#i want ella's tats and earrings back

[riffheartsgraziella]

The Jet Couples HC - Parting Words

Summary: Each of the Jet couples share their last few moments together before the rumble.

Sorella cried when Skink came to see her before the rumble with the Sharks. She usually did, always afraid that something was going to happen to him during a fight. “Don’t cry, Ella,” Skink said softly, using his private nickname for her as he brushed her tears away. “It’s all gonna be okay.” “Just stay safe,” Sorella whimpered, holding him tightly as she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Please.” “I’ll be back soon,” he promised her, leaving her alone with her tears. *

“Don’t do anythin’ stupid, A-Rab,” Dot warned, sitting beside him on her fire escape, the two of them sharing a cigarette.

A-Rab smirked and was about to make a dumb comment in reply, but Dot cut him off.

“I mean it.” He could hear the worry in her voice and it sobered him. “Promise me, A-Rab. Don’t do anythin’ stupid.” “I won’t,” he assured her, leaning over to kiss her deeply. “Good. I love ya, ya idiot,” Dot told him, committing his smile to memory as he climbed down the fire escape. *

“Please be careful,” Tat begged, her arms wrapped tightly around Balkan as she straddled his lap, the two of them perched on the end of her bed. “Please.” “I will. Ya know I will,” Balkan promised her, brushing a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. He hated how worried she always looked before a rumble, but he had to see her before he went. “I love you,” Tat whispered, nuzzling her nose against his. “I love you, too, baby,” Balkan told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before reluctantly slipping away. * “If anythin’ happens ta ya, I swear I’ll kill ya,” Gussie warned, arching an eyebrow pointedly as she gazed up at Snowboy. He laughed, kissing her softly. She was the only one who could manage to make him laugh before a rumble. “I know ya will. That’s why I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen ta me.” “Baby…” Gussie began, holding his face in her hands. “Snowboy! We gotta go,” Balkan called out, already out on the fire escape. “I’ll see ya soon, Gus,” Snowboy said, pressing one more hurried kiss to her lips before scrambling out after his fellow Jet. Gussie wordlessly found Tat, holding onto her sister in silence. * “There ain’t gonna be no knives, right?” Karen asked, sitting on Ice’s bed and watching as he finished getting dressed. “No knives,” Ice confirmed, slipping his jacket over his shoulders and bending down to press a kiss to the top of Karen’s head. He figured it would be better not to mention the gun that Riff had acquired earlier that afternoon. “Alright, well, it’ll be fine then. Yous are used ta everythin’ else,” Karen said, her voice calm despite the anxiety that was knotting her stomach. Ice stopped what he was doing, sitting beside her on the bed and taking her hand in his. “It will be fine, Karen. I promise,” he said, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it. “Just take care o’ yer self, okay? An’ come back in one piece,” Karen told him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I always do,” Ice murmured, giving her one last kiss goodbye. * “Do ya have ta go?” Sweden asked, knowing the answer even as the question slipped past her lips. “Ya know I do. I gotta show the Jets that I’m a fighter, that I deserve ta be one of ’em,” Little Moly asserted, brushing his girlfriend’s blonde hair off her shoulder. “But they know that already, babe! Ya’ve already proven yer self,” Sweden insisted, her hands fisting the front of his shirt. “Please…I’m scared,” she admitted, lowering her gaze. She hadn’t wanted to tell him, but she was. “Ain’t nothin’ ta be scared of,” Little Moly said comfortingly, holding her close. “The Jets always come out on top.” “Ya’ll come back straight after, right?” Sweden asked, still holding onto him tightly. “As soon as it’s over,” he nodded, kissing her with the confidence of a boy whose gang had never known defeat. * “Where were yous earlier?” Maxie demanded, leaning out her bedroom window to talk to Numbers, who was perched on her fire escape. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Numbers said, feeling guilty for having stood her up for their lunch date earlier today. He’d been intending to meet her when he and Riff and the others had gotten caught up in the argument with Tony. “We just had ta deal with some stuff for the rumble tonight.” “This damn rumble! I’ll be happy when it’s over,” Maxie scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. “You an’ me both, baby. But don’t be mad at me before I go. Please,” Numbers begged, giving her his best puppy dog expression. Rolling her eyes, Maxie leaned forward and gave him a kiss. “Fine. I’ll be mad at ya after ya come back,” she teased, stroking his cheek lightly. Then her expression got serious. “Come back, baby.” Nodding, Numbers blew her one more kiss before disappearing down the fire escape. * “I wish yous didn’t have ta do this,” Velma said, adjusting Mouthpiece’s cap with nervous hands. “I know, but we gotta,” Mouthpiece replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her close to him. He breathed in the scent of her perfume, wanting to have some piece of her to hold onto while he was gone. “It’s about territory, baby. An’ pride.” “Yous and yer pride. It’ll be the death of ya,” Velma frowned, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him lightly. When Mouthpiece tried to deepen the kiss, she pulled back teasingly. “Uh-uh. Ya’ll have ta come back for more,” she smirked playfully. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll be back,” Mouthpiece grinned, stealing one more peck before slipping out her bedroom window. * “Ya know I love ya, right?” Natalie whispered against Big Deal’s lips, his hands buried in her hair as they held each other close. “O’ course I do,” Big Deal nodded, resting his forehead against hers. They were both quiet for a minute, Natalie just gazing at him with a look of worry etched onto her face. “Why are ya lookin’ at me like I’m about ta ship off ta war?” he asked her with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “I just…ya know I worry,” Natalie said softly, burying her face in his chest. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re gonna handle these Sharks the same way we did the Egyptian Kings an’ the Bishops an’ the Emeralds an’ everyone else. I’ll be back before ya even know I’m gone,” Big Deal told her, slipping a finger under her chin and lifting her face so that she was looking at him again. “Ya believe me?” “I believe ya,” Natalie nodded, hugging him tightly before he was gone. * Rhonda was quiet as she slipped Action’s leather jacket over his shoulders with trembling hands. She’d already tried to beg him not to go earlier today, though she had known her request would fall on deaf ears. There was no point in asking him again, no matter how impossible it was for her to shake the bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Don’t be mad at me,” Action pleaded, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. “Ya know I gotta go.” “I ain’t mad at ya,” Rhonda assured him, gently caressing the nape of his neck as she held him close. “I just…I just want ya ta be careful,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. “I love you, baby,” Action told her, kissing her shoulder and then reaching up to cup her cheek. “I’m comin’ home ta ya as soon as I can.” “I love you, too,” Rhonda said, resting her hand over his. “I’ll see ya soon.” * “Yer gonna be careful, right?” Mack asked, chewing on her lower lip as Tiger gently brushed her hair back from her face. Nodding, he smiled at her. “O’ course I am, babe. An’ the Jets’ve got my back,” he added confidently, not looking worried at all about the impending rumble. “Ya got nothin’ ta worry about.” “I know,” Mack replied with a smile, though deep down she was worried. “Just watch yer back, okay?” Tiger didn’t tell Mack about the gun. She’d just get upset and he didn’t want that right before he had to leave her. So instead, he kissed her one last time, flashed her a wink, and then hurried off to meet up with Riff and the others. * “Here, honey,” Mamie said softly, grabbing the leather jacket that Diesel always wore whenever he and the Jets were rumbling. It was the leather jacket that he’d given her when they first started going steady, the jacket that had signified to everybody that she was his girl. She always gave it back to him for a rumble, as a kind of good luck charm. Diesel gazed down at her as she slipped it over his shoulders, drinking in every detail of her beautiful face. He loved her so much. Leaving her was always the hardest part about going to fight with the Jets. He ran his fingers through her soft brown waves of hair as she rested her hands against his chest. “Remember, this is for good luck,” Mamie told him, tugging on the jacket. “So ya come back ta me,” she added, cradling his face in her hands as she kissed him tenderly. “Always, baby,” Diesel said, cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb across her soft skin. “I’ll be back soon,” he vowed, kissing her deeply. “I’ll be waitin’,” Mamie promised, watching him hurry away with tears burning the backs of her eyes. * Tessie sat on the swing nervously, twisting her hands in her lap. She and Baby John had gone to the playground to avoid being overheard by her father or his mother. “Are ya scared?” she asked quietly, reaching out to take one of his hands in her own. He’d been in fights before, but nothing quite like this. Had anyone else asked him that, Baby John would have lied and said no. But Tessie had always been able to see right through him. “Yeah,” he admitted, running his free hand down the leg of his jeans. His palms felt clammy with sweat. “It’s gonna be okay. Riff an’ Ice an’ the others will be lookin’ out for ya,” Tessie said reassuringly, squeezing his hand gently. Baby John nodded, smiling over at her. “I should probably get goin’. I don’t wanna be late,” he told her, reluctantly rising from his swing. Tessie immediately rose as well and reached out to stop him. “Johnny,” she said, waiting until he had turned to look at her. “I love you.” She had never said it out loud before, but there it was. And she meant it. She’d loved him her whole life. Baby John gaped at her for a minute before finally coming to his senses and taking her in his arms. “I love you, too, Tessie,” he told her with a smile, kissing her sweetly. “Stay safe,” Tessie whispered, waving to him as he hurried off, a new spring in his step. * Words weren’t often needed between Riff and Graziella. They knew one another so well. Each of them could tell what the other was thinking without either having to say anything. She knew he was nervous from the way he twisted his mother’s bracelet around his wrist. He knew she was worried about him from the way she kissed him just a little bit too hard. Before the rumble, they got lost in each other’s arms one last time, wordlessly conveying all that needed to be said. When it was time for him to go, he touched her blonde hair lightly, twisting his finger around one of her curls. “I’ll see ya later, Grazi,” he murmured, looking deeply into her eyes. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to open her mouth and say the words. She didn’t know why she couldn’t. Maybe it was because “I love you” didn’t even come close to encompassing what they had. Maybe it was because “I love you” didn’t even scratch the surface of her need for him, the way he filled her heart and was the very air she breathed. She didn’t know how to say it, so she didn’t. “See ya, Grazi,” he chuckled, kissing her one last time before ducking out her bedroom window. She didn’t say it. And she would regret it for the rest of her days.

