Never Ready to Make Nice ((Drake)) [PG-13]

[India Nightingale]

((This thread will likely contain strong language and adult themes.
You must be aged 13 years old or over if you wish to read; proceed at your own discretion.))


'Forgive, sounds good; forget, I’m not sure I could.
They say time heals everything, but I’m still waiting.
I’m through with doubt, there’s nothing left for me to figure out.
I’ve paid a price and I’ll keep paying.
I know you said, Can’t you just get over it?
It turned my whole world around and I kind of like it.

I’m not ready to make nice, I’m not ready to back down.
I’m still mad as hell and I don’t have time to go round and round and round.
It’s too late to make it right, I probably wouldn’t if I could, ‘cause I’m mad as hell.
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should.'

-- Not Ready To Make Nice, Dixie Chicks

Why should she feel guilty? What she did wasn't controlled by him. Who she was, how she felt, they were not his, they belonged to her. India smirked and drowned in another shot of vodka. Why should she care about him caring about her at all? He wasn't a part of her life anymore. She was just India. India Nightingale didn't need nobody; especially not him. She didn't need to feel this gnawing guilt with each drink; this desperate desire to escape. "Get me another one, Thorn," she demanded as her head rolled onto Cyrus' shoulder. "Hm... I'm so s-stuuuupid," she mumbled in slurred words. "Stupid stupid stuupid..."

India didn't need his permission to be here. The first time they'd met, it'd been here... This very pub, such a muggle pub. India's glossy eyes stared around her, at the blurry shapes, the flashing lights, and half smirked. She wondered if he would smirk too. He used to do a lot of that, but nowadays he only stared at her with empty, hollow eyes filled with nothing but hatred and resentment. She had ruined his life, after all. It was all her fault. There was no room for vice versa, 'hey, you ruined my life too', or anything of that sort. He was so caught up in himself, his selfish bitterness, that he had never seen her pain.

India pried the new glass of vokda from Cyrus' hand. Her blonde hair, loose and beautiful, fell down her back like a golden waterfall as she downed yet another shot that burned her throat like fire, the way she wanted it. One year ago she had sat here (more more more), and she'd been so different (black hair, Duke, amnesia, Mommy), and yet so similar (wash it away, can't face it). India gave an uncharacteristic giggle and pushed her lips against Cyrus' collarbone. "Y-You were right!" she declared in half sombreity, half ecstacy. "I'm just like all those p-patheeetic girls out there. You were all... always right. I hate you."

He wouldn't speak to her. She wouldn't speak to him. She'd promised. And unlike him, she could keep her promises, she thought with vengeance and a bitter taste in her mouth that wasn't entirely the alcohol. India hadn't seen him since the last day of school (his last day ever, she'd never see him again). She didn't care. So what? So, so what. That didn't explain why, when she'd arrived back home, all she'd wanted to do was cry, tears like torrential rain but held back with stubborn force. That didn't explain the emptiness within her, a gaping hole of darkness that needed to be filled with a light beyond her ability to create. That didn't explain the dreams of safety and contentment, only to wake up to her living nightmare, alone. It didn't matter, she said. But it did. It did.

"But I hate him more," India whispered, closing her eyes to envisage his face. She leaned forward, lips sliding along Cyrus' jaw, and imagined this was different. That was why the alcohol helped: it gave her forget, it gave her pretend, like nothing else could. Her head pounded painfully but all that mattered was losing control of him, and yet, however much she poured into her open, willing mouth, he would not go away. "Kiss me," India muttered into Cyrus' ear. If alcohol wasn't the answer, maybe someone else was. "Do what you do best and ruin me, Cyrus Thorn," she growled, pulling him closer, closer, too close and never close enough.

[Drake Manning]

The Real World. It wasn't all that it was made to be. Drake was barely a month out of Hogwarts, and nothing had really changed all that much - nothing except for the small detail that he now lived on his own, his parents tired of his apathetic approach to life. Luckily, he had hoarded enough money over the years, squandering from the Manning account at Gringotts, and he was able to find himself a small flat in the outskirts of London. It wasn't much at all, but it was a place to sleep at night.

With no job, and quite frankly, nothing to look forward to, Drake quickly sunk back into his old ways of drowning his feeling of self-pity and shame with his beloved alcohol. It was a vicious cycle. It was Drake though, and, without the distraction of Hogwarts, this was his life now, and it seemed that it's what it would forever be. At least until he ran out of money.

A cool breeze raced across his face as he walked in the evening sun. It was a hot night, and the breeze made it a bit more bearable. He was walking, seeing that he lived in the muggle part of the city where they wouldn't really appreciate people popping in and out of the places they needed to be. Drake didn't use magic all that often anyways, only when he needed it to make some of the mundane tasks either. Magic didn't excite him like it once did, and so he was easily able to blend into the muggle lifestyle. And tonight, he was headed for a muggle pub, in fact, the same muggle pub where he first met India. His inner self cringed at the the thought.

