#le bernardin

[agiantmonster]

4/3

[cumdinewitmoi]

[cabinet-baldo]

Sur la scission du Black Panthers Party 

Opuscule francais de 1971, éditions Git-le-Cœur 

38 pages que je tiens à disposition en HD, me contacter��  

[junedenim]

2011

beneath the boardwalk, part 8 (series masterlist)

love is a laserquest

warnings: fluff, angst, fluff, angst

word count: 11.8k

I got a job at the New Yorker. Condé Nast moved me over as a staff writer. I'm not sure if it was because they knew my desire for the job, Fennel did some talking, I charmed David Remnick, or my piece in the Paris Review. I've never found out. Either way, it made an optimistic start to the year.

Alex took me out to dinner when we found out. It was a far more fancy dinner than our usual ones. He wore a suit because it was that kind of restaurant and I was the kind of girl who liked a man in a suit. I wore a navy-coloured dress with a cream-coloured cardigan. 

We went to Le Bernardin where I never figured out how Alex managed to get a reservation so last minute. Alex and I began to talk about things we had never talked about before. Often when living with Alex in those years, we had the same conversations over and over again. I was never bored by them but I never learned much about the history of Alex and I knew he knew little of me other than context clues.

He told me of his childhood basketball games and I laughed at tiny Alex trying to shoot 3 meters off the ground. "We were awful," he said, "like really bad. I was okay but only because everyone else was really awful."

I giggled and sipped on my white wine. "I can't picture you sporty. You've always seemed scrawny to me."

"Hey. I work out," he defended.

It made me laugh again. "Maybe now but I've seen pictures of you young. You could have snapped in half."

"Most basketball players aren't buff," he reasoned.

I countered, "Most are over 6 feet tall."

Alex always worried about overstepping. I believe I had previously scarred him with off-the-cuff recountings of my childhood. Alex didn't even know how Tommy died. He was scared to ask and I never wanted to touch the subject. He retreated to the nonsense and we talked about the days when I played football.

"Now, you," he pointed his finger at me, "you are not sporty."

I laughed with my wine. "That's why I only did it for a week."

The days were so short in that January. We had celebrated his birthday in Sheffield. It would be the last time he would stay home for his birthday. The following years got tricky for him to make it home and by the time he could, he had grown up and gone so long without it that the idea of returning home felt childish.

When we returned I started my new job and Al returned to Los Angeles. He asked me about it. He cited that it was a good meeting point for all the guys for making a record. He reasoned that I didn't have to come. He promised that it would be a short amount of time. He swore I wouldn't even notice he was gone. 

Truthfully, I didn't care much. Maybe if he had left for months but he was gone for five weeks. It wasn't much different than touring, in fact, it was easier because he was always in the same place. He asked me if I was okay with it and for that I noticed and appreciated his matured abilities in communication. I preferred not to go with him. I wasn't uprooted from my life and, in New York, I had found an occupation in both labour and leisure. I don't care whether he came or left. That should have shocked me more but it didn't. Life was too quick for me to care.

I acquired a group of friends that felt like my own circle of beatniks and lost generation writers, although that was mostly my fantasization of them. We drank, we smoked, we doped, but nobody shot their wife or was "going mad" from my knowledge. It often felt like elders embarking wisdom onto the youth. That wisdom was usually through buckets of liquor and the faux elegance of smoking a cigarette in between a small dinner and an even tinier dessert. But I liked it a lot.

Before Alex left, the band came to New York and we had a little party with some of their friends. It was a lowkey affair for the most part. We mostly drank and chatted. It didn't feel right to invite any of my friends to this dirty British fun, even if a few Americans slipped by the door. It was the only "party" Alex held in that apartment but it was probably the best we had. It felt nostalgic.

Alex and I sat in front of the couch with his arm around me while Jamie attempted to balance a glass on his head. We were all drunk and with no sober thoughts there wasn't much logic to letting a clumsy guy balance a glass of liquor atop his head.

It crashed to the floor, spreading out across our feet. It should have been tragic and mildly painful as Jamie proceeded to step in a piece and cut his foot, but all of us, even a bleeding Jamie were laughing. 

I tucked my head into Alex's shoulder, struggling to breathe with how hard I was laughing. His arm hugged around me and he was a cushion to fall asleep on. I felt warm from the alcohol but he felt even warmer in that January chill. 

Alex got up to sweep up the mess and I fooled around with Katie, grabbing a tambourine and smacking it against my hand. It was a racket and not very pleasing to the ear but Katie and I were laughing too hard to put any care into it. Both of us were very musically inept.

"I feel like we're in Will's basement," I told them. "Feels just as childish as then."

Jamie laughed. "I guess we haven't grown much." Or maybe it was just the alcohol that brought us back to those states. But, to me, it was the idea that whenever we were with each other like this, we would regress back to the ways we met. The behaviours we exhibited when we first bonded.

"Time goes by, I suppose," I sighed and rested my head on Katie's shoulder. Matt pulled the glass out of Jamie's foot, Alex got him a bandage, and Nick poured him another glass.

I don't know much of what went down in LA with Alex. He wasn't one to open up without prompting and I wasn't one to talk about anyone but myself in those days. He gave me pieces but I imagined he was in the studio most of the time, which wasn't wrong.

He returned halfway through February and things resumed as they were. I went to work. He stayed home. We often went out for dinner with those from my circle. Alex had befriended some of them and it wasn't like he talked much during dinner anyway.

At the tail-end of February, there was a dinner somewhere on the Upper West Side. I can't place where but I had red wine and chicken, I remember that much. Neither the food nor the restaurant is very important here, but Alex got white wine and steak. I don't think he liked either.

The group would fluctuate between obsessing over Alex and ignoring him. He didn't like the former, he appreciated the latter. They were yapping on about something when I turned to Alex, whispering, "Isn't this right old fun?"

He pursed his lips and nodded. 

I rolled my eyes and ignored him for the rest of dinner.

When we finished dinner, someone suggested continuing the night with drinks. Alex tugged on my coat like he was a little child who stood nothing above three feet tall. I looked over at him and he just stared at me. I frowned then he frowned. I wasn't sure what we were saying to one another. I wasn't sure if we were joking around or fighting. We passed on drinks and walked in the opposite direction.

"You don't want to have fun," I whined, tugging on his arm. He was stiff-figured with his hands in his pockets. He had all the signs of a man but looked to be about 17 and shy. "You don't want to drink, you don't want to talk. They think you're sullen."

Alex chuckled. "Aren't I?"

I tucked my arms away from him and moved over on the street, furthering the gap between our brushing bodies. "You like people to think that but it comes off as rude."

He shrugged. "Sorry." Not apologetically, just uncaring.

We stopped at a light. I lit a cigarette and he tapped his shoe on the cement. "What's got you down, blue boy?" I laughed in the moment thinking of the closeness in pronunciation to blue balls.

Something cracked within him, realigning the figure of him. He stood taller, dropped his hands out of his pockets, and slung an arm around me. "Just missed you." His hand reached out and pushed the strands back. 

My face felt cluttered and my cigarette-yielding hand felt full. I took it up to my lips, edged it right on the bottom of it. "If you missed me so much, why don't you kiss me?" I trapped the cigarette and blew smoke into his face.

He laughed at me, let go, and moved across the street. I was stuck on the sidewalk, left to chase after him. He was still laughing when I caught up to him. "What? What?" I never found out what he was laughing at, he just kissed me, all bright and smiling, teeth colliding. 

We went home and I undressed and showered. Alex did something, I'm not sure, but when I left the bathroom, he was in bed reading. I sought refuge in the covers, the chill of the air burning my skin. I scooted closer to him, tightened a grasp on his arm, and leaned my head on him. I was in perfect sight of the book but didn't bother to read it, instead tapping on his upper arm.

"Yes?" He didn't look up from the page but I spotted the cheeky grin spread on his lips. 

My finger stroked the corner of it. "Nothing."

He chuckled. "You want something."

I leaned back onto the headboard. "Why do you always think that? Maybe I just want to look at you."

He laughed again. "Well, you answered your question there."

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I know." His eyes stayed on his book, flipping a page, somehow reading through all my talking.

I shelved my head on his shoulder. "Are you bored?" 

His eyes escaped the page momentarily before returning. "No. I'm reading."

"Okay." I left it at that but I worried that we were leaving one another behind. It might have been a typical thing for other couples but it was weird to have intimate separation from one another. I mean, sure there was having sex but it wasn't often that Alex and I went to bed in these different junctions. He felt stiff and awkward as of late and not just with other people. He was reading a book in bed.

I slumped further into bed. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"I don't know." He waited, thought some, and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," I replied. I waited. "Should call Stacey." I waited and felt the sinking in my stomach as we seemed to stay still. "I have the weirdest feeling."

"Your dad's fine." The book stayed open and his eyes followed the sentences to an impeccable degree. It was impressive and confusing, perplexing, but no longer infuriating. It was so strange.

I played with my fingers, tapping them on my stomach, picking at my shirt, and debating what to say and whether to say it. But I vowed to myself to talk to Alex and so I did. "I miss you. I miss you and you're right here."

I had no clue what he would say. I thought I might have been left with silence or a kiss or a question, some form of confusion. But he never shifted, didn't spare me a glance as I stared up at him so attentively as he casually said, "You're tired."

"Okay," I decided. I flicked out my light (he left his on, a new thing) and went to bed. I don't know when he went to bed or if he ever did.

*

One Sunday, Alex and I sat in Washington Square Park. It was just starting to get warm and bearable to sit outside for prolonged periods of time. The center fountain still wasn't running water so people were skating on it. There was loud music blaring from somewhere but I never found the source. People were selling things: clothes, music, art, Bibles. I was sipping on a strawberry banana smoothie and Alex was eating some kind of disgusting sandwich that was practically spilling over with its contents.

I could feel the chill of the bench through my jeans, but it was comforting rather than chattering. Alex looked fluffy in a leather jacket. It was like a Yorkshire Terrier trying to be an American Bully. 

I reached out and brushed my hands through the front of his mop top, trying to give sun to the part of his face that hid away from it. My hand crawled to the other side of him, putting my arm around his shoulders.

"Should I get my hair cut?" I was merely focusing on myself in this moment, not hinting toward anything. It was long, not yet too long, and my fringe had fully grown out sometime around the end of January.

Alex turned to me, getting a good look at me as if he were trying to determine his decision. He hummed in deep thought over this. "Maybe a trim."

I giggled. "You're just trying to agree with me."

He chewed through his sandwich. "No, I'm just being honest."

I hummed, uncertain of this. "You like my hair long."

He felt like I was trying to play games with him. "You're very beautiful, Janie."

I brushed it off. "You're just saying that."

"Jane." He turned to me with a very serious look on his face like he was about to break some bad news to me. It unnerved me to be stared at him in this way. "You say 'thank you' when someone gives you a compliment."

I couldn't help but give a little laugh. "You've been waiting to use that for years, have you?"

Alex smiled, very proud of himself and went to finish off his sandwich. "I have many tricks up my sleeve."

I would have kissed him if he didn't have sandwich residue all over his face. Instead, I reached for a napkin and wiped it off. "You're very beautiful too, Alex." Because I never said it enough. He had become more sure of himself through the years from getting older and growing into the person he wanted to be more but we all have that little voice gnawing away at us. Alex always fought off that voice for me and I never felt I put as sufficient of an effort in and I wanted to now. 

He looked over at me, still wiping his hands as his cheeks flushed. It was quite a sight for a 25-year-old man who had a habit of being evasive to his emotions. To be overcome by something I had said, it made me blush too. "Say 'thank you' now, Alex."

He moved closer to me, almost touching. "Thank you, Janie." Then, lip to lip.

He pulled back and threw out his trash. When he came back, I let him have a sip of my smoothie and put his hand on my thigh. "What should we do now?" Alex asked.

"I don't know." We sat and people watched for a while. We gossiped about the passersby and made up stories about their lives. They started out small with the suspicion that an elegant-dressed woman had lost her way and wound up in the park and ended with us pretending all the skaters were aliens.

