#// anyway i have decided i have lived in california long enough to be self-indulgent about it now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-sweetest-dragon · 4 years ago

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Things Can Only Get Better - Chapter One

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Stiles Stilinksi x OC (Evangeline Monroe)

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: allusions to trauma, me explaining things, anxiety, an extremely slow burn

AN: Hi... I am alive, barely. I honestly don’t know if anyone really wants this, but I’m posting it because @nerdsarebetter told me to <3. This is purely self indulgent but I’m actually kinda proud of it so uh..... yeah. Sorry this isn’t my IT fic but this has been making me really happy so you’re just gonna have to deal with it. Oh, the dots symbolize a change in point of view, just so everyone is aware

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“The wolves in the woods have sharp teeth and long claws, but it’s the wolf inside that will tear you apart.” -Jennifer Donnelly

Mom and I drove through many different states during our drive from Kansas to California. We watched the sun set in New Mexico and the sun rise in Arizona. None of them compared to Kansas, but we’d learn to deal. Mom and I paused to rest when we reached California, since we had been driving for what felt like forever.

The move was necessary; we all needed a bit of a fresh start. We were returning to Mom’s old home, Beacon Hills, where my aunt and cousin still lived. Now, you may be wondering why we were living in Kansas when we could have been living in California the entire time. My parents met at the University of Kansas; she was an art history major and he was a law student. It was instant chemistry and after they were married, they just never saw a reason to leave Kansas. Until Dad got this job offer and decided that we all needed a change of scenery.

Was that partially my fault? Yeah, kinda. Last winter was rough for all of us, and I knew it was one of the reasons Dad accepted this new position. I also knew he wouldn’t ever insinuate that it was fully my fault, even though it definitely was. Mom assured me that Dad wanted this job anyways, and I tried to believe her.

We settled down for the night in a cheap motel just inside the California border. I took the time to relax and update my cousin and Dad about our travels. Dad sent me a picture of the new house, with him smiling in front of it. I couldn’t help but smile; he looked so happy already. Lydia, my cousin, gave me details about the high school that would be starting the day after we arrived. She told me about her life, the classes and teachers we would have, how excited she was to see us.

I knew having Lydia Martin as a cousin would help me find friends, but she was insistent that I would have to have a boyfriend. Now, I wasn’t going to think too hard on that one, especially since I knew that with Lydia around, finding a boyfriend or even a guy that was interested in me would be practically impossible.

Lydia looked a lot like me, in a lot of ways. We shared the same red hair and our faces were very similar. When we were little, people would confuse us for sisters when we would visit her and her parents. The small differences between us weren’t necessarily in looks, but in our personalities. Lydia had always been bossy and confident, and remained that way. I have always been more of a classical bookworm; I would sit alone and read during recess, I never had many friends, and I wasn’t the prettiest. Despite sharing similar faces, Lydia didn’t have to struggle with her weight. I had… issues, that came to a head last winter.

We started the drive back up again early this morning. It was only another two hours in the car and then we were in Beacon Hills. I watched in awe as the city sprawled out in front of us. We drove down several streets, Mom exploring her old home that she would be able to share fully with her family. Soon we were turning onto the street to our house.

As we pull into the driveway for our new house, I can’t help but admire it. Dad had found probably the prettiest house I could have ever imagined. It’s painted a deep blue color, with ivy crawling up the sides. The front porch held an old picnic table and a few boxes from Dad moving a few things in. It’s pushed up against the woods, the tall trees embracing the back half of it.

I pull myself from the leather seats and stretch before getting out of the car. Mom smiles over at me before doing the same. I can see her mind working on how to improve the house, where she can plant her garden and let it blossom. Distracted by the house, I don’t hear another car pull up behind our own.

“Evie!”

At the sound of my name I quickly turn to find Lydia standing near the parked U-HAUL Dad drove up here a day before. I let out an ungodly squeal and run towards her, catching her in a hug before she can tell me to stop. She let out a soft sound of discomfort before I let her go.

“Sorry,” I say with a smile. “Wasn’t expecting you to be here already.” I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear and readjust my glasses to sit more comfortably on my nose. “Are you here to help me or…?”

Lydia laughs softly and shakes her head, strawberry curls bouncing slightly at the movement. The light caught her green eyes, making them sparkle like emeralds. Not for the first time, I wish I had inherited green eyes instead of my father’s dark brown ones.

“I’m here to tell you about my party that you’re the guest of honor this Friday.” I let out a soft groan; parties were one of my least favorite activities. “No, I will not hear any of that. You are my cousin, you have to be introduced to the public in the grandest way possible. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, ok?” I nod, agreeing silently. Arguing with Lydia was not something I wanted to do, ever. She would win and it’s much easier to just agree with her.

Lydia left with a pat on my arm, leaving us to move in on our own. She stopped to hug my parents before getting into her car and driving back to her own house, in a much more expensive part of town.

Moving all my boxes into the house took longer than I originally expected. By the time I had gotten everything into my new room it was dark outside. Instead of unpacking, I decided to take a short walk into the woods, just to explore a little. The air had turned chilly, so I grabbed a hoodie and changed into more comfortable shoes.

“Don’t forget a flashlight!” Dad says before I head out into the dark. He hands me one with a smile. He was used to me sitting at the edge of the woods at our old house, reading a book against a tree.

As I enter the dark of the woods, I can immediately sense something off. The woods in Kansas never felt like this, never felt so… sinister, like something was watching me. I shake the feeling off, knowing I only felt this way because it was new.

I walk for maybe twenty minutes before I trip on a tree trunk. I wince, hands and knees scraped and bloody from the fall. I wipe the blood from my hands off on my jeans when I hear a howl in the distance. I fix my glasses and tilt my head, making sure I heard it correctly before continuing. The sounds of animals were familiar and not threatening, but it was still spooky. I make it another few feet when I get the sense that something is following me. I check over both shoulders and see nothing but the feeling doesn’t go away. I turn back towards the house and quicken my step, refusing to run quite yet.

The feeling continues and I’m so distracted by it that I trip again. I land hard on my already cut knees, my flashlight disappearing into the brush. Biting my lip so hard, I taste blood, but refusing to let out a sound of pain to alert whatever was following me that I was injured. I fumble, trying to pick it back up when I feel something close around my ankle.

Before I can scream, I’m being dragged backwards, farther into the woods. I try to kick at whatever is holding me, when I feel wickedly sharp teeth latch into the fleshy part of my calf. I scream, both in frustration and pain as I double my efforts to get free. Nothing I do seems to make it let me go. The pain becomes secondary to the panic that fills me. What happens if I can’t get free? Will anyone come to find me? What will be left of me to find? I feel immense anger take over me; I did not come all this way just to be taken out by some anonymous thing. Letting the rage fuel me, I kick my attacker so hard that I hear a bark of pain and the teeth let go. The moment I feel it release my leg I’m up and sprinting back to the house.

I run until I can see the light of the house and I’m out of the woods. I check over my shoulder to see if anything follows me but the only thing I see is darkness. Collapsing on the front porch, the pain finally hits me. The reek of my blood fills the air and the sight of my own blood leaking out of me makes me want to vomit. I press a hand to my calf to check the damage, feeling the bite marks that it left there. A sob escapes me and that's the moment Mom decides to open the door.

“Honey! What’s wrong? Where’d all this blood come from? Are you hurt?” she questions in rapid fire succession. Instead of answering, I break down in tears. Mom pulls me inside where Dad is waiting with a first aid kit. He calmly applies pressure to the bite mark, asking quiet questions about what happened. I give a quick version of the story, including my thought that it was a wolf that bit me. Dad nods but Mom looks like she may argue with me. Thankfully, she doesn’t.

Dad cleans out my various wounds with alcohol and I wince softly. He apologizes and puts bandages on my hands and knees, then wraps my calf in gauze and tapes the edges with medical tape. The wound still bled a little.

“Can you stand?” Dad asks gently. I nod and he pulls me up carefully.

“We should take her to the hospital Danny! She could be seriously injured!” Mom exclaims, her panic evident in her voice. Dad turns a level look at her, one hand resting on her shoulder.

“The marks aren’t deep enough for stitches, Mandy,” he says calmly. “We cleaned them out really well, so there shouldn’t be any infection. We’ll keep an eye on it, okay?” Mom nods, wiping at a tear that had fallen. Dad helps me up the stairs to my bedroom.

After he deposits me into bed, Mom sits down beside me with a glass of water and a few painkillers. She runs a hand over my uninjured leg and smiles at me.

“I remember when I was little, your grandma always warned me to stay out of the woods. She said bad things lingered there.” She sighs, a frown forming on her face. “I never understood the warning, but I do now. Please, don’t go back into those woods. I know you like to read in secluded spots but from now on, the woods are off limits, especially at night. Do you understand Evie?”

“Yes, Mom. I understand.” She nods, a sigh coming from deep within her. “I think it’s for the best anyways. They kind of freak me out. It’s nothing like the woods in Kansas.” Mom laughs softly, shaking her head.

“You got that right kiddo.” She sighs. “Well, try to get some rest babe. Lydia will be here bright and early I’m sure.”

I nod and she gets up off my bed, walking to the door and leaving my room. I drift off sometime around one in the morning, Persephone, my cat, curled up next to me. I, surprisingly, have no dreams, not even with the horrific events of the night plaguing my waking thoughts.

My alarm goes off at six and I groan before getting up. My hands and knees still ache from my falls in the woods, but the bite had stopped bleeding sometime in the night. I would have to get Dad to replace the bandages anyways, just to be safe. I carefully remove the gauze from my calf, checking it out in the mirror before turning on the hot water. The marks themselves weren’t big but they went deep into the muscle of my calf. I take a quick shower and sit patiently on the toilet seat for Dad to rebandage my leg. He does it without complaint, even giving me a smile before patting my thigh and returning to his own morning routine.

I dress quickly, in an outfit I had planned on the drive here. The loose fitting plain pants paired with a white button down, the shirt half tucked in and I unbutton a few buttons then roll up my sleeves past my elbows. I put on a gold locket I got as a present from Nana before leaving Kansas and admire the way in glints in the light. I finish the outfit off with a thick black belt before rushing to do my hair and makeup. I keep my makeup light and pull my short hair into a half ponytail, letting my bangs fall slightly in my eyes before putting my glasses back on. A honk from outside makes me rush to put in earrings and I grab my shoes and bag before rushing out the door to Lydia’s waiting car. I wince as I get into the car, my wounds still aching. Lydia lets out a wolf whistle, admiring my outfit. She’s dressed rather nicely too, though that is her default. Dressing nicely gives her confidence, and Lydia has always had a great sense of style. I smile, showing off my outfit for her, her expert eye noting all the little details and gives me a nod of approval.

“Great first day outfit Evie. It’s almost perfect.” I laugh as I buckle my seat belt, leaning down to roll the cuffs of my pants a few times and slipping on my boots, accidentally flashing my bandage at her. “Woah what happened to your leg?”

I retell my story to her, leaving out some of the scarier details to not freak her out as badly. As I tell her, Lydia’s eyebrows retreat further and further into her hair, her eyes going wide at the mention of feeling like I was being stalked. I show her the bandages on my hands as well, laughing about how clumsy I was right before I was bit.

“That’s so weird. We’ve never had animal attacks before,” she says. After a pause, she continues. “Well, just stay out of the woods, Evie, and we won’t have an issue.” I laugh softly as she turns the ignition and we drive in comfortable silence to school. Once there, she turns to me, her curls moving with her. “So, I’ll introduce you to Jackson when we get inside. I’m sure he’ll love you.” She smiles, giving me confidence. Having Lydia’s vote of confidence meant the world to me.

“I’ll do my best to make a good impression.” I shoot her a lopsided grin, my glasses perched precariously on my nose. Lydia gently pushes them back up and boops my nose before getting out of the car, making me laugh. I unbuckle my seat and grab my bag before doing the same.

I follow her through the main doors of the school, ignoring two boys talking on the sidewalk. One was taller than the other, with fluffy hair and an uneven jaw; I vaguely recognized him. Maybe I had seen him on the street yesterday? The other had a buzzcut and whiskey brown eyes. They’re discussing some body the police found in the woods last night and I feel a surge of panic fill me. My stomach turned sour and I’m suddenly glad I hadn’t eaten yet. That body could have easily been me. It had been found ripped in half, by an animal they thought. Their conversation stops as we walk by.

“Hey Lydia! You look… like you’re going to ignore me,” the buzzcut one says. I turn and shoot him a soft smile in apology and hurry along with Lydia. Poor boy is probably in love with her, like most boys are. Jackson is a real lucky guy if Lydia chose him out of the millions of guys prancing around trying to impress her.

