"You're paying me back."

What the fuck was she meant to do here? No, seriously, what was she supposed to do? Was she supposed to call an ambulance and hope he didn't die in that time frame? Did she pray for the poor bastard currently ruining her carpet? What did she do? It was safe to say that Mallory was panicking as she paced across the floor, practically going in circles around the possible corpse and unable to tear her gaze away from the man, her neighbour, Frank something or other who'd once held the door open for her and she'd spent the next ten minutes in her apartment hyperventilating because his arm had almost brushed over her own.

Was it already too late? Was he dead? What the fuck happened? He looked at though he'd went in a match with a fucking bulldozer, and then apparently decided that climbing through her window, all the while looking like on of Daredevils victims, was the nest option for his survival? Perhaps that big head had some kind of brain damage, well, he might of, except she was pretty sure he was fucking dead...and yet just as that thought was about to send her into another wave of panic, he suddenly let out a weak groan that seemed to be punched out of his large chest as he flinched.

Okay, okay so he wasn't dead, she could work with that, Mallory nodded her head frantically, rubbing her palms together and feeling her skin tingle and blister like an ominous warning. She didn't want to do this, she didn't want to do this, to risk her sanity, her life for a man that just so happened to be her fucking neighbour...but the other option didn't seem to be exactly perfect for her either. If he died, it would of been in her apartment with her covered in his blood and her suspicious past that followed her like haunting ghosts trying to drag her down into hells fiery pits...yes, she really didn't see this going well for her, at all.

"Please don't die you bastard, please, please, please." She kept muttering desperately under her breath like it was a prayer, bringing herself down to her knees beside him like a mocking saint, her pained gaze flickering at his every bruise with something critical and dark beginning to cloud over her exhausted features, as she ever so slowly began to peel off the thick gloves that had been her armour, her salvation for years now, grimacing at the sensitivity of her trembling skin as a breeze from the broken widow brushed over her cursed flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake that actually hurt.

But then she swallowed tightly, taking a deep breath with her eyes aching with unurshed tears, before hovering her shaking hands over his immobile body carefully, her fingertips dancing over his familar face gently, softly, like he was made of glass underneath her ruination, his crimson sin staining her fingers with red as she focused and sobbed and took...and that's when she felt something yank at her veins, pulling hard and making everything hurt and burn as Frank's skin began to knit together, blood drying and seeping back up into the cuts that had spilled his morality everywhere.

Taking, that's what she'd called her curse once, a simple term that didn't really carry the weight of what she could do, what she shouldn't of been able to do with veins that would blister and curl as her young body would fill with a devastating pain that maimed her like salt to a wound.

Of course, it hadn't always been there, that darkness beneath her flesh, the simple rot that laced her skin, hollowing her out until she was nothing but bone and damned blood, stealing her peace and her humanity and making her half heaven and half hell. It, like many things in the disaster they called life, had developed slowly, day by day, moment by moment, unnoticeable to Mallory who grew more and more drained with every fleeting touch that she'd been blessed with on the most rarest of occasions, never quite understanding the sudden agony that would blossom inside her while the others around her seemed to thrive.

And, once again, like many things in life, it had built up inside of her, seemingly biding it's time, growing stronger, more vicious...until one day, it had finally bleed out from her, and showed her wicked sin to the rest of the world, with prayers and horror battling their way to reach her, never quiet knowing if she was the sinner or the saint, and fate never allowing her a chance to find the answer in case of her own fucking ruin.

She'd been twelve when everything that was wrong with her came into the light, when everything changed, when she had finally succumbed to her own vile touch. Mallory couldn't remember the exact details of the incident of course, she couldn't remember why her mother hadn't been able to find anyone to babysit her, couldn't remember the clothes she'd worn or the many faces she'd seen and talked to when she was forced to accompany her mother to the nursing home she worked at like an extra pair of most reluctant helping hands...and she couldn't remember why she'd been left alone with the old man who'd reminded her more of a corpse that human.

But, what she could remember...was that he'd been lonely, yes, but most of all he'd been kind, the type of kind that was warm, who's words would wash over you like a embrace as he'd asked about her favourite books and movies, chuckling when he'd watch that excited sheen in her dark eyes that would sparkle, waving her hands around as she'd ranted and raved, not seeing her mother when she'd peeked in the doorway, about to tell her daughter that she needed her help, only for the old man to shake his head with a carefree smile, looking more alive then he ever had since he'd arrived with his cheeks flushed and gaze sparkling.

He'd been such a nice man, a man who you'd be lucky to have as a grandfather, one who'd sneak you sweets when he wasn't supposed to, who'd let you stay awake an hour past your bedtime, who'd never understand just what you were talking about when it came to the latest technology but who'd just be happy to listen all the same.

