#listen I haven't had a brain cell to myself in over a month

[kpop---scenarios]

Misery Loves Company (1)

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Warning: Language etc

Genre: Coworkers/Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Okay! I'm happier with this version of the first chapter!

Everything Taglist: @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @iovecb97 @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx

@wife2straykids @silly250 @gabriellamarie @tsunderelino @1810cl

@anskiiz @ayyonoona

“Are you ready for the conference?” Your friend and co-worker, Hyunjin grins. “I can't wait for it.”

“Oh yeah, a week of meetings and workshops sounds absolutely delightful.” You chuckle.

“Believe me, that's not all that happens.” He grins, sending you a wink as he nudges you with his elbow.

You look around the office, catching the eye of the man you despised the most, Lee Know. Or as everyone else in the office called him, Minho. He was an arrogant, self centered, short tempered, selfish and rude man. And for some reason, well not some, a reason well known, he was extremely popular among your co-workers. He was undoubtedly extremely attractive, with a sense of humor that everyone loved, except you. However, that didn't change his shitty attitude and even shittier work ethic, and yet he had the audacity to talk shit about you.

You had walked into the break room one day, when you had only been working there for a few weeks, and there sat Minho with his back to you while he spoke to a few other workers.

“She's just… well, she's fucking horrible at her job.” He chuckles. “I mean, sure she's nice, maybe? I dunno, I haven't really talked to her, but she sucks. She must have been hired for her tits and ass.” He says, laughing. The other workers try to hide their faces as he continues on. But surely he wasn't talking about you? You were hired around the same time as another girl, and this made your stomach sink. You weren't great yet but you were trying, and you hadn't had like a huge fuck-up. Only a few minor ones.

You tried your best to ignore it, since there was a chance he wasn't talking about you and you wouldn't be upset until it was confirmed. “Y/N needs to go. I don't know how she's still even here.” He sighs, glancing over to his left. “Rose, what are you doing this weekend?” He smiles, looking at the other newer girl.

“She's right behind you, man. Why do you have to be such a dick?” One of the men, Hyunjin tells him, getting up from his chair to come up to you.

“Don't listen to him. He barely has one brain cell that's even functioning.” Hyunjin chuckles, guiding you out of the break room. ever since then, you and Hyunjin had become very good friends, while that made you want nothing to do with Minho, and you avoided him for months as best as you could. Unfortunately for you, you were still close enough to hear about his weekends, which led you to finding out that he was the biggest playboy you had ever met. Monday mornings, he was always talking about his latest conquests from the weekend, making sure it was loud enough for you and others to hear, rarely got his own work done on time, and yet, somehow was still praised by management.

You were honestly shocked he hadn't been fired yet. If you were to do some of the exact same things he did, you'd be written up, but he was a god among you all, and that fueled your hatred for him even more.

“Hey, you wanna ride to the airport together?” Hyunjin asks, as you're both packing up for the day. You were all booked on the same flights, tomorrow morning at 9:00am but you weren't going to let Hyunjin go that far out of his way for you.

“That's sweet, but no thanks. It's too far, I'm just going to drive myself, my dad is going to pick up my car from the airport later tomorrow. I appreciate the offer though!” You smile.

“Well if you change your mind, let me know.” He smiles, leaving before you.

You finish grabbing your bag, turning off your computer and making sure you weren't forgetting anything. You make your way to the elevator, clicking the button as you wait for it to ding, you feel the presence of someone beside you. You glance over, seeing Minho standing beside you, impatiently tapping his briefcase.

“Did you even press the button?” He asks, pressing it again.

“What do you think? I'm not an idiot.” You snap.

“Woah.” He chuckles. “A little testy this evening, are we?”

“You ruin my mood with your presence.” You sigh.

“You hate me that much? What have I ever done to you, Y/N?” He asks.

“Oh yeah, I despise you.” You answer. The elevator opens, you push your way in front of Minho to get on first, pressing the close button in the hopes it would magically close right in his face.

“That's hurtful, Y/N.” He pouts. “I just wanna be friends.”

“I have enough friends.” You respond.

“What's one more?” He grins.

“Having you as a friend sounds like absolute hell.” You say.

“Good thing I don't actually want to have you as a friend. You're too uptight for my liking. Maybe if you loosened up a little.” He says. “You know what, probably not even then.”

The rest of the ride down is silent. You get off as soon as you can, speed walking towards the front doors so you can get away from him as fast as possible. That night when you got home you finished up your packing and went to bed early. You had to leave by 630am to get to the airport at a decent time before your flight, you were not going to miss it.

“No, no, no!” You whine, running as fast as you can towards your flight's gate. Your carryon suitcase barely hangs on behind you as you weave through the crowds of people standing around waiting. “Please… no.” You breathe as you reach the desk, slamming your boarding pass down on the top. Seconds later another boarding pass is slammed down next to yours but you choose to ignore it. You were here first and you desperately needed to get onto this flight.

“I'm…” You breathe, your chest heaving. “Here.” The lady smiles at you, opening her mouth to speak. “I'm so sorry.” She sighs. “You just missed it.”

“No! Please! I woke up late and was rushing to get…here! And then I got a flat tire on my way! I-I left my car on the side of the road… I had to hitch a ride the rest of the way!” You complain. “It hasn't even taken off!” You say, motioning to the plane that was now pulling away from the gate.

You let out a big sigh. “Are there any other flights going out later today or tomorrow?” You ask.

“Yeah I really need to be on that flight.” Someone beside you says. The voice was familiar. A little too familiar and you really fucking hoped it wasn't who you thought it was.

You look over and aggressively roll your eyes, seeing the man you worked with, that you absolutely despised.

“I'll be on any flight that he's not on.” You say.

“They’d leave you before they left me, right gorgeous?” He chuckles, sending the desk agent a wink.

“Unfortunately, you're both out of luck.” The lady says, giving you both a sympathetic look. “The next flight there isn't until next week.” She tells you.

“But I need to be there ASAP for a conference. It starts in 3 days!” you complain.

“So do I.” Minho huffs.

“No one cares about what you need to do, Minho!” You snap.

“You can always rent a car.” She suggests. You hang your head down. The last thing you wanted to do was drive for 3 days to get there but it seemed like at this point it was your only choice. When you look back up, Minho is already gone. You make your way to the car rental desk, getting in line behind Minho. A few minutes later the man at the desk walks away with his keys in his hand, letting Minho head up to the desk.

“Just to let you know.” The girl behind the desk starts. “We only have one car available.” She says, forcing a smile.

“I'll take it.” Minho yells, just before you. He turns around, giving you a grin, one that made you want to punch him in the face. “What are you gonna do, Y/N?” He asks, protruding his lip for a fake pout.

“You have nothing left?” You ask the girl, holding your hands together to beg her. You'd drop to your knees if you had too.

“Not until next week.” She says. Minho continues to rent the car, signing documents, giving his license, while you stood behind him, internally fighting with yourself. You could just miss the conference right?

You pull out your phone to call your boss, who answers on the second ring.

“Y/N. Are you on your way?” He asks.

“Well sir…” you say, clearing your throat. “I missed the flight. And unfortunately Minho got the last car rental.” You explain. “So I was wondering…” you begin before he cuts you off.

“That's perfect. Just go with Minho then. What's the problem?” He asks.

“Nothing sir. Just wanted to let you know what the plan was.” You say through gritted teeth.

“Excellent. See you in a few days.” He says, hanging up the phone.

Minho grabs his keys walking past you, without a care in the world. You grab his arm, which to your surprise is a lot more muscular than you had expected.

“Can I help you?” He asks, pulling his arm away from you.

“Can I….” You trail off into a mumble. Minho squints his eyes at you. “Huh?”

“Can I… get a….” You trail off into a mumble again.

“I'm sorry, what? Y/N, speak up. I can't help you if you don't talk to me.” He says, leaning his ear closer. “I'm not getting the question?”

“Can I get a ride with you?” You huff, rolling your eyes.

“See, that wasn't so hard was it?” He smiles.

