#and remembering why i gave myself the middle name of Eliot

[neonqueerautumn]

.

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Six, “I’ll Be Seeing You”

Links: 

- *NEW* Check out the new character survey I filled out from Becky’s POV here!

- *NEW* Take a look at the new character survey I filled out from Harry’s POV here!  

- All chapters can be found here!

- Inspo tag can be found here!

- Spotify playlist *updated often* can be listened to here!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 7.2k words

                                             SNEAKYYYYYYYY PEEK

“I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next two weeks with that teasing around in my head - the fact that I get to work with him every day for five days a week. A dream come true, in every way. I’m rather positive tonight will tide me over until next week when I have my orientation.

I have a good feeling for the first time in a while, so many of them actually.

“God, it’ll be weird going back to being boss and employee again. It was so much easier being just friends,” I remark jokingly, the song flowing from his lips mixing with that of my own.

“Eh,” Harry says, shrugging his broad shoulders covered in his long black peacoat. “Don’ think o’ it that way, Becks, we’re colleagues now, which ‘s even betta.”

Song Inspo: I’ll Be Seeing You by Billie Holiday (click to listen and am I the only one thinking of The Notebook now?) 

               “What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning.” - T.S. Eliot

Confliction knits together in my stomach as I travel the halls on my way to work. Enthusiasm peeks through when I pass the several courtrooms on my way, imagining myself in them sat next to Harry, his co-counsel. No longer are there feelings of disdain and longing when I pass Courtroom #5, or the mailroom I so often hid inside the walls of. Disdain found its way back to me when I entered the door for Administration, my lousy desk calling for me from its corner. I somehow can’t seem to escape that character trait. Nonetheless, a smile stuck to my lips at times throughout the morning as I browsed new work outfits online during downtime. 

The morning went by painfully slow as I waited to try and catch Sophie after her many meetings and phone calls. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure how I would survive two more weeks of the humdrum between these four walls with my new future teasing me. Not when something out of a dream had woven its way into my life now, getting to work with Harry as his mentee, and a second chance at all of it. A second chance I wasn’t going to waste this time. 

“Hey, Sophie. Good morning, I was wondering if I could speak to you about something?” I ask her, finally finding the right moment as she walks by my desk after a meeting. 

“Yes of course, love. I was just going to grab some tea, why don’t you join me?” she murmurs with a smile, waving her arm as a signal to follow her down the hallway to the nearby break room. “Does this have anything to do with the glowing recommendation I gave about you to a certain Mr. Styles yesterday?”

“Maybe,” I laugh softly, holding open the door for her. 

“Did you get called back for another interview?!” she asks excitedly, her long maroon pants twirling around her legs when she turns to face me. 

“Even better, I got the job!” I answer, matching her excitement easily. She lets out a yelp of joy before wrapping me in a hug. 

“I’m so happy for you, love, even though I’ll be sad to see you go,” she hums, the heavy charm bracelet on her wrist brushing against my back. 

“Thank you, I am too. It’s pretty bittersweet.” 

“Yes, indeed. When will be your last day with us?” she inquires, patting my arm on her way to the electronic kettle she’s had her eyes on. 

“The uh twenty-fifth officially, so I have two weeks left to help find a replacement and finish up my work.”

“Ah, that sounds right,” she mumbles as she removes a packet of tea from a box in the drawer, ginger tea. 

“I was wondering if there is any chance that I’d be able to take a day off somewhere in there to complete some orientation for the uh, new job. If not, that’s of course okay. I just thought I’d ask, since sometimes I’m sent home early for the day or some days are slow,” I suggest nervously, clasping my hands together to keep myself from fidgeting too much. 

“Of course. Hmmm, let me think,” she almost whispers, tapping her long pink fingernails against the counter while swirling the teabag in the steaming water. “I think next Friday would be fine, since those days are rather slow anyways. Does that work for you, love?”

“Yeah, I’ll have to uh, check with Mr. Styles about it to see if it works with him. You know, his cases and the like,” I respond uncertainly, toying with the dainty golden ring Skye got me for Christmas, an amethyst stone set into the middle. 

“Is this Mr. Styles the former boss you spoke of?” she inquires, turning to face me with a grin budding on her lips. I’m unsure of what to say and so I nod my head, but I can tell by the look on her face that I’m not hiding my expressions very well either. “What’s that big smile for, huh, Becky?”

“Nothing,” I respond quickly, trying to save myself as I walk around, reaching into the cupboards for a mug. 

“You haven’t been wearing that big smile for nothing, and it didn’t get five times brighter when I brought up his name for nothing either.”

Her name falls from my lips in a futile warning, marked by an accidental laugh. My name soon follows even though I try to ignore it as I inspect the tea drawer, packets ranging from peach, mint, ginger, green, wild berry, and even glazed lemon loaf. I indulge myself and finally try the sweet lemon one, smiling at the smell of the teabag. 

“I don’t know how to put it into words,” I suffice, picking up the electric kettle, watching how the teabag reacts to the boiling water. 

“Feelings are hard to put into words sometimes, aren’t they?” Sophie replies, somehow putting my confliction and doubt so easily into a phrase. 

“Yeah, and they’re scary to admit.”

“That they are, love,” she tuts, her spoon clanging against the ceramic inside of the mug as she stirs honey into hers. “They’re even harder to admit when you have them for somebody . . Am I getting close?”

“Very,” I respond, jiggling the teabag in and out of the scalding liquid, feeling the tendrils of steam tickle my face. 

“Answer me this, are you feeling better about going back to work for him?”

“Yes, very much so, until I start thinking about it too much,” I reveal softly, growing more comfortable telling her as the seconds pass, wishing it were this easy to tell him. 

“If it’s in your plans, perhaps you should tell him what you told me, or start it off that way. He sounded rather fond of you over the phone, you should know. A very kind and attentive man, as well,” she murmurs sweetly, tapping her spoon on the lip of her mug a few times. “Whatever you decide to do, Becky, I wish you luck and I hope you’re happy. Why don’t you go give a ring to tell him about next Friday?” 

“Thank you, Sophie, really. It means a lot to me,” I reply slowly, weight clinging to every word. 

“Sure thing, love. Now go and make me proud and call him, so you don’t have to wait two weeks to see him.”

I just nod, a smile plastered all over my face as I pick up my tea and bring it with me, feeling her hand on my arm. Few people meander the halls as I join them until I find an empty bench tucked away in a private corner. After setting down the hot mug of tea on a windowsill, I can already feel my fingers trembling pulling my phone from my pocket. Once again, the numbers flow from my fingers effortlessly as I type in his number, but then I stop. I delete them and switch over to Recent Calls, hastily tapping Harry (work) before I lose my bravery. I suppose I should get used to calling this number, anyways, I conclude amongst my thoughts. As I listen to it ring, I debate whether to pick up the tea, but when I glance at the shakes consuming my fingers, I decide against it. They only come to shake harder and faster as I wait, and wait, and wait. 

Suddenly the sound changes, but my ears are met with disappointment. “Hi, ya’ve reached tha office of Harry Styles here at Styles and Lawson. ‘m sorry I missed yer call due t’ bein’ out o’ tha office or in court. Please leave yer name and numba, and ‘ll return yer call as soon as I can,” his pre-recorded message trickles into my ears, the same cold one I’ve heard over and over again. I try to remember the last time I heard it, but it must have been years. Wow, years is a long time. 

The beep comes out of nowhere and I’m stumbling over my words already, “Hi, Harry. This is Becky. If you could give me a call back when you get a chance, that would be great. I’ll try to answer, but I’m at work . . Talk to you soon, bye.” 

Groaning, my fingers soon get caught in my hair anxiously. Taking a deep breath, I try to talk myself down and realize that this happens all of the time. He may be in a meeting, in the middle of a trial, on the phone with a client, out for the day- there are so many possibilities. They don’t soften the blow of wanting to hear his voice and not getting to. No, they can’t take that way or make up for the loss. Exhaling, I stand to my feet and go to reach for my tea, right as my phone begins to buzz in my pocket. 

“Skye, if this is you calling in the middle of my shift again, or Robbie,” I mumble behind gritted teeth, blinking hard as I sit back down. 

I don’t even glance at the name on my screen before answering it with a dreary ‘hello.’

“My goodness, don’ sound so happy t’ talk t’ me,” Harry rasps from the other side, his voice having a cooling effect on the hot frustration coursing through my body. 

“I’m sorry, I-I am. I thought you were somebody else,” I reply, trying not to laugh, but it makes its way out. 

“Ah I see, well that person ‘s in fer a bad time with you,” he titters, and I think I can almost picture it. His eyes crinkling, him doing that scrunchy nose thing, the light green speckles in his eyes sparkling, and him playing with his bottom lip. “So what’s up, Becks? I see ya left a message, but I didn’t listen, jus’ called ya back. Shouldn’t ya be workin’?” he teases, his tone changing to a cocktail of firm and teasing towards the end. My favorite sound. All of it, just it all. 

“Yeah,” I laugh nervously, thinking back to what Sophie said, and trying to focus on only the day off. “I just spoke to my boss and she gave me next Friday off, so I can come and do my orientation that day with you. Would that work for you, Harry?”

“Ah, that’s very nice o’ her. She was very helpful and lovely when I spoke t’ her on tha phone yestaday. Ya, lemme pull up me calendar t’ see what I have goin’ on next Friday,” Harry responds warmly, distraction plaguing his voice quickly. 

“Oh she was? She said you were very nice as well, and that she gave me, I quote ‘a glowing recommendation.’ So, what’d you two talk about?”

“None o’ yer business ‘s what. That’s fer me t’ know and fer you t’ not find out,” he quips with a laugh, typing and clicking appearing softly in his background. “Okay, Friday. Let’s see.” 

“Harry,” I tease not so seriously, hearing a humored hum from him. 

“Becks,” he echoes with an affable scoff. “Oh here, Friday. Ya, that should work fer you t’ c’min t’ do yer orientation. How does nine t’ five sound, bug?” he continues, clicking his tongue habitually, something I remember he does to help him to focus. 

There’s that nickname again, Becky. That’s what, how many times he’s used it in the last two days?

Okay, you have a good point, but hush. 

“Great! I mean, that sounds great. I’ll plan for nine am then, and will dinner and drinks work afterward too?” I question, feeling like I’m stepping further out on this limb that I’ve been climbing dangerously. 

“Ummmmm,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue again absentmindedly. Somehow, even that is cute and it’s just so him, and it makes the missing him ache just a little bit more. “No, ‘m sorry, Becks. ‘m s’posed t’ go out t’ dinna with my sista at half-past five,” he reports solemnly, and that ache hits a little harder now. 

“That’s okay,” I chirp, trying to mask the disappointment in my voice. I feel like I do it pretty well, but I’ve never been the best at telling. 

“No, we’ll figure out anotha day. We’ve put this off fer too long now- Okay, lemme look su’more,” he mumbles, and now I’m sure he’s playing with his bottom lip. And I’m also sure that this all couldn’t be better. I get to see him in less than two weeks, and now maybe sooner. 

Yaaaaaaay!

Yipeeeeeee!

“I see, you’re just too busy for me, because you’re such a popular man,” I sigh dramatically feeling the teasing smile tug at my lips. 

“I am not too busy fer you. ‘s jus’ a busy life bein’ a lawyer, so ya betta get ready fer it, Becks. And I dunno ‘bout bein’ popular, I jus’ think ‘s tha bloody New Years thing. All o’ these friends are comin’ outta tha woodwork, wantin’ t’ get drinks or dinna, saying oh ‘s been so long since I saw ya last blah blah. Ugh, ‘s ridiculous,” he drawls with a groan being the period to his sentence, and all I can do is laugh. 

“You can say ‘no’, you do know that right?” 

“‘Course I know, Becks, but I dunno, tha nostalgia kinda draws me in too. ‘s like oh maybe going to get drinks with Matt from uni would be fun, even tho’ he was a prick, but hey he threw those cool parties,” he explains, a chuckle soon devouring his words and then my ears. Oh, how I’ve missed that sound so dearly. “But no, you and I are gettin’ dinna and drinks. Hey, what’re ya doin’ t’night?” 

“T-Tonight tonight? Um, nothing. I work until six, that’s all. Otherwise, you could probably find me sprawled out on the sofa watching FRIENDS or old reruns of Hell’s Kitchen after that,” I stutter, tripping over my words and more so the idea he just pitched, one that knocked me off my feet rather quickly and completely.  

“Ooooo tha trashy shows,” he chuckles and I have to resist rolling my eyes. 

“Hey, you watch them too!” 

“Not Hell’s Kitchen, altho- wait, ya ‘ve watched it a few times, I admit,” he relents, earning a ‘ha!’ from me that pulls a laugh from his lips. 

Oh, I could do this all day. 

Soon you get to!

Okay, don’t remind me, because I can’t have another reason for these next two weeks to be pure torture. 

“Harry watches trashy tv, hmmm,” I coo happily, that magical sound of his filling my ears again, and then my heart. “We should watch more of it together sometime. But yes, tonight would work. What are you thinking?”

“‘m really glad it finally worked out, and ya we will. Um, how ‘bout six-thirty, does that give ya enuff time?” he poses, and hastily my heart thrashes around in my chest with excitement, growing anxious at the thought of seeing him tonight. Thank, God, he said six-thirty so I can stop home and actually make myself look decent. I didn’t even try when I got up this morning.

“Yeah, six-thirty works. Where would you like to have dinner? Um, what about . . . tacos?”

“Tacos?” he chimes in at the same time as me, sending us both into a fit of contagious giggles. “Happy we’re already on tha same page with some stuff.”

“Me too . . So, tacos and we’ll find a pub somewhere for drinks?”

“Ya, I know a good place ‘ll take ya t’,” he rasps, a light coming through in his voice. I’m not sure if it’s my own internalized buzz of emotions, or if perhaps it’s his own showing through. “Shots and e’rythin,” he purs devilishly. 

“No, Harry, no shots,” I giggle, unable to contain it for any longer. 

“Yes, at least a few. That’s how ya celebrate, not with bloody margaritas, bug. I guess I have loads t’ teach ya ‘bout alcohol, I gotta turn ya onto sumthin’ otha than those bleedin’ wine coolers ya like. Those jus’ give ya gut rot and taste like candy, don’ do anythin’ fer a buzz,” he comments, that other side of him shining through now, more and more with every word he lets go. 

“Oh boy, am I in for it with you, or what?” I exhale, happiness sticking to every breath. 

“Yes indeed, ya are, Becks. Betta get ready fer some fun t’night,” he drawls, the honey sticking lazily to his deep voice. 

“But you’re almost thirty, I thought old people can’t have fun, Harry?”

The groan lined with affable humor tells me what he’s thinking first, and then I hear him sigh, “Ya betta not start this again, ‘m yer boss again, y’know,” he snickers, feigning authority in his soft baritone. 

“No, not for a week officially. Not yet. You’re just my friend right now,” I smile, thinking of Sophie when the feelings start to bleed through into my voice, piecing themselves together, although bittersweetly. I know I can’t handle being just friends, but every second more I’m starting to realize that oftentimes, friends has to come first before more. We have some catching up to do, that’s for sure. 

“Alrighty then. Well, yer just friend has t’ go t’ a meetin’ now, and ‘s tellin’ ya that ya should prolly get back t’ work now too.”

“Wait, since when do you go to meetings? Are you trying to be a good role model for me or something? Aw, how nice of you!” I exclaim, almost confident of the surprise in my voice being genuine. 

“Becks,” Harry laughs, the sound consuming his voice and playing in my ear, but not for long enough. God, that has to be my favorite song. “‘ll see ya t’night, love. Six-thirty,” he hums happily, and for once, I don’t have to wish for what he’s having, because I’m having it too. I feel it, the bubbly hope that could drown me in a moment. I want to let it, and I decide to. 

“Bye, Harry. Have a good day, I’m excited to see you.”

“‘m lookin’ forward t’ it too, bug. Bye,” he croons, and I hope he can hear the smile in my voice, because I can see his already. I think his is filled with hope too. 

It’s a miracle that I didn’t spill my tea as I walked back into the admin office, although it may have been a different story if I hadn’t taken that few minute breather to recover. I was even more surprised when tears of joy didn’t leave my eyes when I shared the new development with Sophie during my lunch break. Although I previously thought it was impossible, my excitement for later tonight only grew when I told her about it, and we both freaked out about it. I really do think I will miss her, she was perhaps one of the best bosses I’ve ever had. 

Waiting at my desk for the time to pass, I still can’t believe that later tonight I get to go and have dinner and drinks with my favorite boss of all time. 

+

Low and behold, searching my closet for something to wear later that night seems next to impossible. Each full hanger that I pass feels like it takes with it a precious minute of my time. After trying on and tossing aside three other outfits, I finally decided on one. Luckily, redoing my morning routine doesn’t take very long, and I soon have minty fresh breath and clean skin again. At the last minute, I decide to ditch the heavy makeup, and leave it minimal. I slide my violet peacoat over the striped maroon sweater and dark jeans, and my brown chelsea boots soon enter the snow. 

The smell of tortillas, peppers, and chili powder hits me in the face when the bell tinkles above my head on the door. Voices buzz around the inside of Pedro’s, a local Mexican restaurant I haven’t been to in well, years. That thought comes to me as a shock as I look around, and finally spot the reason for my absence, sitting at the same table in the right corner we’d always claim. I linger there by the door for a few moments, admiring him as he stares at his phone intensely. Unsurprisingly, I find it adorable how he toys with his bottom lip between his two fingers and jiggles his leg resting on the chair’s rung. A warmth grows in my chest at the sight of him, and a combination of excitement and relief builds with every step I take closer to him. I can’t count the number of times I’ve felt it escape me with every step I’ve put between us, and finally now I’m returning to him. 

The red and white menu is glossy between my hands, and sticky in some places when I take a seat across from him. I don’t let a word slip and only focus on the menu, despite his green eyes waiting for me silently. 