[humansun]

work in OFFICE, frankl, & music

Written September 21st, 2022 at 8:26AM

Good morning! It isn’t that bad going into the office, actually. I mean, if I get to leave a bit early and its calm through the day, its really not so bad. I feel like getting here early also makes me feel like I have my life together, which is wonderful! :) 

Things have been looking up for me. I’ve been having more positive dreams or those that are erring on the good side rather than the bad. I’ve been waking up happy, which is also nice. I think I’m going to be okay. I know that everyday it will only get better. 

Realizations and Thoughts I’ve Been Pondering on:

This Victor Frankl book is actually great. I love how the stories are trying to tell me something but my thick skull can’t really fully know. LOL

The Holocaust was horrible. It makes me think of all the other atrocities that have happened or are happening that aren’t being given the time of day.

I haven’t been practicing meditation too frequently, but I do feel a sense of peace in my days.

I hope I get to see Co Thao today and see Steven this weekend too! 

Written at 9:18PM

Holy shit. So many thoughts. Probably because of this book I’m reading.

I need to send out those two emails that are looming over my head, goddammit!

But I must acknowledge a few things from today:

I feel as though my gratitude and overall energy increases from my caffeine intake. This makes sense. There has to be some psychological serotonin reasoning behind everything.

Man’s Search for Meaning has me twisted. But also all the other books I read by incredible authors did too. Octavia had me mentally backflipping, so yeah. Natural reactions to good content.

Today at work was so extremely nice. Maybe it’s because it’s September 21st, but I had a great lunch with my coworkers, celebrated a friend’s birthday, got home earlyish - things are generally looking up.

I am acknowledging the creeping anxiety I feel about Vietnam as each day gets closer to the departure date. All the talk is reaching my ears about adventures and dangers and everything I could think of from the past two years since my announcement. It’s okay though - emotional observation!

Carmen, you are not reading this, but I really want to pass this book over to you when I finish so we can engage in spicy discourse. It’s interesting how the person who gifted this book to me did not seem to practice much of what he preached, but it also could be the case (very much the case) that he is fighting way more demons than anyone else is (not justifying his toxic behavior, but you know what I mean).

Wow, I haven’t done a music recap in a while. Let’s do i!

I got distracted by a text video of my sister dancing to September by EW&F. I am CRYING. I love her.

Tatted - Ari Lennox (Ok, Ari Lennox’s EP/Album were very timely. This song in particular makes me feel like I’m back in the 90s, but I’m in the 2020’s goddammit.

Trying - Ella Mai (Just a refreshing, good vibe, catchy melody R&B song.)

Baby Boo (Star.One Remix) - Saweetie, Muni Long (This remix did it.)

It Doesn’t Matter - Tory Lanez (Catchy.)

Today being so great scares me a bit, but not enough to not go to Vietnam. I guess I feel like I had such a great time and I feel like the pandemic/work from home did not give me the full experience of what I would have had at Disney. I don’t know, but I know I will be pretty heartbroken in my departure.

Love is rich. It is powerful! It gives me so much reason to live and reason to love even more. I love being a vulnerable person and I love wearing my heart on my sleeve. I am grateful for being the person I am and am reminded of my power today. I’m definitely on crunch time for planning in the next weeks. Everything is now on countdown!

[inopinion]

Can write something extremely sad and angsty? Like killing Clara or Farley and let the other one grieve? Or have still-alive-at-the-end Maven think about Cal's death? Turn the angsty grief over Shade into something tangible by including Mare (and Kilorn)'s childhood memories? Well, whatever suits you. Let your dementors runs free^^°

Oh boy… War, violence, just read the prompt and make a judgement call… Also, long. It’s really long.

