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cyb-by-lang · 6 years

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Shell Game (25/?)

Obito and Kakashi get in trouble.

Obito really didn’t mind burning a day by stalking a hero. The weather was nice, big screens everywhere were happily showing the Sports Festival wherever Ingenium stopped for a second, and snacks were easy to pick up at any corner store. Kei wasn’t here, but she was keeping up a cover identity. And while Obito wasn’t necessarily happy about it, he’d gotten used to not having Kei around for missions ever since February.

Off to Obito’s left, Kakashi bit down on a sneeze as the two of them hopped across a gap between two rooftops, still following the silver-armored hero on his patrols. The local air was still weird.

If he was being honest, Obito half-expected this method of finding Stain to be as much of a bust as the scent-tracking. The Turbo Hero Ingenium was the leader of Team Idaten agency, and therefore he was one of the better-connected heroes in Hosu. If something did happen, he had a radio where Obito and Kakashi didn’t, so he’d probably be on the scene of any crime as fast as he could. Therefore, Obito and Kakashi were saving themselves a tremendous amount of trouble stalking his various sidekicks by just following the big silver team coordinator around.

It helped that Ingenium’s helmet made it difficult for him to cover his own blind spot. Someone probably ought to let him know.

…Just not until this tactic of last resort was fully explored.

Unfortunately, though they’d tracked down another police investigation, the victim was carted off to the hospital before Kakashi or Obito could Sharingan any answers out of them. The police had already trampled all over the site, making it useless for Kakashi’s tracking technique. And to add salt to their collective wounded pride, Stain had apparently departed the scene via the sewer system. There was a lot Kakashi could do, both with his dogs and on his own, but all three of them had come to the sad conclusion that scent-tracking was just not going to work for this case.

Not that Kakashi would subject his dogs to city air if he could avoid it, but Obito understood. Some situations were a bit too complicated to have an easy solution. And even besides that, summoning techniques didn’t appear to work on this side of Kamui.

Thus, stalking.

Not that Ingenium made it easy. Per Kei’s explanation, this hero had engines built into his arms that helped him run faster or something. Obito didn’t think it compared to shinobi speed, especially since he and Kakashi were some of the fastest people Konoha could throw at the problem, but he definitely took corners way faster than a normal person, and while blowing smoke everywhere. Because roof-hopping required a bit of foresight and Ingenium didn’t seem to believe in slowing down except to make calls, Obito had been leading with his Sharingan ever since this mission started.

“Slow,” Kakashi said, his gloved hand brushing against Obito’s right shoulder. Sensation was a little dull in that side, but it was definitely a tap.

Obito shook the gleam of Ingenium’s armor out of his eye before he dug his heels in properly. Rooftop gravel crunched under his feet as he skidded a bit, then turned to face Kakashi.

Kakashi jerked his masked head back and then down. Without any further words, he marched back over to the gap they’d just leapt over and dropped down with no ceremony. They’d found their Hero Killer, then, and Obito moved to follow.

At that point, the clank of light metal and rushing air met Obito’s ears. Likewise, an armored shadow passed over him and, when Obito looked up, he spotted a silver figure careening overhead.

Ingenium landed in front of him, elbow pipe things jetting smoke. While his body was angled forward, as though expecting violence, his voice came out surprised. “You—you’re a vigilante? Or a villain?”

Obito shrugged. He raised his right hand to scratch the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up under his mask. To salvage the situation, Obito almost mimicked Ingenium’s voice right back at him just to make the awkward feeling fall on someone else for a change, but then steel met steel in the alleyway below.

Obito had already Kamui-warped from the roof to the ground before he even finished his master plan. Ingenium got a glimpse of a person spiraling away into a ribbony mirage, centered on the right eye of the mask, before Obito stepped out into a dingy alleyway.

“Wolf!” he barked, landing farthest from the street.

Kakashi didn’t respond except to nod.

And from the shadow of a dumpster, the Hero Killer rose.

Taller than either Kakashi or Obito, but hunched as though his head was set a bit too far forward. His arms were bare under bandages running up to his biceps, balancing combat gear resembling cobbled ANBU gear. Obito noted the shift of shapes under his clothes and on belts, his Sharingan alerting him to dozens upon dozens of hidden knives, folding blades, and spare sharp objects. Heavy soles on already-modified shoes indicated yet more blades, perhaps spring-loaded. He was built like someone who fought for a living, complete with a damaged katana and ragged scarf to accompany the tails of his mask. His face was even flattened due to a total lack of nose, probably on purpose.

Stain looked like a jackass, was the point. It was a flexible word. Obito had picked up a few things here and there from Kei’s vocabulary.

Between him and Kakashi, the Hero Killer was bracketed in by an ANBU agent and someone who had all the training and the power to sidestep attacks. Judging by the knife embedded in the brickwork, Kakashi had already deflected an attack or two with his kunai.

…If Stain had enough knives, this would be a very short fight.

Obito slid into a combat stance as Kakashi shifted his grip on his kunai. While both of them could have carried katana into this fight, Kakashi didn’t need one and Obito could grow his own. Besides, that would have implied that either of them wanted anything to do with a fair fight with this jerk. If it was going to be a two-on-one beatdown, Obito would count it as a good day.

For a second, it was a standoff. Kakashi on one side, kunai held defensively in his left hand. Obito on Stain’s other side, right hand flexing like he was going to go for—instead of grow—a weapon. Wood Release tendrils started to snake out from under his gauntlets, crawling down his leg and toward the nearest wall.

“More wannabe vigilantes trying to bring me to ‘justice,’ I see,” Stain spat, drawing no more reaction than a cocked head from Obito. Seriously, what was this guy’s deal? “Every time I kill you maggots, more just appear. You’re not even worth dirtying my blade.”

Across from Obito, Kakashi’s Sharingan flashed noticeably, despite how he was backlit by the street. His right hand and arm lit up with white chakra lightning, running along gloved fingers like static.

Lightning Release: Stunning Flash. Obito knew that technique like the back of his hand.

Just like Kakashi knew his Wood Release moves, even if he couldn’t copy them. Wood Release: Butterfly Net.

There were benefits to sending long-standing team members on serious missions together.

“The only thing worse than you are those fake heroes you keep dogging, like their fame will wear off on you,” Stain went on, seemingly oblivious to the slowly rising tide of violence.

Then Ingenium hopped down from the rooftop, and the situation got needlessly complicated.

Now, Ingenium wasn’t a bad guy as far as Obito knew. He rescued cats from trees, too, and he walked kids across the street sometimes. He organized people to do good. He seemed like a dependable hero. But he was also big, wore armor, and there was just not enough room in this alleyway for four combatants without getting in each other’s way.

“Your reign of terror ends here, Hero Killer!” Ingenium squared his stance and raised his fists.

“No…” And Stain’s flat face turned toward Ingenium. “It’s just getting started.”

Obito held out his free hand, snapped his fingers to get Stain’s attention, and made a gesture that left little to the imagination regarding his opinion of the Hero Killer’s self-satisfied ranting.

This did not meet with approval. While Kakashi clearly rolled his eyes based on how his Sharingan light blinked out for a second, Ingenium coughed. Then Stain hissed, “You’ll die first.”

Obito said, in Stain’s voice, “Come at me, bro.” And just to make the moment complete, he added a mocking “come here” motion with his left hand.

