#its real fucking scary and overwhelming to have your freedom taken from you like this.

[lesbianjonimitchell]

got hospitalised against my will lol love my life love being alive

[sasster]

Insomnia for Reid!

Truly I do not know what you expected bestie! <3

One word prompt! Make sure you specify muse!

[And here's a google doc, for your eyes!]

--

Reid lay in bed watching the shadows from the trees outside stretch across the ceiling, painting themselves onto the black and red walls of his room. It was funny, he thought, that the trees surrounding Koteus’s territory were there for their protection. How could they be so scary? In the light of the morning, no less, silhouettes becoming gnarled, mangled hands that reached around the light filtering curtains into the room.

Why were the hands always reaching directly for him, though? Of course they weren’t reaching for him, that’s silly, they’re inanimate objects after all.

Wait, are shadows objects?

He shakes the thought from his head, it was irrelevant to the problem he was currently having.

After a certain age, one starts to feel a little silly when they wake up in the middle of the night, adrenaline pumping, from some horrific manifestations brought about by an overactive imagination. Or was it too much sugar before bed? A mind incapable of letting things go. But it was much worse when the "middle of the night" rolled around a little after noon.

Alternia had a funny way of making the mundane horrifying. Deadly sunlight that morphed branches into disembodied hands, unnatural silence turning a bids call into an ungodly shriek that echoes and bounces off of ceilings meant for giants. What use is a diurnal creature afraid of the day anyway?

Nonsense, he decides as he squeezes his eyes shut. He just needs to get back to sleep, then everything will return to normal.

Sleep does not find him easily, however, and before he can settle back down the strongest stench of vanilla begins to wash over him, and assault his senses. It fills his nose and burns at his throat. Who – Who could possibly be baking at this hour?

That doesn’t matter either, he needs to focus on getting back to sleep.

It is so familiar, this overwhelming smell. Somehow.

Realization dawns on him, and he sucks in a deep breath, an action that allows the smell to overtake him completely. Permeating him inside and out. Despite his fears, he opens his eyes again, hoping that the disfigured shadows would still be there to greet him.

Instead, his field of view is taken up by a plain grey ceiling, even further away than the ones the birds used for their choir practice. There is a small window on a far wall, it lets in enough light that he could make out that the moons were its source, not the sun. The entire scene highlighted by the faintest scent of death, just underneath all that vanilla.

He’s been here before.

Reid shoots up to sit in the bed, panic panging out in every direction. In the same instant, a spark of purple lights up at the foot of the bed.

His gaze is drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. They make eye contact.

Fuck.

Reids arms fall, useless, to his sides.

“Toto,” the stretching of the stitches that decorated the intruder's mouth are barely audible as he speaks. Yet, to Reid, it is deafening. “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

The sound of that voice, the taunting of its cadence, paints a grimace on his face and forces him to once again screw his eyes shut. There was at least that freedom.

“Come now, Reid. If it were as easy as breaking eye contact, where would the fun be?” His voice was calm. Persep rarely found a reason to raise it.

“Shut up!” He shouts at the apparition, trying in vain to regain the use of his limbs. “You aren’t even fucking real. Persep wouldn’t know that reference!”

“No?”

Reid’s eyes flutter open against his will to find Persep standing now.

“So, I got the quote right. I was worried I didn’t.” It seems as though that is a point of pride for him, despite having borrowed it from his host's picture perfect memory, as he walks around to the side of the bed. Something shiny glints in his hands.

“What’s the matter, Reid? Cat got your tongue?” He grins, flashing two neat rows of sharp teeth. “No, not yet anyway. From where we left off, then?”

As the question leaves Perseps mouth, Reid feels his own begin to open.

“Ready?”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t.

“Of course you are.” 

Suddenly, he finds the ability to screw his eyes shut again.

How. Gracious.

He braces for the pain and…

And nothing.

Nothing but the pool of sweat surrounding his body and the thrum of his own heart beating in his ears.

When he opens his eyes again, the disfigured shadows of the branches swaying in the breeze wave their hello, welcoming him back.