Do me a favor and hit the reblog button. Asks, requests, prompts, always welcome.

@anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, @spookysamos, @lilyharvord, @runexandra, @mareshmallow, @adraxsteia, @red-queen-united, @redqueenfandom, @mom2reesie, @iris-cygnets, @chaoslaborantin

Hindsight

Mare leaned back against the tree, Kilorn handed her a sandwich. She examined it for a moment. The bread was stale and hard, the filling made from mustard and eggs. The first bite threatened to crack her teeth, but it was food, and protein at that. The murmur about a supply convoy must have been true. Kilorn wasn’t as picky, she saw bite marks in the paper wrap. He chomped greedily. Their rations were the same, but looking up at him, calorie for calorie, he required more. Most of the men were shrinking into themselves at a faster rate than the women. But all was fair in the Scarlet Guard. Rations for one equaled the rations for any other.

Tick, tick, tick. Thunk. Thunk. Scrape. Clash.

She balanced her meal on her knee and covered her ears. Kilorn turned into her, his fingers pressed to his ear drums. His shoulder shielded her.

Boom! The mortar launched up in a wide arch and twisted down over the valley. Dust kicked up from the recoil. She watched the slight smokey trail marking it’s trajectory. Something launched up from the city and the shell exploded above the wall raining fragments. Tramy carried the next shell to the loading hatch. One of the tanks on the far side sent a shot. One of the seven motor launchers sent off rounds every minute.

“The rhythm is actually musical.” Kilorn remarked, tucking the crust into his mouth.

“Musical or maddening?

Tick, tick, tick. Thunk. Thunk. Scrape. Clash.She covered her ears again as the launcher just past Tramy’s prepared to fire.

Boom!

Less dust. More smoke. A long trail to the wall, an explosion.

Kilorn dropped his hands, ears less vulnerable for at least another five minutes. He rubs his hands on his knees. Mare can see his nervousness in the tap of his thumbs inside of his knees. She leaned her head against his shoulder and took a steadying breath. He aped her motions and the next boom went off.

“Farley wants a briefing at six. Command is sending you in tonight,” he said. His thumbs stilled.

That small message had been the most of his nerves. Mare and most of the New Bloods had been tattered by non-stop fighting and panicked calamities. It had been a hard march north and Mare let it all blend with her broken heart into often scathing and critical statements. But she was turning over a new leaf, as of that morning, when she learned that Cal had Archeon surrounded. The good news had almost everyone feeling more optimistic.

“I guess two days of artillery was a pretty good break,” she offered as evidence that she wouldn’t snap on him.

“Don’t get hot headed,” Kilorn started. He would have said these lines whether or not she’d taken his head off. But it was more pleasant when she wasn’t red faced and yelling.

“I won’t.”

“Don’t lose focus.” His hand moved to her knee, gripping tight.

“I won’t,” she let the annoyance coat her words. Optimistic wasn’t the same as being in good-spirits. “Not my first time, you know.”

“I know,” he pulled his hand away.

She tore the second half of her sandwich in half and set it on her knee. Her turn. “Don’t get antsy. Double check the orders before you send off a blast.”

“You hear thing wrong once and no one let’s you live it down!” he remarked, exasperated, but playful. He set the bit of sandwich back on her leg.

She pushed it back, insisting he take it. “And don’t get hurt. I’ve got enough to worry about at the front.”

“We’re miles away, they don’t have any guns that reach this far. We’ll be making sure breakfast is ready when you get back.” He winked and popped the sandwich into his mouth.

Their arguments and banter mixed with assurances formed the routine of the campaign through the western Lakelands. Both were comforted by the motions even if the knew every word of their script. And like always, Kilorn ’s hand wrapped hers and didn’t let go until his break ended. She rested her temple on her arms on her knees, folded up against the tree, moving only to cover her ears.

—-

Thirty airjets flew in five formations of six. That’s what the radio reported. Mare could only see three clusters from their position outside the city. The assumed destinations: Tuck and Archeon. Maven had Cal’s legion to worry about and the supplies from Montfort undoubtedly had given Cal an edge. A little siege on a small city was nothing in comparison. Mare bit her lip and hoped her family evacuated fast or made their way to the bunkers. She hoped Cal stayed safe, and didn’t waste the resources he co-oped from the Guard. She tried to block it from her mind, but she turned back, looking over her shoulder, squinting. Ella tapped her arm. There was nothing she could do but March forward.

Three hours of tit and tat at the front lines wiped the airjets from her mind. She had a wall the breach. Five Snapdragons circled in a 10 mile radius around the center of the siege. They must have arrived from the eastern Lakelands or some other base. They weren’t part of the plans, they were supposed to all be flying to bigger targets. Davidson dropped his position and came to her side, putting up a shield between Mare and the assaulting stoneskins and strongarms.

“can you Bring them down?“ He groaned, taking one direct hit after another. “We don’t have protection for the back-line.”

Mare reached and felt but just as she grabbed one it slipped away. She felt another and tried to snap off it’s battery as quick as a blink, but, again, it moved on. Their anti-aircraft canons roared blast after blast up into the path of the planes and brought down three. Another swept through, low and she mangled it into a hillside. While her concentration was fixed on downing one, another buzzed low behind them, the last one. The only snap dragon in the sky released it’s hatch.

The ground shook. Three… Seven… Fifteen… More than she could count, the bombs rumbled, exploded, bounced and then detonated. The whole line lost their legs and shielded their heads. But they were too far for debris to strike them immediately. It took seven long seconds for the wind to carry the first sheet of metal and spray of rock to them.

Mare watched the debris billowing up from their artillery line. From where all the reds in their auxiliary were stationed with the long-ranged mortars and the anti-aircraft. From where Farley commanded and her brothers were stationed. From where Kilorn sat in the communication booth, relaying information one side to the other.

“This isn’t real.” She murmured, standing up, the lone standing figure in their entire line.

Her ears rang. A whirling curled around the tone. Sweat dripped from her neck. She swiped it, watching it mix with the dust on her fingers. She rubbed the slippery grit between her index and thumb. Dust so fine she started to shake. Not dust. Not dust at all, ash. Feathery ash, some still slipping from embers to gray puffs, as it floated like snow flakes and danced like seed pods. It clung to hair and sweat on every body around her. It floated on top of the blood pooling on the ground next to a comrade’s amputated leg.

Still framed like a photo, Mare thought of winter. The silence of snowfall and the beauty of clean, pure white blanketing the Stilts before boots could churn it into the mud. She shook.

“Get down!” Davidson hollered, pushing her under him and raising his shield just in time to block the renewed assault.