The feeling of panic settles in my gut, and I suddenly remember that I hadn’t stopped to take my medication before leaving the house. All eyes fall on us, making Lydia smile as she struts down the hallway to her locker, but I frown pausing slightly. She definitely didn’t prepare me for this. A boy quickly joins her side and I hurry to catch up, trying to forget about the panic lacing my body. I check my bag for my antidepressants, but realize they aren’t there quickly. I quietly curse, hoping no one heard me as I race to catch up to Lydia before the bell rings.

I bounce on the balls on my feet, a smile flashing across my face at the boy, who I assume is Jackson. His face is handsome but seems to be set in a permanent scowl. He gives me a quick nod and turns back to Lydia. They have a soft conversation right before the bell rings. I wince, the sound too loud in my ears. Lydia gives you a worried look before taking me to the principal's office for a tour.

She leaves me with a smile and a promise to meet me at lunch. I walk in and have a short conversation with the secretary, giving her the files from my old school that I had put in my bag, the one important thing I had remembered to take with me today. The tour is short, mostly going through where my classes were going to be before she drops me off at my English class, where another new girl is being introduced.

“Class, these are our new students Allison Argent and Evangeline Monroe. Please do your best to make them feel welcome.” The other new girl is pretty, with dark curls and pretty dark eyes. I shoot her a smile before heading towards one of the only open seats, coincidentally near the boys from earlier. Allison does the same, sitting behind the one with fluffy hair. I watch as he turns to hand her a pen, a grin plastered on his face. The other one turns to look at me and I catch a whiff of his cologne, which is far too strong for a Wednesday morning.

I gag slightly at the smell and he makes a face at me before turning his attention back to the teacher. God, I had never had such a strong sense of smell before. Maybe I’m coming down with something? Trying to quell the panic before it sets in, I push my glasses back up onto my nose to distract me, and try to concentrate on the lesson and not the awful smell radiating from the boy next to me.

He smelled of the woods and death on top of his strong cologne. Now that I thought about it, so did the other boy. He had the reek of blood lingering on him as well. I’m so focused on the smell that I drop my pen. As I reach for it, so does buzzcut and we hit our heads on each other.

“Ow,” he says rather loudly. I mouth sorry and he hands me my pen, grimacing slightly.

“Stiles, if you have something to share with the class, maybe you should stand up.” The boy, Stiles, shakes his head and the teacher continues with his lesson. I readjust my pony tail and continue to take notes quietly.

The next half of the day passes quickly and soon it’s lunch time. I search for Lydia in the cafeteria and spot her sitting with Jackson, having a heated conversation about something. I pause after getting my food and feel the ache in my leg start to lessen. I smile to myself, happy that it’s started to hurt less. Lydia spots me and waves me over to her table, where the other new girl, Allison, is also sitting. I walk over quickly and sit down next to Lydia.

“Evie, please help me convince Allison that she has to come to our party.” I make eye contact with Allison, who shakes her head slightly, making me laugh slightly. “She says she has a family thing but we all know that’s a load of bull.”

“If she doesn’t want to come, that’s her business Lydia.” I smile and extend my hand to Allison. “I’m Evie by the way, Lydia’s cousin. You just moved here right?” She nods and the conversation flows easily after that. We compare schedules and find out that we share three classes with each other in the afternoon: PE, chemistry, and math.

Apparently, PE is used as an extra practice for the lacrosse team, which I won’t complain about. I hate mandatory physical exertion. However, as Lydia explains the game to Allison and I, I’m lost within five minutes and Allison seems just as confused as I am. Lydia gives us all the details on the guys on the team, mostly in relation to which ones she thinks we should date. She completely skips over 24 and 11, deeming them undateable by not mentioning them. Allison and I share a look, already wondering who the two could be.

“Who’s number eleven?” Allison asks. I raise an eyebrow, turning to Lydia to hear her answer. Lydia purses her lips, an unreadable expression on her face.

“I’m not sure,” she says after a slight pause. “A freshman maybe?” I laugh softly, shaking my head. It’s just like my cousin to not know the boys that don’t catch her eye. We watch both boys take off their helmets to get a drink and their identities are revealed quickly.

“Oh, it’s those boys from English class,” I say with a flick of my hand. Lydia laughs, Allison joining in soon after but quieter. I lean forward, balancing my chin on my hand. “They’re kinda cute, in a nerdy kind of way.” Allison nods and Lydia’s face pulls into a frown.

“Out of all the guys, you think they’re cute? Them? Seriously?” The confusion on her face makes me want to laugh, though I refrain from doing so. “Evie, I can understand. The boys at your old school were atrocious to look at, all weak jawlines and colorless eyes. Not sure about you Allison, but you have to have better taste than that. You’ve been all around, surely there’s better guys than those two?” I shrug, turning my attention back to the boys running on the field.

“It’s not just about looks Lydia, it's about personality. I much prefer someone with a sense of humor over someone with perfect cheekbones,” Allison says with a smile. I nod, agreeing. I notice how she watches McCall and already I know she’s interested in him.

“Personally, I don’t really care about gender either. If they have a good personality, what should it matter what they look like?” I say. Lydia just shakes her head and turns her attention back to the field to watch Jackson practice. I nudge Allison and lean in close to whisper in her ear. “That got her to shut up, huh?”

Allison laughs and bumps me with her shoulder. The rest of the period passes in relative silence. At one point, I pull out a book and start reading, the pages fluttering in the slight breeze. McCall apparently has improved immensely over the summer according to Coach. However, every time the ball was caught a shiver ran up my spine at the sound. It hurt my ears to hear, like nails on a chalkboard but not nearly as bad. It got to the point that the sound was making my head throb in pain. I rub my temple and dig through my bag until I find the bottle of ibuprofen I had stashed in there. I take three and take a swig of water out of Lydia’s bottle. I pat her leg before going inside at the sound of the bell.

“See you after school?”

She nods, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. I grab my bag and hurry to my next class. The rest of the day passes quickly and I meet Lydia back at her car. Jackson and her are making out quite ferociously on her side of the car, making me roll my eyes. I sigh and go to find another ride. Maybe Allison could give me a ride.

As I walk back towards the school, I get body slammed by some guy, sending me tumbling to the ground. My books fly everywhere and the other person makes a loud sound of pain.

“I am so sor- oh it’s you.” The guy sighs, and overs a hand to help me up. “You really need to learn to watch where you’re going.” It’s the guy from English, Stiles I believe, that I had bonked heads with earlier. He hauls me up to my feet and picks up my sprawled books while I dust myself off. The cuts on my knees are screaming, but the pain is quick to fade after a few seconds.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile, happy to reconcile. I hold out a hand. “I’m Evie, by the way. Stiles, right? I’m really sorry about earlier.” The boy blinks in surprise, not used to female attention. He takes my hand and shakes it. I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, taking my bag back from him. Stiles looks over my shoulder, realizing without me saying anything why I was walking away from Lydia’s car. “Would you mind giving me a lift home? My ride’s kinda busy.” He gets a funny grin on his face before nodding.

I follow him back to his car, an older Jeep that I instantly fall in love with. Jeeps have always been my favorite car, and I was saving up for one before… well, before last winter. I can feel my face breaking trying to contain my smile. Stiles raises an eyebrow and opens my door for me. The inside of the Jeep is messy, as if he kind of lives in it.

“So, Evie. How’re you related to Lydia?” he asks as I climb into the car. I throw my bag in the back and buckle my seat belt.

“She’s my cousin, our mothers are sisters. I just moved here from Kansas.” Stiles frowns, as if Kansas is an insult to him personally. He turns the ignition and we drive silently after I give him my address. I wince only once, when we hit a pothole in the road that reminds me that my calf is not ok. I lean down to check the bandage, but there’s no new blood. Stiles looks over at me at that moment.

“What happened there?” he asks.

“Oh, I got bit by some animal last night in the woods,” I say with a wave of my hand, like it’s no big deal that I probably should have gotten a rabies shot. He slams the brakes, shooting me forwards in my seat and hitting my head on his dash. “Ow!” I rub my forehead, with an indignant look on my face. “What is your obsession with hurting me today?” He turns towards me quickly, one arm flinging itself over the back of my seat.

“You got bit in the woods last night?” he asks.

“Yes, what part of that did you not understand?”

“My friend Scott was bit last night too! Why were you in the woods? Did you hear about the body that was found?” he says in rapid fire. “I wonder if it was the same animal… Can I see the bite?” My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion but show him the wound only to discover that it has fully healed. His eyes go wide and I hear him mutter, “oh fuck.”

“I - I don’t understand. It was bloody this morning…” Stiles looks panicked, and honestly I’m on the precipice of a panic attack myself. “I promise! I had to change the bandage this morning because it had bled through the first one. I have no reason to lie to you.”

“I don’t understand then. You don’t even have a scar.” I sigh and lean my head onto the dash. Could this day get any weirder? Stiles sits up straighter in his seat, as if an idea came over him. “Have you been having hearing and light sensitivity? Scott said earlier that the lights were hurting his eyes and that he had heard someone’s phone call from outside.” I nod, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I’ve also had a sensitivity to certain smells. Like earlier, you smelled awful.” A hurt look crosses his face, and I try to quickly amend. “You smell fine now, but earlier you reeked of death…” I pause. “Maybe that was Scott. I apologize for saying you smelled bad.” He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

“You’re forgiven.” The smile falls when he realizes how close the symptoms were to each other. To be honest, it was kind of freaking me out as well. Before I know it, the Jeep is in motion again but the opposite way from my house.

“Where are we going?”

“My house, we need to do some research.” At the word research, a smile floods my face, despite the panic still racing through me. I adore research. Stiles turns to me, a frown on his face. “We have to figure this out. You and Scott could be in serious trouble if we don’t find out what the hell is going on.”

……………………………………………………………………………………..

We researched for hours, her chair pulled directly next to mine as we poured over any information on werewolves and the supernatural that we could find. Every once in a while I would look over at her, still astounded by how much she looked like Lydia. They could almost be twins, if you didn’t look too long at them. Evie must have gotten her dad’s eyes because they were a deep brown, darker than even Scott’s eyes, while Lydia had green eyes that reminded me of spring grass.

Everytime Evie scooted her chair closer to mine, I moved away slightly. Not because I didn’t like her, but because she kind of scared me, and not in a fun way. If she and Scott are what I think they are, they could be really dangerous. As we collected evidence, the more worried Evie became. I watched as her eyebrows scrunched together with every new piece of information.

“So, if I am a werewolf, when’s the next full moon?” she asks suddenly. I do a quick search and look back at her, finding that her eyes had gone wide, the pupil completely taking over the brown in her eyes. The next full moon was this Friday, coincidentally the same night as Lydia’s party. “Oh this is bad… this is very, very bad.”

“Why? It won’t be that hard to just not go.” She shakes her head, running her fingers through her already messed up hair. It had come down from her small ponytail about an hour into our research.

“The whole reason she’s even having a party is because of me. It’s my introduction into Beacon Hills.” Evie sighs, tugging on her hair once more, as if it was a nervous tick that she couldn’t control. “She’ll be pissed if I don’t show up.” She turns to me, worry shining in her eyes. “I’m a pretty calm person. Do you think I’d be ok?”

I pondered the question. Evie did seem pretty laid back and generally pretty calm. I didn’t know her that well, but if the hours we had spent pouring over information wasn’t an indicator of how calm she was, I didn’t know what would be. But with all the information we had found, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to stay calm, especially in a party setting. The lights, the music, the drinking. It was a lot to handle, even for a normal person.

“I have more confidence in you than I do Scott, but I still don’t think it would be a good idea.” She nods, a sad look crossing her face and I instantly feel bad. I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently. Then, an idea pops into my head. “What if I went with you to the party?” She raised an eyebrow.

“As what, my date?” I blink a few times, not having considered the possibility that people would think we could be dating.

“I mean, it would be easier to explain than the actual reason. And, I don’t think I’d be invited unless you personally invited me anyways,” I say. Evie considers it for a moment, thinking through all the possible scenarios and how it could go wrong if she didn’t have someone with her to calm her down if the change was too powerful. “Before you decide, I really should call Scott and tell him about what we’ve found. I don’t think he’ll be as accepting of this fate as you are.” She nods.

“Do I need to find a ride home or do I need to be a part of this? What would you like me to do?” she asks and I balk at the question. I had just assumed she’d stay, not really understanding that she may need to go home to her family. It was weird how comfortable I was around her already, despite our rocky start. I consider her question for a moment, before deciding Scott would probably be more willing to hear it from a stranger than me.

