#Sometimes we aren’t sure if she’s actually real or just a joint hallucination | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whentommymetalfie · 5 years ago

Text

Breathe Again -Chapter ten

-Are you there-

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six//seven//eight//nine

Chapter summary: Alfie witnesses first hand how bad the nights are for Tommy, and tries to help.

Pairing: Alfie/Tommy

Warnings: hallucinations, disordered eating, suicidal ideation

Wordcount: 5000

“-and when I asked what was the matter, answered, she didn’t know; but she felt so afraid of dying. I imagined- Oi, Tommy, you listening over there?”

No, Tommy isn’t listening. Alfie’s almost finished the first chapter of the day when he has to face it. He’s been staring at the same corner of the living room for the duration of the time, eyes glassy and unfocused, fastened miles and miles away. Or at something that isn’t really there. Alfie lays the book to rest on his lap, spine up, and studies him. Waits for him to notice that he’s being watched, despite knowing it’s futile. Looks from between Tommy, to the corner, and then back again.

”What do you see, eh, Tommy?” he finally asks.

Tommy doesn’t react. Not surprising, because it’s been a bad day. He has those. Well, to begin with there were bad days and worse days. But now there’s something that Alife may hesitate to call gooddays, but at least deem… not disasters. Yesterday was one of those. He took Tommy for a walk despite the rain from earlier in the week still hanging above them in thick grey clouds, and Tommy’s eyes seemed a little brighter, more present. At dinner he even picked at a small slice of apple that Esther set out for him, and though he never actually ate it, even paying attention at all to solid food is a step in the right direction, at least if Esther is to be believed. And then he fell asleep in his bed before migrating out to the living room again. That, that’s what constitutes a ‘not disaster day’, which truly is a sad state of affairs all things considered.

Today, however, is not good. Tommy’s eaten all of one teaspoon of honey for breakfast and Esther took Alfie aside afterwards to tell him she found him wandering the hallway in the middle of the night again, so he must’ve slept poorly too. Granted he never seems to sleep well.How could he? Alfie still finds him out in the living room every single morning, and say what you will of the quality of his furniture but an armchair is only good for short naps. Sometimes he’ll come out to the living room before Alfie himself has even gone to bed. But at least he sleeps more than those first disastrous days, when he laid catatonic in bed

But he’s far away today.

He keeps staring at the corner, unaware of Alfie speaking at all, and Alfie nearly reaches out, to put a hand on his arm. Touch always works. But for some reason he finds himself hesitating. Maybe since he crossed that line the other day and grabbed his fucking hand… He uses the book to poke him in the arm instead, wondering how hard he can push before Tommy finally pays attention to him. Apparently quite hard. Tommy finally turns to meet his eyes, the blue surface oddly dimmed. Alfie puts the book down and takes a drag on his pipe instead.

“What do you see?” he repeats and nods towards the corner. “Because it sure as hell isn’t just books, interesting as my collection may be.”

Tommy just blinks slowly at him. Alfie takes the cigarette packet from the table and fishes one out. Tommy’s eyes follow it when he holds it up, and then finally reaches for it, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Alfie lights it for him once it’s between his lips.

After the first drag, Tommy finally answers: “Nothing.”

“Yeah, see ,Tommy I might’ve believed that. That you’re just lost in your own head, because I know you tend to go on walks in there from time to time. But don’t think I’ve forgotten that whole crow incident.”

“Nests,” Tommy says and nods to himself. As if that fucking means something.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, but do you remember that thing I told you?”

Tommy furrows his brow and he grits his teeth before adding as calmly as he can, “About the crow?”

Tommy nods slowly.

“Stuffed.”

“Yeah, yeah exactly,” Alfie sighs. Back to one worded answers again apparently. “And I know this was a while ago, but you absolutely thought it was real to begin with. Which, I have concluded, means that you’re seeing things that aren’t really there.”

Tommy stares down into his lap, his hand trembling when he moves the cigarette from his mouth and exhales the smoke. “No.”

Alfie snorts, “Yeah you fucking do. So now I’m just wondering what in that corner has you so incredibly occupied that you can’t be bothered to spend any time among the living.”

Tommy reverts to shaking his head, letting the cigarette fall into the ashtray. In fact, all of him is shaking, forehead glimmering with cold sweat and eyes growing wide. This time, this time Alfie catches the signs before he just fucks everything up. He could keep pushing. Feels the urge like an itch he desperately wants to scratch. Wants to cut Tommy’s head open and look inside. He could, that’s the thing, and it’s a terrifying power to have. Learning what buttons to push to provoke a response out of him, other than the hazy stares and the clipped one worded sentences. But is it worth the price of prying Tommy’s bloodied fingers away from his head and pinning him down as he breathes so harshly it sounds as if his lungs may collapse?

“Fine then. If you say so, mate,” he says and shrugs, taking another puff of smoke and opening the book again. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Tommy relax just a fraction. His eyes are still dimmed, glazed.

He very carefully avoids looking to that corner.

Alfie settles the glasses back on his nose and begins searching for the right page in the book. But Tommy’s presence is so unnervingly anxious and tightly wound that he can’t seem to focus, so he gives up and closes it again, scanning the room in search of ideas. Solutions. His eyes fall on a box on the opposite bookshelf.

“Have you ever played chess, eh, Tommy?”

He has to use the book to poke at him again to catch his attention and Tommy shakes his head.

He doesn’t bother nagging him about talking today.

“Would you like to try? See, I reckon you’d really enjoy it.” He wanders over to the shelf and lifts down the box, wiping away a thin coat of dust before setting it down on the table in front of the armchairs, unfolding the board to reveal the little wooden pieces. “See, these pieces, they all move around in different ways, alright? And the goal is to move them around in the most clever way. Outsmart your opponent.”

Tommy at least keeps his gaze fixed on the pieces as Alfie lifts them up and places them in their proper positions. He makes quick work of explaining how they’re are allowed to move, hoping to keep Tommy’s attention for long enough for any of the information to register. Then he moves one of his pawns two steps forward.

Tommy just stares at the board. Alfie waits.

After several minutes, throughout which he’s used up all of his patience, Alfie reminds him of how the pawns are allowed to move. Two steps at first, and then just one step. Might as well start off simple. Tommy doesn’t even seem to hear him. Finally he picks up a piece, the knight, unsurprisingly, eyes fastened on it as he lifts it off the board. He pulls his knees up against his chest and just sits there, staring down at small, intricately cut horse head. His gaze flickers over to the corner and he clutches the chess piece close to his chest.

Alfie gives him a moment.

Then another.

“Well, Tommy,” he finally says. “The pieces have to actually be on the fucking board, don’t they? But if I were you, just to help you out here, I’d take that and put it right there, see on G three, yeah?”

Tommy looks fucking crestfallen and that look is enough for Alfie to give up on this whole venture.

“Know what, maybe we should wait a bit with this?” he says and picks the board up. “Let’s just… put this over here, eh and you could- Well, you could just put that back whenever you’re ready, alright?” He sets the board down on a chest of drawers, pushing a lamp and a vase he can’t remember ever buying out of the way until they balance precariously on the edge.

“It’s a bloody confusing game, so it’s best to take it slow,” he says. An attempt at reassuring that he doesn’t understand himself. “And it’s not like we’re in a hurry.”

Tommy’s knuckles have turned white.

Alfie considers reaching out. Try loosening his convulsive grip around that chess piece before it fucking splinters and cuts his hand…

Instead he just sits back down in the armchair with a sigh and cracking joints, letting silence fill the room.

Thankfully Esther enters moments later to bring some levity to the situation, carrying a tray with teacups and the paper. She gently tries to coax more honey into Tommy, but ends up leaving the spoon on a small plate and giving Alfie a look that clearly states he should give it a try later. But he’s honestly had enough for now. He picks up the paper instead and flips through it, glad to have something to distract him from Tommy and the way he’s begin quivering ever so slightly, still wide eyed and curled in on himself.

On the centre fold he finds a familiar face, the pale eyes staring back at him somehow looking blue despite the photos lack of colour. ‘Still no sign of Thomas Shelby. The MP remains at mystery location vacation as-‘He scans the entire article but it contains a frustrating lack of new information and can really be summed up by the headline: Tommy is on vacation to rest up according to his family, but no one cares to confirm where. There are speculations about covering up an illness but nothing concrete. All in all the article is entirely useless. His eyes linger on the photo instead. It’s a fairly recent one. He recognizes the haircut, the hint of weariness seeping through the cracks in that steely gaze. Still, it’s a far cry from the person sitting next to him right now. The cracks have taken over entirely. He quickly turns the pages until he lands himself on the crossword puzzle.

Out of the corner of his eye he notes that Tommy has started rocking back and forth ever so slightly and the cold, heavy fucking stone in the pit of his stomach makes itself known again. Starting to feel like an uncomfortably familiar thing by now.

“Cross words truly are the most unnecessary bloody invention,” he says. “Must definitely be for people with too much bloody time on their hands. Funny to suddenly be one of those people, don’t you think? Listen to this, ‘occupation frequently treating the back’. Now that’s bookbinder, innit?” He snatches a pencil from the table and fills in the letters. “And this one, right, this is something for you, ‘a horse’s gait’ six letters. See that-“ he shoves the paper in front of Tommy and finally, Tommy blinks, looking down. “Why don’t you give that some thought, eh?”

He leans against the armrest and puts the paper down on top of the table in front of them both, arguably getting into Tommy’s space, and starts reasoning out loud whether a flightless bird is an ostrich or a penguin. “Or it could be a chicken I suppose…”

A few words later, Tommy has shifted in his seat to lean towards his armchair, elbow settled on his armrest. Arguably, this is far too close for comfort, but fuck it, Tommy has finally stopped rocking back and forth, Alfie just values the peace and quiet, doesn’t he? Can hardly be blamed for wanting to keep it.

He does the entire crossword with continuous monologue. By the end, Tommy still hasn’t said a word, but at least he’s stopped shaking. And by the final word, the familiar bony fingers are back clutching Alfie’s shirtsleeve, and the chess piece lies forgotten in his lap.

Small comforts.

….

“Out of the question, Sir” Esther says. Out of the question.What has he done for his own staff to believe themselves to have any right to use a tone like that? And she looks at him, scandalized. As if he’d asked her to fucking… smother Tommy with a pillow, and not simply take over the duty of bedtime storyteller. He just needs some space is all. It’s a reasonable fucking request. Been an exhausting day, trying to keep Tommy off the fucking ledge by providing endless hours of distraction by any means he can. Namely solving the crossword of every single old newspaper in the house when reading proved to be insufficient.

So, yeah, it’s been a fucking trying day and he’s all around just very tired and need some bloody space. But Esther is a fucking brick wall.

“I do apologize, Sir, but if we’ve finally found one thing that makes him feel safe enough to fall asleep, then we’re sticking to it,” she says and puts her hands on her hips.

“Oh, he’ll be fuckinfinewith you reading. He bloody loves you. Always follows you around the house like a lost puppy-“

“He needs the routine, Sir,” Esther says, sharpness creeping into her tone. “I’m not taking that away from him.”

And that’s the end of it. Because he knows, of course, that she’s right.

Tommy comes out of the bathroom just as Alfie walks through the bedroom door, hair wet and cheeks rosy underneath the stubble. Esther has equipped him with Alfie’s pyjamas -rarely worn as he regularly just sleeps in his pants because he runs fucking hot and that’s what blankets are for, and Alfie would’ve smiled at the sight if he’d been in a better mood. The lack of bulk over his shoulders makes the already slightly too long sleeves fall over his hands, and you’d think he’d tire of seeing Tommy in various pieces of too large clothing, but no.

And it does tug at his heartstrings, he can’t fucking help it. He can, however, deny it to his dying breath.

Tommy looks warily at him as he climbs into bed and hides under the covers, that blanket of his piled on top of the others and pulled up to his nose as usual.

“Well, I figured we’d take a break with Wuthering Heights tonight -very much a downgrade from Emma, if you ask me- and try something different,” Alfie says and plops down onto his side of the bed.

Tommy turns on his side and curls up under the covers, watching him almost expectantly.

He has to resist the instinct to pet his hair, which is an odd one. He taps the cover on the book instead.

“This, see, this is Sherlock Holmes. Ever read it? No, I suppose not. But you might like it. Mysteries camaraderie and light hearted fun.”

Alfie shoves a pillow in behind his back, sets his glasses on his nose and starts reading. This time, Tommy seems to be listening.