She sucked in as she hit the dirt and tasted the carbon and minerals, then hacked it out again. Did she taste Bree on her tongue? Her whole body shook. Her fingers twitched. Her legs pushed and Davidson fell back on the heels of his hands. His hands gripped her but couldn’t hold against the jerking force of her limbs.

Mare course with a spectrum of purples from the faint pastel of lavender to the almost invisible darkness of violet. She could touch every pulse of every being around her. She could count the individuals, pin point their positions, sense which stood alone and which ones clustered. She charged into a purple abyss to the soundtrack of whirling tones and the flashes of her own making.

—

The smoke billowed up in blinding plumes. The inferno commanded its own breeze that flicked up dust and ash at the edges. Ash drifted from high up, carried out on the subtle wind. Mare didn’t know when she’d left the battle or how she’d left. She only knew she’d stood in a silent, still crater where the wall had been removed by a mortar and was out of things to kill. And the next scene she cataloged was the smoke miles away from the city walls. She stumbled. She stood. She ran. She collapsed and coughed on smoke the closer she came. She jerked up her red scarf filtering the largest of the debris.

Hulking forms smoldered. Guns. Tanks. Transports. Twisted panels and exposed wires. Craters. Deep gullies of dirt. A black-charred tangle with more legs and arms than just one person. Mare forced herself to look, examine, count bony protrusions and identify parts.

She searched for electronics, a current of life, an area untouched by the destruction. She searched for a communicator or a wrist watch. She even dug deep into herself to bring out the pulses of living things, but nothing called from the flames. She stumbled through the first curtain into a barren hole and reached out again. One slow pulse drew her through more black smoke. She tripped and gagged, vomiting next to the obliterated pile of red-stained stumps. She pushed forward to the pulse.

A hatch creaked open from the top of an overturned heavy tank. She sprinted forward, begging God after God for a familiar face. The soot-coated, grimacing soldiers that fell out, easing to the ground like they were landing on the moon, were not large enough to be her brothers. They weren’t tall enough to even be Kilorn. And certainly, they were not female. The pulse pulled her past them.

Down one edge of a still-hot crater and past the shell of a bomb, she scrambled. She swatted her arms to clear pitch-black smoke from her eyes dampening her face and the scarf with the stinging tears that fought the caustic chemicals in the air. She raced through plume after plume feeling the pulse grow stronger as she came closer. Mare passed it. She swirled in a circle looking for someone, anyone. She circled the pulse, upending hot metal plates and pushing aside limbs. She dug in the ground.

A soft white hand with a watch and less arm than wrist came to the surface. A watch that still ticked with quartz precision. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand. Four-one-thousand.

Somewhere in the distance, communicators and transports approached, though she could feel them more than hear them. She touched their wires and their batteries, felt the signature that meant they belonged to the guard. And she watched the hand on the watch turn.

-

Clara lost her mother. Clara lost her father. Mare reminded herself that that was a thousand times worse than losing one’s brothers, but she didn’t fully believe it. Parents were supposed to die first, before their kids. But pain is pain is pain is pain is life. Pain is her life, now. Or maybe it always was. And what hurts worse than lining up one grief next to another was that none of them had to die.

Mare watched the seconds on the watch tick by as they shoveled the last of the dirt onto the mass grave. Watched from her knees, where she fell from exhaustion, where her body failed her and yet didn’t have the decency to die.

There would be no headstone for Diana Farley next to Shade Barrow’s. There would be no headstone for Bree or Tramy. Nothing for Kilorn. Just a pit. 

At least they were all together. Davidson said it first.

That was bullshit. Mare’s fingers flinched and flickered in near constant currents. They let her sit and look over the mound, one mourner among two hundred survivors while they packed.

After what she’d done on the front line, few dared approach to coddle or even comfort her. Not even Tyton attempted. His eyes widened whenever they did managed to meet. Her purple sparks rarely receded beneath her skin. Even incidental touches had wounded a few.

They tried to take the shovel from her. In fact, she’d been the first to start digging. She cut walls in one of the deeper craters, joined by a rotation of people. When her arms couldn’t lift the shovel, she stumbled up and out to the edge. Without the smoke, she faced the totality of the loss. She wondered a literal wraith on the surface of the earth, collecting a leg, an arm, a butchered hump of someone she’d failed. 

She couldn’t make Bree, or Kilorn, or add together enough things to find Tramy. She couldn’t scrape enough from the soil to know where Farley would rest. She couldn’t see anyone just parts: teeth, clumps of hair, brows stains, white bones, black charred sticks. Burnt lumps of metal and scattered upholstered seats their own gruesome inventory–not enough to even make a transport from all that was left.

Mare counted the femurs, and the skulls, and the fingers. She counted everything. She added it together and couldn’t make it work. The scale was too vast; the absences too apparent. Reality was remade in a second’s decision. She could so clearly see the outcome if she’d chosen the other plane, that it sealed the nightmarish quality into place. Their pleading fell on deaf ears. She didn’t need to sleep, she’d surely wake soon enough.

Logic and theories and pleading didn’t swap the unbelieving out of her denials. She didn’t find enough of them so they must not be there. They must be somewhere else, anywhere else. Bree is with a girlfriend. Tramy is charming recruits. Kilorn is practicing his letters with his feet dipped in the river. Farley is rocking Clara back in her mother’s living room. The must be an answer to where they all went and why they weren’t there. A better answer.

On her knees, she watched the seconds tick. She waited to wake up. She waited for the reality that came with grounding the other plane. When the army packed to move on, she could wait for her family no longer. And some how, she walked on.

One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. She felt the quartz tick on her wrist. She timed her zombie steps. She stumbled the walk of the sleepless. She fell in line like every other soldier born destined for war.

—

Cameron, clustered in her own denial, stormed through the lines of new bloods. She grabbed soldiers with uniforms and looked for Farley. Wet streaks dribbled down her chin as each returned an anguished expression. She worked her way through the lines.

Mare hunched on the back of a cart full of what they could pull from the bodies and the wreckage. She hugged her knees up to her chest and stared blankly. Cameron almost missed her in her rush through the throngs. But Davidson pointed her to the cart.

Mare pushed her forehead into her knees so she wouldn’t have to face he rage, the accusation that Cameron’s outline would surely bring.

“What happened?” Cameron walked behind the cart. No response. She trotted and climbed aboard next to Mare. “What happened?” she sobbed.

“I fell for the decoy. I brought down the wrong jet.” Mare’s heart broke all over again.

“The wrong jet? You… the wrong jet?” Cameron lost her breath, and then she lost control.

Mare wriggled in discomfort. Discomfort she wanted. A smothering pressure that strangled her to the cusp of death. Again, no mercy for Mare. Cameron released her and screamed into an angry sob. Mare gasped air she didn’t want and her heart pushed blood she hated having.

–

I have ideas about what comes next, but I’ll just let this sit right here… for now… hit that reblog button if you wanna share with your friends.