“I think you staying would be a good idea. Scott isn’t the most perceptive guy, usually needs a helping hand to understand things. Maybe if you’re here to help me explain, he’ll be more apt to not do something stupid.” She laughs, a bright happy sound. I notice that we haven’t eaten yet, and it’s getting to be kinda late. “Hey, I’m going to go call Scott and then order a pizza, anything in particular you want?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t say something dumb like pineapple. She taps her chin, considering all the options.

“Do they have meat lovers?” she asks. I nod and go off to take care of my calls, leaving her in my room alone. The one to Scott goes immediately to voicemail, as usual. Placing the order to the pizza parlor was a lot easier and quicker than I thought it would be, considering the time. I walk back into my room, only to find that Evie has made herself comfortable on my bed and is doing homework. She looks up and says, “What? I have math homework.” I just shake my head, a small smile on my face.

We work on our homework in relative silence, Evie only talking when she has a question about a math problem. The pizza arrives and I finally get a hold of Scott, who’s at my house in less than ten minutes. The call was filled with him gushing about asking Allison to the party on Friday, though I’m not sure how he pulled that off. He’s at my house in less than ten minutes, a knock at the door announcing his presence.

I watch Evie shake out her shoulders, as if preparing herself for battle. She’s not entirely wrong. Opening the door for Scott and ushering him in takes all of five seconds and he’s heading up to my room before the door is even shut. I hurry after him, only for me to run into his back. Hard. He had paused in the doorway, blocking me from entering.

“OW! Dude you can’t just stop in the middle of a doorway!” Scott turns to look at me, a confused look on his face.

“Sorry, wasn’t expecting you to have a girl in your room!” I snort, a bit impressed with myself at the realization that I did have a girl in my room, and push past him into my room, where Evie is sitting cross legged on my bed. She waves, a piece of pizza in hand. Scott looks back at me with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. I huff out a sigh, already knowing what he’s thinking.

“It’s not what it looks like… I mean, it may look like what it looks like, depending on what you think it looks like but it’s not…” I drift off, earning a snort from Evie. I glare at her, but she just shrugs and nervously starts picking at her eyebrows. “Not helping.”

“So what’s she doing here then? Is this a date? Am I interrupting or…?” Scott asks. Evie just laughs, shaking her head. I glare at her again, she’s really not helping my case at all.

“No, you’re not interrupting, but we do have some things to share with you,” she says. She meets Scott’s eyes, not an ounce of fear in her body. “We have the same problem. Both of us were bit by an animal last night in the woods that half a dead body was found in. I can’t be sure that it was the same animal, but my bite has disappeared, and I’m assuming yours has as well.” Scott looks at me, confusion written plainly on his face.

Evie just sighs, already distraught. “We’re werewolves. The light and sound sensitivity, the heightened smell, the quick healing. All signs point to lycanthropy.” Her eyes drop to her hands, which had moved from messing with her eyebrow to messing with the ends of her pant leg. With a sigh, she pulls the pant leg up, showing Scott where her bite mark had been. Evie runs a finger over it, as if checking to see if there was anything left of the wound. “This morning I was bleeding and now there isn’t even a scar. I know it’s a lot to take in but we have to be careful from now on. We’re dangerous,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Scott looks at me, and I nod, confirming what she had said. He shakes his head, either not believing it or not wanting to believe it. I open my mouth to explain more, but he’s out the door before the time the words can form. I exchange a look with Evie and hurry after him, hoping to catch him before he goes completely loco. I catch up, winded and with a racing heart.

“Dude, you have to believe us. This isn’t some prank. You have to be careful, especially on Friday.” Scott turns quickly to look at me, making me backpedal a few feet so I don’t get run over, again. Confusion is written plainly on his face. I mentally kick myself; of course Scott wouldn’t know what Friday meant in werewolf terms.

“Why? What happens Friday?” he asks.

“Friday’s the full moon, man. That’s when your bloodlust will be at its strongest. You won’t be able to control yourself, especially around Allison.” His eyes flash yellow, something I hadn’t seen Evie’s do yet. I don’t back down, even though I really should have. Anger radiates from him, and I put my hands up in surrender. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you gotta believe me. I’ve seen the way Allison affects you, it’ll be easy to lose control, especially at the party. You have to cancel.”

“I can’t do that! This may be my one shot with her! Nothing will get in the way of that!” he yells. I stop, not used to being yelled at by Scott. He turns away from me, returning to his fast pace and I let him leave. Knowing he won’t come back, I turn back towards my house

Once inside, I raced up the stairs to see that Evie was packing up her homework, her back turned towards me. She turns when she hears me at the door, a sad smile on her face. Evie tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and pushes her glasses up her nose before speaking.

“So, he took that rather well huh?” I let out a strangled laugh and collapsed on my bed. I feel, rather than see, her sit down beside me. “Hey, if nothing else we’ll know where he’ll be Friday. We can keep an eye on him.” She smiles down at me and I smile back, before a thought hits me.

“We should have told Scott that we were dating. Would have made Friday so much easier.” She snorts, flopping back on the bed.

“May have made it easier, but I have a feeling he’s going to ignore us like the plague.” She sits back up with a huff. “Well, I guess you better get me home. I had told my parents that I was studying with a friend but after last night it wouldn’t surprise me if they gave me a tighter curfew.” With a groan, I sit up as well. It was well past ten, we had been here for at least seven hours.

The drive to her house was quick and mostly silent. I could tell that all of this weighed heavily on Evie; her shoulders had drooped and her eyes were dull. As I pull into her driveway, she turns towards me, putting a hand on my arm and squeezing lightly.

“My dad is standing outside. He’s going to say some really dumb things,” she says. I nod, not fully understanding but agreeing nonetheless. “Pick me up tomorrow morning? I don’t know if Lydia planned to pick me up or not and I’m not allowed to drive.” I scrunch my eyebrows together, confused. Evie just shrugs. “I’m not… a safe driver.”

I hop out to help her out, still pretending her leg hurt even though it had healed over. I grab her bag for her, a tight smile pulling across her face. Handing it to her, I look towards where her father lingered on the porch. I wave and he starts coming closer to say hi, I guess. Evie stands there nervously, unsure to how her father will react. He meets us at the Jeep and we shake hands. I make sure to keep a smile on my face, though his grip feels like he’s going to break my knuckles.

“Thanks for bringin’ her home, it’s much appreciated.” I nod, trying to seem as non threatening as possible. He claps me on the back. “Now then, was this a date or just studying?”

“Dad!” Evie exclaims. Her dad just holds his hands up in surrender and smiles at his daughter. “No, it wasn’t a date. Stiles was helping me with math, right Stiles?” I gulp and force a smile.

“Yes sir, just math.” Evie smiles at me before pushing her dads towards the house.

“See you tomorrow!” she calls over her shoulder, her dad’s laugher catching on the wind. I smile as I get back into the Jeep. Maybe, just maybe, this will all work out okay.

………………………………………………………………………………………

My sleep that night was less than restful. I had dreams where I had claws and fangs and I ran through the woods naked. I woke up to my mom yelling my name from downstairs. I groan, dragging myself out of bed to get dressed quickly. I pull on a patterned green sweater with a black skirt and grab my boots from downstairs, not bothering with makeup or trying to make my hair look better. I ran my fingers through it and called it a day. Grabbing a granola bar and my bag, I was out the door and hurtling for my ride within ten minutes. I skid to a stop when I see not only Lydia’s car, but also Stiles’ Jeep waiting for me.

“Well this won’t end well,” I say under my breath. Lydia gets out of her car and reaches me first, a confused look on her face. I smile at her, hoping that she won’t be angry.

“What is he doing here? I thought I was your ride to school!” she says with a stomp of her foot. I look over her shoulder and make eye contact with Stiles, hoping he understands that he needs to get his ass out of the car now.

“He gave me a lift yesterday,,” I say as Stiles hops out of the Jeep and rushes towards us. “Stiles offered to pick me up today, since I hadn’t heard from you.” I smile apologetically at my cousin, watching her eyes narrow at the two of us. Stiles throws an arm over my shoulders, giving me a small smile. Something must click for Lydia because her face quickly changes.

“I said to get a guy on the lacrosse team!” she exclaims, surprising me slightly.

“You play lacrosse right?” I ask, actually unsure if I had dreamed that part of the day or not. He looks back and forth from Lydia to me before nodding. I turn back to Lydia, a smile on my face. “You never said that he had to play, just that he had to be on the lacrosse team.”

“Be careful with my cousin,” she says before getting into her car and speeding off.

“Let’s get going.” Stiles opens my door for me, yet again. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to do that.” He just shrugs and I get into the car with a sigh. The ride to school was relatively quiet, mostly filled with our combined anxious sounds. Stiles wouldn’t stop drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.

“So, how are we planning to make people think we’re going out?” he asks. I sigh, a headache already forming.

“Lydia already assumes we either hooked up or something. She’ll spread that like wildfire. We won’t have to do anything,” I say softly, pulling at my eyebrows in nervousness. Stiles just nods and opens my door for me, yet again. We walk into school together and immediately people start staring. Stiles and I hurry towards English, with moments to spare.

The stares don’t stop there. I’m not sure if it’s out of confusion or jealousy, but either way I’m not a fan. It follows me the entire day, only stopping when I get to lunch and a different scandal has happened, taking the heat from Stiles and I.

After grabbing my tray, I search for his shaved head, already deciding that I would rather sit with him and Scott than deal with Lydia’s angry eyes that had been following me all day. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. Almost instantly, Lydia is there, Jackson and Allison in tow. Jackson plops down, a scowl on his face. I really don’t get a good vibe from him, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“We are going shopping after school today,” Lydia states. I make eye contact with Allison, who was sitting very closely to Scott. I raise an eyebrow at her, somehow already knowing that she won’t want to go.

“Is there a reason why?” I ask. Lydia flips her hair over one shoulder, hitting Stiles in the face. I hold in a laugh, knowing that would set her off. Allison shakes her head at me, desperate to get out of this endeavor. I turn towards Lydia, a frown settling on my face.

“You both need new outfits for the party,” she states matter of factly. I sigh, already knowing we won’t win this argument. “Evie’s closet is totally void of any party clothes and I know Allison’s is pretty much the same.” Lydia pointedly looks at both Scott and Stiles. “Since my friends refuse to find acceptable dates, everyone’s outfits will have to be perfect. Especially you, Biles.”

“It’s actually…” he starts, then Lydia glares at him. “You know what, Biles is fine.” I laugh softly, gaining a frown from Stiles.

“If I agree, do I get to pick out my own dress?” Allison asks. I shake my head, already knowing the answer. Lydia would not relinquish that particular thing. If she couldn’t pick our dates, she sure as hell would pick what we wore.

“Of course not, I already have them picked out. We just have to go pick them up.” Allison and I make eye contact, shrugging. What could go wrong? It was just shopping.

The shopping actually didn’t take too long. She really had picked the outfits out already. Lydia refused to let us see them, but insisted they would fit perfectly. I hated to doubt her, but I was pretty sure she didn’t quite understand I wasn’t a size four. So, I made sure to check at least the size of the dress was correct. Shockingly, it was and I was insanely grateful that she hadn’t tried to stuff me into something too small.

We dropped Allison off first, her house not too far from my own but much larger. Her family must have money out the ass to afford it. After exchanging goodbyes (and numbers since I had basically no one's information), Allison hops out and leaves Lydia and I alone in the car. I decide to take the plunge and apologize for this morning.

“I didn’t mean to upset you this morning. I didn’t know you’d show up to give me a ride,” I say softly. Lydia shakes her head, waving a hand to dispel any hard feelings.

“I was more confused than upset. I wasn’t expecting you to get a guy so fast.” She nudges me with her shoulder, getting me to laugh. “While I still don’t get why him, I won’t question your choice too much, as long as he keeps you happy. You deserve to be happy after everything.” I smile sadly and she grabs my hand, squeezing twice. I grab all my stuff from the backseat and head inside.

I work on homework for a few hours and take a break to answer texts and eat dinner. Around ten, I hear my phone ring and Stiles' name pops up on my phone. I answer, a smile on my face.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask quietly, fully aware of my parents sleeping in the room over from my own. I close my door, hoping that keeps the noise to a minimum.

“I have a lot to talk about, are you home?” I furrow my brows. His voice is echoey and filled with anxiety, making me wonder what he’s found.

“Yeah…” I say cautiously.

“Okay, great! I’ll be there in a few.”

I wait for a few minutes and then I hear rocks hitting my window. I open it, seeing Stiles standing not too far away with a handful of pebbles. Racing downstairs, I let him in and hold a finger to my mouth to signal that he would have to be quiet. We’re up the stairs in record time and I softly shut my bedroom door behind us. I watch Stiles take in the mess that is my room, and I rush around to pick it up a little to make it look less like I just moved in, even though I had. Stiles watches me with a grin on his face, all anxiety from the call dissipating from his face.

