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kurtie4life96 · 2 years

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Song request: Chateau by Djo with Steve Harrington of course! But with OLD MONEY STEVE. smut if that's okay :) I love you!!

Chateau, Careless Whisper

S.H. × F! Reader

Summary: Steve runs into an old fling from high school at a party. He's very sought after, but she doesn't know about his money and popularity, and he is intrigued to say the least.

CW: MDNI 18+, old money!Steve, fem!reader, old flings, fluff, angst, drinking, jealousy, soft(ish) smut

AN: I decided to add Careless Whisper by George Michael with this, it just fit with the plot in my head, sorry!

Part 2 here!

Standing in the warm, summer night in front of a château style home in August, 1990, you ran shaky fingers through your hair, and tugged your black dress down at the hem, smoothing it, then staring at the large, lit up house before you, nearly having an anxiety attack at the sight of it.

It was gorgeous- a diamond in the rough of Hawkins, Indiana. The exterior of the large home was crafted with white wood paneling, grey steeply pitched roofs and shutters, accompanied with tall, arched windows. You stood in the courtyard, a quaint and simple fountain in the middle, a walkway compiled of stone surrounding it that lead to a similar looking guesthouse towards the back, with lush green grass and trees all around.

Music roared from within it, and you took a deep breath, your skin buzzing with nervousness and anticipation. You took a moment to reach into your small purse, spraying a cheap, but decent perfume on your chest, then began to walk towards the tall, double front doors, your heels clicking under you as you headed towards the black tie event that you'd heard gossip about for nearly a week.

A man you'd never seen before greeted you at the entrance, wearing a black suit and tie, his hair slicked back neatly, carrying a tray of glasses half full of champagne, offering one with a warm smile.

You accepted it, perhaps a little too eagerly, but needed something to calm your nerves. You thanked him with a nod and a smile, and stepped inside.

The interior was lit up brightly with a soft yellow glow, the design of the home elegant, elaborate, yet quite modern with a humble feel to it, tasteful paintings hanging on the walls, and a grand staircase. A large crowd of people dressed in black, designer clothes were scattered about underneath a crystal chandelier, chatting amongst themselves loudly enough to drown out the music.

You took another deep breath, your anxiety nearly taking over, as you tried to calm yourself by remembering the five senses.

What can you taste? The bubbly champagne, of course.

What can you smell? A mixture of unknown women and men's perfumes and cologne- a bit strong and a little nauseating.

What can you hear? Classical music and obnoxious voices.

What can you see? A crowd of people that you could only assume were pretentious and full of themselves, yet cleaned up extremely well.

What can you feel? Goosebumps on your skin. You can feel the cold glass in your hand. You can feel the fabric of your dress as you smoothed it down your body again, feeling self conscious.

Well, that didn't help.

Your stomach did backflips as you made your way throw the crowd aimlessly, apologizing over and over again, trying to compose yourself, feeling exposed, like you didn't belong there.

You stood in the corner, people watching, feeling like a wallflower, a part of you looking for familiar faces, although you knew none would be there.

Another well dressed gentleman walked by you gracefully with another tray of champagne just as you'd finished your first, and you grabbed a second, feeling grateful for the slight buzz that ran through your body.

As you sipped the alcohol, trying to gain the confidence to approach someone in the crowd, someone else approached you to your left to greet you, a familiar voice that startled you, making you gasp.

"Woah, shit, didn't mean to scare you!" He smiled, putting his hands up in an attempt to steady you.

You chuckled, a hint of annoyance and disbelief in it, as you turned to face the old fling standing before you.

He was wearing a black suit and tie like the rest of the men, an expensive looking watch on his wrist, his classic long, sun kissed waves framing his face- and damn it, you couldn't deny that he looked striking, and his cologne of cedarwood and citrus was intoxicating.

"Harrington," you grinned arrogantly, raising an eyebrow and standing up straight, crossing one arm over the other.

Steve slightly bowed, reaching an arm towards you in a cheesy fashion as he held his own glass of champagne in the other.

"In the flesh."

You smirked at his silly action, feeling a little caught off guard.

"What is a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

"Well," he leaned back, taking a sip, "I could ask you the same question."

You gave him a skeptical look.

"Oh, well," he stammered, laughing awkwardly, "not that you're a guy, I mean, obviously you're not- you know what mean, right?"

You took another sip, chuckling at him, "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders, smiling sheepishly.

"You've still got the same big, long hair, same demeanor, still cocky... isn't that right?"

"Yeah, well I never lost my charm, so I guess I haven't really changed," he winked at you, "So, it's been what- four years?"

"Yep, four years since we last saw each other, through all the Upside Down shit. And six years since you... broke my little heart?" You crossed your legs and leaned back against the wall.

He frowned at that statement, making you feel a little bad, but you would never let it show.

"I'm just giving you some shit, Harrington. No hard feelings." You laughed.

He smiled again and nodded, running his hand through his hair.

Couples began to gather around the common area, dancing intimately to a slow song that started to play throughout the large house.

Steve glanced over at the crowd, then back at you.

"Might I say, you look ravishing tonight. May I have this dance?" He set down his glass and reached an arm out towards you, a hopeful look on his face.

"I think that's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever heard you say. What are you, Shakespeare?" You laughed, downing the rest of your champagne.

"Well, no. I just thought that maybe you'd like to talk, over there?" He motioned towards the flock of couples. "Cause, I know you've been kinda wandering around here awkwardly, wouldn't you like to be with a familiar face?"

He held a hand to you again, waiting for your response.

"Fine," you groaned, setting your glass down, "but that was uncalled for."

Steve smiled as he took your hand in his, leading you gingerly through the crowd, and they made note to move out of the way.

He intertwined his left hand with your right, placing the other along your lower back. You rested your hand on his shoulder, as he began to sway you gently.

"You know, you should feel lucky, Harrington," you remarked, grinning at him, "because I don't dance."

He ignored your comment, instead gazing into your eyes, softly smiling at you with his stupid, perfect teeth.

"You know, you should really just call me Steve now." He suggested, a voice of honey.

You scoffed, "Okay, Steve... just still feels a little weird to say your first name."

"And why is that?" He questioned, pulling you a little closer towards him.

Careless Whisper began to echo throughout the room, and the song was a little too fitting for the situation you were in, making you feel a bit unfocused.

"I don't know... maybe it has to do with the fact that you used me as a rebound for that summer in high school, only to tell me you couldn't get over Nancy."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows together, seemingly deep in thought before he answered, "I don't think that's necessarily true."

"And why is that?" You repeated his question, still swaying to the music.

"You weren't a rebound. I really do- I mean, did like you, a lot. I was just confused. I didn't even know what I was feeling. I haven't seen her in-"

"It's okay, Steve. It's been years. I'm over it." You chuckled nervously.

"Are you?" He asked, smirking at you.

You nodded, a hesitant smile on your lips as you took note of each other's faces.

"Best summer of my life," he admitted quietly, "I've always thought about you, was never able to get you out of my head, you know."

Your chest grew warm and bloomed at his statement, "Me neither."

He was a bit taken aback, but beamed at you.

"So," you teased, "considering that you're here, dancing with me, I'm assuming your dream of 6 kids, living life on the road in an RV didn't work out?"

"Nope." He enunciated the word with a pop of his lips, looking around the room.

You heard whispering around you, and looked around too, finding people staring at the two of you, practically gawking.

"Why the fuck are they staring at us?" You asked, glaring right back at them.

"I don't know, they're just weird people, I guess," Steve replied, looking back at you with an amused smile, "so, you never answered my question."

"What question?" You focused back to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well," you sighed, still lazily swaying with him, "I heard through the grapevine at work that a lot of, you know, big shots were gonna be here. I thought I'd take a chance at talking to one of them, try to score a job. I'm barely able to afford my own apartment. Hard to do that when you're just a waitress."

Steve nodded, motioning for you to continue.

"Obviously, I can't even do that," you laughed, "cause now I'm just here, dancing with you."

He smirked, staring at your face for a moment before responding, making butterflies dance in your stomach, only now realizing the close proximity of your faces.

"I think I can help with that."

"Really?" You perked up, "How?"

The song began to fade away, the crowd of people dressed in black beginning to gather in groups, chatting amongst themselves again.

Steve gently let go of you, pulling a card out of his coat pocket and handing it to you. It had his name and phone number on it, but no other information.

"Here," he placed the card in your hand, "why don't you give me a call in, let's say... tomorrow?" He suggested. "Tomorrow morning."

"Oh, okay," you smiled gratefully, putting the card in your purse, "well thank you, Harrington. I really appreciate that."

"Don't thank me," he took your hands in his as he spoke, "it's the least I can do for you."

You gazed at each other with stars in your eyes, squeezing his hands for a moment, wondering if he felt the same tension as you.

"So," he let go of your hands, "I hear they're shutting this party down soon. You should go before they do, beat the traffic, you know."

"Okay," you nodded, "well, thanks again."

Steve nodded back, and you began to walk away.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, making you turn around to look at him again.

"Yeah?"

"Call me, Steve, okay? Talk to you soon."

You scoffed playfully, and turned around to walk out the door, feeling excited, hopeful, giddy as you walked to your car, squealing in joy as you drove away.

You were awoken by the god awful sound of your alarm clock, groaning as you rolled over in your bed to shut it off with an annoyed smack of your hand. You closed your eyes, getting comfortable for a moment longer, before they shot open again, realizing that you had a very important phone call to make.

You sat up abruptly, snatching the comforter off of you, heading to your small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee, hastily pouring the creamer in, mixing and taking a sip, preparing for the call you were about to make.

A part of you wondered why you were so nervous to call him. Were you worried that he wasn't being serious when he said he'd help you? Was the job going to be a big flop? Or did Steve Harrington still make you feel nervous after all these years?

Maybe a mix of everything.

You picked up his card from the kitchen counter, walking over to the phone on the wall. With a big inhale, exhale, you picked up the phone and dialed his number.

It only rang for three seconds before he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hey Steve, it's-"

He interrupted you, chuckling, "Finally, I've been waiting for you to call all morning!"

You laughed, "What? It's only 9 a.m."

"I know, I know," he emphasized his words, "I guess I've just been absolutely buzzing with excitement."

"Oh...kay," you teased, "why's that?"

"I don't know, just lonely, bored nowadays," he replied, "so, anyway, I've set up an interview for you at that coffee shop, you know, the one on 6th Street? There's this guy that's very interested in speaking with you."

"Oh, sweet, thank you! Um, what's the job again?"

Steve ignored your question, "So be there around 11. Also, give me your address. I'm gonna send a taxi over to your place to pick you up. Don't bring your car."

"Okay," you went on to give him your address, "but why?"

"I hope it goes great! Let me know after, okay? Talk to you later." He stuttered between his words and abruptly hung up the phone.

You removed the phone from your ear, staring at it for a moment, feeling puzzled to say the least, before you reacted.

"What the fuck?"

You hung the phone back up on the wall.

"That was fucking weird," you continued to talk to yourself, heading to your bedroom, "who just hangs up like that? Fucking Steve Harrington. What in the fuck was that?"

You quickly took to getting ready, slipping out of your pajamas, showering, putting on some makeup- not too much, just the right amount.

"Business casual," you reminded yourself, "not too casual, but not too much."

You finished your hair and opted for a pencil skirt, flats, and a simple blouse.

You stood before your reflection in the mirror, repeating comforting words of affirmation to yourself, as you smoothed your outfit down and checked the time on your watch.

10:53.

"Shit!"

You grabbed your purse and ran out the door, down the stairs of your apartment and outside, to see a yellow taxi waiting for you in the parking lot.

You opened the backdoor and got in hastily, anxiety taking over again.

"Hi- hello, sir," you spoke to the driver, "the coffee shop on-"

"6th Street, I know." The cab driver smiled and began to drive.

"Oh, um- thank you." You responded and smiled at him, fumbling with your hair as he drove.

Once he arrived at the destination, you grabbed your purse, reaching in to grab your wallet.

"How much do I owe you sir?"

"It's been paid for, ma'am." He assured. "You have a nice day."

"Oh shit- fuck- I mean, thank you. You too!" You stepped out of the car, facing the coffee shop.

What the fuck?

You smoothed down your outfit again, brushed your fingers through your hair and composed yourself, forcing a smile on your face, though your anxiety was through the roof.

You walked in, smelling freshly ground coffee beans and feeling the air conditioning in the shop blasting as you looked around the room for who you might be meeting.

It was easy to see who it was, considering there was only one person, sitting in the corner of the coffee shop with a shit eating grin on his face.

What the FUCK?

"Harrington?!" You exclaimed, a beyond confused look on your face.

He leaned back, his hair tousled perfectly, annoyingly wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, his hands clasped together.

"In the flesh."

"What-"

"And remember, call me Steve."

You walked slowly towards him, wondering if there was a possibility you were hallucinating.

"Please, sit." He pulled out a chair for you, looking a little too cocky.

You reluctantly did as he asked, setting your purse down, keeping eye contact with him.

"What can I get you to drink? On me." He stood up, still grinning, like he'd won some sort of game.

"Um... just a mocha, thanks."

Steve nodded and walked to the front counter.

You sat deep in thought as you waited. Is he playing some mindgame with you? Is he still just an asshole? Why did he lie to you?