Stain lashed out at speeds nearly comparable to a tetchy chūnin, but Obito’s Mangekyō Sharingan slowed the entire world to a crawl. While Obito grinned under his mask, Kamui shifted along with the slash of Stain’s ragged-edged katana as it seemingly sliced him open from shoulder to opposite hip with no resistance.

“No—” Ingenium began as Obito flopped forward onto the ground, only just avoiding cracking his mask on impact.

Or so the two Tokyo-natives seemed to think.

Stain lifted his blade and then stopped dead. Just as he realized the broken steel was still clean, Stain tried a follow-up attack that stabbed downward through Obito’s head.

To exactly as little effect as before.

“Nice try, asshole,” Obito said, still in Stain’s voice. He stepped back, watching the man’s eyes widen. “You’re just too slow.”

Kakashi was too professional to sigh, but it was a close thing. Instead, Obito heard him say, “Ingenium, you’re in the way.”

“As useful as his Quirk is,” Ingenium noted, not taking his attention from Stain, “arrests are Hero work. I can’t let you two handle Stain on your own, no matter what.”

“Your call,” Obito chirped. Given the funny look everyone gave him, he imagined no one quite expected to hear a cute, piping voice coming from behind his eerie white mask. He stalked behind Stain, putting his hand up against the Wood Release web he’d already started. “But you should still back up, say, fifteen meters.”

Ingenium didn’t, probably because Stain went for him next. A knife flew and struck one of the places where his armor didn’t cover his undersuit, slicing through his tricep on its way to the street.

The hero staggered two steps back with a shout of pain—

Kakashi’s arm lit up until it was nearly blinding—

Stain leapt for Ingenium’s throat, katana curved in a lethal upward arc—

Obito slammed his chakra into his right arm just as a knife whipped out of nowhere and hit him square in the right shoulder. It bit into muscle, but couldn’t touch bone even if slammed home with Tsunade’s strength—his Zetsu arm didn’t have any bones to break. And the pain was only about as bad as a sharp slap. Getting Kamui up first was more important, and his Mangekyō ached again to let him know that was a great plan.

—Obito’s Wood Release vines snaked up from the ground and hardened to something akin to steel bars, blocking Stain from reaching Ingenium as though a door had just been slammed in his face—

—Stain’s tongue slipped through the bars and caught a drop of flying blood—

—Ingenium hit the ground with a thud—

—and Kakashi’s lightning arced out directly for the man carrying the most steel, engulfing the alleyway in white light. Bolts passed through Obito like nothing, making his fingertips tingle.

Obito was pretty sure, after the fact, that he saw his own retina from the flash. He would give Kakashi a thorough ribbing for that later. As he blinked the red out of his vision, he took in the scene.

Stain was upright only because Obito’s Wood Release had made a sort of Hashirama tree in the middle of the alley, and it was awful hard to pry anybody out of the wood without a much heavier weapon than Stain’s sword. They’d be chopping him out with an axe, and hopefully with a lot of heroes making sure he wouldn’t stab anybody again.

Speaking of, it’d probably be easier to be sure of that if Obito stole all his goddamn knives for the police to process. Still, Obito glanced around to be sure his two fellow fighters were all right.

Kakashi crouched over Ingenium, peeling back a layer of undersuit to check on the injury. He’d made a heavy bandage out of gauze and some medical tape, and folded it even as he kept his Sharingan trained on the wound. Then, “It’s not deep. Can you keep pressure on it?”

“I would if I could.” Ingenium’s voice was about half an octave higher than usual. “But I can’t—I can’t move. At all.”

“Huh,” said Kakashi, and then pressed the pad to the injury as he levered the hero’s arm up and above his heart. “Quirk?”

“Probably.” Ingenium groaned quietly, wincing noticeably even with his full-face helmet as Kakashi worked. “Are both of you all right?”

Kakashi nodded.

Obito idly pitched two combat knives over his shoulder. They clattered to the concrete. “Yep.”

“Good.” Kakashi helped Ingenium sit up, still clamping his hand over the wound. “My communicator is in my helmet. Any chance you could help me reach it?”

“The two of us are outta here the second your sidekicks show up,” Obito warned, kicking a multitool toward the dumpster. He jabbed a thumb at the still-unconscious Stain. “He’s going to jail on his own.”

Ingenium’s helmet canted to the left. “You think I’d try to get you arrested for vigilantism?”

“…Yes?” Obito replied, finally turning away from the Hero Killer. He’d get out of there when someone helped him, not before. “I mean, it’s in all the pamphlets.”

“If I’d tried taking him on alone, I’d probably have died,” Ingenium explained. He still couldn’t move, apparently, but Kakashi was being patient about the whole thing. “I don’t think the police would agree, but it’s a hero’s job to keep innocent people safe even if it costs us everything. Sometimes, that includes legal protection.”

“Oh.” Obito scratched the back of his head, and then remembered he was wearing a full head covering and it was than less effective. “Uh, that’s actually nice of you to say. Wolf, maybe if we make sure the paralysis wears off first…?”

Kakashi sighed. “Make your call, Ingenium. Stain isn’t any more arrested than he was a minute ago.”

Ingenium managed a pained laugh, now that his adrenaline rush was starting to wear off from lack of use. “All right, all right.”

Ingenium got his full movement back (or nearly) a little before his now-alerted sidekicks started converging for real. He was going to be mobbed by worried heroes and carted off to the hospital soon, apparently. Once they were all sure Stain’s Quirk had worn off and the guy still wouldn’t be going anywhere, Kakashi let Ingenium take over caring for his own injury before disappearing ahead of police sirens.

By that point, Obito had managed to wheedle a masked selfie out of the hapless hero—because of course he had to. Ingenium seemed more baffled than annoyed, probably by how quickly events had progressed, and obliged. With a cheery salute, Obito vanished up the wall like a spider caught in the light, leaving the police and pro heroes to deal with the serial killer. He could send photographic evidence to Kei about their successful mission, so she’d finally stop worrying.

He sent it immediately after he and Kakashi were both out of sight and away from any of the swarming heroes. So: ten blocks away.

It took until a couple minutes later, when he went to change into civilian clothes inside Kamui, that he remembered Stain’s knife was still sticking out of his shoulder.

Kakashi facepalmed hard enough to put Kei to shame.

#Shell Game #Kakashi Hatake #Obito Uchiha #hero killer stain #iida tensei

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a-day-at-once · 6 years

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January entries #21 to #31

#21

21/01

Hello, diary. I'm sorry this time I took so much of you, I'll be fast. Today at work, Leo and I talked abou KSV, and watched some of the manga's pages. As usual with magical girls mangas, it's a bit... Darker, than what TV's adaptation shows. Well, looks like Leo didn't knew that. Today's sticky note was a doodle of us watching Sakura, so I drew us cosplaying. When the shift finished, I headed back home and feeded Ember. Watching those pages made me remember my first motivations to draw. Inspired me, somehow. So I took you and went to the canal, were we still are.

Do you remember weeks ago, when I told you about journals? How 'diary' suited you better, because people took their journals outside and stuff? I won't stop calling you diary, it's way too settled down now to change it. But welcome to your new life.

It's just a messy, fast sketch. And I'm lying down actually, but I couldn't make the pose right as I wanted so...