No sleep this morning, he guesses.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 36

Warning: brief mention of attempted suicide, SMUT

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @ocfairygodmother​

Every time she closes her eyes it's there. Dhaka. The dirty, crowded streets; a sea of pedestrians and vehicles. Rundown tenement buildings and hotels; broken or missing windows, rusted balconies and faded, chipped paint. Narrow, cluttered alleyways and over populated laundries and the odd restaurant and cafe.  Vendors peddling their goods among the chaos. It had been loud; a level of noise that she hadn’t anticipated. A continuous drone of honking horns and revving engines and  incessant chattering and laughing. Yet at night it would grow eerily quiet; sundown and the call to prayer bringing a silence...a stillness...that was almost breathtaking.  

There are so many moments...images...permanently ingrained in her mind. That hotel room with its filthy walls and its water stained ceiling; the stark white and pristine bed sheets an odd and stark contrast against the dirt and grime. Torn and faded curtains covered the windows; or least attempted to. The balcony was rotting and weathered; cracked contract cement, wobbly and dent...and in some places missing...railings. It had been a shit hole; too much mismatched and broken furniture shoved into such a small area, a kitchenette that boasted a stove with only one matching burner and a barely functioning bar fridge and only one set of dishes and cutlery. The toilet had to be fixed every time you flushed it and the shower nozzle was barely higher than she was tall, and there never seemed to be any hot water or pressure to it.  Yet it hadn’t been the worst accommodations she’d ever bunked down in; a paradise compared to some of the conditions she’d been subjected to while in the Middle East. And after things had taken an intense -yet not so surprising- turn, nothing around them had mattered anymore; able to temporarily escape the reality of their surroundings and the uncertainty of the situation. And they’d seek out that escape -and the profound pleasure it brought with it- as often as possible.

She can see Gaspar’s. Luxurious by Dhaka standards; a beautiful, well kept home just outside of the city limits. It should have been a relief; getting behind that iron security gate and those four supposedly welcoming walls. Finally off the streets and away from the violent and gunfire and the unpredictability; no longer having to watch your back every single second. But it had made things worse; she should have been grateful and somewhat relaxed and able to let her guard down. But the uneasiness had lingered; the absence of any true sigh of life within the hole eating away at her even as she stood in a hot shower and washed away all the dirt and the blood.  There was a wife but no actual evidence of one; only a single toothbrush in the holder by the sink, nothing by hygiene products geared towards me, no housecoat -feminine or otherwise- hanging behind the door.

He’d been an intimidating man; not as tall or as muscular and defined as Tyler, but big and burly and strong in his own right. Putting on a good show with the welcoming smiles and the friendly chatter, but always watching her out of the corner of his eyes. Calling her ‘the girl’ or ‘that girl’ even when she was in the room. Rolling his eyes or scoffing every time she attempted to speak. He didn’t trust her; in the same way she didn’t trust him.  There was no doubt that he felt that, which in turn made his hostility towards her even stronger.  

And when he’d confronted her in that darkened, upstairs hallway, the threat he presented had become all too terrifyingly real. Accusing her of being cunning and manipulative; willing to say or do anything to guarantee that Tyler would get her out of Dhaka alive. Even if it meant ‘whoring herself out’ to him. That in the end -once they were out of Bangladesh and all was said and done- she’d leave him even more damaged and broken than he already was. Telling her that he knew what she was up to; he recognized the deviousness and the sneaky little games she was playing. Even congratulating her on being able to do it so well and for pulling it off as long as she had.   He’d tried gaslighting her:  she was only “slowing things down, putting an even bigger target on his back. You’re going to get him killed. How are you going to feel then? Knowing he died for you. Will you even care?”.  Admitting that he was  impressed by just how evil and calculated someone so “small and cute and innocent looking” could actually be. And there was nothing she could have  said or done to change his way of thought.

She was the enemy and she needed to be eliminated at all costs.

“The kid AND the girl.”  She can actually hear it in his voice, see  the vehemence and determination on his face.  The same way she can still see his sneer and the darkness in his eyes in that upstairs hallway when he’d reached out to touch her hair and…

Ovi. Ovi opening the door across the hall. The harsh whispers and Gaspar’s threats and lewd, degrading comments jarring him from rest. All of fourteen years old with that mop of hair and those huge dark eyes and that scared, anxious face. His life turned upside down in the blink of an eye because of his father’s transgressions. He could have easily ignored it; listening to every word that was said while cowering under his blankets. But he hadn’t. He’d cared enough to put a stop to things; growing bolder and braver as each second of that long and trying day ticked away.   Afterwards...when the thread had been neutralized...she’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy. That they’d never speak of that moment again and that he’d never...under any circumstances...breathe a word of it to Tyler.  And he was still loyal; holding onto that secret even seven years later.