“So?” You sigh. “Can I?”

“No.” He says, walking towards the parking lot.

“Come on! You talk shit about me! it's the least you can do.” You snap.

“Oh fuck. It was one time.” He says.

“That I know of.” You tell him.

“Just skip the conference.” He says, continuing to walk away.

“I would if I could. Mr. Johnson said to ride with you.” You tell him.

Minho doesn't respond, instead pulls his ringing phone from in his pocket, sighing loudly as he looks at the caller ID. “Hello?” He answers. “Yes sir. Of course sir. See you then, sir.” He finishes hanging up the phone.

He starts walking away, you stay still. Taking in deep breaths. You'd get this figured out. It would be fine. Everything always ends up being fine, right? As you turn to walk in a different direction, Minho turns his head to look at you. “Well let's fucking go, we don't have time to waste.” He snaps, continuing to walk. You smile to yourself as you follow him, but that smile quickly fades when you remember how long you're going to be stuck with him in the car. At least you'll get a break when you get your own hotel rooms.

“Rules for the car.” Minho starts, pulling out of the airport parking lot. “You're not allowed to talk. You're not allowed to touch the radio, you're not allowed to do anything. Okay? It's gonna be a long drive and I'm already annoyed.” He says.

You don't reply, instead just stare out the window, leaning your head back onto the head rest.

“Okay?” He says again, glancing at you.

“What?” You scoff. “You said I'm not allowed to talk.”

“Fucking take me now.” He groans, looking up at the sky.

The first few hours were fine. The hum of the radio filled the car and you slept off and on, but right now you needed to use the bathroom so fucking bad. You didn't want to break the rules but there was a gas station coming up, and if you didn't go you were going to burst.

“I need to pee!” You yell out, pointing to the station. Minho sighs as he pulls off onto the exit, pulling up to the pump. You exit the car as fast as your legs would take you, b-lining straight for the women's room.

A few minutes later, you emerge feeling like a brand new woman. You glance outside, expecting to see Minho waiting in the car but he's no longer parked by the pumps. Your head whips from left to right, and you can't see him. Your purse, your phone, everything you had was in that car and now panic was starting to set in.

Your chest starts heaving as you could barely catch your breath. You were turning in a circle, until you heard laughing. You look over, seeing Minho walking over.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks, eyebrow raised.

“I thought you left me.” You admit.

“I parked on the side because someone else needed the pump.” He says. “I've been waiting for you. Jesus christ, let's go.” He finishes, walking back the way he came.

Relief sets in as you follow him to the car. Yeah, you probably should have checked around the whole building, but it also would not have been completely out of character for Minho to just abandon you in some town. The two of you get back into the car, setting off once again. If you wanted to make it on time, you were going to have to drive for another 8 hours before stopping. Honestly, it couldn't get any worse. The silent car ride was killing you. You enjoyed talking to people, and even though the only person you had to talk to was Minho, you would have rather had that than not talking at all. But every time you tried to talk to him, he immediately shut you down, whether or not he verbally told you to shut up, or putting his finger to his lips, or putting up his hand to tell you to stop. After the third time, you just decide to give up.

Eight hours later, Minho pulls into the parking lot of a hotel, parking the car. You both get out, excited to stretch and crawl into your own beds and sleep before another long drive tomorrow. You both walk up to the front desk, each speaking with a different clerk.

“One room, one bed, please.” You smile at the man.

Minho points to you. “What she said.” He murmurs, letting out a yawn.

“I'm sorry.” The man smiles. “Unfortunately, we only have one room available for the night.”

“Whatever.” Minho sighs. “One room, two beds then.”

“No sir.” The man laughs. “My apologies for being unclear.” He smiles.

“We only have one room with one bed.”

[venacesaur]

I've been struggling to journal lately for some reason so I'm going to try writing some daily entries about my life on here. No one cares but idc. Unfollow if you don't want to read it lmao Yesterday I went to a museum with a friend I haven't seen in a long time, which was nice. But we spent almost the entire day together which made me feel very socially hungover today. She texted me something about how she hasn't been that happy in a long time, and although I like her and we've been friends for years now, it made me feel a little put off. Nothing to do with her, but this sort of situation really confirms for me that I still have avoidant attachment issues, not just anxious attachment (hooray for having a disorganized attachment style!). It's frustrating to be, on the one hand, constantly yearning for connection and affection, but then simultaneously wanting to throw up and run away when I actually get it. Like I'm literally just frustrated with myself for feeling this way but I'm not sure what to do about it. For now I'm just being aware of it I guess. I wrote something a few months ago about how it's just like being super hungry but then suddenly losing your appetite when you finally get food. And the only solution, really, is that you have to kind of force yourself to eat, even if it's only a few bites and you feel nauseous. I know I've also been feeling down in general these past few days which is likely a combo of hormonal issues (my body has been weird this month) and the weather being unusually dismal for this time of year. And then I've been realizing that I've had a lot of nightmares lately, especially since losing my job last month. I noticed that I've had a recurring nightmare scenario about a specific chemical I worked with in my last job, which wasn't even the most hazardous chemical I handled, so I don't know why this one has been sticking in my brain. It's a blue stain for staining cells, which means that it is both toxic and it's an INCREDIBLY strong dye. In these dreams, I take off my gloves and see that some of the stain still got on my hands, and I keep washing my hands, but it doesn't come off. In this latest dream, it actually got worse the more I scrubbed my hands, and there ended up being so much blue all over my hands and the sink water started turning black.

Sometimes my nightmares also have unsettling music or sounds that continue replaying in my head when I wake up (just like listening to a song too many times). In this dream, I started getting more and more frantic trying to wash my hands, and I heard this resonant ticking sound in my head like a grandfather clock striking. It seemed to be counting the seconds but got faster and faster. When I woke up, I had to go to the bathroom and look at my hands in the mirror just to see that they were clean. It's a strange dream theme for me, since my nightmares usually tend to involve supernatural creatures, evil presences, and darkness. I'm not exactly sure what this new hand washing theme means, but I think it might have something to do with my anxiety.

On the bright side, I opened this can of red bean paste that I got from a local Japanese store, and I spread some on toast which was pretty good. But now I'm all out of bread and need to get groceries soon. Sigh...

[penaltybox14]

Finally got some spare brain cells and wrote for myself, not school or patient care reports.  Kicking around an idea I had with @dying-redshirt-noises, an Adam-12 AU where Pete is actually a runaway juvenile delinquent who ended up changing his name, fuzzying up his past and becoming an LAPD officer.

...

Pete has this dream sometimes.  He is twelve years old, before he got taller, when his voice was just beginning to break and hovered in that soft, sweet spot like water sweeping over the suggestion of a stone.  The dream is far from Los Angeles, and he sits on a rock by a creek that lingers on its curves like a freight train far in the distance. 

He is in jeans and a t-shirt and chuck taylors but they aren't chuck taylors, they've got no marks on them but a size, and the t-shirt has a laundry print he tried to cover with the whitewash off a fence a mile ago.  He doesn't belong here, in the dream, but he's got nowhere else to go.  The wind is slow and high, the sun beats down, and the grasshoppers fiddle in the weeds.  

The dream is far from Los Angeles; it is far from anywhere at all.  

The man's voice and the chuckle of a belt heavy with keys comes from the brush, and it throbs in his ears and in his bones: It's time you got back, isn't it?

The creek is too wide and too swift.  When he turns back at the voice, squinting the figure to shadow, the voice says: Let's go, son.  Let's not be any trouble.  

There is nowhere left to run.  

When he wakes up, in his bachelor pad on the second floor, his skin is damp and electric.  The central air shunts the same dry, stale breeze around, here and there a whiff of cigarettes or casserole gone before you can think to identify it.  So he opens the window and leans, and watches the still, unblinking surface of the complex's pool.  Three years ago a beautiful woman - a girl, really, whose scars were still white and not yet stretched and faded and forgotten - drowned in the pool and no one knew who she was and no one knows now.  Some recalled the tender face and tight, pursed mouth, or the long dark hair worn straight with a beaded headband, or maybe the red checked shirt with the blousing sleeves or the dark dungarees.  She was barefoot, which seemed right if you thought about it.