I signed it as 'Luz'. It's a friendly nick for my coworkers now, but at first, it was my artistic name. I haven't used it as such in a long time... memories come to my mind, of every painting and sketch that I signed with this name. It means 'light' in spanish. Well, I'll go back home now. It's getting late, I'm kinda tired, and maybe Ember is missing me. See you tomorrow.

- Eva.

#22

22nd of January

Today was pretty long, diary.

There was some kind of event at one of the shops nearby, so I assume that everybody and their mother's brother decided to do their shopping for dinner before they went home. We were packed all day, to the point where I didn't even have time to get the stocking done I was supposed to get done. I ended up staying forty-five minutes after my shift to get it done.

On a positive note, that meant that the end of today's shift coincided with Leo's. On a negative note, when I saw him, I was struck with a bolt of lightning: I had gone on a date with Leo.

We hadn't decided it was a date, not fully.

But he held my hands and taught me how to ice skate.

Was that a date? Did we... Date?!

He bought me dinner, diary!! That was bloody well a date!!

He trotted over to me with a grin on his face and I dropped the boxes of pasta I was holding. Holy god, I went on a date with him! "Hey! What are you still doing here?" He'd asked, helping me collect the wayward pasta.

"Stalking! Stocking," I said, stacking up the boxes. "Yep. Just, uh, leftover stocking stuff. Couldn't get it done during the rush," "Oh, that's the worst," Leo had commiserated. "Want some help? I don't technically clock in for another fifteen or so,"

"Sure," I agreed. I knew my face was redder than red, the reddest I'd ever been, even redder than the time I'd fallen asleep on the beach. Leo ignored how shirty I was being and just talked about a show he'd watched last night. I didn't technically have cable, as watching whatever's on at the laundromat didn't count, so I didn't know what he was talking about. But he filled me in on some of the backstory with animated hand gestures, hysterical character voices, and the occasional dynamic pose. I don't think he ever put a box on the shelf, but the way that he set me at ease after my sudden realization helped more than he could have ever known.

My entire walk home, I thought about the date-not-date. Leo was so relaxed during the whole thing, but I assume I had been too.

I hadn't thought that it was a date the entire time.

If I had, there was no doubt that I would have skated directly into a wall going at least Mach the fuck Five and possibly crying the entire time I did it. I unlocked the door to my apartment and threw myself down on the couch.

What was the etiquette on this whole thing? Was I supposed to ask Leo if it was a date, or would he eventually ask me? Were we just going to keep going on like this forever and ever until one of us wondered if we were supposed to be filing taxes together or something?

What if I asked him and he laughed at me? What if I asked him and he didn't know what I was talking about?

What if I didn't ask him and I died right here, of a heart attack? Ember pounced on my gut, forcing me to unglue my asscheeks from the couch and feed her.

That gave me a three-minute reprieve from the unholy existential spiral I'd found myself in, but I'd made no more progress on my best course of action. Just as I got done cleaning up after Ember dove into her food bowl, I got a text.

From Leo. Leo: Hey, I'm on my lunch break and figured I'd give you a holler. You said you're an artist, right? I want to work on my painting skills. Want to go to the craft store with me on payday? I want a pro by my side! I stared at my phone like it'd grown snakes for what felt like an hour before I typed back. Me: Sure! I should get some more supplies, too. I've been getting back into the swing of things. Leo: Great. It's a date! I stared at the screen, frozen in place.

Dear diary, it seems that Leo answered my day-long epic saga of self-exploration, self-deprecation, and a little bit of absolute terror.

Now, I guess I have only one question. Is Leo psychic?

--hawkwarrd

#23

Welcome to Day 23, diary, 'cause the breeze is so strong and the weather's so dark that I might have dropped you into the snow when I was rushing out the door this morning with my bag unzipped.

Just dash, drop, drown--I've left you out in the air in the sink, hopefully minimizing the damage as much as possible. Would a hair dryer help? Can I even use a hairdryer without setting it on fire?

Fire--god, I wish I had a fireplace. It's so cold. It's so fucking cold.

Round these parts it doesn't snow 'til January--dull dreary grayness throughout the December and mild-mild-mild chills until January "the Real Fucking Winter" 23rd rolls around with snow so wild I'll freeze my toes off.

I. Hate. The snow.

We're getting snowstorm warnings but I go to work anyway like how we put warnings on prescription bottles and they don't stop us all anyway and honestly? Wasn't busy, given the snow. No one wants to go around in this weather.

We closed early for the lack of traffic. I'm home now, and though your pages are water-damaged and wrinkled and stained, you're still okay. Still functional. We're a lot alike in that respects, aren't we?

I thought about writing another poem, or doodling--hell, my neighbor's kid plays their rap music so loud I considered trying to make my own. I will not. I would be a disaster--but yeah, that kid--they're probably like 13, 14, with a bad attitude and headphones too big for their face and a big button on their backpack that says THEY/THEY PRONOUNS OR I'LL KILL YOU. Their nickname changes every other day from planet names to galaxy clusters to snowflake crystalline shapes. Their mom, Hadiza, is nicer, all on her own--a tired smile on her worn-pretty face and her hands cracking from dish soap and snow-skin, but she sometimes knocks on my door and asks me to make sure her baby got home okay while she was out at work.

sometimes i think i'd kill to have a family who loves me but that's a bad thought bad bad bad

She's nice, at least, though. When I got home she offered me some tea--you've been awfully quiet lately, Luz! Come in, I'll make you some-- all soft and warm, and well, motherly.

Made my heart hurt a little. Made some of the snow melt.

So I'm here, diary, after a lazy slow cold day, with milk tea and biscuits warming my body from my toes to the brainfreeze I caught in the winter outside.

Good days and bad days, huh, diary? Good days and bad days.

I hear the music playing up from the apartment next door again, but I don't mind it so much right now.

--redlight

#24

24th January

I was painting today after my shift at work.

That’s why I wasn’t paying attention. Why I didn’t fully look at the screen before I answered the phone.

It was set to be a good painting, I thought. I’m pretty sure I was trying to deal with what happened at the turn of the year. I was so proud of myself for picking up a paintbrush and getting into that space.

I don’t think it matters, now.

I pressed the phone to my ear, expecting Greg or Susan to be calling me to confirm my schedule for next week.

It was neither Greg nor Susan.

“Hey. I didn’t think you were going to pick up,” Nick’s voice said. “Listen, I know that you’re really mad at Dad and all,”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said, mouth feeling numb as I spoke. I wasn’t here at all. I was at the pizza shop with Leo. I was ice-skating. I was even arguing with an old lady about the price of tuna, because I wasn’t here--

“I think we need to put that aside for a while.” Nick said, sighing. “I’m at the hospital. With dad. And Mum.” He said shortly.

“The hospital?” I said, looking around. Ember sat curled up on the couch. I’d dropped my paintbrush. There’s a splatter of brown-red paint slowly seeping into the cream carpet. There goes my deposit.

“Yeah. Dad’s… Not well. Mum and I talked, and I think… We think, all of us, that you should come home.”

“I can’t.” I spat immediately. “I just… I can’t, I just can’t.”

“If it’s about money, I’ll buy the ticket.” Nick said nonchalantly. Funny, that. Who knew being His Holiness came with such a stunning salary.

“It’s not about the money and you know that.” I whispered, curling in on myself. I could barely breathe, could barely think. “What’s going on?” My morbidity asked.

