#still tonight I take my ketamine and that should help

[cookinguptales]

god like. it’s so frustrating when you have PMDD and you’re having A Day and you know it’s hormones, you KNOW it’s hormones but like

god, it’s a day, it’s a day, it’s a day.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 5 - Ketamine Recovery

There was nothing else for her to do. Anna cleaned herself up and got back to work. Wilson was more worried about House, but while there was nothing he could do, he figured he would see if Anna needed any help.

She was in her office according to the nurses, but they told him she may have needed a minute.

‘Anna?’ He said, opening the door, ignoring the warning. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ She croaked, he could tell she’d been crying. ‘What do you need?’ She asked and for a moment Wilson admired her more than ever.

‘The surgery is going well,’ he shut the door behind him and finally saw her puffy red eyes, not that she tried to hide it from him. ‘The ketamine he asked for might actually work. He might be able to walk again.’ She nodded, but didn’t say anything. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’

Anna paused for a moment. ‘I’m fine.’ She said, but Wilson wasn’t buying it. He sat down opposite her.

‘I heard about what he said before he slipped into unconsciousness,’ Wilson tried to be delicate. ‘Anna, he loves you. You can’t feel nothing about that.’

‘I don’t feel nothing, I feel…’ she couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘You love him.’ Wilson said, softly. ‘You heard a gunshot, two gunshots, you have PTSD, you should take the day off or at least take a break from treating patients. Anna, you should take the time to feel this.’

Much to his surprise, Anna began crying heavily. Wilson took a breath and stood up to place his hand on her shoulder. He stayed with her for a while and took some time to help communicate with her team on some of the patients.

House eventually woke up, the surgery was a success and he got eight weeks off to recover. His leg seemed to be better as well. Anna on the other hand didn’t mention anything about his recovery. She was exactly the same as she was before. Calculated, but humorous.

Cameron was worried and had gone to Wilson about it.

‘Anna is responsible,’ Wilson stopped her. ‘If there was a real problem she would have taken herself off cases by now, but she hasn’t. She is still capable of doing her job and she’s an incredibly private person, it’s probably the Britishness.’

‘We don’t go to lunch anymore.’ Cameron reasoned. ‘We used to meet at least once a week, but now I don’t see her unless she’s in the clinic or bringing something to House. I’m worried that my actions-‘

‘Cameron, you need to understand that Anna could not give less of a crap about your date with House, she has moved so far past it, she’s probably forgotten.’ Wilson continued working. ‘Just do your job.’

Cameron eventually left, but Wilson didn’t want to admit he was worried as well.

House kept up with his physio, he felt no pain in his leg and for the first time in a long time, he felt good. Anna came around after every shift, she told him about some of the patients, went walking with him when he needed to get out, she made him laugh a little and was on hand to check his injuries. House was happy and decided the Friday night she came over was a good time to ask her to stay for the weekend.

Anna let herself in, he’d heard her from the kitchen, he also heard her sigh and throw her jacket down on the back of the sofa.

‘You okay?’ He called.

‘Tough day,’ she said walking to towards him. ‘I lost two patients, they were getting better and then they both had heart attacks.’ He slowly made his way to the coffee machine, turning it on. ‘It’s fine. How’s your day been?’

‘What meds were they on?’ He asked, curiously.

‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’ She said, leaning on the island.

House conceded and smiled.

‘What?’

‘Sit down. We don’t have to go for a walk tonight.’ He said, finishing making her a coffee. Anna was looking at him suspiciously.

‘You should get out, get your leg moving, why are you being so nice?’ Anna frowned as House rounded the island to handed her the mug she always drank from.

‘I can’t be nice?’ He shrugged watching her blue eyes scan him.

Anna scowled playfully, sipping her coffee. ‘Okay, you want to tell me what the deal is while I check you?’

He nodded and went the sofa to lay back. Anna was still suspicious, but did her usual checks of his stitches.

‘I like you.’ He said, feeling her warm fingers against his skin, soothing him.

‘I get that impression, yes.’ She replied, sarcastically.

‘Why don’t you stay here for the weekend?’ House decided if he didn’t blurt it out, or catch himself off guard, he’d never say it. ‘Someone’s gotta make sure I’m sticking to my physio.’

‘I can do that by visiting. Sit up, let me check your neck.’

House did as she asked. ‘You could do it more easily if you were here. Doesn’t make sense to go home and come back all the time.’

‘Why do you want me to stay?’

House paused, not anticipating her reaction.

‘Look, you got shot, it’s a reasonable assumption to think you might be on a temporary high from almost dying.’

‘I asked you before I got shot.’

‘You also said you wanted more.’

‘Exactly.’

She stopped checking his neck and sighed. ‘Look, if you can give me one good reason why you want me to stay, that doesn’t involve anything to do with you being shot, then I’ll consider it.’

House took a moment to think. ‘I want you here because I want to be with you… I want this to be more than just some fun once in a while, maybe that could be fun.’

Anna watched him, her eyes started watering. ‘You know if I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop and you’ll rip your stitches.’ She made him laugh a little.

‘Yeah, I was planning on having you against a wall, I can do that now my leg doesn’t hurt.’ He made her laugh which felt more important. ‘I can do a lot of things now my leg doesn’t hurt. I can go running with you, or rock climbing, you said you liked doing that as a kid, maybe we could go again. It’d be a better quality of life for both of us.’

Anna smiled and wiped away the tears that were falling. ‘Well, that does sound good.’

House could tell it still wasn’t a yes. ‘Just stay for the weekend. Just one weekend.’

She looked up at him and smiled. ‘I wish I could say yes,’ he felt his heart dropping. ‘But you don’t want me here making things difficult for you.’

‘You won’t-‘

‘It was me you were talking to when you thought you were dying.’ She interrupted him. ‘You thought it was Wilson, you said I should go to a sleep clinic. I know why you said those things, it’s because I sleep better when I’m in bed with you. But it’s only ever a night.’ House didn’t understand. ‘You know why I only spend one night at a time here, because the next night is always worse. One good nights sleep, one very bad nights insomnia. Maybe the sleep clinic isn’t such a bad idea.’ Anna stood up and grabbed her jacket. ‘Don’t forget to keep moving, your leg needs to work itself better.’

Anna left his home and House wanted to redo the whole thing, he wanted to keep his mouth shut and to have not said a word about staying. But it was too late.

House thought he wouldn’t see her at all over the whole weekend, but she turned up to take him for a walk in the evening. It wasn’t as fun as it had been before, but at least she was talking to him. She walked him back to his home, but didn’t come in.

‘Anna, come on, just come in for a while.’ House said as she was about to walk away. ‘I’ve got beer… you want something stronger?’

She half laughed and eventually followed him inside. The second she was through the door, House looked down at her and gave her the smile he would give when he wanted to kiss her.

‘Greg.’ She laughed and put her hand on his chest, stopping him. ‘I should go.’

‘Stay, just for a little longer.’ He placed his hand on top of hers and leaned down slowly. She called him Greg, she wasn’t going to resist and he liked kissing her. Her lips were soft, cool, but soft and he didn’t want to stop. ‘Stay.’ He said between kisses. ‘Tonight.’ He whispered, his other hand wrapping around her waist. ‘Just stay.’

Anna didn’t reply, she just kissed him back and hummed to let him know she was enjoying what he was doing. Her skin was warm under her shirt, she gasped when his cooler hand touched her waist, it made him smile as he pinned her gently against the door. Her laugh against his mouth was all he wanted to hear.

House moved down her jaw, her neck was one of his favourite places to kiss, she always made small whimpers right next to his ear.

‘Greg, stop.’ She said, but not quite meaning it. House still slowed down, if she had something to say then he wanted to hear it. He placed softer kisses against her jaw. ‘You’ll rip your stitches and I might not care.’

