#because I had a dumb dream where somebody stole my phone

[nothinggold13]

Eli “Weevil” Navarro. Character of all time, methinks.

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 20

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19

Happy New Year!!!!!! Here’s a party and a hot guy loving on you - and you don’t even have to leave your home ;)

I haven’t been to many therapist offices after I started high school. This one was free, on student-life. Reproduced images of the sea were comforting enough, but it was the dreary stained carpet that reminded me where I was. 

“Do you think they’re related to the night you were assaulted?” 

“Yes. But I don’t know how to get rid of them. I lose sleep and then when I do sleep, I have these nightmares and I wake up more restless than if I’d just stayed up all night.” 

 “Hm. And how do you feel about Harry?” 

 “Harry?” 

 She nodded. “Yes, the boy in your dreams.” Her French manicured nails squeezed the top of her clipboard.

 “That’s not an easy question.” 

 “Try.” 

 I sighed. “Okay…” The painted seagull in her office looked like an on-clearance print at TJ Maxx, and suddenly I wished I’d called my mother for her own version of therapy instead. Bargain shopping. “I think I hate him. But then I know I don’t. But then… I don’t necessarily like him either.” 

 “Do you love him?” 

I laughed. “No, I don’t love him.”

 “Why do you laugh?”

 “I said I almost hated him and you ask me if I love him!” But my voice was a little too loud. The question stayed with me, stirring in my mind. “I think I’d know if I loved him.” 

 “Love looks different to different people. Finding a healthy version of love for yourself and your partner is where things can go awry. Or right.” 

 I remembered Harry and I talking at Alta about Madame Bovary, and how I’d told him that people love to the best of their abilities, from what they’ve learnt by their circumstances. Silence weighed in the room, and I knew she was waiting for me to elaborate on my feelings. Bleh.

 “I don’t know,” I finally said. “But if this is what love looks like to him… We’re not even technically dating so this question doesn’t even apply!” I laughed again. “But then… even if we were, then...  it’s not enough.” 

 “And what would be enough for you?”

 “Stability.” 

 “And do you think this is possible with him?” 

 “Umm…” Zayn’s voice popped in my head - Harry was a magnet for infamy - and I laughed. I laughed, and I laughed...“No.”

 “And why is that?” 

 “Because he self-sabotages. And he says things he doesn’t mean.” 

 “Such as...?”

 A puff of breath left my lips. “Like last night, he said I didn’t have a life. And then he was comparing me to another girl. Viv. She’s like his… sister, basically. She grew up with him. But… he got really defensive and said at least she fucks me. But the fact that he said I don’t have a life?? A LIFE?? I mean shit, it’s not my fault he’s infiltrated my dreams is it?” 

 She shook her head. “It’s very important for you not to blame yourself. Show yourself the same kindness you’d show your friends. Renny, for example.” 

 Be kind to yourself. 

 I nodded. Those were the words my mother would say whenever I’d critique myself. Just like all those times before, the words registered, but it didn’t change anything about the frustration I felt. I was the one dumb enough to let him in. I’d let myself be dragged into him, even with every red flag hitting me in the face. I was collecting them for a meme bouquet at this point!

 “Do you believe him?” she asked. 

 It took me a minute to hear her. 

 “The words he said to you,” she said. “That you don’t have a life.” 

 A timer beeped on her phone. She muted it. “I’d like you to write out what you want in your life for next time. Not what anybody else wants. But what Y/N wants. When you see it written out, no matter how silly it seems, having concrete answers might help.”

 --------------

 I was staring at my notes page, trying to think of what I wanted. I didn’t exactly have the chance to ask her what she meant by that. Did she mean career goals? Education goals? Relationship goals? What did this have to do with ending my nightmares? 

 A text at the top of my phone distracted me from the blank page. 

 Kiki: “Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about you. Get your hands on the special airhead pills from Harry’s and bring them to the DG Pretty Please Party next week. On the DL obvi.”  

Viv chimed in on the group chat. “Congrats bitch! It’ll be fun for all of us.” She included the devil emoji. 

 This is what I got for stalling up until the last minute to walk into work. The practice was now a blatant reminder that Harry was out of my life and it didn’t help whenever I saw Lionel. It felt weird that I was seeing his dad more than him. Wrong, even. 

 Voices carried through the lot along with the clicking of heels. I turned my head. 

 Boss Lady Samantha was headed towards the elevator. 

 Shit, Y/N. Shit shit shit.

 I got out, quietly closing the door. Better to walk with my boss than walk in late after her, right? Her red hair was let down today, ringlet curls in full effect. I could meet her at the elevator before it arrived.

 But right when I was about to shout out hold the elevator Lionel walked right behind her. And I mean RIGHT behind her - there was hardly room for a Bible between them. 

 I hid behind my car, unsure if I was supposed to be seeing this. 

 Their voices were too low to hear, but his arm lingered at her lower back before the elevator opened. She got in. Alone. Lionel looked over his shoulder and I ducked further. 

 Through Grandpa’s windows, I saw the elevator door close. Lionel waved goodbye to Samantha and he pressed the button again. 

 Before chickening out, my shoulders straightened. I shouldn’t have to be the one hiding. I jogged to make it. His brows shot up in surprise as he held the elevator for me. The kindness I’d gotten used to seeing in his eyes looked hesitant this time. 

 “A little late today?” he asked, as soon as I’d made it in. 

 I avoided his eyes, nodded.  It was a quiet elevator ride. 

 ------------

 My family’s house was a ten minute drive from the practice. Enough drive time to sit on what I’d seen outside Coast Shores Medicine. It could’ve been friendly. I didn’t have to do anything about this. But in my bones, I knew that friendly isn’t what I’d seen. Lionel avoided me the rest of the day, assigning me to print out billing statements. I hadn’t seen them make out or anything, but there was a certain intimacy I couldn’t write off right away. Did Mrs. de Saude know about his close work relationships? Did Harry? 

 The sickening uneasiness dissipated when I heard my parent’s Home Improvement HGTV hour. Dad was already passed out on the couch, snoring at a whopping 8 PM when I walked through the door. Ignoring Mom’s tutting of “they keep you too late,” we went to my bedroom. 

 “Pick the nude ones,” Mom said, adjusting the spectacles she only pulled out on rare occasions (magazine reading and shoe selections). “It makes your legs look longer.” It looked like there was something more she wanted to say. 

 I adjusted them in the mirror, wearing the blush dress I’d bought for my aunt’s beach wedding almost a year prior. It’d never been worn. Her Spanish fiancé she’d met three months prior stole her TV set and ran off with his gay lover a week before. As I stood, the dress just barely touched the floor. Simple, really, but the way the thin straps exposed my chest rendered it elegant. I felt like I needed a long cigarette and fur coat to make it complete.  

 Without context, Mother suddenly burst into an annoyed huff. 

 “You okay?” I asked.

 “Hm?” Her lashes fluttered as if she hadn’t realized she’d made a noise. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Your father just took another one of those sleeping pills. You should never get too dependent on medication, Y/N. Drink warm milk or something.”

 “Mom.”

 “I’m serious!” Her stony face certainly wasn’t comical. 

 “I know.”

 She looked me over in the dress again and caught herself, pulling me in for a rushed hug. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. She rocked me a little. “It’s just been a little rough this week.” She squeezed me tighter, then let me go. All negative energy shoved into a box that’d spring open when we all least expected it. “Have a good night tonight. Say hello to Harry for me!”

 When I walked to the car she threw out, “And tell him next time he can ask you with a Cartier ring! HA! I’m joking!! ... Kind of!!!” 

 I smiled, waving to her at the gate as I got into my Grandpa mobile. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Golden Boy wasn’t my date.  

 ---------

There were two cops for every solo cup I could see littered on the ground. They patrolled the streets, but the frat house seemed unphased and restored to its former glory as I walked with Andre. Club music pounded beyond the doors, practically shaking the windows. Girls huddled up outside, holding each other’s hair back and trying to block anyone’s view from the bile, as the guys snickered over their shoulders and some pretended not to see. But the cops weren’t here to reprimand for underage drinking and public intoxication tonight. They were on watch. Stationed around the perimeter of the house and on either end of the street. 

 They were waiting for something else. For somebody else. 

 Andre seemed oblivious, practically skipping past them he was so excited. I, on the other hand, was already limping from the nude pumps. 

 “Wanna switch shoes?” he called back. 

 “Don’t make a deal you aren’t willing to keep,” I smiled, quirking a brow. “The nude would actually match your navy suit…”

 He’d already walked on, fist bumping the bouncer who raised up a professional-grade camera and snapped a photo of us. When my eyes recovered from the flash, I spotted Officer Ramirez from the uniforms just beyond the frat’s ramshackle fence. He was already watching me. He raised two fingers above his brow and I nodded, curtly, even though I wanted to shrink inside myself. I hadn’t had the time to think about what I would say if he contacted me again, or if I should be the one to reach out to him.

 Andre led me inside, and for once, I was glad I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. It raised ten degrees just from stepping inside. The boys were in Bond suits, but most had abandoned their jackets wherever they could - on the banister, the couch beneath the staircase, or the entrance hall. The girls had dressed up, too. This was the most covered up I think I’d seen some of them, though others still opted for above-the-knee slips.

 “Oi, where’s your drink?!” Niall’s familiar voice shouted above the bass.

 He pulled Andre into a side hug before we reached the dancefloor. When he saw me, Niall practically fell over. 

 “Y/N! What’re you doing here?” He spluttered, whiskey in his breath. The knot of his tie was already to his chest, but he loosened it even more. He looked over his shoulder, then back to me. “Renny’s just gone to the bathroom.” 

 “She’s my date,” Andre stepped in, placing an arm around my shoulder. It was completely platonic but Niall’s face went to stone. 

 Suddenly it cracked, and he laughed, running a hand over his stubbly chin. “Oh, shit.” He laughed again. “Shit!” 

 Andre smiled, unaware of anything else besides the fact that Niall must be proud he showed up with a date. He patted Niall’s shoulder. “We’re going to see the big bro, I’ll find you later.” Andre nodded his head for me to follow, leaving Niall cackling to himself in the entranceway.

 “Niall’s THE. MAN,” he put his hands up for emphasis. “He’s my favorite in the house besides my big. We gotta say hi, then you can run off. Oh, Renny’s here too!” He squeezed my shoulders as if to excite me, as if she’d be the reason I’d stay. Loved the girl, but I knew she’d be back on top of Niall five minutes after she was out. I just didn’t want to have to watch. 

 I wrung my hands together, growing nervous. I knew the reason Niall had reacted that way was because Harry was going to be here. I knew this coming into it. But I’d been expecting him to ignore me the entire night. With Niall’s reaction, I wasn’t so sure anymore. What had Harry told Niall?

 Someone sloshed their beer on me as I passed, and I turned sour, rolling my eyes as Andre pushed us forward. I picked up the pace before he could notice I’d stopped and wiped the glare off my face. Or, tried. I probably just looked constipated now. 

 WHY WAS HIDING EMOTION SO HARD?? 

 I felt bad feeling so annoyed. Andre was excited. I should be excited, right? Sloshed beer and sweaty bodies came with the territory. Though I’d forgotten how humid it got in here. Hell and Florida were probably cooler. I picked up the ends of my dress, hoping for some sort of ventilation to reach parts of me that were on the verge of overheating. 

 The coffee tables and couches had been moved from the center of the living room to the fringes beneath the stairwell to make designated smoking and dancing sections. I could’ve stayed on the outside of the dance crowd. Hell, I could’ve joined the spaced-out smokers on the couch. But I didn’t. I followed Andre to the middle of the dance floor. I could barely see above the tops of people’s heads until we reached a bit of a clearing. And by clearing, I meant the sweaty dancers in front of us who made a break for freedom and gave us about ten seconds of space before other bodies rushed to fill it. 