Only two chapters in, he falls asleep. By some grace of God. And even though Alfie’s longed for some alone time all day, now when he actually has the chance at some, he finds himself lingering, The mattress is soft underneath him and the sound of Tommy’s slow, even breaths pulls him into a sleepy daze. He blinks, eyelids heavy. Tommy’s hair has fallen down over his face. It’s quite long, that part on top of his head, curling a bit at the ends. Alfie would like to keep him like this. Peaceful. Safe. Far away from all the things that plague him when he’s awake. In his dazed state, thoughts like those are harder to keep at bay, they just float through his mind. Don’t have to mean anything, of course, they’re just strange things that occur to him for one reason or another. Like the thought of jumping off a high bridge simply because you pass over it. The thought of reaching out to smooth back those dark curls from Tommy’s forehead…

Tommy sleeps with his hands tucked under his chin. And all curled up, the way he likes to sit.

One’s allowed to have strange thoughts. Lord knows he’s had his fair share.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

….

Alfie wakes up at the sound of a heart wrenching whine. Neck stiff and eyes gravely, he blinks and tries to kick his muddled brain into gear. The sound feels as out of place as the heat from the body that’s curled up right next to him, until he realises he’s not in his own bed and that it’s Tommy lying there, trembling and making those godawful noises. Alfie shakes him roughly.

“Come on, Tommy, quit that.”

Tommy doesn’t, no instead his entire body convulses in a spasm and he starts to scream. These hoarse, absolutely fucking terrible sounds.

Alfie hits him. Hard. But he shouldn’t have done that because Tommy’s eyes snap open and he bolts upright in the bed, still screaming, and scrambles backwards on the bed. Alfie just barely manages to latch onto his wrists before he falls onto the floor and pulls him back onto the mattress. Pins his wrists against his chest and squeezes them hard.

“Fucking hell, Tommy, it’s just a fucking dream!” But Tommy just keeps screaming and squirming and his eyes fill with tears and the screams break into sobs.

“Don’t let them take me I promise, promise I’ll be good, I’ll be good don’t- don’t let them-”

Alfie grips hard enough to bruise but it does little to help, instead Tommy just chokes on his own frantic breaths and looks so fucking afraid that he begins to fear his heart will actually burst in his chest and Alfie would give just about anything to make it stop.

He releases his wrists and falls down onto the mattress when Tommy scrambles out from under him towards the edge, only just managing to wrap his arms around him instead. One tightly around that far too skinny waist and one around the back of his neck and then he crushes him against his chest and just holds on.

“ ‘s alright, Tommy, ‘s alright,” he whispers, even as Tommy continues screaming with what little voice he has left. “ ‘s all fine, you hear me? All fucking fine. ‘s always worst at night, innit? Yeah. Nights are shit, I know-“

Tommy squirms weakly. Sobs. Alfie keeps holding him.

“But the thing is, they end, don’t they? Yeah. Sun comes up and it turns out it was just the dark playing a trick on ya’.”

Tommy’s breaths come in hot puffs against his chest, and his heart seems to hammer so hard it vibrates into Alfie’s bones. But there comes a moment when instead of fighting, those arms wrap around his back and clings tightly to him, fingers clenching around the fabric of the waistcoat he’s still wearing. And Tommy buries his face deeper in his chest, presses it hard, hard against it and sobs-

Alfie lets him go. Calm enough now, isn’t he? But Tommy in turn refuses.

“Please, please stay, stay you’re never here- please don’t leave-“

As if by their own volition, his arms find their place around Tommy again and he hushes him, resting his chin on the top of his head.

“Who’s leaving, eh, Tommy?”

“Everyone,” Tommy sobs, a hiccup cutting off his harsh breaths. “Everyone leaves-“

He’s not awake. Not really, because he never says things like this when he is, as if sleep and the nightmares unlocks something in his head. Alfie holds him and rocks him back and forth as if comforting a small child. For want of better solutions.

“Well, not sure if I’m good enough but… I’m here, alright?” he whispers and runs his fingers through dark locks of hair. It’s a strange instinct but Tommy… Tommy needs it and he’s willing to try anything at this point. Only a fool would turn down perfectly viable options simply due to stupid principles. And Tommy continues whimpering and breathing harshly against his chest and he’s shaking so fucking hard. But he’s stopped screaming at least.

“ ‘s alright, eh, Tommy,” Alfie mutters. “I know things’ve been… they’ve been bad, alright. Don’t know in what way, granted. Jus’ that they have, eh? But here in Margate even bad men like us are allowed to rest. Hear that? No one’s guarding the gates with some long list of all your past misdeeds, no, here you can just come as you bloody well are. And you can just… rest. Easier said than done for someone like you I reckon. But you’re allowed to, see? And that’s the huge difference.”

Slowly, the shaking subsides. Tommy’s breathing calms and the sobs die down to whimpers. But Alfie doesn’t let him go. He definitely should. But how can he, when Tommy holds onto him as if it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning?

So he keeps holding him.

…

The pale, unforgiving morning light pierces through the curtain and through his eyelids. Alfie squeezes them tighter together, trying to shut it out to no avail. Head full of wet cotton and every joint stiff, it takes a while before he can fully register his surroundings. There’s an unmistakable shape of a small body is pressed up against him and soft hair is tickling his face. He opens his eyes just a sliver, squinting in the grey light. In his dazed state it takes a while before he can puzzle together all the pieces. Because it’s a quite bizarre feeling, waking up with Tommy Shelby in your arms.

His first instinct is to push him out of the bed. Which he just barely resists through some miracle. Fuck, fuck,this is all around incredibly bad. But he forces himself to just stay right there and figure out what to do.

He glances down at the figure huddled in his arms. Can’t see much except the dark chock of hair and the glimpse of a pale cheek. Long, dark lashes. And he’s still asleep. In the bed.

Yeah, however bad of a decision this was, something good seems to have come of it. Alfie did this. He pulled Tommy out of the blackness he was drowning in and now he’s here, in his arms, finally calm. And yeah, Alfie may be a bad man with urges to constantly pick him apart, pry and see how far he can push him but this? This is… better.

Tommy shifts a tiny bit and lets out a soft little sound.

As carefully as he possibly can as to not wake him, Alfie pulls the arm out from under his head and gets off the bed before Tommy can wake and turn this into even more of an awkward situation.

…

A bit later, they’re sitting across from each other by the breakfast table: Alfie with his nose buried in a paper and Tommy picking at his breakfast. Thankfully, if he remembers the events of last night, he shows no signs of it.

Well, Alfie thinks he might be looking at him in a strange way, but that could be in his head of course. So he just focuses on the paper and leaves Tommy alone to peck at his apple slice like a fussy bird.

And if Esther noticed that Tommy stayed the entire night in his bed, she doesn’t say anything either. However Alfie is absolutely sure she’s giving him looks.

Which he chooses to ignore too.

….

That night, Alfie opts for the chair next to Tommy’s bed when he sits down to read the mandatory bedtime story, no matter how uncomfortable it is. And when Tommy starts dozing off (he can always tell -he starts blinking in an attempt to keep his eyes open, and curls up tighter under the duvet. Pulls the blanket up all the way to his nose) he puts the book down and resists the urge to groan when he gets out of the chair. Doesn’t allow himself to linger today. The floorboards creak under his feet as he leaves the room, so he barely hears the quiet voice.

“Stay.”

He pauses and looks towards the bed, where Tommy has turned around to face him, the light from the bedside lamp catching in his eyes.

“Please,” he whispers.

He shouldn’t. He really, reallyfucking shouldn’t, all logic tells him no. And yet, a moment later, he’s sat down on the bed next to Tommy, shoving a pillow in behind his head.

“It‘s gonna have to be here, then,” he mutters. “Because that bloody chair is absolutely killing my back.”

Letting out a quiet sigh, Tommy closes his eyes. He thinks of picking the book back up but he’s left it on the dresser next to the door and moving from the bed is out of the question. So he just sits there. Tommy is curled up on his side, and his eyes catch on his scar. Can’t help himself.

“Why did you do that to yourself?” he asks

Tommy’s eyes twitch, but he doesn’t open them.

“Did it all become too much at last?”

Still no answer, of course. Why should he expect one? Why is he even bothering asking? Well, because Ollie’s failed miserably so far when it comes to digging out any information about the situation, and it’s hard for a dead man to have too much of a hand in the matter. Which leaves Tommy as the only source of information on what exactly happened between the botched assassination attempt and him showing up on Alfie’s steps.

Which makes it highly unlikely he’ll ever find out.

“See, I’ve got a theory, right, and do stop me if you disagree,” Alfie begins quietly. “You got this idea don’t you, that you answer to no one. Not God. Not even yourself. But that’s not true, innit? See you tell yourself that, and you act as if it’s true, when in fact it’s a bloody lie. And I think you finally stopped for one moment too long and realised that you do in fact fucking answer to yourself. That maybe you even…care. And you couldn’t carry that weight.”

Tommy flinches at the words, as if they physically hurt. And Alfie wants to draw all the pain out, wants to open his head up and piece together what’s left of his brain, take away all the bad parts and somehow help him and it’s utterly fucking terrifying.

“But I suppose you’re as dead as me now. And the thing when you’re dead is that all your past sins are absolved. So perhaps you could put down that heavy rock you’re dragging around.”

Tommy shakes his head.

“No?”

“Nothing can do that.”

“Is that right? Eh, Tommy? You think you’ve done things so terrible that not even death would be payment enough?”

Tommy stays quiet.

“Because as far as I can see, you’ve certainly suffered enough for it already,” he mutters. “Sure, that may not be how it fucking works what with… doing penance and asking forgiveness from the people you’ve hurt and fucking what not, but that’s how works for people like you and me innit? Think I walk around here, wallowing in guilt every day?” Across from the bed, the embers glimmer in the fireplace. Alfie gazes at them. “Nah, see I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’ve done plenty of ungodly things in my day. However, by my death and resurrection I have- well, I reckon there’s no point in dwelling on them. What good does that do?”

Tommy has begun running his fingers along his scar, and he’s been too lost in his own mind to notice.

“I just wanted it to stop,” he whispers.

Alfie hums.

“And did it stop?”

Tommy curls himself up tighter, tensing. His fingers curl, and this time Alfie catches onto the signs before it’s too late and moves Tommy’s hand from his scar and instead cradles his head with his own hand. He presses his palm against the scar and holds it there. Just lets it rest on Tommy’s head, heavy and sure. Tommy settles, paralyzed, the way rabbits become when you turn them on their back. And here, in the dark, it’s easier to see clearly somehow. Suddenly so fucking simple. Tommy just wants to be close.

The scar feels jagged underneath Alfie’s palm. Must’ve been fucking painful. Then again, supposedly ripping a bullet halfway through your skull must be a painful experience regardless of the scarring afterwards.

He imagines that the heat from his palm would seep in between those jagged edges and somehow mend all the broken bits in Tommy’s head. Or maybe he could just crack it open and pick them out? Make Tommy go back to that arrogant little bastard that waltzed into Alfie’s bakery like he owned the place and looked at him with those big blue eyes across the desk, mind moving quicker than a train engine on fire, and fucking… batting those long eyelashes at him.

Those eyelashes rest against his pale cheeks now, just as long and dark. Even if that engine seems to have completely burnt out.

“Silly boy, why did you have to go and do this to yourself, eh?” he whispers even though Tommy isn’t a boy anymore. “Wasn’t it enough that you let that fuckin’ priest bash your head into little pieces? Hm? Head like yours, you should be careful with.”

Tommy just shifts a bit closer, until Alfie can feel his breath against his collarbone. He should move away, right? Get out of this bed, leave the light on and the door ajar and go to his own room. That’d be the right and proper thing to do.

But Tommy just wants to be close.

And it’s been so fucking long since anyone wanted to be close to him. Since someone needed him like this. It’s not really something he’s thought about right until this moment.

And so, he stays.

#alfie x tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinders fanfiction #TW: suicidal ideation

60 notes · View notes

heartofsnark · 5 years ago

Text

This Is Love (Chapter Two: Lukewarm Welcomes

Notes: Well...I was planning on posting this three days ago....but instead i vanished from the internet for a bit, a nice quarantine mental health crisis as i went into the weekend, we love that.

Word Count: 11,557

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, anti-cop dialogue, harassment, implications of domestic/family violence

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here!

A little bell chimes over head as Dahlia steps into the registration building for the Moonflower Trailer Park, there’s little racks of magazines, pamphlets, and maps of tourist attractions. A young girl is at the desk, talking on the phone with someone as Dahlia tries to preoccupy herself with looking through things.

A plain white pamphlet draws her eye, the simplicity of it standing out among the vividly colored ones. It’s stark white with that strange cross symbol, from the signs and book, like sunbeams coming from the center of it, black text above the symbol says, ‘Eden’s Gate’ and text below it says, ‘We Love You’.