“Yer late, y’know. Not makin’ a very good impression with yer boss, are we?” Harry comments, pulling back the scarlet fabric of his button down to tap his watch. 

The menu falls with a feathery sound to the table when I belatedly make eye contact with him. I try to resist the feelings that tug at my lips when I watch the corners of his curl. 

“Hush, it’s six thirty-four. The traffic was horrid, and it’s after hours, boss. And, I haven’t even started working for you again yet,” I chuckle, savoring the way the dimples fall into his cheeks effortlessly, not there a second ago. He seems to relent, shoving his phone away in his pocket, his eyes lifting to mine again. 

“How was yer day then?”

“It was a typical boring Friday. How was yours?” I reply, resting my hands on top of each other and mindlessly letting my fingers dance atop each other. 

“‘Bout tha same. ‘m tryna find a new case, but now I gotta keep you in mind. I gotta rememba ya’ll be workin’ with me in two weeks, so I gotta do stuff like clean my bloody office and be mo’ stringent when pickin’ cases ,” he titters, touching his pointer finger to his head as I try not to lose myself in his mossy green eyes. 

At the sound of his words, I find it even harder not to. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next two weeks with that teasing around in my head - the fact that I get to work with him every day for five days a week. A dream come true, in every way. I’m rather positive tonight will tide me over until next week when I have my orientation. 

I have a good feeling for the first time in a while, so many of them actually.

“God, it’ll be weird going back to being boss and employee again. It was so much easier being just friends,” I remark jokingly, the song flowing from his lips mixing with that of my own. 

“Eh,” Harry says, shrugging his broad shoulders covered in a thick black Northface coat. “Don’ think o’ it that way, Becks, we’re colleagues now, which ‘s even betta.” 

“Sure. ‘Associate and partner’ and ‘mentor and mentee’ don’t really sound that way, but okay. It’s not like you have almost ten years of experience over me, or anything.” 

“Well ya, that’s what happens when yer tha new fish in tha pond, it happens t’ us all. Ya jus’ gotta climb tha ladder one step atta time, love,” he replies, the dimple in one of his cheeks finding a permanent residence there. 

“Fish can’t climb ladders, silly. And I know, but it’s odd to think that you’re only three years older than me, and have so much experience in law when I’m just starting. I guess that’s why you don’t putz around like me,” I note, drawn in by him randomly sliding a plain silver ring with a black line in the middle, up and down his left middle finger. 

“Wait, what was that, ‘m only how many years older than you? I didn’t catch that,” he teases, cupping his hand around the outside of his ear, inching his neck towards me with the funniest look on his face. 

The only response I give him is the old stink eye which almost makes a laugh explode from his lips. 

“Ya betta watch those ‘old jokes’ y’know. I have power ova you ‘gain, Becks,” he quips, wiggling his eyebrows at me while he does the worst impression of an evil laugh. 

I’m waiting for him to start choking on it so then I can finally laugh. 

His words try to propel me back to the times when I would take his words seriously, but I don’t dare go there. I can’t do that again after all of our random visits earlier this year, and how much they changed everything, including assuring me that he’ll never be that douchey boss to me again.

“Oh yeah!” I exclaim, something sparking inside of my brain. “You’re almost thirty! Ooooo, my prime joke time is coming up,” I squeal with a devilish laugh, rubbing my hands together as he shakes his head disapprovingly, although with reddening cheeks. My name leaves his lips in a breathy giggle as those dimples peek out from his cheeks, saying hi to me. 

“By tha way,” he begins once he recovers and has the bravery to look back at me. “‘m already sick o’ you, so you’ll be working with Myles fer tha week o’ February fourth. I have a case in Glasgow that entire week. Plus, he has an interesting case in Family Court that you should really see, it’ll be interesting.”

“Oh lovely, you’re already tired of me and passing me off to somebody else,” I groan, some dramatics playing in my voice, but not entirely. 

I wish I had a drink already so I could twirl my straw in it absently, trying to hide my heart-crushing disappointment. I remember he had said sometimes I may work with Myles or Rose for a case if there was something better elsewhere, but I didn’t think it’d be almost as soon as I started. Talk about anti-climatic, I ponder silently while my eyes stay glued to the menu, even though I’m not reading any words. There are too many whizzing around in my head for that to happen. 

“Stop it, you pout,” he teases, his hand ruffling my hair. I look up and do my best pout, puppy dog eyes, bottom lip sticking out and all. “‘m sorry t’ break yer heart, but ‘s fer yer best interest, Becks. ‘ve had tha case set up a while, which happens, and ‘ll already have started on it by tha time ya start, but you’ll still be able t’ help me. Myles’ case ‘s far mo’ interestin’ and you’ll learn loads from him. What, has sumbody missed me?” Harry hums, a hand dancing along my arm until it arrives at the crook of my neck where it touches my tickle spot. I squirm and jerk away from his ticklish touch, whimpering in annoyance. “C’mon, pout, let’s go and order.” 

I slide off of the hightop red barstool, following him to the counter begrudgingly and slowly. I mumble a question to him about what we’re getting and he automatically tells me that we’re getting the usual, as if there was another option. We get stuck waiting in a line and when Harry looks over to me, I play the pout extra hard. 

“What’re you still poutin’ ‘bout, Becks?”

“You’re passing me to Myles my second week back,” I whimper, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“Oh stop it, you’ll be fine. He likes you and he’s easy t’ get on with.”

“No fair,” I reply, looking away as the disappointment worsens inside of me. I know I’m being selfish, but I just want him all to myself. I figure that’s not too much to ask after everything that’s happened, but apparently it is. “I’m supposed to be your mentee, and I hardly get to work with you my first week there.” 

“Oh, baby Becks, you’ll do jus’ fine, love. My case ‘s incredibly boring, and tha travellin’ wouldn’t be any fun. I know you’ll miss me, that’s tha real reason yer sad,” he cracks, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side. The sudden wave of his woodsy-vanilla scent conflicts me as does the utterly adorable nickname he used. I want to stay there snuggled against his warm side, but at the same time, I want to pull away to prove my point. By now, I’m not sure how much of my pouting is dramatics or just the plain truth. I have to wait two weeks to work at the firm, just to be passed to Myles within five days. It’s discouraging to think about when my thoughts have been consumed by him in just the last few days, and I haven’t looked forward to something this much in a while.

“Hmmmph,” I respond, sufficing with turning away and not looking at him. I find it difficult to not think about what it would be like travelling with him for a case. My thoughts consist of those like sitting beside each other on a plane, hotel rooms, and sharing a car. Sure, Harry, you say it wouldn’t be any fun, but I’d beg to differ there, sir.

“Hey, don’t be that way with me. Ya still get t’ help me with it fer tha first week, and then ‘m all yers when I get back. Sound good?” he murmurs, rubbing his hand along my shoulder as he presses me to his side again. 

“Fine, only because you’re hard to stay mad at,” I respond with a sigh, soon hearing his melodic giggle that helps to weed away the disappointment wreaking havoc inside of me. 

“Good, coz ‘s only five days, bug,” he hums gently. The closer I am to him, the more I wish he would kiss the top of my head, like he used to do. Ugh. “Ya think ya can survive without me fer that long?”

“Yeah,” I tell him automatically, but quickly I’m unsure of that. I don’t know how well I’ll do with the tease of getting to work with him for a few days, and then having him leave again after that, if only for a few days. This is all turning out to be full of teases with my visits with him being peppered amongst the next few weeks. “It’s right after your birthday.” 

“Ya, happy birthday t’ me on that one,” he exhales, but I hear the smile even if I don’t see it right away. My sudden sadness is forgotten when ideas blossom inside my head of what to get him for his birthday, as he squeezes my shoulder. It’s also hard to ignore the fact that his arm is still around me, and the all consuming fact of never wanting it to leave. 

Soon, the line moves and with it, his arm falls from around me when Harry steps up to order for us. I make him take the plastic cups to fill up our drinks after I get my card out first to pay, him shaking his head as he waddles over to the soda machine. 

“If you’re going to be all sad about it, then you can pay for drinks, as long as it doesn’t get too expensive,” I tell him, listening to the whoosh of the orange liquid pouring into my cup. 

“‘ll pay fer all o’ ‘em, cheap or not,” Harry hums confidently, bumping shoulders with me softly on his way back to our table. 

We both slide off our coats to hang over the back of our chairs, and the chatter of other customers fills my ears as we sip at our drinks. My eyes quickly wander to the scarlet button up fastened just high enough to show his silver cross necklace, black floral designs covering the fabric. It pains me to look away from the thick dark brown chest hair blooming below the cross charm, unsure of when it was the last time I saw that.

“So, what have ya been up t’ since June?” he remarks, replacing the clear plastic straw between his cherry lips. I find it difficult to tear my eyes away to ruminate on his question enough to answer it without sounding stupid. 

“Um, pretty much just uni and working.”

“Oh ya, bloody hell ‘m dumb, ya jus’ graduated. How was it all? I wanna hear all ‘bout it, Becks - tha good, tha bad, and tha ugly,” he continues, warmth filling his lips as his green eyes stare back at mine. Sometimes the rawness inside of them is too much to handle and they take my breath away, every glint of gold and green in them. I’m not sure if you really know what you’re signing up for there, bud. 

“There’s not really much to say you haven’t heard before, or well, experienced yourself during your degree. It sucked at times, the Bar was awful although I feel like the worrying was worse than the exam, and I’m just really glad to be done and to finally have found a job. And, graduation was pretty gratifying,” I recall aloud to him, savoring how he devotes every second of his attention to me and what I’m saying. It’s both lovely and nerve wracking at the same time, especially as a thought pops into my head. I wish he could’ve been there in the stands, watching me walk the line, and hugging me afterwards. I wish . . 

“Ya, sounds ‘bout right. ‘m sorry ya didn’t have tha best experience, bug, but hey like ya said, ‘s ova. Onto bigga and betta things, like they say,” he smiles, and I swear it sparks something inside of my heart that has begun to return in the last couple of days. Something I’m finally ready to feel again. “Where’d ya do yer clinicals at and how’d they go this last Fall?”

“You’re right, and I did them at Turner and Jones over on the east side. They went well, but it was hard at times. It was a whole new place, and instead of sitting at a desk every day listening to lectures or doing assignments online, I was in the thick of it every day. I worked with just about all of their six lawyers there, and got to argue my first case with their help. I even won it, which was hard to believe. They were pretty great, and at the time I was sad I wasn’t able to find a job there, but now I’ve found my way back to you.” 

The way his lips curl up into his cheeks that round out from the expression feels good and hurts at the same time. It chips away at the wall around my heart that’s slowly been cracking ever since I laid eyes upon him again yesterday morning. 

“Bloody hell, ya make me mo’ and mo’ proud o’ you, y’know that? Great job, love . . That’s quite tha trek e’ry day t’ be drivin’ from tha west side ova t’ Turner’s. I bet yer glad t’ be done with that. ‘ve heard good things ‘bout ‘em, and a friend o’ mine even works there. I mean, ‘ve come up against many o’ em in my time in cases, but I respect ‘em,” he muses to me, stealing my idea to twirl the straw around in his ice chips and Coke. I feel the cracking of the barrier inside of my chest as his smile glows brighter in front of my eyes. It’s poised right at me. “Ya, funny how that works, huh? Kinda, ‘circle o’ life’ or sumthin, huh?” I mumble a confirmation, but the rest of my words are whisked away when his name is called from the counter where he escapes to. 

“I can’t believe n’body else was hirin’, that’s mad,” he notes, setting down the red plastic tray that hits the table heavily with wrapped food. “I can’t complain tho’, got tha best new associate I could ask fer.” Words escape me and leave a hot smile on my face as I pick up a hard-shelled taco, gratefulness etched into the lines of my lips. Boy, is he dreamy in so many goddamn ways. 

“What was your life like uh, recently?”

“Crazy busy, I was filled up tha arse with cases. I was in Scotland fer prolly a few weeks total, up in Edinburgh, Glasgow, then Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester, and all ova London,” he answers, crinkling of the paper wrapper accenting his words. A pause follows his reply as he chews a bite of his soft-shelled taco, two more on the tray in front of him. The smells of cheese, queso, freshly fried tortilla chips, and the sweet churros make my taco taste one hundred times better. The nostalgia and absence only makes each bite taste better than the last. “I became an uncle again a few weeks ago, so that’s been pretty exciting. My sister, Gemma, had a li’l boy afta Christmas. Harper’s ova tha moon ‘bout him, his name ‘s Oliver or they call him Ollie.”

“Awwww, Harry, that’s so awesome! Babies are so much fun! How old is Harper now? I don’t think I’ve met her before, but I’ve heard loads. You should have your sister stop by the firm one day, I’d love to meet them!” 

“Ya, ‘course. ‘m sure they’d love t’ meet ya too, all three o’ ‘em. Speakin’ of, Harper will be four soon. It blows me mind,” he giggles, eyes drowning in the steaming container of queso he plunges a chip into with fingernails coated in pink polish. 

“What else, Mr. Lawyer?” I inquire simply, realizing my fault when he looks at me with confusion screwing up his features, chewing the cheesy chip noisily. “What else have you been up to besides work? Like, did you have a fun summer?”

“Ya, I reckon. I took my mum onn’a holiday down south, that was loads o’ fun. I had some good days at tha beach with Rory, who you’ll meet soon, he’s anotha one o’ me colleagues. He came t’ work at tha firm afta you had left, but ‘ve known him since uni. He’s prolly one o’ me best friends, that bloody idiot, but he’s loads o’ fun,” he responds, reaching for another chip and I take his lead, holding back a moan at the long forgotten taste of Pedro’s homemade queso. The enjoyment spills out of me when I spot the weary look stealing the happiness from Harry’s features as he zones out staring at the table. 

“What’s wrong, was it not the best summer ever?” I ask jokingly although softly, and as soon as the words fly from my mouth, I think I regret them for a few reasons. 

He hums an amused sound, tapping his finger against the side of his half eaten taco before his rosey pink lips part, “It was good, but it wasn’t tha best, by any means. I uh, dated this girl fer a bit, but it didn’t go anywhere. I mean, she was nice and pretty, but it was a mistake o’ sorts. I thought it’d make me happy datin’ her, but it didn’t,” he recalls sadly. 

At the first words about her, my eyes fall and I can look at him no longer, instead drawing shapes in the queso with my chip. I want to eat it, but a tight queasiness knits together in my stomach, and I wait for it to pass. I wait for him to stop talking about her, and for me to stop caring as the confliction runs deep within my bones. I can’t decide if I’m grateful or seething to hear the words that spill from his mouth. They bring me back to the summer from hell and also answers so many questions I’ve had. 

Girl, don’t even go there. 

Stay positive! 

Angel’s right, did you not hear how he said it wasn’t right for him? About how it was a mistake? Not to mention, that he wasn’t happy? 

Okay, you have some good points. 

No shit, Sherlock.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, bringing the chips to my lips. 

“Oh, ‘s fine, Becks. It was months ago, and ‘m ova it. Guess ‘m jus’ glad I realized early on it wasn’t workin’ fer me.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I say softly, warm cheese and soft peppers tickling my tongue as many other words wish to do the rest. His revelation tries to sink underneath my skin, but I try to brush it away instead, not sure of what to do with it. I’m feeling both sides of the emotional spectrum at the mere mention of his relationship with her. I don’t know how to feel about it, and I don’t want to have to decide. 

“How ‘bout you, did ya meet anybody ova tha summer or I guess, tha fall?” Harry queries lightheartedly, and the surprise of it all pulls my eyes to his. The hints of anger left over from his confession melt away at the care I find in his eyes. Another feeling trickles in when for a second, I think I see an anxiousness hiding in the shallows. 

“God, no. Working, clinicals, and the Bar were more than enough for me. Skye’s the only person I really need,” I respond immediately, surprised at his question, although mutual. My word vomit seems to be biting me in the ass already, and quickly I wish I hadn’t phrased it that way. No, not when I want him to be my person. “What I mean is she’s my bestest friend besides Robbie, but nah, I don’t have much luck with guys.” 

I blink hard with hot cheeks as I finish my first taco and hastily grab another one, hunger and embarrassment fueling my actions. The shell is crunchy and anything but soggy between my lips, and the spicy signature sour cream is warm against my tongue as the cheese melts with every bite. 

“Sounds like we both got shit luck with love, huh?” Harry sighs, shaking his head as he grabs another taco. 

“Yep, it’s the worst,” I agree aloud after taking a sip of my soda, which turns out to be more noisy than I thought it would be. 

Thank God it’s empty so I can go and fill it up and escape this awkward fest, but at the same time there are so many words threatening to spill from my lips. They all basically revolve around the fact that I don’t care if I have shit luck with love, as long as my luck finally turns around for him, belatedly. 

[lorem-text]

Good evening, Night Owls.

It’s another quiet night at the office, and with tonight’s show cancelled and Loki asleep, it’s quieter than ever.

So, to keep you company on this dark, seemingly endless night, I have another story for you.

This time, it’s the story of a stag and a crumbling manor.

When I was in primary school, my mother and I would move around often. Not for financial or work-related reasons; she just liked to travel, and my young curious self was eager to go along. It was during my fifth year that we moved to a small town just a few hours away from Oxford. I don’t recall the name, as we didn’t end up staying long, but to this day I’ve never seen a more beautiful forest than the one that surrounded it.

It was also where I met my very first best friend; a girl by the name Martha. 

She was new it town as well, having just moved there with her parents from York. Our parents became friends first, and then...we did too.

Every day we would walk to school and back together, and on the way we’d pass this old crumbling manor right on the edge of the woods. It looked ancient; a large part of the roof had given way to the deterioration caused by the passing years, the walls had been taken over by vines and flowers, there were holes on the floor trhough which a few trees had grown, and right in the middle of the lower floor, an old chandelier lay in pieces on the main stairway, the bits of glass scattered around catching and reflecting the sun’s rays to create tiny, colourfu rainbows. In the eyes of our parents and teachers, the manor was dangerous, and they had advised us repeatedly not to go near it. But to us? To us, it looked magical...