India Nightingale had probably been the best and worst thing that happened to Drake. But, in leaving Hogwarts, he also said goodbye to that stage of his life as well. No Hogwarts meant no India, and Drake was, in a way, thankful for that. Her presence in his life had been so draining, despite the potentially few great times that it might have brought. He was happy to escape this, at least for the time being, especially since it made it so much easier to just retreat into the old ways of Drake Manning. Women and alcohol were the only staples he needed, not to mention an occasional hit of V if he was lucky.

Sauntering into the pub, Drake caught the eye of one of his recent one-night-stands. She looked utterly disgusted to see him, which only made it easier to smirk in return. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a potential drinking partner. They stopped though, when he caught the face of a particular man. It was a man Drake had hoped to never have to deal with after leaving Hogwarts: Cyrus Thorne. And, as ironic as it might be, sitting right beside him was India herself. Drake's stomach dropped.

Half wanting to just turn around and walk away (just like he always would), Drake stood there and could only stare. India was drunk, that was certain, and Cyrus' filthy arm was draped around her. It made Drake physically sick. Why? He wasn't sure. But whatever the reason, he felt like she deserved whatever she was getting herself into. They could go sleep together right then, and Drake vowed that he wouldn't care. But in just the thought of it, he did. He cared, even if he tried not to care. And that's what lead him over to where they were sitting.

"Get your bloody hands of her!" he shouted, taking Cyrus arm and practically ripping it away from India. Drake was furious. Probably the most furious he'd been in months. His eyes fell on the drunk India, and he could instantly see that she was barely in a state to make her own decisions. "You're coming with me," he said with certainty. Not even allowing Cyrus the time to object, Drake swooped down and cradled India in his arms. He heard her weak cries of protest, but her drunken and small figure were no match for his own strength. Not to mention, the adrenaline gave him quite an upper hand. All eyes on the trio, Drake turned quickly and walked for the door. If Cyrus knew what was best for him, he'd find some other girl to intoxicate and have his way with. India was not an option.

Once outside, Drake welcomed the silence that was complete opposite of the loud music from inside. India's protest was still audible though, but he ignored her as he walked to an abandoned alleyway where he could hopefully apparate. He scoffed to himself, realizing that once again India Nightingale had found her way into his life. Maybe she planned to be at the pub, assuming he'd show up, but either way, there they were now. Together. An odd reunion that was so similar to their first. "F***ing Fate," Drake muttered before apparating the two of them to his new flat.

[India Nightingale]

India's lips were an inch away from Cyrus' when she felt his body tear from hers. She fell away like ragged wallpaper, wobbling with the alcohol in her system, a word on her mouth but no sound to push it out. Painfully slowly, she looked up to see the face she'd been dreaming about, who'd inhabited her imagination, and blinked, sluggish. "D-Drake!" she smirked, certain that this was just another hallucination that lived only in her mind. Aware of his burning eyes on her, India turned back to Cyrus, who had been pulled away and was facing Drake with his usual cocky arrogance. India giggled. "I was j-just having some fuuun with Cyrus hereee," she said, fingernails scratching at Cyrus' collar, trying to pull herself up. It took her a few seconds to stand, but she immediately toppled against Cyrus and let out a bark of frenzied hysterical laughter.

"We reeeeally should s-stop meeting like th... this!" India declared to Drake, half aware of the murderous intent radiating off of him. "After all, I promised... d-didn't I?" As she giggled into Cyrus' chest, a firm hand closed around her wrist. Before she knew what was happening, she was pulled away and dragged unceremoniously out of the pub. "D-Draaake, what are you d-doing?!" India protested, words permeated with occasional hiccups and fits of laughter. "Doesn't th-this remind you of a year agooo? So long agooooo?" As the cold air of the evening hit India, she pressed closer against Drake's arm. She was barely aware of the fact that he was apparating them elsewhere until they landed with a loud crack in a room rather than an alleyway in London. "W-Where are we?" India asked, drawing away from Drake and wobbling across the room. "This isn't your roooom, Drake! Have you changed roooom?" Tripping over her own feet, she collapsed onto the bed and began laughing crazedly again. "This is such a gooood d-dream!"

When Drake made no attempt to move, India twisted off the bed and threw herself into him, with only his steady arms to balance her unsteady legs. "A veery g-good dream," she echoed dazedly, breath hot against Drake's neck. Her eyes fluttered open to stare into his, glassy and devoid of reason. "I want..." She swallowed and grinned. "I want y-youuu to kiss me! K-Kiss me!" India's lips ghosted along Drake's jaw like a butterfly that knew where it was headed, an arrow with an aim. Before Drake could react, India's mouth was on his, kissing him hard, her hands balled into his top to pull him closer. Finally, when she ran out of breath, she drew away. Her ecstatic expression had faded, leaving a sorrow she had never showed to anyone, eyes empty and alone. "It's always been you," she whispered, cheek on his chest. "Only you." A sigh wracked her fragile body as she closed her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder, her pillar of support. "I wish I could forget you."

