#and usually it is the guy that has to convice the girl to get back together | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tillthelandslide · 4 years ago

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Photographer : Henry Cavill Fake Instagram

Author’s note: Hi everyone. Hope you enjoy another fake instagram post. I really do enjoy making this so keep sending me requests, this one wasn’t a request but my own idea, I’m slowly working my way through some different careers so people can relate more to each one if they see their career being represented. Unfortunately, Tumblr on my phone keeps messing up, I usually like to include emojis here and there because to me it feels more real but it wouldn’t let me.

Anyway hope you enjoy - L

Tagged: @harrysthiccthighss @thereisa8ella @magdelen69 (if you want to be tagged in my post please message me :)

yourname_photography:

yourname_photography had an amazing day shooting with @henrycavill such a pleasure working with you love.

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fan2 your photography is so good

↳ yourname_photography aw thanks love

↳ fan3 honestly one of the best photographers out there atm

henrycavill thanks for the amazing day, I had such a nice time, you are so talented

↳ yourname_photography oh hush sir, was a joy working with you, you make my job very easy, lets just put it that way

henryfan “love” are they dating or not, we need answers

↳ ynfan she’s british, she calls everyone love, but if they were then we should all be happy for them, they don’t owe us answers

henrycavill:

henrycavill it is always such a joy when I get to work with amazingly talented people like @yourname_photography. So lucky to have you in my life, let alone get the opportunity to work together

Photo by @yourname_photography

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yourname_photography oh hush, you’re the talented one in this relationship kind sir

↳ henrycavill <3

↳ fan5 relationship? are they dating?

↳ fan6 think they’re just friends but I’m happy for them if they are dating

anyachalotra so talented, these are epic

↳ henrycavill she sure is

↳ yourname_photography thank you Anya

freyaallan:

freyaallan I had such a nice time shooting today with @yourname_photography. Thank you to @henrycavill for making it happen, now I understand why you love her so much. And thank you y/n for making me look so beautiful, think these photos are the best I have ever recieved from a photoshoot.

Photo by @yourname_photography

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fan3 “now I understand why you love her so much” ?? omg they are dating

↳ freyaallan I meant he loves working with her and loves the photos she produces, she is one of his favourite photographers

↳ fan2 good save

yourname_photography you were beautiful all on your own, needed no help from me miss. It was such a joy working with you, for sure have to do it again sometime

↳ freyaallan oh hush! and i’d love that

henrycavill glad you both had such a good time on set, i have always loved y/ns work, she has such a keen eye for this stuff

↳ fan2 this post is basically become them trying to convice us all that y/n and henry aren’t dating when we all know they are. good attempts though

photographydaily these photos are clean af

celebrumourmagazine:

celebrumourmagazine Famous Actor Henry Cavill and the photographer Y/n are now rumoured to be dating. The pair have had many photoshoots together and have a history of confusing fans with their comments on each others posts. But what is really tipping people off is a quote from Freya Allan, Cavill’s co-star in the Netflix show; The Witcher, where she said “I had such a nice time shooting today with @yourname_photography. Thank you to @henrycavill for making it happen, now I understand why you love her so much”. Allan then tried to cover her tracks by commenting on how y/n is one of Henry’s favourite photographers. Cavill too posted “I have always loved Y/ns work, she has such a keen eye for this stuff”. Seems fishy to me, wonder if we will get an explanatio soon. C’mon we deserve it.

Photo by @yourname_photography

Liked by 267,092 people

fan3 the level of disrepect in this post is on a new level. 1. referring to Henry as famous and then not using the same terminology for yn who has worked with so many famous actors, musicians, polticians etc and is renowned for her amazing word. 2. “Cavill’s co-star” she’s her own person sis. 3. “we deserve it” no you don’t, you haven’t done anything to deserve anything from them

↳ yn-hen-fan thats the tea sis

geraltofriviafans ffs leave them alone. there is the little thing people like to have. its called privacy

celebrumourmagazine:

celebrumourmagazine Famous actor Henry Cavill and Photographer caught kissing on a boat whilst on vaccation with friends and family. We knew they were dating!

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fan5 annoying that they didn’t say anything we all would have been okay with it

fan3 your comment perfectly shows how you wouldn’t have been okay with it. maybe they just wanted some privacy

fan2 I just found out that this photo amongst a few others were leaked from their phones. Ffs why can’t people respect their privacy y’all wonder why they didn’t say anything; this is why

henrycavill:

henrycavill well the cats out of the bag... not the way we intended to tell you guys which is a shame. We are very sad that this is the way you all had to find out. With both of our jobs being very demanding (we love them nonetheless and are very grateful) we don’t often get to spend time with each other so wanted some time just to ourselves, we wanted to share this amazing relationship with all of our fans when were ready but unfortunately that opportunity was taken from us. We hope you can understand: you all are very important to the both of us and we truly did want to share this with you, but both got a bit too caught up with having each other to ourselves. These photos were taken by one of our mutual friends whilst we were on holiday and were leaked from our phones. I am so shocked that they even managed to do this but I will not let them get anymore attention than that.

To my love @yourname_photography: the last couple of months with you have been bliss, I found myself falling more in love with you everyday. Your dedication to your work is truly inspiring, how deeply you care for and love those around you is second to none, you have taught me so much about so many things but the main thing I will cherish is what you have taught me about myself; you have taught me to truly accept myself and have taught me to see myself the way you see me. I love you more than I can even begin to explain and I can’t wait for what’s to come. Having you to myself has been truly wonderful but sharing how amazing you are not only to me but all those around you is something I am going to enjoy. Everyone should know the amazing things you do not only in your photography career but in other aspects of your life <3

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yourname_photography this is too sweet Hen, I love you so much. The past couple of months with you have been absolute perfection and I will cherish them forever. You are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me and I am beyond lucky to have you and have had you to myself but I’m ready to share you and to share us with the world

↳ henrycavill lets do this shit

freyaallan I was worried that I was going to be the one to leak the news and although I’m annoyed it came out like this I’m glad it wasn’t me XD, wish you could have announced it on your own terms though. I’m beyond happy for the both of you

↳ yourname_photography the sweetest girl <3 I thought you recovered quite well in that post XD

anyachalotra the cutest couple of all time... there, i said it

↳ yourname_photography said it you did. we are beyond grateful for you and how supportive you were of us from the get go

↳ henry cavill thank you anya, your support means the world to us

yourname_photograhy:

yourname_photography to my beloved Henry: the love you have shown me was one I didn’t believe in growing up, the kind of love I thought only excited in fairytales, books and movies. Boy oh boy was I wrong. The love you give is the kind of love everyone deserves, the kind where you give yourself to someone else fully without any selfishness or expectations. To most people you are Superman, Geralt, August Walker, Charles Brandon, Napoleon Solo and many others. But to me you are all those things and more. You are the guy that brings me my favourite soup when I’m sick, the guy that sits with me for hours trying to pick which photos from a shoot are the best, the guy that brings home lillies because you know they’re my favourite flower, the guy that sends me care packages when you are away, the guy that sends me goofy selfies of you and Kal, the guy that rubs my back and plays with my hair when I cant sleep, the guy that introduced me to my second family: the Cavill’s, the guy that works his god damn hardest everyday, the guy that puts in so much effort to raise awareness for endangered species and the fight that Durrell do, the guy that does so many amazing things yet expects nothing in return. You are the epic love of my life and I do not deserve you <3, you amazing, beautiful human, never change <3

Liked by henrycavill, anyachalotra, joeybateyofficial and 1,583,039 others

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fan6 HOW CAN ANYBODY NOT LIKE HER? THE WAY SHE TALKS ABOUT HIM, I MEAN UGHH SO FLOOFY

fan4 this post got more likes than henrys bc everyone realised they cant not like her

↳ henrycavill you made me cry ): now come give me kisses

↳ yourname_photography im coming, oops nearly tripped over kal

↳ fan 8 haha she’s commenting as she’s doing it how cute

joeybateyofficial all the haters be like “hmm, fuck” bc they realise there is -9182 reasons to hate you

↳ yourname_photography thanks for bringing the geralt comments here, someone had to do it :)

↳ joeybateyofficial it’s a honour :) happy for both of you... always knew he was a big soft... despite his rock hard abs

↳ yourname_photography spend a lot of time looking at my boyfriends rock hard abs much then? XD

↳ henrycavill not as much as you @yourname_photography, ayeee XD

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missluthorwillseeyounow · 5 years ago

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In light of that episode, I've decided to be my usual petty self and throw canon in the dumpster where it belongs, and counter it with Supercorp AUs. I'll be posting some as my schedule allows, and if anyone is interested in any of these, let me know:

"May You Always Be Satisfied" or the AU based on the song Satisfied from Hamilton. Opens with Lena's bridesmaid toast at Kara's wedding to her brother (and no this is not Kara x Lex cos 🤢🤢 ew no). Involves Kara being the princess who fled Krypton as a child to grow up in Metropolis as Linda Lee Danvers. A LOT of pining and angst (with a happy ending ofc). Has some nice familial Clark and Lena scenes. This is a period piece, and holy shit did it get away from me.

"The Window is Open" or the AU based on that one How I Met Your Mother episode where Ted is a creep who obsesses over his "window" of opportunity to date the ultimate girl next door (even going as far as to ask her neighbor to call him as soon as she breaks up with her boyfriend). In this AU, Kara is the girl next door whose guy friends all keep vying to get in on her window, and Lena is her best friend who always avoids her after each breakup. Features Mon-El as the Ted in this scenario.

That freaking Frozen AU that just won't shut up. Seriously, this thing has a hold on me.

That AU where Lena is a historian with a grudge against historical conspiracy theorists, who films several documentaries with her research assistant Jess to debunk them. She has a huge following, and one of her followers sends her a link to an article about a cult dedicated to the Children of Rao who are conviced that aliens arrived on Earth in ancient times and are using their psychic powers to help those who need it. In particular, they talk about the Paragon of Hope, who goes into the dreams of the hopeless, those who are suffering, and gives them peace and hope. The Cult of Rao is on a mission to find the Paragon of Hope, in order to wake her up from her long sleep, so that she might return hope to a hopeless world. Which Lena thinks is a load of crap if she ever heard one.

My Saskia x Red Daughter AU that just WILL NOT let me go, in which Saskia, the "Lost Luthor" who everyone thought was dead, shows up to let Lena know that their dear brother has gotten ahold of the Kryptonian clone. Saskia is an "independent contractor" (nobody knows what she actually does, and they're too afraid to ask, but Nia's latest conspiracy theory that she's posed to the group is that she's a cross between a spy and an assassin) who helps the DEO deprogram Red Daughter from Lex's brainwashing, and takes her in to keep the DEO from getting their hands on her. Involves Red Daughter being simultaneously earnest and eager, as well as shy and sweet around her, and Saskia trying (and failing) to keep her badass tough exterior, except she's a soft bean when it comes to Red Daughter (Kasnia). Involves a lot of bed sharing, and Saskia helping Kasnia through panic attacks.

Changeling!Lena AU. The foundation for this one was not actually mine, but came from the amazing @the-queen-of-the-light brought up fae Lena. This one is more of a focus on Lena's backstory, especially with Lillian. Basically, Lillian and Lionel's daughter, Lena died when she was 7, and they never got over it. Until Lionel gets ahold of an old Celtic relic and his unspoken "wish" to have his daughter back is granted, and he opens the door to his daughter's old room, only to find a little stranger with her face and memories playing quietly with her old toys. I love this for the Lillian angst, because I get to play with Lillian as a the complex character that she is. Because she actually loved her daughter and she was bitter over her loss, so she rejects Lena because in her own words, she's not her daughter, just "the thing that replaced her". Also a period piece, and there will be some childhood friends Supercorp. Just know that this is teenager Lena in this AU:

And this is young Kara:

(Cos I've only gotten to their teenage years in this).

So anyway, yeah, this episode pissed me off, and I'm ready to go neck deep in Supercorp. Let me know if any of y'all want me to share any of these.

P.S. let's all remember that even though we're pissed about canon, there's no reason to take it out on the actors themselves. They're just trying to do their jobs, let's leave them be.

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara zorel #katie mcgrath #melissa benoist #supercorp au #redcorp #saskia de merindol #kasnian kara #my work

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blaszczu2500-blog · 6 years ago

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Honest Talk (Nebula X Male Reader)

Word Count: 2 462 Pairing: Nebula X Male Reader Plot - A week after joining the Guardians of the Galaxy, you and Mantis have a game of War, which you let her lose. The reward she chooses is you to let her check how you feel, because otherwise you wouldn't let her, which only leads to her telling everyone that you have feelings for Nebula.

"... And my last card is... Queen." You said, putting your last card on the floor, as you played War with Mantis who sat before you. A huge pile of cards was in her right hand.

"I have this guy next." Mantis said, as she put her next card on the floor. It was King Diamond, and it meant that she won this game.

"You call him "King", Mantis." You reminded her.

"King." Mantis repeated after you, as you grinned. Sometimes, you found it adorable by how innocent can she be at the moments.

"And that means that you won." You said to Mantis, who smiled widely at the news, before you extended your hand towards her, "Congrats."

Mantis slowly extended her hand, and shook yours.

It's been only a week since you became a part of these Guardians of the Galaxy, after you helped them destroy Ego. But you weren't the only person who joined them after that. Gamora's sister, Nebula joined as well.

Speaking of Nebula, you actually knew her and travel with her, before you met these Guardians. You've met each other, a few days after The Battle of Xandar when she came into the town where you used to live in, looking for a new arm, but unfortunely for her she only found a thing that even you wouldn't call an arm.

Once she got it, she wanted to leave the planet as fast she could, but you had somehow conviced her stay, by asking her if she's hungry.

in your house, you gave her food, which also resulted in her making comments that she'd prefer to be homeless than having to live in your house, and you couldn't help but agree witth. Your was one of the worst places you could live in that town, but it was for free and you'd have a roof over your head. That was the only reason you stayed in that place for that long, when the others would leave it after a week.

The day after you let her stay in your home, you asked her if you could come with her, and she was really suprised that you asked her about that.

Even though, she seemed a bit hesitant about that idea, Nebula let you come with her, and first two weeks of traveling with her were nothing usual, both of you barely talked, but after you played a card you started to talk with each other more, and sometimes it amazed you, by how you can start bonding with people who wouldn't speak a word to you over a game of cards. After letting her win the game (her reaction made your whole day), you two started actually becoming closer.

