#Vinyl flooring stores georgetown

[tsfageorgetown]

[george-mackay-macfine]

Bad At Love

A/N I’ve been inundated with a lot of requests for Dean one-shots, and I realised there are little to no Dean centric fanfics, Oneshots etc... So I’ve repurposed an old story I was writing to fit as a Dean story. 

If you requested a Dean oneshot I am still working on them, but I wanted to show Dean some love. 

Introduction:

You know that feeling you get when you’re going down the stairs and you accidentally skip a step and you think you’re falling and you think you’re going to die but then your foot lands on the next step and it’s like nothing ever happened? Well if you multiply that feeling by one thousand, make it last so much longer, and mix it with hate, paint, satisfaction, anger, lust, relief, anxiety, passion, shock, guilt, denial and frustration then you’ll understand what it’s like to fall in love. To fall in love with someone so passionately that your world revolves around them, and what they're doing and how their feeling. At least that’s what it was like for me. 

Chapter One 

“The Beatles, White album… John Lennon, Milk and Honey… Stevie Wonder.” I mumbled to myself as I flicked through the crates filled with old vinyl before me. Brighton's was a popular vinyl store and cafe nestled in the outskirts of Georgetown. It was a diamond in the rough if you were looking for a good record store. Brighton's was filled with them, a two-story loft building packed to the brim with vinyl, new and old. The bottom level was sorted neatly into genres and then by the artists, but the top-level and my own personal favourite was where the crates filled with albums the owners haven’t got around to sorting yet, This is where you find all the gems.

“Writing a shopping list there Sienna?” I looked up from the Jimmy Buffet ‘Living and Dying 3/4 Time’ album I was holding to see my best friend Halley staring at me, amused pausing digging through her own crate. Her green eyes sparkling with excitement as she pushed her honey blonde hair behind her left ear. Her thin lips pulling into a knowing smirk. 

“If that’s what you want to call it Halley.” I laughed putting the Jimmy Buffett album on top of my other selections before sifting through the albums again. Bob Dylan… Bon Iver… I smiled over at Halley as we both listened to someone on the bottom level lift the arm off the player, the distinct sound of the record stopping filling the store before the sound of Elton Johns ‘Bennie and the Jet’s’ blasted through the sound system. I laughed at myself as I did a little shuffle to the music. Elton’s voicing rebounding around the room. 

“So.. Sienna.” I nodded my head for Halley to continue as I went back to my growing pile, hips swaying as I flipped through it again checking over everything I’d found. Bowie… Fleetwood Mac… “I was thinking about our plans for tonight.” Halley voiced hesitantly. I looked up at her, one of my eyebrows shooting up. She was biting her bottom lip as she held onto her own pile of vinyl, knuckles turning white from the grip she had on them a telltale sign she was nervous. 

“That could be dangerous.” I joked turning and making my way to the other side of the amply sized loft, looking down and over the bottom level of the shop littered with people, pulling vinyl out left, right and centre. I watched as a guy in his mid-thirties picked up a copy of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’. “Do you think he’s going to buy it?” I called over my shoulder to Halley, not taking my eyes of the man. She sighed, but put her pile down none the less, and worked her way over to me, agitated that I’d changed the subject. “The guy with the Jackson.” I pointed down to him. “I think he will.” 

“I don’t think so.” Halley shook her head watching him with me. “He’s totally not into it.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes at Halley. “Alright then. Let’s make it interesting.” Halley turned to me, a smiling pulling on her lips and she toiled with an idea in her head. “If he buys it you get to choose what we do tonight.” I couldn’t help but smile already tasting the red wine and hearing the sweet sounds of Fleetwood Mac. “But.” Halley rudely shook me from my daydream. “If he doesn’t buy it, you have to do whatever I want to do tonight.” I opened my mouth to disagree but she held up her hand to stop me. “With a smile on your lips and pure joy in every step you take.” 

I looked between my best friend and the guy on the bottom floor. Judging quickly if I really thought he’d buy it, as I looked at him for the second time he’d started to pull the vinyl out and check the date stamped on it. I made up my mind. 

“You’re on.” With a final nod at each other, we both spun on our heels and leaned over the balcony watching the man below like hawks. “Come on man, you know you want it,” I whispered under my breath. “Just buy it already, come on.” I groaned as he flipped it over for what felt like the hundredth time. “Who doesn’t like Michael Jackson.” 

“He’s not going too.” I could hear the smirk in Halley’s voice. I ignored her and held my breath as he pushed the vinyl back inside its cover. Watching with wide eyes as he slipped it back into the crate it started in and turned away, walking down the centre aisle towards the door, crushing any hope I had of sitting home and drinking red wine with every step he took. 

“No.” I cried out loudly as he made it to the front door, people turned and looked up at us including the guy who’d just sentenced me to a night of Halley controlled fun. Waving awkwardly at everyone as Halley hooked an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to her body. She giggled as she squeezed my shoulder. 

“As I was saying before.” She cleared her throat. I could tell she was taking too much pleasure from the situation. “Tonight we are going to that new pizza place, the one Stacey was telling me about last week, Uncle Tony’s where we will find some cute boy’s to buy us beers.” She wiggled her eyebrow’s at my teasingly as she dropped her arm from my shoulder turning her body to face mine. “And then we are joining the girls at the Ivy to dance the night away and make sweet, sweet mistakes we won’t remember in the morning.” I opened my mouth to object to her plans, but Halley held a hand up to stop me. “You made a deal. You cannot back out Sienna Jacobs. I won’t let you.” She lowered her hand. “Now you will come back to our apartment, get yourself ready and we will have fun tonight. Have I made myself clear.” I nodded my head a slight pout on my lips. “Good, now go and buy your records.” She clapped her hands together gleefully. “Tonight is going to be so much fun.”

“So much fun,” I mumbled sarcastically as I walked back over to my deserted pile of treasures.  

One of the numerous things I had learned about Halley through our eighteen years of friendship was that Halley Morgan Adams was never late she despised it, that’s why not even five hours later I was sitting in the front seat of her yellow Kia Soul, dressed in a pair of skin-tight black jeans and a white t-shirt with Elvis Presley’s mug shot on it pouting my arse off. “Are you ready?” With a flick of her hair and a smile she started up the ignition and drove far to quickly to the new pizza place, ’Uncle Tonys’ that we’d been hearing non-stop raving reviews about for the last week and a half. For the first part of the ride I promised myself I wouldn’t speak to Halley, partly to punish her for the night we had ahead of us, and partly because I was upset that I wasn’t at home listening to my new records. However, when we’d been in the car for ten minutes with nothing but Taylor Swift playing through the sound system I resigned to my fate and turned it down, deciding a conversation was the lesser of two evils. 

“Are you excited to start classes again tomorrow?” I quizzed Halley as I watched the bright lights of the street pass us by. “In my opinion spring break went way too quickly, and we should have two more weeks off.” I nodded my head to reinforce my opinion causing Halley to chuckle. 

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to have to put down the book’s you’ve been reading non-stop in exchange for a textbook.” She snorted out a laugh as she pulled to a stop at a red light. 

“Untrue. I just rather the works of Stephen King, over having to hand in assessment’s, any day.” She shook her head laughing at me. 

“You’re the one who wanted to become a big hot shot editor, now you have to pay the price.” She replied quickly taking off when the light turned green. “We’re here.” She smiled as she pulled into a carpark and began to drive around in a circle looking for a vacant spot. “There’s one.” She smiled proudly as she pulled into an empty spot putting the gear stick into park. 

“Don’t hate on my aspirations okay, Ms I wanna be an HR administrator,” I muttered as I unbuckled my seatbelt, pushing the door open. As I stood next to the car I looked over the stand-alone building. A fluorescent sign that read ‘Fresh Pizza’ glowed in the window. The outside housed tables with red and white checked cloths, couples and families sat laughing and enjoying the food before them. 

“It’s a realistic dream okay.” Halley glared over the car at me, before walking towards the trunk, stopping and looking over the building for herself. 

“C’mon.” She smiled delightedly as she skipped through the carpark towards the front door. I shook my head and followed behind her, watching as she happily waited by the door for me to catch her. “This place is so cute.” She called back, peering through one of the glass panels on the door as I reached her. “Oh, he’s even cuter.” She giggled pulling the door open, both of us stepping inside. 

Once inside Halley and I took a minute to look around. The walls were painted a soft yellow filling the whole inside with a soft warm glow, a wall of fake stones lined the far wall with paintings of olives hanging above each of the booths that ran along with the stones. All the tables apart from two booths were filled, a mix of college students and families occupying them filling the whole restaurant with a loud buzz. I guess we aren’t the only ones excited to try out the new pizza. Grabbing my hand Halley pulled me over and down to one of the empty booths, pushing me down onto the plush red seat before sitting down on the opposite side. 

“Can you believe how busy this place is?” She rolled her eyes as she put her clutch beside her on the seat. “You’d think people would have better things to do.” She looked around at the tables. I rolled my eyes and looked around the restaurant.  

“Wouldn’t that mean that we should have better things to do Halley?” She flipped me off quickly before waving down the waiter with a flirty smile. He smirked at her as he walked over from the bar leaning across the table to give her a wink as he pulled out his order pad and pen.

“What can I get you, ladies?” His eyes travelled up Halley’s body, stopping to check out her cleavage. Halley smirked as she ran a hand up and down his arm. 

“Can we get two beers and a large pepperoni pizza?” Halley looked at me raising an eyebrow in question. I nodded my head and looked around trying to avoid watching the scene that was playing out before me.  

“Of course, I’ll make sure it’s the next one to come out…” The boy stuttered out looking down at where Halley’s fingers ran up and down the length of his hand, with a nod the waiter walked away from us fanning himself with the pad turning to look back at Halley once more a goofy love-struck smile on his face. 

“You need to stop doing that to boys.” I laughed resting my chin on my palm as I looked around the restaurant. “Seriously one day, one of them is going to have a heart attack and we are going to be sued.” I leant across the table. “In case you didn’t realise. We don’t have enough money to be sued.” 

“We?” She questioned with a raised brow a smile pulling on her lips.

“You don’t think I’m going to let you go to jail on your own do you?” 

“This is why we are best friends Sienna.” She chuckled. “Where did that cute guy go?” She looked around through the crowd searching for whoever she saw through the window. That’s Halley Adams my boy crazy best friend. 

“The two beers and the pizza.” The waiter called placing a beer before each of us and the pizza in between. As he placed Halley’s beer in front of her I couldn’t help but notice the napkin with a scrawled number that went along with it. Halley smirked at me before winking at him. “Told you it’d be the next one out.”

“That you did. Thanks.” With a nod of his head, the blushing boy raced back behind the bar only to start chatting to his friend. I laughed and shook my head as I watched him point over to Halley. “He’s telling his friend isn’t he?” She asked looking down at the napkin picking it up. “Riley… Cute name.”

“Cute name, for a cute boy.” I shrugged playing with the ring that sat on my right ring finger, spinning it. “You know he probably stole this pizza from another table?” Halley looked up from the paper, “One that’s been waiting for way longer than us.” I emphasised leaning forward onto the table. 

