#filling my sleeping brain with russ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

escxpedes · 4 years ago

Text

loopholes (cont.)

I literally can’t even begin to tell you how much everyone’s support meant to me on the last chapter. All your comments and tags were so sweet, it was seriously the highlight of my day. I’m sorry for the delay, I meant to get this out a couple of days ago, but I’ve come down with a bad cold. This part, while fun, was so hard to get right. Angus Macgyver is a genius, his mind goes a mile a minute, and I wanted to do my best to replicate that. This part is a little slow in getting to the Macriley stuff, but I wanted to show how much he really thinks about things. He’s such a complex character, that if I didn’t do him justice, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Also, there’s dialogue in this one! Sadly, Jack isn’t mentioned in this chapter, but he’s there in spirit. Clearly, we all love and miss him. I hope you guys enjoy, the last part will be out soon! x

loop·hole

noun | A loophole is an ambiguity or inadequacy in a system, such as a law or security, which can be used to circumvent or otherwise avoid the purpose, implied or explicitly stated, of the system

Riley finally moves into her new apartment, but struggles to adjust after the events of Codex and the realization of her feelings for Mac. When Mac finds her passed out over her keyboard after a late night of coding at Phoenix, he decides a talk is long overdue. Just some slightly angsty soft!macriley to help you cope with this season 5 hiatus.

of lips that i am yet to kiss (and eyes not met my own.)

It's highly unlikely that you'll find Mac walking down the halls of the Phoenix Foundation so late at night. Without the bustling energy of his coworkers fetching important documents or discussing the best way to break down one of the many mysteries the foundation deals with, the darkened hallways and quiet atmosphere can be unnerving.

Sure, he spends nearly every waking hour employed there, but he'd rather be outside the office in different countries, doing hands-on work and saving lives. When you work in his profession, It can be difficult to separate business and pleasure, but that only makes it more important—if only to conserve what mental health he has left.

However, in the haste of putting together last-minute preparations for yet another meeting with the Department of Justice and trying to make it back to his house in time for something Desi whipped up, he managed to forget his cellphone.

It's funny, mainly because of how little the small device truly matters to Mac.

It only goes to show how insignificant material objects, or even human beings in general, are. The idea that something so meaningless can affect someone's life so much when, if they just looked past that obsession and considered its part in the profound scope of the universe, another perspective would take shape.

It's fascinating stuff, really.

There's a concept essential to understanding Japanese aesthetics, otherwise known as an ancient set of ideals important to Japanese society, called Yūgen. When applied in the right context, Yūgen underlines this deep awareness of the universe and the experiences we have within it. It's often the feeling interpreted when you gaze at the stars late at night or watch the sunset dip behind a hill.

Mac wouldn't think twice before breaking his phone, or rather, breaking the phone of his nearest friend, open for an obscure part that might make one of his many homemade devices come together. However, when he's the only person able to communicate the scientific specifications of an unheard-of-until-recently base plan for saving the planet, he's practically on call 24/7.

He remembers having it in the labs earlier that day when he stopped by before his meeting to remind Bozer to come by his house on Friday for the team's new weekly attempt in group-bonding.

After the betrayals that surfaced during the climax of taking down Codex, the team collectively decided to spend more time as a group in hopes of eliminating any lingering doubts.

They used to hang out all the time before the government dismantled the Phoenix Foundation.

Mac still can't believe that, after everything they had been through, he allowed his friendships to dissipate over the year they had been separate.

Bozer is his childhood best friend, and Riley had become a solid foundation in his life. He didn't have anyone outside his team at Phoenix, and while he deeply cared for Desi, their first relationship was proof that too much time—and too little communication—with each other can do severe damage to one's sanity.

If Russ hadn't brought them back together, would they have tried to reconnect at some point?

Mac wants to say they would have but wouldn't blame them if they didn't; they all lost something they cared about, and each served as a constant reminder of it.

It would've been hard, but part of him feels like living without them is a lot harder.

When he manages to access the lab, flipping his shiny new I.D. card over his fingers and into its place in his wallet, his eyes scan the room. It's empty, which isn't unusual at this time, but years of military training have rewired his brain to notify him of threats, even if there aren't any.

Just like he thought it would be, the device sits untouched a few tables behind Bozer's workspace where Mac had been sitting.

Quickly, because he left the house in a hurry and forgot to leave a note, he scoops up his phone and makes his way towards the exit. There's a couple of missed calls, but it doesn't seem like he missed anything too important.

Not that they would let him.

At any rate, they would probably show up on his doorstep if they couldn't get a hold of him. With days off so few and far between, that's the kind of interaction he's hoping to avoid. Hence, why he came to pick up his phone when he realized it was missing instead of waiting until the next day.

He's nearly made it to the end of the hall when a light flashes in his peripheral vision, coming from the I.T. department.

His body is tense with apprehension; his mind races with several different kinds of possibilities and outcomes. He slows his pace, his movements fluid, silent, and controlled from years of stealth practice.

The light is soft, he notices, as if only one or two monitors are in use.

When he gets to the doorway and nudges open the door, hands at the ready, his entire body sags in relief to see the dark wavy hair he's come to associate with one of his closest friends.

"Riles?"

The nickname falls from his mouth before he can stop it, and even though the light from the monitor creates a halo above her head, shadowing her features, it's unmistakably her.

She doesn't move.

It becomes abundantly clear why as Mac moves towards her and notices the monitor's screen filling up with a sequence of letters that look nothing like coding despite his lack of knowledge in programming languages.

Her elbow balances precariously on the edge of the table, her arms creating a makeshift pillow for her head. The weight of her forearm bears down on the keyboard, causing the side of her hand to press down multiple keys at once.

He shakes his head a little, amused by the situation unfolding.

Her cheek rests comfortably on her hand, a serene expression masking the signs of exhaustion that showed on her face.

Mac's lips curved into a soft smile, seeing Riley in any state that wasn't cloaked in layers of worry or anxious determination always washed away any doubts he might have about working in such a stressful field.

The scars that covered his body, the secrets he has to keep, and the pain he has to endure are so unbelievably worth it as long as she out of harm's way and able to sleep peacefully.

Of course, he couldn't imagine anyone else by his side on a mission, knowing they share the same love and passion for kicking ass and saving lives.

However, he also knows that more lies underneath the surface.

He wouldn't wish the hardships of this job on anyone. Seeing it affect someone he cares about, watching it break them down slowly pulls at his heartstrings and fills him with a knowing sadness.

When a piece of hair falls into her face, his fingers don't hesitate to gently brush it behind her ear, lightly tracing her cheekbone and caressing her cheek.

Kneeling, his hand drops to her shoulder in an attempt to gently wake her.

After a couple of shakes, the expressive brown eyes he's come to look forward to seeing begin to flutter open and nearly render him speechless.

She blinks a couple of times, inhaling slowly, "Macgyver."

Her voice is full of sleep and breaks from misuse, but the way she says his name—like there's nobody else she'd expect to see when she wakes up —has him grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Rising from her position on the table, she scans the room before meeting his eyes and scoffing, "It's hardly the morning."

He laughs softly, holding back the urge to mention that technically it is morning considering its past twelve. Instead, he focuses on the matter at hand, or more likely, the question at hand.

"What are you doing here so late?"

She's more alert now, sitting back in her chair and lifting her arms to stretch out the muscles that stiffened while she slept, glancing at her work on the monitor.

Her face drops into a grimace when she notices her mistake, "Matty and I were talking about updating the foundation's firewall and spyware," she yawns, "I must have been more tired than I realized."

Mac's eyebrows scrunch in thought, remembering something Bozer said earlier about Riley spending quite a few nights this week working late.

Between going over his mother's scientific data, trying to patch up whatever relationship he had left with Desi, and making sure he didn't go off the rails with grief, his effort to check in on everyone decreased significantly.

"Yeah, you've been doing that a lot lately," his hand returned to her shoulder to emphasize his point, "Everything okay?"

She waves him off, "There's too much work that needs to be done around here before we can get things running the way they used to."

Riley doesn't lie to him—if you overlook the whole situation with her ex, Aubrey, that is, but the movements she's making indicate otherwise.

Her eyes refuse to meet his, flickering down and to the right. When she talks, her head shakes lightly, and she purses her lips in an attempt to give off a careless impression. Maybe someone who doesn't know her or didn't train to pick up on it would believe her, but he knew better.

She was definitely hiding something from him.

Part of him understands that if she wanted to talk about it, she would. However, his instincts urge him to press harder, locate the problem, and bring back her contagious smile that always seems to fill him with warmth.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, you can't patch some things together by sheer will and sellotape, so instead, he stands up and drops his hand from her shoulder.

"Let's get you home."

#macgyver #macriley #angus macgyver #riley davis #i really hope you like this

61 notes · View notes

our-smooty · 6 years ago

Text

Take Me to Church Chapter 23: Forward

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Car Accidents Angst Hurt/Comfort Drugs/Alcohol Implied/Referenced Suicide SuicideHealing Everything Hurts

Summary: The band is back together, but things are… weird to say the least. But when a crisis arises, can they pull it all together and be a family again?

Link to other Chapters on my Blog!

The First Session - Stuart

“And what are your goals for therapy?”

So far, this session with his new therapist was going well. It wasn’t much different from sessions he’d had in the past, she’d asked him for some information, he’d told her about his past, and now they were talking about goals. Only 2D hadn’t really thought about why he was going to therapy, aside from encouraging Murdoc to go.

“I uh, I don’t really know,” he admitted, biting a nail. “ I was mostly jus’ comin’ because Murdoc said he would.”

She added a note to her file. “OK. Well, is there anything you’d like to work on?”

Stu thought for a little while, before remembering the incident in the kitchen. “I get scared, sometimes. About Murdoc, but also other things.”

“Hmm, I understand. You feel that in certain situations, you’re more afraid than you should be?”

“Y-yeah! Even when I know I’m safe I jus’...” he trailed off with a shrug. Since the time in the kitchen, he’d been noticing other little reactions that didn’t always make sense. One time Murdoc laughed loudly at something on the TV, and he immediately tensed up, afraid. Another time, Russel had dropped a cup and the smashing glass nearly frightened Stu to tears.

“Alright, is there anything else?” 2D thought back again, but couldn’t really put his finger on a specific thing.

“I don’t think so. I mean, I can’t think of anything.”

She made a few more notes, then closed her book, smiling. “Well, that sounds like a good place to start then!” They talked for a few more minutes about things before time was up. 2D left feeling relatively relaxed and a little bit hopeful.

It wasn’t a very long drive home, and within an hour he was stepping through the front door of Wobble Street. He was greeted by Katsu, who wound his way between his legs, purring loudly.

“‘Ello little buddy,” he cooed, leaning down to scritch behind the cat’s ears. When he straightened up again he saw Murdoc at the foot of the stairs, leaning against the wall. “Hello to you too, Muds.”

“Hey there, Bluebird,” the bassist drawled. He was wearing trackies and a tight-fitting t-shirt, his hair still mussed from sleep. The corner of his lip twitched like he was suppressing a smile. 2D didn’t bother hiding his, beaming at the other as he walked forward to wrap his arms around him.

“Someone’s happy to see me,” the singer teased, letting one of his hand's fiddle with the ends of Murdoc’s hair. The bassist did smile at that, craning his head up to mouth at Stu’s neck and jaw.

“Very happy,” he growled before beginning to suck a hickey into the taller’s neck. 2D gasped, then groaned as Murdoc worked, giving himself over completely to the older’s whims.

“M-Murdoc!” Now the bassist had a hand at the front of Stu’s pants, kneading at the burgeoning hardness there. 2D really, really hoped Russel wasn’t home.

“Shall we take this upstairs?” 2D nodded fervently, letting Murdoc turn and pull him up the stairs. He felt a little bit like a teenager again, silly and randy without a care. It was nice, to let loose like that sometimes.

Murdoc’s room was closest. The door was only just closing behind them as Murdoc sank to his knees, expertly unbuttoning Stu’s jeans and nuzzling against his crotch.

“S-shit Muds! G-gimmie a warning next t-time!” he squeaked. Murdoc chuckled lowly, moving to mouth at the singer’s cock through his briefs. 2D made eye contact with him and moaned.

“Woke up and you weren’t here,” Murdoc murmured, working Stu’s jeans and pants down and over his feet. “Wanted to feel you so bad, I couldn’t help myself.”

The singer hissed as Murdoc took him into his mouth, devilish tongue squirming around the tip. To anchor himself he threaded his fingers through Murdoc’s dark hair, knowing the bassist wouldn’t mind. As expected, the slight tugging made Murdoc whine, his eyes slipping shut in bliss.

Between the hot suction and the lewd noises Murdoc was making, 2D was a groaning, shaking mess in no time. He started thrusting his hips a little, and to his delight Murdoc immediately gave up control, letting the singer set the pace.

“So good--oh God M-Mudoc You're making me cu--!” White-hot pleasure burst from his core, forcing a shout from his lips. Murdoc took it all with a moan, the vibrations making everyone so much sweeter. By the time he stopped shaking and had the brainpower to look down, Murdoc was gasping through his own orgasm, hand in his pants and face pressed into Stu’s thigh.

“Holy hell,” he laughed, running his hands through Murdoc’s hair fondly. The bassist echoed the laugh with his own, slightly out of breath but no less pleased. They rested there against the door for a while as they both caught their breath, the space between them warm and close.

The Second Session - Stuart

He was late for his second session. The night before he’d been having trouble sleeping, so he’d taken some of his sleeping pills and then slept through the alarm and Murdoc’s inquiries. Then he’d been groggy and disoriented through the whole morning, not to mention his head had been hurting more than usual. Since he’d run out of headache pills earlier in the week, and finally realized how much of a dependence he had on them, he’d been trying to take less but it was so hard.

By the time he got into the therapist’s office, he was 15 minutes late and nearly in tears from the stress. He walked in and immediately sat down with his knees drawn up and fingers tapping away on his knees. She didn’t seem surprised by his state and waited for him to say something.

“So I--” he started, before stopping again to think. What was he going to say? “I-I don’t--”

“Would you like a glass of water?” she asked. When he nodded she got up and went to the water cooler, handing him a paper cup filled with cool water. He drank, letting the chilly liquid calm him down. When he was done his breathing was more regular, and his shakes had stopped.

“Thanks,” he said, crushing the cup in his hands. “It’s been a rough mornin’.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Well,” he began ripping the paper cup into little bits, “I couldn’t sleep las’ night so I took some pills, and then I slep’ through my alarm. And my head was killin’ me, but I don’t wanna take my headache pills because I know I’ve been takin’ too many.” It all came out in a rush, like each word crawling over the next.

“You haven’t been taking your migraine medication at all?”

“Not really, unless it got so bad I couldn’t do nothing,” he answered, shrugging. Her eyebrows pinched together in concern. He’d had two headaches this week that had been so bad he couldn’t get up or move, and only then did he let Murdoc or Russel feed him his medication.

“Stuart, it’s dangerous to quite any medication so suddenly, especially if you’ve become addicted.” He looked down at his shoes, still shredding the cup.

“I-I didn’t think it was gonna be this bad,” he admitted quietly. Each time he’d gone without his pills he’d been knocked on his arse by chills, nausea, and pain until Murdoc or Russel stepped in. “I didn’t notice I-I was takin’ so many.”

“It would be much safer to taper down to an appropriate dose,” she suggested. He knew that too, but...

“I dunno if I can do that myself… and I don’t really wanna give all my pills to Muds.” The memory of Murdoc’s most recent overdose was still too fresh.

“What about Russel? I’m sure he’d be happy to help you.”

“I don’t really wanna bug him though..” he trailed off. 2D knew that if he asked Russel wouldn’t mind, but he was still worried about annoying him. Russel had so much going on with his own life, was it really fair to ask him to help even more?

“Why don’t you ask him, and then if he says no we’ll figure out what to do from there?” He nodded in hesitant agreement, mostly because he didn't see any other way. “How was your week, otherwise?”

2D thought back. “Alrigh’ I guess. We visited Noodle again, though Murdoc stayed home. He, uh, he seemed pretty worked up after his first visit here but he was mostly alrigh’.”

“That’s good to hear. How is Noodle doing, and how are you doing since she’s been in the hospital?”

They talked a little back and forth, Stu sharing a couple of things, his therapist making suggestions here or there for ways he could do things differently. They talked a lot about Murdoc, and how their relationship was going. When the session came to an end he was feeling pretty relaxed, if not a little worn out from his headache, and he was glad when she finally closed her notebook and walked him out.

“Stu I’d like you to try keeping a journal. You can write whatever you like in it, but I think it may be helpful for you to be able to look back on your feelings from time to time.” He shrugged and agreed. He already had a music journal, maybe he could just use that.

Outside he sat on the curb and pulled out his phone. Since he hadn’t been feeling so good Murdoc had offered to drive him, which was a miracle in itself. The bassist had been on his best behaviour, following the speed-signs and stopping at every stop sign. For Murdoc it was nearly an unheard of amount of courtesy, and 2D made a mental note to thanks him. Then he made a physical note in his phone, knowing that if left to its own devices his brain would almost certainly throw out that bit of information.

He sent a quick text to the bassist to let him know he was done, then lit a fag. A slightly more intense twinge behind his eyes made him wince. He didn’t want to have to ask Russel to manage his medication on top of everything the drummer was already doing. Russ had enough on his plate with Noodle and Murdoc to worry about without Stu adding himself to the pile.

But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from taking too many pills when the pain got bad. And from there it was a slippery slope to taking them when it was a little bad, then to taking them when he was feelin’ upset. He knew that if left to himself he’d go right back to popping his medication at any chance he got. So he’d have to ask the drummer for help.

Murdoc pulled up to the front of the building and honked the horn twice, jolting Stu out of his thoughts and making his head throb. He’d been to caught up in thought to notice the little headache he’d had was turning into a much larger problem. Crushing his smoke under his shoe, he ambled around to the passenger side, getting in. Murdoc shot him a questioning look at the way he curled forward in his seat.

“You ok there Stu?” he asked, keeping the car in park. 2D shook his head no and blindly reached to the dashboard, searching for the pills he knew Murdoc kept there. The bassist caught on quickly, finding the bottle and tossing a few into his hand and holding it out. The feeling of pills sliding down his throat dry was a familiar one.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, curling forward even more. The headache he’d had in the office was slowly turning into another migraine. It would take a while for the pills to kick in, and those weren’t going to address his nausea. The pills he usually took for that were back at home, but the idea of the car moving was enough to set his stomach rolling.

“Is it a bad one?” Stu grunted a yes. It was too bright out, and he pressed his palms into his eyes until all the light was blocked out. After a few seconds, he felt the car shut off, and heard Murdoc unlock his seat belt, followed by the feeling of cold hands against his scalp. It felt so good.

“Here, take my jacket and put it over your head,” Murdoc said, handing the leather over. “At least until those pills kick in." It wasn’t completely dark under the coat, but it was better than nothing. Murdoc kept his hands stroking through 2D’s hair and gently massaging the tight muscles in his neck. The jacket smelled like Murdoc, and Stu tried to focus on that as he let the pills dow their job.

Within an hour the medication kicked in and 2D felt safe buckling himself in for the ride home. Murdoc gave him a gentle half-smile and made sure to take the least bumpy paths. Stu watched the world outside his window go by in a medicated haze, feeling like he hadn’t really made any progress. Maybe after he asked Russel for help he’d feel better? It was worth a try.

The Third Session - Stuart

“You’ve mentioned Plastic Beach a few times since we first met. Could you tell me a little more about it?” Fuck. She knew, she had to. He’d tried to be sneaky about avoiding the topic, mentioning it here and there in passing, but she’d still picked up on his reluctance.

“I-I don’t know what you want me t’say,” he answered, looking away. He’d never been very good at lying. He already felt the word vomit creeping up his throat. “I-it was pretty b-bad, but i-it’s over. I’m o-over it.”

“What made it so bad?” his therapist asked, making a few notes. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He really didn’t want to talk about Plastic beach now; he wasn’t ready. He hadn’t prepared, he--

“M-Murdoc,” he stuttered out without meaning to. But once he’d started, it was difficult to stop. “H-he was h-horrible t’me, the w-whole time. H-he hurt me. A lot.”

Stu was breathing heavy now, the familiar prick of tears stinging his eyes. “A-and I know he w-wasn’t right then. H-he was sick. B-but…”

She was watching him now, he knew. It was pretty obvious she had some idea of how bad Plastic Beach had been, either from Murdoc or through the internet. “But I--I still t-think about it. I-I have dreams.”

“Does Murdoc still hurt you now?” she asked, voice a tiny bit harder than normal. He could see the relief on her face when he answered.

“N-no. He hasn’t since we came back, except for in one of our videos. B-but that was fake…” the hit with the shoe had still hurt a little, though not as much as it could have for sure.

“Have you talked to Murdoc about it?”

2D didn’t want to answer, because he knew that she’d tell him he should talk about it. Everyone was always pushing him to talk about it, to get over it, but he wasn’t ready--

“It’s OK, if you aren’t ready to yet,” she said instead. He snapped his head up to look at her and only then noticed he was crying.

“I-I,” Stu croaked. His throat wasn’t working, he wanted to talk about it so bad but he couldn’t yet. “It s-still hurts. I can’t y-yet.”

She nodded and handed him a box of tissues. “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to, Stuart. You’re the one who sets the limits.” It felt good to be told he didn’t have to be ok, that he didn’t have to be open and willing to talk about what were frankly the worst months of his life. “You are an adult, and if you trust Murdoc now to not do what he did then, that’s your choice.”