“So, what happened?” I ask, keeping my voice low. He takes a deep breath, readying himself before launching into his story.

“Me and Scott were in the woods, trying to find the other half of the body that was found because he said he saw it before he got bit. We didn’t find the body, but we did see Derek Hale, who was being extra spooky in the woods for apparently no reason and-” I hold my hand up for him to pause and he stops mid sentence.

“Hold up. Who’s Derek Hale?” I ask.

“Oh, I totally forgot you just moved here. Of course you don’t know. Duh Stiles.” He hits himself on the head, making me laugh a little. “Six years ago there was a fire at the Hale house, and lots of the family died. Only a few survived, one of which being Derek. Everyone thought he left after the fire, but apparently he’s come back.” I nod, now somewhat caught up. “Anyways, he was in the woods being creepy and threw Scott’s inhaler back to him. We think he may be behind the murder and you guys being bitten but we aren’t sure and have no definite proof.” At the mention of the bite, I start to pace. Stiles sits on my bed, picking at my bed spread.

“So, if he’s the one that bit both me and Scott, what does that mean? Is he the alpha?” I ask. Stiles shrugs, unsure. He seems to be more occupied with looking around my room. I sigh, deciding to sit down next to him, forgetting that I was already in my pajamas. With a boy in my room. The urge to pull the blanket over my head was getting stronger by the minute. Lydia would skin me alive when she found out that I had Stiles in my room and didn’t make out with him. I laugh softly and turn myself towards him.

“What?” he asks, his whiskey brown eyes searching my face. I just smile, knowing he may not like my answer.

“Lydia will be so disappointed in me,” I say with a sigh. His eyebrows furrowed together, making me laugh again. “I have a boy in my room, with no intentions to make out with him.” He laughs, shaking his head. I pat his knee. “Well, anything else you need to tell me?” I ask.

“How’re you doing, with all of this?” he asks. I sigh, running my fingers through my hair, contemplating how much to share. This was just one more problem in my life that couldn’t be fixed, and I had a lot of practice with such things so I wasn’t nearly as freaked out as someone else would be. I settle for a nicer version of the truth, knowing that while I felt comfortable around Stiles, he didn’t need to know all the dirty details of my life right now.

“To be honest, not well. Every little sound is amplified tenfold and certain smells make me want to vomit. Heightened senses are not the superpower I wanted,” I say with a slight smile.

“You’re handling it all really well, a lot better than Scott is. You just seem so…” he pauses, searching for the right word. I raise an eyebrow as he settles on the word that everyone uses to describe me. “Calm. If I were you, I’d be freaking out.” I shrug, stretching my legs out on my bed.

“My constant state is freaking out. I was diagnosed with anxiety in middle school and I take antidepressants that even me out a lot. I haven’t had an attack since last year,” I say, hoping he won’t ask me to elaborate. Thankfully, he does not. Stiles just nods, as if understanding without me having to say anything. “This whole werewolf thing may be good for me, maybe the healing factor will seep into my brain and repair the pathways that make me anxious.” He laughs.

“Well, it did fix Scott’s asthma.” He pauses, pondering something. “Have you tested the extent of your reflexes? Scott got weirdly good at lacrosse right after he got bit, catching every ball that was thrown at him. I wonder if yours have gotten better too.” I shrug, unsure if I really wanted to know or not. I was never good at sports before, what would be the point in trying out for them now?

“I’m not really an athletic person,” I say, gesturing towards my body. Stiles rolls his eyes, a funny look on his face.

“Oh please. Every time I turned around today some new guy was staring at you. Every guy on the team thinks you’re an absolute babe,” he states. The compliment catches me off guard, though not totally unwelcome. It had been a long time since someone noticed the way I looked, without being creepy about it. Stiles pats my bare thigh, not noticing the way I tense up as he does so, and stands up. “Well, I’d better get going before your dad threatens to kill me.” I laugh, shaking my head. “See you bright and early tomorrow morning?”

“Sure thing,” I say with a smile. He starts to walk out, but pauses in the doorway. Stiles turns to look at me, a weird glint in his eyes.

“Oh, and by the way. I meant what I said. You’re a total knockout.” He leaves with a smirk, my mouth hanging open like a fish. I stay like that for a good amount of time, trying to decipher if he was flirting or just being nice.

It takes a while, but I finally settle myself down enough to sleep and for once, I don’t have any nightmares or dreams.

I woke up on time for a change and took time to look nice. I showered, removing the bandage and deciding that I wouldn’t put another on. The people who knew wouldn’t notice and it was a waste of gauze. I select a cream colored button down sweater, a pair of brown trousers, and a pair of ballet flats. I curl my hair a little and add minimal makeup along with my necklace and a few rings. Shockingly, I even have time to eat an actual breakfast before I hear the Jeep pull into the drive.

I kiss my mom’s cheek on the way out, grabbing my bag and heading out. Stiles opens my door for me and I smile up at him. We chat on the way to school about nothing in particular and our day goes much the same way as yesterday. We eat lunch together, Allison and Lydia joining us once again. Jackson is there too, but he doesn’t talk much; he mostly just glares and looks moody. I sincerely don’t know what Lydia sees in him, I can’t detect any sort of a personality coming from him.

Lydia drives me home after school, our conversation filled with talk of the party. She seemed confident in my abilities to get there myself, not offering me a ride or anything. Getting ready by myself feels like a monumental task, especially since tonight was not only the party but also the full moon. My first full moon as a werewolf, and I was going to a party. Honestly, how dumb am I?

I pick nervously at my cuticles as I pull the outfit we decided on out of it’s bag. I let out a soft gasp; Lydia had picked out a deep green dress with a corset-esque bodice and long lace sleeves. It was short and made of a satin material, which would hug my curves nicely without feeling clingy. If I was being honest, the dress kind of scared me. I’m not used to showing so much skin, especially since I would be in front of so many people.

I slip the dress on, skipping looking in the mirror just yet and heading towards the bathroom to do a more dramatic makeup look. My version of dramatic is just a heavier blush and a slight winged liner. I refresh my curls from this morning, making a few frame my face. I also make sure I put in contacts, though I have noticed my eyesight getting better. I slap on a little lip gloss and hurry to put on the heels that Lydia had chosen.

Remembering that tonight may not go so well, I pack a small bag with extra comfortable clothes, just in case I wolf out and end up naked somewhere. I pat Persephone on the head as I grab a pair of sneakers to throw into my bag when I hear Stiles’ Jeep pull up to the house.

He gets out to help me get myself out to the car, somehow knowing I’m worthless at walking in heels. I notice that he’s gotten very dressed up for a party. He’s paired a light pink dress shirt with a black tie and grey suit jacket with skinny jeans. I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he got dressed in the dark but not really caring too much. I have come to appreciate his weird sense of style, with his many layers of shirts and odd pairings of colors.

When he finally looks at me, his mouth drops, making me laugh loudly. I can’t say I was expecting that kind of reaction but I won’t say no to it.

“You look… wow!” I shake my head at him, a smile crossing my face.

“Yeah?” I do a little spin for him, just to get the full effect. Stiles laughs and helps me into the Jeep. I watch him rush to his side and get in the car.

“So, I’ve got some things prepared in case you feel like you may lose control.” He pulls a duffle bag out of the back seat and hands it to me gently. “I have rope, cuffs, and if it comes to it, chains. You said Lydia had a basement, right?” I nod and he continues. “If we have to, we can keep you down there away from everyone.” Something on my face must have betrayed my thoughts of worry, because he quickly adds, “not that I think you’ll have too much of an issue with it. You seem pretty in control right now.”

I smile, but something must have changed in my face because Stiles’ eyes lock onto my own. Fear leaks out of him, the smell of it hitting me quickly.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately worried.

“Your eyes were yellow for a second. I hadn’t seen them do that yet.” His fingers start drumming on the wheel, an anxious tick of his that I nearly duplicated by bouncing my leg.

“Oh. Is that bad or…?” I gnawed on my lip, hoping that my eyes changing color wasn’t a bad omen of what was to come.

“I don’t think so. You weren’t doing that on purpose right?” I shake my head. “Maybe it was triggered by feeling anxious. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” He smiles, but the reek of fear lingers.

The party goes off without a hitch. Lydia really does throw great parties, though I barely see her or Allison the entire time, though I try to periodically check on them, just to make sure. Allison seems to be having a really good time with Scott, and Lydia is off with Jackson somewhere almost constantly disappearing into dark corners to make out.

I stick with Stiles most of the time, his hand on my arm a constant comfort. We drink a little, but I mainly try to stay away from the alcohol. The lights outside hurt my eyes, so we stayed inside. He barely leaves my side, only leaving for a few minutes to check Lydia’s basement. Stiles is back within moments, finding me in the same place he had left me. We dance a little, his moves goofy and catching me off guard. I genuinely started having a good time, the worry that had consumed me for the past few days slowly leaking out of me.

However, sometime around ten, Stiles rushes out to follow Scott out of the party and leaves me on my own, without much of an explanation.

“I’ll be right back!” he yells before disappearing. I try to keep to myself after that, not wanting to risk anything. Not long after he leaves, I realize that I haven’t seen Allison in a long time and go to find her.

“Hey have you seen Allison?” I yell over the music to Lydia. She shakes her head, and continues to dance with Jackson. I sigh, irritation crawling its way up my spine. It couldn’t be that hard to know where one girl went, right? I quickly crush the irritation, knowing that won’t help me find anyone.

I head towards the bathroom, deciding that would be the quietest place to make a call. I call Stiles, he doesn’t pick up. Then I try to call Allison, no answer there either. Frustration and anger fill me, nearly overtaking the anxiety of the situation. I grip the sink and watch my fingers lengthen and grow sharp claws. Looking up, I watch my face transform slowly; the space between my brows becomes flatter, my eyes turn a bright shade of yellow, and two pairs of fangs rip through my gums. I groan, realizing how painful having extra teeth in my mouth was.

I try to take deep breaths, to find my center but nothing works. God, Lydia will kill me if I mess up this stupid bathroom. My face stays the same and at that moment I’m glad Stiles left to trail after Scott. I don’t think I’d want him to see me like this. Shockingly, at the thought of Stiles my claws slowly start retreating. I watch as my hands return to normal in a few moments and the pain in my gums recedes slowly.

Closing my eyes, I try to think more about Stiles and the way he calms me down. I think about how his hand on my arm kept me stable tonight and my eyes return to their usual dark color. Focusing on the image of him dancing in my head, I can feel my face settle back into its normal position. I sigh, letting go of the sink and stare into the mirror to make sure everything is back to normal.

Once I’ve assured myself I’m back to being myself, I smile at my reflection. A sense of pride overcomes me, making my smile turn into a grin. I didn’t hurt anyone. A weight is slowly taken off my shoulders and I feel as if I can finally breathe again. I made it through my first full moon without doing anything stupid, I wasn’t naked in the woods, no one was dead. I could handle this. I could do this.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #new oc #werewolf #i have too much time on my hands #things can only get better #teen wolf season one

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newnewyorkrpg · 5 years ago

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NAME: Saskia Brielle Anderson.

GENDER & SEXUAL IDENTITY: Cisfemale, heterosexual.

BIRTHDAY: July 12.

OCCUPATION: Fashion design student, social media influencer.

FACECLAIM: Adelaide Kane.

( charming, exuberant, motivated & self-absorbed, blunt, bratty )

BIOGRAPHY

Saskia doesn’t really remember a time before her parents got divorced so she never really got hung up on it. Besides, having her rich and famous mom and dad separated had its perks. They both did the absolute most to make her happy, which meant she could bat her eyelashes once and Cooper was handing over his credit cards and Sloane was signing her permission slips to get her out of school so she could have a spa day.

Beyond Saskia’s superficial surface though, she’s sharp as a whip. How couldn’t she be when she had a stellar journalist for a mother, who raised her to ask questions, and take no bullshit. Still, Sask knows how the world works, and sometimes feigning stupid and superficial will get you what you want more than using your brain will. Besides, bubbly is more fun anyway. There’s a reason Legally Blonde is her favourite movie — Elle is basically her role model — stylish and smart!

California was nice, and the backdrop of beaches and endless indulgence made it easy for Saskia to harness her parents’ star power to make a name for herself on social media as an influencer. She’s basically been putting herself on the internet since she was twelve, and things really took off when she was in high school. Along with the popularity, and ego boosts, the constant sponsorships were fun. Can you have a career out of doing nothing? Probably not, but Saskia was going to ride the wave for as long as it’d last.