Still, neither of us wanted to get grounded so we did as we were told and kept clear of the manor and the surrounding woods on our way to and from school. 

That lasted all the way to summer and into the first days of June, until one day...something remarkable happened.

It had been a perfectly normal day up to that point; we had woken up, walked to school, just managed to stay awake for the seven long hours in the punishing summer heat and were on our way back, when something caught out eyes. There, inside the old mannor, walking down the steps the main stairway was a pure white stag with piercing blue eyes, only a shade lighter than Martha’s.

It was the most exciting thing we’d seen in our short lives, as it slowly made its way down the stairs and across the ground floor, coming closer and closer until it finally reached us.

We froze. Terrified that we’d scare it away or worse, anger it, neither of us made a single move or took a single breath until ever so gently, as if trying not to frighten us, it nudged Martha’s cheek with its snout. Very carefully, Martha moved her hand to its head until it leaned into it, letting her pet it.  Then, it left, but the next day, when we returned to the manor, there it was again, and that time it looked like it had been waiting for us.

And that was that. Every day after school, Martha and I would rush to the manor where the stag would be waiting by the old stairway, and every day the stag would stay longer and longer until eventually we would spend our entire afternoons there, making it back home just before curfew, telling our parents we had been playing at the main square and lost track of time. When summer vacation started, we would go to the manor earlier and stay there for hours at a time, some times simply petting the stag and others playing pretend at being knights and wizards on a mission for the pale lord of the forest. 

Those were happy, carefree days, filled with fun and games and constant laughter... But days such as those rarely last.

It was the day of the summer solistice. The town was holding a celebration and our parents had volunteered to help with preperations, so Martha and I took the chance to sneak to the manor early in the morning, knowing we wouldn’t be missed. Once again, the stag was already there, as if it had known we would be coming.  That day, I was the lord of the manor; the evil wizard Kandarah, and Martha was the Queen of Roses; a warrior queen who had vowed to defeat me and free the townspeople from my reign of tyrany.  We ran around the crumbling halls of the manor, Martha chasing me with a stick she had for a sword. She had won the last two times and this time I was determined to defeat the queen of roses and claim her magic sword for myself...so I ran up the stairway to the second floor.

That was the first time either of us had gone up there. 

The floor was crumbled in places with holes leading to the main hall bellow, and there was a single corridor, its decorated with a faded dark red tapestry.  Martha said it reminded her of roses. It made me think of something else entirely. We should’ve headed back, down the stairs and back home; it was nearly time for lunch anyway and neither of us wanted to be late...but something drew us further down that red corridor to the far end where we found an old wooden door, its rusted hinges threatening to fall off the rotted wood. It was locked tight. There seemed to be no other way to get through and into the room beyond, and we were about to head back, when the stag suddenly appeared behind us. Its snow white fur stood out against the red walls, its cold blue eyes stared at us challengingly, and in its mouth it held a key. It was silver and small,  engraved with carvings of vines...and it seemed to be a perfect fit for the locked door. 

Something felt off. How had the stag found the key? Why had it given it to us? Why did the walls suddenly seem smaller and darker than before? Before I could ask anything, however, Martha had snatched the key from the stag and was already unlocking the door, pushing it open with all her strength.

The room inside was dark, save for a single ray of sunlight that snuck in trhough a chipped part of the roof. The windows were barred and heavy drapes hang over them, and the room itself was empty...save for a single marble pedestal right in the middle and atop of it, a thin cloth, draped over what looked like a canvas.

We moved closer, draw in again by the mysterious force that had led us to that room, and the wooden floor creaked beneath us with every step. Then we reached the pedestal and Martha looked at me, eyes blazing with determination. Together, we grabbed the cloth, counted to three...and pulled it away to reveal what was underneath.

It was the painting of a white stag with cold blue eyes looking forward with a dark forest spread out behind it.

I heard a noise and snapped my head back only to find that the stag had followed us into the room and was now right behind us, staring at the painting, and the painted stag stared back. It felt like looking at a mirror...only Martha and I weren’t in it.

Suddenly, the was a loud snaping sound as the rotted wooden floow gave way underneath Martha. Quickly, I reached for her, trying to grab her arm, to save her- but I wasn’t fast enough, and Martha fell into the darkness bellow.

Horrified, I ran to find my mother. By the time I reached the square, I had tripped three times, tearing my clothes in the process, and I couldn’t stop crying, and when I found my mother, I ran into her arms and told her what had happened between desperate cries and sobs. I told her about the manor and the white stag,  about the stairway and the red corridor and thewooden door, until finally I told her about the painting...and Martha’s fall. Al the while, she shushed me and told me to calm down because I was drawing too much attention. I remember I asked her how I was supposed to calm down knowing that my bets friend had died and it was all my fault, but she just held me and took me further in the square, amidst the crowd of people that had gathered to celebrate the solistice. I didn’t know where she was taking me, but I was too tired and scared and numb to protest so I followed her until we reached the centre of the square, where Martha’s parents sat by the fountain making flower crowns.  “See?”, my mother said, “Nothing to worry about. Everything’s alright.”  I didn’t, couldn’t understand how everything was alright after what I had told her so I ran towards Martha’s parents to...I’m still not sure what, but I froze dead in my tracks. There, between the smiling couple with flower crowns on their heads, was Martha, weaving a flower crown and smiling just as brightly. It was her, safe and sound and without a scratch on her...but her eyes were a shade lighter than they were before.

I turned and ran.  I didn’t stop when my teacher waved at me from her house, or when Mister Greene shouted ‘good evening’ from the window of his corner bookshop. I didn’t even stop when I reached my house, but only after I had ran to my bed and hid under the covers, weeping to myself quietly.

I didn’t go out the next day, or the day after, scared of what would happen if I saw my best friend again, but eventually my mother convinced me to go for a visit, saying that Martha had missed me and was worried she had done something wrong. So I did, and it was as if nothing had changed.  Neither of us mentioned the stag or the manor, and we played wizards and knights and ate spaghetti and meatballs for lunch like so many times before, but Martha was...calmer than before Gone was the spark of rebellion and the fiery determination, having given way to knowing smiles and a wisdom in her eyes that seemed too old to belong to her.

Even so, June soon came to an end, and my mother and I left for our annual vacation to Skiathos. We only went back to the town for a few days in autumn to gather our belongings, as my mother thought Oxford would make for a nice change of scenery, but I didn’t see Martha during those days, and I haven’t heard from her since.

To this day, I’m still not sure what happened in that manor, but Martha was never really the same after that...and somewhere, burrowed deep in my heart, there is a part of me calling out, whispering that it wasn’t Martha at all...

Eliot Wilde, journalist and writer for Night Owl and host of Night Owl FM

[all-things-skam]

Title: Apologies turned into IV drips

Ship: Skam France | Lucas Lallemant and Eliot Demaury (Elu)

He had fainted.

Manon had come home from Emma's and found Lucas sitting on the couch, his face more pasty than usual. Just like her, life hadn't been kind to him lately. With all the drama with Chloé and Eliott, Lucas had neglected himself to a point where he fainted in the middle of the living room.

''Lucas, you okay?'' she had asked worriedly.

Lucas nodded, standing up to use the bathroom when he suddenly felt dizzy and having hot flashes.

Mika was cooking in the kitchen - aka warming up leftovers from last night when he heard a loud thud followed by Manon yelling the smelly teenager's name. Rapidly, he quitted the microwave and ran over to the living room, calling 911 when he saw Lucas on the floor.

Next thing Lucas remembered was waking up at the hospital. He would recognize those ugly walls anywhere.

''You almost gave me a heart attack when I saw you on the floor. I'm too young to die, Lucas!'' Mika

''Have you called my parents?''

Manon shook her head and Lucas was relieved. His mom would've been worried sick and she didn't need that right now, and his dad doesn't care enough to show up at the hospital. It was better not telling them. ''I called someone else though...''

Lucas pulled his eyebrows. ''Yann?''

''No...erm, not Yann. Do you want me to reach him?''

Yann was like a brother to Lucas. He's rush over to the hospital regardless the time on the clock if he knee Lucas had been admitted by ambulance. But, it was late and Yann had an exam tomorrow. Much important than a Lucas who fainted.

Lucas shook his head. He'll text him later. ''Who is it, then?''

Manon bit her lip. ''Please don't be mad...''

Lucas was more confused now. She hadn't called Chloé, had she?

He followed Manon's gaze, his heart doing a flip when he saw who was standing in the doorway: Eliott.

He stood there, his hands trembling as he watched Lucas closely yet, from afar. He didn’t think sending a simple text telling Lucas that they were taking it too fast would lead to this. He had fallen hard for the boy but he didn’t want to hurt him and now, his worst nightmare had came true. He could still picture it, Lucas's pale face and limp body on the stretcher as they took him to the hospital. But now standing in the doorway, he was determined to make things better - if Lucas allowed him to. He had hurt the love of his life to the point where his body had gave out, he had to fix this.

''What is he doing here? He doesn't give a fuck about me, what is he doing here? Why did you call him, Manon?'' Lucas demanded, eyes filling with tears. Fuck. He had promised himself he wouldn't shed any more tears for Eliott.

Seeing Lucas's reaction, Manon quickly explained her reasoning and why was Eliott there after everything he put Lucas through. It was partly his fault that Lucas was in this hospital bed. ''We ran into him when the ambulance pulled you in. He saw you on the stretcher and...he looked like he was about to cry, Lucas.''

''I talked to him,'' Mika added. ''While the doctors were taking care of you, I did my big brother duty and warned Eliott that he needed to talk to me first before seeing you because no one fucks with my family. I saw how depressed and heartbroken you were because of him and I never want to see you like that ever again. I had to make sure he had good intentions and wouldn't cause you pain again.''

''He said he came over to apologize and talk to you- He was a mess, Lucas. Seeing you there, unconscious shook him to the bones,'' Manon continued. They had told Eliott that if Lucas was up to talk to him, they would let him in the room but, in the other case, he'd have to go home.

''I don't want to see him...ever again.''

Manon bit her lip, looking over at Mika, silently asking for help. ''I know you're mad at Eliott right now and you have all the rights to be but, just hear him out. Everyone deserves a second chance.''

How could Mika judge if he should give a chance to Eliott or not? He didn't even know everything that happened between Eliott and him.

''He's had his.''

''Then, a third one?''

Biting down his lip, Lucas glanced at Eliott again, this time noticing the dark circles under his eyes and his hunched posture, as if he was ashamed of himself. ''Okay. Okay, I'll talk to him.''

Nervously, Eliott stepped forward. It broke his heart seeing the tears in Lucas's eyes. ''Lucas...''

Lucas wiped his eyes and sat up. ''You can’t be here, you made it clear what you wanted. I saw it myself,'' he said bitterly.

Eliott walked in slowly. He wasn’t giving up that easily. ''Please. Let’s talk about it, I-I can explain why-'' Eliott looked at Manon and Mika. ''Can we just have some time alone?'' he asked them.

''We'll leave you two to talk.'' Manon stood, grabbing her bag. ''We'll be in the hallway, just in case.'' She gave Lucas's hand a squeeze and left with Mika who sent one last warning glare at Eliott, protective of Lucas.

Lucas bit his lip and looked up at him. ''You have five minutes.''

Eliott took this as his chance and sat on the side of the bed. That’s when he saw Lucas's hand. He had seen it at school but hadn't had time to ask about it. ''What happened to your hand?''

''What happened to your girlfriend?''

Eliott looked down. ''Listen. With lucille, it’s like she can get to my head so easily. She can get me do anything, she is just that way and I’ve been with her for so long that letting go of that was scary. She convinced me that you wouldn’t love me, that I was just a shiny new toy that you would toss aside...and I believed her,'' he said looking down ashamed. ''She drilled this idea into my head and, instead of listening to my heart, I listened to my brain and...broke your heart.''

''You saw the way I felt about you that morning. I told you things I’d never told anyone else, poured out my heart to you, how could you think that I didn’t care about you. I haven’t slept a wink in the past week, why do you think I ended up here? Every damn time I close my eyes I wish you were with me. I thought you hated me Eliott... You can’t just play with a person's heart like that, especially not someone who is falling for you.'' Lucas's eyes widen, realizing what just slipped. Shit.

Although it was true, he didn't mean to say it. Not yet. It was way too early for big confessions like this.

''I'm deeply sorry for all the pain I caused you, Lucas. This is all my fault that you're here...''

There was now hot tears rolling off Lucas's cheeks. He shrugged gently. ''I want to accept your apologies and forgive you but I can't forget the pain I went through Eliott. When I saw you with Lucille at Chloé's party I felt betrayed, when I saw you kissing her...I was so fucking angry. I was angry at myself for believing and falling for a guy who used me for entertainment. I was angry at you because you...you ruined my fucking life! You're not the one who hears whispers when you walk in the halls or has been dumped by his best friend. You shook my life and left me alone with all the aftermaths. How can I trust you again? How will I know that you won’t change your mind again? Apologies won’t do me any good Eliott.''

The heart monitor was starting to beep faster from how worked up Lucas was getting and Eliott knew that if he didn't do anything to calm his down, nurses would come in to check on him.

Eliott gently took his hand. ''Listen Lucas, I know that I can’t fix what happened but I promise that I’m gonna be better. I talked to Lucille, she is never getting in our way again. It’s done with her...for good. Only want to be with you now, I can’t lose you again,'' he said calmly, his voice about to break.

Love wasn't a switch you could turn on and off whenever you please. You can't wake up one day and decide to stop loving someone. It doesn't work like that...you can't control love, you can't control what your heart wants. And, Lucas's heart wanted Eliott, he loved him - at least, he thought he did - and love makes you do crazy things...like giving the boy who put you through hell another chance. One last chance.

Lucas had calmed down a bit, the monitor no longer beeping as loud. He took a deep breath and gave Eliott a stern look. ''One chance...don’t make me regret it because if I go through this again. I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive it.''

A smile rose on Eliott’s lips. ''Won’t make the same mistake twice, I’m not losing you again Lucas. Thank you for giving me another chance.'' He gently laced their hands together, careful to not mess the IV drip on Lucas's hand. ''Am I allowed to do this now?''

Lucas nodded and let Eliott kiss him, keeping it sweet and tender yet, filled with unspoken feelings.

''So...you're falling for me?'' Eliott said, pressing his forehead against Lucas.

''Did I say that?'' Lucas asked, playing innocent.

Eliott nodded and, just as he was about to kiss Lucas, Lisa walked into the room, coffees in hands. She looked around, not seeing her two roommates. ''Where are Manon and Mika?''

[fox1656]

Shadow Chronicles 6

6

THE RESCUE COMPLETED

As they approached the next room, they heard a voice from inside: “. . . your friends will never come for you.”

“You're wrong!” Eliot said, as they burst through the door.

What they saw was astounding. Instead of the ugly creature, there was a beautiful woman, standing over Sam, who was sitting in front of a large TV, playing a video game. The room was very elegant and bright, with big armchairs sitting in a circle in the middle of the room. The lady turned to face them, when they came through the door. The lady was wearing an emerald green dress that covered her feet. She had golden blonde hair, and her nails were painted blood red. The lady smiled at them, and she beckoned them forward. "I was just telling Sam that you might never come for him. You took such an awful long time." The lady's voice sounded like music, and it was almost hypnotizing.

“You are so beautiful!” Elizabeth said.

“Why thank you,” the lady said, blushing, "I was going to ask for Sam's help earlier, but I was under orders then."

“What orders?” Brian asked.

“Orders from my master . . . the lord of the dark realm,” the lady said.

"Why do you need Sam to play a video game for you," Kathy said.

"Well," the lady said, "I wanted to test his skill."

"Why didn't you get one of us to do it?" Brian asked.

"Well, I've already tested you. I've tested all of you in different ways, but you didn't even know about it. Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Cassandra."

Cassandra shook hands with Brian, Eliot, Kathy and Elizabeth, and then they all stood in silence, and watched as Sam played the game. Sam played for about twenty, and then, 'The End' flashed on the screen, and there were cheering sounds coming from the TV.

"You may leave if you like, but please come back by sometime and stay for dinner," Cassandra said.

"Okay," Brian said. "We'll come back in a few days."

Cassandra walked over to Brian, and she hugged him. She then hugged Sam, Eliot, Kathy, and Elizabeth. They said goodbye, and they walked out of the house, and down the path that led back to Brian's house.

On their way out of the woods, Brian tripped over a root that was sticking out of the ground, and he passed out before he hit the ground.

Brian awoke on his bed in his room.

Elizabeth was asleep in a chair beside the bed. Brian looked over at her, and then he gently shook her, and she woke. Once she was awake, she looked around a few times, and then she looked at Brian, and said, “The doctor told you to sleep.”

“What happened?” Brian asked.

“You fell down the stairs a few days ago,” Elizabeth replied, “Don't you remember?”

“No,” Brian replied, 'it was just a nightmare, then,' he thought to himself.

Elizabeth told him everything that had happened to him after he had fallen down the stairs. When she finished, he suddenly remembered everything, as if it had just happened. He even remembered talking to Elizabeth for the last three days. Then, he got out of bed, amidst Elizabeth's complaints that he should stay in bed and rest, and then he went downstairs to see the others.

The day after Brian woke up in his bed at his house, he went back to school. During the last study hall of the day, he wrote down all that had happened in his dream. After school, they went to Elizabeth's house, which was their other main meeting place. When they got there, he gave the sheets of paper to Sam, who read them and passed them on to Elizabeth, who passed them to Billy, and then the papers went to Kathy, who took them thankfully, because she was very anxious to read it.

After Kathy read what Brian had written, she said, "It makes me look like an idiot. Is that the way you see me?"