"Here's your mocha," he set it down on the table for you, "and I got one too, though I'm not much of a coffee drinker myself-"

"Why did you lie?" You interrupted him.

He sat down in front of you, furrowing his brows, "Lie?"

You nodded, impatiently waiting for a response, frustration coursing through your veins.

"Well, I didn't necessarily lie. I told you I'd help you, and you'd have an interview," he laughed quietly, "and, it was me the whole time!"

"Yeah, I've figured that out by now." You huffed. "Are you just trying to mess with me, embarrass me or something? If so, I'm just gonna walk out right now-"

"No, no!" Steve assured you, putting his hands up, "no, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to mess with you. I guess it was kinda stupid that I did it like this."

"Then why am I here?"

He took a sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair, "For a job."

"What job?"

"Well," he sighed, trailing off for a moment, "please just listen to me. Just let me talk, and trust me. Please?"

You leaned forward in your chair, crossing your arms on the table and raised an eyebrow at him, "I'm listening."

He exhaled nervously, running a hand through his hair and scooting his chair closer to you, resting his hands on the table.

"So, during the time we kinda... drifted apart, I inherited some money. And if you remember, my dad had a lot of money."

You nodded, motioning for him to continue.

"Well, and please don't get mad, but that house party last night? It, uh... just so happens that house is... mine." Steve chuckled awkwardly.

"What?!"

"Let me finish, okay?"

You groaned, a look of worry on your face.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that last night. It was just nice to see you again and talk to you, talk to someone that knows who I am as a real person and doesn't just try to talk to me for... my money, you know? And when you brought up that you needed a job, it got me thinking-"

You cut him off, "Thinking what?"

"Ugh, let me finish!" He groaned, "It got me thinking that I've needed someone to... run my house?"

"Like a house manager?"

"Yeah, like a house manager," he smiled, "you know, travel arrangements, manage my budget, organize parties or social stuff... I'm not exactly good at... those type of things."

"Yeah, I could see that." You teased, finally cracking a smile.

Steve scoffed playfully, "Shut up! I know, I know. The thing is, I've never hired anyone to do it because I don't really trust any random person with things like that. I saw a friend, someone I trust, and I thought, why not?"

He shrugged and smiled, waiting for your answer, his leg bouncing nervously.

"So," you sat up straight, crossing your legs, "would I be a maid, clean up after you? What's the catch?"

"No catch," Steve shook his head, "I already have a maid. You'd have to move in with me-"

"Woah, woah, woah," you interrupted, "move in with you-"

"Jesus, sweetheart, let me talk," he laughed, motioning his hands for you to calm down, "not in my house. I have a guesthouse in the back. It's got a kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms, everything you need for your own privacy. And you'd live in it for free. And I would pay you."

You perked up, "How much?"

"Let's say..." He thought for a moment, "$100,000? Just to start off?"

Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor, your eyes widening.

"Steve-"

"Don't say no." He said kindly, smiling at your reaction. "Unless you want to. That's okay, too. I just thought... it's the least I can do. Win-win situation?"

You stared at your coffee in disbelief, your heart beating so loud, surely he could hear it. Time slowed down, the world coming to a halt. So much so that you hadn't even realized that Steve reached out his hands to hold yours gently through your shock.

"I'll do it." You exhaled and glanced back over to him, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

"Really?" He beamed, squeezing your hands.

"Yes," you squeezed his back unknowingly, "only because I need this so badly. I could go back to school, I could take care of my family... Steve, I don't even know how to begin to thank you-"

"You don't have to," he reassured, "like I said, it's the least I can do."

You gazed at each other for a few moments, smiling so cheesy you almost couldn't stand it, and you again wondered if he felt the same tension between you as the night before.

It was only then did you finally notice that you were holding hands.

"So, um," you cleared your throat, pulling your hands back.

Steve did the same, his throat bobbing as there was an awkward bit of silence.

"So..." you finished your question, "when do I start?"

"Oh, today, if you want." He leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, as if what he just said wasn't a big deal.

"Today?!" You reiterated.

He nodded, a cheeky look spreading across his face again.

"Um, okay, but what about my stuff, my apartment-"

"The movers will take care of all that," Steve assured you, "you don't need to lift a finger. They'll start moving your stuff into the guesthouse today. If you want."

You wondered how any of that could happen so fast, but excitement pushed the thought to the back of your brain.

"Welp," he stood up, hands on his hips, "are you ready to go?"

You stood up after him, grabbing your purse, "Go? To your house?"

"Yep," he pulled his keys out of his pocket, swinging them around his fingers, "let's go."

You quickly followed him out the door, giggling with joy as Steve opened the passenger door of his red Cadillac for you. You got in, admiring the interior as he sat in the driver's seat and started the car.

"Steve?" You asked as he began to drive towards his house, the hot summer breeze flowing through each other's hair.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't gonna be, like... a weird sugar daddy situation, is it?"

He nearly choked on his own spit nervously, clearing his throat, "No, no, definitely not."

"Cause it's almost too good to be true, you know?"

"Definitely not." He repeated, looking over at you with a warm smile, then reverted his eyes back to the road, and you swore you saw a hint of a tense look on his face.

The next four months went by far too quickly. You were the happiest you'd ever been, feeling so grateful for the opportunity Steve had given you. You meticulously orchestrated the most extravagant house parties, took care of his finances, made sure his bills were paid on time, arranged his travel arrangements with perfection, and made his life much easier for him, which he showed great appreciation for.

The guesthouse you'd been living in was much more than you thought it was going to be. Two stories, fully furnished with the finest materials, a large kitchen with marble counter tops, the most luxurious bathroom, and the softest bedding you'd ever had the pleasure to sleep in, not to mention the insane salary, which Steve had already increased greatly on multiple occasions.

You were living the most amazing life, far past your highest expectations, but there was a feeling you couldn't shake, and you couldn't stand it.

Every time you put together a large gathering for a house party, you couldn't help but feel a little jealous when other women interacted with him, laughing at his jokes a little too loudly, having conversations with him a little too intimately, and dancing with him a little too long for your liking. But Steve still took the time to dance with you, of course, in a friendly manner, and you reminded yourself that he was a highly respected, well sought after man, and you just had to accept that. But god, did you hate it.

Every time Steve left for a business trip, whether it'd be a few days or a week, you found yourself feeling awfully lonely, isolated even. You kept busy by managing the house, doing your job, but you couldn't help but to feel insignificant, even abandoned, which you scolded yourself for, feeling embarrassed of yourself. He was your boss, after all. But god, you just fucking hated it.

But Steve did make up for it, of course. You never told him how lonely you were feeling, but he must have gotten the hint, as he would shower you with gifts. He'd bought you a new, much more reliable car in your favorite color. He'd gifted you a wardrobe of designer clothes, shoes and bags. He'd sent you on spa days that he'd pay for, massages, manicures, pedicures, and sent you to luxury salons to get your hair done. You hadn't even needed to touch your own money. You felt bad for all the gifts, telling him it wasn't necessary, that you were just there to do your job, but Steve always insisted, always reiterating that it was the least he could do.

The least he could do. Sometimes you wondered about that statement.

You were facing the fact that you, indeed, had feelings for Steve Harrington. And you wondered if you'd always had, ever since that summer in high school.

You felt ashamed of yourself, as it was so inappropriate to be in love with your own boss. But you'd known him long before he became a big shot, long before all these other people had known him, and so it was a difficult feeling to shake away.

You felt guilty for having these feelings, because Steve had done so much for you. You didn't want to be in love with him, as he showered you with things you'd only dreamed of. What if he meets the love of his life, and continues to be so generous towards you? That wouldn't be fair to them.

But at the same time, you couldn't tell him that you'd fallen for him. He'd always had trust issues, and you didn't want him to feel like you were taking advantage of him, or be accused of it. You didn't want to hurt him and break that trust.

It was all so conflicting, it drove you mad.

It didn't help that the two of you would spend your free time with each other, having dinner together at his large house, watching movies, laughing, friendly brunch dates, all of which included lingering stares, curling up on the couch a little closer together than platonic friends would do, Steve's endearing nicknames for you, his compliments, hands barely touching as you conversed, dancing slowly, warm bodies close together.

And you pondered the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same electric buzz on on his own skin, the same butterflies in his stomach, the same fireworks, the same pull, the same tension as you did. Because you swore you could see it in his eyes when he looked into yours, in his smile, his body language.

Surely, you were just imagining things.

It wasn't something you could focus on right now anyway, so you shoved those feelings as far away as you could. You had a Christmas party to plan.

December 18th, 1990.

Steve's house was bustling with large crowds of people, holiday music softly playing throughout the large common area, a 20 ft large Christmas tree tucked away neatly in a corner, decorated accordingly with expensive ornaments, gold and silver lights wrapped around it, with a stupid little angel right on the top.

Five senses.

There was a fragrance of white pine, vanilla and cinnamon in the air. Cheerful, well dressed people chatted amongst themselves with an optimistic tone to their voices. Twinkling lights hung from the ceiling and red ribbons wrapped around the grand staircase in an elegant fashion. Your hand was wrapped around a glass of wine, and damn, did that cabernet taste a little too good.

All of this was happening because of your careful planning, but you definitely weren't feeling the holiday spirit.

You'd been standing by the Christmas tree alone for 2 hours now, sipping your fourth glass of red wine as you people watched with a bitter look on your face.

Despite how you felt, you were looking good. Really good.

You were wearing a satin red dress that hugged your body just right, a slit along the side of the dress to your upper thigh. Your hair was done elegantly, and on your lips was the perfect shade of red just right for your skin tone, fit with diamond jewelry and strappy heels- courtesy of Steve, obviously.

Speaking of Steve, you watched him in your usual wallflower fashion, conversing with people you didn't recognize, laughing, and having a grand old time with his usual black suit and tie, and his stupid perfect hair.

You took another sip, feeling a little forgotten about, and a little vulnerable as you stood alone, watching the party near its end.

A few minutes went by, and Steve suddenly gathered everyone around for a toast. You hesitantly walked towards the crowd, and watched as he thanked everyone for coming, thanked the chefs, the decorators, the butlers, and then thanking you, taking you by surprise.

"And I'd like to thank my beautiful house manager here," Steve gestured towards you, raising his glass as the crowd turned to look at you, "she single-handedly planned every bit of this get together, and I'm so gratetul to her for making this such a wonderful party, and for being my greatest friend. You're amazing."

"Cheers!" Everyone exclaimed, nodding at you in approval, and Steve winked at you.

You couldn't help but smile, your cheeks getting hot, taking another sip of wine, and for a fleeting moment, you didn't feel so alone anymore, so inferior.

That all came crashing down quickly.

Just as you thought Steve was about to take your hand and ask you to dance, another woman practically threw herself onto him, insisting she dance with him. He was a little taken aback, but reluctantly agreed to dance with her, and you swore that she had flashed you the most evil grin you'd ever seen.

Maybe it was the feelings you had for Steve, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe both, but rage coursed through your body at the sight. You felt annoyed, revolted, hostile, jealous.

You began to step backwards from the two of them, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, your lip nearly quivering as you backed away.

You made your way to a nearby table and downed the rest of your glass, setting it down as you glared at the two of them. Steve glanced over to you and caught your eye, his smile quickly fading and a worried, almost remorseful expression taking over.

You didn't want to act out, ruin Steve's party, ruin your friendship with him, so you stormed away, navigating through the large, drunken crowd and walking out the backdoor to head to your own private house, trying not to let hot tears spill down your face.

You walked in and slammed the door behind you, locking it and kicking off your heels. You turned on the lights and headed to your bedroom, sat down on the soft blankets of your bed, and finally allowed your emotions to pour out of you, sobbing to yourself and cursing yourself, mascara running down your cheeks.

Why am I like this? Why do I feel like this? I'm so stupid. So fucking stupid. We dated for 3 months when we were just kids. We hardly even kissed. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'll just have to quit. Tell him I'm moving. Find him a new manager, one he can trust. One that won't fall in love with him. God, how could I be so fucking ungrateful?

You sat up from the bed, absolutely bawling, and stumbled on the plush carpet to your full length mirror. You stared at yourself for a while, taking in shaky breaths, taking note of the expensive dress, the expensive jewelry, the expensive makeup- now a mess on your face.

"So fucking ungrateful!" You scolded the reflection in the mirror.

It was only then did you hear your front door close shut, and Steve's voice calling out your name softly.

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

You quickly wiped the smeared makeup off of your face and tried to compose yourself, taking a deep breath.

You walked out to the living room where Steve stood awkwardly, holding a ring of keys in his hands.

"Hey, Harrington." You tried to muster a smile.

He frowned at your greeting, looking concerned.

"Hey. Uh, sorry, you looked upset, and I heard you crying, so I kinda let myself in."

"Oh." You sniffed.

There was a moment of silence, and you felt that he was standing much too far away from you. There was a lump in your throat, too hard and too much to explain yourself.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, cautiously taking a step towards you.

"Yeah," you wiped another tear from your cheek, smiling, "yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you sure? Cause, you know, you're crying."

Silence again.

Steve sighed, "Do you wanna sit?"

"Um... sure." Your voice cracked.

You both sat down on the loveseat in the living room. You crossed your legs, fumbling with the rings on your fingers and avoiding eye contact with him. He held his hands together.

