#she's trying to get back to her 'italy weight' and like. girl. u went to italy in high school 10 years ago & biked everywhere for a month

[dreamlogic]

...

[imtryingthisout]

Sunglasses and Serenity

[a fic inspired by @nachosforfree @sanderssides-magicalgirlau check them out]

[Warnings: Descriptions of a Panic Attack]

[Pairing: Sleepxiety]

[Word Count: 2283]

——————————————————————

It was not a quiet night. The sky above was dark, the pearly stars hidden behind the neon verbosity of downtown. 24 hour shops and businesses had windows that never dimmed, pinpricks of artificial lightings blurred together creating an abstract mess of blended color.

The moon itself was distorted by the light pollution. It’s natural autumn glow paled in comparison to the vibrancy of the busy streets.

Remy both loved and hated it.

Growing up with summers spent in his family’s old Villa in Italy, secluded in a valley side miles away from the nearest approximation of a town, he had always known how the sky was darker blue than black. He and his cousins loved to climb upon the rooftop and find the stories hidden in the stars. The earth around them was quiet and peaceful, but never silent. The symphony of crickets and other night creature laid in the background of every night spent there. A distant murmuring, Tellus’s lullaby.

Moving to the city had been akin to dunking his head in a bucket of ice water and screamo pop.

Shocking, painful and utterly disorientating. But after the ringingness faded- strangely exhilarating.

Remy has thrown himself headfirst into the city’s night culture. Staying up late partying, trying all the best coffee houses, hanging around the hidden-and-not-so-hidden drag shows,gaining a reputation and a caffeine addiction along the way.

But this was not a night where he would be going out, not when everything he needed was with him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Virgil really was a sight to be seen, his skin was pale, like the white-petaled sunflowers that grew by the valley, that seemed to glow in the moonlight. But his starkness fit in perfectly with the gleam of the industrial lights. Heterochromatic eyes, green and purple, stunning as murano glass and pulsing as strobe lights.

Achingly familiar, yet enticingly foreign. Home and longing rolled up in one boy, a boy who has stolen one of his sleep shirts for his own nefarious (adorable) use.

And who probably wanted an answer. Quick Remy, think of some witty remark to be entertaining!

“You ever notice how bright it is sometimes?”

Damn it! Guess we’re being genuine.

Virgil quirked his head to the side, giving Remy a piercing look, before nodding his head slightly . “Yeah,” he said, “Used to overstimulate the crap outta me when I was younger.” Then he paused, debating with himself over continuing- but decided to press forward. “Is that why you always wear those stupid shades?” The last words said in jest.

A surprised laugh escaped his through before he could stop it- Virgil almost reaches out to comfort him, but tensed up, too many bad memories stilled his arm.

“Girl, I’ll have you know these are designer glasses right here” he made a gesture around his face, “Iconic one of a kind Remy Hypnos Original Shades. Don’t go dissing my brand babes”

Virgil just snorted and rolled his eyes, “Uh, I’m pretty sure the designer thing on your face are those-eye bags you have hidden under there.”

“Damn right, even the bags under my eyes are Gucci”

“Oh Gods did you steal that off tumblr you sleep-deprived asshat? Oh don’t give me that look you totally did.” Virgil’s words had started off biting, but slowly devolved into a giggling mess.

(He really was just too cute for this world, Remy thought)

“Oh Ha ha, laugh it up” he snapped, ignoring his blushing cheeks and hot ears.

(Virgil could always tell how flustered Remy was by how red the tips of his ears were. A dusty pink for flirty, A warm rouge signaled embarrassment or arousal. Virgil loved watching the colors bloom on his skin. Memorizing what each shade meant- he could take any cochineal-colored paint swatch and map out Remy’s mood in the margins. It made him so easy to read, and so much fun to mess with.)

Soon the laughing and jeering subsided, and Virgil turned to look at Remy, “But seriously man, Is that why you always have those things on? Photophobia?”

“Can’t it be enough that I look rad as all Hell’s in them?”