When she got dragged to New York through no fault of her own, she wasn’t particularly happy about it. No amount of begging and pulling the ‘you’re ruining my life, daddy!’ could stop it. Saskia won most of her fights with her parents, but she eventually had to concede this one and thus traded sunny California for New York’s dreary grey.

After high school, she took her social media opportunities to the next level, collaborating with brands on clothing lines and makeup, and avoiding getting any sort of higher education. But she knew she needed a back up plan in case the influencer thing fell through sooner than expected, so she decided to take her love of fashion and turn it into something independent, and something she could build entirely on her own. She applied to Parsons for fashion design, got in, and is currently in her first year at the prestigious school.

In her spare time, Saskia spends way too much money on designer dresses, and loves to party. She’ll never say no to drinks, clubbing, and just having a good time, and she’s as flirtatious as they come. She’s had a couple serious relationships, but right now, she’s enjoying the single life.

Saskia wouldn’t say she’s besties with her cousins or anything, but she’d seen them enough growing up, despite living on different coasts, that she gets along with them pretty damn well. And obviously they love her, right? I mean why wouldn’t they? She’s Saskia fucking Anderson.

#cb.#[she's saskia fucking anderson hELL yeah]

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slvrdlphn · 5 years ago

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Yakikai, what a funny name to say. 🙂 ‘Tis the season to forget about that diet and indulge, as they say, and Yakikai is definitely a place to indulge our appetite. 🙂 A couple of days ago I had the opportunity to eat at Yakikai Grill and Fusion Buffet located at Scout Dr. Lazcano Street near Tomas Morato in Quezon City. For those who can’t quite imagine where this is, your nearest landmark would be Starbucks Reserve across from BPI on Tomas Morato Avenue. Yakikai is on the block where Starbucks is. 🙂

This restaurant was easy for me to find for these reasons:

I live nearby

this used to be Bagoong Club which I once frequented

it is a stone’s throw away from my favorite Starbucks branch, the Starbucks Reserve Legacy Store on Tomas Morato. 🙂

For people with cars, if you arrive early enough you can park right in front of Yakikai, otherwise, your next available parking will be on Tomas Morato. Not to worry, though, as Tomas Morato is a very short distance from the restaurant … very walkable.

The first time I heard about Yakikai I couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to be any different from other samgyupsal restaurants I have visited in the past. While there are definitely similarities, the owner, Ms. Sam, introduced us to some features that make this restaurant stand out. FYI, Ms. Sam used to be the owner of Sodam, a samgyupsal restaurant in Greenhills, which she has since sold before she opened this place.

Dining Area

Since I have been to this building before when it was a different restaurant I was interested to note if they changed anything about its appearance or layout. So far, they have made the dining area brighter and, of course, there is the addition of the ventilation pipes for the hoods over each table.

There are three dining areas on the ground floor: the main area near the buffet which can seat approximately 24 or more people, another one just to the right of the main dining area which can comfortably seat 30 people, and an outdoor seating area at the lanai which can comfortably seat another 24 people.

On the second floor, there are two rooms. The room on the right could possibly seat around 20 people while the room on the left could possibly seat 50 people. This set up makes Yakikai ideal for big groups. While their Zomato page says they do not take table bookings, I think they do take reservations for special events.

Restrooms

It is important to note that there are two gender-neutral restrooms, one on each floor. This is a carryover from Bagoong Club. However, I wish they could maintain it better. One tip I would possibly give them is to have one of their staff check the restrooms every 30 minutes or every hour to make sure it is still clean (and not stinky) and clean it when necessary.

The Menu

As with other restaurants they have an ala carte menu and an “eat all you can” menu. In this review, I will focus on the latter because this is the menu that they really want to push. That is my gorgeous sister holding up the menu for me. 😀

They only have 2 sets to choose from. The premium set and the emperor set.

Premium Set

The first is the PREMIUM SET. This was originally priced at P499 but, at the moment is available for P339. Unlike other restaurants, this package is composed of chicken, pork, beef, and shrimp, cheese, plus the buffet! Talk about value for money.

The meat selection is basically the same as what you would find in every other samgyupsal place but the addition of the shrimp and cheese (which is a mix of cheddar and mozzarella cheese) at no extra cost brings them up a notch. I even noticed that there was one table that ordered just the fresh shrimp! That was so smart! I should do that next time.

Emperor Set

The second set is called the EMPEROR SET and is, of course, the one they highly recommend. Originally priced at P699, it is currently available for P599. The emperor set is composed of chicken, pork, beef, shrimp, fish, Jjampong nabe soup, and cheese! Specifically, what makes the emperor set are the following:

salmon sashimi

chuck eye steak

shrimp tempura

and Jjampong Nabe

salmon sashimi

chuck eye steak

shrimp tempura

When cooking any kind of meat (and steak especially) it is important to know when to stop cooking it so that the meat is still edible. When it comes to the steak which compared to the other meats served is thick, cooking it too long will make the steak hard and dry. Your goal should always be medium. Some like it medium-rare, others medium-well.

We asked Ms. Sam if they served tuna sashimi aside from salmon sashimi and she said that they don’t serve tuna as it spoils faster so if it is not consumed quickly they end up throwing it away. Salmon, on the other hand, handles better and lasts longer. I love salmon anyway so this was no hardship for me. 😀

The Jjampong Nabe might be removed from the menu as they have received feedback that many patrons find it too spicy. They are still thinking about what to replace it with if they decide to remove it. Any suggestions?

Buffet

Both the premium and emperor set comes with the buffet which is self-service and you can go back as often as you want and get as much as you want.

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At first, it would appear as though the buffet offerings are limited, but as each dish is emptied, it is replaced with a different dish (if similar) dish, which makes for an almost limitless buffet.

In this photo here you can see that the options have already changed. The dishes that I kept going back for are the shredded sweet Japanese corn and the japchae. For those who do not know, japchae is a Korean noodle dish made with vermicelli noodles with vegetables and beef tossed in.

Sushi options at the buffet

On the far left of the buffet is a selection of different kinds of sushi from the all-time favorite California Maki to salmon, shrimp, and tamago (egg) variations. At the window above the buffet are the chefs who were busy preparing refills of all the dishes in the buffet.

I am very keen on anything spicy I sampled the spicy tuna. The sushi tasted as expected, which is a good thing. 🙂 I had a few pieces of spicy tuna and tamago sushi. 😀

Is “buffet only” an option?

We asked Ms. Sam if it were possible for guests to order just the buffet and no grilling and she said no. When I think about it, though, that really isn’t too bad since the price of their premium set is not really that expensive.

Dessert and drinks

For dessert, you can ask for any of the Korean ice cream available from the freezer at an additional cost (they are not part of the package). Same with the drinks, the packages only come with water but you can order soda or juices from the menu at an additional cost.

Eat-All-You-Can

I ate all I could and there were still so many dishes that I was not able to taste. A tip to beginners, make sure you are hungry when you go here because I promise you, there is almost no waiting time between sitting at your table and eating. While they set up your table you could already start on the buffet.

Yakikai Grill and Fusion Buffet, A Review Yakikai, what a funny name to say. 🙂 'Tis the season to forget about that diet and indulge, as they say, and Yakikai is definitely a place to indulge our appetite.

#asian fusion #beef #buffet #chicken #fish #japanese #japanese cuisine #jjampong nabe #korean #korean cuisine #pork #samgyupsal #sashimi #shrimp #steak #sushi #tempura #yakikai

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cardio-maegaly · 5 years ago

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Saturday was good. I opened at the store and finished my barista retraining. Then I went to The Parlor with Britton and some of her new friends. It went ok, but I had been up since 3am. I was tired and had a hard time socializing, so I felt awkward about that. I also felt a little out of place. I’m not really into sports, and I’m not as accomplished or settled in as everyone else there was. I felt a little insecure. But they were so friendly, everyone I met gave me hugs when I left & offered to walk out with me. It made me feel really welcomed.

Work yesterday went well, too. I really like working at Starbucks. Rude customers don’t bother me nearly as much as they used to. & I feel like it’s easy to get along with people that work there. There’s something about being in customer service that makes you really flexible and good at getting to know people quickly.

After work, I went to the dispensary. I couldn’t spend a lot, but being able to smoke a bit after work has really helped my anxiety & with being able to enjoy my time a little more. It also helps for when I want to sit down and focus on writing how I’m feeling.

Today’s my day off. The only thing I was planning on doing today was going to a nearby costume shop. I saw they had signs up for 60% off backpacks since the school year just started. If they’re not too expensive, I’d like to get a something to replace my laptop bag. My purse is too small for my apron and hat when I’m going to work, but my laptop bag is so big that it’s actually kind of unwieldy when the buses are busy.

I downloaded some otome games. I’ve been playing My Horse Prince since I got here. It’s hilarious and I’ve actually enjoyed it so much that I looked up some other, more serious novel-like games. Mystic Messenger was the most popular one, so I just started playing that today. I’m not ready for dating real people yet by a long shot, but uhh...damn it’s nice to see my phone blow up with cute messages from AI anime boys. 😍

I told Matthew I was going to be vegan when I came here unless the food was free (& then I’d stay vegetarian). But being by the ocean makes that pretty hard, I’ve bought seafood food twice (California sushi rolls! Fried shrimp by the beach! 🤤). I’m terrible, I know fish farming is bad for the environment (...and for the fish) but it’s an infrequent vice so I don’t feel too terrible about getting it occasionally. I’ve also been getting vegetarian options just because there’s so much to try here & I don’t want to limit myself when I’m going out & meeting people.

Ah, but since I’m only getting one paycheck in September & my budget is tight, I haven’t been able to eat out much. I feel better when I eat vegan & I need to lose weight anyways. I’ve been getting free meals from Starbucks, and cheap snacks and sandwiches for when I’m home. I’ve also been tracking my calories and staying around 1200-1500 calories for the last week. I felt better about my body and my health last year when I wasn’t 5 lbs overweight. & hell, eating less is one way to save money.

But I’m already deciding where I want to go next when I can, maybe to celebrate things going good here on weeks where tips come in well. Place #1 is Doomie’s which has a closer location in Culver City now! That’s a bit of a bus ride from here, but it’s worth it because I’ve had it before & I know it’s my favourite vegan place here. Vegan animal fries are so much better than In n Out’s. It does suck that that’s the pricey option, though. Place #2 is C&O Trattoria. It wouldn’t have vegan options really, but I could eat vegetarian. It’s by work on the boardwalk, and it supposedly has the best garlic bread knots in LA. How can I KNOT try them? (ehh? ehh? >_>) According to reddit and Food Insider, it is custom to fill up completely on free garlic knots before your food comes out, and then take your entree home with you. Totally going to be doing that sometime when I move to my regular workplace.

Over the last week or so, I went through a couple different lists of personal values. I think it was helpful to consider what my own values are, some core personal ideals to consciously reflect in my actions. I didn’t settle on the ones that I wished I had. I think I’d be setting myself up for being disappointed in myself if I did that. Instead, I chose the ones that I think come naturally to me, make me feel good about myself when I uphold them, and make me feel like something’s wrong when I don’t.

They were:

Simplicity - I don’t really need a lot of “things” to be happy. I like traveling, I like food & cooking, I like having some art supplies & a ukulele or two around, and that’s about it. My happiest memories are when I’m just hanging out, indulging in those hobbies by myself or with a few close people. I feel satisfied and content when I can go to the ocean, or sing along to a meaningful song. I have fond memories of going to Friends meetings in Lawrence & meditating (even though I’m agnostic). I value experiences and close relationships over material wealth, signs of status, and other shallow or frivolous pursuits. As long as my needs are met, I’m healthy, & I have a peaceful routine, I am content.

I’m not true to this one when I get insecure comparing my life to others. I feel like I should be earning more money or doing something more prestigious, and it leads me into situations where I’m not able to live simply or spend time doing the things I love. But I still worry sometimes that I’m not ambitious or successful enough.

Authenticity - More than just simple honesty with others, I feel like it’s important to be honest with myself. I like me better when I let myself just be. I’ve always been kind of dorky and off-beat, and there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, a lot of folks even like dorky and off-beat people! Being open with myself and others about how I feel and who I am reminds me that my inner critic is a harsher judge of me than anyone else ever is. & it’s okay to enjoy things, even if there’s reasons others might judge me for it. Just the fact that they make me happy is enough, and nothing else matters. Acting with integrity and being upfront about my mistakes is important to me.

I’m not true to this one when I try to alter or “dilute” my identity to suit the needs of others. I’m not always honest about how I feel because I try to avoid conflict. I sometimes feel insecure about being too dorky, too unrelatable, or too unskilled at my hobbies, and so I isolate my interests from others. These make me feel stifled.