Then, we went record shopping. Music history was close by. Electric Lady Studios is a block over and The Bitter End is around the corner. We went into the basement of Generation Records and searched through the stack of $1 records and giant posters. We walked away empty-handed beside a David Bowie sticker I bought for Alex. He stuck it to the front of his notebook.

*

I woke up late one morning. It must have been a Saturday. I was definitely hungover. I remember the blur of trying to get to bed the night before. I ended up landing in bed and Alex had to take me apart piece by piece and pull sleep clothes over me. I was very quiet, if not already asleep.

Alex was out of bed sitting on the couch when I crawled out of our bedroom. It was silence other than the padding of my feet as I poured myself a glass of water. I sat at our tiny kitchen table, taking small sips from the ice cold glass. Alex moved over into the kitchen and whispered the question of if I wanted anything to eat. I wanted an apple so he cut it up into little slices for me.

I took a bite of one before deciding it hurt my jaw too much to do. I pulled out a cigarette to ease the pain.

Alex laughed at my display: smudged makeup, rough hair, and a cigarette. To me, it was glamourous. Writing it still kind of feels that way but Alex was probably right that it was pretty ugly and pretty funny. "I think you need a shower, Janie, not a cigarette."

"You smoke," I stated matter of factly. As if, his smoking outdoors was comparable to that sight. I was breaking my own rule of smoking indoors, not that Al would reprimand me for that.

"How was last night?" He asked. "If you can recall it."

I squinted. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not," he insisted.

I sighed and sipped my water. "Fine. We went to a nice club and had a nice dance. What did you do?"

He shrugged. He seemed so casual but he was staring so intensely at me as if to X-ray me. "Hung around here. Called me mum."

"You should've come out with us."

"Nah. I'm not much for clubbing these days."

I hummed and frowned. "Not even for me?"

He rolled his eyes. It wasn't playful, it was rejecting. I enforced many notions that Alex didn't want to hang out with me. At least, that was my belief in those days. It wasn't fair to him to force him to go to those places or place blame when he didn't. I think I even knew that then. Besides, we were split branches. Neither of us wanted to acknowledge we were growing the other way.

*

The Paris Review's Spring Revel was my first personal award show. I was no longer the plus one—Alex made a very good plus one. I was going to accept the Plimpton Prize, which I believe was the first award I had ever won in my life, minus those participation trophies. 

Alex and I had already done our celebrating when I got the phone call. We jumped on the bed, we went out for dinner, we had sex—the trifecta. At the Spring Revel, I wanted to look sophisticated in the literary sense, whatever that means, but Fennel knew exactly what I meant. I wore a blue boatneck midi dress by Ralph Lauren, which I suppose screams American glamour. I was fancy proper without being frumpy or slutty. I quite liked it and Alex quite liked it. He just wore a suit, very easy for him.

I'm not sure why but I was most excited for the meal. Maybe because I didn't want to acknowledge people would actually be paying attention to me or maybe because, by the time the day came, I was really hungry. So, I ate my dinner, some meat and salad, and drank a glass of champagne. 

I had my photo taken with Robert Redford and James Lipton and then hid in the bathroom for 20 minutes after. Alex was my emotional support animal. I dragged him with me whenever I went to talk to someone. It was always an easy out for when the conversation lulled to say, "This is my boyfriend, Alex. He's in the Arctic Monkeys." Most people didn't know what that was and asked. The others were in wonder by it. He was a great deflection tool, something he usually hated, but I knew that he knew that I needed it by the way he squeezed my hand whenever I did it.

"What shall I do with the $10,000? What did you do with your Mercury Prize money?" I asked Alex as the night began to wind down. We stood, waiting for a cab and the last of that winter wind threatened the spring night.

The cab approached and Alex opened the door for me. It was a very special night. "Well, I had to split mine with three other people. I think I just put it in my bank account."

I scoffed, "Lame." He chuckled as he hopped into the car. "I feel like I should do something special with mine."

"What's something you really want?"

I looked down at my purse. "I don't know. I can't think of anything I would buy. Maybe clothes."

"Maybe we should take a trip," he suggested. He was risqué and tempting with just the raise of his brow. He gave so much away with his tone. His hand sculpted its way across my face and brushed forgotten strands behind my ear.

"We? Who said anything about sharing the money with you?" I looked over at him and knew I would spend all the money on him if he'd let me, which, of course, he never would. But I understood the desire to care for a person, to look after them for all the days to come. Suddenly, I liked the idea of putting the money away. Saving it for some lovely toy he'd like to play with. Or maybe just a rainy day. One of his, not mine.

He placed his hand on my knee and we might have been stopped at a red light or stuck in traffic but I couldn't tell. He leaned close to my ear, whispering delicately for just me and the wind to hear, "You earned it."

*

By the end of April showers, I had been washed out. Things felt sloppier in nature by that time. The streets always seemed to be glazed with a pile of rain and the wind always seemed to have me rushing out the door.

Alex was soaking up the last few moments of relaxation before the tour kicked off in about two weeks. I wasn't there for most of that. I was drawn in by work, even when I didn't have much work to do. Every outing had something to do with a co-worker or a co-worker who knew this person who was going to that person's party. I loved it. It felt like the definition of being young and fabulous. A hallmark for New York and a girl who dreamed of a Sex & the City lifestyle.

Alex didn't like those kinds of things. He was a quiet, misshapen boy, who much rather enjoyed the quiet joys of the bar down the street or smoking with one of our neighbors on the roof. I liked those things too but they felt slow and downy by comparison. 

Often, I would come home and find Alex on the roof. He liked the feeling of wind and it was an easy way to smoke outdoors without having to put his jeans on. He'd bring his notebook up with him but I often found it closed. He took more to reading around that time. It was an easy way to turn his brain off when he was so alone. I left him to think a lot.

I came home from work and didn't bother with going into our apartment. I trod up the stairs to the roof. His back was to me and I slid my hands down the front of him and said a quiet, "Hi."

He smiled and closed his book, dropping it down by his notebook, his pack of cigarettes, and his lighter. I sat beside him on the wicker bench that if you sat too far back on the strands in it would break. I stole from his pack and relaxed as stiff as possible. "What have you gotten up to?" I asked.

Alex shrugged, naturally complacent, but possessing an uncaringly cool front to him. I could always tell why people were drawn to him. Sometimes, it pissed me off how much he shrugged away all this attention people begged upon him, but it had always been his way and I loved that about him. He never deemed to change for anybody. He was firm in who he was, even if he hadn't yet figured out who he was. All the boys had been. Maybe because life had given them more freedom. They didn't have to be pretty and cool and mysterious and talented, yet they were. To me, it's obvious that you don't try to be those things because it negates the whole purpose but then unknowingly I wanted to be so much like him that it repelled people, the kind of people that really cared. Those who did, cracked through all that. They didn't see me as a cool girl in a white silk maxi skirt smoking on the roof with her quiet boyfriend. To them, I was Jane. To the closest, the one, I was Janie. And maybe that's the only way I'll ever be able to express how dearly I love Alex. Because things just made sense around him. It was as simple as that.

And when I strayed too far away, that is when I became a cool girl in a white silk maxi skirt smoking on the roof. But he shrugged and smiled and said he had spent the day reading and had gone out for lunch with one of his friends, the kind he knew really well and I knew in passing so the name isn't of much relevance. He had a nice time but was glad I was home now. That we were home together.

"Calvin is hosting a little get-together tonight and I said we'd go." It was simple, said over a puff of smoke, and a gaze at the clear blue sky.

But his brows furrowed and his cigarette grew ashy and he stared right at me though it took me too long to notice. "Really?"

I had expected this, his practice of reluctance. But I gushed and insisted, "It'll be plenty fun. Calvin always has nice parties and you've never been to his place. It's stunning. I'd use the $10,000 to save for a place like his. I'm sure I'm a couple of million off but it could be achieved in time with both our salaries. Maybe my parents would even—"

"Jane." He had been saying it the whole time but I was a buzzing alarm that refused to be put on snooze. He was tense and leaned back into his chair when I stopped talking. He shut his eyes like he was in the midst of a migraine. "God, do you hear yourself talk sometimes?"

Nothing mattered then. I hated myself. If he didn't like me, if he didn't want to hear me, then what was the point? However jolted I was, I was also stubborn. "Excuse me?"

"You just go on and on sometimes."

"Yes, Alex. I talk. It's what normal human beings do."

He shook his head and scuffed out his cigarette. His face was all wrinkled up in distress. "Jane, it's not a conversation if you're just rambling on about nothing."

"It's not nothing." It was my friend and the idea of a future. It felt so harmless and yet he was offended over it. "Thought you would want to hear about my day."

He crossed his arms and thought of something wise to say. I saw his face, full of that perturbed quality and a studious annoyance. I would have none of it. I stood up and walked to the roof's door. "Jane," he called after. I'm not sure what for. Apologize, lecture me, stare at me in disappointment.

"You're always doing this! You don't get to make me feel bad!" I yelled at him and stomped down to our apartment. I locked the door, even though I knew he was right behind me, I just wanted to piss him off. I stayed in front of the door so when he would open it, he'd be face-to-face with me.

And he was, but he walked past me. He knew my ploys too well. He was calm, swaying with himself and I was itching to explode. "I don't want to go to Calvin's place," he said. He sat down on the couch. Calm, cool, and collected.

"But I want you too."

"Jane, I've been to twenty of these parties you want me to go to. I want to relax on a Wednesday night with me girlfriend. Not fifty other people."

"You relax every day of the week. Let's go have fun."

"Jane!" He was yelling in an attempt to get through to me. "I don't find that fun. I don't find you coming home hammered fun. I don't find these people to be well-meaning and fun."

"You like Kaka and Fennel!"

"You mean going to dinner with them? Yes, I like going to places where I can talk to you without thinking you're going to throw up on me in the next sentence."

"Quit being so dramatic. Who are you even? That's how we met. Talking at places like this. Sharing a smoke after having too much to drink."

"Jane, I'm not 18 anymore. I have a different life now. I'm leaving in 2 weeks and you want to spend that time like that."

It felt wrong. I felt bad. I felt he had a point. But it was too late for all of that. This was an argument and it would only end when I got my way. "I like doing that! It's how I let loose after a long day of work."

"You don't have to be drunk to let loose."

All I could hear was him calling me my mother. "It's not being drunk. It's about being with my friends. It's about bitching about work."

"I don't want to hang around your friends. I want to hang around you. Why is that so hard for you? Do you not like me anymore?" He said it so seriously, it was terrifying.

My jaw fell open and it was like my life fell open. I was ready for the floor to let go and take me down with it. "Are you serious?" I grabbed my purse. "I might be a bitch or a drunk or whatever image of me you've conjured up in your head but I'm not that. You fucker." I didn't wait around. I stormed out.

I went to Calvin's. I had one shot and cried in the bathroom. Tasha came and held my hand. I was the biggest phony ever. She repeated last year's advice back at me but it felt like stones in my pockets pulling me down to the bottom of the river. I felt useless. My only choice was to sob. I was mourning, I could feel it, but not admit to it.

*

"Alex." I placed a hand on him, unsure if he was awake. 

His head turned slightly upwards and he mumbled, "We'll talk about it in the morning." He turned away, escaping further under the covers, further away from me.

I sat on my side of the bed for a minute, lost on what to do, knowing I would be unable to go to bed. I got up and went to the bathroom, changing out of everything, removing my makeup, and then sitting on the toilet seat. Then, I cried. I'm not sure for how long but there was a crack in me that everything was pouring out of and I couldn't patch it up. So, I let the floodgates go, smushed my hands into my eyes, and shook with sobs.

The bathroom door cracked open and I could picture Alex popping his head in but I refused to look up. I wanted to avoid processing all of this. I wanted to be left alone and I wanted him to comfort me. I wanted everything and nothing and I couldn't get either. "Jane," he peeped.

