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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years ago

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Humans are Space Orcs, “An Invitation.”

So this story totally went right off left field from what I was expecting. I honestly surprised myself like I am sure I will surprise some of you. Don’t worry I feel the same way. I am thinking about making this the end of this arc, though I know some of you were hoping for it to go in a different direction. I still think the ending is super surprising and very interesting, so I hope you like it anyway.

He stood by the shuttle ramp back straight hands clasped behind his back. His knuckles were bandaged to the point where he could barely bend his fingers, but the dull throbbing in his hands was easy to ignore.

A cold wind whipped past him tugging at the stiff fabric of his uniform and threatening to rip the cap right off his head. Since leaving the hybrid facility, he had changed clothes, gotten some rest, received medical attention, and cut his hair into a very short buzz-cut. The hair was still blue, but he could hide that under a cap if he needed too, and the earrings had been easy to remove. Sunny had likely had less fun than him considering she needed about a gallon of nail polish remover to clean herself off.

All around him, the ground was swarming with military and GA personnel. The facility was massive, and no one was entirely sure how extensive the operation went on. He glanced over his shoulder, and into the shuttle where Glados Hal Cortana and Vicky were curled up around each other and fast asleep.

They had refused to leave him since the incident which was only mildly inconvenient, and he didn’t really have time to do anything other than let them have their way.

Engines rumbled off in the distance, and he turned his head to watch as the next shuttle descended from the sky not a few hundred feet away from him. A sharp wind whipped up around him, and he had to hold his bap in place as the shuttle settled against the landing strip.

The doors hissed open and two figures stepped out in accompaniment of at least a dozen other assistants and clerks.

He walked in that direction, meeting the GA chairwoman and the Admiral with a salute.

“You’ve been busy, commander.” The admiral pointed out, turning his head towards the swarming building before looking back “I don’t suppose it would do any good to remind you that it’s usually the job of lower ranking individuals to do undercover work, and that you are generally in a purely command capacity?”

He didn’t allow his expression to change remaining just as serious as the admiral, “Ma’am, Find I prefer to lead from the front, however in the case of this particular mission it was only logical for e to take lead. I am friends with a Drev aboard the ship to a point where we could reasonably fool almost everyone on a short term basis.” he motioned towards the building, “It worked a little better than expected since I was simply attempting to gather information.”

“I see… and what exactly did you find.”

He motioned the two to walk with him noting how uncomfortable the chairwoman looked now that she was exposed to the near freezing air around them. He led them into the building, “My crew has been working for the past day or so to try and figure out just exactly what was going on here. From what I immediately gathered while inside the facility myself, and from what some of the hybrids told me-”

“Wait, you have spoken to the hybrids?”

“Forgive me, I misspoke. I have spoken with one of the hybrids.”

“How are any of them capable of speaking. Considering the facility can’t have been more than a year or two old.”

The door hissed shut behind them, “Genetic tampering, or so she says. Anyway upon entering the facility Sunny and I discovered that they were, in fact, doing what we assumed, and that is offering the hybridization of different species to couples who cannot have their own naturally. If you go through those doors there you will find the nursery where y crew is attempting to take care of the remaining hybrids, though it remains to be seen what can be done with them once this is all over.” He continued on down the hall, “We discussed the genetic sequencing process, and some other details, but when we were brought down onto the floor, I had an opportunity to explore some of the more restricted areas of the facility, and when I did, found the reason for their success where the prodigum had failed.”

He walked down the stairs.

“Adaptids. Apparently, somewhere, and somehow one of these scientists determined the action of the hybrid splicing gene, though they were not able to recreate it naturally. In order to mix two species it is imperative that you have adaptid DNA to preform the action, otherwise the integration of the different genetic material is not seamless. From what we have gathered, they were harvesting Adaptid genetic material as part of their growing process.”

Stepping out onto the floor he motioned around with a wide sweep of his hand. The chairwoman and the admiral stopped dead in their tracks staring in wide-eyed bewilderment at the lines of test tubes being watched over by scientists on his crew. The room was dark, but you could still see the strange redish glow emanating from the partially grown fetuses suspended inside the tubes .

“These hybrids must be fed constantly with adaptid DNA in order tow work, not only that but the hybridization process requires command computer input in order to give the correct amount of genetic material when ordered. As I am told, a fifty/fifty split hybrid is not viable, so the creature must lean towards one or the other.”

The admiral was shaking her head as the rundi chairwoman turned in circles, “Whan is even the point of all this, surely the money they were making couldn't be equal to all the research and time that was put into this.”

He nodded, “Yes that is also rue, however, I think they were only responding to a niche market while they did their real work on the side.”

“And what is that?”

“The creation of super soldiers, or at least superior genetic creations designed to have special abilities or durability.”

The group went silent staring at him like he was insane as he spoke, “And you are sure about this?” The admiral said in incredulity.

“Yes I am positive, their greatest creation is the reason that we are here right now. She has taken control of the facility, and seems interested in facilitating the relocation of the hybrids to better homes and locations, but after that she says that the knowledge must be destroyed at all costs.”

“You do understand what this might do for edical science?”

“I do, but I also understand that we have not proven ourselves capable of possessing hat knowledge without corrupting it. Furthermore, I am not keen on getting in the way of Eris. I have a feeling that she is a force I am not interested in reckoning with.”

“Who is-”

Just then the hybrid starborn floated from the nearby room. At some point during the investigation she had taken a leaf from Conn’s book and acquired a gravity belt. In this way she made an ethereal otherworldly figure as she floated onto the floor. Her long dark hair billowed an undulated about her head, while the hundreds of flowing white ribbons swirled at her back.

The admiral stepped back and the commander averted his gaze.

“Good evening Chairwoman, Admiral Kelly.”

The two of them stepped back again. The admiral held a hand to her head looking around as if trying to find the source of the voice.

“Do not be alarmed, unfortunately my physical body is mute, so I will be forced to communicate in this manner.”

“What are you?”

“I am the first successful human starborn hybrid, and the oldest hybrid of this facility though my genetics were tampered with to make me age at an accelerated rate.”

“And you speak for the hybrids?”

“I do.”

“And what is it that you want.”

The admiral looked very, very nervous. She seemed to understand the power of this person? Creature? She was a human alien hybrid that could read minds. No secrets were unavailable to her.. All the secrets in this room were hers if she really wanted them, all she had to do was ask a question and wait for the answer to pop unbidden into the minds of her speaking companions.

She was the most powerful thing in this room, and everyone knew it.

“I want one thing above all else, and that is for the hybrids to be taken care of. The ones that are already in the nursery should find good loving homes, the ones being grown in these tubes should be treated likewise, those of us who do not possess sentience should be released into an environment that suits, or at least kept somewhere that they might remain happy for the time being. Those of us who do possess sentience, but are not conventionally adoptable might request a place to live out our lives freely with the same rights as the rest of you, and then when this is all over, I wish that this entire facility and every ounce of hybrid knowledge inside it be destroyed.”

“Destroyed.” The two protested, “But You don’t understand, the application to medical science is to great to simply destroy it.”

Eris’s mouth twisted downwards into a frown, and the commander shivered under her scathing black gaze, “You are not ready for that knowledge, since you have been proven to be incapable of treating it correctly. If you do not destroy the knowledge, I vow to destroy you….. Is that understood.”

“Are you threatening us?”

“You are threatening yourselves. I simply want to live my life in peace and tranquility, but if my hand is forced, than I will be in my rights to act accordingly. You have no idea what kind of pain and misery this knowledge has caused us and you will never find out ever again if I have anything to do with it. I do not care how any medical applications that you might find for it. Your medicine is far along enough, that you can find other ways of meeting your ends rather than using he DNA of some poor creatures to chase power and immortality.”

They were just about to continue protesting when the sound of footsteps interrupted.

The three of them turned to watch as a grim faced scientist made his way up the isle.

“I am sorry to interrupt, but we have some news you aren’t going to like.”

The commander sighed, “What now?”

Eris tilted her head, “Very interesting.”

“Ell sir, we were combing through the databases tying to determine where the original hybrid DNA was sourced from. And as far as we can tell some of the originals were taken simply from random individuals off the streets.”

“Like we expected.”

“Yes sir, but… it seems that they too a shortcut when it came to gathering the human DNA….”

The admiral tapped her foot on the floor, “Well go on, spit it out.

The man grimaced and turned towards the commander, “Sir, the original human DNA… well.”

Eris was staring at him.

Everyone was staring at him

“They sequenced it form…. From the adaptid.”

It didn’t click at first because he was originally struck by just how long Vicky had been imprisoned here if she was the original sequence. Almost one and a half years…. It was terrible to think about, also terrible to consider Eris had never had any sort of childhood.

The room was silent.

Everyone was staring at him.

He didn’t entirely understand, “I’m sorry, and how does this affect-” He paused the realization coming slowly.

He turned in place to look at Eris who stared back at him with her wide black eyes, and her flowing dark hair. His sister had hair like that…

“Mother Fuck.” He muttered

Was he just imagining things, or did he sense a bit of a resemblance in her face, the lines of the nose, or the height of the cheekbones.

He turned away from the group staring at the ceiling, “Mother fuck.” He repeated

“Commander, are you alright.”

A hand dropped to rest on his shoulder.

He was feeling just a little dizzy.

“Commander do you need to sit down?”

He tried to shake himself taking a deep breath as he raised his head and waved them off, “No, no I’m alright.”

He turned around to look at Eris who was staring at him with a rather bemused expression, “how very interesting.” She said

He took a deep breath and straightened up, “Well if this is the case, than I take responsibility for what happens to the original hybrids, and I demand that any and all information gained using my DNA be destroyed immediately, I don’t care what kind of applications it may or may not have, my ruling on the issue is final.”

His hands had gone cold under the bandages as blood began pulsing through the rest of his body.

He was more than angry at the Tesraki. He almost wished he had killed them, snapped their necks with his bare hands like he should have done originally, and now because of all of this, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He was lost and confused and, didn’t know if he should feel responsibility for them.

It was his DNA, but he had no choice in the matter.

It was quiet for a very long few minutes until the chairwoman and the admiral stepped away to give him some time to think. He was grateful for that at least though he couldn't imagining it being of so much help.

“You are very confused.”

He turned to look at the Dark haired starborn her head tilted just slightly to the right, “You do not have to feel responsible for us.”

“I don’t have to, but I do.”

“It is in your nature.” She mused hair billowing about her head.

He looked down at the floor and sighed before looking up again straightening his back, “I…. I wish there was more I could do for you, but-”

She smiled and held up a hand, “I can hardly blame you. You were an unwilling DNA donor, and have opted to adopt the entire universe, which must be a strenuous and taxing burden sometimes.”