[Drake Manning]

He stared at her with a hateful glare. As much as he tried to hate her though, he knew that it was an impure hate. It was a hate that was diluted with everything he had tried to deny. Watching her stumble around drunkenly was hard for him to do without wanting to just yell and scream at her. She was better than this, stronger than this. Drake knew that it was his fault that she was in the state that she was. If he hadn't been such a monster. If he hadn't avoided what he was truly feeling this entire time. He was the one to blame, not her.

"You're drunk," he said in an irritated tone. He closed his eyes for a second, holding back the urge to just throw her out into the streets. It made him sick to see the mess that he had created. Every slurred word that fell from her lips was just another reminder of how this was all his fault. "Sit down." Drake's words were so dulled by his anger with himself, and he didn't even move as she stumbled away from him, clearly ignoring his command. "I said SIT THE F*** DOWN!" he shouted this time. Drake was bordering a complete mental breakdown as his anger punched its way to the surface.

She still ignored his shouting thought as she pulled herself closer to him and begged for his kisses. Drake felt his weakness to resist fighting against his guilt. Her lips were so smooth though as they made their way to his own, and Drake's knees buckled as they kissed. Instinctively, he held her tightly against his body. Being with India had become such an ambivalent trend, but Drake knew deep down that he was just lying when he told himself that she wasn't good for him. He had always wanted her too, but he refused to admit it after she had hurt him.

"You did forget me," he said, his voice quivering with hurt. "Don't you remember that? You forgot me when I needed you the most." There. He said it. Drake admitted again what he had told her once before. But now she was drunk. She wasn't in her right mind. She probably wouldn't even remember this. He took a moment to push her away just slightly, enough that he could look her in the face. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, India." He shook his head in disbelief. "This is all my fault. You'd be best if you could forget me. You need to stay as far away from me as you can."

[India Nightingale]

"What's d-drunk?" India asked with a highly amused giggle. "I'm not drunk!" Drake's orders, yells, screams, fell on shielded ears, ears that did not want to hear Drake; another sense, after trying to numb feelings, blind eyes, that had been dulled by the pain such a man could inflict upon her fragile soul. "No," she murmured quietly, defiantly, as Drake demanded she sit down, spit at her to do it. "No, Drake, no." His fury, his fear, they washed over her like clouds - without a body, without colour, just a body of grey, a body of nothing. India would not acknowledge his sorrow, his pain and anger; she would push him, push him like he had pushed her until he snapped, cracked into a thousand pieces, just like her, and demand to be re-built, mended, fixed, as though it were easy.

India stilled in Drake's arms as he succumbed against her, his lips pressed to hers like it belonged, and even through the haze of alcohol, India knew this was right. She kissed him desperately, praying for him, her salvation, and was reluctant to part when they finally did. The dull shine in Drake's eyes told India what she knew, what she didn't want to understand, and she wrenched herself away from him as though stung by nettles, by an innocent bee. "I-I don't remember anything," she said, a sob caught in her throat, causing her tone to be thick, coarse. "I don't want to remember," she cried sorrowfully, her arms clutching at herself as though she were in physical pain. "I just want to forget again, forget everything, my life, myself! I wish I didn't exist!" Her last words reached a crescendo, a scream, but she immediately silenced after, catching for breath.

A low moan escaped as India heard Drake's guilty words, words that were words of giving up, letting go, and she did not want it, did not want to hear what she knew were pain and agony and sorrow. "No," she moaned bitterly, aching. "No, no, no. Don't say that, Drake, don't! Please... please, just shut up!" India's hands clasped over her ears desperately, trying in vain to block Drake's honesty. "I-I've lived seventeen years of darkness," she began to sob in earnest, her knees bending to the floor so she collapsed in a vulnerable heap by the bed, weeping. "Seventeen years of fear and pain and rage, and sadness and emptiness, and then you," she bit with a tremor, "you came and shattered the ice world I lived in, and I hated you so much! I wanted you to disappear, I wanted you to leave me alone, b-but now!" India tasted salt on her lip and for the first time registered the wetness of her cheeks, tears rolling like storms. "Now I can't live without you, I can't do it! You made the world better and I can't go back to the darkness, p-please don't make me go back," she begged, rocking within her own arms like a child. "When you're there," she swallowed with difficulty, "you make it go away, you make me forget, because you're like me and I-I know I'm not on my own anymore. I don't want to be left alone anymore."

As blonde tendrils swept into a whirlwind of tears and dull aching, India curled herself into a protective, weak foetus and whispered, "Please, I need you, I need you so much."