“Not with that deflection it can’t” Virgil wasn't giving up it seemed, so Remy let out a deep sigh and gathard his words. “Remember highschool?”

“Kind of hard to forget.” High school was an absolute trainwreck for Virgil, he’d been on and off meds that screwed with his moods- making the already hormone fueled circus that was over a thousand teens trapped in one building, like a pack of sardines- even more emotionally taxing.

But if High School was a disaster for Virgil, it was absolute Hell for Remy.

Remy and his cousins had been homeschooled by their many relatives since they were children. Growing up learning in his family’s study. Rich mahogany floors, dim golden lighting bouncing off the variety of nick-nacks and treasures that line the shelves. Learning to read in his grandfather’s library, his worn and wrinkled hands guiding his young fingers along the words.

His cousin Alessia longed to go to a public school, and pleaded with her mother for ages before she relented. With the condition that she would allow her to go- but only if one of their own went with her.

So Remy, proving himself as her favorite, offered to accompany her.

The blinding smile on Alessia’s face as she squealed thank you , thank you amata cugino, favorito benedetto, was totally worth it. ‘It’s only one year’ he thought, ‘how bad could it be?’

Until he actually got there.

Virgil could think back and recall in semi-perfect clarity the day Remy Hypnos graced the halls of Sandershore High. Roman had become a central hub for gossip , and he’d heard whispers that of new transfer students, which in of itself wouldn't be news. But Hypnos was a household name, owning some of the most ridiculously pretentious Itialian Restaurants in the country. The kind people got engaged at, those levels of nice.

Needless to say when Remy and Alessia strolled into Sandershore’s gate. With perfect olive skin, rich brown hair and clothes nicer than Virgil’s single mom income could ever afford. Virgil fell in hate easily.

(The kind of hate that has him staring at him out of the corner of his eye during Calculus. Thinking about what his eyes looked under those darkened glasses. The kind of hate that wasn’t really hate)

Remy had all the perfect components to rule to school. Pretty, rich, with a startling amount of charisma and people skills for someone so unsocialized.

(Know one knew how he picked up slang so fast in an attempt to hide to slight foreign tilt that laced his words. Never knew how when he first heard someone mock Alessia’s body he punched the guy’s lights out without ever thinking. No one knew how he hadn’t had a night's sleep since school started. How fake he felt, his mannerisms esageraged and twisted to suit the liking of the student body- till he felt like a caricature rather than a person.)

By second quarter Virgil and Remy’s seeming distaste for one another had spread far and wide. They couldn’t be in the same room together without having some sort of verbal showdown. If you asked Virgil he would say that Remy was a self absorbed prick with an ego the size of Mt. Rushmore. If you asked Remy he’d say that that Virgil was a clingy mood-killer who couldn’t see past his own issues.

(Remy didn’t know how empty Virgil felt. How much the crushing weight of his own thoughts threatened to pull him down under. How his dependency on Patton was more sinister than a clingy best-friend. How sometimes his nightmares left him gasping and clawing- begging for them to come back. How his mother never really could fill the emptiness in his house. How Virgil sometimes felt like a puppet going through the motions.)

As the eye bags under their eyes grew darker and heavier, and autumn grew colder and colder. Both boys felt the pressure crushing them under its weight.

(Turns out they both used their arguments as cathartic release from the world around them.)

(Some things never change.)

It was winter when they found each other. Both on the verge of a breakdown-

(It was always too bright. There were no warm wooden floors just chilled title and harsh- fake- lights. The entire building smelled like body odor and cleaning supplies. The teachers were strangers, uncaring distant- he heard what the girls were saying about his cousin. He just felt so-)

(Empty. Hopeless. Patton was gone where did Patton go? He was lonely. And so so pathetic. He needed to get himself under control needed. Don’t be a burden- they all hate him- don’t slip up. They’re going to leave him. Everything felt so distant- drowned out by the static- he was drowning-)

Where the fate’s looking down on the two powder keg boy. A spark away from igniting. Weaving their strings together for a happenstance in counter. Or was it merely coincidence that they went to the same storage closet, to have a moment's respite.