"I'm sorry for running out," you spoke up, "is everything okay back at the party?"

"Oh, don't be sorry, sweetheart," Steve assured you, "the party is ending now. Mostly everyone is gone."

"Oh, okay. I hope it was a good one."

"It was great, you always make it great," he smiled, resting a hand on your knee, making you feel a little nervous, "but can I ask... why are you crying?"

You attempted to laugh, brush your pain away like it never existed in the first place.

"Honestly, I just felt overwhelmed, and probably had too much to drink."

"Yeah, probably," he agreed, "but... there's something else, too."

You shook your head slightly, tears stinging your eyes again, not responding.

"Was it because of that girl I was dancing with?"

You finally glanced over to him.

"No." You replied in a small, fragile voice.

Steve sighed, leaning forward and gave your knee a squeeze.

"Well... I won't bother you. Maybe you can talk to me about it tomorrow. For now," he stood up, putting his hands on his hips, "why don't you eat something, drink some water, and get some sleep, okay?"

You nodded, still sitting down, "Okay. I'm so sorry, Steve."

He didn't speak for a moment, only peering down at you with an empathetic look, before slowly leaning over and holding your face gently with his hands, pausing as his face hovered yours, and placing a small kiss to your forehead.

"You've done nothing wrong. There's nothing for you to worry about," Steve whispered against your skin, making you look at him in his eyes, "okay?"

You gave him a sad, half smile, still feeling guilty despite his words, "Okay."

He stood back up, and walked slowly to the front door, turning the knob and opening it.

"Good night."

"Good night, Steve."

The next day, your alarm woke you, not having dreamt at all. Your eyes burned from crying, and your lips were chapped from heavy breathing. You turned off the alarm and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, remembering everything that had occurred the night before. The party. Steve's toast. The woman. Running away. Crying. Talking to Steve. His hand on your knee. His words of reassurance. His kiss on your forehead.

You tried to put the puzzle pieces together in your mind.

Shouldn't he be mad at me? He's my boss. He's given me everything, just for me to throw a drunken hissy fit. He should have fired me. Or at least been upset with me. Is he upset with me? No, he said he wasn't. Wait, does he have feelings for me, too? No he doesn't. There's no way. Is there?

You begrudgingly got out of bed, and walked towards the same mirror you had the night before, looking at the disheveled, emotional wreck in front of you.

Nope. No way.

You went on to do your usual morning routine of coffee, showering and getting ready, thankful that you didn't have a hangover, when there was a sudden knock on your front door.

What the fuck?

You opened it hesitantly to find no one standing there, but a beautifully wrapped gift bag was on the ground, with a note attached to it.

You looked around outside, and grabbed the bag, bringing it inside and shutting the door. You took it to your bedroom and sat the gift on the bed, and opened the note that had your name on it.

I felt like I needed you to know that you're my closest friend above anything else. Take the day off, on me, okay? And please accept the gift I got for you, and don't say no, like you usually do. Consider it an early Christmas gift. Please put it on and meet me in my bedroom upstairs for a movie night at 8. See you then.

-Harrington (call me Steve)

You couldn't help but bite your lip and smile, your stomach fluttering and feeling excited, grateful for his generosity and patience with you.

You placed the note to the side and dug into the gift bag, and audibly gasped and nearly sobbed at the sight of what you pulled out.

It wasn't Calvin Klein, or Ralph Lauren. It wasn't a designer dress, or expensive high heels.

It was cheesy Christmas pajamas, and a pair of fuzzy slippers. Complete with a reindeer and snowflake design, and it was cheap, from JC Penny's.

You could've died happy right then and there, to receive such a humble and thoughtful gift from Steve. The old Steve, the Steve he still was, the one you'd always kept close to your heart for years.

You chose not to go out and treat yourself that day like he'd offered, instead, staying in your home, relaxing with some good books and watching TV. You tried to take a nap, but you were too overjoyed, too overwhelmed in all the right ways to even think about falling asleep as you watched the clock tick by, minute by minute.

At 7:50, you put on your pajamas and slippers, looking into the mirror, this time, with a much more optimistic look on your face. You decided not to opt for makeup, as tonight was movie night- a night of friendship, a night of Steve, a night that had occurred many times before during a summer years ago.

You exited your house and walked towards the backdoor of Steve's, nearly skipping with joy, and let yourself in.

You were surprised to not see any of his other staff around the house as you walked up the staircase, thinking he must have given them the night off.

You tiptoed down the long, dark hallway filled with glee, and saw a dim light coming from Steve's bedroom.

You approached the open door and gave it a little knock, making him turn around.

"Oops, seems as if there's been a wardrobe malfunction."

He was wearing the same fucking pajamas as you.

"Steve!" You laughed, eyeing him up and down as you walked in.

He lifted his arms up in the air and smiled.

"You like?" He motioned at his outfit, and bolted towards you, lifting you up and making you squeal.

"That's what I like to hear," he sighed with relief as he put you back down, "it's good to see you smile."

"Steve, you're such a dork." You giggled and shoved his shoulder playfully.

"The most handsome dork you've ever seen," he teased, "so, what do you wanna watch? I've got everything set up."

He motioned towards the wooden table on the bed. On it was a bottle of white wine accompanied with two glasses, a big bowl of popcorn, and an assortment of candy.

"I grabbed the cheapest bottle of wine I could find, I promise," he chuckled, running his hands through his hair, "tonight is gonna be like old times. Gotta remind you that I'm still a humble guy."

"I never doubted you were." You beamed at him.

Steve's cheeks turned red, and his body language went a little shy.

"So, I know I asked you what you wanna watch, but I picked up your favorite you told me, Heathers-"

"Yes!" You exclaimed, "yes, I love that movie!"

He smiled, "I know you do. Now... let's get comfy."

There was definitely something in the air, and it was heavy, as the two of you watched Winona Ryder act on screen, eating popcorn, laughing, finishing a glass of wine, and bodies increasingly getting closer and closer together throughout the movie.

You both lay back in his bed, eyes glued to the TV under soft blankets, when Steve reached his arm out behind you, and commanded a soft "C'mere."

You glanced at him, wide-eyed, as adrenaline raced through your body at his request, and you hesitantly scooted towards him a bit. You leaned down your head down gently to rest on his shoulder, but you were still much too far away from him.

Steve pulled you closer to his body, and hooked his other arm under your knees, curling your legs on his lap. You lightly gasped and chuckled nervously at the action, but he just let out a hum of contentment.

You reached an arm across him to hold his side, and nuzzled further into his warm chest. He placed a gentle kiss to your hair, and rested his face on your head, holding you closely to him with both of his arms.

Suddenly, it was really hard to pay attention to the movie. Suddenly, you almost forgot how to breathe. Suddenly, you were so close to Steve, but somehow still too far away. Suddenly, the world paused around you as you felt his soft heartbeat against his chest. Suddenly, nearly all your nerves ceased to exist. Suddenly, Steve felt like home.

Steve was home.

The ending credits started to play on the TV screen. You had the nagging urge that you should let go of him, that movie night was over, but you didn't want to move, didn't want to let him ago, wanted this feeling and this warmth to last forever.

He sat up for a moment, and your heart dropped at the loss of his closeness as he grabbed the table from the bed and placed it on the ground.

You pulled away from him, preparing to say goodnight and go back to your own home, when Steve asked, "Where are you going?"

You glanced over to him, lips parted, but didn't respond, didn't know how to.

"Stay."

He took his shirt off, staring at you with soft eyes, and laid back down onto his bed slowly, patting the sheets, motioning for you to join him.

You eagerly did, as you crawled back onto his mattress, laying down next to him. He pulled the blankets over the two of you and pulled you in closer to him with strong arms until your faces were mere inches apart, nearly nose to nose, heads resting on soft pillows.

Steve ran his fingers up and down your back delicately, gazing into your eyes, you gazing back into his own, the only light in the bedroom now coming from the moon through the windows, enough to study the details of each other's faces in comfortable silence.

You traced your fingers along his back, breathing in his intoxicating scent, as he tucked your hair behind your ear and whispered to you, feeling his warm breath on your lips.

"You look so beautiful like this."

"Steve..."

No more words needed to be spoken, as the moment the two of you existed in gave you all the answers you ever needed.

He held the back of your head, and with a shaky breath, pressed his mouth against yours gently. His lips felt like silk as you quickly kissed him back, cradling the side of his face with your hand.

He broke the long, drawn out kiss, opening his eyes slowly to stare into your own, as if to make sure it was okay, before doing it again, his fingers splayed messy along your cheek.

You hummed against his mouth, roaming your hand from his chest, up the soft skin of his shoulder, to the nape of his neck, the both of you kissing between heavy sighs, resting your foreheads against the other.

Steve sat up a bit, grasping your face and pulling it to his, kissing you a little harder, a little faster each time, soft inhales between them, and he pulled at your bottom lip, impatient, hungry, asking for more.

You gave into him immediately, eagerly, deepening the kiss and raking your fingers through his soft hair, pulling him into you as tongues collided, desperate but languid.

You whined into him and Steve swallowed the sound, driving him mad and making his breath shudder, licking across your bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth, letting it go with a pop.

You lightly gasped and grasped at the skin of his back, hands heavy all over each other as he tugged you even closer to him, pressing gentle but eager kisses along your jawline. You threw your head back to give him access, and he leaned his face into your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. His hands roamed up your abdomen but stopped, and you quickly leaned back and pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your chest to him with needy eyes.

Steve groaned, whispering swears as you gave him permission to explore you, cupping your breasts and smoothing his fingers over your nipples as he continued to kiss and suck down your chest, which only made your body fill with heat, needing more.

You sat up and pushed yourself up against him, your lips finding his easily as you wandered your hands down his chest to the waistline of his pants, giving it a small tug.

He hissed against your mouth and broke the kiss, whispering, "Are you sure?"

"Please," you pleaded softly, "want you."

"Fuck," he let out a breathy laugh, "you're gonna kill me, baby."

You kissed along his collarbone, roaming your hands down again, and sighed as you felt his hard length against his leg, lightly stroking it.

Steve groaned at your touch, and frantically pulled his pajamas and boxers down his legs, throwing them to the side and freeing himself. He leaned down towards you again, making you lay flat against the bed, kisses sloppy and needy as he hovered over you, his hand smoothing from your breasts, down your stomach to tug at your own pants.

"Take 'em off." You whined on his lips.

He snaked his fingers in your waistline, and pulled your panties and pajamas down your legs swiftly, tossing them somewhere in the room.

He leaned back from you, lips parted, as he took in the sight of you, cheeks flushed.

"So pretty."

You bit your lip and reached for him, desperate to feel his closeness, but Steve had other ideas.

He smoothed his calloused hands up and down your thighs, before spreading them open, murmuring helplessly to himself as he leaned down, pressing open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your stomach, trailing his mouth down until he was above your heat, making you quiver underneath him.

He slowly traced his fingers down your lower stomach to the apex of your thighs, gently swiping them between your folds, cursing to himself at how wet you were.

You moaned, voice wrecked, arching into Steve's hand, giving yourself to him, a sign of permission.

He lifted a leg up over his shoulder and slowly slipped a finger inside of you, a second joining quickly, hooking inside of you.

You gasped loudly, and he leaned over and pressed his lips back to yours, an attempt to calm your reaction, to soothe you, as he thumbed at your clit, sliding his fingers in and out of you.

You moaned softly, your hands grasping and pulling at his hair, and he hissed at the action, and you took note of how much he liked it.

Steve pressed one more gentle kiss to your swollen lips, before descending down your body, kissing your heat and removing his thumb, replacing it with his tongue as he swirled it around your clit heavy, taking it into his mouth and sucking on it greedily.

You grinded against his face, coming undone and moaning a mixture of his name and expletives as your orgasm took a hold of you quickly, Steve humming against your heat, working you through your high until you were a panting mess.

He pulled his fingers out of you, sitting up slowly and placing them in his mouth, sucking on them and groaning at the taste of you.

"Good girl," he praised you through whispers, kneading his thumbs into the plush of your thighs, "you did so good."

You huffed, sitting up, your legs trembling and took his hard length into your hand, stroking it and kissing him desperately.

His breath stuttered against your lips as your grip tightened around him, hissing as Steve grabbed your wrist to stop you.

"Sweetheart," his voice was strained, husky, "if you do that, I'm not gonna last long."

His palms smoothed up and down your sides, then groped your breasts, making your breath hitch.

"Me neither," your voice thick with emotion, "need you."

"Sh, okay, I got you baby girl."

Steve laid you back down on the bed gingerly, and just as you thought he was going to hover over you, he laid down next to you, pulling you close to him, face to face, and lifted your leg to rest on his hip.

"Need you close. Okay?" He looked in your eyes, glazed over with lust.

You nodded, breath shaky, cradling his jaw with your hand as you felt his bare length press against your wet heat, squirming for friction. He snaked his arms under yours to hold you tight, his left hand on your lower back, his right grasping your ass.

He shifted his hips to align himself with your entrance, sucked in a sharp inhale, and pushed himself inside of you.

You both gasped loudly at the feeling, clutching at each other desperately, and Steve kissed you, swallowing your moans as he continued to inch inside of you, pushing in and out of you slowly until your walls took him in fully, his cock disappearing inside you completely.

