#ibuprofen has been my breakfast lunch and dinner for the past few days

[ceoofurmom]

Nothing quite like having a sore throat for 5 days and a fever for the past 3

[noctuascion]

Don't think I've sent you a prompt yet. So here ya go. Possible fluff prompt: Crypto gets sick and Mirage has to look after him.

Ahh, the good ol' sick fic, my favorite. Ty for your ask!! I'll do my best!!! ✨

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Mornings were always particularly hard for Park. The night prior was either spent restlessly looking through files on his computer, or he was struggling to remain asleep due to constant nightmares or insomnia. Sleeping was something that merely evaded him, and he was thankful the cameras never zoomed in too much, otherwise they'd see just how fatigued he usually was during games, even if he still managed to pull his weight, if not just by a sliver.

Mornings were spent sleeping in until he couldn't stay in bed any longer. Breakfast was either skipped entirely or the bare minimum—toast and coffee—and all of his other meals were relatively spotty as well. He sometimes forgot lunch entirely, and, if it wasn't for Makoa politely asking him to join them for dinner, he'd probably forget that, too.

He ate very little, unconsciously trying to conserve his food, a habit likely picked up from his days with Mystik at the orphanage. His preference for junk food and takeout didn't provide for a healthy diet either, hence why he could admit he was a bit on the skinny side.

Coupling that with his horrible sleep schedule could likely provide an explanation as to why he woke up one morning feeling uncomfortably warm, head aching something terrible, throat sore, congestion in his nostrils, and limbs weak, a feeling of fragility he despised. He hadn't been feeling the best these past few days, but he had just assumed it was just a lack in sleep.

The hacker groaned when he tried moving, the action upsetting the headache he was currently nursing, before looking to the clock beside his bed. It read six thirty-seven, which meant he was up way earlier than he normally was. The other Legends tended to tackle the day before the sun was at the zenith of its arch, but Park preferred sleeping in, especially on days off.

However, with how horrid he currently felt, like he was overheating in his blankets, he couldn't see himself doing much else besides laying in bed, more miserable than he usually was.

That is until he heard a knock on his door, a rhythmic seven taps that indicated only one person.

"Rise and shine, butterscotch!" came Elliott's voice, providing yet another ridiculous appellation assigned to his person. "You said we could go see that cool fireworks show later, and I thought: why not get there and enjoy the festival for a bit?"

Oh, he had completely forgotten about the supposed "festival" being hosted by Hammond Robotics, some ridiculous, over-the-top celebration about nothing Park could bring himself to care about. He had said he didn't want to go, but Elliott had nearly begged him to go—and he agreed, though he didn't want to be around people for too long. His boyfriend understood his introverted tendencies to a degree, but Park knew there were still aspects he was oblivious to—much like how Park was completely oblivious to any and all aspects of Elliott's extroverted personality.

When no answer was had, Elliott opened the door with the spare key provided, something Park entrusted him with for situations just like these. Sunshine incarnate stepped inaide the surveillance expert's gloomy abode, donning that fond smile and gentle eyes. If Park didn't feel like absolute garbage, he'd happily welcome the other into his room with a hug and a kiss—if he was feeling confident enough, that is.

"Hey, you wanna get up anytime soon?" he asked gently, nothing condescending or belittling in his tone. He sat down on Park's bed, the mattress dipping with the added weight, and cringed upon seeing his boyfriend. "Wow, you look like shit—worse than usual—n-not like you're ugly or bad looking—it's just that you don't sleep much and—"

"I'm sick…" Park managed, immediately regretting it when he heard just how congested he sounded, how his throat burned at uttering just two simple words.

"Y-Yeah, I can tell."

Elliott's too warm hand came to rest on Park's forehead, the back of his hand pressing delicately against heated skin. He already felt like he could snap in half—he didn't need Elliott treating him like he would.

However, Park couldn't find it in himself to be angry—not when Elliott was shining those puppy-like eyes at him, concern painting his handsome features. Frankly, he felt bad for making him worry, but it wasn't exactly something he could stop.

"My poor shortcake. You got hit hard, huh?" the trickster whispered, likely taking into account Park's possible headache, his hand sliding along heated skin to gently cup the other's cheek. "Lemme go to our lil' clinic and grab you some meds. I'll ask Makoa if he can get me some tea for your throat and sinuses, too, m'kay?"

"Unnecessary…" he mumbled, hoping the quieter volume wouldn't elicit any flaring pain; it did, but not as severe. "I'll wait it out… Don't worry…"

"… And you call me an idiot."

Park wasn't exactly the easiest person to get a request from. Elliott had asked him countless times what he wanted and needed, getting the same responses over and over again, like he was a broken record. He hated feeling like a burden, and hated feeling indebted to someone. Elliott had to learn from picking up on social cues just to figure out he wanted a hug. Getting him to voluntarily ask for help, especially since he's too sick to go to the festival, the one Elliott really wanted to take him too, would be potentially be near impossible.

Park was stubborn, but Elliott was, too.

"Sweet angel that fell from the heavens, my beautiful boy, the cutest shortcake to exist—just let me do this for you." Hopefully, the puppy eye look was enough to get his stubborn lover to finally give in and let him be taken care of. "I love the shit out of you, and I hate seeing you sick. Lemme help you feel better—or I'll just have to kiss you better."

"Then you would end up sick, moron." Park pulled up his blanket a bit to cover the cough suddenly shaking his frame, expression pinched and pained; it was probably murder on his already sore throat. "Fine… But I promise to make up for the festival…"

"You don't have to, hon. Just feel better soon."

Despite knowing Park would protest, Elliott leaned down to press a kiss to the other's skin, a hand leaving the comfort of his blanket to swat him away, eliciting a laugh from the trickster.

Quickly, he made his way out of the hacker's room, shutting the door quietly behind him, before hurrying off to fetch the promised items. He asked Makoa first if he'd be willing to make some tea, explaining that Park was feeling under the weather, and even offered to make soup for him. The man was a saint, laughing off Elliott's "would that be asking too much?" with that same boisterous laugh. Afterwards, Elliott made his way to the clinic, their resident medic checking over medications and organizing her supplies. After explaining his symptoms, Ajay provided some ibuprofen, asking if he'd tell Park to "get better soon so they can even the score."

Once the medicine was acquired, Elliott returned to the kitchen, where the scent of ginger and tomato seemed ever so prominent. Makoa waved him over, allowing him to see the progress. He wasn't finished just yet, but he would be soon.

And, once he was, Elliott placed everything on a tray and brought it back to Park's room, where the hacker had fallen asleep in, though his slumber looked anything but peaceful. Elliott set the tray at the end of Park's bed, making sure it wouldn't tip over, before gently placing a hand on the slumbering man's shoulder, gingerly shaking him awake. Glazed over hazel optics moved to blearily stare at Elliott; said man could only smile once seeing him awake.

"Makoa made you some tomato soup and ginger tea, and Ajay gave you some ibuprofen," he said, moving to grab the tray and bring it over. "You think you're strong enough to eat and drink?"

A tired nod was all he got in response, Park's arms moving to push him up into a sitting position. Elliott moved his pillows around a bit so they'd provide some support for him, setting the tray in his lap. The hacker attempted to take a whiff through his congested sinuses, humming when the ginger tea provided some semblance of assistance.

"Okay, you eat, take your meds, and I'll go run you a cold bath."

"Cold…?" the hacker suddenly asked pitifully; he wasn't particularly fond of lower temperatures…

"It's to help with your fever, baby. I doubt feeling like you're cooking alive under your blankets is a good feeling."

Park let out a huff, a hand reaching for his ginger tea and the other taking the recommended dosage of ibuprofen. "I guess you're right…"

"I'm always right. The rightest man on the Frontier. You won't find a righter man than me." Elliott leaned over to press another kiss to heated skin, receiving yet another swat for his efforts, which, in turn, elicited yet another chuckle from the taller. "Enjoy your soup and gross meds, angel cake."

With the wave Park sent his way, Elliott hurried off to do as promised. The bath wasn't frigid, but it was just a little below lukewarm. He didn't want the other actually freezing; his sensitivity to the cold was cute, sure, because it meant more snuggles and hugs when they were out in the cold, but he didn't want to actually bring his boyfriend any discomfort. He even put in that little Nessie rubber toy the other insisted he hated, even though Elliott's seen him admiring it or even having it in his tub when he's washing up.

When he finished, Elliott returned to see Park had finished up most of his soup and that his tea was nearly gone. He assumes he took the medicine; Park's never given him any reason to doubt in the first place.

"Finished?" he asked, receiving a nod. He lifted the tray off the other's lap, setting it on his desk, which had a few takeout containers and papers strewn about. They'd have to clean that later. "You okay enough to walk to the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"Cool, cool."

And, despite the answer that couldn't have been anymore straightforward, Elliott moved forward, pulled the blanket off, slipped his hands under the baffled hacker's legs and back, and lifted him up like he weighed almost nothing. Park's arms unconsciously wrapped around his neck in a panic, already red-hued features darkening at the sudden action.

"I said I can walk," he muttered angrily, glaring up at his uncaring boyfriend, who didn't seem bothered by the scowl adorning the hacker's visage. Frankly, it's lost any intimidation it used to have and just reminds Elliott of a feral but sweet cat.

"I know."

"Then put me down."

"Nah."

"Idiot."

"Shortcake."

And if bathing with Park, who had rested against Elliott's chest the entire time, pliant and quiet, nearly dozing off, wasn't worth missing out on the festival, then watching as the hacker drifted off to sleep later that night, content and comfortable in Elliott's arms, definitely made it worthwhile.

He couldn't help but press a kiss to the other's forehead again, knowing that, if the other was awake, he'd just swat him away like he normally does. Even though Park's fever worsened, fluctuating between stable and unstable, and eventually broke a few days later, Elliott didn't mind any of it, didn't mind the fact that they missed out on a few date opportunities, that they missed movie night and a few hours of sleep. Seeing his lover get better made any problem worth it, and the smile he got was all the reward he ever needed.

[queeniewritesce]

Shall We Dance 6/?

Lucy lazily opened her eyes, blinking to adjust to the light feeling the room, streaming from the beautiful arch windows near her side of the bed. Her head throbbed a little, she felt sore in places that hadn’t been used in quite some time, and she admonished herself for not taking some ibuprofen before falling asleep last night.

She tried to move but a firm hand gripped her waist, keeping her in place, digits digging the soft skin of her tummy. She turned her head, carefully to not worsen her headache, and regarded the sleeping man by her side; apparently, they were both stomach sleepers, arms under the pillow type of people and she wondered if that was uncomfortable for him, as he was not lacking on that department. Like, at all. She giggled quietly at her teenager mentality, studying the beautiful profile of Chris’s face, fingers itching to get closer, to lose themselves in the soft fur covering his jaw, trace the fullness of the lips that had driven her crazy the night before.

Ghost memories heated her skin as she slid out of the bed, padding softly to the bathroom, her thighs protesting the burn his beard imposed upon them, the sensation not dissimilar to the friction the pole created when learning a new move, but much more pleasant. She washed her face and used his moisturizer, the mirror showing her the purple marks he left on her neck and the top of her breasts, hair in disarray, and a small grin graced her face. She had been loved hard, and she reveled in every minute of it.

Lucy glanced at Chris’ sleeping form, grabbing his folded sweater and her socks and quietly slipping from the room, Dodger following behind her.

“Morning Dodger,” the stairs were cold on her bare feet as she descended. She makes quick work of his sweater, smelling the collar and folding the cuffs. She pulls on the thick socks while scanning the living room, locating her purse on a side table and to find a hair tie, tying a messy bun on top of her head. She grabbed her phone, opening the small bottle of Advil she always kept with her to grab two pills and walked back to the kitchen, where Dodger sat patiently by the door. “Listen, I’m not too keen on the idea of the alarm going off when I open that door, so I’m really sorry, but there won’t be any visits outside till your dad wakes up, alright?”

She could’ve sworn the dog ruffed before a small whine escaped him. Lucy spotted the treat jar on the island and gave the pooch two small ones as a peace offering. Satisfied, she opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and sat on the same stool she had occupied yesterday, unlocking her phone. She sends Penny a quick message saying she won’t be back till later because Chris is taking her to one of the museums and snorts when her sister’s reply is a bunch of eggplant emojis. Siobhan is next and she asks about Morris, quickly retelling what happens without naming Chris and promising to call soon. There’s a message from JP enquiring if Garret’s plan was to propose on Christmas’ Day, and she thinks it’s odd, ‘why wouldn’t he ask Garret directly instead of asking me?’, she ponders and decides to call her brother later. Her last new message is from Sunny, inviting Lucy to stop by whenever she has the chance. She replies explaining they’ll arrive early on the 23rd, maybe she could have dinner with the family that night.

Opening Instagram, she clicks the plus sign, it’s a habit to always post something about the latest football game she attends; a picture of everyone she’s with, a few words about the game and when the Patriots were involved, a sarcastic remark about Tom Brady. She scrolls through her photos and it suddenly hits her she can’t share the incredible day she had yesterday. Not only all pictures feature Chris, either smiling to the camera or in the background, but he’s also in every quip and every joke she can think of writing. Sure, her account was private, but when was the last time she weeded out her followers? She sighs and closes the app, adding the task to her mental to-do list.

“I was about to file for my missing sweater, but it looks so much better on you than it does on me.” Chris’s voice is right behind her and she jumps a little, but she smiles and spins the stool around to look at him. “Even when paired with those goddamn awful socks.”