Nick let out a sigh.

“Dementia, we think. He’s been asking for you.” He admitted, his voice choked. “We’re not sure how much longer he has.” “Dementia,” I echoed. “Okay. I’ll… I need to… I have a job,” I babbled, standing then sitting immediately back down. “Can I call you back?”

“Sure. We’re going to be at the hospital all day, so even if you want to talk to him…” Nick said, trailing off hopefully.

How he wanted a perfect family.

“Right,” I said, finally choosing to stand back up. “Right.”

“Okay. Bye. I love you.”

“I… I love you, too.” I said, looking down at the phone in confusion. Nick hung up.

I felt like I’d been boiled.

Dad had been asking for me?

What did that mean? As far as I knew, he hadn’t uttered my name since I’d left the house.

Was he really dying? There was a time in my life that my father dying had been a fond dream of mine, while I was locked in my room to give me “time to think”.

Nick becoming a man of some monolithic God was hardly original. My father had been patient zero. The outbreak. The drop of contamination in the well.

Mind and body, I still bore scars from being the queer child in a House of God.

How was I supposed to go back to that? How was I supposed to care?

Nick had always behaved like I was being overdramatic, and he still was. How could he just casually call me one afternoon and ask me to go back to that place like it hadn’t ripped everything I was away from me?

The numbness I had on the phone was swept away by the tide of rage.

My father was the type to read from the Bible for our bedtime stories when we were children, to pray before dinner, to attribute everything good in our lives to God.

As a child, I was wont to agree. All the evidence I had pointed to the affirmative. My life was good, and therefore God was good.

It was only when things started to take a turn that I found out the truth.

God made man. Man made pain. Pain made man bitter and tired.

Dear diary, I am so bitter. So tired.

Somehow, my father had found out that I was queer. I had been trying things on for size at school, trying to grow into myself in a safe space.

Soon after, the mill downsized. My father was one of the many that were turned away, no pension, no benefits.

Many people would have turned to alcohol, to drugs, to anything to make that horror seem far away for awhile, but my father turned to God. We went to church Sundays and Wednesdays. We prayed every night, together, before bed.

I’m sure there are people out there who thrive in that environment. Nick sure had.

Me? Not so much.

Especially not when I was to blame for my father’s layoff. They laid the family’s flaws at my front door, blaming my queerness for why things were going wrong.

God is punishing me, they said. I was unnatural, they said.

Ember made a small chirrup from the couch and I looked over at her.

I couldn’t go back, I thought dumbly. They wouldn’t let a cat on the train, and Ember surely wasn’t staying here by herself.

I looked back down at the phone.

I had a few options. Running through them would help sort the cluttered stack of panicked thoughts in my mind, made frantic from a single phone call.

Option one: never call Nick back, throw my phone into the canal.

Option two: call Nick back, tell him I can’t go back, but talk to my father on the phone. Option three: call Nick back, tell him to buy me a ticket, go back to my hometown.

Just thinking the third one made me sick to my stomach, so I crossed it off. I couldn’t do it. Not now, at least.

Option two seemed like the best way to keep everyone happy. I was the equalizer. I was the one that kept everything together.

This was my role in the family.

I picked up my phone, but instead of dialling Nick, I dialled Leo.

“Hey! What’s going on?” Leo answered. He sounded cheerful but suspicious. I would be, too. We’d only texted a few times since the date. (Not date? What the fuck ever, I’ve got other shit happening.)

“Something… crazy, honestly. Do you have a second?” The background noise on the call stopped and I heard a door close.

“Yeah. I’m all ears. What’s going on?”

I gave Leo the five-minute version of my family history, much like he’d given me over pizza. It was sanitized, but I could hear him hiss through his teeth while I recounted certain tales.

“Now he’s sick. Nick says its dementia and he wants to see me, but…”

“You can’t.” Leo said firmly.

“Right.” I agreed, folding my arm across my chest. “It would be…”

“Bad, bad, bad.” Leo said. I could nearly see him shaking his head, his hair getting in his eyes. “No bueno.”

“Nick said I could talk to him on the phone, but…”

“Do you owe him that, honestly?” Leo asked me.

“Do I owe him?”

“Yeah. It’s supposed to be just a phone call, alright, but you’re freaking out. Do you owe him your piece of mind? Do you owe any of them your peace of mind?”

What a question. “I don’t think so.” Leo said, softly into the silence. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you that you are worthy of peace. You are worthy of happiness.”

There was a lump in my throat and I could scarcely breathe.

“I dunno if anybody ever told you that, but it’s true.”

“Thank you,” I choked out.

“Anytime. Literally, day or night.” Leo said. I heard a door bang open and someone calling his name. “I have to go back in, but are you going to be alright?”

“Yeah. I am.” I said, and I didn’t know it was true until that moment. “I think I’m going to call Nick back.”

“What are you going to tell him?” Leo asked.

“That I’m not going to talk to my father,” I said, gulping slightly around the tears that threatened to choke me. “At least not now. And I’m not going back there. Ever.”

“Good. Great,” Leo said. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you so much,”

“No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow at work, okay?’

“Okay.” I agreed again. We hung up, saying our goodbyes.

The phone lay in my hand, inert, but it felt like the potential energy contained inside of it could level a city the size of New York.

I took a deep breath, moved to the couch, and grabbed Ember around the middle. She opened an eye at me, offended, but I wrapped her sleepy, limp body around my neck like a scarf and the warmth seemed to appease her for a moment before she oozed partially down my chest, keeping her head near my chin.

With my little mascot, I opened my contacts and pressed on Nick’s.

“Hey! Are you clear to come down?” He answered.

“No, Nick. I’m not coming down.” I said firmly. The phone shaking in my hand and my other hand tangled in Ember’s fur belied my strong tone.

“What? What do you mean you’re not coming down?” I gulped at his angry voice and the sound of him walking down an expanse of tile. “I can’t go back, Nick. I’m sorry.”

“Your father is dying and you won’t even go see him?” Nick shouted and something within me snapped.

“I was dying!” I growled. “I was dying and nobody even cared!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The entire time I spent praying for something to change inside of me, praying to be anyone else but me, I was fucking dying, Nick, and none of you gave a single shit. In order for me to survive, I can’t go back to that place.” My voice was shaking, but my hands were firm. “I’m not going to do that to myself, not again.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re seriously just being a baby? What about ‘Dad’s dying’ do you not understand?” Nick said incredulously.

“You’re not listening to a word I’ve said,” I spat, sitting forward on the couch. Ember shot me the evil-eye, but she stayed. What a good cat.

“Yes, I did! You said that you’re not going to come and see your dying father because he tried to raise you right.”

“No, I’m not coming to see the man who raised me to believe I was an abomination because I would like to live.” I growled, clenching my jaw. “I think we’re done here.”

“I think we are, too.” Nick said. “He’s going to be so disappointed.”

“So am I.”

I hung up the phone. I stood, cradling Ember in my arms. I sat back in my painting chair.

I bent, picking up the partially-dried paintbrush.

I rinsed it off, picking up more colour.

I started to paint.

--hawkwarrd

#25

Day 25.

I woke up just a few moments ago. That's why my handwriting is so sloppy. I'm sorry.