He opened his mouth then closed it, “if i was a better man, I would still try.”

“I will be fine, Commander. I think with some freedom, I will do just well for myself.”

They stood there awkwardly in silence for a while. He shuffled his feet trying to figure out what to say. “You look a lot like my sister when she was younger.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he said that but Eris smiled, so he supposed it had been the right thing.

“May I visit you, commander, on occasion?”

“Yes , of course, I would…. Be honored by your company.”

She smiled outwardly, but inwardly he could hear her laugh. IT was a nice sound, he hoped she could find it in her to do it a little more. She turned to float away.

He held out a hand, “Eris I-”

She turned to look at him, a smile still playing over her face, “I know, call you Adam.”

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silenthillmutual · 4 years ago

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Patho prompt: Daniil with a baby. Please.

hiiiiiii<3 this is what came out of my head:

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His first instinct is to hunch his shoulders up to his ears, arms trembling under the weight of what it is he’s holding. He gives people the impression of being so very thin a strong gust could knock him over, but it is not the physical weight that makes Daniil Dankovsky shake. No, he’s had bags that weighed more than the infant in his arms, and he’s not about to give out with something so tiny and so fragile depends on his strength. It’s the emotional weight that takes its toll on him, the way the baby gurgles and coughs as he tries to rock it. He hasn’t done this before, never felt the urge or the longing the people surrounding him did. He heard women referring to their ‘biological clocks’ and rolled his eyes until men told him they’d heard the same. “When it’s that time,” his mentor had told him, fondly showing off a small portrait in his office, “It’s time.”

Those words meant absolutely nothing to Daniil. And the truth was that he’d been a little disappointed that someone he so admired wanted to push the same rhetoric on him. Daniil did not have time or interest in romantic relationships, let alone sexual ones. He hardly had the time to sleep, when on Earth was he meant to start a family? And why should he, when science was his constant companion? He’d stayed polite, of course, though he knew his disinterest was obvious from the condescending smile his mentor wore, patting his shoulder and telling him he’d “understand one day.”

“Maybe I will,” Daniil responded, nodding his head, sipping his tea. Silently, he doubted it. He was not like other men.

And Daniil still is not like other men. He’s accepted there’s something wrong about him, something a bit off and a bit broken in places he can’t reach that leave his fingers scarred when he tries to put it together. He spent most of his time in the Capital avoiding anything that made him reflect too closely, and it was an operation that had been going rather smoothly until he wound up in this Town. Now here he is in the Town Hall, checking in on the infants the Haruspex has brought in during what little free time he’s had, expression pulled into a frown. The baby in his arms squeezes its tiny fist and turns in its sleep, pressing a forehead against Daniil’s chest.

Something clinks together, tinkles like glass shards being swept onto a dustpan together. They drop, deposited in the wastepaper basket, and rearrange to form something – a shape he doesn’t recognize. Out loud he says the words, “Oh dear,” and is thankful that Dora is too exhausted at the end of her shift to turn her head and look at him or ask. This pitiful interaction that has him so weakened tugs at… he thinks they call these ‘heartstrings’, or perhaps Burakh would call them Lines. The word he’d search for some other time is smitten, awed by the little bundle he holds.

It's time, he thinks.

Daniil stays patient as the sickness hits its tidal wave, engulfing all the Town in black and sickly foam. He worries, edging near sleep deprivation, that the walls and windows of the Town Hall will not be enough to keep the little ones safe, that they’ll burst under pressure and the spores will come in as a flood, smothering them in their cribs. Even if such an act were possible, Dora claims they are immune to the Pest. He doubts it. He knows he’s not the only one; Burakh comes in with one stashed in his front pocket, body hunched over and brows furrowed.

“Heard this one not too far away,” he says, and it’s Dankovsky that takes the child from him and gives him his payment. Burakh does not accept it immediately, but lingers with his eyes on Daniil. He knows how strange this must look, but he can’t bring himself to care much for anyone else’s opinion.

“She’s so small,” Daniil says, and his voice does not sound a thing like a coo. His fingers push back the blanket, tutting. “She’s underweight. The store must have –“

“It’s gone,” Artemy cuts him off. Daniil is perplexed, but Artemy is turning. He’s gesturing out the window. “The one right across the street. Big Vlad…” and then he trails off, shaking his head. “Better not to ask,” he says. He seems tired. Has he always been this tired, or is this what children do to you? Daniil has never slept well. “People are out of work with the pandemic anyway, emshen. And if they had the money, the stores have raised the prices. There’s very little left in stock.”

The noise he makes should be indignant, but his hum is only contemplative. It’s hard for him to feel too upset with a baby in his arms, (something about nature and nurture,) moving slow to place her down in a crib. His colleague’s eyes stay on him as he goes, and Daniil can feel the thought behind them. Burakh is recalculating something, assessing new information. When Daniil turns, he finds Burakh has shifted closer to him. The look he wears is not one of condescension, but of hope. “You can stay, you know,” he says. For a moment, Daniil is confused. He has no intention of going outside just yet. He has work to accomplish here. But the implication works itself out to him, and he flushes. “After it’s all over. You should stay.”

In her sleep, the little girl makes a small noise, not quite a cry. Daniil turns to look at her, heart beating too loud and too hard in his chest. He could swear his ears are ringing. “I’ll think about it,” he says, and he knows he’s saying so much more than just the words.

Burakh’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, but the solid weight is welcome. There’s something in the way he smiles at Dankovsky that the other man takes, leaving him with a feeling of comfort.

Finally. He understands the trading system.

In the Capital, there would be far more restrictions. The look Alexander Saburov gives him is one of wariness. Daniil wonders what he’s done to have the man distrust him. Perhaps its in the echo of his young once-ward, the new Mistress to root herself to the town. He can still hear her words as though they drift in with the draft through the windows. You? A father?

He’s still a governor. Daniil wonders for how much longer. There is pain behind the dark corners of his eyes, and he realizes the distrust goes far beyond where Daniil stands. He sucks in what little is to their stomach, feeling hollow. He has not eaten properly the past two weeks, though the trains are coming with supplies now. And were this to ever happen again, God forbid it, he would learn to eat the air around him if it meant a tangible food for a smaller mouth. Saburov flips through the papers, and Daniil tugs at his well-worn lip.

For a moment, it looks like the question will be asked. Why do you want to be a father? He hears that in Clara’s voice, too, scathing and suspicious. He supposes she thinks he’ll use the child for experimentation. There are scientists, he knows, and psychologists, for whom their children are an at-hand subject. And before he came here, he had read their papers without much thought to the inhumanity of their actions. But being here has changed him, and that is not who he is. He doubts that it ever was, but what matters it not what is in the past. What matters is what the future holds. And Daniil’s future holds fatherhood, whether he can articulate the whys or not.

Saburov doesn’t ask. Daniil watches as he changes his mind on the words to leave his mouth, eyes drifting from his application to his face, tired hand picking at his scalp. “I must say this surprises me,” he says instead, settling the papers back down. He attempts to straighten them, not looking in Daniil’s direction at all. “However, your references are stellar, and we have more children to be cared for than people willing to care for them.” He gives Daniil a stern look, lips pursed. “Do not make me take this child away from you, Dankovsky.”

“Why would I?” The question isn’t asked with sarcasm, but the answering look it receives is unamused. Saburov’s lips thin out, and Daniil finds himself squirming under that gaze. The unasked hangs in the air, and Daniil feels it in his eyes. Was this the reason Clara asked? Was she putting him through rehearsal? “I’d never known that sort of aching,” he says, “Or what it means. But I felt things click. A desire to protect, a desire to nourish. And maybe the Dirt changed me the way it did so many others.” His mouth falters, and he stumbles. The governor’s eyes do not waver. “I asked you what you intended to do with the rest of your life. This is what I intend to do with mine.”

He can’t explain the feeling, his thought process, the way his hair stands on end. But something in his words but get his point across all the same. Saburov nods, and gestures. “You did get a chance to look the children over as they came in. I’m assuming you familiarized yourself with them.” The look he gives Daniil now… He can’t place it. Perhaps it’s understanding. “Go on, Bachelor. Fatherhood awaits you.”

#daniil dankovsky #ok to rb #icarus.docx #fanfic #kunoiichi

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anavoliselenu · 7 years ago

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Aced chapter 4

“What?” Zander asks, eyebrows raised, voice innocent.

And shit. Innocent is the keyword here. Did I know what sex was at age thirteen? Hell yes, I did. Thought I did, anyway. A messy French kiss with Laura Parker was the extent of it. The sheets I’d balled up in the morning, mortified for my mom to find, had been my reality.

“So . . . you guys might start hearing some stuff at school or see stuff on TV or the Internet about Selena and me.” Brows furrow. Lips quirk. And my palms sweat. I clear my throat. “Sometimes adults do things in the heat of the moment that leads to . . . er . . . uh . . . consequences.”

“Heat of the moment?” Aiden says with a snicker. I swear to God I blush for the first time in what feels like forever.

“You know sometimes you do something without thinking—”

“Like that time you climbed on the counter to get the cookies on top of the refrigerator and—”

“No. Not like that,” I cut Kyle off. Sweet Jesus this is going to be difficult. “More like when two married people love each other they—”

“Do they have to be married?” Scooter asks.

Seriously? Do I have to go here? I feel like I’m sitting on hot coals. My balls are burning and I can’t sit still.

“For the most part, yes.” I’m going to be struck by lightning for saying that. For lying through my teeth.

Aiden snickers again. I guess at age fourteen he knows where I’m going with this. And is enjoying watching me struggle.

“Anyway, there is going to be some talk about us and I wanted to say that you know Selena. You know the person she is. So please don’t believe any of the crap you hear being said.”

There. Maybe that will be enough.

“But why? What’s on the Internet?”

I just fucked this up. If I were their age and someone said this to me, I’d immediately go and online and search for it. Curiosity and all that.

The snicker again from Aiden. The one that says he either already knows because someone said something at school today or is assuming.

Don’t lose your cool, Donavan.

“Five Three X,” he murmurs under his breath, confusing the fuck out of me but making perfect sense to the four of them by the way they whip their heads his way and their mouths fall open like they know perfectly well what he’s saying.

“What?” I ask.

Five pairs of eyes look down at hands on soda cans and leave me lost in the goddamn dark.

“Someone going to explain what the hell five three X means?”

Snickers times five now.

“Aiden?”