“T-thanks.” He blew his nose and sniffed a little, smiling just a bit. “I know I-I need to talk about it eventually, b-but… Not now.”

“Do you have anything else you want to talk about today?”

Later that night, long after he’d gotten home and crawled into his bed, Murdoc tiptoed through his door. Normally they spent most of the day together, but after the session he’d had, well he needed some time alone. It honestly surprised him that the bassist hadn’t come in before, knowing how Murdoc didn’t always respect personal space very well.

“You awake, D?” the bassist whispered into the dark space. 2D thought about not answering and continuing to wallow.

“...Yeah.”

He could hear Murdoc’s quiet breathing and the sound of bare feet against carpet. “Can I come in?”

The promise of warmth and comfort was enough to draw him out of the covers. “..Yeah.”

Murdoc closed the door and slid under the covers, right behind Stu. How could that warmth be both everything he needed and everything he didn’t want at the same time?

“D’you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

If Murdoc was surprised by his refusal, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gently slid an arm around the singer’s waist and pulled him close. “OK, Bluebird. OK. Why don’t I tell you what Russel and I got up to today instead?”

“OK,” Stu sighed, happy to listen to the other prattle on about whatever if it meant they could stay the way they were. He felt comfortable, and secure, and maybe a little bit hopeful. But he was also kind of sad, and a little bit angry. Maybe that was part of it, part of getting better.

#takemetochurchfic #2doc #murdoc niccals #Stuart Pot #tw suicide #tw violence #tw car accident #tw DRUGS AND ALCOHOL #tw hospital

9 notes · View notes

elosnotebook · 8 years ago

Text

PENETRATORS SQUAD IMAGINE (pt 3)

Imagine being the first and only girl in the Penetrator Russ bus. Author’s note: SUPRISE! Hahaha I know I said I was going to post it tomorrow, but I realized that it doesn’t matter because I still won’t like it regardless the day I post. Not my best work, so I’ll leave up to you guys. If y'all want a part 4, I’ll do it gladly. So let me know ;)

Update: thank you Alyssa, aka @imyourliquor-youremypoison, for rewriting it beautifully. I’m so grateful for having you to help me!

Part 1. Part 2. Part 4.

Masterlist ❁

Three days. It has been three days since that small fight between Chris and I on the bus. Three days during which he didn’t send me a single text. I didn’t even understand why he was mad at me, to begin with. I didn’t do anything wrong! He was the one who hid stuff from me. So why was he ignoring me? I had no idea.

I had just come back from Theo’s house. I went to his place to help him to get ready for a date. He wanted me to choose his clothes and begged me for tips. He was so into a girl from our school, he wanted everything to be perfect on his date and this was so fucking cute. I had so much affection for him, he was like my little brother, and if that girl so much tried to play with his feelings, I’d make her life hell.

I was resting in my bed, hoping it would swallow me whole so I would finally stop thinking about Chris when I received a message. I thought it was Theo but actually was a text from William. I sighed and read it.

“There’s a drunk Chris on my doorstep. Fix it.”

He has got to be kidding me! I wasn't their fucking slave, he couldn't just boss me around, using his authoritative tone like I was compelled to obey.

“Fix it yourself. He isn’t even talking to me. What do you want me to do, jackass?”

“Noora will be here in an hour. I can’t babysit today.”

“And what makes you think I can? Maybe I’m getting ready for a date.”

“You’re not.”

“I could have.”

“You have 20 minutes to be here.”

I just wanted to punch him right now. Straight in his perfect teeth.

“Today is your day. I took care of him the last time he got wasted.”

“I was the one who left a date to pick him up yesterday. Today is your fucking turn. Be here in 15 or I’ll post the picture of you wearing the Pikachu costume.”

Damn, he was playing hard. I knew I shouldn't have let him take a picture of this.

“You wouldn’t.” He totally would.

“Make me cancel my date and see what I’m capable of. 13 minutes.”

“On my way...” I typed quickly and got up.

I got dress as quickly as I could. In the corner of my bedroom was my pink Penetrator hoodie, I put it on and left. Honestly, in the beginning, my pink Penetrator hoodie made me cringe, but now I was so used to it, and other people too were used to see me wearing it. “You are the only girl in the squad, you need a different color to stand out,” the boys said. Also, they were the ones that chose pink. Not sexist at all, right?

But the funny part was the number of boys that ask me for one of those after a one night stand. You would think boys wouldn't be so keen on wearing a pink hoodie with a girl’s name in red on the back, showing they had sex, but if I had a dollar for every boy that wanted one, I could pay my gasoline with it. The only boy that had one was William, since he was the only guy I actually had feelings for at some point. It felt right this way.

Well, maybe not the only I fell for but the only that knew about it.

I parked in front of William’s apartment and got upstairs. I didn’t know what I was about to face once I got in. William and I were used to argue a little every single day, but Chris and I? I could count on one hand the number of times we’ve been mad at each other.

I knocked on the door. It wasn’t something I would normally do, so I didn’t care when William opened the door apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Noora. I can’t-” He paused when he saw it was me. “The fuck? Why did you knock?”

“Where is the package?” I had no interest in arguing with him today, which was a surprise. I was always in the mood for our usual banter.

“Living room.” He opened the door so I could get in.

Once I was inside, I stopped on the door. I could see Christoffer slouched on the couch, with his eyes closed. I approached him to say my famous pick up drunk Penetrators boys line. Like, literally pick up, since I usually don’t know where I should take them when they’re completely hammered.

“Your house or mine?” Then, I noticed.

If it was anybody else, I might have fallen for it, but I knew that boy since I was twelve.

“Seriously?” I said, turning to William.

He smiled. “Christoffer, you own me 20 bucks. I told you.”

Then I turned to look at the one who was pretending to be drunk. “Seriously?” I repeated.

Chris was looking at me now. I wanted to slap him. Fucking bastard.

“You really think I don’t know what you look like when you're drunk? If I weren’t so angry right now, I would feel offended.”

He took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, I just needed your attention.”

I threw my hands in the air. I was about to spill some truths out when I remembered about Will’s date. He was right next to me, trying so hard not to laugh. I dived my hand in his pocket to grab his phone. Once I got it, I dialed Noora’s number. She answered before William could complete whatever threat he was professing.

“Sorry Wilhelm, I know I’m late, I’ll leave in-” she began to say but I cut her off.

Wilhelm? I had to contain my laughter. “Hi Noora, it’s Y/N here.”

“Hi Y/N. Something happened to William?”

“Not yet. I’m really thinking about punching him in the nose, though.” She laughed on the other end of the line. “But I’m just calling to tell you that your plans changed,” I told her, facing William, who glared daggers at me. “He’s going to your house. He'll probably take a few more minutes to get there, since he will stop at the grocery store to buy you some candies.”

I was glad William didn’t have the power to kill someone by just looking at them.

“This is so sweet,” she cooed out fondly.

“Yes, he’s such a nice guy. So, just called to let you know. See you around, Noora.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “See you around.”

“Ohhhh, one more thing!” I said, before she could hang up. “If you break Will’s heart, I’ll hunt you down.” I laughed a little bit, so things wouldn’t get weird. But I meant every word I said.

“Oh, okay, I won’t, I guess, bye.” She hang up. I gave him the phone back.

“You should leave now, Wilhelm, you still have to go to the grocery store. Sweet girl, Noora. I like her.”

The bewilderment on his face was hilarious. I didn’t want to laugh, because I figured he would murder me if I did. But Chris didn’t share my fears, and his roaring laughter soon filled the room. I gave him the stinky eye and he shut up right away. William remained frozen, staring me. “I hate you so much.” He grabbed his jacket. “Both of you.” And left.

I was about to sit on the couch next to Chris, when he suddenly pulled me forward to sit on his lap. I tried to move, but his arms were firmly wrapped around my waist, effectively trapping me in his embrace.

“Come on, we haven’t been together for three days. Every cell in my body craves you,” he said teasingly.

I was going to give him a smart ass comeback, when I noticed his huge purple neck bruise. “Wow, tell me, which one of the Yakuza gave you this monstrous love bite? It looks like a massive fucking bruise, I almost feel like I should examine it,” I snorted upon seeing the large hickey.

His face turned red instantly. “Well, it was not the Yakuza who did it…” He moved me so I could face the other side of his neck. The healthy part.

My eyebrows went really high and I said, “What a wild night it must had been. Are you sure you don’t wanna get back at whatever kind of animal did this?”

He let a little laugh escape from his lips. “No, the girl who did it was an eye candy, but you’re food for the soul.”

I frowned to his comment. “Just don’t call me food anywhere near her. She must be starving by the looks of it, I think she tried to eat you.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “Right. Like you’ve never destroyed a guy’s neck before.”

Oh, and here I was thinking this conversation couldn’t be more awkward. “Actually, I haven’t.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious!” This time was my turn to blush. “Because I’d have to know how to do it.” I said, looking to the ground and waiting for the laughing to start.

“Y/N doesn’t know how to give a hickey?” I could say he was completely shocked. “Unbelievable,” he stated, slowly, as though he genuinely couldn't believe it.

“Well, if I wanted to mark the boys I sleep with, all I have to do is give them a fucking hoodie.” I wasn’t enjoying the way he was staring me. “Plus, I can use my mouth for other things.”

It might sound a little silly that I have never given a love bite to anyone, but the opportunity never showed, that's it. Some guys weren't into it, they thought it was a girl's thing to like neck kisses, and other were more straight to the point in bed.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” I gave him a little smirk.

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. He thought about what I said for a moment. When I say the premises of his infamous smirk drawing on his lips, I knew I fucked up. I shouldn't have let my mouth run ahead of my brain.

“Okay. Let’s do make a deal. I teach you how to give a hickey and you show me what your mouth does.”

What my mouth did was an ‘o’ once I heard that. My heart went from 50 to 200 real quick.

“You don’t wanna play with fire,” I heard myself say.

“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” he whispered in my ear. That was exactly what I was afraid of. “Now, sit properly, I can’t suck your neck like this.”

“I don’t think we should do it, Chris.” I had to run from that situation, and run like all hell. We were both used to flirt with each other all the time, after all, I am the most famous fuckgirl in town, and he is the famous fuckboy. If we don’t flirt with each other, who will? But we’ve never actually made a move on each other, and I just can’t bear the thought of doing this in a completely platonic way.

But I did what he said, very reluctantly but also eagerly. Butterflies were messing in my stomach, but I still sat facing him, one leg on each side of him.

He pulled me closer, one hand gently holding the back of my neck while the other rested in the small of my back to press me further into him. Once his lips touched my skin, I bit my lips the hardest I could. I couldn't start moaning, goddammit!

He licked my neck, and then started sucking it. I couldn’t believe what was happening. It felt so good I had to close my eyes.

I’ve known Christoffer Schistad for seven years now. I knew every side of him, the bad and the good. I stood by his side when he was picked to be a Penetrator, right after me. I helped him to deal with girls, more times than I could count. I thought I knew his fuckboy side, but fuck, I was completely wrong, and I wanted him to show it to me so bad.

Once he stopped, I tried to look as calm and collected as I possibly could. He kept watching me intently, while I was looking everywhere, except at him.

“Your heart is racing.”

That got my attention. My body was pressed against his. Of course he noticed it. But I felt like somehow I forgot how to speak.

He shot me his shit eating grin and said, “your turn.”

I didn’t even know what my name was, so I had no idea about what he was talking.

“My turn to what?” I asked dumbly.

“Give me a hickey,” he instructed. Could someone just shoot me already?

“I don’t think I can’t do it.”

“Why not? Do you want another o-”

“No!” I interrupt him. For God’s sake, if his lips were on my neck again I’d lose control. “I don’t care about not being able to do it.”

He gave me a confused look. “I don’t understand, I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”

Was he saying what I think he is saying? “What do you mean?”

“You’re the only Penetrator girl. You’re the biggest fuckgirl in town. Weren’t you supposed to be good at... everything?”

Ohhh, no he didn’t!

“Christoffer Schistad, you’re saying that I’m not good at make a guy go crazy only using my lips?”

“You can’t even give someone a hickey!” He was pushing my buttons. I knew it. I fucking knew I, but my pride had been stung and I didn't think straight after that neck kiss.

“Fine. Time to get burned. I warned you,” I said, before giving him a wet kiss right on his neck.

His whole body tensed up under me. Good, let’s see how much he can take. I continued with the wet kisses, until I moved to his lobe, giving his ear little bites. His breath started to get heavier, shorter. This was going to be easier than I expected.

I traced his jawline with my tongue, finishing it with a kiss on his chin. While I gave him a little eskimo kiss, I scratched his neck, giving him goosebumps. He stopped watching me to look at the ceiling. I smiled before attacking his neck again.

This time, not only did I kiss it, but I bit him. When my teeth softly pressed on his flesh, his hands moved to grab my ass. Poor baby, he thought I wasn’t going to torture him? Clearly he was mistaken.

“No, no no...” I scolded him gently. I took his hands off me. I brought my face closer to his to whisper near to his lips. “No touching.”

He breathed heavily, and returned to his position of staring at the roof. Satisfied, I started to kiss his neck again, this time slower. His hands grabbed the fabric of William’s couch.

I sneaked my hands under his shirt, tracing circles on his lower half, I stopped and placed my hand on his right side. “Look, someone’s heart is beating a little fast.”

My nails continued their path, through his abs, stopping on his belt. And that was when I felt it.

“Well, hello Mr. Schistad.” I looked down to his pants, where I could see his hard-on. Since I was still offended by the “You were supposed to be good” comment, I gently rubbed my lips into his. The bruise the Yakuza’s did was still there, though it was almost healed. I wanted to have fun, not hurt him.

When he was about to lean in and kiss me, I got off his lap, sitting on the other side of the couch.

“Well, that was fun!” I declared, very happy with myself. He was completely motionless, his breath still uneven.

“So, no jokes? No comments about me being good at it? I was expecting more from you, Schistad.” I couldn’t put into words how satisfied I was. He was completely turned on, and the fact that I was the reason for it gave me a confidence I didn’t know I had.

He was about to answer me, but once he saw my face he stopped. His eyes started to analyze every detail of my body, and I had to swallow hard. He was getting closer when we both heard the front door open.

I jumped from the couch. William showed up there a few seconds later.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” he said, completely oblivious of the scene he almost witnessed. I looked at Chris, to see he had grabbed a cushion to put on his lap. Smart boy.

Since we both didn’t say a thing, William continued. “Can I join you two?” He asked, more because he was polite than to actually ask permission.

I said yes at the same time Chris said no. William looked him, confused.

“Actually, I was just leaving. Do you want a ride, Cap?” He was begging me with his eyes. I didn't answer right away, more worried about what might have happened to Will that made him come back so soon.

“William, why did you come back so early?”

“Noora had a friend emergency. Something about Eva getting too drunk at a party.” I felt my heart grow lighter. “Are you leaving too?”

I sat on the couch, next to Chris. “Do you want me to leave? I can stay to watch netflix with you if you want.”

The disappointment on Chris’ face was painful. I didn’t know how to explain to him that it could be a game for him, but if I went home with him, I’d be more screwed than ever. Pun not intended.

“Yes, I’ll grab something to eat in the kitchen. Do you want something?” Will asked me, while leaving the room.

“Doritos, please.”

Once he left, Chris approached me.

“Please, come home with me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you make girls go home with you? Not what I expected. I thought you were good at this.”

“In my defense, I’ve never had to beg for this to happen before.”

“Who would imagine? The first girl to resist you is your best friend. But anyway, have a safe drive.” But he didn’t move, he kept staring me.

“I cannot put into words how crazy you’re making me right now.” I got closer to him.

“It’s better if you go before Will comes back. It’d be hard to explain why you have an erection for him.”

“This is not over.”

My heart jumped upon hearing those words. Before I could answer, he just left me there.

Will got there five minutes later.

“What do you wanna watch?” He joined me on the couch, giving me a bowl with my Doritos.

I rested my head on his shoulders. “Anything that doesn’t have romance in it.”

“Preach, girl.“ I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “Relationships are way too complicated. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and date you again. It seemed so simple.” My whole body got tense.

“Well, Wilhelm, you know it’d be complicated for us both right now, since it’d be against the rules.”

He laughed. “When was the last time you played by the rules?”

I took a deep breath. Well, not today, I thought before William pressed the play button on his movie choice.

#skam #imagine #imagines #skam imagines #skam imagine #imagine skam #the penetrators #the penetrators imagines #the penetrators imagine #william mangussom #chris schistad #chris schistad imagine

501 notes · View notes

jesseneufeld · 5 years ago

Text

Weekly Link Love — Edition 36

Research of the Week

Agriculture (and increased availability of carbohydrates) increased the frequency of genes controlling blood sugar. People with the ancestral version of the gene have an easier time maintaining blood sugar while fasting but tend to have more trouble controlling blood sugar after carb consumption.

For the first time ever, scientists directly observe the transfer of RNA from an animal’s brain to its sperm and onto its offspring. Is this the mechanism for transgenerational inheritance?

Trigger warnings don’t actually help students reduce stress or learn any better but they make students believe in their efficacy.

Pesticide exposure linked to increased depression in teens.

We once walked with (or ran from…or ate) birds as big as elephants.

New Primal Blueprint Podcasts

Episode 353: Endurance: Brock Armstrong: Host Brad Kearns talks with frequent guest Brock Armstrong about synching endurance training and goals with quality of life and losing fat the healthy way.

Episode 354: Oren Jay Sofer: Host Elle Russ chats with Oren Jay Sofer about nonviolent, mindful communication.

Primal Health Coach Radio, Episode 17: Laura and Erin talk with Rachel Bell about building your empire.

Each week, select Mark’s Daily Apple blog posts are prepared as Primal Blueprint Podcasts. Need to catch up on reading, but don’t have the time? Prefer to listen to articles while on the go? Check out the new blog post podcasts below, and subscribe to the Primal Blueprint Podcast here so you never miss an episode.

Media, Schmedia

How has legal cannabis gone in Colorado (NY Times link)?

Obesity takes the lead.

Interesting Blog Posts

Debunking top keto myths is a lot easier (and more convincing) when you have 150,000 days of patient care to draw upon.

Is Dean Ornish’s lifestyle program actually proven to reverse heart disease?

Social Notes

My constant companion.

Talked about some stuff.

Everything Else

Primal Jellyfish Collagen coming Spring of 2020.

There’s really no good metaphor for the human microbiome.

The Pentagon has a laser that can identify people by their heartbeat.

Things I’m Up to and Interested In

I’m not sure what to think about this: The Water Bar opens in DC, featuring a $25 bottle of water, among others.

Article I found interesting: How a man’s biology changes after becoming a father (NY Times).

I feel like I read a similar story every few months: There’s a new tick in the US.

Some cool concepts here (gluten warning): What you can learn from Norwegian packed lunches.

This is a powerful story: A boy had a rare genetic lymphatic disorder. Doctors inserted the relevant genetic mutation into 10 sets of zebrafish, tested different drugs in each set, and gave the one that worked to the boy. It worked in him too.

Question I’m Asking

Read the Norwegian packed lunch article from above. Can you come up with a similar concept for no-frills, easy-prep, near zero-cleanup Primal or keto lunches?

Recipe Corner

Truly caramelized onions.

Pizza burgers? Pizza burgers.

Time Capsule

One year ago (Jun 30– Jul 6)

What is Paleo? – Well, what is it?

Does “Sleep Hacking” Work? – Can you cheat your sleep?

Comment of the Week

“Like most of us, I sometimes procrastinate for what seems to be no good reason. However, I’ve found two categories of procrastination that actually make me more productive.

With the first type of deliberate procrastination, I will put something off to allow for ‘subconscious fermentation.’ I find this very useful for certain tasks that involve problem solving that I am highly motivated to get done right away, but backing off for a day or two improves my effectiveness at tackling the task. For example, I had very large limb from a tree on my property break in a wind storm and get hung up in another tree with both ends suspended ten-plus feet off the ground. My first instinct was to deal with it right away. That meant either calling a professional and paying several hundred dollars or climbing up a tall ladder and wielding a chainsaw at a height that seemed precarious—neither of these options was particularly attractive to me, but something had to be done. I so badly wanted to get moving on this the day it happened, but I forced myself to procrastinate to allow my mind to work on the problem in the background. Two days later inspiration struck: I threw a rope over the limb, tied a large trash can to the rope and hoisted it several feet in the air, tied it off, put a garden hose in the trash can, turned it on, stepped back, and let the gradually increasing weight of the water-filled can safely pull the limb out of the trees and to the ground. Thank you, procrastination!

The second type of planned procrastination I use is for completing simple tasks I don’t care for that I have a tendency to do inefficiently and/or lament over if I give myself plenty of time. Put another way, some tasks become less unpleasant when I use procrastination to force a sense of urgency. For me, packing for a trip is a good example. I find if I decide to wait almost until the last minute (critical to this is giving myself a reasonable window of time), I’m forced to be highly focused in getting all my stuff together and the work becomes much more enjoyable and I spend my time more effectively.

With both of the above types of procrastination, I find I need to make a deliberate decision to delay. For the first type, it allows for more effective solutions to complex tasks. For the second type, it helps me to be more efficient and avoid the unease of anticipating doing a task I otherwise find monotonous or distasteful.”

– I love “subconscious fermentation,” Jim.