 I felt him before I saw him. A tiny prick of consciousness that directed my gaze. And Andre’s finger.

 “AYYYY!!!!!” Andre pointed to the DJ booth, waving his hands as he hollered.

 Even with the rocking vibration of the bass that chattered my teeth, each nerve in my body went alert. Harry stood, flashing a white smile to the crowd before downing the rest of whatever potion was in his cup. I hated how my stomach clenched just by seeing him. He saw Andre and his smile grew, grabbing the mic. I was still unnoticed, hidden by dim lighting and nameless peers.

 “Who’s ready for us to win tomorrow!?” His voice was low, demanding. It was a question for the crowd, but he was looking at Andre. I could sense the intensity even there, and it was then I realized it couldn’t be just me who feels so vulnerable around Harry. Each person he traps in his gaze stays there, until he lets them go. 

 The house erupted in cheers, but I was locked in place. The suit he was wearing looked similar to the one from the Halloween gala, and every bit of him looked just as stunning. His beautiful body swayed on the makeshift stage. 

 “Then let’s see you jump in-” His hand held up 5, 4, 3, 2… He spun another song and the crowd sprung from the floor before crashing back down. They jumped to the beat he made. A modern-day puppet master. 

 Andre wrapped an arm around me as he jumped. So I did, too. 

 “That’s my big!!” he yelled, mid-air.

 “WHAT??”

 He pointed to the DJ booth, but there was no one there besides Harry. 

 “.... HARRY??! HARRY’S YOUR- your…” I stopped jumping the same second Harry saw us together. It’s funny. It takes only a second to flip a dime on its head. His party boy mask dropped in an instant. The low lighting turned his eyes black, but they couldn’t conceal the daggers he shot straight at me.

 “I have to use the bathroom,” I muttered. 

 Andre nodded. “S’UP THE STAIRS!” He found a friend nearby and latched on to him instead. 

 The small (okay, medium) part of me filled with nothing but Petty™ wanted Harry to see me with his little. But another part of me couldn’t handle his judgmental glare. Somehow, I was embarrassed. I didn’t want him to think I’d come here tonight to make him jealous. That I was so obsessed with him I’d found another in to the frat. I didn’t want him to think he controlled any part of my heart. What did it say that I ran away at first sight, though?

 I’d already done it. It didn’t matter. Either way, I didn’t win.

 I raced upstairs, weaving my way between couples sitting on the stairs, hoping that the line for the restroom was really long and Renny hadn’t already left. It was, and she was next in line. 

 “Oh my God, what are you doing here?!” she screeched, arms out and eyes squinted until I could no longer see her pupil. 

 “Why do people keep asking me that.” 

 She pulled me into an extra-long, extra-tight Renny hug. “Love yousoooomuch,” she rushed. Her breath smelled like Niall as she pulled away. She lifted the cup to my lips and I shook my head. She frowned. 

 “I talked with Niall,” she said. “He says Harry’s just going” - she hiccupped - “through a lot right now. S’best to leave him alone.” 

 The other girls in line perked up at the mention of his name, subconsciously leaning closer. I huffed. “Trust me. I am.” 

 When three girls stumbled out of the only bathroom stall, Renny rushed in. “Thank God I was about to pee on the carpet.” She tried tugging me in with her, but my eye was on the end of the hall. And the stupid DG pretty please.

 “I’ll be back,” I muttered, squeezing her hand. 

 “Nooooo,” she drawled. 

 I squished her cheeks, checked her pupils. She didn’t need me to hold her hair back this time. I gave her cheek a lil slap.

 “I’ll go with you next time you have to go. Which will be in like... twenty minutes. You broke the seal rookie!” I teased. 

 I didn’t even bother looking over the railing at the party below to see if he was watching me. I still had my DG task and a nonrefundable deposit to think about. I didn’t think I’d get many chances to be in this house again unless I swindled Andre or Niall into letting me in. But that would require an explanation, and I wasn’t sure I could tell them that. 

 Forget explanations. I needed to do it now. Lots of noise. Tons of distractions. I’d just think of it as… borrowing?

 His door was locked and I groaned, kicking it and leaving a smudge beside all the others. I reached for a bobby pin in my purse and put it to work. I’d done it before in his bedroom, I could do it again here. The curve of the hallway protected me from onlookers waiting in line in the bathroom. Downstairs was a mixed bag. People could probably see through the railings running along the top floor. 

 Not that they’d think to look. 

 My knees were starting to hurt by the time I heard it click. I crept in, and for some reason, I expected his room to look different. But it was still the same. Dusty desk across from a queen-sized bed. Only one photograph atop his bedside mantle. And it didn’t smell like sweaty soccer clothes, but clean. With hints of a woodland spice and books. It felt like eons had passed since I was first here, undressing him like the drunken baby he’d been. As an act of betrayal, my body rushed at the thought of how his fingers had looped around my belt loops, tugging me closer. I swallowed, the image of his tightened pants expanding in my head. He’d almost been hard, then. 

 It was then, at that moment, that I decided that the one sip of alcohol I’d had must have been spiked with SOMETHING because I would NOT be that girl. I would NOT. I reFUSED TO LET MYSELF-

 Seconds later, my fingertips grazed his soft gray sheets. He’d been sprawled out right about here, and the rush of seeing unseen skin on Harry had been too intoxicating an offer to refuse. The ghost of that rush flowed through me again as my memory played it over like a movie. Close-ups and panning shots - Down his toned chest to tattoos speckled along tan skin, tattoos that had been seemingly doodles, but now held much more meaning now that I knew of his history with the ocean. For his sister. My body leant down before I knew what I was doing, and I inhaled. The lingering aroma of his body chemistry altering his cologne: musky, a little spice, and warmth.

 Even if every ounce of me wanted to dislike him, the legitimate biology behind my body responded to a chemistry I couldn’t control. 

 “What are you doing?”

 He caught me on my knees, with one hand clutched in the sheets.

 Fuckity FUCK-

 He could whip out PSYCHO magazine informing people of highly-dangerous murderers with my mugshot plastered across the cover - and I’d believe him in that moment. Oh my gosh. Omgomgomg. He didn’t say what I expected him to say when he swayed in, though. 

 “Andre. Really?” He laughed to himself, but it was cold. “Fucking” - he stumbled, leaning on the desk chair to catch himself- “really?” 

 It wasn’t the alcohol that’d put him on edge. I’d seen him handle liquor before, but this time he looked… different. I stood up, realizing his eyes were racking down my dress. I crept towards him, hoping to make it past the door. Not because I was scared of him. But because I was mortified. I’d just looked like an absolute fucking psychopath AND I’d snuck into his bedroom. Maybe I could distract him. Maybe he was too drunk to ask me-

 “What’re you doing here?”

 “What are we… all doing here? At parties?”

 “…in my room,” he clarified.

 Welp. My philosophical question fell flat. Wouldn’t be the first time.

 I waltzed past him, tight-lipped. In defense of my dignity, I still didn’t owe him anything. Not after how he’d treated me. 

 “Hey,” his arm jutted out, blocking my way. His brows crossed as he turned to a petulant boy. “S’rude to not answer.” 

 My blood boiled. “You are not about to give me a lesson on how bad it is to ignore people right now. Nor on being rude.” 

 “Can give you another one.” 

 He reached for me, but I stepped back, somewhat living in the hurt that flashed in his eyes at my rejection. 

 “You’re not leaving.” But his demand sounded like a plead. 

 “Thought you didn’t want me around you,” I scoffed, tearing past him. “Just because you’re drunk or high or whatever the fuck it is you are right now, doesn’t mean you can just… get a free pass! For a week! A whole week of awful-” I turned quickly, too frustrated to find the words. I took a step towards the door but- 

 “Y/N.” He was right behind me. His breath warmed the nape of my neck, the delicate hairs standing on end. No matter how much of an absolute mess he was, my body didn’t know better. I could practically feel him behind me, his presence radiating an alarm that blared through my veins. I wanted him. Badly. He trailed a finger down my arm, and his hand brushed against my own against my side. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

 His fingers gingerly interlaced with mine, turning me around. 

 Something wet was on my cheek. I touched it, quickly rubbing it away in horror. Why were tears running down my face?! What unfair cruelty was this!? He saw my tears and leant down, suddenly defeated, pulling my body with him.

 “Why did’ya ever want me hm?” His nose went along my jaw. Full lips pressed against the base turned my legs weak. There was an underlying desperation to his words though, a prayer in his kiss. But my thoughts were turning anything but holy. 

 “Who says I did…” I wanted to pull away, ask him why he’d used past tense or why he’d completely ignored me this past week, but I was frozen by the softness of his hands. Self-respect was surely slipping away each moment I lingered. I could literally see Jane Austen parting the heavens and sticking her angelic head through Harry’s room to shame me with a glare. I do all this mental work to try and figure this guy out and… for what? I should be waltzing out that door, declaring I’d never talk to him again. I should give up messy and confused and pursue my own sanity. But the air only ever turned electric with him, in all his messiness, in all this confusion… and each time the spark appeared, it pushed us closer together until he was here, like this, soft hands gently running along my lower back, skilled fingertips feeling the dress fall slightly inwards at my waist, tracing a map of uncharted waters… 

 “You’re not thinking straight,” I breathed. And that went for both of us. 

 “Au contraire, I’m thinking clearer than I ever ‘ave.” There was a swirling madness shining through, but he bat his eyes and it was veiled again, vanished beneath the dark surface. He tilted his head, appraising my body, noticing my legs were no longer tensed to run, but in apprehension for another reason completely. A smirk settled in. “Why do you still want me?” he demanded, pulling me against him towards the bed.

 “Arrogant ass,” I sniped, but I landed on him anyway. His fingers tightened around my waist, a hand snaking up behind to entwine with my hair. I felt him harden beneath me as he pulled my head to the side, just the right amount of rough. But he stalled over vulnerable skin, lips ghosting featherlight up to my ear. He let out a soft breath and I clenched in anticipation. For once, I had no thoughts. “You should be with me,” he breathed. “Should be mine.” His voice grew frustrated and he practically growled, lips kissing my neck, steady, before they started to suck in a rhythm. The shock of the sensation masked the shock from his words and my back arched, a spider’s shiver crawling down my spine. He stopped suddenly, shooting back like he’d been shocked. His grip softened ‘round the nape of my neck, and he looked so… confused. “Can’t mark you again,” he noted, despondent. But then the corners of his lips twitched up in a smirk. “Least where it’s visible.” My breath caught. His black ink eyes showed the slightest ring of green. I don’t remember lifting my hand, but fingers trailed along dark circles. These were a new development. I shook my head lightly. Something was wrong. This was wrong. I leant in, resting my head against his. “Harry-” but his lips cut me off before I could mention it. 

 I felt like I’d been feeling his lips everywhere but my own. They were eager, but kept pace, switching it up just when I was getting comfortable, slowing to make me feel the soft fullness of raspberry-pink lips. They were pillows, and clouds, and everything else soft and wonderful that I’d want to feel forever. He slipped in his tongue, deepening the kiss, and I ground my body against him, using his shoulders as leverage. 

 This wasn’t me. But I didn’t care enough to think about ‘who I was’ anymore. What did I want? 

 I felt him pulse between my legs. 

 “Harry,” I bit my lip, and I knew then. I’ve been wanting more, I’ll always want more. I was more aware than ever of an emptiness he could fill. 

 “Been hard ever since I saw you bouncing in that dress,” he said gruffly. “With fucking Andr- ahh...fuck.” I rocked my hips against him in spite, putting a hand over his mouth to shut him up. 