Before she can flip it open, the woman at the registration desk hangs up, calling her over with a “Miss?”

“I’m Hale, we talked on the phone, I’m here to rent a trailer.”

The woman’s eyes flicker down to the pamphlet in her hand and her nose wrinkles like she’s smelled something awful.

“You ain’t no peggie, are you?”

“A peggie?”

“Oh, shit, you really are new here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, this was in one of your racks.”

“Damn it, I told them to stop unloading their shit here. Look, I don’t wanna scare you away from Hope County, but the peggies are fucknuts, steer clear of them.”

“They dangerous?”

“No more than most of us, but they’re major prudes and buzzkills. Like, think Jesus is gonna firebomb my ass for cumming, type buzzkills.”

“Oh, that…sucks.” She has no idea where this woman is coming to that a religious group would think she deserves hell for it, but if the woman says they’re not dangerous, it’s not really any of her business, she really just wants her trailer.

“C’mon, I’ll show you the trailer and we’ll get everything set up.”

The trailer park isn’t huge, RVs and regular trailers all over it, a little playground in the middle for the resident’s kids with a slide, swings, and a little pool. A trailer with a diner inside of it, advertising bingo, and a little station filled with washing machines and dryers. None of the trailers outfitted with them. It’s a single wide with a little porch, nothing fancy; a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. All she needs, nothing seems damaged or out of place.

“Looks, good to me.”

“Alrighty, we’ll get your down payment and registration settled, then you can have the keys and move in whenever you feel.”

“It’ll be a bit before I move in officially,” Dahlia tells her as they step outside the trailer, a few people bustling around

“Why’s that?”

“I’m coming all the way from Louisiana, still gotta get my shit moved in.”

The woman whistles, eyes wide.

“Hell of a move, but I tell you, you won’t find anywhere as beautiful as Hope County.”

“I’m excited.”

“Hey, Darcy, we got someone new coming in?” A woman asks, holding a kid on her hip, looking Dahlia up and down.

“Yeah, we’re just getting her squared away.”

“I’m Ruth, it’s always nice to see a new face.”

“Thanks,” Dahlia awkwardly scratches the back of her head, “I, uh, really appreciate the warm welcome.”

People aren’t her strong suit, she just never feels like she knows what to say, so she’d rather not say anything.

“Shy girl, don’t worry we’ll knock that out of you, real quick. We’re like a big ole family here at the Moonflower.”

“I’ll do my best not to get in the way.”

“Pfft, fuck that, you better be out here getting piss faced with everyone else when the Boshaw’s throw their next barbecue.”

“They’ll really find any excuse to get drunk, won’t they?” Darcy laughs, running a hand through her dark pixie cut.

“I don’t even know why they still let Sharky in here, dude got banned from renting, but can still show up, do his laundry and get drunk, makes no damn sense.”

“Y’know damn well, my mom and dad don’t have the heart to ban him completely.”

“Yeah, yeah, but if he sets my trailer on fire again, we’re gonna be having another chat,” the toddler squirms, trying to break away for something, “someone is getting fussy, I’ll see ya around, stranger.”

Dahlia waves goodbye to Ruth, a smile playing at her lips. The trailer park definitely seems to be a bit on the chaotic side from the sounds of it, but the warm welcome eases her nerves. She really can see herself settling in and finding some happiness.

She goes with Darcy and takes care of the last of the details, a new key in her hand. Pride swells in her chest, it’s just a trailer, but she has her own place. She’s an adult who’s adulting.

Once everything at the Moonflower is settled, Dahlia’s back at her hotel, haphazardly tossing her things in her luggage before check out time. Always late. Everything settled, she dashes down to the reception desk, the woman has been thankfully kind about the whole sleepwalking fiasco last night. Not only did she bring Dahlia back in with a blanket, she even had the kitchen make her some hot chocolate before she went to sleep.

“You checking out?”

“Yeah, gotta rush back home.”

“Ah, we gonna see more of you in Hope County.” There’s a hopeful lilt to the woman’s voice and it makes Dahlia smile, the people in this county are really friendly.

“I’m moving here, actually.”

“That’s wonderful! Ah, I’m sure you’ll fit right in, I have some friend who I know would just adore you. Let me know once you’ve settled in.”

“Uh, will do, thanks.”

A quick wave bye and Dahlia’s headed out the door, climbing back on her back to ride the long way back to Reinette.

It’s a long way, a pit stop in Denver along the way to keep her from losing her mind from exhaustion. She finds herself at the same roach motel she stayed at along the way to Hope County, no reason to go digging for something else. It’s past midnight when she’s checked into her room and is throwing her stuff on a creaking bed, staring at a stained ceiling. She already misses the hotel in Hope County.

Her joints pop and crack as she heads to the shower; she washes and hums along to her music and she half expects the odd hallucinations to return. It’s later in the day and she’s no doubt more exhausted now than she was last night. But, nothing happens. Her eyes are the same familiar brown when she looks in the mirror, no sirens try to lure her away, and she doesn’t find herself stumbling through a labyrinth.

She wakes up the next morning in the dingy little bed and she’s back on the road as soon as she can get there. By nightfall she’s made her way back to Reinette, pulling up in front of Lloyd and Caroline’s farmhouse.

The large wooden home with warm amber light seeping out from the windows. It looks and feels like a home. Sometimes, it feels like it could be Dahlia’s.

“Stray!” Lloyd yells out as soon as she’s stepped foot inside, pulling her into a warm bone crushing hug before she can say a word. She melts into it, hugging him right back, letting the heat of him chase away the chill outside.

“C’mon, we’ve been waiting on ya,” he tells her after he reluctantly pulls away from the hug, tugging her towards the dinner table. The smell of homemade stew hitting her nose and making her stomach growl, she can’t remember a time before Lloyd and Caroline where she could come home to an actual cooked meal. She doesn’t think it ever existed.

“So, what exactly happened, something about a bar?” Caroline asks, as Dahlia begins to gobble up her food.

“Well,” she slurs out her words around her mouthful of food, unwilling to stop eating just for a conversation, “there’s some bar in Fall’s End, some jackass tried to rob it and next thing I know Whitehorse is calling me his Junior Deputy.”

“Junior Deputy?” Caroline refills Dahlia’s bowl as soon as she hears the spoon scratching against the china, her eyebrow is raised, and Lloyd looks like he’s holding back a laugh.

“Thanks, uh, I guess it’s a term they use for their rookie deputies up there.” She shrugs, the term was strange, but she didn’t give it much more thought.

Lloyd’s unable to hold back his laughter anymore, face going beet red as he bursts into chuckles. Dahlia narrows her eyes at him, unsure what exactly could be so funny.

“That’s what they call the program for the little kids, Stray, when you give ‘em cardboard badges and stickers, they’re Junior Deputies. Earl was giving you shit, you were just too dumb to notice.”

Heat crawls up Dahlia’s face, she’s not sure if it’s from anger or embarrassment. Either way, she’s not happy and finds herself throwing a dinner roll at Lloyd’s head.

“Hey. I’m not dealing with any mess,” Caroline threatens, but Dahlia is busy glaring at Lloyd.

“He knows damn well I’m not a kid.”

“No one would know just by looking at ya.”

“You waste one more roll, you’ll be doing the dishes by yourself.”

Dahlia lowers her arm and instead shoves it in her mouth, looking at Caroline as she chews it, trying to ask if she’s happy now without the words, but the older woman simply rolls her eyes.

“Look, you know damn well that hazing is part of a new job, you aren’t gonna manage to avoid it.”

“Yeah, yeah, one of the other deputies was busting my balls before I even got the job.”

“Just means they knew you’d get the job,” Lloyd says with a grin.

“I’m pretty sure he’s just an asshole.”

“You thought that about Chase, too.” Chase is one of the officers for the Reinette department, a little shit.

“Yeah and I was right, Chase is an asshole.”

“But you don’t mind it anymore.”

“Sure...we’ll go with that.”

“Was everyone there giving you a hard time?”

“Uh,” her heart seems to beat a little faster when she thinks of Hudson, what is wrong with her, “no, the other deputy was…nice…”

Caroline and Lloyd shoot each other some look, a meaning behind it that Dahlia can’t catch.

“Is something wrong?”

“Uh, no, just for some reason when I met that deputy, I just got all weird, I guess.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, like my heart was racing, I felt like I was burning up. It was super weird.”

“Oh my god.” Caroline places a hand to her smiling mouth, looking over at Lloyd like she just struck gold.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe what?” Dahlia asks, what the fuck kind of conversation are they having with their eyes, what are they freaking out about.

“I was starting to think it wasn’t gonna happen, which I mean, is fine some people just don’t feel that sort of way. But, here we are.”

“She really is growing up,” Caroline remarks, still smiling.

“I don’t know what you’re freaking out about, I’m probably just allergic to her perfume or something, I don’t know.” That makes sense, right? Why are they freaking out?

“Her?” Caroline raises an eyebrow, why does it matter? Why does any of this matter?

“Eh, lets be honest, Care Bear, are you really surprised?”

“No, but it’s nice to know, would have been nicer to know when I was trying to set her up with Susan’s boy.”

“Ugh, Susan’s boy, guy or girl Stray needs someone with more than two braincells.”

“She barely has any braincells.”

“Rude.”

“That’s exactly why she needs someone with a brain! You can’t have two idiots, that’s how someone ends up dead. You can have a smart person and another smart person, you can have an idiot and a smart person. But you can’t have two idiots, it’s a disaster in the making.”

“Hey, I’m not an idiot!”

“Look, it’s not meant to be an insult.”

“That’s literally the only way it can be meant.”

“I don’t mean that you’re stupid, you’re just…what’s the word I’m looking for Caroline?”

“Stupid.”

“I will start throwing food again.”

“Okay, okay, lets change the subject for now,” Lloyd holds his hands up in mock surrender, “that bar you were talking about in Falls End, wasn’t the Spread Eagle was it?”

Lloyd was actually born and raised in Hope County, but he left when he was around twenty-eight. He always tells the story of him moving to Reinette like it was magic, taking over an inherited farm from an estranged relative after their death, meeting Caroline, falling instantly and love, raising more foster children than Dahlia could imagine. They had just stopped taking in foster children, having adopted and raised the last one into adulthood, when Dahlia ended up in their barn. Lloyd, ever the dramatic, likened it to adopting cats and then once you’re done adopting, a stray just wanders in and adopts you.

“Yeah, you know the place?”

“Gary and Irene always use to give me and Earl discounts, it was always the first place we went after a shift.”

She can see that, so easily in her mind, the two men when they were younger leaving a long drawn out shift to let off steam in the local bar. It’s hard to imagine just how good of friends they must have been, spending time together after every workday and staying in contact even when Lloyd moved so far away. She can’t imagine having a friend like that.

“I think the woman running it was called Mary May, something like that?”

“Seriously, holy shit, Mary May was their little girl, my god she’s all grown up.”

“You’re old.”

“Thanks, Stray.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You know, we should take a trip back to Montana sometime Care Bear, it’s been a while, plus we got a new reason to visit.”

“By the way, do you know what Eden’s Gate is?” The weird religious group is still on her mind, it seems to be all over Hope County. If they’ve been there for a long while, then surely Lloyd would know what it is and who they are. He raises an eyebrow and she can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Can’t say that I do, why you ask Stray?”

“Some religious group or something, they’re all over the county, even built a damn statue. Figured you might know what they are.”

“You mean, like the big deer statue near the Whitetail mountains?”

“No, like a statue of a dude, like their founder or some shit, dude with a manbun.” She uses her hands to pull her hair back in a little bun-esque shape, as if the visual aid is necessary.

“Yeah…that, I’ve never seen any of that, you sure, you ain’t losing it, Stray?”

“Yes, I’m very sure I’m not losing it. They don’t seem like bad folks, the one I met, but they’re definitely strange.”

“You’re not gonna go and try to find religion in Hope County, are you?” Caroline asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh fuck no.”

“I was about to say, I haven’t gotten to set foot in a church in two years.”

“I’m pretty sure she’d burst into flames.”

Lloyd and Caroline share a smile, cracking up at Dahlia’s expense as she sticks a tongue out at them.

“Hope they’re not the Jehovah Witness types, who go door to door,” Dahlia grumbles, the very thought making her stomach churn the stew inside of it. She’d rather blow her brains out then listen to someone preaching at her when she’s trying to relax.

“If they are, they’re about to meet their worst nightmare.”