“I have cold feet.” Her eyes follow him around and she licks her lips at the sight of the half-naked man turning on the coffee maker, sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and she is almost certain that is the only piece of clothing he’s wearing.

“I kinda noticed that.” He pats Dodger on the head before disarming the alarm and opens the kitchen door, a very happy dog now bouncing on the fresh snow outside. “You might want to have that checked, I believe they’ve frozen some time ago and you just haven’t noticed.” Chris grins at her indignant face and she scowls at him, trying to elaborate a good comeback when he invades her personal space. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

He’s pressed right at her side when he speaks those last words, tilting her head back and kissing her soundly, the hands on her neck keeping her in place, and does she really need to breathe because she just wants to kiss him forever. Her whole body awakens, his touch moving like lightning on her skin. Her palms sprawl over his chest, fingers combing the short hairs covering the muscles and she’s delighted at the small moans coming from him. Sadly yes, they do need air to live and so they part, foreheads touching, fingers caressing and smiles on their faces.

“I believe it’ll be, yes.” She eyes him as he draws on her skin, following the pattern of the cherry tree branches on her arm, reaching the last flower perched near her inner elbow and she tenses. As wonderful as he is, they barely know each other, the scars on her forearm and wrists are part of the demons that plague her dreams, ones that she’s not willing to discuss. She feels better when his fingers skip the scars, going straight to her palms and tangle themselves with her own, bringing her hand up to kiss the knuckles.

“How about some breakfast?” He offers while his mouth skims over her hands. “There’s this great place right around the corner that serves breakfast till 3 p.m., we can walk over there and get my car afterward, go to the Museum?”

“Breakfast food for lunch?” her stomach grumbles at the mention of food. “I was gonna make a joke about it being so very un-Hollywood of you, but as you heard it, parts of me are already on board with the plan. But I do need coffee first.”

“As milady wishes.” He goes back to find two cups in the higher cabinet, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and setting it all on the island in front of her before seating by her side, “How are you feeling today?”

“I woke up with a bit of a headache, a little sore too, but I took some Advil when I came down, I’ll be right as new in a few hours.” She rests her chin on her hands watching as he scoots the chair closer to hers, knees touching as he runs slow circles on the small of her back.

“I’m sorry about the soreness baby, but damn, it was a tight fit, I almost blew my load when I first entered you, you felt so good.”

He says it like he’s commenting on the weather, not of giving her the best sex of her life. Her cheeks felt warm; the man had no filter, did he?

“It’s been a while since I last fooled around with anyone, it’s been mostly me and my hand for the past twenty months.” Apparently, she had no qualms talking about it with him either. Lucy felt at easy with Chris, from the first time they looked at each other she felt like a missing piece of herself finally found its way home. How would she keep going after today? She shook her head to clear her head, she wouldn’t think about that now. “And you're going around with a large concealed weapon in those pants. How do you get past TSA with that?”

He laughs with a deep bass guffaw, slapping his knee.

“Wanna give me a pat down, Officer Seabrook?” a waggle of his eyebrows had her chuckling before he got serious. “But almost two years baby, are New Yorkers that blind? You look smoking hot, do not give me that look, ‘cuz you do. I’d be following you around like a lost puppy for that ass alone.”

“There were plenty of opportunities, it’s just… It never felt right, I guess? I…” she stopped, unsure about giving up too much of her past. What was with this guy and the need to know all her secrets? And what was up with her and wanting to tell them all to him, hoping he wouldn’t run away screaming?

“Then I’m extremely glad it felt right yesterday. Because it felt right to me too, the moment you walked into that room? I was a goner. You had me at hello and all that shit.” He grinned at her over his cup, but she could tell his eyes were studying her and at some point, they would come back to this conversation.

“And all that shit uh? You’re such a romantic. Wait, the fact that you even know that the movie is awesome enough. It’s one of my favorites”

“Figures you’d have the hots for Tom Cruise being angsty as fuck” He laughed and batted away the packet of Splenda she threw at him.

“Oh shush, he’s not angsty, he’s had a revelation and it’s acting upon it. Plus, the ‘show me the money scene’ is already movie history.”

Chris lets Dodger back inside before grabbing the coffee pot, and he sits facing, a sheepish grin on his face while he poured himself a cup.

“So, if you had to choose, wine or coffee?” he asks as he prepares his drink; three sugars, a splash of creamer.

“Coffee, no doubts about it. I love wine but by this point in my life, I have coffee running in my veins instead of blood. There’s no way I could give the liquid gold up.” She pours half a cup, skipping the sugar and filling the other half of the cup with the creamer.

“What the hell,” he eyes her cup suspiciously, “that is not coffee baby, that’s an insult to anyone who drinks coffee.”

“Says the person who puts enough sugar in his cup to rotten teeth.” She scoffs before taking a long drink. “Delicious.”

“Oh my god, you’re one of those girls.” Chris grabs his chest, pretending it hurts. “You order a PSL at Starbucks.” He finishes with a low, horrified voice, whipping an imaginary tear from his eye.

Lucy was glad she wasn’t drinking when he finishes because she laughs so hard, she snorts.

“One hot, venti, two-shot, almond milk, no whip pumpkin spice latte. I’m a basic bitch who loves her PSL, so sue me.” She shrugs and brings her cup to her lips, sipping slowly.

“I bet the barista knows your name and draws a smile on the damn cup too.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled over the brim of the cup, giving a little shrug. “I knew it!”

“There’s a store on the same block of my apartment and it’s on the way to the subway, they’ve been there since I moved to New York, of course they know me by name by now.” Pouring more coffee into her mug, she acknowledges, “This is absolutely delicious though, it’s Hawaiian Kona coffee, right?”

“Color me impressed.” Chris grins, nodding his head. “It’s one of the few things I splurge on, I have the company send a few beans bags every month to wherever I am staying. I refuse to drink the goo they serve at most places when I’m doing press for a movie.”

“You’re a coffee diva.” She states, amused by his confession.

“Some people hate green M&Ms, I hate bad coffee.” He concedes laughing. “I even provide the coffee, it’s not like they have to go and buy it, you know? Just follow the instructions or let my assistant make it and I’m a happy guy.”

“What is that like, having an assistant?” Lucy glances at Chris, untrimmed beard, mussed hair, no shirt, ratty sweats and barefoot. Incredibly good looking, but more of guy-next-door than a movie star, she almost forgot he was more than Garret’s hot best friend.  Their worlds differed so much, she couldn’t imagine having someone on her beck and call, or worst, a publicist. That gave her pause and she pursed her lips in thought while he responded.

“It’s weird at first, someone controlling your schedule, telling you where you need to be and when. But you get used to it so fast, especially since they seem to know exactly what you need and they deliver it, you know? Almost like a superpower, they learn how to read you and anticipate your moods.” Chris pondered and looked away embarrassed when he continued. “It’s… convenient. If you’re not careful you can get lost inside the Hollywood lifestyle, get jaded by the lights and you end up forgetting who you truly are. It almost happened to me once and I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again. It’s one of the reasons Tobias stays in Los Angeles whenever I’m here, I can take care of myself, I can be Chris.”

His words reassured her, but one question lingered. He was famous, he had an image to protect. As Samuel clearly reminded her, most people only saw her as a glamourized, overweight, stripper. She turns to face him, “Do I have to sign an NDA? Would pictures of the two of us together be bad for you?”

“What, Lucy, NO.” he shakes his head startled. “First of all, NDAs are ridiculous, they rarely work, I know that first hand. Maybe if you’re into some hard kink sex and doing it with random people, then okay, an NDA would be ideal, but I don’t ask people who I sleep with to sign them. And no, a picture of us together wouldn’t be bad for my image, it might stir some pots because some people believe they can dictate who I date…” Shaking his head, he grabbed her hand, linking their fingers together. “I know we’re still getting to know each other but one thing you should know is that I rarely give a fuck to what the media or the general public think of me. I keep my people close to my vest, I don’t talk about friends and girlfriends in interviews, but that’s because it isn’t anybody’s business what I do on my personal time. But I won’t shy away from being around someone I care about either. If a picture leaks or if they follow me when I’m with someone, I set my publicist on their cases because they are assholes, but the one thing I won’t do is to acknowledge their presence or react to them. It’s what they want, and I learned to tune them out.”

“I’m sorry doing what you love comes with so much bullshit involved.” Her thumb rubbed circles on his palm, in a soothing manner, her free hand combing his tousled hair. “Just so you know, if you decide a week from now that maybe I should sign one of those ridiculous things, I’d do it.”

“Thank you. The fact that you offered is enough.” Chris leaned into her hand, almost purring from the feeling of her fingers massaging his scalp. He closes his eyes, enjoying the moment and Lucy wants to save this forever, a perfect reminder of their time together.

He tastes of coffee when she kisses him, molding her mouth over his, dragging her lips sweetly across his own. She tastes like cream when his tongue touches hers, light touches that entice her, coaxing her lips to follow his when he retreats, seeking more, needing more.

The whiskers on his face tease her skin when he drags a line from her mouth to her neck, nipping hard at the pulse point, sucking the skin to sooth the bite. She gasps at how pleasurable the tiny amount of pain feels, fingers splashed on his hair, pulling him back till she devours his mouth, taking the lead.

His hands are everywhere, cupping her neck to hold her in place, squeezing the soft flesh of her breasts, gripping her thighs, finally circling her waist to bring her closer to him, hiking up legs over his, making the sweater she’s wearing ride up, his eyes popping when he realizes she’s not wearing anything under it.

“Such a naughty girl you are baby.” Chris murmurs against her mouth with a grin.

“I’m full of surprises.” She pulls the string securing the pants and it pools on the V of his abdomen, his cock springing upwards to rest against his belly. “I see I’m not the only one not wearing underwear.” Fingernails rake on the hard muscles of his abdomen while her teeth do the same to his collarbone, biting his neck. A thumb grazes the silky skin of his head and he twitches underneath her palm, his soft moans delighting her.

Her sweater is halfway up her body now, a large hand cupping the globes of her buttocks, while the other is busy massaging a hard nipple. Ripples of hot lava dances over her with every pass of his finger.

“I love how responsive you are, how you look ready to cum just with me playing with your tits.” Chris lowers his head to take a hard peak in his mouth when Lucy hears the low rumble of his stomach, making her raise an eyebrow at him. He ignores it and shushes her with a kiss, slating his mouth over her giggling lips, bringing her back to the moment.

A second, louder rumble follows. There is a pause and their eyes open, green meeting blue, mouths pressed together turning to grins before they are both laughing.

“I guess I’m hungry.” He remarks.

“When was the last time you ate something?” a hand smooths down her sweater when she stands up.

“I had a pretty nice snack last night.” A wiggle of his brows had her punching him on the shoulder as she narrows her eyes at him, still laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re such a man Christopher.”

“Glad you noticed babe.” He embraces her, kissing her shoulder. “Come on, we can shower together and save time.”

..__..__..__..__..

Showering together did not save time, she remarks when Chris closes the door behind him. It’s almost noon when they finally leave his house, all bundled up, gloved hands clasped together. There was no snow right now, but it’s supposed to start back late afternoon, so the plan was to be back home before that.

Lucy wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. Would he drop her off at Garret’s house after their outing (she didn’t dare call it a date) or would they go back to his place together? Sure, she understood the concept of one-night stands; she’d had her fair share of them but spending the day with one of them was never part of the deal, they had never asked, always leaving her house before the sun was up. In the beginning, she didn’t care about them leaving, her walls kept her safe, away from heartbreak. She had given herself away twice before and she had the scars, emotional and physical, to remind her not try it again.

Being single wasn’t something that bothered Lucy like it had bothered Penny or Siobhan and, unlike her sister and her best friend, she had welcomed it, focusing her energy and passion into dancing. She was proud of what she had accomplished in the last twelve years, the dance studio was thriving, she had made a name of herself and was now giving back to the community as much as she could.

Yet she now yearned for more. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that happened but somewhere in the last six months the feeling snuck up on her and was now part of her daily routine, accompanying her from dusk to dawn. She pushed it aside, tried to bury it under her work but, no matter how late she stayed in her studio, how hard she danced, how tired she was, the loneliness that greeted her when she arrived home made her ache.

She wanted what JP had with Marianna. She wanted what she saw between Penny and Garret.

She had no idea how to get it.

Her eyes glanced over at the man walking beside her. Chris was funny, charming, interested in what she had to say and what she did for a living. It didn’t hurt the whole package was contained inside a sinful body, and boy, did he know how to use that body. She shook her head. This was a one-time thing, it’s not like he would want to see her again.

“We’re here,” Chris announced with a muffled voice, concealed beneath the heavy scarf covering his mouth, pointing to the red stone building that occupied the corner of the block they just turned. “The food here is amazing, you can’t go wrong with anything really.”

Lucy looks up before they enter and sees a neon sign with Mike’s City Diner written on it. The place had an old school vibe, a red, black and white theme that reminded her of the diner in Cooperstown, the one she went to almost every day after school for milkshakes and grilled cheese, or for family breakfast during the weekend. She’s about to ask if he comes here often when his name is called by a pretty brunette wearing an apron with the diner’s logo on it.

“Hi Chris,” the woman is all teeth and pink lipstick when she winks at him. Lucy tries to not pay attention to the way the hand, not coffee pot squeezes his biceps in hello.

“Hi, Corinne. Is my table occupied?” he questioned, removing his winter gear.

“It is, but the booth next to it is free, if you seat turned to the back wall, I’m sure no one will bother you. We’re past the rush hour anyway.” She grabs a couple of menus from the counter and leads them to the very back of the restaurant, away from the windows. “I’ll bring some fresh coffee for you.”