I didn't really sleep. I couldn't. All I could think about was that fucking phone call and my dad and my brother's unbearably loud voice screeching into my ear. I don't even need to read what I wrote last night again, I remember every single word like it was burnt into my brain. (I don't think I can, actually. Read what I wrote. I can't.)

Why did he even call me? Why did he have to call me?

Fuck. I don't want to go to work.

I wish I could grow vines from my body that would merge me with this bed. That's all I need. To just lie here and fucking sleep.

︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿

Update. I tried to sleep for the last 40 minutes and I couldn't. Even having Ember lying against my back didn't help.

I don't want to go to work. But I can't stay here without falling asleep. It'll only get things worse.

I just got a text from Leo. He asked if I'm okay and if I want him to call in sick for me.

You see that, diary? He cares about me more than my entire family combined. Unless he doesn't. Unless it's all a show and he actually doesn't care and nobody cares and I'll end up all alone again and my own fucking brain will keep on screaming and screaming until I take that rope again and ch

Sorry. I'm sorry. I wrote too hard and now your page is a bit ripped.

I told him I'll come.

︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿ Here we meet again diary. My damaged diary, just like me.

Today was… odd. It was… bad, but… somehow… I dunno. Sometimes it was okay, and other times… it was a disaster.

I was late to work but Greg said it was okay. He was in charge again so he put me in the cleaning product section, to put the new price stickers on the products that were on sale. Then he told me to put in the cans in order and do some stuff like that.

I went to lunch with Leo again but nothing that big this time. We sat outside and ate some sandwiches he made (they were perfect. Cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and salty butter. I couldn't ask for a better homemade lunch than that. I didn't, actually, he just brought it and shared it with me and made my morning better), and just watched the people go in front of us. We played that game I play with myself sometimes, and tried to guess where they went and why.

We saw a woman hastily talking on her phone while walking fast. Leo said she was a lawyer late for court, and I said she was just late to meet her friends somewhere.

We saw a guy and a girl (I said girlfriend, Leo said sister) sit not far from us and laughed at something they saw on their laptop. Leo said they were looking at puppy photos while I said they saw a funny post on tumblr.

We saw a guy walking slowly with a small girl, and while Leo said it was her uncle taking her to eat ice cream, I said it was her brother taking her to the near park, to ride the carousel.

Leo looked at me and asked, “what, like Holden and Phoebe from The Catcher in The Rye?”

I smiled at him, all proud that he recognized what I was talking about. “Yeah. Why not? All he needs is a hunting hat.” I said.

He laughed. “It's my favorite book, you know,” he told me.

“I know now,” I said, and he looked down shyly like only he can, with his freckled cheeks red and his green eyes hidden. So that part of the day was the good part. The only good part.

Even before rush-hour, my luck was running out. I dropped products, I bumped into things. I discovered that I put all the sale prices in the wrong place in the morning and had to rearrange two entire sections. I was already frustrated by the unnecessary work I made for myself, and the embarrassing stuff that I did - I was not ready to spend the rest of my day there.

But I couldn't go home, either.

And then, some point in the afternoon, the store was stuffed. Since it's a Friday, everyone wanted to hurry and buy everything before the weekend.

Which is exactly why I hate Friday shifts so much.

I stood in the dairy section in the back. Once in a while, some random customer asked for help. I tried to stay friendly, at least on the outside. The noise creeped into my bones but I did my best not to let it stress me more than it already did.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and it made me jump. I looked at it and saw it was a message.

It was from Sean.

I couldn't even look at what it said. I just turned off the screen and put it back in my pocket.

At first, I didn't even notice that I was shaking. I kept on gulping and licking my lips, like I was thirsty, even though I wasn't.

Why? Why did he text me again?

My phone vibrated again (and made me jump again) - but more than once this time. Someone was calling, but I didn't want to look at it. I didn't want to see who it was, in case that it was him. I just - I couldn't handle him, I just couldn't. And I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me break. Because that's what he did, that's what he always fucking did, what he was best at - I couldn't calm down, even after I turned off my phone completely. I looked at other parts of the store, to see if I could see Leo, or Greg, or Susan, anybody, but I couldn't see any of them ; they were all too far away, too busy. The entire damn place was too fucking busy and I felt like it was getting too much.

I had to get out. I had to get out but I couldn't. My legs were stuck in their place and there were too many people and too much noise and too much to do.

Fuck. Even writing it now makes me want to puke.

I saw someone. Someone that looked just like him. And for a moment, I was certain that it was him, that he found me, that he actually found out where I am and that he came to get me.

I couldn't breathe. Each inhale I took felt like fire, just like my eyes did when I blinked. I couldn't hear anything but the blood that rushed in my ears. At some point I must have lost my balance cause suddenly my shoulder hurt, and when I looked to my side I saw I bumped into one of the refrigerators, but I couldn't fucking move. It was too hot and too cold at the same time and I could barely stand and I felt like my lungs were tied up and I shook like mad and my throat hurt as if I was screaming (did I? Or was it just from crying?).

Someone put their hand on my shoulder and I jumped and slapped it away. I couldn't really see properly but I just knew that people were looking at me and gathered around me and I just needed to get the fuck out of there, get away from him, get away from everybody, I couldn't fucking breathe -

Suddenly, a familiar voice reached my ear. Leo was calling my name, asking “can you hear me? Can you hear me?”

Somehow I managed to nod. I blinked through the tears and saw his huge piercing green eyes. “Look at me,” he said, “Breathe with me. In,” he took a deep breath, “and out,” he exhaled. He repeated it slowly, just for me, until I felt the fists that squeezed my lungs gradually let go. He encouraged me and guided me until I could breathe without needing to fight for it.

I was numb, for a few moments. Or maybe in shock. But it was quiet, finally quiet, and I needed that, just for a few more minutes. I didn't even notice he took me outside.

“Here,” he whispered, and gave me a bottle of water. My hand was still shaky when I took it, and slowly soothed my sore throat with it. It helped the breathing, too.

“May I ask you what happened?” Leo asked, so gently, so emotionally. I turned to him and felt my eyes burn again. My vision was blurry with tears and I… I tried to speak. I did.

“It’s just… I thought I saw…” I bit my lip as I tried to stop myself from crying again, but it was useless. “That I saw someone that... “

I couldn’t really continue the sentence, but he got it. I looked down at the ground and when I raised my eyes back at him again, I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. I leaned my forehead against his shoulder and I cried, letting the tears stream down my face and right into his shirt. I don’t even know for how long I cried but he kept on holding me the entire time. I could feel his arms fold around me, and he was just so tender, so careful, just like he could. One of his hands cupped the back of my head, and his other arm just kept me close, as if I’m going to collapse again. My fist gathered his shirt at some point, and I almost hugged him back.

I don’t know how long passed, but he didn’t let go, even when I was done. And I let him. No one ever… comforted me like that before. No hug ever felt so safe.

When I raised my head to wipe away the trails of my tears, I saw he was crying too.

“Leo…?” I blinked at him, all confused and guilty. “No, no… it’s not your fault,” he laughed through his tears. “I just cry very easily… I just… can’t stay indifferent, you know? Especially when I know what it’s like. I’m sorry, it’s… it’s stupid.”

I managed to smile, if only for a moment. “It’s not stupid.”

He saw I was still trembling and weak, so he suggested to ask Greg to let us take the rest of the day off. “My apartment is only one bus stop away,” he told me. “You can stay in my place until you feel better.”