She can’t help but grin, the chatting continues for a while, just enjoying a cozy night in with the couple. Before, she knows it the food is gone and the night has gone on longer than usual. Lloyd and Caroline typically sleep early, rise early, while Dahlia is more of a night owl.

But there’s an unspoken reluctance for the couple to turn in. Even as the moon hangs high in the sky, as Caroline and Lloyd yawn at the table. He even mentions playing a board game, cards, something. When she tells them to go to bed, Caroline nearly drifting off on his shoulder. She’s pulled into another hug, caring touches lingering as they finally drag themselves off to bed; tired voices slurring out goodnights.

Maybe it’s egotistical, but the hesitance seems to hint at more. An understanding that this is likely among one of the last nights she’ll spend here with them and the desire to make it drag on as long as possible. To soak in every last moment of her being here.

She knows she isn’t the greatest person to live with or even be around, that anyone should be happy to be rid of a leech like her. But, they’re far too kind for that.

Dahlia takes a slow walk to the room she’s called her own for the past two years. She hasn’t changed anything in the time she’s been here, despite how much the couple has told her she could. Piles of clothes on the floor are the only thing that could be considered her personal touch. The small bed frame creaks as she sits down on the side, a second later the door is pushed open by Lucy, Lloyd and Caroline’s border collie.

She lays a fluffy head on Dahlia’s knee and she buries her fingers into the fur, memories of the first time she held the dog. It was the first day she found herself here, hunkered down in their barn for shelter for the night, rain pouring down. She was scared that Lucy would bite her, aggressive towards a stranger. But just as kind as her owners, Lucy just shuffled herself closer to the drenched teenager, helping keep her warm through the stormy night.

She’s changed so much in these past two years.

Muscle tone and squish where was once a sack of bones, her fingers no longer able to slot in the spots between her ribs. Skin a healthier tan instead of the sickly pale it was that first night, ink now covering sections of that skin. Her first paychecks ending up in tattoos and clothes, taking control of her body and wardrobe in a way she’s never had before. For years her thick dark hair hung in a curtain down past her chest, that night and many nights before, it was tangled in thick dirty knots, matted to her skull in places.

The very first day she was allowed to shower here, she grabbed a pair of scissors and hacked it off to the best of her abilities. Caroline later cleaned up the choppy job and now she’s found herself with a short bob of dark brown, nearly black hair. She’s really started to come into her own, feeling like her own person and becoming who she wants to be.

She just wishes that was a person who could stay in Reinette. This is what has to happen, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t going to miss everything here. Lloyd and Caroline being the biggest thing, but Lucy, living on the farm, so much. It’s not like she’s never going to see them again.

They’ll likely invite her back for visits, already making plans to visit her in Montana, but things are going to change. That’s unavoidable and undeniable. It’s scary, but most things worth doing are.

Dahlia sees the sunrise before she finally manages to sleep in that bed for the last time.

The next day, or more accurately after she’s gotten a few hours of sleep, everything is a frantic blur of activity as she tries to prepare for the move. It’s mostly clothes, a laptop, a portable game, and a few books. Nothing major or impressive, a tight pang in her chest as

“Come on in.”

The door creaks open and she looks over her shoulder to see Lloyd, something in his hand. His fingers clench and unclench, there's something in his hand, he shuffles a bit in the doorway.

"Something up?" She asks, throwing a few more shirts in her bag.

"Uh, I, well, what's this?" His eyes are drawn towards her open duffle bag, the same one she brought with her to Hope County, she's just been throwing her stuff in without much thought.

She raises an eyebrow as he starts to shift some stuff around in her bag, pulling out a heavy white book with that familiar cross like symbol. How did that get in there? Chills reverberate up her spine, goosebumps raising on her skin, it's starting to feel like this Eden's Gate shit is following her everywhere.

"That was at the hotel, I uh, must have thrown it in my bag by accident?" It's the only thing that makes sense.

"First day there and you're robbing the hotel?"

"Shut up, I'll return it when I get back, but, uh, that's that religion I was talking about. Their book."

He drops what he was holding, it looks like a little booklet, homemade. She grabs it as he starts flipping through the weird religious tome, she opens up the booklet. A photobook, the first one is of her, Lloyd, and Caroline at the fair, big puffy bags of cotton candy in her hand. Second one her holding an alligator and grinning, they drug her out to an alligator ranch one day, knowing how much she loves animals. Pictures from the beach trip they took her on, photos of her and Lucy. A photo from her first day at the station with everyone crowded around her.

"Book of Joseph...god that's already creepy."

"Huh," nostalgia interrupted she peers over at the book, seeing a portrait of a guy, “that's him!" "What?"

"That's the guy who had the fuckin' statue of him, their founder or whatever."

"Who the hell wants his face hanging over 'em? Seems like a total creep."

“I don't know, he looks like Norman Bates there." She grimaces, the way he's glowering is entirely too reminiscent of the famous mother loving killer's signature look.

“Don't get it, I uh, hey, why are you looking at that?" He asks, peering down at the booklet in her hand.

"It's mine, I'm allowed to look at it."

"Who the hell said it's yours?"

"So, you weren't giving this to me as a gift, you just made it for fun?"

"Caroline made it and ya know, something to remember us by and..." His blue eyes blurring with tears.

"I'm moving states, not going to war, Jesus Christ."

"You're leaving, I'm gonna miss you."

“No one is dying, stop, oh my god, stop crying you baby." She knocks her fist into his shoulder, no force or animosity behind it.

“I haven't cried this much since Maya left for college," he tells her, talking about his youngest adopted daughter, who had left the home just a year or so before Dahlia showed up in their barn. The couple barely got a year of an empty nest before she barged in.

“Are you done?” She asks him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for the new fresh onslaught of tears to poor out.

“Yeah, yeah, by the way everyone down at the station wants to see you before you head out.”

“Why?”

“I don’t fucking know, maybe it’s ‘cause you’re leaving and they like you, some a little too much, as far as I’m concerned. “

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, my sweet na��ve child,” Lloyd dramatically cups a hand on the back of her head and pulls in for a hug, “whoever was supposed to teach ya about the birds and the bees, really fucked up, didn’t they?”

“Shut up!” She groans, pushing him away, she’s not naïve. He just talks like a weirdo, she’s finally got her stuff all packed up, so she follows Lloyd out of the room.

Caroline is in the kitchen and has been all day, according to Lloyd she’s been cooking up a storm for the past couple days, ever since Dahlia first left for her interview.

“You coming down to the station with us?”

“Uh, I’ll meet you down there later.”

“Alrighty then.”

Dahlia’s heart sinks, a pang there as she sets up her luggage and bags to be tried down to her motorcycle, she plans on getting on the road right after this little meeting. She knows it’s silly, but she was hoping Caroline would go with them. It will be the last they see of each other for a long while, she doesn’t want Lloyd’s sobbing, but she’d like at least a little more…fanfare. But, Caroline seems fairly nonchalant.

“You ready to get going?”

“Yeah.”

Lloyd hops in his pickup truck, firing it up and driving into town with Dahlia riding her bike after him.

There’s an extra weight to her sigh as she parks in front of the little police station, the one she’s been reporting to every day for the past two year and this the last time she’ll visit. Lloyd doesn’t even bother to wait around for her as she stares at the building, soaking it in for the last time before she finally trails in behind him.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices cheer out as she steps into the modest station, Micah and Chance two officers blowing on little party kazoos afterwards.

“What the fuck?”

“You didn’t think we could let you go without throwing you a party, did you?” Alexis tells her, squeezing Dahlia’s shoulder.

Alexis has the most experience here after Lloyd and if he’d bother to retire before the station goes out, she’d be next in line. Micah and Chance are the resident dumbass officers, but they’re entertaining if nothing else.

There’s a banner across the station office, Goodbye Stray. A sheet cake saying Good Luck on a table and Chance is throwing around confetti like a weird shredded paper fairy.

“You guys are so dumb.”

“We’re trying to be nice, brat,” Chance tells her, sprinkling confetti directly in her hair.

“Come on, I’ll cut you a piece of cake before he covers it in paper,” Micah offers.

Once the initial yell and Chance has run out of confetti, the party winds down into something more casual. Dahlia cramming cake in her mouth, with her feet propped up in Micah’s lap as they talk about everything. There’s a few other cops in the station, but most are on patrol and couldn’t make it. But Alexis, Micah, and Chance are by far the ones apart from Lloyd that she’s grown the closest too.

Which makes it all the more depressing that the station is slowly dying out. Each of them has already started building their list of places to apply to once the inevitable happens.

“I’m gonna miss you assholes,” Dahlia brings herself to say, after a moment.

“Finally, she admits it,” Lloyd yells out excitedly.

“Shut up.”

“You’re gonna make some great friends over in Hope County.”

“No one’s gonna be better than us, though.”

“Shut up, Chance.”

Dahlia can’t help but laugh at Alexis and Chance’s interaction, she really is going to miss these dumbasses. She doesn’t make friends easy, so parting with them and getting new ones is just that much more aggravating. Pratt was a dick and Hudson does weird things to her, how could she become friends with them? She doesn’t want to go to work everyday and either hate or be nauseous around her coworkers.

“My friend Earl will keep an eye on her.”

“Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid you mean,” Alexis teases and heat flushes up Dahlia’s cheeks. Why does everyone think she’s stupid, why does Alexis have to think she’s stupid?

“You like it up in Montana?” Micah asks after a beat of silence.

“I do, it’s colder up there which sucks, but it’s beautiful. Whitehorse is nice, I’ve met some friendly people,” she thinks of the couple with Boomer and the people of the trailer park.

“I’m glad then.”

“Watch out or Micah’s gonna be throwin’ in an application there just to follow you,” Lloyd says, grinning.

“Would you stop?! I just wanted to make sure, she was going to be happy.”

“Sure, you were.”

They talk about anything and everything, Dahlia is the first one to leave, but all of them have looked into where they want to be post-Reinette. Alexis is looking into big cities, lots of work, showing just how talented she is. Chance isn’t going far, a county or two over at most. Micah still isn’t sure, but he’s thinking of leaving the state.

The night drifts on, until the cake is gone, easily two-thirds of it ending up in the void Dahlia calls a stomach. Outside the sky has become a wash of oranges, pinks, and purple as the sun sets. It’s time to get going.

“I gotta get on the road, if I have any chance of getting there with enough time to settle in.”

Dahlia reluctantly stands from her chair, the time’s come. The last goodbye, for now at least, she hopes that they’ll stay in some form of contact after this. Alexis is the first to pull her into a hug and Dahlia freezes a bit, taken aback.

“You’re gonna do great things out there.”

Dahlia’s heart pangs and she squeezes Alexis back, hoping the strength of her hold can communicate how much those words mean to her. After a moment, they separate. Chance and Micah looking at her now.

“Don’t think this gets you out of your promise, twenty-first birthday, you’re letting me take you out and get you piss faced drunk,” Chance tells her, grinning at his own stupid ideas.

“If you wanna drive out to Montana just to see me drunk, that’s on you.”

“Don’t underestimate my stubbornness.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Just so you know, if you need anything, all you have to do is call and ask,” Micah tells her, squeezing her shoulder, but she can tell he’s holding back.

“You can hug me, if you want.”

And then his arms are around her, hugging her tight to his body. She squeezes him right back. A few moments pass, before they finally pull apart.

“Well now I want a hug,” Chance says, upon the realization he’s the only who hasn’t gotten one.

“Come here then, dumbass.”

And then they’re hugging, Chance going the extra mile to pull her up off the ground. Another beat of just enjoying the warmth of someone who for some reason cares about her. She’ll never understand why. Why any of these people opened their hearts to her, but they did, and she’ll always be thankful for it.

Lloyd walks her out once Chance has finally freed her, the sun sinking lower in the sky, she buries her hands in her pockets. Her throat is tight, it’s getting closer and closer to the time to leave.

“You sure, you can’t just stay one more night here?”

“It takes over a day just to get there.”

“But uhhh,” Lloyd is nervously looking around as he stutters, like he’s trying to stall.

“You alright?”

“Well��.um, it’s just…finally!” Lloyd yells as they hear the rumble of an engine coming in, Caroline’s car pulling into the parking lot.

“Caroline?”

“Thank god, I managed to catch you.” The older woman gets out of her car, tucking a short strand of blonde hair back behind her ear, she opens the passenger side and is rummaging for something.

“What’s going on?”

“Here, we go.” Caroline emerges from her passenger seat with a towering pile of Tupperware, all filled with various meals.

“What the hell is this?”

“You can’t cook, how the hell else are you supposed to eat up in Montana,” Caroline says, shoving the containers into Dahlia’s arms.