“Least we didn’t have to wait.” She laughed picking up a slice, her eyes looked past mine before snapping back to me. “Don’t look now, but here comes my number one fan.” I turned and looked to where she was looking only a moment ago, finding exactly what she had seen. “Xander Preston… Even his name gives me the creeps.” Halley muttered as Xander stood up from one of the tables near the door sauntering across to us he glanced back at his friend they all cheered loudly at him when he turned back around, a smirk playing on his lips as he overconfidently strutted past a table filled with girls, winking at them. When he reached us he sat down beside Halley throwing an arm around her shoulders. Halley and I both looked at the offending object before looking to Xander. “Can we help you, Xander?” I watched as Xander pushed his black hair out of his brown eyes watching Halley as she spoke, concentrated on her lips. Halley tried to shrug his arm off her shoulder, shuffling down on the booth seat. 

“Just came to see my number one girl.” His fingers started to play with the thin strap of her dress, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, his arm still hugging her shoulders. He stopped, looking over to me. “And her best friend of course.” 

“Really Xander? Your ‘number one’ girl?” Halley rolled her eyes. Xander smirked wider as he lifted her chin with his hand.  

“C’mon baby, you know you are.” 

“You misplace something, Preston?” Xander jumped in his seat immediately removing his hand from Halley’s shoulder. “Or do you just enjoy touching girls who clearly don’t want to be touched by you?” My eyes flicked away from Xander to where the booming voice had come from, next to our booth stood a group of three guys. The one in front was muscular and well built, his forearms bulging as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?” His blue eyes shot invisible daggers into Xander’s body. Xander smiled awkwardly jumping out of the seat he was occupying and putting as much space between himself and Halley as he could scratching the back of his neck. I rolled my eyes as Xander started to splutter out a reply and looked past him to the two guy’s who stood behind the first watching the scene play out. I looked at all three of them, noticing they wore matching black t-shirts with The Ivy printed on them with gold stitching. 

“No I, I just… Halley is my…” Xander squirmed. I looked back to him watching silently as he looked between Halley and I waiting for one of us to save him. “We’re just…” He tried to explain to the intimidating stranger. “She’s my…” 

“Halley isn’t your anything, understand?” The stranger didn’t break eye contact with Xander. I looked at Halley whose mouth hung slightly open as she watched the stranger. “She is not a piece of meat. So if I see you lay a single hand on her ever again I’ll beat the shit out of you.” The guy leaned in closer to Xander. “You got that Preston?” Stranger number one hissed getting even closer to Xander’s face as he spoke, each word sounding more and more dangerous than the last. Nodding his head rapidly Xander scurried back to the table where his friends sat watching the whole fiasco play out before them.  Stranger number one stared Xander down for another minute before he turned back to the table leaning onto it slightly towards Halley. “Sorry about that,” Halley shook her head quickly. 

“No thank you for helping… I’ve been trying to get him to leave me alone for weeks.” Halley giggled as my eyes left Halley’s knight in shining armour once again and drifted over to the third member of the group. He looked as though he was twenty-four, standing with both his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black skinny jeans like the others he wore the black shirt with gold stitching above the breast. I let my eyes run over his body, drinking in his features. Starting with the ink that covered his left arm where little space of bare skin remained untouched by the intricate tattoo’s wrapping around the exposed muscle. My eyes drifted up over his torso and to his face. He has a sharp jawline, standing out prominent, his cheeks tanned, and covered with days worth of stubble. His eyes were big and round, childlike almost, clouded a deep blue colour, bushy eyebrows following the curve of his brow bone. His nose appeared to have been broken before as it loomed over a pair of smirking lips. His hair was a dark shade of brown and styled into a presentable quiff. I was unable to stop myself from looking back at his eyes, where to my surprise he was already looking at me. Feeling my cheeks redden I looked down to the table trying to calm myself. 

“Don’t worry about it. That guy is a creep.” I felt Halley kick my shin under the table causing me to wince slightly and look up at her. I heard a deep chuckle come from one of the strangers. “Have a good night ladies.” I looked up once again to meet the eyes of the blue-eyed stranger, he smiled sightly as he turned on his heel and followed his friends towards the door. 

“Holy shit, do you know who that was?” Halley asked her lips pulled into a big smile. I shook my head and picked up my beer, sipping it. “Sienna, we were just saved by the three hottest bartenders who work at the Ivy.” She clapped her hands together. 

“You… They saved you.” 

“Semantics.” She giggled. “I can’t believe it… Those guys… I don’t think they’ve ever done that before… They don’t usually talk to people.” 

“What do you even mean ‘They don’t usually talk to people’. Halley that’s ridiculous. They’re just people.” I tucked some hair behind my ear. “Who are they anyway?” I asked as I grabbed a slice of pizza, pulling the toppings off to eat. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. 

“Okay, so the one who told Xander to back off, his name is George MacKay. He’s studying Mechanical Engineering. I can’t even count the amount of time’s I’ve drooled over him.” She picked up her own beer and took a sip. 

“That’s attractive.” 

“The quiet one at the back with the longer hair. Did you see him?” She ignored me only stopping when she waited for me to nod. “His name is Logan Daniels.” I nodded again. “He’s studying Microbiology. Super smart.” 

“Halley, you need to breathe.” 

“Can’t too excited.” I laughed shaking my head picking at the pizza again. “Okay, so the last one… The last one, with all the tattoos… His name is Dean Charles Chapman, he’s studying English Literature, he wants to become a journalist I think Stacey told me once. Stacey has been trying to get with him since she met him at the Ivy last year” My interest in him peaked as she spoke. “My God, I can’t wait to tell her all of this.” She beamed. 

“Have you ever spoken to him before?” I asked. “Or any of them?” Halley shook her head no. 

“Not really, maybe once or twice at the Ivy. You know the occasional ‘Sorry I just bumped into you.’ Or the ‘Can I get a vodka Redbull.’ But nothing that would explain that.” She started to fan herself. 

“Maybe he’s interested in you?” I shrugged my shoulders still picking at the pizza in front of me. 

“Do you think?” She asked her eyes going wide, cheeks flushing pink. 

“You never know.” I downed the last of my beer and threw a twenty dollar note on the table as Halley threw down another fifteen. “Let’s get to the club. I really don’t want to wait in line tonight.” 

Stale piss. 

From the minute we walked in the door’s it’s all I could smell. No matter how much this place was scrubbed from top to bottom, the scent never changed. No matter how much bleach was poured on the floor and smothered over surfaces, it would still smell like stale piss.

At least to me, Maybe it doesn't to other people. Maybe to others, it's still a place of joy, and happiness but now, to me it was the same mundane, piss scented bar. People come here to find love at the bottom of a whiskey filled glass, hoping for a night of meaningless passionless, lust-driven sex. Maybe sometimes they find it, maybe they don’t. Booths lined the walls where people sat drinking and talking, some girls begging for attention, others danced in their seats laughing at how silly they must look to onlookers like me. A couple of tables littered the area around the bar and barstools lining half the length of the bar.

“Come on Sienna, it’s a girl’s night, at least pretend to have fun.” Stacey pulls at my hand, her fake nails digging into my palm as her long blonde hair swirled around her face, her blue eyes large and round, her lips fake and pouted. “This is the promise land, any of these boys could be yours for the night.” She motioned around us as guys looked girls up and down as if they were some sort of meat on display at a butcher. “Maybe more, if you’re lucky.” She winked at me and giggled as she hit her hip into mine. I hate this place. It's not a promise land, where I can meet new and interesting people, hold intelligent conversations with people. All it is a place for twenty-something-year-olds to come in the chance of getting a quick lay. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” I yelled over the loud obnoxious music to Halley and Stacey. “I need to be wasted to be here.” 

“I’ll come.” Halley smiled grabbing onto my elbow. “Maybe we’ll see our friends again.” I rolled my eyes and pushed through the sweaty people nearing the bar. 

“As long as it ends up with me drinking alcohol that’s fine with me.” I pushed someone softly out of the way, worming through other bodies to get Halley and me to the front. “Excuse me,” I grunted as we made it out of the swarming crowd near the dance floor. We stopped to look over the bar, three bartenders stood behind it, each making a drink. 

“C’mon it’s less crowded over here.” Halley grabbed my arm around, as we headed down to the less populated end. I laughed and looked at which bartender was serving in the middle section of the bar. 

“Sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the bartender.” I looked over my shoulder to see George pouring whisky into a shot glass. 

“Are you having fun?” Halley yelled over the music ignoring me completely, turning her back on the bar. I nodded my head shrugging, indifferent. “Sienna, I wish you were having more fun.” She frowned reaching out grabbing my hand. 

“What can I get for you?” A deep voice rumbled from behind us over the music, I watched as Halley’s eyes went wide. She turned slowly to face George, who had a smile pulling on his lips. “Nice to see you again ladies.” I nudged Halley with my elbow. She snapped out of her daze and smiled politely. 

“Hi, uh, Yeah.” She shook her head. “I mean, thanks for that… tonight at Uncle Tony’s I mean…” I looked down and played with my rings as I waited for Halley to order drinks for both of us. “So you work here huh?” Halley tried. “I mean obviously you work here.” I watched on as Halley awkwardly found her ground, pushing her hair behind her ear as she laughed at herself. 

“Can I get you something.” A deep voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see the guy with the tattoos - Dean - from tonight, leaning against the bar smiling down at me. I looked at the bottles shelved behind him as I walked up to the bar leaning on it, bottom lip slipping between my teeth as I thought. Finally, I gave up, looking from the bottles to him. 

“I'm not too sure... Why don't you surprise me?” I leant forward on the bar, getting closer to him, the light flowed around him making him look angelic. 

“Do you like sweet or sour?” His voice was husky as I maintained eye contact, trying not to lose myself in the blue of his eyes anymore than I already had. I couldn’t help my lips twisting up slightly at the comment.

“I’m feeling sweet tonight.” He chuckled white teeth exposing themselves as he smiled, turning his back to me. Grabbing the bottles of alcohol from the shelves behind me he turned his head slightly. I began to fiddle with my rings, twisting them a nervous habit of mine. 

“What’s your name?” I stopped, my hand's frozen on the bar, turning around to face me he was placing all the ingredient's on the bench in front of me. "Are you not allowed to tell me your name?" He smiled at me again and I was gone, a breathy smile escaped me as he smiled down at me.

“Sienna, And you? What's your name?" He continued to make my drink.

"Dean." I nodded my head. “It’s nice to meet you Sienna.”

"So what are you making there Dean?" I looked up at him again, he was still watching me, watching as I leaned forward lip in between my teeth, eyes curious as he poured the liqueurs out.

"Espresso martini." He started to shake it. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and giggle. He stopped shaking and lent forward onto the bar."Don't you like Espresso Martini’s, Sienna?” The way my name sounded coming from him made my stomach flutter. Feeling dangerous and unlike myself, I lent towards him. 

"It's okay. I mean it’s literally the martini version of the classic ‘white girl’ drink of vodka Redbull. A basic drink, easily done and something I can recreate at home, But I’ll give it a try." I leant forward towards him, our noses almost touching, I could feel his breath against my skin. "Who knows maybe you do it differently to the others… Better perhaps.”

“I definitely do it better.” We weren’t talking about the drink anymore. He replied pulling away to finish the drink, only looking up when it was finished. "One hopefully not boring Espresso Martini." He smirked at me causing me to giggle. I pulled my card from my wallet and went to hand it to him. He shook his head and pushed the drink closer to me. "Don't worry about it. It's on me.” 

"Dean, I insist." I pushed the card out towards him again, he put a hand up to stop me from trying anymore.