"No way," Brian said.

Just then, Sam said, "I sure do." Kathy gave Sam a death stare, and Sam ran out of the room and Kathy followed, slamming the door behind her. Elizabeth opened the door, stuck her head out, and yelled, “Have fun, you two!”

“Should we go after them,” Billy asked, with a hint of concern in his voice.

“They'll be back,” Elizabeth said, “But you can go if you want to.”

“No thanks,” Billy said.

Thirty minutes later, they did in fact come back, with Sam in the lead, and Kathy twisting his arm behind his back.

“Kathy,” Elizabeth said, “Let go of his arm!”

Kathy did as she was told, and no sooner than she had done that, Elizabeth grabbed his arm and twisted it back behind his back again. “You won't provoke Kathy any more, will you?” Elizabeth asked, and Sam shook his head with a look of pain in his eyes. “Good,” Elizabeth said, and she let go of Sam's arm, and then they all walked out of the room. All except Brian, who lie down on Elizabeth's bed, and instantly fell asleep. Soon after he fell asleep, he was lying on his stomach on the ground. The first thing that he noticed, was that the ground was dirt, the second thing he noticed was that there were four people standing around him, and the last thing that he noticed was that it was night time.

[yashalex]

crash and burn, baby. crash and burn   [Chaters 1 - 4] It’s not a problem when your best mate finds a new crush and forgets about you. It’s the problem when his crush takes an interest in you and you don’t really mind. Or: Lucas Lallemant, a new guy in the school, attracts Eliott's best mate attention... and not just his.

Chapter 1 There're new students in the school and while Eliott isn't interested at all, his best friend Emile is absolutely sure that he found the love of his life. 

"I think I fell in love."

Eliott heard this phrase so many time that he paid no attention to his best mate’s words. Emile was one of those guys who used to fell in love every week until he met a new crush. Sometimes it wasn’t even week but days. And when Eliott heard Sofiane and Idriss’ laugh he knew that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t take it seriously. And Emile was offended.

"I’m serious!" He exclaimed, running his hand through the hair.

"Mate, we’re in the school," Sofiane stated the fact. "We know all the people in here. You couldn’t have fallen in love with one of them otherwise it would have happened years ago. Well, if it’s true love, of course."

Eliott smiled at that. He liked how Sofiane was always trying to be reasonable and logical what was the opposite of Emile’s nature.

"Aren’t you listening to me at all?" Emile sounded outraged. Eliott knew that tone. That was a bad news.

"I guess it’s about new kids?" Idriss said, and Eliott and Sofiane looked at him surprised. "What? Imane and her friends are giving them school tour today." After that Idriss returned to his food like he’s done everything he could. And Sofiane began to smile dreamily. It was Imane’s effect.

"Yeah! And I’ve been telling you about them yesterday!" Now Emile was gazing at Eliott. Shit. Now he definitely had a problem. And he even started to remember something. "There was some boiler accident in their school, and that was so serious that all the students were transferred to other schools. And ours was a part of the program. So we finally have some new faces here!"

Emile looked excited. Like really excited and Eliott didn’t really understand it, but he didn’t judge. Eliot himself didn’t really care about the news. He was never close to his old classmates, and a couple of new kids hardly could change it. One look at Sofiane and Idriss made him realize that they were on the same page with him. But none of them stopped Emile from happy blabbering.

"I saw the group of four guys earlier. They’re a year younger than us, and they were with your Imane by the way," these words were addressed to Idriss, but it was Sofiane’s eyes which lightened up once again by the mention of the name. Eliott chuckled. If only Idriss knew… "And as I’m very polite I decided to go and introduce myself. And that was the moment I saw him. Guys, seriously those eyes…"

"Ok, ok, mate, we’ve got it. It was the man of your dreams." Idriss didn’t let Emile finish because he knew that it’s easy for him to be carried away.

Emile was an open gay. He never hid it and he never tried. That why Eliott admired him so much. Having lived through some hell times, he never changed himself, and he tried to teach other people to do the same. Emile was still trying to make Eliott fully accept himself, though this mission was bound to fail. But that was nice of him, he always was a fighter. He always fought for his life, for his rights, and for his friends.

"And what is the boy’s name?" Eliott asked as he knew how important it was for him to have support. Sometimes Idriss was a little bit rude with him (he always regretted it later), and that was one of those times. Probably the guy had some problems with parents again, but it shouldn’t have had an effect on Emile.

"That’s the saddest part. I don't know." Emile sounded a bit upset, but surely it couldn’t have been a big problem for him. And Eliott was right in his thinking as the guy continued. "But his next lesson is Biology with Imane and Alexia, so I’m going to fix this." Ok. He was really prepared.

"We’re coming with you!" Sofiane said too fast and was smiling too wide. Eliott tried his best to hide his own smile. But Sofiane got it and added: "I mean we all want to meet him, right?"

He looked at Eliott, and Eliott nodded his head. He couldn’t believe that he will go to watch how two lovesicks (one with less serious diagnosis) will make idiots out of themselves. Well, at least it would be fun.

                                                         [Emile]

 the guy from last night keeps asking for your number                                                                                                     tell him to fuck off

you know that I can’t

                                                                                                       then ignore him                                                                                                     I don’t give a fuck                                                                            you can write it to him if you want

you sure? he’s quite hot and he’s deffo interested

                                                                                   you can take him if you want

nah, I’m alright thanks have my blue-eyed angel to think about so it’s 100% no from you?

                                                                                                                     101%

you’re cruel

                                                                                        tell me something new

Eliott had one rule in his life and it was not to get attached to the people. And though he one hundred percent failed it when he found his friends, he was still trying to stick to it in personal life. Serious relationships were a big «No» for him. He tried once, everything went to shit, and he gave up. There was no point. And it wasn’t about him being cruel or heartless, it was about him being a good person actually. A good person who was saving people from himself. And Emile usually called it bullshit, but he will never understand. And Eliott was happy about it. No one deserved the shit his life was made of.

There were times when Eliott just wanted to skip lessons and go home. That was one of these days. After the «Literature» he sneaked out of the school and went to the bus stop. He was careful as never as he really hadn’t any desire for his friends to catch him. There’d be definitely questions after, but as long as it wasn’t right now he was alright. He just wanted to be in peace for a while. There was no reason behind it, he just felt like that, and he did that.

When he came to the bus stop there was already a guy sitting there. He looked a little bit younger than Eliott, and he was looking for something in his bag, holding a joint between his lips. Probably, it was someone from his school, but he couldn’t figure out who as he didn’t see the face. Anyway, the thought of him not being the only one who was skipping the school in the middle of the day made him smile, and he sat beside him.

"Mate, don’t you have a lighter? Can’t find mine." The boy said as soon as he noticed that he wasn’t alone anymore.

"I don’t smoke, sorry," Eliott answered not looking at the stranger. The fact was that he really wanted to smoke, but he couldn’t. That was a rule he had no right to break. Not anymore.

"That sucks." There was a pure disappointed in the boy’s voice. Eliott chucked. "Oh, I think I know you. Saw you in the school earlier. With Imane’s brother."

And these were the words which made Eliott turn his head to him.  And when he finally saw a guy, the face in front of him took his breath away. He definitely saw some beautiful people before. Some people even considered him quite handsome, but that boy was in absolutely another league. His face was a masterpiece Eliott couldn’t stop looking at. And his blue eyes were the ocean in which Eliott was ready to drown in.

"Wow, you really look like a model. Girls were right." The stranger smiled. And that was really ironic thing to say as Eliott couldn’t stop wallowing in the guy's beauty. That’s why it took him a couple of minutes to realize what he said.

"Sorry?" He asked, trying to look away because he didn’t really want to look creepy. Though he probably has already failed.

"We were on the school tour with the girls, and they told us about everyone we saw on our way.  You included. Emma called you a model and Alexia said that you’re one of the hottest guys in the school. I didn’t pay to it attention then but I can see it now." The boy said shamelessly, and Eliott couldn’t have believed his ears. Did he just call him hot? Or was it just his imagination?

"So you’re one of the new kids?" Eliott decided not to pay attention to the boy’s words in case he's got something wrong. The boy nodded his head, putting the joint in his pocket. "And you’re skipping already? I know for a fact that your classes are not finished yet." He knew it because nobody finished at this time.

"Let's call it a family emergency."

"But it doesn’t look like you’re rushing!"

"Well, I’m waiting for a bus, aren’t I?" The boy looked at him again. And Eliott could swear that he saw real sparks in his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They were driving him mad. "And what’s your excuse? Why are you here? «I know for a fact that your classes are not finished yet.»" The boy imitated Elliot’s voice and tone and that made Elliott laugh. Sincerely.

"I'm just not in the mood." He said and the boy smirked.

"Sound like a good reason."

"Yeah, it is."

And then there was a silence. But that wasn’t anything awkward or something like that. Not at all. They were just smiling looking at each other. And Eliott had no idea what was that, but he wished this moment would never stopped. He really could feel like the world was good to him again. And the reason was this boy.

But the moment didn’t last as Eliott’s phone began to vibrate. So he was the first to break off their eye contact to check what that was about. He hoped that the boy wasn't too disappointed with his actions. Because he regretted doing this as soon as he took away his gaze.

                                                         [Sofiane]

mate, where are you? we’re meeting Emile’s new love here you forgot?!

"Fuck!" Eliott’s whispered. He really forgot. That was quite a shitty situation.

"What’s happened?" The boy asked. Eliott could feel that his eyes were still on him.

"Just forgot about something. Not a big deal." That was a big deal actually. But he didn’t need to know.

                                                        [Sofiane]

                                                                                                         fuck, I forgot                                                                                                                      sorry                                                                                                      how is it going?

you can relax the boy wasn’t there we left Emile stayed with his friends and the girls

                                                                                                           that’s shit                                                                                              but he’d get over it

btw, where are you?

That was the question Eliott chose to ignore. That wasn’t the time for worrying Sofiane.

And as soon as he closed one chat another began. And Eliott didn’t want to look at it as he really wanted to spend a little bit more time with the boy, but that was Emile. He couldn’t ignore.

                                                         [Emile]

a blue-eyed angel wasn’t there but Imane told me the name Lucas isn’t it beautiful?

«Blue-eyed», «wasn’t there», «Imane». His messages struck him as he began to realize something he didn’t even consider before. The boy with ocean-blue eyes was sitting now with him and he was supposed to be at his classes right now. Earlier he had a school tour which was led by Imane and the boy Emile liked was then with her. And Eliott didn’t really want to think about the possibility, because there were a lot of new boys in the school, but, still, the worry settled in his gut.

"Sorry, I didn’t ask your name." Eliott looked at the boy, hoping that it would be Axel or Isak or David or anything else but not THAT name.

"Oh, yeah, I’m Lucas." The boy said still smiling, and Eliott felt like the earth began to slip under his foot.

The world was against him once again.

Chapter 2 Eliott decides to forget about the blue-eyes boy, shame the blue-eyed boy isn't ready to forget about him.

two missed calls from Idriss

three missed calls from Sofiane

five missed calls from Emile

Eliott was in trouble. Or more precisely he was in real shit. And he didn’t even see messages in the chat yet. But he knew that he would pay for it later. There were no doubts about it. But at this moment he didn’t care. He wanted some peace, and he got it. It wasn’t his house where he found it. But this place was close to being called «home». It was «La Petite Ceinture». His safe place. His shelter. His everything.

Eliott always loved to be dramatic, so he loved the idea of having a secret place. A place where he can hide and think. A place nobody knew about. And when he found it, he finally felt safe again. And when it was really hard for him to move on with his life he always came here to find some comfort. And that’s why he came here after the bus stop. After the meeting with the blue-eyed stranger. After meeting with Lucas. One message from Emile was enough for him to let the boy go.

Emile was a real friend. A real friend who sacrificed a lot for him. And he never asked anything in return. And if there was a tiny possibility of Emile’s sufferings from Eliott’s actions, Eliott had no other choice but to stop it straight away. Yeah, he liked the boy. And he would have been happy to give it a try and spend a little bit more time with him. But not if it would risk him his friendship with Emile. And maybe for Eliott, it wouldn’t have ended up as something serious at the end because he closed himself from relationships, but for Emile… yeah, sometimes he was really inconstant, but he was always trying to find something serious. And Eliott had no right to ruin his searching. Even if it won’t work out for his friend and the boy at the end. He had to let it go.

"You’re doing this disappearance act again, and I’m moving out of this fucking flat!"

These were the first and the only words Emile said when Eliott came back home. Then he rushed to his room. A loud slam of the door followed after that. That was the main problem of living together with your best friend. He cared too much. It wasn’t the first time when he said those words. And it definitely won’t be the last time. But it didn’t make Eliott’s guilt any lesser. He felt like a real shit at those moments. He really didn’t deserve Emile.

They decided to move in together a year ago. When Eliott couldn’t live with his parents and their over-protective mood anymore. But he couldn’t have been trusted anymore. And Emile suggested living together and that seemed like a great idea. Well, it was a great idea, and they enjoyed each others company most of the times. But there were moments like this. When Eliott acted like an asshole and Emile had to put up with it. It was unfair to him, but there was nothing Eliott could do to make him leave. So once again he had to fix the situation as soon as possible.

In five minutes he opened Emile’s door and stretched his hand through the crack holding two bottle ob beers. He didn’t show his face.

"I came in peace." He declared, hoping to get a reaction of his friend.

"Are you trying to buy me?" He’s heard Emile’s voice and smiled. That was a good start.

"Maybe?"

"Are these both for me?"

"Maybe," Eliott repeated his words, keep smiling. He didn’t feel anger in Emile’s voice anymore. It was a good sign.

"Ok. You can come in." Emile finally said, and Eliott let out the breath.

Emile was lying on his bed with the phone in his hands. He didn’t look at Eliott, but he accepted the bottle out of his hands when he lay next to him. Eliott saw that Emile was scrolling down Instagram pages of unknown to him people. But that wasn’t his interest now.

"I’m sorry." He said sincerely.

"I know," Emile answered, still keeping his eyes on the phone. Eliott knew what that meant. He wasn’t angry, but he wanted to show that it wasn’t alright at all. And he was right. Guilt consumed him again. "You can’t do this anymore. When we knew that you were out of school, and when you didn’t pick up your phone, we were scared as shit. Sofiane even wanted to call Lucille and your parents!"

"But he didn’t do it, didn’t it?" That was panic in Elliott's voice. There was no way he would want for them to interfere in his life now. He loved them, but recently they were not helping at all.

"Of course I didn’t let him!" Emile knew too well how bad it could have ended. Once again, he was a good friend. Sofiane and Idriss were close to Eliott too, but they never truly understood him. And that was totally fine, as long as Emile was there to back him up.

"Thanks."

"But you can't blame him for this. We all were worried that something had happened."

"Yeah. I get. And as I said I’m sorry. And I will call the guys later and tell them the same." He promised.

"Oh, you better do it!"

Emile finally looked at Eliott and made the first sip out of the bottle. Now that was it. The problem was solved. For now.

"But don’t you think that I’ll forget that you dumped me when I was going to introduce you to new guys today."

That has been said in a funny tone as if it was a joke. But Eliott didn’t want to laugh at all. He knew that now the conversation was leading to the boy. And no way he was ready to go there now. He needed some time but Emile didn’t give it to him.

"That’s so disappointing that a blue-eyed angel wasn’t there, but at least now I know his friends and his name. By the way, I’m looking through their pages right now." Emile showed Eliott a screen of his phone, and Eliott showed a little bit of interest before looking away just not to look too weird. He didn’t want to see it.

"I don’t want to kill the mood, but what if the boy is straight?" Eliott asked. And that was the question of which was on his mind a lot. If the boy was straight, then it would have solved a lot of problems. Both Emile and Eliott would have no chances, they both would have suffered from it a little and then moved on. That would be the perfect scenario for both of them.

"Then my heart would be crushed in pieces," Emile answered. Eliott smiled as his friend clearly exaggerated. How could he say it and be serious? He didn’t even know him.

"So are you going to ask him or what?" Eliott didn’t want to look like he was too invested in his friend’s new crush and their relationships because it could look suspicious. He never paid attention to Emile’s love life before. Well, there was one time, but the situation was really extreme back then. But now it was usual Emile’s crush, and Eliott shouldn’t have been interested in it. But he was interested. He just couldn’t help it.

"I’m thinking on my strategy yet, but I have a good feeling about it, you know? Let’s just keep our finger crossed, yeah?"

Emile smiled at Eliott and Eliott smiled back while there was a mini-Eliott inside him who wanted to scream.

Eliott had a tendency to draw some moments of his life which were making him smile. Two bottles of beer became such a moment. It wasn’t the first time he used such trick to get Emile’s forgiveness, but it was the first time he decided to capture it. So he drew two bottles with smiley faces leaning on each other. That took him 10 minutes to finish the sketch and upload it on Instagram. It was a habit. He didn’t post there anything but his sketches and drawings. He wasn’t a social media guy, but there was something special in sharing his works with the world. And actually quite a lot of people were following him, and he had no idea why, especially when he followed no one. Not even his friends. But when his pictures were getting some reaction he was always feeling a pleasure. As if the things he did had a point. He liked that feeling.

«There is no problem which couple bottles of beer couldn’t solve ;)»

He wrote a caption to the picture and completely forgot about this post by the evening.

