casperxwrites

[casperxwrites]

146: (least) favorite

V.B. She has honey colored hair that she normally has down but trust that the moments when she’s got it up in one of those messy buns on the days when her busy schedule has caught up to her and she can’t bear the thought of putting on her face - she’s just as gorgeous. To call her eyes oceanic would be an insult. They’re way more, and I lack to vocabulary to accurately explain the way they pull you in. All I can say is there are other worlds inside them. You’ll want to go there. You’d buy a first class ticket just to be able to. Despite how bright her smile might trick you, there’s a sadness in them though. Like you can tell she’s been hurt before. When you finally realize this, that someone would dare to break a heart like hers, you’d probably get angry. Until you realize that perhaps the person who hurts her is sometimes herself. The only thing that seems to ease that sadness is when she talks of her son. Every bit of pain she’s endured seems to dissipate and it’s easy to tell she’s a woman trying very hard to be the person her son thinks she is. Not out of wanting to keep up appearances but because he motivates her to better. Often she will describe herself as being simple, however I beg to differ. Magic isn’t simple and believe me, she is. 

Hiding behind her softness is a tongue full of sass but in the sweetest delivery possible. As soon as you think you’re able to navigate her, you learn she’s a mystery and you’re left guessing where she’s headed. I find this to be her most endearing trait probably. Believe me, you can’t figure her out. What’s more astonishing though, you won’t want to. You’ll want to keep trying for the rest of time just for the fact that it means you get to be close to her.  She clicks her tongue when she’s deep in thought and you wait for her to pull her thoughts together. She doesn’t talk just to talk; you have to know if she’s telling you something, it’s important. She says things so casually sometimes, she probably doesn’t even realize the way it causes a butterfly riot to start in your stomach. There’s no need for filling the empty spaces when she’s around. Silence feels comfortable. Natural. Her energy is enough for you. Most of the time, I feel exhausted sharing my own with other people but not her. God, no, not her. 

Every cheesy romance song is suddenly about her. All the poems I used to roll my eyes at were written with her in mind. She does have one flaw though, even though I swore to forget it: she doesn’t like coffee! I know, I know. She’s truly awful. But despite her hating my favorite beverage, she isn’t like anything I’ve known before. I’m hopelessly tethered to her and she doesn’t know it.

A.M. I’d never had anyone I considered my best friend. Not really. At least, not like I do Rory. I don’t even know when it happened exactly. I had sworn off friendship like it were some sort of disease. But she just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Instead, she was patient and would just leave me these little texts when she hadn’t heard from me in awhile making sure I knew she was thinking of me. There’s no one else who makes me ugly laugh as hard as she does. Literally, she makes me snort and I hate it. I never have to worry about embarrassing myself around her because even though she might tease you, you know she means it with the best intentions. The amount of synchronicities between us at this point is almost annoying. Like she’s super glued herself to my brain. How does she do this you might ask? She pays the utmost attention to the people she loves. The smallest shift in tone, the tiniest inclining you’ve had a bad day, and she notices. She’ll be right there to take care of you. But you need to know, she needs to be cared for too. It’s almost irritating she’s always geared up, ready to make excuses for the people who’ve hurt her. It sometimes makes me wanna hit her and there have been times I’ve debated it. Despite that though, you keep in mind it’s only because she’s the most loyal person you’ve ever met and you forgive her anyway. No one will ever love you like her. There’s absolutely no one in this world that I trust more than her. 

S.W. First of all, she’s the toughest bitch I’ve ever known. Seriously - there’s nothing she can’t handle. It’s insane the amount of shit she’s gone through. Just a few months ago, she easily would’ve been somewhere on my hate list. I detested her for speaking ill of my father. But they were things I needed to know. Part of me thinks if she hadn’t clued me in on them, I’d still be stuck in that hole. You’d never know it if you didn’t know her well but she’s the most generous person in all of Sloane possibly. The one and only thing I would change about her is the way she sees herself. You just have to keep trying though. Feed her positive affirmations and one day, hopefully, she’ll see it. Out of everyone in Sloane, she’s the one I’d fear pissing off the most. That saying ‘hell has no fury like a woman scorned’ is the best way I’d describe her. She’s one bad fucking mama jama, I’ll tell you that much. You can see this easy enough by her face. Secretly, I think she does her hair up in those funky colors and wears her scowling mask as a way to protect herself from people. If people are afraid of her, she doesn’t have to keep her heart safe as much because it weeds out the weak. 