He looks up, meets my eyes, and the look he gives me tells me he knows exactly what I’m here to tell them about. A single scathing look that tells me he’s pissed at me for whatever it is he’s read about Selena—like it’s all my fault—and all I can do is sigh and run a hand through my hair. And try to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about.

A part of me loves this glare he’s giving me. He’s pissed with me because he’s protective of Selena, but at the same time . . . really? I’m being eye-scolded by a fourteen-year-old?

And then it hits me. The visual of what Five Three X looks like. 53X

SEX.

Jesus fucking Christ. When did I get so old I don’t know that lingo and when did these kids get so old when they’re not?

I jog my knee. Take a breath. What the hell am I supposed to say now? I wasn’t really going to go into the sex part of it. Was I? I don’t even know. I thought this was going to be a cinch. A little chat. Don’t believe everything you see or hear on the Internet type of thing.

And now I’m stuck with birds and bees and son-of-a-bitch Aiden just threw a whole goddamn hornet’s nest on me when I wasn’t looking.

Can anyone say fish out of water?

“Dude. It’s totally cool,” Aiden says, taking point for the brood despite the two youngest, Zander and Scooter, blushing.

“No, it’s not cool,” I say, finding my footing. “Selena’s super concerned that you will be affected by this and she doesn’t want you to—”

“Look, we’re not going to click on anything, okay?” My eyes bug out of my head. “No one wants to see you bumping uglies . . . especially us.”

That’s one way to put it. My mouth goes dry as snickers fall, red creeps into cheeks, and eyes are averted from mine.

“Well . . . then . . .” Shit. Great job, Donavan. You’ve got Aiden pissed at you but you still haven’t made them understand that this is about more than just sex. I scrub a hand over my face and try to figure out what the fuck I need to say to get the point across. “Listen, guys, you love Selena like I do, right?” All heads nod and each pair of eyes narrow as they wait to see what else I’m going to say. “That’s what I thought. So I need you to understand that there have been some mean, ugly things said about her because of the images out there of us. She’s upset and really hurt by them. But more than anything, she’s worried it’s going to affect all of you. So when I ask you not to click on anything online, don’t click on anything. When I ask you not to believe anything crappy said about her or her reasons for supporting The House, don’t believe them. You guys are her world, and she’d hate herself if you were hurt in any way from this. So can you do that for me? Can you ignore all of this and pretend like it didn’t happen so Selena doesn’t have to worry about you guys?”

For fuck’s sake, please understand what I’m asking here.

Aiden’s gaze meets mine. Gone is the immature smugness from moments before. It’s been replaced with an understanding that seems to go well beyond his years. He nods his head once to me, eyes relaying his unspoken words: we promise.

I shift in my seat when all I really want to do is sag in relief. Thank Christ. I start to talk and then stop, unsure what to say next.

“Dodgers,” Aiden says, recognizing my uncertainty and owning this conversation like nobody’s business. “Let’s talk about last night’s Dodgers game.”

All I can do is shake my head.

I’m not ready for this parenting shit.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU mean early parole?” Justin’s voice ricochets off the stairwell and up into the room, shocking me from the case reports I’m trying to complete on my laptop and indicating he is home. Within an instant, I set my computer aside and move downstairs to find out what’s going on.

“I know, CJ. I know,” Justin says, one hand fisted at his side, posture tense, as I walk into the great room, his back to me framed against the open doors to the patio. “But it’s too much of a goddamn coincidence, don’t you think? The timing, his vindication . . . all of it adds up.”

Justin must sense me and turns to meet my eyes, holding one finger up requesting I wait while he finishes the conversation. I watch the emotions play over his face as he listens to our lawyer. He moves to abate the restlessness of whatever CJ is telling him, my eyes following him pace, my mind trying to figure out what’s going on. They say their goodbyes, and he turns again to face me.

“Eddie.”

It’s all he says as he smacks his hands together. That simple name—a blast from our past—and Justin’s reflex reaction cause details from three years ago to flood back to me. The CD Enterprises patent for an innovative neck protection device being denied because someone else was already in the process of getting a very similar one approved. Almost identical in fact. Investigations to find out that the other patent applicant had CDE’s same exact blueprints for the device, followed by digging into the layering of the corporation applying to find Eddie Kimball on the board of directors.

The same Eddie Kimball who Justin had fired for stealing said blueprints.

As I look at the fire lighting up Justin’s eyes, I think of the two-year legal battle that ensued over the right of ownership and future revenues from the device the blueprints made. I’m reminded of the stress, the lies, the accusations, the mediation meetings, and offers of settlement to buy time on Eddie’s part. After spending a fortune in legal counsel, the judge eventually ruled in our favor and convicted Eddie of numerous charges—fraud, perjury, false witness—and sentenced him to a four-year jail sentence.

“How?” I ask, making calculations about someone I mentally told myself was out of our lives. The trial ended three years ago. He had a four-year sentence.

“Early release. Good Behavior. Jails too crowded from the three-strikes statute.” He answers my unspoken questions as he runs a hand through his hair, his head nodding, and I can see him trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.

“Tawny knew where we were.” It’s all I say, voice quiet, gaze fixed on him. He looks up, narrows his eyes, and grits his teeth, not wanting to hear me say it again.

“I know,” he says with a sigh, “but I’m trying to figure out how it all fits together. What? Did Tawny go up and get the video of us that night? If she had it way back when, then why keep it and release it all this time later?” He slumps down on the couch and puts his head in his hand while he tries to make sense of it.

I move and sit down next to him and rest my head on his shoulder.

“I can’t give you the answers but it all seems too convenient for her not to have had a hand in this.” My voice is calm but anger fires in my veins at the thought that either of them have had a hand in this. And yet I shouldn’t expect any less from them.

Bitches can’t change their stripes. Oh wait, that’s tigers. Hmpf. Doesn’t matter because I refuse to give her a second thought. If she did do this, then Lord have mercy on her when Justin gets done with her.

The idea doesn’t take the sting out of our public humiliation any less, but at least with this newfound information about Eddie’s release, we might have some place to start looking.

“Kelly is trying to track him down through his parole officer,” Justin says, pulling me from my thoughts. He reaches out and squeezes my knee to show me he’s present although I know mentally he’s a million miles away.

“This is all just so fucked up,” I murmur, speaking my thoughts aloud and garnering a sound of agreement from him. We sit like this for a few moments. The silence is comforting because we know outside this bubble we’ve surrounded ourselves with, there are people waiting to tear us apart.

My cell phone rings from the kitchen counter causing me to sigh because I’m sure it’s some intrusive person from a tabloid. “I need to change my number,” I groan.

“I’ll handle this,” he says, beating me to the punch and getting up from the couch. Besides, with the time it would take to get my pregnant self up, the call would probably go to voicemail.

I sink back into the couch and wait for Justin to answer and unleash his temper on whatever poor soul thinks they are calling me, so I’m surprised when I hear him greet the person warmly.

“Hey, good afternoon,” Justin says. “She’s right here, Teddy. Hold on.”

And there is something in that split second of time that causes my brain—that has been so overwhelmed by everything today—to fire on all cylinders. I thought of my parents and the boys. I’ve read articles denouncing my motives and implying I released the tape for my own benefit. I called Jax and had him cover my shift at The House. And yet not once did I pick up the phone and call my boss. Not once did I think of damage control or how this man I greatly admire is going to look at me now.

Pregnancy brain.

Oh shit.

Scenarios flicker through my mind as I take the phone from Justin. Our eyes meet momentarily, and I can already see he’s thinking the same thing I am.

“Hey Teddy,” I say, my voice ten times more enthusiastic than I feel.

“How you doing, kiddo?” he asks cautiously.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you,” I say, immediately using those two words again even though I technically haven’t done anything wrong.

“No need to.” It’s all he says and the awkward silence hangs through the connection. I can sense he’s trying to figure out how to approach this conversation, an awkward dance of unspoken words. “But we do need to talk.”

And the angst I had shelved momentarily returns in a blaze of glory.

“What do you need from me, Teddy?” I feel the need to rise and walk, subdue the discord I already feel, but don’t have the energy. Justin steps behind the couch and places his hands on my shoulders and begins to knead away the tension there.

My boss sighs into the line and it’s the only sound I need to hear to know my fears about why he’s calling are warranted. “Some benefactors are raising their hypocritical highbrow hands and protesting your lead on the project.”

I take a deep breath, biting back the comments on my tongue. “I see. Well, take me off as the lead then. Let me have my shifts at The House, and I’ll work behind the scenes on the upcoming project.”

When he doesn’t respond immediately, I bite my bottom lip. “I wish I could.” And then silence. We sigh simultaneously, the singular sound a symphony of disquiet.

“What do you mean you wish you could?”

“Selena . . .”

And it hits me. It’s not that he wants me to take a back seat on the project. He wants me off the project entirely. And out of The House.

“Oh,” I say. Justin’s fingers tense as he feeds off my physical reaction. Right now I’m so glad he can’t see my face because he’ll see how devastated I am. He already feels guilty enough for things he can’t control. “I won’t risk the project. The boys, the mission, everything means way too much to me. I’ve put my blood, sweat, tears, and heart into this and I can’t risk it for the many more we are going to be able to help. I know this is hard for you and I won’t make you ask me so I’ll just say it. I’ll take an early maternity leave. I’ll hate it. It’ll kill me to leave Auggie right now just as we’re making progress and a breakthrough is on the horizon . . .” My voice trails off, ending my ramble as I struggle to articulate how hard this is for me. In the same breath, I know it was ten times harder for him to pick up the phone to call me and ask this of me.

“They want more than an early maternity leave, Selena.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Board wants me to place you on an indefinite leave of absence.”

“Indefinite?” I stutter, voice unsteady, disbelief tingeing its edges as I prod him for the answer I want. “As in three-month type of indefinite?”

“You know I respect you. You know I know this project is a continued success because of you and that the boys are contributing members to society because of all the time and hard work you’ve put in.” I hate that all of a sudden Teddy sounds like he’s speaking to a room of stiff suits instead of me, the woman who has worked for him for over twelve years. However, I understand his protective wall of detachment more than he knows because I’m fortifying mine too right now. I have to. It’s the only way I’ll be able to get through this conversation when he tells me I am no longer mother to my boys. To my family. When I don’t respond, he continues, trying to find his footing in a world where he is boss, mentor, and friend. “I swear to God I went to bat for you, kid . . . but with the board vote coming up,” he says, shame in his voice but I get where he’s coming from. The annual vote to approve his position is next month and if he fights too hard, he might not get renewed.

Teddy losing his position would be a colossal mistake; the boys would lose both of us—their biggest advocates. I bite back the bitterness, the want to argue, because with him still in the mix, I know there will at least be one of us working with them.