Chris helps Lucy out of her coat and mentions for her to get in first. He slides next to her and wraps an arm around her back, pulling her closer.

“I take you’re a regular?” She asked while reading over the menu.

“Yeah, I come almost every day when I’m not at my mom’s house. I’m an okay cook, but breakfast food is my favorite and I rather not screw it up.” He nods, not even looking up at the menu. “Very kind people, delicious food, most patrons are either engrossed on their food or too deep in conversation to notice me, which is a plus.”

“I grew up going to a very similar diner back home. My friends and I would spend whole afternoons at Patty’s, doing homework and playing the arcade games he’d kept in the back room. He was the sweetest guy, always looking out for the town’s kids, running fundraisers for a neighbor in need… And the food was so, so good.” Wistful eyes looked around the place, taking in the decor and the warm way the waiters would talk to the customers.

Corinne approached with a smoking pot of coffee, sashaying her mint skirt as she did. She poured Chris’s coffee and points the pot to Lucy in question. “Want some, sugar?”

“Please.”

“Alright, you guys know what you want?” she placed the pot on their table, whisking out a white pad.

Chris signaled Lucy to go first and she orders cinnamon walnut waffles with a side fruit, saying no to the meat.

“I’ll have the Dynamic Duo with bacon and scrambled eggs. And she wants cream, lots of it.” Chris says with a teasing smile.

“I can drink my coffee black, you know?” Lucy huffs after Corinne leaves them alone.

“Yes, but do you like it?” He gives her a pointed look, a lone eyebrow raised at her.

That was so unfair, who could resist that damn eyebrow?

“No,” she answers with a pout.

He laughs and steals a quick kiss. “So, no meat?”

“No meat. I can’t call myself a vegetarian because I love cheese and eggs and still indulge in some seafood, but it’s been almost ten years since I decided to stop eating red meat, eight since I last ate chicken.”

“Impressive. Hemsworth is thinking about adopting a plant-based regimen on our next bulk up. We’ve been discussing it for a while.” He plays with the empty sugar packets, sighing. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“Chris, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I don’t know the guy, but if he’s your friend I’m sure he’ll understand.” Her hand closes around his, giving it a squeeze. “Quitting anything is hard, my friend Terry has been trying to stop drinking soda since I first met him, sometimes he goes months without a single drop, other times he drinks Coke for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midday snacks.”

“Don’t I know it. I’ve quit smoking maybe a dozen times now. But I pick it back up whenever I’m stressed or if I go clubbing a lot.” He picks her hand up, dropping each finger on the table only to do it again. “I stopped after I broke up with my last girlfriend.”

Lucy pursued her lips. She once had called Penny to see how her sister was doing and throughout the conversation, Penny had been curt with her, until Lucy snapped and decided to end the call. That was when Penny apologized and explained she was mad by proxy because Chris’ girlfriend was being a bitch, divulging personal details about their relationship. Lucy didn’t know the actress was, but she instantly disliked the woman.

“Uh, so maybe a good thing come out of that?” her smile was sympathetic.

“Yeah,” Chris gave her a warm smile. “I was single when I met you.”

“And if you weren’t?” it was a serious question disguised within a light smile.

“Here’s the thing, I don’t cheat. I may be a shitty boyfriend at times, especially with all the traveling and time away from each other, but cheating? That is inexcusable.” His eyes were fixed on hers when he continued and the intensity she found in those eyes made her squirm in her seat. “Had I been dating someone I’d have watched you from afar, cursing whatever deity for giving me a glimpse of yourself when they’d know I couldn’t act on it… The truth is I would have left the game. I was drawn to you like a compass needle is drawn to the north and I wanted you. Anything from the moment we said hello would be considered cheating in my book.”

A flustered laugh escaped Lucy’s mouth; she wasn’t expecting any of what he said, admittedly his stand on cheating mirrored hers but the other half of his speech floored her. Never had a man been so candid in his interest towards her and she was at a loss for words.

She was saved by the arrival of a boisterous man who introduced himself to her as Jay, the owner of Mike’s City Diner. He and Chris shared that typical bro hug after he set down the plates.

“I took the liberty of making your waffle with almond milk when Corinne told me you said no meat.” He had an accent she couldn’t place it. “I hope it is to your liking.”

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you.” She took a bite of the waffle and moaned at the taste, speaking between bites. “This is amazing Jay, best waffle ever.”

“Thank you. I’m happy you like.” He looked between Chris and Lucy. “It is the first time you bring woman with you. Corinne was… disappointed. I can see why she can’t compete with your chosen fire head. Beautiful woman.”

“Keep it up and I’ll tell Janet you’re hitting on my girl.” Chris pointed his forkful of pancakes at Jay, before popping it in his mouth.

“Janet more prettier than Lucy because Janet is my wife.” Jay grinned at them. “I’ll leave you to your food. Wonderful day friends.”

She busied herself with another forkful of waffles and strawberries, trying not to focus too much on Chris calling her his girl.

“Don’t mind Jay, he’s a flirt. Didn’t I tell you the food was good?” Chris drizzled more syrup on his pancakes. “The man is a breakfast food king if I was a billionaire I’d hire him as my personal breakfast chef!”

“But you gotta eat more than just breakfast though. Who would you hire for dinner service?” she dumped most of the cream in her coffee, smirking when Chris cringed.

“Uhm… that’s a tough one.” He stroked his beard in thought. “Either Tyler Florence or Jeff Mauro… I’m going with Jeff Mauro; I love sandwiches and he is the king. What about you?”

“I don’t even need to think about it, it’s all about the good vanilla and the Italian mascarpone! Ina Garten is the Barefoot Contessa for a reason.” She observed.

“Now that would cost you an arm and a leg.” Chris countered. “And if you want Jeff to go make the cheese in a climate-controlled cave in Connecticut, then you’d be bankrupt by the next dinner service.”

“But she told me store bought was fine.”

“Store bought is never fine.” He gasped in mock horror.

Trying to contain her laugh had Lucy wiping away the moisture from the corner of her yes. “I can’t believe you watch Food Network, Chris!”

“Well, there’s just so many times you can play Boggle while on set. Sometimes you just want to watch something to take your mind off things you know?” He pushed his empty plate away, mirth in his voice. “Plus Chopped is psych! Scarlett, Sebastian and I place bets on our favorites. I usually leave a hundred dollars richer by the end of our marathons.”

..__..__..__..__..__

The Museum of Science was somewhat busy for a Monday since most schools in the city were already off for the Holidays, making Chris lower his cap to cover his eyes as they entered the building.

Lucy’s eyes got big when she took in the place. “Oh my god, this is incredible! It’s almost bigger than the Museum of Natural back in New York.”

“I believe New York has more exhibits but we have more square footage or something like that. They grow everything big in Mass.” He winked.

“Don’t I know it?” Lucy waggled her eyebrows, laughing before grabbing the map she had picked up at the entrance. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

“I got us tickets to the Lightning! show at two, the Planetarium at three thirty and the butterfly garden at five pm.” Chris held her hand and lead her to the right side of the building while pointing things up in the map she held. “Maybe we could start with the dinos and make our way back to the red wing for the show?”

“Let’s head downstairs and see the Triceratops exhibit then, they are my favorite.”

“So, you like then horny, uh?” Chris whispered in her ear while they descended the escalator.

“Horny and big boned.” She whispered back with a straight face, a sneaky hand landing on the fly of his pants. “Small boners just don’t do it for me.”

A mother cleared her throat behind them just as they reached the lower level, and they moved quickly out of the way, looking sheepishly at the woman giving them a death glare before bursting into giggles.

“You’re such a bad influence on me.” Chris tutted at Lucy, bringing her close to his side and putting an arm around her shoulders.

“ME?” she protested with a laugh. “I was merely stating the fact that I like big dinosaurs, like a triceratops or a brachiosaur.”

“I’ll show you a brachiosaur when we get home.” He winked at her.

“If I recall correctly, your brachiosaur has quite a thick neck. Can I pet it? Maybe kiss it a few times?” She teased him, rubbing his forearm in a suggestive manner.

“Are you trying to make me pop a boner in public woman?” she saw him discreetly adjusting himself. “Come on, let’s see those dinos.”

The exhibit was fantastic, three full skeletons held the main floor, including a small, unhorned hatchling that made Lucy tear up. They admired the displays, taking turns pointing something they liked and debating which dinosaur would in against various superheroes, in the end deciding Hulk would probably join the dinosaur side, just to even things out. When they got to the T-Rex exhibit, Chris joked about this being Dodger’s wet dream and that he the only reason he wouldn’t steal a bone to take home to Dodger was that it wouldn’t fit inside his house, prompting Lucy to ask about it.

“The whole main floor is gorgeous, but I looooove your kitchen, it’s freaking amazing. If I ever move, I want a huge kitchen just like yours!”

“It was the first room I renovate when I bought the house last year.” Chris beamed. “Every detail, from the island to the fixtures have a history or a special meaning. I installed the backsplash myself.”

“Wait, you did it yourself?” Lucy asked, wide-eyed.

“The backsplash yeah, but I’ve had a lot of help from Dix and Garret during the reno. I also stained the hardwood and installed the mantle over the fireplace.” Chris grinned proudly and pulled up his phone, opening the gallery app and showing Lucy the before pictures. “Dix’s a contractor, damn good one too. We hired a design to come up with a general idea of I wanted and went from there. We’ve finished all the main floor, the master bedroom, and bathroom plus the staircase, but the other three bedrooms, the guest bathroom, basement and the backyard are kind of a mess. We only work on the house when I’m not filming, so it’s going slow.”

They walked over to the entrance of the Theater of Electricity as it was almost time for the show to start, and sat on a backless wooden bench, away from the main area, Chris straddling the bench and Lucy facing him, one leg bent over the smooth surface.

“Chris, the fact that you decided to tackle your own renovations when you could just pay someone to do it for you is remarkable. It speaks volumes of what you are as a person and what you want in life. My dad always quotes, we shape our buildings: thereafter, they shape us. You’re turning that place into a reflection of what you want for you and it shows.”

Chris regarded her for a moment, wistful eyes scanning hers.

“My ma’ always told me something similar before I moved to Los Angeles: whatever good things we build, end up building us. I’ve been trying to live by it, surrounding myself with people that want to build each other up, who share their talents with others in the best way they can. It takes a while to weed out the bad, especially in a place that thrives in being fake. There are many good, hard-working people in L.A. but there are at least three times as fakers and clingers who just want to use you. I love my house there, but sometimes it feels less like a home and that’s especially true now that I’ve bought the condo here. Ma’ was ecstatic when I told her I had found a place here, granted she wanted me closer in Sudbury, but I reckon Boston is a heck of a lot closer than Los Angeles. She helped decorate the living room and the big ass island was more of her idea than mine, but in the end, I loved it.”

“She’s got an awesome taste; I have the biggest case of kitchen envy now. I absolutely adore my apartment, it isn’t small by the city standards, but it doesn’t have much kitchen space. It certainly doesn’t have a big ass island, but it’s home.” She shrugged.

“I remember Penny mentioning you guys are from somewhere upstate, when did you move to New York?”

Lucy shifted in her seat. She would not think about him and what made her move back home.

“Late 2002. I had just gotten back from England; I went through a rough patch for a while and I wanted to start fresh some place where I could lose myself and not worry about everyone from the neighbors to the Mayor knowing your name. So as soon as I could I packed again and moved to New York. My father was supportive, but my Mamma was livid, she didn’t speak to me for a whole month.” she saw the confusion on his face. “That might not sound like a lot, but my Mamma is originally from Trento, Italy. She embodies all the stereotypes of an Italian woman you can think of. Not talking to me was maybe harder on her than it was on me!”

“My mother is like a quarter Italian so I can relate a little when she gets going is you better shut up and listen because she means business.” Chris nodded. He looked her over and Lucy had the distinct feeling he was trying to pierce some of her story together. He was much more perceptive than she initially thought, there would be no glossing over details with him. “England, uh? For dancing school?”

“Yeah… I joined when I was sixteen. Did almost six years with the company.”

He looked impressed. “That’s a whole lot of time dancing. What was the school like?”

“Demanding. We had to be the best one hundred percent of the time, you could lose your spot if you ever slacked on grades or on your dancing. I had a private tutor for classes, so I had no free time until I was finished with their version of high school. Then I got promoted to first soloist when I was twenty, so I barely know any touristy spots in London.”

“I keep wondering why you don’t want to tell me that you actually danced for the Royal Ballet of London and not some random school.” Chris gave her a pointed look and Lucy’s eyes widened. “Your sister is your biggest fan you know? She might have mentioned you danced with them once… or twenty times.”

Lucy looked away, her face heating up. Penny had been so supportive back in the day, even at thirteen, she was Lucy’s most supportive family member, encouraging her older sister to apply to the scholarship, staying in during the weekends so they could practice together. The events that preceded her return to the States still stung Penny and Lucy never thought her sister would look over them to hype her up to her friends.

“I don’t know really, I feel like I’m bragging when I mention their name. And some people look at my body and think ‘yeah right’ because a ballerina is supposed to be always this dainty girl and I’m now the opposite of that.” She waved her hand in front of her body. “I got rather crafty with not saying exactly where I studied, they mostly assume it was just a regular dancing school.”

“People are assholes.” He conceded.

The theater doors opened before Chris could comment further and they were ushered inside after handing their tickets to the greeter. They chose a seat near the middle row, moving all the way to the last seats, Chris pulling his cap down and slumping a little in the seat while everyone got seated around them. When the lights diminished, he righted himself up, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair.