J.S. There is a sense of innocence that Juniper’s presence brings me. When I see her, I think back to being a little boy without a care in the world. We were just two kids who didn’t have a single friend in the world. Reconnecting with Juniper had given me back a sense of self. Like I’ve rediscovered pieces of my life that I’d erased. She’s the biggest goofball to be around, but it’s not just to entertain. It’s to keep people from seeing her own pain. When you’re constantly making people laugh, they seem to forget to ask if you’re okay. She doesn’t want you to but she needs you to. There’s a lot of pain there. And secretly, I’m slightly afraid of what would happen if that door finally opened all the way. 

E.H. She can easily fit as a least favorite but secretly, I admire her. She’s lost everything and she still puts on a brave face every day for her kids. There’s a level of respect I have for her because of that, that can’t be ignored. Behind her icy exterior, Elsie cares. I think she’d rather shrivel up and die before she admitted that. Personally, I find it annoying. Partially because I wish she’d stop holding onto this bitch she’s created for the world to see. I wanna scream at her to grow up and show a shred of tenderness to those she cares for. She gave me a place to stay when I didn’t have a pot to piss in and I have to be thankful for that.   

J.R. My father taught me to honor hard work. No time for rest. Of everyone in Sloane, Julian is the person I respect the most. Hands down, there’s no contest. Hustler rose as one of the most successful businesses within the blink of an eye and you have to kind of wonder how he’s managed to do that. But my workaholic aside, Julian is someone you just can’t help wanting to unravel. There are things he keeps to himself, little secrets he keeps for only himself to know. You can see this in his physical body. His baby face doesn’t fool me though. There’s a stoneness lying underneath and I’ll never stop wanting to know what’s happened to him to put it there. 

A.H. She, quite literally, saved my life. There are times, when my mind drifts off to the place I try to hide from everyone else, I hate her for it. But then there she is to remind me that softness is a virtue. When I’m with Aisha, I find myself wishing I could be a better person. She’s got one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known. There’s no doubting that she cares about you, even when I can’t find time in my busy life to see or talk to her. Always she’s waiting in the background to be your biggest cheerleader.  

H.H. No one likes a guy who goes after a grieving wife. Though, this isn’t exactly the reason for my dislike of him. It goes further. Xander was my best friend and Hudson destroyed my belief that maybe Xander had finally found the one. Even after Els and Xan were married, I had my doubts about them. It’s not secret I disliked Elsie for a long time, and in some ways, definitely still do. But there was something about them that made you believe maybe true love did exist. Maybe I was just living vicariously through them. Who knows. Whatever the reason though, Hudson’s oh so public relationship with Elsie makes my stomach turn when I think about it too much. 

[casperxwrites]

144: controversial topics

GUN CONTROL: I think in theory, saying ‘no guns’ sounds good on paper. But you can’t just take something away from people that they’re used to having without repercussion. Looking at the prohibition in 1920. People certainly still found ways to get their alcohol. It would be more or less a similar type of thing. I do think there need to be stronger regulations on guns of course and they should certainly be harder to obtain. 

TRUMP PRESIDENCY: I hope Trump doesn’t win a second term just so I can stop hearing about him. You have absolute morons running around thinking they know a thing or two about politics because “orange cheeto man bad”. Yeah, we know. Anyone with a shred of a brain knows that. You’re not smart for thinking so. But people need to realize he’s a pawn just like any other. Take a look at things happening around the world, or even here in US, and compare them to times when something moronic Trump said making a headline. He’s a shield. Everyone focuses on the latest dumb shit he’s doing than what’s going on behind closed doors. And news flash: his views aren’t new. Most politicians think like him. He was just too dumb to censor himself. 

ABORTION: It’s astounding to me we’re even still debating this. Drive past a woman’s pavilion and tell me they have it easy. Talk to a woman who goes through having to make this choice and tell me it’s easy. Did you know there is very little financial help for women choosing to get an abortion even in a medical crisis? It’s garbage. Not your body, not your choice. 

ANIMAL RIGHTS: The fact that people even consider animals to be lesser than humans is completely asinine. Dogs and horses are able to spot human body language cues better than most humans, octopuses are able to open pill bottles or jars despite behind childproofed, crows are extremely crafty, squirrels have mastered the art of deception, etc. There so many ways animals present us with their intelligence and prove how in a lot of ways are better than most humans. However, if they weren’t, they are still living creatures. Every living creature, good or bad, deserves to be treated with respect. I’m not vegan, nor will I ever be, and I’m not saying we shouldn’t utilize animals where we can. Of course we should. But things like animal testing, dumb shit like the circus, should absolutely be outlawed. Fuck that noise. 