Pete doesn't think there's anybody but him and the landlord left who remembers the whole business.  This is not a place for staying - people live here a while, get on their feet, and move on to split-levels and brand-new subdivisions clustered around glittering, gritting freeway interchanges.  Places where people eat and sleep and dream and wake up and go to work and round the clock and come home and eat and sleep and dream and wake up and do it all again.  They are safe there in their catalog homes, and no beautiful barefoot girls drown, nameless and white-eyed, in paste-jewel swimming pools.  

Jim lives in a place like that.  Him and Jean, the doe-eyed pair of them, and their baby, who will be a toddler soon, with his own yard to play in, grass as neatly hemmed as any major league outfield.  Jim will teach him to play catch; he won't be very good at teaching, from the start, because he's still a boy, still a varsity star whose body did everything he every imagined it to do, without coming up short, without halting or asking.  But that's alright.  Jim will teach him to play catch and he won't be frustrated and he won't be angry, he'll just say, Jimmy, eye on the ball, okay?

Jim will invite him over and he'll watch from the shade and rib Jim, just a little, but not Jimmy, except just a little when he's bigger and he can laugh about it.  He's hoping the kid won't turn out to be a pitcher, he's really hoping, because then he might have to step in and teach the kid how to sling a curveball that'll unbutton a jersey, or fire a fastball that'll make the Army sit up and take notice.  Jim will ask him where he learned it, and he'll have to shrug and think up something, and he'll make up a story about accidentally breaking Mrs Patterson's kitchen window with a bad pop-up from the playground sandlot, which was too small for big boys to play on anyhow, and that'll make Jim laugh with all his teeth and ruffle Jimmy's hair.  That'll be a good story.  It won't be the one where he was popping rocks off his Louiseville Slugger; it sure won't be the one where he pegged a Coca-Cola bottle at a passing freight train.  He didn't know the train was going so fast; he didn't know how the bottle, heavy and sweating in his hand and the high summer, was going to spin, come off the box car at the angle it did.  

He was sorry.  He was.  But that's not the story he's going to tell Jim, and sure not the one he's going to tell little Jimmy.

>>

The girls never run like the boys do.  

Pete's never figured that one out - the girls, at least the ones who know trouble, they go to ground when they're cornered, their eyes down, or, more rarely, hot with challenge.  The girls in patched jeans and old army coats, who smoke cigarettes like men, between stained fingertips, eyes like lionesses.  Girls who know the power of their vices, they bide their time.  

But the boys run: they all do, bolting long-limbed through the clawing dark, breathing hard in time with the street-lamps, their hearts pounding.  They get away, some of them, if not most of them - hard to catch the lot when they spring out like sparks from their squat-houses, their teenage tent-city tenements.  They book it, on sneakers worn to the soles of their feet, into the urban forest.  They will catch a bus in the morning downtown, to Hollywood and Vine, somewhere people with money pass by.  They will hitchhike to the hillsides, or the beach, somewhere to bide their day in the shade.  

Sometimes they never make it past the night.  Early one morning, just when they were breathing easy, just when the sun was scrambling over the mountains and shaking the valley awake, they got the call for a DB.  A man in a suit and tie and glasses perched on the hood of his car shaking his head, while his daughter sat in the back seat with the door open.  She had a book open on her lap and kept pushing up her glasses, which slid down her nose in the dusty morning.  The man shook his head and said: Lydia, she gets car sick, I pulled over so she could be sick in the brush (and the verge stank like vomit; and something else, richer), and then I saw -

A bare foot, as dusty as the sun, and an awkward young leg in jeans, and a brown t-shirt with yellow stripes on the arms, and long curly hair, his head to one side, on his arm, as if he were sleeping.  His eyes half-open, waiting.  The flies were gathering on his lips and he had no hands, and there was still twine around his neck.  Ants marching across his lashes.  Perhaps older than he looked; perhaps not.  He still had one shoe, with no laces.

Boys run; the slip into the shadows.  They throw back their heads and laugh, they are defiant, they are stupid, they are too young.

They stayed late that morning, waiting for the coroner.  They stayed late, filling out paperwork.  

Pete said: "Go home."

Jim had a look that said he didn't know how.  His dumbstruck eyes had blurred the line between work and home, between the pavement and the rocky earth, between the boy (who would wait for a month among the other nameless dead) and himself (whose varsity track ribbons had yet to fade).  Pete said: go home, and kiss your wife, and go to bed.  

"I can't stop thinking about him."

"You will."

"Malloy, that's awful harsh."

"Didn't say you'd stop caring.  Just you'd stop thinking about this one kid, when the next one comes along, and the next.  It's too big a basket, carrying around all that.  You gotta set it down, partner, you gotta set it down and think about the ones that made it."

"How?"

Pete shrugged.  "I drink too much coffee, and I eat my steak rare.  You do what you gotta do."

[itsmadamehydra]

My Savior || Wayne McCullough

A/N: Just some teenage girl trying to write the story inside her head, hope u like it.

Pairing: Wayne McCullough x oc

Warnings: rape, intention of rape, harassment, blood mention, bullying, language (a little strong)

.................

.................

I've always like to watch him by far, he just seems different from the rest (and oh boy, he is).

The first time I saw him I was in 7th grade. I was just one more girl of the many others that her tities just had started to show and my period started to visit me. I remember that day clearly, I was sitting at the hallway with my bestfriend at the time, eating infront of our lockers when I saw him.

"Am telling ya girl, the answer of number 5 was c." I said trying to reason with her about the science test answers "I told you that if u needed help to study, I could help ya." I smile at her and move my arm upward to touch her shoulder

"Yeah, yeah, I know...are you sure it was not D?" she said frowning her eyebrows once more. We stayed in silence for a sec before bursting into laughter and tears

Little by little our laughs started to fade, allowing ears to hear the background and aswell some loud voices, it sounded like an argument but by the hears of it a fight was going to start soon. "What you think is happening over there?" Cassie murmured, I stared at the end of the hallway where apparently was were the voices were coming from.

"I don't know..." my lips formed a thin line while I was thinking about what could have been happening in there, "You wanna, you know, go and see?" I looked back at my friend

"Freak yeah" she laughed grabbing my hand and running down the hallway to see the soon to be fight.

Once we got there, there was a mass of students surrounding what appeared to be the ones who where arguing. "Ugh, I can't see, I hate been so small." I said, "Hey, that smallness is beautiful and you know you can use that in your own benefit" Cassia said and winked at me.

"I mean, yeah but I can't-" my word stopped at the moment I heard a want sounded and I believe to be a punch in the face. "You saw that!?" Cassie said, "That was freaking awesome, please tell me you saw it!" "Um, nah Cassie, I cant see a crap" i said while trying to find a whole where to see through.

It was only a matter of seconds until more punches were heard. I started pushing people more frantically, I wanted to see what was happening. When I get pass a few amount of studens I almost slipped, looked sown to see what was it and it was stains of blood, only a few but still.

"Oh gosh, disgusting." When I look up only a few students are still in the cafeteria and a guy wearing a grey hoddie was just there, staring at the bloodie face of another guy. I stared back at the hoddie guy and noticed a little hammer in his hand, and the words just came out of my mouth without even noticing, "Why the hammer? Want to be a constructed or something?" He just stared at me and pass by me without saying a word and keeping a neutral face.

"Who the hell was that crazy ass weirdo?" I hear Cassie's voice behind me. "I don't know" I responded, "But I will know...one day."

"Ok,ok, am not going to get in between your little search thingi but am sure he is not good news." Cassie said, "You saw what he did, and he has a FREAKING hammer, y/n! Covered in blood y/n!" She grabbed my shoulders from behind, "I think we all understood the message, stay the fuck away from him, honey."

And I just smiled.

Months later I learned his name. Wayne, Wayne McCullough. Fits the ring if you ask me. Everyone was speaking about how violent, crazy and wierdo he was, about how he was going to show up at your house to beat the hell put of you.