I shook my head from my position. Words wouldn't allow themselves out. I became non-verbal, trapped by my silent cries.

He sighed. I heard the door open more as he moved further into the bathroom. He closed the door like we were hiding from someone as if it wasn't just the two of us in this apartment. "I don't know what you want me to do, Jane." His back leaned against the door, his hand grasped the doorknob, and his eyes averted my figure as I looked up at him.

Crying seemed to cease and I stilled for a moment to think. "That's the problem. I'm so sick of this need you have to wait for what I want because it used to just be with things I wanted to do, which was fine, but now it's like you don't even know how to act around me unless I tell you how to."

"You yell at me whenever I decide against it. I didn't want to go out tonight."

"But I did and you berated me for that."

"Sometimes it'd be nice to spend time with you without fifty other people around."

"They're my friends. It's the same as us hanging out in Joanie's basement. The only difference is you don't like my friends."

"I don't give a fuck about your friends. I give a fuck about you and this constant need you have to go out and get drunk."

"What? I'm an alcoholic now?"

"Don't do this shite. This putting words in my mouth. I can't handle that."

"It's no different than who I've always been, Alex. The only thing that's changed is the people. You had no issue with this when it was your friends too. You just don't like it when I pay attention to things other than you."

"What like Robert? The guy in Aruba?"

I stopped and squinted. "Why? Why do you feel the need to bring shit like that up?"

"Because it proves my point."

"What? That I'm a slag? You want me to get it tattooed across my forehead?"

"No. It's that you always find other things to want instead of me."

"You were away! I didn't fuck Robert until we had broken up. And we were barely together during the guy in Aruba."

"That's your excuse?"

"That's not my excuse! It's my explanation, which you were fine with 3 years ago."

"Because I wanted you! I wanted to get back together and then you told me that. I'm not...it's fine. I understand. I'm not mad about that."

"Sure seems like it."

"Stop." He was serious and I flushed like my father was scolding me. "It's hard not to feel like you choose things over me."

"Because I have friends? You're the one leaving. You're always the one leaving."

"For my job! You don't think I want to be with you all the time? That I enjoy doing that to you? Even when I'm here, you go off without me."

I crossed my arms. "I'm allowed to have a life outside of you, Alex."

"I know. But it doesn't really seem like you have a life with me in it."

"It's because you do nothing. You sit around here all day and mope when I go out. You don't want anything, you want to sit here and watch Breaking Bad."

"Any time that I want something we have a fight or we break up. I want to go on tour. Break-up. I want to go to LA. Major fight. I want a relationship with you. You run away."

"When did I ever not want a relationship with you?"

"Oh, come on, Jane, I'm well aware that before my little posh comment to you, I called you my girlfriend, and then you didn't talk to me for months."

"That? I was a completely different person then. The fact that you have to go back that far to make your point is ridiculous."

"Then, fine, Jane. Let's leave it at that. I'm wrong. You're right. Nothing will change. That's fine. Okay. I'll bend for you, okay? I'm fine doing that because I want to make you happy. But would you do that for me?"

"I moved to LA for you! I upended my whole life, my career over there, for you! If I told you to quit the band, would you do it?"

"Don't play that stupid game."

"Answer it."

"No. But would you quit your job right now to go on tour with me? No. You didn't give a shit about Simon & Schuster. If you cared so much, you wouldn't have left. It wasn't like I was leaving forever, okay? We both have other priorities other than each other."

"Great! Then, me going out with my friends from work should be no issue."

"Every night of the week?"

"You went out to LA for 5 weeks and don't use the excuse of the studios out there. We live in New York now. You can't really make that excuse."

He shook his head. "I'm not fighting with you. I don't like it. I don't want to do it. I want to go to bed. There."

"So, when you're wrong then it's okay to go to bed."

"No. I'm tired. I don't like doing this. Fine, I shouldn't have left your side, but I don't revolve around you."

"I don't revolve around you."

"No, but I'm not even in your orbit quite frankly. You moved on and I let you. I put things ahead of you. I fucked up. But I don't think you even care about that."

"How do you know?"

"I've known you for eight fucking years. In and out, Jane. I've cried with you, I've fought with you, I've lived with you, and I love you. Is that so hard for you to understand? I know you haven't been shown it very much but this is what it is. And I want you through all of it. That's what I want. But you don't reflect that back."

"I hurt you so much. I get it."

"No, you don't."

"Yes. I do. You can comfort me and tell me you love me but you were hurt by tonight. You've been hurt by me for a while. It takes a lot for you to yell at me. And you've yelled."

"Sorry."

"Don't say sorry. Don't bend for me. I'm tired of beating you down. But I'm not going to change for you. I like my life. Love it. And I've never felt that way before, except there's one thing. I always feel like I'm failing you."

"No, you're not. We both fucked up. It's fine."

"No, it's not. That's what this whole fight has been about and I'm done with you comforting me and I'm tired of fighting. I love you but it just hurts because every move I make, I feel like I'm chipping away at you. I don't want you to dictate the way I act but I don't want to hurt you in the process." I sighed and thought for a minute, wanting to think every turn through. I kept falling down the same hole. "And you'll be gone soon and I think that'll help. Some time separated."

"You want to break up?"

I shook my head. "I don't want that. I'm not going to do that." I took a deep breath. "Maybe while you're on tour we should take a break. You readjust. I readjust. We'll come back and they'll be a whole new person to learn but that love won't go anywhere. I know that. That's never going to go away."

"What if I don't want that?"

"I think we both need it. We've been on top of one another so far this year but never with one another, maybe only briefly. It's been bitter. I don't like us this way."

"I don't either."

"You're never gonna get rid of me, you know that?"

He chuckled wetly. "Yeah."

"You're always going to be my friend. I'd be nothing without that."

"Not true. Goes both ways. You're right."

"Yeah. I know. Can't help it."

"I love you, okay?"

"Yeah. You too."

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch?"

"Course not. You're not a pariah. I still like being with you."

"Good."

We went to bed on opposite sides and woke up on opposite sides. It was a weird few days where we co-existed with one another. We got along fine. I was at work and he went off at night. I think he went out drinking with friends but I never asked. We had sex one night. Alex and I were both drunk. Woke up naked with one another. We never talked about it but both understood it wasn't going to change anything. It was nice just to touch one another. 

About a week later, Alex packed up his things, not that there was much there. I would keep the apartment along with the furniture. He took his belongings and moved in with Matt temporarily. The tour started soon after. 

*

In a way, it was like when we broke up back in '06, except we were older and had been through this before. We talked on the phone when he was in London. It was a short call where we checked in on one another. He complained about a flight he took and I told him about something I was writing. He said he'd like to read it but I never sent it. That felt too intimate.

Truthfully, I perceived myself as being fine. I was doing great at work, I was having fun, I had friends, I only cried for one week, and only once to Fennel and Kaka. Truthfully, I was out of it. I was a machine and I betrayed myself by not letting myself feel anything. I had shamed myself for so long for being an emotional person, who sobbed in front of people at the slightest thing, but now I had become nothing. A cog in the machine.

I didn't betray all my old habits. I slept around. Not heavily but enough to get pregnant and not know who the father was. But it all felt understandable under the circumstances.

The week before Alex was due to return to New York for a concert, I wiped myself out. I drank, I smoked, I snorted. None were great combinations and by the end of the week, I burnt myself out. I spontaneously flew to LA and stayed with Opal for a few days. I mostly stayed in her place. I was probably depressed but not clinically. I called Alex and told him I was in LA and he made some joke about turned tables. We laughed. I wished him luck. We said we loved and missed each other and it all felt strangely platonic.

I decided to myself that partying was fine but spending the week going to your Calvin's parties wasn't worth it. I settled for Friday night drinks and dinners with Fennel and Kaka. It didn't always measure out this way but it wasn't a whole week with barely any sleep. My work had suffered for it and I decided I was going to write these experiences down rather than chasing the next high. It also helped that since I gained some favour in the New York literary scene and had re-crafted some of my old work, Jackson had set up several book deal meetings.

A lot of this was me unknowingly changing for Alex. Or maybe just unknowingly recognizing that he did have some points to his argument but that didn't mean he was completely in the right. I just needed to be better for myself.

Mostly, I decided that if I ever felt the need to break these rules I had set myself that would be okay too. For the first time in my life, I was completely on my own. Everyone who had taken care of me throughout my life was at a distance. I had people that supported me but I wanted to do it on my own. It was the first time I saw value in achieving something without having someone applaud for me at the finish line. They would always be there. He would always be there. But I liked the idea of patting myself on the back. At least for now, that would be enough.

*

Suck It and See was a surprise to me. It's strange how much time you spend with a person and how much is left uncovered. I had heard bits and pieces of things but everything was very distant at the time he made this record. It shouldn't have surprised me so much what ended up on the record considering the state of things but it's all retrospective here and things felt different in the moment than they did in writing.

The weirdest thing: I was jealous. I was jealous of my own self. These were words that I presumed to be toward me or some sex doll daydream vixen version of myself and I was jealous of her. I didn't experience these words of passion in the middle of lovemaking. Alex didn't roll over and say I was a thunderstorm (that would have been plenty weird). But I strangely desired that affection. To be told I was rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock and my skirt was a sawn-off shotgun. Maybe I was just getting lonely.

It was different from his other writing. I didn't find myself embedded in it. There was no "505" or "Secret Door" where I could pinpoint moments that he had drawn from, other than "That's Where You're Wrong," which even in itself was muddled (what does it mean for the sky to be a scissor??). 

I found myself questioning if all those times I caught him alone outside with a notebook were hidden clues to this album, especially with "Love is a Laserquest." I always felt he could read me before he even knew me and it had been a while since this quality had taken me aback, but I had all the air knocked out of me. It was depressing how much of a love song it was without seeming as such. But I locked it away in a drawer and decided not to touch it again. I wouldn't discuss it with anyone. I wouldn't make jokes about it to Alex and I wouldn't talk about it in mournful ways with friends. It existed, it was there, and I would leave it there. I would leave everything there.

*

The summer proved to be hot. Then, a heat wave pulled through and made it even more hot. At the end of June, Jackson flew out to New York and stayed with me for a few days while we made moves for the book. While it meant a great deal to be published, I tried not to think about it much. People had books published every day. I was still left with the question of if people were actually going to read it.

Alex was in the rush of festival season and we didn't talk much. He sent me two postcards. One from Paris and the other from Sheffield. I taped them to my wall, next to all my other trinkets from him. The contents of them were minimal. He was having a good time in Paris, Sheffield was all the same, nothing ever changed in Sheffield, but each ended with "Love, Al" and for that, I held onto something, even if it was hard for me to believe we still had much of a chance.

We told everyone, as we told ourselves, that it was just a break. People understood. He'd be away, I was reaching new heights in my career, and it gave us the freedom to sleep around. Many people in New York understood that part. However, Stacey was convinced that we were lying and everything had fallen to shambles and I was on the verge of killing myself. So, she flew to New York.

She was fully grown; an idea that is still so strange to me. She was cooler than I'll ever be with long legs and perfect hair that bounced with every step she took. But she still picked her nose and said friggin' instead of fucking and she could be a total bitch at times. I love her so much.

I often say Stacey factory resets me. I suppose since a childhood home hasn't existed for me since my parents moved and I try to avoid my parents besides the holiday season, Stacey puts things back in perspective. It feels like playing pretend with her. So, we went to the Plaza for lunch and pretended we were the kind of people who lived on Park Avenue and had nannies for our children while we went out day drinking. I used a tenth of my Plimpton Prize money on this lovely day in New York and that felt like a worthy recipient of my prize money.

When Stacey left, Jackson flew back to secure the book deal with Penguin and because I couldn't think of calling it anything else, I finally officially named it LA Times. It was weird to pitch a book that felt so far removed from that time in my life considering how much material I had written since then but perhaps that's why I was able to do it. 