He and Emile had dinner in front of the telly. Then Eliott called Idriss and Sofiane to apologize and listen to the lecture from both sides just to be forgiven at the end. And then he was just studying as he missed his last classes, and he knew that the teachers won't let him off the hook easily. He wanted to be ready. And by the end of the day, he was so exhausted, that he wanted just to go to bed. But that wasn’t meant to happen as he saw a notification under his last post which made his heart skip a beat.

lucallemant left a comment under your photo

«these are some wise words, man»

Logically Eliott knew that could be literally anyone. There were thousands of Lucases in this world and this one could be anyone. He had no reason to lose his shit over this. And just to prove he was right he decided to check the stranger page to calm himself down. On the main picture there was a photo of the boy with the ball which gave him absolutely no information about the person. But that wasn’t the only problem. He couldn't check his other photos as the page was private. And there was no way Eliott would have followed him, especially in the case he was wrong and that was that Lucas. And at the end he didn’t need to do anything to know the truth, as he saw:

followed by emile.elime

Emile was following the boy. And Eliott didn’t want to think about bad stuff, but the possibilities of the guy not being that Lucas were becoming lesser and lesser. And the fact that the boy found him and left his mark… well, it wasn’t good at all. And it would be wise of Elliott to delete the comment before Emile noticed it. But he couldn’t make himself do it. He just closed the app and went to bed hoping that the next morning the comment would disappear itself.

The bad news was that this comment didn’t disappear. The good news was that Emile didn’t see it. Eliott had no idea how it could have happened because Emile was the guy who notices everything. Especially on Instagram. But in the morning he didn’t say a word and that meant only one thing: he didn’t know. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have given Eliott a break with his questions.

At school, Elliott was trying to forget about the whole thing and that was easier to say than done. Emile couldn’t stop looking for a boy. Being in the company of Eliott, Idriss and Sofiane his eyes were still wondering somewhere else. He was observing the whole school, and the guys were laughing at it without him even noticing. Eliott had to pretend that it seemed funny to him too. But in fact, he was dreading it. He was dreading to see the boy and lose himself in his eyes again.

But the boy didn’t appear before their eyes, and they all went to their classes and everything was calm. Before Sofiane decided to speak with him.

"Why is it Emile’s Lucas commenting your photos?" Sofiane asked and it would be an understatement to say that Eliott was surprised. He expected it from anyone but not from Sofiane. The guy was usually too busy with his life to notice such things. At least Eliott thought so.

"You know that I have no idea what you’re talking about?" Eliott asked, trying to sound neutral.

"The boy Emile has a crush on commented your photo yesterday, you didn’t see?" Eliott shook his head. Liar. «That’s strange, don’t you think?»

"Not at all." Eliott had to make him believe that it was an absolutely normal thing. And that was probably an absolutely normal thing. "Emile followed him on Instagram, and the boy probably decided to know his friends. It’s a good sign, right?"

"Well, he didn’t leave a comment to me or Idriss or Emile!"

When did Sofiane become so attentive to Instagram shit?

"It’s not my fault that my posts are cooler than yours." Eliott joked and Sofiane bumped him in the shoulder.

They laughed together, and that topic was closed for now. And Eliott hoped that all Sofiane’s suspicions went away. He didn’t need these troubles right now.

Eliott was the first who came at their table in the cafeteria. He had no idea where his band was, but he didn’t really mind sitting a little bit alone for a while. Without Idriss being moody again. Without Sofiane looking for Imane in the crowd. And without Emile looking for the boy around. He put his tray on the table and sat down. And as soon as it happened, somebody else took a seat in front of him. Eliott expected to see one of his friends, but he defiantly didn’t expect to see him.

"Hi!" The boy smiled. And, oh God, he had a beautiful smile.

"Hi," Eliott mumbled. The alarm was ringing in his head. «Did you want something?» Eliott took a sandwich in his hand trying to show that he had no interest in the conversation. What a lie!

"Yeah. I came to say that I’m deeply offended." The boy announced and Eliott looked at him confused. «At first you leave me at the bus station not even saying your name and then you pay no attention to my comment on your Instagram. That’s very rude of you.»

And that’s all was said in such a serious and childish tone that Eliott couldn’t hold his laugh. And judging by the satisfied smile on the boy’s face it was exactly what he was trying to achieve.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, sorry." Eliott smiled at him, having bitten his sandwich. The boy's eyes were following him. «Did you want anything else?»

"Nah, I’m just sitting here until my friends come." The boy said, looking around. "I’ve skipped a couple of lessons, and they already found some new friends."

"That sucks."

"I thought so too, but looking at my position now… " The boy leaned over the table and whispered. "I don’t really mind."

The boy winked at Eliott and Eliott's nearly choked with his sandwich. How could this angel-like boy so shamelessly flirt with him in the middle of the school? And how could Eliott enjoy it? How could he let himself enjoy it? He literally couldn’t stop smiling at the boy and take away his eyes of him. They were holding each other’s gaze and nobody was ready to finish this game. This stupid game in which their eyes were playing and which what the opposite of what Eliott was planning. He wanted to let the boy go, and definitely not to get attracted to him even more. And he failed. He failed and at that moment he had no regrets. There were no regrets at all until he heard the voice behind his back:

"Eliott, sorry, we held up. Do you remember those new guys we were talking about, right? We’ve just met them and…" Emile stopped the second he saw who was at the table with Eliott. "Hi." He whispered to the boy and smiled. And the way he looked at him made Eliott's heart squeeze. Because that wasn’t a look of «I have a crush» Emile. But that was the look of «I fall really, really hard» Emile. Eliott knew that Emile too well.

"Hi, I’m Lucas!" The boy introduced himself. And that was it. There was still a tiny hope in Eliott’s heart that it wasn’t that Lucas. That it was just a confusion. But as soon as Emile and the boy's hands touched in the handshake all the hopes have vanished. That was a lost battle now.

"I didn’t know you and Eliott knew each other!" Sofiane, who was standing right behind Emile, looked at Eliott. Fuck! He knew that something was off.

"Yeah!" Emile nodded his head. "How do you know each other?"

He looked straight at Eliott, expecting an answer, and Eliott knew that he had only one chance not to fuck it up. He needed to tell the truth.

Chapter 3 Sofiane's suspicious, Lucas's offended and maybe ELiott is a little bit lost. 

“We met at the bus station yesterday,” Eliott wanted to tell the truth, and that was it. The truth.

“You didn’t mention anything,” Emile noted while they were settling in around the table.

Eliott knew that at least two pairs of eyes were looking at him now: Lucas and Sofiane’s. Shit.

“I forgot, didn’t I?” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to avoid Lucas’ gaze. Part of him hoped that the boy wasn’t offended by it. Another part of him was fuming that he really cared about it.

“That’s a real crime, isn’t it?” Emile said, but his words were meant only for Lucas.

The boy captured all of Emile’s attention. Eliott was sure if the bombing had started outside right at this moment, his friend wouldn’t have even noticed. And that thought was killing him. He seriously hoped that it was a simple crush, nothing too serious as usual, but by the look on Emile’s face, it was obviously not the case. If they had been in some cartoon right now, he would have had heart-eyes on his face.

“How are you finding our school?” Emile asked Lucas while Sofiane was eating Eliott with his eyes. Idriss was the only one who acted absolutely normal, eating his lunch. Eliott was staring at his sandwich. He knew that one glance in the wrong direction would be the end of his.

“Well, at first it seemed really strange to be here. But with every second I enjoy it more and more.”

Eliott didn’t see Lucas’ face, but he was sure that the boy glanced at him the second he said those words. What a fucker!

“That’s great to hear!” Emile exclaimed.

Luckily, being in love for him meant the same as living in the fool’s paradise. He was becoming blind to the most evident things. And that was the first time when Eliott was really grateful for it. Shame he couldn’t say the same about Sofiane. He could feel future problems with him with his bones.

“So are you going to tell me where did you bury bodies of my friends or I need to call the police? Cause you were the one with whom I saw them last time.” Lucas said playfully and Emile laughed. And he wasn’t the only one as Idriss smirked too. Sofiane was still too busy with glaring at Eliott. Shit!

But there was something that let a tiny smile appear on Eliott’s face for a split-second. Lucas’ friends didn’t dump him for his new friends, but he dumped them. He saw Eliott’s gang with his friends, and he decided not to join them but come here and sit with Eliott. And Eliott was 99% percent sure that it was his imagination playing with him, but, still, the idea was warming him inside. And that sucked.

“Don’t worry, they’re going to be here soon,” Emile said. And Eliott wasn’t sure if his eyes even left Lucas’ face during all this time.

“Yeah, the girls caught them, and your guys probably have some problems to run away from them now,» Idriss added, and Emile nodded his head in agreement.

“Was Daphne there?” Lucas asked. Idriss nodded while chewing his sandwich. “Then it’s probably girls can't run away from my boys and not another way around. Bazile lost his head over Daphne, and now she is the only thing he can talk about.»

Lucas tried to sound irritated, but his voice was really soft while he was talking about his friend. Eliott liked that.

“I better go and save them.”

Lucas stood up, grabbing his bag. Emile clearly wasn’t happy about it.

“You can always sit and eat with us,” he suggested, but Lucas shook his head. Thankfully.

“Maybe another time.” The boy winked to them and left. Finally, Eliott could breathe again.

“He’s so cool, right?” Emile was looking at his friends. He definitely expected them to support him in his thinking.

“He’s alright,” Idriss commented, but the tone of his voice didn’t show any interest in the boy at all.

Suddenly the phone vibrated in Eliott’s pocket, and he totally missed what Sofiane had to say about the new guy while pulling it out. When he saw a notification, his hands began to shake. And he didn’t want to think about the reason behind it.

lucallemant sent you a message

Never in his life had Eliott wanted to open and no to open the message at the same time. Still, Lucas’s gone just a few seconds ago, and Eliott was dying to know what he could have possibly sent to him. But the fact that Emile was sitting right next to him didn’t make anything easier. And his best friend was clearly under «Lucas’ effect». However, so as Eliott, so after a couple of moments of staring at the screen, he finally opened his message.

lucallemant forgot about me? seriously??!!! now i’m even more offended

It was a miracle how Eliott managed not to burst into laughter after reading this. That was really funny and even cute in a way. And he couldn’t stop smiling at his phone. He just couldn’t control his face. And he knew that it was stupid of him, and it wasn’t the place for this shit, but he hoped that nobody would notice it. How naïve.

It didn’t take long for Sofiane to catch Eliott after the lessons and took him «to talk». Eliott wasn’t stupid, and he knew that it was coming, especially after all the glares of the guy in the cafeteria. His friend surely suspected that something was off, and he wasn’t the person who was ready to let go of something easily. It was now Eliott’s task to persuade him that he saw things, which weren’t real. And that was a hell task to do.

“You can start talking,” Sofiane said while they were walking down the street.

Idriss and Emile were still in the school as they had one more lesson. And now Eliott really wished they were with them just to stop Sofiane from sniffing around.

“Can you at least explain what I have done wrong now?” Eliott said playfully, knowing pretty well that no way Sofiane would buy this.

“Eliott, can you not disrespect me like this, please?!” Sofiane said, being unimpressed.

“Ok, just ask what you want to know, and I’ll answer if I’ll have the answers you need,” Eliott gave up immediately. He didn’t want to fall out with Sofiane. Not because of something that wasn’t even a thing. And that was the point Eliott had intentions to prove.

“Why did you lie about not knowing the boy when I asked you about his comment?” Sofiane went straight to the questions. Actually, it was a pretty easy one.

“I didn’t know it was him. And as I’ve said, I totally forgot about this bus-station meeting.” That lie was easy to say. And that was a lie. Because this «bus-station meeting» was everything he could think about that day.

Sofiane was looking at him with suspicion. He didn't believe him or didn’t believe him fully. He clearly had his doubts, but he changed the course of his «interrogation». And his next question wasn’t so easy to answer.

“Why are you both were acting so strange when we came?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” That was the truth. Eliott tried to act as casual as possible, and he’s done nothing but stared at the tray on the table. And apparently, that was the wrong thing to do.

“Then why did you avoid looking at us and especially at Lucas and Emile while the boy was fucking you with his eyes right under our noses?”

Sofiane stood in front of Eliott, expecting to hear a good, reasonable explanation. But Eliott wasn’t rushing with his answer as his mate’s words gave him something to think about. Was Lucas’ staring really so obvious and bad? Eliott knew that the boy was looking at him from time to time, but «fucking him with his eyes»? No. Sofiane clearly overreacted.

“I didn’t notice such a thing,” Eliott said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Of course, you were too busy with your tray!” Sofiane exclaimed, and Eliott chuckled.

“Look, mate, till the moment the boy crashed at the table I even didn’t know his name!” Liar. “I have no idea why he left me that comment, and I don’t know what you saw at the table, but you clearly misread the situation. I don’t know the boy, and it looks like he’s just trying to be friendly with everyone. And I wasn’t in the mood for this bullshit, so that’s why I didn’t pay to him any attention at the lunch!” Eliott put all his soul into these words just to sound sincere and for Sofiane to believe him.

“Why? What happened? Was it connected with your disappearance yesterday?” Now Sofiane was worried about him. Great!

Eliott began to feel like he was doing everything only worse. Maybe, he really should have told the truth, called the boy some crazy stalker and maybe it would have taken Emile’s interest off him. But somehow Eliott couldn’t do such a thing to the boy. So the lie kept coming.

“No. I just studied till late and didn’t get much sleep,” he reassured his friend and put his hands on Sofiane’s shoulders. “My point is that there is nothing going between me and the boy. I swear. ”

“OK. I believe you,” Sofiane finally said, and it felt like he was serious. Eliott smiled at him while his conscience was eating him up inside. He hated lying to his friends. However, he had good intentions. “I just see how Emile looks at this boy, and it looks serious. And if there is something between you and Lucas, then you better tell the truth now. You and Emile are both my friends, and I love you, so I don’t want one of you to suffer at the end. And today I felt the vibe that it’s pretty much possible.”

Sofiane was always a very perceptive person. He knew when someone was feeling bad or hiding something. He noticed things which others didn’t. He asked questions which others were afraid to ask. And he was always there for you when you needed even if you didn’t ask him. And that was the moment when Eliott saw all of it in him and even thought about him being right. Maybe he should have told everything straight away. To him. To Idriss. To Emile. And not just about his meeting with Lucas, but also about the feelings which the boy made him feel. And maybe it would have saved him from a real misery in the future, but there was one problem: he saw the way Emile was looking at Lucas too. There was no going back now.

“If Lucas is into guys then Emile can take him, I don’t care. No man can stand between the best buddies, right?” Eliott was smiling at Sofiane until he started to smile back.

Eliott clapped him on the back, and they continued to walk not mentioning Lucas anymore. And Eliott hated himself for talking about the boy like he was some object which they could pass to each other, but he had to do it that way. Sofiane had to hear it like this. He knew that there was no way Eliott would have said something like that about the person he really cared about.

Eliott and Sofiane were chilling on their sofa, eating pasta and watching some crappy TV show. They were talking about school and the stuff they had to do but were too lazy for it. And that was a typical evening for them. They both were checking their phones times from time… well, Emile actually didn’t take his eyes off his, but Eliott wasn’t so addicted to that thing. Thank God. But one notification was enough for him to lose his shit over it.

lucallemant sent you a message

And for some reason, he didn’t hesitate this time and read it straight away.

lucallemant

still offended …

Once again that made Eliott smile, but not for long, as Emile was sitting in a couple of inches from him. And probably it was Lucas’ page he was obsessively looking through even if he already saw it a thousand times.

Looking at Lucas’ messages, Eliott began to think what under other circumstances he should have done. He should have clicked «follow» and that would have been the next move Lucas was clearly waiting from him. And in this reality, he was almost ready to do it, as they officially knew each other now. Emile and Sofiane have already followed him, and that wouldn’t have been weird if Eliott would’ve started to follow him too. But that could have given the boy the wrong idea, and Eliott didn’t want to do it. And he also didn’t want to get too close to the boy. He knew almost nothing about him, and his page could give him something, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to get even more attached to him. He couldn’t let it happen.

“This is so interesting. He’s so open and so closed at the same time,” Emile said thoughtfully, having attracted Eliott’s attention.

“Who?”

“Lucas!” Emile answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “His page is full of photos of him and his friends, but still it says nothing about him as a person!”

That was ironic how just a couple seconds ago Eliott was thinking about not wanting to know anything from Lucas’ page, but Emile decided to give him something to cling to anyway. As if the universe was laughing at him. But Emile’s started it, and now Eliott was too intrigued to let it go.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Well, if you look at your page you’ll see that you like drawing, your stupid dubstep music and that you have the “Polaris” project in which you put all your soul. Sofiane’s page is all about dances, charities and child-football. Mine is a fan-page of every hot dude on this planet and Agatha Christie. Idriss posts nothing because he doesn’t care about the shit. Lucas’ friend Bazile is a guy who loves stupid memes, jokes and girls. And looking at Lucas’ page, it’s all just him and his friend doing stupid things with dumbasses faces!”

“Maybe he’s just a dumbass?” Eliott suggested, wishing it would be the truth. If it were like that, it would have been so much easier for him and Emile to forget about his existence.

“Nah, you saw him. It’s obvious that he’s much more than that.”

Unfortunately, Eliott couldn’t but agree. And that was a funny thing. He and Emile didn’t know the boy at all, but they both felt his energy which was screaming about him being unique in some way.

“Well, not everybody loves to show the whole world his life. It’s a normal thing.”

“Yeah, I know. I just want to know something about him. If I even have a chance for starters. But I have no idea where to start.” Emile sounded desperate, and that didn’t look like him at all. Usually, he always knew how to make the first move and what to do next. But now he looked lost. He was afraid to fuck all up. That was too important.

“Just write to him,” Eliott suggested, thinking about their own chat which Lucas’s created earlier.

“Won’t it be too weird? Just to write to him out of nowhere?” Clearly, Emile wasn’t sure that it was a good idea.

“Well, just ask him if he managed to save Daphne or some shit like that. If he will answer, that’s great. If he won’t… well, his loss!”

Eliott clapped him on the shoulder and went to wash their dishes. He saw that Emile was thinking about his words for several moments, and then he started typing. A few minutes have passed when Eliott’s heard a happy squeal from him. There were no questions needed. It seemed like he’s got his answer. And despite the fact that Eliott was partly the one who helped it to happen, he still didn’t feel like sitting and witnessing the scene. He finished washing the dishes and went to his room. Emile was too busy to notice his absence anyway.