Was it just chance that the door was automatic-locked.

“This is just great” Remy hissed under his breath, he just wanted one moment- just one! Of some cooled peace and solitude. Away from the buzzing gossip and fake friends. Away from the sensory hell outside. A little kernel of bitter anger swelled within the pit of his stomach. One moment, just one.

Then he turned to look at the other person in the room.

Remy had seen lots of sides of Virgil Anxiti, the sarcastic commenter, the horrible-yet oddly insightful- student, the debater .

(He hadn’t seen the devoted son, the caring brother, the friend who would do anything for his loved ones)

But he’d never seen him… blank.

Curled up in the corner of the closet, arms hugging his knees as they were pressed into his chest, was Virgil. Eyes dead and dulled as stone. The muscles in his face were relaxed completely- which unsettled Remy more than crying would have.

Remy wasn’t a Knight in shining armor, or even a comforting person in general- but unqualified as he may be, he couldn’t just let his favorite rival just sit there and do nothing to help.

Alessia needed physical touch when she was upset , their whole family was practically comprised of touchy people. So when one of them was sad, it was a one way ticket to hug time. Somehow Remy didn’t think that would be well received.

“Hey, babes I’m going to touch your arm- that good with you?” He didn’t reply, not that Remy thought he would- but still. So slowly, cautiously, he layed a single hand on Virgil’s arm.

The change was gradual, but noticeable. Hear bloomed under Virgil’s complexion, bringing back warmth into his skin. The glassy oversheen of his eyes subsided, and his entire posture just… relaxed. And so did Remy.

When he had gathered enough of himself, Remy guided Virgil though his breathing exercises. In and out, In and out. Hand never leaving his arm- grounding him to the world.

The door was still locked when Virgil regained his senses. “Guess we have to wait until someone notices we’re missing” Which nearly set Virgil off into another spiral. Until they rembered that technology exists. And so they used Virgil’s phone to text Logan to come and unlock it.

“He’s the only one who won’t make a big deal about us being locked in a closet together”

But there was time between then and there. Time to talk, if only to fill the awkward silence.

To talk about school.

“Girl I have no idea what they put in those ‘school provided lunches’ but they are not food.”

“What rock have you been living under? I once got food poisoning from drinking some of the milk in 6th grade- and that still wasn’t the worst thing I’ve eaten from there.”

About Friends.

“I met Patton when I was six and we’ve been best friends ever since. Dee joined in when we were all about nine and we first saw Lo’ and the twins when they started freshman year”

“I cannot honestly tell you the names of half the people who hang around me”

About Family.

“Hon you could bust down every wall in this building and still wouldn’t have enough room to put all my fam”

“It’s just been my mom, little brother and Patton since I was eight and my dad walked out. Still don’t know who I hate more for it- him or me”

If Logan took just a tad longer route to the closet- he didn’t mention it. He also didn’t mention when Remy started joining their table for lunch. Matching Roman and Remus in all their theatrics- offering to set up a ‘play date’ between some of his younger cousins and Dee’s many siblings.

(If he noticed how much happier the two were after that, how much more healthy Virgil seemed, how more secure in himself Remy acted...well that was just one more thing he didn’t mention.)

Present Day Remy took off his glasses, letting them rest gently in his hand. “My Nonna gave them to me the day before I started school. Said they would come in handy. They did of course.. they just kinda.. became more” he rubbed along the temple’s rubbery tip. Eyes focused in on the way his fingers move up and down the slender frame.

Virgil gently takes the glasses into his hand, and sets them down on the bedside table. He has to stand on his toes to reach Remy’s face, but when he does he tenderly places a hand onto his cheek, gazing into his deep brown eyes- the same shade as his espresso cups and just as rich.

And Remy melts into him. Allows himself to be led away from the window. From the bright lights and traffic noise, and into Virgil’s embrace.