Perhaps that's why she shouldn't of been all that suprised on what had happened next, what had happened when she'd grabbed his hand in excitement only to feel something in her stomach clench and burn like her veins has turned into liquid fire, melting it's way through her flesh until she'd been ready to scream in agonising pain. Death was a constant and fate was a trickster, and together, they always transpired to take everything they could get their forsaken hands on and twist and maim it until there was nothing but hollow grounds beneath their greedy feet.

And poor, unsuspecting Mallory, hadn't been able to do anything but watch in horror and misery as the old man seemed to fucking glow, the way the gauntness of his face filled out, the gray ash of his skin becoming pink and fleshed out, a new life being breathed into him like some kind of misguided blessing...while the young girl felt blood pool upon her tongue until she was choking on it, thick hacking coughs slipping through her bruising lips until the whole world went completely and utterly black.

But when she'd awoken to the sound of terrified screams as everything around her tilted and swarmed...the man who had been kind to her was nothing more than a bloated corpse upon his bed, skin rotting, decomposing like he'd been dead for weeks instead of mere seconds...and she had known, of course she had know that it was she who'd condemned him...and her hands, her terrible vile hands, would be forever stained with her damned sin that would always take, would always give, and would always hurt.

"Come on, come on." Mallory whispered thickly, the taste of copper and rust heavy in her mouth as her palms began to convert and shift, cramping up to her wrists to the tips of her trembling fingers that couldn't hold on forever, not unless she, herself, wanted to switch places with the man she had no obligation to fucking save.

She could feel her own flesh beginning to bruise, to swell, to ache as she forced herself to take, just until it appeared that he'd actually survive the night, just until she wouldn't become a fucking suspect in his rather suspicious death...and then, finally, finally, the bleeding wound which had been a bullet hole that had cut far too close to his internal organs closed up as his skin knitted together...and she could finally fucking breathe as she fell back against her carpet and let out a sob that she'd been holding onto since the moment the bastard apparently broke in to her apartment to die...as if the world hadn't already cursed her enough.

Honestly, for a moment, Mallory debated just laying there for a few days, panting for breath with tears slipping over the harsh panes of her face until she'd eventually manage to pull together some semblance of energy, like some improv meditation or something like that, just needing a fucking break after that disaster, still feeling the occasional tremor curl over her body and make the bones that lay inside her ache with some kind of phantom pain that sent her teeth on edge.

But she knew if she did that, if she bowed down to the whispers inside of her mind that seemed to hook into her to being her down to damnation, she knew that she'd lay there until her final breath, because her exhaustion wasn't a desire for sleep, it was a desire for peace...and the only way she was going to get that was when she gave into rot and left the mortal coil of the earth. So, with that knowledge weighing heavy on her burdened shoulders, she shakily stood on unsteady legs, grunting at the agony that continued to seep out of her at the seams before she stumbled her way towards the bathroom.

There was really no point to the first aid box that was collecting dust in the cabinet above the sink, she never really left her apartment to get hurt except for work, and she never really had an injury other than a few minor burns to have a need for it...however, at that moment in time, she couldn't help applaud her own sickening paranoia as she grabbed it, holding it in the crook of her arm like a mocking baby, not trusting her hands to drop the precious cargo with the way they hadn't stopped shaking, and then carefully, she made her way back to her loving room where her unmoving neighbour on her ruined fucking carpet stayed.

"You're definitely paying me back for this, asshole." Mallory said quietly, face twisting into a dark scowl as she lowered herself to her knees, yet again, struggling to pop the box filled with bandages and plasters and hopefully something to numb the pain...her pain that was, he could fucking choke for all she cared, she'd done her part in making sure he hadn't joined the land of the undead and now she was going to wash her hands of this bullshit.

At least...that's what she told herself, that's what she promised herself actually, because she couldn't risk the closure of embrace, no matter how small, their simple interactions enough to make her ready to explode and she couldn't do it again. That's what she told herself, promised herself as she began to peel a plaster open to stick it on the stubborn cut of the bridge of his broad nose, wondering how the hell she was actually going to get his ass back into his own apartment, and just how she was going to fix her window and her carpet in his chaotic wake.

But fate was a tricky thing, well, that was putting it lightly, because fate was in fact, a cunt, because when she had stretched across the small space between them, ready to try and bandage him up so she could finally fucking sleep...she was interrupted by a rough hand wrapping around her fragile wrist and squeezing down hard as she yelped, practically feeling the bones that resised there grinding together in his strange grip that hurt like a motherfucker...and then, his dark eyes snapped open...and Mallory realised she was utterly fucked as they zeroed in on her and narrowed.

Sometimes, most of the time, she really did wish it had been her that died instead of the old man...because maybe then, she wouldn't of been fucking thrown across her own apartment like a life size rag doll, fate really was a fucking bitch.