Chris brought her arm over her shoulder, drawing her closer. He leaned into her, whispering in her ear. “I’m sure you were the cutest ballerina ever, but I much prefer the upgraded version of you.”

Even if she had any cute comebacks, and she didn’t, lights went up on the stage and the presenter introduced Professor Lightning, who proceeded to show the audience how Tesla coils worked and how to create lightning strikes at the comfort of their own lab. That was the first of the many corny science jokes of the thirty-minute show and Lucy lost herself in it, along with Chris.

..__..__..__..__..

“Maybe they’ll get it ready before we die, can you imagine it? A holiday trip to Mars?” Chris was walking backward while talking to Lucy, hands waving around in excitement, and she thought he looked like a little kid dreaming about what he’d do when he got older. It was the cutest thing.

They had just left the planetarium wing and they decided to head back down to the Starbucks locates at the atrium for some coffee. Chris had fake gagged when she ordered a Caramel Brûlée Latte and she made a show of drinking it slowly, moaning and making faces to get back at him. He ordered three double espressos in a grande cup, making the barista blink and repeat the order back to him.

They were now sitting by one of the many tables overlooking the Charles River, and Chris was dreaming of spending weekends on Mars instead of down in the Bahamas.

“I guess if you had thirty million dollars you could do it.” She agreed just to appease him. She saw his smile get bigger, probably already deciding which investments he’d give up being in that voyage. “You know, for each leg of the trip.”

Chris dropped his shoulder, defeated. “Maybe I could just go to the moon then. A quick getaway to look at Earth from another perspective.”

He looked serious and Lucy had a feeling he was indeed planning for that excursion.

“Would you really do it?” She inquired with a tilt of her head.

“Hell yes, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d crap my pants while going up but man, that would be so fucking cool.”

Lucy watched as Chris got a dreamy look on his face and she contemplated if he would think she was crazy if she got him a Christmas gift. She just had the perfect idea for one.

“Send me a picture when you get there ok? You’d pay to go, I wouldn’t go even if they’d paid me.”

“Is it the heights?”

“Actually no, I love rollercoasters and I’ve bungee-jumped before.”

“You what?!” He stared at her with wide eyes.

“I did yeah! It’s such a cool experience, I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“You better! So, if it isn’t heights, what is it?”

“I’m terrified of enclosed spaces. I can barely make out off an elevator without going into a mini panic attack.” Her body did a quick shake at thought of being inside a spaceship. “It’s not too much of being in a tight space but I need windows and I need to know I can quickly get out of the situation if the need arises. You can’t exactly do that while going to the moon.”

“I can see how that would pose a problem.” Chris nodded and finished his coffee. “How do you cope with flying?”

“I have a prescription for Xanax, but I try to avoid using it. I rely on lots and lots of distraction.” She picked her up her phone, unlocked and pulled up Spotify, showing him a playlist labeled Flying Sucks, and he scrolled through her picks. “I’m so glad I don’t need to turn off our phones anymore, I have my headphones on and music blaring from the moment I step into the plane.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but how does one go from Chopin to Slipknot in two songs?” He turned her phone back to her pointing from Nocturne op. 9 to Duality.

Lucy cocked her head at him, a grin on her face.

“My tastes are very singular,” she whispers trying to contain her laugh. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Chris paused for a bit and she saw the moment he got the joke.

“Did you… Did you just quote Fifty Shades Of Grey to me?” Chris was laughing so hard he dropped her phone on the table, his hand automatically landing on his chest. That was the third time she saw him doing that and vowed to try and make him laugh that hard again, it was the most adorable thing.

A few other visitors turned around startled by the sound of his laugh and Lucy shushed him, ineffectively. She saw a teenage girl squinting at Chris, trying to place the man sitting two tables away from her and Lucy immediately got up and stood in front of him, blocking her view.

“Let’s go, doofus, there’s a very curious teen staring at you and I say she’s seconds away from figuring it out who you are.” She gestured with a thumb to the table behind her. Lucy grabbed his hand and pulled him up, Chris lowering his cap while they left the cafeteria area.

“I still can’t believe you quoted that awful movie at me,” Chris said while tossing their cups on a nearby bin.

“And I don’t understand how you know that line at all.” She pointed at him, waggling her finger.

“They uh, may have offered me the role?” Chris glanced sheepishly at her.

“THEY WHAT?” Lucy shrieked and immediately covered her mouth. Chris pulled them into an empty alcove to get away from prying eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling but what?”

“They offered me the role. Twice. The second time they even threw veto power on whom would’ve play Anastacia.” He shook his head. “It was a hard pass from me. The sex scenes in the book were passable, but the plot felt iffy, very constricted and oversimplified.”

“You’re the first guy I know who actually have an opinion about the plot and do not dismiss it as being mommy porn.” Lucy praised him.

“I make a point of having an informed opinion and not rehash what others think.” Chris nodded. “If that means I have to read a book about kinky fuckery, hey, let’s do it!”

Lucy threw her head back with a laugh and they resumed their walk, discussing their favorite books and authors and soon it became very clear they did not share the same interests. Chris tended towards non-fiction, biographies, science and spirituality books while Lucy rarely picked up something that wasn’t about fantasy, especially vampires and wizards. They did agree on Harry Potter and A Brief History Of Time, so they called it a win anyway.

They circled back to the blue wing where the Butterfly Garden was located when a voice over the intercom announced that everyone with tickets for the five pm showing was now welcomed to enter the Garden, and they quickly made their way there.

They started the tour on the opposite side of the entrance, walking around a path brimming with the colorful wings of the kaleidoscope who lived there. Lucy took pictures of her favorites and marveled at how nature worked, turning into what most would consider an ugly nuisance into such an exquisite animal.

The thick, lush foliage extended all the way to the glass ceiling, the various shades of green a great contrast against the gray skies above. Each section of the garden filled with different types of flowers and plants to attract the butterflies, it was a cacophony of plants from all over the world, turning the area into something quite magical in Lucy’s eyes.

Chris stopped here and there to discuss whatever butterfly they could see, Chris pointing what he remembered of his previous visit and telling Lucy anecdotes of his time there with his family.

“Then he convinced Shanna to lick the picture! So she goes up, takes the mounted frame from the wall and low and behold, licked the fucking leaf!” Chris remembered laughing. “Of course, the moment she lifted the frame a silent alarm must’ve sounded somewhere, and two guards appeared out of thin air… and that’s how the Evans Family got banned from the MOS for six months.”

Lucy wheezed as she laughed, trying to control her breathing. “Poor Shanna! You and your brother were not kind with your sisters uh?”

“We’re vicious sometimes.” He agreed. “But we’re also very protective, I got in trouble once because I bit a guy for pushing Carly off the swing set. Granted I was six at the time, but man, I drew blood and everything! Dad had to pay for his hospital visit and I lost dessert rights for a month.”

He pouted, making Lucy giggle.

“Your family sounds amazing Chris! Are you guys doing something special for Christmas?”

“Mom’s hosting a huge party this year, so the whole family will be there. Lots of Evans and Capuanos, plenty of food and booze, games, I live for those parties, they are my favorite, so much love going on. Big breakfast in the morning, let them go crazy opening presents, then we take the kids sledding or to ice skate on a pond nearby and then we all gather to the party. How about you?”

“That sounds lovely. It’s just the immediate family this Christmas for us. Mamma insists on having all her kids there at least every other year, it’s a deal she makes with all in-laws when they become family.” She paused. Lucy was the only one who had never taken a boyfriend to one of their gatherings. She had mastered the art of ignoring the looks of pity her family sent her way every time she arrived alone, dodging questions about her failed love life now second nature. “We don’t have many relatives in America, mamma being Italian and Dad from Scotland, so we kinda created our own family traditions; we decorate cookies on the 24th, mamma chooses the Yule log, and we sit around talking about our year while listening to the Beatles and drinking wine. Then on Christmas Day we go ice skating, hold the ‘Annual Seabrook Snowman Challenge’, which I suck at by the way, and consume way too much wine and crostoli.”

“I love crostoli, my mom never got the recipe right from her grandma so hers it’s not so great… But I’ll deny it to my grave if you ever tell her I said that.” He tapped the end of her nose, making her giggle. “It’s been such a long time since I had them though.”

“Mom makes a ton of them to give the neighbors as gifts, I’ll save you some and send them back with Penny.”

“That’d be awesome, thank you.” He ran a hand through her hair and brought her closer, intending to kiss her. His lips almost touch her when a group of kids no older than six-year-old breezes by them, screaming ewwww and making kissing noises. “I guess you got cooties.”

They giggle and separate, but he clasps her hand while they toured the winding paths.

Walking further into the garden they got to a small section where hundreds of white or blue butterflies floated over the flowers, enjoying a rare ray of sun that filtered from the glass ceiling above. Chris took his phone out from his front pocket and handed it over to Lucy before embracing her, arms closing around her front and pulling her closer, her back molded to his front. She shivered at the full body contact and had trouble opening the camera app. Searching for the best angle, she took a couple of pictures of them surrounded by the clouds of wings, including one where a blue butterfly sat on Chris’ shoulders and Lucy had a surprised look on her face, which quickly become their favorite.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the museum will close in ten minutes.”

The voice over the intercom made them both jump, and Chris looked at the clock.

“Wow, it’s almost six already?” He looked surprised.

“Are you serious?” Lucy couldn’t believe how fast the day had gone by.

Yesterday had been amazing, all the teasing leading to a frenzied and amazing night of sex but if she had to choose her favorite time with Chris had been today. There were no awkward moments, not long silences where they didn’t know what to say to each other. As much as she was pressed not call it a date at the beginning, there was no denying today had been exactly that. And she loved every second of it.

Now came the hard part, letting go of Chris and going back to her own life.

“At least it’s not snowing yet, roads should be clear.” He talked absently. Chris scratched his beard appearing to miles away from the museum already and Lucy tried not to let it bother her.

The escalator had a line and the elevator was for seniors, pregnant women and people in need of assistance, so they took the stairs, keeping closer to the wall as to not draw much attention.

He picked up her left hand, drawing patterns on her palm before twisting their fingers together while they descended the stairs to get to the garage. Lucy noticed how touch drove he had been the entire day, always reaching out to her, holding her hand while they walked, circling her waist while they waited in line for tickets. It occurred to her he would distance himself from her while they were in public and she understood why he would do it but in a deeper level, she was elated when he didn’t. She thought back to that morning’s conversation; I won’t shy away from someone I care about’, and her heart skipped a beat. Could he care about her in a more permanent way than a one-night stand? She shook her head. No, that wasn’t possible, right?

Then how you would explain your own feelings? Her heart had terrible timing, as always. Okay, so maybe today had been better than good. I was a fucking great day okay, could you at least own up to that? And Lucy couldn’t argue because it really had been that.

At least she’d had the memories of their time together, the last thirty hours had been incredible, and she knew a smile would always accompany those memories, no matter what happened from now on.

They got to the garage after a few minutes, people shuffling around them to get to their cars as quickly as possible. They walked fast, not bothering with their coats, just wanting to get inside his car. Lucy was really looking forward to sliding against the heated leather seats.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” Chris exclaimed pulling her along. His wide stride made her almost run after him, air leaving her mouth in smalls white clouds as she breathed out. He hit his key fob a few meters before they reached the car and engine came to life with a hum. He opened the door for her, and she placed a sweet kiss on his cheek before getting inside. Chris quickly went around to the driver’s seat and moaned when the heated air hit his skin. “Oh, much better.”

“Do you think Audi would sell me just one of these seats? The heating at the studios sucks, I’d love to have one of these for my office!” She wriggled happily in her seat.

“Or you could buy a proper office chair that does the same thing?” He pointed at her when he got behind the wheel. Soft jazz music filled the air around them when he turned the key, the melodic sound swirling around them.

“Uhm I could, but then I couldn’t tell people how I convinced fucking Audi to make me a custom chair. Now that’s a story.” She chuckled and turned on her seat, facing him.

“So buy a chair, slap an Audi sticker to the back of it and tell the story anyway, how ‘bout that?”

“Uhm… There’s an idea.”

He laughed. “Why are we discussing this particular one anyway?”

“’ Cuz there’s like a hundred cars trying to leave at the same time and we’re stalling?”

“Such a smart girl.” Chris reached over the console and picked up her hand, playing with her rings. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

He nodded and concentrated on the traffic inside the garage, managing to get out and merge into the exit lane, all with one hand, the other still holding hers.

Why in the world did she say she wasn’t hungry when he asked? She wasn’t, that was true, but they could have gone somewhere to just talk, she could have a few more moments with him and now she blew it. God, she was stupid. She thumped her head in the back seat, cursing herself. Was it too late to say something, hey, changed my mind, let’s go grab a pizza or something.

She kept her body turned to him as he drove, a leg bent on the seat, studying his profile, the little bump on his nose, the mole on his left cheek, how his beard was not dark blond but auburn like Penny’s hair. She wanted to commit it all to memory so she could relive it once she got back home. Maybe daydream about not being a fucking coward and ask him to take her back to his place instead of back to Garrets.

They drove in silence for the next ten minutes, the only sounds inside the car coming from the speakers. He pulled to the curb of Garret’s house and Chris killed the engine, turning to Lucy. She felt the intensity of his gaze while she studied his face, waiting for his final words. This was it. He would thank her for a good time, say she was a nice girl and send her away.