She started teaching you how to use sword, because you used your blaster for most of the time, since you had found yourself away from the Earth. It another form of bonding you two had, and as the time passed she started to tell you her history, which included her, of course, her adopted sister Gamora, and her adopted father Thanos. You have heard of him before, you didn't know any details of him, before she told you them, and words couldn't describe how much you started to despise that being, and how much you felt sorry for her, especially after she told that you were the only person that showed her kindness, which was the only reason why she let you come with her

Things only got more interesting when you both were caught by the Sovereign, and taken to a prison on Xandar, by the Guardians of the Galaxy. Fortunely for both you, the ship never made it to Xandar because you were attacked by the Sovereign, who attacked you because that talking raccoon who didn't like to be called raccoon stole some of their batteries, and it was punishable by death on this planet.

And since then, everything seemed to go downhill, which lead to you finding yourself on the planet of the celestial being called Ego, and you couldn't even count the time you could die on that planet, because they were too many of them.

Eventually, you had managed to destroy Ego, which costed the life of Yondu Udonta

At first she didn't want to stay with them, even though her sister offered her to stay, but after you talked with her, and even though you did your best to hid the fact that you wanted to stay with them, managed to convice her to give it a chance, and it worked out well, so far.

Since then, you had talked with every Guardian, mostly with Peter Quill, who like you was from the Earth. You two mostly talked about the things you missed the most from your home planet, which ended up with you two planning to return to your planet, to see how much it has changed since the last you were there.

Was this journey dangerous? Of course it was.

But would you trade it for something else? Not in million years.

"Y/N" The sound of Mantis' word took you away from your thoughts.

You skook your head, before you responded, "Yes, Mantis?"

"What about my reward?" Mantis asked you, as you reminded yourself that the winner of the game you had with the bug-eyed girl would give the winner whichever reward he, or she wanted.

"Oh, right... What kind of reward do you want?" You asked her.

"Can I check your emotions?" She answered your question, "I checked emotions of almost everyone on this ship, except you and Rocket. Everytime when I try to do it to Rocket, he jumps up at me and almost bits me, as for you, you just said no."

"...Sure. Go ahead. It's your reward." You replied, after a second of hesitation. You've been told about her ability by Peter, but you declined any attempts of her trying to see what you felt, because you were... nervous? You had no answer to that.

Mantis gave you a small smile in appreciaton, as she looked down at your hand and began to lower her hand towards it. As she touched you could feel the interested glances of Drax, Gamora, Peter, and Nebula. Rocket and Groot were in the other at the moment.

Mantis' antennas began to glow, before she looked up at you, a wide grin spreading on her face.

"You feel love." She said after a moment of silence, as you had admit to yourself. You started to get nervous, once she said it.

"Yes. I feel love towards everyone in the galaxy." You quickly said, trying to sound as believable as you could.

"No. Romantic. Sexual love, just like Quill feels for Gamora." Mantis added.

"No. You must be wrong." You said, trying to hide that you were nervous from everyone.

"No. I'm not." Mantis said with a small shook of her head, as he pointed at Nebula who stood right behind both of you, as she was leaning against the wall, "It's for her!"

"No." You shot up, as you removed Mantis' hand from yours, "That is not..."

You didn't had a chance to finish as you were cut off by Drax's laughter, "HAHAHAH! She just told everyone your deepest darkest secret!"

"Drax! Shut up!" You shouted, feeling angry and embarassed at the same moment.

"You must be so embarrassed!" Drax added, as Mantis stood up, and made her way towards him, before putting her hand on his stomach. Her grin grew wider than it already was, as she pointed her hand towards you and began laughing as well, much to your irritation.

"Can someone just kill me and end my misery..." You thought to yourself

Their laughter was cut off by Nebula's groan, as she turned to leave. What all of you didn't know that it wasn't because she was angry or disgusted, she just wanted to hide the fact that she was blushing from everyone.

It didn't too long before you went to your room as well, telling them that you wanted to finish the book you were reading.

You have never felt so embarassed in your life and you wanted to be alone for the rest of the day...

What you didn't notice was that Gamora left soon after, and headed towards Nebula's room.

-----

Over an hour has passed since Mantis told everyone that you had feelings for Nebula, and the embarrasment and anger hadn't washed off during that time, and Drax's and Mantis' laughter weren't making this situation any easiere for you. Words couldn't describe how much you wanted to kill these two at the moment said when you fely towards Nebula, despise how you found it hilarious when Drax was struggling with metaphors how adorable Mantis could be by how innocent she was.

At this moment, you laid on your bed as you threw the small red ball against the wall in front of you, and the impact was making her come back to you. It was one of not many things you had with yourself from the Earth. and when Nebula's

But you seemed to be cursed, because throwing this ball was the only thing you did for over an hour and it didn't work.

Then, there was a knock on the doors, followed by the sound of someone opening them.

"Whoever it is, leave me alone. I'm not in the mood to talk." You said, not caring who it is, before a familiar voice sounded in your ears, and it made you drop the ball on the floor.

"Y/N. We need to talk." You looked up from your bed and saw Nebula, standing in the doorway. As she came into your view you could feel your heartbeat getting faster with each second.

"About what?" You quickly asked, pretending to not know the answer, as you sat up on your bed.

''About what Mantis said." She replied, as you came over to your bed, "I can come later if you want.''

"No." You said with a shook of your head. You wanted to get over with this conversation which was going to happen sooner or later, "Let's talk about it."

Nebula gave you a quick nod of her head in response, before she sat down on the bed, right next to you, as you started to prepare yourself for whatever was going to happen in the next few minutes.

"As I said before, Y/N, is it true? What Mantis about..." She cut herself in the middle of the sentence as she could feel her face getting hot. She couldn't remember the last time when she was that nervous.

"You told me to not to lie to you, no matter how truth would hurt you and I promised to do so." You pointed out, before you let out a deep breath, preparing yourself for you were about to say, "It's true. I do have feeling for you. I don't from where they came from, but I developed them as I spent more time with you. Regular things like playing cards with you, or you teaching me how to fight became a big deal for me, and I actually could get really nervous during them."

Nebula nodded her head in understanding, before a very awkward silence between you both filled the room. Neither of you knew what to say to another, but thankfully Nebula broke it by asking.

"Y/N. I've been wondering for a while now. When everyone, even my sister were treating me like I was some kind of monster, you were nice to me, even when I got both of us caught by the Sovereign and almost got both of us killed when I flied into my sister on Ego, despise you telling me not to. I want to know why. Why were you so kind to me." She wanted to know.

"It's because I didn't saw you as a monster. I only saw as a person that who had a tough life and people done things to her that she didn't deserve." You answered.

"Thank you." Nebula said. It was the first time you heard her say those words ever since you met her.

You said nothing, just smiled at her.

"And there's something I must tell you." She stated, "You're not the only person in this room that feels something towards someone."

Your eyes shot open, as you could feel your face getting red, "W...What?"

"Y/N. I think I feel something towards you. As much as I found you annoying when we first met a few days Ronan's fall, the more time we spent with each other on the ship that I stole from the Ravagers, the more I started to like you. You made feel how it is when not all people think of you as a monster, you made feel how it is to win, even though it was only a card game and I think that I'm want to try." She said, as she shyly said put her hand on yours, "I like you too. I like you a lot."

"I want to try too. I'll be more than happy to see if it'll work." You smiled at her. A small spread all across her blue face, before she began to lean forward. You began to lean forward as well, and your lips finally met and the metallic taste began to fill your senses. The kiss was a little awkward since you and Nebula didn't kiss many folk, but you both really enjoyed the first kiss you had with each other.

However, the moment was interrupted when Nebula heard two familiar voices from behind of the doors.

"The kissed! I can hear it!"

"Mantis! Be quiet!"

"What is it?" You asked her, after she pulled you away from her.

"Did you heard that?" She replied with question, before a sound of walking down the hallway away from your room sounded in your ears.

"Were they listening to us?" You stated the obvious.

"It appears so." Nebula agreed, as you stood up from your bed.

"I didn't killed Drax or Mantis earlier, but now I'm going to do this." You stated, as Nebula quickly joined your side, before the both of you left your room and went towards the direction where the other Guardians went, almost hand in hand.

As you were walking in their direction, you didn't saw Gamora, standing in the corner as she watched you walk pas her. A huge smile was on her face, as she was happy to see her sister happy.

Then, she quickly followed you two to stop you both from doing what you were planning to do to the rest of the crew for eavesdropping the conversation you had.

#nebula #nebulaxreader #nebulaxmale!reader #malereader #Avengers #guardians of the galaxy #fanfiction #mcu #mcufanfiction #guardiansofthegalaxyfanfiction #readerinsert

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flowerpowell · 6 years ago

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Forbidden Reading (Chris x MC)

Author’s note: I did change quite a few details from the original story, The Freshman, so it would fit better with the character of MC. Hope you’ll enjoy this anyway!

All rights go to Pixelberry, I don’t own them.

Rating: Normal, fluffy

Tagging (perma + Chris tag): @kickbuttbookworm @damienazariostan @gardeningourmet @littlegreenmoo @jellybean-marshmellow @syltti78 @jared2612 @choicesgallery @flynnomalleys ♥

Exhausted after a long day full of editing her articles, writing a few subchapters to her senior thesis, and helping Zack with another of his existential crises, Amy is finally home.

Surprisingly, it was rather quiet out there, usually Chris would sweep her in his arm and they would start talking about their days. Slowly, she takes off her coat and tiptoes to their bedroom, where the light is on. She finds her boyfriend completely lost in something he was reading.

“Whatcha doing?” Amy asks trying to peek at Chris’s book. He is startled by her voice but grins when he turns to see her.

“Just reading your porn.”

Amy chokes at his words, “My what?!”

Chris stands up and waves at her with something she begins to recognize. “Oh my gosh, Chris! That’s not porn, that’s my diary!” she chuckles while trying to take her diary back from Chris’s hands.

He escapes her and starts reading the last sentence with his deep voice, “It was the most amazing night I ever had. Chris is the most amazing lover I ever had. Especially when he did that thing with his--”

“CHRIS!!”

Amy tries to catch him but he is running away from her, laughing.

“It gets better later on, just listen.”

“Stop it, ugh, you’re so annoying, give that back!”

They start running in cirles around their kitchen table, Amy throwing leftover popcorn from the night before at Chris.

“I’m not giving you this back, this boosts my ego!” Chris yells as he jumps on the kitchen counter.

“Oh this is good, I love Chris’s abs, O-M-G, they are so hard and I absolutely love touching them whenever I can.”

“Christopher Powell, come down for the love of your mother, sister, and brother, and gimme my diary back!” Amy sees that her orders don’t make any difference and Chris is unlikely to stop reading her precious journal.

“Chris, baby, please, it’s personal,” she makes a sad face, pretending to be deeply hurt. Chris jumps back on the floor as he carefully approaches his girlfriend. He gently puts one arm around her tiny waist and whispers to her ear, “You gave a permission to read it, remember? But if you really don’t want me to read it, I won’t.” She looks up and bites her lip slightly. “I just wanted to learn more about you, but here,” he gives her the diary back, “take it, I’m sorry.” Chris hugs her tightly and a relieved sigh escapes her.

When they pull away, she’s smiling mischievously. “You know, maybe you reading out loud about our first time wasn’t my cup of tea, what do you say we read some other, less intimate parts, huh?” Chris grins at her pulling her into another hug, “I’d like that. Although not gonna lie, I would like to read what you thought about our first time too.” Amy blushes and Chris kisses her cheeks. “Maybe next time, tonight let’s keep it PG-13, okay?” He nods, “Of course.”

Chris takes her hand and leads them to the bedroom, where they both settle on the bed. “So where should we start?” Chris thinks for a moment. “What about the day we met?” Amy flips through the pages and finds the date. “Here we go.”

Dear diary,

Today is my first day at Hartfeld and even though I haven’t started my classes yet, it was pretty eventful. I met my roomates, I played a weird day called “Truth or truth” and decorated my room. They all seem pretty nice, Zack is so far my favorite, he told me everything from the start, about his crush on Brandon, about Abbie and Tyler (our roomates) and he even asked me to help to set them up! Now that’s something I like! Kaitlyn is pretty awesome too, a little too wild for my introverted mind, but I liked her. And I also met Chris, another roomate... He was the first one to meet actually. I bumped into him on the campus. He even got down on one knee to apologize to me for that but some guy thought he was proposing! OMG that was so funny and weird. He has those pretty blue eyes and I wish I could stare at them for the rest of my life. He is so freaking handsome I can’t even deal with it. I had no such boys at highschool. But then this girl came, spilled her coffee on me (lol?) and claimed he was her future boyfriend and I’m confused now. During the game he said he didn’t want to start a new relationship, which broke my heart a little but maybe I’ll be able to convice him otherwise someday. Anyways, I think I have a new crush now and he’s living with ME so that’s awesome. I really hope I won’t screw that up! Although to be 100% honest he did seem a little bit into me as well...

“A little bit?” Chris laughs, “I was already head over heels in love with you! I was just afraid of jumping in another relationship.” He strokes her red cheeks. She looks at him, narrowing her eyes, “So you say you fell in love with me right at the moment we met?”

“Well, I definitely felt something for you, then we started talking and living together and I just kinda fell in love” Chris plays with his T-shirt to hide his cheeks blushing. Amy chuckles, “I wish you wrote your diary, that would be fun to read!” He rolls his eyes, “I don’t think so. Now, go on, read the part about our first kiss.”

Amy flips through the pages again. “It didn’t happen that night even though I had a feeling you wanted to kiss me at some point.” He smiles at her, “I actually kind of wanted you to invite me to your room but holding you worked pretty nice too.” He kisses her and after a few moments she pulls away. “I would never! We only met that day and I wasn’t that drunk!” She laughs as her boyfriend joins her. “I know, I know, you were just messing with my mind, you still do,” he winks at her and she rolls her eyes. “Okay Powell, first kiss is coming.”

Dear Diary,

I KISSED CHRIS TODAY! OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!! It all happened at the sorority party that I obviously wasn’t invited for because Becca is a real bitch and she thinks Chris belongs to her but HE KISSED ME! Ha! Anyways, he was with Becca alllll the time and I wanted to talk to him but Becca said I had to win the time with him (like seriously, who does she think she is?) so I DID and we went out, and started arguing a little because I just really thought Becca had a bad influence on him so he got defensive and said he actually admired Becca cuz she knew what she wanted and he was confused andddd I asked him what could I do to give him that clarity and he started stumbling anddddddddddd WE KISSED!!!! I leaned towards him, but just a little, and we touched each other’s lips and he pulled me closer (!!!!!) and I literally felt like all the electricity in Hartfeld went through my body and back! And afterwards, he said it actually MEANT something and that we have a connection andddddddddddd HE KISSED ME AGAIN, but this time HE.FREAKING.PRESSED.ME.AGAINST.THE.WALL!!!!!!!!!!!! And then he kissed my neck and I was just praying it would never end. I am officially so in love with Christopher Powell it hurts. And you know what? It did hurt, when he told me after everything, that he still isn’t ready for a new relationship and he DOESN’T want to be in one now and that he’s sorry and I deserve someone much better...Why can’t he see he’s already the best? Then, he left with Becca and I just couldn’t get back to that stupid party. And here I am, in my room, crying, because I got to kiss my crush and I felt like the happiest person on Earth just to feel super heartbroken next minute. Oh, why is everything so hard?