[soaimagines]

The Lost Girls Part Three

Part One        Part Two

Everything had been a blur. You didn’t know who the Nords were or who Gemma was, but from the way Jax had reacted you knew it was serious. It was selfish, and although you had no right, you couldn’t  help but feel a wave of jealousy come over you, and you silently prayed that Gemma wasn’t his old lady. Get your shit together. You told yourself with a deep breath. Even if she was, who were you to be jealous? You had no right. Everyone had moved fast. The Sons had headed back to their own clubhouse and after discussing it with the Ella and her father, the Mayans and the Lost Girls were heading over too. From what you understood, The Sons had some sort of beef with the ‘Nords’, a white supremacist group and they had taken this ‘Gemma’ woman in retaliation. Of course you and Ella had agreed to head over and offer your help; in anyway you could. The Mayans lead the way and adrenaline was burning through your veins, your ears echoing with the roar of so many motorcycles firing up. You loved the rush of a fight and it had been a long time since the Lost Girls had had any issues, and as bad as it sounded you missed the thrill. The Mayans pulled into the lot of Teller Morrow and the Lost Girls did the same, parking in a row before swinging off your bikes. The large lot was seemingly quiet, only a few people buzzing around and you figured the guys would be inside, sorting out their game plan. You saw a couple guys seated at a picnic table, one in leather, and you figured he was a prospect. You nudged Ella with your elbow and gestured towards him and both of you headed over. She passed you a cigarette as you walked and although you didnt usually smoke menthol you accepted. “Whats going on?”  You asked before lighting your smoke. “Church,” He said. “Tryna figure out where they have her.” The prospect said. You nodded and leant against the table. For now, it was a waiting game and there was nothing you could do until Gemma’s whereabouts were established. Some time had passed before the Sons walked out of the clubhouse. Jax looked frustrated and you assumed they had had no luck in finding any leads and the Nords hadn’t made any demands. He headed in your direction, where you sat with Ella and Marcus Alvarez, along with the Mayans VP. All of you sat around a picnic table and Jax pulled out a cigarette as he approached. “Whats going on, ese?” Jax turned to Alvarez. “I got Juice running through all his sources. We’ll find her.” “We’re behind you on this one, ese.” “Us too. Whatever you need.” Ella said. Jax nodded his thanks. You stood and wiped your hands. “We’ll head into town, get some drinks and food for everyone?” “I appreciate that, darlin.” You met his eye and smiled, It was the least you could do. “I don’t want you two riding alone,” Alvarez piped up. “We can look after ourselves.” “Im sure you can. But these are dangerous times. Abiel will go with you.” “I’ll send a prospect with you too. Take the van, or the black sedan in the corner. Chucky in the office can get you the keys.” You both nodded. You had always hated being in a car, it didn’t feel as free, but you weren’t in a position to argue. Ella stood and kissed her fathers cheek while you gave Jax’s shoulder a squeeze and you both headed towards the office, Abiel and the prospect following behind you. After a quick discussion you slid into the sedans drivers seat, while Ella hopped in the passengers side. No one in Charming knew who you were, or your involvement with the local MC’s so it made sense to travel separately, with both men in the van following you from a slight distance. After only a short drive you pulled into a park opposite a diner, with the van parking in the next spot over. You and Ella headed in and placed a large order of burgers and fries before walking down the street to the liquor store. Abiel helped you load two trolleys with an assortment of drinks, crates of beer, bottles of whiskey and wine, and bottles of soda. You were pushing the trolley across the street to the van when you saw the Sons prospect looking on high alert, his head pointing further up the street. You followed his gaze and saw three men standing outside the bar on the corner. “Whos that?” You asked. “Nords.” Abiel pulled out his burner and began speaking spanish into the phone. “They hang out there?” You asked. The prospect nodded. Ella opened the back of the van and you began helping her load the purchases, keeping an eye on the men as you went. “We gotta head back, now.” Abiel slammed his burner shut and headed to the drivers side of the van. “We’ll just grab the burgers and meet you there. We’ll be fine.” You added as the prospect began to protest. You jogged across the street and picked up the order, thanking the woman behind the counter before heading back into the street. The men were still standing outside the bar as you crossed the street and you placed the food in the backseat. You shut the door and went to open the drivers side door when the men walked two the carpark behind the bar. One got into a station wagon while the other two slid into an old pickup truck. Ella had been waiting for you and she immediately noticed the spark in your eyes when you finally slid into your seat. “Spit it out.” You smirked. “I have a plan.” “Go on.” You turned to her. “Daddys not gonna like it.” “Are the Sons gonna like it?” You shook your head. “Nope.” Slowly you reversed out if the park and began driving in the direction of Teller Morrow, filling Ella in on your plan as you went.

“Are the tats really necessary?” You snorted and took a sip of your beer. Scully was carefully drawing tattoos on to the back of Ruths neck, while Katie studied the fake ink on her shoulder. Ella sniggered too. “It’ll keep them interested.” It hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to agree to your plan. But you both knew the Sons of Anarchy and The Mayans wouldn’t agree so you had brought Ella and some of the girls back to your motel, telling the other MC’s you all just needed to ‘freshen up’. Of course there was a risk i what you were about to do. But The Lost Girls had never ventured to California and as long as you went alone then there shouldn’t be any issues. “All done.” Scully stood and wiped her hands on her pants while Ruth went to check out the work in the mirror. She groaned as she saw the swastika drawn on her skin and you fought off a smirk. “We all ready then?” Ella asked. You finished the rest of your beer in one gulp and stood, grabbing your gun off the table and sliding it into your waistband. “Lets go.” You zipped up your black hoodie as you walked and flicked the hood on top of your head. Marcus had offered you a black SUV, which you and Ella hopped into, while Ruth, Katie and Scully got into the sedan you had taken out earlier. It was a short drive into town and it went fast. Scully parked the sedan in front of the bar, the Blue Hound where you had seen the Nords at earlier that day, while Ella parked the SUV half a mile up the road. As you passed the bars carpark you glanced at the vehicles. The same pickup was parked near the back entrance. You both watched in the rearview mirror as Ruth and Katie hopped out of the car and walked confidently into the bar. You waited two minutes exactly before sliding out of the car. Ella walked alongside you, glancing casually around the street as you headed to the carpark. When you neared the bar you slowed your pace and you pulled out your cigarettes, offering one to Ella. Both of you lit up and you leant casually against the wall of the bar, between the entrance and the carpark. You scanned the street. Only one diner, a drugstore, and a cinema were open on the street and you both studied everyone on the street. A couple holding hands as they walked into the cinema, a woman in activewear jogging with her labrador on a leash, two parents trying to herd their kids inside the diner. Ella turned to you and nodded once. You took a final drag of your cigarette before tossing it to the pavement. Ella remained leaning against the wall and you slipped away, treading silently into the carpark. You made a beeline for the pickup truck and you knelt down by the rear wheel. With a quick glance around the carpark you pulled one of the tracking devices out of your pocket. You pulled the protective plastic off the adhesive and placed the device on the inside of the wheel well, out of sight. You stood and glanced at the car next to you. In the backseat you could make out a few soft toys and some high heels. You left the car and headed across the carpark to a silver SUV. You couldn’t make out anything inside, thanks to the tinted windows, so you knelt and placed another tracking device on the SUV. That only left one other vehicle. You glanced at the bumper stickers and rolled your eyes. From the racial slurs written on the stickers you knew the car must belong to a Nord. You crept over and placed the final device on the car before heading back to Ella. She met your eye as you turned the corner and you nodded. She threw her cigarette butt to the ground and you both began to walk up the street to your SUV. You pulled your burner out of your pocket and sent a text to Ruth, signalling that the work was done. After reaching your vehicle and getting inside you waited only a few minutes. Katie and Ruth walked out of the bar, followed by a tall man in a white muscle singlet. You could se tattoos in his arms, but you were too far to make them out. You pulled the gun from your waistband and gripped it tightly in your hands, Ella doing the same. Through the mirrors you both watched intently as Ruth tuned to the man and placed her hand on his chest, while she twirled her hair with her other hand. The man smiled down at her before lifting her hand from his chest. He held it in his hands as he spoke before he kissed the back of it and turned, walking into the carpark. Ruth and Katie waited for him to drive away, in the silver SUV, before they got into the car where Scully was waiting. Ella turned to you and you smirked, the grip on your gun releasing. “Now we wait.”