 But his head jutted back and came forward again. He looked at me through hooded eyes, and just like that I was sedated by his gaze, my body pausing. He looked like he was about to scold me. “Do it again.” His voice was low. I stalled, looking at the way his lips barely parted. “Don’t be shy now, Y/N.” My hips replied on command, but rebelliously, slowly, feeling the length of him run between the thin underwear that’d cocooned itself against my ridges and folds. I ran my hips back down against his thigh. “Fu-uhck-” He jutted his hips up, turning something wicked when I moaned. The friction from the dress and pressure from my own body rocking against Harry built a tightly coiled knot I wanted desperately to release. And then we were kissing again. Fervent. Eager. A skilled tongue slipping in to dance with my own. He was rock hard against me. I could feel the full outline pressed tight against his slacks now, creating my own mental map. My hands wrapped in his hair, and I pulled, relaxing our pace, rutting myself up with purpose to rotate in a circle at his clothed tip. The noise from his throat wasn’t human, and I felt heavy and light all at the same time when his thumb dug into my chin just under my lower lip. 

 “Wanna help you,” he rumbled. “Will you let me? Won’t you do that for me?” 

 I nodded, wordlessly, and with both hands tight on my hips, he tugged us further back until he was against the pillows, and me, repositioned above him. He pulled us down and we built a rhythm against his thigh, the determination in his stitched brow as he did half the work making it even sexier. He was almost needier than me. There was an urgency to his strong hands as they hiked up my dress, fingertips dancing around and just beneath the band of my underwear. He didn’t pull it off, just gently pushed my hips up and down, then harder, faster, to the damp patch already on his slacks. I was buzzing, every inch of me, the wound coil growing bigger, tighter, the build of release making my heart race. He stared at me as we moved together.

 “Tha’s it. So good at this,” he mumbled. “So beautiful.” 

 My breath caught, and his wide eyes watched wondrously as I moved frenzied above him. His chest rose, bits of tattoo spilling past the white button-down collar. My hand clutched his shirt as I felt myself begin to peak. This was as intimate as I’ve been with someone, and the pressure of being seen through his eyes like this was a lot of pressure. I didn’t want to think about how many other girls had been in this position before. What he spoke to them, how they looked, what they’ve done, or how recently they’d done it. His hand cupped my face and brought me down, lips claiming me to the point of bruising and silencing voiceless thoughts. The pull of his lips, and the sturdiness of his thigh made me whimper. My swollen bud hit his clothed cock with each surge upwards, his hands guiding me, making sure my breath hitched each time. And each time, I’d feel him tense. Again, and again, just knowing his thick hard cock was against me, right against me, almost…

 “Almost… Harry…” 

 “Y/N,” he rasped. I felt his hot gaze as I shuddered above him. He kissed me, slow, swallowing another whimper as a current of electricity ran from the crown of my head to my toes. His hands helped me ride out my high, slowly coming to a halt. 

 He opened his arms, letting me cuddle up against his chest. Silence stretched on over quiet breathing. “Been waiting a long time for that,” he finally mumbled. I quirked an eye open, realizing he’d been watching me. I almost didn’t recognize his eyes. For once, they seemed sated. Unhaunted. The clouds had seemed, for a moment, to have parted. “To see you cummm.” He hummed the last word, leaning down and nuzzling the nook of my neck. Still nuzzling, he quirked half his face to look at me. We shared a long kiss, then a shorter one to my forehead. “You’re magnificent.” 

 Though I hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing, I hadn’t felt more naked. And for all the times I’d felt embarrassed around Harry, at least in this moment, he made me feel comfortable about what we’d just done. We lay there, my scent now mingling with the rest of his in the room. I still felt him hard beneath my legs that were strewn across his lap, and I wondered if it was … painful. He stirred, placing one hand behind his head, the other wrapped around me. 

 I traced shapes into his chest. He hummed, smiling softly. It was his boyish smile. The one I’d hardly seen, the one that you want to wrap up and cuddle and protect from the world to keep this one second of pure happiness intact. I pecked the corner of his mouth and his smile broke, squeezing my side. “Thank you,” he mumbled. I checked to make sure his eyes were still closed when I looked down at the black slacks. Since I finished, he should, too. I swallowed nervously as my fingers traced lower, down the button down as I tried to remember the porn Renny and I had watched together one late summer night. His eyelashes fluttered open, and he watched me, curiously, darkly, until I stopped at the tip of his pants. I slipped my fingers beneath the belt, just barely feeling the coarseness of hair before he took my wrist in his hand. He practically hissed and I stilled, not noticing I was holding my breath. I couldn’t possibly be doing this wrong…

 His index finger stroked the top of my hand, and I relaxed. 

 He looked at me gently. “Tonight was for you. S’all I wanted.” His touch was just as gentle, and he placed his thumb between my lips, running over them gently. I didn’t want him to see me as some pure untouched thing he should be scared to do anything with. My lips parted as seductively as I could make them appear, and I moved to let his finger in my mouth, but he cheekily closed my lips instead. 

 He stroked my cheek, almost giggling at my attempt. “This just isn’t how I picture it happening.” 

 The way his eyes were memorizing my lips told me he’d thought about this before, but I didn’t miss that he said how, and not where. Muffled EDC music vibrated his door, and faraway voices travelled through his open window from the yard below. The cops were waiting there, too. Was that the situation he was referring to? 

 “You deserve a lot, Y/N.” 

 I heard the hesitancy in his voice, some unforeseen disappointment he wouldn’t just spell out for me. “What’re you saying.” 

 “Just that there’s few things I want t’be sober for these days.”

 The thought hit my stomach like the sharpened blade of a knife, and it hurt worse than any wound from my nightmares. “Why would you say something like that?” I demanded.

 “Because it’s true.” His eyes searched mine, and I saw the sadness pulling him in. Like the tumultuous water of the middle of the ocean spirally inwards into itself. A treacherous water hole that’d carry you into its deepest abyss.

 I shook my head as if to find a way out, as if that would clear away what I was seeing. “I never… know what’s going on with you,” I admitted. I thought to the interaction with Lionel and Samantha. “Is home life really that bad?” 

 “What home?” He huffed when I looked at him. “M’serious. I feel more alone when I walk in there than I do when I’m here. And nobody even fucking knows me here.” 

 “Everyone knows you.” 

 “You’re smarter than that, Y/N.” 

 “What’d you take tonight, hm?” I cooed. My hand traced the dark circles under his eyes, and he leant against my touch before looking to the window, still allowing me to touch him. No doubt from whatever stimulant or depressant he’d taken, his words had been more candid than ever before. 

 “A cocktail of sorts. Will fucking regret it in the mornin’. Probably.” 

 He looked back to me, and I didn’t have time to wipe the concern from my face. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” he stated.

 He really believed it when he said it, and the way there didn’t seem to be enough energy left in him made me settle back in his arms with a frown. Because it did matter. It mattered a lot. A few moments later, he squeezed my sides. “You didn’t answer my question,” he mumbled. 

 “What question?” 

 He waited until I looked up at him, and even then he was hesitant. His voice was quiet when he spoke, intimate, so if even if someone was standing at the foot of the bed they couldn’t hear what he was about to ask. 

 “Why do you want me, Y/N?” 

 The vulnerable question hung in the air. And though it was presumptuous of him to ask, he wasn’t wrong. His eyes read me like a book he’d read a hundred times over. He saw me. I swallowed, my brain and heart at an all-out war. Unfortunately for me, they captured my tongue in a stale-mate. “I don’t know what I want.”

 And it was true. The dilemma was the following:

The only thing my body wanted was him. 

But my brain didn’t know if that’s what I should be     wanting anymore.  

And my heart was left in the middle of them both, not     sure what it was feeling. 

 I felt him shrug. “I get it. I have so many opinions shouting at me in my head right now. About soccer, my fucked family, about” - he threw his hands between us.  

 After Niall had greeted me at the door, I was sure Harry had talked about us in some capacity. But how many people had opinions on our relationship? “Let me guess. Viv shares her opinion about us.” 

 “I don’t listen to hers.” 

 “But hey, at least she fucks you right.” 

 He sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that.” 

 “But it’s true, right? So no need to apologize.” 

 The room froze over. Just the thought of her whispering in his ear was enough to trigger an entire week’s worth of pent-up animosity. 

 “So maybe people are confused why Viv and I aren’t together but I couldn’t give a fuck about what they think. I fucking hate that we’re even talking about her right now.”

 “What do they say?” 

 He rolled his eyes, hurriedly slanting his voice, “Viv’s gorgeous mate, she clearly wants you. What the fuck are you doing now?” 

 I flinched. He noticed. “Look, I seriously hate talking about this. Can we talk about the fact that I didn’t invite anyone tonight?” 

 “Aw, was Viv busy?”

 “Alright, stop.” 

 A chill shot down my spine at the rejection. As much as I wanted to appreciate the fact he didn’t invite anyone, it didn’t help. This wasn’t helping at all. “I’m sorry if I want to talk about your relationships that directly affect me,” I said, rolling out of his arms.

 “Y/N, please. It’s not like that.” His voice was tired, pleading, coaxing me to forget. 

 “But why are you like this? Why did you just say what you did to me?”

 “You asked me-”

 “It was very belittling.” I changed my voice to a dopey British accent, “Viv’s gorgeous what the fuck are you doing with Y/N?” I ignored his scowl. “Really, thanks for the best compliment of the night.” I pushed against his chest, annoyed. “And why are you being like this now? All cuddly and-”

 “It’s not one-sided.” 

 I felt my cheeks heat. “Not tonight. But it’s one-sided any other time.”   

 “S’that what you really think of me?” He pulled me closer, and I fought the urge to twist away. His forehead pressed into my hair. “Firstly, you’re fucking beautiful Y/N. You have to know this. And you have to know you’re important to me. And secondly…”

 “Thirdly,” I corrected.

 His eyes turned somber. “They’re watching,” he mumbled, pleading. “This is hard for me, too.” 

 The gang, the cops, both, whichever it was, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same. No matter how special he claimed I was to him, we always went in circles. Maybe he had gotten it right. Maybe it was better for both of us if we weren’t together. “Why is it so hard then?” I whispered. 

 “Nothing good comes easy.”

 I remained silent. It was a cop-out response.

 He ran a hand down his face and sat up. “Because I’m fucked! I’m fucked, Y/N and there’s only so many people I can hide from. And you aren’t one of them.” 

 It was the most candid he’d ever been with me, without revealing anything at all.

 A knock sounded at the door. 

 I went to move, but he kept me against him, covering my ears as he shouted- 

 “FUCK OFF!!” 

 But even with his hands over my ears, it wasn’t very muted. The knock grew louder, more obnoxious. 

 “Sorry,” he grumbled, moving to open the door. When it opened, a boy wearing a snapback around the same height as Harry leant against the doorframe.

 “Wassup, man-” Snapback almost burst in.

 Harry’s back went stiff as the stranger’s snapback practically poked Harry in the eye. If their overcompensating confidence and too-familiar smile told me anything – freshmen. At least Snapback’s friend wore a Bond-inspired bow-tie t-shirt.

 Harry put a hand to Snapback’s chest, backing him back out of the room. They watched me walk up behind him.

 “Hey, relax man, we just wanted to get some zombies,” Bowtie bargained. 

 “You’ve got some fucking balls,” he snarled.

 My ears pricked. He was looking for the same thing, then. From Harry. My heart sunk to the lowest part of my belly after remembering why I’d come here in the first place. The sliver of hope I’d had was that maybe what Zayn had witnessed was just Harry’s past. A summer blunder. A summer fling with an illegal hobby. You know, some kids did drugs, some kids sold drugs... It was a ridiculously stupid comparison now that I thought about it. But still, I had hope. Now my undeniable denial was being shred up right in front of me.

 The cops, the gang, the drugs circulating campus…

 Harry had made his bed, and I was lying in it. 

 I squeezed past him.

 “Wait, are you leaving?” He still blocked his doorway.