I didn't tell anyone about it, except Jackson, obviously, and Opal. She came to New York and the three of us went out to a series of restaurants and clubs and shared my apartment for nearly the whole month of July because it seemed like a fun thing to do. Opal and I shared my bed and Jackson slept on the couch, which I suddenly found out was a pull-out. Alex must have purchased that one. Then, I felt like I was in Sex & the City. Or maybe Girls. I certainly felt like a Hannah and Opal seemed like a Marnie, or maybe a Jessa, but both in a good way. I hope.

A heat wave passed through at the time that seemed never-ending. My AC was shit so we didn't spend much time in the apartment. We went out for lunch at a place in Brooklyn where the AC had superpowers with how strong it was but the food never got cold. It was magical.

"I think you should call him," Opal said over her salad. The topic of Alex had been a tricky one. Sometimes, Opal and I stayed up nights talking about it, other times I shunned it. "I know he'll be happy."

I wiped my face with my napkin. Jackson sat there awkwardly. "I know he will be. That's not the problem."

"The reason why you're so bent out of shape over it is because you know it'll feel real once you tell him. You want to avoid that for as long as possible." In another life, Opal was a therapist. In this one, she was the type of girl to shove stones up her vagina for healing powers. She claims this very proudly.

"I'll do it in time."

"Do it before the book comes out."

I was never alone much—that was my excuse for not calling. But it played on my mind as to why I avoided it so much. I know a part of me wished to do it in person. To be able to jump on the bed with him and dance around with such excitement that it seemed nothing could ever be bad. I also knew that wouldn't be a reality.

So, that night I went up onto the apartment's roof and smoked one cigarette before calling him. Then, I lit up another one while the phone was ringing. He was somewhere in South Korea. I knew that much.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi," I said.

"Hey. How you doing?" He was drunk. Not far gone, but lost to the sauce.

"I'm okay. How are you?" I debated putting off the news and telling him when he was in a more sober state but I knew it would be easier to tell him in this loose goose fashion.

"Good. Good. Hold on a sec." The noise diffused as he seemed to walk to a quieter place. I debated making a joke about partying but that felt too petty and snarky. The noise became muffled when he spoke again. "Sorry. Hi. Can you hear me?"

His tone was granular, inducing me to laugh. "Yeah. Yeah. I can hear you."

"You okay?" His concern was overt. I wondered how many times he had been anxious over me as if he pictured me in some alley with a needle hanging out of my arm.

"Yeah. Fine." I picked at the straying denim thread of my shorts. "I just had something to tell you."

"Yeah?"

It was out with it, at least that felt proper, even if it felt unnatural to relay the news to him this way. "Penguin picked up my book."

Silence rang on the other end and I thought the call had gotten disconnected. He cleared his voice and said, "You know, I knew it. You're a writer, Janie."

The dam broke and the water was let loose from my eyes. I was determined for it to not be overheard, but it was clear in my voice. He never commented on it as I never commented on his elongated silences. We both knew what it meant. "I'll buy you a nice car or something with the money."

"Nah. Just get me a signed copy."

"You'll get the first one."

I dedicated the book to him. He wouldn't see it for another year but I wrote it down that night. For the one who said, "You're a writer, Janie."

*

Alex called me a few days later. This time I was at a bar and excused myself for a smoke. It was the last day of July and it felt like the final day of the heat wave, even if more humidity was to come.

He was rough on the phone. His voice, his attitude, the way I pictured him running his hands through his hair, ripping at the roots of it. "Hey. What are you doing?" He asked.

"Just hanging out with some friends," I answered. "You?"

He took a heavy sigh and coughed once. He was smoking, I could tell. "I feel a little stupid, to be honest."

"Why?"

He waited, likely taking a drag and hanging with a deep thought. I nearly fell over when he said, "I, uh, just had sex with someone. Sorry if that's weird."

It was weird, not him doing it. Obviously, I had gotten up to my own business, but I don't know the decorum of calling your on-a-break girlfriend to let her know you fucked someone else. Still, I said, "No, I mean...well, I just." I struggled with how to respond. "Is there a reason you called me to tell me?"

He laughed. "'Cause I'm a soppy idiot, I guess."

"How so?"

"You know." I could hear him shift, either standing up or sitting down. The wind whistled around him. I wondered if he was outside while the girl he slept with was still in bed. I wondered how weird this was for her. "I've never..."

"You can't fake that you're a virgin when we met Alex," I joked.

He chuckled, coughing on something again. "Yeah, but I, uh, haven't done that with someone else in like seven years." He laughed through it awkwardly, not an ounce of him found it to be funny.

"Not even when we were broken up?"

"No." God, I really was a slag, slut, and a whore. Or maybe I was just normal and he was some modest conservative boy. "Well, I got a blowjob once."

"Hooker?"

"Very funny," he said dryly. "Anyway, I was smoking and thinking, you know, doing my worst. I guess, my impulses took over."

"Are we going to have phone sex now?" I quipped.

"Shut up," he chuckled. Something else happened around him that I wasn't able to catch. A moment later he said, "Thanks for listening. I'll, uh, talk to you soon."

"Okay. Sure."

*

Alex cut his hair in August. I received this news over Twitter and a text from Opal, who had just returned to Los Angeles. It was quite dramatic. No longer the kind of haircut down in a bathtub. I debated texting him about it but I didn't want him to think I was stalking him on the internet. I very much was, it was a lonely Tuesday night where I drank too much wine at dinner with Jackson (still celebrating).

However, this then caused me to make the mistake that I then had to do something drastic with my hair. Big mistake. Huge. The following night, I enlisted Tasha's help to dye my hair blonde. My hair...did not come out blonde. It was frizzy. It was orange. I nearly decided to just shave all my hair off if not for Tasha calming me down by having us watch Curb Your Enthusiasm. 

Most dreadful thing was having to go to work the next day. I thought about putting a bag over my head. I thought about taking off work. I thought about quitting my job. I thought about taking my head off. I sent a picture to Opal, my yes-man cheerleader, who told me it looked great and wacky and I should just own it. I wore it in a low bun with a hat on and took one step out the door before deciding to call in sick to work.

I made an emergency call to my hair salon, which didn't have anything available until Monday morning. So I faked a long sickness, which in a way was a real sickness because I just sat on the couch watching TV and ordering take-out for 4 days. The only time I went outside was to smoke on the roof, which I stopped doing after my neighbor saw me and gave me a strange look, likely thinking I had just escaped the institution. 

Monday morning, my hair stylist said to me, "You know, blonde just isn't your colour. You're too pale, it washes you out."

I melodramatically dived my head into my hands and said, "I know. I'm so stupid!"

"We could take you back to brown or we could...?" That dot dot dot seemed more appealing to me than going back to my old self, especially after staring at Bozo the Clown for the past few days. So, I went red, well, a coppery red. Tasha said I was a penny. It wasn't as good as my natural colour, I think I was blessed with the colour I was supposed to be. But if I was spiraling I'd like to associate it with a different version of myself.

It took all of this for me to realize that if I had stressed so much about changing my hair that maybe, just maybe, Alex's haircut wasn't to look cool for all the hot new babes. It was maybe to look cool for me.

Then, he got a new girlfriend.

I didn't know anything about her. She was tall, brunette, skinny with a cool name. I wouldn't label my feelings to be jealousy, maybe a little, but it was more like she had taken my toy on the playground and I had no chance of getting it back. 

I wouldn't even go into my preconceived notions of what "being on a break" meant to me because then we'd be getting into a whole Ross and Rachel debate that I'm just not up for. What was the difference between sleeping with people and dating people? There was one thing: Alex and I were now exes. We could call ourselves friends as much as we wanted but above all else the way the world would label us was the ex-girlfriend of Alex Turner and the ex-boyfriend of Jane Cavendish. 

I thought about being rash and going out to troll the streets until I got a boyfriend too but the logical part of my brain finally kicked in (frontal lobe development) and realized the whole reason why I wanted a break from Alex was that work and the extracurricular activities that came along with it were too much to maintain a relationship, especially since Alex had been my only long term relationship. To dive myself into anything but casual at that point felt reckless.

Instead, I focused on work, the book, and my friends. All three felt more valuable at that moment than some guy. I had balanced around friend groups since Barnsley and for the first time since I felt settled with friends I could call at the drop of a hat. I made Fennel and Kaka my emergency contacts. Tasha was who I went to if I wanted chaos. Opal was for sage advice. Jackson was my literary consultant. 

It made me laugh but I quite liked how grown I was. I flip-flopped a lot. I was also 25 so it made sense. I told Stacey this when she and her boyfriend broke up. She said it was stupid and then cried about how much she missed me. Cavendishes produce quite dramatic women.

*

The next time Alex came to town, I didn't avoid it. My life had intertwined itself in tight, deep fashions that there was never a possibility of me not seeing the band live. It would be weird to miss out on this tour, especially when we had established and fostered that we would remain friends. Whether growth or distance, I didn't have mixed emotions about this. I was quite excited for the concert.

Thank god I didn't miss it because it might be the wildest show of theirs I ever attended. It felt like the old days back when we were beneath the boardwalk or stuck in someone's basement and people were sweaty and climbing all over each other, including the band themselves. The venue was in Brooklyn, Music Hall of Williamsburg, a venue that only held 650 people, possibly the smallest venue I had seen them in since the pre-debut days. 

I took Jackson and Opal with me, who hadn't specifically come out for this show since Jackson practically lived with me since the book deal began and Opal had been trying to convince herself of ways not to move out to New York. However, I didn't want to go alone and Fennel's and Kaka's scene wasn't exactly a rock concert and Tasha didn't want to bring back bad memories. We made the wise decision to smoke a joint before going into the venue. 

I told Alex on the phone a few days before that I was going and he was happy about it but that was about it. I texted Matt and he was quite excited for me to meet his new girlfriend, Breana. I did think there was a possibility I would meet other girlfriends too.

The show started decently normal. They opened with "Pretty Visitors," they did "Fluorescent Adolescent," and then things seemed to unravel around "Brianstorm" when a girl climbed on stage and began dancing. I have found this to be the greatest way to interfere with a show. 

There's always the weirdos who climb on stage to try and hug or kiss the artist, but she simply climbed up on stage and started jamming out. I shun them for taking her off and interrupting her fun. She was quite the entertainment. They could use all the help they needed. 

During "The View From the Afternoon," Matt missed his beloved signature drumstick throw and catch, likely due to Alex trying to intercept it. Neither men seemed so macho anymore. However, Alex then jumped off Matt's drum set in an attempt to gain some bravado back.

I suppose the point I should be commenting on the most is Alex singing his new girlfriend's name in a song presumably written about me, however, I didn't notice it. I noticed Jamie screwing up his guitar solo after this. Maybe that shielded me from the bullet but I think even if I had noticed I wouldn't have cared much. 

Because there's something odd about Alex doing that at a show that I attended. I mean, she was there too, but I don't think that's why he did that. Maybe I'm being too self-centered to think he wanted to make it a point that he had moved on but I already knew that he had moved on and I was passed sobbing over it. 

Nothing I did could change it now, in fact, I was part of the reason why they were together now. If I hadn't implemented the break then the song would have had a far different outcome but I don't know how Jane sounds in a song. Pain, rain, strange, vain. They aren't very pleasant words and she had a nice name for an elongated note instead of "oh-oh-oh." Plus, I mean, the song was written about me, right?

In any case, after the show, I met up with them backstage. It was a small area for a small venue, close proximity to everyone. Alex and his new beau, Arielle, were off somewhere else while I got introduced to Breana and teased about my new hair. I then got paranoid about the fact that Alex would think I copied him somehow but considering how much I constantly talked about changing my hair, I realized that the alarm bells should be raised with him and not me. I very well could have done it before his haircut and he would have been none the wiser.

It was the first thing he commented on when I saw him. He was casually dressed with his leather jacket slung over his arm. The hair was slicked back but the front fell at different angles after the intensity of the show. He made a sound along the lines of "Woah" before saying, "Almost didn't recognize you there." His arms hugged around me and I was determined for no one to think of this interaction as awkward.

"Could say the same thing to you," I countered. 