Despite myself, I nodded. In other situations I would’ve been awkward or flustered at such a suggestion, but… I knew I needed this. I couldn’t go back to work… and I couldn’t go back to my place. Not after this… not when the rope is in there, just a drawer away.

We went to Greg together, and Leo told him I didn’t feel well, and that he needed to escort me. Fortunately, Greg was very understanding, and let us go pretty easily.

We then went to the locker room, to take our stuff. I saw he left me a sticky note this morning, one that I didn’t notice before, and I promised myself to leave one back for him the next time I get the chance.

He paid for us both on the bus, and led me to the back door inside of it. I watched the houses and trees rush in my sight while the bus moved, and felt like they were running away from me (but Leo didn’t). Before I knew it, we reached our stop.

His apartment was on the ground floor of the first building to the left of the bus-stop. He kicked the snow that piled up by the door, pressed the numbers for the entry code and let us both in.

We both took our shoes off by the door. He hung his coat in the corner and told me to do the same. “You can put your stuff here in the corner, so everything’ll dry up,” he said. “And you can go ahead and sit on the couch, I’ll make us some tea.”

I did as he said and went to sit on the couch. I felt a bit awkward at first, and would have been much more so if I wasn’t so tired. It was a small place, smaller than mine. He had a small kitchen just by his living room, and the bathroom was just near his bedroom. It was tidy and warmed up immediately when he turned the heater on, and just felt so… homey. The orange light from the lamp made it even more so.

“There,” he stepped slowly and put a wooden tray on the table in front of me. There were two mugs on it, and beside them, a sugar container and a spoon. “Peppermint and lavender. Do you like sugar in your tea?”

I nodded and mumbled, “one.”

He added sugar to my cup and then went to his bedroom, only to come back with a blanket. I was about to decline, but he already put it around my shoulders and it just felt so soft. The teacup warmed my hands up and I could feel myself relax, little by little.

He sat beside me and we drank our tea in silence.

“I’m sorry… about all this.” I finally managed to say, somehow. Words never came out easily for me after a panic attack.

“No, don’t be. Please,” Leo told me. He brought his legs up and bent them flatly on the couch, with his knees turning towards me. “I’m glad to help. And I want you to know that you don’t need to feel obligated to explain anything, okay? I know you explained a little before but if you’re not comfortable with elaborating, then I respect that. I just want you to feel… safe. Do you feel a bit better now?”

I nodded and brought the mug up to my lips again. After a few more gulps, I could feel that the herbs were actually helping. “Thank you…”

“Of course.” We finished our beverages and continued to sit there, comfortably silent. Then we talked for a while, about other things. Leo showed me some photos of his sisters and his dog. In turn, I turned on my phone, swiped away the message notification (and the missed call one) so I won’t have to see it every time I look at the screensaver, and showed him the only picture I had of Ember. He said she was the sweetest kitten he’s ever seen. I told him how I adopted her and promised to take some more photos to show him.

I spent much more time there than I thought I would. It was already dark outside when I decided I should go. Even though I ended up napping there for a while before that. He didn’t even wake me; when I woke up on my own from my dreamless sleep, he said he didn’t mind. He had a book on his lap and his phone beside him.

“Besides… it’s nice to have someone around here. You’re the first visitor I have here.” He said. It somehow made me feel a bit… special.

Not long after that, I put my coat on and took my things. He suggested taking me home, but I didn’t want him to bother that much for me.

Apparently he was very stubborn when he really wanted to be.

“I’m not letting you go all the way by yourself, not when it’s so cold, and not in this hour. I have my car here, I’ll take you.” He said.

Before I could say no again, he already put his shoes and coat on (I didn’t bring my own car to work today so I didn’t have any other excuse).

Leo’s car is small and old, but functions well. He said his oldest sister left it for him, and that’s why there also was a leftover smell of cigarettes (Leo hates that smell. Good thing neither of us smokes) that he tried to mask with an air freshener. I told him my address, and we were good to go.

The roads were almost completely empty. People in this town don’t use their cars much, not for Friday nights anyways. Most of the bars and pubs are in the center. I fell asleep during the ride, and before I knew it, Leo woke me up to let me knew we arrived. His hand was gentle and warm against my shoulder, and for a moment, I was tempted to invite him in.

I couldn’t, though. I didn’t want him to see that shithole. Not tonight.

I put my hand on the handle, but I didn’t open the door just yet. I licked my lips nervously and looked down, a bit in a loss of words. I wanted to thank him again, I wanted to tell him that I have no idea where I’d be by now if he wasn’t there, but… somehow, I didn’t find the right words, at the time.

I looked at him, and he smiled in understanding.

And then he hugged me. It was a bit uncomfortable, because of our sitting position in the car, but it wasn’t unwelcomed. It was a different kind of hug than before, but it still felt… protective. Safe. I liked it. (I didn’t want it to end)

I tried to make a lame joke before I let go completely. I don’t even remember the exact phrasing cause it was that lame, but it was something like, “I’d invite you in but I’m late on feeding my cat and I don’t want my first visitor to be eaten alive…”

At least it made him laugh. His clear, beautiful laugh that you can just tell it’s so sincere. Even from a stupid joke, just like that.

We said goodbye and I got out, and he waited until he saw me getting into my house before he drove away.

I fed Ember. I changed into my jacket-and-random-pants pajamas…

And that’s it. The most roller-coaster day I’ve had in a long while.

I decided to keep my phone as far away from me as I could tonight, and put it to charge in the socket on the other side of the room. If I don’t hear the alarm, at least I’ll have Ember to fill in for it.

So maybe this morning wasn’t the only good part of the day today…

And at least now, I can try to have some sleep. Who knows. Maybe I’ll manage, this time.

- hadar

#26 - BLANK DAY

#27

I may or may not have spent most of yesterday in bed.

I did. I only got up to pee and take a shit.

I needed the rest, though maybe not as much as I got. The more I slept the more I feared waking up, and every time my eyes flickered closed like old lamps in desert hospital hallways, I found myself where I didn’t want to be.

My mind took me there, diary. I saw him in his deathbed, and he extended his hand to me. Hands that were heavy on my body, weakened by delusion, perhaps seeing a child he no longer had but pretended God was merciful enough to grant him the vision of my presence nevertheless.

”My beautiful child,” he whispered in a voice that used to tuck me in bed until it became coated in venom. He was glad to see that my hair is short now; he always said that I shouldn’t have it as long as I liked it at the time, that I’d spend more water washing it and each extra dollar towards the water company was one less dollar towards the church charity pot on Sunday. For a brat of fifteen, it made me want to grow it over my shoulders, only to taunt him. Every day he pointed out that it had grown and laughed about it. Playfully, for anyone who didn’t know better, but each low chuckle was a warning I chose to ignore for the sake of rebellion. I’ll never forget the day when he grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerked me backwards and cut it himself. One swift, clean lick of a scissors. But that’s straying from the point. In this… fucked up psychic dimension that was my dream, my father extended his hand to me and said he missed me.

He fucking missed me…?

Nick was there too, smiling with his hands resting on our mother’s padded jacket. She smiled too, head tilting to the side as it always did, nails long and pointy, polish of a color that looked ridiculous in a woman of her age, fingers adorned with jewels we could never afford so she took to her own measures to have other men paying for them on the side.

”My beautiful child, please… Come closer.”