"It's fine. Enjoy your night." He collected everything he’d used for the drink, turning to put it back into the respective spots. 

"Dean." He turned around; I was still in my previous spot, watching him as he worked. He walked closer, leaning slightly across the bar. I smiled up playfully and before I even knew what was happening, What I was doing. I’d leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank-you," I whispered into his ear, my cheek still pushed against his. “I’m sure the drink is delicious." I pulled away, picking up the drink, walking away, with one final glance over my shoulder. He was leaning on the bar, a devastatingly handsome smile on his face. 

“Sienna, there you are.” Stacey grabbed my shoulder pulling me to a stop. A bit of my drink spilled onto the ground, splashing over her shoes. “Sorry.” She looked over her shoes before back to me. “Have you seen Halley?” I shook my head. 

“Last I saw her, she was at the bar talking to one of the bartenders, George.” I looked back to the bar to see Halley still where I’d left her. Smiling as he handed her a drink. She smiled and waved before making her way over to us. “Here she is.” 

“Sorry.” She apologised. “George and I got to talking.” There wasn’t a trace of remorse in her tone as she giggled. She looked at me as my eyebrow corked up. “I’ll explain later.” I nodded my head, bringing my drink to my lips. I sipped carefully. The mix of vodka, coffee liqueur and espresso dancing across my tongue, rich, indulgent and creamy. Dean was right, he does do it better. 

“Whose dancing with me?” Stacey changed the subject, her eyes still on the bar… On George and Dean. “Because, ladies there are so many young, attractive males here tonight, who I think to deserve a show.” I followed her eyes, she was watching Dean as he threw a piece of ice at George laughing when it hit his friend in the back. I turned back, looking at Halley.

“What do you say?” Halley smiled. Her eyes went to the bar, to George. I smiled weakly.

“Look’s like we’re dancing.” I grabbed Halley’s hand, dragging her behind Stacey onto the dance floor. “You better put on a good show for him.” I moaned. “Because I could be home right now, listening to Jimmy Buffet on cheap shitty red wine.” She shook her head. 

“You’re always drunk on cheap shitty red wine.” She taunted back. “But I will put on a good show.” She smirked, swaying her hips. “He watching?” Quickly I darted my eyes to the bar… To George. His eyes were on Halley. 

“He’s watching.” 

Sweat. Smoke. Alcohol. Body odour. That’s all that I could smell wherever I went, wherever I turned. Around me bodies moved pushing themselves up against any surface they could, grabbing onto other people as their bodies gyrated against another person. 

“C’mon Sienna. Dance with me.” Halley grabbed my hands. 

“Halley you know I hate to dance, it’s not something I’m good at. It’s -.”  

“Sienna.” I was cut off by a boy who came up stopping beside us, slinging an arm around my waist pulling me into an awkward side hug fingertips digging into my skin as the material of my t-shirt lifted. I vaguely recognised him from my communications class, but we weren't friends so nothing made this encounter less uncomfortable. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He yelled over the music before he looked at Halley and smiled I waited for him to remove his arm from my waist but he never did, which caused me to raise my eyebrow at Halley. “Sorry, my names Henry. Sienna and I share a communications class.” Henry that’s what his name was… Henry.

“Halley,” She said extending an arm to Henry following it with a deathly glare. Henry smiled, extending his own hand to Halley. Shaking his hand, she didn’t drop her glare. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You ladies having a good night?” Henry slurred, words joining each other in a drunken fashion, his weight shifting onto me. 

“We are, thanks,” I yelled back, hoping he’d catch my tone.

“Me too.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “I’m fucked though. The boys and I have been drinking since four this afternoon.” He chuckled stupidly. 

“Wow, I’m surprised you’re standing.” Halley deadpanned. 

“Do you want to dance Sienna?” Henry smiled down at me.

“I don’t really dance.”

“I can teach you.” His drunken smile widened as his hand dropped down to grab mine, pulling me away from Halley before I could object. I stumbled my way through the crowd trying to loosen Henry’s grip on my hand, hoping I could lose him in the crowd when Henry stopped. I looked around smiling awkwardly trying to figure out how exactly people moved to this kind of music. Studying how they rocked their bodies somewhat in tempo with the music. “You don’t like Iggy?” Henry asked, mouths moving to the song. I shrugged again. 

“I’m not good at dancing, remember.” I shrugged and started to sway side to side holding my hands together hoping Henry wouldn't grab hold of them again before I figured out a way to leave without offending him. There was nothing worse than a white boy who got rejected. Against my highest hopes, he grabbed my hands and started to pull them above my head and make me move more freely or so he thought, it couldn't have felt any stranger for me than it did. He kept this up for a while before he pulled me closer to him so his body was pressed against mine attempting to get our bodies to move as one to the music, thrusting his hips into mine, his lips going to my neck his nose travelling along the length of it before he planted a kiss on my collar bone. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe, Everyone was standing too close to me and I forgot how to breathe.

“You look really good Sienna.” 

“I need some water,” I said quickly pulling away from him and rushing off the dance floor. I reached the water station at the bar, pouring myself a cup and downing it.  

“Easy tiger.” I looked up to meet the worried eyes of George “Are you okay?” I nodded my head and poured another drink. “You’re Halley’s friend right?” He held his hand out. “I’m George.” I extended my hand and opened my mouth ready to reply. 

“Sienna there you are.” My eyes widened as I heard Henry yell from behind me. “Why’d you run back there?” I turned and tried to answer but he just got closer. “I thought we were having a good time.” 

“I just really needed water.” I motioned behind me. “Worked up a thirst.” 

“But things were just getting started.” Henry smiled, a smiled I’m sure he thought would have me weak at the knees as he reached around and grabbed onto my ass and give it a squeeze.  

“Hey.” I yelped, trying to back away. 

“Did you seriously just grab her,” George growled from behind me. 

“She liked it, don’t worry big guy.” My mouth dropped, hands going up to his chest. 

“What the fu—.” 

“Sir.” We both looked over to see a tall, built security guard standing near us. “I’m going to need you to come with me.” Henry pushed himself away from me, knocking me back into the wood of the bar. “You need to leave the premises.” 

“I’m not even drunk.” He argued. “You can’t kick me out for being sober.” 

“You need to come with me sir, you’re making a scene.” 

“S, Are you okay?” Halley whispered in my ear as she rushed up to stand beside me. 

“Why am I being kicked out.” Henry continued to argue chest puffing out. 

“One of our staff advised us that you are too intoxicated to be on-premises.” The security guard got closer. 

“Who told you that.” 

“Don’t make me throw you out.” Henry took one look between me and the guard.

“She’s not even worth it.” He looked at me once again scoffing and pushing past us. The guard nodded at us before following him out. 

“Sienna” I heard from behind me. I turned to see George still standing behind us, leaning down on the bar. “Are you sure you’re okay? You rushed out of there pretty quickly.” I let my head fall back against the brick wall next to the water fountain.

“Yeah, he was just giving me a weird vibe.”

“So he’s not your boyfriend.” Halley and I shook my head. “So you’re single.” I nodded. “Thank god. We had reports of him spiking other girls drink. When Dea - One of the guys saw him dancing with you, he got Big Mike involved.” 

“Thanks, George.” 

“Come on Sienna, Let’s get you home.” I let Halley pull me to the door, Stopping to say goodbye to Stacey and the other girls as we made our way to the door. I looked back to the bar where  I saw Dean on the way out a girl sitting in front of him at the bar, running a hand up and down his arm. He wasn’t watching her though, His eyes were on me. With one final look at Dean, Halley pulled me out the door and back to reality.

[likexporcelain]

A Crack in Everything (Chapter 4/8) - Jonerys

Summary: Six years after their high school romance ended in emotional ruin, Daenerys Targaryen runs into Jon Snow by chance on Valentine's Day, forcing old memories to the resurface. This sudden reunion could be cathartic, but it could also deepen the cracks already in their hearts. The question Daenerys grapples with is, will this all be worth it in the end?

Rating: Explicit

First 4 chapters up on Ao3 -- more tags/warnings/notes there

The first time Jon and I kissed, we didn't stop for thirty minutes, and when the bell rang, we walked to Chemistry together with silly smiles on our faces. We had made a nonverbal agreement not to kiss in front of our classmates, though. Our relationship wasn't for public scrutiny. It was for us.

We were calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend by the end of the week.

I fell in love with Jon almost immediately after that, or maybe I had already been in love with him and just hadn't realized it. I had always thought falling in love was supposed to happen over a long period of time and that loving someone so passionately so quickly meant that the relationship was doomed. Maybe I had been right, but when I was with Jon, kissing him, touching him, laughing with him, I thought that we would last forever. I would never have another boyfriend. I would go to school and he would follow me, we would get an apartment together and watch each other grow as people, we would get married after my graduation, buy a small house on a large piece of land and have two kids by the time I turned thirty. I would be a wildlife biologist and he would teach modern literature. I planned it all out in my head during our first couple of months as a couple, and sometimes, I would interrupt our lunch time make-out sessions to add a new detail to our fifteen year plan.

“Goats,” I said once against his mouth, to which he made such a profoundly confused face and I couldn't help but laugh at. I had been sitting across his lap and I could feel his hard on against my leg, so I figured it was time to get his mind on something other than what making out could sometimes lead to. “What do you think of goats? I've always wanted them.”

“Well. . .” Jon began, scrunching his eyebrows, mulling the question over. “I can honestly say I've never met a goat I didn't like.”

“I want goats. At least two, so they aren't lonely.”

“That makes sense,” Jon replied with a nod. “What about a dog? I've always wanted a dog. A big dog.”

“I like dogs. Can we also get an iguana? I kind of have a thing for reptiles.”

Another nod while he twisted a lock of my hair around his finger. “I'm glad you told me. It's good that we get our fetishes out in the open now before we get too deep into this relationship.”

I laughed so abruptly that I snorted and buried my face into the curve of Jon's neck.

“I'm not really a lizard man myself,” he continued in an analytical sort of voice. “However, I did used to have a thing for Nala from the Lion King.”

“Please, stop,” I choked out through my fit of laughter. I leaned away from him, flopping onto my back on the pavement and splaying my hands over my chest. “I'm going to have a heart attack.”

Turning onto his knees, Jon leaned over me and kissed the backs of my hands. My giggles subsiding, I moved one hand to his cheek and brought his mouth to mine. When the bell rang and our lips parted, I realized what a compromising position we had been in, with me on my back and Jon above me, his tongue in my mouth and his knee on the concrete between my parted legs. We hadn't yet done anything more than make out and feel each other over our clothes, but in that moment I wished we were in a bed somewhere rather than behind the basketball gym at school.

While we walked to Chemistry, Jon bumped my shoulder with his arm and asked “Do you think we could teach the iguana to ride on the dog's back? Because that would be worth it right there.”

Tapping a finger against my chin, I replied “I think we could figure it out.”

Just a week later, university acceptance letters began to filter into the mailboxes of every student at Westeros Prep. All except one. It had made sense to me that Jon would go to college because I knew how intelligent he was. I could see him hanging out on a state school campus, lounging against a thick tree trunk, reading Of Mice and Men between classes, but Jon hadn't applied anywhere, and had made no indication that he was planning on applying in the future.