I just observed him by far, well, I like to think that I noticed him. I noticed how he usually beats up those who are some assholes jerks that have only one brain cell as much. Noticed that he is not much of a talker and a shy boy. Noticed how he makes his lips thin when he gets lost in thoughts. How he closes his fist when he is about to do something. His strangely high pain tolerance. His pale skin and dark hair appeared to me to be very llamative and aswell his strength. He was and is skinny but somehow has a great strength, maybe do to the unincredible amounts of fights he gets in. Experience makes the master is what the say...right?

Years went by, we entered to highschool and the nervousness along with the fast beating, sweating and butterflies were still there every time i either tought about him or saw him walking around.

Cassie stayed with me for a while until she decided to join the group of nasty ass bitches with no brain cells who believed no one was better than them. While I...well, I stayed small for a big part I guess, always with good grades, teachers love me and try to be nice with every one I guess.

Everything was going great until Cassie along with some guys recorded me somehow while being drunk and them trying to overpass the boundaries, and let me tell ya.. that was just the start.

The had videos of me at the school bathroom, pictures of my underwear under my skirts and dresses, them trying to touch me. I had to learn to defend myself, stopped using skirts, dresses, shorts even do I loved wearing the. Replace my shoes with tennis and always had hair ties.

"Y/n, wake up! You're going to be late for school, don't think ama wait for you!" I mom yelled.

"Yes, mom! Dont worry, am up!" I run down the stairs with my backpack, went to the kitchen, grabbed an apple and went straight to the car.

"Oh for God sake, y/n" she said went she looked at me and noticed my new hair style.

"What? You don't like it? I just cut it a little." I satered at her innocently

"Your father is not gonna like it and you know it." She said and the stress lines appeared in her forehead, "You know this is his weekend and-"

She couldn't finish her sentence because I started taking, "Am not going to that dickheads house, mother." I said strainly, "Don't want to see his and face of that bitch he cheated you with..." i lowly said but loud enough to hear.

"I know, honey but you have to and besides you get to see your brother!" She patted my thigh, "Haven't seen him in a while right?" She said with a sad tone

"You should be the one seeing him...not me." I stared outside the window, there were just some trees and houses and garbage.

Mom and dad divorced a while back, he cheated on her. The house was a mess that day, screams and broken glass everywhere. Sammy was lucky, he was at grandma's but I was home...listening to every single word. That was also the first time a sneaked out and the first time I sort-of spoke to Wayne.

"What are you doing here?" I heard someone said behind me, I looked and it was fucking Wayne

"Just trying to have some quietness i guess..." I stared at my fingers and started playing with them because of my nervousness, "...What are you doing here?" I asked softly

And he stayed silent...the whole time after that. Either way, his company was nice and the side profile, ufff, amazing.

"Ok, we are here." I stared at the building for a sec before giving my mother a kiss in her cheek and entered to the building.

"Hey y/n! Nice ass!" That was the jerk of all jerks, Jonathan.

I turned around and stared at him, "Oh yeah?" He nodded, "Want to see me shop of your dick?" Changed my tone while saying that into a lower and more serious tone. He just stared at me with sealed lips and left.

I continued walking to my locker and I come to see tgat my freaking lock is broken, I search in all the spaces but nothing is missing.

"Come on! They had just changed me of locker!" I silently yelled. Started grabbing my books for the next few classes when I felt a hand in my shoulder, by instinct I grabbed the wrist, pushed the person against the locker and added pressure in the throat with my other arm.

"Hey y/n" Orlando smiled, "New move?" I chuckled and removed my arm, now, standing face to face I respond

"You know you shouldn't do that Orlando bunny." I laugh st the nickname I gave him a few time ago. Orlando was one of the few FEW people who talked to me, well, he talked to everyone but still.

"I know... I just forgot I guess man." He looked down, "Y/n...have your tities grown bigger?" His face looked confused.

I slapped his head and punched his shoulder, "Could you please stop looking and thinking 'bout tities when am around you?"

"I mean, yeah sure...and sorry about your lock." He points the locker, "Wayne thought it was still his but since-" I cut him off before he could continue

"Wayne?" I asked confused

"Yeah, Is tha-" i cut him off again

"Why did he tho?" I murmured staring at my lock in hand.

"It used to be his locker but oh well...he missed school for 3 weeks and yeah." He grabs his backpacks laces after explaining.

"Oh...ok, is he still here tho?" I looked at Orlando

"I guess..." he was about to say pther thing when the bell ring and we started to go toour classes, "See you later gorgeous!" He yells from the corner of the hallway.

I stayed there...just staring at my lock for a while, then order my things fast and left to class. What I didn't know was that someone was watching at me.

Three days later, i was walking back home and i heard s car going at full speed and nasty comments were started to be listend. I kept walking trying tk pretend they didn't exist when the car is suddenly over the sideway and infront of me.

"YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME ASSHOLES!!" I yelled.

"But...you are bot dead right, bitch?" Jonathan said getting out of the car. There were five, 2 guys and 3 girls. "Don't prefer to suck my dick and be my slut, promise I'll pay a good amount." He said infront of me,

"She is already a slut baby." Veronica said

"I bet she has sleeped with half school, wouldn't surprise me if you haven been org*e or something." You know, comments are comments, you are the one who decide what hurt you and whats does not, but being Cassie the one who said that...broke my freaking heart.

I couldn't stand it anymore, wanted to leave the place so i came up with a plan very fast. I walked closer to Jonathan trying to be the most seductive I could, touched his chest, abs and got closer to his ear and said, "You are going to regret everything" Punched him with all my strenght in this genitiles, stomp on his feet, punched his nose and ran the faster I could out of there.

"You bitch!" I heard from far but i continued running, I couldn't stop, i was scared, didn't know what could happen if the get me. I could hear the car engines behind me, but i didn't stop.

I was close a bridge, ran underneath it, passed some houses but i could still hear the voices and car. My legs hurt, i needed to catch my breath, i could hear my heart beat, my body felt on fire. When I less expected am suddenly trapped, there were some abandoned buildings and warehouses but no way to get put of there. This was it, my end.

"Couldn't escape from me you nasty little bitch!?" I heard his voice, i was never one to pray but believe when i say i begged to God to save me. "You ain't going anywhere...bitch" he was behind me, I could sense it.

My hair was pulled, he pulls me by my hair to his car and i notice that it's just him and another guy. Am not getting out of here.

"We are going to have so much fun!" He licks my cheek and i try to kick him wherever.

"HELP!" I yelled, "SOMEBODY PLEASE, HELP!" my voice sounded horrific, like if i hadn't drank a single drop of water in ages, "please" y murmure my last pledge before he finally puts me over the capo of his car.

"No one's gonna help you, you slut." He says, the other guy was just watching and standing still, doing nothing.

I gave up, didn't even notice I was crying until I tasted the salt in my lips. I felt him over me, unbucking my pants and then...i didnt felt his weight anymore, instead, i heard a cry of pain, and then another cry, and another and another.

I lifted my head and there he was, grey hoddie and little hammer in hand...my savior. I smiled.

My smile just grew bigger and bigger every second I saw that boy swing that motherfucker hammer, every second that Jonathan's blood was spilled. I lool around in search pf the pther guy scared that he might try to grab but I get calm when i see him unconscious on the floor.

A few minuts later th cries stop and i look up, Jonathan was missing 3 teeths and face covered with blood, i think he could even have a brocken rib or something.

Am sitting on top of the car's capo when a feel a slight, fragile touch.

"You ok?" Wayne askes pulling a string of my hair behind my ear.

"...now I am." I smile to him and he returns a little small tiny one with a grin. I was about to say something else when he suddenly speaks

"Want to be my girlfriend or whatever?" He says looking exhausted, I chuckle

"Try a little harder and I might be." I say soflty with a small thin smile and he avoids my eyes but I still get to notice a small blush.

...................