 I ignored the pang of guilt I felt at his boyish disappointment. He looked at me, body still intimidatingly rigid, but his eyes, impossibly soft. Snapback tried to move past him again and Harry whipped his head back with a growl. “Get the fuck out of here.” 

 “Excuse me?” Bowtie came closer, puffing out his muscled chest. Testosterone, angst and alcohol were never the best combination. I grew nervous at the tension, looking from my escape at the end of the hall, back to Harry. 

 “C’mon, we have the cash. We’ll pay double!” Snapback whined, cornering him. 

 The words made me nauseous, conjuring the image of Viv sliding Harry the cash. I didn’t want to see this again. I didn’t want to see anything again.

 “I don’t do that shit anymore.” He strode through their barricade, determined, but Bowtie tugged him back. His nostrils flared and I could tell he was trying to keep his cool. He could ruin these guys if he wanted to. I don’t know why he was letting them keep him. But I also didn’t know why I didn’t run away. It was like watching a train wreck seconds before it happened.

 I stood alone, in the center of the hall, the only person on Harry’s horizon. A lighthouse hoping to steer the sailor home.

 “C’mon, please man, everyone’s talking about them. We just need one,” Snapback exhorted. He put up his hands, pleading. “We’ll split one. We’ll seriously cut it in half.” 

 Even from here, I could see the muscles in his neck tense. I tried doing to him what he did to everyone else. I trapped him, wide-eyed, anchoring him to me. He didn’t break our stare.

 As if each word scraped against his skull, “I said I don’t do that shit.”

 “That’s a fucking joke. Mark got some last week,” Bowtie barked.

 I saw the moment I lost him. In what world I thought I could be enough to harbor him, I had no idea. Harry snapped, kicking the steroid-pumped kid so hard in the knee, it knocked him down. It wasn’t a broken bone, but it’d leave one hell of a bruise.  

 “Dude, are you crazy?!” Snapback cried. 

 Harry raised his fist, bringing it flying. I gasped and hid my face. But I didn’t hear an impact. I faced them again.

 Harry’s fist froze inches before his cheek. Facing what would have been a badly broken nose, Bowtie shook on the floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry relaxed his hovering fist and folded his arms, squatting next to the quivering guy. “You’re fucking welcome I was in a good mood ‘fore you came, otherwise I wouldn’t be acting so polite.”  

 The squeak of a floorboard shook Harry back to Earth. He caught me walking away and his whole body straightened, once again hyper-focused on me, trying to tune in and trap me exactly where I stood. Taking advantage of his distraction, Snapback and Bowtie ran for it. Bowtie limped, running into me and knocking me off-balance as he passed.

 In a second, it was just us. 

 “Y/N,” he began, walking towards me cautiously. 

 “No.” 

 He stopped in his tracks. He was tall, but his shoulders hung in despondent defeat.

 “You were right, Harry.” 

 I could see how tired he was. I could see the broken pieces fitting into something beautiful. He looked so sad and regretful, I already felt guilty for saying,

 “You can’t hide anymore.” And with one last look at the broken boy before me, “You are fucked.” 

 Suddenly, the beer on the floor was just stale and sticky. The couches were filthy from strangers’ mistakes. And the air would never be clear. Harry had been right. This entire house was filled with people who didn’t care and if they did, they were trying to forget; a place more empty than if it were vacant. It was a mess just like the boy living in it. And just like the grand house, impressive at first glance, not all of his parts were beautiful.

 I ignored the way his broken pieces seemed to shatter as soon as I said it and the way it hurt me ten-fold. I ignored him calling out my name as I maneuvered through the blur of bodies, until I lost his voice on the dance floor. I could breathe better outside and I walked past the cops without acknowledging them. 

 From complete chaos to relative quiet, my ears rung, filling the new silence.

 Maybe this was the last time we’d speak. Maybe this was how it all should’ve ended that first day in September. Because in that house, that wasn’t the Harry I thought I’d knew. That was a boy far-gone, confused, and I was falling down with him. I was ANGRY. I PITIED him. And I was angry for feeling something else I should never have felt for him.

 Somehow, in this fuzzy ringing world buzzing with heated thoughts and cop lights that blurred my vision, I heard a notepad scribble as soon as I passed a squad car. 

 Lucky for me, Momma always said I had selective hearing.

part 21

[doing-all-write]

flustered

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joe are getting ready to go to the store when he decides now is a good time to re-enact his casting video for BoRhap. 

Word Count: 1K (she’s bby)

Warnings: This thing may be the most fluffy, self-indulgent piece of romance I’ve ever written. So, be prepared for lots of fluff, soft Joe and saying I love you for the first time

A/N: Hello! I’m working on part 3 of don’t be a baby (i haven’t forgotten, don’t worry!) BUT that video of Joe’s audition tape was too soft and adorable for me NOT to write this little blurb with the help of @mrhoemazzello​ who is the greatest muse known to human kind 💖💖💖 

💖💖As always likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

"BABE" 

"You don't need to yell, I'm literally right next to you." she turned with a squeak as the tips of her braids hit Joe, causing him to clutch his face in faux agony. 

"SHE'S BLINDED ME!" He screamed at the same time that she cried, "I'm sorry!" 

"(Y/N)? Is that you?" She scrunched her nose as Joe smashed his palms against her face, "I can only tell who's who anymore by touch alone." She giggled as she gently pushed her palms against his chest, feeling the softness of his well-worn sweatshirt pushing back. 

"Wow, you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, are we really dating?" 

"Yes," she laughed, "Much to my dismay." 

"The woman WOUNDS me with her hair then with her words?" Joe flung his hand against his forehead, slumping against the wall as (Y/N) rolled her eyes. 

"This is what I get for dating an actor."

Peeking at her through his eye, Joe grinned, "And you wouldn't change it for anything, would you?" 

"Not for anything in the world." She smiled as she got on tip-toe to plant a kiss on his lips. Pulling away, Joe placed a hand on her hip, bringing her closer so he could kiss her again. Feeling her smile against his lips was his favorite thing in the world. 

"You know, we said we were going to the store twenty minutes ago..." 

"You're really ruining a romantic moment here." Joe sighed against her lips. 

"Will you ever forgive me?" She mumbled as she gave Joe a long, lingering kiss. 

Pulling away, she giggled at the stunned look on Joe's face. "If you keep kissing me like that, I'll forgive you for everything forever." 

Laughing she grabbed his keys from the side table, "Are we going our what? We have exactly zero food in the house." 

Shaking himself from his stupor Joe snatched the keys from her hands, brushing past her to the front door where he stepped into his shoes, "And who's fault is that?" 

"It was a stressful week! You know I bake a lot when I'm stressed!" 

"Don't forget the eating aspect." 

"That's the most important part!" She flung her arms out wide to illustrate her point. 

Laughing, he tugged on the end of her braid, "You ready to go, darling?" 

"Yeah," her eyes widened, "SHOT GUN!" she screamed as she bolted for the car. 

~

Caaaaaan?

"ANYYYBODYYY! FIND ME! SOMEBODY TOOOOO!" She shoved a fake microphone into Joe's face, "Looooooove." Joe sang passionately into the mic in his best baritone voice. Flinging her head back, she let loose a loud laugh. 

Glancing over at her, Joe's heart expanded. The sun was streaming through the windows, bits of hair falling out of her braids, blowing all over. Her smile was wide and he was sure he had never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life. 

Reaching forward, he turned down the song, "Did I ever show you my audition tape I sent in for Bohemian Rhapsody?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, he had shown it to her on one of their first dates and she had watched it every day since. 

Joe knew that and (Y/N) knew that, but quirking an eyebrow, she decided to play dumb, "You know, I don't think you ever have Mazzello." 

Nodding sagely, Joe gripped the wheel, "Well, luckily, we're in the same car that I happened to film it in and I think I can remember the accent.."

"Babe, you literally did the accent last night when we were making out." 

"Yeah and it turned you on." Smacking his arm, Joe laughed, "Alright, alright. You ready?" 

Straightening up in her seat, she smacked her hands on her thighs, "Okay, Mazzello. Annnnnd...ACTION." 

Launching into his monologue he gave during his audition tape she felt her heart straining in her chest. The love she felt for Joe in this moment stole her breath away. Turning her head, she let her gaze drink in Joe, at the sun streaming in, highlighting his profile. Being with him felt like holding a birthday candle close to her chest, it was a fire but it was full of promises, of wishes, of good things to come and years and years to look forward to together. 

Taking his eyes off the road to meet her (Y/E/C) ones, he smiled. "Are you even listening to me?" 

Nodding, she laughed as Joe's hand came to rest on her thigh, "Because it seems like you're not even paying attention to anything I'm saying to." He continued in John's accent. 

"I am! I am, I swear." She patted his hand as Joe nodded, mollified, "Okay, because it would be a shame if you weren't listening as I told you about the time that I went to set super hungover and Ben and Gwil tricked me into eating mayonnaise..." hearing her laugh fill the car was better than any song that could be play over the stereo. 

"Babe! That's not true! I was there on set that day with you just as hungover, I was the one who MADE you take that fourth shot!" 

"Yes, and we both paid for it dearly." He said with a straight face as she fell into giggles again. Glancing over at her, another smile lit up his face. "Babe, oh my god, stop, my sides hurt." She whined as she swept a finger at the moisture that had collected in her eyes. 

"Would you like to hear me rate my favorite kind of cheeses in this accent as well?" He bit back his own smile as her laughter shook her frame. Leaning over the console she buried her face into Joe's shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne, the laundry detergent they used and sunshine. 

Feeling her shake against him, Joe leaned over to plant a kiss on her head. Lifting his head up, he continued his monologue on cheeses, completely oblivious to her pleas, begging him to stop. 

"So that's why Gouda is probably my favorite cheese but Pepperjack is a close second." He shrugged as (Y/N) collapsed back into her own seat, clutching her stomach. 

"Oh my god, Joey, I'm dying, please. Holy shit..." she trailed off as she caught her breath. Joe laughed, keeping one hand firmly planted on her thigh, the other one deftly steering the car into the parking lot of the grocery store. 

As her laughter died down, Joe parked the car and twisted in his seat to face her fully. Wearing one of his sweatshirts, no makeup, eyes crinkly as she recovered from her laughing fit. Her smile, wide and unguarded. The Queen playlist she had made him playing softly in the background. The sun lighting her form up, making her look angelic. All of a sudden he couldn't fight the words that were leaping from his throat. 

"I love you." 

Her laughter died as she stared back at Joe, eyes wide. 

"Wh-what did you just say?"

Taking a deep breath in, Joe figured it wouldn't make much sense to deny what he'd just confessed. 

"I said, I love you, (Y/N)." He lifted his eyes from his hands to meet hers and her breath hitched. She wanted to spend forever drowning in them. The next words left her body in a sigh. 

"I love you too, Joey." 

Realizing what they had just admitted to each other, the smiles they were beaming at each other were huge. 

"We probably look like idiots. Just sitting here. Staring at each other." (Y/N) mumbled. 

"Smiling like two fucking weirdos." Joe added as she nodded then lunged across the car's console, planting a kiss on Joe like she had right before they'd left for the store. 

Pulling back, they each had equally dazed looks on their faces. 

"Should we, um, even try to go grocery shopping? Or-" 

"Can we please go home and have sex?" she asked as she kissed Joe's bicep, buckling her seatbelt back into place.

It took Joe three tries to get the car started. When he finally did, (Y/N) was laughing just as hard, if not harder than she had before. 

"I'm sorry but the woman who I love just said she would have sex with me! Excuse me for getting a little flustered." Joe huffed. 

"It's adorable, how do you think I feel knowing the man I'm in love with is that excited to have sex with me?" she mumbled as she scrolled through Joe's phone, trying to find the next song. 

Joe glanced over at her, "What are you so focused on over there, (Y/L/N)? You've got your tongue sticking out when you're concentrating super hard."