Your bodies were flushed, skin warm as you felt him stretch you out every place you needed so badly, massaging your inner walls, the both of you in a state of utter bliss, euphoria and love, your lips kissing lazy and sloppy against each other, your slick making it easy for him to rock into you at a pace that wasn't too slow, wasn't too fast, but was amazingly deep and romantic.

You whimpered into his mouth as Steve continued to fuck into you, making him snap his hips into your spongy spot abruptly, and the both of you cursed, moaning each other's names, your voices stuttering, and your tongues gliding over each other messy.

Steve wasn't going to last long, you could tell by the way he bit back his moans, the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his hips jerking as you felt his length grow even harder inside of you.

Thankfully, you were on the edge too- heat beginning to pool in your lower back, your muscles tightening, goosebumps spreading across your skin as he continued to hit that delicious spot inside of you, the friction of his trail of body hair rubbing against your clit with each thrust, making you lose composure.

You raked your hands through his soft, mussed hair and tugged, earning a moan from him as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck, and Steve smiled against your skin when your walls tightened around him, getting the hint.

"You gonna cum?" He panted through thrusts, his voice gravelly.

"Yes- oh, fuck Steve-"

"Me- jesus christ- me too," he rasped, "cum with me, please, you look so pretty-"

His words were enough to send you over the edge as the world crashed around you, tears prodding at your eyes as your gut tightened and shockwaves gripped every inch of your skin, your orgasm bursting within you.

Steve felt you tighten and pulse around him as he rocked into you through your high, kissing you feverishly along your cheek and neck. The sound of your voice when you cried out his name made him bite down on your shoulder.

His hips stuttered and with a few more deep, powerful thrusts, his vision blurred as he spilled himself deep inside of you, groaning against your mouth as you kissed him sweetly until his movements stilled.

You slumped into each other, your limbs liquid, as the both of you tried to catch your breath. Steve pressed his forehead against yours, eyes hooded and heavy, skin warm and sticky, feeling lightheaded, and you both let out a breathy laugh of relief, a content sigh, as if this is what the two of you should have been doing all along.

You both held each other this way for a while, in comfortable silence, enjoying the closeness of each other's presence, the warmth and coziness of one another's bodies, hands smoothing over hair and skin, lips kissing the other's softly until you both finally caught your breath.

Steve eventually slid himself out of you with an exhale, and you shuddered at the loss. He pulled you in tightly to him, cradling you, limbs entangled and he rubbed circles into your cheek.

"Can I talk first?" He asked in a hushed voice.

You nodded, pursing your lips.

"I trust you. I know you. And I don't want anyone but you."

You beamed at him, tears glossing over your eyes, your heart blooming.

"I love you."

You lightly gasped at his confession, and he waited patiently for your response.

You kissed him, long and drawn out before speaking.

"I love you, Steve."

"Really?"

You nodded eagerly, "Really."

"Good." Another sigh of relief.

"So," you traced your fingers along his back, "What happens now?"

Steve chuckled, "Now? Now, you're mine," he cradled the side of your face, "you don't work for me. You're my girl. You're mine."

You smiled, and you could've died happy right then and there.

"And I want to give you everything."

Spicier Part 2 here

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lilithism1848 · 1 year

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Atrocities US committed against ASIA

Between 1996-2006, The US has given money and weapons to royalist forces against the nepalese communists in the Nepalese civil war. ~18,000 people have died in the conflict. In 2002, after another civil war erupted, President George W. Bush pushed a bill through Congress authorizing $20 million in military aid to the Nepalese government.

In 1996, after receiving incredibly low approval ratings, the US helped elect Boris Yeltsin, an incompetent pro-capitalist independent, by giving him a $10 Billion dollar loan to finance a winning election. Rather than creating new enterprises, Yeltsin’s democratization led to international monopolies hijacking the former Soviet markets, arbitraging the huge difference between old domestic prices for Russian commodities and the prices prevailing on the world market. Much of the Yeltsin era was marked by widespread corruption, and as a result of persistent low oil and commodity prices during the 1990s, Russia suffered inflation, economic collapse and enormous political and social problems that affected Russia and the other former states of the USSR. Under Yeltsin, Between 1990 and 1994, life expectancy for Russian men and women fell from 64 and 74 years respectively to 58 and 71 years. The surge in mortality was “beyond the peacetime experience of industrialised countries”. While it was boom time for the new oligarchs, poverty and unemployment surged; prices were hiked dramatically; communities were devastated by deindustrialisation; and social protections were stripped away.

In the 1970s-80s, wikileaks cables revealed that the US covertly supported the Khmer Rouge in their fight against the Vietnamese communists. Annual support included an end total of ~$215M USD, food aid to 20-40k Khmer Rouge fighters, CIA advisors in several camps, and ammunition.

In December 1975, The US supplied the weaponry for the Indonesian invasion of East Timor. This incursion was launched the day after U.S. President Gerald Ford and Secretary of State Henry Kissinger had left Indonesia where they had given President Suharto permission to use American arms, which under U.S. law, could not be used for aggression. Daniel Moynihan, U.S. ambassador to the UN. said that the U.S. wanted “things to turn out as they did.” The result was an estimated 200,000 dead out of a population of 700,000. Sixteen years later, on November 12, 1991, two hundred and seventeen East Timorese protesters in Dili, many of them children, marching from a memorial service, were gunned down by Indonesian Kopassus shock troops who were headed by U.S.- trained commanders Prabowo Subianto (son in law of General Suharto) and Kiki Syahnakri. Trucks were seen dumping bodies into the sea.

In 1975 Australian Constitutional Crisis, the CIA helped topple the democratically elected, left-leaning government of Prime Minister Gough Whitlam, by telling Governor-General, John Kerr, a longtime CIA collaborator, to dissolve the Whitlam government.

In 2018 after the release of a suppressed ISC (International Scientific Commission) report, and the release of declassified CIA communications daily reports in 2020, it was revealed that the US used germ warfare in the Korean war, 2. Many of these attacks involved the dropping of insects or small mammals infected with viruses such as anthrax, plague, cholera, and encephalitis. After discovering evidence of germ warfare, China invited the ISC headed by famed British scientist Joseph Needham, to investigate, but the report was suppressed for over 70 years.

Between 1963 and 1973, The US dropped ~388,000 tons of napalm bombs in vietnam, compared to 32,357 tons used over three years in the Korean War, and 16,500 tons dropped on Japan in 1945. US also sprayed over 5 million acres with herbicide, in Operation Ranch Hand, in a 10 year campaign to deprive the vietnamese of food and vegetation cover.

In 1971 in Pakistan, an authoritarian state supported by the U.S., brutally invaded East Pakistan in the Indo-Pakistani war of 1971. The war ended after India, whose economy was staggering after admitting about 10 million refugees, invaded East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) and defeated the West Pakistani forces. The US gave W. pakistan 411 million provided to establish its armed forces which spent 80% of its budget on its military. 15 million in arms flowed into W. Pakistan during the war. Between 300,000 to 3 million civilians were killed, with 8-10 million refugees fleeing to India.

In 1970, In Cambodia, The CIA overthrows Prince Sihanouk, who is highly popular among Cambodians for keeping them out of the Vietnam War. He is replaced by CIA puppet Lon Nol, whose forces suppressed the large-scale popular demonstrations in favour of Sihanouk, resulting in several hundred deaths. This unpopular move strengthens once minor opposition parties like the Khmer Rouge (another CIA supported group), who achieve power in 1975 and massacres ~2.5 million people. The Khmer Rouge, under Pol Pot, carried out the Cambodian Genocide, which killed 1.5-2M people from 1975-1979.

In 1969, The US initiated a secret carpet bombing campaign in eastern Cambodia, called, Operation Menu, and Operation Freedom Deal in 1970. An estimated 40,000 - 150,000 civilians were killed. Nixon lied about this campaign, but was later exposed, and one of the things that lead to his impeachment.

US dropped large amounts of Agent Orange, an herbicide developed by monsanto and dow chemical for the department of defense, in vietnam. Its use, in particular the contaminant dioxin, causes multiple health problems, including cleft palate, mental disabilities, hernias, still births, poisoned breast milk, and extra fingers and toes, as well as destroying local species of plants and animals. The Red Cross of Vietnam estimates that up to 1 million people are disabled or have health problems due to Agent Orange.

US Troops killed between 347 and 504 unarmed civilians, including women, children, and infants, in South Vietnam on March, 1968, in the My Lai Massacre. Some of the women were gang-raped and their bodies mutilated. Soldiers set fire to huts, waiting for civilians to come out so they could shoot them. For 30 years, the three US servicemen who tried to halt the massacre and rescue the hiding civilians were shunned and denounced as traitors, even by congressmen.

In 1967, the CIA helped South Vietnamese agents identify and then murder alleged Viet Cong leaders operating in villages, in the Phoenix Program. By 1972, Phoenix operatives had executed between 26,000 and 41,000 suspected NLF operatives, informants and supporters.

In 1965, The CIA overthrew the democratically elected Indonesian leader Sukarno with a military coup. The CIA had been trying to eliminate Sukarno since 1957, using everything from attempted assassination to sexual intrigue, for nothing more than his declaring neutrality in the Cold War. His successor, General Suharto, aided by the CIA, massacred between 500,000 to 1 million civilians accused of being communist, in the Indonesian mass killings of 1965-66. The US continued to support Suharto throughout the 70s, supplying weapons and planes.

Between 1964 and 1973, American pilots flew 580,000 attack sorties over Laos, an average of one planeload of bombs every eight minutes for almost a decade. By the time the last US bombs fell in April 1973, a total of 2,093,100 tonnes of ordnance had rained down on this neutral country. To this day, Laos, a country of just 7 million people, retains the dubious accolade of being the most heavily bombed country in the world per capita.

From the 1960s onward, the US supported Filipino dictator Ferdinand Marcos. The US provided hundreds of millions of dollars in aid, which was crucial in buttressing Marcos’s rule over the years. The estimated number of persons that were executed and disappeared under President Fernando Marcos was over 100,000. After fleeing to hawaii, marco was suceeded by the widow of an opponent he assasinated, Corazon aquino.

Starting in 1957, in the wake of the US-backed First Indochina War, The CIA carries out approximately one coup per year trying to nullify Laos’ democratic elections, specifically targeting the Pathet Lao, a leftist group with enough popular support to be a member of any coalition government, and perpetuating the 20 year Laotian civil war. In the late 50s, the CIA even creates an “Armee Clandestine” of Asian mercenaries to attack the Pathet Lao. After the CIA’s army suffers numerous defeats, the U.S. drops more bombs on Laos than all the U.S. bombs dropped in World War II. A quarter of all Laotians will eventually become refugees, many living in caves. This was later called a “secret war,” since it occurred at the same time as the Vietnam War, but got little press. Hundreds of thousands were killed.

In 1955, the CIA provided explosives, and aided KMT agents in an assassination attempt against the Chinese Premier, Zhou Enlai. KMT agents placed a time-bomb on the Air India aircraft, Kashmir Princess, which Zhou was supposed to take on his way to the Bandung Conference, an anti-imperialist meeting of Asian and African states, but he changed his travel plans at the last minute. Henry Kissinger denied US involvement, even though remains of a US detonator were found. 16 people were killed.

From 1955-1975, the US supported French colonialist interests in Vietnam, set up a puppet regime in Saigon to serve US interests, and later took part as a belligerent against North Vietnam in the Vietnam War. U.S. involvement escalated further following the 1964 Gulf of Tonkin incident, which was later found to be staged by Lyndon Johnson. The war exacted a huge human cost in terms of fatalities (see Vietnam War casualties). Estimates of the number of Vietnamese soldiers and civilians killed vary from 966,000 source to 3.8 million.source Some 240,000–300,000 Cambodians,source23 20,000–62,000 Laotians,4 and 58,220 U.S. service members also died in the conflict, with a further 1,626 missing in action. Unexploded bomb continue to kill civilians for years afterward.

In the summer of 1950 in South Korea, anticommunists aided by the US executed at least 100,000 people suspected of supporting communism, in the Bodo League Massacre. For four decades the South Korean government concealed this massacre. Survivors were forbidden by the government from revealing it, under suspicion of being communist sympathizers. Public revelation carried with it the threat of torture and death. During the 1990s and onwards, several corpses were excavated from mass graves, resulting in public awareness of the massacre.

In 1984, documents were released showing that Eisenhower authorized the use of atomic weapons on North Korea, should the communists renew the war in 1953. The 2,000 pages released show the high level of planning and the detail of discussion on possible use of these weapons, and Mr. Eisenhower’s interest in overcoming reluctance to use them.

In the beginning of the Korean war, US Troops killed ~300 South Korean civilians in the No Gun Ri massacre, revealing a theater-wide policy of firing on approaching refugee groups. Trapped refugees began piling up bodies as barricades and tried to dig into the ground to hide. Some managed to escape the first night, while U.S. troops turned searchlights on the tunnels and continued firing, said Chung Koo-ho, whose mother died shielding him and his sister. No apology has yet been issued.