He chuckled, eventually pulling back, placing one last kiss to her soft mouth. He was glad to hear her breath was shallow, her heart rate was up and her blue eyes were darker than he’d ever seen them.

‘Maybe I don’t care either.’ He whispered.

‘No but I’m not picking up the dry cleaning when you bleed all over the bed.’

‘Could do it right her?’ He suggested, letting his hand drifting down to her hips, her legs. ‘Then it’s only the floor that needs to be cleaned.’

‘As tempting as it is,’ she said, placing her hands over his, stopping him gently. ‘You’ll still rip your stitches and I don’t have the patience to rush you to hospital.’

House conceded and smiled, pulling back a little. ‘Fine.’ He said, placing one last kiss to her lips. ‘You want a beer instead?’

Anna sighed, her hands running up his chest. ‘Sure.’

He was glad that it was like old times, they laughed and played the piano, she suggested they go back to the track at some point and House was happy.

He left it a couple of weeks before he tried to suggest her staying over again, it was a Friday night and he genuinely just wanted her to stay the night with him.

‘No strings, I just want you to stay with me, that’s it.’ He said after they’d had a few glasses of whiskey and she had a weekend to herself. Anna leaned on the back of the sofa and sighed at him.

‘Okay, fine, I’ll stay.’ She finally gave in and House just smiled liking the fact that he finally won. ‘But I’m not having sex with you.’

‘Oh, you always have to ruin the fun.’ He teased, making her laugh.

They stayed up for a little longer before finally heading to bed, he gave her one of the T-shirt’s she liked wearing when she stayed over and Anna was out like a light. House wrapped his arms around her and was glad for when the morning came and she was still sleeping. He went out for a run before coming back to find her still sleeping. He wanted to prove that this was a good thing and made her breakfast for when she got up.

House managed to keep her around until the later afternoon when she insisted on heading home.

‘Right, I won’t be here tomorrow or for the next few days, a couple of nurses are off so I’m covering some shifts.’ She said, putting her jacket on. ‘Can I trust you to call if you need anything?’

‘Course.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll see you around.’

Anna didn’t say anything, she just nodded and left.

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[karrenseely]

Hurting and Rambling

Depression sucks. My mood has backslid today. I don't want to be here. I don't want to deal with the dysphoria. I don't want to deal with the hate. Nevermind that most of the hate is just remembered from childhood. Parts of me are so stuck that it feels like now. I don't want to be have to be the one that comforts the little girl in me. It shouldn't ever have had to have been me. It should have been my parents.

She hurts so much. My therapist is on maternity leave as of this coming week. I don't know what I'm going to do with no outlet, with no one to help mediate with the part of me that hurts so much and the parts that hate me and the parts that just want to end it all so all of this just stops.

Parts of me are scared. Other parts of me are just done. And the part of me that hate myself is running rampant. He scared the ever living light out of me a few months ago. Up to that point, I had no idea how much self hatred I had. But that day, he made it very clear. In comes this intrusive imagery of him stabbing me with a large knife, savagely, over and over and over and over again. And I so wanted to do that to myself in that moment, never mind that it's not really possible to stab yourself in that way over and over again. The feelings were there. I hated myself viciously and savagely in that moment. I've never fantasized about physically hurting anyone, not even my parents. So this imagery and the feelings that went with it threw me for a loop.

I've kinda been ignoring them for the past few months. But this evening... I just don't want to be here, and I can feel that part of myself egging my suicidal self on... and right now. I don't really care that he's doing that. Over the past 3 months I've been in intensive outpatient treatment. I had TMS therapy, ketamine therapy, psych meds, counseling... And all of it has at most brought me back to my baseline meh at most.

It's not bad, I'm not hurting all the time when I'm at my baseline. But it's still just a feeling of meh. Of going through the motions and not knowing why I'm doing it, but the survival instinct is engaged so I just keep going. I went through all of this treatment to really feel better. Not meh. To actually try and get that feeling of contentment I once had back. But when it comes down to it, none of the things I've done have helped the little girl in me not feel so much pain and hurt. I don't know if anything can help her anymore. Maybe I ignored her too long. Or maybe there's just no healing what was done to me. I feel so broken. I feel like the freak I've been called in the past. And she doesn't understand why her parents didn't love her, why they hated her. So she thinks she's a monster too. Why else would her parents hate her so much?

I've just started equine therapy because I'm running out of options and I thought that it might help... but it's infrequent. And it's conflicting with my ketamine therapy. I do feel better when I'm with the horses, but it's short lived. And last session was hard, we kept getting close to the hurt and pain, and then stepping back. Dancing up to the line and back. That takes its toll too. I'm fairly certain that's part of the treatment. But tonight, everything feels too slow. Nothing seems to be working. And the part that doesn't want to be here, that doesn't want to deal with this world is really strong tonight.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not planning on doing anything about it. I haven't been fantasizing about how I'd end myself. Nor do I have access to my preferred methods when I did fantasize about how to do it. But the feelings of not wanting to be are there. I haven't gotten anything done today. All I've been trying to do is distract myself. I tried sending some of that pain and hurt to my therapy horse to hold for a little while... but I'm not that attached to him yet... He's a nice horse... but he's just an acquaintance at this point. I don't have any strong feelings for him, any significant connection... so it just feels like I'm going through the motions... I wonder if that's the fact that I'm Demi or if it's just because I'm hurting so much and don't trust or form bonds easily. Maybe it's both... or that could be a chicken and egg question. Regardless, it's not really helping. He doesn't feel real when I'm not next him.

Nothing feels particularly solid at the moment. Not even the bonds to my chosen family. Not because anything bad has happened with them. I think it has more to do with just how much the little girl in me is hurting, is longing for a feeling of belonging, completely and unconditionally. And she can't see it for all the pain she's in, that her chosen family does love her, loves her a lot. Other parts aren't helping as they know my SO isn't physically attracted to me. That she doesn't see me as a partner or a lover. And they think that's necessary for an SO, never mind my being ace. Nevermind that the most my fantasies involve of her is cuddling. They see the lack of physical contact and romance as damning of our relationship and love to insert constant doubts, particularly because she's that way with her other SO's. And these parts will latch on to any evidence to help support it, no matter how unreasonable that evidence is. But the end result is I feel lonely despite my chosen family.

We're poly, so it's not like I can't look for someone to fill the need for physical contact... but, it's hard. I didn't really get to be a kid, I almost never dated. And I learned early and deeply how dangerous it is to tell the people you love your deepest needs, fears, feelings. So even if I find someone I can't get myself to talk about anything meaningful. But then I don't know if that's what society has told me I need to do/taught me...

I mean, if I write it down and give it to the person... or talk via texting, I can sometimes get those deep feelings across. But to verbalize them? I've never been able to verbalize them with anyone I love. Even when I came out to my parents the first time, I did it via letter because I couldn't be verbal. The second time was the same... I think. It's all kinda fuzzy. The last time I came out to them and put my foot down, it was still via letter. I dunno. Maybe if I'd gotten the love and support I needed then, I would be able to verbalize my feelings in the moment today. But maybe not. Maybe it's just inherent faulty wiring in me, like all the other faulty wiring...

Being Trans, ADHD, not knowing if my feelings are atypical when it comes to SO's. Having recently begun to want to have sex w/ someone but not with my SO even though I'm fairly certain I'm ace. I mean, do I even really understand what love is? What it means to be in love? What it means to be ace vs just some completely broken miswired human being?

Can I be ace if a part of me wants to have sex with someone? I thought I was demi, but this part that wants to explore that form of physical contact doesn't want it to be with anyone I already have a strong emotional bond with... Is it because of the trauma? Is it becuase there's something wrong with me? Some faulty wiring. Or is it because I'm just a freak of nature that never should be?