“I’m so sorry for what I said that night, I didn’t think clearly, I thought I was doing the right thing.” Chris saddens as he realizes how much he hurt that one person he never wanted to hurt. She smiles weakly at him, “It’s okay, after all, we’re together now, that’s what matters the most.”

Chris kisses her lightly and she deepens it till they both pull away, breathless. He looks up to her, grinning, “So you liked it when I kissed your neck and pressed you against the wall, huh?” Amy chuckles, “I definitely enjoyed that.” “Should be doing that more often, noted,” Chris smiles at her so widely she help but laugh. His face falls again after a minute. “Seriously Amy, I am really sorry for that. Not only for what I said but also for what I did. Being with Becca just to be able to be away from you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and--” Amy silences him with yet another kiss.

When she pulls away the sadness is gone from his eyes. “Let’s just move to something more...pleasant. Maybe our first time?” Chris offers, suggestively raising his eyebrows. She shoves him with her diary, giggling as he tries to tickle her.

“Come on, I wanna know all the details!” He asks again as she’s trying to get out of bed and his embrace.

“Not a chance Powell, some...things...are not meant...for you..ahh” Amy speaks in broken sentences while her boyfriend tickles her more. “I’m not gonna stop until you give me at least a sneak peek!” He threatens. “What if...instead...I read....ahhh stop it....the story of....when we said....I love you for the...first time?” She tries to bargain and Chris stops to think about the offer. “Hm, I might be intrested in that too. For now,” he adds winking at her. “Ugh, you’re incorrigible” she sighs but he catches her smile when she looks for that certain page in her diary.

“Um, so here it is, but please don’t laugh, I just got very emotional about this one.” He raised an eyebrow, “More excited than the first kiss? Man, I can’t imagine how you described the first time we slept together.”

“It’s not gonna happen Chris,” she teases, “not tonight anyway.” Amy finds the date and sighs. “That was during the boat dance, right after--”

“Right after we had sex” Chris grins at her.

“Look at you so thirsty for compliments!” Amy laughs.

“I need validation that’s all. I just want to know how I make you feel,” he admits and she blushes. “I think you know.” He wants to add something but she cuts him off. “Back to the dance, right to the moment after,” Amy hears Chris’s groan, “after we hooked up.”

Dear Diary,

Today, “blablabla” Amy looks for the moment of their little confession after writing so much about that particular day. “Aha! There it is!”

As if that wasn’t enough, right after we did it, I was lying on his chest and he was playing with my hair. And then he suddently spoke my name and I was afraid he wanted to get back to that party, and I was soooo not ready and still sweaty, but he just looked me in the eyes and started with “Amy, I..” And I was already overthinking every single thing he could say so I asked (casually, not trying to freak out or anything) what did he want and then HE. SAID. THAT. He said “I LOVE YOU” he actually said these three words first!! He said he loved me from the bottom of his heart and I never felt happier. And he actually said that he felt the happiest with me! He thanked me for my encouragement and support and believing in him, and honestly I was nearly crying, I mean he’s such a wonderful person and I am so so so lucky to be his girlfriend. And then he went on with these compliments and I just couldn’t hold it anymore and I said I loved him back!! And OMG, if you could only see the smile on his face when I said that. And the relief on mine! I’ve been wanting to say that for so long! And he admitted he thought about it for a while too! I was so happy I started chanting “I love you” to Chris until he interrupted me with the softest kiss ever. After a few more minutes we headed back to the party but...I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And diary, I do love him. I love him so much I could explode (and not because I ate so much)! I love Chris Powell, I love Chris Powell, I love Chris Powell--

“I love you Chris Powell,” Amy finishes looking into Chris’s eyes. He smiles at her softly as he caresses her cheek. He presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

“I love you so much Amy. I hope one day you’ll be able to write there about our wedding day.” She returns the smile as the familiar warmth overwhelms her body.

“I’d very much like that.”

#tf/ts/tj #the freshman #the sophomore #the junior #the junior fanfiction #the junior fanfic #chris powell #chris x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfic #choices fanfiction #long post

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aboysbestfriendishismum · 8 years ago

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Chapter 43 - Exes, camp fires and big mouths (Part One)

In the previous chapter:

Meg and Angie are at the diner, at the end of their night shift, together with Grace, who’s sipping a hot chocolate as she’s being given advice on what to do with Stone. Lupus in fabula, Stone and the Mookie guys minus Eddie come to Roxy’s to eat and say their singer has stayed alone at the Potatohead gallery to work on a few songs. Angie secretly pays a quick visit to Eddie, with the pretext of bringing him food and coffee, and he reacts in a weird way. The following day Angie’s dad shows up at the girls’, earlier than expected. Angie proudly shows him her apartment, Ray’s not that enthusiast about it because it’s rather small and in poor condition, but he appreciates the fact his daughter seems to be living a nice and independent life in Seattle. He misses her though. In Angie’s room he finds the little collage board Eddie gave to her as a present, he’s surprised because it has Angie’s polaroids on and she’s always despised having pictures taken. Ray has a photo session with the Seahawks to do and they agree to meet later in the evening at the RKCNDY club together with their friends. Shortly before the beginning of the concert, Jerry’s at the club too, even though he knows Angie’s gonna be there too. Well, that’s the reason he’s there anyway. A guy tries to make small talk with him at the bar, he’s not feeling talkative at the beginning, but he ends up telling him everything about himself and the mess he made with Angie, without actually mentioning her name, spicy details included. As Angie and her friends get to the venue, he finally finds out the terrible truth: the guy he’s been talking to at the bar is his ex girlfriend’s dad.

***

“Oh shit, finally!” Jeff jumps off the hood of Laura’s car as soon as he sees her getting out of her apartment and going down the short flight of stairs “Hurry up, we’re already late”

“Good evening to you too, my love! Listen, where did all that sweetness you brought out the other night for our anniversary go? Did you burn it all at once?” the girl complains as she walks up to Jeff and rather reluctantly pecks him on the lips.

“What? No, no my love, it’s just, well, fifteen minutes ago you said you were coming and…”

“And…?”

“And Eddie and I are here waiting in the cold and ice, you could at least have thrown us the car keys… darling!”

“Eddie’s not complaining” she remarks looking at me and taking the just mentioned keys from her bag, then clinking them right before her boyfriend’s nose, but keeping them tight.

“Actually’s not even been fifteen minutes, much less” I point out and Jeff gives me a nasty look.

“Yeah, sure… he says so because he doesn’t want to offend you”

“Anyway I had to finish getting ready, so what?” Laura opens the car and takes the driver’s seat.

“But baby, you’re already beautiful and amazing, you surely don’t need so much time to get ready, that’s why I was surprised” Jeff’s scene doesn’t convice Laura, who bursts out laughing at his face before closing the car door on her side.

“Come on, baby, stop being an asshole and get up! Weren’t you in a hurry?”

Jeff immediatly does as she commanded and takes the seat on the front, next to Laura, while I sit in the back.

“I speak for Eddie, not for me. He’s the one who can’t wait to get to RKCNDY, right?” Jeff winks at me, but I’ve learned to ignore him.

“I just wanna get there before the show begins” I shrug as Laura starts the car and leaves.

That’s not true for shit, of course. It’s unusual for me, I know, but this time I don’t give an actual fuck about the show. I respect the band and have been told the Inspector guys are good and also funny, that they interact a lot with the audience, and so on. But really, I don’t give a fuck. Basically I’m going because Angie’s there and by now I don’t even waste time inventing excuses to tell myself not to admit I wanna see her. See her, then what? What do I do? What do I tell her? I’m so confused right now and it’s not just my fault, after all she’s got something to do with this mess too, she keeps sending fucking ambiguous signals. I mean, after I tried to ask her out with disastrous results I had basically given up and resigned myself to being turned down, and decided I should stay away from her for a while, also considering that I’ve been following her around since we came back from Canada. Well, resigned is a big word, say I was trying to focus on music and erase all the waves, scents, oceans with her name, looks, mermaids and any other thing that could remind me of her from my writing. And right when I was actually managing to do that, what did Angie do? She appeared in front of me, out of nowhere, with her smile, her raspy and charming voice, her inquiring eyes on me, so sweetly sharp at times that I almost feel naked and have the impression that she, I don’t know, likes me? But then I hugged her and she didn’t turn a hair, while I was getting drunk with her scent, which is both different every time and always the same. I was holding her and I swear my knees were shaking because I felt overwhelmed by all that peace and warmth and it was like I couldn’t fully embrace her, like I wasn’t able to hold and keep in my arms all that she could give me, like it was too much all at once. And I thought that if I had told her something like that she would have thought I was crazy, or high, or both, or she would have used her usual fucking self deprecation saying something about being too big to be hugged or shit like that, but I’d have shut her up with a greedy and euphoric kiss. And she’d have reacted with one of her infamous slaps full on my face or she’d have clinged to me and reciprocated the kiss twice as intensely and we’d have ended up rolling on that poor excuse for a couch at the gallery without really understanding how we got there. Or maybe she’d have kept it cool and then given me a side look and, with her diagonal smile, she’d have argued that shutting a woman’s mouth with a kiss is the most sexist and stereotypical thing a man’s mind can come up with and at that point I’d have definitely waved white flag and given in, and declaring myself officially hers I’d have got completely naked on the spot and told her she could do anything she wanted to me. None of that happened though and the mere fact I’m daydreaming about this and all the possible scenarios, as ridiculous as plausible, is enough for me to realise I’m not losing my mind for Angie, nah, I already lost it and there’s nothing I can do about it.

We’ve already got to the club and I didn’t really notice, I must have been no great company during the car ride, but Jeff and Laura don’t seem to mind. The line outside is basically non existing and it takes us five minutes to get in. Inside the club our eyes are busy scanning the people around looking for our friends and our ears are busy listening to the end of a song by Primus. Laura walks away almost immediately to say hi to a couple of girls who are calling her and takes Jeff with her, whereas I gesture something along the line of see ya later and walk around the room, hoping to find what I’m looking for. And it doesn’t take long because as the song ends, as if it was a previously arranged scene, among the many unknown faces, there I spot it, the only one I’m really interested in: Angie, down on the left, standing beside a column, chatting and laughing with Meg, dressed in black, a tracksuit I guess, different make up on her eyes, black with something reddish, or purple, I can’t say it, her hand brushing a lock of hair away from her face and then indulging a little more in drowning the fingertips into the soft mane. Actually, I don’t know if she’s actually indulging in the movement or it’s just me seeing everything at half speed like in a boring romantic scene of a b movie about teenagers, when the main male character sees the girl of his dreams and goes in raptures and right then the ultimate love song starts like, I don’t know, True by Spandau Ballet, and she shakes her head and her hair move in slow motion and a single spotlight is on her and the rest of the world stops being important or maybe, as far as he knows, even stops existing. The problem is the scene goes on exactly like that, except for the song, which in my case it’s the cover version of Love me made by The Cramps and if possible it’s even more appropriate. Surely, Lux’s screams are more suited to my mood. Now Meg’s talking, while Angie listens and nods and has an interested expression on her face, then she looks in disbelief, then confused and then I lose count of the whole spectrum of emotions I see passing on that face, which must be relaxed and comfortable and doesn’t feel the need to hide anything from her friend, so it shows itself for what it is, naturally expressive. I like her like this, with no apparent protection shield, no masks, no filters. I wish she was like this with me too, and maybe she really is sometimes. No, the truth is I wish she was like this with me only, that’s a completely different thing. The former eventuality is discarded, it’s literally shattered in a few seconds thanks to a quick gesture by… by whom? Who the fuck is that? A guy with long hair and moustache who must be as old as Angie and Meg put together, he comes out from behind the column with two glasses in his hands, creeps behind the girls’s shoulders scaring them as a joke. Angela yells at him and laughs and takes one of the glasses from the stranger, who puts his arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple, just like that, as if it was nothing, as she lets him. SHE LETS HIM DO IT AND SMILES. Meg says something to them then walks away, leaving them alone. Are you kidding me? Slow motion and Tony Hadley’s voice stopped, now speed is back to normal, no, things just sped up considering I’m basically running towards Angie and the old pig. Has he just met her? Does he already know her? Maybe it’s one of her professors. I don’t have time to make other assumptions, I’m already a few feet from them, Angie sees me and as we make eye contact she calls my name and gestures for me to get closer, I smile and for a moment I forget what my previous intentions were. The face of the asshole who quickly turns around to acknowledge me soon takes me back to reality.

“You know, the first time I saw them they were opening for The Police, I’m talking about the Outlandos d'amour tour, so 1977 or ‘78. If I do remember right, I guess they were the first Cramps concerts ever, at least the first ones outside the US” I heard him say when I’m closer.

“Lucky you!”

“Oh well, they’re still around, you know? You can see them whenever you want”

“Yeah, but you saw them in the early days!” Angie says with admiration in her voice.

“Well, it’s easier when you’re elderly. Hi Angie!” I chime in like that, brutally and with no introduction whatsoever.

“Eddie!” she exclaims and looks at me as if I had just yelled some blasphemy in a church.

“Hehe that’s true, your friend’s right, being born in the 40s is the best thing ever happened to me, especially for my job. Anyway, as someone said, it’s all relative, each and every generation has its own hymns and myths: maybe the Zeppelin or the Sabbath of the future are performing in clubs like this one right now” the guy doesn’t bat an eyelid and goes on playing the part of the cool phylosophycal guy. For his job? Does he work in the music world? Or is it just what he tells girls to take them to bed?

“Can I have a sip? My mouth is super dry” I ask Angie and literally tear the glass away from her hand before getting an answer.

“Ok… but it’s just plain coke, nothing else” she explains even more perplexed.

“I really hope so,” I grumble to myself, but loud enough for the other two to hear, as I take the glass to my lips and smell the content in the meantime, before drinking some “you never know”

“Wow, I had no idea you had such scrupulous friends! They even check if you’re drinking alcohol” the moustache giggles and sips his beer.

“We always check anything, and anyone” I add as I drink some more coke. Seems ok.

“Since when?” Angie gives suspicious looks alternatively to me and the old man.

“By the way, we haven’t been introduced yet, I’m-” the guy takes the beer with his left hand and holds out his right one for me to shake and I can’t refuse.

“You’re someone who’s probably twice as old as her” I end his sentence with a broad smile on my face, as I vigorously shake his hand.