(function($) { $("#dfVkrZj").load("https://www.marksdailyapple.com/wp-admin/admin-ajax.php?action=dfads_ajax_load_ads&groups=674&limit=1&orderby=random&order=ASC&container_id=&container_html=none&container_class=&ad_html=div&ad_class=&callback_function=&return_javascript=0&_block_id=dfVkrZj" ); })( jQuery );

window.onload=function(){ga('send', { hitType: 'event', eventCategory: 'Ad Impression', eventAction: '74506' });}

The post Weekly Link Love — Edition 36 appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

Weekly Link Love — Edition 36 published first on https://drugaddictionsrehab.tumblr.com/

0 notes

lauramalchowblog · 5 years ago

Text

Weekly Link Love — Edition 36

Research of the Week

For the first time ever, scientists directly observe the transfer of RNA from an animal’s brain to its sperm and onto its offspring. Is this the mechanism for transgenerational inheritance?

Trigger warnings don’t actually help students reduce stress or learn any better but they make students believe in their efficacy.

Pesticide exposure linked to increased depression in teens.

We once walked with (or ran from…or ate) birds as big as elephants.

New Primal Blueprint Podcasts

Episode 353: Endurance: Brock Armstrong: Host Brad Kearns talks with frequent guest Brock Armstrong about synching endurance training and goals with quality of life and losing fat the healthy way.

Episode 354: Oren Jay Sofer: Host Elle Russ chats with Oren Jay Sofer about nonviolent, mindful communication.

Primal Health Coach Radio, Episode 17: Laura and Erin talk with Rachel Bell about building your empire.

Media, Schmedia

How has legal cannabis gone in Colorado (NY Times link)?

Obesity takes the lead.

Interesting Blog Posts

Debunking top keto myths is a lot easier (and more convincing) when you have 150,000 days of patient care to draw upon.

Is Dean Ornish’s lifestyle program actually proven to reverse heart disease?

Social Notes

My constant companion.

Talked about some stuff.

Everything Else

Primal Jellyfish Collagen coming Spring of 2020.

There’s really no good metaphor for the human microbiome.

The Pentagon has a laser that can identify people by their heartbeat.

Things I’m Up to and Interested In

I’m not sure what to think about this: The Water Bar opens in DC, featuring a $25 bottle of water, among others.

Article I found interesting: How a man’s biology changes after becoming a father (NY Times).

I feel like I read a similar story every few months: There’s a new tick in the US.

Some cool concepts here (gluten warning): What you can learn from Norwegian packed lunches.

Question I’m Asking

Read the Norwegian packed lunch article from above. Can you come up with a similar concept for no-frills, easy-prep, near zero-cleanup Primal or keto lunches?

Recipe Corner

Truly caramelized onions.

Pizza burgers? Pizza burgers.

Time Capsule

One year ago (Jun 30– Jul 6)

What is Paleo? – Well, what is it?

Does “Sleep Hacking” Work? – Can you cheat your sleep?

Comment of the Week

“Like most of us, I sometimes procrastinate for what seems to be no good reason. However, I’ve found two categories of procrastination that actually make me more productive.

– I love “subconscious fermentation,” Jim.

(function($) { $("#dfjjSEv").load("https://www.marksdailyapple.com/wp-admin/admin-ajax.php?action=dfads_ajax_load_ads&groups=674&limit=1&orderby=random&order=ASC&container_id=&container_html=none&container_class=&ad_html=div&ad_class=&callback_function=&return_javascript=0&_block_id=dfjjSEv" ); })( jQuery );

window.onload=function(){ga('send', { hitType: 'event', eventCategory: 'Ad Impression', eventAction: '84457' });}

The post Weekly Link Love — Edition 36 appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

Weekly Link Love — Edition 36 published first on https://venabeahan.tumblr.com

0 notes

mackenzieintherain · 6 years ago

Text

Needs a better title

Catnip

A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

By Mackenzie

I remembered this place. I'd spent a lot of my childhood here. This man was new, though.

“Hello. It's nice to meet you. My sister has told me a lot about you.” He's very broad. Almost as wide as he is tall. It's a little intimidating.

“I understand you're a mutant?” How did he find that out?

“Oh, I assure you, no mutations are minor. Cellular adaptation is incredibly useful. In fact, you could be of great help to me. My nephew is about to turn thirteen, and I'd like to do something nice for him. Could I ask you to assist?”

Suddenly, I remember a thin little boy with glasses that I look after. Yes, I'd like to do something nice for him...

“Wonderful! Roll up your sleeve-”

He's saying something else, but I can't make it out. The Garbled voice turns to laughter, sinister laughter, and the blackness comes again...

Bubbles...bubbles floating close, it's like sitting inside a glass of pop where am I Agh! Face! Who is that? Stupid hair. Stupid beard. Like a chinstrap for a pube helmet. Why is he pointing at me? Where am I...? Oh god, it hurts-why does it hurt? Like mice gnawing on my brain! The mice ran away...that cat must have chased them off...Cat? It's looking at me. Look at all those teeth...Oh god, oh god, it's going to EAT me!

I jerked upright in my seat, the sound of my own screaming ripping me out of the depths of sleep. I looked around frantically, but I couldn't see the lab that had kept me prisoner for close to a year, or any demon cats. Just the interior of a train car, and disembarking passengers. Who had all stopped, and were staring at me.

Crap.

I shrank back down in my seat, willing the ground to swallow me whole. After a painfully long time, they all started moving again, though murmured whispers and sidelong looks continued. Fortunately, I was saved from death by embarrassment as a cheery, bespectacled face with a deranged shock of chestnut brown hair poking down into my field of view.

“Blimey! That was quite a yelp. You all right there, Mac?” A British kid I'd made acquaintance with the ride down, Russell Smith was a relentlessly friendly sort. If he'd been perving on my seatmate and I, he did a good job of hiding it. He made a grand show of clearing his ear with a pinkie finger, then disappeared from my field of vision for a moment, walking around the seat to face me, naked concern on his face.

I wasn't really sure what to say to the question, both the unspoken and the spoken one. He'd chatted with my seatmate and I as we made the trip to Dunwich, and was a really nice kid, but I didn't know how to address his concern without inviting questions that I really hadn't decided how to feel about. “Fine...fine. Just a nightmare.” I managed finally, sighing heavily.

“'Just'?” He echoed, and I could almost hear him pronouncing the quotes.

I shook my head, looking away, and in the process, my eyes fell on the empty seat beside me. Where did she go? Had I chased her away...? He smiled, taking my refusal to engage with good humor.

“Miss Naokawa asked me to let you know she was absolutely famished, and needed to make a detour to the Station's newsagent to pick up some sweets. She'll meet you at the baggage claim.” He offered.

I let out a sigh of relief, and let myself smile up at him. “Thank you, Russell.”

“Just Russ,” He corrected, winking at me. “Or Counterfeit. Only my Nan calls me Russell.”

I nodded agreeably, pushing myself into a standing position. “Russ.” I repeated. “I should head off, then. I'll see you at school?”

He smiled widely, flashing a grin. “Oh yes. I look forward to it, Mac. Cheers.” He tossed me a two finger salute and turned away, disappearing in the throng of disembarking passengers. Thankfully, the gawkers I'd attracted by screaming as I woke up had all dispersed as well. I bent down to collect my backpack and begin stuffing the books and Gameboy that I'd been using on the trip into it.

I can't believe how weird this is. I'm going back to school! I mean, I'd been wanting to for awhile, but not HIGH School. It was bad enough the first time! And I've gotta do it again, this time at mutant high. Jebas. I paused in the introspection, looking up at the window of the train out onto the station. A translucent reflection stared back at me. Boyishly short jet black hair, big green eyes, high cheekbones, and stupidly pouty lips...And just for the icing on the crap cake, I have to do it with someone else's face. My eyes fell down to my neck, and the long, livid scar tracing the side of the white skin. At least that's still mine.

The repacking of my stuff finished, I joined the crowd jostling each other to get off the train. Just gotta be positive. I decided, moving with the throng. In he back of my head, the remainder of the programming was trying to tell me to change my walk, that I could manage this crowd much easier if I behaved differently. I viciously squashed it, and kept moving. This is a fresh start. Admittedly, I wouldn't have picked going back to high school for a fresh start, but it wasn't exactly up to me. And I'm away from everyone who knows about...that time-

That last thought hit me as I stepped out of the train into the cooler, but somewhat musty air of the train station platform. I stepped to the side, out of the path of the milling throng disembarking from the train and stretched. A fresh start, huh? Maybe this won't be so bad.

“Selina!”

“Oh, -crap-!”

- - -

I hate him. I hate him SO much. It was repeating over and over in a litany in my head, almost a marching chant as I hurried into the station to get away from him.

“Selina! Selina, wait up!”

Fuck! Take a goddamn hint and go AWAY, you ass!

“Se-”

Gritting my teeth, I spun sharply on my heel, turning to face him. He was running to meet me, and as soon as he came within reach, I picked up my foot and drove the heel of my boot down hard on the shiny leather loafer. He hissed in pain, stumbling to a stop, and I took the moment of his distraction to grab his necktie and use it as leverage to propel him hard into the temporary use lockers that lined the walls of the Dunwich train station. I could hear the general buzz around us dim as the metallic thump of his body against the lockers drew attention, but I was far too angry to care. I used his tie to pull him down to me Why is he so tall my life is not fair and I glared at the criminally stupid jackass with all the heat and fury I could muster.

That may have been a mistake.

I took a breath and suddenly his scent was filling my nose. It was a heady mix of Old Spice and some sort of...guy smell. Leather and soap with the tiniest bit of sweat. It was like a shower of sparks on my nervous system, and my stomach fluttered, and my cheeks flushed.

It just made me madder. Hate him hate him hate him want to stab him kill him and possibly rip his clothes off and screw his brains out claw his back and I hate that I want that-

“First, Leonard-” I hissed, but somewhere, the stupid little...okay, big prick oh my god stop thinking about screwed up the nerve to interrupt me while I was talking.

“Actually, It's Bruce-”

I drove the heel of my boot onto the top of his shoe again and yanked on his tie pulling it snug around that stupid designer shirt to cut off the cry of pain-I'm pretty sure I felt some of the bones crack, but I was too livid to care. “First, LEONARD-” I snarled, “My name is not Selina. Second, like I told you back in Burnaby, you are not Batman. You're a fourteen year old with more hormones than brains, and a criminally insane bio-devisor for an uncle. I try very hard not to hold that against you, but you're really, REALLY pushing your luck. THIRD, I told you I never want to see you again in Vancouver. This is Massachusetts. This is some fairly creepy stalker crap, and-”

He was turning red, and those stupid, manufactured, rugged good looks were puffing out slightly, but he wasn't fighting it and meekly held up a finger like a schoolboy asking to go to the bathroom. I was still furious, but I relented, easing his tie loose enough for him to speak.

“I didn't actually follow you.” He pointed out meekly. “I mean, I did, but only from the platform. I'm enrolled in Whateley too.”

“...You're fucking kidding me.” I blurted. He took the opportunity to grab my wrists and twist, breaking my hold on his tie. He straightened up to his full height, and I could hear the crowd noise around us beginning to pick up again as the looky-lous hoping for more violence were disappointed. I was getting into the habit of making scenes today. He stood up straight, wincing a little as he favored his foot.

“I think it might be broken. And no, I'm not kidding.” He told me reproachfully.

“Cry me a river, Regenerator-2.” I snapped. “Why are you enrolled at Whateley? Your mom was talking about getting the changes reversed, and you weren't a mutant to begin with.”

“I didn't want to, but she did try.” He admitted, and a slightly self-depreciating smile tugged at his lips. I was suddenly hit with the urge to smack that stupid charm out of him. “According to the 'experts', Samuel Kelly's donation to Prototype's work on me caused some sort of secondary mutation. The DNA from the other donors is embedded in mine so firmly they can't tell what to remove. I'm basically stuck like this.”

“Donors? What a...sanitary word for 'the other guinea pigs'.” I grated through clenched teeth. I gave him my best disdainful look. He was a six foot fourteen year old with neatly coiffed jet black hair and a jaw that could have been carved out of granite, a smattering of stubble and startling ice-blue eyes, and an Exemplar body. We all should be so stuck. Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine as something occurred to me. If he was stuck, what about me? I'd been trying to adapt, but I'd always held out hope that one day... “Stuck? What about your uncle?”

“Hung in his cell three days ago.” Leonard replied somberly. “No one knows why. It's been ruled suicide, but I found suspicious DNA under his fingernails, and the surveillance camera footage is spotty. And when I started filing complaints, we were suddenly awarded a huge settlement, and a free ride scholarship at Whateley.”

The station began spinning wildly around me, and I was getting lightheaded. Prototype could rot in hell for all I cared, but... “That means I'm-” I couldn't bear to finish the thought. I stumbled, and my arm shot out to brace me against the lockers. He had concern on his face as he stepped toward me, but it looked much more threatening on his face than on Russell's. I skittered back defensively, raising a fist warningly. “Leonard. Stay the hell away from me.” I breathed, trying to wrestle the myriad of psychotic emotions under control.

No. Absolutely not. I survived those labs, Prototype couldn't break me, I'll be damned if I give in to a psychotic fit now.

“My name really is Bruce, you know.” Leonard told me, though he obligingly stayed back. “Paperwork for a legal name change and everything.”

“I'm not calling you that.” I replied faintly, taking deep breaths to try and get my equilibrium back. What I really wanted was to put my head between my legs, or pass out, but I was not about to let him see that. “I'm not giving in to that demented little fantasy he tried to make for us. Why are you so eager for it?”

He gave me a funny look. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn't want to be Batman?”

“You're not Batman. You're a mutant with a bunch of low level powers where his training and intelligence would be. And, the most important part, -Cease and Desist-.” I reminded him wearily.

“Alright, Bat-like Vigilante Man.” He sighed. “Lawyers. Anyway, It feels right.”

I sincerely hope that isn't the codename that he picked. “That's because of Mindfuck.” I snapped. “If you'd just...”

Behind me, a security guard cleared his throat, and I gave up on what I was about to say to turn and look at him. A burly black man in his early thirties with a barrel chest and a gut to match wearing a well tailored and well fitting uniform, folded his arms and gave Leonard a -look-. I blinked and looked around and winced. The crowd that had gathered around us had dispersed, but we still had our fair share of gawkers. In particular, a redheaded boy with a really tall, strong looking blond girl were watching with surprisingly intense interest. I hadn't been paying attention. “Is there a problem here, sir?” The guard rumbled.

“Um, no. Not at all. I'm just talking with my girlfr-I mean, Selina-” He began awkwardly, and rage spiked up in me, hot and sudden, and I stepped up to him, reached up and cuffed him on the back of the head.

“I said stop doing that.” I snapped, putting my hands on my hips. “I'm not your girlfriend.”

The big black guard stepped up, his arms dropping down. “Do you want to file a complaint, Miss?” He asked with surprisingly genteel manners. “We can have him escorted off the premises if he's threatening you.”

I hate being called that. Still, he hasn't drooled, or even looked a little too long. I like him. Should I let him...? I wondered, glancing at Leonard and sighing. The idiot was bracing for a fight. If he beat up the guard, it'd be my fault. I pasted a smile on my face, shaking my head and stepping between them, facing the guard and glancing at his name tag. “It's alright, Officer...Lewis. Leonard's a pest-” I heard a noise of protest behind me, and my smile widened at his irritation. “-But I can handle him. For now.”

Deep in my mind, the programming was talking to me again, and it was a struggle to shut it down so I could function like myself. Officer Lewis seemed disappointed, shooting Leonard another glare before looking down at me and nodding. “If you say so, miss. If you need assistance...” He trailed off meaningfully, and I stepped in closer, smiling up at him winsomely.

“...I know where to find you.” I finished in a purr, nodding agreeably, and reaching out to brush his arm. “Thank you so much.”

He grinned widely, a sparkle of white against his dark face, and he ACTUALLY TIPPED HIS CAP. My god, someone needs to make a whole lot more of him. “My pleasure. You have a good day now, y'hear?” he added, and turned to walk away, whistling, as my face burned in shame, and I viciously locked down the behavioral programming that had gotten loose, turning around to face Leonard, who was frowning after the security guard. Again, the the curious observers had started moving on, and the low buzz of murmuring started up again. I cringe to think how many people had noticed me today. This was the crappiest fresh start ever.

“Why aren't you that nice to me?” Leonard complained petulantly, and I began counting to ten. Murder One is just going to get me in more trouble with the government, I told myself. And I don't know if he can help this or not. And it's not like I always hated him. He was actually a pretty nice kid before.

“Because you're a dick.” I told him shortly. “And because you won't take no for an answer. And because I relive those months in the lab every time I look at you.” And because stupid pheromones and behavioral programming would make me ride you like a mechanical bull if I let it. And now that his Uncle's dead and Mindfuck's still at large, I may never get it fixed.

Leonard winced. “Selina...”

“THAT IS NOT MY NAME!”

People were staring again, but I was past caring. I mean really, who gave a shit? I just saw a girl with forest green hair and Vulcan ears. Neither he nor I were -that- attention getting. Besides, it felt good to give emotions free reign. Leonard was the more controlled one, now. He stepped closer to me, and dropped his voice to a low rumble that made me shiver. And not in a fear reaction. “Do you want me to call you Samuel?” he asked pointedly, and I bit my lip, trying to get myself under control.

“I wondered if you remembered there's a thirty-one year old man in here.” I grumbled, looking away to hide the blush, hot, if not hotter than the anger.

“Of course I do.” He replied mildly. “Sam a good friend of my mom's. He used to babysit me all the time when I was little. He even taught me how to ride a bike. But you're not him anymore, are you?”

I looked up at him, faltering a little. It was easy to see why he thought that way. He was a full head taller than me now, and just...I stepped on that line of thought, hard, and began focusing on my frustration that he was giving in to the conditioning. It worked, and I could feel the discomfort swept away under a wave of fury.

“I am absolutely still him, Leonard. I always will be. Your uncle and his associate took everything from me. This part of me, they cannot have!” I was building toward a screaming fit, and with some effort, I wrestled it back under control, and went on, “This stuff outside...” I trailed off, gesturing to my body, “It's window dressing. And even if it wasn't, I refuse to let them define me. I think Catw...the lady thief would approve.”

He looked uncomfortable. “If you say so. I know who you used to be. And it weirds me out. Kinda a lot. But then I look at you here, and you're just so sexy-”

“Stop!” I burst out as quickly as I could, and sighed. “Don't finish that sentence. I'm begging you. Just stop, okay? I have no desire to be your girlfriend,” True enough “Or have sex with you.” Haha, liar-liar pants on fire. And doesn't it just send little thrills through you to know what you do to him?

I began taking deep breaths, trying to remember what the counselor told me about coping with this new twist on my sexuality that had been imposed on me without my knowledge or consent. I was coming up empty, though, and teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. It's not all men, it's just him, but that's really bad enough and I need a girl here, and I need to remind myself I'm not gay. Or that I am gay. What the fuck AM I?

“Can't we at least be friends?” He asked hopefully, intruding on my increasingly desperate thoughts, his lips quirking in a subtly lopsided, stupid, cute, hopeful grin. “You used to play with me all the time when I was little, Uncle Sam. You don't hate me that much, right?”

I blushed darkly, looking around to see if anyone was listening. “Don't call me that, either.” I mumbled. “I don't hate you, Leo. I just...” I trailed off aimlessly and shook my head and sighed.

“What should I call you, then? I haven't seen you since you told me to get lost after the RCMP raided My uncle...I mean, Prototype's lab. Did you get a new name, too?”

“Mackenzie. I go by Mackenzie Grey now.” I said, sighing heavily. He tilted his head.

“Mackenzie, huh? I like that. But...doesn't it feel wrong?” He asked. I knew what he was talking about. The brainwashing had been largely undone, but there were lots of little landmines in both of our heads. They'd had telepaths stronger than Mindfuck trying to undo the brainwashing, but in their considerable professional opinion, the process of undoing what he did could cause mental collateral damage. Becoming drooling vegetables was actually the best case scenario.

I opened my mouth to chew him out for the stupid flirty comment just on general principle, but looking up at him, I was struck by his expression. That frustrating 'too cool for school' guarded confidence was gone, and he had an new expression on his face. It took me a minute to understand, but little Leo the curious rug rat was finally peeking out from under all that stupid 'Bruce Wayne' conditioning. I couldn't keep the anger going. I was actually happy to see my adopted nephew again. Really happy. I hadn't realized I'd almost given Leo up for dead, assuming he'd been replaced by a smarmy jackass with testosterone poisoning.

“Yeah.” I admitted. It felt like an itch I couldn't quite scratch. But it belonged to me, not the stupid programming. “But it's better than listening to Catwoman jokes day in and day out. How have you avoided teasing about your name?”

“You mean, when it's not appropriate to beat them up?” He grinned. I gave him a sharp look, and he raised his hands defensively. “I'm kidding! Mom didn't want me to do it, but answering to Leo was...itchy, somehow. So I changed it, but I kept my real last name. I'm Bruce Wayne O'Neil, Nice to meetcha.” He grinned and stuck out his hand. I suddenly realized he was genuinely introducing himself, and I started, reaching back to him with a faint nod.

“Mackenzie Grey.” I replied, shaking his hand firmly, squeezing a little with the boosted strength they'd slapped on me in the lab of horrors. “Eyes up here, big boy.”

He started guiltily. “I wasn't...” He began, and I couldn't help but laugh. He joined in after he understood I wasn't about to explode again. “Ha ha. So....friends? Auntie Mac?” he added, sticking out his tongue.

I fought down another blush-this was going to be a huge problem. Leo the innocent little kid is about a hundred times more endearing than charming Bruce Wayne, and I couldn't muster the same anger to keep him at bay. “So long as it's understood...friends only.” I warned. “If you try any more of that stuff you pulled when we got out of the lab...”