PRIVACY RIGHTS: I think it’s almost hilarious how widely known it is that we’re being monitored all the time has become a joke. I’ve, of course, joked about it too. It’s a funny concept. But really it’s actually kind of sick. They argue it’s for our safety but I’ve got doubts they use it for that purpose at all. We willing hand over our privacy to an extent (by use of social media, for example) so in a way, it is the people’s fault, but at the same time, we don’t really have a choice. It’s something we’ve come to live with and kind of laugh off and shrug our shoulders at. The argument is ‘if you don’t have anything to hide then you shouldn’t mind’ but everyone is entitled to a level of privacy. Let people watch their weird ass porn and pick their noses in peace, god dammit! 

MARIJUANA LEGALIZATION: It’s hard to believe with as much research that’s been done to prove the benefits of marijuana consumption that it’s not yet legalized. People are allowed to consume alcohol, which is linked to numerous death (via over consumption, drunk driving, detox, etc) and nicotine (more so big tobacco companies / cigarettes) but not marijuana which is impossible to overdose on, no physical addiction, etc. I think smarter marijuana consumption should definitely be a thing. You shouldn’t be allowed to do certain things like drive or go to work where it would impair your judgement stoned out of your mind but recreational use and medical use should definitely be legalized. 

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT: This a topic I’m very grey on. I certainly believe if you do something heinous enough to warrant capital punishment then you deserve it to the fullest extent. However, from a financial standpoint, it’s sort a no brainer. It’s cheaper to imprison someone for life than the death penalty. There’s also the question of should be able to determine if someone should live or die? Personally, I think yes, but I’m not a moron so I understand not everyone thinks the same way I do. 

WHITE NATIONALISM: It’s so fucking funny that these groups want to hold onto “white culture in America” but fail to realize that’s never hardly ever been a thing in the first place. First of all, we weren’t here first, were we? The natives were and we stole this land from them. America wasn’t white to begin with. We were called the melting pot for a reason. But I do think it’s sort of silly that the ‘anti-hate groups’ hate these people though. ‘The machine will eat itself’ so to speak. So do I agree with white nationalism? No. Do I think they have a right to speak on their views as anyone else? Yes. 

B|B LIVES MATTER: First of all, fuck the 5-0. It’s said they’re there to keep us safe, yet so many poc’s in this country feel anything except safe around police. It’s no secret police brutality is a thing in this country. Officials have openly admitted to targeting black communities. The fact that a white person can commit the same crime as a black person and face much harsher consequences is disgusting. As far as black lives matter goes, once again on paper it’s a beautiful concept. But I think people should look into where it began and where it gets its funding from. 

CANCEL CULTURE: Would you want every bad thing you’ve ever said to be broadcasted for the world to see? Think back a few years. Were you as aware or fearful of offending someone? Most likely not. People digging up tweets or finding video of private conversations from 2011 (as a loose example) in order to ‘cancel’ someone is a bit much. However, I do think some things warrant being ‘cancelled’. For example, the cancellation of people like Bill Cosby and Louis C.K. is completely justified. Save the cancelling for people who truly deserve it. Otherwise people are less likely to take it seriously. 

[casperxwrites]

142: nightmares

There is blood on my hands. All the pretty metaphors and poems can’t capture the way it feels. There is nothing beautiful about it. It’s just gross. 

Everything suddenly feels blinding. I squint, trying to see past the brightness that seems to bounce off of every surface in the bathroom. My lungs feel like they’re working overtime in my chest and I curse myself for not being able to stay calm. In my fantasies, it’s not like this. Everything is calm. Maybe even euphoric. I don’t feel that now; I feel like I’m going to pass out. 

I move to the mirror and stand before it. “Casper.” I say to myself, trying to remind myself of who I am. But I’m not so much as me as anyone else is. There are dark circles under my eyes, little reminders to myself and everyone who encounters me that I don’t sleep well at night. I can barely hear the water coming from the faucet over the ringing in my ears. This is wrong. It’s all wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

I’m scrubbing at my hands, the white bar of soap in the guest bathroom turns pink. For a second, I worry it might stain the porcelain and how would I explain that? I become frantic. “Get off. Get off. Get off.” My heart is beating in my chest so fast I think it might fall right out of my throat. It’s leaked deeper into my skin. My hands begin to hurt at the friction but nothing works. 

For years I have tried to erase this from my head. We tried to combat it with pills, with therapy; I have tried to scrub my brain clean. But like the soap and my hands...nothing worked. No one could tell me what was wrong with my head. They remained hopeful and so did I. I can be saved. I can be clean. 

I now know that isn’t true. I’m sick. 

This realization makes my head snap up. I turn off the faucet and slowly turn around. I listen for a moment and hear the television downstairs. I hear Paw Patrol and picture Xaiver sitting in front of it; giant eyes glued to every second. I hear Lia and Elsie arguing over something mundane, I’m sure, but even amidst their argument, I hear a woman who always sound like she’s on the verge of breaking. A woman who tries desperately hard to hold it together for her family and for some strange moment has allowed me into her home.