“EDDIE, WHAT THE FUCK?!” Angie’s face turns crimson all of a sudden and well, yeah, I know, I know she can defend herself and doesn’t particularly like this whole big brother attitude from Stone and Jeff, but I can’t just stand here not doing anything while this dirty jerk’s hitting on her.

“Well, actually more than twice, I told you I was born in the 40s, didn’t I? Maths is still indisputable, isn’t it?” I mean, the guy has the temper to joke? He has guts, I must admit it.

“I can count, you know, unlike someone who doesn’t understand he’s a little too old for an 18 year old girl” I drink some more coke, actually the glass is half empty when I give it back to Angie, who takes it without even looking at me. Is she embarrassed? Or mad? Well in that case she’s overreacting honestly.

“Oh god, well, too old, uhm, I wouldn’t say I’m too old. I think I’m the right age, I’ve always wanted a family, but not too soon”

“So you want to settle down with a young girl and have a family now that you’re aged?”

“Eddie, stop it, don’t you understand he’s-” Angie shakes her head and nervously laughs, but she’s interrupted by the guy.

“No, Angie, I think he doesn’t understand. I think I’m the right age, neither too young nor too old. A healthy age gap is very important, Eddie. If you’re young, girls won’t take you seriously and consider you just like one of their friends, whereas if you’re too old they’ll take advantage of you and have you pamper them, and most of all they’ll fool you right under your nose. You need balance” the man with moustache goes on, without hesitation. By the way, now that I look at him, he reminds me of someone… but who?

“This. This is… the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard in my life!” I retort folding my arms, probably as to prevent myself from punching him.

“Because you’re not a father yet, when and if you become a dad you’ll understand what it means, especially if you have daughters” he says and places one hand on my shoulder.

“What do you mean? It’s got nothing to do with-”

“It has because this is my dad, Eddie, MY DAD”

“Your… huh?” suddenly my hands are not itching to choke the life out of that man anymore, I’m suddenly hit by another wish: the desire to be immediately swallowed into the bowels of the earth and never come back.

“Ray Pacifico, nice to meet you!” the guy… well, ehm, Angie’s father holds out his hand towards me again and I give him mine, limp, as I watch him dazed.

“Mr… uhm, Mr Pacifico, I… I’m so sorry, I had no idea you-”

“Please, call me Ray, or you’re gonna make me feel old for real” Ray winks at me and I nod without saying one word, without even breathing I think, knowing that one minute ago I basically told the father of the girl I have a crush on that he was an old molester hitting on young girls.

“Nice to meet you Ray, I’m Jeff, a friend of Angie’s, one of the normal ones though” the bassist appears behind my back. How long has he been there?

“Hehe come on, poor Eddie, how could he know?” Ray tries to excuse me and I know deep inside he’s thinking I’m a loser.

“How could he? Angie wouldn’t stop talking about you and the fact you were coming to Seattle! Everybody knows, I think even the mayor knows” Laura jokes and Angie sticks her tongue out at her.

“Yeah, actually… well, yeah, I knew that, it’s just… I temporarily forgot it” I’m clutching at straws but in the end it’s just the simple truth: I knew Angie’s dad would have been her tonight, I just didn’t make the connection the moment I saw him with her.

“Say the protective instinct prevailed over reason. We’re used at being watchdogs, you know, with all the dirty people around and shit” Jeff gives me a heavy double pat on the back and as I yelp I forget my will for oblivion for a moment.

“Oh so you’re regularly being hit on by old men?” an amused Ray asks his daughter.

“Jeff meant in general” she sulks.

“Now I see why they were all so enthusiast about your volunteer job at the retirement home!”

“Ha-ha” Angie looks down embarrassed, then looks up again and her eyes are on me, eyes of pity.

“Sorry” I mouth to her, while Jeff and Ray keep not so subtly making fun of both Angie and I.

She shakes her head and half smiles, the usual small tooth briefly peeking out from the corner of her mouth then immediately disappearing behind her timid and soft to devour lips and that’s exactly where I’d run to hide right now, or simply to rest, if only I could.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

“And right then I found out she was Meg’s new roommate” Chris cockily ends his story, the one I know by heart, the poor figure I could tell even if I hadn’t experience it first hand when I got to my new apartment.

“Hehe so you two are my daughter’s neighbors” my dad points at Cornell and Gossard and he does it so nonchalantly I’d almost swear he didn’t do it on purpose.

“No, he lives with Matt,” Stone explains pointing at the drummer “I live by myself”

“He’s still at home with his parents” Jeff remarks with a fake smile.

“I’m not with my parents, I have my own apartment”

“Which is also your parent’s attic”

“It’s an attic, but it’s a detached apartment”

“And your parents downstairs”

“But they’re two separated and independent apartments, Jeff, just stop it”

“Which happen to become a little less separated at lunch and dinner time”

“SEPARATED AND INDEPENDENT!”

My father enjoys the Stone and Jeff show, we’re maybe so used to that we don’t even notice. For a moment I try to detatch myself from the situation and observe it from the outside and I realise the guys are doing their best, or worst, it depends on how you look at it. I mean, Chris delighting us with slices of his life, Jeff and Stone picking on each other, sweet Mikey playing dumb and make the usual couple of ambiguous remarks about Meg, Kim who says a couple of words and ends up monopolizing the conversation, Eddie not opening his mouth, Dave drinking beer like there’s no tomorrow: each one of them is, or looks like, his own stereotype, everyone reproduces the topoi and the style elements that belong to them, just like the characters of a sitcom do in the first episode, to introduce themselves to the audience, to give the watchers the whole picture. In this case, my father can’t really complain, they’re all doing their best to give him an overall view of our existence.

“Oh well, personally I don’t even take such things into account, I’ve met school kids who’re still with their parents but already are perfectly self-reliant and grown up adults who live by themselves but have their moms or girlfriends come and clean their house, so I don’t really think it’s a matter of the physical place you live in, rather than the mental place you reach as you grow”

“Jeff has Eddie now, he doesn’t need his mom” Stone remarks after finishing his beer.

“What does it mean? That you’re good at doing the chores?” dad asks Eddie, figuring out it must be some kind of recurring joke.

“Err… well, yeah, I try… I mean… been living on my own for ten years” Eddie stutters something without even looking at Ray’s face and that doesn’t surprise me, considering the poor figure he made earlier. How the hell did he forget? How didn’t he understand it was my father? Everybody says we look alike, despite everything…

“Great! My girl here is a model of independence too, Janis and I tried hard to pamper her, but we failed miserably, didn’t we Angelina?” dad circles my shoulders with his arm and my blood istantly turns into ice.

“Aaaaaaw, Angelina, what a sweet nickname!” Laura cheers with her heart-shaped eyes, playing the part of her lovely self perfectly too. Too bad she’s the unknowing cause of a disaster.

“Oh but that’s not a-” dad starts answering and I even try to stop him.

“That’s not sweet, it’s just ugly, let’s just go with Angie, ok?” but it’s pointless.

“It’s her name by the way, not a nickname” and there blows the first bomb dropped by my father.

“Excuse me?” Stone and his arched eyebrow are the first to react and I had no doubt about it.

“Angelina, that’s her name”

“ANGELINA?!” Jeff, as loyal as the others to his character, yells and chokes on the peanuts he was crunching on at the bar.

“Angelina like 'Angelina… waitress at the pizzeria’?” Chris chuckles.

“I thought your name was Angela, Angie for friends” Mike is the most calm of them all, together with Eddie, who just sports a smile that’s half incredulous and sorry.

“Your such idiot! Don’t you understand he’s just kidding? He’s just making fun of her, aren’t you Ray?” Meg shakes her head and addresses my father, who’s about to disappoint her.

“No no, I’m not kidding! It’s her name, I know that because, well, I gave it to her” dad shrugs and I don’t need to look at Meg to know she’s drilling a hole into my skull with a homicidal look.

“WHAT?”

“Meg…”

“Six months. No, more… We’ve known each other for more than six months and you never told me your name?!”

“As you can imagine, it ain’t something I easily tell people, for obvious reasons”

“What do you mean? Angelina is a beautiful name, it’s my mother’s name, that is your grandma's” my dad looks at me pretending to be offended, but I can’t help feeling a little guilty, even though I know he’s just faking.

“Yeah, it’s a nice name, it’s just… a little old fashioned”

“That’s just better, it’s more rare, so more unique”

“And a little… you know, sounds very Italian”

“So what?” dad’s jaw contracts and he strikes me with his typical narrow and fake happy look he gives when he’s irritated.

“So… nothing, it’s very typical and-”

“What’s wrong with it being Italian? I’m Italian, you’re Italian, our family is half Italian, is there something wrong with that?”

“No! Not at a-”

“Do you have something against Italian people?” dad addresses the whole gang and they’re smart enough to understand the quickest is the answer the better.

“No!”

“For fuck’s sake, no!”

“Come on!”

“Not at all!”

It’s all a big chorus of denial, then Mike follows trying to deliver a more articulated speech, based on the premise that working at a pizzeria puts him surely on top of the chart of those in our group who love Italy.

“I can’t see why you’re suddenly ashamed of your origins…”

“I’m not! It’s just a kinda old fashioned name, an old lady name, regardless the geographical origin of the old lady”

“We’re not given names when we’re old though, Angie, old ladies called Angelina, like your grandma, were children too and quietly and happily lived with that name without complaining” daddy explains picking up a potato chip from another bowl on the bar counter and taking it close to my lips, not backing up until I give up and open my mouth to eat it.

“I’d happily live with it too, if only you didn’t tell everybody”

“Heheh oh shut up, come on, nothing changes for you, your friends will keep calling you Angie”

“Are you joking? Stone’ll be calling me Angelina for the rest of my life”

“You mean, for the rest of his life…” dad answers a second before Stone opens his mouth. The guitarist must be so irritated.

“Hahahaha that was funny!” Jeff high fives Ray, who obviously took only a few minutes to become my friends’ new best friend. Unlike me.

“Anyway, I thought you used other kinds of pet names for each other” he adds with one of his fucking winks.

“Shut up, dad! Well, now that you’re here you can hear it directly from him that he’s not my boyfriend, so you’ll just stop once and for all. Tell him Stone”

Gossard looks at me dumbfounded, than looks at my father, takes a deep breath and…

“Well, so… ok… wow… I mean, you could have come up with a more discreet way to break up with me, Angelina, don’t you think?” the dork replies.

“Stone” everybody laughs, dad included.

“And also, a better moment maybe?” he continues between fits of laughter.

“Fuck you, Stone” despite all this I think my dad finally realised that nothing’s going on between that idiot who’s holding his belly as he’s almost suffocating from laughter and I.

“I think it’s cute” on the end of a little laugh, Eddie says I think the first complete sentence since my dad shook his hand. This said, I have no clue what he wants to say.

“What?” Dave gives voice to my inner question.

“Angelina, it’s a cute name”

“What do you mean cute?! It’s a riot girl name” I sarcastically retort, raising my fist in the air.

“It’s a total babe’s name”

“Yeah sure…”

“Why? Can’t it be? A name is just a name, it becomes a badass name or a loser name depending on who has it”

“Exactly, consider that I have it”

“And culture and trends play a role too. A famous personality called in a certain way can change the perspective on any name” my roommate goes on ignoring my comment.

“Well, it depends”

“What about Banana? Stupid name in theory, I mean, it’s not even a name. But Yoshimoto turned it into a name, a badass name I add”

“Ok, but that’s not her actual name, it’s a pen name she chose because she thought it was easier to prononuce than her Japanese name, also because the words basically the same in every language. And she didn’t want readers to immediately understand if the writer was a man or a woman” I retort as I notice everybody’s listening to our dialogue in sacred silence.

“Fine. What about Dustin? Do you think Dustin is a hot name if you separate it from Hoffman’s image?”

“Well, it’s not bad per se”

“What about Wynona then? And Bo? Elton? Cool names from the beginning, right…”

“I’m pretty sure at least two of them are stage names, Meg”

“Well, fuck that, it’s the principle!”

“Meg’s right. You just have to wait until an actress or a model or any super hot girl called Angelina gets into the spotlight and grabs the public’s attention and you’ll immediately gain a few points” Chris chimes in, nodding at his own words.

“Pff very likely to happen”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant, but…” Meg murmurs.

“And this is when I was supposed to say something like 'But no, why? Why should we wait for another? We already got you and you’re amazing blah blah’ but considering that you broke up with me five minutes ago…” Gossard shrugs and even my father can’t help laughing for his fucking sense of humor. Why doesn’t he take Stone as a boyfriend?

“And this is the first benefit I get from breaking up with you”

Luckily I stop being the subject of the conversation and at some point our group splits up and spreads all around the club: Susan arrives and she and Chris go away somewhere, Jeff goes backstage with Stone and Kim, my father wanders about taking pictures, Dave and Matt are deep into drummers conversation, but I don’t really know if it’s about drumming or not because I’m kinda far from them, still at the bar, with Laura, Eddie, Mike and Meg.

“Anyway, I agree with you about your name theory. For example, the name Meg didn’t mean anything before, but after I met you… bam, Meg is beauty par excellence” Mike comes up with this from out of nowhere, as we were talking about something else, leaving my friend quite perplexed, and not just her. And maybe that’s the reason why Laura walks away after a while, saying that she wanted to search for her boyfriend. At this point it’s just Eddie and I third wheeling.

“Hey, the concert’s about to start soon, why don’t we… start to… go that way, to see it?” I talk to Eddie and point towards the stage, he immediately accepts and follows me as I walk in that direction, and I don’t know if Mike notices we left, Meg surely does because she gives me a scolding look. The situation’s weird, but I know Meg and even though she’s trying to play it cool, she clearly doesn’t mind this kind of attention from him, I think she even likes it. But Melanie? Where’s she in this? I only hope nobody gets hurt, especially Meg of course because, well, she’s a friend of mine.

“Do you understand what’s going on between those two?” I ask Eddie when we’re far enough.

“Who? Mike and Meg? Honestly I have no clue” he answers, apparently surprised by the question.

“Neither do I”

“I only hope nobody gets hurt, not too much at least, you know” he goes on and it’s the very same thought I had a few moments ago and these pseudo-mindreading coincidences always make me smile.

“Yep” I rummage in my new bag looking for a kleenex since, guess what, I’ve got another cold. It must be the tenth cold since I moved here.

“Nice bag” Eddie points at my little camera-shaped bag.

“Hehe Ray discovered Pike Place Market today and bought it for me, as you can see my family’s quite monothematic”

“By the way, I’m sorry for what happened before, I’m such an idiot…” Eddie moves a rebel strand of hair away from his forehead and I honestly would have left that right there because it was just perfect in its being out of place.