All heads turned when you walked into the clubhouse. Everyone was on high alert and the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Jax sat with Clay around a table, joined by Marcus Alvarez and his VP. You and Ella headed towards the table. “What took you so long?” Alvarez asked. “We were worried.” “Sorry we uh.. we made another stop.” “We went to the Blue Hound.” You said. “You what?!” Clays voice boomed. He and Marcus both stood, anger in their eyes. Jax’s grip on his beer tightened. You pulled the USB stick out of your pocket and placed it on the table. “We placed trackers on three vehicles. All went to an old farmhouse few miles outta town.” “Two are still there, the other left.” The men stared at you, a mixture of pride, shock, and anger on their faces. Jax stood and grabbed his gun off the table. “Lets go.” “Wait.” Clay ordered. “Juice, take this.” He tossed the USB to the kid with a mohawk who immediately plugged it into his laptop. “We sent our girls inside.” Ella said loudly. Marcus turned to her and shook his head. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Jax was watching you closely, fire burning in his eyes. “They talked to some guy, Derby or something.” “Darby.” Clay said. You nodded and continued. “He wanted to take one of our girls home with him, but he said he had business to take care of. Then he left in one of the cars that is still at the clubhouse.” Jax turned to Clay and they exchanged a look before nodding. “What have you got, Juice?” Jax called. “Like they say man. Two cars, farmhouse outside of town.” ‘Juice’ said, throwing you a smile. You smiled back warmly. “Lets head out.” Clay said. People around the room began to move, finishing their beers, loading guns, pulling on their leather. “You stay here.” Marcus told Ella. She stared her father in the eye. “We can help.” “You’ve done enough helping mija.” She studied his face and  after finding no sign of him backing down she sighed. Jax turned to you. “Thank you, darlin.” His voice was sincere and you nodded in response. The clubhouse emptied and before you knew it only woman occupied the room, a mixture of old ladies and crow eaters. And one man with a prosthetic hand. “We really waiting here?” You asked. Ella lifted a shot glass off the table, not caring who it belonged to. She threw it down her throat and slammed the glass down on the table. “Nah. Fuck that.”

Gunshots rang out and you gripped the AK-47 in your hands. The Lost Girls had approached the farmhouse in silence, creeping through the surrounding trees and covering the back entrance of the house. The only access by road was to the front and you knew the MC’s hadn’t planned out their approach. You had watched from the shadows as they had both pulled up on their bikes and a bunch of men had began firing weapons from inside the house. You could see the back of the house clearly, and a sudden movement caught your eye. Two men dragging a woman squirming body out of the house, a sack over her head. You glanced at Ella and she nodded. “3..” You gripped the assault rifle. “2..” Aim. “1.” You pulled the trigger in sync with Ella and both men fell to the ground, headshot killing them instantly. The woman fell to the ground without and squirmed, her legs flailing in the air. You ran across the grass, Ella by your side while the Lost Girls covered you from the shadows of the trees. A man appeared in the window of the house and you aimed your gun and shot him between the eyes. Muffled screams could be heard through the sack and you knelt by the woman and tore the sack form her head. Ella took cover and she fired her gun as the back door flung open, shooting the man in the chest. The woman stared at you, her eyes wide with fear. Black hair littered with blonde streaks clung to her face and you pushed it aside. Her face was slightly swollen, she had two black eyes and taped covered her mouth. You gripped the edge and ripped the tape away. “Can you walk?” She nodded, clearly confused by who you were. “Lets get you outta here.” You helped her stand and she clambered to her feet, swaying unsteadily. Ella grabbed her left arm and pulled it over her shoulder, holding her up and they began to move back towards the trees. The gunshots were dying down and you could hear doors being kicked open inside the house. You sidled up the the back entrance and pressed your back against the wall. Only a second later the door was pushed open and a man in a white singlet and covered in tattoos  jumped out. You slammed the butt of your gun against his head and he fell to the ground limply. Slowly you opened the door and spun, aiming your gun inside. Clear. You kept your gun cocked as you entered the kitchen when you heard voices yelling out. “Gemma!?” “We got her!” You yelled back, your eyes glancing around the room. A door to the left was kicked open and you spun, aiming your gun. Jax spun around the corner, his gun raised and he dropped it when he saw it was you. He panted, eyeing the blood splatters on your clothes. “We got her.”