“I will never kiss you without permission again.” He promised soberly. “I really am sorry about that, by the way.” My mouth went dry.

“Among other things.” I added.

“Among other things.” he agreed.

“Okay, Okay. I can't promise everything will be hunky-dory, but I'll...” I trailed off, groping for words.

“Try not to be such a bitc-” He began, and I felt my temper spike.

“If you value your testicles, do NOT finish that sentence.”

“Sorry! Sorry, I really am. It just popped out...”

“The next time something threatens to 'pop' out, I want you to think of what your mother would do, and remember that we took the same martial arts classes, and your uncle boosted my strength.” I told him coldly.

He actually turned pale! I had to grit my teeth to keep from laughing and spoiling the threat. “Yes Ma'am.”

I gave in, giving him a small smile. “Good boy. Now get out of here, I have to go get my luggage.”

“But I have to get mine, too. We could walk togeth-” He trailed off as I gave him a glare that could blister paint. “Actually, I better go check to make sure my ride is here before I get my suitcase. Bye bye!” He fled and I felt my face relax into a smile. I had my doubts, but that went a lot better than I could have ever guessed. I watched him go, reveling in the warm fuzzies of an all-too-rare victory.

“So!” A perky voice sounded from behind me, breaking the reverie, so close that I could feel the exhalation of breath on my neck. “Who's your new boyfriend, Sokoke?” I whipped around to see the cheery face of the russet-haired girl with Asian eyes who'd been my seatmate on the ride down from Boston.

My face erupted into scarlet. “I just finished telling him, he's NOT my boyfriend, Tiffany. And can you please stop using code names until we get to school? I'm still not used to 'Nekomata'.”

As per usual, she ignored me, sniffing at my neck, and then my chest. I'm not -proud- of squeaking as she stuck her nose in my boobs, but it happened. “You're really turned on.” She pointed out, blithely brushing aside my complaint.

“Gee, a hot Asian girl is motorboating me, I wonder why I'd be turned on.” I murmured wryly. It's not a total fib. Praise be to Cheezus, for giving me this reminder that I still like girls. “Personal space, dear.”

She drew back, her olive cheeks coloring a little. “Sorry, I keep forgetting. Sakurako-chan likes you. Like, a lot.” It was my turn to blush, but I couldn't come up with a suitably pithy reply. Didn't matter, though, she apparently had more to say. “So I was listening in...” She began, and my mouth dropped open, a sinking feeling overtaking me.

“How...?”

She smiled gently and pointed to the top of her head. A pair of translucent cat ears popped through the wavy red-brown locks, then disappeared again. “I suppose there's a curiosity killed the cat joke to be made, but I don't think you'd kill us. Would you?” She asked, batting her eyes exaggeratedly. She was clearly looking for a laugh, and I wanted to give her one, but my heart had splashed into the general area of my stomach.

“How much did you hear...?” I asked softly, my voice sounding like it was coming from really far away.

“Enough that I'm super curious to hear the rest....'Uncle Sam'.”

I cringed, turning to look at her to gauge her reaction. She didn't SEEM upset or angry, or even very weirded out. “Um...” I hedged, wondering what I should do. On the one hand, I'd never spoken about it directly. Not to anyone who wasn't there. Gave the trauma therapist fits, but I clammed up. I had enough to deal with at the time, getting my head shrunk was just too much on my plate. On the other hand, after the incident with Leo...Bruce, I really needed to talk to someone. She really looked like she wanted to hear. Still, I hesitated. “I...I don't want things to be weird, Tiffany.” I confessed. “And if I tell you this...”

“That you used to be a man?” She asked, bluntly. “And now are currently an ovulating teenage girl who's got an amazing body?”

“Ovu---How do you...?” I sputtered. She laughed brightly and just tapped her nose. I sighed and nodded. “That kind of is what I'm worried about.” I confessed. Heat burned and crawled up into my cheeks.

Tiffany just giggled and threw her arms around me in a hug. “Silly girl, You're talking to the daughter of Japanese immigrants. I was raised a prim and proper Buddhist girl. Everyone's been someone else before. It ain't no thang, trust me.”

“California Zen?” I murmured softly, pulled back enough to be eye to eye with her, hugging back and fighting the urge to let my hands slide down to her ass. Good lord, she was exotic and sexy...and less than half of my real age. Even if she -was- interested, I'm old enough to be...well, old enough to know better, anyway. When I get some time alone I'm going to have to use that stupid toy Kristen gave me when I left, or I'll be too horny to function at all.

She grinned wide enough to expose her tiny fangs and let one pop over her bottom lip, dropping into a low, surfer drawl. “Ya gotta take each wave as it comes, man. Like, Totally.”

I couldn't help it. I laughed. I want to hit on her, but I can't tell if she's interested in girls, or just being friendly... “Deep,” I commented.

“Yer darn tootin'. Now tell me a story, Mackie. It's what friends do. Pretty please?”

“Okay. Just...bear with me. I didn't even open up to my shrink.”

Tiffany actually hesitated, but then nodded seriously and took my hand, slipping her own into it, and lacing our fingers together. “Cowabunga, dude.” She intoned so solemnly that I barked out a laugh, and we began walking together to the baggage pickup. She sensed my continued hesitation, and leaned in, brushing her shoulder against mine. “Mackie, if it's too painful...” She began, oddly softly, for such an energetic girl.

I shook my head. “It might be, but the biggest problem is that my memory of the whole time is really...patchy.” I confessed. “A batshit insane telepath stuck his fingers in my brain and swirled them all around. The debriefing team actually told me more than I told them.”

She gave me a horrified look that I tried to ignore. She already knew the worst of it, so why not unload on her? I took a deep breath, trying work up the nerve. “How to start. Um...From what they said, this is all Billie Wilson's fault. Apparently, she gave Prototype the idea of using mutation to bring comic book superheroes to life. And as it turns out, his beloved nephew was really into Batman...”

#Old stuff #No one follows this blog #so I don't need a readmore

1 note · View note

scottielambchop · 6 years ago

Text

My Summer Set Review (2/2) ...Like, a Year Later

Hey guys, I got really tired on waiting for this thing to be edited (and honestly so did the person editing it). So here it is, unedited (sorry no boobs).

Herobust – Dirty Work: Before I get into this, I have a feeling that this song isn’t about the 1998 Norm MacDonald classic. This song starts off like it’s going to be a dirty-ass hip hop song, which is pretty tight, but then actual beat comes in which sounds like someone put a bunch of springs in a coffee can and then recorded it. As the song progresses, it sounds like someone autotuned an auto body shop. It’s bordering on unlistenable. The lyrics are really good though, you know, just about straight objectification of a woman. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s songs like this that make me really wonder why the fuck I chose to write this shit in my free time. All I can think about are junked out white kids twitching to this song in a grassy field and saying that they’re “in a groove.”

Keys n Krates – Dum Dee Dum: Holy shit, this song’s initial beat is just the words “dum dee dum” on repeat at different tones while someone uses a drum machine. There’s no drive or real buildup or anything. I know these kids like to dance to this shit, but I’m having a hard time even finding myself able to move. Then again, I’m not stuffed to the gills with blow and molly. I just don’t know what I’m listening to anymore.

Malaa – Notorious: First thing’s first, at the time of this review, this song has 6,382,678 views, so I’m thinking this is a banger… but I’m actually expecting the audio equivalent of dog shit through an Instagram filter. Ok, getting started. This song has a very basic beat, almost the type of beat someone would make when they’re trying to explain generic techno. And honestly, I’m not far off. It’s just low-key shit while lyrics from a hip hop artist are scattered about whenever it fits. I don’t hate this, I mean, I also don’t really like it either. It’s so nondescript that it’s hard to formulate an opinion on it. Which makes the high number of views makes so much sense to me, because either it’s so generic that it will keep any shitty 20-something basement party going without “harshing” anyone’s mellow, or someone had to listen to the song six million times just for to formulate an actual opinion on it. It’s probably a mix.

Ookay – Thief: This guy is straight-up made out of autotune. Thankfully, he’s trying to bring back the sexy saxophone, but the shitty over-bassed beats ruin any sort of goodwill that had going for it. Like, this song just sounds like a modern slow jam. There are lyrics… layers and layers of the same lyrics over each other, but it’s alright. I just kinda wish I didn’t have to see what this guy looks like. You know when a barista says “I’m also a DJ?” I have a feeling this guy is that success story. Compared to everything I’ve listened to so far, this song may as well be Rust In Peace by Megadeth, but ultimately it’s just Ookay.

Petit Buscuit – Sunset Lover: Jesus, more than 37 million people have listened to this. It starts off with a with an alright guitar (or synth guitar) riff, but then follows it up with an annoying high pitched voice speaking in a remixed foreign language. But this is really just non-offensive, kind of relaxing. It ever so slowly builds up more, adding in beats and other percussion instruments. Minus the remixed voice, this song is actually pretty good. I’d play it to help me sleep (I swear that’s not a dig). It’s just a quiet, relaxing song, people probably fuck to it a bunch.

Playboi Carti – Magnolia: This is a break from your typical bullshit dubstep/EDM on this list, which is a warm welcome for me. Sadly, this guy sounds like The Streets, but with an over-bassed beat. I don’t know what’s going on with hip hop anymore. Lyrically, it’s like they’re not even trying anymore, no rhyme scheme or anything. Just drone beats and incomprehensible rambling followed by a clearly audible “bitch” and that’s it. That said, still better than most of the stuff I’ve listened to.

Slushii – So Long (Feat. Madi): I can really tell how much this review process has started to change my outlook on things. I legitimately got excited when I saw actual people on the YouTube video thumbnail. My brain is breaking, ever so quickly. Anyway, this actually starts off like a pop song, slow beginning, nice pianos. Hell, even the girl singing sounds like she’s using her own voice. Ok, now the electronic part kicked in, but it’s not overly annoying. Honestly, this just sounds like generic hipster garbage, that people would namedrop to get some sort of superiority (“Oh that’s cute that you Animal Collective, but I’m more of a Slushii person.”) Regardless, I’m worried that they’ll get kicked off of the festival for being an artist that creates an actual song. Prayers for the Slushii family.

Snails – Frogbass: Oh Jesus, they’re hitting the ground running on this garbage. This just starts off really loud and obnoxious. And there’s a buildup where everything speeds up really quickly and subsequently gets quiet. All leading up the huge “dubstep” climax that just sounds like it was made on Sega Genesis sound chip. Like, that breakdown seriously gives me a headache. I feel like I need drugs… I SEE THE APPEAL NOW!

Space Jesus – The Weed: Well fuck, at least we’re now throwing out any attempts a subtlety with this song title. Honestly though, if I wasn’t working on this little project, and someone asked me if I’ve heard “The Weed” by Space Jesus, I would assume they’re one of the coolest stoner metal bands ever. But in all actuality, this song is just a conversation between two people about how a guy doesn’t smoke weed anymore, and that there’s a new drug or some shit out there, then it’s all remixed at different levels over some boring-ass, non-consistent beats. There’s seriously no drive to any of this shit. Like I understand that kids want to have some sort of music to listen to while they’re frying their brains on elicit drugs, but for fuck’s sake, try and maintain some artistic integrity. Oh, and this video has some dumb, weird fascination with waffles, but really, who gives a shit?

Ugly God – Water: Who could have seen this coming? The next natural progression from Space Jesus is Ugly God. In the future, I’m going to cite these two groups as a reason for my atheism. Once again, this is just generic beats with a guy mumbling over it. But wait, this guy rhymed “water” with “water” NEVERMIND HE’S A FUCKING GENIUS! And according to this music video, he’s also very talented at pouring two types of alcohol on someone’s daughter’s breasts. You know, because that’s a thing apparently. Also, this video has a weird gangster element, and utilizes the “f-word” (homophobic slur). Maybe the Christian conservatives were right about us shitty “snowflakes.” I mean, if (Ugly) God doesn’t have a problem placing himself above women and homosexuals, why should anyone else. I need to rethink my life.

Vanic – Too Soon (feat. Maty Noyes): This Maty Noyes girl has a pretty good voice… I think. It’s kinda fitting the trend of inward sing/mumbling so I don’t know what’s good anymore. But anyway, this song has the format of a pretty basic electronic pop song. Yeah, there’s a part in the middle where the keyboards make auto-tuned “veep” and “voop” noises, but at this point, nothing is surprising. The buildup is ok, and parts of this song are somewhat catchy. Yeah, it’s just a dance-pop song. Nothing groundbreaking, but it’ll get your ass shaking in the club or wherever the fuck you want to go.

Whethan – Savage (feat. Flux Pavilion and MAX): Well first of all, this video was uploaded by an organization called Trap Nation. I suppose there is no better time to let you all know that I have no idea what trap music actually is. So far all I can tell is that it just involves a lot of bass-y fart noises in lieu of a chorus. The quiet parts of this song are relatively tranquil, and I would very much like the song to just be nice an relaxing, but I guess that would make doing drugs in the middle of a field boring, so I guess Whethan added some loud robot farts to get you guys going… and that is trap music.

Wolfgang Gartner – Devotion: Apparently Wolfgang Gartner is the artist most retail clothing stores hire to make their in-house music. I’m currently watching a “lyric” video for this song, and they just have the same two lines on repeat throughout the entire song. It’s really loud and annoying, and yet I feel the urge to buy a pair of $150 jeans and a suit jacket.

Blu J – HDLCK: They sample Imogene Heap for this, so that’s pretty alright. But they replaced all of the music with the typical techno drums and claps, and then fill the rest off with random noises (you know, the sounds like when you hit a PVC pipe with a stick or whatever). I suppose it can make someone shake their ass. It just goes quiet and then loud and then quiet again. I’m now realizing that this review has become a test in how many times I can write the same goddamn review.

Kasbo – World Away: To start off, this just sounds like something that would be played in a dimly lit bar that would make you pay $25 for a gin and tonic. Very light and ethereal, but also really annoying. It’s like the audio equivalent of a late 20s/early 30s aspiring Instagram model. I can only picture people wearing big hats and big sunglasses listening to this and saying that this song is “so dope” and then going back to eating sushi and talking about how they want to travel the world and then live in a tiny home in an open field somewhere.

Russ Liquid – Feral Cat: Oh Jesus Christ this starts with what sounds like a pan flute and then evolves to a Moog synth. All of the sounds are compiling over each other, it’s like a multiple layers of noise that start and stop with the overall beat, like nothing is overtly loud, but there’s just so much happening all at once. After a bit, it just cuts its initial beat, and the noises just come all willy-nilly. There’s a point where a high-pitched voice is singing something, then there’s a clearly slowed down voice saying some bullshit at the same time, while it sounds like someone is having a stroke while playing a synth. This is like the official theme to a sexy headache.

Oh My Love – Spark: Oh good, it’s a band that saw early MGMT and the Phoenix back in 2009 and never grew out of it! That said, compared to practically everything else I’ve heard on this list, this has a straight-up song structure. And if I’m being completely honest, it’s actually pretty good. The female vocalist has a relatively pretty voice, and the beat isn’t overbearing. This song sounds like it would be played on a depressing montage about love lost over a summer in an indie film. Shit, I might actually listen to this song again, when I’m not forcing myself to review it. I have no idea who I am anymore.

Mielo – Surreal (Feat. Abby Sevcik): The beginning of this was highly inspired by the vocal prompts in Animal Crossing. Vocal cuts stopped and turned into actual vocals, which was nice… oops spoke to soon, it’s now just the word “you” in different pitches with a typical electronic beat. And now were back to the regular vocals. I get how this song works. It has some really peaceful, pretty singing and then it’s followed by one of the most annoying choruses. It’s kinda brilliant really, it provides audio highs and lows for people on ecstasy to better ejaculate. Yeah, a little under half of this song is good, but the rest is annoying horseshit.

Porn and Chicken – Ugh, no.

Attom – Stay: This is just local coffee shop background hipster music. Light noises, overpowering beat, peaceful synths and indecipherable vocals. Easy to ignore when you’re trying to finish your essay about how the works of Kant and Descartes affected the political cultures of their times or whatever. It wasn’t anything, Hell, it was hardly there. So needless to say, I like it better than 75% of the rest of this stuff.

GainesFM – Negative Energy: This is just typical modern hip-hop song with a minimal beat and mumbled lyrics. The only thing that sets this song apart from the rest of it is the fact that it sounds like vocals were recorded with a megaphone muffled through a pillow. At least he has the wherewithal to rhyme on occasion. Whatever.

Indrid Cold – Cosmic Dust: This starts off with a sample from an Apollo space mission. As far as I can tell, this guy is just a typical club DJ. Fun fact: I did once go through a minor techno phase in the very early aughts (we’re talkin’ ’01 or ’02). During this time, I listened to a lot of Paul Oakenfold, Chemical Brothers, and Orbital, and honestly, that’s exactly what this sounds like. It’s still shitty techno, but it reminds me of the shitty techno that I used to listen to, so I can tolerate it. Stupid samples though.

Ragebeards – Round 2: Ok here’s the deal, these guys are a local Minnesota DJ duo, I can’t really find anything of theirs on YouTube, so I’m watching a video on their Facebook. The problem (other than the fact that they suck) is that the video is more than an hour long, and I’m certainly not going to waste an hour of my life listening to this. Anyway, I can review this relatively quickly, imagine the worst parts of late 90’s Crystal Method and then add Michael Buffer/Jock Jams samples in there and that’s basically what you’ve got. Take that however you want, I’d rather listen to Filter.

Why Khakiq – Knew the Half: This song is pretty wild, man. It starts off as one of those mumblely hip-hop songs, but then the dude starts straight-up spittin’ rhymes. Then half way through, the beat completely changes to something faster and the guy really goes after it. And then it cuts back down. I dunno, man, I kinda really like this. Solid

Trufeelz – Set Ya Mind Free: Ok, imagine sped up Musak, weird synthy laser sounds, and then the same phrase being repeated on different pitches, one high and annoying, and the other low and breathy… and also annoying. But I can see how people dance to this. It sucks, but as I’ve come to realize, that doesn’t mean you can’t dance to it. OH COOL, THEY’VE ADDED PAN FLUTES AT THE END! NEVERMIND THIS SONG RULES!

Conclusion:

I’ve given one song by every artist a shot. Surprisingly, I found one or two that didn’t make me want to lobotomize myself with forklift (Hell, I actually found one that I actually kinda liked (Lookin’ at you Oh My Love)). But ultimately, most of the people playing this festival sound like the audio equivalent of vape rigs.

Most electronic dance music (techno, trap, house, flip, flop, butt, farts, Jeep Cherokee, flat earth, and whatever other subgenres) is the goddamn worst. Granted, I haven’t even smoked weed since 2009, so I don’t know what these guys sound like on drugs… or stranded in a field with people on drugs. The one thing I’ve discovered, is that this is just the next iteration of hippie bullshit. If you need drugs to enjoy the sounds robots fucking, maybe the sounds of robots fucking isn’t good. But whatever, I’m not going to fully shit on someone’s good time. I just won’t go to the goddamn festival.

If I can leave you all with one last thought, it would have to be “Fuck hippies and their bullshit music.”

But seriously, I hope you guys all do what you want, and do what makes you happy. I know I didn’t. I’m going to neutralize the nearly irreversible damage I’ve done to myself by listening to Propagandhi and Snapcase.

But seriously, seriously, fuck hippies.

Stay safe out there. Always know your dealer.

0 notes

theoppositeofadaydream-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Call Me. URGENT.

There is a moment in everyone’s life that becomes special to them for some reason. Not a moment in the relativity of life, but an exact moment in time. For me that moment is 11:47 pm. At 11:47 almost every night my eyes find the nearest clock and I sigh. This exhalation is the physical signal that my mind has hit my mental wall. There is nothing more I can do this evening, all that’s left is to is take an Ambien and go to sleep, hoping for a dreamless night. At 11:47 pm, the world is too quiet, the lights too bright, and my mind too busy. At 11:47 all the tragedy comes rushing back to me and I no longer have the brain capacity to deal with the bad events. At 11:47, my day is done.

July 8th, 2016

“Call me. URGENT”

Whenever I see those three words come from contact “Momma”, my stomach turns inside out.

“Call me. URGENT” was the text I received on the most heartbreaking days of my life.

“Did you get this text from Mom?” I asked my sister. More frequently than not, Mom texted us both at the same time.

“Yeah…” came the reply. We puzzled for a moment over what it could be, then had a little back and forth on who would call. Sometimes an URGENT text from Mom meant someone was in trouble. We decided I would call Mom, but my sister stayed close to listen. After one ring, Mom picked up.

“Sweetie?”

“Hi, Momma, what’s wrong?” I immediately asked. I could hear the strain in her voice as she asked me to put her on speaker with my sister.

“It’s your Uncle…” she finally managed out, “They- They found his body this morning… H-he jumped off the Bay Bridge.” The world stopped as I tried to process what had just happened. Dead? My Uncle? I couldn’t believe that this could happen. But, I also could believe it.

My uncle had been sick. Physically he was perfect -- he played tennis, hiked, ate healthy, and kept his mind sharp. But none of it was enough to help him later.

Last December Mom had given us the family gossip that he had admitted himself into a hospital for suicidal thoughts. Twice. He was at his ranch up near Sacramento when he called his aunt to take him to the hospital. She did, and he was admitted for 72 hours. After the three days were up, he got picked up and began to head home. But it was still too much. He freaked out and needed to go back, before he even got a chance to see his house. My grandma flew in from Colorado the next day to see him and take care of him.