Bile rises in her throat. He has that effect on her. Gaspar. Even the mere mention of his name makes her feel nauseous. It’s worse now; knowing just how vile and evil he could be behind that fake smile and his promises to help. It had probably been his plan all along; he’d probably gone to Asif the second he finished talking to Nik. Seeing it as an easy payday; convinced that there was no way Tyler would turn down the deal. Why wouldn’t he give up some random girl he’d been casually fucking and a drug lord’s kid? Five million is a lot of money in your pocket, and when combined with your freedom, it would be ridiculous to turn it down.  After all, that's what Gaspar would do. No questions asked. He wouldn’t think twice about getting rich off of someone elses pain and misery. And weren’t all the mercenaries like that? At least in his eyes? Ruthless. Merciless. Savage. What were two strangers compared to that kind of money? An easy choice, in his eyes.

She shouldn’t be surprised. That he’d stoop to that level.  And there’s vindication to be had in the fact that he’d hadn’t gotten away with it. A guilty pleasure in knowing that he’d gone to his grave...and hopefully the deepest recesses of hell...without seeing a single cent of Asif’s money. He hadn’t known Tyler as well as he thought he had; he’d never expected him to both turn down the offer and fight to the death -if need to- to stop Gaspar from getting his hands on her and Ovi. It had been a fitting end; sitting on those steps in his house, watching and listening as he took his last breaths. She’d felt nothing; not even the slightest bit of remorse or pity. At least not towards him. She’d felt it for Ovi; just a kid and being forced to pull the trigger and having it on his conscience for the rest of his life. And she’d felt it towards Tyler; knowing how hard it hits when you’ve been betrayed by someone you thought you could trust.  Gaspar would have killed him. His loyalties had switched to Asif and with Tyler out of the picture, the entire ten million would have been his to keep. It’s a bitter pill to swallow; saving a man’s life and having him betray you THAT badly.  All Gaspar had cared about was the payout. Not the three lives he would have destroyed in the process.

The guilt returns with a vengeance. Appalled that she’d even asked what she had earlier in the day. If he’d considered...even for a split second...accepting the deal. The one person that she’s always trusted...who trusted her in return...being subjected to a question that makes her nauseous to even think about. The only person in her life who has ever made her feel safe; giving her an overwhelming sense of safety and security that no one else had ever managed to do and she’d never realized she wanted OR needed. Who’d been so willing to die for her that day on the bridge and who would do so...without hesitation...even now.  The last person who should have ever faced a question like that. She’d seen the hurt in his eyes;  how deeply it had cut him. Far deeper and far more painful than any physical injury he’d ever received. The fact she’d even think that about him...see him in that way...doing more damage than the actual words themselves. And she’d regretted it the second she’d said it; setting the way his eyes darkened and his expression hardened and his jaw tightened. He rarely got that way with her; not even during the most intense fights they’d had over the years. His temper could be volatile and his words cutting and harsh, but his face...his demeanour...never did THAT. It was cold and brutal. Scary, even . And that’s something he’s never made her feel. Fear.

Esme has no idea why she asked that question in the first place. She doesn’t think that way about him; never has. Even seven years ago there had been no doubt in her mind that he would have done anything and everything in his power to keep her safe. To get her the hell out of Dhaka. And that time spent on the Sultana Kamal Bridge should have been all the answer she needed. When she sat there listening to him choke on his own blood; having to put her fingers through the bullet hole in his neck to keep him alive. That should have been  enough. All the proof she needed. He HAD been willing to die for her. He almost did. On the bridge and in the hospital and even all those years later when he’d tried to take his own life because the demons of the past were just too much to bear.

She pushes those thoughts out of her mind. Of all the things she’s seen and all the things she’s heard, nothing cuts deeper as hearing the person you love -more than life itself- tell you that they don’t want to live anymore; that you’d be much better off without them. No amount of reasoning with enough to convince them otherwise. No amount of tears and begging and pleading enough to get them to change their mind. And when you’re the one that finds them when they've gone through with their attempts…

A flood of tears threaten and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to hold them back. Nothing good ever comes out of dwelling. Whether it be about Dhaka or Gaspar or all of the other battles that have been fought between then and now.  And she rolls over onto her side; watching the way his body rises and falls with each steady breath and the slivers of moonlight that bathe his skin.  His back towards her as he sleeps facing the hall. It’s been the same way for almost seven years; his insistence on facing the door in the same way he won’t sit in a public place with his back towards an entrance. Always ready for any possible threat that could come their way; knowing they stand a better chance of survival if he’s the first person someone encounters. It gives them both a sense of security; him confident in his strength and skills, her confident in his willingness and ability to protect her.