That night he went to sleep early. And right before it, he checked his phone one last time. There was one new message.

lucallemant

:((

Eliott’s heart sank, and he closed the chat immediately. He didn’t want to think about why the boy just couldn’t leave him alone. But Eliott was going to help him with it. If Eliott would ignore him then the boy would give up. Probably he’s already done that. And that was quite a painful thing for Eliott to think about. But that was the only way. He was doing the right thing. At least he wanted to believe it.

Chapter 4 Eliott's invited to the party and his tongue gets him in the troubles. 

The day was calm. Actually, it was Friday, so everybody was just patiently waiting for it to pass to finally enjoy weekends. Idriss decided to give himself one extra day off, so he skipped school, having said that he didn’t feel well. Of course, it was a lie, and nobody knew where the guy really was. Because he definitely wasn’t at home. Imane said that. However, it didn’t really bother his friends that he lied. If he needed time, they were ready to give it to him.

“Do we have plans on these weekends?” Sofiane asked while they were chilling on the bench outside the school. That was a sunny day so most of the students were crawling back from the building just to enjoy a little bit of sun on their break.

“No, as far as I know,” Eliott said, having closed his eyes. He was facing the sun. Its tender rays were having a relaxing effect on him.

“Emile?” Sofiane turned to another friend.

“What?” Emile asked because he clearly didn’t hear the question.

The fact was that Emile wasn’t with Eliott and Sofiane that day. He was with his phone. More precisely, he was with Lucas. Since Eliott left him yesterday evening, he didn’t see his mate let his eyes off the thing. And that was irritating. For more than one reason. But he was smiling a lot, and that was enough for Eliott to put up with this. Though he desperately wanted to know what was so interesting in their conversation that couldn’t let Emile go. But Eliott didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to know the answer.

“I’m starting to get jealous here!” Sofiane resented, but the smile was giving him away. Eliott opened his eyes just to see it, and that made him smile. Emile rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything back. Emile’s phone vibrated again, and he turned his attention to it. “See? We’ve lost him!”

“Hi!” Eliott had no time to answer, as he heard a grating girl’s voice.

“Hi, Daphne!” Sofiane answered.

Daphne and Imane were standing in front of them, and it wasn’t the blond Sofiane was looking at. Of course.  Once again Imane became the center of his universe. And it was clearly a mutual thing. How nobody noticed how these two were looking at each other yet was beyond Eliott. He’s been waiting for an invitation to their wedding since they met the first time. And they were just kids then!

“We came to invite you to our party tonight at Emma’s,” Daphne said excitedly.

“Tonight?” Eliott asked confused. Was she serious? “Who’s inviting people to the party on the day of the party?”

“Well…” The smile vanished of Daphne's face. She clearly didn’t have an answer.

“Every time we invite you, you turn us down, so what’s the difference? You just say “no”, and we’ll leave you alone,” Imane said, and that was a good point. They really were rare guests at the girls’ parties. It wasn’t that they didn’t like being there, but it didn’t feel right. Imane was always trying to look after Idriss for him not to get too drunk. Sofiane was running after her just in case she needed help. Emile was «too cool and old» to make out with his classmates and always ran away to the local gay bars. And Eliott was simply bored. So in the end, it wasn’t a pleasure for anyone, so they skipped what the girls were offering them quite a lot. Still, Daphne was always trying to get them in, Eliott gave her credit for that.

“And before you say “no” just hear us out!” The Daphne asked, and that was the least they could do. “This party is devoted to all the new students in our school. We want them to feel like home, and we want to welcome them properly. So it would be great to gather as many students as possible!»

“Well, that sounds nice, but…” Eliott began, but Emile woke up in time to stop him.

“That means all the new guys will be there?” He asked, and Daphne began to nod her head like a crazy energized bunny. That was scary as fuck. “We will be there!” Emile announced.

Daphne squealed with excitement and began to jump, clapping her hands. Imane smiled too, but Eliott knew that it wasn’t about them coming. It was about Sofiane coming.

“Great! That will be great!”

These were the last Daphne’s words before the girls went away. Eliott and Sofiane were looking at Emile with the question in their eyes.

“What?” He said. “There’s no better place to know the people than a party. So I think that’s a great idea.”

Of course, he wasn't fooling anyone. The only reason he dragged them in this was Lucas. He wanted to reach the boy, and he was clinging to every chance. Eliott could understand it, but it didn’t make him less frustrated. It was a real challenge to watch them texting to each other, but to watch them interact at the party where will be a lot of alcohol and no shame? That would be torture. He really needed to find a way to avoid this execution. And when he started to think about all the possibilities, the phone vibrated in his pocket.

lucallemant I guess i see you at the party then? ;)

This message made Eliott look around immediately to find what he was looking for. Lucas and his friends, Eliott still didn’t know them, were standing right in front of the entrance of the school. Lucas was lazily leaning on the wall, turning his phone in his hand, while his mates were actively discussing something. And suddenly Eliott wasn’t sure if he really wanted to miss this party.

“Are you alright?” Emile asked Eliott when he noticed that his friend was too quiet.

Eliott was sitting on Emile’s bed while his friend was running around in a panic, trying to find what to wear. Everything he chose he showed to Eliott and every time Eliott nodded his head as his approval his friend decided that it wasn’t that. So Eliott was nothing more than an accessory at this moment, and he didn’t mind. It was nice to see Emile so excited.

But there was something that was bothering him, and he knew that Emile would be the only one to understand.

“My mum and dad want to meet me tomorrow. They say they have some news,” Eliott shared with a friend with what he’s heard only an hour ago on the phone. Emile stopped with his fussing and sat on the bed facing Eliott. He looked concerned.

“And what did you say?”

“I said that I’ll let them know later.” Eliott sounded guilty. He knew he did because he was feeling it.

After everything his parents did for him, he was really shitty with them. And him not wanting to go to see them was a real example of it. He didn’t deserve them.

“Don’t feel bad just because you feel what you feel,” Emile said the same thing he was always telling him when they were talking about Eliott’s parents. He knew what emotions this topic was arising in him. “If you don’t want to go, tell them. They’ll understand. If you want to go, but if it’s still hard, I can go with you, it isn't a problem. But you don’t have to do anything that doesn’t sit right with you, OK?” As always, his tone was caring and reassuring. Emile always knew what buttons were needed to push.

“Yeah, I know.” Eliott smiled. “But this time I think I need to go. Alone. I owe them that. And I think it’d be right.”

“Only if you’re sure.” Emile reached Eliott’s hand and squeezed it. “But if you change your mind, you know where I am. Don’t you ever forget that you are not alone.”

Emile smiled at him once again and then returned to his wardrobe. Eliott looked at his phone.

                                                       [Mother]

                                                     write me a place and the time and I’ll be there

He pushed «send» and put away the phone. And as Eliott couldn't have thought any good reason to save himself from his future suffering, he and Emile still had a party to go to.

When they arrived the place was already filled with loud music, smoke, and drunk students. Emile had a habit to come to the parties later because it was when all fun was starting. So the fact that half of the people were already lost to this world didn’t surprise Eliott at all. He knew that Sofiane and Idriss have been already here, as they came together with Imane. Eliott and Emile were trying to break through sweat drunk bodies with Eliott trying to avoid all the unnecessary tactile contact with them. And it was a challenge to go past them without somebody pouring the content of his cups on them or something worse. Actually, there was already a pretty awful smell in the flat, but everybody was too out of their minds to notice it.

“Awww! You came!” A blonde fury rushed on them with a big hug. That was some awkward shit, but Emile and Eliott just accepted it, smiling.

“Sorry, we’re late,” Emile said to Daphne, giving her one of his charming smiles. Despite him being gay and everybody knowing about it, he still had an effect on the girls, and he knew how to use it. “So are all the new students here?”

“Yeah, we’ve read them a welcome speech and half of them probably have already fallen asleep somewhere.” Manon appeared next to Manon with the cup in her hand. With the cup of something non-alcoholic. Every time she drank, she was getting into troubles, so she decided to quit it. And when Eliott and his friends came to the girls' party after all, she was his non-drinking buddy. Actually, he liked her and enjoyed her company. Sometimes they even had a «non-drinking quartet» with Imane and Sofiane when they were kind enough to join them.

“And Sofiane and Idriss? Did you see them?” Eliott was trying to find his friends in the crowd. Emile was looking into it too, but Eliott was sure that it wasn’t his mates he was looking for.

“Oh. You better see it yourself!” Manon smiled at them mysteriously and led them to another room.

All the people gathered in the big circle there, focusing all the attention to the center, clapping their hands and cheering. It took the company some effort to squeeze through all the bodies to know what that was about. And when Eliott saw the action a huge grin lightened his face.

“Are these two having a dance battle?” He shouted to Manon, and she just pointed to them, what meant “and what do you think?”.

At the center, Sofiane and Imane were standing facing each other and giving one of their best moves at a time. And that was fascinating. They were rivals, but they acted like a duet. They wanted to defeat the other, but they obviously didn’t want it to stop. The way their bodies moved, the way they looked at each other, the way they smiled, that all was screaming about some great story between them, which just couldn’t get started.

“Fucking soulmates!” Eliott commented, and Manon smiled at him because she knew.

Somehow, in the crowd, he lost Emile, and in an attempt to find him, he bumped into some boy, who poured his beer on Eliott’s shirt.

“Fuck!” Eliott roared, but the boy didn’t even notice it.

Thankfully, Eliott has already been in Emma’s house, so he knew where to start looking for a bathroom. Probably it had no sense to go there because some loved up couple has already probably occupied it. But he couldn’t go around, smelling like a beer barrel, so he had to try. When he opened the door, he got an impression that it was empty there and he rushed to the sink. However, he really should have looked around.

“And here I thought that you’ve been avoiding me.” Lucas’ voice made Eliott jump. Lucas’ drunk voice.

The boy was sitting in the bath with a bottle of beer in one hand and a joint in another. He was wearing black jeans and a dark-blue skirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His hair looked really wild, and Eliott thought that they were messy before, but that was something else. They were pointing in different directions, and a couple of locks were cascading over his face. And that was one of the hottest things Eliott ever saw. And that was scary what influence the boy’s look had on some of his organs.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eliott turned to the sink and turned the water, trying to wash the smell of the beer of his hands and not to think about blue eyes, which were looking at him now.

“I’m waiting for my friends. They left to bring more booze, but I won’t be surprised if they have forgotten about me already. So do you want to join me?” Lucas extended his hand with a beer, and Eliott had no other choice but to look at him. Actually, he has had a choice, but who cared, right?

“Thanks, but I’m not drinking.” Eliott smiled at the way the boy’s face changed. He looked like he was trying to figure something out, but he couldn’t.

“You’re not smoking and you’re not drinking. Are you trying to be a perfect future son in law for your future girlfriend’s parents?” Lucas assumed, examining Eliott with his eyes. It made Eliott chuckle.

“Maybe,” he said with a smile. “Not necessary girlfriend’s though.” And that really slipped off his tongue, and that was too late when he understood what he’s done. He realized it only when he saw the way boys’ eyes brightened up, and he licked his lips. Fucking hell, Eliott really wasn’t handling it well. And it was definitely getting too hot in the room.

And luckily for Eliott, he was saved before he said something he could regret later as the door opened, and three boys rushed into the room, screaming and shouting something. Eliott caught a glimpse of disappointment on Lucas’s face before it was replaced with a wide smile. And here was the moment when Eliott decided that he needed to go. Well, he ran away from there actually.

The party was gaining momentum as the people were getting drunker and craziness around has become more surreal. There were couples making out at every corner of the flat. And it wasn’t possible to hide from the view of tongues and naked bodies anymore. Eliott felt like he was ready to go home any time soon, but still, he was staying, chatting with Sofiane and Manon. And part of him knew what didn’t let him go so easily. The boy who was passing him by with his mates a couple of times and glancing at him secretly. But those glances were enough for Eliott to start burning inside.

“When are you going to talk to her?” Eliott asked Sofiane, trying to distract himself. Imane came to them earlier and took Manon away because Emma needed their help. And when he saw once again a look of a loved-up puppy on his friend’s he couldn’t help himself. Sofiane looked at him questioning. Eliott rolled his eyes. “Come on, mate, you and Imane are soulmates, even the blind can see it. Just go and talk to her!”

“Like it’s so easy!” At least Sofiane wasn’t denying his feelings.

“You’ll never know if you won’t try,” Eliott said, and Sofiane clearly began to think about it.

“Hi, Eliott!” A brunette suddenly jumped out in front of him. Liana. He remembered her. A nice tiny girl with whom he was making out on some parties before but nothing more. She definitely had a crush on him, but he was always clear about not wanting anything serious. But she was too clingy, and he decided not to go there again.

“Hi,” he said, having zero interest in her.

Actually, there was something much more interesting in the background. Lucas and his friends were in the frame again, only this time Idriss and Emile joined them. He saw only Lucas, Idriss and the blond guy with the glasses on his face, but it was clear that all their attention was drugged by Emile. He was telling something waving his arms around. The company was constantly laughing. Lucas was laughing too. And probably it could have upset Eliott, but it wasn’t like that. Because he knew that the boy was glancing at him again from time to time, but he was doing it carefully. Nobody has noticed a thing. But Eliott did. And he saw how hard Emile was trying to attract the boy’s attention, and it wasn’t fair to take it away, from him, so Eliott needed to act. And he needed to act fast.

Liana was still standing there, talking some shit about «good old times» and «having fun», and Eliott saw an opportunity. He knew that it was the wrong thing to do, he knew that he would regret this in the morning. But that was an extreme measure. So he grabbed her by her jacket, pulled her closer, closed his eyes and kissed. That wasn’t even a kiss, but a weak attempt. But Liana didn’t notice it apparently, as she grabbed his face with hands and responded to the kiss. And Eliott felt nothing, absolutely nothing apart from a desire to finish it as soon as possible. And that «kiss» didn’t really last long, 10-15 seconds, but for Eliott, it seemed like an eternity. And when he opened his eyes, he saw that company disappeared once again and Lucas too, so he broke off the kiss immediately, said Liana something about calling her later and rushed to the door. The party was over for him now.

When he came back home, he didn’t fell asleep straight away. He decided to go through another torture and watch all the Instagram posts his friends and other students posted from the party. And there were many photos. Sofiane posted a photo with Imane, calling her the best dance-rival ever. Idriss posted a photo of the battle, describing Imane and Sofiane as «these talented fuckers». That was an achievement for him. Probably he was really impressed. Manon had a photo with Eliott, Sofiane and Imane, which had the caption «best non-drinking buddies in the world». Eliott smiled and liked it. And as for Emile… he posted a lot. Eliott wasn’t with him a lot at the party, but his friend was clearly enjoying it. His page was full of photos with different people, some of them Eliott knew, some of them he saw the first time. And there was a lot of Lucas there. Of course, it wasn’t only him, but the girls, his friends, and Emile, but, still, he was the one who attracted Eliott’s attention. And here he saw what Emile was talking about the other day. Lucas was a fan of dorky faces on photos and somehow it didn’t feel like him. And Eliott had to close all the photos before he went too far away with this in his thoughts. The reality was that he didn’t know the boy. They shared several strange moments but that was it. No information about him or his personality. Eliott still knew nothing. But still, he wasn’t surprised when he got the message.

lucallemant i had to leave too that’s all was just fake

And Eliott didn’t even think what the boy meant. It could be about this stupid party, or about people pretending as if they cared about them, or about Eliott’s kiss or about anything else for that matter. He just fell asleep, thinking about him not being a stranger to this feeling.