The only time he ever mentioned college was in reference to my own pursuits. When he saw a college fair had popped up in the quad one day, Jon made us go during our lunch period and as we fluttered from booth to booth, from Georgetown to Duke, from Columbia to USC, from Brown to Stanford, and so on and so on, he had made a passing comment I should have paid more attention to:

“The only booth that was ever set up at my old school was for the military, and it was there everyday. Actually, the Army recruitment office was just across the street from campus, between a Pizza Hut and the Metro PCS store.”

I recall those words often, wondering how long Jon had been considering joining the Army without telling me. For a long time after finding out Jon had decided to enlist, I was sick to my stomach with worry and guilt, so it made me feel better to think that it was always something he was interested in, that maybe being in the military would give him something I couldn't, that somehow, ironically, it would bring him peace.

* * * * *

While Jon drove me home from the pier that Saturday, I watched his fingers dance absentmindedly across the back of my hand over the center console. When he pulled up in front of my building, I hesitated, wanting to invite him inside, but after a few moments silence, I unbuckled and climbed out of the car. Before I shut the car door, Jon leaned over he console and asked “Can I come see you again soon?”

I told him he could, then went inside, noticing through the glass front doors of the complex that Jon's Jeep remained parked out front until I was inside my apartment.

The next day, I had assumed optimistically that Jon would be waiting for me again when I got off my shift, but that wasn't the case. I worried that he'd changed his mind, that, after fully processing what all I confessed to him on the pier, he decided I was too damaged now.

But, Monday evening, there was a knock on my apartment door.

I was watching a Shark Tank marathon and eating Ben & Jerry's out of the pint tub – that and the two-liter of Diet Coke on the floor beside the sofa was my dinner. I really should have spent the day searching for another part-time job so that I could start making enough money to achieve my new life dream of being able to afford my own apartment, one with a dishwasher, but the overwhelming feeling of utter hopelessness kept me watching reality TV since waking up.

“Missi! Your B.F. is here!” I called out, knowing she and her boyfriend had a date that night, because she had been in the bathroom for almost two hours getting ready.

She rushed through the living room with only one shoe on, muttering something about how she thought they were meeting at the restaurant. I kept my eyes on the TV, but when Missandei opened our front door, it wasn't her boyfriend's voice I heard, it was Jon's.

“Hi, is Daenerys here?”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise and I looked to the door, but all I could see was Missandei's slender back and part of the mostly-opened front door. Then she twisted around and shot me a suspicious look.

“Daenerys,” she said with an inflection, because she'd never heard anyone use my full name before, “the door's for you.”

Moving quicker than I had all day, I stood and ran into the kitchen, throwing my ice cream back into the freezer and splashing water from the sink on my face. It occurred to me that I was in my pajamas, but thankfully they also happened to double as normal, though very casual day clothes – yoga pants and a somewhat over-sized Los Angeles Rams t-shirt. Missandei side eyed me as she sauntered back to the bathroom and I shuffled to the door while tying my hair back as neatly as I could.

“Hey,” Jon said.

With nervous surprise, I told him to come in and he did. As I moved around him to close the door I noticed he smelled more like deodorant than cigarettes. He was also holding a plastic bag.

“I'm sorry for just stopping by. We never exchanged numbers.”

“That's okay. It's the same number I had in high school, though. But, I guess you probably don't still have it in your phone.”

He shook his head. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not unless you count me sitting on my ass in my pajamas watching Shark Tank as a bad time.”

With a small smile, Jon said “You didn't used to like football.”

I glanced down at my shirt, then shrugged “I watch a few games here and there. Do you want to sit?” I crossed the room and picked up the remote where I had dropped it and flicked off the television. Missandei and I didn't have much in the way of furniture. Just a deep green sofa, IKEA coffee table and our 34 inch TV that rested on a solid wood bookshelf turned on it's side. Missandei stored her vinyls between the vertical slats. Most of our things sat in piles on the floor. Stacks of books, stacks of blankets, stacks of towels. Our living room almost always looked like we were preparing for a yard sale.

Sitting together on the couch, Jon set his plastic bag in the space left between us.

“Don't you have work tonight?” I asked.

“I actually got off earlier today. Switched shifts with someone. I wanted to give this to you. I know it's lame, but I thought I should see if you wanted it back.”

With a hesitant smile, I put my hand in the bag and removed from it something soft and familiar. Though somewhat faded from lots of wearing and washing, it looked as good as I remembered and smelled even better, because it smelled like Jon. A crimson sweatshirt with HARVARD printed across the chest. I smiled down at it as wide as I did the first time Jon gave it to me.

“You kept it?” I asked.

“Ever since the day you threw it at my head and told me to eat shit and die.”

As he smiled, I frowned. “Did I really say that?”

“It was the last thing you ever said to me actually.”

I hadn't forgotten, but I had hoped Jon had. Looking down at the big white letters, I said “I wore this thing everyday when I wasn't at school or work, you know.”

“I know.”

“I kept wearing it even after Harvard rejected me. I had this idea that I would wear it on my first day at Caltech. It was going to be hilarious and I would have made absolutely no friends.”

“I know.”

Scooting to the edge of the sofa, I straightened my back and pulled the sweatshirt on over my head and down my body. The end of my t-shirt stuck out the bottom awkwardly, but it fit.

When Missandei came out again, all dolled up and ready for her date, she eyed the word across my chest and said “I thought you went to Caltech.”

“Harvard looks better on her,” Jon answered for me and the peculiar complement made me blush nonetheless.

“Alright,” said Missandei, giving me another one of those suspicious looks that meant have fun but be careful. I had never told my roommate about Jon, even though she was the closest thing to a best friend I've had since Jon. It was sad to think of how little she really knew about me, and that it was completely my fault. Once, while we were both tipsy off cheap gin, I told her about my pregnancy as a test, seeing how far I could open up to another human being before I'd start to panic, but that was as far as it went. She asked if I'd had an abortion and I answered by pouring myself another drink and changing the subject to workplace gossip. Once again, Jon knew more about me than anyone else in my life.

I gave awkward introductions – “Missi, this is Jon. Jon, this is Missi.” –  and she was out the door a minute later, saying she may not be home until morning.

Alone with Jon now, my apartment never seemed so quiet. To quickly break the tension, I asked him once more about his face.

“Your scars. What happened?” I asked.

“It's kind of a long story.”

“Well, Missi did say she may not be back til tomorrow.”

That got him to smile a bit before going into it. “I guess it really isn't that long of a story. I served for four years, came back and didn't know what the hell to do with myself, so I reenlisted. Eight months into my tour there was an ambush and --” He finished the story by holding up his fist and popping out his fingers as he made a dull explosion sound with his mouth. “A month in a hospital later and I was discharged.”

I could tell there was a lot more to the story by the way Jon's soft eyes squinted and his body relax in a defeated sort of way against the back of the couch. I could feel him shutting down, just enough to keep the memories from taking over his mind. This look wasn't unfamiliar to me. He had the same sort of look whenever he spoke about his mother. It was the same look he had the day he brought me to the neighborhood he grew up in.

* * * * *

When Jon turned eighteen, it was a Saturday. I would have taken the day off to be with him, but he told me his family had planned a whole day of “fun” for him and that I should take Sunday off instead. I thought that I should have planned something for him as well, but it seemed like he already had something in mind. He picked me up Sunday morning in front of the Seven-Eleven and drove about ten miles South until we were in a neighborhood that made mine look like Pleasantville.  

“This is where you wanted to go for your birthday?” I asked as he parallel parked next to a boarded up, dilapidated apartment building.

“I don't really care about my birthday. I just wanted to take you here, and since you took the day off. . .”

“You wanted to take me here?”

After he got out of the car, he went around and opened the passenger door for me, like it was a real date. It was an unusually chilly morning for April and I kept my hands inside the front pouch of my Harvard sweatshirt. Jon put his arm around my shoulders and pointed up to the third floor of the crusty brick building.

“You see that window, the one on the far left side, third floor?”

“Yeah.”

“That's where my mom died. Inside that room.”

Moving my eyes from the boarded window to Jon's profile, I tried to read his expression, but it was one I couldn't dissect. He didn't look especially sad, though he certainly didn't look happy. His features were soft and unaffected, but his lips were pursed like he was contemplating something, a message written on the wall that only he could see.

We hadn't discussed Jon's mother much. All I knew about her was the probably-false rumors our classmates would mumble to each other when I was within earshot. I never pressed Jon for the truth because it would have been hypocritical of me, since I never wanted to talk about my family either.

“How did she die?” I asked gently, trying to make the question come off in a way that Jon would know he didn't have to answer.

Jon took a few easy breaths and rubbed my arm where his hand rested. It gave Jon comfort to give me comfort. “Drugs. But, I'm sure you already knew about that.”

“I didn't know if it was true or not.”

“Unfortunately, a lot of what people say at school is true. The rest, well, I don't even know enough about my life to dispute the rest. She wasn't always a junkie, though. She was actually a really great mom for a long time, but she always had this very intense, penetrative sadness that seemed to consume her little by little each day. Living where we lived didn't help. Everyone was on something and by the time I reached middle school, she was as good as gone. The rest was just watching and waiting until one day she never came home. She'd gone missing before, but only for a few days at a time. After two weeks, I just assumed she died. When the cops showed up at the front door and told me what they'd found when they raided this building, I couldn't even cry, because I'd already accepted it.”

“I'm sorry, Jon.”

He shook his head and looked at me. “I just wanted you to know the truth. I wanted you to see who I am.”

“That's not who you are, though. That's who your mom was. You're not her.”

“Sometimes I feel like a traitor. I'm basically being taken care of by Ned Stark, but when my mom needed help, he wasn't there. But, I actually like Ned. He's almost always working, but when he's not, he's a really nice person – annoyingly nice sometimes. I don't understand what sort of dispute he could have had with my mom before I was born to make them hate each other so much. I tried asking a little while ago, but he's even less comfortable talking about my mom than I am.”

I took my hands out of my sweatshirt and hugged Jon against me. “You're not a traitor. Some families are just too fucked up to ever understand.”

Hugging me back, he laid his cheek against the side of my head and said “One day, I want to have a totally un-fucked up family.”

“Me too,” I replied.

That was when Jon told me he loved me for the first time, but he told me as a question. “Do you already know that I love you?”

I lifted my head and answered “I had a feeling. You already know that I love you, right?”

“Oh, yeah. You're not very subtle.”

I smiled, but it was hard to be happy in a place like that. A car alarm went off in the near distance and a cat fight had broken out in front of a rotting cottage across the street. The sound of rickety shopping cart wheels grew ever louder as a homeless man limped down the street in our direction.

“Where did you live?” I asked. It couldn't possibly have been here.

Thankfully, we got back into the Mazda, but we didn't travel far. Jon turned onto the highway, drove North a couple blocks, then pulled into the parking lot of a laundromat. I followed suit when Jon exited the car once again, and I followed him across the parking lot until we stood on the sidewalk facing the highway. Sunday traffic was light, but still noisy, so when Jon spoke I had to stand almost against him to hear.

“Across the street,” He pointed in front of us, to a huge building, right up against the highway, tall and beige and rowed with small plaster balconies, clothes and towels draped over the edge of half of them. On the bottom floor, graffiti decorated the chipped paint and the windows were all barred. While it was certainly a step up from the abandoned drug-den Jon had just shown me, the building was depressing at best.

“We lived someplace nicer when I was young,” Jon continued. “I mean, it still wasn't a great area, but it was a little house with a front yard and there were kids my age who I could play with. We moved here when I was nine, after my mom lost her secretary job.”