At Christmas that year, he was his usual self -- happy, cheerful, slightly flustered. But it was all normal. He brought my cousin and everyone had a great time. We were all together and it seemed the worst was behind us. He spoke openly about what had happened and how much better he felt now that he was taking medicine for his troubles. It seemed like a bout of depression, more stress than he was able to handle. But it all turned around.

A few months later, we heard that my uncle was “going off the deep end”. My sister and I were warned to keep an ear out and tell Mom if he called us. He had had a schizophrenic break. He fully believed the government was out to get him, and that his father’s death (also suicide) was a government ploy as well. He thought my grandparents were gun and drug smugglers, he thought my aunt wanted to take his son away, he thought his whole family was in on the conspiracy. As heartbreaking as hearing the accusations was, it was even more heartbreaking hearing how much he believed them. If anyone tried to convince him to see a doctor, he would repeat his hollow mantra, “I am fine. I am absolutely fine.”

On Christmas he said those words. When we came to him as a family, he said those words. On the night he died, he said these words. These were the words he gave to the people he cared about. These are the words he gave to himself as he drove to the bridge, parked his motorcycle, and jumped.

“I am absolutely fine.”

The next month was a flurry of emotions and consolations. Every night we went to my grandmother’s house to comfort her. She became frail and weak with grief as she attempted to process. Both of her children were dead -- taken by the most cruel ways a child can be taken. Her daughter, taken by drugs, her son taken by mental illness and fear. We could not begin to imagine the pain she was going through.

As we helped her move forward, we began to heal as a family. I took up the position and responsibility of helping my aunt with my cousin. It was difficult to believe that such a huge influence on my life would no longer be there. He was the man who stepped up as a father figure to my sister and I when my mom had cancer. He taught me how to play tennis, and got us one of the best coaches. He helped with homework, and took us on trips. The only silver lining is that we still have the man we knew, instead of the man he became, forever in our memories.

September 21, 2016

“Call me. URGENT”

When I woke up that morning, nothing could stop me. I went to my therapy appointment after which my boyfriend surprised me by skipping class to take me to breakfast. It was a beautiful morning, a perfect day to get my homework done outside and enjoy the sun. As we were driving back from breakfast at my favorite cafe, I got the text.

But the text isn’t what set me off that morning. It was the follow-up phone call from my grandma. When I saw “Nanny” pop up on the screen, I assumed she just wanted to check in about my plans for the day and evening (I lived with her, so we had constant communication).

“Hey Nanny, what’s up” I began, not knowing what was in store.

“Have you talked to your mother today?” She immediately asked.

“No, why?” I replied. As I said this, I felt the all too familiar uneasiness of a bad situation start up in my stomach.

“You need to call her.” Nanny said, “Your sister is in the hospital.”

“What, why? How? What happened?” I began to cry as the hysteria began to set in. My chest tightened and white noise filled my ears as Nanny tried to tell me what happened.

“She was at a friend’s house, I guess, and they found her not breathing this morning,” I heard her say through a fog. “It looks like a drug overdose. Your mom is on the way to the hospital now, I’m on the way home.” By this time my boyfriend had pulled over to try to comfort me as I sobbed. I hung up with nanny and my world caved in. And I screamed. I had never before understood why people screamed when bad things happened in movies. What was the point when nothing was hurting? But in that moment, I understood. The pain of the thought of my baby sister in a hospital, dying, was too much for me to take. So I screamed. And screamed and screamed. What felt like an eternity was only really a minute or two, until my brain turned back on into crisis mode. That’s when I finally saw the text.

“Call me. URGENT” And so I called.

When my mom picked up, I began to sob again.

“Sweetie,” came the quick reply to my tears, “Do you have any idea who she was with or what she was doing? She was in Vacaville? Does she know anyone there?” I have never heard my mom so desperate for answers before.

“I have no idea, Momma,” I sobbed back, “Is she going to be okay?”

“We don’t know yet, honey. She’s in really bad shape. Wait for Nanny then come up here. Don’t drive. I’ll text you the name of the hospital.”

I felt like a switch had turned off on my mind. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t react. I heard my boyfriend trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t hear the words. I felt like I was sinking down a dark hole that not even light could escape from. All of my optimism and positive energy was useless as I pictured my sister lying in a hospital.

Finally I snapped out of it and was able to respond. My voice sounded as if it was coming through a tunnel.

“We need to wait for Nanny,” I finally managed to choke out. “Can you drive us?” I turned to him with pleading eyes. I knew he had to go to work and had things to do, but I also knew it wasn’t safe for me to be alone or driving.

“Of course,” he replied, “Anything you need.”

He took me back to my house to wait for Nanny and my dad, who were both coming from San Francisco. While we waited I sat on my sister’s bed and looked around her room helplessly for anything that would give me a clue to what had happened. With nothing to show from my search, I hugged Tabby’s favorite stuffed animal to my chest and cried. I packed her favorite (and my least favorite) pair of boots, some pajamas, and her stuffed animal to bring with me to the hospital.

Finally, we got the word that my dad and grandma were at Bart ready to be picked up. The drive to Fairfield usually takes a little over an hour, but we made it there in 45 minutes. The longest 45 minutes of my life passed before me as I frantically texted all of Tabby’s friends trying to find out more. Her friends told me about her drug use, and how they had become a little worried. By this time, her toxicology screen had come back. She was full of Cocaine and another unspecified opiate. My world caved in a little more. She should know better! Drugs were a constant negative theme in my family. I was taken away from my birth parents because of drug use, my dad had been an addict, my mom’s sister had died from drugs. The swirl of emotions was overwhelming as I tried to piece together what happened.

After the most agonizing 45 minutes of my life, we arrived at the hospital. My grandma and I sprinted in to find my mom. I ran into the waiting room we were given, and flung myself into my mom’s arms. I began to cry once again with her as we mourned for my sister. Mom filled us in to what happened as best she could.

My little sister had gotten way in over her head. She had gone over to a friend’s house, someone none of us knew. She was drinking, smoking, doing drugs, and it all went too far. The last contact anyone had from her was a text I received from her at 12:03 AM saying “Don’t look at my snaps”. Once I realized what had happened, I tried to look, only to find out she had blocked me from seeing them anyway. At 10 AM, her friend woke up and tried to wake her up. He noticed she was “gurgling” and was unresponsive. He immediately called 911. When the paramedics got to her, she was declared dead. Her heart had stopped and she wasn’t responding. They performed CPR for 7 minutes until they got a thready pulse from her. They put her on a breathing tube, adrenaline, and all the monitors they could. She died three more times in the ambulance.

Once she got to the emergency room and did a scan, they discovered one of her lungs had popped, so a tube was placed in her side. Her chances of living were 50/50 at best. She had more vomit in her lungs than anyone thought possible to come back from.

When the doctor came in to give us the news, the only sound was my mother’s desperate “Oh, God…” We huddled together, waiting, waiting, waiting. We waited while they put her in a coma and lowered her temperature to as low as they could. As we sat, Mom clung to the stuffed animal I brought for my sister, using it as a surrogate for the daughter she couldn’t hold. We all sat nearly silently as we processed and grieved in our individual ways. My dad sighed, my mom cried, and me… I didn’t even know what to do. I clung to my boyfriend as fresh waves of emotion crashed over me. He was my beacon, my floatation device that prevented me from sinking down into my despair. I cried, I paced, and I cried some more. Every time someone spoke, fresh tears welled in my eyes.

When the doctors finally finished getting my sister on a bed and hooked up to all the machines, we were allowed to go see her. The image of my baby sister on that bed will forever haunt me. There was blood on her face, her eyes were swollen. But the most horrifying part was her skin. It was one thing to know what had happened, but to be able to physically see it was terrifying. Her skin was grey with a blue tone. She looked dead already. I gently put her stuffed animal under her hand and kissed her forehead before they wheeled her away to the Intensive Care Unit.

Leaving her room, the shock really set in. It really was my sister in there. There was no mistaken identity, no mix-ups. My little sister was lying in the hospital on Death’s doorstep. My mom, dad, and I huddled together outside of her room and held each other up as we cried. Never before have I seen my parents so broken. Never before have I felt so lost. There was nothing we could do but wait.

“When is it going to get easy?” I heard my mom wail through her tears. “When do we get to catch a break?” All I could do was cry and hug her, because I had the same questions. When would it get easy for us? After everything we had been through, why couldn’t we catch a break?

For six days we waited in the ICU. For six days we took shifts, making sure she was never alone. For six days we prayed and hoped and waited for her to wake up out of her coma. Every day the nurses yelled at her, trying to get her to open her eyes. Every day I read to her and held her hand, holding back tears so she wouldn’t hear how sad I was. For six days, we lived at the East Bay Medical Center of Fairfield, surrounded by nurses and doctors, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. For six days I called my therapist, called my friends, and fought the notion that I was the worst sister in the world. For six days, we waited.

The morning my sister woke up, her dog jumped onto my bed. I had been staying with my dad for the past couple of days since his house was less of a drive than mine. At 10:13 on a Tuesday morning, Ginger woke up minutes before my dad knocked on the door. He came in and shook me lightly as he said the most wonderful words I could have hoped for.

“She woke up!”

This time when I cried, the tears were not bitter with loss, but sweet with the hope of recovery. My baby sister had woken up! After six days in a coma, she was going to make it. Then relief I felt was indescribable. The weight that had been sitting on my chest finally lifted and I felt like I could take a breath for the first time.

The next few days only looked up as we met with neurologists, speech therapist, social workers, and cardiologists. They all said the same thing. She was lucky to be alive, and even luckier to have the minimal damage she had. I had never before been so overjoyed to see my little sister’s green eyes glaring up at me when I wouldn’t let her use my phone. I had never been so thrilled to have my hands swatted away when I tried to fuss over her blankets. She was back. My baby sister was back with us.

At 11:47 PM, the world slows down as I think about the past three months and all the trials it brought me.

Although these horribly tragic things happen, we must grow and learn from them as best we can. My uncle taught me that family is the most important thing. That no matter where in life we all stand, we have each other to rely on. His death gave us the one thing he always would have wanted -- unity. We came together in a time of grief and held each other up in our movement forward.

My sister taught me to appreciate my mortality and how to prop myself up when faced with heartbreak. I never would have thought I could get through something like this, yet I did. The strength I showed to myself surprised me, and taught me how much I can handle in my struggle forward. She showed me how I can make smarter choices and live my life to the fullest.

We still have a long way to go in recovery. My sister, my mom, my dad, me. We all have places we need to get out of, and directions we need to change. Though my sister’s will be the most eventful recovery, we all have a road to take. All we can do is support each other and do our best as we continue together.

#tw #tw suicide #tw drugs #tw drug overdose #tw hospital #tw coma #suicide #important #writing #short story #personal story #tragedy #hospitals #true story #healing #inspiration #togetherness

0 notes

kp-reading-blog · 7 years ago

Text

One Summer Day: A Short Story by LG O'Connor

One Summer Day is a prequel novelette to L.G. O'Connor's novel Shelter My Heart. It serves as a standalone offering to introduce new readers to the world of her Kindle Press Book. Check it out and learn more about the romantic world of Shelter My Heart!

You can also check out the feature of her book and find out more about characters of that world and pick up your copy!

Author's Note

Meet Jenny and Devon ten months before their story begins in Shelter My Heart. This short prequel gives you a glimpse into three of my favorite characters: Jenny, Devon, and his twin, Lettie. These characters have flaws, doubts, and in some cases, shattered dreams, but they also have hope and determination. This story, like all of the stories in the Caught Up in Love series, has a central theme of love, loyalty, and the meaning of family. Welcome to my Kindle Press world!

About One Summer Day

Recently dumped by her long-time boyfriend and still looking for her first job out of college, Jenny is grieving the recent loss of a family member, the fourth in six years. Her aunt thinks their family is plagued by death, Jenny doesn’t disagree. She only wishes she wasn’t partially to blame for the first one.

In remission for the last twelve months, Devon won a battle for his life to sacrifice what’s left of it to protect his family. Groomed since birth to step into his deceased father’s shoes as CEO of the family’s multi-billion-dollar conglomerate when he turns twenty-five, Devon has fourteen months left to prepare with the help of his twin sister Lettie…if he lives that long.

She's haunted by nightmares of the past.

He's bound to a future he can't escape.

All they want to do is forget for One Summer Day.

One Summer Day

Chapter 1

Jenny

“THEY’RE BACK.” I slide deeper into the plush couch across the desk from my therapist, Dr. Graham, inside her sleek, modern office. Like an addict admitting a slip, I whisper, “The nightmares…they’re back.”

Not that shocking, since I lost someone else I love two weeks ago. The perfect trigger for unhinging my coping mechanisms and opening the Vault of Black Doom to prey on my grief and drag back me into its macabre maw.

My aunt Jill thinks our family is cursed by the specter of death. Maybe. Someone close to me has died every two years since I was sixteen, Great-Aunt Vee makes the fourth. Right on time. I’m twenty-two.

The guilt I carry over the first death, my friend Brittany, and knowing I’m partially to blame, is what brought me to Dr. Graham six years ago. That, and the near catatonic state I was in after finding her body. Nightmares and other PTSD-like symptoms have plagued me on and off ever since, along with an unnatural fear of the people I love dying. After Brittany, the other deaths felt like punishment.

So here I am, on the heels of my great-aunt’s memorial service. A total mess. Again.

Unlike before, someone new haunts my dreams. A guy I’ve never met. His face remains out of view, though I’ve seen the back of his sandy-blond head and a sliver of his profile. Not enough to pick him out in a crowd.

Dr. Graham, a slender and attractive woman in her late thirties, lifts a perfectly shaped brow and scribbles a note. “The same dream as before?”

I chew my lip and shake my head. “No…I don’t know this person, and I didn’t see his eyes.”

That’s the other thing that’s different. I never see his body. I wish I could say the same about all the others.

I shiver and remember the morning I found Brittany. Cool mist hanging in the early morning air at the campsite just past sunrise. Brittany, lips parted, lying in her sleeping bag. Her sightless eyes wearing the filmy, white calling card of Death. My screams…

It’s a memory I can’t expunge from my brain no matter how hard I try. In my nightmares, the dead eyes are always there, it’s only the person who changes.

My hands tremble with remembered panic as I run them over my shorts. “I was trapped on a plane, far away. They kept us on the tarmac and wouldn’t let us take off. I couldn’t save him.” Phantom pain, raw and bottomless, assaults me and raises a lump in my throat when I think of failing him over and over, every night for a week. My lip quivers and I brush away an escaping tear. “This hurts more than the others. I don’t know why.”

There’s an odd intimacy between me and the faceless stranger. Something important is at stake. Whatever it is, his survival hinges on me. And I fail him. Every. Night. Just like Brittany.

Dr. Graham gentles her voice and relaxes the hold on her pen, tapping it on her notepad. “Given the plane, perhaps this new man is a metaphor for Russ’s departure. How do you feel now that he’s been gone a few weeks?”

Simmering anger replaces any weepiness over the blond guy and a heavy scowl settles over my lips.

Russ. His name sits silently on my tongue like a lead weight. He’d been my boyfriend since high school, and my ex-boyfriend ever since he accepted a job in California—three thousand miles from Summit, New Jersey—without me. We’d graduated in May from NYU. His tech degree scored him an offer in July at a start-up in Silicon Valley, while my communications degree… Well, let’s just say I’m still waitressing and living off tips.

Abandoned. That’s how I feel.

My jaw tics. “How am I supposed to feel?” I pick at my chipped Posey Pink polish, my new favorite color until it became a reminder of the night Russ and I broke up.

Bastard. I’m not even close to being over it.

I try to stifle a replay of our beach weekend at the Jersey shore almost a month before Great-Aunt Vee died. I lose…

****

I hold up my champagne flute. An excited flush fills my cheeks as I smile, ready to celebrate my upcoming job interview at a prestigious media company in New York City. “To our bright future?”

Instead of picking up his glass, Russ flinches and takes my hand across the candlelit table. He’s been distracted ever since we arrived at the bed and breakfast this afternoon. Even our pre-dinner lovemaking fell flat.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, reaching the limit of my patience and trying to ignore the uncomfortable buzz traveling over my skin.

The flickering candlelight dances over his dark curls and sends shadows across his face. The set of his jaw and the distant look in his swoon-worthy green eyes puts me on edge.

“I have something to tell you,” he whispers, and then kisses the back of my hand before releasing it.

I sit up straighter and a shiver travels down my bare back. “What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he lowers his gaze to the table. “I got a job offer from a company called Nanotekx.”

I lean into my chair and frown. “When was this?” And why didn’t I know about the interview?

His face flushes a light pink. “Recently…”

My instincts fire, sending my stomach into free fall. Liar.

My brain rapidly snaps the puzzle together, and the distance between us widens into a cavernous gorge. My voice turns hollow. “Where are they located?”

“Silicon Valley,” he whispers, still not looking at me.

My lips part as the last piece falls into place. “You’ve accepted,” I whisper back. An icy numbness settles in the center of my chest, knowing the answer to the next question before I ask. “And you’re going alone…”

“I’m sorry…,” he whispers, peeking up to meet my gaze. “This doesn’t mean… I just need to get established first…”

I can’t speak. I’ve lost the ability to form words. Yeah, a bright future, but not for us. For him. He plans to leave me behind.

At least he has the good sense to look regretful. “I love you, Jen. That hasn’t changed.”

Bile and the bitter taste of betrayal rises in my throat. I push back my chair and drop the napkin on the table. “Obviously, not enough,” I grit out. “I thought…”

Angry tears collect in my eyes and I brush them away. I thought we’d get an apartment, have some fun, and plan our future together.

“Please, Jen,” he whispers, his pleading eyes glitter a green that used to weaken my knees. “I’m not saying we should break-up, just see how things work out.” He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it out of reach.

“And how’s that supposed to work?” I snap. “I thought we were doing this together. What happened to that?”

He sighs, and his shoulders collapse forward. “My parents think I should go alone.”

I knew it. They always wanted him to find someone with more potential than me. Translation: someone from a wealthier family. It’s been a bone of contention in our relationship since day one.

“No,” I whisper. “Let’s not do that. You’ve made your choice, and it’s not me.”

Before I realize what I’ve done, I’m halfway across the dining room, taking whatever dignity I have left with me. I’m not going to waste any more of my life on someone who doesn’t have the strength to choose me.

“Wait! Jen…”

I don’t stop.

****

Dr. Graham gives me a pointed look and taps a finger to her lips. “Doesn’t this separation give you an opportunity to test your love?”

I grimace. “How do you figure that?”

She tents her hands and leans towards me. “Do you miss him?”

I shake my head. “I’ve been too mad.”

“Maybe that’s your answer,” she says gently.

“What answer is that? That I’m not important? That I don’t matter?” I’m unable to hide my bitterness. “I gave him six years of my life, for what? So he could run off without me? I thought…I don’t know what I thought.” Whatever it was, he’s no longer in my nightmares. He’s no longer someone I’m afraid to lose because I’ve already lost him.

I study my nails and admit the truth. “He betrayed my trust, and I’m not sure I can ever forgive him for that.”

Dr. Graham smiles and asks, “So who’s the stranger?”

Great question. I run my hands over the gooseflesh suddenly covering my arms. “No clue…Whoever he is, he’s someone I’m afraid will die.”

Chapter 2

Devon

MY PAINTBRUSH hugs the canvas like a lover’s touch as I take refuge in creating whatever the hell it is I’m creating. Nothing about the painting felt right until I added her. Why my landscape needs a woman crouching at the water’s edge, I’ll never understand. But something about the way my brush sensuously caresses the curve of her neck sends my mind heading in a much different direction.

I lean back and soak in my monthly therapy assignment—to create a place of solace—and a smile creeps onto my lips.

My concentration breaks with a rubber band snapping and the sting of it hitting the back of my head.

“What the—?” I snarl, spinning on my stool in the light-filled studio to find James grinning like an idiot next to his easel. We’re the only two who showed up today. Not that I can blame everyone else. It’s a sunny Saturday in early September. According to some, it’s the perfect time for an end of summer holiday. Wish I had the time to take one, but with the little time I do have, I’d rather paint.

James wiggles his eyebrows and points to my canvas. “Dude, you want to go clubbing tonight? Looks like you need to get laid.”

I snort and give him a cocky grin. “Tempting, but I don’t need to go clubbing to get laid, man.”

Yeah, well, maybe I do, or one of those dating apps, but I’m not about to admit it. Besides, that would involve contact with a real woman, and right now, I have all I can handle keeping my own counsel to retain my goddamn sanity outside the sanctity of this studio. It’s my safe place. A place I can escape everyone else’s expectations and do what I love. Today, that’s painting a tranquil place I once visited in England’s Lake District.

Our painter’s loft is on the top floor of a ten-story, pre-war building near Mount Sinai Hospital on New York City’s Upper East Side. The studio occupies a corner unit with high windows on two sides. Just shy of nine hundred square feet, the space has twelve-foot ceilings, a kitchenette, bathroom, hang-out area with a sofa and two chairs, six work stations, and a storage room.

I share it with James and four of our cohorts as part of a hospital-sponsored experimental arts program. All of us are cancer survivors in varying stages of remission. My chemo ended a year ago. I’m in full remission, but I’m not out of the woods. Not by a long shot.

Chemo nearly destroyed my kidneys, putting a major crimp in my life. I’m getting by for now on diet, exercise, and meds. But that won’t last forever. Whatever happens, dialysis isn’t an option for reasons that aren’t medical.