“It’s temporary. I promise you that. Just until the attention dies down.”

Yeah. Temporary. The bitterness returns. Disbelief overwhelms me and shakes loose a new thought: what if his contract isn’t renewed? Would I still have a place at Corporate Cares?

The fear replaces my rage, allows me to calm down and realize fighting him is like preaching to the choir. I just need to fade into the background regardless of the fact I feel like I’m bathed in a neon light. It will be hard as hell but I don’t want to rock the boat for him any more than I already have.

“Okay,” I respond softly, my voice anything but certain. And I want to ask him how he knows it’s temporary—need some kind of concrete here—but know it’s useless to ask. This is hard enough for both of us as it is, so why throw false promises in there too?

“I feel like I’m selling you out for the donations—”

“No—”

“But we need these funds,” he murmurs.

Desperately. Non-profits always need funds. I’ve been doing this way too long to know there’s never enough and always so many we can’t help.

“I won’t risk the project, Teddy.” And I know he’s having a hard time finding the right words to ask me to step down. And the fact it’s hard for him shows just how much he believes in me, and that means the world to me. “I’ll step down effective immediately.” I choke on the words as tears clog in my throat and drown out all sound momentarily, my mind trying to wrap itself around what I just said. Justin’s reaction is reflected in the tightening of his fingers on my shoulders, and I immediately shrug out of his grip, push myself up off the couch, and walk to the far side of the room. It is almost a reflex reaction to feel the need to come to terms with this on my own. Yet when I turn to look at Justin and the unwavering love in his eyes, I know I’m not alone. Know together we are a unified front.

“Selena . . .” The resigned sadness in Teddy’s voice is like pinpricks in an already gaping wound.

“No. It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m just . . . it’s okay,” I reiterate, unsure whether I’m trying to assure him or myself. I know neither of us believes it.

“Quit telling me it’s okay, Selena, because it’s not. This is bullshit,” he swears into the phone, and I can hear how he feels in the single word that keeps coming up over and over.

“But you’re handcuffed. The boys come first,” I say, immediately hearing Justin’s earlier words said in such a different way. “They always come first, Teddy.”

“Thank you for understanding the situation I’m in.”

I nod my head, unable to speak, and then I realize he can’t see me. The problem is that I don’t understand. I want to rage and scream, tell him this is a railroad because the video does not prevent me from doing my job whatsoever and yet, the die is cast. The video is viral. My job is not mine anymore.

Holy shit. The one constant in my life for as long as I can remember is gone. Talk about going from having a sense of purpose to feeling completely lost in a matter of moments.

How can one video—a single moment in our lives—cause this gigantic ripple effect?

“I need to see the boys one last time.” It’s the only thought I can process.

“I’m sorry, Selena, but that’s probably not a good idea right now with . . . with everything.”

“Oh.” My plans for them before I took maternity leave are now obsolete; the bond I was building with Auggie will be non-existent when I return.

If I get to return.

The thought hits me harder than anything else. With Teddy still on the line, I drop the phone and run to the bathroom where I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

Within moments I feel Justin’s hands on me: one holding my hair back and the other rubbing up and down the length of my spine in silent reassurance as dry heaves hit me with violent shudders.

“I’m so sorry, Selena. I know your job and the boys mean the world to you,” he murmurs, as I sit there with my forehead resting on the back of my hand atop the toilet seat.

The first tear slips out; the only show of emotion I allow. I can feel it slide ever so slowly down my cheek. With my eyes closed and the man I love behind me, I allow myself to consider the endless uncertainty.

Is this all about me? And if so, whoever did this just got exactly what they wanted. To devastate me. To take my heart and soul—my boys—away from me. To hand me a punishment capable of breaking me.

Taking Justin or the baby away from me would be the only thing worse they could do. And that sure as hell isn’t going to happen.

I may be down, but I’m not out.

“LET’S HOPE WE NEVER NEED it.”

“It’s strictly a precaution,” I say about the restraining order Selena just signed at the police station against Eddie Kimball. I flip on my blinker, eyes scanning the rearview mirror to make sure we are still paparazzi-free, as I turn onto the unfamiliar street.

“I still disagree though. You should have one too.”

Nope. Not me. I hope the fucker comes face-to-face with me. Welcome the thought, actually. I’m jonesing for a chance to beat the truth out of him.

“I can more than handle myself,” I state calmly.

Her huff of disapproval is noted and ignored. I drive slowly through the tree-lined streets occasionally leaning over the console toward the passenger seat so I can read the house numbers on her side of the car. And in doing so, I’ve drawn her attention to figure out where we’re going and provided the perfect distraction to get her to drop the topic. For now, at least. I’m sure she’ll bring it up again but for now she’s diverted.

“Last stop,” I say as I pull up when I’ve found the correct house.

“Where are we?” she asks, curiosity in her tone as she cranes her neck to look around us.

“Proving one of us right,” I tell her. “Sit tight.”

I open the door and get out, shutting it on her questions, and walk around the car to the sidewalk. She opens her door and I glance over to her before she can get out. “Don’t.” A single word warning her to stay in the car. Our eyes lock, her temper flashing in hers, but my bite’s bigger and she knows it. So after a moment she mutters something under her breath but shuts the door without getting out.

Fuck if I’m not being an asshole. Like that’s something new. But at the same time, if I’m laying all my cards on the table, it has to be face-to-face. I can’t have the catfight bullshit I’m sure Selena would initiate if she were at my side: a distraction when I’m trying to call Tawny’s bluff.

I check the address once more as I walk up the concrete path, the daggers from Selena’s glare burning holes into the back of my shoulders. The house is nothing special—a little run-down, flowers in the planters, a red wagon on the porch—and I can’t help but think it’s a long-ass way from the high-rise condo she had the last time I visited her.

I knock on the door. A dog barks nearby. I shift my feet. Take my sunglasses off because I want there to be no mistaking what I’m saying and how I mean it. Let’s get this done and fucking over with. Problem is when all’s said and done, I have a feeling I might be eating a little crow for Selena, and I’ve heard it tastes like shit.

I should know better by now. Selena’s usually right when it comes to this kind of thing. Only one way to find out.

I knock again. Look over my shoulder to where Selena sits in the car, window down, head tilted to the side as she tries to figure out what in the fuck I’m doing.

C’mon. Answer the damn door. I don’t have time for this shit. Wasted minutes.

Did she or didn’t she? That’s the big fucking question of the hour.

Tawny.

I grit my teeth at the name. At the person who has been dead to me. She may have been one of my oldest friends, but she tried to play me for a fool, tie me to her with her bullshit lies, and more than anything, fucked with Selena. End. Of. Story.

My hands fist. Memories return. Temper flares.

The door swings open. I jolt seeing someone I don’t know at all anymore.

“Justin!” Her blue eyes widen in shock. The lines etched around them tell me life’s been tough. Too bad, so fucking sad. The beauty queen’s lost her crown. You fuck with people, you reap what you sow. Her hand immediately flies up to pat her hair and smooth down her shirt.

Don’t worry sweetheart, I wouldn’t even touch you with a ten-foot pole.

“What the fuck are you and Eddie trying to pull, Tawny?” I want to catch her off guard, see if I can glimpse a flicker in her eyes. Something. Anything. A goddamn clue whether she had a hand in this whole situation.

“What are you . . .?” Her voice fades as she shakes her head, eyes blinking as if she can’t believe I’m standing here. The feeling is mutual.

Cat got your tongue, T?

“Justin . . . please, come in.” She reaches out, puts her hand on my arm, and I yank it back in automatic reflex. Does she think I’m here for her? That maybe . . . fuck, I don’t know what she could be thinking, but obviously from the hurt that flashed in her eyes she sure as shit didn’t expect my rejection.

Good. At least the stage is set for this conversation. Her hopes dashed. All expectation out the damn door.

“No thanks. I’ve got better things waiting for me in the car,” I say with a lift of my chin. I then step to the side so she can see Selena.

And so Selena can see her. Understand why we’re here. That I listened to her, heard her, and am trying to get some answers. I just hope like hell Selena stays put so I can up the ante. Take the pot and finish this on my terms. Because I need to do that.

“Oh.”

Yeah. Oh. Glad we got the fact I’m still married out of the way. Happily. Now, back to business.

“Tell me about the tape.” Images flash in my head: Selena crying on the phone with Teddy, Selena on the patio all by herself, the vulgar comments made beneath the video on YouTube about what other sick fucks want to do to her.

“What tape?” She shakes her head back and forth, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Cut the crap, T. I fell for your lies once upon a fucking time, and I’m a little short of change to buy them now.” I cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, Justin, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I’m not buying the innocent routine. “Did you watch TV at all this week? Go to the store? Read People magazine? Anything?”

“My son’s been sick for the past few days so unless you mean Scooby Doo on TV, no. Why? What’s going on?” she asks, tone defensive, and I purposely don’t answer. I want to use the silence as a way to make her nervous. She fidgets, shifts her feet, works her tongue in her cheek.

Goddamn it. Selena was right. She knows something. Fuckin’ A.

“Shit, I haven’t seen Eddie in over four years,” she finally says.

I stare at her, eyes determined to find some kind of deception in her words but all I see is the woman I used to know, curves a little fuller, clothes messy, and eyes tired.

And I don’t care how rough it seems life has been for her. Looks can be deceiving. I still don’t trust her. Not one bit. Not after what she did to us way the fuck back when and what I’m pretty sure she had a hand in now.

“Video footage has surfaced of Selena and me from six years ago. You’re the only one who knew where we were and what we did that night.” I let the comment hang in the space between us. She tries to hide her reaction—a lick of her lips, a quick look to the car driving down the street—but once you’ve had a relationship with someone, you can read them like a clock. Tick fucking tock. And I know she has more to say. “The Kids Now event. When Selena and I had sex in the parking garage. Footage of us is plastered all over the media, Tawny. You’re the only one who knew.”

She forces a swallow down her throat. A glance behind her where there are Hot Wheels all over the floor. A shift of her feet. A bite into her bottom lip. All done before she finally has the courage to meet my eyes again.

“Care to change your answer, now?”

“Oh my God,” she murmurs more to herself than to me. And something about the way she says it bugs me. It seems genuine, full of surprise, real. I call bullshit. She’s just playing the part without dressing up for the cameras. “I completely forgot about that video.”

“You forgot?” I sneer, sarcasm rich in my voice. “That’s awfully convenient.”

“No, really,” she says, reaching out to touch me, and then stopping presumably when she remembers my reaction the last time she tried. Smart woman.

“I’m losing my patience,” I say between gritted teeth.