***

Moving closer to him, she uses her fingertips to slowly and methodically trace the large Nordic compass tattoo that sits between his shoulders. In time moving down to each scar and blemish that mars his skin; those little imperfections that make up everything  unique and beautiful about him. He hates that word; despises it being used to describe anything about him. As if it somehow takes away from everything he’s been through; dulling those edges and diminishing his strength and toughness and ‘softening’ him. It’s  ludicrous but understandable.  It’s what happens after years of witnessing abuse and toxic masculinity at its finest. He’s nothing like the man he’d grown up with; aman he’d been expected to respect and emulate. And despite that harsh bringing and the nerves of steels and the hardness...the roughness...that comes from years in the military and then as a mercenary, he’s breathtakingly human.

Behind that tough as nails facade and those jagged edges, he possesses a staggering amount of compassion. There’s a kindness  in his eyes; if you look close enough. It’s none more evident then when he’s with his children: patient and calm, very rarely raising his voice and most certainly never raising a hand. Both face and tone gentle and those strong hands with their scars and calluses and busted up knuckles capable of so much tenderness. Whether it be fixing Millie’s hair or patching up skinned knees or tending to busted lips and bloody noses.   Even a husband...and especially as a lover...the sides to his personality are vastly different; always knowing what she craves. Whether it’s the need for him to be aggressive and dominant or soft and gentle. He just KNOWS. Before she even has to ask. Able to read it in her body language and see it in her eyes; reacting to the situation and becoming exactly what she wants and needs him to be.  He’s complex and sensitive; far more than other people realize.

Her lips replace her fingers; pressing feathery kisses across his shoulders and onto the nape of his neck and along his hairline. A hand sneaking under the arm that rests lightly against his side, palm slowly travelling over her chest and down to his abs and lower; the hair that makes up his ‘happy trail’ wiry and rough against her fingers.

“Baby…” his voice is a low rumble; groggy from sleep. “...what are you doing?”

“Admiring.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Really late or really early. Depends how you look at it.”

Sighing, he reaches for his phone as it charges on the nightstand; not objecting when her hand slides even lower. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I'm not allowed to admire my husband at three in the morning?”

“You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

“I was. Until my brain caught up with my body and realized you were getting ready to jerk me off.”

“I wasn’t even close to doing that. But now that you mentioned it…” her hand continues its descent,  smiling against his shoulder when he groans deep within his chest as her nails lightly drag along his hardening length before taking it in her  hand; warm and thick and solid against her palm.  

And his own hand slips beneath the sheet that slits low on his hip; much larger and stronger as it covers hers, showing her exactly what he needs.  Her mouth slowly travelling over his shoulder and the back of his neck; lips soft, tongue moist, teeth lightly nipping. Loving the power she has over him; the way his breath quickens and his body trembles ever so slightly and his cock grows full and hard in her grasp.  

“Hey…” she protests, a dramatic pout on her face when Tyler rolls over to face her.

“Not like that,”  he says, and kisses her.  Even his kisses have a different side to them. Right now they’re soft and languid and tinged with the lingering remnants of sleep. A hand wandering as his lips down move to her neck slipping up the front of her tank top and cupping one of her breasts; thumb passing over the nipple as he licks and sucks at the sensitive flesh at the side of her throat.

It’s all too much; the scrape of his beard against her skin, the way he alternates between gently caressing the nipple and firmly punching and twisting it. The ache between her legs is profound; almost unbearable. And her eyes close and a whimper escapes her lips and one hand tunnels in his hair and the other reaches between them to work on his cock once again. Enjoying the sounds that escape him and the way his body tenses and his hips jerk towards her.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he says, and then uses his size to his advantage and pushes her onto her back.

“That’s the point.”

“I said not like that.”   He kisses her again; deeper now, more insistent. Demanding. A hand grabbing a hold of her hip and the fingers pressing into her flesh as he encourages her to open her legs. A long, low groan tumbling from his mouth as he slips into her with a slow, deep thrust.