Guilt. That’s all I can feel is guilt. As the shame of what I’ve done washes over every pore in my body, it dawns on me I have to get out of here. I can’t stay. Without thinking twice, I exit the bathroom, down the grand staircase and hurry past The Brady Bunch. I hear Lia call after me, trying to tell me there’s leftover breakfast on the table. When I don’t answer, I hear her tattle on me for ignoring her. 

The birds are too loud and the sun is too bright. Everything feels like too much and I’m running. I have no sense of where to go or who to turn to. All I know is I have blood on my hands and I am alone. 

Houses pass by and I can’t keep track of time. Slowly, the scenery changes and the houses begin to dwindle in size. My legs move under me and I still can’t grasp the idea that I am me. 

Flash. “Casper, please.” She whines underneath me. I slow down some, squinting upwards at the sky as the images fill my head. 

Flash. The knife goes deeper into the flesh. Blood strewn across the wall, and onto the bed. I can hear myself panting, hands on my knees as I try to make sense of things. 

Flash. The look on my face is vacant. There’s no one in there. No remorse. No sense of regret. No feeling at all. Her face won’t leave my head and my knees buckle. I can no longer hold myself up. 

Then I’m screaming. All at once, I am screaming and I can see people looking at the crazy man wailing in the street. They begin to crowd around me. “What’s wrong?” and “where does it hurt?” They ask as if it were only that easy. “You have to save her!” I whine and I think I’m crying. Tears run down my cheeks and I can’t breathe. 

Sirens call my name in the distance and this is it. I have reached the end. The only thing I can see is the red wall of my eyelids behind shut eyes and I’m yelling at myself to shut the fuck up inside my head but I can’t seem to listen. They’re coming for me. Finally, they are coming to me. She’s fucking dead and I killed her.

[casperxwrites]

i don’t miss you « drabble »

I used to sing a tune for you but you weren’t listening. Your lips moved but you weren’t saying anything.  ( I don’t miss you. ) I joked I don’t get sentimental. I let you see me cry over sunsets anyway. ( I don’t miss you.) Somewhere, we stopped knowing how to translate each other. All I could do was hope we’d get better. ( I don’t miss you. ) Desperately we tried to keep our pieces glued together. When you started to stray, I simply looked the other way. ( I don’t miss you. ) But I still lay awake for you. ( I don’t miss you.)

[casperxwrites]

fifty six « narrative »

11 P.M.

Fifty six. 

That’s how many days Maxwell Casper had been back in Sloane. Each one of them, began with the thought of one person. Or rather, a person he should have gone to visit. 

The first night, he told himself he’d do it tomorrow. Then tomorrow slipped into the next day, and thus it became routine. Always thinking somehow he’d be ready if he could just get more sleep, after he showered, when he wasn’t swamped at the office. Every day was another excuse, trying to earn himself more time.  

But this morning, he woke up different. It had to be today. So there he was, walking through the cemetery, searching for one name in particular. There were dozens of headstones here. Some were even names he recognized, some he’d even published in the paper at the time of their deaths. Maybe he should have felt guilt over the fact that they weren’t just headlines; they were real people with actual graves where loved ones came to mourn. But he didn’t, and probably never would either. Casper had long stopped caring about the people who resided here. 

Finally, he found it. It looked cheap. Like something you’d find at a costume shop; he almost laughed to himself at the very sight of it. Until he read it slowly, letting it sink in that he was truly here. This wasn’t one of his many nightmares. Written there in giant letters: ‘Thomas Casper Beloved Father & Husband’. 

 Casper took a step forward, taking in how the grass hadn’t grown in fully yet. Six feet beneath his shoes, there was a man there, tucked away safely in a box.  

“I miss you.” He was annoyed at how lousy and cheap it sounded. All the times he thought of what he would say and now that was all he could muster. Everyone encouraged him to go. His more spiritual friends urging that his father could hear him, if he only tried. Yet now, the words were stuck in his throat. 

How could he begin to explain how much? There was no measurable amount. In the beginning, it was a giant weight on his chest. As if there was a fire inside his lungs. Something unbearable that left the blonde unable to even breathe. It followed him when he drank the first sip of coffee in the morning, reading through the paper, taking a shower, combing his hair, driving to work, and all through the day until he turned the light off to fall asleep.