The US intervened in the 1950-53 Korean Civil War, on the side of the south Koreans, in a proxy war between the US and china for supremacy in East Asia. South Korea reported some 373,599 civilian and 137,899 military deaths, the US with 34,000 killed, and China with 114,000 killed. Overall, the U.S. dropped 635,000 tons of bombs—including 32,557 tons of napalm—on Korea, more than they did during the whole Pacific campaign of World War II. The US killed an estimated 1/3rd of the north Korean people during the war. The Joint Chiefs of staff issued orders for the retaliatory bombing of the People’s republic of China, should south Korea be attacked. Deadly clashes have continued up to the present day.

From 1948-1949, the Jeju uprising was an insurgency taking place in the Korean province of Jeju island, followed by severe anticommunist suppression of the South Korean Labor Party in which 14-30,000 people were killed, or ~10% of the island’s population. Though atrocities were committed by both sides, the methods used by the South Korean government to suppress the rebels were especially cruel. On one occasion, American soldiers discovered the bodies of 97 people including children, killed by government forces. On another, American soldiers caught government police forces carrying out an execution of 76 villagers, including women and children. The US later entered the Korean civil war on the side of the South Koreans.

In 1949 during the resumed Chinese Civil War, the US supported the corrupt Kuomintang dictatorship of Chiang Kaishek to fight against the Chinese Communists, who had won the support of the vast majority of peasant-farmers and helped defeat the Japanese invasion. The US strongly supported the Kuomintang forces. Over 50,000 US Marines were sent to guard strategic sites, and 100,000 US troops were sent to Shandong. The US equipped and trained over 500,000 KMT troops, and transported KMT forces to occupy newly liberated zones as well as to contain Communist-controlled areas. American aid included substantial amounts of both new and surplus military supplies; additionally, loans worth hundreds of millions of dollars were made to the KMT. Within less than two years after the Sino-Japanese War, the KMT had received $4.43 billion from the US—most of which was military aid.

The U.S. installed Syngman Rhee,a conservative Korean exile, as President of South Korea in 1948. Rhee became a dictator on an anti-communist crusade, arresting and torturing suspected communists, brutally putting down rebellions, killing 100,000 people and vowing to take over North Korea. Rhee precipitated the outbreak of the Korean War and for the allied decision to invade North Korea once South Korea had been recaptured. He was finally forced to resign by mass student protests in 1960.

Between 1946 and 1958, the US tested 23 nuclear devices at Bikini Atoll, using the native islanders and their land as guinea pigs for the effects of nuclear fallout. Significant fallout caused widespread radiological contamination in the area, and killed many islanders. A survivor stated, “What the Americans did was no accident. They came here and destroyed our land. They came to test the effects of a nuclear bomb on us. It was no accident.” Many of the islanders exposed were brought to the US Argonne National laboratory, to study the effects. Afterwards the islands proved unsuitable to sustaining life, resulting in starvation and requiring the residents to receive ongoing aid. Virtually all of the inhabitants showed acute symptoms of radiation syndrome, many developing thyroid cancers, Leukimia, miscarriages, stillborn and “jellyfish babies” (highly deformed) along with symptoms like hair falling out, and diahrrea. A handful were brought to the US for medical research and later returned, while others were evacuated to neighboring Islands. The US under LBJ prematurely returned the majority returned 3 years later, to further test how human beings absorb radiation from their food and environment. The islanders pleaded with the US to move them away from the islands, as it became clear that their children were developing deformities and radiation sickness. Radion levels were still unacceptable. The United States later paid the islanders and their descendants 25 million in compensation for damage caused by the nuclear testing program. A 2016 investigation found radiation levels on Bikini Atoll as high as 639 mrem yr−1, well above the established safety standard threshold for habitation of 100 mrem yr−1. Similar tests occurred elsewhere in the Marshall Islands during this time period. Due to the destruction of natural wealth, Kwajalein Atoll’s military installation and dislocation, the majority of natives currently live in extreme poverty, making less than 1$ a day. Those that have jobs, mostly work at the US military installation and resorts. Much of this is detailed in the documentary, The Coming War on China (2016).

After the Japanese surrender in 1945, Douglas MacArthur pardoned Unit 731, a Japanese biological experimentation center which performed human testing of biological agents against Chinese citizens. While a series of war tribunals and trials was organized, many of the high-ranking officials and doctors who devised and respectively performed the experiments were pardoned and never brought to justice. As many as 12,000 people, most of them Chinese, died in Unit 731 alone and many more died in other facilities, such as Unit 100 and in field experiments throughout Manchuria. One of the experimenters who killed many, microbiologist Shiro Ishii, later traveled to the US to advise on its bioweapons programs. In the final days of the Pacific War and in the face of imminent defeat, Japanese troops blew up the headquarters of Unit 731 in order to destroy evidence of the research done there. As part of the cover-up, Ishii ordered 150 remaining subjects killed.

In 1945 during the month-long Battle of Manila, the US in deciding whether to attack Manila (then under Japanese occupation) with ground troops, decided instead to use indiscriminate carpet-bombing, howitzers, and naval bombardment, killing an estimated 100,000 people. The casualty figures show the US’s regard for filipino civilian life: 1,010 Americans, 16,665 Japanese and 100,000 to 240,000 civilians were killed. Manila became, alongside Berlin, and Warsaw, one of the most devastated cities of WW2.

US Troops committed a number of rapes during the battle of Okinawa, and the subsequent occupation of Japan. There were 1,336 reported rapes during the first 10 days of the occupation of Kanagawa prefecture alone.1 American Occupation authorities imposed wide-ranging censorship on the Japanese media, including bans on covering many sensitive social issues and serious crimes such as rape committed by members of the Occupation forces.

From 1942 to 1945, the US military carried out a fire-bombing campaign of Japanese cities, killing between 200,000 and 900,000 civilians. One nighttime fire-bombing of Tokyo took 80,000 lives. During early August 1945, the US dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, killing ~130,000 civilians, and causing radiation damage which included birth defects and a variety of genetic diseases for decades to come. The justification for the civilian bombings has largely been debunked, as the entrance of Russia into the war had already started the surrender negotiations earlier in 1945. The US was aware of this, since it had broken the Japanese code and had been intercepting messages during for most of the year. The US ended up accepting a conditional surrender from Hirohito, against which was one of the stated aims of the civilian bombings. The dropping of the atomic bomb is therefore seen as a demonstration of US military supremacy, and the first major operation of the Cold War with Russia.

In 1918, the US took part in the allied intervention in the Russian civil war, sending 11,000 troops to the in the Arkhangelsk and Vladivostok regions to support the anti-bolshevik, monarchist, and largely anti-semitic White Forces.

In 1900 in China, the US was part of an Eight-Nation Alliance that brought 20,000 armed troops to China, to defeat the Imperial Chinese Army, in the the Boxer Rebellion, an anti-imperialist uprising.

In 1899, after a popular revolution in the Philippines to oust the Spanish imperialists, the US invaded and began the Phillipine-American war. The US military committed countless atrocities, leaving 200,000 Filipinos dead. Jacob H Smith killed between 2,500 to 50,000 civilians, His orders included, “kill everyone over the age of ten” and make the island “a howling wilderness.”

Throughout the 1800s, US settlers engaged in a genocide of native Hawaiians. The native population decreased from ~ 400k in 1789, to 40k by 1900, due to colonization and disease. In 1883, the US engineered the overthrow of Hawaii’s native monarch, Queen Lili’uokalani, by landing two companies of US marines in Honolulu. Due to the Queen’s desire “to avoid any collision of armed forces, and perhaps the loss of life” for her subjects and after some deliberation, at the urging of advisers and friends, the Queen ordered her forces to surrender. Hawaii was initially reconstituted as an independent republic, but the ultimate goal of the US was the annexation of the islands to the United States, which was finally accomplished in 1898. After this, the Hawaiian language was banned, English replaced it as the official language in all institutions and schools. The US finally apologized in 1993, but no land has been returned.

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haggishlyhagging · 11 months

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"I did it for me," reads the plaque held by the woman in a Botox ad. There's a sense that she's presenting the plaque to us, the audience, and it's kind of unnerving. The makers of the ad are conversant in the basic language of both body acceptance and choice feminism, and this ad is an attempt to make an end-run around any existing skepticism about cosmetic surgery, by appealing to free, market-savvy choice and its result, empowerment. This woman who paid a tidy sum of money for a smooth forehead and nonexistent nasolabial folds is not a dupe of the patriarchy, dammit! She's not doing it for a man; she's not doing it for a woman; she's doing it for herself, and those are the magic words. Variations on “I did it for me” appear and reappear in ads for Botox and breast implants; they're present when Vogue suggests—you know, just puts it out there—that you could shorten your toes in order to better fit them into Jimmy Choos; they exist whenever morning talk-radio hosts give away free breast implants to the woman with the best small-boobs sob story. "I did it for me," "I did it to feel better about myself," and, "I'm not doing it for anyone else" are defensive reflexes that acknowledge an imagined feminist disapproval and impatiently brush it away.

It's been twenty-five years since Naomi Wolf wrote, in her bestselling book The Beauty Myth, that "The ideology of beauty is the last one remaining of the old feminine ideologies that still has the power to control those women whom second-wave feminism would have otherwise made relatively uncontrollable." For all the gains that various women's movements have made possible, rigidly prescribed, predominantly white beauty standards are one site where time has not revolutionized our thinking. Concurrently, it's also where the expansion of consumer choice has made it possible to bow to such standards in countless new ways.

Choice has become the primary way to talk about looks, a phenomenon that journalist Alex Kuczynski called "an activism of aesthetics" in her 2006 book Beauty Junkies. In the book, the cosmetic surgery industry in particular is portrayed as a kind of Thunderdome where the waiting lists for a new injectable climb into the double digits, impeccably spray-tanned celebrity doctors jostle for prime soundbite space in women's magazines, and speakers at surgeons' conventions end their speeches with a call to "Push plastic surgery." With a rise in options—more doctors, more competing pharmaceutical brands, the rise of cosmetic-surgery tourism that promises cheap procedures in tropical locations—the landscape of sculpted noses and liposuctioned abs has been defined by choice. The "activism," too, is one of individual choice—it refers to being proactive about one's own appearance, vigilant enough to be able to head off wrinkles, droops, and sags at the pass. Framed within our neoliberal discourse, an activism of aesthetics doesn't dismantle the beauty standards that telegraph worth and status, but advocates for everyone's right to purchase whatever interventions are necessary to achieve those standards. The individual world shrinks to the size of a doctor's office; other people exist only as points of physical comparison.

Though we often think of beauty and body imperatives in their prefeminist form—the hobbling footbinding, the lead whitening powders, the tapeworm diet—the ostensibly consciousness-raised decades since the 1970s have brought a mind-boggling array of dictates, standards, and trends to all genders, but most forcefully to women. When capri pants were the move of the moment in the 1990s, Vogue was there to suggest quick surgical fixes for knobby knees and undefined calves. Less than ten years later, the clavicle was the body part du jour, balancing the trend of voluminous clothing with reassuring proof that, under all that material, the wearer was appropriately thin. (One clavicle-boasting woman stated to The New York Times that the clavicle was the "easiest and least controversial expression of a kind of sex appeal"—not as obviously sexy as breasts, but evidence of a physical discipline coveted among the fashion set.) A handful of years after that, the focus moved south again, to the "thigh gap" coveted by a largely young audience, some of whom blogged about their pursuit of the gap with diet journals and process photos.

Though certain types of bodies have historically come in and out of fashion—the flapper dresses of the 1920s required a boyish, hipless figure, while the tight angora sweaters of the '50s demanded breasts, or at least the padded semblance of them—the pace with which bodies are presented as the "right" ones to have has quickened. The beachy girls-next-door of the 1970s were elbowed out by the Amazonion supermodels of the 1980s, who gave way to the heroin-chic waifs of the '90s, who were knocked off the editorial pages of the early 2000s by the Brazilian bombshells, who were then edged out by the doll-eyed British blondes. Meanwhile, the fashion industry selectively co-opts whatever "ethnic" attributes can be appropriated in the service of a trend. Black and Latina women with junk in the trunk who have been erased by mainstream glossies, overlooked as runway models, and ill-served by pants designed for comparatively fat rears were rightly annoyed to hear from Vogue, in 2014, that "We're Officially in the Era of the Big Booty" thanks to stars like Iggy Azalea, Miley Cyrus, and Kim Kardashian. There is no wrong way to have a body" wrote author and size-positive sage Hanne Blank, but that sentiment will always be contradicted by a market, and a media, that depends on people not believing it.

-Andi Zeisler, We Were Feminists Once

#andi zeisler #female beauty #performative femininity #feminism and capitalism #choice feminism

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writingcold · 10 months

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Welcome to Chapter Nine and Ten of Best Laid Plans

A/N: I know. Just trust me. I have said that it will have a happy ending. Just not yet.

This is a complete fiction - totally made up. I do not, nor will I ever know Jake or any member of GVF. That said, this story is mine. Please respect that.

Are you starting to understand the barrage of bullets that @takenbythemadness has taken while proofreading this thing for me? Yeah. Send her all your positive vibes and forehead kisses, please and thank you.

Content warnings: Language. Deep depression. Poor view of self. Poor mindset. Talk of adultery. Misogynic character. Verbal arguing. Divorce. Be ready for a big reveal. It hurts. It’s not horrible, but it hurts. Well... maybe a little horrible.