She sighs, eyes fluttering closed as he moves inside of her. Each thrust fluid and intentional; every push causing a whimper to escape her lips. Legs falling open and bending at the knee; that simple change in position pulling him in even deeper.  He feels so good; those hungry and needy kisses, the way the muscles of his back move against her, the bulge of biceps and forearms as he bears his weight on outstretched arms.  And when he breaks out of a particularly deep and demanding kiss, she reaches up to grab a hold of his hair;  yanking his head back and then trailing the tip of her tongue along his throat, over his Adam’s apple and up onto the underside of his chin. Tasting the sweat on his skin, feeling the trickle of his beard. And when she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth, something unravels inside of him. Movements become faster. Harder. Spurred on by the noises she makes and the way her nails rake down his back.

“Make me cum,” she whispers. “Please...Tyler...make me cum.”

He reaches between them, the tips of two fingers toying with her clit. Until he can feel her shuddering against him and her hips lift off the bed; kissing her in order to stifle the cry that she emits. And he continues to move inside of her; pushing through the contractions and the convulsions of those inner muscles.

“Let me finish in your mouth,” he says, eyes searching hers for permission. And when she gives a nod of consent, he pulls out and rolls onto his back. Fingers of both hands tangling in her hair as she kisses, lick, and nibbles her way down his body. “Fuck…” the word leaves him in a low, drawn out groan when she lightly sucks at the tip before fully taking him between her lips. And it takes all his will power to not grab a hold of her head and fuck her mouth. Letting her do all the work; eyes closed and chest heaving, hands gently resting in her hair. “...feel so good…” he praises. “...feels so fucking good.”

Her hand curls around his shaft; working together with her mouth to drive him closer to the edge.  Soon it becomes impossible to bear and he can no longer hold back; hands tightening in her hair and his hips rising off the bed, forcing her to take him even deeper. Fucking her mouth win the way he he would her body while buried inside of her. Until he’s coming hard and fast, pushing down on her head until the tip of his cock hits the back of her throat; long, hot spurts of semen that she accepts willingly, swallowing every last drop. Mouth and hand working together to drain him dry,  leaving him a panting, quivering mess.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” he breathes, and then cocks open an eye as she kisses her way up his body; her eyes sparkling, a prideful  grin on her face.  “Yeah...you SHOULD be proud of yourself and things you can do.”

“Maybe you’re just easy to please.”

“It’s not that. Trust me. It’s you. All you,” he pushes a hand through her hair once again, lightly tugging on her dark tresses as he pulls her down into a long, deep kiss. And she settles her body against his; head against his shoulder and their chests pressed together, her legs resting between his.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Tyler says, and she laughs. “Normally I’d kick your ass out of bed for waking me up at three in the morning, but I think you had a pretty good reason.”

“It didn’t go the way I planned,” Esme admits. “You were supposed to let me do all the work.”

“That NEVER  happens.”

“Because YOU  won’t let it happen. Because you’re stubborn and you won’t ever just lie back and let me spoil you."

“I don’t know, I remember being laid up after knee surgery and you pretty much had to do everything. And by the way, I know it’s been three years, but you did an awesome job. My dick says thank you.”

She grins and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Your dick is very welcome. He’s lucky I like him so much. I can’t stand most dicks. Yours? He’s alright.”

“That’s because all the other dicks you had didn’t know what they were doing. Mine? Legend.”

She laughs at that,  and he drops a kiss on the top of her head; palm slowly running down her spine and settling at the small of her back. Fingertips grazing over the tattoo that resides there; remembering how she’d been so embarrassed when he’d seen it for the first time. A ‘tramp stamp’ she’d called it, though he still doesn’t fully understand the phrase. It had been a drunken mistake during her first year at college and she’d always regretted it. But didn’t mind when...in Dhaka...he'd pinned her to the bed face down, hands tightly holding her hips as he traced the tattoo with the tip of his tongue.

And he closes his eyes. Prepared to settle back into sleep with her slight, small body pressed against his. Knuckles brushing along her spine.

***

“How well did you actually know him?” Esme asks.

Tyler’s eyes snap open. He’s slightly disoriented; on the edge of sleep when she spoke. “Who?”

“Gaspar.”

“Why are we talking about him? Especially now. Right after we made love.”   He doesn’t use that term often; mainly because their ‘go to’ has always been straight up fucking. As crude and harsh at it sounds. Very rarely were things slow and gentle in the bedroom.

“How close were you guys? Acquaintances? Friends? Best friends?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Why are we talking about him?”