Slowly though, the shrieking had stopped. It became something he just learned to live with. A dull hum that always there. Some sort of background noise that was always there no matter how hard he tried to turn it off. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, half chewed lip finding its way between his teeth. “I’m sorry I missed…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. “I couldn’t stay here. It’s just that,” A lump formed in his throat, causing him to audibly gasp out loud for air. He tried again, nodding once, as if to tell himself that it was alright. “It’s just that everywhere I went, it was like people could see. As if it was stamped on my fucking forehead. Like anytime someone looked at my eyes, they said it out loud ‘he’s missing someone’.”

His knees buckled and it was like he had no choice, he was kneeling in the dirt, ringing his hands together nervously. He needed someone, no not just someone, his father to understand why he had to run away. He needed his father to forgive him.

“I didn’t want to keep waking up anymore. But I just kept waking up every day and for a single moment, I forget. I forget that I’m living in a world without you. I remember when I realized I couldn’t stay. Mom was still laying in bed all the time I barely saw her anymore. Every once in awhile, I’d peek my head into your bedroom, and she’d be in the same spot as the night before. It was like she never moved but someone had to pay the bills. I only took three days to feel sorry for myself and got back to it. So I was ready for work…I was getting ready for work and-” 

Casper’s voice shook, causing him to clench his fists. All he wanted was to be able to get through talking to his father after all this time and he couldn’t even do that. An old habit, he began digging his fingernails into his own hands. Cry baby. Worthless. Pussy. Weak. Small, angry crescent moon shapes appeared in his palms as he took a deep breath. “And I opened the closet door and there were your shoes. Right where you left them. You know the ones I’m talking about, don’t you? And I realized, you’d never wear them again. You’d never wear those ratty, beat to hell shoes ever again.” 

He took another deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that he could hardly see. Desperately he tried to blink back tears, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. His oceanic hues were filling up faster than he could handle and it felt like he might as well have been drowning. “That’s when I realized I had to leave, dad. No matter what I did or where I went, there you were. Every day. You wouldn’t leave.” His body started to shake, tears beginning to fall at a rapid pace. He couldn’t even bring himself to muster up the strength to wipe them away. Pooling onto his neck, getting the collar of his shirt drenched. “Anytime I thought maybe, maybe I can do this without you, I was reminded of you somehow and it was like hearing it again for the first time.” 

Wrapping his arms around himself, he brought his knees to chest, and rested his cheek against them. He held onto himself for dear life, wishing for just a moment, he had been vulnerable to ask someone to come along with him today. It was like he’d gone mental, rocking back and forth, repeating the same words over and over. 

“I’m still your kid, dad. I’m still your kid.”

[casperxwrites]

folie a deux « drabble »

Alone now, finally, Casper hid away into the bathroom of his motels. How many times had he done this exact thing? All the motels stayed the same. Lamp on the table, tiny mini fridge, and bible locked away safely in the drawer next to the bed. The pipe filled with white, hazy smoke, lighter perched securely in place.  In the beginning, it was all euphoria, like most say. Now it was mostly paranoia. Raw lips and scratched skin. 

“Folie à deux,” He mumbled to himself. It meant ‘madness shared by two’. Except he was the only person in the room.

[casperxwrites]

voice of reason « narrative »

“Don’t tell your mom I bought you that.” Casper urged, glancing over at the little girl who was happily munching away on a bag of potato chips. 

“I heard you the first time.” She mumbled beaten crunches, eating them by the handful. Really it was a wonder she wasn’t choking from how fast she was shoving them into her mouth. 

Lia had taken a liking to running errands with him ever since he’d moved in. If she wasn’t off at school, at some type of practice, or doing her homework, she could be found at his side getting coffee, going to the store, stopping at the office, or just going for a drive. 

“I’m serious.” He tried again, bagging up his sorry excuse for ‘groceries’. Coffee grounds, sunflower seeds, and various microwave meals was at good as it got when you shopped at a gas station for nutrition. “She’ll yell.” He turned his attention away from her, hoping she’d keep her mouth shut about it; he couldn’t deal with another spiel about the kids eating healthy. 

The tiny blonde glanced at him, her salt covered hands, and then back at him again with a mischievous grin on her face. Without thinking twice, she reached over and wiped her hands on the back of Casper’s pants. 

Immediately, he flinched, and his expression changed from one worry to frustration.  “Dammit, Lia. We’ve talked about this!” He huffed, fully facing her now. It wasn’t the salt or grime now staining his khaki pants that caused the vein on his forehead to pulse or his eyebrows to furrow together. It was something else entirely. 

Any kind of childish giggling that had left her mouth ceased and her mouth turned downwards into a frown but she wasn’t defeated that easily. Instead of pouting or throwing a tantrum like most kids, she crossed her arms at him, and rolled her eyes. “Don’t touch me. Lia. Stop touching me, Lia. Don’t hug me, Lia.” She mimicked in a mocking tone, trying her best to deepen her voice like a man. Relentlessly, she kept going, swaying her head this way and that, really going for it. “ It’s not my fault you’re weird!”