[mctteoisms]

hi all !  my name’s theye and i’m 19 & from pst ; there’s nothing rlly interesting abt me to put here other than the fact that i lowkey got fake nails yesterday and fam this shit is hard to type with !!  i ... do truly + deeply love my boy teo so i hope u do to !! he has a stats page that’s on the lowkey an in progress bio , u can find that HERE,  + if you’d like to plot give us a like or an im !  seriously anything u want just smack it down like “bih! i want this!” and i’ll give it to u tbh . and ya , this is .... crazy long so if u finish it i’ll give u pics of my puppy 

honestly let’s just dive right the hell in, u kno ?? 

so ! meet matteo moretti - some lucky few can call him teo ( tay - yo ) and those lucky few r pretty much only his baby sisters so ,,, 

speaking of his sisters, the two - bianca “bia” @ 17 and celeste @ 14 - are his fav ppl in the world ! when some shit went down with his ex it was bia who finally convinced him something wasn’t right and made him get out of town tbh !

ok so abt this boy - ngl he doesn’t have the most Tragic Backstory award , oops

he was raised by two v busy parents -- dad moved from italy as a teenager and is more free spirited + flighty, mom a badass take-no-shit manager for the restaurant she owns 

unfortunately , most of his life was daycare and shit - as his sisters slipped into his life, first bia, who’s bossy and demanding, and then celeste, observational and manipulative, he honestly took care of them from day one

mom kept sinking money into their fam restaurant + dad into his art gallery  so there wasn’t... wasn’t rlly any extra, not for things like birthdays or christmas or surprise trips on a long weekend after school 

as he got older + old enough to get a job, he was the one who gave his sisters those things, saving up from a mediocre job at mcdonalds for makeup bia wanted or toys for celeste

tbh the girls could get ANYTHING they wanted by whining “but teo...” at him , he’d be like ok fine christ almighty

eventually teo decided to try running start + honestly w how his work ethic was, he graduated hs with an associates . totally mediocre kid tbh nothing abt his life was special

when he was 18 + freshly “graduated”, he applied for nursing school, and a few months later he met his ex fiance at a freakin coffee shop, shit was absolutely ideal, girl was tall and dark haired n tastefully older than him and gorgeous and teo was  😍 😍 😍 😍 

he finished nursing school with his ex cheering from the sidelines, and took classes to become an ultrasound tech  (he likes babies, so sue him,) and that’s... that’s it. 

at 19 his life was kicking off, his siblings the light of his life, working nursing shifts, dating a hot girl, and still he had enough time to pursue his interests 

he had been a great dancer and a better violinist at one point lmao

when things went sour, things went REALLY sour.  the engagement + moving in together was a crazy fucking pivot for their relationship --

suddenly his ex was ornery and matteo felt like conversations were minefields. his ex had something negative to say every 10 seconds + argued with him about every thought he had; ex would tell him he couldn’t pull off __ or shouldn’t __ because it looked stupid, said shit about his dance studio, about his weight, about his violin being creaky, singing in the shower earned him pounding on the wall and “you’re giving me a goddamn headache!” -- threatened to kill herself, told matteo that his family was turning him against her --  the usual.

he stopped tbh. like he started staying in bed instead of going to work, but barely slept because he wanted to be awake for his fiance any time the girl decided to come home, he stopped dancing, he stopped playing his violin, stopped eating

he genuinely loves this girl with all of his being , but when his sister bia staged an intervention for the third time he realized, like, shit’s not good. he’s not happy. he kind of dreads his ex coming home, he dreads talking to his ex, he dreads sex, he craves positive attention he barely gets -- 

so he packed a suitcase, quit his job and left, the first two times he tried this, his ex called him in tears and he went back to hold her, begging to be taken back.

this time was different. his ex started to cut him off from his friends + siblings, and by the time he realized how fucked up things were, his sisters were barely speaking to him; this time he cancelled his phone, his credit cards, his social media, took his money out and fucking fled. 

