante again? If this had happened with someone else Peyton was sure that she wouldn't have cared, but something about Dante made her feel different. He was different, like her and the similarity between them was comforting she supposed. As she kept still, her heart hammered in her ears making it hard for her to think. What in the world was she going to say to him?
 
She looked fetching in blue, Dante thought just as he stopped a few feet before her. "Y-you look better," Dante said, then regretted it. Peyton was really sick, of course she's better. "What happened? I got so worried you weren't okay," Dante gushed now, afraid that she'd disappear again. It was late, and the night life was about to start a little ways down town, why was she out alone? What if she was still sick? "Why don't we sit at the park, and we can talk there," Dante changed tone, not trying to patronize but trying to make talking more comfortable. "Would you like to?" he checked. He may look a little crazy, a bit awed, and of course a bit shy. 
(I have a bit of a plan to bring out Blake now, if we have some jerks, so hence the night life reference)
 
(I'll let you bring them in, since you've got the plan brewing!)


Peyton watched him as he talked, he had been seriously worried about her. She noticed that he had dark circles under his eyes, which he hand't when they met. Had he lost sleep over her? she wondered, and sincerely hoped not. Besides his tired eyes, he looked just as handsome as she remembered him. His hair was tousled just as perfectly as before, and with out his work clothes on his bare and rather muscled arms looked good in the evening light.


It took her a moment to hear him but, when she did her chest tightened and she sucked in a sharp breath. What had happened? In her head she scrambled for the right answer, but before he gave her the chance to answer he asked another question. Would she like to talk with him? of course! she thought to herself. Peyton's thoughts caught her by surprise and she felt her cheeks heat. "Y-yes, I would," she said properly and walked over the bench he had sat her down on the week before. Sitting, she crossed her legs at the ankles and looked up at him, waiting for him to sit. He probably had a million questions for her after her display before, and she mentally prepared herself to answer them.
 
What was that? Her face had become not only stone, but a mask. This was twice as scary as the blood. Dante sat beside her and tried to tune out the bunch of ragged, rowdy boys walking through the park. "First question; where were you all week?" Dante tried helping her out this way. Maybe she had a special secret she couldn't relay to him just yet, so he tried to go with the easy questions first. "I only ask because the next time it happens, I want to know where to call. You didn't call me, even at the book store," Dante plastered a smile on his face, trying not to let the hurt show. Of course she didn't call you, are you her father or something? a snide, ugly little voice said in the back of his mind. A bottle cracked into glass, and the group of boys howled in laughter when Dante jumped at the sound. He turned back to Peyton, trying to ignore them.


(Feel free to play with them, they're only mutual characters, like you can hear them doing random stuff.)
 
Peyton glared up at the group of boys, and looked back at Dante. "I was at home, in bed," she told him honestly. She didn't feel that hiding anything from him would do her any good. He already saw her, so there would be no point in wasting the effort.


"To be honest," Peyton started and looked down at her slightly shaking hand in her lap, "I went to call the store several times, but couldn't bring myself to dial the number. Save for once, when I called and then hung up when you answered..." She mumbled the last part, not really all that confident in sharing it.


As she looked up to catch Dante's reaction, Peyton caught sight of the group of men now heading toward them. They were walking in a small clump their eyes on the two of them sitting on the bench. "Dante?" Peyton asked, and cast her look in the groups direction, not wanting to point.
 
"I see them, don't worry," he muttered softly, trying to draw her eyes away. "You called? You should've said something, anything. I've been answering the phone for a past week, jumpy and almost screaming hello, then sounding so disappointed!" Dante chuckled, suddenly echoed by the group of four, maybe five boys just a bit older than he. They smelled like sweat from the heat of wearing matching hoodies, and all of them reeked worse of booze. Not a good combination, booze, heat, and men.


"Hi, sweetie, cute dress," one said smartly, and Dante knew the end of the line. "It'd be better--"


"Fuck off," Dante said sharply, not worried any more. There was a line between being cute and being lewd. Although Dante's father had beaten his ass, he'd never raised a hand to his wife, and even that was noble from a drunk. 'Respect the one who gave birth to you, and respect every woman like they gave birth to you' had always been the mantra. Dante stood and made a motion for Peyton to stand with him.
 
Peyton was about to respond to him when he talked about answering the phone, but she didn't get the chance. She was cut off before she even started, when a drunk man, from the same group she'd seen before, commented on her dress. "Dante," Peyton said under her breath, warning him with her tone to be careful.


When Dante stood, she did so as well and slipped her hand into his with out thinking. These men were much bigger than her and she was afraid. There was no way she'd be any help if a fight broke out. But, not able to keep her mouth shut she snapped back at the group, "Why don't you just go back to the rat nest you came from?" She snapped, her eyes like daggers. But, all the group did was laugh, she wasn't taken seriously due to her thinness and height. She was small and therefore seen as weak.
 
"Peyton, shush." Dante hissed, pushing her behind him but keeping her hand in his. They all swayed and laughed at her, and Dante turned to leave. That's when the boys not just followed, but slipped in front of the pair.


"That is no way to talk to a lady," a less drunk said, and this seemed to spur the men into action. Quicker than what they'd let on, a man gripped Dante's forearm and leered across him at the specimen of fragility standing beside him. "We can treat a lady right," another called, all hooting and gesturing. Dante had had enough, and fear quickened his heart, blood, and of course his mind became a sea of worry, until...a blink of calm snapped into place. Blake was calling him from a dark hole Dante had been trying to cover for almost a year now.


"Let go. I can't control what happens if I get upset," Dante warned, getting more laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, a man moved forward and reached out to brush Peyton's hair with a dirty paw. Dante blacked out, losing himself, but from a distance past the pounding of his angry blood, he heard a dark chuckle.
 
Peyton looked up at Dante, and tried to follow when he walked forward. But, the pack of neanderthals stepped into their path. Gripping Dante's hand tighter, Peyton pressed into his back, trying to hide herself. To no avail, one of the men touched her hair and she yelped, jumping back and letting go of Dante.


She heard him speak and wondered what he had meant. Can't control it? She thought to herself before she saw what he had meant. Then, he seemed like a different person, not the one who had helped in the park and quoted Shakespeare with her. That wasn't Dante at all, and it was almost scary. Inching back, Peyton watched the scene in front of her unfold, the men to distracted with Dante to worry about her for the time being.
 
Without another question, without more than assessing there was a bunch of little troublemakers closing in, Blake lunged forward, using his arms to grip the man who touched him and spun his arm at an unnatural angle until SNAP! The man screeched in pain and rage, holding his forearm where it had been broken. Suddenly, men started in. Blake felt a small body against his back and he pushed the figure literally into the bushes, swinging forward with a triumphant yell. It was good to be back in the game! Blake relished each slam of his knuckles against joins, faces, ribs, until the skin broke and the old sting of fighting was in his arms. Jesus, he felt weak. Had he been slacking on working out? Blake kicked his foot out in a dirty move and stomped on a man's pride until he hit a high C, and then Blake lifted him by the arms. "Suck it," he spat, throwing him to the ground, a crumpled mess. Blake turned to the bushes, seeing a pale young girl with a hot bod and sexy eyes.


"Don't you know not to be in this park at night? Stupid move, kiddo," Blake chastised, roaming the girl's body with his eyes, tutting.
 
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