“I’m just curious.”

“It’s almost four in the morning,” he points out.

“When you say he was your friend, do mean you were friends with him like you are with Koen and Rata, or…”

“A friend as in we worked some jobs together and we’d go out for beers afterwards or we’d meet up if we ended up in the same place. Not friends as in I’d known him my entire life or I’d go to his place and visit during my downtime or send him text messages and Christmas cards and all that shit.”

“So basically a work friend,” she concludes.

“Yeah...basically. Why are we talking about him again?”

“And you saved his life, right?”

“Once. Why?”

“How? How’d you save his life?”

“Esme, what the hell?  Why are we talking about this? Is it ‘cause of what I told you today? That’s why I DIDN’T tell you before. Because I knew it would bother you. I knew you’d dwell on it and ask questions I don’t have answers for. If I’d known this would happen…”

“Humour me,” she says. “I want to know. How you saved his life.”

Tyler sighs. “He went into Honduras to do a job for some mobster type. Ended up fucking the guy’s wife and getting caught. So Nik sent me in there to get him out. He was a couple of hours away from a pretty painful and gruesome death when I got there.”

She scoffs. “You should have left him there.”

“Well what’s the saying? Hindsight is twenty-twenty? If I’d known then what would happen in Dhaka, I would have have told him to go fuck himself and bought a front row ticket to watch his execution. But…”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. What happened that night. I know you blame yourself for taking Ovi and I there. But it’s not like you  knew he was going to fuck you over.”

“I knew something wasn’t right. When I talked to him in the kitchen. There was something weird about the way he said ‘how’s the kid and the girl?’. And then talked about leaving to go and kiss his wife and it seemed...I don’t know...like it was bullshit.”

“There was no proof there was a wife.”

“He was wearing a ring,” Tyler points out.

“That means nothing. Lots of people wear rings on that finger. We never found out for sure. You know, it'd probably be pretty easy to look up if there really WAS a wife.”

“Why would we bother?”

“Just for curiosity’s sake, I guess.”

“Who gives a shit? It’s been seven years. If there was a wife, I’m sure she realized pretty quickly how much better off she was without him.”

“I still don’t understand how he could do that to you. Especially after you saved his life. Betray you like that.”

Tyler shrugs. “Money’s a hell of a motivator.”

“You never took the money.”

“I’m not a psychopath.  He obviously was. And I don’t want to talk about this again. The whole deal thing. Once was enough. And it didn’t end well.”

“I didn’t mean it. What I said. It was a stupid fucking thing for me to ask. I don’t even know why I DID ask it. It’s like it just came out.”

“Baby,” he runs a hand over her hair and kisses her temple.  “We already talked about this. We don’t need to do it again.”

“I feel like complete and utter shit about it. For hurting you like that. I never...ever...would do anything to intentionally hurt you. And I’m a shit human being for doing what I did and I feel terrible and…”

“Esme, stop. We’ve been through this. You said you were sorry, I accepted it, we moved on.”

“You should be angrier.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Because I know how I’d feel if you said something like that to me. If you all but accused me of being like Asif or Gaspar or guys like Mahajan Senior. It would kill me inside. And I’d be so pissed and hurt and…”

“And I was and now I’m not and you need to drop it. It’s fine. You apologized, we talked about, what more is there? I’m not angry. Am I hurt still? A little. But I’ll get over it. I’ve said plenty of mean shit to you when I’ve been mad, yeah?”

She nods.

“And you’ve always forgiven me. Every time. So let it go. Please. It’s over.”

“I am sorry,” she tells him. “That I said it. Because I’ve never…ever...thought that about you.”

“I know. Is that why you woke me up? To apologize in a different way?”

“Maybe.” she admits. “Did it work?”

“I’d already forgiven you. So you didn’t need to go to all the trouble.”

“You mean I could have saved all the time and energy and spared my jaw the hard work and pain?”

“You’re being dramatic. You do it willingly so it can’t be THAT bad.”

“I do it because you like it. And because I like doing it for you. And if I’m being honest, it kinda turns me on.”

Tyler grins. “You ARE dirty.”

“It’s easy to be dirty being married to the likes of you. You’ve got skills. Mad skills. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to marry you in the first place”

“Yeah? What are the other reasons?”