“There’s restaurants, microwave meals, I have options.”

“I’m not letting you eat garbage the whole time you’re there, this should at least get you through the first couple months.”

“I, I don’t have room for six-hundred plastic containers, I drive a motorcycle.”

“Eh, I’m sure you can fit ‘em into the under-seat compartment,” Lloyd says, already lifting the seat on Dahlia’s motorcycle and taking containers from her arms to force inside.

Dahlia’s laughing by the time he’s forced the last of them inside, looks like she was proven wrong.

“So, I’m just gonna be sitting on three months’ worth of meals all the way to Montana.”

“Pretty sure that’s more like a week’s worth for you, but it’s better than nothing.”

Dahlia smiles and chews her lip, not sure what to say. Emotion and sentimentality rising up in her. She feels like she has so much to say, every word cobbling together to catch in her throat. But she can’t just let it go, even if she has to force herself to dislodge a single of those words, she has to do it.

“I…,” that’s a start, technically, “I, really, really, really, really don’t deserve you guys. Th-there’s not enough reallys in the world, but I’m serious, I-”

“Stray, you deserve all the good that’s comes your way, hell you deserve a lot more of it.”

“I really don’t, I, I owe you guys so much and I know I can’t ever repay you for everything. But, I, I at least want you to know just how much it all means to me. If it wasn’t for you guys, I’d, be rotting in a gutter somewhere, I mean.”

“Hey, hey,” she’s being pulled into Lloyd’s chest before she knows it, hugged tight against his chest, when did she start crying?

Her face feels like it’s on fire and her head is throbbing. After a moment, Lloyd pulls away. He places a hand on her shoulder and the other cups her jaw, forcing her to look at him through her tear-filled eyes. All her yelling at him to keep it together, don’t be a crybaby. And she’s the one falling apart.

“You don’t owe us anything. We did our best to do right by you, because that’s what you deserve. Okay, you deserve a home and a family and people who love you.”

“Uhhh, agree to disagree…?” What the hell is her voice doing? It’s so broken and cracked, everything she says dragging out of her throat.

“No disagreeing,” Caroline chimes in, her eyes soft and motherly.

“We just want you to be happy, you deserve it.”

“You think you can do that for us? Just be happy and you’ll more than pay back anything you think you owe us.”

“I’ll try, I guess,” she murmurs, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Good girl,” Caroline says, reaching out to ruffle Dahlia’s hair. The young girl laughs through her tears, pull Lloyd in for another hug before forcing one on Caroline.

Dahlia wipes away the last of her tears.

“Uh, sorry about that.”

“No apologies, call as soon as you get there. We’ll try to come out and visit just as soon as we can.”

“This ain’t goodbye forever, Stray, we’ll see you again before you know it.”

A bright silver moon hangs in the sky by the time she brings herself to part with them for the last time, climbing onto her motorcycle.

Two mornings later and she’s pulling into the Moonflower Trailer Park, the sun rising overhead. A smile stretches across her lips as she pulls in, a few people already milling about in the early morning. She notices Ruth, helping ease her kid down the little slide in the miniature playground that’s at the center of the trailer park. The woman waves at her and Dahlia returns the gesture as she parks near her trailer.

She pulls off her helmet and thanks for a moment, locking up and keeping her motorcycle safe will be difficult with this set up. Moving it into her trailer would be an option, but it’s be a pain the ass with moving it every day. There’s a decent chunk of land behind where her trailer sits, not enough for another to move in there, but enough to mark a pseudo backyard.

Maybe she can build a shed or something? She’ll have to double check on the rules and what’s allowed.

For now, Dahlia busies herself with moving her things into the trailer. She basically tosses her bags and luggage in, not bothering to properly unpack things. The biggest thing is moving Caroline’s meal into the fridge and freezer. Once everything is where it needs to be, she grabs a shower and changes her clothes. She’ll have to do some laundry when she gets a chance.

Dahlia stretches her muscles as she steps back out of her trailer, the activity has picked up somewhat, more people milling about and having conversations about who knows what. She makes a mental list of the things she has to get done; checking about a shed, getting some groceries in, doing her laundry and probably some stuff she hasn’t even thought about yet.

She makes a beeline for the registration building, peering inside and seeing a man talking to Darcy. Taking her chances of a long wait; she steps inside and loiters behind the stranger. Darcy’s bright blues land on Dahlia and the man follows the gaze, it seems like everyone in the county has a set of pretty light eyes. All greens and blues from what she’s seen. The receptionist at the hotel, both deputies and Whitehorse, the dispatcher at the station, Mary May, Darcy, and even Ruth. She’s pretty sure the only other pair of brown eyes she’s seen since she’s been here was the guy who nearly pulled a gun on her.

“You need something, hon?”

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re fine, darlin’, we were just shooting the shit.” Pet names and light eyes seem to both be trends here.

“I was just wondering if I could build a shed behind my trailer, to keep my motorcycle locked up.”

“As long as you aren’t blocking anyone or anything, go for it.”

Dahlia gives a little thumbs up in acknowledgement and starts to make a bee line back out, time to find out where the hell to get supplies for a shed. The man starts to follow her out, quickly catching up to her as she’s making her way back to her trailer.

“If you’re looking to build something, there’s a nice hardware and carpentry store, they give you all the supplies and instructions. You just gotta put it together,” he finishes up as they reach her motorcycle.

“Sounds good, you got a number for them?”

“Yeah, I,” he looks at her motorcycle, “you got a way to haul it?”

“Nah, I’d have to rent a truck.”

“I got a pickup, if you order it, I can pick it up for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m down there most days anyway, I’m Liam by the way.”

“I-”

“Nice bike,” another voice yells out, a guy with scraggly hair looking at Dahlia’s motorcycle, “it yours?”

“Hey, Clyde,” Liam greets him.

“Yeah, 2009 Yamaha FZ1; guy’s kid totaled it and I nearly rebuilt it from scratch.” She tells him, smiling at the memory of finding the wrecked bike in Lloyd’s garage.

The three talk for some time about the specs of her motorcycle and talking about the place Liam recommended. He gives her the number and after some relenting agrees to be paid for at least the gas money. After some time and Clyde rambling about the vintage motorcycle he had as a teenager, she manages to tear herself away from the conversation to make the call. She reserves the materials and Liam is planning on heading that way shortly.

That taken care of for now, she decides to get her laundry taken care of. She grabs her bag of dirty laundry out of her trailer and makes a beeline for the laundry half building. It’s a strange roofed in area with no doors. How they manage to maintain the machine is beyond her. Seems like a nightmare when bad weather hits.

She rattles out her coins and gets what she needs, cooking may evade her but she at the very least knows how to do her own laundry. Dahlia bends over to start shoving her clothes in, she’s struggling to find her other sock when she gets the sense she’s being watched, someone’s eyes trained on her backside. She tucks a lock of hair back behind her ear as she stands back up and turns around.

“Uh, ah…” The guy awkwardly stumbles back, not really forming any words as he avoids her eyes. He’s taller than her; as are most people. Other than children, she hasn’t found a single person in Hope County shorter than her.

He scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck, why was he looking at her?

"There something on my shorts?" She brushes a hand down the denim, searching for something. It wouldn't be the first time she's managed to sit in something gross.

"Uh, shit, sorry I'm just a man, I can't help it."

"Okay…" That didn't really answer her question. Weird guy, she decides and focuses on going back to her laundry.

"No harassing the new girl, Boshaw." Ruth comments as she walks in, laundry basket on her hip.

“I wasn’t doing nothing.” He tries to defend himself and Dahlia is left even more confused.

“Don’t let him bug you, he doesn’t even live here. Boshaws are good for nothing but a party,” Ruth tells her, clapping a hand on Dahlia’s back. She just shakes her head, not worth dealing with.

By the time Dahlia finishes up her laundry the sound of a backfiring truck engine is making its way back into the trailer park. Liam with a truck bed filled with hardwood and all the stuff she needs for her shed.

“Me and Clyde will help you put it together, if you want.” Liam offers, him and Clyde already helping her unload the materials.

“I mean it’d go quicker, if I had more hands,” Dahlia says, she doesn’t need the help necessarily and doesn’t want to be a bother, but she’d appreciate it anyway.

“Where exactly do you want it?”

“Just right back behind my trailer, let’s see.”

The three of them move the supplies to where she needs the shed built, Dahlia’s taking a glance at the building instructions and when she looks back up, Liam and Clyde have managed to grab a radio and a pack of beer. It’s not even noon.

“Want one?” Clyde offers her a can.

“Nah, I’m under 21.”

“Pfff, never stopped anyone.” He shrugs before downing the can himself. Maybe as a cop she should give a shit about that statement, but the drinking age is dumb. Even if she feels obligated to listen to it due to her job, she can admit it’s stupid.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, sweetheart, where are you from?”

“Louisiana.”

“The hell you doing out here?”

“Moved for work, you two Hope County natives?”

“Born and raised, wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“You guy’s got any recommendations of shit to do here?”

She happily listens to them ramble about lady’s night at The Spread Eagle, O’Hara’s Haunted House being the best place for a scare, hiking trails in the Whitetail Mountains, the best fishing spots, the 8-bit Pizza Bar’s games, and raving about the burgers at The Grill Steak. The entire time they’re all working, laughing, and the pair of them throwing back beers.

Sweat is coating Dahlia’s skin by the time they finish, and it feels nice to be able to stand back to look at what’s been accomplished. Put together with hard work and the help of her new neighbors.

“Hell yeah, we got that knocked out in no time,” Clyde boasts, holding his hand out for a high five that she gives right away.

“Here,” Liam tosses her the padlock he picked up for it, all packaged with it’s little key. She pushes her bike inside, already thinking of adding hooks and shelves, for her helmet and other odds and ends. She can really make something with it. She’s more excited to put work into her motorcycle’s home than her own trailer. Go figure.

She locks it up and hooks the key on her keychain. One more thing taken care of.

“I really appreciate it, you guys didn’t have to do this. Uh, I can’t cook for shit, but if you want I can buy you l-”

Engine revving again, better shape than Liam’s backfiring pickup, an old green one comes pulling into the trailer park. Dahlia’s eyes widen in surprise when she realizes who’s at the wheel, Sheriff Whitehorse. The tension of the trailer park draws tight, no more signs of the laughing easy going nature she was getting comfortable in. Liam, Clyde, and every trailer park resident as far as Dahlia can see are now staring daggers at the Sheriff.

No sign of peturbment, Whitehorse parks and hops out of the front seat of his truck, right next to Dahlia and her two new friends. He stops to grab something from the passenger side.

“The hell are you doing here?!” Clyde asks low and threatening.

“Came to see my new Junior Deputy, figured it’d be good for you to get your uniforms,” Whitehorse tells her, green deputy shirts in hand.

“Thanks, Sheriff.” She takes the uniforms from his hand, feeling those glares that were on Whitehorse being turned towards her.

“You...settling in alright, Rook?”

“Uh, yeah, I think…” She thought she was. But, now she has her doubts.

“That’s good, just wanted to check in on you.”

“I appreciate it, I was just about to buy them lunch, if you w-”

“We’re good,” Liam says, definitely with a gruff sound to his voice.

“Are you s-”

Liam and Clyde are already storming away, smiles and laughter drained from their faces and replaced with angry tension. What did she do? Why are they mad? She clenches her jaw and chews her bottom lip as she watches what she thought were her new friends walk off.

“Come on, I’ll buy you lunch, Rook.” Whitehorse claps a large hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting during her confusion. He gently turns her towards the passenger side of his truck, and she climbs in, fiddling with the uniforms in her lap; the Hope County Sheriff’s Department patch rough against her fingers.

The engine revs to life as Whitehorse climbs in, the radio humming out a country song. She hates not at least knowing what she did wrong.

“Not gonna lie, when I heard you moved into The Moonflower, I got worried about ya Rook.”

“Why’s that?”

“Hmm, it’s where a lot of the more...suspicious citizens of Hope County live. They don’t have a lot of respect for cops, none actually. More likely to call you a pig than eat lunch with you. Not bad people, but they don’t have any love for law enforcement.”

“So...I’m a cop who just moved into a trailer park of criminals is what you're telling me.”

“Basically.”

“And thanks to you, they all for sure know I’m a cop now.”

“Would have found out when you had to arrest one of ‘em, this seemed a bit better.”

It’s stupid to be upset, she knows that it’s stupid to be upset about losing people she’s known all of five hours. But it felt nice to be welcomed with such open arms and to know that’s already gone to shit. She focuses on her uniforms in her lap because it’s easier than dealing with the lump in her throat and the churn of her stomach. No name tag or badge on her uniforms.