“You don’t have to apologise to me, maybe with my dad, but you already did I think. And he took five seconds to forgive you anyway, so don’t worry”

“Ok, but I made you uncomfortable in front of him…”

“No problem, you weren’t the only one tonight anyway”

“Hehe do you think he realised Stone’s not your boyfriend?” he snickers and I’m not sure wether I should let him believe I was referring to Stone or tell him about Jerry befriending my father. I go with the first option, also because I don’t even wanna think about that jerk.

“I think he knows now. And Stone knows he knows. But they both love torturing me so much they won’t stop any soon”

“Well, I apologise all the same”

“I accept your apologies”

“And I apologise for last night too, sorry if I was… weird”

“I had already accepted those apologies last night”

“Yes, but when I apologised I was still in the middle of being weird to you, so that didn’t actually count, at least didn’t count 100%”

“You were weird? 'Cause now you think you’re normal?” I add sarcastically.

“Mmm nah, but a little more normal than last night”

“Ok ok, I accept these apologies too. Even though, it was me who invaded your privacy in the end and I think that any of us is free to be as weird as we fucking want when we’re by ourselves. And not just when we’re alone after all”

“You didn’t invade my privacy”

“Technically, I did”

“Well, maybe you did, but you can do it. I like it when you do. Do it more often”

“Haha something tells me the cake was good”

“The cake. Sure. It was delicious, thank you. And the coffee too”

“I only made the coffee so I can take credit just for that”

“No, not only for that… Anyway, you can also stay a little longer next time”

“I had to go back to work”

“I know, that’s why I said next time”

“Uhm ok”

“You never come over when we’re rehearsing”

“That’s not true, I do, from time to time”

“Apart from last night, I only saw you once since I know you”

“It’s just… I don’t know… it’s fun and everything, but in the end you’re there to work, it’s serious… I feel like I’d disturb or bother you”

“Are you kidding? That rehearsing space is like a motel, people are always coming and going”

“Ok, I’ll come over one of these days”

“I count on that”

“That’s if I find the time to prepare at least one cake or Mikey won’t let me in”

“Come on, just come see us… I swear I won’t do crazy things. And no weird hugs! Well, ehm, unless you don’t want them. I mean, normal hugs of course, 'cause I don’t think you… but also weird ones are ok if you… I mean, I don’t even know what I’m talking about. By the way, you know we’ve got new songs? If you came to see us, you could listen to them before anyone else…” why is he talking fast and nonsense like me when I’m embarrassed? Wait… why is he embarrassed?

“Oh well, in that case I can’t refuse, I must come to the gallery!”

“Ok, great. That’s if… if you’re not tired of seeing me”

“What? Why? What do you mean?”

“No, it’s just, you said it the other day… that we’ve been bumping into each other a lot lately”

“Ah! Well, yeah, it’s true, but I just said it like that”

“And I want to tell you again that there’s nothing behind that, I mean, it’s just happening by chance. Yet I, ehm, I like hanging out with you”

Oh oh, I know what’s happening and I know why Eddie’s strange: the poor guy’s looking for the best way to tell me he enjoys his time with me as a friend, a friend only. As if I needed him to tell me! What’s left to understand is if he’s somehow sensed something about my recent little fixation on him if it’s just a preventive move to avoid deluding me.

“I know, Eddie, don’t worry, I understand”

“I really like it”

“Look, I get what you’re trying to tell me, Eddie”

“Really?” he asks, suddenly looking taken aback.

“I feel comfortable with you too, also talking to you is nice”

“It’s not just a matter of feeling comfortable, Angie, I-”

Eddie’s clumsy attempt at telling me that yes, he really cares for me, so I’d better avoid ruining everything by letting strange ideas into my mind is interrupted by a choir of yells and wistles, which announces the band has just got on stage. That’s what I guess at least, because I can’t see shit as usual. The show starts a few seconds later, with a really funky song, who makes us move our heads and other things right from the start. I try and figure out the stage in my mind by putting together the small portions I spot between the heads, shoulders and arms of those who’re standing in front of me and when I turn towards Eddie I see him swaying around in rhythm. I don’t know why but this reminds me of his terrible dance moves at Crowe’s place on New Year’s Eve, I’ve never seen anyone move so ungracefully in my whole life. I start laughing the exact moment Eddie turns around and looks at me and gives me a broad smile and a thumbs up. Well, at least is in rhythm now, and he’s good at moving his hair around… and his hair is wonderful, so shiny and soft… FUCK SAKE, ANGIE, STOP IT!

I shift from left to right, from one foot to the other, trying to understand what the fuck’s happening on stage, and I spot a familiar figure: what I think is my dad, on the side of the stage, taking pictures. If I know him well, he must be at his second roll of film by now.

“Wanna go a little forward?” Eddie asks into my ear at the beginning of the third song. I bet he’s suffering here in the back, we’re honestly pretty far.

“I don’t really feel like going to the front, but you can go!” I shout back and as I do, getting close to his ear, his curls brush my cheek and it doesn’t help at all for my situation. Why the fuck must everything be so amplified? Do I really have to notice every little thing? And does every little thing necessarily have to affect me this way?

“I won’t take you to the front, just a little closer to the center”

“I don’t know…”

“Here, follow me.” he delicately takes my arm, that remains limp and falls back down as soon as he lets it go “Come on…” he holds my hand, smiles and here they are, those fucking dimples. He points at them himself after a while and if I had any doubts about him doing it on purpose well now I don’t anymore.

“I hate you”

“I don’t believe you” Eddie tries to drag me forward and this time I follow him, not without any difficulties, because I get pushed around each second and our joined hands are pulled apart by people jumping or moshing. After we lose touch because of the umpteenth group of guys running like crazy towards the middle of the room, Eddie stops and walks back to me, but it doesn’t take my hand this time.

“I think it’s better this way” Eddie is behind my back, he takes me by the wrists and folds my arms across my chest, doing the same with his over mine. He basically embraces me, creating some sort of protecting shield around me, and starts walking with me, making his way through the crowd. Moving now actually turns out to be easier and faster and less shaky. The fact it also feels nice to be held tight by such strong arms is obviously secondary.

“Is it ok here?” he asks once we get to a pretty quiet zone, on the left looking at the stage, from which I can even see something without standing on tiptoes or straining my neck.

“Yes, it’s perfect.” I reply turning my head to one side, but without turning to look at him completely, also and most of all because I don’t want him to see how much I’m blushing right now “Doesn’t this count as weird hug?” I add as a joke to relieve tension, mine of course.

“Oops, sorry!” Eddie lets me go and I almost feel like falling, as if I suddenly forgot how to stand on my feet.

“It was a functional weird hug”

“Yes and it worked”

“Exactly” I go on, every time turning just a little bit towards Eddie but without really seeing him or letting him see me.

The set goes on and Eddie’s behind my back the whole time, resting his hands on my shoulders from time to time. And for me prana, ki, meridians and chakra were, are and always will be nothing but a bit pile of shit, but the heat Eddie’s hands radiate is real, it goes through my spine, travels down across my legs down to my feet, then goes back up to my head, giving me really annoying goosebumps. Apart from that, my dad even managed to spot us in the crows and take a couple of pictures, all with a smart-ass smile on his face. Did Eddie notice?

“Anyway, I really like being with you” he says during a break between songs.

“At concerts for sure, I don’t block your view”

“Haha shut up!” he says grabbing my shoulders once again.

“And I’m comfortable to lean on when you’re tired” this time I turn around a little more, making eye contact with him, and at the same time pat him on his hand, which he immediately takes away.

“I’m sorry… see, I’ve been really all over you recently… I mean, literally”

“I can also be a small ladder when needed”

“Anyway… what I wanted to say before is that I’m not just at ease with you”

Ok, now comes the moment he tells me I’m such a good friend, that he’s comfortable talking to me, because I can listen and it comes natural to him to open up, that he feels better after we talk, that he feels understood and not judged, etc.

“Mm mh?”

“With you I…” Eddie stops because the band starts playing again, but then goes on, speaking at a little louder volume. Do we need to discuss this right now? Sure, he probably thinks it’s better to talk about something like this with the diversion of the concert, as if it was just chit chat between friends at a show, rather than sitting around the table and talk about the matter like it was some big deal. “ With you, I feel like home. And it’s not something to take for granted, because I’ve never felt completely at home, not even at my place. I don’t know if you understand…”

“Yes! More or less…” I go back to my previous pattern, quick answers and turning my head just a little, keeping my eyes on the stage.

“It’s like with certain songs, I don’t know if it’s like this for you too. Those songs you turn to whenever you need to feel safe, cuddled, soothed, backed up, understood. Like, I don’t know, Bruce Springsteen”

“So… I’m Bruce Springsteen?” I ask after being silent for while, not because he shocked me, but mostly because I liked the idea of putting a dramatic pause right there, I think it sounded good.

“Hahaha in a certain sense, yeah. I don’t know if it works the same for you with music”

“Yeah, but not with his music”

“You don’t like Bruce Springsteen?” Eddie grabs me from the shoulders more tightly than he did before and turns me around 180 degrees until I’m facing his inquisitive eyes.

“Sure I like him, of course I do, he’s the Boss, but…”

“But?”

“But I think I can’t appreciate him fully yet, I think it’s too soon”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a long talk and it’s also not easy to do it in the middle of a concert” I half yell, still with my back at the stage.

“I have a good hearing”

“Ok, well… I believe there are artists you can’t fully comprehend if you don’t have enough experience, if you haven’t lived enough”

“So I appreciate him 'cause I’m old?”

“Hahaha no! Well, yeah, but not exactly. It’s multilevel”

“It’s… what?”

“Oh let me think about it… it’s like… it’s like The Simpson’s”

“The Simpson’s?”

“The animated series on Fox”

“I know what The Simpson’s are, but… what’s the point?”

“The point is it’s great, a masterpiece, one of the few good things worth watching on tv. And literally anyone can watch an episode and appreciate it because it’s multilevel”

“That is…?”

“That is it has more levels of understanding. There’s the main story, then humor, then different parallel comedy stints and a list of quotes and references, more or less famous, more or less hidden. A few weeks ago I saw this episode where Mr Burns was running for governor and there was this scene which basically was identical to the speech scene in Citizen Kane, and of course you must have seen the movie to get the reference and if you get the reference the suggestion works. But what if I hadn’t seen that movie? Would that have prevented me from understanding the scene on the whole? Not at all, I’d have understand what was literally happening, I’d have got the literal meaning, but I’d have missed so much, I wouldn’t have enjoyed all of it. And that’s how it is for me with Springsteen, I feel I’m missing something, that there’s some emotional reference I can’t get yet and that prevents me from appreciating him completely. It’s the same with Bob Dylan, I lack some levels”

“YOU DON’T LIKE DYLAN?!” Eddie’s literally screaming now.

“Dylan is huge, but I think I’ll appreciate him more in a few years. And between you and me, I can’t wait” I state right when the song ends, then I turn around towards the stage and clap and cheer at the band.

“What you say is right, but isn’t that the case with any artist and any work of art?”

“Yeah, but it’s stronger for some. Some artists just bring the baggage of a whole iconography with them, they always carry that burden on their shoulders, and Springsteen and Dylan aren’t just themselves: they’re themselves plus what they represent, they’re lifestyles, they’re whole lives, and it takes time to take a life and make it completely yours”

“See, it’s things like this too. This kind of conversation. The fact we talk about these things, it’s just… I love all this”

“Screamed conversations throughout concerts?”

“Yeah. And tell me one band or artist that’s home to you” Eddie insists, still talking into my ear behind my back.

“The Cure. And The Smiths” I answer without hesitation.

“I’m pretty sure Robert Smith and Morrisey can’t stand each other”

“Nobody can’t stand Morrissey. Even Morrissey can’t stand Morrissey”

“And you don’t need more life experience to understand them, right?”

“Nah, their music floats around in the limbo of pure eternal teenage, it’s the beginning of life. No, it’s the wait, the wait for your life life, waiting for it to finally start, for real”

“Ok… so The Cure and The Smiths”

“If you add Patti Smith you’ve just verbalized my personal Holy Trinity”

“Robert Smith, Patti Smith, The Smiths… there’s a whole lot of Smith in your triad”

“If I ever hit my head, go into a coma, wake up and decide I want a child, I’ll call him Smith or Smitty”

“Or you should just get married with someone whose surname is Smith”

“Yeah, that’s just what I need, more selection criteria to make things more difficult for me in social interaction and life”

“I like you, Angie”

“I like you too” I distractedly answer, trying to understand what the singer from Inspector said that was so funny to make the crowd suddenly laugh.

“YOU ARE MY CURE” Eddie unexpectedly yells into my year as soon as the band starts to play again. I roll my eyes. You just need to find yourself a girlfriend.

“Nah, you should see a therapist for that, a good one”

The show ends soon after that and one by one we get together again around a table, in a kind of isolated corner of the club.

“Not bad, I had fun” dad states as he comes back from the bar, unsteadily balancing a number of beers between his hands, I can’t count from here, maybe three or four.

“How many rolls of film have you used?” I ask, folding my arms on the table.

“Just a couple, I didn’t want to exaggerate. Anyway, did you see the bass player?”

“Ehm yeah, I think I saw him a couple of times behind the sea of heads in front of me, why?”

“Don’t you think he sort of looked like Sean?”

“Sean?” Thayil asks brushing his beard, after drinking some of the beer my dad handed to him before.

“One of her friends in Boise, he’s in Florida now”

“Who? Your ex?” Jeff asks and he’s sitting right in front of me and his long legs allow me to kick him easily under the table. He then tries to make up for that “Your ex friend?”

“Ex friend? Did you fight?” dad promptly asks as he immediately smells bullshit. Not that it was hard to notice…

“No, not at all”

“So why ex… friend?” I hate his fucking dramatic pauses.

“I meant that he’s a friend of hers, an old one, from her old town, her old life. We’re the new friend, the ones in office…”

“Mmm ok” Ray nods after a while, pretending to believe him. Of course, I’ve never told my parents anything about the mini break in which Sean and I briefly crossed the line of plain friendship, although they’ve always joked about that, as if they always knew. And if there still was a little doubt, Jeff dispelled it with a single move.

“Forgive him, Ray. You must understand he comes from Montana, he express himself in an rudimental way”

“Fuck you, Stone”

“On the other hand, you don’t look like someone who’s got problems in expressing himself through words, right Stone?”

“Oh no, he expresses himself very good, even too good” Cornell laughs.

“Say he expresses himself too much, period” Ament points out and the guitarists flips him the bird.

“I bet you write the lyrics” my dad tries to guess.

“No, he expresses himself enough in everyday life”

“Eddie writes the lyrics” I reply, blocking the umpteenth beginning of quarrel between Jeff and Stone.

“Someone who doesn’t express himself in everyday life as much as he should” Stone remarks, elbowing the singer.

“Mmm I don’t think so, from what I saw he can express his feelings very well when needed, can’t you Eddie?” Ray pats Vedder on the shoulder a couple of times and he just nods shyly.