Hey! So, yeah. This is my first ever published thing. Hope you enjoyed it and if you want a part two or to keep writing, am open to any suggestion! Am not very good with the warnings section so if you could help me with it, i would totally apreciate that!

Thank you for reading,

[winter-fox-queen]

The Gentry’s Gifts: Max Phillips

Hello!  This is sort of a sequel to the Pero story, in that we saw Max and now we know what he was doing there and what choice he needed to make.

Warnings:  Cursing. Angst. I had the trick of having to put both blank canvas characters into one story, lol.  But I think I finessed it.  The “you” character is a blank slate, mostly gender neutral (mentions of wanting to have children could sway your perception one way or the other.). Not betad.  

This is my late #writerwednesday entry, thank you to @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and @clydesducktape​

Prologue:

Max Phillips slammed the hospital doors open, eager to get outside.  The sound beeping machines seemed to echo in his ears, making them hurt.  The smell of the place stuck to the back of his throat.

He tilted his head back in the afternoon sun, and breathed in, breathed out.  Tried to make himself calm down.  The Autumn are cleared his head as he jogged across the road.  

“Bad day?”  A voice asked.

Between two benches, almost hidden in the orange leaves, was a woman, instead of the ‘Nam veteran he usually passed a few moments talking to.  Her wiry steel colored hair was in a messy bun, covered by a turban.  She wore layers and layers even though it was a warm fall day.  “Where’s Raffi?”  Max asked.

“His daughter found him.  He decided to try living with her again.”

Max nodded.  “I hope it works out.  She wasn’t…apparently he isn’t easy to live with.  Bad dreams.”

“It’ll be better now.”  She said with such serene certainty that Max believed her.  He gave a little wave and walked away.  

He was back, twenty minutes later.  He put a chocolate shake in front of her, and a boxed fried chicken meal.  If he had known his folklore…which, sadly, he would become intimately familiar with, he would have understood her amusement.  Milk, bread…these were the Old offerings.  

Instead he shrugged, uncomfortable.  “What?  I figure everyone likes chocolate.  And I needed to eat, too.”  He sat next to her.

“How old are you?” She asked, though she knew.

He shrugged.  “Seventeen.”  He buttered a biscuit and took a huge bite.  He ate like he was starving.  “Why?”

“You seem to be awfully young to be hanging out with homeless people.  Where are your parents?”  

He shrugged again.  “My mom’s gone.  My father…”. He pointed towards the hospital doors with his chin.  “He’s dying.”  He hunched over the greasy box of chicken, potato strips and biscuits, eating like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

She sighed.

He looked at her, and she shook her head, and ate the food he brought her.  You are going to go off the rails Max Phillips.  You are going to go off the rails so badly and there’s nothing I can do about it.

The Present:

He entered the library through the basement, crept up the stairway.  The first floor was nearly empty…the university library kept late hours so that students could cram late into the night, but it was Thirsty Thursday and most of the students were elsewhere.  

He waited until you were focused on the book cart again, back towards the main floor, and got himself around the corner.  Then he pulled out his cell and dialed the front desk.

You now turned to go to the phone, at least he hoped so, as he disconnected the call and opened the side door to the area behind the circulation desk…

You were there, leaning against the cart, arms folded.  “Nice try, but I know your tricks, Mister Phillips.”

He grinned and advanced on her, step by step.

“No no…”. You point a finger at him.  “Stay back, this is a work place…”. You shoot a look towards the front desk as he backs you into your office.   “You are going to lose me my job.”  You hiss at him, and he bends a little, and kisses you breathless.

“Quit.  I’ll take care of you.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders.  He’s cool to the touch.  It’s not disconcerting, not like it used to be.  “I wish I could.”

“Stop wishing...”

“If you say ‘and make your dreams a reality’, I’ll bite you.”  

Max looks offended.  “It’s a great slogan!  Do you know how many units of Losapill those golden words have sold?”

“I don’t understand how I can love someone so much and want to punch them so badly.”

He grins down at you.  “I can name several reasons why you love me.”

You smirk up at him.  “I’m sure you can…let me go, honey.  I’ve got to tell everyone we’re closing in half an hour.”  He listened to your voice on the loudspeaker, buttery and gentle and reassuring, and smiled a little. He could listen to that voice forever.  He could sell holy water to a priest, but so far all his skills had failed to net him the one thing he wanted.

He walks with you, as you check the restrooms (He even does the men’s for you on each floor, turning off the lights and blocking the doors open) and stands behind you, hands in his pockets, looking gloomy as you gently tell students to take their books to the front desk if they needed to check them out, that the library was closing shortly.

He waits, patiently, while you close up and lock the doors and usher the last people out.  

“I really wish you’d let me turn you,” he says when you are both in your car and on the way home.  Max often took the rooftops from his office to the university.  He was fast, and strong, and being fairly indestructible made him long for the thrill of possibly getting hurt, so he parkoured his way through the city once it got dark.  It was disgusting, how he looked so good after running and leaping five miles.

He shifts in his seat as you let the silence grow.  “Are you ignoring me?”

“Yes.”  You stop at a red light.  

“Why?  You said you’d think about it.  You’ve been thinking about it for a month.  Any idea where you are on it?  Like, from the scale of one to ten…”

You’ve been wanting to avoid this.  You’ve really been wanting to avoid this.  “Zero.”

She waits.  She waits for the torrent of salesmanship.  The spiel.  Why becoming a vampire and living forever is what she wants, she just doesn’t know it’s yet.  

For once, words fail him.  No quick comeback, no charming lines. “I can’t believe you don’t want to be with me.”  He says it so softly that you almost aren’t sure you heard it.  

You pull into the apartment parking lot, picks a spot quickly you can park and take his hands in yours.  “Max.  I do.  I really do.  But just…I don’t want to be a vampire.  I don’t want to give up the things I would have to give up?”

“Like what?  Death?  Getting old?  Getting sick?  Being weak?”  He pulls his hands away.  “I am offering you unlimited time.  Think of the things we can do together!  And you don’t have to kill…I haven't killed anyone in ages!”

“Sunlight.”  You say.  “Food.”  He makes a disgusted sound and looks out the window.  “A family.”  You take a deep breath.  “Children.”

He finally looks at you again.  “Then I won’t waste any more of your time.”  He raises his hand, and time goes wonky for a moment, and when things snap back into place, he’s gone.

You stay in your car a long time, hoping he’ll come back. Every step up to your apartment, you look around, hoping.  

It’s dawn, before you give up, dried out from crying, your mouth feels full of ashes and your heart full of regret.

The next day:

Max was not in a good mood the next day.  Usually he has a nice word for, if no one else, his PA, a miracle worker of a woman he’d always been fond of, but he just glared at her and slams his door shut.

Emails.  Reports.  He plowed into work.  

The door opened, and he ignored it, steadfast in the hope that whoever it was would go the fuck away.   I could always eat them.  I don’t have to be good anymore.

A cup thumped down on his desk.  He looked up.  He didn’t recognize the woman — her steel grey hair was neat, her suit elegant.  Her heart beat strangely, and he could tell she was not — quite—human.  Great.  Someone new from corporate?

“I thought you said that everyone loves chocolate?”  She said, pointing at the milkshake.  “You’ve come far, since we last spoke outside the hospital…”

He shook his head.  “I remember you, but…”. How did she come to be here? Why? His brain was still trying to match up the homeless lady with the epitome of corporate flash in front of him.  

“Now, I didn’t say you moved in a good direction.  How did the sweet boy who spent his last twenty on dinner for himself and a homeless woman end up being a bloodsucking asshole selling fake products?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s schedule an appointment, maybe for the next century?”

“Nope.”  She reached across the desk.  “You gonna drink this?”

He shook his head and she took the milkshake, leaned back in her chair, moving the straw back and forth in the lid, making an annoying shriek sound that hurt his ears.  

“Do you think I wanted this?”  He snapped at her.  Vampires didn’t really need much in the way of sleep, but he was tired.  Tired and hurt.  “And who gives you the right to fucking judge me?”

“I’m one of the gentry,” she said.  “That doesn’t give me the right, but it gives me the power.”