Was it even possible to have feelings for someone you’d met in person just the day before? Maybe it was just some leftover infatuation from the night before? Sure, she had heard of him from Garret and Penny, they were practically his personal cheerleader squad, but meeting Chris had been a whole different experience. She couldn’t remember the last time she’s had so much fun with a man. It wasn’t just the sex, which by the way had blown her mind after twenty plus months of celibacy, but how he’d made her feel like the most important person in the world when he talked to her, how he listened with his whole body, really paying attention to what she was talking about. How he laughed at her jokes, cracking up with that adorable and dorkable laugh of his. He had cut through her walls and her fears with his witty banter and a charming personality and she had been impotent to resist him. She liked everything about him. She was falling for the guy.

No.

She had already fallen.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

Stupid, silly girl. Why on earth would someone like him ever want more than a one-time thing with the likes of her?

She screamed at that poisonous voice to shut up, she didn’t want to hear it today. She concentrated on the affirmations Doctor Clark had given her.

She was worth it; she was not perfect but every being deserved love.

She was happy with her body; maybe she wasn’t a size four or even a six, but she was stylish, some days she would be so bold as to call herself sexy.

She was a good person; a loving friend, a kind person, a passionate lover,

She was deserving of love.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, willing away all bad thoughts, breathing in and out, centering herself.

Maybe not his love, but he had awakened something inside her, if Captain America himself thought she was worthy of his time, that voice surely must be wrong.

“Lucy?”

She opened her eyes and leaned forward, resting her hand on his knee.

“Thank you for an amazing time, Chris. I haven’t had this much fun in quite a few years.”

She kissed his cheek, lingering just one second more. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she moved to open the door.

“What, no, Lucy wait.” He hit the lock button, breathing rapidly. “Just wait, give a man a moment to breathe, will ya’?”

“Chris?” She tilted her head, watching as he took deep breathes, counting on his fingers while murmuring what looked like affirmations, much the same she did earlier.

“Sorry, I had to run a few scenarios in my head. A trick my therapist taught me for when I get anxious.” He explained, tangling the fingers of one of their hands and pulling her to him, kissing her square in the mouth. “None of that cheek kissing thing alright?” he pleaded when he released her.

“Alright?” she had no idea what to answer so she nodded instead.

“Good, good. We had a great day together, didn’t we?” his free hand reached for a stray lock of her hair, twirling it between his fingers.

“I believe I thanked you for it already.” She looked nonplussed at him.

“That you did baby.” He kissed her again, this time biting her lower lip. “What if this wasn’t the end of that time?”

“Chris?”

“What if instead of dropping you here, you get out, get your bags and go home with me?” his clears eyes shone with hope and he licked his lips, waiting.

“You know we leave after lunch, right, I told you that.” Her heart was speeding up and she was sure he could feel her hands getting clammy. Was he really asking her to spend the night again?

“That would give us more,” he checked his watch, “eighteen more hours together.”

“Are you sure Chris? I’m okay with this being the end of our little rendezvous, I really liked the day we had.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

His smile vanished.

“Oh, unless you don’t want to, I can understand that.” He chewed on his lip, defeated.

“Unlock the door, Chris.”

“Okay.” He hit the button and bowed his head. “Can I… can I kiss you goodnight?”

“Yes, you can kiss me goodnight.” She opened the door but didn’t move, waiting for him to look up. “You can kiss me goodnight after I have my wicked way with you after we get back to your place.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! I was beating myself up for not saying yes when you asked if I was hungry.”

His face broke up in a huge grin.

“We can eat, then go back home.”

“I just want to spend more time with you, I don’t care what we do.”

His lips were cold when she kissed him, the outside air rapidly entering the car, but neither cared, too lost in each other to bother closing the door.

“I’ll go grab my bags.” She said when they separated.

“Hurry up woman, we have just nineteen hours and fifty-five minutes left.”

She threw her head back and laughed, getting out of the car and running up the stairs.

“Hey Lucy?” he yelled from the lowered window. She turned to him, after knocking on Garret’s door. “I hope you don’t have plans to sleep tonight.”

[writeoutsidethebox-blog1]

Ch 1: The Assistant

"Good morning Ms. Harris," the secretary greeted from her desk.

"Shannon," Autumn replied, heels clicking on the tile as she walked down the hall to her office. Sinking into the plush leather chair, she pulled a MacBook Air from her bag and set it on the desk. Meetings. Lunch. More meetings. Product testing, the Editor in Chief thought, scrolling through the day's schedule. Reaching for her coffee, she found nothing but air. No assistant, no coffee, she mused, remembering the previous one had quit last week.

"Shannon?" she called.

"Yes?" the secretary answered, cracking open the door.

"Did you hire a new assistant yet?"

"Yes I did, he should be-"

"Good morning Ms. Harris, your coffee," a young man purred, walking into the office and setting a cup down on her desk.

"And what would that be?" she replied, eyeing it suspiciously.

"A four shot skim milk latte with two pumps of hazelnut syrup from the place down the road." He grinned cheekily.

"Not to shabby," the editor said, taking a small sip and glancing at her secretary. "Does the assistant have a name?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, this is Connor Williams."

"Thank you Shannon."

"Of course," she said, waving politely as she shut the door behind her.

"Has Shannon given you the run-down yet?" The woman asked, scanning her emails.

"Sort of?" She glanced up.

"What does 'sort of' mean?"

"She briefly went over daily routines, then sent me for coffee." Autumn nodded, going back to her computer.

"So you know coffee, how about breakfast?" she asked.

"Something about croissants?"

"Yes. Fresh croissants from a bakery near the coffee shop, and a bowl of strawberries. Get a dozen, I have one or two and the rest go in the break room. You know where that is right?"

"No."

"It's past Shannon's desk and down the hall to your left."

"Good to know." He smiled sheepishly, looking down at his oxford clad feet.

"Daily activities include coffee and breakfast that should be on my desk when I arrive or soon after. I get here around 7:45. As my assistant I expect you to keep track of my schedule and notify me fifteen minutes before. Please go over the day's events when you bring me my coffee. You will accompany me most places unless I tell you not to. Saturday's are usually errands, and Sundays you have off unless there is an emergency. The rest is simply what I need day to day," she explained.

"Alright. Do you need me to do anything right now?"

"Breakfast, and please get my schedule from Shannon. She's been keeping track since the last assistant quit."

"Okay, I'll be back soon. I charge the company card I was given, right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"No problem Ms. Harris," he said, turning to leave. The door clicked closed, and Autumn collapsed into her chair. It will be a long day, she thought, taking a sip of her coffee. Silence settled over the room as she replied to more emails, the keyboard clicking softly.

"Hmm." She tapped her fingers thoughtfully, staring at the blank screen.

A knock rang out, disrupting her concentration. "Ms. Harris?"

She sighed. "Come in."

"Am I interrupting?" he asked shyly, setting a croissant on the edge of the desk.

"A little," she admitted, reaching for the pastry. "But that's okay, I need a break."

Sitting back, she took a bite, relishing in the airy texture. Light and fluffy, with just the right amount of butter. Autumn looked expectantly at her assistant, who stared right back, bag of croissants still clutched in his hand.

"Well," she prompted. "Schedule?"

"Oh, right," he said, rooting through his pockets. Coming up with a rumpled piece of paper, he read aloud, "At 9:30 you have a meeting with the publishers, 11:00 you meet with the editors to approve final drafts, 12:30 is lunch, then you're free until 3:00 for product testing." She sighed. It was going to be a long day.

-

"Shit." Autumn looked up from the article she was reading, scanning the room for her assistant.

"What?" he asked, looking up from the papers he was filing.

"I forgot to get my dry cleaning and I need that shirt for a business dinner tonight."

He stood, setting the pile on the floor next to the lone filing cabinet. "I can go get it for you."

"Um," she hesitated. The editor didn't like other people handling her clothes, especially someone she had yet to form an opinion of.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, confused.

"No, it's just-"

"She's a control freak," one of the editors finished, smirking from the open door.

"Carlos," she groaned, shooing him with a flick of her hand.

"Oh come on, lighten up. Everyone in the office knows, never mind you assistant," he insisted, grinning.

"In my defense, I just started today," Connor cut in, looking between the two.

"Enough," the editor in chief hissed, effectively silencing the other two. "Carlos, if I remember correctly, you have a manuscript due tomorrow that will be on my desk at 9AM if you want to keep your ass in that nice leather chair."

"I'm going, I'm going," he insisted, turning to leave.

"Who's that?" Connor asked, watching him go.

"One of the magazine article editors, he's damn good at his job but has a habit of missing deadlines. He acts like an asshole but he's got a big heart."

"Sounds like you're fond of him," he replied, a twinge of jealousy in his tone.

"Anyway," Autumn said, ignoring it. She shook her head, what reason would he have to be jealous? "The cleaners are on W 26th Street, just tell them you're picking up for Autumn Harris. Charge the company card. It should be a couple blouses, a pencil skirt, a little black dress, and an evening gown. I need you back here to file so go quickly."

"Alright, I'll be back," he said, setting the papers on her desk.

"Be safe, it's icy out there," she called, glancing up at the man.

"Don't worry, I will."

-

"I swear to god if that manuscript is not on my desk at 9AM tomorrow-"

"I promise it will be!" he sang, running out the meeting room door. The editor in chief sighed, rubbing her temples. She could already feel a headache coming on.

"And the rest of you know what you're doing?" She looked around, eyeing each of them as they nodded, shuffling papers back into their piles.

"On my desk by 4:30 please, I want to read them over before submitting tomorrow morning. That's all for today, nice work everyone." The woman sighed, gathering her things before moving from the conference room back to her office. Connor looked up from his filing, flashing her a smile.

"Hi," he greeted. "How was the meeting?"

"It was fine, I have a headache though, and it's not even 1:00PM."

"Want me to get you some ibuprofen with lunch?" He stood, neatly stacking the papers yet to be filed on the floor.

"Yes please, I'd like a grilled chicken sandwich with avocado, mozzarella, tomatoes, and spiced mayonnaise on a ciabatta roll. Just go to the cafe downstairs and ask for a chicken sandwich for me, they'll know how to make it. I'd like a side salad too, and a green juice. Your meals are covered by the company, so feel free to take a break and eat downstairs. You're also welcome to eat up here with me if you like."

"Okay, I think I'll bring it up here if that's alright," he glanced over, unsure.

"Perfectly fine."

-

"You can set those down on the table over there," Autumn said, setting her book down.

"Are you sure? I can file while I eat," he replied.

"Nonsense, I was always taught to break for meals, no matter how busy I was. Plus, we can get to know each other a little better." She made her way to the table in the corner of the spacious office, sinking into one of the chairs. Gesturing to the chair across from her, Autumn looked on expectantly as her assistant sat down.

"So," she said, picking up her sandwich. "Where are you from?"

"The suburbs, Evanston specifically. And you?" He took a bite of his pizza.

"Arlington Heights, nowhere terribly interesting. Not compared to the city at least."

"Do you ever miss it?" he asked, looking out the window at the city, buildings glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Sometimes," she answered. "There was this one Asian marketplace my mom would always take us to on the weekends if we were good. We'd get to have lunch in the food court and pick out a treat at the little bakery. She'd get groceries for the week while we looked at the bookstore. It was nice."

He smiled softly, "Sounds like it."

"So what brought you here? Working for me I mean."

"Well, I just finished my Master's in Communication over at UIC and I needed a better job than waiting tables at the Italian place off the Godfrey Hotel. I made great tips, but I needed something a little more... professional."

Autumn snorted. "Nothing says professional like personal assistant."

"Hey, it looks better than serving food to snobby rich people."

"This is true." She laughed, taking another bite of her sandwich.

"Plus, magazines are a form of communication. You're shaping people's minds and opinions through words and images. It's pretty cool if you think about it."

"Huh." They ate the rest of the meal in silence, only interrupted by the occasional comment.

-

"Okay, I'm done with filing. I still have a pile of folders that didn't fit in the drawer though," Connor called from across the room, shutting the filing cabinet.

"Alright, well that's good enough for today. I'll order new ones, those are getting old anyways. You can get your stuff and walk out with me, I still have a few things to go over with you before tomorrow," Autumn said, putting her laptop back in her bag, and grabbing her phone off the desk. She exited her office, Connor following dutifully.

"See you tomorrow Shannon," she called, waving as she went by the secretary's desk.

"Goodbye Ms. Harris."

-

Her heels clicked on the concrete as they crossed the parking garage. "So make sure you have my coffee on my desk by 8:00, but 7:45 is better because that's when I get in usually. Whether you'll be free after you leave the office depends on the night, sometimes I'll need you to run errands. I think that's it. Oh! And I need your phone number," she handed him a matte black iPhone into which he quickly typed his number.

"That's my cell, my apartment doesn't have a landline so I'll make sure I'm paying attention if you text," he replied, handing it back.

"Perfect. This is me, I'll text if I need anything and I'll see you tomorrow?" She stopped in front of a sleek black BMW, turning to look at her assistant.

"Of course."

"Good," she opened the door, tossing her bag in the passenger seat. "I assume you know how to get home from here?"

"Yep I'll be fine," Connor said, running a hand through his hair. She gave him a wave, starting the car and zooming off.

"Wow."

