<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Rose satin underwear, complement to already silken skin, a garment from an aisle little girl was still embarrassed to traverse. They were another part of the facade- another implement into a costume that was just a bit too big for skin and bone baby. Sweet atomizers, buttercream and lavender, compacts filled with blush, sanguine nail polishes, and a lipgloss that tasted like strawberry, though she had been the only one to savor it- all pieces of a puzzle. But despite her overcompensation with frilly panties and sheer bralettes and garter belts, she was still missing a couple fragments. Unattainable through dress-up and play-pretend. Perhaps she would never complete it- not while she still feared the furthest reaches of herself. Not while she still left a nightlight on after dark fell. Not while she still refused to get rid of her stuffed animals, removing them from her bed but keeping them, shamefully, in a trunk behind closet doors. <br/>
<br/>
One thin layer between the dragon maw and baby bird's rawest, fairest pigments. It terrified and overwhelmed Reno. Not the salivating, razorblade incisors but rather the nearness. Physical secrecy washed away with a single action, menial and perhaps even innocent in theory, shredding the shields that protected her tender underbelly. Big brother blurring what it meant to be distant- exposing her to two extremes. One moment Volk was far, nothing but a memory or a bad dream. The next he was sharing warmth and muddling lines with a girl that had gotten used to him being anywhere but here. <br/>
<br/>
As Reno choked on the obscured meanings, abrupt changes in everything she knew to be true, Volk slipped from her bare front and stood again. Imposing and villainous, but with a softer hue smudging his gaze. He took back the warmth, the mingled movements, as quickly as he had given them. And then there was distance, again. The pressure remained, sinking Reno's head into a numbing hum, her own heartbeat thumping against her temples. She was out of breath, huffing, sucking in air between clamped teeth. Dizziness rattling her in a bizarre mixture of exhilaration and unease, of adrenaline and fear. Thoughts ignited only to be extinguished by her being lightheaded. Her focus darted away from Volk's face, his piercing eyes that looked her up and down, examining which parts of her mirrored her mothers and which were her very own. Her face had taken on a deep ruby, timidity and self-consciousness chewing at the blood vessels. <br/>
<br/>
Her fingertips yanked at the hem of her dress, pulling it down as far as the threads would allow it, the flush garnet making itself apparent across all spreads of her alabaster tincture. Her color was definitely red, harsh juxtaposition to flaxen hair and crystalline irises, but she hated the way it radiated bashfulness, the way it forced her to wear the way he made her feel on her flesh. As if she was an exhibition of all the emotions he stirred in her faint fluttering heart. Blank canvas darling- Volk could paint her any color he wanted. <br/>
<br/>
<i>It's too soon for you... with anyone. </i>The decidedly mature part of her wanted to argue, tell him that she was capable of doing anything and that he had no command over her, but it wasn't true. It almost felt reassuring. Father had been too out-of-mind to remind her of such things- too far down a bottle to tell her that she did not belong to the feral dogs with claws that could keep her down and jaws that dripped with drool, starved for her, or any other girl dumb enough to believe they were satiated by just a bite. And perhaps she had found tongues to lick lies off of just to upset him- just to rouse in father a need to protect her. It had never worked, and in the end, Reno was just eating semblances of affection off the shoes of boys who found no pleasure in gentility. Boys who thought they wanted an inexperienced damsel but grew frustrated when she wasn't sure where to start, and where to end. Problematic girls are far more romantic in the movies. <br/>
<br/>
She could still feel the pulse of his chest after he backed away. The melody of it played like a howling song in her head.<br/>
<br/>
"Volk, I- I'm sorry-" the words were impulsive and fell off her bottom lip in a yelp. It was habit, silly girl, so quick to apologize, to shed any tension, any conflict that she loathed so much. <br/>
<br/>
Volk stripped himself of his leather coat shell. Underneath he was no less prickly and just as towering. It ached Reno that he could retain his stature in the face of exposure. Reno disintegrated, blabbering and pathetic and entirely wine red.<br/>
<br/>
She shook her head, as if the motion would clear the fog in her brain. It didn't, but she structured her words to sound as though she had recollected. <br/>
<br/>
"There's- there are blankets in the bathroom closet- sleep wherever-" she wouldn't dare suggest mom and dad's room. "I'll be in my room if you need anything."<br/>
<br/>
<i>Please don't need anything.</i><br/>
<br/>
After struggling to find the solidity of her steps and the motion in her legs, Reno slowly meandered out of the room, her feet dragging underneath her, her hands tied up in the hem of her dress, uncertainty and agony and the impact of death radiating from her in a gray mist. This was it- the retreat- Volk had won. Here he was, estranged bitter boy, bastard, bad taste and bad memory, infiltrating whatever half-assed sanctity remained in the house. Reno skulked herself back to the only solitude she had left. <br/>
<br/>
And she locked the door.<br/>
<br/>
She peeled off the remains of her made-up face, brushed out her hair, and freed herself from the too-tight confines of the black lace dress. Printed pajamas and tiger stuffed animal, fairy lights and sheepskin rug, chenille blankets and candles in the window- Reno felt safer, here, in the familiarity of what she had built for herself. <br/>
<br/>
But she would not sleep. How could she? Instead she reacquainted herself with the ceiling and listened to creaks in the walls and the floorboards, the quiet whimpers of a dead house overtaken by an old flame. </span>