anyway , lol . teo still loves his girl. he’d probably go back rn if the girl so much as texted him. he only has a phone for his sisters ; his wall is covered in pictures of their daily lives and his parents and his home bc he misses them so much

he’s rlly just trying to recover rn tbh; teo got a job at a nearby hospital (kind of a drive but whatever!) and is slowly playing his violin again , trying to get comfortable with his life. he’s here bc he likes the small space that’s his, likes the strangers, likes not looking over his shoulder

he’s quiet now, kind of distant, not at all the playful high-energy kid he had always been in high school. teo’s kind of too-honest + will tell you what you want to know, but he won’t discuss it. nor will he ever ask in return

matteo’s lowkey judgey so u rlly get one impression with him and then he’s gonna side-eye u forever

teo’s the quiet and understated things about recovery; the being unable to take off his engagement ring, the reflexively expecting to be told to shut up, the surprise when ppl don’t get mad, the feeling like a disgusting cheater when u so much as look at a cute boy or cute girl, trying to remember who u were before them, what interests u had

he’s the guy you go to with a cut or a funny sprain you’re not sure about. he’s the one who you talk to if you need advice about the weird stomach ache that hasn’t gone away .............

STATS -  20 / sept 10 , virgo , cismale , pansexual , rn , brown hair , brown eyes , 6′1 , slytherin

anyway this is sinfully long . gl . like this if u wanna plot !!

[atlaswriting]

“You wouldn’t dare.” I challenge Abram, teeth clenching painfully tight. “Despite what you think, I like Jason. He’s nice—and everything I should—,” I pause, catching my tongue fumbling over words I don’t completely believe, “—everything that I want.” I correct myself. Fingers curling into a tense fist, “You can hurt me all you’d like, but you wouldn’t hurt Jason.”

Abram laughs dryly, my neck craned so far back to look at him he’s practically on top of me—and I don’t mind. “You don’t know all the ways that the Rose’s can hurt someone, family or not.”

I let me phone fall into my bag. Reaching up I hold Abram’s face between my hands, “You are not cruel or malicious or anything like Malachi. All you have is his blood, this,” I tell him, one hand falling to his chest, “Is your own. What we’re doing is wrong, Abram, I get that. But isn’t two broken hearts enough? Why make it a third?”

Our Uber pulls into the parking lot of a driver, rolling down his window, “Elise?” I pull away from Abram, look at the driver and nod before sliding into the back seat. I wait for him to follow, but instead he leans against the door.

“If I have to choose between my brother and the girl I’m fucking, Elise, I’ll choose my brother every time.” He isn’t looking at me as those words slide from his mouth, thick and full of sickly sweet spite, “You go on; I’m going to walk back.”

He slams the car door and the driver glances at me through the rear view, “Are you ready?” He asks. And I nod—because my words have formed a knot in my throat, my chest becoming a graveyard for all the things I should have said. Abram turns his back on the car, running his hand through his hair and kicking up dust and rocks with such rage I see a waitress run from the door of the dinner. I should tell the driver to stop—to turn around because I’ve left my heart in his hands, but I don’t.

My shock silences me, heartbreak stills me and the guilt festers something rotten in my belly, tying itself around my neck preparing to drown me in penance.

Atlas, how did you survive with such a weight?

♡ ♡ ♡

I’m surprised to see my mother sitting on my bed when I return back to my room, her body so tightly wound around itself the slightest wind would break her. When she sees me, she stands, unamused and bored with my presence already. “You smell like—instant coffee and poor life decisions,” she tells me, lip pulled over teeth.

Rolling my eyes, I busy myself with books on my desk. Not looking for anything in particular, but anywhere else is better than at her, “I went to breakfast with friends.” I say, “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be in Italy or Greece? Somewhere far away?”

“I can’t check in on my ailing daughter?” She asks in mock compassion. Cerise would not know empathy if it cost two thousand dollars and smelled like Chanel. Realizing I don’t believe her, Cerise rolls her eyes, “Malachi has some conference in Burlington. One of us had to play the doting parent and after his annoyance of a mother laid into him he didn’t want to see his sons.”