“Hey, wait a minute. Did you realise that Stone, who basically never keeps his mouth shut, is the one who writes the music, while Eddie, who’s quieter, writes… the words?” Mike shushes us quickly to communicate his incredible discovery to us.

“Really?! You don’t say? That’s unbelievable, that’s probably why we said the same fucking shit just one minute ago!” Jeff remarks amused.

“Oh really?” Mike seems confused, but not as confused as he is after being poured a whole glass of what looks and smells like gin lemon over his head by the angry girl standing right behind his back.

#pearl jam fanfiction #grunge fanfiction #pearl jam #eddie vedder #jeff ament #stone gossard #chris cornell #kim thayil #mike mccready #dave krusen #matt cameron #chapters

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thiscatsbell · 7 years ago

Text

"The Girl with the gaslight"

I'm 15 when I see Viv for the first time.

I'm at wrestling practice, warming up for a long day of drilling in two pairs of sweats so that I can make weight tomorrow. In my mind I'm imagining myself as something else: a cartoon rabbit. Most days at practice I imagine I'm something else. Somewhere else. Anywhere and anybody but a corn-fed teenage boy trying to make weight for a saturday meet. Most days I can lift off from my body during practice and enter into a dreamworld so vivid that it feels real.

"I am a bunny rabbit," I think to myself. I try to imagine the ears, the feeling of my tail against the mat each time my wrestling partner takes me down.

"That's bullshit," Viv says, tugging at my waistband.

She's a lithe girl: 14, maybe 17 at the most. Dresses in black skater-punk wear. Jet-black, flatironed hair. Wallet on a chain. I'm sweating and desperate to get back to my bunny rabbit fantasy but she follows me, hangdog and bored, both hands locked into my waistband.

"Why do you bother?" she asks.

My teammate works through a new takedown. Stand up. Let the guy hurl me to the floor. Stand up again.

"You don't want to be here anyway."

She paces around the circle as I get tossed over and over again.

"You don't even like this sport."

She's right. I only got into wrestling because the bullies did it. I got better than them. The bullying stopped. Survival has a weird way of motivating you when you're 15 and feel like an alien in your own body. Familiar, too. Befriend your bullies and you won't be bullied. Get stronger than your bullies, and never be bullied again.

But Viv? Viv is something new. She slithers around the mat, stalking me. "It's not like you can escape this anyway. This is who you are: going through the motions because it makes people like you as a person. That's all this is to you, innit? A ticket to punch for a few moments of admiration?"

A break. The coaches are talking. I close my eyes. Breathe. I wish I were a bunny rabbit.

I feel Viv lean on my shoulder, her breath hot on my neck. Her lips touch my ear.

"You don't really want that. You just want to be gone.

"You should just end it."

I write my first suicide note that week. As a kid with an active imagination I kept a piece of computer paper folded up in my pocket at all times. I'd jot down notes there, and when the paper filled up it'd join a heap of other papers on my desk, mostly to be forgotten. But that day, Viv followed me home from practice. Whispering. Always whispering.

"You hate yourself."

"I hate myself."

"You wish everything would stop."

"I wish everything would stop."

"You don't matter anyway," she added with a thin smile. "You never mattered because you can't get anything right. Not like it's going to get better anyway. This is what life is for you."

"This is life for me."

"Good boy," Viv says, patting me on the head. I feel empty but calm. Clairvoyant, even, in the knowledge that this didn't matter.

I discover two things that week.

One: my stepmom snoops around my room. The note sat on top of the pile. She tells my father, and they sit me down for a talk. I don't tell them much. Anything I say can and will be used against me in some later argument. This is the nature of things. They get a friend of the family to give me samples for Zoloft. We don't talk about it again.

Two: Viv is right. I can't even write down my own thoughts without fucking it up.

I learned how to fight Viv by screwing up the house rules.

Chores, for me, means three things: laundry, cleaning the room, and dishes. Unless someone forgot to take out the dog. Then that's my chore as well. Unless I missed a spot on the glass. Then it's like I didn't do the dishes at all. I cannot do these chores right.

A child is not allowed to be loud when a parent has a migraine. An itemized list of any perceived slight performed by me during this time will be presented to Dad to deal with later.

A child is not to be too quiet. The family will remember every time the kid chooses to spend time by themselves. This information can and will be used against them at any time, during any argument, no matter the context.

Everything I say is wrong. Even when it is right, or sourced, or just a benign opinion, it is wrong. The family will find ways to get me to say wrong things so that they can be dragged out in the open and mocked properly. Failure to comply will trigger the not-too-quiet rule above.

To be not wrong requires fighting. Not with debate or discussion. Raised voices, at first; and fists if all else fails. I choose to learn to be okay with being wrong.

Write everything down. If it isn't written down I don't remember it right. When I want something the family doesn't, and people start raising their voices, I'm wrong. At first it takes time to convince me that I'm wrong. But in time I learn not to trust what's in my head.

I try to follow my notes to the letter. "No spots on the glasses." "Laundry folded and put away." "Dog must be taken out at least once a night." "Do towels if there are less than 4 in the closet."

Family ridicules me for writing it down. "You can't remember to do your chores? How dumb do you have to be?" But even if something in the notes turns out to be wrong I know that I wrote them down. I know they existed. Sometimes the notes I wrote are wrong even if I remember writing them down, and I remember every word. I just didn't hear things right. That's all.

Anger is not right. Anger makes the family angrier, and when the family is angrier my memory is even less right than it usually is. Better to be an empty vessel. Don't ask for things; ask what the family would prefer I do. I don't trust my memory and my wants. My memory is almost always wrong when challenged.

I can only be right if I am successful in a way that invites praise from people in town. Every tournament won in wrestling is a night where I get to be right. Sometimes, if the parents are feeling generous, an A will earn me a few hours of being right.

By the time Viv comes around I already know how to argue. She speaks. I listen. Even if I don't think she's right, she's probably right. My mind just gets things turned around; that's all.

I am sixteen and printing off a binder of theology research. There is no school project behind this. My wrestling teammates found out I didn't believe in god when we went to a summer training camp. They kept me up for 2 nights trying to convert me, stopping only after I got the teacher involved.

Standing my ground felt right. I remember that clearly. Laughing as they started taking shifts telling me about the good news. Trying to sleep as they kept mumbling on about why I should accept Jesus into my heart. I felt... clear, really, in a way I hadn't before. No matter what my friends tried to say it was at least consistent. I could rely on their candor. Peg talking points against their passion.

When the town got word the house had a new rule: "You have to think about being Christian." At school: kids in school handing me tracts and bibles. Teachers hinting about what they know. Parents and volunteers mentioning churches.

And here I am, scouring the internet to build a bibliography of articles for and against being a Christian. It was either this or talk it out with the parents. At least when it's written down I can feel like I got it right, even when I'm later conviced it's wrong.

Viv sits on the washing machine behind the family computer, arms crossed, her lips pouty. Bored. She swings her legs to kick the back of my chair and knocks her heels against the machine. Thunk-thunk, thud-thud, thunk-thunk, groan."

"Don't you get it? There are rules to being liked. You just can't seem to learn them."

I click through yet another Baptist website. Print. Skim. Highlight sentences. In the margin: "Obedience is how we show love to God." I'm good at obedience.

Why am I not good at being right?

I leaned back from the printed pages so that my head can rest in her lap. "Am I just this stupid, Viv? Everyone else seems to get along fine. I'm the only one fucking this up."

"Possibly. Nothing else has worked so far, right? And you're right. Sis seems to have found an equilibrium. The stepbrothers just do as they please. But you?"

She chuckled and cupped my chin in both her hands.

"You're too stupid to even do belief right."

"I know."

"Have you even won an argument before?"

I thought about it. "If it's about things, sure. I'm good at things. People, though."

"Exactly." She looked up to the lights. Tilted her head. I closed my eyes and relaxed into her lap, the softness of her hands, the warmth of her body.

"You're never going to be worthy of their love."

"House rule?"

She stroked my cheek. "House rule."

One more rule: my computer is my citadel. It is a piece of junk cobbled together with duct tape and spare parts. I am not followed there. Files are encrypted, password protected. I learn to code and work on little computer projects to give me an excuse to avoid family time.

Inside the computer there are other voices just like Viv. They're all bunny rabbits and cats and foxes, and all of them say that they're real too. I talk to them, sometimes, about how I don't understand why I'm so wrong all the time.

Later, when I'm not living at home, I'll even meet some of the people behind foxes and bunnies and cats and such. Some will even become my family. Viv hates them for that, but she tolerates it for the attention. The validation. It's nice to be the sad one sometimes.

But here and now, I worry them. I'm not sure how to process that emotion. Worry? Why worry? It's not like I'm going to embarrass them. Most don't even know my real name.

Viv scoffs when I talk about the other voices.

"If they knew you they wouldn't feel so sorry. The truth would come out. You know how this goes. Poor, sad little Cinderella story online crumbles when given context. They'd find out how many house rules you broke, how you missed spots on the dishes, how you forget to finish your laundry. Then they'd think better of it.

"You're just bad at being a person. That's how it's always been."

Once I was on the zoloft folks thought I had my head back on straight. That's not true. Viv taught me better.

The pills were never about making me feel better. They were about the perception of feeling better. Nobody really gave a shit if I was sad or happy so long as I could put on the act. Viv loved this. I loved it too: there's something just decadent about walking through life with a smile on your face with "I should kill myself" as a mantra.

Knowing you are useless dead weight liberates you from any entitlement to feelings or needs. Favorite food? "Whatever you want to order." What do you want to do? "I don't have any preference." What do you think? "Not really important."

Life's a lot easier when you take the damn pills and let Viv do the talking.

I am 17 and driving out of town. Viv is in the passenger seat. I work a lot of hours at a diner downdown; more time I spend there, less time I spend at home. The windows are down and I'm singing along with the radio. For a moment, I'm happy.

"Next car," Viv says. She's in the passenger seat sulking. Today she's wearing a rubber dress and drenched in chain-link necklaces. As cars zing past she nods at each one and leans in. "There. There. There. Next one—there."

Her hands are on the wheel, pushing me left. I countersteer. Left. Right. Left. Right.

She's right, I guess. Next car. It has to be the next car.

"Why?"

"Why ask?" Viv says with a smile. "You'll just get it wrong anyway."

I am 20 and laying on the grass in a small-town Indiana Park. On my left, my girlfriend. ON my right, Viv. I'm staring at blades of grass and trying to find the words.

For the past month I've spent the weekends in another town so that I can dress up in girl's clothing. I got ma'amed for the first time this past weekend and it left me feeling strange. It felt... right, somehow, even though I knew that had to be wrong. When I tried to talk about it my words twisted in my mouth, made my heart seize up in my chest.

We're laying in the park. I feel trapped. When this happened in the past I deferred to somebody else. Can't trust my own brain, after all. Better that someone else makes the call. But here, laying on the grassy ground and rubbing my temples, I couldn't ask.

Viv leans into my ear. "Keep it zipped."

My girlfriend rubs my back. "You seem to have a lot of fun dressing up."

"Yeah," I say.

"She's not your friend."

"Is it more than that?"

"I don't know."

Playground swings creak. Kids laugh. I star deeper into the blades of grass. Maybe I can hide here. Just stall her out, you know? It's only a matter of time before someone proves my brain wrong anyway. Why say anything if it's not going to mean anything?

"Do you want to be a girl?"

"Keep your mouth shut," Viv says. Her arm locks into mine and tugs, hard. "She's not going to help you. Nobody is going to help you. You're just a freak. You know this. Second it gets out, everyone will turn on you. Just keep your mouth--"

"I think so," I say. A weight lifts from my chest. For a brief moment the world seems brighter. Manageable. I breathe - really, truly breathe; a breath that goes all the way down to my toes - and let it out in a long sigh. Muscles unknot. Of course I think so. I've always thought so. Even if my brain is wrong it knows what it wants to be.

Viv screams. Then she reaches under one arm, grips my jaw, and works me like a puppet.

"But maybe I'm okay with being in the middle. I mean, I'd make a terrible girl, right? What do you think? It's just a stupid idea."

Then Viv holds my lips shut until, exasperated, the girlfriend gets up and leaves. "Close call," Viv says, wagging her finger in my face.

It seems silly now but Viv helped me make sense of everything. When my brain says one thing and the people around me say another I get confused. And when I can't win arguments I look to her to make both ends meet. Here's what comes out:

Alex is a broken person who is incapable of doing anything right. She is either too emotional or too rational, depending on the day, and too sensitive when people tease her. Sometimes she even cries when someone points out missed spots on dishes - I mean, how fragile do you have to be to do that? Any time she stands up for herself it's for the dumbest reasons. Some mean joke sets her off, or she's writing a story where her family isn't 100% supportive of what she does, or she makes a choice that the family despises and still expects respect and dignity. Given time and ridicule she'll roll over, though, and everything will turn out all right.

In short: things would be better for everyone if she just kept her damn mouth shut.

I am 22 and everything is wrong. My girlfriend is driving us to a home she just purchased. I'm still a guy even though it's been two years since I admitted the truth. I didn't want to buy the place. My brain screamed that it didn't want the place. But I didn't say no. I protested, sure, but that was just my brain being wrong. When she pushed back I just let it happen.

Viv is in the backseat of the car. She's kicking at my seat: first with little nudges, and then with giant kicks from steel-toed boots. She's rocking a lacy white dress that'd grown musty and dingy from being left in storage for too long.

"This is what you deserve," she says. Kick. Kick kick. "You hear me?"

I don't have the strength to reply. I want to say something. Anything. I want to open the car door and tumble out onto the road. Maybe I'll die. Maybe I'll just be really injured. Picture it: door opens, I dive. The skin on my shoulder melts as it rubs pavement at seventy miles an hour. I'm smiling. Laughing, even! The pain gives way to a dull pleasure. Closure. No more house! No more relationship! No more feeling like an alien in my own body!

You can't fire me, world! I quit!

The kicking stops. "That's more like it," Viv says. I look into the rear view mirror. Our eyes meet. There's a wicked grin on her face. Her hands grip my seat and begin to shake it. She laughs. Cackles.

"Come on, Alex! Shit's not gonna get better any time soon! It's now or never! Once you get to that house it's over!"

My fingers slide into the door handle. The energy of madness courses through my veins. After years of sleep I'm finally awake! The blood in my veins! Stale air in my lungs! It all begins here, right here, on the side of I-70. Pop the seatbelt! Lean out! Throw open the door!

"She's just going to tie you down, Alex. Ten years from now you're going to be a husk in middle-of-nowhere Indiana with a stupid-long commute, yelled at whenever she feels sad, taken for granted, ignored when you dare speak up about how you feel.

"Stop being a pussy about this and open the damn door. It's the only way out."