For some reason, he froze. She hadn’t tried to hug him since she was a small child. The first time he’d ever gone over to the Houghton-James’ house, she had been a toddler still. How on Earth could she possibly remember that? He sighed, bending down to be at her level now. “I didn’t mean to yell.” He mumbled. “I just don't...I don’t like to be touched or hugged, okay? You’re right. It’s not your fault.” 

Silently accepting the apology, she nodded, looking back at him. “But why?” She questioned nnocently. “I love hugs.” If it had been anyone else asking, he wouldn’t have even debated answering. He’d talked about his distaste for any kind of affection over and over again in therapy. Even something as innocent as someone brushing past him could send him in a fury. He’d been this way for so long, he didn’t remember what it was like to crave it. No matter what his therapist did, even going as far as hypnotherapy, they couldn’t find a solid reason. But that was too much for an eight year old girl to comprehend. 

So instead, he softened his face and merely shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t.” He tried to smile at her. “I’m sorry. Let’s go home, okay? We can play Wario World.” 

The bribe seemed to work, and she was back to smiling ear to ear. Bags in hand, the duo headed for the door. “Oh, shit.” He mumbled, patting his back pocket. “Forgot to get smokes.”

It was now her turn to frown at him. “I thought you said you were quitting.” 

“I’m trying.” He replied, starting to head back towards the checkout counter. 

She rolled her eyes at him once again. “Yeah, not hard enough because you still do it.” 

Casper swallowed hard, frozen once again. His teeth found his bottom lip, deciding what to do now. What was this little girls problem? Why did she insist on challenging him? ‘Because she’s a Houghton’ he answered to himself. However, she wasn’t exactly wrong. He hadn’t given it an honest try and really, it was stupid. He could barely afford the things he’d just bought yet he was about to shell out nearly ten for something so disgusting? “Fine, lets go.” He declared, heading to the exit. 

Lia Houghton. His voice of reason.

[casperxwrites]

unsend « narrative »

Casper sat in his car, holding his phone. In the darkness the screen illuminated his entire face. Thankful for the dead of the night, no one could see that his eyes were puffy. He couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had seen him in a state this vulnerable; he hadn’t even cried at his father’s funeral. At least, not where anyone would see. 

“I can do this.” He whispered to himself, reading over the words he’d written once again. Was it ideal to break up with someone over text? No. His mother would surely smack him upside the head if she knew that her son was about to disrespect someone so much but it had to be this way. If he said these things to Vida’s face, she’d surely cry, and then he’d never leave. 

Sloane was the reason he’d lost the most important person in his life and he couldn’t bear to stay another minute. He needed to leave. His belongings had been sitting inside his trunk for almost two weeks. Every night around 2 AM, he’d tell himself ‘this is it’, ‘I’m really going to do it this time’. He would finally hold up to his promise, usually mumbled drunkenly or maybe tossed off as a joke, ‘I’m just going to run away’. 

[TEXT TO » VIDA 💐]

I know you won’t understand it but this is something that I have to do. I need you to hate me. I need you to hate me because I’m not...good. There are things that eat away at me; I can’t seem to keep the m a g g o t s out of my brain. Even with my incessant journaling and chain smoking to keep my hands busy, they will always want to DESTROY myself. And in turn, to destroy you. 

In the beginning, I wanted to change for you. You didn’t know it but two weeks after we met, I detoxed and it was the most grueling thing I’ve ever done. It felt like my insides were trying to escape from my body. There was so much vomit. I didn’t even know it was humanly possible to puke that much. Then two weeks after that, I finally kissed you, and for a little while I felt alright. I believed in myself when I said I deserve a life better than the one I was living. For you, I would be better.

Do you remember the first time we laid in my bed and I made you listen to my father’s records with me? I played you one of my favorites. ‘Into The Great Wide Open’ by Tom Petty and I told you to pay close attention. We stared at the ceiling and the record spun round and round. I remember wanting to reach over and touch your skin but I stayed completely still. The only movement was our shallow breaths. (I think that was the most intimate moment we ever shared.) Then I broke the magic. I belted out the words to ‘Learning To Fly’ and your laughter filled the air. I remember thinking I could love you. Right there, I thought maybe I wasn’t broken. 

I was lying through my teeth, fingers laced together carefully behind my back. I wasn’t ready to care again. I wanted to care about you so bad and don’t get me wrong, I do care. But not in the way you need to tell it to anyone who will listen. Not in a way that makes you dance along to unheard everywhere you go. 