I took his hand in mine and squeezed. “A few foster families I stayed with lived in buildings a lot like this one, but I never stayed long.”

“It's weird that we met where we did. In some fancy douche-bag school. I guess I'm just lucky you're freaky smart and my uncle is freaky rich.” His eyes were still on the building, his palm damp against mine. “I'm not going to say I'm lucky my mom died when she did, but at least something good came out of it.”

“Hey.” I gave his arm a gentle tug to get him to look at me. I had no idea how to respond to that, so instead, I said “Let's go someplace happy, alright? For your birthday.”

“Yeah.” Finally, the corners of his mouth lifted. “Can we go to your apartment?”

I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and nodded. That was exactly what I had in mind.

* * * * *

Slowly, I raised a finger to where the longest scar started on his forehead and felt the slight crease of skin. Incredulously, I asked “You spent a month in the hospital for these?”

Heaving a drawn out sigh, Jon began unbuttoning his shirt. My pulse raced, but any excitement I felt for getting to see Jon's body again was quickly replaced by anxious fear. I couldn't prevent my gasp, and I felt tears prickle at my eyelids as soon as my eyes beheld the long, jagged scars that covered Jon's torso, one of which being right where I had placed my hand in the middle of his chest on the pier, right over his heart.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, unable to look away. I had to cover my eyes with the palm of my hand when I felt about ready to throw up. “I shouldn't have let you go,” I whimpered. “I knew something bad was going to happen. I knew you were going to get hurt.”

“You knew you couldn't stop me. And I'm fine now.”

After a hard swallow, I let my hand drop, taking in the sight again with a bit more composure. “Does it hurt?” I asked, reaching out tentatively and touching the discolored scar running down the center of his chest with my fingertips.

“Not anymore.”

“You almost died, didn't you?”

His hand raised to my face and I felt his thumb stroking the water that had spilled from my eyes. “Don't cry,” he whispered, leaning toward me. “I'm not dead.”

Slowly, but without caution, I leaned forward to rest my cheek against his. His arms went around my waist and mine draped around his shoulders. We remained like that for a short time and when I leaned back ever so slightly, I turned my head, my nose grazing against his cheekbone. I took his face in my hands and tilted his head down so that I could press my lips to the top of his most prominent facial scar, kissing my way down the permanent blemish until it stopped at the hollow of his cheek. All it took was a shift of my head a couple inches and my mouth was over his, and when I puckered my lips, they just barely touched his. Each kiss was just a little bit firmer, a little bit longer, and soon Jon was kissing me back, letting me taste his tobacco and winterfresh breath, and his warm tongue.

* * * * *

I had made Jon wait in the hallway outside my apartment door for a couple minutes while I straightened up. It was a tiny place and I wasn't exactly a tidy person. Once all the dishes were in the sink, garbage in the garbage can, dirty clothes in the hamper, and clean clothes tossed in the closet, I gave Jon the green light to come in.

It wasn't the first time Jon had been over, but it was nerve wracking all the same to watch his eyes scan my single room apartment like he was trying to spot something that wasn't there before. There was never really much to see, though, besides clutter. Just a kitchenette, a Salvation Army desk and my bed, which was just a mattress and box spring sitting on the floor under the only window in the whole apartment. There was a door next to the refrigerator that led to a small bathroom and a sliding door by my bed that was a long, narrow closet stuffed with old school stuff and cheap clothes. I never liked buying furniture because I never liked moving it, so when I did buy things for the apartment it was usually funky blankets and pillows and water cups with TV characters on them. I hung Christmas lights across two adjacent walls but rarely plugged them in, worrying it might be a fire hazard. There was no television, but I did have a laptop that I kept locked in my desk in case of a break in.

Jon took his fake-leather jacket off and draped it over my desk chair. “I like the dinosaur pillows.”

I turned to my bed, cheeks going pink as I realized I had made my bed the other day with cartoon dinosaur sheets I'd bought on sale in the children's section at Target. It probably looked even stranger that along with them, I was using a thick Christmas themed throw blanket as a comforter.

“So, I have a question,” he continued. “You're still seventeen, right? So how come you're living on your own and not in some shitty foster home?”

“It's a long story,” I said, sitting down on the edge of my bed. Because there wasn't a frame, the height was about the same as a regular couch. “The short version is that my brother adopted me when he turned twenty-one, but that turned out to be a complete nightmare, so I got emancipated when I was fifteen, around the time I started at Westeros Prep. I had been working since I was fourteen so I could already support myself enough to afford this lavish life of luxury you see here.”

With some hesitancy, Jon replied “I thought your brother died.”

“My oldest brother killed himself less than a year before I was born. I have another brother, though, who is about seven years older than me. I haven't seen him in a couple years. He must have gotten all of my father's genes, because he's not a very good person. I still love him, though, but if I never have to see him again, I think I'd be okay with that.”

Jon nodded slowly, crossing the few feet between my desk and my bed to sit beside me. “Fucked up families,” he said.

“Exactly.”

For a bit, we sat in silence, save for the soft hum of the traffic outside, until Jon broke it.

“What do you want to do?”

Nervously, I shrugged, a lie because I knew exactly what I wanted to do. It was the same thing we'd almost done the last time Jon was over, and the same thing I fantasized about most nights as I tried to fall asleep.

“Are you too warm in that?” he asked.

I glanced down at my sweatshirt and nodded, then pulled the thing off. The tank top I wore underneath rode up to just under my bra as I did so, so I tugged it back down over my hips quickly. Jon raised a hand to the back of my head and I felt his fingers rake through where my loose hair had become tangled. When I toed off my shoes, Jon followed suit and removed his Converse. While his eyes were on his feet, I took a chance and pulled off my tank top, and before Jon's eyes found me again, I was already shedding my bra.

“We don't have to,” he said, because that was the sort of thing nice guys said, and while I was glad for that, what I really wanted was to feel his hands on my naked tits and his mouth kissing me all over.

It sounds silly, but the fact that Jon had turned eighteen and I was still seventeen made me even more excited. I always enjoyed those sorts of benign rebellions because it was all I could ever afford myself. I felt this way behind the basketball gym sometimes when Jon and I would spend the entire period making out. As soon as the bell would ring, I would pull back just slightly and say “We need to get to class” and Jon would reply “Fuck class. Kiss me,” and I would kiss him for another two minutes before we'd run to Chemistry and get there just as the bell was ringing again. Little things like that made me feel dangerous and like my life was more interesting than it really was.

Jon had a condom in his wallet “just in case” and when we were both naked I watched him slide it onto himself, chewing on my fingernails until he was finished. I was a virgin and he wasn't, but I liked that it wouldn't be his first time. I needed him to be less nervous than I was.

Lying back on one of my dinosaur print pillows, I parted my legs enough for Jon to situate himself between them. When he leaned over me, I flinched a bit, thinking he was going to put his penis in me right then, but he didn't. He pushed some strands of hair from my face and asked “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I whispered and pushed some of his curls behind his ear.

“Just kiss me, alright? And don't stop.”

That sounded easy. I'd had a lot of practice kissing Jon over the last few of months. When he closed the gap between our mouths, I kissed him the way I thought lovers kissed and tried not to focus on Jon's hand as it trailed between our bodies and touched me where no one else had ever touched me before. My hips jerked slightly and I moaned into his mouth which just made him kiss me better.

A second after his hand left me, I felt something else replace it, but instead of freaking out, I just did what he said and kept on kissing him. I had my hand behind his head, keeping him with me just in case.

I knew that it would hurt. Everyone always says the first time hurts, but the pain went away a lot sooner than I thought it would. I wondered if having used tampons for years had helped, but quickly turned my mind onto something other than periods, like the fact that Jon Snow, my boyfriend, who I loved so deeply, was in my bed, having sex with me.

Afterward, we got Icee's and pizza from downstairs and watched Lost on my laptop, pausing it every few minutes to make out a little bit. “Best birthday ever,” Jon had murmured between kisses.

* * * * *

“Daenerys,” Jon breathed against my mouth and I wanted to roll myself up and live between his lips like one of his cigarettes. But then he said “Maybe I should leave.”

I leaned back a bit, understanding but also not understanding at all, because he had kissed me back, his hand had slid from my waist to my thigh and his dark eyes were full of hunger.

“Can't you just kiss me for a little?” I asked, running my hand across his cheek and feeling his short beard tickle my palm.

Leaning his forehead against mine, he purred. “I don't know if I can just kiss you.”

I recaptured his mouth, trapping his bottom lip between mine. The kisses intensified quickly. I didn't think I'd ever kissed Jon like this. These were needy, ravenous kisses. Live-in-the-moment kisses, because in the next moment, everything could be different. Forget-about-the-future kisses. There was only right now.

I swung a leg over his lap and his hands went to my ass before sliding up and under my shirt, uncomfortably stretching all the fabric that kept my body hidden. His fingers unhooked my bra so that his palms could caress the length of my back uninterrupted. Maybe that was as far as Jon wanted to go, but I took a chance away, leaned back on his lap and peeled off my shirt and sweatshirt, all in one, albeit awkward, motion. Then I took a breath, watching Jon's dark eyes watch my chest as I slowly slid my bra down my arms before dropping it onto the floor.

From my back, Jon's hands trailed around until they were feeling the curve of my tits, not much different, I hoped, from the last time he'd held them. His calloused fingers against my nipples made me bite my bottom lip and I was suddenly feeling breathless. When Jon leaned forward, I tilted my head up and then his mouth was on my neck, pressing wet kisses that made my toes curl. Arousal boiled between my legs and I began to move my hips just enough to feel how much he wanted me too. As soon as my crotch brushed his, he hummed against my neck and slid his hands back down to my ass, pulling me firmly against him.

“I need you,” I breathed, my eyes closed, focusing on his body against mine. “I need you inside me.”

But a moment later, he was leaning away from me, resting against the back of the couch and parting his hands from my yearning body to rub his eyes, as if he thought this was some kind of dream. I could see the wheels turning in his head and suddenly felt lost. If he was mulling this over, then I knew how it would end.

“This is why you were afraid to talk to me,” I said solemnly, fingers fiddling with the bottom hem of his flannel shirt. “You knew this would happen. You knew I still wanted you.”

His hands dropped to my thighs, rubbing them like he would do to my arm to comfort me, to comfort himself. I didn't feel comforted, though. I could tell he was trying to focus on my eyes and not the fact that I was half naked and on top of him, ready for the taking. “I knew that I still wanted you,” he whispered. “I just have to think first.”

“You've had all this time to think, Jon, and it lead you here. I didn't ask you to come over tonight. But you're here now, so stay.” I was pleading now and I hated it, but I was afraid that if he left I wouldn't ever see him again and I couldn't go through that twice.

Eyes trailing down my body, I could see them flicker as one part of him tried desperately to convince all the other parts to give up on me. His hands began to tremble as they slid up to my hips, and then he was moving me off of him. Standing, he kept his back to me while he adjusted the way his jeans pressed against his erection. I didn't try to speak. I had already said all I could think of.

“I just need to think,” he said again while pulling a pack of Marlboros from his pocket.

He didn't walk away, though. He remained standing in front of the couch, fingers sliding a cigarette into his mouth and I just watched him do it, content to let him smoke in my apartment if it meant he wouldn't leave. Jon would never do that, though. His hand never even reached for a lighter.