But I hesitate. Viv groans. She grabs for the seatbelt and starts wrapping it around my neck. Once. Twice.

"I'll do it myself."

The belt tightens. It takes my girlfriend a few seconds to realize what I'm doing. She swerves toward the shoulder. Unbuckled the belt. Screams at me until I realize my brain was wrong.

The world snaps back to reality and I'm looking at myself in the side mirror, fresh friction burns on my neck, trying to piece together what just happened. I tell her about the door. About wanting to die.

"We can talk after you paint the house," she says, and puts the car back on the highway. As she gets up to speed I hear the car door locks engage.

When I look to the back seat Viv is just laughing. Why wouldn't she? I can't even kill myself right.

Viv started using pain at a bowling alley in Virginia. I must have been 12 or 13. The family is still mostly whole. I can't get anything right: the extended family in Virginia thinks I'm awkward, the family isn't sure if they can poke fun or take me seriously. In a few months Viv will help me write my first of many suicide notes.

It's not the family's fault, to a point. I just can't figure out how to make them happy. Everyone else seems to get it but the second I open my mouth it's shut down. My feelings get corrected. My conversation doesn't connect - it's met with jeers and jokes. But Viv, Viv listens.

The alley is blacklit. A rock band plays in the center of the alley. I'm... tired. I definitely remember being tired. Anxious, too, but the me at the alley doesn't know how to word that yet. That's present-me, realizing how panicky and anxious I was as a kid. Second-guessing every little thing I did had a knock-on effect for my stress levels.

Somewhere between awake and asleep Viv sidles up onto the bench facing me. She's older here - college kid, probably - wearing a bowling shirt and platform boots and studded leather bracelets. When it's my turn to bowl she slaps me on the face, hard, and points to the lane.

"Seriously, you're worthless as shit. Did you really just get in front of everyone and tell the duck food joke? The family warned you how bad it'd be. You did it anyway."

Stand up. Bowl. Sit down. Drift. Viv starts yelling, arms flailing, eyes stern.

"They're just trying to protect you. They know you better than anybody. Why can't you just get it? That's all they ever want from you. Stop being awkward and get with the program, dope."

It's my turn again. Bowl. Catch some flak for telling terrible jokes. I'm tired. Low. I want to talk about it with somebody but every time I bring this up I'm too sensitive. Boys don't cry, and all that shit. Better that I suffer and silence and figure out how to handle my shit than risk being called out on the carpet as the sensitive boy again.

I cock my arm back and slap myself in the face, hard. The haze lifts for a moment.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

I smile. Another slap. Yes. Good is the word for this. I deserve this pain. I'm the one who can't get shit handled. I'm the sensitive boy who can't get anything. If nobody else is going to beat this out of me it's on me to fix. So I go to town - slap, slap, slap, laugh, slap slap. Viv joins in too, praising me for the harder shots, laughing with me through the pain.

"That's more like it. This is what you deserve, Alex. Pain and misery, pain and misery. Doesn't it feel good?"

When we leave the alley my face is red and welted. I chalk Viv up to a dream from being too tired, too stressed.

Nobody notices when Viv steps in. I'd hit myself, Wrestle on a busted back until I couldn't walk, belittle myself when I made the tiniest mistake. If someone so much as whispered a note of criticism or anger my way I'd take it to heart, rolling over immediately and giving them whatever they wanted. But nobody gave a shit. It was heroic, or perfectionist, or just Alex being Alex.

It's only when I try killing myself that people listen. When I talk about suicide I'm paraded around all the friends of the family. Look at all the good parenting we do, everybody! Our darling son is sad and we're taking care of him! See all these pills we're giving him! See how we reach out to everyone and tell them how sad he is? Aren't we just grand?

And in a week we're back at square one: I hate my guts, and only Viv takes the time to notice. Sure, she may hate my guts. She certainly didn't help. But Viv listens. Viv makes me feel like I can control something even if my brain is always wrong.

I am not in control and Viv keeps me from feeling sad about it.

Want to know my secret? I always want to kill myself. There is no secret sauce, no triggering event. Every single day of my life Viv comes to visit and suggests I kill myself. It's goddamn clockwork.

I am 32 and in the bathroom of my cushy tech job. My wife and I just shared breakfast and coffee in the spacious kitchen of our new condo. But Viv show up in the stall with me, all of five years old, and pokes at my belly.

"You're never going to be a pretty girl. You should kill yourself."

"You should have talked to this business user sooner. You should kill yourself."

It's not about telling Viv to take a hike. She'll never listen. Surviving her is about learning to not listen.

Two days after I tried to kill myself with a seatbelt I'm painting the house I hate. The girlfriend is... somewhere else. I can't remember where. I'm unemployed and one month away from starting transition; things got a bit hazy in the transfer. But I remember painting this living room in a sea foam green color that I just despise, focusing on breathing. Breathing is hard.

A week ago I went out as a girl for the first time in a long time. It felt... it felt real in a way that life hadn't felt in a long time. I felt like Cinderella at the ball; lost in the ecstasy of a body that matched what was going on in my mind. I danced with strangers. Laughed. Admired my image in the mirror.

And here I am, back in guy clothes, back in my straight relationship in a house I didn't want with a woman I knew was bad for me.

Around this time of my life I'm having a panic attack per day. The girlfriend is demanding I find a new job. Mortgage isn't going to pay itself. I can feel the walls closing in around me. This is my future. This house, this relationship, this body -- they are my prison bars, my bare bed, my metal toilet with lukewarm tap water.

(Viv gets a kick out of this, by the way. She's walking around the living room I'm painting and painting a mental image. "You'll have your first kid here. And - oh! - you'll probably spend a lot of time on this couch soothing her when she has a breakdown!" Just walking through the house, pointing out every ding and every dent in a house you didn't want in the first place.)

When the girlfriend comes home I'm in a full-on panic attack. She starts up about the job, I think. Talks about mortgage payments. I excuse myself to the basement. She doesn't follow.

I tried to kill myself two days ago. She does not follow.

My heart is on fire. The basement is cold and dead. I laid my head on unfinished concrete and try to breathe. It catches in my throat. I want to run. Scream. Drive away, something.

Viv sits at my side. She puts a hand on my chest. The other hand plays with a box cutter. "Your prison," she says, flipping the cutter around the first kunckle of her middle finger. "Just like I promised. Just like you deserve."

I want to run. Blood runs hot in my veins. I stand up. Pace. Do pushups until the sweat runs freely down my chin. If I'm exhausted I can't run. If I can't run I can go back to understanding that what's in my head is wrong, and what the girlfriend is saying is right. Of course I need to find a job. Of course I need to relax. Of course she's looking out for my own good.

Viv hands me the box cutter.

"You're never going to get the chance to be a girl," she says. Her fingers encircle mine and she runs the cutter over my arm, tracing the pulsing veins with a gentle caress. "You think she's just going to be okay with all this? Hardly. You didn't speak up in time, Alex. Just like always. And now your future wife just up and bought a freaking house! You can't leave now. She needs your help.

"She'll always need your help."

"Yeah."

"You know I'm right."

"I guess."

"But you know," she says, pushing the knife harder against my skin. "You could go out with one hell of a bang. That'd show her! Close the books, kid. Once and for all show her you're the fucking boss of your own life. One good cut and it'll be over."

"Yeah." I relax. She's right: it's just a little knick. There was a drain in the concrete below my wrist; if I amed it right the blood would drain right in. No mess. No muss. No fuss.

My family would throw a great funeral. Maybe they'd say nice things about me. Friends walking past the casket, sobbing. The girlfriend, stuck with the house, struggling. Yeah. That'd fucking show her. My brain may be wrong but my body has power. Weight, even, once the life was gone.

Besides, I didn't want this male body.

I pushed a bit harder. Scratches started to show on the skin. Pearls of blood poked up where the knife had started to pierce skin.

This male body.

"I have to try," I said. I think I cried. Fuck, the whole thing's a haze now. I floated above my own body. Fingers wrapped around the blade. Viv stroking my hair, cooing sweet nothings in my ear. I'm wearing a sweat-stained shirt from the all-male college I attended. I'm pale and a little jaundiced from drinking myself to sleep for the past week. I'm thirty seconds and one flick of the wrist away from watching my blood drain into a hole in the middle of fuck-all Indiana, alone, throwing up the biggest middle finger I can think of to a world where I could never, ever be right in the eyes of others.

And then I stop.

"I have to try," I say again. It's louder this time. "It's either try, or die right here, right now."

Viv does a double take. "I'm sorry. For a second there I think you said you wanted to live."

I pull myself to a sitting position and face her. This is... well, it's new, for sure. Usually Viv just has her way with me. Snippy comments in one ear, demands in the other. And usually I know better than to trust what's going on in my mind when it's not in line with what Viv says. But in that basement, sopping up bits of blood with the tail of my t-shirt? I felt defeated. Completely, totally defeated. Viv won; I was a horrific piece of shit, beyond redemption, a life form whose blood should have been in that drain a long time ago.

I don't know. Maybe knowing I was ready to lose everything made me ready to win something.

"I could try hormones," I said with a weak smile. "You know, see if I can chase that dragon I found when we went dancing."

"That dragon is fucking gone, man. You're the one who walked into the house with eyes open. You're the one who got your ass fired from that school."

"And if nothing comes of it, I come back down here and kill myself. Not like there's a time limit on this, right? I'll go try the hormones and if--"

"--when--"

"--if/when they fail I end it then. No harm, no foul."

Vis stood and crossed her arms. She started to yell. "There's going to be a ton of harm! Imagine when you go home and start telling people you're a girl. How's that going to work out for you, sweetcheeks? Trying to trust your brain like you know anything. Fuck. Just... take the cutter. Two minutes, tops, and then we're done."

I stand. Look her in the eyes. She's crying; big, wet tears that traced the contour of her scowl. To her credit she only stood in the doorway long enough to say she put up a fight; when I nudged her she stepped aside.

"I think you just need to settle in to the new place," the girlfriend says. It's been a week since the box cutter and the basement. My therapist just cleared me for hormones. In a week my life is going to run on the rocket fuel that is a body that matches what my mind expects.

"I mean, it's not a good idea. We just bought a house together! How are you going to get a job? Can't you just, well, think about it some more?"

"I've thought about it for years," I snap back. This isn't like me. When someone says my mind is wrong they are almost always right. But here I am, ramping up into the full-on shouting match I'll ever have, and my mind insists that it's right. I'm not a man. And it's time to either accept this fact or let the blood run down the drain.

"I have to try," I say by way of apology. She scowls. This is one of our last conversations.

Two weeks later I'm taking my first shot of estrogen. To the outside world this is a snap decision: a fit of pique in which I took on the next fun minority identity.

But I'll tell you this: Viv didn't talk to me for a whole month after the first shot. Even as my relationship fell apart, even as I watched my family implode, even as the remaining vestiges of a stable life caught fire and fucking burned to ash, Viv kept her distance.

I'm 24 and the bottom has fallen out of my life. I'm out. Trans, visibly and unmistakeably so. Genie's out of the bottle. Layoffs are starting to ripple through my workplace. In a month I'll have a layoff notice of my own and be one paycheck away from losing the apartment. It's late. Christmastime. My friends are all with their families. I'm eating box mac and cheese and chasing it with terrible vodka.

Viv sits on my computer desk, her legs dangling over the side. She's fifteen again: goth makeup, short pants, flannel. She's tapping her fingers on the lip of the desk and looking around the room, impatient. I'm writing - one of the novels I started around transition-time that crashed and burned with the stress of blowing up my personal life - and my only roommate is none too happy.

"I told you this was going to happen," she says. "The second you revealed to the world just what a freak you are, that you hid it from everyone instead of giving them a chance to prove you wrong? That's when this went to shit.

"You deserve all of this."

"I did talk to my friends before I talked to the family," I say. Not to Viv, per se. I'm talking to myself, my journal, the family holiday pictures Facebook wants me to remember. We are happy in the pictures. Smiles and arms around shoulders, bright faces, huge spreads with baked macaroni and cheese that I never bothered to learn to make.

Yesterday, with my dad and his family, I got handshakes and hesitant hugs.

"I lied to them," I say.

"You most certainly did."

"I tried so hard to keep it down. I lost. Now I'm a freak and a liar."

So many chances to be open and honest, wasted. Now I had a group that took my needs at face value. A group that believed in me. They didn't know the real me. They couldn't have. The family - they knew me better. Family saw me with the warts and everything. The happiest highs, the saddest lows. They knew how fucked up I was deep down.

Maybe they'd have sent me to a camp. Maybe they'd yell. It always made sense when they yelled.

Viv slides off the desk and skips across the empty living room. She dives into the bathroom. I hear rattling in the medicine cabinet. Then: two skips to the tiny kitchen, rustling in the drawer.

She returns to the desk with a dull knife and blood thinners. "Maybe you should try to kill yourself again. Make an effort this time - land in the hospital. They listen when you do that."

I wince. When I moved into this apartment I'd taken great pains to remove every blade from the home. (What can I say? Viv can't persuade if she doesn't have tools.) But here, eating mac and cheese and drinking bottom shelf vodka on Christmas day? Viv got desperate.

"Come on, baby. One more spin. I'll get the tub running. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two. Then it'll be over. I promise."

I'm 24 and hiding in my apartment. Outside, my ex is banging on the door. Screaming "I just want to talk." Viv reaches for the handle.

But I know what happens next. I let her in. The limited self-confidence I had built in the past month would fall apart. She'd take one look at the place, insist I come stay the night, and start whispering sweet nothings. With time I'd learn that my mind was wrong; she was right. The house wasn't so bad. Being a guy wasn't so bad. Not great, but I could survive if I stopped trying to make sense of what's in my head and just let other people tell me what to do.

I could have broken it to her better. I could have taken her with me to talk to the therapist. Could have brought her along for my first shot. Could have... could have talked more instead of burying everything deep.

I let her bang and bang. The phone rings. I ignore it. When she leaves I have a big, long cry.

Viv fetches the knife.

I'm 25 and on a chatroom with a man I consider to be like a second father. He's a novelist and an autoworker in the midwest who has mentored me since I was a teen. When times were tight in college he sent checks that he insisted I spend on nice things for myself. I'm laying on a mattress without a frame and typing to him on a netbook I picked up with my limited income as a helpdesk tech. I tell him how happy I am now, despite Viv's insistence on keeping the knife close by.

I have a new roommate. She moved across the country to help me move forward with my transition. In hindsight this is bonkers; in the moment it is sane.

But this man - a guy who has seen me grow up for years from the outside; a guy who has read everything I've written since I was fifteen, where all my deepest insecurities and fears were given form - he's trying to talk me out of taking my next shot.

