Chapter Text
Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me Ch 1
“There is no God up in the sky, tonight
No sign of heaven, anywhere in sight
All that was true, is left behind
Once I could see, now I am blind
Don’t want your dreams you try to sell
This disease I give to myself”
-Suck, Nine Inch Nails
August 31st 2008
Calla quickly smoothed her champagne blonde hair in the reflection of the shop doors, trying not to meet her blue eyes in the glass. She didn’t like eye contact- even with herself. Getting home from her hectic workday at US Apparel would be a relief. Being friendly and social, upselling, checking customers out, even avoiding flirty texts from US Apparel CEO Don Charles about how well her billboard had done to increase end of season swimwear sales… all of it was too much. She needed a break. Unfortunately, as manager at the trendiest apparel store in NYC, the chances of getting a week off (or more than 1 day off a week) were basically none.
As soon as she locked the store doors, the headphones went on. For the whole subway ride home, she focused on her sneakers, while she listened to her music at max volume. The only break from the wall of noise provided by her thick pleather headphones was stopping for a Grande soy latte and tip. Calla barely removed the headphones to walk through the door of the rented apartment she shared with three other college students, Amira, Madison and Heather.
The girls were pregaming in the living room, getting ready to go out and get the rest of their drinks paid for. They of course politely asked Calla to change and join them, but she knew it wasn’t REALLY an invite. The three of them had closely bonded over the last year, while Calla was either working or studying. They had parents that paid their way, whereas Calla only had herself to rely on since she was 16. There was an unkind part of Calla that was jealous of that, but not so much of having to leave the house and interact with men in order to obtain free drinks. She politely thanked them but said she was tired from a 12 hour day on her feet. They nodded back as Calla headed towards her room, switching over to the sad tones of The Smiths as she did.
The pink floral lamp clicked on as she hit the light switch. Her room was decked out in band posters, and a poster of herself that Don had given her after the billboard rolled out. She went for a flat lockbox under her bed, which contained a few holy artifacts: cigarettes, a pipe, a small grinder of weed, ammunition, and a loaded .38 Hello Kitty custom piece. Contemplating the rest of her evening, she opted to pull out the pipe and load it. She didn’t put away the lockbox quite yet, as she knew that smoking weed usually led her to go out on the shared balcony for a guilty cigarette later in the evening.
She unlaced and kicked off her Converse high tops. She thought about changing into an oversized tee, but she found herself just a bit too tired to prioritize her future comfort over her current level of laziness.
Calla pulled a copy of After Dark from her bookshelf. She put her pipe on the windowsill in between puffs, and blew her weed smoke directly out of the window.
Until she heard a commotion that permeated her soundproof headphones, in between songs. It sounded like the girls were screaming- at someone.
Calla ripped her headphones out of the jack and off her head, a familiar chill rolling down her spine as she heard two male voices arguing with her roommates, who had apparently worked themselves into a frenzy. Is he here? No, her foster father was serving a life sentence. Her foster mom would be too chicken-shit to try to take her out, or get her taken out.
“We have money, let’s go to the ATM,” said Heather. “Or you can take cash- we have like $150 between us. We can give you our cards and the PIN numbers if you’d prefer to go-“
She had to control herself, she tried her best to keep calm. Her calm lasted until she heard a shot, sounding like it hit the countertop or a piece of wood. She could hear muffled screaming from the other room that sounded a lot like Heather. Shit . Calla grabbed her own gun out of the open lockbox, double checking that she had already loaded it and taking the safety off. Maybe if I go out there, I can save them. I could shoot the guys. Or would I just be throwing my life away, after all there’s at least two of them. If I hide, there’s a chance I will survive this. She knew the difference between life and death was a quick decision. If she was to hide, where would she go? Unfortunately, her room hadn’t originally been a bedroom, so she didn’t have a closet, just a bureau and some rolling racks. She contemplated standing behind the rolling rack in the furthest corner from the door for a second. Three more gunshots came in quick succession, these sounded wet. She heard a thud. The screaming stopped. Fuck , she thought. She quietly tossed herself between the window and the bed, there was just enough space to lay there and it was the only area of the room where she wouldn’t be immediately spotted by someone entering. Why didn’t I lock the door? Dammit. Could have lived a few more minutes. She tried hard to keep her emotions in check. The gun she placed just under the bed, out of sight but where she could reach it at a moment's notice. Despite her best efforts to remain calm, her hands trembled as the door opened, waiting to see what trouble she was in.