“You’re fae.  That explains it.  You don’t seem human.”  

“I thought they taught you the rules.  You never call us out so clearly.  Always call us by some euphemism and hope we don’t take a notion to turn our attention towards you.”

He threw up his hands.  “Why?  Why does it matter?”

“Because if I wanted to, Max Phillips, I could turn you back into the weak, dying, foolish mortal you once were.”

This stopped him.  “You could?”  He said carefully.  

“I could.”

“What’s the catch?”

She smiled.  “Good boy.  Maybe they did teach you something, after all.”  She put the milkshake on the desk.  ”You were…what?  Twenty, twenty one when you got turned?  I could, if I wanted to, make it as if you never got turned.  I could choose for you to age to the age you should be, had you not cheated death…or I could make you start from where you are right now.  If I was feeling so inclined.”

“Why would I want that?”  He scoffed.  “Do you think I want to get old and sick?  Do you think I want to spend the last year of my life in a hospital bed, unable to even piss for myself?  You think this is a fucking gift?  Enticing?  No.”

“So you don’t want a life with the librarian? Probably for the best. She is made out of sunlight and deserves so much better.”

He stopped.  He could feel the slipping…where the darker side of him started clambering up, eager to take control and rend and kill.  

“Hush.”  She said, and the blood stopped rushing in his ears, the fangs stopped aching.  “I shouldn’t needle.  It’s just so frustrating.  You were a sweet boy and you just allowed the bad in your life to make you…well, frankly, a bit of a jackass.”  She shoot him an apologetic look.  “OK, that was a cruddy apology.  But.  Back to the subject at hand.  Once, you were kind to me.  And if you do me a favor — one more favor — I will give you a choice.  A chance to choose a life for yourself instead of being a victim of bad choices and worse luck.  No strings.  No further price.”

He side eyed her a long moment.  He was intrigued, despite himself.  “What’s the favor?”

She took a small painting out of her pocket and slid it over to him.  “Another debt to pay…that woman has a soul mate out there.  I know where he is.  If you get her to my house tomorrow night, I can unite them, give them a chance at well deserved happiness.”

“Yeuch.”  He said, then picked up the painting.  “Wait.  That’s my PA.”

“Is it?  How delightful.  Isn’t just splendid how fate intervenes.”  She put a card on the desk.  “This is the address.  Hope to see you.”  She held up her finger.  “There is one thing.  She can’t know.  You have to get her there without her knowing why.  Alright?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”  He muttered.

“Good.  I am glad you understand.  Ciao!”

He picked up the card.  And cursed a bit.

NIght, in the time middle of nowhere:

“So, Mister Phillips…are you taking me out into the middle of the woods to murder me?”  His PA asked, laughing.  She didn’t know he was a vampire.  Telling people what he was hadn’t worked out very well at his last job, so he’d been much more circumspect this time.

“I promise, you are safe.  From me.  I don’t know what Corporate will do, though,” he said, turning down another road.  

“So, did they tell you what the meeting is about?”

“It’s meant to be a retreat.  All the heads of the various branches and their PA’s.  They want to re-envision the future of the company”. He took one hand off the wheel to put air quotes in the right place.  “Apparently they messed up your email address so we didn’t get the invite in time.  Someone caught it and called me directly.”

“I hope the place they picked is nice…”. She was looking out the window, trying to make out the road ahead.  “Carol in accounting is super jealous.  I think she has a bit of a crush on you…”

“Well, I am irresistible.”

“Mostly.”  She grinned at him.  A square of light grabbed her attention.  “I think we’re here.”

He pulled up to the house.  It looked sketchy at best, and the looks his PA were casting made him wonder if her trust was stretching a little too thin.

He got out and walked up to the porch.  The Fae came out this time wearing a chic, flowery dress.  She ignored Max and called to his PA.  “Don’t be afraid.  You are here so I can talk to you about your dreams…and by that, I mean the Spaniard, with the scar over his eye.”

The PA froze.  “You…you know about him?”  

“Go inside, dear, and I will tell you all about him.  But I need to talk to Max, here, first”

His PA stopped next to him, put her hand on his arm.  “Will you be OK?”

“Absolutely.  You know me.”

She went into the house.  

“Come here, Max.”  The Fae held out her hand, gesturing him to come up to the porch.  He did.  A card table was set up, with one chair.  Two cards lay face down.  “Here is your choice.  Are you ready?”

He stood there, looking at the table, and nodded.  Fear coursed through him, as strong as the day cold hands grabbed him from behind, teeth sinking into his throat…

She reached down and flipped over a card.  The Queen of Spades.  “Darkness ever lasting.  A vampire queen even now is looking for her equal.  She will choose you, and the two of you will know power beyond your wildest dreams…until enough people get angry about it and decide to deal with you both.  You will not love her, but who needs love when you have sex and death and all the power you ever hoped for?”

She reaches again, flips over another card.  The Queen of Hearts.  “And this.  This is life.  Your soul will wake up, and you will be twenty one and full of possibilities again.  Your heart will beat every beat that was stolen from you.  The slate will not be wiped entirely clean, but you will have a chance — a chance with your lovely librarian.  Children.  Be kind when you were once cruel, and live a decent, good life.”  

His lips were numb.  “How…how long?”

“Long enough.  You will not feel cheated.  It will be a plain sort of life, but it will be yours, and you will have the woman you love…some would say that is worth dying for.”

“What do you know about death?  Your kind just fade when they are tired of living.  You will never know the absolute fucking horror of your body betraying you.  The fucking humiliation that waits.  The pain.”

“No.”  She said softly.  “I do not.”  She kissed his temple.  “I am sorry.  If I had met you sooner, perhaps…but, in any case, I consider all debts paid.  When you are ready, pick up the card representing your choice, and rip it in half.  Choose well, Maxwell Phillips.  May we never meet again.”

He didn’t notice her leave.  He sat down, weak, at the table.

Life.  Death.  Life.  Death.  

He’d seen both his parents die terribly.  After he was turned, he’d mourned, then he realized the gift he’d been given.  No hospitals.  No lingering disease.  No pain.

His hand hovered next to the Queen of Spades.  No love, but power and sex.  He’d tried to recover, tried to be good, for you.  And he’d started feeling the guilt.  And with guilt, came all the excuses.  That he was living according to the nature that had been forced upon him.  That he was giving people a gift…they died, or they become something that could never die.

You don’t punish the wolf for being a wolf.

But that was why it had been easy to walk away.  Because you deserved better.  Not a vampire.  Not a wolf.  A man…

He did not hear the car, but he heard the thump of the other man’s steps as he mounted the porch.  

“She’s in there…”  he said, barely paying attention.  

When the other man left, he repeated what he said to him, in his head.  Choosing between life and death.

He picked up the Queen of Hearts.  His hands were shaking.  He ripped the card in half.  Darkness roared around him, pulled him under.

When he woke up, he was on the floor of his apartment.  

No.  His fucking.  College.  Dorm room.

“Dude, you started early.”  Evan’s stupid face appeared as he bent over him.  

Max wondered if he could punch him in the face.  It would feel really, really good to punch the other man in the face,

“OK, well, I’m going to an away game…see you sometime tomorrow.”

He put the palms of his hands in his eyes.  “Yeah…have fun.”

Evan stepped over him.  “See ya…wouldn’t want to be ya!”  The door slammed shut and Max raised both hands in a one finger salute towards it.

He made himself get up and go to the bathroom.  He looked younger but not better, per se.  What is wrong with me?  What’s this feeling?

It wasn’t just that he could feel his body working.  Feel breath (was breathing always so fucking noisy?) and heat beats and aches in his neck and back from laying weird on the floor.

He’d lived for years.  But right now, he was still the same angry, miserable hit mess of a man he’d been at this point of his life.  

A phone was ringing, he went and grabbed it.

“Hey Maxie.  Is Evan gone?”  Evan’s girlfriend.  Great.

Oh.  