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Suppose so." He waved to Jackson and Opal and I could spot the conflicting pull he had about whether to introduce me to Arielle or not. But if we were going to be friends he'd have to introduce the girl on his arm. "This is Arielle."

She hugged me. She was delightful and bubbly and her hair colour looked too similar to mine. I worried that I had made things awkward for her but she either paid no mind to me or was in the same boat as me to combat any tensions. "Jane," she said so lovingly, "I've read some of your work. Alex told me you have a book coming out. That's awesome!"

I wonder if she had cyber-stalked me like I had cyber-stalked her. Did she get a subscription to the New Yorker to read my pieces like I had downloaded Vine to watch her? Should I have complimented her Vines? Is that a thing you do? 

"Thank you." Deflecting attention away from me was key. I turned to Jackson and Opal. "These are my friends, Jackson, who is my book agent, and Opal, who introduced me to him."

They greeted one another and Arielle asked some questions about what Opal did for a living and what it meant to be a book agent. I stared at Alex. Not in that cumbersome longing way or flirtatiously. He smiled at me and I smiled at him. My lips nearly felt the urge to mouth if he wanted to step out for a smoke for me but I figured I wasn't in a position to do that anymore. 

But he moved to the other side of Arielle to get closer to me and asked, "What did you think?"

"Of what?" I thought he was asking what I thought of Arielle.

"Of the show?" He chuckled when saying it like he already knew what my answer would be.

There was no shrugging off this show or promising a more detailed review later, it was clear. "It was maybe the best thing I've ever seen and it had nothing to do with you guys at all."

He cracked a laugh and I joined him in it. "Yeah, we're thinking of bringing her out for all the shows," he said, referring to the stage climber. "How's the book coming along?"

"It'll be coming out in June. We finalized the book cover last week." It wasn't big and fancy. It was actually quite similar to the Suck It and See album cover with it being mainly just text. Although, my font was better than his font. Jackson wanted to put palm trees on the cover but I didn't like that. It felt too cheesy.

"Your author photo taken?" He knew how much I stressed about that. I found most author photos to be ugly and was determined for mine to not resemble my primary school picture day photo.

I slapped my palm to my forehead. "Don't remind me. I'll probably break out into hives while it's being taken."

"You worry too much," he chastised me. "You'll be beautiful in whatever photo you end up with. It's about the book anyway and you already know that's great."

I smiled but didn't thank him for how much that meant to me. I'm not sure what everyone did after that, I think they went for drinks, but there was no invitation to hang out after the show. Opal, Jackson, and I went home. 

When we said goodbye, I kissed everyone on the cheek. I wondered if that was too much. A lip gloss stain on the side of Alex's cheek from me.

*

a/n: i wrote the majority of this today and yesterday in random bursts of creativity while being sick. maybe being sick was key all along.

[sillypenguinwitch]

isaac's books in heartstopper s2

episode 1:

Tillie Walden: I Love This Part

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé: Ace of Spades

episode 2:

Nina LaCour: We Are Okay

Oscar Wilde: The Importance of Being Earnest

episode 3:

Ocean Vuong: Night Sky with Exit Wounds (the one he is carrying under his arm, I'm assuming that's his and not for the display?)

has read: Ritch C. Savin-Williams: Bi: Bisexual, Pansexual, Fluid, and Nonbinary Youth

Emily Henry: Book Lovers

episode 4:

Victor Hugo: Les Misérables

Antoine De Saint-Exupéry: The Little Prince

Kate Chopin: The Awakening

Nina LaCour: We Are Okay (again)

episode 5:

Albert Camus: The Outsider

episode 6:

Martin Handford: Where's Wally? The Great Picture Hunt

Meredith Russo: Birthday

Jules Verne: Around the World in Eighty Days

Sara Pennypacker: Pax Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline de Maigret, Sophie Mas: How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are ? ? ? Damian Dibben: The Color Storm Alice Oseman: Loveless Susan Stokes-Chapman: Pandora Katy Hessel: The Story of Art Without Men ? Evelyn Waugh: Rossetti Arthur Conan Doyle: The Hound of the Baskervilles A.O. Scott: Better Living Through Criticism ?: Then We Came to an End (?) Ruth Millington: Muse Dr. Jaqui Lewis: Fierce Love Charlotte Van Den Broek: Bold Ventures - Thirteen Tales of Architectural Tragedy ?

Richard Siken: Crush

episode 7:

Garrard Conley: Boy Erased

George Matthew Johnson: All Boys Aren't Blue

Samra Habib: We Have Always Been Here

episode 8:

Akemi Dawn Bowman: Summer Bird Blue

Angela Chen: Ace

bonus:

Truham school library pride display (seen in ep. 3 and 8):

top to bottom, left to right: Angela Chen: Ace Andrew Holleran: The Kingdom of Sand Mary Jean Chan and Andrew McMillan: 100 Queer Poems Scott Stuart: My Shadow Is Pink Lotte Jeffs: My Magic Family Tucker Shaw: When You Call My Name Ritch C. Savin-Williams: Bi - Pansexual, Fluid, Nonbinary and Fluid Youth Alok Vaid-Menon: Beyond the Gender Binary George M. Johnson: All Boys Aren’t Blue Mason Deaver: I Wish You All the Best Alex Gino: George Melissa

on top of shelves (left to right): Kevin Van Whye: Nate Plus One Xixi Tian: This Place is Still Beautiful Becky Albertalli: Leah on the Offbeat Mya-Rose Craig: Birdgirl Bernardine Evaristo: Girl, Woman, Other Connie Glynn: Princess Ever After Saundra Mitchell: The Prom

Charlie's choice at Shakespeare and Co (ep. 6): Allan Hollinghurst: The Swimming Pool Library

That's it for now.

Sorry about the ones i couldn't identify and sorry if i missed any! Might try and do some of the ones in Isaac's room later but that'll take a minute

[shake-your-money-maker]

“If I was sure of anything . . . it was that I would never see Vietnam, much less Rome. My childhood dream was to travel, but I’d given up on that. And I was comfortable with the fact that, well, this is how it’s going to be. I had had a lot of hard times, so that I was gainfully employed and healthy at 44 was sort of a shock to me. I was just glad to be alive.

I’m not going to delude myself about what I could have been. I’m sure that at no point in my life could I ever have shown the kind of focus and discipline and commitment necessary to work a station at elBulli or Le Bernardin. No. That ain’t me.”

–Anthony Bourdain

[nominzn]

buy me presents I

I've been a bad girl, guess I'm getting coal m.list

Uma rotina simples: acordar cedo num quarto glorioso com o chef tendo feito o seu café da manhã, ir à academia para compor a estética mais desejável do momento, depois ponderar sobre algo que precisa ter e, sem medo algum, passar o cartão de crédito sem limites que seu pai lhe dera. Para melhorar, talvez uma visita rápida ao namorado vice-presidente a empresa que lhe será herança em breve, fechando com chave de ouro em um dos restaurantes mais caros da cidade, ou com um jantar espetacular e privado preparado pelo mesmo chef da manhã. Parece a descrição de uma vida impossível, porém esta é a sua agenda. 

Para quem te visse comprando itens de luxo, exibindo carros que mal sabiam pronunciar o nome, acumulando riqueza para a família, ajudando nos imóveis do papai, seria fácil dizer que nada lhe falta, e não teria razão alguma para sentir tristeza. E você, sem pestanejar, concordaria com afinco. Reconhece ter uma vida perfeita, tudo conspira a seu favor. 

Até que… 

As sacolas deviam ter ficado no carro, mas estão espalhadas no sofá de couro pequeno no canto do escritório de Jaehyun, esquecidas, é claro. As mãos masculinas tão graciosamente acariciam seu rosto macio entre o beijo lento e saudoso que mal te dão permissão para pensar em qualquer outra coisa senão este homem que te abriga sobre as próprias pernas.

Com o sorrisinho confiante enfeitando o canto dos lábios, Jaehyun interrompe o beijo apenas para anunciar a pista que você vinha esperando há meses — tudo já estava preparado para o momento. 

— Tenho uma surpresa, amor. — Jaehyun quase sussurra, sedutor e carinhoso, apertando de leve sua pele exposta um pouco acima do joelho. — Fiz uma reserva no Le Bernardin pra sexta. 

— Le Bernardin? — ao repetir o nome do recinto, seu rosto se ilumina ainda mais, contagiando o namorado. — Não tava completamente lotado até Junho? 

— Sim. Mas… — Jae move seu cabelo para trás do ombro, marcando o contorno dos lábios ali. — Seu namorado tem contatos, amorzinho. — ele solta um pouco de ar pelo nariz, orgulhoso de si mesmo. 

— Amor! — suas mãos vão até a boca para conter um gritinho eufórico. — Alguma ocasião especial?

Sua especialidade: sondar, fingindo-se de boba. Não é óbvio? 

— Você é minha ocasião especial, linda. 

Está aí, finalmente, o que lhe faltava. O pedido de casamento. 

Depois daquele dia de meio da semana, correu para fazer as unhas novamente, voltando ao salão apenas três dias depois da última vez. O cabelo também mereceu atenção: retocou as mechas e já aproveitou para deixar marcado um full blowout à domicílio na sexta-feira. 

Um Versace nunca lhe caíra tão bem, as costureiras ajustaram milimetricamente para abraçar suas curvas e deixá-la não menos do que perfeita.

Pela manhã do tão aguardado dia, a esteticista relaxou todos os músculos tensos de seu corpo e limpou a pele impecável à um nível de excelência incomparável. Fora preparada quase completamente por outras pessoas, no entanto a maquiagem sempre acabava em suas mãos. Lâncome, Dior, Yves Saint Laurent, Elizabeth Arden… seu rosto facilmente valeria mais do que um salário comum. 

Jaehyun chega num Rolls-Royce Spectre, o quinto favorito de sua coleção. Como sempre, vai até você, abre a porta do carro, não sem antes deixar um beijo apaixonado nos seus lábios e te banhar de elogios. Ele parece mais alegre, e você confirma: está acontecendo mesmo. 

No restaurante, a mesa é privada, a mais requisitada. Definitivamente alguém teve sua reserva deixada de lado por causa do pedido de Jaehyun, mas não dá tempo de sentir remorso. O luxo cobre desde as entradas até a sobremesa, transbordando na garrafa de vinho mais valiosa da coleção do Sr. Jung, pai de seu namorado. 

— Sua época favorita chegou. — Jaehyun engata noutro tópico após te fazer rir com uma história boba do último evento de negócios fora da cidade. — Have yourself a merry little Christmas… — a voz aveludada cantarola o primeiro verso da sua canção mais querida, e você sorri docemente para o namorado. 

— Tudo fica mais especial no Natal. — insiste no argumento antigo, fazendo-o revirar os olhos de brincadeira. Não vê nada diferente na data. — É sério! A neve, as decorações, tudo fica mais aconchegante, as bebidas nas cafeterias, os presentes, o espírito de união… 

— Você é tão linda, sabia? 

É agora. Meu Deus. 

Jaehyun sinaliza ao garçom no canto do cômodo o pedido para que se aproximasse. De forma discreta entrega o meio de pagamento e, assim que o outro se vai, ele entrelaça a mão na sua, alcançando-a entre o pequeno vaso de tulipas. 

— Nossa noite foi muito especial, amor. — ele diz, arrancando um sorriso exultante dos seus lábios. 

Espera que ele continue, talvez faça um pequeno discurso sobre o lindo amor que sentem, e… Nada. Simplesmente lhe devolvem o cartão, e ele se levanta para ir te ajudar a fazer o mesmo. 

Sem que conseguisse esconder, uma confusão e decepção se espalham pelo seu sangue. A expressão triste persiste no trajeto de volta no carro, o que o homem percebe apenas ao chegar em frente à mansão — você quase saiu sem se despedir, pior ainda, não permitiu que abrisse a porta, como é costume. 

— O que houve, princesa? Algo de errado nessa cabecinha? 