“That night after I left the party, I met up with Eddie. We had some drinks. Too many. I told him about the charity event, seeing you and Selena there, and what she had said about you guys on the hood of Sex. I was feeling angry, rejected, and didn’t think twice about it until after he was fired. That’s when he called me, livid and unhinged. Said he knew the perfect way to get back at you and that he had gotten hold of a video from that night. Had it in a safe place.”

Bingo. Dots connected. A confirmation. Now let’s try to complete the picture.

“And you never thought to tell me?” I shout. My hands flex as I resist the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her in frustration.

“It was a different time. You fired me shortly thereafter and I was furious, ashamed, disowned by my mother . . . so no, I’m sorry, Justin, I didn’t. I was so busy worrying about myself, being selfish.” She sighs, clasping and unclasping her hands in front of her. And I fucking hate when she looks up at me with clarity in her eyes I’ve never seen before. I don’t want to see it but I can’t ignore it either. “I was a different person back then. Time . . . things . . . kids, life, it changes you.”

“Kids?” I snort out, holding my anger in front of me like a shield as I remember her shocking blindside all these years later. “You mean like the baby you lied about and tried to tell me was mine? Used as a pawn in your fucked-up games?” I take a step forward, fists clenched, anger owning me.

“Yes, as in that one,” she says her voice barely audible. “I . . . I’m so—”

“Save the apologies, Tawny. Your bullshit lies and accusations almost made me lose the most important person in the world.” The acrid taste of revulsion hits my tongue. “That’s something that doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”

My words hit her like a one-two punch—hard, fast, and bruising. Does she think her quivering bottom lip will win me over? Make me forget the past?

Not hardly.

“I know,” she says giving me whiplash. I expected denial and defiance, attitude and arrogance, and she gives me neither. Our eyes hold for a long moment and fuck, all of a sudden I feel like I’m seeing her for the first time in a different light. Don’t fall for her act, Donavan. People like her don’t change. Can’t. It’s not possible.

But you changed.

The voice in the back of my head so very quiet, barely audible, sounds like a scream, causing me to bite back the snide comments as the unwelcome tang of doubt replaces them.

The look on Selena’s face flashes in my mind from the day Tawny came waltzing in the house to tell me she was pregnant with my baby. A manipulative game by one of the masters. Too bad for her I was a master at it myself. Had no problem going up to the plate against her curveballs. But Selena . . . she didn’t even have a bat in her hand.

I hold onto that thought—Selena’s tears, the nasty fight, the break we took—all of it, and tell the tiny ounce of pity I feel for Tawny to take a fucking hike. She brought this upon herself. Not me. Not Selena. Just her.

Tawny starts to speak and then stops. “If I had known that Eddie really had a tape . . . or what he was going to do, I would have told you.”

I stare at her, leery of the sudden decency that doesn’t fit with the memory of the woman I used to know, and deliver a visual warning: You better not be fucking with me.

“Tell me what you know.” My voice is gruff, incapable of believing her or that the years have changed her enough she’d actually look out for me. She’d have told me, my ass.

Would she have?

Does it really fucking matter, Donavan? Get as much info as you can, turn your back, and walk away. You don’t need to know if she’s changed, wonder if life has been rough for her, because the only thing that matters is the woman sitting in the car behind you.

“Honestly—”

“I’d like to believe that honesty is something you’re capable of but you’re not the one dealing with . . .” I let my words fall off, catch myself from letting her have a glimpse into my private life. Don’t want her to know about the butterfly effect this video she knew about is having on everything in Selena’s life. Because if she’s playing me and is behind this—somehow, someway—then she’ll have gotten exactly what she was looking for: hurting Selena, which hurts me. And while I may be sympathetic at times, it’s only toward my wife, only with the boys, and only with those I care about. Tawny and I may have a past together, but she is most definitely not any of those people.

“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it but I fucked up. Was in a bad place with pressures you have no idea about and I won’t use as an excuse . . . but it was a long time ago. Like I said, I’m a different person now, Justin. I don’t expect you to believe me . . . to know I’m sorry for the games I played, but I am.” We hold each other’s gaze, my jaw clenched tight, pulse pounding.

I expected to come here, fight with her, and threaten her to get some answers. Not in a million years did I expect her to be like this: apologetic, decent, sincere. And so the fuck what if she is? It changes nothing. Top priority is getting answers so I can try to make my wife whole again.

“At first I thought he was lying about the tape,” she says, breaking through my warring thoughts. “I thought he was trying to get in my pants by feeding my spite over you choosing Selena, because . . . well, because it was Eddie. You know how untrustworthy he was.”

She leans her back against the doorjamb and I shift my feet, wanting to rush this, get the fuck away from here, but I need more. Seeing her causes the memories to resurface. The lies she told. Her manipulative ways. How I thought she’d been in cahoots with Eddie in stealing the blueprints way the fuck back when. Despite investigators and depositions, and every other legal means under the sun CJ couldn’t find shit to prove she was involved. To say I had a hard time believing she was innocent is an understatement. But I did. Had no choice.

The question is, do I believe that now?

“Did you ever watch it?” And it’s a stupid question, but the thought of her of all people watching Selena and me have sex seems ten more times intrusive than the other millions of people who have.

“No. Never,” she says definitively, earning her a rise of my eyebrow in disbelief. “Really. That’s why I never thought twice about it.”

Great. Now I’ve given her the idea to go watch it. Brilliant, Donavan. Fucking brilliant. But then again, I had to ask. Had to know.

I blow out a breath, roll my shoulders, and ask the one question left that makes no fucking sense to me. “If he had the video though, why wait all this time?”

She angles her head as she stares at me, feet shifting, arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t know, Justin. I just don’t know.”

Impatient, uncomfortable, and still a little thrown by this new woman in front of me that looks the same but sounds so very different, I just nod my head, turn my back, and stride down the walk to my car. I don’t know what else to do. There is no good in goodbye here. There’s just the closing of a door on another chapter of my past.

“Justin.”

Every muscle in my body tenses—feet want to keep walking—yet curiosity stops me dead in my tracks. With my back to her, I wait for her to say whatever it is she wants to say.

“It’s good to see you happy. It suits you. I know now that’s because of Selena.”

I lift my eyes to meet Selena’s at the same time Tawny speaks. I hear her statement, take it for what it is, and don’t try to find a hidden meaning or an underlying dig. With eyes locked on Selena’s, I nod my head in acknowledgement and walk toward the car.

Time can change people. The woman with violet eyes staring back at me? She’s my living proof that I’ve done just that, changed.

Tawny might have changed too, yet I don’t have the effort to care right now. I have a wife that is more important than the air I fucking breathe, and being this close to Tawny, I’m starting to suffocate.

I need my air.

“TALK ABOUT BLINDSIDING HER,” BECKS says.

“Which one?” I ask with a laugh followed by a hiss as I throw back the Macallan. The shit’s smooth but burns like a motherfucker.

“I was talking about Tawny but you’ve got a point there,” Becks says with a smirk. “I imagine Selena got whiplash when she saw Tawny open the front door.”

“I’m sure she did, but thank fuck she stayed in the car or who knows what would have happened.”

“You’re a brave fucker taking Selena there after everything she did to the two of you,” he says as he lifts two fingers to our waitress for another round.

“Brave or stupid. But this right here,” I say, holding my left hand in the air and pointing to my wedding ring, “means I didn’t dare visit Tawny without her. That would have been no bueno. Besides, she had a right to know since she called it.”

“Dude, I still can’t get over the fact you saw Tawny after all this time.”

“Yeah . . . well . . .” I shrug, thinking of all of the shit I said way back when about how I’d never step within a hundred yards of her again. “Sometimes the promises you make to yourself are the easiest to break. And shit, we were on the way back from the police station so I figured why not kill two birds with one stone since we’d dodged the vultures?”

“I can’t believe the paps are still all over you. Is Selena okay after yesterday?”

I blow out a breath. Fucking assholes. “A little shaken but she’s scrappy.” I clench my fist on the table as I recall her phone call yesterday. How she tried to take a walk on the beach to get some fresh air but paparazzi shifted from the gate to the sand and swarmed her before she could even reach the waterline.

And I know how she felt—needing the fresh air—because I feel the same way. Isn’t that why I’m here right now? Decompressing. Grabbing a few minutes while she’s taking a nap after the excitement of my visit to Tawny today, to hang with Becks, shoot the shit, and get a change of scenery to make me a better man. Sitting in your own house day after day can wear on any man. Make you feel like an animal in the zoo: caged, pacing, and constantly toyed with by those on the outside looking in.

I grit my teeth and thank fuck the back entrance of Sully’s pub was paparazzi-free so Sammy could drop me off and I could slide in and meet Becks without being mobbed. After yesterday and how they treated Selena, my fuse is short and ready to ignite at the slightest misstep.

“Was it strange seeing her again after all this time?” Becks asks as he lifts his beer to his lips.

“Is the sky blue? Fuck, man . . . it was weird. But she gave me what I needed to know so maybe she’s changed some.”

“Don’t give her that much credit,” he murmurs.

“I don’t give her any.”

“Smart,” he says and slides the cardboard coaster around on the table. “Should have known Eddie would be the one to pull shit like this. Fucker.”

“Fucker,” I repeat because anything else would be a waste of breath. I glance at my phone to make sure Selena or Kelly hasn’t texted since the noise in the bar is getting louder the longer we sit here.

“Everything okay?”

“After ten more of these it will be. Need to drink to forget,” I say, rolling my shoulders and letting out a frustrated sigh. Too much shit, too damn fast. I want my happy, baby-crazed wife back. Her job back. Our life back. “It’s not gonna help shit and I’ll be sicker than a dog in the morning, but sometimes, it’s just what the doctor ordered.”

“Truth. And I’ve got just the prescription for us,” Becks says as he motions to the waitress again to head over to our regular table tucked in the back.

“What can I get you boys?” she asks, smile wide and cleavage jiggling.

“Bottle of Patron Gold. Two shot glasses, please. We need to forget,” Becks says.

“That’ll sure do the job,” she says with a lift of her eyebrows. “Looks like you’re going to be stuck here for a while anyway with the way paparazzi are stacking up outside.”

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

“Sorry, hon. We find out who in here called, we’re kicking their sorry asses to the curb,” she says louder than normal so those around us can hear her. She starts to walk away and then stops and turns around. “And we’ll stick ’em with your tab.”

I throw my head back with a laugh. “I like the way you think.”

She returns within minutes, our ongoing tab and prior large tips always earning us the best service. “Here you go, boys,” she says, as she sets two full shot glasses in front of us, and the bottle in between us. “May God rest your souls.”