“Where’s my name tag and badge?”

“We’re a small operation, Rook. We’re not investing in patches and a badge until we know you’re staying in for the long haul.”

“I also found out about your junior deputy crap, I’m not a kid in high school.”

“Not far off from it.”

He’s looking off across the road to make sure it’s safe to turn, so she uses the moment of him looking away to stick her tongue out at him. Does it make her look any more mature? No. Does she care? No.

“Caught that, Rookie.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Sounds fake.”

They pull into the parking lot of Aubrey’s Diner, a big restaurant with a pink roof. Whitehorse brings the truck into park, Dahlia tucks the uniforms into the backseat before hopping out of the truck. The sheriff squeezes her shoulder as they walk into the restaurant, as much as he likes teasing her, he seems keen on trying to comfort her. Maybe he just feels sorry for her and her shitty luck.

“Hey, my name is Cassie, I’ll be your waitress today. Can you take a seat, right over here.” A young girl, probably around Dahlia’s age with long black hair helps show them to a booth. Whitehorse takes his hat off as he sits down.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?” The waitress hands them menus, there’s a mess of bruises across her forearm. Mixes of blues, purples, and some more faded greens. The indents of fingerprints on her skin.

“A black coffee, please.”

“Uh, whatever soda you have is fine, what happened to your arm?”

The girl’s eyes go wide, reminiscent of a deer in the headlights. She gives an awkward tight smile and pushes a lock of hair back behind her ear.

“Oh, I was just horsing around with my four wheeler, nothing major. I’ll go get your drinks, right away.”

“You worry about everyone, don’t you?”

“You don’t get bruises like that from a four-wheeler.”

“You gonna do something about it?”

“Sure as shit gonna try,” she manages to catch the smile on Whitehorse’s face before she looks at the menu, “now, if you’re paying, what’s the limit?”

“Get whatever you want.”

“Do you actually mean that? Or are you trying to be nice, ‘cause I can and will eat you out of house and home if you let me.”

He laughs a little; a dry chuckle, like the idea of her being able to eat that much is ridiculous. She should try to go somewhat easy on him, first impressions or something. She’ll settle on a stack of pancakes and a double burger and fries.

There are a few people in the diner and when Cassie returns, Dahlia decides now isn’t the time. She doesn’t want to embarrass or make her uncomfortable. Even she has a smidge more tact than that. Cassie takes their orders and Dahlia feels Whitehorse staring at her.

“You gonna gorge yourself to make a point?”

“Pfff, this ain’t nothing to me,” Dahlia tells him with a shrug, drinking her soda, an awkward beat of silence following.

“You know, it you may not have picked a great place to settle in, but I think you’re gonna like it here, Rook.”

“I’m hoping.”

“A lot of people aren’t gonna like you. Aren’t gonna like your job, or what you have to do. You can’t let it get you down. The people here are good, most of ‘em will take you in with open arms.”

“They literally turned their backs on me, like physically looked at me in disgust and turned around,” Cassie brings their food back out, “thanks.”

“You know why I took a chance on you?”

“’Cause of the robbery thing?’ She asks as she begins dumping syrup on her peach pancakes before shoving a forkful in her mouth.

“I was gonna give you the probie position before that.”

“What!?” She slurs out around the food in her mouth.

“Well, yeah,” his blue eyes are soft, and he reminds her of Lloyd more than he ever has before, “you’re good people, Rook. And I’m not gonna be the only person who sees that. Anyone’d be damn lucky to have you in their corner.”

She swallows her mouthful of food, chewing the inside of her cheek as she weighs his words in her mind. Her heart is lighter, it’s nice knowing her new boss is rooting for her, sees something in her that’s worth seeing.

“That, uh, it means a lot,” this is too serious, “so, if you already knew you were gonna give me a shot before the interview ended, why the fuck did you wait until after to tell me?”

“Wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t make you sweat at least a little.”

“I thought I fucked it all up!”

“Can’t be a cop if you don’t have a good poker face.”

“Its too good, I hate it.”

“Well, if you hate that, you’re gonna really hate this.”

“...and what would ‘this’ be?”

“You’ll be with Pratt on patrol.”

“What!?” She groans out, thinking about that smug asshole’s face.

“Pratt wasn’t too excited either, but I’m sure you two will manage.”

“Why can’t I work with Hudson?” Dahlia asks, though her voice catches strangely when she thinks about her. Heat prickling up under her skin. Whitehorse sighs as he leans back in the booth.

“I don’t want this to sound bad. You and Hudson are both perfectly capable officers. But I don’t like having two women officers partnered. I know it’s not right, but around here; perps will think they can push you around ‘cause you’re a woman. They’ll assume you’re soft. It’s not right, but it happens. I don’t want to put you in a bad situation right out of the gate, working with Pratt will make it easier on you.”

“That’s garbage, you may mean well, but it’s garbage.”

“There’s another reason too,” Whitehorse tells her with lopsided grin.

“And what’s that?”

“Rook, you could barely even talk to Hudson. I partner you with her and you’ll be a disaster.”

“What are you talking about? I talked to Hudson just fine.”

“You were bright red and stuttering; blind man could see your little crush.”

“Crush…?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, like...feelings… That’s what everyone has been trying to say.

“Jesus criminy, that’s a whole new can of worms. You know what a crush is?”

“Yes, I know what a crush is, I just...never had one...I don’t think.”

“You feel like you’re burning up and gonna puke when you see her?”

“Maybe…”

“Like your heart is gonna explode out of your chest.”

“Uhhhh…”

“That’s a crush, Rook.”

She doesn’t even know Hudson, how the hell can she have a crush on her? You can’t have feelings for someone you don’t hardly know. She’s pretty though. Maybe it’s just physical attraction? Has she ever been even physically attracted to someone before?

“My head hurts.”

“I’m starting to think you’re even worse than taking on a high school kid.”

“Look, I don’t mess with that crap okay, I’ve never...ugh, can we move on?”

They’ve finished their food before they know it, Whitehorse just shaking his head at how easily she managed to gobble up all of the food she got. Dahlia grabs a napkin, doing her best to write down her phone number with it being actually legible. Her hand aches from the effort but it’s easy to read.

Cassie gives the bill and Whitehorse leaves a tip for her, once the young waitress starts to walk away, Dahlia excuses herself to go smoke. Though, she suspects the sheriff knows her actual intentions.

“Hey, Cassie,” Dahlia calls out and stops the waitress when she gets to a relatively secluded portion of the restaurant.

“Is there something else you need?”

“How old are you?”

“Uhh, 18, why?”

Not much younger, but she’s an adult, even a year younger this conversation would be a lot different.

“I can’t force or do much, unless you ask for it. But, I’m the new deputy with the station. I’m not saying for sure something is wrong, but if you need help, I want you to give me a call, alright?”

‘Um...thanks…” The girl awkwardly accepts the napkin before darting away and Dahlia clenches her jaw, knowing the chances of that call ever coming are slim. But at least she’s made an effort and if nothing else Cassie knows she has options. More than anyone ever did for her.

Maybe, she’ll go ahead and step outside for a smoke anyway.

She steps out and finds herself at the side of the building, where she lights up her cigarette. Dahlia fiddles with the edge of her thigh high socks as she takes a deep drag. She exhales a heavy cloud of smoke that drifts up through the sky, the afternoon sun rays beating down on her.

Among the trees something moves, a rustling of grass and brush followed by footsteps. Dahlia’s heart sinks when she sees her emerge. The girl from the hotel, the siren is walking down a grassy pathway. Her dress is a little different, no less white or lacy, but the sleeves are shorter and it comes off her shoulders, a white flower adorning her sandy colored hair. There’s a light grace to the way she walks, as if she’s on her own personal cloud floating along. She holds a book close to her chest.

Why is she seeing her again? Are her eyes playing tricks on her again?

Dahlia is moving without another thought, the siren’s call working it’s magic to draw her in again.

She expects the girl to vanish again, to fade into mist the second Dahlia gets too close, just as she had done time and time again that night. The second she grabs the woman’s shoulder, she’ll be gone. If the junior deputy even gets that close without the spectre fading away.

The heat of real flesh under her hand sends her spiraling back to reality. The girl jolting and staring at Dahlia with wide green eyes, scared and surprised at the grasp of a stranger. An expression unlike any seen in Dahlia’s hallucinations. She’s human, flesh and real, an actual person standing before her whom Dahlia just grabbed like a maniac. The panicky yells of others flood her ears. There are other people, a group of five or so people glaring daggers at Dahlia.

“What do you think you’re doing?” One of them yells, obviously ready to fight and Dahlia rips her hand off of the girl like she’s been scalded. What is she doing?

“I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry,” Dahlia gushes out a mess of apologies, “I, uh, thought I knew you from somewhere. I’m sorry, I just, sorry.”

“No, no need for sorries,” she’s speaking actual words for the first time, voice soft and melodic as she gently brings Dahlia’s hand into her own to intertwine their fingers, “you’re here for a reason, what’s your name?”

“Oh, uh, I-”

“Rookie, you ready to head out?” Whitehorse yells out from the diner, eyes narrowing a bit when he sees Dahlia with the strange woman.

“I gotta get going, again, I’m sorry, I, bye.” Dahlia’s off like a shot, ripping her hand from the woman’s and running back towards Whitehorse; desperate to escape the awkwardness.

She still feels those green eyes watching her as she jumps up into Whitehorse’s pickup. Dahlia settles into the passenger seat with a residual chill in her spine, she can’t put into words but something about this girl and the whole thing feels strange. The engine revs to life and the radio starts to play.

“You know that girl, Rook?”

“I thought I recognized her but, no.”

“You probably shouldn’t buddy up too close to the Seeds.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’re not too dangerous, they run a little religious group around the county, but they keep finding themselves in trouble lately it seems.”

“Reli- are they those Eve, Ed-”

“Project at Eden’s Gate, everyone calls ‘em peggies. They’re usually pretty harmless, but they always seem to be getting into hot water with the locals. Two of ‘em were the ones robbing The Spread Eagle that day you interviewed.”

“That doesn’t sound too harmless to me.”

“Stuff like that is rare, you just managed to land here at the right time.”

“Eh, I just know that I kept seeing random crap of theirs, from pamphlets to a book, and apparently that big freaking statue.” She glares at where she sees it over the horizon, the giant hunk of useless cement.

“Yeah, Joseph Seed is a real piece of work.”

“Wait, like, you’ve met him?”

“He’s had some run ins with us.”

“He’s like a currently living human being?”

“Last time I checked.”

“I, what the fuck, I thought he was like their old founder who died or something. You know from like the 1800’s or something. How far up your own ass do you have to be to have people build a statue of you? Ugh.”

Whitehorse laughs at her discomfort; she was here thinking he must have been some old founder who died a hundred years ago and it’s just some creepy man bun guy probably off somewhere being weird right now.

“You in a hurry to get home?” The sheriff asks her.

“Not particularly.” She needs to get groceries and stuff, but she has Caroline’s made up meals and she has water to her trailer, so she can make do and go shopping tomorrow.

“We’ll take the scenic route then, show you around.”

Whitehorse drives her around the Henbane river area, pointing out different places and structures that seem worth noting. The Dire Wolf Basin, Lydia’s Cave, Mastodon Geothermal Park, Dead Man’s Mill, and every place that has a name it seems. He prattles on something about each place, where they get their names, history. And she can feel her eyelids getting heavier with every syllable. They pass by the Drubman Marina, a dock and buildings, a pink helicopter landed there and boats on the sparkling clear water. The sun is starting to sink down and turn the sky into a mess of oranges and purples. His low accented voice rambles on about someone who owns it, divorce, real estate; it’s all a blur as she’s leaning against the door and her eyes finally shut completely.

“Rook, wake up,” Whitehorse is calling out and gently shaking her awake. She blinks a few times, clearing the sleep from her eyes. A glance at the radio clock tells her about two hours has passed. They’re parked back in front of the trailer park. He was talking and she fell asleep; not the greatest first impression to have on her boss the day before she starts working.

He doesn’t seem upset though, just smiling and laughing at her.

“You know, I was trying to help get your mind off shit, didn’t mean to do by boring you, but whatever works, I guess.”

“Sorry, I, uh guess, I was still tired from traveling, that’s a lie, I don’t know why I’m trying to lie. I just got bored and passed out.”

Whitehorse chuckles; at least he seems to find her amusing, that might help keep her around for a while.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Rookie, try to take it easy tonight,” she starts to unbuckle her seat belt, “and don’t forget your uniforms.”