I thought I understood what love and romance were, because I thought I felt those things in movies and stories where it was happening... but now. Now I'm not so sure. I mean... I never really understood sexual attraction. Anyone that I had the hots for, it wasn't that I wanted sex with them, it was just that I wanted to be in there presence. I wanted to get to know them, to be friends... These days, I understand how not typical that is. Worse, it's rare for me to even have those feelings about a person in the first place. And that makes it that much harder to find someone who would even remotely return those feelings. That's not to say there aren't people out there that want a sexual or romantic relationship with me. I know of at least one... but I don't feel the same way. My feelings rarely mesh with anyone else in a way that would meet either of our needs wholly and completely. The closest I've gotten is my current SO.

Add to that that I know how much self hatred is present in me, and how am I supposed to love anyone wholly and completely when I don't even love myself, when I feel like a monster, a pervert. Someone whose own parents couldn't even love her. How could anyone else? And so these thoughts just run around and around in my head. And nothing ever really changes. I still feel bad, I still have no idea how to interact with people to indicate I'm interested in them in terms of a close a relationship. I never got that education growing up, because I couldn't be the teenage girl I was at that age... And now, it feels like it's too late, even though the rational part of me says otherwise. It's easier to believe the parts that hate me.

And so no solution is in sight. And now I just end up having fantasies that a someone will come and save me. Will sweep me off my feet and just hold me and comfort me and love me, except, I don't want to be called George. And I want to be able to give back. I want to be able to give back so much... Now that I think about it, I suspect that's why I'm constantly trying to help my SO in lots of ways, whether it's paying for stuff, or giving rides, driving, or getting dinner... it's because I want to give back and I don't know how else to do it. I feel like all I do is take. Constantly take, that people only tolerate me because they pity me, not because they want my friendship, or want to spend time with me. Because who could ever want to spend time with a freak like me? So I give... I try to give what I have to give. I try to be there, I try to listen, I try to find solutions, I try not to criticize, I never demand, I never ask for what I truly need because if I do, then they'll realize that they just tolerate me and don't need me around anymore and drop me.

I've wandered all over with this post. I'm sorry. My thoughts tonight are not organized. I just needed to write. Even if it's nonsense with no real purpose other than to go in thought circles. It's hard to heal when you don't trust your own perceptions, when you feel like a monster, when it's so hard to trust the people around you. It's even harder when you live in a society that hates you, actively wants you dead and has no compunctions about killing children who are like you.

That's the most terrifying thing about the Right wing terrorists in power across the U.S. they not only don't care that they're hurting kids. They're actively trying to kill the kids in my community... because they know they can. Because they know they can get away with it. It's horrifying. It's even more horrifying watching that evil spread to other countries across the globe. Why? I cannot fathom anything justifying what they are doing. Why would anyone want to hurt and torture children? Why does our society hate children so much? Why does it hate its future so so very much?

Why do so many people claim to be Christian, and then do the very things Jesus would abhor. Worse, they do it in his name. Why? I don't understand. When I was younger, I really thought Satan had won, afterall he seemed to be in control of the churches, the religions, the followers. But these days? I know he doesn't exist. This is all the people's own doing. They are the ones that choose to do these evil things. Not some imaginary being. But people, who feel it's ok to murder and torture other people. Who feel it's ok to murder and torture children. People are responsible for the own actions and inactions. Including myself.

Last year, these terrorists targeted my child's school. Because a parent couldn't accept their trans son and told the terrorists about it. Multiple bomb threats were called in to the school. Traumatizing the children, traumatizing my child. Traumatizing the parents. We don't live an era where it's inconceivable that someone would bomb a school full of children. Not anymore. Not with all the mass school shootings. Not with the evidence of school bombings occuring in other countries. No. There is nothing benign about these threats. They are terrifying. And that's what terrorists do. They work to instill fear, and they do whatever they feel is necessary to do it. Eventually, threats won't be enough. They'll follow through on it. Gods forbid it be at any school, much less my child's. And this is the worst part, our government doesn't take any of this seriously enough. Not really. Yes it's aware right wing domestic terrorism is the biggest threat right now. But it's not doing much of anything to stop it, to curtail it. Because right now it's fashionable to torture and kill LGBT+ kids. Because our society has never seen LGBT+ people as human.

Even after Hitler was defeated, and LGBT+ were freed from the concentration/death camps along with Jewish and Roma people... my people were thrown right back in jail. We were never freed. The world has never acknowledged what it has done to us. It never acknowledged all the LGBT+ people they put back into prison after the war. Everyone else was allowed to go free. The world sympathised with the horrors that were inflicted on the people in those death camps. Except for queer people. We apparently deserved it. We never should have been freed. The world agreed with Hitler when it came to queer people. That hasn't changed. Our society still agrees with Hitler. If it didn't then none of these terrorists would have been allowed to have any power whatsoever. None of them would be allowed to terrorize the queer community as they have. Queer people wouldn't be living under the fear of capital punishment for being queer in other countries. We wouldn't be the world's scape goats for all the ills that exist.

How can I or any of us heal knowing this? And you know what the hardest part of this is? Unlike every other minority group in the world. Way way way too many of us don't have our families, our communities of origin to fall back on. Because our families hate us as much as the world at large does. We don't have the love and support of our families to help us through all this dark horrible stuff. We do the best we can by being each other's chosen families, to be each others communities... but that's not the same. Knowing your own flesh and blood hate you, at best want nothing to do with you, at worst want you dead. That takes its toll, even with the support of communities of individuals who have gone through similar things. Don't get me wrong. We are a resilient group of people, we've survived, some of us have even thrived. But then, we've had to be. We had no other real choice.

And on the individual level? It's hard. It hurts. And some of us are more resilient than others. Some of us survive by believing the propaganda that we're evil, or that certain groups in our community are evil. Some of us don't survive. Some of us survive, but hurt all the time. Some of us... Some of us are fortunate and have loving supportive families. And that is an amazing thing, the most wonderful thing. That families exist today that love and support their queer children and siblings. That so many do is a miracle given the climate we exist in. It's a testament to the hard and diligent work our community has done over the last century. To the sacrifices we've had to make. But it also makes it that much more disheartening when society takes a nosedive and starts targeting us all over again.

Healing is hard enough in the best of times. It's nearly impossible when the world hates you. I don't even know if it is possible when both the world and your family hate you. And I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of constantly having to justify my right to exist. My right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Of my children's right to the same. Of my community's children's right to the same.

I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to have to, or need to. I just want it to all go away. Because unless you are what your society wants, you're garbage to be tossed out when ever you inconvenience that society. And I'm so done trying to get it to change for the better. I'm so tired of it. These days I just want to go to some uninhabited part of the world and create a sanctuary for people to exist, to be compassionate for each other, to understand that we as a species could be so much more if we loved and supported one another rather than try to kill each other over this mote of dust we live on, over one trait one group feels is superior to another group. The problem is, I don't think any place like that exists, I don't think it's existed for millenia... so no I'm tired and I don't want to be here, I don't want to be part of this world. And we don't have the technology to colonize Europa so we can't leave (Billionaire predators have already laid claim to Mars and the Moon)

It is late, I'm going to try and find something else to distract myself with because I'm just saying the same thing over and over again and it doesn't change anything. The world still sucks. And I still hurt so very very much, and the little girl in me still never got the parents/family she deserved and needed.

[th-th-th-thats-all-folks]

My parents have always been kind of weird about my mental health. My neighbor told them I was suicidal in a really horrible way after my friend decided she needed to get me help when I was 15. So they know it's a thing and they get really concerned when it's right in front of them, but they also are really good at ignoring it.