“Amen to that,” Becks says as he lifts his glass. “What’s the first thing we need to forget?”

“Paparazzi.”

“Cheers,” he says as we tap our glasses against each other’s. “Fuck you, paparazzi.”

We toss the shots back. My throat burns as the warmth starts to flood through me. Becks lifts a lime from the bowl on the table and I mutter, “Pussy,” under my breath, earning me a flip of his finger. “Umm.” I think of what I want to forget next. “Fucking CJ.”

“Okay,” he draws the word out as he pours us another shot, “but if I’m drinking to forget something, I need to know what I’m supposed to forget since I sure as hell hope you’re not fucking CJ.”

“No. I’m not fucking CJ.” I belt out a laugh. My mind is starting to spin as I glance around the bar. “Because my goddamn hands are cuffed and not in a good way. He called earlier, said that in the eyes of the law, the tape was public. Eddie didn’t steal it from us per se. He uploaded it for free . . . isn’t making any money off it and so we can’t do shit about it. He gets his kicks fucking with us and we have no legal means to get back at him.”

“Sure as shit there are other means though,” he says with a smirk and a raise of his fist.

“Now that,” I say as I hold up my shot, “I’ll drink to. Cheers, brother.”

“Cheers.”

Our glasses clink. The tequila burns until it warms. Our laughter gets louder and our cheers get sloppier and take longer to come up with.

But I begin to forget.

About Eddie. The pressure to fix it all. And the thousands of men jacking off to the image of my wife holding her tits as she comes. And the rage over how she lost her job. And becoming a father. The need to win the next race. Being told to bite my tongue with the press.

And God does it feels good to forget.

I’m lost in thought, trying to figure out how many shots we’ve downed, when my phone rings. I fumble with my cell before answering.

“If it’s good enough to make me sober, Kelly, I just might forgive you for ruining my buzz,” I say into the phone with a laugh.

“You drunk?”

“Well on my way.”

“Understandably,” he says in his no nonsense tone. “Eddie checks in with his parole officer once a month.”

“Mm,” I say as visions fill my head of waiting for him outside the social services office and greeting him with a fist to the face.

“Don’t even think about it, Donavan. You got the restraining order for Selena. Leave it at that. Just like I’ve told you all week long, you touch him, he’s going to sue you like he owns the Fluff and Fold and take you to the cleaners. It’s not worth it.”

Quit fucking telling me what to do.

“Let him try,” I sneer, admitting to myself he’s right but also knowing revenge gives its own special satisfaction. I begin to say something else when the thought hits me that I might be able to get him back and not lift a fucking finger. The problem is I want to lift more than a finger at him. I want a whole knockout fist.

“Thanks, Kelly. Keep me up to speed.” Thoughts try to connect through my fuzzy mind on how I can make this all work to my advantage. Fuck Eddie over. Redeem Selena. Get back the happily ever after.

My plan could work.

“Everything okay?” Becks asks, as he looks up from his own phone.

Later, Donavan. Figure it out later. Right now? Drink.

“Fucking peachy,” I say, copying one of his go-to sayings. “Kelly’s got a line on Eddie.”

“And that pisses you off, why?”

“Just thinking.”

“That’s scary,” he teases and I slide my glass across the table so it clinks against his in response. “What is it?”

“Bad juju, man,” I finally say, trying to put into words what I think’s been bugging me the past few days. The drinking to forget didn’t numb this. “I’ve got this feeling that won’t go away.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Things have been too goddamn perfect for us. I have the fucking fairy tale, Becks. The princess, the castle, the—”

“Jackass,” Becks snorts as he points my way, causing me to laugh. Asshole. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist,” he says, putting his hands up in a mock surrender. “Please, continue.”

“Nah. Never mind.” Shut it down, Donavan. You sound like an idiot. A drunk one at that.

“No. Seriously. Go on.”

I concentrate on drawing lines in the ridges of the worn tabletop. “Shit in our life was just too good. Too perfect. And now with the tape and Selena’s job and . . .” My voice fades as I try to explain the feeling I don’t understand, but that all of a sudden feels like it’s clinging to me like a second skin. “I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop to make this fairy-tale life of ours come crashing down. It’s a shitty feeling.”

“Feelings are like waves, brother. You can’t stop them from coming but you sure as fuck can decide which ones to let pass you by and which ones to surf.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope I don’t wipe the fuck out by picking the wrong one.”

Becks and I decide we’re looped enough to brave the chaos.

We push open the back door of Sully’s and are met with blinding flashes of light and a roar of sound. I wince. The alcohol makes the clicking shutters and shouts of my name sound like they’re coming through a megaphone. They stagger me. Blind me.

Anger the fuck out of me.

Sammy’s here. Pushing people back to let Becks and I inch toward the Rover. But each step, each push of the mob against me fuels my fire.

Take a step. A camera hits my shoulders. My fists clench.

“Justin, how does it feel to be the most downloaded video on YouTube in over five years?”

Another step. Questions shout. Sammy’s hands moving people back.

“Justin, are you and Selena thinking of making a porn soon?”

One more step. A single thought: Selena dealt with this on her own yesterday on the beach. Motherfucker.

“Justin, how is Selena handling all of this?”

Another step. The car within reach. Flash in my eyes. Fury in my veins.

Fuck Chase’s no comment advice. Fuck everyone. I’m done. Shoved way too far one way, and now I’m coming back swinging.

“You want a comment?” I shout. Silence is almost automatic. “Well, I’ll give you one.” I glance over to where Becks is standing in the open car door, eyes full of pride, telling me I’m doing the right thing.

“The question is, do you really want to know how we feel or are you just interested in twisting your story because sex sells so much better than the truth? I get it. I do. And if you take the selfless do-gooder who’s spent her life helping others and turn her into a whore who makes sex tapes in exchange for funding . . . well shit, that sells ten times more. But that’s not who Selena Donavan is.” I take a breath. My body vibrates with anger. My thoughts slowly click together.

That revenge I was looking for just found the most perfect stage of all.

“How about I give you a better story? How about you focus on the sick bastard who released this video of a private moment between my wife and me? How about you go harass the bastard who did this rather than harass my wife? I’ll even give you a head start. Eddie Kimball,” I say, putting my plan in motion. “Focus on why he tried to blackmail us, because I assure you, he definitely had an agenda releasing this video. Sex sells. I get it . . . but uncovering the story behind his bullshit attack on my wife’s reputation would make much better copy.”

Good luck hiding now, you fucking weasel.

The night erupts in sound. But they give me a wide berth because I gave them something. I nod my head in goodbye.

The cameras flash. Each one causes me to feel more and more sober. Makes me to realize what I just did. Slide into the car beside Becks and catch his nod of approval. Rest my head back on the seat with a sigh.

Fuck. You. Eddie.

You want to play hardball? I’ve got your number, you spineless son of a bitch. Right now some little nosey reporter is digging for the story. They’ll connect the dots with your early release from prison. They’ll use your name in the press and it’ll shine like a fucking neon sign, notifying the many you owe a shitload of money to.

Oh, and how they’ll come. I have no doubt about that with the amount of money you owe people. Plus three years worth of interest. They’ll flush you out of hiding and right into karma’s long reaching arms.

The best part is if I don’t want to, I won’t have to lift a single finger to give you what you deserve, because I just did.

Social media can be a bitch when you have shit to hide. Good thing I don’t. Good thing you do.

Revenge can be a mean, nasty fucker sometimes.

“You good?” Sammy asks as he pulls out of the alleyway, leaving the flashing cameras behind.

“Yup.” I sigh, long and loud as I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. It’s crazy how much I need Selena, right now. “Home please. I miss my wife.”

“DAMN IT,” I SHOUT IN frustration as the flour flies all over the kitchen because I forgot to put the guard around the mixer’s blade. Tears sting the backs of my eyes as I look around at the mess. Normally I’d find this amusing, laugh it off, but not right now. Not with how this week has gone. Nothing can seem to pull me from this funk I’m in.

I squeeze my eyes shut and ignore the voices in my head telling me I’m going crazy because I fear that I am. The video’s ripple effect just continues to knock me on my ass. Gone are the things I normally use to center myself: my boys, my freedom outside this house, my work. Even Justin’s visit to Tawny derailed me momentarily. Yes, I felt validated Justin believed enough in my assumption that he went and talked to her, but at the same time, it still knocked me back a step seeing her again.

Shake it off, Selena. It’s temporary. Enjoy playing the domesticated role, take advantage of the quiet time now before the baby comes, and life is turned around with lack of sleep and two a.m. feedings.

I pick up the carton of eggs on the counter and blow the flour off them so I can put them away and start to clean up this disaster. Mind focused on the mess at hand, I don’t notice Baxter on the floor behind me. When I step on his paw, he skitters up and away from me with a yip causing me to lose my balance. I catch myself from falling by grabbing the edge of the counter, but all nine eggs in the carton fly across the kitchen making a distinct symphony of splats as they land on the tile floor, counter, and against the refrigerator door.

“Fuck!” Adrenaline begins to rush through my body, and just as quickly as it hits me, it morphs and changes into a rush of so many emotions that I’m suddenly fighting back huge, gulping sobs. And it’s no use to fight them because they already own my body, so I carefully lower my pregnant body to the flour-ridden floor beneath me. Leaning against the cabinet behind me, I let them come.

Wave after wave. Tear by tear. Sob by sob.

So many feelings—anger, humiliation, despair—come forth before being replaced by the next in line that have been waiting all week to get out. And I just don’t have the wherewithal to fight them anymore.

“Selena?” Justin’s voice calls from the front door, and I just close my eyes and try to wipe the tears away but there’s no way I’ll be able to hide them from him. “What the . . .? Selena, are you okay?” he asks as he rushes to my side where I just shake my head, tears still falling, the agony all-consuming.

He drops to his knees beside me, and the concern etched in his face as he looks me over, ignites my irrational temper.

“Leave me alone,” I say between sobs.

“What’s wrong?” he pleads, reaching out to wipe flour from my cheek, causing me to cry harder.

“Don’t,” I tell him as I shake my head away from his hands, making him lean back on his haunches. And I can feel his eyes on me, assessing me, trying to figure me out, and for some reason that thought sets me off. I’ve had enough eyes on my body judging me this week—scrutinizing me—and the notion causes the distress to come to a head. “You want to know what’s wrong with me?” I yell unexpectedly, startling him.

“Please,” he says ever so calmly.