Outside of here, obligations of gargantuan proportions lurk, ready to coil around my neck and throttle me to death. With the help of my twin sister Lettie, every second of my life is absorbed in learning all there is to know about Kingsbridge Industries.

As heir to my father’s global conglomerate, in eighteen months when I turn twenty-five, I will take over as CEO from the board that’s been running the show since my father died.

If I live that long.

If I don’t, we could lose everything. And I’m not only talking about money.

I hop off my stool and walk over to take a gander at James’s work. He’s got a hot nude going on that’s painted in black watercolor brush strokes of varying thickness. It’s good but borders on pornographic. I cock a brow and stare harder. I take that back, it is pornographic. Hidden within the folds of fabric pooled between her thighs is a rather large phallus.

“And you think I need to get laid?” I snort and give his shoulder a friendly shove. James, standing a few of inches taller than my six feet one, throws out a foot to keep his lanky frame from slipping off the stool. Like me, he’s done with chemo and has been N.E.D. (no evidence of disease) for the last twelve months.

Sweeping a piece of shaggy brown hair from his face, he shrugs and smiles broadly. “Never said I didn’t. Can’t think of a better place of solace than that. Just looking for a partner in crime.” He points at my canvas. “What’s with the chick by the lake?”

I rub my chin. “No clue. She just kind of popped into my head, so I added her.”

He gives my landscape a dubious eye. “Need something better than that to submit to the ArtExpo SOLO show next spring.” He’s been obsessed with that show since we were in treatment. Having hope and aspirations is a beautiful thing, especially when you’re sick. Even better when you’ll live long enough to make them happen.

I don’t want to come off like a conceited dick, so I don’t tell him about the body of work I have in storage and the art shows I exhibited at in England when I was still too young to realize I’d never be allowed to have my own dreams despite my talent.

I point at the hidden penis and smirk. “You should talk.”

The alarm on James’s cell phone chimes. “Crap.” He taps it, grabs a pill bottle, and heads to the kitchen area.

I lean against James’s station and glance at my picture, assessing it. Not my best work. My mystery girl is the only thing good about it. “Hmm. You’re right. It’s absolute rubbish.”

He chuckles and opens the refrigerator. “Your Briticisms kill me.”

“Yeah, well, see how you speak after spending your formative years in an English boarding school.” I mindlessly pass a hand through my hair and realize too late that I have paint on my fingers. I look behind me to find a discarded palette, and then glance in the mirror affixed above James’s work table on the wall. Multi-colored streaks cut a haphazard path through my light hair, which borders on sandy whereas Lettie’s is pure cornsilk. “Bollocks,” I mutter and look for a clean rag.

Behind the stainless steel door, James chuckles again, followed by pills rustling and the pop of a soft drink top. “Maybe you should go full-on James Bond and speak with a British accent. Girls love dudes with accents.” The door slams shut and he takes a long draught from his soda as I head to the small bathroom to check the supply cabinet.

“That could definitely help us in the getting-laid department,” he yells after me.

I roll my eyes and scrub at my head in front of the tarnished mirror. My efforts just make it worse. Dammit. “May I borrow your baby oil?” I yell back. Better choice than mineral spirits.

His muffled laughter filters through the wall. “What’s the matter? Can’t wait? Need a little tension relief?”

I stick my head out the doorway, glare at him, and point at the multi-colored streaks. “Hardly. Pull your mind out of the gutter. I need to get the paint off my hands then out of my hair.”

His brows shoot up and he takes the can from his lips. “Dude, you look like a peacock.”

I scowl. “Thanks.” Before I can do any more damage, my cell phone rings. James gives it a toss, and I catch it one-handed.

I eye the display. It’s my sister. “Hey, Lettie. What’s up?”

“Hey, Dev. When will you be ready to leave?”

I roll my neck and suppress the urge to snarl at her. “Why?” We have an unspoken agreement: I’m her willing slave for everything Kingsbridge twenty-four-by-seven, except for the time I carve out to be here.

“It’s a surprise,” she says too sweetly, tripping my alarms. Lettie may look underage and deceptively innocent, but looks are deceiving, and there’s nothing sweet about my sister. My condolences to anyone who underestimates her.

“I hate surprises.” Especially the Lettie variety, since her motives aren’t always apparent at first blush. Although we’re close and fiercely loyal to each other, she has no shame when it comes to manipulating the hell out of me to get what she wants.

“You’ll like this one.”

Doubtful. I glance at my watch. It’s half past three. “I’ll be home by six.”

“Wrong answer. A car will meet you downstairs in thirty minutes. Ta!” She hangs up. I grit my teeth and swear under my breath.

Classic freaking Lettie.

I text her. “I’m covered in paint. I need a shower and clothes.”

She texts back a crazy face emoji with a winking eye and tongue sticking out. “Have some faith, little brother.”

I roll my eyes at the reminder of our three-minute separation in pecking order. I text her a middle finger emoji and stomp back to my station to clean my brushes.

She texts two pink hearts followed by blond prince and princess emojis.

James holds out a plastic bottle of baby oil. “Leticia?”

“Who else could annoy me this much?” I retort, and wave off the Johnson & Johnson. Screw it. I’ll keep the Technicolor hair. If for no other reason than to annoy Lettie, because God knows, it’s not like I have any plans to get laid.

Chapter 3

Jenny

“HOW WAS the headshrinker?” Dad asks and chuckles at his own joke. He does that a lot, laughs at his own jokes. Whether they’re funny or not, I can’t help but smile. What can you expect from a guy who works with numbers all day? Like my mom, he’s in financial services.

As far as dads go, he’s the best. Just shy of six feet, he’s kind of geeky in an endearing way. Smart, bespectacled, and a little paunchy, he has a warm smile and the same blue eyes as me.

Oh, and he collects classic cars and has decent taste in music.

I belt myself into the passenger side of his ’75 Mustang GT, and mock groan. “Like my head’s three times larger than when I walked in, and it’s about to explode.”

Dad throws the car into reverse. “Sounds like you could use a little Magic Fountain to set you right. Do you have time before work?”

Ice cream for lunch? Sold.

I sit up straighter. “You bet.” I’m not due at the diner until two o’clock for a short shift. I’m filling in for one of the other waitresses until six. “Where’s Mom?”

“Your aunt Jillian asked her to meet with Raine to consult on an investment plan for his inheritance.”

That’s right. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own crazy town that I haven’t made time to check in on Raine. He lost his father the same week Aunt Vera died. Though rumor has it, his father was abusive and a total bastard. Still… Now that we’re finally friends after a rough start and my eventual apology, I need to reach out.

I’m ashamed to admit that when we first met, I accused him of only being interested in my aunt for her money. Who could blame me? He’s eighteen years younger and she’s, well, a rich and famous romance author. Yeah, not one of my finer moments. But we’re passed that now.

Dad parks and we join the end of the line at Magic Fountain. There’s always a line no matter what time you go. It’s an institution and has been around forever. Case in point, my mom used to go there when she was a teenager.

“Hey, hey, hey!” A girl a whole head shorter with blue-streaked hair tackles me into a hug.

“Hey, Crystal. What are you doing home?” I ask, smiling at the expected surprise. She moves from me to my father, “Hey, Jenster’s dad.” He chuckles and gives her a squeeze.

Voted “Most Outrageous” in high school, Crystal has always been a little out there. We used to work on set design together for all the school plays. She’s an artist now and lives in New York City on the Lower East Side. We both went to college in the city, so we’ve stayed in touch.

“Came home for my sister’s baby shower,” she says. “How’s Russell?”

I blow out a breath, shake my head, and gag on the words. “He broke up with me.” Okay, so maybe I broke up with him, but he’s the one who left. Jerk.

Crystal squints and give me a look like someone peed in her soup. “What’s wrong with that boy?” Then she lights up. “Come to the city with me tonight. We’ll go out and you can crash at my place. My friend’s band has a gig. It’ll be fun.” She nods vigorously and shakes my arm. The multi-hued blue streaks swishing over the blonde underneath. Then she looks at my dad. “She should come, right?”

Dad cocks his head and shrugs. “A change of scenery might be good for you. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.” Understatement. More like a rough summer.

Hmm. It’s been a while since Crystal and I spent time together…Why not?

“I won’t be able to leave until seven, will that work?”

Crystal high-fives me. “Perfecto!”

I shrug and wink at Dad. “You and Mom have the house to yourselves tonight…Go wild.”

He laughs and shakes his head as if there’s no chance of that ever happening.

“Here. Put this on.” Crystal thrusts a plastic hanger into my hand with a tiny black dress dangling off it.

I frown and give her a look like she’s gone mad. “In what universe do you expect me to fit into this?” I glance at the tag and roll my eyes. “A size four? It won’t even cover one of my thighs.”

Crystal runs an assessing eye over me, snatches the dress, and disappears back into the melee inside her closet. She squeals and comes out with another hanger and another black dress. “This should work. It’s from my fat days.”

My head jerks back. “You’ve never been fat.”

“Have so.” She breezes by and grabs a glittery top and skin tight shorts.

I fish out the tag. It’s a six. I discard the dress on Crystal’s queen-size bed, and plant my hands on my hips. “What’s wrong with what I brought?”

She stares heavenward. “Help me!” Then she looks at me like I’m dimwitted. “Duh. Jeans aren’t slutty enough.”

“I’m not trying to look slutty.”

Crystal blows out an exasperated breath. “After dedicating your whole dating life to Russell, you need to rustle up—” She giggles and snaps her fingers. “No pun intended—some new male attention, stat!”

I glower but she ignores me.

“It’s the only way to get that look of misery out of your eyes, Jenster. Face it, you’re hot. Men want you.” Then she puts the tip of a finger to her lips. “And at least one woman I know.” Then she shakes her head as if to clear it. “Never mind. My point is there were guys in high school that would’ve sacrificed small animals just to get a date with you. They prayed that you would dump Russell Montieth.”

Huh? “What are you talking about? And by the way, that’s disgusting. I’d never date anyone who would harm an animal.”

She rolls her eyes and tosses herself, back first, onto the bed. “That’s not the point. It’s only a metaphor. Real conversation, ‘Oh, Crystal, do you think Jenny Lynch will ever break up with that dick Montieth?’”

I stare at her, stunned, and then let out a nervous laugh. “Who said that?”

She purses her lips, lifts onto her elbows, and raises a brow. “Hint: nickname Delish.”

My jaw drops. “Michael Delicious Dawson.” Captain of the varsity soccer team. Sweet. Smart. Gorgeous. Taken.

A maniacal smile stretches over her lips and she tosses me the dress. “He’s coming tonight.”

“Wait, but what about—”

She waves me off. “Old news. They broke up ages ago. He’s ripe for the pickin’.”

Is that so?

I chew my lip and eye the dress. The top part won’t be a problem. God knows most of what I have upstairs is the clever disguise of Victoria’s Secret pushup technology. My curvy hips are another story.

There’s only one way to find out. My shoulders slump and I grab the scrap of black fabric.

We totter into the small bar on Avenue A at ten o’clock. I say “we,” but I mean “me.” I’m the only one in heels. Crystal has on long socks that reach her knees and a pair of bedazzled Converse high tops.

We pay a cover charge on the way in. Half-full, the space is dark and casual, on the industrial side with a black-painted ceiling and aluminum bar stools. Other than a long bar and twelve tables, there’s not much else except a stage on the far wall. From the looks of the place, I’m woefully overdressed. Or underdressed, depending on how I look at it. I’ve already spent the better part of the walk over from Crystal’s apartment tugging at my hem to keep the dress from flashing my underwear.

Chrystal propels me up to the stage, where four guys are hanging out. One of them is tuning a guitar.

“Hey, guys!” Crystal greets each of the band members with a hug, and then turns to introduce me. “This is my friend, Jen.”

I get a combination of waves and smiles. A guy with shaggy dark hair pairs an appreciative glance with his smile. My cheeks flush and I’m suddenly wishing my dress was a few inches longer.

Shaggy Hair makes his way over. Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a casual button-down that’s open and rolled up sleeves to expose his tattooed forearms, he’s on the skinny side, but not half bad.

“Hi, I’m Rick.” He gaze lingers on my lips as he tips his head toward the bar. “Buy you a drink before our first set?”

Crystal steps in between us and pokes Rick in the chest. “Back off, Hound Dog. I said she’s a friend.”

He throws up his hands and glares at her. “What’s the problem? I just offered to buy her a drink.”

Crystal gives him the evil eye. “Uh-huh.” Then she pivots and gives him her back. Widening her eyes, she moves her lips without speaking, S.T.D.s, and ushers me away.

“Nice to meet you,” I say over my shoulder and follow Crystal to the bar. I heave a sigh of relief and collapse onto an empty bar stool.

“Kip! A round of tequila shots with salt,” Crystal yells at the bartender, then sits down next to me. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you about him. He’s a walking petri dish.”

I cradle my head in my hands. “This was a bad idea. I’m going to hate dating,” I whine. For the first time in a month, I feel something other than anger toward Russ…I miss him.

Crystal rubs my back. “Don’t worry, Jenster. It’s easier than you think.” The bartender pours the shots, and Crystal slides one in front of me. “Lick the back of your hand and give it to me.”

I do as she asks. She sprinkles salt on the wet spot, then hands me the shot. I take it and she holds a slice of lime.

“Lick, drink, suck.”

I lick the back of my hand, down the tequila without choking, and suck the lime dry. “Holy crap. Do me a favor?” I pant.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t let me drunk dial Russ tonight.”

Crystal snorts a laugh. “Deal.”

The band is well into the second set when someone taps me on the shoulder. My head swims and my vision is fuzzy from the four tequila shots, but I feel good. Real good. Too good. Dancing-all-night-long good.

I spin and almost lose my balance, right into Mike Dawson’s arms.

He keeps me from taking a spill on the makeshift dance floor.

“Jen?” he asks, wearing a tentative smile.

“Mike. How are you?” Oh my God, did I slur his name?

“Crystal said you’d be here…It’s good to see you.” He points toward a table. “Get a drink?”

I nod. A table? Yes. A drink? No. Make that, a “Hell No.” I signal to Crystal, who’s dancing with some guy she picked out of the crowd. She salutes and turns back to her partner.

Mike laces his fingers through mine and leads me to an empty table in the corner. There’s something unsettling about the familiarity of his touch. He’s even better looking than I remember. Dark hair, light eyes, muscled, a nice smile. Delicious. An object of teenage worship, but not someone I know well.

He flags down a waitress, and raises a brow when I order a club soda. “I’ve had enough already.” I fail to tell him I should’ve started on club soda two drinks ago. A fleeting look of disappointment travels over his face.

Our drinks come and we trade news about ourselves and then mutual friends. It’s nice. Then he takes my hand and puts it to his lips. There’s a hunger in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. If it was, I missed it. “I’ve had a crush on you since high school,” he says.

Heat burns a path to my cheeks. I smile. “Really?”

He nods and his lips quirk to the side. He stares at my mouth, and I lick my lips. Not to entice him, but because my mouth has suddenly gone dry.

Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses me. His tongue feels foreign in my mouth. But it’s not until his fingers slide up my inner thigh that I go dead still.

Only a heartbeat passes and I scream. “Get away!” I wrench his hand out from under my dress. Blind panic fills my chest, and I scramble away from him. This is wrong, all wrong. He’s not Russ. He’s not…The faceless stranger.

I can’t breathe. I push my way through the dense crowd to find Crystal. She’s on the dance floor right where I left her. I’m shaking violently by the time I tug on her arm.

One look at my face and she drags me to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry…” I mutter, a moment before the tequila roils and makes a hasty exit.

I can’t do this.

I’m not ready.

True to her word, Crystal takes my phone, and that’s the last thing I remember.

Chapter 4

Devon

WHEN I EXIT the building, a suit-clad driver with clasped hands, stands next to the black Lincoln Town Car idling at the curb.

I soak up the sun for the few yards of sidewalk it takes me to reach the limo and give the driver a friendly nod as he reaches for the back door.

Inside, I glimpse Lettie wearing a pair of Jackie O. sunglasses, her fine, blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun at her nape. Crap. She’s in full makeup. Bad sign. This is more than a casual jaunt.

I toss my backpack on the floor and climb in. The air conditioning chills my skin as I slide onto the cool leather and the door closes us into semi-darkness.

Lifting a brow, Lettie slides down her glasses to reveal pale blue eyes. “What’s up with your hair?”

Mirroring her raised brow, I counter, “What’s up with sunglasses in the dark?”

Her red-painted lips curve into a mischievous smile that on anyone else would look playful. On Lettie it radiates vigilant intent. She pushes the glasses up to perch atop her head. “Why so pissy, little brother?”

“Where are we going?” I scowl, still annoyed that she interrupted my afternoon and probably my night.

“The Hamptons. Howie wants to meet you. He invited us for the night and sent his jet to Teterboro to pick us up.”

I cut Lettie with a glare. “What? How about a little more notice next time?” I snap, glancing at my grungy clothes and the paint still embedded in my skin. At least I had the foresight to toss the baby oil into my bag on the way out. “I can’t show up like this.”

Appearances have taken on a new importance since I went into remission and started the grooming process for CEO. Lettie’s new boyfriend—a term I use loosely—Howard Cato III, happens to be the chief operating officer of a large shipping conglomerate, a privately held family business like ours.

Like it or not, tonight we represent Kingsbridge. In Lettie’s case, inside the bedroom and out. Though I’ve no doubt Howard is the disposable party in this equation once she gets whatever it is she wants. No-strings sex has never been a problem for Lettie. Wish I could say the same.

Lettie releases what I recognize is a patient—and slightly patronizing—breath. “Relax. You can shower on the plane.”

Gritting my teeth, I make another feeble attempt at slipping her hold. “I can’t just leave. I need my—”

“Meds,” she cuts in and waves her hand as if she’s batting away a horde of insects. “I know. I packed you a bag. Live a little, Dev. Your life could use some excitement.”

Not her kind. I’m happy having all my limbs intact and a clean arrest record.

“What—”

She holds up a hand and cuts me off a second time. “About Mom? She said to have a good time.”

My mouth snaps shut. Great. She’s enlisted our mother into her “force Devon to have fun” campaign. Though I’ve no doubt this trip to the Hamptons is a weakly disguised Trojan horse for a business meeting.

She pokes my side with a perfectly manicured red nail. “Relax. Gladys is with Mom.”

I fend her off with an elbow and mutter, “Not the point.”

Our mother, though vibrant and alive, is bedridden and requires around-the-clock care. Until it went bankrupt, she had been living in an all-expenses-paid, luxury Kingsbridge facility where my father had ensconced her when he was alive. Now she lives with us, and I make a point to visit the west wing every night. Besides Lettie, she’s all I have. She’s the only reason I’ve agreed to pledge whatever’s left of my potentially very short life to taking on a birthright I never wanted.

Exasperated, I slump back into the seat, brush a hand across my face, and admit defeat. “Fine. So why are we really going, and what’s your plan?”

***

By the time we touch down at Southampton Airport, all traces of paint are gone from my hair and skin, and I’m dressed in something suitably professional yet casual: pressed khakis, a Vineyard Vines button-down, and Italian leather loafers. Lettie selected the Breitling Superocean from my watch case. All I’m missing is a tan, which Lettie doesn’t hesitate to comment on.

“You really should get a little sun this weekend,” she says in a light, breezy tone, before descending the stairs onto the sun-baked tarmac.

I bite back a snide remark about her spray tan, and bring up the rear like a good pack mule, carrying an overnight bag over each shoulder. Fake or not, the bronzing on her legs works for her, along with the clingy dress and high heels.

A ruggedly handsome guy, almost a decade older than us and the size of a linebacker, waits with a driver next to a Rolls-Royce. He’s sheer muscle and power with dark hair that touches his collar, piercing blue eyes, and a strong jaw dusted in shadow on a head with no neck. The kind of guy who needs to shave twice a day and can pound you into dog meat without breaking a sweat.

I’d be afraid of him if he wasn’t wearing pink shorts with tiny whales and a bright green polo shirt. His mouth tips up in a smile revealing a slash of white teeth when he homes in on Lettie.

“Howie!” My sister almost squeals as she throws out her arms and accelerates into a high-heeled sprint.

“Hey, Baby,” he says in a low, affectionate growl, opening his arms. A second later, her delicate frame is swallowed inside his embrace and his mouth is on hers.

I shove down a pang of jealousy half wishing I had someone like the girl by the lake for the same kind of greeting. But I’m not that stupid. There’s no happy ending to my fairy tale.

Resisting the urge to clear my throat and remind them I’m here, I wait patiently until they come up for air.

Lettie spins in his arms and extends her hand, palm up, in my direction. “Howard, my brother Devon. Devon, Howard.”

Keeping one arm locked securely around Lettie’s slim waist, Howard reaches out a meaty hand. “It’s a pleasure. Lettie says amazing things about you,” he says in a gravel-filled voice that reminds me of whiskey and cigars.

I resist a snort as Lettie stares up at him and glows. He blazes just as bright, his smile reaching his eyes. Poor bastard. Only I can see through Lettie’s doe-eyed gaze. He’s a means to an end, I’m just not sure which one. Lettie sidestepped my question on the plane, but I’m sure I’ll have an idea by the end of the night if not sooner.

I shift the weight of my bag, extend a hand, and give a genteel smile the way I was schooled. “The pleasure’s mine.” Despite myself, I like him already. His handshake is firm and confident but not crushing. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Let me take those,” he nods at our luggage, then takes the bags and hands them to the driver. “I’m glad you could make it for the beach party tonight. Lettie says you’re not much of a partier, so I’ve had a guest room prepared in case you want to turn in early.”