Like tonight. Meds and other treatments haven't really worked for me, even after I got rediagnosed as manic-depressive and started to get help in ways more suited for that. My therapist recently learned about ketamine treatments and we've been talking about it a lot.

I told my parents about it and shared some articles because I just wanted to talk it out with them. It sounded so good to me. Like an answer to a prayer I'd forgot I'd been praying. Too good to be true but with studies to back it up.

My dad was his usual self: supportive but unwilling to face the reality of my emotional issues.

My mom talked to my gp, who had no idea what ketamine even was besides a 'horse tranquilizer.' She talked to the aprn in her office today who told her it was an 'absolute last resort' because it can make you 'psycho' so I should just 'try different medication, exercise, go to therapy, find coping methods' and 'mix things up.'

And ignoring the fact that she used the word psycho, which along with crazy, is my least favorite adjective, mostly because that's what my entire family called my uncle's ex wife because she was bipolar as well, I can't belive she'd tell me to try all these things I've already tried. That she knows I've tried.

We were supposed to talk about the ketamine treatments tonight. Go through it all face to face. But she didn't bring it up and I didn't know how to bring it up, and honestly I didn't want to because I knew it wasn't going to be a good conversation.

But then she does bring it up. She says she's made an appointment for me to see this arpn/psychiatrist. Who I have met with before. Who didn't help me. And I already have a current aprn anyway, even if she isn't totally helpful yet. Because drugs take so long to work, and then stop working so much faster.

And she keeps saying I should try something new. Like I HAVEN'T tried so much of it. Like I HAVEN'T been fighting for the past 11 years. Like I HAVEN'T been ready to die since I was 13 years old. Like I DON'T KNOW who I'd be without this sadness and this anger.

And ketamine was MY something new. MY trying again to be happy. MY answer to so many things I have been dealing with for so long.

So I don't know what to do now, because I'm 24 and I'm allowed to make my own decisions, but I'm so anxious and angry and I still feel like there's a glass wall between me and everything else. I don't know where to go from here.

[1989dreamer]

Tap-Dancing Elephants

On AO3

Spoilers for Season 5, especially Controlling Interest

Dialogue borrowed heavily from the episode, and in some cases recreated word for word.

Warning: Deals with aftermath of rape.

Summary: After the incident in Dr. Summers office, Neal discovers that his shirt is buttoned wrong. It opens a new investigation that Neal doesn’t think he can cope with.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

It isn’t until he’s already at the hospital, and his jacket is hanging over Jones’s arm that Neal notices his shirt is buttoned wrong.

He stares at the small gap of white of his undershirt.

It feels as big as an elephant tap-dancing on his chest.

Peter doesn’t look up, not even when Ramirez and Elliot another agent-C.I. team swing by to say hello.

Elliott’s on crutches—the result of diving off a moving vehicle to avoid his cover being blown. Ramirez, amendable as ever, swaps injury lists with Jones and Peter.

It’s so normal, and yet Neal can feel his world crashing down around his ears.

He must make some noise, because Peter snaps his head up and his heavy gaze finds Neal.

Neal tries to wave at him, but his hand is numb, flopping around at the end of his wrist.

Immediately, Peter excuses himself, coming back into the room and touching Neal’s arm. Neal can’t help the slight recoil he has at it.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks, and it sounds like he’s talking through wet cardboard for all Neal can hear him.

Instead, he drops his eyes to the wrongly buttoned part of his shirt. Peter’s hand hovers over it, and Neal winces, hoping he won’t touch him again. Peter doesn’t, but what he does next is just as bad.

He calls in a nurse and a doctor and has Jones lead Ramirez and Elliot away.

Neal’s hearing goes completely out when Peter whispers the words “rape kit” and “assaulted.”

A soft touch to his arm brings him back, and Neal startles the nursing assistant when he jerks under her hand.

“You’re okay,” she says.

Peter nudges her aside. “Neal, do you remember what happened?”

“No,” Neal whispers. “I can’t remember anything after Summers drugged me.”

“Okay, what we’re going to do is get you examined.”

Somehow Neal doesn’t think he can say no.

Peter crusades with Jones helping to lead the medical charge. Neal’s blood is drawn, six small vials that might as well be his whole body’s worth for how cold it leaves him.

Afterward, Neal sits in the waiting room, gauze pressed to the crook of his arm, ignoring the gabbing agents trading stories of C.I.s a few feet from his chair. This time it’s Cruz and her charge, and Cruz is the one sporting a wrapped wrist and a bandaged head.

Peter sits next to him, magazine folded over his lap, face set in his mask of concentration, and still Neal squashes the small voice piping up. Peter doesn’t need to worry about him, about the cold dread twisting in his gut.

“We can probably go,” Peter remarks after a few tense moments of silence. “The hospital can contact us about the tox screen, but the blood results won’t be back in for at least a week.”

Neal has to clear his throat twice before he can speak. “What about the kit?”

Peter picks up the magazine and sets it back on the table next to him. “There was evidence of vaginal fluid,” he says lowly. “It’s being tested for DNA, but that won’t be back for at least a month.”

“She did,” Neal starts, stops when a lump in his throat threatens to choke him. Peter nods anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he offers.

“What happens now?” Neal asks. “What happens to Griffith?”

“We keep investigating,” Peter says. “We need to finish processing you for evidence before we can charge Summers with any crime. In the meantime, we’ll keep working on clearing Griffith’s name.” He pauses, studying Neal with a critical eye. “Well, not you,” he finally amends. “You’re too close to the case. Besides, I don’t want Summers anywhere near you.”

“Trust me, I don’t want her anywhere near me either.”

“I don’t want to do this to you, but if you’re dating anyone, sleeping with anyone, you need to get them to submit a DNA sample to rule them out.”

“You think they won’t believe that she…me?”

Peter sighs. “I don’t know what I think right now. Just, please, don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

Neal looks down at his lap. “There’s no one right now. I’m trying being celibate.”

“Really?” Peter seems surprised, and Neal shrugs at him.

“It hasn’t really been working out to be in a relationship right now.”

“There’s no one else?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Actually yes,” Peter says. “Neal, I’m so used to you charming your way through life that I can’t imagine you don’t have someone ready to share your bed, your life.”

Neal shrugs. “There’s no one, Peter. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”

Summers’ words flash through his mind, and Neal wonders if she did what she did because she doesn’t believe he truly has changed.

“Well, if you say there’s no one, then there’s no one.” Peter sighs. “Do you want to go home or do you want to come back to the office?”

“I get a choice?” Peter nods. Neal thinks about it. If he goes back to the office, there’s a chance that the other agents will have heard about what Summers did to him. But, Neal doesn’t relish the idea of sitting at home with his thoughts, trying to remember what happened. “The office, please,” he says softly. Peter looks surprised but nods again.

“You can stay in my office if you like,” he offers.

“Thank you.”

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

After a few unproductive hours, Peter drops Neal at home, promises to check on him before they go to work tomorrow, and drives off with a wave.

Neal sighs, tired to his bones, and hauls his body up the stairs to his apartment.

Mozzie looks up from his contraption with the Mosconi pages, and Neal nods as he heads to the stove for the teapot. His whole body aches but he doesn’t know why.

Chamomile should hit the spot.

Mozzie watches him with a keen eye, and Neal shudders under the examination.

“You okay there?”

“Fine.” Neal opens the fridge for milk and slams it shut, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the stench wafting out. “What have you done to my fridge?” he demands. It’s one more thing on a bad day, and he feels his resolve quickly crumbling.

“I made hongeo,” Mozzie says. “It’s a delicacy.”

“Maybe to those of us who don’t have noses.” Neal holds his breath while he pulls out the carton of milk. He takes his mug and the carton to the window, making sure the product inside doesn’t smell like the rotting fish in his fridge before he adds a generous dollop.