Quickly pulling the tip of her tongue back in to her mouth, she chuckled as she hit play on the next song. "I was trying to find our new 'I love you' song." 

Joe's eyes grew soft as he reached over to take her hand in his own, "Yeah? And what song would that be?" 

The machine of a dream!

The look on Joe's face was better than she thought it would be. 

As the song's final notes played, Joe parked the car next to their building and reached over to take both of her hands in his, "(Y/N), I need to tell you something important." 

"Yes, Joey?" She said as she batted her eyelashes at him. 

"I'm in love with my car...and also you." She gasped as she swooned into her seat.

"Babe, you know just want to say to make a girl weak in the knees." 

"I also know what to do to make her weak in the knees." he whispered in her ear as he nipped at her earlobe. Squeaking, she frantically pulled at the handle of the car door, "Well then what are we doing just sitting here? We gotta get inside!" 

Chuckling Joe unfolded himself from the car, "Who's the flustered one now?"

[thewayshefeels1]

June 2016

June 2016

Hi. I don’t know where to begin… I got to my car & saw your letter. My heart stopped & I didn’t know what to expect. It’s crazy because I dreamt of you the night before. I don’t remember too well, but you said you hated me & I was a bitch... I woke up in a bad mood. The past few weeks have been a roller coaster I wouldn’t want to ride again. I was anxious to open it, as if there were a bomb inside. I was afraid what it might say, something like my dream? That you think I’m heartless? Thanks for taking time to write me. I would handwrite too but it would take 14659 hours & be 10 pages long so I figured typing is more efficient. It’s no exaggeration when I say you’ve been on my mind every hour since I last saw you. Possibly since I became your girlfriend & before that too. It means a lot that you poured your heart out to me; I know how vulnerable you must feel & I can’t imagine what it took since when we met you had this wall up. Now’s my turn, and I know this laptop is going to be coated with tears by the time I’m done.

A lot can happen in 6 months but I never expected this. Honestly, I tried to stop thinking of you but no matter how much time goes by or what I do, there’s always moments when I see, smell or hear something that takes me back. I’m aware forgetting you is impossible. I don’t want to have to get over you. I tell you that you don’t want my problems & you say it’s not for me to decide. It’s messy; love for me is like heaven but hell too. How can the same thing make you feel so alive & dead at the same time? I’m either a sunny day with a breath of fresh air or a thunderstorm and when it rains it pours. (I tried to stay your sun). I still see a spark in you; the potential you had to light me on fire… it drew me to you, what I fell for.  When we’d laugh about dumb shit, the way you breathe when you sleep & I’d listen to your heartbeat. Your love for ghetto music & random disco tracks. I sprung out of bed the day after you kissed me. But getting out of bed is nearly impossible now. I know you want answers, but so do I. Something you said frequently during our relationship was that I made you [do] this & that etc. I can’t help how you interpret things but I mean it when I say I never meant to be anything other than loving. I was never good at saying goodbye. I remember our first kiss, the stars were out. It felt like I was flying. I hoped to never leave your side. Most days I act just fine, but I can't handle it at night. You gave me some of my best memories. (BTW this is going to be scattered, my thoughts are all over the place.)

It’s frightening when someone brings so much happiness to your life because any second they can take it away. It was never my intention to leave. The last thing I wanted was for it to be this way. We’re opposite: you’re collected & I’m off the wall. You’re a walker, I’m a runner. All I do is run; run away before I am left. That way, if you were to go first I wouldn’t be left a fool. But I’m still here, empty. It never serves me in the end. Fear makes you do odd things. Now I can’t even listen to my favorite songs because it’s too painful. I don’t know why you feel like a ghost. There’s countless nights when I’m desperate to call & hear your voice. I’m lonely & need you to reassure me everything is ok. I want to tell you I miss you but I won’t. I’ll throw my phone, turn it off & cry myself to sleep. It’s excruciating. I feel like I’m in rehab, getting off a drug. I hope you know my feelings are still there. I feel safe when I’m wrapped in your arms & they became a home to me. But even the best homes get damaged sometimes.  A week after I saw you last, I had a seizure. My doctor says its stress or the onset of narcolepsy. I’m nauseous every day and feel like I have the health of a 75 year old. I’ve been trying to not let shit get the best of me as I wait to go to treatment. My insurance had to be taken care of to get into an inpatient facility. It’s an E.D & PTSD program. I had to be medically cleared with my doctor & finish paperwork for the financial officer to ensure my LOA went through. I should be gone by next week. I pray your family is well. Give everyone a hug & pet your cats for me lol. I sense I’ve lost myself; I try to focus on making others happy & forgot I’m supposed to be happy too. You know you’re attached to someone when you’ve gotten so used to talking on a daily basis but when you don’t it’s like part of you is gone. I thought I was prepared but it still hurts. Relationships are funny, I don’t want to be depressing [no really] but it’s like you get to know every detail just to forget it all when you stop. You had me so mesmerized but I was in pain a lot more than I led on. I don’t know how I can give you what you want if I can’t give it to myself. This doesn’t mean I don’t love you, I’ve just learned sometimes that’s not enough. I really wanted it to be you god damn it, I did.

I see the best in you and will always be around. No one really knows what forever means & we don’t see what's real until it's gone. I hate looking outside my window to not see you waiting in my driveway. It’s funny how time flies... 6 months feels like a lifetime ago. I loved when I’d look at you… I've never stared so intently. I tried to cherish you. I've loved and I have been hurt but you were like every hope I’d ever had. This is far from easy, as much as it may look. I’m a hot mess. You entertain my thoughts like a fantasy. It’s torture because you’re within reach but seem untouchable. When I’m in my car and drive past spots we’ve gone they look so dark. Back then I wasn’t afraid of anything, with you I was impenetrable. But real life always has to sink in. One night I drove home from work & was a complete wreck. You know that feeling, like your hearts been snatched out your chest. I didn’t go inside. I was just sobbing in my car, looking at the stars, my head on the steering wheel. I drove to the dead end street “our spot” It was the second or 3rd night I met you and we were driving around. You told me about a girl who was your friend you were in love with. You said she friend zoned you and that was one of the only girls you loved. I remember thinking “she is so lucky, how could she do that?” Life is nothing but irony.

I lit up with you; I felt myself come to life and blossom. You stole my heart and I never thought I’d have yours. I found something in my journal the other day… “it would be a privilege to have my heart broken by him.” It’s a line from a movie. I wrote that down when we first started seeing each other. Heartbreak is never a privilege. Some may think so, because you got a chance to know the person in the first place. I question if anybody is ever really yours or if it’s just your turn? From the start I tried to seem positive because that’s what I was told to do. I wanted you to like me and felt being my pessimistic self wasn’t good. I told myself you were the perfect one to risk it for. It’s Wednesday now and I’ve been working on this for a few days. I asked Dina what I should say, and she told me not to answer. I’ve realized the last few weeks I need to stop listening to what everybody tells me to do and listen to myself. I’ve ignored my gut for so long I forgot I have a voice. Every night when the sunsets I think of you. I went outside and laid on the ground the other night and stared at the moon amongst the stars. I was thinking about you and the fact that we share the same view. Nights are the worst. It comes rushing in waves, ready to pull me under. Sometimes I feel stupid I let you get so close to me. I know I’m hard to love. Some days I’m all smiles and affection while others all I want to do is lie in bed, silent. It is hard to refer to you as my ex. Friends is better than nothing right? But what does friends mean? I can’t believe I am revealing so much of this to you. I try to never let anyone in. I told mom I don’t think I could go the rest of my life without you. And now our forever turned into times to remember. You’re like a drug I can’t break free from. Love is addicting, that’s why I try to never let it win, I always lose control. I doubt you’ll ever realize the impact you had. You repeatedly said I never told you anything, but a lot of people keep their feelings to themselves because they’re tired of pouring their hearts out to the wrong person.

I have to fall in love with myself but don’t know how to. All I know is I can’t rely on another for my happiness. I can’t depend on somebody else’s acceptance for my own. As of right now there’s a record in my head saying I don’t need love, I don’t want love, I am unlovable. I will reject love when it comes because there is no such thing. I cannot trust, it is not safe. I don’t want to fake a smile, I don’t want you to either. I don’t want you to feel as if you’re responsible for me. This doesn’t mean I couldn’t stick it out longer, I’m just not that tough. My mom told me I should’ve been straight up from the start. I’ve never been good at that. How can I trust another when I don’t trust myself? I am terrified of my own voice. I wish you could hear everything I’m afraid to say. I’ll start with this… I was severely confused; you lit me up or left me aching. Half the time what we had was incredible, I was so comfortable around you. Butterflies, slow motion, electricity. Then there were times you said you loved me but the next second it was like you couldn’t stand me. I apologized for things I wasn’t sorry for. You insinuated I let you down & I didn’t feel “cut out” I just felt I couldn’t please you. Even typing this makes me nervous. Like my heart speeds up and I should never say this aloud. Were all just looking for someone who cares enough to try, right? Someone who remembers the little things. I never meant to play games, God knows life is hard enough already. You declared I will simply move on & “throw away everything” as if it’s so easy for me. No. If anything that destroys me more. It’s like fighting against the current. I see you everywhere, like a spirit haunting me. Your smile is sketched on the back on my eyelids and I can’t erase it. I’ve had all these feelings extracted and I don’t know what to do with them. They make me uncomfortable. Crazy how there are billions of people in this world and one can do that to you (all it takes is one). It’s not as if I’m walking away with a sigh of relief and you’re the only one suffering. And everyone with their unhelpful, mundane advice “there’s plenty of fish in the sea, just move on.” They don’t know. I hate the thought that people are replaceable. Is there a way to master the art of falling? Love can be as fatal as falling off a mountain. In psychology, there are 6 love styles & my type is self-sacrificing, compassionate and has trouble receiving. I will often choose suffering in order to comply with others needs. The advantage is generosity, but the disadvantage is it can induce feelings of guilt and resentment and the obvious potential to be taken advantage of. I thought I already knew what it was like to be broken but, no. Did I mention I hate goodbyes? They are so painful, might as well be hit by a bus. If anyone knows anything about me, they know I’d rather be in a coma than lose somebody. Grief is excruciating, you feel so helpless. Certainly our hearts shatter and things tear us in two, but will they end us? I wish I was strong like you, you must get it from your mom. Once I stop searching for a home in others and come home to myself, maybe I’ll be able to accept true intimacy, instead of rejecting and hiding from it it. My pretending to be “ok” game is strong as hell. My feelings for you were real… I loved being in your presence. I could sit next to you and that would be enough. I can’t say if I fell for you the first night or from the moment I saw you, all I know is remembering being across you and realizing somehow nothing else mattered when I was with you. You were a story I so desperately wanted to read. I was devastated at the thought of you getting tired of me. But people never stay and there’s nothing you can do about it. Yet now you’re asking me to. How do we manage? It hurts. It didn’t feel real at first but once it did it was suffocating. You have to let feelings pass and go through you. Why am I feeling abandoned when I’m the one who left? All I have lost left a profound cavern in my soul nothing can fill. I want you to know that sometimes people are sad and they don’t know why. We don’t necessarily need  a reason to be. I am exhausted. I wake up tired like I’m drowning in a black wave. Depression isn’t a bad day and it’s not always brought on by a situation. You can have a great life but there’s emptiness in your heart. Look at celebrities who commit suicide, it’s real. Sometimes it’s the things you can’t see that are the most real. Mental disorders don’t care if your parents are together or if you have a home. The brain is an organ. Mental illness is a sick brain. Telling someone you’re not really sick or it’s all in your head is like telling someone with asthma “it’s not real, it’s all in your lungs”.