I snort—Gigi was one of the few people my mother’s mask didn’t fool and even if she hated me for playing too hard and too fast with her grandsons’ hearts, I would always respect that.

“You haven’t spoken with your doctor at all, Elise I have to—,”

“You mean, your doctor? Why would I speak with him when everything I say gets filtered through you?”

Cerise glares at me, “Tu es une fille impossible.”

“Oui.”

Cerise crosses the few feet between us, catching my elbow between her bony fingers she brings me close to her, “It’s too bad you didn’t finish the job. It would have saved me a headache.” She releases me, reaching into her bag and tossing the latest issue of her magazine onto my bed. I eye the cover photo for only a second before I need to look away. The girl disappears into the background when her body was turned. Cerise’s hand reaches up and caresses my cheek, “For your consideration.” She says gently before leaving the room. The presence of her still lingers long after she’s gone, into the night and the following morning.

I stared at the magazine, not quite bold enough to peel back the pages and expose the ugly lure printed onto them.

♡ ♡ ♡

What if this is a bad idea?

How can it be a bad idea if it helps him?

What if he and Jason don’t see it that way?

Ugh. Ellie, Abram already hates me enough. What if he never speaks to me again?

For what, helping him? Exposing a monster?

Abram can never hate you. Ever. He looks at you like the sun shines out of your god damn ass. There’s only one other person I’ve seen him look that way at and that’s my boyfriend.

If you don’t want to, it’s fine, I get it.

I talked to Gigi. She wants to help.

We’d be helping him?

Absolutely.

Okay.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Elise?” I look up from the books sprawled across my lap, trying to keep my mind occupied on the disordered thinking section of my psychology text book. “You weren’t in class today.” Abram slips between the door and the frame, shutting it beside him. “I’m sorry.” He says, “For what I said at breakfast yesterday—I was mad, it’s not fair.”

My head begins to shake and I close my text book on a yellow highlighter, “It’s fine. You have nothing to be sorry about—you’re not the one in the relationship,” I tell him sadly. “I get why you said it. If I had siblings I probably would have said the same thing.”

Abram settles beside me and the silence wraps around us like a heavy blanket. I lean into his shoulder; my hand searching for his and holding on tight when I feel his fingers reaching back. We don’t need to say anything—but the quiet is enough to further damage our scarred hearts. The tears build behind my closed lids and I usher them down as best as I can, only to look up to see Abram’s jaw clenched tightly.

“Is it going to be like this forever?” I ask him. “Are we always going to be parallel lines because I don’t think I can handle it, Abram.” My jaw tenses, he uses his free hand to wipe at the corner of my eyes and lingers on my cheek. He dips his head tauntingly low; “Abram…” his name falls like scripture past my godless lips.  

“I can’t stop.” He whispers, lips centimeters from mine, “I keep telling myself the last time was the last and I keep finding my way back to you like a broken compass.”

Finding the nerve I un-knot out fingers and inch away from him. “There’s something I want to show you.” I lean away from him, reaching under my desk for a tan and green leather bound notebook. I hand it to him. “I’ve wanted to show you this for a long time. I haven’t had the guts.”

With careful hands, he flips through the pages. Every now and again the slightest smile twists the corner of his mouth up—and when his cheeks go red, I know which poem he is reading.

“That…uh… last one—that…”

“Is it too raunchy? I’ve never written anything so—um—sexual before.”

“It was…” He shifts his body and changes the subject by flipping the page.

Abram’s silence ramps up the anxiety in my chest, spinning like an out of control wheel, I don’t breathe until he says something, “You should publish that. I can talk to Gigi—she can help, you know. But your work needs to be seen.”

“I don’t want nepotism,” I say, “I want to make it as a writer because I’m good not because my boyf—,” I catch myself when I realize the boyfriend was referring to wasn’t the boyfriend I should have meant, “—not because you talked to your grandmother.”

He shakes his head, shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes, “No, you’re good, Elise. Like my mom good. Like Sylvia good.”

“Like Sylvia.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—I just meant because she’s good, too. And your writing reminded me of hers.”