The black van pulled up in front of the house and the Sons of Anarchy Prospects jumped out, opening the sliding door hurriedly. You sat on the steps of the farmhouse, Ella beside you and a cigarette between your fingers. The Mayans were scattered along the porch along with your sisters and a few other Sons. You all watched as Jax carried Gemma into the van, Clay following behind him. Jax laid her down inside and he exchanged words with Clay before Clay climbed inside. Jax slid the door shut and slapped the door, signalling the prospects to take off. The van pulled away, followed by two Sons on bikes and two Mayans. Jax ran a hand through his blond hair and took a deep breath as lit a cigarette and he walked towards the house. Marcus was leant against the front door and Jax met his eye. “Thank you.” Marcus nodded and signalled to they Mayans. They headed to their bikes and Ella stood as her father swung his arm over her shoulder. You could hear him lecturing her and you smirked, watching them walk to their bikes. Jax stopped in front of you and you glanced up at him. “Thank you. You put yourself and your club in danger for us.” You smiled at him and nodded as you stood. “Im glad your old ladies safe, Jax.” He turned his head to the side, a smirk spreading on his face and he began to speak when a voice cut in. “Jackie boy, we should head over to St Thomas.” A man spoke with a thick scottish accent. Jax nodded to Chibs and turned back to you but you had already walked away, headed for your bike. Jax took a drag of his cigarette and watched you walk, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

A loud pounding woke you up and you sat up, rubbing your eyes. The pounding on the door continued and you slid out of bed. You always slept mostly naked, wearing only panties and you lifted your white t-shirt off the ground and tugged it over your head. You grabbed your gun off the bedside table and turned the safety latch off. Only the Lost Girls knew which motel you were staying at, and they had been around you long enough to know not to wake you. You gripped the gun and sidled your way up to the door. It had no peephole and you cursed. You took a deep breath and turned the knob, pulling the door open and lifting your gun. Jax Teller stood in your doorway, the Californian sun shining down on his blond hair and a playful smirk on his face. “Mornin darlin.” “Jesus christ.” You dropped the gun to your side and gestured for him to come in. He entered, his eyes scanning the scattered sheets and your clothes folding neatly on top of your bag. You closed the door behind him and glanced at the alarm clock. “Its only 7 O’clock.” You groaned and walked back to the bed. You dived on top, burying your head in the pillows and forgetting for a moment you were barely dressed. Jax laughed, his eyes unable to stay away from the panties hugging your ass perfectly. You rolled over and sat up, tugging your t-shirt down self consciously. You hair flopped in your face and you pushed it out before looking up at Jax. He stood at the end of the bed, an amused look on his face as he studied you. Sunlight shone in through thin curtains and it kissed your skin, glowing golden on your legs. Your t-shirt clung to your skin and he could tell by the bounce of your breasts and your hardened nipples that you wore no bra. Your bed hair was sticking out at wild angles and you had smears of eyeliner around your eyes. But the way the sun left patterns on your legs and the way you looked against the clean white sheets made Jax wish he had fallen asleep next to you. Jax licked his lips as his eyes lingered over you and a blush crept up your neck, knowing how awful you looked in the mornings. “I didn’t order a wake up call.” Jax grinned. “Sorry to wake you, darlin.” You rolled your eyes, earning another charming smirk. “So. What did I do to deserve such torture?” He raised an eyebrow. “You know some girls would kill to be woken up by me.” “Huh,” You lifted a finger to your lips in thought. “I think I killed a few guys last night.” Jax nodded, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “What a shitty prize.” Jax laughed, amused by your blunt humour and he perched on the edge of the bed. “Thank you, (y/n). I mean that.” You nodded and pulled your legs up so you were sat crosslegged. His eyes met yours and your breath caught for a moment. You couldn’t deny the chemistry burning in the air and you fought the urge to jump him right then and there. The way he was looking at you, like he was undressing you with his eyes, made your body tingle and you gulped. You pushed the dirty thoughts from your mind and yawned. “Hows Gemma?” “She’ll be okay.” You nodded and looked to your lap. “Look, Gemma is-“ “I know. She’s your old lady.” You looked at him. You expected him to look thankful for you being so understanding. But instead his face was a mixture of amused and disgusted. “Shes my mother.” You lifted your hand to your mouth, making Jax smirk at your reaction. “Oh god.” You buried your face in your hands, trying to hide your rapidly reddening cheeks. Jax chuckled and shook his head. “You really thought she was my old lady?” You shrugged and dropped your hands to your lap. “I dunno? I mean I just thought you had some mommy fetish.” Jax screwed his face up and this time you laughed. “Thank god!” He raised an eyebrow in your direction and you bit your lip. You crawled across the bed moved into his lap, straddling him. His hands held your hips and you wrapped yours around his neck. Both of you were breathing heavily and you looked into his eyes. They drowned you and you licked your lips, overwhelmed with dirty thoughts. He moved his head closer and you lifted one hand and ran it through his hair, You could feel him growing hard and it only mad your panties wetter, the anticipation driving you wild. You pressed your lips against his and suddenly everything stopped. The faint sound of traffic was drowned out. The chirping of birds fell silent. The room could have been on fire and you wouldn’t have noticed. Jax stood, lifting you in his lap and he laid you against the sheets. His body hovered over yours and his lips began to trail down your neck. You closed your eyes. In that moment it was only you and him.

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

@i-want-to-be-watered-by-roger @homicidalteenagedream @danleto97 @jasonmccannsgirl8699 @hellsmurf96

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Ian Williams’s “I Want It All. I Want It Now.” Chapter 3: Broke Up, Broken Up

Below you’ll find the third chapter of Ian Williams’s fictional story, “I Want It All. I Want It Now,” from our Summer 2019 issue. To read from the beginning, click here.

Toronto, Montreal

Vein

Late summer, Ella took me to the airport. Together we lifted my bags onto the scale to be weighed. I’d been booked for a lot of work that summer: an ad campaign for a beauty brand in Toronto, a fitness spot on TV in Montreal and a fashion shoot in Mexico.

Ella said, I’ll keep an eye on your druggie boyfriend.

She still called Hudson my boyfriend, even though we’d had a conscious uncoupling after the music festival. No one’s taking minutes, but, for the record, I’d consciously uncoupled him and not the other way around.

He’s not a druggie. I felt the need to defend him. I had bought him a Sackville & Co. gold grinder for his weed. I said, A little pot does not a druggie make.

We’d had this conversation before. I had never seen Hudson use anything more than a little pot, and, even so, there was a difference between trying a drug and being an addict. He might have tried something. I tried cocaine in high school. I wasn’t an addict.

Ella tilted her head. Just high school?

Don’t look at me like that.

She shook her head. I caught a whiff of Daisy.

I should be worried about you, I said. You’re the one who was on friggin’ methadone.

Naloxone.

Naloxone, I repeated. She had projected her problem on him. I needed a break from them both.

I have something for you, Ella said.

She rooted around in her Gucci bag until she found a row of condoms.

I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he cheated on you with more than one woman. Ella made a tourniquet around my arm by tying two condoms together. As she was working, she listed names: Molly, Roxie, Aunt Hazel, Mandy, Kitty.

Ella drummed the inside of my elbow as if searching for a vein. Then she pushed me toward the security area with the condoms tied around my arm.

Tat

According to Instagram, Hudson got a tattoo. It was on his ribs—about the size of a passport photo. Very discreet. If he squeezed his arm against his torso, he’d cover it up. It was still red in the image. Caps. Serif font.

Seeing it on his body, I felt like he had communed with my mother and she had given me over to him. Or he had taken me over. I was on his body forever. The words weren’t beads I borrowed from Ella’s closet.