Pretending not to love you is heart wrenching. Someone said people will leave your life and you can’t fall apart every time it happens. I see the best in you, I just have to figure out who I am, and seed out the person I create to please others. I hope you can try to understand & I will try to understand your absence. Whether you reply in fury, or I never hear from you again, I will try to be ok with it because love can get hard and hurt sometimes. Promise me if you love someone you’ll tell them. Even if you’re afraid or it seems stupid, please just say it. Words have so much power and sometimes it’s the things we don’t hear that have the most impact. Silence is dangerous and it kills me to say this because I don’t want to picture it, but l I should. If a girl comes along and she is everything you want, I hope she gives you what I couldn’t. I hope her heart swells like mine and its wonderful, like a flower blossoming. She won’t want the excitement & sensations to stop because she’s afraid there’s a dead end like me. I hope it continues and the honeymoon period doesn’t end so fast like you said ours did. She’ll be precious and see the sparkle in your eye I wish I could bottle up. Her flame won't dim like mine because you’re the fire to keep her warm. I’m a brick wall on the brink of crumbling. You won’t have to worry about how many guys want her because you’ll believe it when she says she only wants you. Shell taste like violets; then you can forget the taste of me and not hurt anymore. I pray she has kindness in her eyes and a huge place in her heart for your family. I hope your mom loves her and Michelle & her become best friends (I hope she likes cats too). I hope she treats you good and you treat her better. I hope your love feels right. When you let people see the darkest corners of your soul, what makes you lonely and why you cry at night, it's paralyzing because they can judge you; they can run and not turn back. My mind is like a dictionary no one comprehends, of agony and heartache. I just want to hold your hand… I miss that. But I also miss myself. And when you look at me I either feel I’m on top of the world or the bottom of the sea.

Don’t you dare think for one second I’m pushing you away because I don’t love you. I’m sorry if this is sending mixed messages, I just care too much to let you think I can live without you so easily. I’m constantly torn between if you want it go for it and if it’s meant to be it will. Maybe I knew from the start I couldn’t keep you, but I tried anyway, boy did I try. It’s a tragedy when someone you know becomes someone you knew; you walk around not knowing what’s happening in each other’s lives. We’re just strangers with a past, expected to carry on like nothing ever happened. They tell me to move on, as if I can make memories evaporate from my mind. I promise I’m trying to be okay with this. Maybe change is a good thing but it kills me. I know it’s necessary and the only guarantee in life but I try to avoid it, which rarely works out. Thank you for letting me have moments where I could be myself; I didn’t have to try to be perfect and you still accepted me. I don’t know how to live without you but I guess I just will and it gets a little easier each day. The reality of me not mattering to you is like slowly withering, but I can’t be selfish and want it both ways. It hurts when you have someone in your heart but you can’t have them in your arms and I wish feelings left when people do. Know that I love you with every fucked up, broken piece of my heart. I wish you nothing but health & happiness wherever you go. I need to give myself the love I never knew. We can’t break each other and call it love because loving someone is not the same as being too scared to be alone. I don’t want you to have to fill the empty parts of me. 1+1=2 but 1+.5 only equals 1 ½. People cannot make up for what we think we lack. Idk why we believe people will complete us when they can only complement. They say “if you are not enough for yourself you will never be enough for someone else”. If I’ve learned anything from you it’s that how you love yourself is how you teach others to love you. And if I’ve taught you anything, I hope it’s that to be soft isn’t weak, it is strong. It’s part of the human experience to experience emotion, do not be afraid. I hope you can fall in love with your solitude in the meantime as well.

Love, Lauren

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Take It To The Limit

Chapter 2: How Do You Do It?

Summary: Bill is battling himself over his feelings for Eddie and seeking out advice from Beverly. Beverly and Richie have some much needed ‘Girl Talk’ and is Banana Split a middle aged mom flavor of ice cream??

Ships: Reddie, eventual Stenbrough, benverly 

word count: 2,284

Eddie’s hands were wrapped around the folding edges of a newspaper as he pulled it from the small blue vending machine outside of the Dairy Queen. Once the damn thing was free, he pushed the glass door open. The bell rung over his head as he strolled inside the air conditioned ice cream joint. The red vinyl of the booth stuck to his skin as he slid back inside and pushed the newspaper across to Mike. He gave him a thankful grin and started flipping through the paper while they could hear Stan ordering everything. “What’s new in Derry, Mike?” Ben asked, leaning over his shoulder to read a few of the articles.  

As Bill went to listen, a red cup was placed in front of him. He looked up as Stan started sliding everyone their blizzards before sitting back down. He peeked over the lip of his cup and inspected his cookies and cream. He was just about to dig in when he heard the sweetest hum from his right. He turned slightly and watched Eddie pull the red spoon from his mouth, streaks of cream still on it. Bill’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re missing out, Eddie.” Bill heard Mike speak and thrust his head back towards him. 

“Yeah, Banana Split is such a middle aged mom flavor.” Ben scrunched up his nose and dipped into his chocolate blizzard. Mike nodded in agreement as Stan shook his head. 

“I like banana split.” Stan stabbed his spoon into a particularly tough hunk of vanilla. Mike hummed, swallowing his spoonful before pointing his thumb at him. 

“See. That proves it.” 

Stan chuckled and shook his head, cleaning his spoon in seconds flat. “Yeah, I’m a middle aged mom and you guys are all my kids.” 

The table burst into a joyous laughter before Mike set his paper aside and looked to Bill. “What’s your opinion on this ice cream discourse, Bill?” 

Bill, who’d been subtlety staring at Eddie, quickly snapped out of his little daze and swallowed the bit of cookie he had in his mouth. “My m-ma-mom loves it, so...” He shrugged with a teasing sort of grin on his face. Eddie shook his head and stuck his foot on the other bench as a foot rest. 

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” Eddie shook his head and shoved another spoonful into his mouth. He swallowed and looked like he was caught up in a thought. “Boy, it’s times like these where I’m thankful Richie isn’t around to take that as an invitation to eat right off my spoon.” 

Everyone chuckled, knowing that exact thing would’ve gone down, if they weren’t missing two of their friends. Stan turned up his nose at the thought. “I didn’t want to admit it, but it is sort of boring without them.” Stan shrugged. 

“Man, that comment could go straight to Richie’s head.” Mike chuckled and Stan glared at him. 

“Somebody have change? We could call Richie right now and tell him that Stan misses him!” Ben laughed and moved to stand, Stan slapped his hand down on his shoulder. Mike pulled out his change though and took his ice cream with him as he darted outside before Stan could catch him. Everyone copied him, grabbing their ice cream and taking off after him. 

Everyone erupted in laughter, except for Stan who was glaring daggers at Mike. Stan could easily stop Mike if he really wanted but Stan was a simple man. He saw Eddie’s eyes light up at the thought of talking to Richie, he held back. He was a simple and good man. 

Mike dialed one of the numbers the pair had given them and tapped the side of the booth. Bill looked down at the ground, hiding his frown. He didn’t not want to talk Beverly and Richie, he missed them. But that look in Eddie’s eyes was really making him dread it. 

“Richie? Hi! Good news, Stan misses you!” Mike jumped a little and Stan rolled his eyes and stole the phone. 

“He’s stretching the truth a little Rich-”

“Stan the man misses me? Don’t worry Stanley, I miss you too. And don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’ll be back before you know it!” Richie smirked to himself as Stan quite literally gagged. He silently handed the phone to whoever came to his left, which happened to be Eddie. 

Ben smiled and shook his head, mouthing something about giving them privacy. Mike and Stan were all for it but Bill didn’t really want to. “Maybe I want to t-ta-talk to Beverly. They’re not actually a couple, you guys.” Bill narrowed his eyes as he whispered and his feet stayed planted on the pavement, his cold ice cream cup clutched in his right hand. 

Stan frowned, peeking over to see Bill’s blizzard melted to the point of calling it ice cream soup. “Yeah but everyone knows what it’s coming to....” Stan shrugged, figuring everyone had known this since freshman year. 

“Nothing’s set in st-sta-stone. And I’m not gonna accommodate to a relationship that hasn’t even happened yet.” Bill was uncharacteristically bitter. Stan was just about to say something when Bill whipped around and tugged Eddie’s sleeve. 

“I wanna talk to Bev?” Bill’s voice was much softer than it when it had been directed at Stan and Stan wasn’t dumb. He noticed. Eddie shrugged and said goodbye before handing the phone over. 

The four others went back to the comfortable air conditioned inside as Bill started a conversation with Beverly. They awkwardly stood in place, rolling on their feet from ball to heel. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beverly accepted the phone quickly and balanced the phone under her chin to place her hands back in place. 

“Ca-can you talk to me for a few?” Bill asked and she hummed. 

“We were in the middle of something-.” Beverly answered as she looked down at her fingers lightly balanced on the planchette in the middle of the Ouija board. She felt a small push and whipped her head up to stare at Richie, who only shrugged with a suspicious grin. 

“Sure thing buddy.” She smiled and let go of the planchette. “What’s up?” 

“Bev! You’re not supposed to take your hands off until you say goodbye! We’re gonna get seriously haunted now!” Richie whined and Bill pursed his lips. 

“Any chance you can talk alone?” Bill asked and Beverly glanced at the rambunctious boy. She sighed and pulled the phone down a little. 

“Rich, go get the snacks from your room.” 

Richie smiled and hopped off the carpet and strolled back next door. When the door closed, Beverly brought the phone back to her ear. “You have like five minutes while Richie secretly eats the best snacks when he thinks I won’t notice.” 

Bill smiled a little despite the situation. “It’s just...h-how do you get over someone?” 

Beverly sighed and leaned back on her bed. “Well, for starters. I never had too because I’m a catch so I wouldn’t know.” Beverly chuckled and Bill shook his head with a small grin. “Ok, so look. It’s gonna take a while. And try to hide the bitterness you’re feeling.”

Bill glanced back at Stan through the glass and sighed. “Ch-cha-check.” He made a check with his finger in the air. 

“And you’re gonna want to-”

Just as she was going into her next point, The door crashed open and Richie crashed back inside. He was playing the air guitar as he sang the lyrics to ‘Bad To The Bone’, he threw a dvd onto the bed.

“And tell Ben I’ll call him later, ok?” Bev sighed, and Bill got the message. Her tone and the sudden eruption of background noise helped. They said their goodbyes and she hung up the phone, turning to face her annoying friend. 

“That’s not snacks.” She pointed to the dvd with a frown.” 

Richie just grinned as he hopped onto her bed. “It’s our last night in the haunted motel, figured we could watch something spooky.” He waved the case and she swiped it. 

“Christine?” She rolled her eyes and cleaned up the Ouija board. 

“Yeah! Eddie really digs it so I borrowed it from him.” He shrugged and Beverly set the board on her suitcase. 

“Speaking of Eddie...” She gave him an expectant look to which he returned with a shrug. “You changing up your plans or you just gonna use this trip as an excuse to prolong asking him out?” 

Richie chuckled. “You really think he likes me?” 

Bev sighed and wondered how she got caught up in all of this. She sat down on the edge of the bed and tapped his knee. “If he doesn’t, then I’m crazy.”

He tilted his head and got ready to make a smart ass comment but she slapped his leg, hard. “Don’t” she warned with a grin. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was shining the next morning and Eddie had a loose carefree smile on his face as he leaned on the payphone which was of course ruined by Richie. “-So, have any good dreams about me while I’ve been gone?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes and groaned. 

“Ohhh, sounds like you’re having on right now.” Richie cackled and Eddie gasped. 

“If you were here, I’d be giving you the finger, asshole.” Eddie shook his head while his friend continued to laugh. 

“You love me.” Richie smiled as he swung his legs back and forth, laying on his stomach on Beverly’s bed as she took their bags out to the van. Eddie hummed. 

“Sure.” He mumbled and Richie chuckled. 

“Hey...Eds, you sure you can’t take off work? I mean we haven’t gone far yet and-”

Eddie blushed and thanked god that he wouldn’t have to hide it. “And you’re suggesting that you’d come back for me?” He chuckled and Richie took a turn to get flustered. “Besides, I can’t take off work for a whole summer.” 