Lettie winks to confirm my secret’s safe—that fatigue puts me in bed most nights by ten. I quirk a brow at the singular room reference, and assume that means Lettie won’t need one. We trade a glance. Her answering smirk tells me she doesn’t expect me to defend her honor.

Fine. I hadn’t planned on it. She’s a big girl and can make her own decisions. It’s when she makes mine that I have a problem.

Howard gives me a crooked smile, and herds us toward the waiting car. “You guys must be hungry. We’ll grab a bite before the party.”

Ah. There it is. The business meeting.

***

“So what’s your position on Kingsbridge’s Russian shipping concerns?” Howard asks as he leans back in his chair with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc from one of the nearby North Fork wineries. He and Lettie share the bottle while I drink sparkling water with lime.

We’re having a quiet dinner on a private upper deck of Howard’s massive cedar-shingled beach house, away from the caterers buzzing around preparing for tonight’s party.

Prime Hamptons real estate, the house sits tucked at the end of a narrow lane with a sweeping view of the ocean over the dunes. It’s serene and beautiful. I forgot how much I love being near water.

“Hmm.” I breathe in the refreshing salt air, pensively stare over Howard’s shoulder, and pretend to ponder his question. Instead, I admire the view. My gaze sweeps over the water’s edge and the colors painting the sky as the sun meets the horizon. Caterers wind down the stairs below us to the private beach where stacks of wood are tented and set up in an open pit ready for tonight’s bonfire.

After a long pause, I stick to the script that Lettie and I discussed before dinner, and shrug. “They’re turning a healthy profit. If memory serves, they grew by seven percent last year. Why? You want to buy them?”

Lettie stays uncharacteristically quiet. She doesn’t want Howard to know she’s running the show as much as I am.

Howard chuckles and sips his wine before his gaze sharpens. “And what if I do?”

Feigning nonchalance, I raise the bubbled water to my lips and drink. “Why do you want them?”

He pinches the stem of his wine glass and swirls the liquid inside. “Cato Shipping needs to expand its Eastern European routes to cover our growth in the oil and gas sector. The number of barrels is more than our fleet can handle long-term. We may not want to buy, just rent some capacity. Kingsbridge has the second largest fleet, and Maersk already turned us down.”

I purse my lips and nod, as if considering, then say, “Give me a call in eighteen months.” After I assume the mantle of CEO.

Howie holds up his glass for a toast and tips his chin. “I’ll send you some projections and a proposal. I won’t need it until then anyway.”

My glass meets his. “I’ll take a look.” I hate getting his hopes up, but there isn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell I’ll give him the Russian trade routes, or use his company for shipping of any kind. Given what Lettie dug up on Howard’s father, chances are high he’s looking for an unwitting partner to smuggle illegal goods into the United States. The only thing she’s not sure of is Howard’s involvement. No matter. Lettie’s using him as an insurance policy for something else entirely. That’s one of the things I love most about my sister: she’s always three steps ahead.

I play my part well. His eyes carry a triumphant gleam. “Good man.”

***

As midnight approaches, the party is still raging in the house and on the beach. There must be over two hundred people blanketing the property. The steady beat of dance music and chatter ride the mild breeze, comingling in the night air. I lost Lettie hours ago somewhere inside.

Breaking my own dietary rule, I grab a beer at the nearest bar, and then skirt the edge of the crowd on the lower deck. I’m not exhausted, but I’m talked out and no longer in a partying mood. Holing up in the guest room seems lame, so I make my way to toward the wood plank stairs leading down to the beach.

I’m almost there when a female voice behind me slows my pace. “Devon? Devon Soames… is that you?”

Bloody hell. A vaguely familiar English accent. Oxford, more specifically. I cringe and rapidly contemplate whether to keep walking and let whomever it is think she’s staring at someone else’s retreating back.

The decision is made for me when delicate but firm fingers grasp my arm. “Devon?”

Inhaling deeply, I slip on a pleasant smile and turn.

My pulse quickens and not in a good way. Painful memories batter my chest in unceasing waves as I stare into Isla’s face. The sister of the only woman I ever loved.

An attractive, statuesque brunette with the same slanted green eyes as Tessa, Isla smiles broadly. “It is you!”

Before I can react, she’s got me wrapped in a hug. “It’s so lovely to see you,” she says, holding me uncomfortably close. Her thin frame warms me and I fight back revulsion when my body unconsciously tingles with awareness.

I wiggle out of her grasp and move aside. “Issie, what are you doing here?” I ask in a heated whisper.

“I’m on holiday in New York…I’m here with a friend. How are you?” Her gaze turns to the one thing I can’t tolerate: pity.

My mask of cool confidence slips back into place. “I’m well, and have been for some time.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Her smile wavers and she looks away but makes no move to leave.

Rather than ask the question I’m sure she expects, I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “Good to see you. Enjoy the party.”

I clutch my beer harder and pivot, eyeing the stairs like a convict about to make a prison break.

“Devon, wait!”

Cursing under my breath, I stiffen and press my eyes shut.

“I’m sorry…for what she did. I’m sorry she chose Phillip.”

My teeth gnash at the mention of my bastard half-brother. I can’t turn around and look at Isla for fear of exorcising my pent up rage over her sister’s betrayal. I hate myself for still caring.

“Goodbye, Isla,” I say without turning or betraying a hint of the emotion roiling around inside me. I reach the stairs and descend at a steady clip.

The heat of the bonfire’s flames hits me when I reach the bottom. Pulling off my shoes, I tuck them underneath the stairs. The sand cools my feet as I move unnoticed past the edge of the crowd and head for the stretch of empty beach to the north.

Beer in hand, I take a long draught of the hoppy, amber liquid. The alcohol hits my bloodstream by the time I finish the bottle. After no alcohol for nearly three years, I’m a cheap date.

I drop down in front of a dune and lie back on the sand, not caring that I’ll be covered in it when I get up.

“Dev…” Lettie’s voice and near-silent footsteps travel over the sound of gently crashing waves. “Where are you?”

“Over here,” I say, staring up at the stars. So bright, so welcoming. “How’d you find me?” Though I’m not sure I care…about anything right now.

Lettie drops down next to me. “Hey,” she says gently, “I’ve been looking for you…to warn you about Isla. I was too late. I followed you from the house.”

I give a mirthless laugh. “Out of all the people on the planet I’d like to avoid…”

Lettie touches my arm and gives it a small squeeze. “I’m sorry, Dev,” she says with an unmistakable ache in her voice.

“I hate this…,” I whisper, not talking about my past, but about my future. “All of it.” I don’t want it. Everyday puts me closer to being a prisoner in my own life, or dead. Not much of a choice.

“I know.” Her voice is small and there’s a quiver I only ever hear when we’re alone. She lays down next to me and rests her head on my chest. “I love you, Dev. I’d make it all go away if I could.”

A lump rises in my throat as I stare at the stars, and wrap her in an embrace. We’ve clung to each other for comfort since we were toddlers. I can’t imagine doing any of this without Lettie by my side. She feels fragile in my arms, but it’s her strength that’s gotten me through. “I know.”

She sniffles and brushes at her eyes. Then she bolts upright and lets out a devilish chuckle. “You know what might make you feel better?”

Clearing my throat, I slip back into my mental armor and lean up on my elbows. “I’m afraid to ask.”

She snickers and claps her hands with giddy abandon. “Seduce Isla! Poetic justice and all that rubbish.”

My lip curves up at her use of the same British slang. Lettie spent her formative years at an English boarding school, too. Just not mine.

I snort. “No, thanks. That’s not who I am and you know it.”

“Oh, come on, Dev. When was the last time you got laid?”

Seriously? That’s the second time in one day.

“None of your business!” I sit up, incensed she would ask, and start to wonder if I’m giving off some sort of desperate scent.

She laughs. “Now that’s the Dev I know and love. Having you pissed at me is much better than watching you mope.” She stands, grabs my hand, and pulls me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s go back.”

“Fine.” I give the stars one last look, and think about the girl I painted by the lake. I’m not sure who she is, or where she lives in my imagination, but there’s one thing I do know…she’s nothing like Tessa.

The Next Day

Jenny

A DULL PAIN thuds behind my eyes in a mad staccato beat, and every step jostles my brain inside my skull. Payment for all those tequila shots. Sunglasses barely help as I step out of the train station into the heat. Taking out my phone, I text Dad to pick me up in ten minutes then amble across the street to the Starbucks on the corner.

Nothing less than a triple espresso will do this morning. Wait, I mean this afternoon. I glance at my phone. Yup. Almost two o’clock.

Most of the umbrella-covered tables outside are taken. I shift my backpack higher on my shoulder and sidestep a Rolls-Royce limo with tinted windows that’s double parked halfway in the crosswalk. A white-gloved driver stands next to the back door.

Okay, that’s over the top even for Summit. I’m shaking my head as I walk into the cool interior. The line extends almost out the door. I scan the fifteen or so people in front of me. No one in particular stands out. I’m still gawking when someone accidentally brushes passed me.

“Sorry,” a woman’s voice whispers.

Startled, I twist to see a blond, casually dressed couple pass behind me. I catch a glimpse of her pulled-back hair and sunglasses, but she’s blocking him from view. I don’t catch his face. A moment later, they’re out the door.

Through the window, I see the limo driver pull open the back door. They duck inside and my skin pebbles with a sudden chill. My gaze is glued to the limo as it pulls away from the curb.

I blink and remember. My dream. It was different last night.

The faceless stranger; I saw his eyes this time.

They were blue, and he was very much alive.

Shelter My Heart

Check out Shelter My Heart, the Kindle Scout novel by L.G. O'Connor where this novelette is set!

Summer Solstice

One Summer Day short story is also featured in the Kindle Press Anthology Summer Solstice. You can get it from Instafreebie for free!

#Romance

0 notes

our-smooty · 6 years ago

Text

Take Me to Church Chapter 21: Flash

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Car Accidents Angst Hurt/Comfort Drugs/Alcohol Implied/Referenced Suicide SuicideHealing Everything Hurts

Summary: The band is back together, but things are… weird to say the least. But when a crisis arises, can they pull it all together and be a family again?

Link to other Chapters on my Blog!

Unfortunately, the peace from dinner didn’t continue over to the next day. The morning started off well, Murdoc woke up beside a sleeping 2D and proceeded to wake him up with an amazing blowjob. The singer was in a great mood after that and so was Murdoc. They took a shower together and ate leftover spaghetti for breakfast. By the time they were finished, Russel had joined them at the table, making himself a much more conventional breakfast of toast and eggs.

“So, are you two comin’ with me to the hospital?” he asked. The question was casual, but Murdoc didn’t miss the way the drummer's eyes flicked to him briefly. It took the majority of his self-control not to snap defensively.

“Actually,” 2D piped up, “I think me and Muds are gonna stay here.”

“2D…” Murdoc sighed, leaning his chin on his fist. The singer frowned.

“We talked about this Murdoc…”

“I told you I don’t need a nanny!” the bassist growled. The sight of the other flinching back brought up bad memories, and Murdoc took a deep, calming breath. “D, you should go with Russel. I’ll be fine here.”

2D was fidgeting with his hands nervously, glancing between him and Russel. “I-I don’t know Muds…”

Luckily, Russel, ever the sane one, had an idea. “What if Murdoc checked in with us, while we’re out D? D’you think you could do that Muds?”

Murdoc rolled his eyes. “Fine I’ll send you a text, alrigh’?” 2D thought about it, chewing on his bottom lip. Murdoc wondered if the singer knew how much that turned him on.

“I guess, jus’ promise that you will call OK?” Not one for PDA--even if it was only in front of Russel--Murdoc put a hand on Stu’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I promise, D.” The other leaned into the touch slightly before straightening back up. Russel watched the two with a bemused look on his face, which Murdoc tried to ignore. He felt like he was under a microscope, every action scrutinized.

“We should get goin’ then, D,” Russel said, picking up his plate and taking it to the sink. “Should probably do some grocery shoppin’ too, while we’re out.”

“OK Russ,” the singer said slowly, giving Murdoc one last glance. Russel seemed to sense the tension between them and stepped out of the room to get ready. Not for the first time, Murdoc was grateful the drummer was so in-tune with their dynamic.

“It’ll be fine, Stu,” Murdoc said, getting up and wrapping his arms around the singer from behind. 2D sagged in his hold, resting his head against Murdoc’s shoulder and turning to kiss his cheek.

“I-I know, I t-trust you. It’s hard, with Noodle sick an you…”

“I know,” Murdoc interrupted. He didn’t want to hear the younger say it, didn’t want to face it right now. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, alrigh'?”

2D sniffled, getting up to hug the Satanist properly. “OK. I love you, Muds.”

Murdoc felt himself begin to blush, those three little words filling him up with so many conflicting, but mostly pleasant, emotions. “I uh--”

“S’ok, you don’t have to say it righ’ now.” What had he done to deserve such an understanding, perfect partner? The familiar feeling of guilt and inadequacy began to rise up inside him, but he managed to push it down, reminding himself that he was trying to be better this time.

“Thank you, D.”

At that point, Russel came back and reminded 2D that they needed to go. Murdoc let Stuart go, giving him a smile and a gentle push towards the door. “Go on, Bluebird. I’ll be here when you get back.” 2D nodded, his expression determined. Satan, Murdoc though, he was so adorable.

When the drummer and singer finally left, Murdoc realized he had no idea what he was going to do for the entire day. He hadn’t been alone in the house for ages, what did he even do on his own before the whole Noodle debacle? Drink and smoke, drug himself into oblivion? But he couldn’t do any of that now, not to the extent he would have liked. He was making an effort to be better.

In the end, he decided it’d be worthwhile to go up to his room and work on some music as a distraction from the silence of the house. He grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge--he knew he couldn’t quit drinking cold-turkey--and headed upstairs. On the way up he saw Katsu, sunbathing on the landing. He stopped to give the cat a quick scratch behind the ears before making the rest of the trek.

Though he and 2D had cleaned his room up, it was still a monument to his degrading mental state. There were still bottles under the bed, and loose pills on the bedside table. Just the sight of the drugs made his mouth water and his brain tingle. Maybe his room wasn’t the bastion of safety he thought it might be.

His bass, the only thing he bothered to keep clean, was sitting in its stand, shining as brightly as the day he got it. Deciding that his room held too much temptation, Murdoc grabbed the instrument and turned back around. Where could he go to relax where he wouldn’t be surrounded by temptation? 2D’s room was out of the question; it was arguably full of more drugs than his own, and he didn’t feel comfortable invading Russel’s space like that. That left the living room or Noodle’s room... and he really didn’t want to drag an amp down all those stairs.

With hesitant steps, Murdoc found himself in front of his guitarist's door. It’s just a room, he told himself, there’s no reason to get worked up over it. As he was psyching himself up, Katsu walked up behind him, sauntering through the doorway without a care in the world. Murdoc watched blankly, before huffing out a quiet laugh.

“Bloody cat,” he mumbled, following it into the room. No one had been in there for long since the night Murdoc overdosed, and the room was just as Noodle had left it. Unfortunately, Noodle had taken after Murdoc and 2D when it came to cleaning, though she did at least, throw out her garbage. But Murdoc tried not to think about that; he was determined that today would be fine. So he placed his beer on the bed and dragged an amp close enough to plug his bass in, beginning with a warm-up. Katsu curled up beside him, more than used to the thumping bass lines filling the house.

He played through all their hits as a warmup, the deep bass tones resonating through his entire being. The vibrations calmed him more than the beer did, and he soon found himself noodling around with random notes, looking for bass lines that would work on their new album. He thought about the song 2D had been working on and tried to find something to match. It was pointless though without the singer around to let him know if he was on the right track or not. Eventually, he got bored of playing and tossed El Diablo to the side, flopping down on his back on Noodle’s bed.

Satan, what did people do with all their free time? Checking his phone he saw only two hours had passed, and that 2D had sent him a couple texts. They were mostly harmless, the younger wanted to know what he was up to, and one was a picture of Stu in an elevator, giving a peace sign. Murdoc saved the picture to his phone and sent a selfie in response. The entire exchange felt incredibly, wonderfully domestic.

Noodle’s bed was warm, soft, and clean. Murdoc fumbled around in the sheets for his beer and he cracked the last one open, paying special care not to spill any. He had a light buzz going and felt surprisingly calm surrounded by his youngest bandmates possessions. Noodle had a good eye for decorating, and the bassist had always been a little jealous of how amazing her room looked. He wondered if she’d be upset if she knew he was hanging out in here and drinking without her, but decided it didn’t really matter. It would be just one of many things he had to apologize for when he saw her again.

That was a big reason why he didn’t want to go with the others today. Murdoc knew that he’d fucked up, even if everyone forgave him. It was because of his temper this entire thing had happened. He wanted to be better, but he didn’t know how. The fear that if he went to go see Noodle again so soon he’d freeze up was so strong that even safe at home it made his stomach clench.

Katsu interrupted his growing anxiety attack by butting her head against Murdoc’s hand. The bassist gave her a few scratches, listening to her purr. He understood why Noodle liked sleeping with the cat now, it’s presence was comforting.

“Where should I even start?” he asked. The cat meowed and lay back down. He’d promised to go see a psychiatrist with 2D, but how did he find one? Would they put him on medication? Murdoc shuddered at the memory of prison in Mexico, where he’d been held in the psych ward for weeks and drugged out of his noggin. And not in the good way. Did he need to be medicated? What if they saw a doctor and they told him there was nothing they could do for him. What if--

Suddenly, Murdoc’s phone chimed, alerting him to a new text. He grabbed the phone, fumbling through the pattern lock. When had his hands gotten so shaky, and his vision so blurry? The message was from 2D, commenting on the photo Murdoc had sent.

“R u in Noodle’s rm?”

“Needed an amp” he replied. Should he tell 2D what he was feeling? That’d only make him rush back, and Murdoc really didn’t want to ruin another one of his trips to see Noodle.

“O, did u find 1?”

“Yeah. Played a bit but it’s not the same without you here”

“Ill b home soon M”

“I know D, take your time”

It was fine, he didn’t need to tell the singer every time he got a little worked up. Murdoc was a grown man for Satan’s sake, he could handle a little bit of anxiety. His phone pinged again

“Do u want 2 c a pic of Noods?”

Murdoc typed, then retyped his message no less than three times. He settled on “OK.”

The picture was grainy and a little blurry. 2D had an older model phone he refused to give up and it really showed. In the picture the singer was in front of the camera, leaning down to Noodle’s bedside. She was smiling, a little lopsided, but it was still her stunning smile. Murdoc could remember seeing that smile for the first time after she’d finished that wicked solo on top of her FedEx box. Her bruising had faded significantly, though she still looked pale and weak. If he squinted, Murdoc could kid himself into thinking they weren't in a hospital at all.

“She looks better”

“She says hi.”

“Tell her I say hi back”

Was he supposed to feel happy, or sad? Murdoc wished he could be happy that Noodle was getting better, but all he felt was sadness and guilt. She was so sick, and would be for a long time. He knew what happened with Stu was a fluke, most people with traumatic brain injuries had lifelong disabilities. She might never walk or talk again. She might not have the dexterity left in her fingers to play guitar anymore. He couldn’t live with himself if he’d been the cause of that.

“OK, that’s enough,” he grumbled, nudging Katsu aside and getting to his feet. It only took a few minutes to clean up his cans and gather his bass. Staying in there had been nice at first, but the fragile courage he’d had was wearing thin and the coward below was shining through. He couldn’t stay here, surrounded by her for a second longer. When he closed the door--just as Katsu trotted out behind him--he sighed with relief.

Murdoc knew he needed more alcohol if he was going to have to deal with feeling like this. 2D would understand, he hadn’t promised to stay sober, after all. That didn’t sound quite right, but his need for some sort of release from the pounding in his chest was stronger than logic. Dropping the bass off in his room, he made a beeline for the kitchen.

Saddled with a bottle of something stronger than beer, he idled in the hall back to the stairs. He’d only wasted 4 hours. He should have asked 2D when he and Russel were coming back and it’d been too much of a hassle to text the younger now. If he did it’d only worry Stu, not to mention it’d sound like he was being clingy. Oh well, he was sure he could find something to occupy himself with for a few more hours.

Russel made sure that after their visit with Noodle they went to the grocery store. According to him, they couldn’t keep ordering takeout every day and the spaghetti had used up the last of the food in the fridge. 2D never saw the harm in ordering takeout, but Russel insisted. He still felt a little guilty about keeping the drummer up at night, so Stu had relented.

By the time they were finished it was late afternoon, way past when he thought they’d be home. The singer hadn’t heard from Murdoc in a while, but he was trying to keep calm. He’d talked to him just a couple of hours ago, had even seen a picture of him. 2D had to learn to trust the bassist if their… relationship was going to work.

He stayed quiet the whole ride, gripping his phone and tapping along nervously to the music. Russel didn’t complain, he always seemed to have a sixth sense about when someone needed some space. Not for the first time, 2D realized that without Russel they’d be a lot worse off.

“If you take the bags in the front,” Russel said, startling the other out of his thoughts, “then I can manage the ones in the back.”

“O-oh, yeah sure Russ,” 2D stuttered. He quickly grabbed the bags, too quickly, spilling some of their contents onto the floor. As fast as he could he packed everything back up and hauled them into the house. It was a bit of a struggle to get the front door open ut he managed, toeing his shoes off before shuffling into the kitchen.

“Murdoc! We’re back!” he called. Distantly he could hear thumping and rattling coming from the second floor. Within seconds he heard the sound of heavy steps down the stairs and felt himself begin to smile. Leaving the groceries for a moment, the singer turned around to greet Murdoc.