It was a man, a nondescript, white man with a shaggy head of hair. He carried a large revolver with him, and he appeared to be doing a visual inspection of the room, a cursory glance at the safe that was still on the floor of her room. Calla summoned every ounce of strength and held herself perfectly still. She had to do whatever it takes to live. Just as she felt she had mentally prepared herself for the worst case scenario, his hands quickly grabbed and dragged her out of her hiding spot.
“You don’t have to kill me. I’ll do whatever you want,” she gasped. He laughed. “Your friends' bodies in the living room are already going to give me and Fred whatever we want. What makes you think that you are any different?”
She tried to hold herself in, as much as this news didn’t shock her, it disturbed her deeply. She calmed her voice as much as possible under the circumstances “Dead girls can’t give head.” Classic, Calla. One trick pony. The other side of her brain was screaming: YOU NEED TO DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO LIVE. Don’t think. Just do it.
This seemed to entertain the psychopath standing in her room, and he sat down on the fluffy white butterfly chair next to her bed. “You have a point, bitch. Why don’t we see what you can do, and then I will decide if you live or die? And if you bite me, you’re getting an instant death sentence.” He held the gun to her head with one hand, and she noted he held it to the side, like he was in a gangster movie. Poor trigger discipline, she noted. Man just owns a gun, but he’s not a good shot. Well, I’m an easy target right now. She unzipped his pants and got to work. It was very unpleasant. This guy hadn’t washed himself in a while. But with her heart pounding this hard, she barely cared. It wasn’t her first time doing something like this to get out of a bad situation, this just happened to be the worst example.
She was able to mentally take herself away from everything for a moment. She was trying to remember lyrics, what homework she had to do, anything to try and block this out and calm down enough to do a good job.
It was working, he was lowering his guard and with it his grip on the gun was getting sloppier. Drop it, she mentally told him. I’m not a threat to you, you want to drop it. Her heart was in her throat. A professional in some ways at this, she could sense the rhythm he wanted and followed it, trying her best not to get lazy. This would be her best blowjob of all time, because it had to be. He closed his eyes. Getting close. Calla didn’t think he would warn her of his impending orgasm. But she knew what he had to do. Mentally line up the shot. His gun, or mine? She decided her gun was close enough, she was familiar with it after multiple times on the range, and she knew it was loaded and safety off. His gun might not be loaded anymore, and she might not be able to overpower him, even given his current state. He could easily kill her with his hands if he needed to, or call his friend in to shoot her.
He dropped the gun right before his orgasm, and Calla knew it was time. Without hesitation she pulled her gun from under the bed, jumped to her feet and shot him right between the eyes. She didn’t have time to react, other than to grab his gun from the floor. She rolled back into position at the side of the bed, ignoring her own limbs starting to tremble, and the now fully dead man slumping off the fluffy white chair.
Fred of course, came flying through the door at the sound of the gunshot, as quickly as she rolled into position. But there was just one thing she didn’t expect to happen. Two beams of laser light came straight through Fred’s brain, and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud, near his nameless friend.
Calla didn’t even have time to question what she’d just seen. She peered nervously over the bed, her eyes meeting an almost identical set. One that was familiar to her because it had been marketed to her for years.
She knew- logically, at least, she knew- that she was safe now. But for some reason the fear wouldn’t dissipate, and she couldn’t bring herself to let go of the guns. You know, he’s a man too, said that part of the brain that always protected her. She argued internally, he’s a good guy, that’s Homelander. She forced her eyes to smile, even if she couldn’t yet smile with her whole face. “Thank you. I don’t think I could have shot him in time.” She left the weapons on the floor.
Homelander said “Are you ok? Your friends unfortunately didn’t make it…”. He helped her to her feet, but she was still shaking so much she could barely stand.
Calla gulped down her emotions “Yeah I know…I didn’t hear anything through my headphones until they started screaming and there was a warning shot. But then there were other shots, I knew immediately… they sounded…well, there’s only one sound like that. I should have saved them.” She trailed off and felt a tear go down her cheek, as he put a hand on each shoulder to support her shaking body. She hadn’t even allowed herself to feel until now. “They didn’t deserve that. They were good girls.” Unlike me.