He gives the carton to Mozzie to put away, ignoring his protest of “I’m lactose intolerant.”

Mozzie puts the carton away, inhaling appreciatively while Neal covers his nose. Neal glares at him when he sits down again.

“What?”

“You’re banned from cooking,” Neal tells him.

Mozzie scoffs. “Good Night Cinderella,” he says apropos of nothing. To Neal’s confused face, he adds, “It’s a drug. A mix of GHB, ketamine, and flunitrazepam. The working girls in Rio use it on their johns and then they do anything they want.”

“And you think that’s what Summers gave me?”

“Well, she does have connections to the criminal underground.”

“Her patients?” Neal asks, and Mozzie nods. “Why would any of her patients give her that much control over them?”

“You said she wasn’t cheap for your session.” Mozzie shrugs. “Maybe one of her patients paid their debt by giving her a recipe for Good Night Cinderella.” A light bulb goes on over Mozzie’s head. “Have you ever heard of RMT?” he asks.

“Do I want to?”

“RMT stands for recovered memory therapy. A lot of times I drink a bit too much wine and I forget things. In order to remember those things, I drink more wine.”

“And that helps?” Neal sips at his tea, studying Mozzie. “I highly doubt it really does much for you.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Neal pauses, his mug halfway to his lips again. What kind of question is that? Of course Neal wants Mozzie’s help. But a better question is: does Neal want to know what really happened at his session?

Does he want to remember what Summers did to him after she drugged him? The answer is yes. He’s spent all afternoon racking his brain to see if some memory did slip through, but he’s come up short every time.

“Can you get it on the street?” Neal can give Mozzie money to buy some. He has enough left over to do that.

Mozzie shakes his head, entirely too gleeful when he declares, “I’d have to make it for you!”

Neal sits down, sets his mug down, and fixes Mozzie with a blank stare. “Do it,” he says, woodenly. Then, he grabs his mug and stalks off to his bed.

Mozzie calls for him a couple of hours later, and Neal rouses slowly. He hadn’t been sleeping, mind still spinning, trying to recall just what Summers had said to him, but he’d been deep enough in a doze that it’s still jarring to haul himself up and back to the table.

He sits down, frowning at his hands so that he doesn’t have to see the happy, relaxed expression on Mozzie’s face. It’s not his fault that he gets giddy from helping.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mozzie asks.

Neal nods, finally looking up. Mozzie is worried, his brow creased in concern. He pushes a glass across the table. Neal pulls it closer, examining the contents. It looks like water.

So did Summers’ bottle.

“I need to know what I told her, how much of Peter’s case I gave away.” He glances toward the pages set aside for tonight. “How much of us I gave away.”

Mozzie nods in understanding, picking up his wine glass. “Well, I will be right here to guide you.”

Neal sniffs the contents of his glass. It has that same chemical smell that Summers’ bottle had tasted of. “Are you sure this is the same concoction that Summers used?”

“More or less.” Mozzie sips at his wine. “I made a few modifications. Added a stimulant.” He shrugs at Neal’s raised brow. “The longer we can keep you in that altered state, the better you’ll be able to recall. And thanks to my added potassium stimulant, you’ll be more in control of your faculties.”

“As long as I wake up,” Neal says and knocks it back. At first he thinks nothing’s happening because he’s still sitting across from Mozzie, watching as he drinks his wine and pours another glass.

He doesn’t feel the same sick twist in the pit of his stomach, but Mozzie’s voice, rattling on about vintages he hasn’t tried yet, does start to echo a bit. Neal raises his hand, and Mozzie stops talking.

“It’s kicking in?” he asks, setting aside his glass.

Neal nods. He leans back in the chair, gripping the arms tightly.

Already, he can hear Summers’ voice whispering by his ear, but he can’t make out what she’s saying.

“Remember the office,” Mozzie instructs from far away. “The shapes, the textures. Even the view. Dr. Summers is sitting across from you. She’s waiting for you to lose your inhibitions. What is she saying?”

Neal focuses his hearing.

“What can the FBI prove?”

“She wanted to know what the FBI knew and if they could prove anything.”

“Did you ask her any questions?”

Neal nods.

“You stole the two million. Why?”

“Because it was there.”

“Did she ask any more questions? Did she lead you?”

“No,” Neal thinks he’s shaking his head, but he can’t be sure, “no, she-she wanted to…” He can’t finish that sentence because in his memory, he can see Summers looming over him, one hand on his chest, the other dipping lower, cupping him. He whimpers in the back of his throat, shifting away from her fingers.

“Did you ask her any other questions?” Mozzie’s voice floats in, barely there, and Neal grabs hold of it, trying to use it to pull himself back from Summers.

“Why are you doing this?” Neal breathes.

Summers smiles, leaning closer, lips brushing his ear when she whispers, “Because I can.”

Neal jerks back, tipping the chair over. He goes sprawling, scrambling, trying to get away from something that his mind thinks is happening again.

Mozzie drops next to him, patting him on the shoulder. Neal recoils.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mozzie says softly.

“No, it’s not,” Neal says. He can’t breathe and his chest hurts. He can still feel Summers’ fingers curling around him, stroking him so that she could use him. “She knows that the FBI’s going after Griffiths.” He chokes on a sob. “Why’d she do that, Moz?”

“I don’t know,” Mozzie says honestly. “The suit won’t let her get away with it.”

“The suit, Peter,” Neal says, “I have to tell Peter what I remembered.” He stands up, swaying on his feet.

Mozzie grabs his arm. “No, you don’t,” he said. “What you need is to rest. Come on, Neal. Just sit.”

Neal lets himself be settled, and Mozzie sinks down across the table from him. “Neal, breathe. Whatever you saw, it’s already happened. It can’t happen again.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I really need to tell Peter about what I remember.”

Mozzie sighs. “Let me get my jacket,” he says. “I’ll take you.”

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

The Burkes look like they were having a relaxing evening before Neal and Mozzie burst in. Neal sits on the couch, Mozzie a line of solid heat beside him.

Elizabeth offers something to eat for the third time. Mozzie accepts some wine while Neal hugs a pillow to his chest, hoping it will help with the hollow feeling swirling in his gut.

Peter sighs heavily, rubbing at his eyes. “Tell me again why you thought it would be a good idea to drug him?” He glares at Mozzie.

Mozzie isn’t perturbed by it, sipping nonchalantly at his wine. “We needed a way to recover Neal’s memories.”

“And you did it by giving him the same damn solution Summers did? How on earth did you think that was acceptable? And you,” he points at Neal, “why did you let him?”

Neal rolls his shoulders, hunching forward. “I wanted to remember,” he says softly. He meets Elizabeth’s eyes. “I needed to.”

Surprisingly, it’s Peter who nods. He turns to face Neal more fully, hands clasped in front of him, like he’s trying to stop himself from reaching out to touch Neal.

“Okay, so, go back to where you left off. What’s happening?”

Neal closes his eyes, swallowing at the growing sensation of Summers cupping him, stroking him.

“Sh-she asked about the FBI, what we knew. She knows there’s nothing there.”

“Did she ask about Griffiths?”

Neal tries to remember but all he can feel is Summers hand guiding him, his—him penetrating her as she bites his ear and uses him to bring herself to climax.

He fell out of the chair at that point, he’s almost positive. When she’d shoved the smelling salts in his face, he’d been on the floor, one hand under his body, the other over his eyes as he’d cried.

She’d spun some honey lies, and he hadn’t believed her. Now he was here, half on the Burkes’ couch, half in Summers’ office. Stuck inside his head.

“You’ve got two minutes,” Mozzie says from very far away. “Then he’s going to sleep.”