[a-diary-of-delicacy-blog]

Series 1: Days Leading to Death Part 1

The days leading up to my death are interesting, in the sense that a lot happened, not necessarily that intrigue was spiked. The events were plenty and lengthy, and the only real way to describe them is with this narrative. I am writing this to you from beyond the grave. Or, more accurately, from my bed, but now, as you are reading this, I am, in fact, six feet under. Or maybe they cremated me. Or maybe no one found me and I am just a missing child. I don’t really know. I haven’t planned how I want to do this. I always envisioned myself in a bath of pink water, two long gashes down my arms. And then sometimes I thought I was going to be the girl on the white plush carpet, foam coming out of my mouth and a stomach of antidepressants and sleeping pills. But, in full honesty, I think I am too weak for that. Or maybe just too lazy. I mean, if you really think about it, I would have to find access to all those pills, firstly. And I’ve always been a bitch when it comes to blood. The first time, it was almost an accident. I was in my room, the sun was streaming into my window, but it was still kind of dull. I had cleaned my room, lied down to listen to some music, and I just sort of felt like sleeping. I just wanted to be asleep, and maybe not wake up for a while. Maybe I could even get out of school the next day. I ate some sleeping medication, not really trying to kill myself, but successfully putting myself into a 42 hour coma of sorts. My mom told me that when she tried to wake me up from school that I told her I was sick and that I had been throwing up. The bathroom was greasy and smelled of vomit. I have no memory of ever getting up, stumbling to the bathroom and throwing up half of the pills I took, but apparently I did. The mess proved that. My second suicide attempt was both a few slashes to my wrists and a few handfuls of ibuprofen p.m. However, my mother ended up finding me and cleaning me up. I think that if I had just bled a little more, I could have actually gone to the hospital. And the third and most recent, I don’t know as if I would have actually died, but something inside of me wanted it to kill me so damn bad. I just stopped eating. Just like that. I didn’t eat for days. I was shaking, sleeping 20 hours a day, mostly intermittent naps. But I just refused to eat. I told my parents that I didn’t feel well, and only pretended to nibble. The only times I did eat, I threw up after. I guess in my head I felt that I would be able to deprive myself of the nutrients and energy it needed and I would simply die. This lasted several days. By the time I reached a normal diet again, I had been so influenced by what I had done that I couldn’t ever see myself going back to the way I was. I needed a way of controlling the things that happened in my life. I couldn’t control the baby my dad was now expecting, or the court hearings my mother was serving. I couldn’t face the college applications and the due dates. I’m not really sure what I expect. It has been a little over two weeks since this happened, trying to kill myself by not eating. I don’t think it will be immediate. I don’t think that it will be easy. I think that this is the most not-lazy, least-bitchy way I could kill myself. Ever. It is going to be slow. It is going to be painful. It is going to be consuming and toxic. Even now, I can feel how the vomit has been corroding my teeth and my mouth. I can feel how shaky I am after a fast and how my knees are starting to hurt from the smallest of strains. And this is when I still eat! What is going to happen when I really commit? When I really get to fasting five days at a time? Right now my parents watch what I do very closely, especially my stepmom. She comes home from work every day and asks me what I ate for breakfast and for lunch. I can’t tell her that I eat at school anymore. I haven’t been in school for months now. I can’t tell her that I have been eating at my mom’s. I barely visit there anymore. I have been throwing small amounts of food away, or feeding it to the dog. Just a slice of bread here or a granola bar there, just enough to give credit to my lies. They don’t notice yet, and I don’t think they ever will. I know I am not skinny, I am practically huge, in fact. I am overweight, I can see that in the mirror. I know that it is not just my head playing tricks on me. I know I can’t have body dysmorphia or whatever. That isn’t possible; why? Because I can’t just see my body and all its immense imperfections. I can feel them. I can grab at the fat under my ribs, and tug at the skin on my hips. It’s not just an illusion that my hands can’t fit around my thighs, not even close to. It’s not a mirage that my calves jiggle when I walk. Body dysmorphia is for people who are skinny and think that they are fat. Not fat people who think they are fat. I suppose the conclusion that I am trying to reach is that this time I can be subtle. Did you know that after my second suicide attempt, I wasn’t allowed to go out, or see anyone, or do anything at all for six whole months? I was grounded for trying to take my life. I don’t know if anyone knows about the first time (until now), and I don’t know if I want them to. My parents like to hold my past over my head. At dinner parties they will bring up my self-harm tendencies and comment on the disturbing pictures that used to be painted on my walls. They like to make comments about how disgusting I was, cutting and scarring my body. But they don’t know about the beauty that I felt when I did that. It was something that I could control. And isn’t that the whole point? I preached about it back up there about control. I can’t control anything! Expect for my own body. I can control its bruises and the blood and my sleep and my weight. Even though it might take a few punches, razors, pills, and fasts, I can control it. And I haven’t tried everything, of course. I don’t burn myself (I’ve been a bitch about fire and heat since I burned my arm baking cookies; I was ten and I still have the scar eight years later) and I haven’t tried tying a rope around my neck. But I like to believe that I have a fair choice of past experiences and this plan that I have come up with ranks by far the best. They won’t notice this until it is far too late. They won’t notice this and ground me and keep me from seeing anyone. They won’t notice until my bones protrude and my hair falls out. Hell, maybe they won’t even notice until I’m dead. I guess that really doesn’t matter anyway. I leave for college in four months so they can’t really shove food down my throat after that. I can see myself as a pretty little university freshman, my roommate asks me if I want to go to the dining hall with her; “No, that’s okay, I have to study.” I say as I casually grip my thighs, fingertip to fingertip. I can see myself slowly withering away. That is, of course, if I don’t die long before then. Like I said, I’m really not sure how I am going to do this. Maybe I wait until I die in my first semester of college, after only eating an apple for three weeks. Maybe I’ll die tonight! I have my old razors in my drawer, tucked neatly in a packet just begging to slash some soft skin. Maybe I will just go downtown and jump off the bridge. When I was thirteen, I learned that kids that jump off that bridge on dares or just for fun often don’t make it back up. You see, when the old bridge collapsed or was taken down or whatever, they left the old frame in the river below. So the giant metal beams and the concrete columns are all still there, just a dozen or so feet under the water. The new bridge is so high, that you can get a pretty good depth by jumping from it. It wouldn’t be too hard to position the jump just right, just where the highest part of the sunken metal is. I could just do that. Right now. Nice and easy. But I prefer this, I prefer to die the way I deserve to, slow and painfully. I suppose this is taking self-hatred to a whole new level, where my perpetual suicide turns into a game of how long I can keep myself alive and in pain. So far, I guess, since making the decision to die, it has been a long time that that game has been played. I just keep moving my pawns, my razors and pills and calories. And as I get closer and closer to the end, I seem only to feel lighter. Not necessarily in terms of weight, but maybe in responsibility. If I die, I won’t have to worry about college loans or the new baby brother. But maybe these are things I want to worry about? See, I am just so conflicted. I want to die, more desperately than I could ever possibly describe. But I also have five baby brothers, one of whom I haven’t even met, and a baby sister. What would happen to their tiny little hearts to never see their big sister again? I suppose it may hurt my parents. My stepmom would be resentful, my dad would blame himself. I can’t imagine how my mom would take it. She would probably fall to another heroin relapse. My stepdad would call me selfish but be sad anyway. He would be right, of course. To leave all my family, my lover. Jon would take it hard. He does that. He likes to believe that most things are his fault when they aren’t. He blames himself for the breakup of his previous girlfriend. But from loving him for a year now, and for many more that may have come, I can tell that he could not have caused any ill feelings. He says that he can’t even tell me why they broke up because he is far too ashamed. But I know that there is nothing that he could have done. He is the best person. I am unbelievably in love with him and I am completely bewildered by how he has chosen me. I can’t list more than three reasons to be with me; pussy, comfort, attention. And while these are not the reasons that he is with me, knowing this because I know he is not at all, even close, this shallow, I know that he must have other reasons that I could never begin to understand. I am not pretty; any photo of me could tell you that. I am not skinny, I am not overly smart, though I know my way around an intellectual phrase or two, and I am not funny or interesting. I try to think that I am but I can tell by the way people react to my “jokes” and my sense of humor that I am awkward at best. So I am left to question the exact reasons for his being here and I can only hope that they are not good enough reasons to really hurt him when I die. And who knows? While I fantasize about how I will kill myself, I will also imagine the future I have with him. He has an amazing job working for an amazing salary, and he is barely out of his junior year of college. I am on my way to a degree. He dreams of building a house upstate, a bay window and a wraparound porch just for me. We have plans to road trip and see the world. Do I want to give that up? I don’t really know why this would even be a question. Maybe I am just doing this for attention. Maybe I am just looking for some sort of reason to be different. I have no reason to be sad, besides the physical aspects of my own self that are so damn easy to change. But I simply don’t like the simple responsibilities of living. Breathing hurts. Walking is strenuous. Every word that I speak makes me realize further how much better things would be if I never spoke in the first place. Mirrors are my worst enemy, or maybe it is my own head that is the problem. I assume a lot of girls would kill for a body like mine, curvy and voluptuous. Well, all I can say is that they can have it. I don’t want my body, with hips and an ass and good tits. I want bones and goosebumps and bruises. I don’t want to look the way I do. But this is no reason to just kill yourself. So I ask myself again why I do. I simply don’t want to live in a world of constant approval seeking. Everything that I do is for someone else; how I dress, the school I choose, my haircuts. It’s a constant attempt at impressing people that I don’t care about. And it isn’t enough to just “do it for myself,” because I don’t deserve self-fulfillment anymore. I am way beyond the point of deserving the things I have. I don’t deserve Jon, with the way I fight and treat him. I am ungrateful and unappreciative and I still have the nerve to pick fights for no reason. I don’t deserve the laptop I am typing this on, or the bed I sleep in or the shoes I wear. I don’t deserve any of this silver platter shit that has been handed to me my whole fucking life so what’s the point of pretending I deserve the air I breathe or the food I eat? I fill out these damn applications, asking me about the community service I’ve done. I haven’t done a single thing for any other person but myself. Whenever a situation presents itself, the first thing that crosses my mind is “how can Sky benefit from this? What can Sky gain from this seemingly selfless task?” And if I can’t come up with an answer, I ignore the whole situation completely. I will do nothing if I don’t get something from it. I am a selfish bitch and it has taken me almost exactly eighteen fucking years to realize it. And it was eighteen wasted years for that matter. I have nothing to show for when I have been alive. I ruined a couple of teens lives when I was conceived, I made some younger siblings lives hell by being a bully as a kid, and I started countless fights and problems in the lives of everyone around me. I could detail endless lists of every little thing I have ruined for Jon, my brothers, my parents, my school mates, my coworkers. I could write on sticky notes and label every person with the misdeed I have committed against them. Some may require just one little note, and others would have novels taped to their backs. So why do I deserve the air that God or whoever the fuck determined that my grandpa didn’t, or that all those beautiful souls who have lost their lives to the hands of fucking bullies like me. Why do they all get death and I get to walk this earth free and happy? What gives me the right to what they didn’t get? NOTHING. Every time I eat, I am succumb to deafening and completely overwhelming guilt. Not just because of the fact that I aim for double digit weight, but also because I feel as though only good people deserve the pleasures in life. And the taste of my parents’ delicious food is fit for queens, not scum like me. So, then, why do I find myself overeating? Is it hunger, or part of this deluded disorder I have convinced myself I have. It can’t be that. I am literally just gluttonous. That is the bottom line. I know I don’t have an eating disorder, because I eat. I binge. I know I don’t have an eating disorder because I am not underweight. I am fat. And I know this based on my reflection. I need no other proof. But I want to change that. I will work hard until I am as delicate as I want to be. I need this. I have no other purpose than the control I claim to have over myself. And there we find another contradiction; I say that I have control but I obey weight and hunger. I SHOULD OBEY NOTHING BUT ME. If I say not to eat, then I shouldn’t be fucking eating. I just ate a huge dinner and a dessert with my baby brothers and I have never been a bigger disgrace. By Friday, when I return to a room with a working scale, I will be lighter. And not just because of my wanting to lose weight, but this is the path to suicide. I want to consider this my fallback plan. If I am too much of a bitch to put a gun in my mouth or slit my arms again, then I will just use this. I will starve to death. And worst comes to worse, I will just be a really sad skinny bitch. And I won’t be making excuses anymore. Tomorrow, I suppose, can serve as a restart. These last few days I haven’t been following the rules. I have been eating more than one meal, snacking. Exceeding my calorie limit. How can I have an eating disorder if I enjoy eating so much? Most people set their limit and then that is that, but I literally just cannot do this anymore. I will be the way I want to, so that I can at least die skinny. I’m sick of everything going wrong. I either don’t take enough pills, or don’t cut deep enough, or whatever. But not anymore. My mom isn’t here to clean me up this time. I remember her and Shawn yelling at me in the bathroom, my arms all bloody and I could barely stand. I couldn’t see, the pills were clouding my eyes. They screamed at me and made me wash off my arms. I was still bleeding. There was blood all over the place downstairs. They made sleep upstairs. I can only remember them yelling, and then in the morning I said I needed to shower, but mom said I had to leave for school now. She wouldn’t let me wear a long sleeve shirt, she said everyone needed to see what I had done. So I left my arms to be seen, countless slashes on the left, and one long vertical slit on the other. I remember very little of that day. It’s all in and out. The pills were messing with my head. I thought I was unconscious but everyone at school told me that I was awake, but not moving, or blinking. I don’t remember my classes, my presentations, going to the office trying to call home. But apparently all of it happened. So was that what it is like to be on drugs? Like hardcore ones, not like pot and shit, but the bad ones. Is that what happens? I fucking hope not because I hallucinated like fuck. I imagined people were talking to me, that they were saying my name, in a completely silent room. I must have looked like a fool. Or maybe a stoner. Or a crazy. Either way, I didn’t realize anything until I got home. I remember sitting at the table and realizing that I didn’t remember anything from school that day. I had no friends to reach out to. So I cried in the dark, going to sleep at seven o’clock in the evening. And I suppose I was okay the next morning, but I really don’t remember. From that day on, my memory was spotty, for about a year, I just had trouble remembering simple things. I don’t know what all those pills did to me, but the effects were scary after that. It makes me wonder what would have happened had I succeeded. If I had only taken those few extra pills, or lost that little extra blood. What would have happened? Maybe I would be happy for once. And there it is again, my selfish brain taking over my grateful one. I have a perfectly good life. Besides some slip ups with my mother and her fucking antics, some high school drama, I have a life some people would kill for. But because I hate myself so god damn much, I can’t seem to appreciate it. So what does this mean for my future? Will I ever learn to love myself? Maybe if I’m skinny. If I don’t die first. Maybe. But so much building up to this decision has made “recovery” or whatever seem completely impossible. So I guess the days leading up to my death are actually years, and they may not be over just yet. I don’t really know yet.