[estefiroberts-blog]

The Darkest Fairy Tale

When my husband and I were married for two and a half years, we decided to start trying for a baby. We always knew we wanted kids, but we anticipated having to try for a while before it would actually happen. Much to our surprise, we got pregnant the first time we tried. The Thursday before we found out I was pregnant (about one week after ovulation), I woke up in the middle of the night feeling sick and thought to myself, “What if I am pregnant?" The days passed and I kept googling “pregnancy symptoms days past ovulation”. I was feeling every symptom in the book. On Sunday, May 14th (Mother’s day in the U.S.), we came home from church and I found out my best friend was pregnant. We took it as a sign that maybe I could be pregnant (as my period was not supposed to come until the following week). The pregnancy test confirmed I was pregnant really, really quick. I jumped out of happiness (and shock), my husband cried tears of joy. We both got down on our knees and prayed. What a miracle! We were going to be parents in January, 2018… The pregnancy was amazing, I was feeling a little nauseous, but not too much. I hated avocados, and loved limes. We saw the baby and heard its little heartbeat (165bpm) on June 14th, 2017, at exactly at eight weeks, on my husband's 30th birthday. Best. Birthday. Ever. I had previously been diagnosed with uterine fibroids. The doctor checked them and told me, with confidence, that everything seemed perfect. After 12 weeks, most women start feeling better, I didn't. I was still sick and after the 13th week I was no longer feeling like myself. Now that I know the facts, I know that around the middle of week 13 is when I caught an infection in my uterus. Much like a urinary tract, or a kidney infection, or any type of infection, this was unexpected and unavoidable. The cause is still unknown, just as in any other case of infection. In retrospect, I was feeling a little “under the weather” and had some lower back pain and possibly a low fever. I blamed it on the hormones and my fibroids. The week of July 24th to July 28th was the darkest week of my life. After a rough weekend (I worked on Saturday, and we had a busy Sunday), I started the workweek on a bad note. On Monday (the 24th), I could not sleep all night because I was having lower back pains. I blamed the fibroids. On Tuesday, I woke up from another bad night and had to take a quick warm bath to feel better. I threw up my breakfast and could not keep any food down the rest of the morning. Turns out I was in labor. I pushed through and made it to work on Tuesday (July 25th). I couldn't stand up, I couldn't sit down. I was in a lot of pain. My boss told me to go home, and my husband picked me up at work. Looking back I know now those were all signs my body was going into labor due to the infection. I got home and took a shower, it was the only thing that made me feel better. I put my pjs on and went to bed and took a 1.5 hour nap. My husband woke me up to serve me some lunch, since I wasn't eating and he was concerned. I got up from the dining table because I was feeling uncomfortable. Then my water broke. Just how you would picture it in the movies, a gush of water came out of me and I felt something popped. I was praying it was pee, but I knew it wasn't. My husband froze, looked at me and started crying. I said “Please don't, I need you to be strong for me, I am going to crumble”. We went to the emergency room and had a nightmarish experience. We had to wait, they didn't take me into the labor and delivery triage, because I was “only 14 weeks.” The waiting room was packed and I was desperately calling my doctor’s office and no one picked up. After what felt like an eternity, they finally took me in. They took blood work and a urine sample. At the time I collected the urine sample I did not see any blood, but the liquid kept coming out. The absence of blood kept my hopes up. We saw our baby on the ultrasound, with a heartbeat of 115, the ultrasound technician didn't say anything, but we saw our baby die. We saw our baby's heart stop beating. This was later confirmed by the doctor. After my ultrasound I needed to use the restroom. I went, and saw I was bleeding. It was, at that moment, when I knew my baby was gone. After hours of waiting and going back and forth waiting for the results (even though I knew them), we were taken into a room. They gave me the hospital gown to change into, and immediately started antibiotics. I did not think anything of it. A few minutes later, the doctor came in and said those words no parent wants to hear: “I’m sorry, I do not have good news, we did not find a heartbeat.” We wailed for a few minutes. Then I spoke to my doctor on the phone and she informed me of the infection. She said that was concerning, and that was the priority. She said I was going to be put on antibiotics and the next day the induction process was going to begin. I was not given the option to undergo a procedure called Dilation and Curettage (D&C) given the conditions of my fibroids and how far along I was. However, due to the infection, it was necessary for everything to come out while leaving the uterus intact. I was in a very delicate condition. At that moment, I didn't want to see the baby or find out the gender. However, after talking to my husband and my mother in law, we decided to meet “it”, and find out the gender. We didn't have a name for a boy, as we wanted a girl, and all of the old wives’ tales pointed to a girl. I was confused and sad; I was scared of meeting the baby, of thinking it was ugly or disappointing. The darkest night of my life began. They took me into a room in the Family Birth place (same place where live babies are born). I cried the entire time. It was not fair, why did I have to see all the pictures of the beautiful babies hanging on the wall, while I was going to deliver a 14 week fetus… not fair, just not fair. I was taken into a beautiful, quiet room. My husband crawled into bed with me, as my mom tried to sleep on the couch. No one slept. I was dreading four in the morning, the time I was scheduled to go to the other room and start the laboring process. I remember constantly telling my mom “I am scared, mommy." Now that I am a mom, I can imagine the pain she was going through. Suddenly, it was Wednesday July 26th and four in the morning came faster than expected. I knew we were about to face the hardest moment of our lives, and I was right. I just did not know how much love I was about to experience as well. They wheeled me into the Labor and Delivery room. Yes, just like you picture it, a huge room with two couches, a birthing bed, a neonatal bed, and a picture of a father lovingly holding a newborn. I remember burning with anger and asking the nice nurse, “Are the pictures and the neonatal bed really necessary?” She placed a pillow to my left to block the picture hanging on the wall. The room had a small pillbox window I could directly see from my bed. At around 4:30 in the morning I saw a white dove, perched on a windowsill just outside. I told my husband I wanted to name the baby Noah if it was a boy, in reference to the bible story of Noah. The dove meant God was with us in this storm. At this point we still thought we were having a girl. At five in the morning, they put the first dose of Misoprostol in my cervix to start the dilation and labor process. I had contractions all night. But after the pills, boy, oh boy, the heavy contractions started. I couldn't move for two hours to let the pills dissolve and it was painful. My husband massaged my back, held my hand, passed me ice chips. All the things a father does. My mom did not leave my side. At nine in the morning my doctor came in, told me she was so sorry for what happened, and explained the procedure. I looked at her in the eye and asked “Was it my fibroids?” “Absolutely not”, she answered. She checked me and said, “You are almost ready, it’s going to happen soon.” She ordered another dose of the pills. She was concerned about the placenta not coming out, possibly leading to surgery. At about ten in the morning I felt a gush and some pressure. I called the nurse, she came and asked me if I felt like pushing I said no, but I pushed anyway. The placenta came out first, and then my baby was born. There were fears of the placenta getting stuck and having to undergo a D&C procedure which, with the infection and my fibroids, would have been very dangerous. The fact that the placenta came out so easily was a miracle. They took everything from the bed, and placed it on the neonatal bed, including the baby. I asked, “Is it a boy or a girl?” The nurse asked, “Are you sure you want to know?” My husband--who did not leave my side for one second--and I said yes without hesitation. She replied, “A boy.” We both smiled and said “Noah”. My husband then heard the name "Eliot" and asked me if Noah Eliot was a good name. I loved it. They asked me if I wanted to see him and at this point, I had absolutely no doubt in my mind I wanted and needed to see my son. My doctor said, “Get me a baby blanket.” And I just smiled, as the thought struck me, “I just had a baby.” They carefully wrapped him in the baby blanket, just like a living, full-term baby. They placed him in our arms and everyone left the room. Time stood still. I was holding my son. He looked just like daddy. His shoulders, his bone structure, his nose. He had little feet that looked exactly like his cousins’ on my husband’s side of the family. I opened his little mouth and saw perfectly formed gums. We placed his hand on our finger, we talked to him, I kissed his blanket. My mom came into the room, held him, and fell in love, as any other grandmother does. They placed him on the neonatal bed again and I was in shock. We texted all of our friends and family letting them know everything went better than anticipated, and we had an amazing little boy named Noah Eliot Roberts. We later found out that the name Noah means comfort and Eliot means "God on high". Noah was a fully-formed perfect human the size of my hand. I could recognize my son among other 14 week fetuses. He is and will always be my first born. I don't know what I was thinking when I said I wanted a girl. I would do anything to have my little boy with me, to dress him up in bow ties and do all things boy with him. If God gives us more children, I can honestly say from the bottom of my heart I do not care what we have… We love you Noah Eliot, you made us parents. You came into our lives and left so quick, but you changed our world. I will never be the same, because of you. I never thought I could feel this much love for a tiny human, but I do. Looking back, I would not have had Noah’s birth any other way. He had everything he deserved. I would have gone through the same baby-picture-filled hallway, same maternity room, same labor and delivery room, a thousand times to ensure that I, and the world, knew he was worth it. The experience showed me that his life was as important as any other living baby’s.

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

    Suzanne Craig-Whytock

is a writer from Ontario, Canada. Her first two novels, Smile and The Dome are published by Bookland Press (www.booklandpress.com). Her short fiction has appeared in Slippage Lit and is upcoming in XRAY Literary Magazine. She also writes poetry, and funny/weird things on her website mydangblog (http://educationalmentorship.com).

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write?

I’ve been writing in a variety of genres for as long as I can remember. I wrote my first poem at the age of eight and wrote poetry and short stories all through my teen years and twenties. When I was teaching, I ran my school’s Creative Writing Club, and that’s where I wrote the character piece that became the first chapter in my first novel. I’ve been writing Young Adult novels for the last 10 years; my first novel Smile was published in 2017, and my new novel The Dome will be out this coming October. I’ve had a couple of short stories published in the last little while, which is very nice, although I’ve had way more rejection notices than I’ve had acceptances! I also have a blog where I post humorous essays—people who are familiar with my blog are usually surprised at how dark some of my other writing is! Lately, I’ve gone back to poetry, and I’ve submitted a few pieces here and there, so we’ll see what happens.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I don’t remember a lot about poetry until grade 12. For some reason, my English teacher decided to have us study T.S. Eliot, and the second I read “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, I was hooked. I think that was the moment I decided to pursue an English degree and become an English teacher myself. I was lucky enough to be able to introduce Eliot to my own senior International Baccalaureate students, and the first time I read Prufrock to them out loud, I teared up at the end. So I’d have to say it was T.S. Eliot who really introduced me to poetry.

3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

Very. I did my English degree over 35 years ago, and the majority of the courses I took focused on poets before the middle of the 20th century. My particular favourites were the Imagists, although I adored Tennyson and Dickinson. In terms of modern poets, Lorna Crozier, a Canadian writer, is probably my favourite, and I love Pablo Neruda.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I don’t have a ‘daily routine’ since I currently work full-time. I find it hard to squeeze in solid writing time—I’m the kind of writer who needs several free hours in order to focus. I set aside two hours every Saturday morning to write something for my blog, which I post on Sunday morning. Other than that, I usually wait until I have some vacation time, then hammer out several chapters. For my second novel, I had every other Friday off work, so that was my writing day, and I would make notes and capture ideas until I was able to sit down on Friday morning and just write. Unfortunately, I don’t have those days anymore, so I’ll be doing some serious “power-writing” on my August vacation!

5. What motivates you to write?

The sheer joy of doing it. I’ve always loved writing—I sometimes wake up at 3 in the morning with an idea and put it down before I forget it. The creative process is very important to my mental well-being, and when I’m not writing, I’m painting or restoring furniture or doing something ‘craft-y’.

6. What is your work ethic?

I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so I really enjoy the editing process. I do a lot of editing in my daily job as well, so it’s become kind of second nature to me to keep going back to my own work until I’m happy with it. But as we all know, you can revisit a piece a hundred times and still see something you want to change, so at a certain point, I have to just let it be.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

I read a lot of absurdist literature when I was younger and loved absurd comedy like Monty Python; I think that gets channelled through my humorous writing. As a poet, I’m still influenced by the Imagists and most of my poetry is short and impactful, at least I hope it is. In terms of my novels, the first one is a ‘coming of age’ story that developed out of a love of things like Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, and other writers I read when I was young who focused on characters with issues that had to be solved. However, my second novel takes place in a futuristic dystopian Toronto landscape, and it’s more heavily plot-oriented, more influenced by fantasy novels I read as a teenager as well as current issues like climate change. When I was in university, I studied Magic Realism, which had a huge influence on my writing—most of my short stories have that quality to them.

8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

David Mitchell is one of my favourite authors, along with Neil Gaiman. For short stories, I adore Stephen King, and Annie Proulx’s first short story collection Heartsongs is something I go back to again and again. Basically, I love writers with strange imaginations like mine! For Young Adult fiction, I really admire Pierce Brown—his Red Rising series is incredible.

9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

Because I love to do it, and a lot of what I write is for other people; for example, I write my blog to make other people laugh. I always say that if I can tap into other people’s emotions and put a smile on someone’s face or make them cry (in a good way, of course!), then I’ve done my job. But in terms of “as opposed to doing anything else”, I think that writing is the creative outlet I need sometimes. Other times it’s doing something else.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

You become a writer by writing. Becoming a good writer—that’s a different matter. I think to be a good writer, you need to read a lot in order to understand the nuances of language. But you also need to be a good self-editor so that what you’re putting out is ‘audience-ready’. As I said, I do a lot of editing in my current work, but I’ve edited for other writers as well as for textbooks and on-line courses, so I know how people feel when it seems the writer hasn’t put much energy into making things clear and understandable. Also, I’m a very visual person (I also have a degree in Film Studies), and I tend to play out scenes in my head over and over, experimenting with the dialogue, facial expressions, plot and setting details first before I put anything down on paper, so I think you need to be able to describe things in a way that engages other people and makes them see and feel it too.

11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I’m currently working on my third novel The Seventh Devil— here’s the epigraph:

There’s the devil you know and the devil you don’t, The devil you’ll meet and the devil you won’t, A devil that’s tall and a devil that’s small, And a devil that’s human after all.

It’s about a young woman named Verity Darkwood and her mentor Gareth, who travel across Canada in an old pickup truck and camper van, exorcising ghosts and demons for people who’ve answered their ad in The Echo: An On-line Journal for Lovers of the Macabre, Editor Horace Greeley III. All the while Verity continues the search for her younger sister, who disappeared when Verity was 16, but her biggest challenge is avoiding the mysterious Seventh Devil. I have the whole plot sketched out but I’m only 4 chapters in at this point, and waiting until I’m on vacation to write the next set. My latest novel The Dome will be released on October 15th, although it’s available for pre-order right now at all the major outlets like Amazon and Indigo—I’m looking forward to the book launch and the subsequent promotional work that follows. I’ve been writing poems here and there so I’m working on putting them together in more of a collection. And of course, there’s mydangblog—I’m always working on that!

On Writing Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Suzanne Craig-Whytock Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[xavieralexander1980]

A Guideline to Reading My Work and Generally Blowhard Post About Poets, Activism, and Performance Art

(Written for Facebook were I post usually)

(Warning, I was drinking coffee and just started writing to clarify some things. It has turned out to be an EXTREMELY LONG post. You might want to visit later if you care and have the time):

--I stared into the sun one time for three or four hours. For a long while afterwards there was a floating blue and red dot or floater in my field of vision, but my eyes adjusted. It's kind of a miracle that I can see at all. I completely destroyed my macula. That is why you often see mistakes in punctuation. I think it is a comma when it is a period. I was delusional when I stared at the sun.

--I started writing poetry at 15 in 1995. In 2008, I branched out to poetry films in grad school, which you can see those films on my page, Caruso Films. That is a long time of writing only poetry.

--After reading David Foster Wallace in 2011, I branched out into nonfiction, memoir, and experimental essays. Some of those essays have been published in journals, such as "Sugar Mule" and "And/Or". However, it has only been 5 years of truly writing prose, so if you think my prose is weird or rough or shaky, it is because I am an amateur experimental essayist.

--In poetry and experimental writing, there has to be an entry point into the author's style. Every day if you are following any of this, I am experimenting. One thing I notice is that I try to be as clear as a fucking idiot who is grasping for words in my prose. I don't want you to think I am being condescending at all. Or that everything I write is somehow profound. Because it isn't usually: Being profound or not, after a while, I have learned, in writing is all the same. In learning the craft of writing, writers say that you have to "earn" interesting and profound points and ideas. There is no shortcut in earning something, as you know. It is all doing and work hours.

--Writers usually don't show the world their work hours. What you see is the finished, polished product. In a sense, I don't see my writing as "nonfiction" in any conventional sense. Since this is Facebook, and it is like town hall square in olden days, I have always intended it to be performance art. I am a great admirer of performance art, such as spoken word, magic, jesters, busking, impromptu comedy, jazz, or even ballet. I see poetry as my strength, prose my weakness. At least, that is my opinion. I don't want to impose that, though. I notice people actually prefer my little blogs and essays. I also notice people prefer brevity, but here's the thing about that: this is all published, and can be perused by anyone on earth later. I don't hide my profile or any status updates.

--As an activist, which much of my writing is political, and I would argue Facebook, as a public forum, is all political and social dynamic, I have always enjoyed independent and maverick art and statements, such as Neil Young or Lou Reed or Emerson or Thoreau or just about any poet in World Literature. While poets have come in groups like the Beats or Romantics or Dadaists (the first punk rock artists), within those groups, there have always been individual and political differences between poets, such as Ginsberg and Kerouac, or Byron and Wordsworth, or Marcel DuChamp and Tristan Tzara. I try to allude to poets and literature I admire, btw. Here is a compendium: (I sort of went hogwild. Skip for time sake.) -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1. Welsh maverick and alcoholic prodigy, Dylan Thomas, my first love. To know more about his style and who he is, see Gerard Manley Hopkins and John Donne, both Protestant ministers.

2. I prefer World Literature. a. Russian poets: Brodsky, Mayakovsky, Mendlestam, Voznesensky, and Pushkin (Shakespeare of Russia). b. Germanic, Polish, Eastern European and Jewish: Goethe (Shakespeare of Germanic Literature), Paul Celan, Maria Wisława Anna Szymborska, Edmond Jabes are good starting points. c. Western European poets come in schools: French Symbolists (who invented free verse and influenced TS Eliot), Surrealists, Dadaists and Futurists (who opened poetry to all the arts), and British poets you know. d. Although not technically World Lit, American Southern Poets are not discussed near enough: John Crowe Ransom, Allen Tate, Robert Penn Warren are like the Willie Nelsons and Johnny Cashes of the South.

3. American Schools and Poets I would recommend: John Cage (John Lennon and Yoko Ono), David Antin (who didn't write but spoke all of his poetry and recorded it), Language School, and Black Mountain School.

4. For Queer poets: Allen Ginsberg, Walt Whitman, Jack Spicer, are the big guys. Lesbian poets: you should know are Sappho and Adrienne Rich. Just talk to your gay and lesbian friends about poets they like.

5. For Black and African lit, "Negritude" school, see amiri baraka and Aime Cesaire, who are, to me, very important for their poetic styles. Check out your local Spoken Word show. There are a million things going on.

6. I don't even know where to begin with Asian Literature. Haiku poet Basho and Korean poet Yi Sang are two big poets. In China, poetry was the literature of the scholar class. Prose wasn't invented until 1900 and it was considered pulp. I would refer you to my Professor Walter K. Lew for all Asian and Buddhist Literature. Lao Tzu is phenomenal, in so many ways. From religion to spirituality to poetry, it is all one and the same.

7. Spanish poets I like are Chilean Poet Pablo Neruda (His sonnets are the best love poems), Brazilian Poet Carlos Drummond de Andrade, and to know these poets, check out Federico Garcia Lorca from Spain. It doesn't hurt to know the first novelist Cervantes, who birthed the modern novel, Don Quixote. I like the 1940s translation by Samuel Putnam. Critic (Big Blowhard of English Lit) Harold Bloom considered Cervantes the only equal to Shakespeare, who both were writing at the same time (and didn't know about each other).