Word count: approx. 9500

Chapter 9: May, 1990: Jake POV

Life was a sham. My life was less than the frail mist that hung amongst the branches of the tree that I could see out my back window. I had sat for hours, the bottle between my fingers steadily grew lighter while my spirit grew atrophied and heavy. She was gone. Amanda carried everything out with her like she did not realize what she had taken from me. And I allowed it. Just like always.

I stirred against my better judgment. My vision was blurred and my body was full of ache. A familiar hum stuck my ear from the void beyond the couch that made me want to retreat into the bottle to hide my embarrassment.

“Dear lord, it moved,” Josh’s voice rumbled in my ears without humor, but it also lacked malice.

I coughed as I leaned forward, my fingers reaching for a bottle that was no longer on the table before me. I frowned as I realized that everything before me had been cleared away leaving only a tall glass of water. “How long have you been here?” I asked as I oozed back into the couch.

“Couple days. Henry called Ronnie…”

I grimaced as Josh ran through the line. I had forgotten my parents were in Hawaii for an extended vacation. I could just picture Ronnie pounding on my door, to which according to Josh, she wanted to kick my ass for not answering.

“But then, she got scared, so she used the key to find your nearly naked ass passed out about where you are now,” he explained with a shiver through his shoulders.

I scrunched up my face as the heat of embarrassment flooded my system. “Fuck,” I sighed as my innards started to jiggle in protest.

“So, she called me and I happened to have some time,” Josh remarked as he was swiping at the counter with a disgusted look. “Jesus, Jake, when was the last time you cleaned this kitchen?”

I could barely hold my head up as my mouth started to flood with spit.

“Anyway, I’ve been covering what I can at the shop. Sam got here yesterday and has been covering as well. He brought Danny with him, so between Danny and Henry, all your lessons are covered for a few more days. Dan’s heading out on tour, so we really need to get your ass back into your shop.”

My brain felt like toasted marshmallow and my mouth felt like it was filled with paste. Josh continued to clean, peeking into the oven to reveal the smell of food. He said that Ms. Ada sent a casserole - well, actually had sent many over. One for each day of this week. My stomach soured with the smell and produced a round of nasty burps that sent me flying to the bathroom. I retched everything out as if all the alcohol was fleeing my system by any means possible. I could hear Josh’s ramblings as I thought for sure my internal organs were next to exit my mouth. I was shit. I was lower than shit and did not deserve any kind of help in the matter.

“Let’s get you into a shower,” he said softly, pushing me by the shoulders to rest against the wall.

I had no fight left in me. I watched as he turned on the spray, holding his hand under the water just like our mom used to, even did the little toe tap as he waited. He ordered me to take off my rags and helped me over the ridge of the bathtub. The water was like an acid spray as it struck my skin like hot sandpaper. I sputtered and choked as I made a show of doing what he wanted me to do while he stood protectively at the edge of the tub. I pushed my face under, allowing the sensation of heat and clean to consume my ravaged skin. Josh, satisfied that I was not going to fall over like an idiot, walked away for a few minutes.

“This is clearly not about Georgia,” he said, returning with clothes to set on the vanity. “You danced a fucking jig when you signed those papers. What gives? I thought everything was going good.”

“I can’t talk about it,” I whispered, allowing the water to pour down and beat upon my back.

“Bull shit,” Josh remarked loudly. “The last time I saw you like this was with… god dammit. Please don’t tell me you did something stupid and Amanda is involved.”

The stab in my chest was brutal. I inhaled water and sputtered through a cough before regaining my senses. “You’ve been at the shop. Have you seen her next door?”

Josh stayed silent for a long time, leaving my guts to twist. “She stopped in yesterday afternoon with treats for us from the morning poetry reading.”

I rolled my eyes shut, fighting myself from asking if she inquired about me; wondered if she noticed my absence. Another strangled breath as I waited for more from him.

“I guess it makes some sense, now that I look at it,” Josh remarked coolly.

His words toiled in my belly as I heard him leave the bathroom for a few minutes. The sound of the closet door opening and drawers being forced to shut matched the cogs of my thoughts. He could not hide, however, the exasperated sound that he ground out in my room.

“You’re the reason that poor woman looks destroyed,” he said, his voice full of a hard edge. “Meg and Bugger thought it was because her husband was back in town...”

I kept completely still. I could feel it. The pieces were falling into place slowly, each clicking with a metallic click that I could feel happen for my twin.

“Fuck, no, Jake,” Josh growled, incredulous.

I shivered despite the heat of the water and steam all around me. “Go make a pot of coffee. I’ll tell you everything.”

I waited for him to argue with me right away. Instead, I realized that he actually listened to me. Finishing up my shower, I found that he had left a set of clean clothes for me on the vanity along with a new razor and shave cream. It did not take long to feel human again, though my innards begged to differ.

Josh had the hot dish waiting on the kitchen table and the coffee was just finished brewing. Just the smell of real subsistence made my body beg for respite. Josh gave me a double portion along with the biggest mug of coffee, smoking a cigarette while he waited as I ate. The food felt good in my belly, I could not lie.

“Okay,” Josh remarked as I pushed my near empty plate away. “Spill it. What the hell have you been up to and how are you going to fix it.”

“There is no fixing it,” I answered, feeling the exhaustion creep over me like a monster.

It started with a word. Her name. Amanda. Followed by another word, followed by another until it was all falling out of my mouth like a wave. Josh asked no questions, gave me no interruptions. Just sat and listened. When I felt my breath escape me as my shame rose, he waited. When my face turned red and my voice curled with anger, he leaned away, but did not stop me. He let me spill all of it onto the table between us like a demon that needed to be exorcized. When I finally collapsed back in my chair, a cigarette between my fingers and my mouth quiet, Josh let out a long, low whistle.

“Damn, Jake,” he whispered, his face full of emotions. “That’s more than… a lot.”

I rubbed a hand across my face. It was not all of it. I took a long, deep drag before stretching my neck. “And all of it is because of a lie.”

His brows furrowed as he picked up my dishes and moved to deposit them in the sink before refilling our cups. “How’s that?”

“Liam was not mine,” I whispered.

His face hardened. “What the hell, Jake. How is that true?”

“Georgia lied. She was already pregnant when we…” I refused to be crass, even if it was Josh.

“How do you know? Did she tell you?”

I shook my head as my words tripped over a sob. “She’d go off on these rants when she was really out of it. But I got the gist of it - she pretty much said I was not his dad.”

I felt the emotion swell and bubble until I couldn’t hold back the tears that pushed from the corners of my eyes. I swiped at them as Josh sat back down before me. His eyes were full of love and compassion as his hands reached for my shoulders.

“You are that little boy’s dad. Do you hear me?” he said, voice full of tears, the same as my own. “You loved him. We all did. We all wanted him to stay. Jake, I’ve never seen you so full of life as I had when I saw you holding him. Your boy.”

I was nodding as we cried together. My heart wept daily for Liam. Just because he was not of me did not mean he was not mine. I knew this. It was a burden that was carried for so long already. To be able to share the burden with Josh was a relief.

“Do you think Mandy will leave her husband?” he asked after a long silence.

I shrugged. The beauty of my previous week lay as toxic sludge in my chest. For her to walk out, I understood. It took me a while to figure it out - she was leaving me so as not to allow Roger the satisfaction of throwing me into her face. If she left him, she could have no mar to find that would allow him to have an advantage. I got it. I understood it. But goddamn to have our brief time twisted into something wrong shoved me into a hole that I was struggling to climb out of.

Josh folded his arms with a troubled look. “It won’t be an instant remedy, Jake. If Mandy leaves her husband, their assets are more than what you and Georgia contended with. Roger doesn’t seem like the kind of man that is going to be amicable no matter what situation he was caught in. Mandy could lose her Sparrow.”

I felt the line of my mouth harden as my teeth mashed together. “Motherfucker,” I grumbled. “I didn’t think about it. Fuck.”

Josh’s expression told me he was already miles ahead of me. He began to tap the table with thought. “You’re going to have to keep your distance, Jake. For her. During all of this - you’re going to have to keep your distance.”

I kept my mouth shut for I knew something stupid would fall out if I said anything. All I could do was shake my head ‘no’. My teeth buried themself into my lip as if I was an angry toddler ready to drop a fit.

“I mean it. You keep your distance.”

I was back to the shop the next morning, my shell back in place despite it feeling like it was two sizes too big. Bugger was on shift, his eyes watching me like I was going to either explode or evaporate into the fog. I had closed myself into one of the practice rooms with one of the new acoustics that we had gotten in to give it a spin. I heard movement on the other side of the shared wall. I imagined that it was Mandy, setting up for the Tuesday brunch crew. I smiled as I landed on “It Hurt Me Too” by Hound Dog Taylor, my fingers digging into the frets in hopes that she would hear me. I added in all my loud flourishes and soft touches until drawing into “These Arms of Mine”. I just needed her to know we were okay. That we would survive.

I was in my office when I heard the buzz of the door chime and Bugger’s voice flowing through the shop. I stood up when I realized it was not just a customer that he was talking to. Stepping beyond my door to find Mandy handing him the leftover treats from her group with a shy smile made my chest tighten. Josh was right, she was not out in the world like everything was fine. She had not noticed that I was there, so I took the time to collect myself and keep Josh’s sentiment of keeping my distance in my thoughts.

“Glad to see you back, Jake,” she said with a wave. “Feeling better?”

I nodded, playing along. “Yeah. Much better.”

“Josh stopped in earlier on his way out to your parents,” she replied as she watched Bugger make off with double brownies, chocolate chip cookies and Bailey bars. “It was nice to get a chance to catch up with him. Sounds like he’s got a huge project coming up.”

She was keeping to safe talk, though her eyes kept traveling to mine with a threat of tears. I wanted to reach out to her. I wanted to tug her into my office and hold her until it was better for us both. I could only hope that she could see the broken heart that was within me. We continued to chat for moments only before I saw the quiver in her lip. I sucked in a breath knowing that I was about to lose my composure.

“I’ve got a call I need to get to,” I said, glancing back to wherever Bugger had dragged the food away to. “Are we up for coffee tomorrow?”

She swallowed and nodded. “See you before open?”

“I’ll be there.”

Routine was my saving grace in my life with Georgia. It could be once again through whatever the hell it was that we had moved into between me and Mandy. I could set a routine and keep to it if it meant that we could share a space. If we could share a love.

Amanda POV

When I left Jake’s house, I made it to the bottom stair of my building before I had to sit down. It was like all my breath, all my blood, all my fight had been leached out of my skin. I left my entire being with him in hopes that he would use it to keep himself strong. I left nothing for myself. My body was racked with sobs so painful I thought for sure I would disappear into the ground.

Instead, my cries softened. My pain sunk deep within. A single word stuck me - yet. I could not be Jake’s - yet. I could not openly love him - yet. I could not show the strength that he imbibed into my flesh over the week - yet. I tucked the three letter word into my spirit and branded it in my mind. Something so small could be just the armor that I was going to need for the fight that was to come.

Monday morning thankfully was quiet. In the evening, over a lovely cup of tea, I started to put all of Roger's clothes, neatly folded, into a large shipping box. His personal items, the bank and credit cards, all the important papers between us went into the singular box. I took down all the pictures of him and us together and emptied out the frames, leaving the photos on the table. I scoured the apartment, erasing any evidence of Jake’s presence from both the physical space and myself. I hid away my feelings - both the hurt and the love.

Though I was half of myself, I forced myself to move. I forced myself to do what I expected of myself. I was in the shop for each group and customer. I presented my smile and professional self, all the while, my spirit was weeping. I noticed that Jake was not next door. My concern, however, had to be buried with everything else.

Thursday rolled around. The morning’s poetry reading thankfully went quietly. I took the leftover danish into Martin’s, moreso as a way to see Jake, but to my surprise, Josh was manning the counter. I caught sight of Mr. Henry in one of the practice rooms with a client.

“Amanda,” Josh said warmly as Bugger practically ran him over to grab the tray I held. “It’s good to see you.”

“I - I’m sorry, Josh. I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” I said, my eyes scanning for any sign of Jake.

“That’s okay. Jake’s been sick,” he said quickly, his hand coming down on my arm with a comforting pat.

I could not hide the urgency in my body as his words stuck my ears. “He’s okay, right? I mean, nothing serious?”

“Just a bad bug. I’ll have him back on his feet soon,” he said with a flash of a smile. “You doing all right there?”

“Oh,” I squeaked out. “Yeah. Just. Rough day. I better get back.”

At that point, I notice that both Bugger and Meg are watching me from the counter. I waved and headed out, hoping to god to regain my composure. Jake. Sick. It had put a crack into my composure. I needed to fill it with concrete. I needed to shut off the worry and just…

When I returned to the shop, I noticed that Mick was looking confused at the counter. “You all right?”

He nodded as he cleared his throat. “Uh, Roger just told me that you are head upstairs.”

“Mick,” I said, moving directly in front of him, “what did he say exactly?”

He grew even more uncomfortable, unable to meet my eyes. “He told me to tell that bitch to get her fat ass upstairs.”

Involuntarily, my lips rolled between my teeth. The embarrassment on the man’s face was hurtful. I reached out and touched his arm, just a brush of fingers. “Thank you. I’m sorry he did that.”

“I don’t think you should go. He was really angry,” he said quietly.

I nod before I place one pat on the counter between us. “It’ll be fine. Really.”