In my dream - I was nauseated, choking on bile, my stomach twisting and revolting at the mere thought of being touched by those calloused hands again - I walked to him. I let him fuck no FUCK get away DON’T TOUCH ME touch me and he guided me closer to him, pulling me until he could reach my face and he SHIT STOP PLEASE DON’T DO THIS PLEASE I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE kissed my forehead. ”My beautiful child,” he said again, ”I’m glad that God gave me a chance. I’m glad that God gave me you.” His hands - weaker than before, one of them connected to a serum pumping machine - curled around my neck. The grip was fragile, barely even squeezing, but I was contorting already, quivering in anticipation, feeling my air lines cutting in advance, heart bursting frantically as if it were scared to be beating for the last time and it was.

”But you’re broken, my child, you’re twisted into a monster. But that’s okay. God will save you just like he saved me.”

The ghost whips of a leather belt stung on a skin that never forgot the pain, a mind that struggled to keep up to the “treatment”, to the sick… attempt at “fixing” something that I had no control over. In my dream I was crying, and I woke up crying just as hard.

Ember, perhaps unknowingly, purred a soothing melody as she curled up to me. It was a song I never heard, but I sobbed against her fur until she tri-pawed away to chase a fly. I was calmer by then, arguably sober in a mental sense, the aftermath of the dream pressing my body further under the sheets. I found myself wondering why I kept the rope. Was it a trophy to remind myself that my cursed timeline could have ended but I pushed through like a champ? Or was it just so I could fantasize about having it around my neck again? I weighed a few thoughts on the second option.

I heard footsteps on the hallway and my heart stilled. I knew it couldn’t be him, but I still hid until I heard a familiar voice.

“Rise and shine, sugar plum.” Greg said from the other side of the door, choosing to tap a few knocks on the surface of the door over ringing the annoying buzz of the bell. I appreciated that, and he knew so.

Greg… He doesn’t talk much. But he always says what I need to hear, even if I don’t want to hear it. Today’s “I don’t want but I definitely need” was, “I’m picking you up for lunch.”

He introduced himself to and played with Ember while I showered and got dressed.

Sunday meals at Greg’s were the absolute opposite of what I used to have back home in Arizona; he had so many people over on the weekend I often considered it smothering. His living grandma on his dad’s side, his parents and parents in law, brothers, sisters, nephews, and sometimes the lonely neighbour who had lost his wife to cancer and always repeated the story of how they had met, over and over, until he saw at least one eye around the table getting teary. Greg’s partner was always there too, of course. My family was never that large, but the silence and the mandatory praying and the television weather report and the roast and the elephant in the room everyone refused to acknowledge, it was all so suffocating--

Me and Greg met online when I was a dumb kid of twelve, playing with an online mask of a twenty year old. It was a thing us stupid kids did back then, trying to be grown ups where no one could prove that we were simply trying on a shoe a few sizes too big for our tiny feet. Greg, he was twenty-one at the time and had just finished high school a few years late, but it was done and that was all that mattered. He tried for college but never made it in. He doesn’t regret it.

He found out about the almost-catfish a few weeks after we started talking, but he never brought it up. Again, he never says anything he doesn’t have to. We spoke every now and then and when I noticed, I had stopped pretending I wasn’t myself.

I told him about wanting to leave my house. He understood.

He’s the reason I had somewhere to stay after I ran away from my family. From Sean. This apartment, in fact, belonged to his younger sister, before she moved to Europe with her fiance. He’s the reason I even have a fucking job. I can never thank him enough for everything he did for me without me ever asking. That’s probably why I never say no to him. Today, it was just us. No overly large family. Just… us. Family, too, in a way.

“Andy’s gone out with his college buddies. Some sort of weekend-long bonding camping trip. He sent pics, you can see them on my phone if you want? It’s over there.” He said as he chopped an onion without looking at the cutting board. I feared for his fingertips, but years of practice had him confident in his technique.

Ah yes. Greg? He cooks amazingly. He and his husband are gym-pumped vegan beasts, and most people would scrunch their noses at being presented with a dish of soy over beef, but the way he seasons the food is just-- chef emoji, super yum, 100/10, putting Rich Landau’s worldwide famous plant based meals to shame. I could drool all over a plate before eating it - ravishing it, rather. I hate carrots, but Greg’s roasted carrot purée is crazy d i v i n e and I could feed on nothing but that for the rest of my pitiful life.

I should have taken a picture à la Instagram, dear diary, but I left my phone charging at home, so I’ll have to leave it for another day. He promised he’d have me over more often, even when I said he didn’t have to. He insisted that he wanted to have me there. That I was always welcome. I pretty much only needed to say the word and he’d have a front door key ready for me.

We ate (have I mentioned how bloody DELICIOUS it was???), he made a stupidly quick yet delightful dessert and we lazed the day away in the couch, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, our legs up on the coffee table (if Andy were there, he wouldn’t approve of that). Both of us had already watched that Schwarzenegger movie like eleven times, but still we sat through it until we fell asleep. I had no nightmares.

When we woke up, it was to a key on the front door and Andy walking in. He had a whole bunch of new pictures and stories to share. It was dinner time by then, and even though I wasn’t too hungry yet, I could never say no to more of that meal, so we ate leftovers from lunch and heard all about his adventures with people I never knew of.

Greg drove me back home close to midnight with a tupperware full of another portion of his food. Before he drove off, he asked me, with all sincerity, if I was okay.

Diary, I wanted to lie and say “yes”. I always did, it was a reply that came out on autopilot. That I was fine and that the embarrassing panic attack I had on Friday was caused over some stupid anxiety, nothing I couldn’t get over with a little more sleep and more of that purée.

But I thought of Leo. How concerned he was. I thought of my day with Greg, how I owed him so much but he never asked for anything at all, and I thought of the amputee cat waiting for me to feed her just upstairs. I thought of how much of a carcass I was in the lonely night of December 31st 2018, how I was so prepared to embrace death as one last attempt at feeling anything at all and how I stood up to Nick like I had been too much of a coward to do before.

And then I said yes. And when I said yes, diary, I said it because I meant it. In Greg’s smile, I noticed he too noticed.

When I got home, I petted Ember, fed her, but she barely ate, choosing to follow me around and rub on my legs instead. I unplugged my phone off the charger to open my messaging app and read Leo’s concerned texts and reply to them as fast as my cold fingers could type on the screen of my smartphone. Pressing backwards when I waited for a reply, my eyes drifted down to see one text from Susan - missed call - and the one from Sean’s number. I found myself praying, for the first time in a very long time.

I prayed that it wasn’t true. I prayed that I read them wrong, that it was the wrong number, that it meant nothing. But I read those words again and again, and they were right there. Mocking me. Taking whatever security I had gained over foundations of sand and crashing them down like a salted wave of restlessness. Greg was one phone call away, but my phone fell on the floor and cracked the screen and I couldn’t find it through my tears.

XXX-XXX-XXX: I found you.

Dear diary. That rope on my drawer is suddenly looking very inviting again.

#28

Day 28. (somehow)

I woke up so many times at night, I can barely call it sleep. Even now, after I put my phone on the other side of the room again, that message still haunts me. Mocks me. Whispers in my ear like a damn ghost, settling in my head like a tumor. Like only he can do.