[globalsource-blog]

Rotterdam -> Berlin, Part 3

Let’s get straight to the point here, I have taken a long time to serialize this road trip. While I’d like to imagine every one of you reading this has been waiting at the edge of your seat, anticipating the next update as eagerly as I waited for the hammocks I just got in the post, I also recognize I’ve kept people waiting a long time. If this post was a hammock, then if I were you I’d have made a complaint about the shipping time by now. Apologies. In compensation, here’s a great album of African percussion to listen to while you read this post:

Hand-wringing out of the way, let’s do a quick recap. The characters in the story which we’re resuming are: yours truly, the fighting pride of Pateley Bridge Stan Sands, and Arthur “shall we just do it” Delamare. Our heroes are cycling about 850km from Hook of Holland to Berlin to raise money for Médecins sans Frontières (our JustGiving is still live, if you’re reading this and haven’t donated, the link is at the bottom of the post). They’ve made it through wind and rain on arrival, through the beautiful and pancake-flat fields of Holland, and having eaten a great many cookies and chocolate bars, made it across the border into Germany, land of straight roads, fast cars and logistical efficiency. Just the place for a trio of clueless Englishmen without a map to really show the superiority of ineptitude with flair over po-faced competence. 

Would you trust this guy to get you to Berlin? Course you would.

Where we left off, we’d just crossed over into Germany and spent a moonlit night in a stunning little grove of trees just off the side of the road. With Holland behind us, we’d found our pace and were getting good and comfortable on the roads. It was time to knuckle down and kick on; with about 500km left to go, the only motivation we needed was the knowledge that the road was pretty much paved with Lidls and Aldis, and that every one of them was full of hot fresh pastries. What a way to live. Lidl’s that way mate. 

The first morning in Germany turned out to be the biggest detour of the trip. We’d run out of ethanol fuel for the Trangia camp stove I’d been using to make our nightly two or three-course meals, and hoping to find some more we did a quick Google Maps search and set course for “Camping World” about 40km to the South-East (bearing in mind Berlin was pretty much dead east of us at this point, this was a bit out of our way, but there’s nothing like the idea of a hot meal to help you rationalise a bit of extra effort). Having spent a couple of hours on the road fantasizing about pasta, noodles and whatever other hot carbs we could think of, imagine our disappointment when we arrived at the destination to find a parking lot full of giant mobile homes. Turns out the German idea of camping is driving an enormous and ugly white bus with double beds and a flatscreen TV to a field full of other people doing the same. Illegal or not, I’d rather go wild camping and take my chances with the wild boar than participate in such ridiculous behaviour.   

Anyway, we did eventually find a big green bottle of bio-fuel which turned out to do the trick (I played it cool while lighting the stove despite a slight worry it might explode). Once we’d had lunch and sorted out a flat tyre on Arthur’s bike, we ended up having a very pacey afternoon with the notable exception of doing a 5km circle (and nearly turning back onto it for a second lap) around a windmill construction site; Arthur convinced me and Stan we’d gone wrong and just afterwards we saw the same woman we’d seen ten minutes before, going back the way she’d come, proving his point for him. Despite the detour, we were going so quickly at this point it didn’t cause too much delay. 

After covering a good 80km in the afternoon, we pitched up camp for the night in a beautiful spot outside the village of Bramsche, on the eastern shore of a small lake ringed by trees. A three course meal of garlic mushrooms, couscous stew and bread & brie, washed down with a few bottles of outrageously cheap and tasty Pilsner (the surest sign yet of being in Germany), along with a few slugs of some local liquor which Stan brought out with a cheeky smile, and we were ready to hit the sack. 

The next morning we ate a crate of strawberries for breakfast, with another golden shot of firewater to get us fired up and ready to crunch down 50km to Minden. Legs pumping, we set out on probably the fastest morning of the trip so far. I remember feeling that the momentum was continually building. We’d all started riding in higher gears and were pushing on further and harder with each rotation. I don’t think either myself nor Arthur will ever forget the image of Stan Sands steaming past us both, in his fake Ray-Bans with his Lycra top unzipped, hips pumping like the pistons on a steam train. We kept up this pace with a continuous intake of sweets and biscuits which I kept in a Tupperware box inside the little red front pannier that spent the whole trip bouncing up and down on my handlebars, full of bike repair gear and snacks- all the necessaries for the upkeep of man and machine. 

Having stopped mid-morning for pastries and a toilet break, we kept pounding the pedals until we arrived at Minden. Sweaty and a bit sore, we stopped for lunch in a pretty woodland park.

 After a rest and a quick regression to childhood in the nearby playground (highlight being Arthur flying 100 miles an hour off a slide straight onto his arse), we got back on the road. Stan’s knee was giving him a lot of grief so we stumped up a few Euro for some Ibuprofen gel, which we all rubbed into our many and varied aches and pains. After eating a large pack of cookies we got ready to leave Minden behind, but this proved difficult... After following the signs to Stadthagen (the next town along our route), which at no point made mention of the roads not being suitable for bikes, we ended up in a state of confusion and terror on a busy dual carriageway and then turned left onto what turned out to be an on-ramp for the Autobahn. Needless to say, we weren’t interested in adding to the plentiful roadkill lining the sides of Germany’s roads, so we hopped over the roadside barrier and trekked the bikes down a steep hill and through a field to join a small country road, with a synchronised sigh of relief like a short-staffed barbershop quartet. Thankfully we’d all brought plenty of clean underwear.

Following this stressful episode, the afternoon played out like a montage from a film, as we cruised and laughed through farms and villages soaked in sepia tones by the April sunshine. To top it off, we ended the day in a forest carpeted with tiny white flowers, above the town of Bad Nenndorf. After a dinner of fried broccoli and lentil stew, we lay in our tents listening to an owl who cried defiance at the moon and stars, while the bushes nearby rustled with some local critters intrigued by the strange new shapes in their forest. 

  Waking up early the next morning to take down the tents for the sake of any morning dog-walkers, I whipped up some scrambled eggs (we’d bought a box of ten from a vending machine at the front gate of a farmhouse) with garlic and spring onions; you could tell the quality from the bright orange and yellow yolks. With a tasty breakfast inside us, we checked with Tourist Information for a cycle map, but the bookshop to which they sent us only had one to Wolfsburg (about 120km), at which rate we’d have to buy a new map almost every day. So, we sacked off the idea of a map once and for all, resolving that if three wise men on camels could make it to Bethlehem only using a star, then three clueless Brits using a compass and road signs could cycle to Berlin just fine. 

Living up to our established incompetence we set out towards Hanover alongside the Mittellandkanal without any water, with the sun bearing down hot and heavy. However, providence smiled on us as we stopped to ask at the right house; a short and smiling woman named Elka, in work pants and a bandanna, provided us each an alcohol-free beer and gave us a selection of cereal bars left over from her recent trekking in Patagonia. Leaning on the huge pile of firewood she’d clearly spent several days chopping herself, she gave us some travel tips and asked about our journey so far. Given that generally speaking the Germans we’d met so far had been noticeably less friendly than the Dutch, Elka was a welcome exception and more than made up for the suspicious looks and surliness we’d received at other houses. After filling our bottles and directing us the best way through Hanover, she waved us off down the canal. 

We stopped in Hanover to charge up two of our phones, so we’d be able to use Google Maps to prevent any more terrifying close calls with the Autobahn like we’d had in Minden. By this point we’d realised we much preferred the open road of the countryside to navigating the junctions, noise and and traffic of urban areas, but thanks to the magic of GPS  our way out of Hanover was quick and easy. We spent the afternoon heads-down over our handlebars, pushing through 60km eastwards to Oetze. With arrival in Berlin quickly becoming a reality, we celebrated a good day’s ride with the first and only takeout food of the trip, a trio of generous falafel wraps at a friendly Turkish café where the boss whipped us up fresh chili sauce on request. Despite a hefty language barrier, I managed to make some conversation with the guys behind the counter and explain what we were up to, as well as getting permission to charge up our devices using the sockets around the café. We ended up sitting in a comfortable lounge area drinking bottles of Turkish lager while the boss and his friend played backgammon, enjoying our first time within four walls (besides 20 minutes in a supermarket) in a week.

As we paid the bill, our new friend gave us a generous discount and even the kind gift of a bottle of Martini, which he showed (through basic yet effective sign language) was to keep us warm in our tents. Feeling well-fed, a bit tipsy and very content, we set off on a short and slightly wobbly ride down the road to find a nice spot to camp for the night. However, Stan suddenly fell behind as it turned out he had a puncture, so we wheeled the bikes up to a scrubby set of trees between two roads, pitched up and went to sleep. Waking up with traffic passing within a couple of metres of us, we quickly packed the tents down and set off on our second-to-last day of riding. 

We’d decided the previous night that we wanted to cross over the river Elbe before we stopped, which would mean a ride of 140km, but that if we managed it then we’d have an easy final day into Berlin. Knowing this, we’d bought enough snacks to incapacitate John Prescott, and we set off at a roaring pace, blazing through Gifhorn (probably the strangest place name we encountered after Nutter in Holland) and arriving in the industrial city of Wolfsburg by midday. Given the bleak appearance of the city and our need for speed, we decided to keep going until we found somewhere a bit more scenic where getting lunch would be less hassle. We stopped for orange juice and coffee in a village called Rühen, then bought ingredients for lunch at, you guessed it, a Lidl. 

Google Maps suggested we follow the ever-present Mittellandkanal once again, so we quickly cooked up lunch on the northern bank and continued on our way. However, we ran into difficulty when the bike path which Google insisted we follow for another 5km simply ceased to exist. We came face to face with a steep grassy bank covered in fallen trees with no path to follow, and decided we’d try to rejoin it after cutting cross-country to the left and then back. We followed a small waterway which led up to the left just before the path stopped, and as we went the noises of the wildlife all around us became ever louder. Frogs, birds and insects all seemed to be within a few feet of us. Suddenly, we all looked instinctively to the opposite bank of the side-channel we were walking down, as something brown shot from the bank into the water with a heavy splash. Beaver? Otter? Boar? Whatever it was, it swam around under the water watching us for a while. 

As we came to the end of the waterway, it quickly became apparent we were walking into an honest-to-God swamp. The ground was getting increasingly muddy and then just straight up wet, and we tried a couple of different directions before deciding to follow what looked like an SUV track. Eventually we came to be walking the bikes single file along a marshy stripe of grass with murky water on both sides, rising as we went further in. As it started to look more and more like the scene out Snow White where she gets lost in the forest, we made an executive decision to sack it off for a bad job and went back to the canal. However, we didn’t consider this a setback. Any lesser team would have turned back long before, but I personally look back with pride at the optimistic (if clueless) determination that got us forty minutes into the sunken trees and moss before giving up. Boys, if you’re reading this, there’s nobody I’d rather get lost in a swamp with.

Anyway, we went back the way we came for a while, crossed the canal just outside Rühen and made a loop around for about an hour before rejoining our route about 20km down the line. Turns out cycling is quicker than walking a bike through marshland! We got onto highway 188 and smashed through kilometre after kilometre, watching the numbers next to Berlin on the signs dropping by 5, 6, 7 at a time, going easily the fastest any of us had ever been on a bike. After what felt like only an hour or so, the sun had started to go down and we’d travelled almost another 80km, speeding alongside cars that didn’t seem to be going very much faster than us, with deer parks and forest wildlife reserves on either side. After a long, long stretch of highway-quality road (great for speed) along the 188, through the towns of Gardelegen and Stendal, we finally crossed the Elba at the town of Tangermünder about half an hour after sundown. It was dead quiet as we crossed, the bridge lit up by the moon which by now had waxed to almost full. The other two went ahead of me as I stopped to sort out some loose straps on my bag, and I caught up with them halfway across, looking down in quiet reflection at the wide expanse of the river rushing dark and unending beneath us. We’d nearly made it, and each of us knew it. As tired as we’d ever been, we rolled down the other side of the bridge onto the home straight, with only 80km between us and the finish line. This was it. We were so exhausted we pitched up for our final night in tents just beyond the treeline at the first junction we came to, in full view of the cars whose high-beams caught us like worn-out rabbits, stood blinking, bleary-eyed, holding mismatched tentpoles. After moving further into the woods, we made a quick dinner of rice and veg, and I went straight to sleep while the other two made one last pan of food. 