I did not allow the blaze of my anger show as I smiled and headed for the back door. I took a moment to notice that at least no one else was in the shop to hear what was to come. I walked the steps, noticing that the door was ajar. He had found what I had done. I could hear movement, but could not discern what he was doing. One more breath. One more thought of…

I pushed the door open to find that he was pulling everything out of the box that I had so neatly packed for him. His eyes flashed at me with absolute fury. I leaned against the doorframe with no intent of closing the door.

“What the fuck is this, Amanda?” he raged, digging out his clothes.

“Your things. I got them ready to go to your home. Your home with Lydia,” I said, keeping my tone level and calm.

He straightened. His eyes darkened with threat. “Get in here and close the damn door.”

“No,” I said, making sure to keep my body still. “I should tell you that my employee downstairs will be contacting the sheriff’s office if this gets out of control.”

It was not a lie. The way I left Mick, I knew that he would be on alert. I realized that I felt strong. I felt strong in this man’s presence that had made me feel like I was only part of his shadow. I folded my arms across my chest and decided to remain right where I was.

“This is ridiculous. Get in here and get my shit back to where it belongs,” he said sharply.

“No. You will be removing your stuff and getting out of my apartment. You are not welcomed here.”

A flash of memory. A flash of Jake and I laughing across the kitchen table that all of his stuff was cluttering up. A warmth filled me like I was finally moving in the direction I was always supposed to be moving in. I just needed to trudge through this maze, this obstacle course that was stretching out before me and Jake would be waiting for me on the other side. The prize that I so dearly wanted.

“If you think you can leave me -”

“I’ve contacted a lawyer, Roger. This - this bull shit of a marriage is over. I’m done.”

“You can’t be serious. Mandy - that girl you talked to was lying. I don’t know this - “

“I’m not an idiot, Roger. I will not be treated that way. Not by you, not by anyone. You have made it abundantly clear that you hate it here. You don’t like my shop. You don’t like my life being here. This is where I am and where I need to be. I’m done. I’m done with you playing my husband for thirty days of the year.”

His mouth twisted as he stared at me. “So I’m right, then. You’re already fucking someone else.”

“No. Not that it matters, Roger. You have never been faithful. Our entire marriage-”

“I’m a man. I’m on the road. I have needs, Amanda.”

“You had a wife at home to provide for those needs. You chose to do otherwise. You chose this path. And I’m done walking it.”

“Don’t think that I’m going to make this easy.”

I shrugged.

“Don’t think I won’t take this place from you, you bitch. When I’m done, you’ll have nothing.”

I shrugged. It wasn’t my job to make him aware that it was not mine. It was in a family trust that belonged to my family. Protected. I had scoffed when my father suggested this step, and then my lawyer backed it up. I thought it was an unnecessary step. And yet, I did it because a tiny voice said what would be the harm of taking that advice. What wasn’t protected, I was quickly finding I did not care. My lack of emotional response only infuriated him more. I forced myself to keep cool. I continued to keep my distance. Little snippets of my interlude with Jake played behind my eyelids. The loud laughter, the softest of touches. It was like he refueled my skin, and recast my armor. I could do this. I could survive this fire that the man before me would cause.

But then I returned to the minutes before. Jake was sick. My heart constricted as I silently watched Roger shove the items removed back into the box carelessly. I offered to ship the box wherever he needed me to, to which he just glared at me. I was going to have to have a long conversation with my parents. I was going to have to talk with my sisters. My brain was making lists of what I needed to do, and yet, my heart wanted nothing more than to go to Jake.

Roger nearly threw the box over the railing as he huffed down the stairs. I followed at a distance. Before he could open the backdoor to the store, I stopped him.

“The key. I will be needing that key back,” I said, keeping my voice void of feeling.

I watched as he yanked the keys from his pocket and threw them at me with intent. I let them fly past and he bumbled through the store. Poor Mick was standing with a customer in the mystery section, his face blanching of color. I caught his eye before I went behind the counter to fetch the yellow pages. A quick call to Mr. Peterson, and I was on the schedule to have all the locks of the building changed before the end of store hours.

I was on my way. I had finally been strong enough to take those steps that would allow me to grow my broken wings back. I apologized to the two pairs of eyes that watched me before I excused myself with the promise to be back after lunch. I grabbed the discarded keys on my way back into the apartment. I closed the door behind me to just take a moment to digest what I had done. Echoes of Jake continued to pull me through the minutes bobbing through the wake of Roger’s departure. The memory of him shoving the couch to the side so we could dance stupidly and fall against each other in a moment of heat and passion made me calm.

I put the kettle on with a smile. I breathed out an embarrassed laugh as the next thought struck: Jake setting us up with coffee and pancakes when I had been so thoroughly fucked into the matress that I couldn’t move without laughing hysterically. Yeah, he had been proud of himself that morning. He was humming Cheap Trick and the swagger was oh so real.

Friday arrived and life continued. Jake was still not in his shop, but neither was Josh. Mr. Henry waved and accepted the coffee that I had brought. Sam waved from behind the counter as he was talking with Bugger. Sparrow was busy that day and just when I thought it wouldn’t get busier, it did. It was all right though - it made the day go that much quicker.

Saturday morning there was a tap on my door, well before it was time for the store to open. I was surprised to find Josh on my stoop, waiting with a warmth plastered to his mouth and concern etched in his eyes.

“I brought breakfast,” he said, holding up a little pastry bag from Blaine’s. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“I happen to have coffee, come on in,” I said after a few beats. “You’ll have to excuse my mess… Been a little crazy around here.”

He barely glanced around as he took the seat at the table I pointed to. “It’s quite lovely up here isn’t it? It’s very calming.” He paused, his eyes tracing over the shared wall of Martin’s Music. His eyes rolled closed as he chuckled. “Probably not so calming when there’s a band up here though, is it?”

“Your brother is very strict about the schedule. Of course, that didn’t happen until I threatened to kick his ass after the first time I was in here with some garage band with way too loud amps and way too late,” I laughed as I sat down with him. “Of course, he might have just been afraid of the Siouxsie Sioux t-shirt and bed head.”

I was graced by one of his infamous belly laughs that set the air between us to a comfortable level. He set out fresh apple turnovers before me with a grin. The fact that he remembered warmed me. We had had breakfast way before I left for college and the three of us just about turned ourselves inside out on these down at the diner. I believe we cleared the case and Cindy just obliged to keep them out of her own mouth. He took the first bite, letting out a groan of delight.

“Lord, I’d be like three hundred pounds if I still lived here,” he complained through a mouthful of apple.

“Well, there is a reason why these are only available once a week now,” I pointed out. I took my own bite and breathed through the amazingness of the pastry. I knew he was stalling. Totally not a Josh move. A sip of coffee, a bite into my lip and I sat back in my chair. “Is he okay?”

He shrugged. “He’s not sick. I’m sorry I lied, but it’s our cover story.”

“I thought as much.” But that was a lie. I was scared. Jake never missed a day. “Well. I had hoped, really.”

He gave me a sideways stretch of a smile. “I’m worried, that’s why I’m here. There’s only two people that put my brother into this kind of tailspin - Liam and you.

“I had to watch him fall apart with Liam. He had made so many sacrifices for him, Mandy. He had lost so much weight I was afraid that he was going to be ill in the worst way. He was giving her everything and it didn’t make a difference. But you -”

He was shaking his head as he pushed himself back from the table. “There are only two people that he would literally bend himself inside out to protect. Do you understand that? Two. I’m worried that you are walking a road that is going to be torture for him to have to watch. Do you understand me?”

“What did he do?” I whispered the words, knowing that Jake had tripped into a hole because of me. Because of my words and actions.

The hesitation returned. I watched him swallow down a gulp of coffee. “He will be fine, Mandy, that’s what is important. I’m not going to lie though, he’s fragile. He was finally beginning to stand on his own - truly on his own, just taking care of himself after the divorce. It’s been good.”

My heart tripped. My spirit faltered. I knew what he was asking of me before he got to the words. I was going to have to get through this trial without Jake. I released a burning breath as I hid behind an interested gaze.

“I am worried. You see where I’m going with this, Mandy?”

I nodded. “I was trying to figure out how… I mean. His friendship has been so very important. I don’t think I can move through this without it.”

“I am not saying to disregard him completely. But he needs to heal more - on his own. Just as you are going to need to, as well. There may be a day where it is possible,” he said with a nod. “You two seem to always find each other. It just may not be in the manner than you think.”

My lips rolled into my mouth as I stifled a sob. Josh was sure that we were wrong to be together. He reached out and laid a hand on my arm. A touch that was meant to be reassuring, comforting. And it burned like hell. I chewed the inside of my cheek as I fought again saying anything. I knew he was right. He was so damn right about it all. I had had my chance. Jake had…

“Accept it for what it can be, Amanda.” Josh stood up, his touch still heavy on my arm. “Friendship is about the only thing that is fine between you at this point. Accept it.”

I watched as he left, leaving my heart in shreds. In less than thirty minutes, he had taken every stitch of strength that Jake had given me. I breathed into my empty apartment. I was going to have to do this without Jake.

Chapter 10: September, 1990: Jake POV

My precious week with Mandy had been erased. I would wake each morning haunted by the love that we had shared. My heart would bleed out as I tried to stuff it back into my chest so that I could carry on without her as a normal human being. I had survived the summer tourist season. We had fallen back into our routine - I would meet her for morning coffee. I would keep to safe talk, topics ranging from her book readings to my sponsoring the summer concerts in the park on Thursday nights. With the Autumn Street Fair approaching, I worked on the committee to help plan and organize the event just like I had in years past. This time, with the addition of Mandy, our time worn event got some fresh perspective.

Josh pretty much ordered me to go out and date. Jeanette, the sweet soul that she is, had called to invite me to dinner, but I just couldn’t. I wasn’t shutting myself away. My wounds were too deep to find anything but a false smile. So, like when I was surviving my time in my marriage, and after the divorce, I fell into routine. I woke, I worked, I slept. It took three months just to be able to go out for beers with Bugger and Meg. I pretended that my time that I had felt the most free never happened. I pretended that Mandy did not reside under my skin and within my very being. And it was killing me to have to watch her struggle.

I could hear the frustration she was living through. Roger was making her life hell, fighting the divorce every step of the way. She had grounds of infidelity. She had grounds of neglect. But apparently Roger was able to procure a better lawyer who was making every day a nightmare for her. She admitted to feeling like her every move was being watched. She was convinced that Roger’s lawyer had someone watching to record any interaction with friends, family - men, women, it did not matter.

By the first of October, I had begun to feel strong enough that I could stand in Mandy’s presence and still be okay. I started to go out with Henry and Ada, Ronnie and her husband, David. I was like the kid who was just learning how to roller skate - holding onto the wall for dear life because I was afraid to fall on my ass - again. I started meeting for beers with a few of the soccer dads a couple of times a month. Before I knew it, the holidays were storming through in the typical chaotic manner. Josh and I were having a drink at Miller’s when Jeanette was walking in with a group of friends. It was not lost on my twin that she had once again caught my attention.

By the end of February we were dating fairly regularly - once again, not exclusive. And it was enough. I felt like I was returning to that person that I could be while I watched Mandy grow thin and weary of her situation. I did all I could while remaining at my distance, to support her, to love her.

Jeanette was kind. Josh pointed out in our phone calls that I needed to ‘do right by that woman and make it serious’, but in truth, she was setting our boundaries. I know. I know, but it’s true. She was on the same plane as my own, broken by experience and unsure if she really wanted to share that deeply with anyone. So really, we were each other’s support system. A way to have that human contact and interaction without the intense emotional tethers that were required for a serious relationship. And it was better than trying to shack up with Tessa again. That woman… just no.

We survived the rest of winter and the spring thaw without too much drama. Jeanette and I were spending weekends away after discovering that we actually traveled together very well. I felt healthy.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to see you right now, Georgia,” I had said, trying not to let my impatience show as I shuffled papers across my office desk as a way to keep my hands busy.

Georgia had called out of the blue. It had been years since I had heard her voice and I was fine with that. I had moved on from what we had and healed, mostly, from our time together. My hands came to a full stop when she fell silent and I found myself listening to her breathing across the receiver for a long moment before she continued.

“I know you’ve heard this from me - many times, Jake,” she said, her tone even and present. “I’m trying. Really trying. I’ve been sober a full fifteen months this time. I’ve been trying to… I’m trying to really do it this time.”

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. This was the same conversation that I had heard too many times before. The only difference was that the hurt that once had been attached to her words was absent. I blew out a long breath and was shaking my head like she could see my answer across the phone.

“Jake, I need to make amends,” she whispered. “There are things that I need to say to you - for you to hear from me. You owe me nothing, and I get that. I do. But I think if I allow myself to just-”

“Allow yourself? Do you hear yourself right now? How absolutely selfish that sounds, Georgia?” I let the words go before I thought them through. I was once again buying into her game and I needed to just stop.

“Sorry. Sorry. Really. I don’t mean to sound selfish.” I could hear the tears in her voice and I forced myself to soften. “Please. Just give me a half hour of your time. It will be good for both of us, Jake. Please? I can meet you after your soccer practice at the park. You still do that, right?”