A genuína curiosidade te pega completamente desprevenida. As palavras ecoando em sua mente não são capazes de sair, só consegue encará-lo com o cenho franzido enquanto respira fundo para não denunciar a raiva. Afinal, suas expectativas, sua culpa. 

— É que… — quebra o silêncio após alguns instantes. — Eu esperava uma coisa e… Nossa. É melhor deixar pra lá, Jae. Eu bebi um pouco. 

É isso, põe a culpa nas duas taças de vinho e segue em frente.

Jaehyun ri. Começa baixo, mas logo toma uma proporção maior. Ele apoia a cabeça no volante, o rosto se torna rosa quando o ar lhe é escasso. Incrédula, quase perdida, você o fita com a pele borbulhando. 

— Você achou que eu fosse te pedir em casamento hoje? Eu devia ter imaginado, você tá mais produzida do que o normal. — ele suspira, secando as lágrimas e superando os resquícios da risada. — Me desculpa, amor, mas assim… ainda não. Né? 

Os olhos em meia lua voltam ao seu estado sério ao perceber que quem tinha lágrimas umedecendo as pálpebras é você, e por razões muito opostas. Nunca havia se sentido pequena assim diante de ninguém, poderia arriscar dizer que até se sente humilhada. 

— Eu acho melhor a gente dar um tempo. 

Foi tudo que conseguiu dizer antes de disparar para fora do veículo, direto para o seu quarto. A sorte é que seus pais também haviam saído, então apenas um dos seguranças e uma das empregadas da noite viram seu estado. 

Nos dias seguintes, as muitas ligações de Jae foram ignoradas. Tentou viver a rotina normalmente, mas a saudade e a decepção atormentavam seus pensamentos todo segundo. Não aguentou muito tempo e contou tudo para sua mãe, que doce como só, se compadeceu do drama que lhe afligia. 

“Nós vamos passar o Natal longe daqui, hm? Será bom, e você vai pensar em como resolver isso.” 

Uma pequena viagem para a fazenda dos tios foi programada de última hora para que você pudesse espairecer perto da natureza, longe do ritmo glamouroso da cidade. Não era lá bem uma ótima solução, e ainda assim, foi o melhor que puderam fazer. Além do mais, há anos vocês não visitavam a família no final de ano, será como solucionar dois problemas de uma só vez. 

Para Jaehyun, a situação toda não passa de um pequeno desentendimento. Uma hora ou outra você pediria para voltar.

[daisysouthmoore]

Warnings: Explicit (18+) angst, language, and eventual smut. (Lots of smut.)

Note: This chapter is dedicated to @sanctuaryforthelost If it hadn't been for you and your kindness, I would have never found a reason to finish what I started. It's been four years since my last update, my friends. Here's hoping I haven't lost my touch. Thank you so, so much for reading even after all this time. <3

[ Daddy’s Girl Masterlist ]

CHAPTER 16 - Nightcap

Le Bernardin was more than a meal. It was an experience. Beneath the warm and inviting glow cast from its teak ceilings, we feasted on caviar tartare, scallops in brown butter dashi, salmon in black truffle pot au feu, Parisian chocolate cake. All paired beside wines with notes specifically tailored to each artfully composed dish. It was the sort of luxe four-course meal that dream dates were made of. The kind made to set the tone for a night of blissful passion for any soon-to-be newly weds. And yet, I struggled to endure another minute of it.

I couldn’t seem to get past the insufferable sound of Benny smacking his lips between bites. I gritted my teeth as he ungratefully scarfed without bothering to acknowledge or appreciate the subtle and aromatic flavors infused with each course. This was hardly an experience to him. Since the day he was born he’d been served heaping silver spoonfuls from lavish silver platters. It meant nothing to him but the least he could do was pretend to give a shit.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. The scallops were decent at best.” Benny picked and sucked his teeth as we settled into the car.

“Really? I thought it was fabulous.” I sighed and tried not to visibly scowl.

“You’re a New Yorker. Of course you did.” He snorted in contempt.

“Well, since you know so well, maybe you can take me to Paris one day for the real experience?” I forced a smile and scooted closer. I even attempted to flirt as I fiddled with his lapel.

“Paris… And you think I’m pretentious.” He mumbled as he scrolled through his phone, hardly fazed by my affection.

“So, if New York is only decent and Paris is too pretentious, is there anywhere in the world where you’re happy, darling?” I feigned humor at his arrogance.

“I’d be pretty content in bed right about now.” He sighed tiredly as he tucked his phone away in his pocket and draped an arm over my shoulder.

Though he seemed to be returning my affectionate gesture, it was more out of habit than with any physical or romantic intent. I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t interested in any sort of adventures to be found in bed. Not with me anyway. I already knew there was someone else. Maybe several. Most of the time I pretended not to care but sometimes I wondered why. What was so wrong with me? I was confident enough in my looks and it damn sure wasn’t a matter of whether or not I was good in bed. I’d built a successful career on my skills after all. A slight tingle of panic ran through me as my inevitable guilt came into question. Was that the reason? Had Benny found out? Had my past finally caught up with me? But how?

In the dark and seedy underground of the business world, the usual legalities and moral principals didn’t apply. Blackmail and sabotage ran rampant but there were still a few unspoken, loosely enforced rules. Stones that couldn’t be cast in glass houses. Prostitution was one of them. That sort of ammunition was off the table to most because they all had a hand in it. There would always be some form of collateral damage. Not to mention, I was hardly the first escort to find her fairytale ending on a wealthy man’s arm. Who would care? Unless the business man in question had nothing left to lose… Then suddenly a strong suspicion began to rise in me.

“So tell me about your day. You mentioned to Negan you were meeting with Mr. Berkley?” I asked in a deliberately innocuous tone, as if the mere mention of my former peddlers didn’t make my palms sweat.

“Yeah. Just some corporate formalities. You know, boring legal stuff.” He shrugged it off and focused his attention on his phone again. That wasn’t really all that unusual but the way his shoulders tensed was.

“Oh.” We fell silent for a brief moment as I tried to read his expression but his eyes were blankly fixated on some lengthy email. My eyes shifted as I considered dropping the subject but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling me. “Well, with a client like Berkley you must have your hands full.” I feigned a light hearted barb.

“What do you mean?” His eyes finally flicked up with a hint of skepticism.

“You said he was a shady guy didn’t you?” I asked innocently.

“Dahlia, all business men are a little shady. That’s exactly what corporate attorney’s are for.” He laughed it off in a bored way, in a way that didn’t really reach his eyes as he reflexively reached to squeeze my shoulder, like that would be enough to quell me but I felt nothing if not more suspicious.

“Well, it’s a good thing he hired you then. So what kinda shady stuff-?” I started but he abruptly cut me off with a loud and exasperated sigh.

“Jesus, Dahlia. What’s with all the questions?” He seemed to have lost his patience and my own quickly followed.

“I’m just trying to have a fucking conversation, Benny. That’s what couples do. They talk about-” I started to bicker but he had even less interest in that.

“-I talk enough about work at work. So if you don’t mind I’d like to leave it there. Can’t you just hound me about something else? Fuck’s sake…” He yanked away his arm to run a tired and flustered hand down his face.

“Just forget it.” I rolled my eyes and scowled dully out the window instead. I felt restless and unsettled. But then again, I’d felt that way for quite some time now.

***

Coincidentally, Benny and I made it back to The Sanctuary hotel well before midnight. Not that I’d been even remotely concerned with making it in time for Negan’s ‘curfew’, but I couldn’t help noting the irony. Granted, it was only by circumstance, but it wasn’t like me to be so obedient. At least not without a stern and heavy hand to convince me. The thought of it was enough to make me squirm. And while it didn’t take long for Benny to find sleep, I was far too restless to join him.

I took a moment to freshen up and let my hair down. Then I snuck away to the hotel bar for a nightcap. Nothing more. At least that’s what I told myself I was doing there but I was hardly surprised to find Negan waiting for me. He looked handsome as ever among the warm and inviting candlelight. Dapper as usual in his fitted suit that seemed to accentuate the seemingly endless length of him. And it seemed he was expecting me too when the sound of my heels caught his attention. He tucked away his phone and greeted me with a wicked and knowing grin. I knew I should have been ashamed of myself. We both knew what sort of scandalous prospects had coaxed me there to begin with. And with my fiancé peacefully sleeping only a few floors down. Yet something about that stirred up a deviant flutter inside me.

“You’re on time. That’s a fuckin first.” Negan stood and placed a swift an amiable kiss on my cheek. He even pulled out my chair for me like a perfect gentleman. But the way his eyes devoured the sight of me…

“Only by chance.” I smirked as he took my hand helped guide me to my seat. “Besides, I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“Oh, I was very fuckin serious, darlin’.” He promised as he leaned to speak in my ear so closely the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down my spine. “You look fuckin gorgeous, by the way.” He complimented in a low growl.

His hands slithered up the sides of my chair to grip the sudden tension that rolled up my neck and shoulders. His fingers lingered and glided on my goose-bumped skin before he slinked around my chair to sit across from me. I could tell by the spark of mischief in his darkened eyes that I must have been blushing just the way he’d hoped. He gestured for the bartender to bring me a drink before carrying on.

“So… Tell me about your date. How was Le Bernardin with Benjamin?” He grinned with far too much amusement as he draped one long leg over the other and patiently sipped his whiskey.

“It was lovely. The scallops were to die for.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Is that all?” He chuckled deeply.

“Well, no. The salmon was a close second.” I said remaining purposefully vague.

All the questions were a waste of time. He didn’t have to ask to know the date itself was an inevitable flop. It wasn’t news to either of us that Benny would always leave me with that insatiable craving for something more. He just wanted to hear me say it. So he leaned closer to rest his elbows on the table as if daring me to come closer. His eyes held mine with a demanding grip as he lowered his voice to a tone that vibrated my insides.

“And what about dessert?” He asked.

“Parisian chocolate cake. It was decadent.” I bit my lip as I mirrored his posture and further closed the gap between us.

“Sounds pretty fuckin’ romantic.” He smirked as he raised his dark brows inquisitively.

“It was.” I laughed and nodded reluctantly.

“And yet, here you are. All by your lonesome.” He gestured his hand at the empty bar around us.

“I’m not alone. I’m with you.” I smiled fondly.

Negan returned the same doting smile as he regarded my eyes for a long moment in silence. We savored the sound of a soft, mellow saxophone crooning in perfect harmony with a slow and melodic piano. They seemed to speak well enough for the both of us but now I wanted to say it out loud. 

I wanted to tell him how good he made me feel in these fleeting moments. How Benny never even came close. I wanted to tell him how much I wished we could erase the past and lie to ourselves, pretend like all the bad never happened. We could pick and gather the good parts, those few and far betweens. What if we could just…? I’d just parted my lips to speak the unspeakable when suddenly the bartender arrived and set a cocktail neatly before me. Negan offered him a nod of thanks before gesturing him off and turning back to me with a wink.

“A Manhattan. How fitting.” I noted nostalgically as I swirled the pick and cherry through my cocktail glass. He watched my mouth closely as I took my first sip of the amber liquid. The same rich color of his eyes. Which one was more intoxicating was debatable.

“How’s it taste?” He asked as he licked his lips.

“Like a lot of bad history.” I jested but it was the honest truth.

“Oh, well, if you don’t like it,” He reached over and plucked the Luxardo cherry from my glass.

“No way! That’s my cherry!” I gasped and playfully fussed at him.

“You just had a five star meal and you’re gonna fight me over a fuckin’ cocktail cherry?” He laughed, his gorgeous smile dimpling his cheeks.

“Come on! That’s the best part!” I resorted to a full on pout as he brought the cherry to his lips.

“I’ll say it is.” He laughed inwardly at his own adolescent innuendo before he leaned a little closer still. “Okay, brat. Take it.” His deepened voice coaxed me as he brought the cherry to my lips instead.