“Yeah, I know. It was a dumb idea.” Richie rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyways, I should go but uhhh. Daydream about me while I’m gone?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes and looked up at the bright sun. “I wouldn’t waste such a good day daydreaming about your ugly face.” 

Richie rolled off the bed while he laughed. “Goodbye, Eddie my love.” 

“Bye, asshole.” Eddie hung up and lingered a little, licking his lips and smiling to himself. Richie hung up the phone with that dazed off sort of grin just as Beverly strolled in. At the sight, she leaned against the doorway and had to grin. She sighed and Richie hopped off the bed. 

“I was going to help when I was done on the phone, Swear.” Richie said as he looked around and noticed she’d brought all the bags to the van. She shook her head and ushered him out of the room and downstairs to the van. 

She shut the back doors and they both leaned against them for a few minutes, smoking. It was then that Bev couldn’t hold in her questions anymore. 

“So...” Beverly started but wasn’t quite sure how to finish. She shook her cigarette and scolded herself as Richie waited with that grin on his face.

 “We’ve missed out on years worth of quote unquote girl talk-” Beverly put air quotes on that and smirked. “So, catch me up? Talk to me about Eddie.” 

Richie shrugged with an embarrassed smirk. “What’s a guy to talk about?” 

Beverly chuckled and took a long drag. “When did you first look at him and think ‘Man of my dreams!’ “ She teased with a silky pitched voice and Richie bumped her shoulder. 

“I don’t know, you guys apparently just knew I had feelings for him, right?” 

“Sure...it wasn’t confirmed so we weren’t going to assume but...” She shrugged. “I don’t know, we just saw little things.” 

“Ok, so It’s the same for me...I just knew, I think.” He shrugged and Beverly nodded. She looked off in thought, carefully trying to think of her next question. 

“So, how did you know that it was different....? Like how you felt about Stan, for example, wasn’t the same as the way you felt about Eddie?” Beverly gestured with her cigarette and Richie quirked his brow before chuckling. 

“Well, Stan’s my best friend...but Eds,” Richie rubbed the back of his neck, cigarette jetting out from his fingers. “Eddie...he’s my boy.” He shrugged and Beverly swore to God her heart burst right on the spot. She smiled. 

“Oh my God, Richie Tozier being sweet? Is that possible?” 

“This is why I didn’t want to have girl talk with you, Marsh!” Richie shouted and pointed his cigarette at her with a large grin, the smoke blowing in her face. “I’m gonna give our room keys back.” He smiled and patted her shoulder as he left. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bill studied Eddie’s face as the boy was laughing, Ben having said something that he guessed was hysterical. He felt a little bad for missing it but he couldn’t help but get a little caught up in Eddie. He tilted his head to the side and leaned back on Stan’s couch. He had some song running in his head.

‘How do you do what you do to me, I wish I knew. If I knew how you do it to me, I'd do it to you. How do you do what you do to me. I'm feelin' blue. Wish I knew how you do it to me but I haven't a clue...’

He bit hard into his lip. ‘Story of my life. Maybe if he knew just how Eddie was capable of reducing him to a puddle just by laughing, he could do it too. And maybe then....Shit. Get on something else, Denbrough.’  He shook his head. 

[duncaninla]

New York, July 2017.

A few restful days in Paris and Barcelona restored my serenity.  No more searing heat, the weather more temperate, heavy clouds bursting over us.  The rain washing away the last of the red, Andalusian dust.  Well dressed men, once again, to look at on the streets of Paris and Barcelona. Mary’s spare room, decorated with Honiton lace and embroidered white linen.  We walked the length of Parc St Cloud with our dogs wearing gun boots and waxed jackets.  The Little Dog is almost fully restored, his eye closes once again, his sagging jowl looks perfectly normal to those who do not know.  One evening we helped friends of Mary move house.  TV Producer Etienne Alban, recently separated from his wife and kids, moving in with his super cute… yoga instructor girlfriend.  We carried a huge sofa 6 flights to their huge new attic apartment.   After the exercise we enjoyed a wonderful dinner at The Hotel Edgar.  The boudin noir… superb.

The following day I drove from Paris to Chamonix listening to an audio recording of the novel 1984.  It is a compellingly joyless book.  Because I am a ditz I arrived a day early. So I booked the Hotel Isabelle and slept fitfully thinking about my time in Carmona. More specifically I dreamt about my Carmona host and friend Ana Corbero, the chatelaine of an 11 acre estate called The Pajarita nestled outside the old city walls of Carmona beneath the The Hotel Parador and the Cordoba Gate.  I dreamt a huge storm roared as I looked north from Ana’s terrace toward the great plain which was once the sea.  I was pointing at something.  “Land ahoy!”  In the dream the waves returned after a thousand years and swept over the fields of sunflowers.  Sea monsters curled out of the petulant waves then crashed into the salty foam.

My time in Carmona with Ana had been stormy, her demeanor quite different from the beautiful girl I chanced upon 35 years ago.

I met Ana Corbero in 1985 or thereabouts introduced by gallerist and curator Celia Lyttleton.  Ana was showing a collection of unremarkable paintings at the Albemarle Gallery.  Celia introduced her as the daughter of a well-known Spanish sculptor, the girlfriend of a Lord.  She was tiny… gamine, scarcely a women.  Her queer and marvelous features delicately carved and flocked, her fierce and sparkling black eyes challenging those of us who dared contradict her.  She demanded respect.  Her flamenco gestures, her delicate collar bones.  She was beautiful.

I don’t remember a great deal about the beginning of our friendship other than the first night at the gallery.

Ana had been enjoying a fractious relationship with the absurdly handsome Colin Campbell, 7th Earl Cawdor.  I do not remember them visiting me in Whitstable but apparently they did.  I do not remember going to Wheelers Oyster Bar and eating crab but apparently we did.  I do remember Ana’s invitation to Brooklyn the following summer where I stayed in Colin’s huge apartment, the top floor of an abandoned school he and another had recently bought.  It was located just over the Williamsburg Bridge.  Brooklyn was very different then. Crack addicts sat on the stoop. The Puerto Rican community had not been replaced by Hasidic Jews and dumb looking hipsters.  The sky at night was regularly lit by flaming, abandoned buildings.  Some called these arson attacks: Jewish lightning.

The walk into Manhattan over the Williamsburg Bridge felt unnecessary.  We stayed close to the apartment.  Colin and I had a fairly raucous time.  Even then I felt contempt for toffs but they had all the best toys so one tended to accept the invitations whenever they came.  It was an eventful trip.  I had a brief affair with the artist Paul Benney.  I threw a bbq from the roof of Gerard Malanga’s apartment.  We were the only white people at an African-American block party and ended up in a black police captain’s humble house.  He looked very uncomfortable.  Years later, I understand why.  White, english people badly educated about slavery or the history of black people in the USA.  We must have seemed very disrespectful.

Ana and Colin’s relationship was passionate and destructive. I blamed Colin for his insensitivity toward Ana.  I excused Ana her eccentricities.  The last image I have of her at that time:  Ana is resting serenely in a nest of pillows, she has written in pen on her forehead one word… SILENCE.

Years passed.  Many years.  I remembered the word scrawled on her face.  Social media reintroduced us.  She married Nabil Gholam an arab architect and 18 years ago they had a baby girl. Sadly, their child is badly disabled with a rare genetic disease.  Against the odds, the child survives.  Ana fought to make her daughter hear and see.  She refused to accept the doctor’s bleak prognosis. Ana lived in Beirut during the Israeli bombardment.  Breastfeeding on her balcony as the bombs fell.  She adopted two more children.  A boy and a girl, both Lebanese.  The architect became successful.  They bought apartments in London, Paris and Seville. When her grandparents who raised her died she bought the Pajarita with a small inheritence.  The Pajarita, a modest finca surrounded by acres of scorched, brown earth and rock where the locals dumped their trash.   Ana set to transforming this barren place with many gardeners into the paradise she and her family enjoy today.

During the years I suggested to traveling friends I knew to be in Spain… meet Ana.  I sent the Australian furniture designer Charles Wilson who I believed might benefit from a stint in Andalusia. But Charles, another terrible drunk, ended up being thrown out of Xavier Corbero’s house in Barcelona because Ana’s step mother hated him.  Charles refused to leave so Ana’s husband threatened him with gypsies (a common, vaguely racist, threat from Nabil) who would break Charles’s legs if he didn’t pack his bag and leave immediately.

I sent Jenna and Stephen Mack’s brother John Jr., son of billionaire Morgan Stanley CEO John Mack.  Even though I did not know John Jr. I trusted they would be a great fit.  That introduction worked out very well.  Now it was my turn to meet Ana.  We communicated solely by text message.  After the long drive from Nice I called her and, for the first time in 35 years, I heard her voice. The deep and rasping voice of  somebody who smokes too many cigarettes or talks too much… or both.

“Why do you want to see me?” She asks over the phone.

I did not have an easy answer.

There was unfinished business between Ana and me.  It was not tangible, it was esoteric. I had no expectations of Ana.  I simply wanted to see her face.  Without the word SILENCE scrawled on it. We might have met that afternoon, had a coffee and left it at that.  I would have driven north.  I had no idea what to expect but I was compelled to see her, meet her again.  We arranged to meet at the small apartment she rented for guests in Carmona.

“How do you like your new digs?” She said as she got out of her huge silver Mercedes.

“Stay as long as you like.”

I gave her a long hug.  Her father, Xavier Corbero, had recently died.  I sniffed and she thought I was crying.  “I’m not crying,” I said, “I’m sniffing.”  Ana was back in my life. Her face was not the same as I remembered when I last saw her.  She has hidden herself on social media because, I now understood, she could not bear what age had done to her. Almost immediately she complained how old she was, how raddled.  She was embarrassed by her face.

“I’ve turned into a middle-aged Swedish woman.”  she said.  “I hope you’re not disappointed.”

It was true.  Middle aged and middle class.  Her face, bloated and pale, almost anemic. Her dry hair, she insisted she wanted to dye gray,  streaked with sun bleached golden locks.  Her eyes were just as fiery but no longer black.  There was something stone dried about her, something suspicious. I slowly recognised who she had become.  The reason I felt compelled to see her?  The reason why so many years ago she left something indelible in me?  It was something I recognized in myself.  Within a few hours my suspicions were confirmed.  Ana Corbero is an alcoholic of the most desperate kind.

We walked up the small cobbled hill from the apartment to the Casa Curro Montoya… her favorite restaurant.  She flamboyantly kisses the owners and lavishes us all with praise. We sat in the hot sun and drank white wine and ate greasy jamon.  Immediately, without prompting, she started telling me how her marriage was over.  Her husband was a liar, she said, and she didn’t know if she could stay married to him.

“He lies about his father and their relationship.  I am married to a stranger.”

I was baffled why this should be reason for divorce but Ana, it turns out, is obsessed with her version of the truth.  Under the parasol that dreamy afternoon I found her deeply personal over sharing electrifying.  I was being inducted into a tortured world of intrigue and family drama… it felt intoxicating.  She contemptuously described her adopted children, how her lazy teen son lied and failed at school.  Her pre teen daughter stole and refused to respect her Mother’s authority.  I ask about their eldest daughter.  “Oh, her.” she mused distantly.   A slight smile flickered over her face.  “She’s an angel.”