The next day started with the groans and creaks you might expect from a camping holiday organized by a care home for octogenarians, not three young men in the prime of their lives. Despite the pain and stiffness, there were smiles on our tired faces, as we all imagined the relief of a hot shower and a soft bed when we arrived at our friend’s apartment in Berlin. For the record, it should be noted that neither we, our socks nor our tents were smelling all too great by this point. When we reentered civilisation we stopped for pastries and a cup of coffee. As we continued on our way, the kilometres ticked off more and more quickly, with signs for Berlin becoming more and more frequent (we’d startled some dog-walkers pretty badly the day before as we all burst out cheering at the first one we’d seen. On arriving at the town of Nauen, we spent a good forty minutes doing laps all the way up and down the same two roads and roundabout, trying to figure out which way to get to Berlin. We eventually got on the right track thanks to directions from a local football team, whose battering of another local side hadn’t dampened the spirits of the away fans, who were staggering arm-in-arm out of the ground, singing loudly. Surely, fans who are so merry regardless of league standings must be a double-edged sword. 

   Anyway, to cut what has already been a long story a bit shorter than it might have been, we eventually got to Berlin. Simple as that really, if you cycle for eight days straight then you’re bound to get somewhere, even if it’s only a Lidl. I don’t need to go into the details of the rest of the trip; this post is about the ride itself and to be honest there are probably more interesting things you could be finding out about than the logistics of international train tickets. Suffice it to say that we had a lovely few days in Berlin and then in Amsterdam, after which we got the boat back to the UK from Rotterdam, taking the same Stena Line as got us there what felt like several weeks before. We made it, and we had a fucking great time in doing so. We’d raised a total of about £863 when I last checked, and the JustGiving page will be live for the next few days just in case anyone was waiting to hear the whole story before donating. 

If you’re reading this, thanks for sticking with it, I hope these three posts have been interesting enough to make up for the delay in their output. I’ve certainly enjoyed recording and reliving some memories that I know will stay with me for the rest of my life. I’ll sign off here, and leave you with a couple of photos from the last few days of the trip. Peace!

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/standelakersey 

[daveywankenobie]

(We continue our adventures in Wales with the final part – number three)

The evening after climbing Snowdon was unexpectedly painful. I’d expected my legs to hurt, but quite without warning when we got back to the hotel room after dinner something in my lower back went into a spasm and I was suddenly in real pain.

I ended up temporarily on my knees (quite literally) at the side of my bed trying to alleviate the discomfort – and thought I’d done myself a real injury. I’ve had problems with my lower back in the past and it still troubles me from time to time. After spraying on embrocation and taking paracetamol and ibuprofen it was still agony, however I was so tired that I fell fast asleep flat on my back shortly after (I couldn’t do that a year and a half ago!) and awoke several hours later feeling absolutely (and quite surprisingly) fine.

As well as my miraculous back recovery my legs weren’t the tortured pins of agony I was expecting them to be – and although I had some cramp when I moved around and they un-siezed I definitely had life left in them.

I’d set my alarm for 7am so that we could get down to the main hotel for breakfast. We’d missed it due to our early start the previous day – and upon arrival when I saw the choice I wasn’t disappointed. There were many slimming friendly options and I chose to have (to start) berries and natural yogurt with a couple prunes and peach slices sprinkled with a dessert spoonful of muesli.

The waiter then took an order for the main breakfast and I went for a poached egg with some smoked haddock – which arrived cooked to perfection. I left feeling pleasantly satisfied, but not overly full and we busied ourselves with getting ready to check out.

I have to be honest – I didn’t want to leave.

It seemed like a complete injustice to go home after just two nights with so much still just aching to be explored. Thankfully there was plenty of time left in the day and neither myself or my companion planned to waste it.

As I handed our keys in at reception I enquired whether or not it was ok to leave the car in front of the hotel for a few hours whilst we wandered off to explore a little more. One of the guests at breakfast had mentioned to me that by the road in front of the hotel there was a gate leading to a river side walk and a nearby copper mine (that I’d mentioned to him) that might be of interest.

Both me and my companion (who was also not completely crippled) felt pretty game for another walk so we made our way to the river.

This was a lovely shady (and well maintained) path to the nearby visitor attraction – and it was extremely relaxing to watch the fast moving (and quite swollen) river rushing past us as we twalked the morning away.

Before long we arrived at the mine – very very early for a Sunday – and we realised that we were pretty much the only ones there!

Instead of paying for a tour (it wasn’t that expensive it turned out later – £8.50 each) we decided to follow some of the marked walks nearby and initially started making our way up the mountain. However I think we took a wrong turn somewhere as the trail abruptly stopped at what turned out to be the exit to the mine’s guided tour and a rather lovely panoramic view.

At the exit to the mine was a gated metal turnstile – and inquisitively I checked whether it locked if you tried to go in. It turned out that it wasn’t – so (a bit cheekily) we had a look inside.

There wasn’t a lot to see at the end of the mine tour – just a really long tunnel – and we decided not to venture too far in (there were loads of signs about wearing hard hats and I’m not the type to needlessly tempt fate) but it was amazing just how much water was pouring out of the rock and how the temperature plummeted within just a few feet of the entrance.

Both my companion and I absolutely s**t ourselves when we turned the corner at the end of this long corridor and saw a mannequin behind a mine cart. In the dark the dummy looked real and he was staring right at us!

We headed (briskly) back outside into the warm sunshine and down past the visitor centre to see what else there was to do. Both of us still felt a bit crampy – but a flat stroll along the river to a nearby lake a mile or so away seemed like a nice alternative to the cold and wet mine.

We headed off along the route to see what was at the end.

As we made our way along the bank we saw a marshall in a high visibility vest standing by a gate. I said hello to him, but oddly he just looked at me, so we carried on. By the side of the path were occasional markers where someone had tied polythene signs saying ‘this way’.

We ignored them for the time being and continued along the peaceful path that wound it’s way along the valley.

It didn’t take long before we reached Llyndy Isaf – which is a large lake surrounded by woods, waterfalls and small boat houses. As we arrived a family with children were taking advantage of the opportunity for a free dip and there were a group of young boys all splashing about and having fun.

It seemed like a nice place to take a few ‘this is me and I’m here’ photos so we stopped for a moment to indulge in vanity!

Nearby there was the sound of rushing water, and there was a small stream that was feeding the lake.

We pushed our way through the bracken, hopped over a couple of rocks in the river and found ourselves in a lovely secluded little spot by a waterfall. If there was ever a place for a picnic in an idyllic location then this was it!

It was by now though (as we made our way back over the little stream and onto the path again) that we realised what the Marshall was staring at us for. The quiet, unspoiled walking paradise that we’d been ambling through was part of the route for a race from Llanberis to Snowdon.

Initially we’d seen a couple of (unrealistically fit and very muddy) runners flying past – but all of a sudden there were literally hundreds of them in small groups, meaning that we had to walk single file and keep stopping as they flew past us with various pained expressions.

After a while it got quite annoying, so when we saw a large stile over a wall that lead up the hillside into the forest we jumped at the chance to explore.

As this wound up the incline we realised that this wasn’t really a walking path as such – but more of an trodden route through tree roots and over boulders. It wasn’t an easy walk – but it was interesting and quieter than walking through a stampede.

After about 20 minutes of making our way up the hill – we found ourselves on the site of an old derelict stone cottage of some kind. There were three outlines of what looked like three very old buildings (clearly built before people thought windows were a cool idea) and we decided to have a look.

As we got closer it seemed that occasionally this place had seen a few campfires and there was evidence that someone had maybe toasted a few marshmallows – but otherwise it was an idyllic little oasis of green and calm half way up a hillside and completely hidden from view by the canopy of trees.

After looking around for a while we carried on up the hill – but things started to get a lot more overgrown and slippy.

Given that neither of us were completely fresh after climbing Snowdon the day before and hadn’t brought anything with us we decided that it was sensible to turn around – and instead to make our way back to the hotel and car to munch on our packed lunches.

There was after all still the little matter of a three and half hour drive home to contend with…

As we strolled back the torrents of runners just kept coming – and we even tried (and failed) to walk along the opposite bank of the river (there was a bridge next to the lake) in an attempt to get away from them. Sadly this just resulted in getting jammed up in head high bracken, but it made us laugh the whole way through, and we were still smiling as we once again crossed the river back onto the path full of runners.

Soon we were back at the hotel – and upon arrival we were greeted by the cutest and friendliest Staffordshire bull terrier who was sunning herself by the front door. She loved a good fuss and lots of patting and questions about ‘who’s a good girl?’

Strangely there was no answer – and  this question remains an enigma.

I popped to the loo and then myself and my companion sat outside for a while on the garden furniture munching on our boiled eggs, apples and muesli bars, drinking in the scenery one last time.

It had been the perfect end to a pretty perfect little holiday.

According to Apple Watch we’d both walked 28.5 miles in three days – and most of those were over some kind of gradient.

Now all that remains is to find out next weekend whether this has helped me lose any more pounds! I’ve tried to be good – but at the same time, boy did I have an appetite after our riverside walk.

The rest of this week will be all about getting back into the swing of normal exercise, cooking meals, not eating things out of packets and wrappers and making forward progress.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my Snowdonia experience internet – I know I certainly did!!!

If anyone fancies doing the same I really really recommend these guys – https://www.hfholidays.co.uk which owned the hotel we stayed at. Although we stayed there on a B&B basis only (paying less because of that) the other guests were getting the ‘whole’ experience with guided tours of the area and a variety of walking excursions each day.

(I’m not selling their services – nor do I get commission – they’re just nice people!)

Davey

  Snowdonia part 3 (We continue our adventures in Wales with the final part - number three) The evening after climbing Snowdon was unexpectedly painful.

[comeonthinkers]

Day 8: The Plot Thickens

(Note: The following is a slight dramatization. I’ve been watching a lot of West Wing lately)

Yesterday, Andy and I had a horrible realization.

I have had soy. 

NO! I thought to myself. How could this be? How could this tiny ingredient get past the tracks? Is there REALLY soy lecithin in my tea???

Apparently, yes. Bigelow French Vanilla black tea has soy lecithin in it. I didn’t even think to check the label of my TEA. Never the less, early yesterday morning I found the small print staring me down in the face while I was boiling my water.

Andy thought I should start over. He seemed to think that if I allowed this tiny infraction, I was missing the point of the Whole30 and I wasn’t taking it seriously enough. After all, the website and book are very clear: if you cheat, you do NOT pass GO, you do NOT collect $200, you are to go back to the beginning and start OVER! Cheaters are not to be tolerated in Whole30! You either go big or GO HOME! 

I tried explaining that the whole point is to consciously cut everything out of your diet, and to not allow yourself to be tempted by something outside the Whole30 restrictions. It’s not there for the person that asks if there’s sugar in this salad dressing, is told there isn’t, and then is told after dinner “Oh I’m sorry- I know you asked about the dressing, which is sugar-free, but the dried cranberries were sweetened.” The rules are strict for the person that thinks if they’re at a party they’re required to eat cake. The person who has been choosing the right path and is bamboozled is not as guilty as the person sneaking Twinkies after bedtime. 

We settled on an agreement that I would continue avoiding soy in particular a full 7 days after we completed the Whole30. Chances are, we’ll both probably still stay on a Whole30-esque diet for the rest of our lives (we’ve been feeling really good lately), and I’m not even tempted to order Chinese food anytime soon. A latte would be nice. But in general? I haven’t wanted bread, or even cheese. CHEESE! My cravings (which would usually start right after dinner) have virtually stopped. I’m not “itching” for a soy fix. I was just making tea. Sugarless, milkless, tea. But it has artificial vanilla flavor, which is apparently made with soy.

Today we had roasted red pepper and spinach omelettes with avocado and roasted potatoes for breakfast, and I had pork chops and a strawberry kale salad with a balsamic vinaigrette for lunch (/dinner) and some nuts for a snack. I love the way I’ve been eating- I love how colorful it is, how tasty, and how surprisingly affordable it’s all been. I like that we’re eating so many veggies we’re running out of them. And it’s only the 11th! Even though we spent a good amount on groceries last week, we’d still be under budget if we hadn’t wasted money on some non-whole30 compliant pantry items before we started. We bought 5 different kinds of vinegar and oil. But hey! That’s like, 20 different vinaigrettes I can make!

I think we’re becoming the type of people that will spend $60 on groceries each week, instead of $300 on groceries each month. 

You know what I’ve been craving? Beef. Roasted sweet potatoes. A nice, juicy orange. Fruit salad. I’m not even missing mayonnaise right now (and technically, even if I was, it wouldn’t be hard to make some that wasn’t breaking the rules). And it’s been over a week since I’ve had a drink. Which, honestly, might be the most surprising change of all, seeing as I work in a bar 5 nights a week.

Yesterday night I did have a pretty bad migraine. When it started I was a little miffed that I couldn’t take ibuprofen because there’s cornstarch in the pill, but then I called into work, went home, ate some protein and salt, drank some water, and slept. I got better. I gave my body the time and rest it needed, and the nourishment. Once I ate, my nausea went away. Half an hour later, the searing pain turned into more of a dull ache. I realized maybe I hadn’t been eating enough animal protein (as most of my protein had been coming from egg sources the past few days). This morning the only thing that hurt was my lower back, and even that was just a little. It used to be so bad I could hardly move some mornings. It helps that I actually feel rested when I wake up now, too.

Anyway, I’m at work now waiting for a Fleetwood Mac Tribute band to arrive for soundcheck! So I will post more about my whole30 observations later.

But before I sign off- it’s worth noting that my clothes are fitting a lot better, and I’m starting to see myself slim down. Yay!