I look down at the book in my hands, more vulnerable now more than if I were naked. But Abram had a way of making me feel comfortable and I lay the book on top of my bed.

“Can I ask…Who were you writing about?”

You. I want to reply. Instead I shrug, “I was just writing.”

“And that… that other poem,” he whispers, “You and Jason haven’t—so…”

“It was just a poem, Abram; there isn’t a meaning behind everything.” I stand to separate us because the closer I am to him, the more the truth wants to spill from my chest.

He stands too, closing the distance, “People don’t write things like that just because. There’s meaning behind it—and if it’s about me—I want you to know I feel the same. I know you’re scared—,”

“Don’t.”

“I know you’re scared to love me, you’re afraid I’ll be like your dad, or like your mom—but I’m not.” He grabs my hands in his and my fight dissolves, “You’re scared to let anyone too close—I won’t hurt you. We aren’t like my parents or your parents, we can write our own story. Leave him,” Abram urges, “Leave him and we’ll figure it out, I promise.”

“It isn’t that simple!” I push him away, “You think of love as black and white—I told you, our hearts aren’t the only ones who get broken. Jason’s does too and I can’t hurt him.”

“But you can hurt me?”

“What, Abram, no. I don’t want to hurt anybody. But it isn’t the right time—I can’t just…”

“Forget it,” Abram drops my hands and moves toward the door, “It doesn’t matter.”

♡ ♡ ♡

I walk into English and the whispers fall to silence. I’m terrified to hear what the gossip mill is churning and wonder if Abram is involved. Glancing around, I search for a girl with bright pink cheeks, trying to sink so far into her seat she becomes a part of it—but I don’t find one. Girl’s have been wearing their conquests with Abram like badges of honor, they wouldn’t choose to fade into nothing.

Licking my lips, I’m reaching into my bag when someone stops me. “Is it true?” She asks. I give her an incredulous look. She unfolds the school newspaper and pushes it across the table toward me. “Is this really about Abram? I mean, I thought there was something going on between you guys—but then you and Jason.”

The girls name escapes me, I stare at the black and white print, the horrifying page covered in my writing—not just one poem, I realize, flipping through the paper, but most of them.

“I heard you and Jason haven’t—you know—so, is it true?” She asks again and the need to introduce her fist to my face becomes unbearable.

Before the teacher has a chance to enter, I leave the classroom. My attendance couldn’t get any worse, so why try?

I find solace in the library, books of the dead proving not to be the only ghosts that haunt me.

“I knew I would find you in here.” His voice is familiar and I jump up, rushing around a shelf but Jason’s face skids me to a stop, I can’t hide my disappointment. “Is this true? Elise, tell me it’s not. Why is everyone saying you wrote these for Abram?” He’s almost begging and I look away.

“It’s—I mean, it’s the school paper, Jason. Someone’s trying to play Gossip Girl—” I tell him, like that is enough to answer his question. He crumples it into a ball and throws it at me. “Abram’s name isn’t anywhere in my notebook—I have no idea why they would even get that idea.”

“So it’s not true. These aren’t all about him? Because last I checked, I have green eyes.”

I fall back against the bookshelf, burying my face in my hands.

“What about the recording? Was that even Sophie?” He asks, and I want to say yes. Instead I sink to the floor, unable to add another lie. “Has he—have you guys—oh my god. I’m going to kill him.”

“Stop, Jason. It’s my fault, not Abrams. Please, don’t—,”

“For how long?”

I shrug. “Since the beginning.”

“And us?”

I look away and don’t bother looking up until Jason leaves. Twenty minutes later another set of footprints takes his place. Abram doesn’t say anything but his cheeks are red and his chest is moving rapidly.

“I just want to know why,” I say, “First the recording and now this. You say you love me—and you want to destroy me—I want to know why.”

“Elise, I didn’t—,”

The tears are burning their way down my cheek, embarrassment not enough to keep them hidden, “You’re the only one who knew about those poems—and as soon as I show you, this?”