Our eyes met for another long and amorous gaze. As the silence and tension grew between us I found it impossible to resist his offer. So I took the dark, glazed cherry between my teeth and lapped up its sweet syrup on my tongue. I’d hoped I could have pulled off a seductive smirk but I couldn’t help grinning like a fool instead before I hid behind another sip.

“Better than Parisian chocolate?” He asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Meh.” I wrinkled my nose with a shrug of indifference.

“You little shit.” He laughed with me.

It seemed we were both charmed by the sound of each other’s laughter as our gaze lingered and we drifted even closer. So close that I felt the brush of his knee beneath the linen table. That small bit of friction was enough to spark the constant smoldering flames between us. So I stoked them further by slowly brushing my high heeled foot up the length of his calf and watched as the sensation registered in his gaze. I saw a flicker of desire followed by his usual smug smirk.

“Didn’t you tell me last time was the last time?” He said, narrowing his eyes in amusement.

“You and I both know it’s never the last time.” I confessed. 

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he reached forward to take my hand. He stared down at the rock on my finger and brushed his thumb over it with a long pause and contemplative gaze. “Tell you what, I’m gonna give you one last chance to get out while the gettin’ is fuckin’ good.” Then his eyes, those deep, penetrative, captivating eyes flickered up to capture my own in a sultry glare. “Or you just give me the word I’ll fuck your brains out right here and now.”

In a way, it felt like sitting face to face with a lion. It was reckless and dangerous but I never felt more elated, I never felt more high than I did in those fleeting moments while adrenaline coursed through me. While I waited in suspense and counted down the seconds before he pounced and ravished my body the way I so deeply yearned for. Only this time, he was giving me a choice. This time, he was giving me a fair chance to weigh my options.

I was engaged to another man. I had a diamond on my finger and flawed or not, I knew the stakes. I knew better than anyone that Negan was infamous for knowing exactly how to swoon an unsuspecting woman. Hadn’t I learned the first time? Or the second time? Or the time after that? Hadn’t he been just as toxic and selfish as Benny, if not worse? Hadn’t all of the most debilitating heart breaks of my life been by the dick of this man? This big, hard, lip smacking, sheet gripping, toe curling, earth shattering specimen of a dick? Yes. Absolutely. One thousand fucking percent. And I hadn’t learned a damn thing.

“I want it.” I said outright.

“Oh, you’re gonna fuckin get it, princess.” He promised as he reached down and snaked his long fingers into a tight grip around my ankle.

Without even the slightest bit of hesitance, he slipped my stiletto away and brought my bare foot to rest on his hardened cock already pressed tightly against his slacks. My breath hitched in surprise as he stroked my arch along his shaft. He thrust into the motion and in an instant, my panties were drenched. My clit quivered as a deep moan hummed in his chest and his eyes slid shut.

“You feel what you do to me, Sugar? How fuckin hard you make me?” Jesus christ. As if I wasn’t dripping down my seat already. “Come here.” He yanked me by the ankle.

I all but leaped across the table to straddle his lap. My head was still spinning as he wrapped me in a deep and all-consuming kiss. While his tongue greedily lapped up the lingering taste of cherry, his large hands slid up my thighs and under my skirt to clutch and squeeze my ass coaxing another needy moan from my lips. My heart raced as he stood and lifted me with him to set me on the edge of a barstool.

“Spread for me, baby. Show me what your husband-to-be is missing out on.” He said shamelessly and like a fool I obeyed him. But how could any woman with a pulse say no when he licked his grinning teeth that way?

He took a few steps back and casually shrugged away his suit jacket as if I wasn’t gawking hungrily at the way his cock tented his pants. I watched eagerly as he draped his jacket neatly aside and began meticulously rolling up his sleeves. All the while, he kept his eyes on me, gauging my expression as my own patience grew thinner. I squirmed and writhed in anticipation while he came ambling back, a smirk tugging his lips as he came to stand between my legs again. His hands came to rest on my knees and slowly slid up the tops of my thighs as he spread me further. He loomed tall and lean and perfect above me and I gazed up at him with pleading eyes as his own lowered to the sopping wet puddle I’d become. A grin slowly spread across his face.

“Damn… Look at you, babydoll. Is all this for me?” He chuckled as his hand slid down the inside of my thigh to brush over my throbbing heat.

He teased me relentlessly. Only allowing his fingertips to stroke and coax me through the sheer, damp silk of my panties. I was bucking my hips off the edge of the barstool while my body begged for a deeper touch. My voice cooed and pleaded for him but he was so painstakingly patient, drawing out every brush and swirl of his fingertips. He slipped his thumbs just beneath the hem of my panties and with a gentle tug he slowly spread my pussy open.

“Hmmngh… Negan, please…” I squirmed restlessly but he only brought a finger to his smirking lips and shushed me.

“Shh… Let me savor this fuckin moment, sweetness.” He said as he reached back down and with his thumbs made slow circles, carefully kneading my plump and supple mounds to tease the very outskirts of my clit. As my panties gathered and bunched in the cleft of my lips he taunted me further. He gripped and tugged the fabric up into his fist, wedging my panties deeper between my slit, pressing the tension against my clit. 

With his free hand he worked on his belt buckle. I writhed in anticipation. My eyes were wide and eager as he reached into his slacks. I licked my lips as his hardened cock sprung free and he stroked his fist over the length. I could already see the tip glistening with his own desire to fuck me but he wasn’t done savoring.

He tapped the head of his cock on my clit. Three hard and heavy smacks. It was enough to make me jump and quiver. I rolled my hips toward him, aching with a desperate need to feel him stretch me open. I thought my pleading moans would finally be answered as he tugged my panties aside but cruelly and relentlessly he only allowed his shaft to glide through my folds. A deep laugh resonated in his chest as he watched the head of his cock spring up and out of my panties while he fucked my clit.

“You poor, sweet thing… So sensitive… I’m willin’ to bet I could make you cum just like this.” He grinned.

“Negan…” His name dripped from my tongue in a pitiful whine.

“No. Look at me.” He said firmly as he snatched me by my chin and peered into me with a stern and demanding gaze. “I don’t give a shit about that ring on your fuckin’ finger. When you spread your pussy for me, you call me by my fuckin name. Now, who does this pussy belong to?”

“Daddy. My pussy belongs to Daddy.” I panted like a dog.

“There she is. There’s my good girl. My Sugar.” He said with affection as he pulled me into a kiss so deep I moaned into his mouth. 

His lips lingered a moment longer before he brushed his thumb across my pouting lips. And though he didn’t speak, the look in his dark and hungry eyes held me in an inquiring gaze as if preparing me for what was to come. Arousal swelled in my chest because I already knew and my body was aching to feel it. My eyes remained fixed on his as I nodded eagerly and sucked his thumb between my lips. His mouth parted just enough for a hitch of breath to escape his throat and his eyes flickered with lust. Then I felt it. The sudden and deep plunge of his cock. I threw my head back with a sharp gasp and shrill moan of agonizing bliss as the sudden intrusion made me tremble all over.

“God, yes! Daddy!” I cried out.

“Jesus fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” He gritted through his teeth as he clutched the back of my neck. He slowly pulled his hips away, gliding his cock out to the very tip before plunging back into the hilt with a lewd and wet squelch. Then again. And again. And again. “Come on, Sugar. Do that thing I like. Squeeze Daddy’s cock with that pretty little pussy.” He said, his voice bordering on a plea.

I knew the ‘thing’ he was referring to. It used to be my signature. So, I squeezed my pussy tight around his cock and in a fluid motion I scooped and rolled my hips to drag out every delectable inch. His head dropped back and he let out a long and deep groan.

“Ooohhhh ffffuuuuck yyoouuu!” He huffed out a breathless laugh as he clutched the bar to keep from losing his footing. "Still fuckin' got it don't you, Sugar?" And even though I was in the throes of my own debilitating pleasure, I couldn’t help the smug little smirk that curled my lips. It didn’t last long though. He took hold of the reins again as his long fingers raked up to curl into my hair, gripping it tightly as he pulled me down into the brute force of his thrusts that made our skin clap. 

“Tell me, baby. Does he fuck you like this? Does he make your pussy feel like this?” Negan murmured against my skin as he clutched me tightly.

“No! No one fucks me like you, Daddy! No one! No one fucks me like you! Oh god! Oh fuck! Please, don’t stop! Please, please, please!” I begged as I coiled my arms around the back of his neck.

“That’s a good girl… That’s my good fuckin’ girl.” He growled as he reached down to glide and swirl his fingers over my clit. “Now, show me. Cum for me, baby. Cum on my fuckin’ cock.”

As his skilled fingers vigorously worked my clit I could already feel it brewing. A warmth swelled and spread between my thighs and threatened to burst. And while I wished I could have held out longer, while I wished we could stay tethered to this moment where nothing else mattered, my body raced to the precipice. My mouth dropped open as a gasp hitched in my throat. And as his cognac colored eyes peered into the depths of my pleading and desperate gaze I plummeted into an orgasm so intense that my eyes rolled back. My clit throbbed and my pussy constricted around the thick and heavy girth of his cock.

“Oh fuck! Daddy! Daddy, I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m— Ahh!!” I shrieked.

“Fuck yes! Yes! That’s it, baby! Milk my fuckin’ cock! Fffffuuuuck!” Negan groaned into my hair as he coiled his arms around me and clutched me tight against his body as his own orgasm crashed through him.

***

After we came down from the heights of our pleasure, we found ourselves sprawled out on the floor of the Sanctuary bar. The quiet lounge music continued to croon faintly in the background as we basked in our afterglow. I laid with my head in his lap while Negan leaned back against the bar with a bottle of whiskey in one hand. The other hand gently brushed through my hair and for a long while we just sat there fully content in our silence. That is, until a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“What?” I lifted my head curiously.

“I was thinking about the first time I ever watched you walk into this place. That tight little black dress. Those cheap, hand me down heels. That fuckin’ faux fur coat.” He teased with a grin.

“You mean the night I threw a glass of wine in your face? —I still have that coat by the way.” I jabbed him playfully and scowled. 

“Yeah. That night.” He laughed and roughed up my hair.

“Erm! You deserved it.” I griped as I batted his hand away and raked my tousled hair away from my face.

“Yeah, I did. Probably deserved a helluva lot worse.” He admitted in a mumble.

“I don’t know. I feel like five years in prison evens it out pretty well.” I shrugged casually with a smug little smirk.

“Easy.” He warned with a side eye.

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

“Regret what?” He asked.

“That night. We could have left it at that. We could have parted ways and never looked back. Might have spared us a lot of heartache.” I suggested as I looked up into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt but he only rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be stupid.” He scoffed before taking a swig from the bottle of whiskey and I smiled faintly knowing that despite everything we’d been through, neither of us would take it back. Then I snatched the bottle from him and took a swig for myself. So, yeah, maybe it wasn’t a nightcap in the most traditional sense but it was the perfect end to an imperfect date.

Tag list: @sanctuaryforthelost @letsby @londoncapsule @galaxieeye @supernovarigel @powluhtea @stunt-lads @blooodywhxre @privatetruths @casuallyfancydonut @lucillered66 @dee-wonderwoman

As always, if you ever want to be added/removed from the tag list don’t be afraid to reach out. Thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: I don’t own shit but my own thoughts and ideas. I also don’t mean to take credit for someone else’s hard work. If you are/know the source of the above images let me know so I can give credit where credit is due! Thanks!

[acourtofthought]

It's odd that E/riels can admit to Elain's love of flowers and gardening and her penchant for sunshine (since they love the Light / Dark aesthetic for their ship) while claiming she'll be happiest remaining in the Night Court because it too has gardens and sunny days.

That's like telling a Michelin awarded chef they can be just as happy working in an Olive Garden as Le Bernardin because they both have food.

There's a reason SJM included "Outside of these borders, the rest of the world celebrates tomorrow as Nynsar - the Day of Seeds and Flowers" but that only in the Night Court they celebrate Starfall in lieu of the Nynsar revelry.

Does someone truly believe Elain would enjoy Starfall more than a day to celebrate something that is near and dear to her?