“That!” I yell, pointing at him. “You walking around this house like everything is all right when it’s not. You treating me with kid gloves and avoiding me every time I get emotional because you feel guilty about the video when it’s not your fault. I’m sick of trying to pick a fight with you because I’m going stir crazy in this goddamn house and you won’t take the bait. You just nod your head and tell me to calm down and walk away. Fight me, damn it! Yell at me! Tell me to snap the fuck out of it!” My chest is heaving and my body is trembling again. I know I’m being irrational, know I’m letting the hormones within me take charge, but I don’t care because it feels so good to get it all out.

“What do you want to fight about?”

“Anything. Nothing. I don’t know,” I say completely frustrated that now he’s giving me the option to fight with him, I don’t know what to fight about. “I’m mad at you because I’m worried about you racing next week. I’m freaked out that all of this is going to distract you and you’re not going to be careful and . . . and—”

“Calm down, Selena. I’m going to be fine.” He reaches out to take my hand, and I yank it back.

“DON’T tell me to calm down,” I scream when he does exactly what I told him I hated. Visions of the crash in St. Petersburg flash through my mind and cause my breath to hitch. I shove it away, but the hysteria starts to take over. “I miss the boys. I’m worried about Auggie and how he’s doing. I miss my normal. Nothing is normal! Everything is up in the air and I can’t handle up in the air, Justin. You know I can’t.” I ramble, and he no doubt tries to follow my schizophrenic train of thought.

“Let’s make our own normal then. Why don’t we start by getting the baby’s room set up? That’s one thing we can do, right?” he asks, eyes wide, face panicked. But his words cause fear to choke in my throat.

“Look at me,” he says. “Putting BIRT’s room together is not going to make something happen to him, okay? I know that’s why you haven’t done it yet . . . but it’s time. Okay?”

With those words, the fight leaves me. Those body-wracking sobs I had moments ago are now quiet. Tears well in my eyes but I refuse to look up at him and acknowledge what he’s saying is true. The nursery is incomplete because I’m frozen with fear that if I actually finish it, I’m jinxing it. That fate’s cruel hand will tell me I’m taking the baby for granted, and reach out and take him or her away from me again.

When I can finally swallow over the lump in my throat, I look up to meet the crystalline green of his eyes and nod, just as the first silent tear slips over and slides slowly down my cheek.

“It’s all going to be okay, baby,” he says softly. I don’t deserve his tenderness after how I just yelled at him. And then of course that sets me off even further and another tear falls over.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he murmurs reaching forward to move hair off of my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“No, I’m not.”

“I’m the husband, I make the rules,” he says with a soft laugh.

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decimusquartus · 7 years ago

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Thanos the Rad Titan - Can someone hotspot me?

Chapter 1 or ( Part One ) Chapter 2 or (Part Two) Chapter 3 or (Part Three) Chapter 4 or (Part Four)

Chapter 5 or here

That’s me (and also here)

Here we go: Chapter 6 and it's down to making space-surfboards and personalising them. Also there's a sitcom idea about Thanos and Thanos but they're not there yet. Help a Titan out! With internet or superpowers. Everything's acceptable

Chapter Six

I’ll tell you something: I know the basics of physics, and other than the 101s of engineering on combustion engines, I have nothing. But Thanos’s room of “Toys for playful and horrid death” (his title, I swear) has the stuff.

It’s big enough to rent it out as as a spaceship graveyard. And there actually are two shuttles, ripped apart, deconstructed to various points. This room is so big, there is enough space for an army to dress up and go around doing drills. This room is so big… it’s so big… hell, it’s so big it makes Thanos look small.

‘So, are we goin’ to be makin’ the hover-skate-surfboards here?’

‘Yes, but let’s start with you backing up for a second. It would be a shame to dismembered and die, before you had that wish of yours,’ he muses with grim cheeriness.

My jaw drops loud enough to make a sound in space. ‘You mean you can actually express something else than contempt, malice and scathing bile on everything that crawls? Colour me impressed.’

Thanos growls past me with a look of controlled exhaustion. ‘Follow me.’

We proceed by cutting the boards to our size. I must tell you, if it weren’t for my telekinetic precision, I’d definitely chopped something off.

‘So, the way you described it, we are going to need a complex fusion of stabilising technology and sufficient thruster engines,’ Thanos rants keeping his faraway eyes in the deep end of the room.

‘Yeah sure. What you said. How are we gonna do this?’

‘I shall send the drones to get the majority of the components and pieces necessary so we can assemble that joyride vehicles of yours.’

‘Well, good luck with that,’ I say, whipping out my phone. ‘You know if I can get any reception here? You have wi-fi? Data? Can you hotspot me?’

‘Are you not going to be the one to construct your own board?’ His body shits enigmatically in a small turn.

‘No. Of course not. I mean I can try, but chances are I’ll blow up a big hole somewhere in up here.’

He breathes out heavy and condescending. ‘How do you bear the name of Thanos and not excel in the sciences of your world and the cosmos?’

‘It ain’t that hard really. I’m more of a literature kind of guy. You know. Read. Ponder. Contemplate. Discover the nothing that is being in life, through the greatest works of the most inspiring minds of the world,’ I say overenthusiastically and sit on something that looks like a chair.

This time his eyes are prickling my skin, like he’s skewering me with them. Like he is trying to unravel what I’m thinking under there. Strangely there’s no hostility or malignance there. Only deep-rooted curiosity.

‘So, you believe in nothing and hold no hope for the meaning of life or existence?’ He chooses his words carefully and precisely. He has stopped tweaking and fiddling around.

‘Word. My friends and I from the university go around readin’, analysin’ and debatin’. Grouch please, I wanna snap a selfie.’ I take the picture with Thanos looking evil enough to shake the Green Goblin back to sanity.

‘And so far, I’ve decided that pretty much nothin’ matters, other than the nihilism that pervades everything.’

I keep taking photos and I'm telling you, I think I took one where Thanos is kinda smiling and I just can’t not consider this a win.

‘What’s the name of that institute of knowledge and how can I support it?’ Thanos growls as he turns his attention once more to my board.

‘I study the humanities. And I plan… No, kept plannin’ to continue my studies there. The funniest thing is how such a field takes away the will to live.’

Thanos keeps me busy talking and using my telekinesis passing him. To be candid it’s strangely fulfilling. Using my brain, my hands, my power all at the same time. Even though this all is such a novel experience, Thanos is apparently a master on physics, engineering and all these stuff, so he puts the intricate design together in no time.

Despite the momentary satisfaction, this task still poses some kind of a challenge in the whole. So, testing the capabilities, the limits and the survivability of the boards does take some time.

‘This is simply wasteful. Why would you be interested in this hobby anyway?’ He spits out the word thick with condescendence.

‘It’s a decent workout,’ I say, playing pilot in a dilapidated cockpit. I’m even making the laser-cannon sounds. Which technically shouldn’t be there. But you can’t take this away from me. ‘It’s also helped a lot gettin’ around the finer, less obvious applications of my powers.’

I cannot shake this energised vibe I am getting. By now, I’m more than well in terms with the fact that there’s no getting out. I can’t pilot and have no idea how to contact the Avengers, the Guardians of the Galaxy or even order some inter-galactic junk food which I must have, as a food-lover.

So, I’m going to try and be more open to whatever’s happening. I mean sure I might die in some hours, days or whatever but damnit I’m in space and about to go thrashin’ and surfin’ around with Thanos. I'm feelin' it the charnel viewpoint that's broadening my perspective of life. Really gets the bantering going. But I'm still making the laser-cannon sounds.

‘Skateboardin’ is a mess of a skill. And if you’re a slacker like me, you’ll be wantin’ to be done with it, the easiest way possible.’ I shrug, feeling the old memories brushing all over me.

‘I used to get down 'cause it helped me get a grip on my powers. Keepin’ me on board, propellin’ me forward, doin’ all the flips and every now and then, maybe throw on of the jerks over their board, ‘cause they were pushin’ everyone out of the skatepark.’ I grin, recalling the very first days.

‘Ah, so it was some tenuous learning. Taxing but it paid out,’ Thanos suggests grandiosely.

‘What? Dude, no. I was doing it to be accepted. And I told you, it was a solid workout for body and mind.’

‘You truly are Thanos the Lesser Titan,’ he replied instantly.

‘God, I hope you never have children. They’ll end up hatin’ you for sure,’ I mumble under my breath, but Thanos’s sideways stabbing glance is a fair warning.

‘Try your board, whelp,’ he says hostilely, presenting me with the hovering piece of metal. It makes the humming sound of a vacuum cleaner and its motor and turbines are shooting off violet flames.

I step on it and keep my balance with some telekinetic support. Then I squint and one mental push later I’m slowly flying around, feeling out the weight. Which is non-existent. It’s like there is a stable cloud, right under my feet.

Or should I say nebula, to be in context?

I wink at Thanos, who proceeds with activating his own board. Still, there’s some heaviness marking his face.

‘Go on. Step on it,’ I encourage him, bringing my board right next to his. He doesn't move. His frown deepens and there is constant shifting of his weight.

‘Alright. I’m not sayin’ you’re afraid or whatever. But the sooner you try it, the sooner you’ll kill me.’ I wrap my argument with a cheeky smile. It brings out all the exasperation he has for me. And it might be the weirdest thought occurring in the universe right now, but Thanos and Thanos would make a perfect duo for a sitcom.

‘Maybe we can get Medusa and Thor as recurring characters. Oh, and together we can take shots at Black Bolt and M.O.D.O.K.’

When I realise I’m talking out loud, I stop because Thanos falls off his board and lands gracelessly.

‘Boy, you’ll do anythin’ for this to be over and kill me, huh?’

‘Well I need some real satisfaction, don’t I?’ he shoots back with a killer’s smile.

‘Look, just step on it and I’ll provide the balance telekinetically. Worked for me. So, I'm sure I help a Titan out.’

I step in and keep him on the board but it’s one dreary task, even with my powers. But couple of hours later, he is crossing the workshop’s space like the purple light beam of death and getting-there-sass he is.

‘Maybe this vehicle has some recreational properties,’ he admits amused, as he tinkers with the engine.

‘Word. Maybe Thanos the Lesser is the real deal, huh?’

‘Not really,’ he shoots me down. ‘Let us get all the gear you need to survive out there and get one with the surfing and skating.’

Thanos takes me to chamber where he hands me a tiny box with incandescent lights. He straps it on me, instructing me how to turn it on. It’s going to encase me in a survival film, which will provide me with oxygen and keep my vitals stable. It’s also a gravity adjustor. I strap it on my pocket.

‘Are ready to go now?’ Thanos squabbles, looking out to the stretching and rolling space.