“It’s a whole bunch of things,” she says. “The way you can always make me laugh even when I’m having a really shitty day. How you always compliment me even when I know I look like crap. How you always look at me like I’m the most amazing woman in the world. Because you’re a great kisser and you’re nice to look at and you help make beautiful babies.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“And mostly because I love you and I thought I’d never love anyone THIS much. Especially after Mark and all his bullshit. I didn’t think I’d ever get married again. And then you came along and that was it. Everything changed. I often wonder how things would have turned out if we met differently. Do you ever think about that?”

“Sometimes,” Tyler admits.

“I always have it in my mind that if you’d met me at my cousin and Gs’ wedding, would things have gone down then? If I hadn’t been overseas…”

“I would have fucked you in the coat check room for sure.”

She raises her head and frowns.

“Just saying. And you wouldn’t have wanted to know me then. I was an even bigger mess than when we DID meet.”

“Okay...so if not there...where?”

“I dunno. I always imagine that you would  have been here on vacation and we would have run into each other that way.”

“On the beach?”

“Sure. That works.”

“I so would have been checking you out,” she giggles.  “All the muscles and the tattoos and those eyes and that hair…”

“I didn’t always have that hair, you know.”

“Every scenario I ever think of, you have that hair. Humour me. Would you have checked me out?”

“I’ve seen you in a bathing suit. So, yeah. I would have checked you out.”

“It weird to think about,” Esme muses. “A different version of us. A normal version. A normal Esme and a normal Tyler. With normal jobs and normal lives. I think you would have made a good cop. Or a firefighter. Or even just stayed in the military.”

“I always think you would have made  a good teacher,” he says. “Or a nurse. Considering all the times you’ve had to take care of me. And how good you are at giving sponge baths.”

She grins. “Would still have fallen in love with me? If I’d been normal?”

“How normal?”

“If I’d been a nurse or teacher. Same personality, just a different career.”

“In a heartbeat. What about you? Would have fallen in love with me if I’d just been some normal guy?”

“Hmmm…” she ponders. “I don’t know…”

Tyler scowls. “You know what…?”

“I’m kidding,” she laughs, and presses a kiss to his lips. “I would have fallen in love with you a million times over.”

Smiling, he places a kiss on her temple and wraps both arms around her, holding her tightly and securely. Until her breath softens and evens out and he knows she’s asleep.

[blackunicorn2020]

Watering My Well Being

This current relationship is full of anxiety and fear along with distrust. Shutting down has become a safe way for me to live. Due to the severe trauma exspearanced in adolescent years, and the overwhelming rise of anxiety or pain going through my day to day, I revert back to mental place that is safe. And the only time I've felt that safe was as a toddler. I was cute and received a lot of attention from my mom, I was fed warm/hot meals and dressed like a princess. There was love and lots of it though smiles and physical affection.

My partner turned 40 this January, I turned 26 last November. We met at work in a famous Los Angeles Italian restaurant where he was set up to train me. I strongly disliked him from the jump. He micromanaged and his tone was never correct enough for me. We all bussed our asses on busy nights and he is the best in the establishment so we celebrated over whisky, chianti and joints. He chased me and I let him, I played it cool the entire time. I am in a relationship with a person that is a huge trigger for me. Our codependency is becoming toxic, I don't trust that he is the man for the job, and this is all because of his drinking. He turns in to a *completely* different person-a evil vial aggressive force of destruction.

Picture a 5 year old on her birthday, she was born for the party that awaits her. The dolls she sleeps with and the friends and family to join. All the snacks and goodies she could ever have awaits as soon as she brushes her teeth and puts on a party dress. She can't stop moving and smiling and making sounds and noises with her lips and mouth. Burst of excitement in forms of jumping, wiggling, dancing, and spinning in circles. She can't stop singing little made up tunes or be still, twirling her finger in her hair. Now picture Trunchbull from *Matilda,* her gaining energy from suffering children how she genuinely hated if a kid was jolly, and did everything in her power to stop it from taking place in her sight. This is my partner when he drinks.

How do you tell someone that when they drink to the point they start to talk crazy and getting aggressive terrifies them? What if he tell me that the childish behavior that was once really cute and adorable is unbecoming and annoying. During the Covid-19 quarantine time we have been drifting apart, I lost my job almost 40 days ago. So I have been home on lock down going mentally nuts. And when I go nuts I keep it to myself, it takes days for me to come clean on what's going through my head or, to explain why my face looked the way it did. We live together. I moved in the end of summer last year.