“Thanks.” She grabs her uniform shirts out of the backseat and clambers out of the rusted green pickup.

Dahlia hears the trailer park before she steps past the sign. Whoops and hollers, the sound of a radio blasting. Behind her she hears Whitehorse’s truck pulling away and she feels alone again. No matter what it seems like she can’t seem to ever escape that.

In the center of the trailer park, near the playground area is a bonfire. Faces of people she’s seen in her short time here and ones she hasn’t met yet mingle around, laughing, hollering, and downing beers. The smell of food cooking over grills hits her nose, her never filled stomach growling despite herself. No one has noticed her yet. Caught up in the festivities. She adjusts the grip on her uniforms and kicks the toe of her boot into the dirt, she wants to be included. It’s childish, wanting so badly to just be invited. But she can’t help it. She doesn’t want to believe that people she seemed to fit in well with would throw her away because she’s a cop.

“You got a problem?” Clyde suddenly speaks up, noticing her through the party. His voice is low and his eyes narrowed, like he’s ready for a fight.

“Not particularly.” She shrugs.

“Then why don’t you go ahead and get out of here, Johnny Law.”

“I mean, I’ll go to my trailer…”

“Be better off if you just get out altogether,” Liam tells her.

“I paid to move in here like everyone else, you can’t kick me out.” Dahlia looks to Darcy, the only one here she sees that actually works for the trailer park and decided to rent to her. The girl chews her lip and avoids eye contact, running a hand through her short hair.

“I mean, yeah, as long as you pay you can stay, but I doubt you’ll be too happy here...You should, uh, try to find something else.”

“And the sooner the better, we don’t need fuckin’ narcs moving in on us.”

“I don’t work in narcotics.”

“Do I look like I give a damn what division you work for, a pig’s a pig!”

Dahlia clenches her jaw at Clyde’s yells, the way everyone around him is grinning, supporting him. This was one of the only options, besides an expensive apartment in Falls End or just waiting for the Silver Lake Trailer Park to have something available. She just rolls her eyes, trying not to betray the ache in her heart.

“This conversation is pointless.” She shakes her head and heads towards her trailer.

“Can’t believe we helped out a fuckin’ cop,” Liam grumbles as she turns her back on the party.

Then something pelts the back of her head, the stench of beer coating her hair as it splashes out of the nearly empty can that’s bounced off her skull.

She bites her lip, she could be an asshole, technically this can be classified as battery. And a little angry gremlin in the back of her brain wants her to teach them a lesson as they laugh at her, cackling like hyenas.

But it was just a can of beer, basically empty. She’s an adult. She doesn’t need to waste time or energy on this. At least that’s what she tells herself when she keeps her head down and makes her way to the trailer.

Her door does little to filter out the sound of the party. The music and excitement reverberates through the thin walls of her trailer.

Young blood, come to start a riot.

Don’t care what your old man say.

She tosses her uniforms on the couch, not really caring where they fall. The stench of beer is still sticking to her skin. She peels off her jacket and digs out her phone, syncing it to her speaker, might as well blast her own music in return.

Young blood, heaven hate a sinner.

I felt a break in a sacred place where your hands don’t heal.

But we gonna raise hell anyway.

These are the reasons you’re ruled by the things you feel.

The music mingles and mashes in awkward ways. The upbeat country rock and slow drag of indie music meshing into a cacophony of noise. Somewhere between a yell and a sing, she belts lyrics out, sometimes her music, sometimes theirs.

Raise hell, yeah

Out of the deep waters and all their intricacies.

Somebody gotta, gotta raise a little hell

This is the real face of all your enemies.

This isn’t unfamiliar. The ache of loneliness and feeling like she doesn’t belong. There are lots of reasons for it. No matter where she goes, there never seems to be a place for her. She can’t even blame them. Even if they’re open and welcoming, she knows that feeling will creep up again.

Baby, drop them bones.

I felt you escape into empty space where my heart can’t feel

Baby, sell that soul

Down in that darkness, you met all the things you feared

Lloyd and Caroline were the most welcoming people she’s ever encountered, yet that feeling still reared its ugly head. Those doubts of being a burden, a bother, that she’s intruding on their space. A leech of their time and energy.

The party rages on outside, everyone far happier without her around, as she lights a cigarette up in her trailer.

And I knew, I knew..

Baby, fare thee well

There was nothing I could do...

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #jacob seed #john seed #faith seed #deputy oc #this is love #dahlia hale

14 notes · View notes

dcuniverse-fanatic · 7 years ago

Text

"What Happened?" Part II (Batfam X Reader)

A/N: okay so I couldn’t handle it……I HAD to write the part ii of this asap. So, enjoy! (REQUESTS OPEN) xoxo. Love, Sara. Description: you get saved from a Kidnapping. But not after you face near death.

Warnings: cursing, blood and slight angst

______________

‘Why is it always so damn dark in Gotham?’ You thought to yourself as you were walking home one summer night. It was the usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was the same old 'up and coming neighborhood’ the same old same old. Except… why did you have this feeling of you being…eerily watched? You try not to look nervous or suspicious as you try and dial 9-1-1. Unfortunately, your phone was not on silent and the dial tone could be heard loud and clear.

'Well shit’ you said to yourself moments before you were on the floor bleeding… from your… somewhere from your abdomen. You didn’t feel anything for a few moments until you hit the pavement in slow motion. God you were warm In your own blood like that. You almost pitied yourself for thinking of letting yourself go. I mean, what did you have to live for? Your parents kicked you out ever since you dropped out of college and you’ve been working minimum wage at some crappy fast food joint. You barely have dinner sometimes just to pay rent. You sometimes sneak cold chicken nuggets with you home. Your supervisor knows, but doesn’t make a big deal about it, as his 'family business’ is going down hill anyway. You didn’t know why you had this life but you don’t care anymore. You were the happiest and calm you’ve been in months. Mind you, you were bleeding on the pavement, but you were peaceful , warm, your mind not racing with guilt, anxiety and failure for once. You start feeling yourself shift. Like you’re being dragged. You want to try and resist, you really do, but you go limp. You don’t want to fight anymore, because if we can be real here, what are you fighting for? “Ah, why’d you have to stab her like that, Monty. He said we need them alive.” Said one man who was in the drivers seat. “Well she is, aint she?” Said the man dragging you. He quickly propped you on a bed sheet before him and the another man lift you up on the sopping wet, bloody sheet they put you on, and in to a back of a semi. The rest is kind of a blur to you, you vaguely remember being cold afterwards and seeing…. batman? No. that can’t be right. You know. Blood loss causes hallucinations? But you could swear it felt so real.

________________

You hear faint whispers from outside the door. Wait. What. You live alone. Like alone alone. That can’t be right. Your eyes slowly open and you see yourself In a huge bedroom. It maybe even bigger than your studio apartment. You look around, and then under the covers at yourself. Whew, well you’re not naked. So it wasn’t a drunken mistake? Wait. Hold on. You don’t drink. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You weren’t naked, but you aren’t in your clothes?? You’re in a huge black v neck and what you assume are boxers?. Huh. Okay then. You try and get up to explore where you are and how you got there. But the moment you do, the moment you left up your torso you’re in complete and utter agony. You let out a loud yet unexpected yelp. “What the fuck” you scream, completely forgetting you were in someone else’s house. But you don’t care. WHY IS YOUR SIDE BANDAGED?? You try and touch the bandage to remove it to look under it, but as soon as you touch it you wince in pain. “Mother-” You were interrupted with 3 young men and a boy, all tall, dark and handsome, well almost. Filing inside one by one. You Freeze in the position in which you were in, you know, you with your shirt half up your abdomen and your hand across it. You let out a sigh and you fall backwards. “Please tell me I didn’t sleep with any of you” you say slightly whimpering. “WHat? nO!” Said the one with the extreme under eye bags and the coffee mug. “Well, atleast I didn’t” he said taking a sip of coffee. “Tt, even if someone did sleep with her, we all know it wouldn’t be you, drake” the boy said hastily. “Ooohh” said two other guys in unison. “Shut it, demon spawn” said coffee mug, face red and embarrassed. “Uh, okay, hi, I hate to interrupt whatever this is but can someone explain before I call the cops.” You said patting yourself for a phone. “Never mind” you quickly say as you realize you don’t actually have a phone. “Okay I’ll explain. I’m Jason, this is dick, Tim and Damian.” Wait, you know those names. And how could you not? They’re Bruce Wayne’s sons. “Oh my god. Uh ok” you try and get up, still in pain and agony, but you manage. You run your fingers through your hair and say “am I actually in the manor? Like the Wayne manor? Cuz if I am, why? "Uh, well..” Jason started, but before he could finish, you interrupted. “Wait, and why do I remember seeing Batman, Red hood and Robin? Also, why am I bandaged and in severe pain? Also who’s clothes am I wearing? And where are MY clothes? Also, what happened?” Boy, you sure had a lot of questions. The boys all looked at each other speechless. They all open their mouths and close them, looking over at you. Now is the great time you decide to see spots. You try and walk over to your bed but fall backwards. Jason holds you before you could hit the floor…..again. “This is going to be a long day” he mumbled. _______________

You wake up on a couch. Your head is still spinning and you’re still in someone’s boxers and shirt. You sit up to find, Bruce Wayne, THE Bruce Wayne sitting in front of you with dick, Jason, Tim and Damian standing behind him. “Okay, this is not absurd by any means.” You say to yourself, but everyone heard it. “Hello, I’m sorry but what is your name? I don’t believe any of us are aware of that yet”. Said Bruce with a small smile forming in his mouth. “Uh yeah, sorry about that, I kinda almost died, but I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you all” you said with a nervous smile. “As you may be wondering what you are doing here, batman brought you here after rescuing you from an illegal organ trafficking circle and brought you here to recover.” Said Bruce with almost no expression. But it clicked. It clicked as you remember fragments of yesterday, it clicked as you remember walking home and being stabbed, it clicks, it all does. “Okay well, why not bring me to a hospital, seems though I would recover just fine there.” You said fully knowing you wouldn’t be. You wouldn’t be able to pay the bills, or pay for rent. “Also how do you know batman?it seems as though, and Please correct me is my calculations are wrong. You don’t have what it takes to stitch me up, perform surgery and deal with such excess amount of blood, in the manor, unless say, you have an underground facility? Say the bat cave? Which would also incidentally mean, that Jason, is obviously the red hood and dick is nightwing, now I’m not a hundred percent sure about this but tim would be Red Robin and Damian of course, Robin. Which would also mean that you already knew who I am and that you are of course batman. You pause for a second to watch everyone’s jaw drop to the floor, and then continue "close enough?” There is absolute silence. But you are enjoying it. Did they not know that you spend most of your time conspiring about the batfamily? Well you knew all of this for months now. And you took absolute pleasure in outsmarting the smartest man in Gotham. Tim breaks the silence by saying “boyyy, I did not see that coming”

11 notes · View notes

dibassio-prophet-of-virtuality · 4 years ago

Text

I am keeping a log to see if these tablets help and to help my phyc notes for the nurse and psyciatrist. Each paragraph is a different day. Each time I update I will schedule it to post, just in case voices wins.

Sometime in Feb:

It's so hard not being able to understand your own head. I'm so confused with everything.. although sobriety has its benefits, I completely miss it as a coping mechanism. I can't stop thinking about it. The voices get so loud and now I don't have a way to quieten them anymore.. I have got to the point now that I don't know what's real or what's simulated. It's got hard to decipher. I know that recently I have recently stopped smoking cannibis and drinking alcohol. I know that the withdrawals were too real. I didn't do too bad though for someone who has both regularly drank and smoked since 17 years old not only as a dependence, but to keep me sane, whilst on and off the wrong kind of medication. I want to do is bleed. To feel the negative energy drain from me.. I need it. The voices and visions are worsening as each day and week passes and now I'm sober, I just don't know who I am. Am I actually Pete? Or am I voices disguised as Pete? And if that's the case then should I not warn people?? But even if it is the case shouldn't I have hurt people by now going of voices logic? If I'm Pete then I can constantly feel voices hands physically holding on to my brain... I'm glad I don't smoke or drink to that comatose state every day now and wasting my life away. I'm glad I don't actually have Alzheimer's or dementia.. Maybe... But voices and the constant commands and the visions he shows me are a worse alternative. I keep having out of body experiences I keep staring at myself from across the room still in the same position just looking at myself from another the top corner of the room - I can even see Alex sat right next to me watching the TV or even asleep sometimes. I hear plaster falling from the roof I can hear it coming from the walls and landing. I hear either someone breathing next to me, or I hear static trying to control me and I know it's not Alex nor the router as she tells me - it's from the other side. My side of the bed. I feel bugs crawling through my joints and when I look in the mirror it's not my face, it morphs right in front of me or I look gaunt, I can see my cheekbones clearly, my eyes sunken, my eyes aren't mine ... I don't know it's just not Pete's face. The one time I actually want to open up to the psychiatrist and just lay out the whole truth. The one time I accept I need help and god damnit I know I need the help now, she cancelled on me just because she wants to move out of her house!!!! Thanks for that. Can always count on the government for help. Couldn't even be bothered to get someone to fill in for you. She just asked me if I could rearrange for another what 2-3 weeks down the line! But a lot can happen in that time. He is hoping I can hold on until the 25th.