“Neal, concentrate,” Peter barks. Neal grabs with both hands and comes up empty.

He shakes his head, thinks he does anyway, to apologize, and then slumps sideways, cheeks wet as he passes out.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Neal wakes up still on the Burkes’ couch with Mozzie in Peter’s chair, watching him with a neutral expression. Mozzie is good at hiding his fear, Neal thinks, but not his other emotions. He’s afraid.

“What’s wrong?” Neal tries to ask and ends up coughing because of his dry throat. Elizabeth materializes by his elbow and offers him a glass of water.

“Just water?” Neal confirms, and Mozzie nods.

He drinks it.

Elizabeth sits next to him. “Peter’s going to arrest Dr. Summers,” she announces to her knees. She takes the glass from Neal’s lax fingers before he can drop it. “He thinks they have enough on her to get her to at least confess to abusing her patients.” She glances at Neal before adding, quietly, “Like she did you.”

Neal throws up.

Because he’s only had the water and the Goodnight Cinderella last night, it isn’t much of anything. Just water. But it still stings his throat and makes his eyes water. He doesn’t want to think about Summers doing what she did to him to others.

In a way, though, he supposes he should be glad. If she hadn’t raped him, then they would never have gotten her.

It does not make him feel better.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Peter doesn’t actually arrest Summers. He has another division do that for him.

“Too close,” he says, like it’s an apology. Neal ignores him in favor of pretending to study one of the fraud cases.

“We got her accomplices too,” Peter adds when the silence stretches on. Neal pointedly flips a page. “We talked to Griffiths too.”

Neal looks up at the drop in Peter’s register. He narrows his eyes at him, and Peter shakes his head sadly.

“She raped him too.”

Neal closes the file. “Don’t say it,” he warns.

Peter heaves a sigh and nods. “He doesn’t remember as much as you did, but there’s evidence. Neal, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Someone had to stop her.” Neal drops the file on Peter’s desk and walks out of his office.

“Oh, and Neal,” Peter calls.

Neal pauses by his desk, hand on his coat, the other reaching for his fedora.

“We didn’t find the money. Do you know how that happened?”

Neal shakes his head, puts on his coat and hat, and punches the button for the elevator.

Peter lets him go.

                                                                                                                        ~ * ~

Neal enters his apartment to find Mozzie sitting at the table, working on the Mosconi pages. He almost turns around and leaves again, but Mozzie waves him over.

“How was Peter?” Mozzie asks, wriggling in his chair, delighted over something.

Bluntly, Neal asks, “Did you steal the two million from Summers?”

He doesn’t really care. He’s not going to ask for any of it. Mozzie needs it to get back on his feet again. Two million can buy a new identity and some new contacts that won’t be suspicious because Teddy Winters was made.

“Of course,” Mozzie says. “It was brilliant! Shall I tell you about it?”

“No.” Neal knows he’s being rude, difficult, ugly, but right now, he wants his apartment back. He knows Peter’s going to confront him again about the money. Wasn’t it enough that Summer raped him, got inside his head, and used him like a plaything?

He doesn’t need Peter pushing him, and he doesn’t need a witness when he breaks again.

Gentler, he says, “I need to be alone right now. Do you have somewhere you can go?”

Mozzie nods knowingly, gathering the pages into a satchel. He tops off his glass, shoving the bottle back among the empties, likely all drunk this evening before Neal returned from the office. “June has been itching to resume our Parcheesi tournaments.”

In reality, Mozzie’s probably going to find a quiet storage unit and keep working on the papers.

Neal doesn’t really care right now. “Thank you,” he says to Mozzie’s back, aware at least that he owes Mozzie that much.

As soon as he’s alone, Neal strips down and takes as hot of a shower as he can, scrubbing his skin raw before digging out his softest pajamas, a gift from Elizabeth shortly after his first Christmas working for the FBI. He curls up under all the blankets he can find, the chill in his bones spreading out until he shakes with it.

He closes his eyes and tries not to see Summers leaning over him, tries not to feel her hands on him, tries not to hear her voice telling him she can do whatever she wants.

He fails.

  ~ End ~

[avialaeandapidae]

Got my days wrong and ended up alone in a room with my boss and the President of Ireland while I was on ketamine.

Thread by @shockproofbeats

Right, this was when I was eighteen so don't judge me too harshly. Or if you think drugs are cool and I'm a legend, fill your boots. Anyway, at the time I was working through college in Dublin with bar shifts at [redacted] music venue.

One day I get a call on my day off. Way the gig worked, you'd either get Fri or Sat off. This week it was Fri, happy days. My manager, let's call her Dympna, pipes up on the phone: "So, when you come in this evening, just a few things to remember". I'm like, hold on Dympz, I'm off this eve, jog on. She corrects me. "Remember I said you could get all of Saturday off if you just worked 2 hours tonight?".

And of course THEN, I did suddenly remember, she'd said it to me as I was leaving the building and my conscious work brain was doing somersaults to get out of the place. She could have told me I was to have my foreskin tattooed with a harpoon and I would have given her a smile, thumbs up, and a flurry of yeps to get out of the place. I was eighteen. On minimum wage, and - bear in mind this is really saying something - my absolute minimum effort. So, I'm bang to rights and I say "yeaaah, of course, sorry just got my days mixed up, I'll be there no problem" and she says, "this evening will be fine, just the head of the [redacted] and some VIPs, few hours then you can take off".

All good. Except for the one thing. At that very moment, I was in a mate's house on Dame St, relaxing with (I thought) nothing to do for the evening.

Now you have to remember that, before dabbing and fortnite, kids used "drugs" to get high and I was, occasionally, adjacent to them. I was a fairly sheltered kid before college, and didn't even drink til I was well into my late teens, never smoked even. I was very green.

So too, coincidentally, was the homebrew ketamine that said pal was making IN HIS OVEN when I arrived. My pal had gotten it in liquid form and, for some reason, it had been dyed green - he has subsequently told me he thought it was a St Patrick's Day promotion, and I've always thought it a charming entrepreneurial flourish on the part of his enterprising ketamine wholesaler. (Ketamine wholesalers are often vets, and the stuff originally for cats. People always say horse tranquiliser, either to make it sound more sordid or more badass, but ketamine is used on many animals, and vets have more use for cat tranqs than horses. Not quite as sexy is it?)

Anyway, for want of a better idea, I took him up on his offer of a line of this thick, vaguely slightly clumpy bright green powder, knowing I had nothing else to do for the evening. Felt nothing. Had a tiny further bump 10 mins later. It was at this point that my phone rang.

FLASHBACK ENDS, WE'RE BACK IN THE ROOM. So I'm definitely sweating after the call, not like instant come-up, more worried ABOUT the come-up. Never done this in my life, I've no idea how it's going to feel. But, absent any other idea, I get my stuff together and head to work.

On way to work, starts kicking in. You know when the roof of your mouth starts politely folding your brain in half, and your chest flutters like a cathedral filled with bees? I was holding it together but knew if I stopped concentrating for one second, I would become time itself.

By the time I reach work (twenty mins later) I am sweating like microwaved bread, eyes on hinges, convinced my fingernails owe me money. I have an overwelming urge to yawn, just to get the memories out WHEN in comes Dympna with the rota for the evening.

D: Thanks again, know it's short- oh, you look a bit hot and bothered, did you run here ha?"

Me: Hmnnnnnyes, I did - the dids is"

D: OK, just you tonight and the top man, he's showing the President what's going on for the next while"

[one beat]

Me: Sorr din you sez de presddyen?" D: Yes, Mary McAleese is in to see this season's programme of events.

Me: Hmmnggg

D: All you need to do is stand in the corner and offer them drinks every fifteen minutes.