He nodded, and she felt, like she might sink back to the floor in a grieving puddle, if it wasn’t for his strong hands on her shoulders and calming manner. “You only survived because you thought on your feet. I know you did what you had to do.” He gestured to the man on the chair, with pants unzipped. “But a jury might not see it that way. I can help you out.”
“What do you mean?” Calla blurted defensively, not expecting this turn in the conversation. “I just shot him because he was going to kill me otherwise. I didn’t want to kill anybody. Hell, I heard him murder my roommates. Was I supposed to just let myself get murdered, too?” She could have sworn Homelander smiled at her, but it seemed so artificial, her brain couldn’t fully register it in her shocked state.
“Well, WE both know that, but I’d rather not see you having to answer more questions than you have to. How about we do each other a favor?”
Oh, you were right. He’s a man too, just like the others. She tried not to let her disappointment show. “Sure. Quid pro quo sounds good to me.”
She could barely even look at him now, but this seemed to only encourage him, and he moved his hands up from her shoulders to her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. He smirked as he said. “I don’t think I need to tell you that I don’t want the same happy ending you gave to him. Not that it would really do anything.”
“Yes Sir,” she murmured, watching with fascination as he let go of her and easily dragged the bodies out of the room. He then “laser eyed” the guy she had shot, right through the bullet wound. She knew it must have melted the bullet as well, since now the hole she’d made was much more open and there was nothing in there. Calla stayed in her room, not wanting to see her roommate’s bodies (or what had happened to them when Fred stayed in the room.). Homelander came right back and sat down in the chair, surprisingly her white chair had only gotten a tiny bit of splatter, compared to the wall behind it. The wall, however, was coated in brain matter and blood.
He looked… confident, arrogant, imposing, even while sitting in a fluffy chair in a teenager’s bedroom. He didn’t seem phased by the microscopic horror around them. I suppose he sees a lot of blood and guts. “Well, get naked,” he said, matter of factly. She took off her white v neck first, removed her bra and pulled down the denim cutoffs and panties last. She didn’t bother to remove her thigh high socks, and she took the open appreciation he was giving her body as approval that she was ok to proceed.
Calla sank to her knees. Somehow this felt strangely erotic, unlike the last encounter less than 15 minutes ago. She was sickened by the part of herself that WANTED this, but her body knew her, betrayed her. She couldn’t even help herself. Her hands traced along the bulge that was growing in his tight pants. The intensity of his glare was unsettling, so she focused on his cock instead. “What a tease. Why don’t you be a good girl and take it out,” he said. She complied immediately. Somehow she had thought the man’s oversized ego would mean he had a small dick, but she could see this wasn’t the case. Calla ran her red manicured hand along it, and she gave it a little kiss on the head as she did. She could feel him jump in her hand, and in encouragement she licked all around his shaft. He gently directed her head, now forcing her to look into his eyes as she sucked him off. She tried to ignore the human matter behind him. “You’re the girl from the billboards.” She realized he was facing her US Apparel poster. She nodded her head & felt her face turn red, hoping he couldn’t see how the blush ran down her chest too. The billboard featured her sitting on the store counter in a flag print bikini, sucking on a rocket pop, legs over the side of the counter. “Swimsuit Equality,” the caption read. The NYC subway had threatened to ban it, but in the end US Apparel paid them off- and the controversy more than paid for the ad. Not her idea, but Don dreamt it up, and thought she had the perfect look for the ad. Wholesome enough to make the ad almost forgivably soft-pornographic. She absolutely despised it.
Homelander pulled off his gloves and cupped her breasts, with a reverence she didn’t expect. “I can’t believe these are real. Holy fuck.” She moaned, mouth full of his cock, as he massaged her breasts. “I might have to keep you.” I must have heard that wrong. She wanted to cry and laugh and scream simultaneously, but she just tried to make direct eye contact, and do a really good job at sucking him off. Get him off, he’ll leave you alone, then you can break down. Guard up. Man the fuck up, bitch. She felt like those blue eyes would see through her, turn into red lasers again. If there was a God, those eyes would be His judgment of her willingness to live at any cost. She pushed this thought down with all the others.