After a minute, I stood, cautious and quiet. I picked up my t-shirt and held it to my chest, covering myself without putting it on, then moved around to Jon's front. I didn't try to touch him, but I stood close. His eyes stared at the wall behind my head, still mulling.

And then something changed. His eyes squeezed shut and he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, tucking it behind his ear. A hand covered his eyes as he inhaled sharply through his nose. I wanted to hold him but still thought it best to give him space. The next time I saw his eyes, they were pink and his eyelids twitched like he was trying not to cry.

“Okay,” he said finally, then paused again to take a series of long breaths. “You were right. You were right all those years ago when you told me that it didn't matter and that it didn't change what we had, because I never got over you, I never stopped loving you and I never stopped wanting you. I guess that's obvious. Every day since you told me to eat shit and die, I have missed you. You're still the most beautiful person I've ever seen. I would give you every single piece of me if you wanted it.” I could hear his throat swallow hard. “But, I don't want anyone to ever look down on you, or us. . . Fuck. This is hard for me. I want this so bad, but it's hard for me to accept that there's this thing between us. I wanted us to be perfect. I thought that we were perfect.”

The t-shirt was growing damp where my hands clutched the fabric. I was sweating again. Jon was too. Small beads of moisture percolated at his hairline.

Shaking my head, I whispered “I don't need perfect. I never did.” I stared at his chest. With him standing, the scars looked almost like rips in his flesh, like something trying to cut it's way out of him. “I'm sorry I pushed you. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. Please don't leave, though. We could just hang out. Even after all these years, I still think of you as my best friend. More than anything else, you were my best friend.”

My eyes caught Jon's green Converse stepping closer to me. I could feel the heat coming off of his body and when he laid his palm on my jaw, I thought the skin might melt off my face.

“You're my best friend, too. And don't apologize. You didn't make me uncomfortable. I did. I've got Robb Stark's fucking voice in my head.”

He had said the last bit with a breathy chuckle and I finally picked my head up to face him.

“I'm not going to listen to it anymore,” he added. “He doesn't know what this is like.”

Hopefully, I suggested “We could just get dinner and watch TV. We never did finish Lost. Well, I finished it without you, but we could start over. Get some Chinese food and just. . . start over.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Let's do that. But, let's do this first, alright?”

A second later, his mouth was over mine, kissing my upper lip and I was quick to capture his bottom lip, sucking gently. As soon as his arms were around my waist, I wrapped mine around his neck, dropping my t-shirt to the floor without a care. He held me close and lifted me to his height, my pointed toes leaving the carpet. My eyes were shut, focusing on kissing him, relishing in the tickle of his short beard against my nose and the smoking taste of his warm tongue. When his hand hooked under my butt, I wrapped my legs around him and moved my hips against his abdomen, longing for just an ounce of pressure between my thighs. My mind could hardly register that Jon had turned us around until I was suddenly horizontal, my back landing on my plush sofa cushions, and Jon was on top of me, having never broken our kiss.

I was being consumed by hot breath and salty skin, and flexing muscles, like the one pulsing against my desperate pussy. My hands were quick to slide between our bodies, connecting with Jon's belt. The buckle landed harshly against my pelvis once I had it unfastened. Jon sat up on my knees between my legs and pulled the leather strap from the loops around his jeans and dropped it to the floor.

“There are condoms under the sick in the bathroom,” I said through shallow gasps.

Meeting my eyes, Jon nodded, then leaped up and went to find my bathroom. After a deep breath, I lifted my knees to my chest and pulled off my yoga pants and underwear. Jon was back before they hit the floor and I immediately broke out in a fit of laughter because he had brought the entire Costco sized box with him. He started to chuckle as well, but was too mesmerized by the sight of me.

Moving slower now, Jon set the box down on the floor and started on his shoes, eyes never leaving me. I thought he would undress for me, but he didn't. Once his shoes were off, he climbed back between my legs and leaned down, kissing me firm on the mouth before moving down to my neck, nibbling the skin and licking my throat. My eyes closed and my fingers wove into his hair as I felt wet kisses trail from my collarbone to my chest to my nipple – I gasped, his teeth grazing the hard nub before sweeping it with his tongue. And then he went lower, to my navel, then even lower. His arm hooked under my knee and lifted it up higher, over his shoulder, and then his lips were on my pussy, kissing me, teasing me, tasting how aroused I had become. I tilted my head back against the sofa cushion and groaned, overtaken by the sensual sound of wetness meeting wetness as he licked me.

After Jon found my clit I knew it wouldn't take long for me to cum. My pussy had sucked his two fingers into it's depth like they belonged there and my muscles clenched them tight as he persistently sucked my clit between his lips and did something with his tongue that made me whimper curse words through clenched teeth, moving my hips against his mouth. My orgasm seemed to last forever though it was probably only about ten seconds. I begged him not to stop, and he didn't, but eventually it was too much and I had to push his head away.

I was left panting, chest heaving. Jon had sat up and I closed my legs, my thighs pressed tightly together. Slowly, he removed his fingers from inside me and rested his sticky hand on my knee, squeezing it gently. When I was calm, I looked at him and blushed, realizing it was the most relaxed I'd felt in a long time.

“Hi,” I breathed, like my mind had been wiped clean and I was meeting him for the first time, naked and trembling.

“Hi,” he replied, then gently pulled my legs straight, to rest across his own.

Jon rubbed my calves and feet and after a couple minutes, I thought I could fall asleep like that, but then I remembered the box of condoms and suddenly felt a pulse between my thighs. It had been so long since someone else had given me an orgasm that I'd forgotten just how much I loved it, but an orgasm wasn't all that I wanted.

Twisting on my side, I reached down to the floor and retrieved a condom from the box before sitting up. I moved to straddle Jon's lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of him. I could smell myself on his face when I leaned close. I kissed him, open-mouthed, connecting our tongues and I could taste myself too among his usual Jon taste. Even better.

While we made out like we used to, but better, I felt Jon's hands between us and his hips raising against me. He leaned forward to finish pushing his jeans and boxers off his legs, but I moved with him the whole time, never breaking our kiss. His erection was against me now, flesh on flesh. Jon leaned back against the couch and I lowered my pussy to let it rest atop the underside of his pulsing cock. He moaned into my mouth, his hands squeezing my ass while I moved my hips just enough to get him slick with my cum.

I'll admit, I wanted to let him slide into me right then, but I handed the condom to him and watched him put it on himself. Once ready, I gripped Jon's shoulders and lowered myself onto him, trying to keep my breathing even while he filled me.

“Oh my God,” I groaned once I had him all the way inside. His forehead was against mine, his hands back on my ass and I simply stayed there, sitting on his lap with him buried inside me, shifting ever so slightly here and there, getting reacquainted to the feel of him.

After half a minute, I lifted up a couple inches, then lowered back down. This simple move made Jon groan and squeeze my flesh.

“Just to warn you,” he sighed, “I'm not going to last very long.”

I dropped my forehead to his shoulder, and through a breathy laugh, I said “I'm good with that,” then rolled my hips to elicit some more of Jon's soft throaty sounds.

We did end up getting Chinese food, and we also watched Lost, but only the first episode before retreating into my bedroom. Into my bed, to be specific, but we wouldn't need the condoms. We just laid together underneath mismatched sheets and blankets, making each other warm in my drafty bedroom. Then we just slept. We slept for a long time. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept so long, and not once had Jon gotten up to smoke.

In fact, he was still asleep on his back when I dragged myself out of bed to use the bathroom. It was the late morning and I heard Missandei come in the front door while I was brushing my teeth. I grabbed a brush from the counter and started working on the tangles in my hair while I walked out to greet my roommate.

She was sitting up on the kitchen counter, eating Greek yogurt with her finger, wearing the clothes she left in last night and looking as though she had hardly slept a wink.

“Fun date?” I asked, trying to keep my tone cool and casual.

With a tired smirk, Missandei nodded, then sucked some more yogurt off her index finger. “I should ask you the same thing. You finally get on Tinder or something?”

I shook my head, bringing my own finger to my mouth to nibble on a nail. “No, Jon and I have known each other since high school,” I replied. Maybe it was time for another test. “We actually dated in high school.”

Back straightening, Missandei gazed wild, intrigued eyes at me. “You had sex with an ex-boyfriend? That is some drama, Dany,” she said in an excited whisper. For a moment I felt flushed, wondering how she'd known we had sex, but then I realized we'd left the box of condoms sitting on the living room floor.  

“You have no idea. But. . . I'm choosing to be optimistic.” I smiled a true smile, something Missandei rarely saw from me.

With a sly grin, Missandei hopped off the counter, tossed her yogurt cup in the trash, then pulled me into a tight embrace. This was also a rare occurrence so my arms were more tentative as they wrapped around her.

When she let go, she swayed off in the direction of her bedroom, asking me to wake her up for work in four hours. That reminded me that Jon had work at two o'clock, so I slipped back into my room to lay with him some more before he would have to leave. And I would watch him leave, happily, finally knowing for sure that it wouldn't be for good.

[possibly-meaningless]

Dailies - Home from home

23.07.19

It’s technically morning, with the fans snoring like pirates in hammocks, or alternatively white rattlesnakes, and the water outside taking it’s turn to blow unevenly on my singular body which cannot sleep. Someone is fading in new lights at the window, just fast enough to get your attention. New Haven, picking an outfit. Not for us, mind you. Never for us. For logics unknown and in no need of explaining, for no sake at all, but certainly decided.

24.07.19

You walk out into the morning which is like drinking from a stream., putrescence consistent, insect karaoke, packed lunch of sandwich and plumb. Your career is waiting in the howling tunnel, but for now you are walking errands and eating sunscreen. Answer your own question, if no one else can, buy what you want for breakfast. I’d rather a life than your kind of efficiency, the grind of a waiter scraping your own. 

Je suis complètement larguée, perdue, levée d’ancre, un petit rafiot qui traverse la rue dix fois pour en retrouver un grand, vide, rudimentaire, à peine construit, alors que la nuit grésille et présente des étoiles. Il n’y a pas de maison en mer, et quand vient la fatigue, les seules certitudes qu’il y a ne sont pas reposantes. 

25.07.19

It was one of those moments you know can exist, where you receive a long and genuine moment of practical kindness from a cook vinyl collector whose girlfriend sold you plates and glasses, who knew New Haven so pretty well and drove to your street without a GPS, and helped you pick up a table and chairs, and when you listened to music to remantle the table you found your apartment beautiful, and when you left you talked to someone fixing something big and funny in the grass with tape, and walked past the smell of fresh pizza. And if you pay attention you’ll notice your gait is wider, your shoulders back, that loud cars are listening to music they like, and that the power poles sing just as well as cicadas.

26.07.19

Blasted be this bus– bad day I suppose. Learn from mistakes only. I’m torn between a headache and a dedication to being Buddha-like, to mourning the unlikely refund, the upcoming exhaustion on the Uber, Lis’ exhaustion at her work. I chose to be here, yes. And I will make of it what I can. There is no reason not to be, once I have cradled my little suffering, to coo like the toddler in the yellow dress and earrings, you are traveling, you are traveling, your time is never wasted. 