To him, the girl-thing is just another persona to hide in. He's not alone. Everyone in my family who is willing to talk to me is bringing it up. "Maybe you're better off gay." "Maybe this is just a phase." "Maybe you aren't in a position to make this decision." "It's not like you." And yes, they're sort of right. I was a bit of an asshole when I came out. Doubly so when I invited strangers to help me make big decisions.

Viv loves these people. She plays them against each other in my head, reveling in the splendor of a world where my mind can never quite get right. She runs through every little mistake I made in disclosing my trans status as she works the dull knife in the space between my fingers, her hand covering mine, stabbing faster and faster.

But this guy cuts the shit and gets to the point.

"You seek domineers," he says at length. "The girlfriend, the wrestling. Things and people that tell you what to do."

This catches Viv off guard. I feel her chin resting on my shoulder as the messages come in.

"You've been denied validation. You seek fragile, inconsistent love that was withdrawn to manipulate you. And up until now your method of toughness, your method of dealing with these domineers, had been to accept the scars and pain."

"He can't know that," Viv says. "He's just a guy on the internet. Everything he hears goes through your filter. You manipulated him."

"Break this cycle, Alex. You can't keep accepting pain and scars forever."

"You fed him lies!" Viv bangs on my back. She's shouting now; impetulent screeching that echoes off the bare walls of my apartment. "All those stories, all those Cinderella-esque tall tales. Lies!"

"Male or female, above sll else, watch out for the domineers. You must break this cycle, or it will break you."

"Lies!" Viv paces around the apartment. Punches a wall. Grabs her head with both hands and squeezes hard. "You fed him all these fucking lies and he bought it.

"You weren't abused. You aren't special. You're just a stupid little shit who can't do anything right."

I still strugle with it - domineers, that is. Years of therapy and a handful of novels helped me find the confidence to recognize it and work to stop it. Hell, one of the first conversations my wife and I had as a married couple was how to hash out our differences without tripping over Viv's baggage. I vet every new friend and am quick to revoke access to my personal life from anyone who decides to be a dick. I don't do it to be mean or elitist; I do it to survive.

Because when a domineer comes along - when someone in my life plays a tune that Viv can vamp on - I can fall right back into that basement with Viv, knife in hand, not sure what is real and what is a lie.

I am 30 and finally on anxiety medication. For years I stuck with the family tradition for dealing with mental health issues: drink your problems away. Viv liked things better that way; once I was calmed down enough to think she could rehash every stupid mistake I made, break me down, bring out the knife.

I remember, once upon a time, my sister and I trying to get mom to go to bed. She was leaning up against the kitchen counter and counting out pills. "It's not a problem," she keeps saying to me. "I'm fine. I can stop whenever I want." Whether she was plastered because of some medication conflicting with alcohol or simply because she drank too much that night, I don't know. But I do remember how she kept counting her pills, pushing my sister and I away, insisting she was fine. There wasn't a problem.

I remember not wanting to start drinking because of what I had seen growing up.

I remember having my first drink at 17. We were at a party with some friends of the family. I had this can of sprite - a treat during the wrestling months where I had to cut weight. I walked away from it, returned, and noticed it tasted funny. "Did my sprite go bad?" I say, passing it around. My parents shake their head. Giggles around the room. My stepmom lets the cat out of the bag: "It's just whiskey. Lighten up! It's not going to kill you."

I remember having my first drink by choice at a TKE party. Some guy poured a margarita shot straight into my mouth. It's sweet. I remember feeling terrified, like I'd just taken a hit of acid and was waiting for the buzz to catch up with me. The room starts to spin. I step outside and call my mom. "I finally got drunk!" I said, laughing. I remember feeling proud, like my finally cutting loose and doing like the rest of the family was something to celebrate.

I remember - well, don't remember - blackout nights with cheap rum. I was teaching high school and having full-on panic attacks a couple nights a week. The rum kept me on an even enough keel to function but I definitely still got canned from that job at the earliest opportunity.

I remember saying I was going to cut back at least five times this year without much success. Sometimes, sure; I make it a month or so without too many slip-ups, but then I'll come home from work feeling terrible and grabbing a drink to take the edge off.

Fuck, maybe this is Viv's long con. If she can't get me to do the deed she'll kill me slowly instead.

Viv chuckles when I write that.

I am 25 and finally figuring Viv out.

It's been two years since I've spoken to my mom on the phone. I have a calendar reminder to call her every week, even if only to record a voicemail. THe family doesn't send invites to anything, anymore. I find out about births, marriages, and life changes through facebook friends of friends. Viv loves to point out all the big events I'm missing.

It's Christmas time. I fucking hate Christmas. Christmas was a thing I did with Mom. Now I'm calling her once a week in vain hopes of getting a response. I hate hearing about how the family is doing. I hate... I hate hearing the names, seeing the faces, hate that these people get to continue their lives without any repercussions while I'm tagging along with friends for the holidays like some goddamned boat anchor.

Christmas, man. Fucking hate every second of it.

After the phone call I'm reading email. I'd grown tired of these calls and decided to write down what I was feeling. The response leaves me in tears. It's not really for public consumption - lots of "I can't bear to look at your pictures or hear your voice" - but what Viv leans on comes at the end of the email: "How dare you issue ultimatums. I'm entitled to my feelings too. I feel like I lost a son."

Viv whistles and pats me on the shoulder. "Tough luck there, kid. She's hurt. I don't blame her; you didn't give her space to figure this out."

"It's been two years."

"But you have to give her all the time she needs."

"That's not true," I say. I'm not angry. Not desperate. Not bargaining. Just matter-of-factly disagreeing with the girl who is always poking me in the side.

"Says who?"

"Says my therapist."

The word makes her cringe.

"See here, though." She points to a line in the email. "'I just wish you weren't doing this transgender thing.' It's not like she's trying to gaslight you. And you did know this would happen, so--"

"That opinion doesn't invalidate my feelings. If the net result of what has transpired is that I've been abandoned by family, then I'm allowed to feel abandoned." I turn to her and smile. "That's how facts work."

"Facts. like how you sprung this trans thing on everyone? Like how you acted so goddamn happy about being trans those first few months? Like how you demanded that everyone be supportive of who you are, and cut out the people who dared ask critical questions?"

"Facts like those. And yes, I may have been a little rash here and there, but I didn't have the tools to separate what I felt from what others said I was feeling. I had to be firm."

"You could try not being trans, you know. That'd help you earn your way back into the family."

I stand from the computer, walk to the kitchen, and open a beer. Viv smiles at me. "You could be drinking with the family if you'd just get off your high horse. You know, at the Christmas party they're having. You saw pictures from last year. Looked fun."

"I'm okay."

"You know better. The family is great! Remember all the campfires you had in the backyard? The sing-offs in the kitchen? Euchre with your aunts? Board games with cousins? How there was a good joke or witty crack at just the right time?

"They loved you, Alex. And you turned your back on them."

She rapped my chest with two fingers to make her point. I brushed it away.

"No. That's not how it happened."

"You could have kept a lid on this. Stayed in the closet. Then you wouldn't be drinking beer here alone. You wouldn't have broken her heart."

I put the can down. "You could at least try to make sense. You were there. You held the blade to my wrist.. There wasn't another option."

"But they're good people."

"Who refuse to see that I'm happy and fufilled for the first time in my life. Who get angry when I make my opinion known. Who want very specific things as a condition of our continued relationship. Spare me, Viv."

"Your dad still loves you."

"Yes," I say with a shrug. "And he would have put me in a camp if he found out I was trans while under his roof. But he's trying. He knows the choice I made: death, or this.

"Want to guess what how mom would have wanted, given the choice?"

Viv doesn't have a response for that.

I can't blame mom for mourning her dead son. I see her as dead too; the memories I have of this person who I loved and respected belong to a person I can no longer be around. We may have talked every single day, may have shared tons of traditions, may have sang quodlibets over the holidays, may have shared songs at the piano, but that was then.

I am 31 when I marry the love of my life. I send an invitation. No RSVP. No attendance. I don't cry. I come up with a riddle: "What do you get when you put ten years between a parent and a child?"

"I don't know," Viv says.

"Strangers."

I am 27 when I discover r/raisedbynarcissists. It is also the first time I see people talking frankly about cutting contact with a parent. Their stories - short, raw, brutal stories - they may not match my own but by God do they ever rhyme. Reading knocked loose memories that I'd lost before - memories that found their way to this story.

I spend half a year asking myself if I grew up with a narcissist. Was it toxic narcissism? Was it abuse? Did my family's particular brand of domestic fucked-upiness lead to such a diagnosis? Certainly there are stories in my life that support it - most of which aren't mine to share.

I am turning 28 and going in and out of therapy. Turns out I was asking the wrong question. Does it matter if my home life was good or bad, or is it more important to ask questions about why Viv is in my life? Why did I need her for validation?

I'm 28 and fucking off to Chicago. No jobs for a trans woman in Indiana, for one, and for two I'm tired of being reminded of the life I had before. They can keep the city for all I care.

I'm 33 and writing this story while Viv watches over my shoulder. I've only thought about suicide 3 times this week, and I'm trying to write this sober. She's presentable today: wine-colored blouse, slacks, everyday flats. She pulls up a chair and watches the cursor pass from left to right, top to bottom. Sometimes she speaks up. Sometimes she protests. But for the most part she's resigned to see what comes next.

When we get here she leans toward me with a sad scowl on her face. "Listen," she starts. "I think we need to sit on this one."

"What?"

"You know. Sit on it. Save it in a folder and keep it to yourself."

"Okay, I'll bite." I spin around in my chair to face her. "I'm not a child; I"m 33 now. Fuck it. Let's have it out. Tell me why I should stuff this one."

"You know your memory isn't spot-on. Never was. And you threw away all the evidence; the journals, the scribblings, the old stories. No proof. Remember how you wanted to just forget everything? What if you did forget it?

"What you're seeing right now is worse than a memory; it's a Cinderella story, made up from whole cloth.

"Maybe you were just a shithead. You know you talk too much. Still do. It's every time you talk over people. Every time you change the subject because of some factoid you're reminded of. And you're sensitive about the stupid shit."

"That's fair."

"I'm just saying you shouldn't trust this feeling. The righteousness in your heart; the clarity of your hindsight; the sharpness of your anger. Hell, you already shifted things around to match dear old Frytag's triangle. What's to say you... well."

She laughs. "What if you gaslit yourself?"

And she's right. I don't have the evidence. I can't prove anything. Shit in my head's too broken to put back together. You have to understand that. Everything you read here could be another lie. I can never know for sure. But that's how Viv survives: the slightest bit of doubt and she's kicking on the back of my chair, gleeful and full of life.

"I want to break it off," I tell her.

"I'm sorry. That's not how this works. You don't just get to leave.

"It is now. I wrote you into existence. I gave you form so we could have this talk."

She laughs at me. "I'm not real."

"I danced around you for so long, Viv. Met all your cousins in stories. But man, every time I tried to write about you there was... there was one of your friends there you could hide behind. A real life story turned on its head in a novel. A little piece of my ex here, a picture of my mother there. Never enough to be identified directly. Plausible deniability. But never quite you.

"Now you're real. Now I can fight you."

She turns away from me, towards you, and puts an arm around your shoulder. It's heavy. Hot with anger. "You sure you want them watching?"

"Yes." I look to you with hard, watery eyes. "I want you to see this. I won't trust myself without a witness."

I'm really sorry about this, by the way. If I worked this out in my head I'd have talked myself out of my feelings later. It has to be this way. Me, pulling Viv onto the page, and you watching me having this conversation. Take notes. Even if it's wrong I know I wrote it down.

"I'm not the kid I used to be. I grew the fuck up, Viv. Broke it off with my old life. And yeah, I can't prove anything for sure. But I have people who can double-check what I'm seeing and what I'm feeling. Maybe it's gaslighting. Maybe it's a lack of conflict resolution skills.

"But it's real, Viv. And I should be entitled to my own emotions."

She shrinks away from you, from me. Backpedals out of my office. We follow her downstairs. In her hand, a picture of one of the few times I've gone home since coming to Chicago. Happy, smiling family faces look up at me from the photo.

"But you still love them."

"That's an odd word. Love. And yes, I still do. Even if they're bad for me they're my family. Even if they're dead to me they're still family. I still have good memories. Bad ones, too. But I can still love them for who they were and what they did in my life, warts and all, even if I know I can't go back.

"See, I love my chosen family, too. My wife, my close friends, the Chicagoans who reciprocate my love with compassion and respect. It's healthy, Viv. And now that I've tasted healthy love I have standards."

"Heh." She lets the photo fall to the ground. Don't pick it up after her. She's doing a bit.

"I guess you don't care about your family."

"My therapy bill would disagree," I reply, chuckling. "Try harder."

"Offer's still on the table," she says. She goes to the kitchen and pulls a knife. It's much, much sharper than the ones I had in my twenties. "Give me two minutes and I'll give you an out. Stick it to those mean biddies who gave you so much pain!"

"And what would happen to my wife? The mortgage? The friends I have here?" I take the knife and hand it to you. My eyes are misty and my hands shaking. Please. Hold onto the knife. Just for a while. Just for tonight.

"I want to live now, Viv. For the people who love me. For the good things I can do. For... fuck, Viv. For spite. My teens and twenties tried to kill me. And the forces that did that can take a long walk off the short bridge.

"See, becuase I'm onto you. You win when I feel worthless. I matter now. You can't convince me otherwise."

She shrugged. "You should still kill yourself."

I roll my eyes. "I'll take it under advisement."

Viv kicks at the ground. Don't indulge her. I'm serious. It's part of a bit. You indulge her and she'll start doing backflips. Please. I know it's awkward. But you've stuck around all this time. We can talk about it later. Promise.

"What happens now?"

"Simple." I walk to the front door and open it. "You walk out. Then I close the door and lock it. And when you want to come back I can read this story and remember - really remember."

She walks out. She's in the hall now, still wanting to get in the last word. Closing doors on people is still terrifying to me. I've only done it three times in my life. Once on my ex; once on my mother; and Viv here and now. I never get used to it.

Please, come here. Put your hand on the door handle. If you want to; I know I've alraedy asked a lot of you as a witness. Just like that. I just need to close it. Then we can go back to writing fun science fiction and fantasy.

Viv shoves her finger in my face."You know you got it wrong. Hell, you have to call in your backup to close the door. And when I come back you're going to welcome me back with open arms. You'll be writing one of your shitty books, or pretending you can throw a decent party, and when you go back over every little mistake you made I'll be right there, needling you, knife in hand."

"I know I'll get it wrong. But when I do you won't be there."

"Why not?"

"Because I know you now," I say. Push with me - yes! just like that! "And when you come around next time you'll have to knock first."

The door latches shut. I scramble for the deadbolt. Just... just give her a few minutes to clear out before you go, okay? Would be just like her to wait for you to leave before she slips back in.

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