Homelander was getting close. That collected exterior of his was gone now, and he was pushing himself into her mouth (and throat) as much as he could. Calla sputtered and picked up her pace and depth to try and control him, and thus control her gag reflex. While fear and sexual arousal and impending mental breakdowns fought each other in her mind, one thing was true above all others: she was sure she didn’t want to find out what would happen if he accidentally got a little too rough with her regular, human body. Homelander seemed satisfied with watching her take as much of him as she could manage, but now was a little less gentle with her breasts, especially her sensitive nipples, which he gently pinched and groped at even as his orgasm approached. “Swallow” was all he said to her, groaning as he filled up her mouth. She didn’t know what came over her, but she opened her mouth to show him his own handiwork all over her tongue, before she swallowed. “Oh, I think that’s extra credit,” he smiled at her. “What’s your name?”
“Calla.” He gave her a raised eyebrow, like he didn’t believe her. She shrugged as she got up. “Like the flower. My biological parents got creative.” She put her bra on, and noticed he was still looking at her while she was getting dressed. Then she realized her boobs were probably shaking around while she pulled up her cutoffs. “What about you- is Homelander your real name?” Shit, what a dumb question. I don’t think they share their real names. He smiled at her, but again, it wasn’t a real smile. He didn’t bother to answer the question. Homelander said “I like you, Calla. Now, I wonder which one is yours,” pointing to the regular black revolver and the Hello Kitty .38 on the floor. “That’s cute.” He fingered the small Hello Kitty pendant around her neck and then dragged his bare nail across her cleavage, before replacing his gloves and picking up both guns. “Fingerprints,” he explained before rubbing them both down on her duvet. He dropped the black revolver next to the man on the kitchen floor, and she nervously followed. Calla put her hands partially over her glasses like a visor, so she wouldn’t have to see her dead roommates in the adjoined living room on the floor. She didn’t want to see them like that.
“I’m gonna have to take your gun with me, and this,” he picked the ammo out of the still open lockbox. “Hide those somewhere. Actually, you know what, nasty habits.” He playfully scolded her with his finger, picking up her cigarettes and weed, and the pipe off her windowsill. Hey, I need those right now more than ever. He must have seen the panic in her eyes. “Trust me, it helps with the ‘innocent college girl thing’ you have going on to be squeaky clean. Give me your number so I can get the gun and the ammo back to you once the investigation is closed. Someone from Vought will call the cops for you and they’ll set someone up to ummm-call the families, clean up the blood. You’re going to have to talk about it, but the cops won’t give you a hard time after I talk to Vought about what happened. And you might have to make some sort of public statement tomorrow on the news.” Calla hated public speaking and the cops, so she turned to him in horror, only to almost have a heart attack when she saw Black Noir in the living room, just standing there. Homelander gave her another smile that wasn’t very nice. “Oh, he’s not going to say anything.”
Black Noir and Homelander both dragged a dead male body each back into her room, positioning Fred where he had fallen. When Homelander cleared his throat, it was clear he expected her to pull the unnamed dead man’s underwear up, and zip his pants. She cringed, he was not in rigor mortis as she expected, but his body was getting cold and he was very pale, either from death or blood loss, she didn’t know which. “You’re gonna have to use some bleach and clean up the spot on the kitchen floor where they both bled, before the cops get here. Use toilet paper and flush it in batches. If the cops ask about the bleach smell- and most likely they won’t care after talking to Vought-your roommates cleaned the kitchen today.” Calla could deal with it, as long as she didn’t have to look up and see her roommates bodies in the living room. “Nothing about your story needs to change, except I came into your room first to protect you, killed the first guy while he was in the chair, then the second guy when he came in the room.” Calla nodded again and put her laptop in the lockbox where her contraband had previously been, locking it and quickly stashing it under the bed. “Smart girl, that should have something in it.”
He handed her his phone, and she quickly plugged in her number. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, Calla.” She nodded. So much for getting him off so he’ll leave me alone forever. She could have sworn he winked at her as she closed the door.
Calla wept. She wept as she cleaned the blood off the kitchen floor. She wept for the three innocent lives that had been lost. She selfishly wept for the hopeful, naive person she had become again, who had been murdered that day too.
—-