There's a reason we know that the gardens in Spring (and not the Night Court) would cause Elain to marvel and weep. That Nesta tells us that the Spring Court and not the Night Court had been "made" for someone like her.

Sure the Night Court has it's own gardens but clearly nothing to write home about since they aren't mentioned as anything special.

And it's in ACOMAF (the same book that SJM mated Elucien) that we're told the Day Court (and Winter) consider Solstice their holiest holiday, where they not only celebrate in the evening with presents, dancing and drinking in honor of the old sun's death but a second celebration at the dawn to welcome the sun's rebirth. That is followed up in ACOWAR by Elain telling Nesta she needs sunshine.

Solstice is meaningful to the Night Court as well but they only celebrate in the evening with "presents, music and food, sometimes feasting under the starlight". Nuala confirms that none of them go to the ceremony to celebrate the lights rebirth.

So yeah.

The Night Court has sunshine but they're not known for it (sort of like Alaska isn't known for it's sunshine in the same way Hawaii is).

The Night Court has gardens but they're not known for them in the way Spring is.

The Night Court celebrates Solstice but not to celebrate the sun's rebirth.

The Night Court doesn't seem all that interested in Nynsar, the festival for seeds and flowers, preferring to instead focus on Starfall.

But some still feel the Night Court is the right place for someone who needs sunshine, loves beautiful gardens, and would probably adore a festival like Nynsar?

[taumont]

My list of books I wish to have read by the end of the year:

Quiet Days in Clichy -- Henry Miller

La petite vertu -- James Hadley Chase

Breakfast of Champions -- Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Call at Corazon -- Paul Bowles

Solaris -- Stanislaw Lem

Slaughterhouse-Five -- Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

The Savage Detectives -- Roberto Bolano

La Boutique Obscure: 124 Dreams -- Georges Perec

Mon corps pour me guérir: décodage psychobiologique des maladies -- Christian Flèche

A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living -- Joseph Campbell

Speak, Memory -- Vladimir Nabokov

Supreme Influence: Change Your Life with the Power of the Language You Use -- Niurka

The Journey and the Guide: A practical course in Enlightment -- Maitreyabandhu

Egon Schiele: Drawings and Water-colours -- Egon Schiele, Erwin Mitsch

Taking the Leap: Freeing Ourselves from Old Habits and Fears -- Pema Chodron

Rumi Revealed: Selected Poems from the Divan of Shams -- Rassouli

Confessions of an Art Addict -- Peggy Guggenheim

The Executioner's Song -- Norman Mailer

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead -- Olga Tokarczuk

Flights -- Olga Tokarczuk

America -- Jean Baudrillard

Too Much and Not the Mood: Essays -- Durga Chew-Bose

I Had Nowhere to Go -- Jonas Mekas

Francesca Woodman -- Marco Pierini

Yves Klein -- Hannah Weitmeier

Dune (Dune #1) -- Frank Herbert

Oreillers d'herbes -- Natsume Soseki

Les Choses humaines -- Karine Tuil

The Energy of Slaves: Poems -- Leonard Cohen

Selected Writings - Antonin Artaud

The Sisters Brothers -- Patrick deWitt

Pastoralia -- George Saunders

Signs Preceding the End of the World -- Yuri Herrera

Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley -- Peter Guralnick

Break, Blow, Burn -- Camille Paglia

Voyage au bout de la nuit -- Louis-Ferdinand Céline

Philip K. Dick: In His Own Words -- Philip K. Dick

Autobiography of a Yogi -- Paramahansa Yogananda

A Confederacy of Dunces -- John Kennedy Toole

Babel -- Patti Smith

Keith Haring Journals -- Keith Haring

Foam of the Daze -- Boris Vian

Inherent Vice -- Thomas Pynchon

The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 -- Goran Olsso

Le Diable au Corps -- Raymond Radiguet

Bluets -- Maggie Nelson

Girl, Woman, Other -- Bernardine Evaristo

Devenir un ange -- Francesca Woodman

Faithfull: An Autobiography -- Marianne Faithfull

The Master and Margarita -- Mikhail Bulgakov

Eve's Hollywood - Eve Babitz

In Watermelon Sugar -- Richard Brautigan

[halfabird]

Louise Bouteiller (1782-1828), Portrait en pied de Césarine de Houdetot, baronne de Barante, en train de lire le roman Paul et Virginie de Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, 1818

National Gallery of Victoria, Australia

[sanctobin]

La Provence part 2, Marseille & Lourmarin with Anthony Bourdain & Eric Ripert from 3 Michelin star restaurant Le Bernardin in NYC

[fabioperes]

Stelle d'Europa (Colpo Grosso 1989/90) Arriva l'aereo di Colpo Grosso! E quindi la presentazione da parte di Umberto Smaila delle star d'Europa: le ragazze che si sarebbero spogliate in base alle scelte dei concorrenti. Si risconoscono volti come Bernardine, futura Cin Cin, le procaci Kerry Riebel e Amy Charles, modelle come Amanda Forbes, Deborah Vernetti. Una puntata, così a caso, ricca di riferimenti interessanti. via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hdivTwrjqA

[jogallice]

Aujourd’hui, lundi 20/05/24, Journée européenne de la mer 🌊 Journée mondiale de la métrologie 📏 et Journée mondiale des abeilles 🐝 Je vous souhaite un bon lundi de la Pentecôte 🥰 Poursuite du week-end prolongé pour certain·es, pas pour d’autres 🤔

Deux dictons du jour pour le prix de deux (il faut vous y faire 😆 ) : « De saint Bernardin à saint Boniface (Igor le 5 juin), c'est le beau temps qui passe. » 🌞 Pour celles et ceux qui aiment le vin : « À la saint Bernardin, compte tes barriques de vin. » 🍷

Et trois autres dictons du jour pour la route : « Pluie à la saint Bernardin, vigneron pleure ton vin. » 🍇 « S'il pleut à la saint Bernardin, tu peux dire adieu à ton vin. » 🌧 « S'il gèle à la saint Bernardin, tu peux dire adieu à ton vin. » 🥶 Bref, il faut qu’il fasse beau 😎

Pour celles et ceux qui ont un jardin : « À la saint Bernardin, au jardin plus de gelée ne craint. » 👌 « À la saint Bernardin, le citadin s'occupe de son jardin. » 👨‍🌾 « À la saint Bernardin, n'arrose pas tes salades avec du purin. » 👩‍🌾

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Bon premier jour de la semaine à tous et à toutes ⭐️

Bonne fête aux Bernardin·e 😘

📷 JamesO PhotO à Annecy le samedi 18/05/24 📸

[psalm22-6]

Source: the San Bernardine Sun, 25 December 1978 Wild to learn about the reach of the March/Laughton film from ‘35. Also this article is so funny to me because they can no longer just say Cosette, Fantine,  or Marius and assume that the reader knows who they mean so they end up saying Valjean’s ward, Valjean’s ward’s mother, and Valjean’s ward’s lover and other round about things.  Also I read in a later article that the program “drew 38 percent of the national audience, according to the Neilsen ratings, and was the week's highest-rated special.” But overall it was ninth in the week for ratings, tied with a rerun of MASH.

HOLLYWOOD  — If Victor Hugo was alive today he'd be one of the most sought-after writers by television network presidents. His stories contain all the elements deemed necessary to make a film or series successful. Most notable example is Hugo's "Les Miserables," written in 1862. Inspired by the French people seeking freedom from oppression, he wrote the now-classic tale of an impoverished man, Jean Valjean, who steals a loaf of bread to feed his starving family, and that act of survival sets off a chain reaction that includes drama, adventure, jeopardy, love, hatred and, above all, the action of the chase. CBS has picked the middle of what is usually considered an "off-week," the period between Christmas and New Year's Day when people are too preoccupied with holiday festivities to watch TV, to show the latest version of "Les Miserables," the Norman Rosemont Production in association with ITC Entertainment which occupies all three hours of CBS' prime-time programming Wednesday. It's CBS' gift-wrapped treat amid the rubble of reruns. The family that takes time out to relax from Yuletide activities will thoroughly enjoy a class production filmed in France and England in authentic surroundings that look as though no stone has been dislodged from its place since Hugo described its locale in his drama. Richard Jordan portrays Valjean, whose life is to be dogged by his obsessed pursuer, Inspector Javert, played by Anthony Perkins. As with his other revivals of the classics, "The Count of Monte Cristo," "The Man in the Iron Mask" and "The Four Feathers," all produced for both TV and theatrical release, Norman Rosemont has populated the cast with distinguished veteran actors. In his last performance, Claude Dauphin, who died recently, is seen as the kindly bishop who befriends Valjean. Sir John Gielgud is an elderly aristocrat. Celia Johnson is Valjean's housekeeper. Flora Robson is the head of a convent. Cyril Cusak is the convent's groundskeeper who provides brief refuge for the prison-escaping Valjean. Ian Holm is a greedy innkeeper. Joyce Redman is the bishop's housekeeper. 

Two young British newcomers, Caroline Langrishe and Christopher Guard, were chosen to play Valjean's pretty ward and the grandson of Gielgud. And Angela Pleasance is the beggar woman who further impedes Valjean's escape by entrusting her daughter (Langrishe) to his care. 

Of the many films on Hugo's classic (Jean Gavin as Valjean in the 1952 French movie; Gino Cervi in a 1943 Italian feature; Michael Rennie in a 1952 TV kinescope), the 1952 Warner Bros, movie with Frederic March and Charles Laughton is best remembered. 

Who can forget Laughton's Javert, having finally cornered Valjean (March) in a Paris sewer after his three-decade pursuit, shouting "The law is the law!" although, he, like Valjean, is aged and weary of this senseless pursuit. Did the specter of Laughton's dominating performance lurk in the background of this 1978 version? "No, not really," replied Glenn Jordan, who directed the $3 million production. "I saw the Laughton version twice and found very little I could use. One of the few things I thought interesting and useful was that Laughton played an eccentric. So I had Tony play it eccentrically, but in an entirely different way.

"Laughton was always Laughton in the end, not the characters he portrayed. I felt it was important to be the character Hugo intended because, after all, a lot of people have never seen those other versions or ever read the book." 

[Glenn] Jordan, who won an Emmy for the Ben Franklin specials on TV, among other citations for notable TV and stage productions, says that [Richard] Jordan, who first gained attention in TV's "The Captains and the Kings," and Perkins are much closer to the characters Hugo described in his lengthy novel. "I remember March and Laughton as being too old for their roles. They didn't really age as much as people would in real life, especially people who went through what they did. We assume Hugo's characters were about the same age in the beginning. The imprisonment period is 20 years, then a jump of five years passes, then it's 10 years more. [Really? March is such a young Jean Valjean]  "That's why it was important to cast young men who could age (via make-up and character change), rather than start out with older actors in those roles." Redoing the classics has bothered some purists who prefer to let the original versions stand on their merits. But Glenn Jordan has valid reasons for remaking a classic such as this. "The social problems of poverty and justice vs. justice, these are things, I think that are self-explanatory," he said. "But the human problems, the relations between the people are the most interesting because, it seems to me, that when you redo a classic you have to make it vivid for today's audience. "When you see older versions of such stories they are very much versions of their time and reflect the thinking of their time, including the style in which they were done." By PAUL HENMGER Gannett News Service

[strideofpride]

Six Sentence Sunday

There’s nowhere more beautiful than springtime in New York, Serena thinks to herself, as she leans her head against the glass of the window on the Metro North. There’s a cinematic quality to the way the sun seems to shine a little brighter after a long winter, the way flowers of all shades and hues begin to bloom, the way trees regrow their big, green leaves. And she should know – four of the movies she’s produced were shot in Manhattan at springtime. She crosses through Grand Central once she arrives, easily finding the town car she had her assistant send, waiting right out front for her as promised. It drops her off in front of Le Bernardin – Blair’s choice, very convenient from Nate’s office, although Serena knows from personal experience that Nate would’ve been perfectly happy with turkey on rye from any bodega.