With him being 40 I revert back to a childish place of being completely taken care of. When looking for a boyfriend I am attracted to older, well established, financially stable men. Can you completely take care of yourself? Do you have enough money to take care of someone else? Like a wife or children if that's in your cards. I desperately want to be taken care of. It is a real strong desire that I have. When existing in the element I feel at home, I feel conferrable and stress free like I'm living me best life. I have little to no anxiety, when in a stressful situation I don't feel the pressure to self harm, less self dialog, mental stability and physical comfort in the safety of it all.

My partner pays the rent in a rent controlled building and utilities, he buys the food and house supplies, takes care of the cannabis medical supply weekly, and tampons monthly. I am really blessed. I have little to no money when pay day comes. I owe and pay child support on top of paying back money borrowed and bills that are past due form having my own apartment last year. We don't drive, so I pitch in for Ubers, wine, food, and other things when we go out. My $984 before taxes every 2 weeks including cash + credit card tips is nothing to his $1,100 after taxes a week. My money is to be saved he says so I can have a apartment of my own soon.

I was evicted from my Koreatown apartment. It fucked my credit and now I'm playing catch up and repair woman. I kept the apartment after leaving a abusive relationship the big victorian 2 Bedroom 1 Bathroom was mines to find a new roommate to pay half the rent with. I had gotten pregnant again and I just knew I was going to do something stupid with suicidal thoughts. I missed out on a months full time shifts gagging or vometting every 5 minuets dizzy, very low energy, and just the most physical pain and discomfort. I was the maitre d in a very popular Italian establishment so pushing through work with these kind of symptoms is more of a health code violation as l like to call it. Rent got bagged up paying only half for months. Then my roommate moved out after a year because her and her new boyfriend wanted to move in together. Going on to packing up my apartment putting everything out side for the community to have (& they took it all... yessss) that I could not pack to have ready for Make Space to pick up. I was mentally relapsing *hard.*

I rented one of my best friends living room futon before moving in with my partner now. We had a blast, for them to be a married couple we all feel like siblings when hanging out, staying up late watching Cosmic Discloser eating popcorn and drinking red wine. There too I felt safe, I felt loved and cared protected. It was stable, I had a job, paid my rent and always had a place to sleep. I wasn't dating for a while because I believed I didn't deserve to once I got evicted. Just like millions of Americans right now I am waiting till the economy is back up in runny to apply for a job again. I have been working in the Food & Beverage industry for over 10 years now and we are all being heavily effected right now.

My partner asked me if I regress. I said no because I was ashamed, I felt like a child in trouble once again like someone seen me pick my nose and eat it. Because I am so interested about my trauma and the mind I looked it up. Among this one I do suffer from many other forms of behavior and psychosocial disorders, I identify with a lot and its scary and amazing. I know that I am not the only one going through these feelings so it make me want to look and search more. To find out the when, who's, why, and how's. I wanna know why I am the way I am, how I got this way so that I am able to reverse it. How to get out of my head...

If I am not suppose to be in a relationship with a 40 years young man then Universe, let a sista know! All the anxiety I have is not only for myself but for my partner too. Dose he want more, dose he want to get married, adopt a baby, dose he ever wanna live anywhere else, what dose his dream home look like, political views, universal views, do you morally believe in good or evil. He deserves joy and freedom just like me-like anyone else. And as I seek these answers I don't like what l find. I find that we want two completely different lives. We live in two different worlds. I love him and that hurts me, my love is what I stay. I feel cared for and wanted even when its rough. I stay rough because a part of me feels like this is the best partner I can gain in a relationship. These are the best days. The battle between ungratefulness and self worth continues. I never know if i am settling or being ungrateful. The craving of acceptance and unconditional love is finding out who l am and how can she be loved.

I know my triggers. Not all of them but enough to know what will send me into relapse. The sounds, smells, people, places, and events. The most important thing is l am aware of the work that needs to be done on me. She knows that she can't do it successfully on her own, she knows that this requires money and resources that she dose not have right now. She knows she's a survivor, but she is dangerously eager to live to explore, to no longer live in slavery of her trauma only having to search for more coping practices. To have the privilege to take time not worrying about money or bills as an obstacle to get the help she needs. To have absolutely no excuses. The courage it takes to stand alone, stay up late, cry, open up about the things she pretends never happened. To get away from it all retreating to a safe place where she can fall completely apart emotionally, visiting those places that she brainwashed herself to believe never existed.