And I know I took that out on you. Picking fights every other day, only to text you when you’d leave crying that I loved you. I reeled you back in time and time again because I knew you would. I knew you’d always come back to me. Sometimes I think about what that must have been like for you. That each and every time I left, you knew what I was doing. Did you smell their perfume on my neck when I’d come home to you? Did it hurt when you’d wake up in the middle of the night only to feel cold sheets? You never told me if it did. Maybe you wanted to pretend nothing was wrong. 

But I’m what’s wrong. Maybe you’ll SEE that now once and for all. I’ve told you so many times. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Erase me. Pretend we n e v e r happened. I’m sorry. 

He never sent it. Instead, he once again started the ignition of his car and he left. Just like that, he was gone.  

‘I’m learning to fly but I ain’t got wings. Coming down is the hardest thing’. 

[casperxwrites]

140: dreams

Casper sat in the coffee shop, one of his ankles rested on his opposite thigh, clicking his pen rapidly. Julianna was dead. She was really, truly dead. The only hope any of them seemed to have for having a shot at living a normal life. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t help but feel angry at himself. He was out. He had gotten away. Then, he decided he missed Massachusetts and the rest was history. There was no leaving now. What if he could though? What if there were some way to make it as though Sloane never happened? 

Pen hovering over paper, he began scribbling very rapidly.

Sept. 14th, 2019

Life without Sloane...it’s hard to imagine it now. I haven’t been back very long and still, everything seems different. It feels like when you see someone you haven't seen in awhile. Everything is kind of the same, but their hair has changed, or they’ve got a worry line that wasn’t there before. You still see the person they were before but yet, time has warped them, and now they are somewhat of a stranger. 

Every day, I ask myself why I even came back here at all. 

For starters, I wouldn’t be this person. But you almost need to be an addict to survive here; no one can handle being sober. I swear if I could get away from Sloane, I’d give rehab a go. People think addicts choose to be this way, but they don’t really understand. Being high, not knowing my name or being able to feel my face, is the only way I can exist. Everywhere we go, we are checking over our shoulders. This person has followed me for two blocks, is it one of Talia’s people? Is anything safe? Am I even allowed to really speak? They’re always listening. People like to joke about how the government watches and listens to our every move, but for the most part, the effects of that are unseen. They don’t touch us in the daylight like Sloane does. It’s hard to know when you’re just being paranoid or when you actually have a reason to worry. 

That’s a laugh. We always have a reason to worry, don’t we?

I’d never tell anyone, but I wouldn’t work for a newspaper either. I do it because it’s easy. It’s guaranteed money but I already know I’m the best photographer Sloane’s got. I need something more challenging. They say do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life...that’s a lie. It’s work. And at that, it’s tiring work. Anytime a bad article is published, the Caspers’ name is once again dragged through the mud. As if they don’t deserve to have their dirty truths told. If I wasn’t back here, I’d take out a loan and open my own coffee shop. A little safe haven for people to go on a rainy day. 

I think most assume I don’t like being around people, but the truth is, I don’t like being around these people. You don’t know who to trust or where to turn when things get shitty. One wrong slip of the tongue and you’re in for it. My own family has slipped through my fingers. Turned to stone and blown away. But aren’t your friends supposed to be a second family for you? Not in Sloane. There’s no such thing as loyalty here. People will turn on you in the blink of an eye if it means saving their own skin. I don’t exactly blame them. We do what we have to survive under The Four’s thumb.  But if I wasn’t here, I think I could find better company to keep around. A little gang of misfits just for me. 

If I ever said this out loud, I think people would be shocked but I wanted a family. Before Sloane, I wanted a fucking family. A child to take care of and a wife to come home to at the end of a hard day's work. Call it the American dream, but it ceases to exist behind these walls. I’ll be damned if I ever bring a child into this hell. Having a family here, you might as well write up their death certificate, because everything you love will be ripped from you eventually. 

Most importantly, if Sloane never happened to me, or to us rather, you’d still be here. And maybe I wouldn’t feel so lost. It consumes me that I don’t know where you are. The dream I had of you just after you died, the one where you told me you were stuck, haunts me. I think about it all the time. Are you still stuck between worlds dad? 

[casperxwrites]

138: memories

“Whatcha doing, Max?” Thomas Casper asked, coming to stand next to his son at the window. 

Max had been perched there for what felt like hours. Early spring meant a lot of rain, and that left very little time to play outside. At first it was kind of fun, being able to play all sorts of card games with dad, and drinking hot cocoa with mom while watching movies. But the novelty of it was beginning to wear thin on the little boy. 

He looked up at his father, sticking out his lip. “I want to play outside.” The small toddler half-pleaded, gazing at his father with wide eyes. Despite his hundredth attempt, he already knew the answer was no. But his father surprised him and scooped him up into his arms. “Where are we going?” Max asked, wrapping one arm around his father’s neck. 