It’s as if I cannot be on this Jersey Turnpike at any time but at eye-hitting sunset. As if the world will not allow it. Perhaps it was the first loving thought I had for this place that assigned me to it, and that I am now the sole designated lover of the gold cutouts on the Passaic river, this residence of cars where mere accumulation forms our departing products in the dust. If so, I am to see it as itself, not as a shallow safari of white and red metal birds, not as a child’s toy-strewn floor, the working hand on a veiny body. I am to see it strange billboards and all, a land bent to utility, understanding of its own gas-fumed complexity, tarmaced and bolted, where flatness is walls, having picked me.

27.07.19

Auntland is just so damn well written. And Lis is working god knows where but always impressing me. My friends are beautiful in a way that simply means I love them. She stops in the antique store where I do not, tells the Roman coins to me. How does one organize a store like this, where paintings are stacked, unnamed, painted wood and cursed carved jade? What went on in a Mayan mind, in this unpolished mosaic mirror? We should buy a castle together. We don’t recognize the Manson murders. We eat cumquats from the branch, and figure out how we are gods. I paint, and Eli knows government secrets. The buses are socialist free. Ten meters of crying DiCaprio, whose girlfriends are never over 25. I decide who lives or dies, who gets to take the scooter home. What a delightful Chekov’s gun, what a connection of inanities. And with the would-be limes that glued circles into my palm so that I must fill them with wisteria fuzz, we took to the painted wood and wrote: OAI. And in the Georgetown chalk dust of the building we found nothing exciting at all but sent off our exploring nonetheless, we took the eraser and wrote: OAI. 

28.07.19

We buy plums, small and mottled, skin the best, and get them in a plastic bag. We joke about the poem, freezer plums, while the heat gets at my shoulders you touch, use your neck to protect me. The juice flecks our elbows with purple paillettes, and the lace at my breast. I’m intrigued that you like me, intrigued if you like me. A line of sweat rolls down your back from your bra and another from of the fold of my butt. I say, not to you, “see what I meant about fruit?” with the slit of the plum open at my thumb and use my tongue to finish the fleshy pit.

29.07.19

É, T, ohielleu. Je m’appelais comme ça avant. Maintenant il y a à ma place quelqu’un de très bien, mais de complètement différent, en chemises rayées, les yeux fermés au soleil, riant ou riante selon le jour, montant une étagère seul(e) et repensant à ce que moi j’ai senti en me disant ayant sept ou huit ans. Ça me va. Cette person ferme les yeux et voit une photo qui n’existe pas, d’un balcon espagnole en sépia. Elle s’amuse à habiter n’importe comment, et aime beaucoup, tout court, d’une manière que je ne pouvais imaginer que par le biais de moi même. Elle pose toujours des questions, ça c’est bien. Elle pleure d’autres choses que de désespoir. Elle a fait la paix avec elle même, et sait que tellement d’autres trucs vont venir lui foutre dans la gueule. Celle dont elle a le plus peur de voir en colère c’est moi. 

30.07.19

The dump outside my apartment seems to be getting fuller every time I go home. Every day, I encounter a new insect. I think « I’ll come back for this later, and if it’s gone, then it’s gone » almost as if I’m thinking it was meant to go. The world has been trying to make me believe in predestination. My bottle of Gamsol spills in my suitcase, but it pools entirely into the dustpan at the bottom. When I lift it up, it spills, but only into the suitcase cover. And it cleans the spray paint off my hands. The ruins of cardboard valleys smell, that is the clearest reminder. They enter a state of being trash and immediately start to smell. I reach into the dumpster for what I need— magpie mind, magpie means. This is the sink I will be drinking in for the next year, and the stove doesn’t work. I walk the cupboards into the house like Easter Island heads.

31.07.19

Warm and sticky, legs and teeth, rain or percussion, swipe and reloading. Misspell a dinosaur. Cool yourself down, cold brownies in the fridge, muggy but just muggy, not hot, waiting for imaginary clothing, talking about drawing clothing, think of opening the window to the wet air, stay pinned by your laptop like by an at-home cat. Film over your teeth, laugh track in a song, chattering gutter, TV-show noises, waiting to go to a task, ignoring the pressing one, pick up your phone, write down a number, stand up, be light headed, sugar nourished.

Skill number one: drink water when you are drunk. Ceaselessly gulp, breathe like a bull into your glass. Why drink, when you are embarrassing enough sober. Blind men would find you bottomlessly stupid. Find the time to find this funny. Laugh about what matters. Think about going dry. See yourself stumble, again and again and again, off the walls, into bed, into formless conclusions.

01.08.19

Something not quite like a headache leaning against the side of my head. It’s the screens, I know that, and maybe the lack of sleep that I intent to maintain, and the beer today after the last night’s Old Fashioned, the earbuds I stole from a lost and found just parsing sound through my ears. My phone screen is sick now too, necrotic pixels growing only when you check, like the pea plant on the windowsill. A vision clouding while I continue to smile, not to sound morbid, of course.

02.08.19

If your body has decided you are going to cry, and no amount or quality of your usual thinking is going to save this (remember, this is also matter of luck and means) find yourself a comfortable place or places to do it. Jaywalk and scowl at the cars, ask the sun for cancer-freckles, worry your music with volume, drop yourself from finger-height like a pill into a glass— any form of cutting off will do. Don’t actually hurt yourself. Learn to recognize the good habits from the bad, the healthy from the fucked, palpate your own side, train yourself to make the right decision.

03.08.19

This place is one big noxious noise and I am not using it to its full effect. I am the one white Bollywood dancer who goes on the dance floor to think. I do this during sex too. My thoughts take monster forms on the dance floor, legged, entering. I dance like a writing, like a thinking, like unlocking the heart of an encyclopedia: Americans dance on their heels, and I would stomp if I wanted to be masculine. Eye contact changes everything, not only for you, especially for others. Look at the two women grinding— couldn’t that be you? Would you know how to give yourself properly to that hand? Would you squirm? Would you fear? You’ve stopped asking if you seem awkward or brave. The question has been eradicated. You’re working out of line, and doing nothing at all. You are looking at the halo lights and watching your carrousel mind melt in a black plastic shape where you’ve decided to put yourself for nothing. Couldn’t you do more? White woman you are, cleavage-key, dancing sexy for the Hindu gods? What a waste.

04.08.19

The sea reminds us the strongest, because every ripple is a mountain where one crest is the sand and another is the sky, because a half of you is pushing through jade hip by hip, because you are driftwood-sun-dried and the water takes your breath in weight or in drowning lap. We are reminded when we sit on rock, and the wind and heat does the all of us, when our bodies are just another thing for the world to be on, when the being there is just being at all, smelling seagull fallings (fish, shit) while the ocean talks to itself.

05.08.19

We dolly our furniture in dark processions, clack and bonking from pavanent to pavement, sweating evenly. Once again a ferry, this time two-manned, this time jolly, stopping traffic like spirits on the street, chatting shotgun through the tower of trays, legs, drawers, scraping wrists and ankles, puzzling at our load on a corner then off again. Simone can’t tell if she pisses Matan off. In living with strangers she doesn’t mind being bossy. Dish towels are clean and not for cleaning. She refutes claims of her dirtiness. I find she is someone who is very sensitive to gender roles. Abby Adult says adult beds are not in corners. I climb up the walls to give myself a red canopy. Stash and steal and crowd and clutter, Howl’s bed, magpie’s mind, treasure box. Let me live somewhere I can get lost.

06.08.19

I am folding myself into this house like into a blanket, filling every corner with some hand-sized glee. The moving and choosing fires off the part of my brain that is a mouse pushing levers, saving grains, planning for later, living like cooking, by habit and precaution. Cameron had nothing in their room. These are two sides extreme, both beautiful, both in their own flavor correct. My choice is to be fret-tired and worn in a moment; rather than lacking or scavenging later, bumped and familiar with frustration or money-spending. I like the bartering, the cooking with nothing, the piling and stringing things up. “Your DIY aesthetic” says Matan, strange and insightful again. Birds will make a nest to see it torn down the next year.

07.08.19

The storm like me back it seems. I talk about her incessantly, of when the kites fly low and remind me of the sea, of the way the sky presses on the city and makes you notice it, doing what you’re doing but doing it with your eyes on a corner between roofs were you see her scheming the rain, first drizzle then pour. And I make my ferry way, pressing my umbrella between my fingers and phone, braced and ready for the trick to fall, eager in the waiting like happy prey. And when you do start love, you have humor: you growl somewhere to the side-ear and fall just on the chorus of Don’t Let Me Down while I join in and soften just as it stops. You have me laughing clamorous and soaked and clear.

08.08.19

I dream that I am Theo, lost and boyish and cut-off from everything and especially myself expect girls and history and whatever excites the mind to marvel. Let me read again, now that I am slightly weak, now that my mind is playing tricks on me again, listlessly making me believe I am worth no one’s time. I want something to sparkle for me or damnit I will go and find it. I will go to a play tomorrow and I will be in New York and I will read on the train. By God I will be good at this if nothing else.

09.08.19

“Pay attention” says Ethan, “to how your body feels.” Is your phone less reactive, or is it the cover screen? The chord, the block, or the device? I stand evenly on both feet in the line at UPS. I return every eye that meets me, insistently— look at me, I am looking too. Pay attention. My face feels gathered like a half-raised first. My step clacks, my back is straight, I am no floater, Theo. Where is my benevolence? Why must it depend on, vaguely, if Adrian is sleeping with Lis, if Holly cancelled on me, how my body decides to wake up? Who am I being so cool for, so impenetrable, when I have said so often that I refuse to defend myself against people?

10.08.19

C’est drôle comme rapidement je me remets à aimer. Il faut aller trouver ces choses: la pièce de théâtre ind��pendante et un peu étrange, l’établissement au nom russe, la tartine un peu brûlée. Florence me pose les questions comme il faut: non pas, comment vas tu faire (qui est une bonne question, mais pas la première) mais que vas tu faire. Je sais déjà ce qui me fait frémir. Tout ça je le sais. Il s’agit d’être radical. De savoir être radical. De choisir. D’aller chercher. Savoir rester heureux est vraiment un art— étrange d’ailleurs, vu que le monde a tellement à donner pour être heureux.

The AC in the train starts up again. There’s a helpfulness in the air today, like the summer doesn’t want to end, is sunny, and sea-like, glowing and streaked with clouds. But the movies are closed until September, and I don’t understand it. The coast has put on its best, I can tell, but doesn’t dare ask me to stay and I am ignoring it— going home. Never have I felt so invited to roam little Connecticut alone. But I am going back to my duties, sad-no smiling to the sun, as if I am an adult who truly must. How symbolically heart-ending if I were to sit inside today! I’ll go, no I will. I’ll take Natalie or no one but I will. You cultivate what you want to be, Caleb said it, we all agree— nothing has so clearly been that occasion for a good habit.

11.08.19

And we didn’t go to the beach in the end— we will, because we have a car now, but we have not yet. Instead we took the car to Lowe’s and the storage unit, and made a copy of the keys. I sat in the back seat with the sea in my hand like a toy I’d been told to be quiet with. Trent slid his hand over the wheel and he and Natalie held arms over the front seat like parents, in a way signaling to one another they’ve just felt affectionate, but must for now keep it seemly for the children. I take Natalie in, big eyes on her for long moments. Bare-chested Trent eating strawberries over a chair makes me stare. I want a moment with Nat alone (walking to the car, at home while errands are run by Trent and her mom) to raise the back of my hand up and point to my finger: the ring? As if to ask: how are you? How much of who you are with me can I still expect to see? And then, no matter the response, to say: alright, I’m glad.