June first and I had my team running their asses off up and down that field starting at eight in the morning. Each and every one of those kids loved it, too. I had brought out the big box, booming music across the grass. I let them pick the day’s band and I supplied the tunes. I noticed Georgia waiting at the edge of the field. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking too thin as her blonde hair fluttered in the wind. I could have been kind and wrapped up practice on time, but the kids were having too much fun, so I let it run over by nearly twenty minutes. The parents were joining in at the end, their smiles wide as they bounced around with their children.

To my surprise, she waited until after I had cleaned everything up and packed the car before she moved towards me. Her dark eyes were clear and healthy. Her smile was honest.

“Thank you for seeing me, Jake,” she started, her voice even and strong.

I nodded once, my guard up and locked tight.

“Do you want to walk, or sit, or…” she laughed nervously.

“Just say what you need to, please,” I said as I folded my arms across my chest, wary of what was to come.

“Right to it, then,” she said, hands sliding into her pockets as she let out a nervous laugh. “I wronged you from the start. I know this is going to be hard to hear, but Liam…”

I swallowed hard. My eyes flattened as I looked at her. “If you’re going to tell me that Liam was not my son, Georgia, I already know.”

She flinched. “When did you know?”

“I don’t know - maybe I started believing it after one of the several dozen times you begged for his ‘real daddy to stay’, or if his ‘daddy was a better man he would’ve stayed’?” I did not attempt to hide the heat of anger that was spiking in my brain.

“If things would have been different… If he was still here,” she was struggling, faltering across her words like the only thing that could save her was a drink. I knew it. I knew that stammer and that look of need too well. I slowed down, she did not need to be provoked. “If he was still here, Jake, you would’ve been his daddy no matter what. You would’ve loved him-”

“I love him still, Georgia!” I shouted, all my venom leaking through my mouth with bitter accuracy. “I was there in the hospital. I held him. I touched him and sang to him every moment that he was with us. He’s with me every day. Every day! Do you hear me? I talk to him, sing with him. My son. No matter what.”

She wiped at her face. I wiped at mine. The rage was not simmering down as it normally would. It pulsed through my veins at a dangerous pace. I needed to walk away. I needed to just be rid of her presence.

“If that’s all you have to say, I’ve got to go,” I said, digging in my pocket for my keys.

“Jake, stay,” she said through her jagged breaths. “That's not all.”

“The fuck,” I growled, unable to hide my emotions.

I watched as she shored herself up while I felt my whole foundation begin to crumble beneath my feet. Her eyes turned to the ground for a long moment like she was gathering her words.

“I listened to you talk about your Amanda all that night,” she said quietly. Too stunned, I found my chin sliding forward so my ears could hear better. “How in love you were. How good of a man you were. I knew I was pregnant. What you all didn’t see was I was in full panic that whole night. Clint had left me the day before once he knew about the baby. I knew I couldn’t do this alone.”

She paused. I felt like all my air was being wrung from my lungs as I tried to keep my focus.

“I knew you would be the kind of man to take responsibility, Jake,” Georgia said, her voice warbling across each syllable. “I watched you leave the party. You had had too much to drink. I made sure of it. I helped you out of your clothes and got you into bed. We never had sex, though. You blacked out. It was so easy to make you think otherwise.”

Shock would not begin to explain what happened in my system in that moment. My world gave way as my knees buckled beneath my weight. A sound emitted from my gut that came close to the pain of losing Liam. It was a sound that carried the loss of a life that should have been. It carried every ounce of dreams and hopes and wishes for a life that was concrete and real and full of love and possibilities. A life with Amanda.

Georgia knelt down beside me and my broken frame. She tucked her hands in her lap. There was shame and remorse etched across her breath for what she had done. We cried together, but for different reasons.

“Jake, to say I’m sorry is not enough,” she whispered, her back bending because of the pain she had caused. “There is no excuse other than the fact it came from a place of absolute fear. I was so desperate-”

“You fucking took my life,” I mumbled. I stared at a blade of grass as my brain tried to clutch at the devastation that had been put upon me. “You didn’t just do this to me. You did this to her. You did this to hurt her. And I was faithful. You made me believe that I hurt her. That I fucking broke our relationship. I…”

The breeze against my flaming skin did little to cool me. Georgia sat with me as I tried to put two words together that would make a lick of sense, to make what she did okay. But it was so wrong. All of it. Quiet tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I could hear her beside me stifling sniffles. My eyes shifted to her, honing in on the guilt that bubbled from every pore of her. There was no fix. There was no repair that could ever return me to my path that should have been.

“I don’t ever want to see you again,” I whispered, my voice void of me. “Do not call. Do not come back here - at all. If you were looking for forgiveness-”

“I was not looking for forgiveness,” she said, her voice quivering. “I was only looking to give you a truth that has tortured me for all this time. Maybe give you back a piece of you that you thought I had ruined. This is the amends that I extend to you, Jake. Somehow a way to forgive yourself. To-”

“You didn’t just ruin me. You obliterated everything. How is that giving me back anything?”

She blew out a soft breath. “I said that wrong. What I mean was that you were always a good man, Jake. You were always good. I know what you thought you had done to Amanda, how you thought you had broken her trust…” She let out a fractured sob as she shook her head. “You were always hers. Mine sometimes. But you were always hers, Jacob.”

I watched as she stood. My body fought against my wish to rise up with her but I did. I held my arms out to her. It was not forgiveness. It was acceptance. I hugged her for a moment before letting her go. I moved my feet towards my car and did not look back at her. That book was closed. It will stay closed this time.

Amanda POV

If I thought that I was lonely before, I was sorely wrong. The absolute isolation was crippling as I began my filing for divorce. My lawyer, Mr. Upton, was very good, very empathetic. But Roger’s lawyer, Mr. Roburn, was more expensive with more resources at his disposal. Sparrow, of course, became the first point of contention. Roburn argued that it was my original plan to leave Roger, hence my reasons for placing my store into a trust. Mr. Upton, utilizing all fiscal records and legal precedence, that regardless of reasoning, the shop did not belong to me, but to my family and was not a joint asset as Roger had assumed. Of course, then it was argued that I had used my husband’s money for the down payment of the building…

Back and forth. East and West. Round the circle once more. Roburn’s whole strategy was to wear me down. Mr. Upton, on the other hand, stayed in step with the correct argument that kept me protected and Sparrow in my hands. Then came the implications that I had been unfaithful. Pictures were presented of me having coffee with Jake, along with Mick and Robin, Bugger and Meg. It was totally innocent of course, but it led to other pictures where I was talking just with Jake. That was an uncomfortable conversation with Mr. Upton - one where I was not truthful.

Jake was called into a deposition by Mr. Roburn, to which it was suggested, as well as pictures shown, that I had an ongoing relationship with him. Jake explained that we had had a relationship over the summer of 1981 and that we were merely close friends. He then pointed out that the pictures that were showing just me and him talking were actually just a zoomed in photo of the previous ones, in his music shop with plenty of others present.

He had become distant. It was fine. It was enough that I could still share a space with him as I struggled my way through my day to day. The nights were hard. Too often, I tried to manifest him to be with me. Be in my bed holding onto me so that I might not fly apart. But he never came to me.

I retreated. It was all I could do. I kept my social circle to my family only. My parents were beside themselves and were absolutely stunned as my dirty laundry was being dragged out for everyone to see. They let me cry about it behind their closed doors, though. I came to realize that it was not just me that was the topic of Frankenmuth’s hot gossip tongues, but my family as well. It was gross and wrong, but I had to just keep my head up and live through it. I had done nothing wrong to warrant such loose tongues.

As the weeks passed, I watched from the sidelines how Jake healed and returned to his life. It was nice to just be friends again, to talk and laugh. It hurt when I was out at the farmer’s market with Jenni and her little boy and I saw him with Jeanette Williams. He did not see me. His whole attention was on her. At first I was anxious, my skin feeling like it had been stomped on. But then… I stilled and watched as he smiled at her. Really smiled. His whole body was relaxed and at peace. And it was not because of me or my presence. Jeanette had been in Ronnie’s class in school. She always had a reputation of just being kind. I knew she had always been well liked. Perhaps it was something that nurtured him in his time of need without me…

What a selfish thought it was and I knew it the moment that it struck. I tried to move away. To allow my nephew to tug me towards the homemade candy, but I chanced a glance back to see what had been there a year before - happy. Jake was happy. There was no denying what I saw because it was so lovely to see.

The months lingered on like the calendar refused to shed its days and weeks in a timely manner. It hurt. Everyday there would be a call regarding this or that from Mr. Upton. I watched as those around me seemed to move with such life. With such pleasure. I was rooted to my spot. Not allowed to drift amongst the stars or through the leaves that scattered across my path. It was truly the first time that I had no idea what my tread would look like when I emerged from this blackened tunnel that I had found myself wandering through.

My Sparrow was my salvation. No matter what - she was there providing my steady company and sure footed companion that continued to grow and evolve and bear fruit under my care. I could hide amongst her books and hold up new ideas that would take on a life of their own for those who entertained such fancy things as the offerings of a soon to be divorcee’s book shop.

Yeah. The opinion I entertained of myself was pretty low. I was not coping well with all the punishing gut punches that the divorce was dishing to me. It was not like I was asking for anything other than for my marriage to be over. I did not want his money. Roger was very, very comfortable. He worked hard to be so comfortable. I did not deny that. I had worked excruciating hours at Franklin and done well, myself. I did not care that a portion of my funds were still residing in our joint accounts. I would have gladly given him it all just to walk away. During mediations, I even blurted out the fact that I wanted nothing. I questioned why he was dragging his feet on the matter. He had another woman. He had not one, but two kids with her. In the wake of the silence that followed, I excused myself with the last bit of what he had done to my body against my own wishes. Was that not enough to wish to escape that marriage?

August of 1991 was hot. It was the kind of hot where you would shower, towel off and be wet before you reached the bathroom door. It was gross and sticky and smelly and I was wishing for the weather to break. The thunderstorms were coming like crazy, but as soon as one would bring relief, another cycle would start up. The a/c in Sparrow was down. I sent Mick and Robin home and hung a sign that we were too hot to function. I had to wait a few days before I could get anyone out to actually look at the unit. I stayed in the hotel at the other end of the street as the apartment was like a twenty four hour sauna. I watched as my precious books were beginning to buckle under the humidity. I had to invest in a window unit just to keep the moisture from ruining my stock.

It was one of those weeks where I had not heard from Mr. Upton. I was not sure if that was a good thing or not. Perhaps it was too hot in Detroit, too, and he decided to distance himself for a respite from my idiot case. The 14th found me on the phone once again with my a/c man in hopes that he would be there before the end of the day. I had just crossed my fingers when the chime on my door rang out admitting Mr. Upton.

I watched quietly as he pulled a large manilla envelope from his briefcase and held it out for me. “You asked for nothing but the dissolution of your marriage. He has finally given it to you.”

The relief that rushed across my body left me breathless. Sparrow was safe in my care. I asked for nothing and nothing was given. I carefully opened the sheath of papers and took the extended pen from Mr. Upton. His kind eyes met mine for the briefest of moments before he began to point to each spot that required my signature, explaining each passage with a patience that exuded a comfort. On the last page, the moment swelled. I stared at Roger’s huge, elaborate strokes across the heavy paper. He had relented. I licked at my lips before I leaned over once more and slowly scratched my name into the paper that would untie the chain that had kept me locked in place.

I shook the man’s hand and watched as he loosened his tie before leaving the shop. I looked around and absorbed the stillness. I may have wiped a tear or two away. My gut told me to go next door and tell Jake. But my spirit told me to stop. Take in the stillness a little longer. I sat down at one of the cafe tables and just breathed. I allowed my chest to rise and fall uninhibited. I was free.

Instead of telling anyone in the family, I called Mick, followed by Robin. They agreed to take care of the shop and make sure the a/c repair was finished and assure them the bill would be paid upon arrival. I walked up the steps to my apartment and found my bag. Within thirty minutes, I had packed a few outfits and everything that I would need. I jumped in my car and I left Frankenmuth - alone.

I drove. I took breaks at rest stops. I stayed in shitty motels. I had called my parents from some town west of Toronto and assured them that I was fine. I just needed out for a few days. It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done, but I drove all the way to Maine, finding a little cottage motel that I stayed in for three days, right on the ocean. It was like all the heat, all the damage, all the injury was relieved. I walked the beach. I drank the sea breeze and fed on the wildness of the landscape. I landed in the bar and got picked up by a very attractive man who said he was on his way out to sea. Didn’t matter if it was true or not. He fucked me sideways and made me cum hard for two damn days.

I celebrated myself for twelve days. I took my time getting home, taking in the first hints of the autumn as I was passing through Pennsylvania. When I got home, I relished it. My parents welcomed me, my sisters laughed with me. It was two days since my arrival back and I dared to walk into Martin’s to find Jake. I knew he had heard the news the moment he looked at me. His smile welcomed me into a hug that my body had been screaming for for months on end.

And he held on. I was sure Bugger and Meg were drifting away from just being uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. I breathed him in and let him hold me while my trials over the past year settled into my bones and across my flesh. It was a victory. It was a victory worth savoring. As he let me go though, I knew I wasn’t ready. I looked into his face and it was a whispered agreement. A ‘maybe’, but not yet.

I’ll see you next Wednesday. 💚

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