‘Look, Mauve Mayhem. I’ve got mad respect for you. You’re a stand-up guy. Even when you’re sitting. What? No laughter?’ I expect that the more I keep talking the more his line will keep getting deeper.

‘But I want you to let me add my personal touch to all this.’

‘Which is?’ Thanos asks wearily, with careful interest painting his eyes.

‘Well, first of all, appropriate threads,’ I start listing things. ‘Some speakers for the air-bubbles, on our boards.’

‘This is space, whelp. No one will be able to hear us, even if we play music,’ Thanos replies, dragging out the words extensively.

‘Still. Music is important. We need to get the full-rollin’ experience. Also, I need a fresh haircut. Can we meet in an hour? Two, tops? I need a way to get to my Spotify.’

His face grows more oblivious and confused by the words. It ends up expressionless, like the cosmos itself.

‘What is it with you and earthly music?’ Thanos grinds his teeth, giving an idea of the sound of dying patience.

I guess everything must be dying when it comes to Big T.

‘Look, just lemme do this and I’ll make Purple Rain your main theme.’ I have to bite my tongue to hold back.

There’s some approval ebbing down his face and he takes me to a room full of speakers and other stuff.

‘One hour, whelp. Ask anyone of my stuff for whatever paraphernalia you will be requiring.’ Before he goes out he gives me a glance over his shoulder. ‘After I’ve seen what you’re wearing, I might consider putting on something… of matching fashion.’

Alright, hearing this makes me smile brighter than any cheap, witty shot I’ve taken at him all day.

Still, how am I gonna get internet up in here?

#thanos #Thanos the mad titan #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #the mad titan #the rad titan

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consulting-celiac-in-the-tardis · 8 years ago

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Have Celiac Disease? Going to College? How to Be Gluten Free in College

New blog post! So you've done the celiac disease test, started the celiac disease diet and have begun to get used to saying, "I have celiac disease." But maybe you're less certain about how to be gluten free in college - or how you can thrive with college in celiac disease.

Today, I'm sharing my most comprehensive post yet about being a gluten free college student. As you may know, I was diagnosed with celiac disease only a few months before going to college, and I started Casey the College Celiac because I couldn't find many "gluten free in college" blog posts.

What should you know about eating gluten free and thriving with celiac disease in college? Here are five experience-based tips on how to be gluten free in college!

* Note: I am basing this information off of my experience at Point Loma Nazarene University. Colleges may vary in their gluten free protocol and accommodations, so please research each of your chosen colleges as well as using these celiac disease tips.*

1 Research your potential colleges before attending (or even applying!) about their gluten free protocol.

By the time celiac disease entered my life, I'd already been accepted to Point Loma Nazarene University, so my celiac disease diagnosis didn't have any impact on my college decision. If you're diagnosed before college application time, though, I'd definitely consider your dietary needs in your decision.

Why? Well, celiac disease accommodations vary greatly between schools. For instance, my small religious university only has one cafeteria with a single, small "gluten free" station (that is open to the public). However, other colleges - like Kent State and Cornell University - have 100% gluten free college cafeterias. Talk about earning an A+ in celiac disease diet protocol!

Maybe you've already been accepted somewhere or maybe you are still narrowing down your college choices. Either way, reaching out to each college's cafeteria and Disability Resource Center (or its equivalent) is an important step. You can research colleges' gluten free meal options ahead of time by looking at their websites. However, you can learn important specifics - like the cafeteria's understanding of cross contamination and their meal plan flexibility - by actually talking to the college cafeteria's manager or to a representative from the DRC.

In my case, I arranged a meeting with the head of the DRC and the head chef on the day I moved into Point Loma Nazarene University. This way, I got to set up a gluten free game plan before the semester actually started. Don't be afraid to ask for a face-to-face meeting with the people who'll be responsible for your gluten free diet plan. It's their job to feed you safely, and they probably can't do that without understanding exactly what you need.

2 Documentation may be necessary for accommodation.

One of the most controversial aspects of the celiac disease test is the endoscopy. I often get questions like, "How important is having an official celiac disease diagnosis?" I can't speak for all colleges but, in my experience, I needed official celiac disease documentation - including the blood test, biopsy and a note from my doctor - to receive any gluten free accommodations.

What did those celiac disease accommodations look like? My college had a gluten free section in the cafeteria, but since everyone could eat from it, it was definitely not cross contamination free. So, my freshman year, I would send my gluten free meal plan request for the week to the head chef and he would make all my meals separately. I would then walk up to the cafeteria counter, tell the server that Casey was here for her gluten free meal and receive my lunch or dinner in plastic wrap.

A salad from my freshman year of college!

My sophomore year, the cafeteria management changed hands. I met with the new manager and he promised that my special meals would still be available. After two weeks of arriving and either finding nothing but a salad - or, sometimes, no safe gluten free food for me at all - I knew I needed to cut my losses. I petitioned for a meal plan waiver since all students were required to pay for a meal plan. Thanks to my celiac disease documentation (and a few scathing emails), my petition was granted and I received a refund to spend on my own food.

After a year of sharing a dorm kitchen with the 50-odd girls in my complex, I requested an on-campus apartment with my own kitchen. All juniors and seniors can apply for the apartments but, because I had medical proof of my need for a space to cook all of my own gluten free meals, I was bumped up on the list.

Am I saying that every potential celiac needs to do the gluten challenge (if they've already switched to a gluten free diet) and get an official celiac disease diagnosis before college? I'd encourage it, but that decision is ultimately up to the child and their family. However, I do know that countless people claiming to have celiac disease or gluten intolerance - but without official documentation - were denied the accommodations I received.

From an article in my college's newspaper...

So, when you're calling colleges to ask about their gluten free diet plan protocol, you might also want to ask the Disability Resource Center about their required documentation.

3 Don't be afraid to advocate for your own health - and demand the protections you need to eat safely.

I'll admit it. When you're a college freshman, telling authority figures that they're wrong is hard. As harsh as it sounds, though, you're probably the only one who can advocate for the meal plan accommodations you really need. It's not that the cafeteria management won't care. They just may not realize that having the gluten free section open to the public makes it rife with cross contamination. Or that they're already so busy, they forget about feeding the couple "special" college students.

It's also important to realize that, under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), college students with celiac disease are now legally protected. In particular, the ADA requires that college students with food allergies or celiac disease be able to "fully and equally enjoy the university's meal plan and food services." The first big settlement on this subject occurred in 2013 with Lesley University. Why was it important? "It puts all universities on notice that they're going to have to make these accommodations for students with celiac, gluten sensitivity and other food allergies," said Marilyn Geller, chief operating officer of the Celiac Disease Foundation.

I can't tell you how many times I called my mom crying because I'd been glutened by the cafeteria, didn't have access to safe food or was stressed about making all of my own meals. However, I also know that being forced to demand celiac disease accommodations made me a much stronger person and celiac disease advocate.

4 Club meetings and socials will be awkward...but lunch boxes are your friend.

One of the hardest parts of living with celiac disease in college is that food is - literally - everywhere. Teachers and students bring treats to class. Every club meeting usually features a pizza party or some other exciting menu. And "hanging out" often involves grabbing a bite to eat, whether it's in the cafeteria or an off-campus restaurant.

And, yes, sometimes needing to eat a gluten free diet will suck. I hated not being able to eat with my friends in the cafeteria after I went off the meal plan. I felt frustrated about having to spend the time and effort making my own gluten free food when my friends could just swipe into the caf and grab whatever looked good.

My Sweet Potato Salmon Sliders are always a hit!

However, I also learned how to adapt. I became a master at coming up with gluten free packed lunch ideas - not to mention countless other easy gluten free college meals - that looked even better than the pepperoni pizza everyone else was enjoying. I got used to declining food with a short comment like, "Thank you, but I have celiac disease and need to eat gluten free." And, as the years past, people remembered my "special diet" and were no longer surprised when I showed up with a smile and a small cooler of food.

The truth is, the more comfortable you are with your celiac disease diet, the more accepting others will be. I don't make a big deal about my gluten free dairy free diet. At the same time, though, I'm not afraid to say no - even to items that people kindly make gluten free but are likely cross-contaminated. Be confident in knowing what you can eat on a gluten free diet and how to prepare for food-filled socials. As long as you follow those two celiac disease tips, you'll enjoy college events for what they really are: the chance to make new friends and have fun with old ones.

5 That old saying: The friends who matter won't care and ones who care don't matter.

But what about making friends while being that "gluten free girl" (or guy)? Or dating with celiac disease? The key to success is deceptively simple: just be you.

I never "hid" my celiac disease. When people asked why I needed to eat a gluten free diet, I told them the celiac basics. And when I was asked on my first date in college, I told him he could choose between Chipotle, Chick Fil A and PF Changs for our night out. (Chipotle won).

This isn't to say that I haven't heard my share of hurtful comments about my chronic illnesses. My first week of freshman year, a girl from my dorm - who was a gorgeous blonde, by the way - said, "I wish I had celiac disease so I could be as skinny as you." Most comments like this one stem from ignorance rather than malice, but that doesn't make them sting any less.

Yet, the friends I did make never failed to make me feel loved and "normal." When I moved into an on-campus apartment with three other girls, they were happy to give me my own section of kitchen cabinets and shelves in the fridge. When I went out to eat with friends, we went to places like Stacked: Food Well Built where I could eat gluten free without worry. And neither of the two guys I ended up dating ever complained about having to brush their teeth before kissing me or eat at particular restaurants on date night.

The better people get to know you, the less you'll be known as the "gluten free" person. You'll be the curve-killer on tests. The student who seems quiet but has a wicked sense of humor. The friend who's always willing to listen. Basically, you'll be you - and your celiac disease diet is only a small part of your identity.

The Bottom Line of How to be Gluten Free in College

I'd be lying if I said having celiac disease in college is easy. In my case, celiac disease complications led to me being hospitalized my first semester, and it wasn't until sophomore year when I really hit my stride. However, thriving in college with a chronic illness is 100% possible - especially if you've been gluten free before college for a longer period than I was.

Spread celiac and food allergy awareness and help other future college students by tweeting this post! Click here to tweet: "Have #celiac or #foodallergies? Everything you should know about eating #glutenfree in #college! http://bit.ly/2rLPvDh via @collegeceliackc"

Despite the challenges celiac disease threw at me at PLNU, I graduated summa cum. I fell in love and fell out of it. I made friends who I know I'll stay in touch with for years. And, in the end, I had an amazing college experience - my gluten free diet included.

And, with these celiac disease tips in mind, I know that you can thrive gluten free in college too! Have you attended to college with celiac disease or another chronic illness? Do you have any additional tips? Tell me in the comments!

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