“Yeah.  Yeah.  Look…”

“Awesome.  I bought the cutest bra and panties…”

And this is where, he thought, this is where he took the step to becoming the man you deserved him to be.  “That’s great.  But you know…I only want to fuck you because your boyfriend is an annoying twit.”

Shocked silence.  OK still an asshole.  Check.  So much for being a sweet boy when I was younger.  “Look. I meant what I said.  You are beautiful. You are probably far, far too good for Evan. Or maybe not, if you are willing to screw around with an asshole like me. In any case, you deserve better. But you have to decide what better is.”

This treated him to a string of profanity before the woman hung up.

Then, he walked to the infirmary, and asked for aspirin. And if there were any free spots for the therapist.

Sunday, the conversation between roommates went like this:

“So you were going to screw my girlfriend?”

A shrug — Max concentrated on the video game.  “Changed my mind.”

“Why?”

He paused the game.  “Because you deserve better.”

He felt Evan throw himself on the couch next to him.  “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I don’t hate you. You’re just so fucking happy and peppy and optimistic and everything is going to be awesome but I think the world is shit and misery and maybe if you dialed it back a little I we could have conversations that didn’t end with me wanting to punch your face.”

“Dude.”  It sounded defeated and apologetic at the same time.

Max held a controller out to him. “Sorry. I’ll try to be less of an asshole.”

He took it.  “I’ll try to be less…happy?”

Max sighed.  “Just don’t get me kicked out, ok? I can’t afford anywhere else and I really don’t want to end up in Transylvania.”

Two years later, he decided he could go and find you.

Most people went to nice places on their spring break.

Max got on a bus and headed to a University in the next state.  They’d had their Spring break a week sooner.

There you were. Sitting cross legged on a bench with a man with a streak of blonde in his hair, and a suit coat with elbow patches.  Elbow patches.  Pretentious asshole.

You were tucking hair behind your ear. You liked him. Max wondered if he should leave, come back…in a year?  Three?  When did he have a right to become part of your life?  Did he even?

You look at him and smile and it is sunshine and he can’t leave.

The man on the bench says something about class.  “See you at work,” she tells him, and he lopes off in an easy walk to one of the brick covered class buildings.

Max approaches carefully.  “Hey.  Um.  I’m thinking about transferring here, wondered what it’s like?”

She shifted her bag over, even though there was plenty of room to sit, and he took it as an invite.  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

He gave her his best smile. “Everything. I want to know everything.”

[samtheflamingomain]

25.21%

I've been sober for 3 months today. 92 days. 25.21% of 2021.

I could've posted more updates, more milestones (it took a LOT not to post on Day 69) but I wanted to kind of save it up for a Big Day. It was also a decent way to continue to incentivize my continued sobriety: a full pass to do a shameless, hardcore bragging sesh.

Anyway, this post comes in 2 parts: the TL;DR for those who only want the gist, then more in depth on my ability to stay sober, the lasting effects of rehab, etc.

I tried my damnedest to pare this absolute novel down, but it's long, so feel free to dip out if you just get bored. Onward!

TL;DR: I went to rehab the beginning of July for 3 weeks and haven't had a drop of alcohol since. I've lost weight, I'm more healthy, my daily anxiety level went from 8 to 2, I haven't had an anxiety attack in 3 months, and everything generally just seems... easier. My memory and concentration have improved. I've been productive and I've been meditating every day. I'm saving money, and while I sometimes fantasize about getting drunk, that's usually all it is.

Honestly, it's been much easier than I expected, but I think a lot of that is because for the first 3 weeks, the time in which I would usually break down and start drinking again when trying to get sober myself, was spent behind a locked door. So far I haven't had any days where I was close to giving in. I haven't had many days where I've been depressed about it, missing it or really tempted. Maybe 3-4. I've basically just gotten on with my life as if alcohol doesn't exist.

To wrap up the short version for those ready to peace out, I'll leave it with a bit of advice.

I don't feel qualified to give any specific advice, because my story feels very unique to me, and I honestly don't think what worked for me will work for MOST people. Sometimes people spend a year in rehab and still drive straight to the liquor store on their way home.

That said, there's one thing that I've found pretty universally true: you have to really want it. For a while, I floated about without much of a "reason" to stay sober. I don't have a spouse, kids or a job I've been fired from, so I didn't see the point.

It's taken me a while, but after not being "convinced" by a few superficial "reasons" like weight loss and saving money, I thought I needed something more... permanent? Consequential? I now realize that my "reason" for getting sober at a young age after only a few years of alcoholism is that I don't want it to get to a point where I'm hurting other people, drinking myself into multiple lasting health problems... I don't want it to become permanent or consequential.

Anyway, that's my two cents. If you do have something like kids or trouble keeping a job, definitely use that as your reason. But for anyone who's a pretty "functional" alcoholic like I was, "not letting it go on long enough to become disfunctional" is a good enough reason.

This is going to get stupid long, so feel free to walk away now, just glad you read this much and it really does mean the world when people listen to what I have to say.

Now some more things in depth. I'll go in chronological order: what made me get sober, what I took from rehab (and what I left), and how it's been the past few months.

I started drinking when I got kicked out, manic out of my mind and homeless unable to sleep. It took a while until I was able to sleep without alcohol, but by then the addict brain had taken over. I'd tried a few times to get sober myself, but I never made it more than a week without, and always got back to daily drinking after a few months maximum.

Some people need a "wake up call", a "last straw" or a "rock bottom". Something external to make them realize they can't go on as they are. For me, the catalyst was my health, which is more of an internal reason I suppose. I didn't have a heart attack or liver failure, but my anxiety was getting uncontrollable and I knew it was directly tied to my drinking.

My life had been starting to feel tolerable, and I was more financially secure than ever before. Things were looking up... except for the alcoholism. This is a weird analogy but the only one that makes sense to express why, if I was doing so well on paper, I decided to go to rehab: you have to sweep before you mop. If I hadn't been in the place I was, I don't think I would've been successful at rehab. I had to sweep up the cat turds from the floor of my life before I was able to mop up the shit stains with sobriety. I know, I'm a true wordsmith.

When I finally called the hotline that hooked me up with a bunch of different rehabs, I knew I was in for a wait. It was about 5 months from that call to checking in, which isn't too bad considering I've been on the waitlist for a neuropsychiatrist in ALL OF CANADA for 4 years.

That brings us to July 12th, Rehab Day One. I've gone in depth in multiple other posts but to touch on it briefly, if I had to describe my experience in a sentence I'd say "the place I went to got very lucky with me".

What this means is that, of the 5 people in my group, I think this exact program was only ever going to help me. At the same time, I didn't even know what I would need, but this exact program was 90% of it. I didn't think 3 weeks would be long enough, but for me it was. The hours-long, repetitive, basic-ass CBT groups held 5 times a day 7 days a week was absolute torture for everyone but myself. While it was a drag to spend an hour on defining what a cognitive distortion is, the routine and repetition, something I've never gotten out of any outpatient program, helped me to really absorb the information and let it rewire my brain.

I've always said that I'm someone who should be spending an hour a day with a therapist for the rest of my life, and while that's not even remotely feasible, this was as close as it's ever gotten, and it proved me right, because it worked. I've done biweekly therapy for a short time but even that didn't come close to the way my brain changed in those 3 short weeks.

This program required absolute commitment and open-mindedness. This isn't because it was hard work or difficult concepts, but quite the opposite. While I hate the entire concept of art therapy being used as a cure-all for mental illness, I willingly got out of my bed, went downstairs and tried doing a dot mandala for an hour because I'm willing to try anything to get better. A lot of people might think they are, but really aren't. To use the mandala as an example, one guy was really into it, I wasn't, but we both finished. The other 3 tried, messed up a few times, and then scrolled through their phones. When I say this program necessitates complete engagement, that's not a compliment. It shouldn't be a chore to engage with the program. It shouldn't take me actively saying "I know I've known this basic concept since 4th grade, but maybe hearing it again will help" to get something out of a rehab program. So again, in every way, I got lucky, and so did they.