“To play outside.” Thomas answered, a playful smile hanging on every feature, exposing his aging crow’s feet near his eyes. 

Once Max was dressed in a yellow raincoat and matching rain boots, the two headed out towards their adventure. The little boy couldn’t believe it; it was like a dream come true. The possibilities were endless. He hardly knew what to do first! Looking around the backyard, it was as if it had been transformed into a magic kingdom made just for him. 

As if guessing his sense of being overwhelmed, Thomas bent down so he was eye level with his son. “Max,” He stated, a soft smile still lingering on his lips. “Catch the rain. Like this!” He stuck his tongue out, aiming his face upwards towards the sky. 

The toddler followed his lead, sticking his head back to mimic his father. Except, he was nearly vibrating with too much excitement and couldn’t bring himself to stand still enough. “I’m not getting any!” He pouted, hands forming into fists at his sides, stomping his galosh in the wet grass. 

Thomas brought his hands to Max’s shoulders, helping to soothe his jittering body. It was like the child was born with caffeine addiction or something; he could never just stand still. “Okay.” His father began to instruct. “Stay completely still now, Max.” Once again, the little boy tilted his head back. Raindrops fell on his face and soon, one on his tongue. 

He swung his arms up in triumph. “I got one!” He cheered, turning around to beam up with pride at his father. “I got one!” 

“Way to go, bud!” His father cooed, bringing a hand to pat his son’s dirty blonde locks of hair. “What next?”

Max brought his hand to his chin, tilting his head to the side. “Mudpies?” He questioned, waiting to be told it was much too messy. “Mudpies it is.” His father answered, starting to head towards the not-yet planted garden near the window. For the remainder of the afternoon, that is where they spent their time. Using random twigs, leaves, and rocks to create the ‘world's greatest mud pie’.  

[casperxwrites]

136: changes

“Max,” A soft voice whispered above and someone was shaking a little too aggressively at his shoulder. 

Eyes fluttering open, he found his mother standing over him with a disapproving look. Immediately, he was annoyed that she’d come into his apartment at all. Empty beer bottles, clothes, and other garbage was strewn all over. No one had been allowed inside his place for months. Or as he liked to jokingly call it his ‘depression den’. Ever since his father’s diagnosis, he had lost the ability to take care of himself well. Showering, going out, cleaning, and all basic human things had fallen short. 

Sitting up, he pulled his duvet over his torso and stared at her blankly. “Max,” His mother said again, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Did you lose your phone again? I tried calling it but you didn’t answer. It went to voicemail.” There was something strange about the tone in her voice; something lingering in the back of her throat. 

Sighing, he shrugged. “Haven’t been putting it on the charger, I guess.” And he was an absolute asshole for that. In the beginning, he’d call and talk to his father every day on the phone if he wasn’t able to see him. As things got worse though, he stopped visiting and soon after that, he stopped calling altogether. 

Before the chemo gripped him, Casper’s father had been what most would call classically handsome. Masculine jaw, strong hands, complete with soft eyes and a gorgeous, charismatic smile. All of that began to fall away only after a couple weeks of being on chemo and Casper wouldn’t bear the thought of remembering his father like that. It was selfish, that was true, but he wasn’t strong enough. 

Despite all of this though, for whatever reason, he couldn’t guess what was wrong with his mother. Any idiot would have been able to figure it out. She probably hoped that he’d piece it together himself so she wouldn’t have to say the words out loud. “He passed early this morning, Max.” She whispered, hues scanning every inch of his face as if trying to calculate what her next move was. “Where were you? What were you doing that was more important than,” His mother brought a hand to cover her mouth, shaking her head. 

“More important than watching my dad die?” He finished for her, looking at her for the first time in a long time. Really, truly looking at her. She had aged just like his father had but hers might have almost been worse. The smile lines that once were so beautifully carved onto her face had almost disappeared. Replaced now by grey hairs and bags under her eyes. She was tired of the fight too. 

How could he tell her where he’d been? Did she honestly want to hear that he’d been out getting high? That he’d been boarded up with some chick, letting his problems out on a stranger's body? No. He had to lie somehow. Say something, anything, to make himself sound like not such a huge piece of shit.

“I was….” She put a hand up to silence him. Biting her lip, she looked around the apartment and refused to meet his eyes. 

“After the funeral, Max, we’re business. You and I are business.” That single sentence drilled in the idea he’d known all along. Once his father died, he would lose everything. Even though he understood, he couldn’t keep the thought away as she stood up to leave. She barely even glanced back at him, high heels clicking away on the hardwood floor.