Compassion - I feel good when I can make others feel good. I enjoy hosting friends & making a big dinner at a table for everyone to eat at. I don’t even like eating meat because it’s a product of animal suffering. I feel honored when someone feels enough trust in me to open up about their problems and let me help them solve them. I get satisfaction from being a part of something bigger than myself. It’s important to me to be thoughtful and considerate of those around me, and I’m motivated by what I can do to lessen others’ suffering.

This is actually the one value I feel like I overextend. But I’m not true to consistently acting with compassion when I spread myself too thin. I sometimes worry too much about other people’s problems and try to take them on as my own. I’m not always compassionate to myself. When I experience compassion fatigue and when I am not compassionate to myself, I retreat and I’m unable to help anyone. I feel like I need to learn to take care of myself first, like putting your oxygen bag over your own face before you’re able to help the people next to you.

Humor - I feel good when I can make people laugh. More than that, I've intentionally cultivated a sense of humor that is adaptive. It’s mostly affiliative (jokes everyone in a group would get, funny faces to make people laugh, wordplay, puns), but also about self-enhancing (jokes about my situation that aren’t mean to myself, but just generally commenting on the absurdity of life & being able to laugh at myself; “i watched so much steven universe that i moved to the beach and got a job on the boardwalk so i could eat fry bits & play ukulele by the ocean lol”). I like spreading cheer in a way that makes people feel good about themselves, and I feel proud when people know me for that. I make my own life and others’ easier when I use humor to diffuse stressful situations.

This is part a coping mechanism. I have a nervous laugh when I don��t know what to say, and it’s funny and odd so it makes others laugh. In fact, they enjoy it so much that they’ve intentionally tried to get me to laugh more. It’s such a defining part of *me* that sticks out to other people, that people miss when I’m not around, that I’ve learned to embrace it. I feel unhappy and disingenuous when I use self-deprecating humor or sarcasm. I get uncomfortable when others use a sense of humor that’s mean, aggressive, or self-deprecating.

Growth - I feel best when I’m practicing open vulnerability about my struggles with others, and I appreciate it when others feel they can do the same with me. I always feel proud of myself when I admit I don’t know something and want to learn more. I love trying and learning new things just for the sake of it, & then teaching those new things to others. I get a lot of satisfaction from giving others useful advice. I find my thoughts frequently go to what I could be doing next, what my next challenge will be. I feel confident when I can look back on the person I used to be and see progress. Personal development is important to me.

Self-reflection can easily turn into unproductive navel gazing. Also, while I enjoy being in “advisor” roles where I can help others solve their own problems, I need to be careful to avoid “leader” or codependent roles where their problems become my responsibility. Sometimes, I try to spend too much energy solving problems that aren’t solvable and I stagnate. I have a hard time deciding what I want to do next, and that sometimes means I end up doing nothing at all.

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goaskmeanthingthings-blog · 7 years ago

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‘The Arrangements’: A Work of Fiction

By CHIMAMANDA NGOZI ADICHIEJUNE 28, 2016

The New York Times Book Review asked the acclaimed novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie to write a short story about the American election. A second work of election fiction — by a different writer — will follow this fall.

Melania decided she would order the flowers herself. Donald was too busy now anyway to call Alessandra’s as usual and ask for “something amazing.” Once, in the early years, before she fully understood him, she had asked what his favorite flowers were.

“I use the best florists in the city, they’re terrific,” he replied, and she realized that taste, for him, was something to be determined by somebody else, and then flaunted.

At first, she wished he would not keep asking their guests, “How do you like these great flowers?” and that he would not be so nakedly in need of their praise, but now she felt a small tug of annoyance if a guest did not gush as Donald expected. The florists were indeed good, their peonies delicate as tissue, even if a little boring, and the interior decorators Donald had brought in — all the top guys used them, he said — were good, too, even if all that gold yellowness bordered on staleness, and so she did not disagree because Donald disliked dissent, and he only wanted the best for them, and she had what she really needed, this luxurious peace. But today, she would order herself. It was her dinner party to celebrate her parents’ anniversary. Unusual orchids, maybe. Her mother loved uncommon things.

Her Pilates instructor, Janelle, would arrive in half an hour. She had just enough time to order the flowers and complete her morning skin routine. She would use a different florist, she decided, where Donald did not have an account, and pay by herself. Donald might like that; he always liked the small efforts she made. Do the little things, don’t ask for big things and he will give them to you, her mother advised her, after she first met Donald. She gently patted three different serums on her face and then, with her fingertips, applied an eye cream and sunscreen.

Continue reading the main story

What a bright morning. Summer sunlight raised her spirits. And Tiffany was leaving today. It felt good. The girl had been staying for the past week, and came and went, mostly staying out of her way. Still, it felt good. Yesterday she had taken Tiffany to lunch, so that she could tell Donald that she had taken Tiffany to lunch.

“She adores all my kids, it’s amazing,” Donald once told a reporter — he was happily blind to the strangeness in the air whenever she was with his children.

To keep the lunch short, she had told Tiffany that she had an afternoon meeting with the Chinese company that produced her jewelry — even though she had no plans. Tiffany had cheerily forked spinach salad into her mouth, her California voice too pleasant, too fey. Her wrists looked fragile and breakable. She talked about how much she loved Ivanka’s new collection; she talked about a vegan recipe, reciting details of berries and seaweed, as though Melania would actually ever make it. She played a recording of her singing and said: “It’s not there yet but I’m working on it. You think Dad will like it?” Melania said, “Of course.”

Now she found herself warming to Tiffany, perhaps more because the girl was leaving today. Tiffany was nice. Tiffany courted her. Tiffany acknowledged her power. Tiffany was different from that Czech woman’s children — she never disputed, with her manner, the primacy of Melania’s place in Donald’s life.

Not like Ivanka. Melania breathed deeply. Even just thinking of Ivanka brought an exquisite, slow-burning irritation. That letter Ivanka wrote to Donald after their engagement. She would never forget it. Congratulations, Dad. At least your ex-wife was pure. It lay carelessly on the desk, as most of Donald’s papers did, and Melania had read it over and over, and later, unable to control herself, had shown it to Donald. What does she mean by this? Donald laughed it off. Ivanka gets moody and jealous, he said. I am here! Melania had wanted to shout once at the girl, golden-haired and indulged by Donald, one summer when Ivanka joined them for breakfast in Palm Beach and did not once glance at Melania.

“Melania looks great, but we have to think about how to make her more relatable for the convention, maybe less contour makeup and her smiling and not squinting so much,” Ivanka said just two days earlier, at a meeting with Donald’s campaign team. Melania was seated there, next to Donald and part of the meeting, and yet Ivanka spoke of her as though she were invisible.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Donald said. He always agreed with Ivanka. Ivanka who spoke in eloquent streams of words that meant nothing but still impressed everyone, Ivanka whom Donald showed off like a glowing modern toy that he did not know how to operate.

Remember, only praise for his daughter when he is there, her mother told her whenever Melania complained.

Her phone chimed; a text from Donald. I’m leading in the latest poll. National! Nice!

It was probably what he had tweeted as well. He copied and pasted his tweets to her in text messages. Once she had suggested he hold back on a tweet and he replied that he had already tweeted it. He showed her his tweets after he had sent them, not before.

That is so great! she texted back.

She sagged suddenly with terror, imagining what would happen if Donald actually won. Everything would change. Her contentment would crack into pieces. The relentless intrusions into their lives; those horrible media people who never gave Donald any credit would get even worse. She had never questioned Donald’s dreams because they did not collide with her need for peace. Only once, when he was angry about something to do with his TV show, and abruptly decided to leave her and Barron in Paris and go back to New York, she had asked him quietly, “When will it be enough?” She had been rubbing her caviar cream on Barron’s cheeks — he was about 6 then — and Donald ignored her question and said, “Keep doing that and you’ll turn that kid into a sissy.”

She forced herself to stop thinking of Donald winning. There was this evening to look forward to, with Donald and her parents and a few friends, food and flowers, the butler’s creaseless service, and the magnanimous ease of it all.

Barron had told her last night that he would not join them at dinner. “Too boring, Mom,” he had said in Slovenian. She missed his delicious younger days, when he was pliable and happy to go everywhere with her, when she would brush his hair and hold his perfect little body close and feel it almost one with hers. Now, he had an individual self, separate and wise, with knowledge of golf and video games; when she kissed him he twisted away. At least she had persuaded him to come down and say hello to the guests after they arrived.

She had asked the chef for a menu that was both “old and new,” and he suggested steak and watercress and quinoa and lobster and something else she did not remember. Her mother would like it. When she was growing up, her mother used the French or English terms for the food she cooked, as if the Slovenian would make them unforgivingly ordinary. She would serve a ragout for dinner, after a long day at the textile factory, her lips still carefully rouged, her waist tightly cinched, always striving, always trying to escape the familiar. A woman had to hold herself together, her mother said, or end up looking like a wide middle-aged Russian.

◆

The butler called her bedroom. “Miss Tiffany would like to say goodbye, Mrs. Trump.”

“Yes, thank you,” Melania said, and waited for Tiffany to knock on her door.

“I’m so sorry, didn’t want to bother you,” Tiffany said. Her blond hair extensions were distracting; too long and doll-like.

“No, no problem,” Melania said. “You look nice.”

“Thank you so much for everything! See you in Cleveland next week!” Tiffany said, hugging her.

“Take care.”

At the door, Tiffany turned back and said, “Ivanka donates to Hillary.”

“What?”

“I saw it on her laptop when I went over there last night. She uses a fake name. It’s the same fake name she uses to order stuff online. I thought you should know.”

Melania swallowed her surprise. Why was Tiffany telling her this? Around Ivanka, Tiffany was like an eager insecure puppy, as though she would not truly be part of the family but for Ivanka’s good grace — a grace that needed to be fed with loyalty and adulation.

So why tell her this? And could it be true? Tiffany was watching, waiting for a reaction. She was determined to say nothing, just in case Tiffany was reporting back to someone. She always suspected intrigue among Donald’s children — and she would not tell Donald about this, not yet; she would first discuss it with her mother. Whether it was true or not, this was a morsel to be saved, molded, used in the best way.

“I must get ready for my Pilates, Tiffany,” she said firmly. “See you in Cleveland.”

Donald called just after she ordered the orchids. He had some meetings, but his big event of the day was a luncheon organized by the Republican National Committee.

“How is it going?” she asked.

“Great. Did you see the polls, honey? Can you believe this?” His voice had an ebullient pitch. He still did not entirely believe this was happening — his lead in the polls, the new veneer of being taken seriously. She could tell from the disbelieving urgency of his actions, and from the way he flipped through cable channels and scanned newspapers for his name.

“Remember I told you: You will win,” she said.

She always tried to sound casually believing, as if the polls were merely incidental, and her faith had conjured his victory. But she was as startled by his rise as he was.

When she had first told him “you will win,” that balmy day in Florida last year, drinking Diet Coke in tennis whites, she had meant he would win at what he wanted: the publicity, the ego polish. It would help his TV show, and impress those business associates tickled by fame. But she had never meant he would actually win the Republican primary, nor had she expected the frenzy of media coverage he received. Americans were so emotionally young, so fascinated by what Europeans knew to be world-weary realities. They were drawn to Donald’s brashness and bluster and bullying, his harsh words, even the amoral ease with which untruths slid out of his mouth. She viewed these with a shrug — he was human, and he had his good points, and did Americans truly not know that human beings told lies? But they had followed him from the beginning, breathlessly and childishly. There were days when every television channel she switched to had his image on the screen. They did not understand that what he found unbearable was to be ignored, and for this she was grateful, because being in the news brought Donald the closest he could be to contentment. He would never be a truly content person, she knew this, because of that primal restlessness that thrummed in him, the compulsion to prove something to himself that he feared he never would. It moved her, made her feel protective. Even the way he nursed his grudges, almost lovingly, unleashing in great detail slights from 20 years ago, made her protective of him. She often felt, despite the age gap of more than two decades, that she was older than Donald. Her response to his agitations was a curated series of soothing murmurs. Be a little calmer, she told him often. In bed, she had learned to gauge Donald and know when he expected her to gasp. On nights when she did not have the mental energy to act, she would tell Donald, “It is not a good night today,” and he would kiss her cheek and leave, because he liked her air of delicate mystery.

◆

The butler knocked and brought her lemon water on a tray. “Janelle is here, Mrs. Trump.”

He did his characteristic almost-bow. He liked her, mostly because of how little she said, and how she encouraged an air of enigmatic formality.

“Thank you,” she said.