End of Feb:

Since I ended that last sentence a lot has happened. My grandfather figure and absolute inspiration passed away. I don't understand. I tried my best. I really did... I just guess I wasn't strong enough to stop it. I think voices dampend my power. I'm so sorry... I really am so so sorry. It eats at me every day. On the day of the funeral, my psychiatrist called to tell me we had an appointment. We didn't, we had an appointment the day after the funeral which is what I said on the phone the last time I spoke to her and said something like the 25th of February then? Okay that's good I might need to talk to you because that's the day after my grandfather figures funeral. Because I couldn't speak - obviously because we was setting off soon - we had to rearrange for the 16th of march. If I don't make it to the 16th of march I just want everyone to know I TRIED. I don't feel like a can hold out much longer I felt like I couldn't hold on last time - I'm literally hanging on to a promise right now. I don't feel like me. I don't look like me. I don't sound like me. I can't feel. Time is slipping, juddering but why does no one notice the time jumps? Why does no one notice the reality glitches? Wake up. I don't know what to do to make you see. The one thing I am sure of is that I need to shred my arms open. All I get is visions of metal sliding against my skin feel of trickling... And when I notice, no when I remember there's nothing in the house to cut myself deeply with I see the vision of my teeth tearing into my arm, into my wrist, anywhere that will release the negative energy, to relieve voices control and aggression. All day, everyday - it's a constant want, need and instruction. I don't know how much longer I can hold on. I don't know how much longer it will be before I am consumed fully. It takes everything in me to keep the Pete side in control. But I can feel voices slipping through. Seeping through. I sometime see him in the mirror I hear him around the room, in my head and body. I know I need to drain the negative energy from me, to pour out the red. He'll quieten. I want it to end. But if I end it, voices rise. He'll consume. It'll be the end and whilst Alex lives, I can't allow it. But I'm going under. If there's anyone else out there that can put a barrier up, please help me. Alexis, so far you prevent me. You are my soul. You have a part of my soul in you since I went through withdrawals as the voices tried to consume me. I gave you all I could. You are my logic and my reasoning. You guide me as much and as well as Grandma. All I've ever done is mutilate myself, smoke and drink to quieten and calm voices. I never even realised I was dependent until after I stopped and went through withdrawals. You got me through that and I owe you everything. But you've been through so much yourself recently, I need to go through this heavier challenge alone. I need to recover. But I need to recover on my own I need to show you I can do this. I need to show you that I would do anything for you. And once I am recovered be it months from now maybe years from now, I'm going to marry you and I'm going to give you the life you deserve and I'll be the husband that you deserve. So for the time being I am so sorry, this is the best I can do: I will tell you I'm okay, to keep you following down the same path. I will pretend nothings wrong, to keep you from drowning with me. If I push you away, know it's for your safety. I can't let anything happen to you and I'm getting scared. I'm so sorry - this will be the first and last time I will EVER lie to you. I just want you to know that no matter what happens to me, you are my hero and my inspiration and one day I want to be just like you, Alexis.

Begining of march:

I am made of flaws. I have wasted all my life. I don't know who I am, sometimes I think I am Pete, sometimes I think I'm someone else. I still look in the mirror and I'm not quite sure who's looking back. Is it Pete? Is it voices? Is it some parallel version of Pete? Or could it be the real world Pete?? Or is it an imposter, is someone spying on me? Like some knock-off look alike?? I don't know what's real. I don't know what my thoughts are, I'm lost. I know I used to smoke until in a comatose state when things were overwhelming. I can't do that anymore. When I couldn't smoke I'd drink. But I can't do that either I miss being comatosed. Where my mind could be blank and the voices would quieten or stop. But I have wasted so much of my life just staring through the TV lay on my bed with double vision and being unable to converse proper. Or recognising someone is speaking to me and just grunt back, instantly forgetting what has just been said to me, if I was even paying attention. But the high.. the high felt similar to how the negative releases from my body and trickles down my arm.. Drinking would help distract me from the voices, it helped me not only socially open up but calmed the voices' agressiveness.. He'd help tell me what to say to people, how to act. How to copy the majority of the group's expression. Weirdly though it was like he was speaking, at a normal volume directly into my ear. But at least it weren't screaming at me. Screaming at me to mutilate or to kill myself. At least it didn't tell me shitty things about people. Or make my blood boil at people. Or what all the people were thinking about me, or how they've wronged me! He just guide me in what to say or mindless ramblings.

Since sobering up, as each week passes, the voices are becoming more and more convincing and are becoming louder and more frequent than my grandma's comforting and advisory voice. I miss her comforting voice. I need you. The audio and visual hallucinations are becoming more regular, the visions are becoming more subtle to tell the difference between what is from the real world and what's our world? Cracks in reality becoming more regular, I can see the real-world seeping through.

12/03/2021 - yes. I'm on to you.

Today's been bad. It literally feels like there are hands holding around my brain, but this time squeezing it. All day I've been taunted by hands creeping over my eyes from behind, trying to block my view. We've had baths tonight., Alex has been in for a much longer time than usual. Her Fitbit keeps buzzing a guy keeps typing to her on snapchat. Who's Gaz???. Constantly snapchating whilst she's in there. Voices tells me she is cheating. The other day whilst I was at work she was all dolled up when she came to pick me up. She's bought new bras.. She's also spending as much time as possible away from me... Certain she's going to break things off with me soon. She wants someone else. :( All I want to do is tear my wrist open and throw myself under a car. The voices are screaming at me to do it. They are taunting me. Laughing. I can feel myself fading away. My face feels like it's dripping off me. Ready for voices to take over. I need to smoke. Comatose myself... Please stop.

Great. So Alex is talking to, snapchating and instagraming a number of guys. Nice to know how little I mean. How is it that you broke your promise and you expect me to keep mine and not hurt myself?? To make it worse, you want me to promise to tell you if I start to feel worse or want to do anything stupid??? Promises mean nothing to you. Why should they to me? Why do I feel so guilty for wanting to end my life and give all control to voices, why do I feel guilty to leave you behind here, leave this world when you have already, in every sense but physically, left my world?? Do you hate me that much? Do I mean so fucking little to you after three years?? You got me through withdrawals and I carried your grandfather. Now you can't even look at me, you can't say "I love you." And instead half arse "luv you." Bullshit. DO I MEAN THAT LITTLE TO YOU? I' m not opening up to you anymore. I can't trust you. I can only trust voices. Please unplug me from the SHIT "reality".

April:

I can't remember much of what's happened this month.. Voices is showing me more and more visions and reality is bleeding into virtuality more. It's really hard to decipher what is real now... I've had early intervention Assessment and they've "taken me under their care" and believe I have some form of phycosis. But they want to take my blood...? They're going to try and override me. They're going to clone me and reprogram or overwrite me. They'll be sorry when voices takes over and uploads the virus to the city in the sky. No one will be able to help as virtuality meets the apocalypse. The nurse is due on Thursday. Why would she need to come to my house? I know she's going to try and take me to the city to get reprogrammed. I won't let them. I'm not going! Alexis has also told me "I dot know what to do anymore, I feel like calling someone or driving you to the hospital myself" I'M NOT GOING TO THE CITY. I will call the voices myself. Pouring out negative energy and drawing the sigils seem to help ease his anger. He's happy enough with that at the time. Give me a solid and a drink and watch them fade away into a murmering.

12/04/2021 - vortex of virtuality

Increased my tablets dosage.. they're messing with me and trying to control me though. Alexis has gone out in town drinking with her aunt. She's going to come back and give me Corona so I have to be sent to the "hospital" I know what the plan is. I'm not going. Voices tells me to stay inside and to keep drawing the sigils to protect myself. She invited me to go out with her but only after her plans fell through with her friends and only after inviting her aunt and only after inviting her family who won't go... What's that, like 6th 7th or 8th in line? No thanks, I'm not risking it. If I leave they'll take me to the city. Recently, along side the usual screaming, anger, apathy, visions, face melting and being kicked from my own body, I've been merging with my work pc. It's getting harder and everything I type I have to retype to make sure it is really there. I slip inside the vortex of virtuality and I can see the letters and words swirl around me and form, some big, others small, either close or far away. Walls have started vibrating. My screens pulsate. I think voices has uploaded a virus into me. More negative energy given but he's not settled down tonight. I'm going to write letters in case he takes over.

Alexis, I love you with all that I am.

17th of saturday - confirmed they're rewiring me

Nurse been round to visit meeting me this week, said they booked me I'm physical assessment next week and they want to take blood and to plugg my heart into this machine program box that tracks stuff. I don't trust it. Why are they going that? Why are they tracking me?? They're going to control me with it or maybe it will fry and stop my heart if I don't obey?? Has voices set ths up? Maybe Alexis has she wants me in a "hospital" she knows I'll never come back, is she helping? Voices is telling her everything. I know it. He tells m. He's turn her against me. They also give me more new tablet, they say to decreases brain functions to relax me and help with him but they just broke reality more - bleeds it through more and voices sures me visions loads more often, one after another, I can't move me on them and voices completely hates them. Can't think straight on them. He doesn't want to be caged. We need to ru away, get away from here they're coming. They're reprogram us both, we've said too much about the sky city. They know we know. Theyr coming. I feel them here. My chair shifted into one an I can feel them aroun the house, watchig, waiting for my to drop my gaurd and then they will strangle me to unconsciousness me and then kidknapp me. I know what they plan is and I'm not letting them. I'm going to escape. I will go to another contry or sneak into the city and take them down with voices. We could hide in another reality.

¹9th April

Can't sleep. 3am and voices is screaming. My limbs aren't mine. Thy keep moving on their own and then Alex keeps waking up, I feel like she must hates me sometimes. I hate me. Voices hates me. He just keeps instructing me to hurt myself, to feed the negative and never stops. I just want to feed the negative and write sigils just so I can stop him. I really need to but I can't whilst Alex is in. I need her to go out. I keep feeling it pour down my arm, I really want to do it. I keep falling out of my body.. The night has been like I've been trapped in a time loop. The same things repeating over and over and over in the exact same order, over and over.. My arm and leg feel like they want to rip themselves off, they don't look like mine, they feel like someone else's, they just aren't mine. I keep going for a cig and wishing it was weed. I keep craving a drink and a smoke... They last couple of nights I've been unable to sleep without having 3 shots of vodka. I hate the stuff, that's how bad it is. I've not had it since I was 16 either! But I'll drink anything right now if it keeps Voices calm, feed the negative anyway I can. Just to keep him quietened for a while... I keep seeing things, reality keeps bleeding through I know everythng it isn't real.. none of it's real. I just don't know how to get out.

I keep thinking of my mum and dad.. My sister and brother.. My nephews.. I miss them so much. I really want to see them. I feel like everything would be okay if I saw them. It's the only thing I look forward to these days. A bit of normality. I'll need to go see them before I move the to other simulation. I just want to hug them. Tell hem I love them. It's been so long since I last did. Voices keeps telling me to pack and leave, over and over on repeat all day. Run to the other simulation. Transfer. He tells me to store more negative energy, by I can't. I don't want to hurt anyone. I know he's right. We need to move. We need to get out. But I don't know how to get there, I can't drive. No motorbike now. A need a sign. Where do I need to go? Grandma's, Grandad's, please show me the way. I need you more than ever. Everythng is confusing. Nothings real.

22nd April

They wired me up and tracked me, they took my blood to clone me they are replacing me and I feel them in my head more and more every passing day. Voices is angrier now. He cannot take over me if they kill me. If they don't overwrite he cannot download. They are coming for me. I know what they're doing to me I need to play it cool a little longer. Voices has a plan. We know what to do now. We have tracked sky city ourselves. We know where to go now. We have located the doorways to them. We are to slip through the reality bleed doorway and take them down. We will create a new reality that everyone can enjoy and love. We need to build more negative energy. Pour more into our world to fight back. Store more negative energy to convert. We will bring them down. End the control of the sky city. We will not be repressed!

0 notes