12.08.19

The walk to work is always interesting. I face the sun both ways, cross like an accomplished idiot, stride as if to prove to the summer session students, and the tourists, and the construction workers, that this place is mine. The air is carpeted with the hum of HVAC and wired with cicadas, cool and rustling near the graveyard and parking-lot hot near the Whale. A painter camouflages a new building into the sky and an old man coughs on the steps of his house, wearing all red. New Haven calls for climate emergency, and for gun lessons, and for a twin pack of cigarettes (and of course, to Tax Yale). I am only a certain amount of native here.

13.08.19

Last night called for rain which came and stood, grey boots in the window at my awakening. Thanks to it now I am under the burbling skylight, wedged into the service stairs like a young délinquant, barefoot, sandal-tanned and flecked with black with but only waiting for my flats to dry. Donna Tartt narrates over me in alliterative phrases stuck there since high school English: “widow Dido,” “Popchik, Popchik.” She makes the packing of my lunch seem frantic. I am misted in parts and soaked in others. I contend with the parts of my commute I have the least affection for when they offer me shelter. Boring duties are renewed with care (I check my bag like a friend) and the umbrella surprises me with a watery caresse. The pour stops and starts in uncaring moods, while I marvel at the fleck of dry sand on my fingernail, as expertly dropped as a seagull’s bird shit.

Making food, spiked-seltzer drunk, feels like something I should be doing in my early twenties. Still in my shoes, not quite bumping into our move-in mess, navigating to the stove where my peppers are patiently cooking. Technically drinking alone, I suppose, although Nat and Trent are in the room next door. They’re as if teenagers had gotten married, playing locked-up video games, eating pop tarts and pop corn. I’m being mean, but still. Give me a friend other than myself to be arrogant and drunk with. 

14.08.19

The day has felt like a skipping record. I sit with my shoes awkwardly up on the bar of the old geology classroom table where we have our lab meeting, legs apart, changing the position of my hands to look more like the men on the team. I’ve been wanting to project to them, and to convince myself, that I am confident, and unashamed of myself as a researcher. The flattened squamate skull Kelsey has been segmenting all summer spins evenly on the projection screen like a rainbow screensaver. “It took me a lot longer than I’d like to admit to figure out how to make it loop in PowerPoint,” she says, in the bored and awkward silence preceding Anjan’s arrival, “does anyone hear that ominous beeping noise?”

As the meeting goes on I feel bad for my cynicism. Anjan is helpful, and full of feeling; he kicks his voice into a fury about how the auditorium in the new science building will have no exhibits for modern research, only stupid, dead, drunkard white guys, dried out carrions in their graves whose work we refuse to shut up about. Pisses him off; he’ll go up and give them a piece of his mind. “How about you Alice?” eventually he turns as he does for each of us to ask about my progress, paused and attentive, a gooey ring of white exposed all around the iris. “That’s good!” I flicker my eyes around the room, unsure if I have ended my explanation. “If you’re working on vomeronasal projections you should look up nervus terminalus– nerve zero. It’s kind of an old theory, might be totally wrong but you never know. It’s worth looking up. Some of those old dudes tend to say more interesting things than some people in the field nowadays.”

I think back to the ominous beeping at the apartment, poked through my reading by the musical sting of Trent’s medieval strategy game a room away. He and Nat hadn’t realized I was home at first, and had cooed at one another in a way I knew I would only hear now as they would never do it around me again, and talked about how mushrooms tasted like cum, Trent explaining that he had, yes, sampled his own cum which is why he knew what it tasted like. I made myself coffee, which I never do, half milk and three spoons of sugar, feeling like a thief for taking from Nat’s Knick-knack teapot. Worse, I catch myself wanting a drink, in pathetic emulation of Theo’s own self-seriousness, the brooding, world-bereaved young man, for whom defensiveness is not only perfectly reasonable, but noble.

15.08.19

Jack, you came up in conversation with Nat. There’d been a build up to it all week, me thinking about morality and self-image, feelings of guilt, feelings of rancor. I sat on the couch, wrapped up into myself, furrowing my brow because I wanted to feel myself do it, wanted to put myself here, guilting profusely over every movement and word I said. I was too arrogant, didn’t notice when Nat stormed out that morning, I steered the conversation wrong (“how do you learn to do that right?” had asked Max) toward myself, or towards the wrong kind of comfort or advice or recognition, sloppy, really. Just sloppy, when you can be deft. And I thought about how guilty I felt for what I’d done to you I said, “if I forgive myself for what I did, then I am no better than him for forgiving himself, for absolving himself of the need to think of the pain he’s caused, and the pain he might cause in the future.” The difference, of course, and I don’t need a shrink to remind me, is that I need to hold us both to the same standard. That does not mean I’ll happily dismiss you to my advantage as deranged, or a dick, as you surely do me (I can almost hear it) but it does mean that I can expect for you to think on your behavior as much as I have mine, and when you do not (I have no way of confirming that you do) work accordingly. Same standard for you and I Jack— simple as that. For me and you and everyone else. Mix and match.

16.08.19

The next day I wake up thinking “let’s try impunity” and what an immediate delight. I walk and I see: GMC pickup, electric pole panel, security camera, parameter, when was this constructed? Are they working on Payne Whitney? Yale facilities vans have reference numbers. Brick patterns on the windows, tinted glass, where does this bus go? My voice picks up, I am un-embarrassed to speak, I listen to rap and move around the lab. I work. On the way back the air is breath-hot, and mercury light pushes out from behind the clouds in blingy prelude to a storm. I’ve selected a song of Lis’ that pulls my confidence all the way up through my spine, two gender-fucking voices, one slapping and modern, the other age-old and trilling.

17.08.19

I didn’t think I wanted to swim until my feet were in the water. Perhaps it is like weighted blankets and hugs that make you cry: being held never uses the front door of the mind. There is movement, my froggy propulsion through the water, and then there is the off-handed way the ocean sloshes to the shore with you still in it. I cannot conceive of the volume in any other way but the sea. Knowing what it is like to drown can change everything. Barnacle cuts are pink and radiant but impossible to feel, the opposite of paper cuts, which I suppose makes sense in more ways than one. I tie my ribbon around my hand like a tribal fisherman, hung up by all limbs in the water. I accost the dead skin on my heel. I speak and sing to myself. I do not notice the fog until it is in.

18.08.19

Shovel-fulls of visions arrested on their way to meaning. The day is jumpy and bored until. I am marvel-bound until I am talking, at which point I am stringing conversation and looking at your tattoos. Your eyes are clear, like lemon beer. The walls flake, and your photographs are grainy with dark, looking for fish in the deep. A sense of light, an understanding not semantic. A re-wiring. I climb and make, I sit in your smoke, I show the different angle which is absurd and funny, makes us tiny toys. You are from Moldova, I have to remember. I hold your hand on the backseat. You were talking yesterday about the moving holes of LSD. 

19.08.19

The sequence of the day has seemed completely natural— something a hobbit would set their watch to from the porch, looking out into the turning of the world. Chris was around, and will be for the next few days since his New York conference got cancelled. We both understood the afternoon so well before carrying it out: we would both get chai lattes and bump around the Willoughby's unembarrassed when our orders get messed up, say we should “make the usual walk to the Div school” and stop to sit in a tree by the observatory, perch in the stormy wind like two academic birds in the Marsh Hall belfry, and chat about efficiency, and language, and morality. At work, it storms. I pack up to walk home some half hour after the rain and head to Stop and Shop in the gold-dripping postdiluvian afternoon: an excuse to see a neighborhood that isn’t mine, where streets fan out into the unknown, sparse with people and rife with churches, a zone I’ve not yet added to my mental map. I buy bread, hair ties for my roommate, “nice” jam for the other, slot them in my technicolor backpack, and glide home on the sound of crickets and seagulls beaming through the limpid air.

20.08.19

I’ve decided not to go to work (Laurel hasn’t asked for me, I’ve figured out the extraction problem on my own, I’m getting lunch with Chris and Julia near the med school, I’m not even getting paid anymore, I have other things to do, and if she needs me she can just text). The only thing I’ll be missing is the chill of the lab, without which we are faced with an unclenching strip of hot, humid weather than I scroll across the weather app on my phone. The apartment is still as whispery as a wood: spoon tinkling once against my chosen mug of tea, Trent or Natalie taking a rising sip from the vape pen, mindlessly clicking at a video game, against the faraway in-and-out of chittering cicadas.

21.08.19

Around 1:30am we left Viva’s and dropped Jenna off with her three-year-faithful, less-successful-than-her boyfriend (Andrew? It would be weird if Chris slept over with him walking around the one bedroom apartment in the morning) but the rest of us had other prospects. I guarded Christina like a puffed bird while she changed in the trunk of the car from a black striped shirt to a black striped sweater, and helped list the roofs in the area. I could do Dwight, Kris had the password to the Howe Street roof, and Cameron still technically had keys to the whole building, but their first suggestion had already taken it: the creepy, stony walls of St Lawrence Cemetery mausoleum. 

Next, drinks: I had half a bottle of mango-nectar orange juice in the fridge, and a flask of vodka that’d last been used at dinner on Friday for one of Christina’s mosquito bites. Nat and Trent had moved in with a dreg of Maker's Mark, which was waiting on the kitchen counter, and Kris, of course, had more vodka at home. Halfway out of the apartment, waiting for Natalie to get dressed and join us, I couldn’t help but laugh at our situation: we’d pulled into the parking lot like a bunch of gangsters, crouched over the giant electric fan in the back seat, Kris smoking and blasting some dark, full, floor-of-the-mind Witchhaus for the entire tenement to hear. We were making things exactly as we wanted them, speeding off onto a road that was empty and ours with the arrogance of a Neo-Tokyo biker gang. 

Campus, which had felt like a kingdom until yesterday, has been retaken without a breath of effort. The air smells like a firecracker, and the dorms like shoe-box houses. People have started partying, and practicing, and working, as if they had spawned there already in the act.

22.08.19

I am drunk and sober enough to write. We are magnificent tonight, you would see it. Our kisses barely hold back— I kiss Kris on her rough, shorn head, I rasp at her slenderness, the meeting angle of smile and cheek, I kiss Keduse on his good man’s t-shirt, on his Egyptian locks, the enamored look in his eyes and hands, I kiss Cameron with hands around the waist, into bony rebellion, hated and going, spirit that knows me in a pair, dyed hair. 

And for those who are not with us, I have planted a kiss on your neck— feed me more alcohol. For those who are too lost to stay— you are guiding yourself, and we are here waiting. For those who are trying us, getting their feel— our love extends to you too. We are the city, that much I can tell. She is in the blinking foreign, she is in the dollhouse lights, she is in the streets of police and the things out of their sight. The drug dealer, the broke, the roped-up nervous boy, and those who’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to look for. 

She is the stage for us, the in between. She knows I see her— she is the mint I bring to my lips with inexpressible longing: wilderness of love. I cannot smell it without knowing it exists. After all, she is here: kiss them, she says, for I cannot quite do it in a way they will understand. Dutifully I do, and imagine hers, smiling sadly, pearled horizon, born dressed. I will miss you, Christ! God I will miss you! How much I owe, and this fantastic longing, it stands for all the rest of it! What tender love I will feel until I am torn from this.

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