She applied concealer and lip gloss and highlighter, checked herself in the mirror. She had not worn makeup with Amy, her last instructor, but Janelle made her want to look attractive. After Amy moved to Los Angeles and recommended Janelle, Donald saw her — he was home on Janelle’s first day and said: “Really? I didn’t think they did that Pilates stuff. It’s not like Pilates is hip-hop or whatever.” She, too, was taken aback when she first saw Janelle, sinuous and small, skin the color of earth, locs pulled up in a bun. She’s professional and discreet, Amy had said. Now, weeks in, Melania wished that Janelle were not so professional, so singularly focused on straightening Melania’s feet, flattening Melania’s belly, and never saying anything personal.

“Hi, Mrs. Trump. Ready for the warm-up?” Janelle asked, her face, as usual, a pleasant mask scrubbed of expression.

“Yes,” Melania said.

Janelle was beside her on the mat, legs aloft. She smelled of grapefruit. Melania wanted to reach out and taste her — the smooth skin of her arm, her full, brownish-pink lips. She followed Janelle’s lead and wondered about Janelle’s life. Was there a boyfriend? Someone like her, dignified and quiet? Each time the Pilates session ended, she considered asking Janelle to stay for lunch, or just a glass of juice, but she feared that Janelle would say no.

“Oh, I must get a massage, for my thighs,” Melania said, tentative, desperate to say something personal and yet safe.

“A warm bath should help,” Janelle said. “Have a good day, Mrs. Trump.”

Melania felt deflated. Had she expected Janelle to offer to give her a massage? It was so silly of her. Had Janelle meant anything more by “warm bath”? She was trying to read what was not there. But she would not allow herself to be sad. There was the evening to look forward to.

◆

Her phone chimed. Another text from Donald.

Hope says fashion people are asking what you’ll wear to convention. Has to be a big name. An American designer. Have you decided?

I have three and will choose tomorrow, she texted back.

Donald had never taken much interest in what she wore. Not like Tomaz, her ex, who had picked out her clothes and liked the smell of her sweat. Why had she suddenly thought of Tomaz? Tomaz smoked thin cigarettes and walked the world in an existential haze of disapproval. After she was interviewed in a French magazine some years ago, Tomaz had sent her an email through her sister Ines. Now you have what you always wanted, you have forgotten Ljubljana? It had annoyed her and of course she did not reply. Unlike Tomaz, Donald was not a sensual man. But it was what had attracted her to Donald in the beginning: He was not a man who traded in complexities. After brooding, Sartre-quoting Tomaz, Donald came as a relief.

She checked the time. Donald would be done with his luncheon. She would call, to remind him to be back on time. He sometimes forgot himself at these things.

“The dinner party?” he said. “Of course I’ll be home.”

“You want me to wear those first diamonds?” she asked, light and teasing. It was their joke; the first time they made love, she had worn nothing but those earrings. It had also been his first gift to her, in a pretty black box, and he asked her to open it, humming with a need for her gratitude. He was not eager to please her, she realized, he was keen to be pleased by her pleasure. And so she gave in, thanking him, wreathing her face with delight, even though she wished the diamonds were bigger.

“Yes, wear them. I bet those beauties have tripled in value,” he said. “I have to go, honey, I’m meeting with the top five guys of the committee. They’re all dying to talk to me.”

She undressed and examined herself in the mirror. There was a new dimple in her thigh. Donald would say something if he noticed it. “You need to get these fixed soon,” he had said a few months back, cupping her breasts, and when he got up from bed, she looked at his pale, slack belly, and the sprinkle of bristly hair on his back.

◆

In the bath, sunk into scented foam, Melania settled down to read the latest coverage of Donald. There was a story about his money; they kept saying he did not have as much as he claimed to have. What did it matter? He had a lot. She glanced at the comments at the end of the article and the name “Janelle” caught her eye. The commenter wrote: Trump needs to modernize those ill-fitting suits, throw away the bottle of orange tan, get fake teeth that actually look like teeth and let himself go bald like God intended. How many Janelles were there in America? Of course it could not be her Janelle. Still, seeing the name excited her. It was unfair that people made fun of Donald’s hair but she could not help smiling, reading it, imagining her Janelle writing it.

There was a story about some of his angry supporters, displaying swastikas on their trucks, and she cringed reading it. Extremes of anything discomfited her. The day Donald announced he would run for president, she had been filled with light on their glorious descent in the escalator, eyes and cameras on them, and everything dazzling. Afterward, she escaped to the cool white of her bedroom, and lay still for a long time, and then looked online at the coverage. She loved the way her smoky eyes popped in the photographs. A heady sense of accomplishment suffused her. But she did not want too many more of those moments, because they shifted her balance, left her spirit vaguely disjointed.

She Googled herself and enlarged some of the photos. Why did some news sites choose the most unflattering images? It was deliberate. She was scrupulous about presenting the best angles of her face to the cameras, practicing the tilt to her neck that ensured a slim silhouette. Yet some photo editors were determined to use the few bad shots. They were jealous of Donald; nothing else could explain it.

She hoped Donald would not open her bedroom door tonight; this was the kind of day that he would come, exuberant and expansive from victory. It had been almost two months. The last time, he kissed her, eager and dramatic and sweaty as he often was — he hated her initiating things, “aggressive women make me think I’m with a transsexual,” he’d told her years ago — and then fumbled and shifted and suddenly got up and said he had a phone call to make. Only then did she understand what had happened. They did not talk about it, but for a few days he had sulked and snapped, as though it were her fault.

◆

Donald came home red-faced, his lips a snarl of rage. He ignored the butler’s greeting. Melania kissed him hello and braced herself.

“Can you believe these losers? They’re talking about 2020,” he said. He flung his jacket down on the living room floor and she picked it up.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Reince pulled me aside after the meeting. He’s a great guy, always nice to me. He said all the top guys at the R.N.C. have decided to focus on 2020, and put very little money and effort into my campaign. Like I don’t even have a chance at all!”

“It makes no sense what they want to do. You have many votes. Look at the polls. People love you.”

She knew how easily mollified he was by praise, but he barely seemed to hear her, consumed as he was, typing furiously on his phone. She hoped he would not hurl the phone at the wall, as he had done after a newspaper wrote about Trump University, after which he stayed up all night writing hasty, flagrant letters to journalists.

The doorbell rang and there was Ivanka, her face dewy as though she had not had a long day at work, lips crimson. Too crimson; Melania herself favored nude lipsticks. She imagined Ivanka sending money to Hillary Clinton’s campaign, using a fake name. Could it be true? What name did she use? Thinking of a fake name made her think of Janelle.

“Hey!” Ivanka said. A general greeting, but she was looking at her father.

“Ivanka. What a surprise,” Melania said.

“Ivanka wanted to come over to discuss this,” Donald said, glancing up from his phone. He was only telling her now. He would expect her to ask Ivanka to dinner and she would have to endure Ivanka’s polished voice, that fulsome surface that shielded cold metal.

“Oh, what gorgeous flowers,” Ivanka said. “Are they from Alessandra’s, Dad?”

“No. I used another florist,” Melania said. Ivanka’s admiration pleased her, and she resented Ivanka for it.

“Can you just believe these losers?” Donald said testily, impatient with talk of flowers. “They want to sabotage me!”

Donald admired in his daughter qualities he would not abide in a wife. Not that Melania minded, she told herself, watching them. Ivanka moved like him, loose-limbed. Like him, she was comfortable with display. Like him, she was always selling something. The difference was that you knew what Donald was selling; Ivanka left you wondering.

“It’s utter sabotage and unacceptable,” Ivanka said.

“I’ve got to hit back at these guys.”

“You do have to hit back, totally,” Ivanka said. “We have to figure out the best way.”

Why did she not calm him down? Melania was annoyed. Her evening would be ruined, Donald’s churlish mood would darken her dinner, and he would probably leave after the main course, without apology. He had done it the day after Cruz beat him at a primary, and they had been with guests that he had invited.

“I’m leaving the Republican Party. That’s it. If they’re going to treat me this way. It’s not nice. That’s it,” Donald said.

“But you need the party,” Melania said.

“This isn’t Europe, honey. You don’t know anything about this,” Donald said and turned back to Ivanka.

She would not be annoyed, not with Ivanka to witness it. Donald used “Europe” to belittle her sometimes, but he also used “European” as Americans did, like an aspirational word. European chocolates. European bread. European style.

“Can we set up a three-way with Paul and Hope in the study, Dad?” Ivanka said, looking amused. “Is Barron in his room? I’ll just go say a quick hi.”

Melania felt an unreasonable urge to get up and drag Ivanka back. You do not go to my son’s room without my permission!

If only Barron didn’t like her. It was Ivanka with whom he discussed tennis and golf.

“Look, honey, can we do this dinner another time?” Donald said after Ivanka left. “I need to think about this. These losers can’t do this to me. Your parents will be fine. They’re here most of the time anyway, and I can fly them back in if they want to. . . .”

He was still speaking, but she could no longer understand. A tightness had gripped her temples, her hands shook. “Donald, I want this,” she said. “We have not hosted my parents. It is 50 years of marriage for them. Their friends are coming. I have planned for one week. I want this today.”

Donald looked up astonished from his phone. She dug her nails in her palm and stared back at him.

“O.K., O.K.,” Donald said sighing. “Just give me some time to talk to Ivanka.”

He went inside, and a new elation settled in Melania’s bones.

They emerged half an hour later, Donald’s face relaxed, Ivanka laughing, pushing her hair away from her face, fondly indulgent of her beloved man-child father.

“We can’t keep letting them think you’re going to be Caligula when you become president, Dad,” Ivanka said.

“Whatever,” Donald said with a grin. He turned to Melania. “Honey, we have a plan. I announce two days before the convention that I’m done with the party. My supporters don’t care about the party anyway. It’s Trump they want. If I’m an independent they’ll still come to me. So that leaves the R.N.C. with one day to try and fix things. I’ll give them a list of my conditions, they need to show me plans and figures for how they’ll support my campaign, otherwise no deal. It’ll knock them down. Let’s see what they do with that!” He sounded gleeful.

Melania was startled. How could Ivanka have agreed to this? It would only lose him votes. His supporters were already with him, but what about the people who would vote for him only because of the Republican Party? Would that not turn them off? She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it. Ivanka had the smallest of triumphant smiles on her face. A well-oiled smile. Melania remembered that smooth smile at other times, when Donald insulted John McCain, when Donald boycotted a Republican debate. Ivanka always egged him on, never dissuaded him; she stirred the pot with her fulsome words.

But Donald was calmer and her evening would go well and her mother would be happy.

After dinner, she would ask Donald to come to her room, and she would be soft and subtle, and wear the jasmine scent he liked, and tell him Tiffany had come to her this morning, upset and crying, because she had discovered that Ivanka was supporting Hillary Clinton. She would suggest that Donald do and say nothing about it, hopefully none of the dishonest media people would find out, because of course it would be terrible if he had to publicly denounce his daughter, and Ivanka was so wonderful really, even though she was always telling the press how she didn’t agree with all of her father’s policies.

“Ivanka, will you join us for dinner?” Melania asked, knowing Ivanka would decline.

“Thanks, but I have to get back to the kids,” Ivanka said.

Melania smiled sagely. “Of course. Say hello to the family.”

The doorbell rang. Her guests had arrived.

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lepidolitedreams-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Writing Game - Entering Maya

“You might find solace in taking walks in new places now and then. The antidepressants can’t work alone.” That was the advice given to me by my doctor – someone who knew a lot about medicine, but nothing about how I’d been feeling. Thus far, I had only gotten lost and heightened my anxiety. Sure, great help, doc(!). However, I was willing to give this idea an occasional try. It was nice to spend some time alone with nature as opposed to the bustling city, for once. I imagined myself as a fox. The idea of majestically pouncing around at free will, sneaking in and out of the trees, and steering away from the path kept me on my toes and brought me great solace. Reality ceased to excite me much anymore, it was my imagination that kept my motivation alight.

The clearing in the forest was shrinking ever narrow the further I trod along its path, almost as if it was telling me that it was time to forget about my silly fantasy and go home. Still, living the way that I do in my mind, I had this incessant need to defy and therefore continued walking. My pace barely even faltered when the stony gravel of the path faded out, leaving me treading on firm grassland, weaving in and out of trees and deeper into the shaded wilderness. It took the flutter of birds’ wings making me jump a few times for me to ask myself if I was making a huge mistake here. After all, one often hears stories of axe-murderers hiding out in the woods, and I’m almost sure that I’d make a delicious victim. Quite murderable.