Before I finish with the rehab section, having had a few months to reflect on the whole thing, I now have an endless list of things wrong with it. I arrived, greeted by the most jaded and disillusioned of staff, and quickly became disturbed and at points concerned with just how negligent the staff are.

Maybe it's because I've been on the psych ward where they won't even let you have shoelaces and shine a flashlight on your face every half hour through the night, but it could've been so incredibly easy to sneak in alcohol. I brought 2 full water bottles, fully expecting to have to dump them out upon arrival, but they said "nah it's fine". Is it though?

Then there were actual counsellors there who were... okay. I recall one, the one I thought was the smartest, reading a handout aloud and coming across the word "delve" as in "let's delve into..." and stumbled, then said she doesn't know that word. The room was silent. As she pulled up Google on the screen I said, "it means to dive into it". She Googled it anyway. Synonyms include "dive in". If that was the only example I wouldn't mention it, but this was the first of at least 10 words she had do Google, none past a 10th grade level, from HER OWN MATERIAL. From that point on it became clear that they had no fucking idea what they were doing.

We had one last one-on-one counselling session before we left and the counsellor just filled in boxes to questions on her computer, rephrasing everything I said to fit into the buzzwords and "lessons" we'd "learned". Example. Me: I do think I'm better able to catch myself thinking 'oh I can just have one drink' and say 'no I can't'." Her: "Okay, so would you say that you can recognize negative cognitive distortions like permission-giving thoughts and counter them with a more rational and less emotional mind?" Like girl, blink twice if your boss is holding your family hostage. She gave me some papers, detailing all the online courses they were signing me up for and options for more treatment they'd be sending me, a phone number to call and a phone appointment for the next Monday. I never got that call, the phone number is a hotline, I never got a single email from them, and given how shitty they really are at their jobs, I didn't feel the inclination to try and get those resources. If they even exist in the first place.

In summation, it was a place where it was physically impossible to get alcohol. That's really all I can say in its favor. Oh, and they let you have your cell phone.

Now on our timeline I'm back home. I want to kind of analyze why it's been easy for me.

I often said that my main goal of going to rehab was to lock me away from alcohol long enough for it to reset my brain. Most people thought that was naïve, but that's exactly what happened. But I'm well aware that my experience of "instantly became sober and literally hasn't had a single hard day in 3 months" is absurdly unusual.

I put this down to a few things. Firstly, I'm on seven different meds for my mental health. Almost all of them have their effects dulled or even eliminated when you drink. So when I noticed my mood, fatigue, memory, concentration etc all getting better at once - right about as I left rehab, I don't think it would be a stretch to say that all those meds started working properly.

Secondly, I've been keeping myself busy, but that's something I've always been good at. Now I specifically choose to undertake projects that will eat up a lot my time and put me in a state of flow. I recently made an entire card game from scratch, and let me tell you, I didn't think of alcohol for a week.

Thirdly, my other goals now get in the way of alcohol. I'm getting old and my body is deteriorating. But I've always wanted to do just one last season of gymnastics. Well, I need to lose weight for that to happen. I've already lost 35 pounds, and after another 20 I'll be ready to go. Also, I used to spend more on alcohol per month than rent. Even though I've done a few shopping sprees lately, I haven't come remotely close to how much I was spending before.

I want it more than anything. I want to be sober more than I want one night of "fun" that will more likely than not lead me back to where I was a year ago. I never want to need anything as much as I needed alcohol.

Lastly, just a few more random thoughts.

A lot of people, myself included, worried about the fact that I work at a bar as a cook, but honestly the entire time I'm there I'm thinking about food, not alcohol. If I'm hanging out with some regulars before/after, I can watch them drink and be perfectly fine with my coffee, because the coffee is $2, and I used to spend $20 after every work shift.

I also decided in rehab to start taking better care of myself as best I could. This started with getting my second vax which I'd been putting off, then an eye appointment, then new glasses, then a dentist appointment where I was informed I need to do $3000 worth of work on my implant that's erroding my bone matter, so that sucks, but I caught it early. I've also been meditating every day. In just 3 months, I've made pretty big improvements to my self-care and my daily routine.

One of my fears about sobriety was "missing out" on "having fun". A few days ago, all my housemates got together to play Mario Party, and it was kind of my first night doing something social while sober. It was a breath of fresh air - I wasn't constantly running to piss, I didn't worry about running out of alcohol, I didn't get sloppy and obnoxious as I can sometimes do. I even came very very close to winning my first game of MP. When I reflected on the night, I realized that, if I'd been getting drunk the whole time, I would've sucked at the minigames, been a hindrance to anyone unfortunate enough to be teamed with me, and likely would've stopped caring about the game itself after the first few turns.

Yesterday I was making my 4th pot of coffee of the day when I realized there was a full glass of wine just sitting on the counter. I had absolutely no idea where the hell it came from - nobody in my house drinks wine. I shrugged and poured that sweet sweet bean juice. It was only when I sat down and took a sip of coffee did I find myself thinking automatically, "this tastes so much better than wine". I only realized then that it had been rose wine, the only kind I've ever been able to tolerate. It was the ultimate moment of possible temptation, and the thought of just chugging that glass - as I may've done in the past - didn't even cross my mind.

I'm so glad to be where I am. I'm about to undergo some serious financial changes - i.e. going absolutely broke - but drinking isn't gonna help that, so I'm cautiously optimistic.

Stay Greater, Flamingos.

[blondrichclosetwitch]

“why i won't #shoutyourabortion by tinka jonakova. it was in fiona apple's hands. torn between being an artist and a mother, not even in new york six months, newly in love, my heart and soul were not cohabitating well with the baby growing inside of me. my brain was wrecked with the problems, my boyfriend deduced it to "it's just cells" and everyone seemed to have their own opinions. also, i had to announce my pregnancy to him over email because he lost his phone. for weeks i walked those rain-soaked streets. his long-term girlfriend would break-up with him if i had it. that hung in the air. i got tarot readings, astrology readings, asked people who had known me forever what i should do, and also people who had known me mere weeks their opinions. i was so busy asking everyone else that i never calmed down enough to ask myself.

i didn't trust myself back then enough to know.

the last thing i did while pregnant was go and see fiona apple. i was 12 weeks and i was going to let her decide for me. my hands were on my stomach the whole time. it's been 5 years. all year 5 years by david bowie has been playing for me over and over and over again.

after the show i walked around a grocery store talking to a friend from seattle who also has lived in brooklyn. she was as sensitive as myself and said it was hard to know what she would do if she was in my shoes. that brooklyn was no place to be pregnant. she now has a 6 month old boy. i texted the father and told him we needed to speak but in the apartment in washington heights that a friend was kind enough to let me stay in i got no phone reception and never heard from him.

the next day i went to union square. i was a mess. we met on a bench. he knew he had to go with me. i had tried to make an appointment once before but i had cancelled it because my heart was a stubborn organ. when i called him he raised his voice to me for the first time ever until i agreed to make another. it wasn't his finest moment.

last december i started listening to taylor swift of all things( that's because of my niece) and the very first song i heard was out of the woods. it seemed very clear that the song could have been about that day at the clinic. i've never had such a scary moment unless you count being hit by the car. those two are neck and neck. what sticks out in what i couldn't escape is turning my head towards him and the look in his eyes and for mere seconds, it shut everything else out. . that and him clutching my balled fist. his eyes said so much because i was so in the fucking woods, and scared to death, and that look let me know that he was there too, but that we would find our way out together.

turns out fiona apple doesn't want to have kids. (also, her song "Left Alone" just started to play. this happens all the time. I talk about something, and related music starts to play. I'm still trying to figure it out). I read that in a magazine article a few days later. don't think i didn't get that lesson loud and clear (The next song playing, btw, is Bowie's "Glass Spider" another reference to mothers and children...keep in mind this playlist is on shuffle and has over 6k songs---also I haven't heard that Fiona Apple song in many months).

Why be vulnerable in public? I don't know, it's a good question. Because it scares me to death. Why not try.

I carry that child with me every day. Ask my analyst. “