Me: Ahhh yesssshnshh

D: Maybe have a wash beforehand So the gig is this: Mary McAleese (the *original* MMA) was to go round this room upstairs which had upcoming acts for the season illustrated with photographs and programme notes. The director of [redacted] would walk her around and say "fricken great, Madge innit?" or whatever.

My role is pretty weird, I have to stand in the corner and then every 15 mins, INTERRUPT this live-wire pair to offer them drinks, which protocol dictates they must refuse. I have barely processed any of this before I'm grabbing a tray and heading upstairs.

The tray, btw, contains a white wine, a red wine, a G&T, a whiskey, a rum and coke and some mineral waters. Always found that mix weird. Imagine the President of Ireland seeing the rum and coke and going "oooooh nice one, ta - now tell me about this Latvian choir again".

Right now I can hold it together when stimulated, when the adrenaline and fear is keeping me just ticking over - I'm weird but with it.

Problem is, my job is now to stand silent and motionless in a room on my own until the President of Ireland arrives. Time passes on my own. Empires crumble and glaciers dissolve, stars die and oceans melt, out on the dusty planes of mother earth, hot bursts of young love gift the miracle of life; children are born, raised, stricken infirm and die of old age.

And then Mary McAleese walks in. By now, having been alone with my thoughts for the entire Cretaceous period, I am no longer mildly weird but deeply, extravagantly deranged. As the President of Ireland walks in, with my boss's boss's boss's boss, my first impulse is to greet them like I own the place. It would be rude, surely, to not acknowledge their presence? Out of order even. Best thing to do would obviously be to say "hello guys" like it's my home and I live there, in this big white room, where I stand in the corner, alone, holding a tray of drinks, like you do, at home.

Me: hello guys HELLO GUYS

Anyway, by the divine grace of the infant Christ, they somehow do not hear me say this, and begin their itinerary round the room. I clench my entire head and focus on not shouting across the room to let them know that they should always feel at home here in this room of ours.

I become extremely aware of my hands, and how I haven't felt them in a very long time. They're detuned to static , which would be worrying even if they weren't holding a tray of drinks filled with noise and judgement. I hold no faith or creed other than "do not drop these plz".

Just when dropping everything seems to become less urgent, I realise it's time to go over and offer these motherfuckers some fucken drinks, let's get this party started wooooooo I begin walking over to them and I move so abruptly that the glasses clink and they turn to look at me.

I did this too fast.

Now I'm thinking wooooah slow down there martina hingis, so I self-correct to a much slower speed. Watching my breath, nice and casual, you got this buddy. Guys. GUYS. Now, I'm moving far too slow. I started at this speed and I'm to embarassed to change and now it's gonna take me like 5 mins to cross the room. They are watching me, frowning and sweaty, traversing the 5 foot between us like it's a wooden plank on the Crystal Maze. I'm moving so slow my legs are cramping. I think they're wondering why it's taking me so long. It's way harder than walking at normal speed. I'm shaking so the drinks are making noise again. For what feels like minutes.

Anyway, I offer them the drinks and they say no. Do this another two times - how long was this presentation anyway, is this what the President does all day? Give her a brochure and a carryout ffs - and they say no.

By the end, I've calmed down a bit in physical side (sweating, shaking) but I still feel completely batshit. At one point I clearly remember believing that my mind had escaped my body and was watching me hold the tray of drinks from the wallspace behind my head. Only out-of-body experience I've ever had.

At the very end, they do accept a drink. It was at this point she spoke to me. Just some inane pleasantries, to which I reply with some off-the-hook pablum about work and college, at which point she says;

"Oh, is that a Northern accent I detect?"

Dawgs, you know I'm down for the Nordie solidarity vibe, but this is the last thing I need right now. "Yeeerrrsh" I say, with a goalkeeper's glove in my mouth. She starts talking about her experience coming down to study here, how it can be a real scenic change, but the making of you if you keep your eyes open to new experiences.

I can tell she definitely means green ketamine. She's a lovely woman, and very open and generous with her time, giving me ample space to answer her questions which I mostly do with sheepish, one-or-two-word answers. Finally, she asks me if Dublin is everything I thought it wou-

Me: YES I LIKE IT I THINK IT'S GOOD

I'd been paying such fierce attention, I'd mis-timed my reply AND badly modulated my volume. She actually recoiled a little. I think the head of the venue actually stepped back and said "jesus!". Mary McAleese flinched for what seemed like half a second, then flashed her best your-mum's-sound-mate smile and replaced her white wine on my tray.

The boss man nodded at me, they walked out of the room and I waited a few seconds before making my way downstairs to the kitchen. So at this point I'm thinking, wellll, I'm definitely fired but this will one day make a great story on an Nazi-riddled microblogging platform.

I make my way to the staff area, wipe my sopping face and check my phone. I had only been in the room for 35 minutes. Dympna pads in all smiles, thanking me for my help at short notice. She sees that I'm a bit freaked and says, almost with a wink, "you could have told me you'd be like this, by the way" I'm thinking, of course, Dympna gets what's up, it's the service industry, people mistime their vibes, I bet this isn't the first time she's seen some-

"I had no idea you were such a huge fan of Mary McAleese"

I'm sorry what again was that did you mean The boss man had indeed related the events upstairs to Dympna, but rather than a frightened waif hepped up on cat tranqs, he'd seen a political nerd deeply, irretrievably starstruck by contact with the 8th President of the Irish Republic, Mary McAleese. Presumably a political nerd with a gland problem, and low-grade artritis in both legs, and a tendency to welcome people into their workspaces, but a political nerd all the same.

Me: Oh, yeah well, you know, it's embarassing. She's, just amazing.

And you know what, she kinda is. She was always very nice to me each of the subsequent times we met - me doling out the drinks, her asking me how Dublin was getting on, all the while the other staff eyeing me to see how I was dealing with such close contact with my hero. I'd gurn and fret, play up to it when she'd be coming in, "oh what am I like". I'd bat away suggestions I fancied her from the more ribald members of the changing room, and laugh along with the usual jibes, safe in the knowledge my nerdy affect had saved my bacon.

So take ketamine at work, it's great.

END.

[fanfictionformost-blog]

CATB cant sleep imagine

Van: You made you way to the kitchen as silently as possible trying your hardest not to wake Van. Despite your best efforts the sound of footsteps down the hall let you know you failed and woke you sleeping boyfriend up. “Still can sleep?” Van asked while taking a few steps into the kitchen leaning against the wall and rubbing his tired eyes, “Yeah, but you go back to bed I will be fine. There is no reason we both need to be miserable and tired tomorrow.” You said sounding unintentionally defeated. “I’m not convinced you will be fine...You don’t sleep enough, staying up days on end cant be good for you. Maybe its time you go see someone about this.” Van sounded very concerned which made your tired brain feel guilty for worrying him so you let out a few tears. You tried to wipe the tears away before Van noticed but once again you failed and he saw. Van walked over to you and embraced you “Shh its going to be alright, we will figure this all out.” He cooed to you while rubbing your back in a soothing manner. “I just feel like such a failure I cant even go to sleep, a normal human function but I cant manage it. I can stand my stupid fucking brain! And worst of all now i’m worrying you, i’m so sorry.” You somehow managed to say through sobs. “Never feel bad about worrying me! Its a great honor to get to worry about a beautiful, kind, tired woman like you!” Van said then kissed the top of your head. “I love you” you said softly no longer crying. “Lets call up a doctor tomorrow morning. Until then we will watch movies and cuddle and who knows maybe you will fall asleep.” Van suggested. You hugged him even tighter “Thank you Van” you said before kissing him sweetly on the lips. “Its what i’m here for my love” he said back before leading you to the living room. You were so grateful for Van.