After a while of letting my mind wander as freely as the wind licked my face, it struck me that it may well have been night time for all I know, the thick branches and dark leaves blocking me from the sky. I kind of liked not knowing. To me, time was just another construct to get anxious over sometimes, and right now, I didn’t need it. It wasn’t until I reached a spacious clearing that I saw the fiery sky of dusk, signalling that evening had arrived. It wasn’t the sunset that caught my attention, however, but a lone door, standing proudly in the middle of the clearing. It was attached to a frame and quite clearly on hinges which hung off straying branches from nearby trees, and therefore openable, perking my curiosity. After all, who’d just leave a door upright in the darkest corners of the forest if they didn’t want it to be opened?

Ropes of thick branch blended almost seamlessly into the supercilious slab of wood until they smoothed out, allowing space for the carvings to figuratively come to life in my mind. A large snake-like creature extending its hand towards a kneeling warrior, seemingly wounded and begging for help, was one of many engravings within the door’s surface, but that was the most noticeable. The tail of the snake pointed towards an intricate lock, made up of many complex mechanisms, one of which being a rising sun that seemed as if it would trigger the rest of the lock into carrying out their function in every direction away from the main lock-point. This lock was curious, however, as it was missing a keyhole. I reached out to touch the doorknob and gently traced my fingers along the engraved details – a face, recognisable but only in the back of my mind. I wondered how a forest on the outskirts of Los Angeles could bear any relation to these images, especially since the door in its entirety appeared to have an Aztec - or Mayan - influence.

Riddled with curiosity, I gripped the cold round silver and turned, triggering a click. It took a few moments for the unlocking process to take place, but when it did, I could only step back in awe and watch as the mechanism sprung to life. The sun rose as expected, followed by its “rays” which shot in opposite directions and clicked into place, signalling its completion before gently swinging open. Peering through the crack, I saw nothing but the darkness one could expect from glancing into an open tree bark, but once again, inquisitiveness got the better of me and I found myself stepping through the door, expecting to be consumed by the darkness. What I got, however, was much, much brighter.

It took a few moments for my eyes to readjust to daylight from the shade of the forest. The heat poured down so directly, it was almost debilitating. Of course, being raised in Southern California, I was accustomed to the heat, but this was beyond anything I could comprehend. I clenched my eyes shut before slowly allowing them to open again, my surroundings making themselves clearer to me by the second from the thick white haze of sunlight. My jaw dropped in surprise at the sight that awaited me –

how did I get here?

Mexico was nearly 3000 miles away from my home, so why was I standing at the base of the famous temple of the Mayans in Chichen Itza? Instead of the grey limestone that everyone knew it to be, it appeared to have been freshly built, standing proudly in colours of vivid brown and beige. I cast my mind back to high school where I’d learned in detail about the Mayans, and I proceeded to admit that if it was possible to explore any moment in the past, I’d have loved to witness El Castillo temple at its beginning. And here it was.

In a state of disbelief, I took a step back to glance up at the temple in its entirety. My other senses were slowly coming back into function and the sweet smell of plantain wafted by in the streams of smoke that brushed past from the circular fire pits dotted around the area. It brought to my realisation how hungry I was, and I rushed towards the source of the scent, hopeful for freshly fried plantain lying on the burning griddle, waiting for me. What awaited me, however, was a mass of what looked like charcoal in the guise of the shape of a banana. It had blatantly been atop the heat for too long. With a quiet huff, I turned back toward the pyramid, gaze lingering over the two stone snake heads at the foot of the steps. As confused as I was, indulging myself in curiosity filled me with more joy and energy than 20mg of Prozac ever could. I began to wonder if I were in some sort of self-help induced stupor.

Closing my eyes, I began to hear voices. They began as soft whispers, repeating and increasing in volume until I was surrounded by the booming of men shouting, chanting, and praying to their God before their inevitable rush into battle. Opening my eyes again, the chanting did not stop, but it dawned upon me that I really was alone. No change there, I thought, one of many similar sombre thoughts I’d had recently. I decided to walk and explore this mysterious land. Gravel cracked and caught in the grips of my boots with every step taken, even when I left the stony land and cut across the grassy terrains surrounding the temple. I was a little afraid to stray too far out in case I couldn’t get back to modern-day Los Angeles; I was already too scared to cast my glance back and check to make sure there was another door to get back through. In the distance, I could just make out the word “Kukulkan” amongst others in the chant. I knew Kukulkan to be a Mayan deity. Every equinox, even to this day, hundreds of people gathered around the temple to worship Kukulkan as the sun bore down; the sunlight as it hit each of the nine levels created a shadow of a snake-like tail that hung off the stone snake head.

When the voices eventually died down to complete silence, I noticed that the wind did too, as did the clouds. In fact, the whole area grew still and silent the more I walked. The terrain became more uneven the further I strayed from the temple, and my only destination for now was an observatory perked atop a tiresome set of steps on the edge of the surrounding forest. I figured that if I could get a good look of the area’s layout, I’d probably find an answer to my being here. Every now and then, as I climbed the steps, I glanced into the cracks in the trees and could have sworn I saw eyes twinkling back at me. It was unlikely, however, considering. Perhaps it was just the heat – yes, that must be it.

Upon reaching the observatory, I could see further out than I’d expected, but still, the area must have been surrounded by trees for miles. I could understand why the Mayans chose to settle here of all places. Beyond the trees, however, it looked as if there was nothing but sheer nothingness. I could just see past the curve of the land enough to know that the edge of the forest stood steadily against the top of jagged, earthy crust, almost as if the land had been broken off and separated from the rest of the world. A continent of its own, of sorts. Heaving out a sigh, I sat at the base of the observatory, leaning my head against the warm stone and letting it lull me into a deep slumber.

I must have been exhausted. When I awoke, the sun had set, even though everything else remained stationary. For some reason, my first thought was to grope the pocket in my shorts to check if my medication boxes were still in there. This would usually be the time that I popped a Prozac pill and settled down for the night; I wasn’t sure if it still applied to here – wherever and whenever here was, but out of habit, I took a pill anyway for safe measure. Through dehydration, my throat was dry and I struggled to swallow the tiny tablet, and I silently cursed my doctor for making me so reliant on such chemicals. Dragging myself back up to my feet, I stretched my arms before making my way inside the observatory. This was bound to be stuff of historians’ dreams and I just wanted to see it as it was, not just as thought. I peered in through one of the small window holes before heading in through the opening. To my surprise, there was no telescope, though I supposed telescopes had not been invented yet. After all, the Mayans lived a few hundred years too early before Galileo was even born. However, there was a hole in the centre-point of the roof and I could see clearly into the night sky. I wondered if I squinted hard enough, if I’d be able to take a brief glance into the heavens. The stars overhead twinkled like they did back home, but brighter here. That reassured me a great deal.

In awe, I explored for a good chunk of the evening. This felt more sensible than stumbling into the main temple. After all, it wasn’t my territory to explore. I ascended the stairs towards the hole in the ceiling and stared into the night sky for a while before returning to the entrance where I found, perched up against the wall, an engraved tablet. Was that here before? Furrowing my brows, I knelt and brushed dust from the stone, curiosity wracking through my entire body once more. Hija mía, si ves esto, te ruego que continúes el linaje de Maya. No pudimos escapar de nuestro adversario. (My daughter, if you see this, I beg of you to continue the lineage of the Maya. We could not escape our adversary.) I squinted as if it would help me understand, but my high school level of forgotten Spanish failed me. Or I failed my Spanish teacher. I sighed, simply tracing my fingers along the engraved lettering, admiring its intricacy. Such an ancient civilisation, writing with such grace. It almost tugged the corners of my lips into a smile. That feeling faltered when my fingers caught a scrap of paper, however. I knew that paper had been invented by this point, but this was so white – so crisp. Grasping at it, I was surprised to see that it had been scribbled upon eloquently in English. “Those who are most valiant will always win.” There was something about the calligraphy that irked me, even as I descended the steps from the Observatory towards the main courtyard. I gripped the scrap of paper tightly in my fist with furrowed brows, feeling almost as if I had been personally threatened, though I knew that was not the case. However, I wondered now what my subconscious had been trying to tell me, if this was some sort of hallucination, that is. The longer I stayed here, the more I was made aware of the shift in altitude that not even the highest hills of Los Angeles could reach, and I was beginning to feel dizzy. Though, perhaps that was the restriction of blood-flow caused by my fingertips pressing anxiously into the palm of my hand. Even when I reached the bottom and started making my way back towards the front of the temple, the dizziness continued to ensue – so much so that I almost overlooked the man kneeling at the base of the stairs, his fingers intertwined in prayer. His attire was utterly magnificent and my awe was written all over my face; I must have looked silly in my modern clothes, in comparison. Perched proudly atop his head was a large feather headpiece that resembled the plume of a peacock. He wasn’t wearing much else, sans a fabric wrap around his midsection, and arm-bands and leg-bands, each of which with protruding feathers too. His bare torso bore a tapestry of tattoos, some of which appeared to tell a story, while others were simply white stripes mimicking the decorative feathers. I assumed this man was a warrior of sorts, and that he held great importance within the clan.

He didn’t shift when I coughed to test the waters, so I approached him, fox-like once more, taking deep breaths with every step. If this wasn’t a test of how well I could keep my anxiety under control, I didn’t know what was. I opened my mouth to speak just yards away from him, but he interrupted me before I could breathe out a single word, in heavily accented English, as if he was expecting my arrival. “It has all been wiped out. I am the only one who remains, destined to stay here forever. I should have foreseen it.” I blinked in confusion, hanging on to his every word as desperately as I could. Almost thoughtlessly, I uttered out shakily,

“Foreseen what? Why could I hear chanting? If you’re the only one here, that is.” I couldn’t help noticing how utterly American I sounded, and somehow it made me feel silly. I had the embodiment of such rich history and culture knelt before me, and the only culture I knew was West Hollywood at rush hour.

The man rose to his feet and bowed his head solemnly, before pointing towards the stone snake statues. This was all growing more and more unbelievable by the minute, but still, I clung to the information he gave me, finding it difficult to make the bridge between reality and my own imagination anymore.

“For many years – centuries, this land has seen war,” He began, his eyes meeting my own for the very first time as he softly spoke. “Kinich Ahau, the Sun God, informed us of the equinox, and of the passing of the planets in the sky. From that, we created a calendar. Every time Venus was visible in the sky, we knew that that was our chance to attack neighbouring tribes, and we were formidable. Kinich Ahau saw, and he was proud.” His gaze lingered upon mine for a moment longer before falling to the ground. “However, for every fallen warrior on our side, the Sun God grew angry and punished us. First, he delayed rainfall and we couldn’t grow food. This weakened our warriors further, killed our women, and then I found myself praying—begging for immortality.”

I breathed out audibly, my lips parting in wonder and pity. Was this how the Mayans got wiped out?

“Then he broke our land from the rest. He claimed that he was trying to protect us, but there were too few of us left to protect. Eventually, the others died out, and each death prompted him to raise our ground from the Earth. Up and up until it was just me, atop land floating high above Earth.” His voice stuttered and I outstretched an arm as if to reassuringly touch his shoulder, but thought against it. “Then, just as I was about to die, he granted my prior wish and bestowed upon me, immortality.” “It is here where I am destined to stay, forever. No purpose, just a will to protect my land. Sometimes I pray to Kukulkan. They say that Kukulkan is Kinich Ahau’s pet. I like to think that one day, these two stone statues will be the door to the past, and not just the future.”

I looked over the snake statues once more and wondered how a hypothetical deity could have implemented a door in my present that led straight here. Was I destined to come here? “What about the chanting?” I asked, tilting my head. I could hear it starting again, the same words from last time, over and over. He rose his gaze once more, his lips pursed in thought for a moment. “Kinich Ahau rose this land closer to the sun and tortures me daily with the voices of my warriors in punishment. I will bear the heat of my actions for eternity.” He was beginning to choke on his words as each chant grew louder, a grave reminder of the lives lost.

It was beginning to get light again and I couldn’t believe that my body had withstood the whole night in that heat. The mysterious man closed his eyes, and I soon followed suit in thought of the warriors, women, and children, all of whom lost their lives unjustly to a scorn deity. I could have sworn I almost dozed off on the spot, but before I knew it, I felt the cold of dewy grass against my cheek. Opening my eyes again, I clumsily reached out in search of the warrior – I had more questions to ask, but I felt nothing. When the daze of my apparent slumber wore off, I jerked up to my feet and choked out a sob. I was back in modern day Los Angeles, medics rushing towards me in exclamation, something about a medical miracle.

Being a dreamer was both a blessing and a curse. That night, I’d died in my dreams, whatever that was supposed to mean.

#writers of tumblr #my writing #my drabbles #writing game

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