Ice

Hudson used to describe Sephora as the makeup version of the Apple store: brightly lit, clerks everywhere, an air of sterility, futuristic, clean to the point of being antiseptic.

I was sitting on a stool in the Bite Beauty section wearing all black, knees together, hair pulled back. I was one of 15 models hired for a one-day social media campaign. Women had been invited into the store to get their makeup done and have the chance to win a modelling contract. Each woman would sit next to a model while a clerk did her makeup similar to that model’s; then Sephora would snap some photos, post them on Instagram and ask people to guess who the model was. It was a Dove kind of idea—celebrating the beauty of ordinary women.

The woman on the stool in front of me was more than 10 years older than me. I’d say she was 37. We sat facing each other like reflections. My future self. Her past. Pale. Blunt nose. Faint eyebrows, like a Dutch portrait. Overall, she was austere and well maintained but starting to finely crack.

Her manners were European. She said, You are one of those challenging models.

Is that good? I asked.

Unconventional. She had three stripes of tester lipstick on her hand. The middle one looked the best on her.

I was starting to get offended.

Where you’re pretty if you have one ugly feature.

Oh. I said nothing about her nose. Just, Oh.

I guess that’s what sells, she said, looking into my eyes. She was feeling the boldness of becoming beautiful. Ella would describe her face as aristocratic.

Are you a student? she asked.

In Vancouver, I said. I wanted to impress her. Grad student. M.B.A.

Which is your primary identity?

Excuse me?

Slowly. Are you a student or are you a model?

Both. (I want it all, and I want it now.)

Or are you someone’s girlfriend?

I looked at her left hand. She had a diamond. She was one of those women who would be cruel to other aspiring women in her company. Worse to women than to men.

I don’t often feel teary, but my mother’s birthday was coming up (always a difficult day), and Hudson had posted that IG photo a few days ago; plus I was worried about whether or not I was toned enough for Montreal in a few days, plus it was high summer and I was—I’ll admit—lonely under my sunglasses, and now this ice queen was stabbing her pick into my heart.

I couldn’t wet my makeup. I said, You look like a lawyer.

Young love, she said. Caustic. She smiled a little. Squinted. You’re not going to be a challenging model forever.

I’m going to need you to stop talking now, the clerk said to the woman to save me.

Lawyer, she mouthed and touched her large nose.

Muldoon, the Beagle

But things got worse. A few days after Sephora, I had just slathered on sunscreen and was biking sprints through The 6, along Lake Ontario, when my father called.

He was putting down Muldoon, a black and white beagle with a coat so shiny it appeared metallic.

He just wanted to say goodbye, my dad said.

I had known Muldoon his whole life. His owners—the coolest, sweetest people—were hardcore punk rockers who had paid me to dog-sit as a kid.

My dad turned on the video. There was Muldoon. His ears were flopped forward like two leaves at the side of his head. When he heard my voice, he sniffed the screen. His eyes were noble.

I told Muldoon about Doggy Heaven. About my mom. He blinked slowly.

My dad said his girlfriend was spending the week with him. Then he hung up. Or, he thought he did. I watched my screen go black as he put his phone face down on the counter. Our phones were still connected.

I could hear the moment Muldoon died. I heard shuffling, then muffled voices, then silence, then a shift in the silence—like the hum of the AC going off.

FT

Mom would have been 60 today. Happy B-day, Ma! On her last birthday before she died of breast cancer, I got out all of her Fashion Television tapes and we curled up on my parents’ bed and watched hours and hours of Jeanne Beker, the synth-pop theme song, fashion weeks, Naomi Campbell and Linda Evangelista, Milan, haute couture.

It was my present to her—even if she slept through many of them with a silk scarf on her head.

Backup

In Montreal, I was a fitness model for a morning lifestyle show. Pretty much, I was the equivalent of a backup dancer (that’s what Hudson would call me) for the demo of an Instagram workout video.

I powered through some sit-ups backstage and planked. Club pump. The male model did some push-ups and sprints up and down the hallway; then he patted himself dry and squeezed Gatorade into his mouth. Good energy, this guy Denis. He double high-fived me, low and high.

You got this, he said. Cute little French accent.

Cute little everything.

I unzipped my hoodie. Denis the hottie did some lunges to show off his quads. I did some cat-cow stretches. The audience applauded. We jogged onstage.

Denis adjusted his shorts partway through the segment. He was trying to manage his boner.

At the end of the segment, he ran up to me from behind and lifted me off the ground.

You were amazing, he said.

We followed each other on Instagram.

We had lunch after the segment, and lunch turned into a walk, which turned into dinner. Denis was a big talker. A happy, friendly spaniel. A simple man who needed simple adjectives. So transparent I could see through his face into his brain. He went to bed early, woke up early, went for a morning run, peeled his clothes off at the door and showered, made himself a paleo or keto breakfast, juiced kale and ginger for a midday boost.

So, after dinner, we went to bed early together, woke up early together, went for a morning run together, peeled our clothes off at the door and showered together, made ourselves a paleo or keto breakfast together, juiced kale and ginger for a midday boost together. Times eight days.

I imagined this was what marriage would feel like: Denis parting the curtains in the morning. Denis parting his hair. Denis high-fiving me over laundry. Denis planning ski trips. Denis cuddling with the dog. Olympic sex. Denis to the death. As he was loading my luggage into the trunk of the cab, he said, You are the most—

Compatible person I have ever met, I finished.

We had been finishing each other’s sentences all week.

I saw, of course, this tweet. I slid, platonically, into his DMs. I don’t know why I had reached out to Hudson in the first place.

Sorry about the band, Hudson, I wrote, and removed the heart emoji before sending. The response came quickly.

Any chance you’re in L.A.? I could use your face.

But I know you’re always the one following me. In brackets he let me know that my face is better than the smiley emoji he uses to sign off. I left him with three dots, as if I’d be writing him during my whole flight.

It was late—my flight was delayed—and my loneliness was so astringent it was drying out my skin.

Airplane mode

Waiting for the flight to take off for Mexico, I smelled Santal 33 on the man next to me. I missed how Hudson touched me. Lots of men touched me, styled me, posed me, cinched me, adjusted my hair and jaw as necessary, but Hudson had a range of fabric in his fingers. Most men were cotton.

I looked at my phone.

I imagined him staring at his phone.

I switched my phone to airplane mode and stowed it so I wouldn’t be tempted to reread all our messages.

About three hours into the flight, the Santal 33 smell was so bad that it drove me to join the mile-high club. Not with the dude next to me, no. The half-mile-high club, then, alone, in the bathroom at the back of the aircraft, when the flight attendants turned off all the lights.

You may use your cellular devices at this time.

Odile’s story isn’t finished yet. She clearly isn’t over Hudson, but will he fight harder than Denis? See how it all pans out in Chapter Four and follow @the.real.odile on Instagram for real-time updates.

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