I do not remember driving to the Pajarita that afternoon.  I drove to her home so many times the next few weeks.  It is a dusty, pot holed road to Ana’s home.  Red dust gets into everything, into the car, my mouth, my heart.  During my stay the sharp red rocks rip into my tyres… twice.  Yet, once behind the sliding metal gates of the Pajarita… decorated with dragons and comic strip birds there is… the illusion of calm.  Beyond the painted blue iron gate a forest of pepper trees, oleander and citrus.  Terracotta pots filled with herbs and lilies. Vines, dripping with grapes grow over pergolas affording shade, respite from the searing heat. Down an exquisitely cobbled path the simple house reveals itself. There are huge windows covered with traditional Spanish blinds made of esparto… woven reeds.  Inside, rooms of various sizes at different levels filled with stuff.  Ana’s art covers the walls. Piles of art books and catalogues from Christie’s and Sotheby’s.  Broken china knickknacks. Buckets of architectural salvage.  Most of it inherited from her grand parents.  So much stuff.

Many staff run Ana’s estate and life. Annie the housekeeper and general fixer.  Three nurses look after the disabled daughter.  There are gardeners and flamenco guitarists, a governess for the adopted daughter and a masseur who comes daily.  On occasions Ana would marshal the staff and demand they sing songs of her own composition.  They did as they were told.

Annie, a simple local woman, the closest to Ana and (it became apparent) loathed by the son… was Ana’s most trusted servant. As well as dusting and ironing and making beds Annie, Ana told me, was being groomed to write Ana’s autobiography and mix her paints whenever she started painting again. Annie would also run the restaurant whenever Ana got around to opening it.  Annie, forced to kiss us all as per the ‘Andalusian way’.  I refused to kiss Ana’s staff.

“I can’t bear lies or exaggeration.” Ana says.  “I am never impatient, I am never angry.”

During the first few days of my stay we find a happy routine.  I have practical considerations.  I apply for my Spanish residency, open a bank account and get a phone. I take the dogs to the vet in Seville.  The vet is quite the most handsome man I ever met.  I decide to buy a house in Carmona.  They are cheap and plentiful.  Ana is incredibly helpful.  She introduces me to a lawyer, a realtor and makes every effort to ease me into Spanish life. We find a perfectly preserved 16th Century house near the Cordoba Gate.  I need an assistant.  She introduces me to Jose, her own assistant for five years but curiously tells me he is not welcome at her home.

Why she makes the introduction to Jose is a mystery.  And why is he unwelcome at the Pajarita? Jose is a charming, good man. Friendly and helpful.  I confide in Jose what I see at Ana’s home.  I am shocked by the way she treats her children, the contempt she has for her husband.  I rant at Jose about Ana.  She believes she’s always right, she’s never wrong, the interminable interruptions at dinner so conversations between adults become utterly fruitless and frustrating. Ana interrupts with shrill, ill-informed dissent. Blighted with a remarkable lack of insight and self-awareness Ana’s inability to see her part in any dispute caused me much incredulity.

Jose smiles and listens.

“I don’t have a problem, YOU have a problem.”  Ana insists.

Three days into my visit Nabil Gholam, Ana’s husband arrives with their son.  They are very pleasant but I have already had my mind poisoned against them.  Expecting the worse I’m surprised to find her husband kind and considerate, compensating for his wife’s excesses.  He is a gentle man and every day works hard to keep his marriage alive. Nabil shows me his watch collection, explaining how he transports his wealth around the world at times of war.  In the evening, when she is at her worse, Nabil makes excuses for her rapidly disintegrating behaviour.

Their handsome son is a perfectly ordinary teenage boy.  He has a girlfriend, he has thick black hair, he is interested in sport and fashion and making money trading sneakers… we went to the fashion outlet in Seville but it was closed.  He was funny and charming, house hunting one morning I paid him to translate for me.  He has a keen understanding of people.  He could read between the lines.  He enjoys his life at boarding school.

I find him in his room trying to write.  Ana has asked him to write a fifty year plan for his life.  He looks helpless.  An absurd request he knows he must fulfill.  When, after several weeks, the 50 year plan arrives Ana is outraged.  Why does the plan does not include Spain and by inference… her?  Why should it?  Ask a boy to map out the next fifty years is abuse enough.  But this was just one of many abuses, her plan to punish him for not appreciating how lucky he was that she had taken the time and money to adopt him. He could never be grateful enough.  She confided that she planned to take him out of the boarding school he loved and punish him for his lack of sensitivity by sending him to his paternal grandfather… who Ana hated.  Nabil, when we are on our own, desperately whispers an appeal to me, “Please help me, can you make her see sense?”  It was no use, Anna is always hell-bent on revenge, riven by some resentment with some poor sap. Ana reminded both children how lucky they were to have her as their adopted mother. These scenes pulled straight out of the movie Mommy Dearest. But Joan Crawford, bless her tortured soul, was a saint in comparison.

We drive to Seville for lunch with John Mack Jr. who mocks Ana’s constant, inebriated interruptions.  John Mack Jr has his own demons but I wanted to hear everything he had to say. I had been become very close with his brother Stephen and worked with his sister Jenna.  Both relationships had come to nothing.  Of course John claims he knows nothing of his sister’s appalling arrogance… he is his father’s son.  He knew everything.  He had his own brush with addiction, a failed marriage and traumas only the son of a billionaire would understand.  Stephen Mack told me once their father would say of his enemies, “I’ll make them hurt.” His father wasn’t called ‘Mack the Knife’ for no reason. Jenna was very eager for me to meet her parents but I knew it would turn out badly, getting dragged along to events I had no reason to be at.  I met Mack senior, who one couldn’t help respecting, several times.  I had dinner with Jenna and her father at The Mercer Hotel and again at a High Line charity event.  Jenna, Stephen and John’s parents are a great team,  they donate millions to charity, they delight in taking pictures of couples in the street who don’t have selfie sticks.

I knew my father was the same as John Mack.  Cruel and kind in equal measure.

When I said goodbye to John Mack Jr. after lunch (he cycled off into the hot, congested Seville streets) I knew I would never meet him or any member of his family ever again.

As I grow closer to my assistant Jose it becomes apparent that he doesn’t merely dislike Ana, he hates her.  He hates her with a shocking vengeance.  It is painful for him to carry such hate in his heart.  He warns me to think carefully about staying in Carmona, he cautions if I buy a house in Carmona I will end up hating Ana.  He warns me people very close to Ana hate her.  The owners of the restaurant hate her, he warns she has fallen out with everyone who lives in Carmona, accusing them of crimes and disappointments, their relationships blighted with unrealistic expectations.

Jose describes Ana’s tantrums, how she would regularly reduce him to tears with her demands and mendacity.  His impersonation of her clawing at her own face demanding that she wanted what she wanted… NOW!   Nothing would placate her.  He tried helping her but failed.  He still finds it hard to forgive himself for walking away.  Walking away from the children he loved and cared for.

I took the adopted girl to meet Jose.  They hadn’t seen each other for years.  They cried and hugged.  We wandered the streets of Carmona until midnight.  Jose kept thanking me for bringing her to see him.  We ate ice cream and sat in the forum.  When we returned to the Pajarita Ana looks quizzically at me. Taking the child to meet Jose could be construed as an act of betrayal.  I apologize for bringing her home so late.

The following day Ana is screaming at her children, “Why don’t you bring your friends to the Pajarita?” It is obvious why… to those of us who are the children of abusive parents.  There’s a lot of shame and fear around alcoholism and the unpredictability of an alcoholic parent.  Neither child want their friends to meet Ana. Neither want to explain her behaviour.  I saw the fear in their eyes when Ana looked as if she was going to lose her temper.  The night she couldn’t make the ancient iPod work and began blaming her daughter.  The panicking child wrestled with the iPod, willing it to work. Finally she managed to make it play and disaster was averted.  I’m sure the little girl didn’t want to be reminded once more why she should be grateful Ana adopted her and how easily she could be sent back to the children’s home.

The daughter dances, she entertains Ana’s guests with gymnastics, endless cartwheels and overtly sexual dance moves she learns from TV shows like Glee.  Playing the same track over and over.  I was asked to judge endless dance routines.  She was desperate to impress.  Yet, however hard the child tries to please… it is never good enough.

“Hold your hands like this” Ana demands.  “No!  Not like that… like this.”  Ana lunges beside her daughter and demonstrates what she wants to see.  Ana demands we all dance.  I dance for a moment then I sit down and watch the scene unfold.  The dance with her daughter becomes violent, twirling the child around until finally it is no longer a dance but a fight… Ana body slams the girl onto the floor.  The child is crying and Ana falls badly into the television.  She mocks the child for crying, mocks her use of a hearing aid.  She swears at the child and accuses her of making sexual advances to Nabil.  Once, in the pool, Ana tore off the child’s bathing costume, tossing it out of the pool.  Ana is laughing like a maniac, the child is pleading. I throw the costume back into the pool. Then I walk away, saving the kid the embarrassment of being seen naked.  Jose, when I tell him… is not surprised.  There were times when he wanted to report her to the police for child abuse.  The following day Ana wonders why her back hurts so badly.  I remind her but she doesn’t remember the fight.  She has no recollection.  How much of the time is she blacked out?

“Time for drinkypoos?”  She says.

Like an infirmed english aristocrat the pronouncement comes when Nabil is at home… otherwise she’s opening bottles all day.  She’s already stoned long before she starts drinking.  I learned not to go near the house until she is drunk or stoned enough not to be a total bitch.  Waiting for an invitation to join her.  If I stayed at the Pajarita I would slip away before she woke up.  When her interest in me cooled her morning emails and text messages were filled with vile insults and personal attacks.  By then I was employing every technique Alanon afforded me.  Let go with love, they say.  Every day I let her go… with love.  Soon I would have to let go of her forever.

The night Nabil left for London and Beirut I was sitting by the pool with Ana enjoying a rare, balmy evening.  We spent a lot of time talking about her future, her work, galleries and retrospectives.  I was convinced she was capable of making the huge changes in her life necessary for her to be recognised as an important artist.  We talked about male artists who were commanding huge sums in galleries and at auction.  We discussed how women artists have been impoverished by men.  After meeting her disabled daughter my understanding of her work swelled.  The cute sculptures of girls looking heavenward meant something.  Ana has spent years working out her feelings toward her disabled daughter using her art, especially her sculpture.  Her work, like so many women… unlike the work of so many men, has never been contextualized.  The story is never told. “Your work is beyond the vagina.”  I said.  She laughed.  Ana is not easily complimented.  So, we concentrate on her potential.  I liked mulling over future possibilities with her.

Without warning she rolled toward me and laid her head on my chest.

She said, “I find you overwhelmingly attractive. I want to grow old with you.”

At that very moment I knew our friendship was over.  I shifted in my seat.  If I rebuffed Ana I risked her unconscionable wrath.   She repeated the words.

“I want to grow old with you.”

Finally, I affected my most affable self and said,”Oh, silly… what would Nabil say?”

She lifted her head.  She was not going to be fobbed off with that.

“I don’t put my head on anyone’s chest.” She began, her voice becoming defensive.  She continued speaking but I could not hear her… I was in a blind panic.  I knew it was over, at that moment I knew my time around Ana had come to an end.

The following days she called me names by text (fat and old) and generally took time to insult and belittle me.  She denounced me as a traitor to the Pajarita.  I found myself drifting to the house knowing full well what reception I would receive.  She warned me, I was no longer ‘drama free’ I was accused of bringing stress and ‘baggage’ into her life.   Thankfully, her friend Alfonso and his daughter arrived.  Perhaps he would grow old with her?  I slipped out of the pre arranged parties to which I was tacitly expected to attend.  I had no interest in being around her.  It was over.  Soon I was packing up the car and headed north.  My time in Carmona but not Spain… had come to an end.

Ana Corbero signs all her emails or text messages with ‘Luv and Light A xxx’.  It is ironic because she has a dark soul.  A monster for whom no cage will ever be built… unless of course she embraces sobriety and thereby solves her chronic addiction to resentment.

Ana Corbero New York, July 2017. A few restful days in Paris and Barcelona restored my serenity.  No more searing heat, the weather more temperate, heavy clouds bursting over us.