As I said before. He wasn't the only reason, but he had a huge part in my decision to leave. I can't even elaborate on that, it'll make me - it'll make me want to rip you apart, diary, and I can't do that. Not to the only thing I can rely on with my thoughts and secrets.

Dammit.

Knowing that he found me gives me such chills, I can barely write properly. I tried doing those breathing exercises Greg had taught me but nothing helps.

I want the ground to swallow me whole. I want a lightning to strike me right here and now. I want…

I don't know what the fuck I want.

What do I do now? Do I run away again? Do I wait and see what happens? Do I call him and tell him to leave me alone no, hell no. Definitely not. Not gonna happen. If I listen to his voice, I'll scream.

Fuck him fuck him fuck him. Why can't he just leave me alone? Why can't he just let me be and let me move on with my life?

It hasn’t been this long since the year started. But I finally have something good here, you know? I have Leo and Greg and my job and Ember. I have the lake to sit by and the park to go through to local events.

I have my freedom, something I used to only fantasize about not even that long ago. Finally, I can choose where to go and what to do; not my dad, not my brother and definitely not him. Neither of them controls me anymore. None of them can tell me who I am and who I should be.

At least… That's what I want to believe, diary. That's what I want to believe.

… I hate him. I hate that he makes me feel so weak and confused. I hate that with three little words, he can crush me into dust and take away the one thing I ever wanted.

To feel safe. My phone made that special sound I put especially for Leo so I'd know that it's him. He said good morning and sent a cute lion emoji instead of his name.

I'll get ready for work soon.

︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Even going to work was a nightmare. That text Sean sent me was stuck in my head, and I couldn't shake the feeling that with every step I made, he made two. It made me anxious. The only good thing about the cold and the snow was that it somehow managed to chill my body, even underneath my coat, because it was too hot even in that weather.

I had to stop thinking about it.

Not long before I needed to start my shift, I bought myself some coffee and some cookies to share with Leo and Sylvia at work. When I got there, I left him a sticky note like I promised myself I would, and he himself showed up not long after me. We shared some cookies and talked, then I gave the rest to Sylvia. She said she'd bring them to her grandchildren, cause chocolate-chips cookies are their favorite.

The shift was rather calm today. Not many people are coming on Mondays, especially not in this weather, so we mainly focused on cleaning and organizing things (it was nice to keep myself occupied, otherwise I'd probably had another panic attack by then). I spent most of the time with Leo while Sylvia was in the cash stand. The three of us had a lunch break together after that, because she insisted and we didn't have the heart to say no. Turned out she brought enough food to feed an elephant, and we ate much more than either of us hoped.

I'm so grateful I had their company today. It didn't undo what Sean did, and let me tell you, I will most likely think about it every day because I can't stand the thought of him trying to find me, maybe he's even watching me-- but… they did help me, a lot. Having them with me kept me… sane. I jumped when I got a message on my phone later in the afternoon, but luckily, it was safe this time. It was Simon, one of the people that volunteer with me in the animal shelter (he's a bit of a dick, but all in all he's okay). He said he broke his arm so he won't be able to be around in the near future. We're pretty much always short on staff, especially ever since the snow started, and our manager, as understanding as she was, kind of freaked out about losing another volunteer. She really cares about the animals in the shelter - she's the one who brought in most of them.

Turning to Leo was my first and only option.

It was towards the end of his shift that I asked him if he wanted to meet me up later and go with me to the shelter. To my surprise (or maybe not), he immediately agreed, and even offered to buy some stuff on his way to get me.

It was only me and Sylvia until I she'd give me the o.k to go, and that entire time I did my best to remain somewhat busy, to keep my mind from wandering towards those three cursed words I have on my phone.

So I drew. I drew the store around me to the tiniest detail. I drew Sylvia sitting behind the counter, writing stuff in her notepad.

I drew Leo out of memory. That one I kept in my locker, later. Leo came to get me around 7pm. When I got into his car, I saw he bought much more than any other volunteer I've met until now. When I asked him about it, he said most of the things were stuff he found in one of his sisters’ bags in his apartment, and the others he bought on the way. He refused to tell me how much it cost so I wouldn't be able to pay back some of the money he spent. I gave him the instructions on how to get there while we were on our way, and he was glad to see part of the city he didn't get the chance to see before.

Later, he stuttered something that I didn't understand at first, and he blushed even more when I asked him what he said. “I - I asked if you're still up to go out with me to the art store on our payday?”

I choked on my own saliva and coughed like crazy for a whole minute. He told me to take his bottle of water from his bag behind me, and while I did, it finally occurred to him that what he said was… That. He began to apologize and say he didn't mean to make me uncomfortable, but I somehow managed to tell him that it was alright. He even said I could call it off if I wanted to, but I told him I never said no. When he turned quiet, I knew it was because he was flustered, even when I didn't look. So I said, “You know, payday is the day after tomorrow… so I guess we can go then.”

He quietly agreed, and right before our silence could become awkward, we arrived at the shelter.

I introduced him to the manager, Georgia, and she showed us in instantly after we brought her the all the stuff Leo brought. She asked me about Ember and I showed her the most recent photo I took. She was more than happy to see the cat already looked bigger and healthier. She said she liked really happy to be with me (I'd like to believe that, too). Leo loved it there. He was so excited to help so many kinds of animals in one place, and he was actually good at it. He was charmed by Georgia's story of how she opened this place last spring, all on her own, and how she managed to keep it stable up until now.

I showed him Shelly, the conure that's still really fond of me, but she didn't like him very much. She even tried to bite his finger (how can anyone not like Leo, I will never know).

We spent our time there helping Georgia around until the shelter closed at 9pm. Then we went to grab something to eat (ate Chinese takeaway in his car) and Leo drove me back home.

He stopped me before I got out of his car, by gently putting his hand just above my elbow.

“S-so… the day after tomorrow. Right?” he asked. Maybe he was still feeling bad that he called it a “going out” thing, but… it was cute. That he wanted to just make sure, I mean.

“Yeah. The day after tomorrow,” I confirmed. I smiled at him and that seemed to put his mind at ease.

And now I'm right here, diary, writing to you in a slightly better mood than I was this morning.

I'm kind of excited about tomorrow. More than kind of, actually. I'll go out with Leo and we'll have fun.

But if I'll be honest, I'm… I'm scared. I am. I never admitted that and I didn't think I would, but… You're the only one I can say that to. I don't know what I'll do if the messages continue, or if Sean starts to call more often. Fuck, I don't know what I'll do if he ever shows up.

But for now… I need to keep it together. For my own sanity, at least.

Or at least, I need to try.

-hadar

#29

One of these days, I am going to wake up and my first thoughts won’t go to the noose in my drawer.

Today is not one of those days.

I feel like someone is playing tug-of-rope, and I’m neither on the winning side nor the losing side.

I’m the rope.

One moment, I’ll feel like things are looking up. Like things aren’t all that bad.

The very next I’ll remember the missed calls and the texts on my phone.

It appears that ignoring Sean only made him worse. As I stood at the cash register, I was sure that my phone was ringing off the hook in my locker.

Leo seemed to notice how distracted I was and he kept eyeing me between customers. He’d look like he decided on what to say, but once we were alone, he changed his mind.

I didn’t blame him. I had to look like some kind of wraith, haunting register number three in a fugue.

He broke when we went on lunch together when Sylvia came in.

“Are you okay?”