“Ello luv,” he teased, not even trying to hide his happiness at seeing the bassist again. He really was acting like a love-sick teenager.

“Alright Stu?” Murdoc asked, sauntering in with a bit more swagger than usual. 2D’s smile fell slightly as he caught a whiff of alcohol off the other. But he didn’t want to upset Murdoc; there was probably a reason he felt the need to get drunk. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed.

“I will be, in a minute,” he joked back, gathering the smaller up in his arms for a hug. Murdoc went willingly. “Ah that’s much better.”

“Mmh, don’t tell me you missed me after such a short time,” Murdoc laughed, wrapping his own arms around the singer. 2D could tell the bassist had missed him just as much as he had. Letting himself forget that Murdoc was drunk for just a moment, the singer leaned in for a kiss, humming happily as Murdoc kissed back.

Their little bubble was popped by the front door opening again; 2D had forgotten about Russel. With a sigh he let Murdoc go, turning back to the groceries and beginning to unbag them. Murdoc was already rifling through the fridge, probably looking for beer when Russel came in with the rest of the bags.

“Hey Muds,” he greeted. Murdoc grunted a hello and took a seat at the table, beer in hand.

“H-hey Russ, I can put the groceries away, if you want,” the singer offered. Really, he just wanted more time to talk to Murdoc alone.

“Well, I’m not gonna argue with that. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” 2D waved as the drummer left, while Murdoc gave a lazy nod. It didn’t take too long for him to get everything put away in it’s proper place, or at least close to it. He really couldn’t remember exactly where they usually kept the cans of soup, so he stacked them up beside the bowls. It was close enough.

“So what did you do while we were gone, Muds?” the singer asked in his most casual voice. Murdoc was drunk enough not to notice anything suspicious.

“Not much. Played bass, sat around, summoned a few demons, the usual.”

2D hoped he was joking about the last part. “And uh, had a couple drinks?”

Murdoc’s eyes flashed dangerously, though he quickly looked away. “Yes, I did. That a problem?”

“N-no! I um, I just’ wanted to ask if there was somethin’ wrong.” 2D watched Murdoc study the table with interest.

“No, nothin’s the matter. Can’t a man enjoy a drink?” The singer was getting a little impatient. Why wouldn’t Murdoc just tell him what the problem was already?

“Just a drink?” he asked, his voice clipped. Murdoc’s head snapped up with a scowl.

“Yes, Stuart. A drink,” the bassist answered angrily.

“Why?”

Murdoc laughed darkly. “Since when do I need a reason to drink, D?”

2D sighed and sat next to him. “Murdoc…”

“Stop babying me!” Murdoc snarled suddenly, standing up fast enough to knock the chair back. “Satan’s sake 2D!”

“Don’t shout at me!” Stu yelled, getting up as well. Both men had their fists clenched at their sides and frowns on their faces. For a brief moment, a memory flashed in front of the singer's vision. The sound of a chair hitting the ground. Murdoc, standing over him with an open palm, his own cheek stinging. Murdoc, stumbling out of the room as 2D scrabbled to his feet, a dull throbbing in his face and side. Pink, so much pink. Unconsciously he took a step back, raising his hands to his face in a flinch. The Satanist was frozen, his fists still clenched but the anger slowly draining from his face.

“2D what--” Murdoc took a few steps forward and immediately the singer’s mind told him to run run get away!

“No!” he cried, pressing further back into the wall. This was just like back on Plastic Beach, it was happening again, he couldn’t handle it again--

“U-uh, shit!” Murdoc cursed, backing up. Stuart kept an eye on the other’s hands the entire time they raised up placatingly. “2D it’s ok!”

Neither man moved for a good two minutes before 2D collapsed against the wall, tearing streaming down his cheeks. Big, ugly sobs tore their way out of the singer's small frame. Through blurry eyes he watched Murdoc kneel down a few feet in front of him warily.

“Oh God D,” Murdoc whispered, so distraught that he momentarily forgot his own religion. “I’m so sorry.”

For once, the singer put his own feelings first and didn’t rush to comfort Murdoc. He couldn’t, he was frozen in his defensive curl. Even as his breathing evened out, and his sobs turned to silent crying he still couldn’t get up and go to the other man. He wasn’t even sure if he even wanted to. He’d never had a reaction like that around the bassist, and he'd never had a flashback like that either. So why was it happening now that they were finally getting somewhere with each other?

“D-d’you want me to go?” Murdoc asked quietly. He shook his head no, because he wasn’t sure. So they stayed frozen in their spots. It was a wonder Russel didn’t come downstairs to investigate the silence. Eventually, 2D gathered enough strength to lower his hands, wrapping them around his knees instead.

“I-I jus’ w-wanted t-t-t’know why you w-were drinkin,” he said, quiet as a whisper. Murdoc held his head in his hands, shaking.

“I was thinkin’ a little--a little too much and I n-needed t’relax. I s-swear Stu, that’s all,” he answered. He looked and sounded like he was telling the truth, but still, the singer didn’t feel like he could calm down fully.

“Oh,” Stu said. “M’sorry for makin’ a b-big fuss--”

“No! Uh, no, I shoulda told you t-the truth when you asked,” Murdoc interrupted. “I’m sorry for scarin’ you.”

Stu shrugged. “It was the chair fallin’... I think.”

“Still my fault,” Murdoc said. “If I hadn’t done all that stuff on Plastic--”

2D interrupted with a panicked sound in the back of his throat. “I-I don’t wanna think about that righ’ now.” He watched Murdoc weigh his options before deflating even more.

“OK, whatever you want D. I’m, uh, sorry, though. Maybe I should go?”

The older man got to his feet. 2D could still feel the edges of panic in his mind, raw and stinging. But he could also see that Murdoc was really, truly sorry. With a shaky voice, he spoke up.

“Don’t leave.” The singer got to his feet as well, still keeping a safe distance from the other. “I don’t want us to fight.”

“Me either Stu,” Murdoc agreed. They stared awkwardly at each other for a while, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Murdoc picked up the chair he’d toppled and sat down. It was almost like that last fifteen minutes hadn’t happened. Slowly, 2D sat down as well, inching his chair within arms reach of Murdoc.

“We’ll work on it, yeah?” he asked placing a hand on Murdoc’s knee. Murdoc was back to studying the table, but he covered the larger hand with his and squeezed. They weren’t quite there yet, but they were getting close. And Stu was willing to try.

#2doc #niccalpot #tw suicide #tw violence #tw car accident #tw hospital #tw DRUGS AND ALCOHOL #tw flashbacks #tw abuse

5 notes · View notes

our-smooty · 6 years ago

Text

Take Me to Church Chapter 18: Redemption

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Car Accidents Angst Hurt/Comfort Drugs/Alcohol Implied/Referenced Suicide SuicideHealing Everything Hurts

Summary: The band is back together, but things are… weird to say the least. But when a crisis arises, can they pull it all together and be a family again?

Link to other Chapters on my Blog!

Stuart woke up groggy, disoriented, and with a pressing need for a piss. He was well versed in the art of hangover bathroom trips and he managed to get to the toilet without much problem. Wrapping things up quickly he leant over the sink to wash up, gazing idly into the mirror. The bags under his eyes looked worse than normal and he looked a little pale, even for him.

Bits and pieces of last night came back to him as he stared. He’d taken a lot of pills, and most of the night was a blurry mess. He remembered that Murdoc hadn’t come home, and Russel was out looking for him but after that, it was all a fuzzy. The easiest way to know if the problem had resolved itself was to check Murdoc’s room. The singer shuddered.

OK, he could do this. Murdoc probably wasn’t even awake, he could just crack the door open, peek inside, then go back to hiding in his room. It was only once he left his room and was standing with his hand on the doorknob to the bassist's room that he realized he was shirtless and dressed only in his sleeping pants. Oh well, Murdoc had seen him in worse.

The door creaked open quietly as 2D looked inside. Luckily the bedside lamp was on, and 2D could see the shape of the bassist sleeping tangled in the sheets. Relief swept through the singer like a wave. Murdoc was home and safe. 2D hadn’t realized how worried he actually was until he saw the other man there. The urge to walk in and crawl into bed beside the man was strong, but then he remembered their argument the day before and closed the door, walking back to his bedroom.

He’d meant what he said yesterday. Whatever was going on between them was a mistake. He knew that he’d been sending out mixed signals lately--he was confused himself--but when Murdoc had brought up their relationship he knew he had to put a stop to things. 2D wished he’d been able to do it at a better time but now that he knew the bassist was home, he figured that everything turned out alright.

But… why did he feel like he’d lost something? There was an aching in his chest that he could only attribute to his argument with Murdoc. He should be happy that Noodle was awake and talking, that she was going to be ok! But instead he was acting like a love-sick teenager who’d had his first breakup--and they hadn’t even been dating!

“Get it together, Stu,” he whispered to himself, sitting idly at his keyboard. There were papers full of notes and music all over the bench and floor, some in his writing, others in Murdoc’s. They’d been going over some of 2D’s song ideas for the past week, making notes and goofing off. He reached down and grabbed a random one, setting it on the holder and beginning to play.

It was one of the songs he’d written in his journal, currently untitled and only half formed. The only lyrics he had so far was for a chorus and he sang those quietly to the audience of his empty bedroom.

“I will always think about you. That's why I'm calling you back on my way through.

He paused to scribble a few notes for his future self on the paper before shuffling it back into a random pile. Music writing didn’t hold the same spark it did when Murdoc was around to listen.

He checked the time and realized it was well into the afternoon. Russel would be awake for sure, and 2D knew he should go apologize for his behaviour the night before. There was no good reason for him to get so high and leave Russel to sort everything out himself.

With a groan, he stood from the bench and left his room, though not before reaching into his pill stash and popping a couple painkillers. Not as many as the night before, but enough to fill him with a comfortable warmth once they kicked in. Stuart ambled down the hall to the drummer's room and knocked. Immediately he heard a “come in”.

“Hey Russ,” he said, standing sheepishly in the doorway. “I wanted t’say sorry for last night…”

Russel was seated in his reading chair, a book open on his lap. He looked up at 2D and the singer felt guilty at the large, dark circles under his friend's eyes. “Thanks, D. I’m not gonna say it’s fine, but thanks for apologizing.”

2D took a seat on the bed. “How’d everythin’ go las’ night?” Russel shrugged.

“He came home himself eventually, completely wasted.” Russel closed the book and set it aside. “Said he’d been doin’ more than just drinkin’ so I spent most of the night checkin’ up on him.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He was really upset about your fight yesterday.” Overwhelming guilt crept through 2D’s system. He didn’t want to make the bassist upset, but he also didn’t know how to fix things.

“You think I should go make it up to him?” he asked. Russel was usually the level headed one of the bunch and Stu was hoping he could tell him what to do.

“To be honest D,” Russel began, “whatever’s between you and Murdoc is your business, and you gotta deal with that yourself. I don’t think I can tell you want to do.”

2D scuffed his socks against the floor. “But, say you were me. What would you do?”

Russel looked at him, raising a brow. “D I’ve punched Murdoc in the face multiple times. Do you think I’d even get to this point?”

“Good point, nevermind,” 2D answered, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “Sorry I’m putting all this shit on you, Russ.”

Russel shook his head. “It’s alright D, I get it.”

Changing the subject, 2D perked up. “What are you up to today then?”

“Not a lot, reading. Might go out later.” 2D’s interest peaked.

“Where had you been goin’ so often Russ, you got a sweetheart?”

Russel flushed a little, looking away. “I mostly go on walks around town to avoid hearin’ you and Murdoc screwin’ each other's brains out."

He should have seen that one coming. Russel was quiet, but he knew how to throw down with the best of them. “Fair enough, sorry again.”

“It’s fine D. Maybe try to keep it down past 10?”

2D smirked. “No promises.” He stood up. “Guess I shouldn’t put this off anymore. Thanks again.”

“Good luck D,” Russel said, waving.

The hallway had never looked for long. The space between Russel’s room and Murdoc’s couldn’t have been more than 20 feet, but to 2D it looked like a monumental hike. He really, really didn’t want to deal with Murdoc right now, and he was sure Murdoc didn’t want to deal with him. Was he really going to walk into the Satanists room, wake him up, and demand answers?

The bedroom door was right in front of him, and 2D didn’t allow himself the luxury of hesitating. The bassist was still sleeping, fully clothed. Russel’s charity must have run out after getting him to bed. The singer wasn’t really sure where to go from here; as usual, he didn’t have a plan. He knew that if he woke Murdoc up, he better have a good reason. But he really, really didn’t think this through, so instead, he tiptoed to the bed and slid into the warm comfort of the bassist's bed. It was easy to pretend that yesterday hadn’t happened when he was wrapped up in the warm blankets. Curling onto his side, facing Murdoc, Stuart could feel the other’s stale breath against his cheek. With extreme care, he lifted an arm and placed it around Murdoc’s waist. He was surprised when Murdoc didn’t wake up but instead snuggled in closer to the embrace. 2D felt his cheeks heat at the sight.

He could have this, every morning, if he wanted. He was pretty sure that Murdoc wanted that too, but the memories of how Murdoc used to treat him not that long ago were holding him back. It was almost like they were two different people, the Murdoc he knew now, who was trying to be better, and the Murdoc he used to know, who hit him and kept him on that rotten island. 2D still had nightmares tinted bubblegum pink and echoing with whale noises.

Murdoc twitched in his sleep, his arm reaching out and grabbing onto Stu’s pant leg. Sleeping like this it was hard to imagine him as he’d been on Plastic Beach. 2D wasn’t sure how much of the beach Murdoc even remembered, he’d been awfully drunk and awfully mad. Any time someone brought it up around the bassist he either laughed it off or got in a mood and walked out. 2D wasn’t sure how to talk to him about it without causing a blowout, but it was becoming increasingly clear that he’d have to, and soon.

But for the time being, Murdoc was asleep, and Stuart was warm. The important stuff could wait a little while.

Murdoc woke up warm, but incredibly uncomfortable. His jeans--why was he wearing his jeans in bed?-- were digging into his hips and he still had his shoes on for some reason. He thought back but everything after he’d found some teenager selling drugs in an ally off the high street was a complete blank. Obviously, he’d made it home, and he’d either dragged himself up to bed and passed out, or one of his bandmates had done it for him. Judging by the fact he was still fully dressed in his day clothes and boots, it’d been Russel.

As he began to toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position, he realized he wasn’t alone in the bed. Had he brought home a bird? Maybe it was that lanky bloke he remembered talking to outside the second pub. Either way, he really didn’t want to deal with a clingy one-night-stand and he was about to tell them to get the fuck out when he spied a shock of blue hair peeking out from the comforter.

Murdoc was afraid to breathe. What the hell was 2D doing in his bed? He remembered them having a fight yesterday, or more accurately, he remembered trying to be honest with the singer for once and 2D shooting him down. He remembered feeling the world fall out from underneath him in that break room and then spending the rest of the night trying to forget that feeling. Thought things were fuzzy he didn’t think they made up last night, so what was he doing in Murdoc’s bed?

Normally, this would be a good sign. A pretty face in his bed after a night of binging was usually a good thing, especially now that he’d admitted to feeling something for the singer. But it was soured by the fact that as far as he knew 2D had rejected him completely and utterly. Did the singer still want to be friends with benefits? Murdoc wasn’t sure if he could handle that, now that he’d had a little taste of so much more. Finally able to move he peeled back the covers to reveal 2D’s sleeping face and hands curled under his chin. He looked like an angel.

So badly, Murdoc wanted to curl into the singer, wake him up and ask 2D to hold him as they both drifted back to sleep. Instead, he settled for shimmying close enough to feel the warmth from the other man, reaching out a hand to thread his fingers through the others. Was this going to be the last time he had the chance to do this, would he ever get the chance to be this close to Stuart again? A nagging, sinking feeling told him there was a good chance of that happening.

2D murmured in his sleep and Murdoc hushed him. “Shh, love. Get some rest,” he whispered, kissing his forehead ever so gently. The singer settled down with a slight smile on his face and Murdoc allowed himself to smile back, just a little. He wanted to commit every inch of this moment to memory so that when the other did wake up and leave him for good and Gorillaz was over, he’d have something to think back on.

He stayed like that for a long while, letting the singer drool all over his pillow in a fit of uncharacteristic kindness. Occasionally 2D would move around, or mumble in his sleep and each time Murdoc felt his adrenaline kick in. By the time the other man did rejoin the world of the conscious, Murdoc was an anxious mess.

“Mmm what time is it?” 2D asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes. Murdoc shrugged; he hadn’t checked the time when he woke up, too shocked to find the singer in his bed.

“Wait, what am I doin’ here?” Ah, there it was. Maybe the singer had been smashed as well, and wandered into Murdoc’s room by mistake? Wouldn’t be the first time.

“How the hell should I know, faceache?” Stuart flinched at Murdoc’s tone. He sat up and Murdoc tried not to let his eyes wander over his bare chest.

“I-I’m sorry Muds. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” 2D stuttered, looking away. Murdoc continued to frown as he sat up as well, coming face to face with the singer. His nervous posture made Murdoc wanted to reassure him, but the pain of yesterday’s rejection was still too fresh.

“Well, get out then,” he snapped, fists clenched in the sheets. Anger, resentment, those were things he could understand, things he could use.

“B-but I…”

Murdoc bristled. “You what, Stuart? Did you wanted another go at me, another chance to tell me to fuck off?”

2D shook his head quickly. “N-no, Muds I--” but Murdoc interrupted, angry now.

“Then what do you want! Y-you know how I feel, so why are you makin’ this harder?” the bassist shouted. He was getting emotional now. “Why won’t you just go?”

2D was quiet, so Murdoc continued. “You can’t have it both ways, Stu.”

“I know,” he answered, head bowed. “I jus’ wanted to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Murdoc waited, his temper simmering under the surface. 2D didn’t look like he knew what to say, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“I-I like you, Murdoc, you’re my best mate,” he began, “and I think we made a right mess of things, sleepin’ together.”

“You think?” Murdoc interrupted again and 2D frowned.

“B-but I also think that maybe you’re right,” the singer looked up, “there’s something between us. It's been there from the beginin’ and we’ve been ignorin’ it.”

Murdoc stayed silent, waiting for the other to continue. “It’s so fucked up though, because y-you used to hit me, and y-you kept me on that fuckin’ island. You hurt me, Murdoc, so many times.”

Murdoc’s chest ached. He had hurt the singer, he knew that, just like he knew he didn’t deserve the other man’s attention. “I know, Stu. A-and I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re tryin’ to be better, but it’s a little messed up, me lovin’ someone who hurt me so bad.” Murdoc’s eyes widened as 2D blushed at his slip-up.

“D I--” 2D held up his hand, telling Murdoc he wasn’t finished.

“I-I don’t know what to do, Murdoc. Last night I was so worried about you, but I was so angry too. Sometimes I don’t know if I love you, or hate you.” Tears were forming in the corners of the younger man’s eyes. Murdoc took the risk and reach out, weaving his fingers between the singers. He had to do something right now to fix this. If he didn't, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Murdoc began quietly, “y-you said somethin’ about findin’ a doctor to talk to, one of those psych tossers.” He looked up at the singer, catching his eye. He wanted to let 2D know he was serious. “I’ll go with you, o-or on my own. If you want.”

“You will?” Stu asked, surprised. Murdoc nodded.

“You know I’m not good at talkin’ about things,” the bassist paused, “but I think… I think there’s something good between us. And, there’s something in me that’s all twisted up and bad but I-I’d be willing to try, if you are.”

2D looked thoughtful, his brow furrowed and the tip of his tongue peeking out between his teeth. It was criminally cute and made Murdoc want to scoot closer, but he wasn’t sure if that would be appreciated. Instead, he tightened his grip on the singer's hand and waited.

“Muds…” the singer sighed, staring down at their hands. “Do you really mean that?”

Murdoc nodded, bringing their hands up to his chest, practically hugging them. “D, I promise. I don’t want to fuck up again. I-I can’t lose you or the band.”

2D continued to stare at their hands. Murdoc hoped he believed him, though a small part of him still insisted he didn’t deserve it. But he was so close. So close to breaking through all the self-hatred and shit and starting to heal.

Finally, 2D looked up. The tears from before had dried, and he had an almost comical stoic expression on his face. “OK.”

“OK?” He’d been hoping, but he hadn’t expected the singer to actually agree.

“Yeah, OK. If you’re serious--”

“I am!” Murdoc interrupted, desperate to make thing singer understand that this time, against all the odds, he was telling the truth.

2D smiled a little, but quickly sobered. “But it can’t be like it was before. You can’t beat on me, or call me nasty things.” Murdoc shook his head. He didn’t want to hurt 2D ever again and he knew, looking at the other man in that moment, that if he did it’d be the end of everything.

“I’m goin’ to be better this time D.” He didn’t know how exactly, but he was going to try. 2D nodded and looked again to their joined hands. He was leaning in a little, the stoop of his shoulders making him look older and more tired than he should have. Murdoc leaned in as well, angling himself so their hands and his chest was pressed right up against the other’s side as close as possible. Even though 2D had said OK, he wasn’t sure if it was alright to move forward. Luckily, Stu took charge and closed the gap, tipping the bassists head back and kissing him. To Murdoc, it felt like a new start, a chance at redemption that he couldn’t afford to waste.

#takemetochurchfic #2doc #niccalpot #tw suicide #tw violence #tw car accident #tw DRUGS AND ALCOHOL

5 notes · View notes