8. Middle Eastern and Persian poets: Rumi, Ghalib (who wrote ghazals, one of my favorite forms). I can't say I am too familiar with Contemporary Middle Eastern poets, but you come across them in literary journals. See the Koran, as well.

9. For Feminist poets, see Anne Sexton, HD, Gertrude Stein, Diane Wakowski, and Adrienne Rich, again, to name a few. Although not a poet, see Renaissance Italian writer, Christine de Pizan, and her fictional story, "The Book of the City of Ladies", which birthed Feminist Literature.

10. The Bible, Torah, Tao Te Ching, Koran, Gnostic Judaic and Christian Books, Bhagavad Gita , Vedas and Upanishads, and Homer, (Most Buddhist Literature was orally passed down but all we have is prose versions. Except certain Chinese Buddhist Schools: See Haiku and Renga forms): all of which is technically poetry. And that is a different entry point or lens into those important works. I think in this day of organized religion it is very important to remember that spiritual texts and myths were written as poetry, and translated into all languages. People have noted some of my religious views, but I do so from poetry.

(I don't know why I just gave you a compendium of poets and authors. I got excited and took a trip down memory lane. I prefer World Literature translations. I just have always gravitated toward them and learning about the world through their poets.)

In case you don't want to go through all of World Literature, here are anthologies I would recommend: 1. Norton Anthologies, of course. 2. Poems For the Millennium by Jerome Rothenberg and Pierre Joris (Most of the poets I mentioned can be found in the first two volumes and it is a great starting off point). -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

--Personally, I have always enjoyed anthologies and literary journals over individual poets. I enjoy poems over poets, generally speaking. The best guide to literary journals is New Pages.com. Everything from experimental writing to traditional writing can be found there. The big thing now or in the last few years is "hybrid' writing, which is basically not identifying the style of writing and blending all the styles. So just to be obvious, my Facebook page could be quote hybrid. The other big thing is a more "personal style". To paraphrase Frank O Hara, why write a poem when you can just call your friend on the telephone?

--My father has told me a million times that he doesn't get my poetry. And my father is more intelligent than I am. He is a doctor. I really don't have an answer or explanation. I read poetry like I read an article in the Washington Post. I read poetry on the toilet. I try not to "comprehend" it. Sure there are different ways to analyze it, and there are scholars who do that all day long. I have done that and can do that. But the difference is kinda like hearing "Kind of Blue" and studying it. I just appreciate the album, I don't know Jazz Theory. Most of the time, I just feel or listen to poetry. School and scholarship is the time and place to scan, do close readings, and theorize poetry, in my opinion. I am not a scholar. I am not a critic. I am an artist. I create. Most of theory and criticism stifles me. And I would recommend both scholarship and theory for any artist, but I wouldn't bog myself too much, not until you are interested in it. There are people who have been doing that all their life. And so much more power to them.

--Last point: I have Bipolar Disorder. I have coped with this illness all my life. Mental illness is a debilitating illness in the sense of functioning in conventional society. You know someone who has a mental illness, beside me. And not much is truly understood about mental illness. David Foster Wallace hung himself due to chronic depression, and he is arguably the greatest nonfiction writer in the last twenty years. Dostoevsky suffered from fits of seizures in which he had profound revelations. Hemingway shot himself due to alcoholism and some underlying mental illness. Sylvia Plath committed suicide due to a mental illness and I believe it was un-diagnosed bipolar disorder (I could be wrong). Emily Dickinson suffered from agoraphobia and stayed home for most of her life. While I am not saying I am like those geniuses, and it is a misnomer to think that everyone with a mental illness is an artist or genius, I bring it up because artists I admire had mental illnesses. The point is to show that sometimes society is wrong about things, as you know. Blacks, immigrants, queer folk, women, veterans, homeless people, poor people, and virtually every marginalized group I can think of society has been wrong about. And many of these marginalized people are starting to come out of the closets and say, guess what, society doesn't quite get me. And they are doing so in art and argument.

"In conclusion," LOL, these are guidelines and entry points for readers. For the most part, I believe people don't care actually. But neither do I most of the time. I also have been drinking coffee this morning and I get rolling with thoughts, which explains the length of this post. LOL.

[valkyrieofvalhalla]

My life is empty

This is something that I’ve been thinking about for months now; something that’s been difficult to confront, difficult to articulate, difficult to accept. But here I sit – I’m unable to continue ignoring what’s been whispering to me from the depths of my mind. I don’t want to say it, but: I am unhappy. Unsatisfied with my life. Disappointed in who I am. I want more. I want to be more. I want to be someone else. I see the missed opportunities of my life over the years, and I can’t help but feel a sense of bitterness and anger. It’s been within me for years now, tainting my very soul. And it’s not right either. Why do I feel this way? I’m young. I’ve got a lot of good things that many don’t have. And yet… The truth remains: no matter what, I am unsatisfied.

I was seventeen when I first read T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, but the words have stuck with me in the years since, and I find myself reciting one particular verse nearly daily now. He says

“… I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Vast and empty the sea.”

I think it’s downright terrible that I understand precisely what he means. My life has always been horrible. I am the daughter of old Muslim immigrants, who grew up in a country so drastically different from the United States that in their raising me, they turned me into the weirdo, the strange girl. Everything about me, every trait – physical and personality – is something to be lamented. Right from the beginning, I was different from everyone around me, even my own family. My whole identity is outcast, my name is Black Sheep, my story: that of ostracization.

I don’t know who I am, and I hate that so so much. I feel like my entire life has been an identity crisis. I know who I want to be but I fall short of actually being that person.

To begin with, my name is foreign. All my life people have made fun of my name (among a plethora of other things about me). I was, and am, the token minority of token minorities. There’s been a deep sense of loneliness in my heart since the early years of my youth, that’s simply gotten worse over the years. For more than ten years, I didn’t meet another person of my race at my schools. I was also alone in religion for a long time too. I was the only Muslim, the only person of my race. And to make matters worse, my parents raised me as if we were still living in their ass backwards country.

I remember being five years old, and telling my mom that I had a boyfriend. If you don’t know, in Islam it’s forbidden for men and women to even be friends, let alone lovers. The funny thing is, I didn’t even mean ‘boyfriend’ in the traditional sense. My five year old self had heard adults referring to my female friends as my girlfriends, so I made the logical leap that my male friends must be my boyfriends.

My mom beat me for that.

I, a five year old child, was a whore, and needed to be taught a lesson.

So, because of this upbringing, which instilled in me a manner of behavior and a set of beliefs and morals that Americans had largely been unfamiliar with since the eighteen fifties, I was always considered weird by my classmates and neighbors. I had few friends who could tolerate me, even as a kid.

My family, both immediate and extended, didn’t offer me solace either. They also thought I was weird, and thought lesser of me for it. But they thought I was weird in different ways. Funnily enough, I was too Americanized for their tastes. The most pronounced example is that of their ongoing reaction to a lifelong hobby of mine, one that is intrinsically a part of who I am: I’m a bookworm. An extreme one. In the years of my adolescence I would read for hours daily. It was often the case that I would rent a book from the library after school, go home and spend the rest of my day reading it, only to be finished by dinnertime. I always have a book with me. I’ve literally been that way since my early childhood. No matter what I’m doing or where I’m going, I would bring a book with me to read. Family gathering? It’s there in my hands. At school, during class? You bet your sweet ass I finished all my work and I’m reading. Going over to a friend’s house to hand out? You’ll see me leaving with a book in my hands.

I read every chance I got, and my family has given me hell for it. It sounds unbelievable, but please try to understand: they’re Muslims, many of which grew up in a country where plenty of people are still illiterate. They’ve said a lot to me over the years about my “hobby”, but there a few comments that were so ridiculous I remember them even now.

From an aunt: “You’re too smart for a girl.” From the same aunt: “You read too much. Girls need to socialize and be seen.” From an uncle: “No man wants a wife who reads as much as you do.” From a different aunt: “No man will love you if you stay this way.”

And a cousin once insinuated that my reading made me too curious and questioning. She told me that if my parents wanted to keep me from “straying from God’s light, they’re going to have to marry you off when you turn eighteen.”

My cousin was right of course, in that my reading made me insatiably curious and in that it also made me question everything. Reading cultivated my imagination, gave me such a supreme sense of wanderlust that I consider it a part of who I am, something that is inherently and utterly me. Reading showed me heroes and heroines who did amazing things, and I wanted to be that, to do what they did. I desperately wanted to be a hero, to go on a grand adventure and discover or do something remarkable. But the heroes in the stories I read weren’t like me. They held western morals and ideals. The years of my life where I went from a child to a young teenager were rife with questions about my own ideals and morals and who I was supposed to be versus who I wanted to be.

I wanted to be the hero who goes on a grand adventure and sees the world. Who I was supposed to be, the woman I thought I was destined to be, was a housewife, slave to her husband’s whims. For a long time I hopelessly believed that there was no saving me from my “fate”. My destiny was pre-determined.

What a load of bullshit.

But the fact that I questioned at all was enough to set me aside as someone to be shunned in my family. And, when I turned fifteen and realized that I could chose my own fate, I absolutely could make my own damn decisions and take my life in whatever direction I wanted to, they hated me even more. I’m not a proper woman. I’m not normal to them.

Sadly, I wasn’t (and still am rather not) considered normal by my peers. My classmates hated me for my bookishness as well, but for different reasons than my family. They hated me because I was nerdy. Reading was weird. I was weird. All of my elementary school years were spent being the only bookworm. Then, in middle school, I met someone who enjoyed reading! I was elated at first, but then became heartbroken when I saw that she wasn’t like me. Yes, she liked reading, but she didn’t read every day like I did. She didn’t start and finish books in a day. She didn’t have the same wanderlust I did, the same sense of wanting more out of life. From the very beginnings of my youth, I have been alone in this regard.

It got worse for me.

In my early teenage years, I was embracing western ideals, determined to become normal. Unfortunately, something happened to me which stunted my emotional growth: I was beaten and molested by a group of boys at school. They were all several years older than me, but in the same grade as me because they had been held back several times. Taller, bigger, stronger. They caught me after school and didn’t hold back.

I was irrevocably changed.

Of course, the event made me even “weirder”. I – an already isolated young woman – became even more of a hermit. I couldn’t stand being in crowds or crowded places. I loathed being touched. I constantly picked at my skin because I felt dirty. I had open sores on my arms, hands and face because I would keep my nails long and sharp and tug and dig and peel away at the skin far past the point of having blood-drenched fingers.

Even before this, I was teased by my peers, told by my family, that I was/am rather ugly. After the event, when I began picking at my skin and eating to cope with the stress, the teasing and cruel remarks only got worse.

I remember bending over to pick up a book I had dropped, and boys pointing and laughing at me. One was making a gagging sounds, pretending he was throwing up. Another was covering his eyes, opening them for a split second, then screaming as if the sight of me caused him pain.

I remember another time, where two boys were saying something about ugly girls needing photoshop. I turned around. They immediately started laughing and ribbing each other.

My family told me I’d be prettier if I straightened my hair. Curly hair is wild and ugly. I’m wild and ugly.

My own mother once told me that I was too ugly to be her daughter. She was also fond of telling me that I was so fat that no one would ever want or love me. “No man is ever going to marry you!”

More than once, teenage boys asked me out as a joke.

I remember going to school once with my hair down. I was always being told how ugly my curls were, but for once I was trying to embrace them. Accept them. It was going well, until someone decided to play with hair and then tell me that my hair was really ugly when he pulled the curl down and watched it bounce back. I went back to ponytails and buns the day after.

My aunt said to me, verbatim, “Your lips are really fat. Especially you’re bottom lip; it’s huge. It’s ugly.”

Despite all this, I’ve tried really hard to be a good person. To be steadfast in my scruples. To have honor and integrity and to do right by others. I’ve tried so hard to be good to other people, to be the kindness that was denied me in my youth.

I have had my efforts shat on.

They’ve been utterly worthless. People are still cruel to me. People still treat me terribly. I’m actually sitting here crying because this question has been bothering me for so long. What is it about me that just makes me so hate-able? Why is it so easy for people to be cruel to me, to hate me and treat me like I’m worthless?

About ten months ago, I got a new job. Almost right from the beginning, my coworkers were absolutely, utterly, heartlessly cruel to me. They hurt me, they hurt me deeply and I can’t move past it. I don’t know why people hate me enough to be like this to me, when all I try to do is be kind and considerate.

They actively excluded me. The three of them would have conversations among each other in Spanish; they know I can’t speak Spanish. Even when they spoke in English, if I tried to join in, they would just ignore me or roll their eyes at me. They were incredibly hostile to me and spoke down to me as if I was stupid, an idiot, beneath them. One of them was fond of screaming and yelling at me. Even if I wasn’t doing something wrong, as long as I wasn’t doing it exactly how she’d do it, I’d get yelled at. The other two didn’t say anything to her. They heard and saw everything but they didn’t care.

I have difficulty hearing. They know this, and yet still they would get angry at me, yell and roll their eyes at me if I didn’t hear them, or asked them to repeat themselves. Once, the same woman I mentioned earlier even scoffed and laughed at me, rolling her eyes at me as she did so. I also have a bad memory from brain damage from the event, and sometimes forgot what I was doing in the midst of doing it. Or forgot where I was heading. They gave me hell for that as well. They thought, because of my bad memory, that I was an idiot. And they thought that me being an idiot made it okay to treat me like I wasn’t a person.

They made me feel like I was worthless. Like I was nothing. They held me to a different standard, an unfair one. They would sit down doing nothing for the majority of the day. They would blatantly be on their phones or surfing Amazon or Facebook. But god forbid if I sit down to write something. No, I should’ve been doing that outside of the office! It’s a capital punishment for me to bring out my phone. How dare I make a mistake, or question them, or break a rule that they consistently and constantly break throughout the day.

It got so bad one day, them screaming and yelling at me, laughing at me, talking down to me, acting as if I was subhuman, that I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I cried. I cried and I couldn’t stop and it just kept coming. I quite literally cried for the last two hours of my shift. I tried so desperately to stop; it’s shameful. No one wants to be seen crying like that, or at all, at work. It’s unprofessional. It makes me weak.

Believe me, I’m not a sensitive person. I don’t cry very easily. And believe me, I tried with all my will to stop.

But I couldn’t.

I just kept crying and crying, so much so that I found it hard to breathe, hard to see without wiping at my eyes every few seconds. Two of them ignored me, pretending it wasn’t happening. The other one acted concerned. Asked me what was wrong. Asked me if something bad happened to my father (my father’s been having health problems for years now, and by this time has been living in a hospice). All I would say was that I was okay. I, obviously, didn’t want to say anything.

I few days later, I felt the need to “explain” myself. I told them about the reason for my memory problems. Ever since then two of them have been cordial to me, polite. Sometimes nice. The other always looks at me with something in his eyes that I can’t describe. I don’t know what to call it. I’d like to think it’s sorrow, or shame, but honestly? I can’t tell. He doesn’t even look at me that much anymore. What little communication we had at all has dwindled to practically nothing. If he has to speak to me, he makes sure to look at anywhere but me. He refuses to look me in the eye.

It bothers me immensely. It shouldn’t, but it does. He went from speaking harshly to me, yelling at me, to saying nothing at all. Looking at me with anger and hatred in his eyes to something… which I simply have no words for. If he even has the courage to look at me at all. Goodness, I mean, just a few days ago we were working alone in the office. My other two coworkers called out. He quite literally did not speak to me once all day, except to tell me to take my lunch. And, true to fashion, when he said, “X, take you’re lunch after you finish this.” he said it without even looking in my direction. Even at the end of the day, when he needed me to sign off on some papers, instead of asking me, he just left them on my desk. Didn’t acknowledge me at all.

I don’t know why people treat me like this. I just don’t understand. Once, maybe three or four months after my getting hired on, the coworker who was especially fond of rolling her eyes at me was crying at her desk. I found her there, and I gave her a hug and told her she could come to me any time to talk if she needed to. I remember that, in the split second after I saw her crying, but before I made the decision to give her a hug and some kind words, I told myself to ignore her. To be unkind and not to try to help, because she’d been a downright cunt to me nearly every single day since I’d started. Almost immediately, I admonished myself. I was ashamed at myself. It’s wrong to treat someone badly. Kindness is a virtue. Be good to people. I should’ve listened to my initial instinct. I was wrong. Being kind is not a good thing. Within a few days she was back to yelling and screaming and treating me like shit.

I just don’t understand why my life has to be like this. It seems like I’m meant for sorrow, destined for unhappiness. All my life I’ve been told that I’m ugly, that I’m too smart or too dumb, that I’m not right for anything or anyone. I’ve always felt out of place, never belonging to anyone. I’m a stranger to myself. I want to be normal. I want people to be kind to me, like I am to them. I wish that just once, things would go nicely for me.

I tried to have hope. I tried to believe that it gets better for people like me. Maybe I was an ugly duckling who would become a beautiful adult. Maybe I’d learn to enjoy hugs again, or stop tensing up whenever someone is walking behind me. I tried to change. To make myself prettier, to make myself normal.

But I’ve lost that. In these past months my morale has withered away into nothingness. I feel as if there is a void where my emotional strength should be. I have no self-efficacy. I worked so hard to make myself believe that I could succeed and become someone of worth, of importance. But my time at this job has had me reflecting on the past, and remembering events that I’d rather not remember. Now, every time I go to work, I hear a voice whispering in my head, saying, “They know, they know! They know what happened to you!” I hate people knowing about the event, but they forced my hand. I had to tell them. I hate that so much. I despise it. They even had the gall to blame me for not telling them. “You should’ve said something!” “You should’ve told us when you were first hired!”

My favorite poem is Invictus by William Ernest Henley. I know the entire poem by heart. I would recite it to myself whenever I felt weak, whenever I felt like I couldn’t keep going. Now, all I can bring myself to recite is Eliot.

Truly, the sea is barren.