Bondy: You couldn’t stop tossing and turning in you warm normally comfortable bed, tonight the bed felt like it was stuffed with rocks. “Something the matter Darling?” Bondy asked through a yawn. “I don’t know, I just can sleep. I cant get comfortable.” You said while rolling over again. “Want me to tell you a story?” Bondy asked still sounding tired but also like he was excited to tell you a bed time story. “Yes please” you answered him then inched your way over to his side of the bed and laid you head on his chest. Bondy began to sell a ridiculous tale about an old ship captain with three loves in life, one for fine silk shirts, one for ketamine, and one for the sea. Bondy’s voice was very soothing but you could not help laughing at his story, so you were still unable to sleep. “The end, are you sleepy yet?” Bondy asked sounding hopeful. You let out a disappointed sigh “Nope, but it was a great story” Bondy started to rub your back and hum a familiar tune. “You should go to sleep babe, I can go lay on the couch so I don’t disturb you.” Bondy stopped humming for a moment and hugged you tight to his chest “No don’t leave I would rather have your warm body tossing and turning then have a cold empty still bed.” You looked up at Bondy to make sure he was being sincere then you cuddled back into his chest. About twenty minutes went by with Bondy still rubbing your back and humming and you were still wide awake. You let our a groan then rolled away from your boyfriend. “Go to sleep Bondy this isn’t working and I would feel awful if  I kept you up all night” You said. “Well I have one more idea to make you tired.” Bondy answered sounding giddy. He came over to your side of the bed got on top of you and began to kiss your neck. Your breath got caught in your throat at his touch, he made your skin tingle. “good plan” you said before pulling Bondy’s face up to yours so you could kiss him. “This way even if you don’t get tired at least we can stay up all night having fun” Bondy said with a devilish smirk

Benji: When Benji was on tour for months and months he would get used to the bunks and hotel beds, so it was difficult for him to get readjusted to your bed back at home. Tonight was a bad night, he just felt out of place even with you at his side. He got up and made his way to the bathroom hoping not to wake you. Once he got to the bathroom he looked in the mirror silently inspecting the bags under his eyes. He almost didn’t notice you when walked up and wrapped your arms around him from behind. “Did I wake you?” he asked sounding the groggiest you’ve ever heard him sound. “No I woke up on my own and you were gone so I had to investigate. Having trouble sleeping?” you asked back keeping your voice low. “Yes, I know this is gonna sound strange, but I miss my bunk” You laughed at the thought of anyone missing a tiny hard tour bus bunk. “Maybe the bed is just to big for you right now, we could make a fort on the couch, that would be sort of like the bunk.” Benji perked up at that idea and nodded his head in agreement. You took his had and led him to the living room then you sat him down on the recliner so you could make up the couch. It took a few minutes and a couple chairs from the dining room but you managed to make a makeshift “Bunk” type fort on the couch. “Okay Benji all done!” you said proudly looking over at him. “Thanks princess” Benji said then crawled into your creation. You followed after him laying down in the spooning position. “It actually is quite like my bunk, You’ve simply out done yourself Y/N” Benji said then kissed your neck quickly. Before too long you both dozed off in your little fort.

Bob: You never had trouble sleeping until Bob went away on tour. You didn’t like being alone but you also didn’t want to bother Bob or worry him so you kept your sleep issues to yourself until one particularly difficult night. It had been three days since you had last slept and you were going crazy. You couldn’t control your emotions anymore so you caved at 2:30 in the morning and facetimed Bob. Even though he couldn’t really do anything it would be comforting to just see his face. “Hello Y/N, is everything okay?” he asked sounding tired but also worried. “Yeah well sort of... I cant sleep, its been three days now. Also I just miss you so much.” You tried but could not hold back tears as you said the last part. “Oh Y/N I miss you to! You should have told me sooner that you’ve been having trouble sleeping, I don’t know that I can do anything to help but I would like to try.” He said sounding concerned and sad. “I just don’t want to bother you while your on tour and I thought this would go away on its own.” you told him through tears. “Its gonna be alright love! Don’t you worry about bothering me, you could never be a bother.” You smiled a little at that then wiped your eyes. “Do you have a little time to talk now? I know you should be asleep but I just miss you so much...” you asked. “Yes, I always have time for you.” So the two of you talked and talked until you both fell asleep still on facetime.

[mldrgrl]

30 and/or 59 - Hank/Stella 57- MSR

57. “You have no idea what I do for you.” - MSR

Post-Demons

She lowers herself down and places her head on Mulder’s back.  His bowed shoulders tense slightly and his body goes rigid as the SWAT team floods the room.  She kneels and cradles his head to her chest, her hand on his cheek and his cheek pressed to her breast.  She wraps her other arm around him to hide his face before she raises her head.

“Stand down,” Scully yells, shielding him from the noise of the SWAT and her raised voice.  

“Agent Scully, back away!”  She can’t tell who delivers the order in the dark.

“You back away!” she shouts back.  “Lower your weapons.  There’s no threat here.”

“Agent Scully-”

“I said stand down!” she screams.  “You have a problem with that order, you call AD Skinner, otherwise get out of this room and let me tend to my partner!”

It works.  The SWAT team moves out and she’s left behind with Mulder, still slumped on the floor.  He feels small and broken in her arms, which should be impossible.

“We have to get out of here,” she says, when her knees can’t take it anymore and he’s been quiet for too long.  “Mulder, we have to get out of here.”

She feels him nod against her breast.  He’s slow to his feet and she has to help him up.  He leans against her like a drunk, unable to put one foot in front of the other without staggering slightly.  She puts him into her car and hurries to the driver’s side to put as much distance as she can between them and the red and blue lights of the police cars.

The first motel she comes across, she stops.  She’s exhausted and doesn’t want to drive all the way back to DC tonight.  Mulder hasn’t spoken; hasn’t done much of anything besides stare out the window.  It worries her when he’s this quiet.  It means wherever he’s gone to in his head isn’t a good place.

She pays for a single room with her own credit card, not the bureau’s, and guides Mulder inside.  It’s a dark room, with dark wood paneling, brown carpet, and brown bedspread.  The lighting is poor and casts an orange glow from where it hangs from a gold chain above the center of the room.  The linoleum is peeling in the bathroom, but they’ve both seen much worse.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” she says.  Her eyes feel like sandpaper.

Mulder nods and steps out of his shoes.  She turns around when he unbuckles his belt and hears his jeans slump to the floor as she shuts the door to the bathroom, taking the overnight back she’d brought in from the car with her.  She feels impractical in her silk pajamas, but at least they’re pajamas.  She washes her face and then stares at her reflection for a good solid minute before she sighs and turns out the light.

It isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed, but it doesn’t make it any less awkward when she slides between the sheets beside him - behind him, really, he’s got his back to her.  She turns onto her side and looks at the back of his head in the dark until she can no longer keep her eyes open.

The bed is shaking when she wakes.  It takes her some time to realize it’s Mulder, twitching and trembling beside her.  She puts her hand on his shoulder and he sits up with a hoarse cry.  He gulps for breath and she sits up as well, putting her arm around his back.  She can feel his heat and sweat through his t-shirt.

“Mulder?” she whispers.

He pulls away from her and stumbles out of bed, but stands in the middle of the room on shaking knees, obviously disoriented.  He shivers and rubs his arms, but it doesn’t help.  Scully isn’t sure if he’s cold or if it’s the effects of withdrawal from the ketamine.

“Mulder, come lay down.”

“I don’t want to,” he says.  “I was so close, Scully.”

“You only thought you were, Mulder.  It was the drug making you hallucinate.  That’s all.”

“No, I almost had it.”  He covers his face with both hands and shakes his head.  “You should’ve let me...you should’ve just let me…”

“Let you what?  Kill yourself for a false truth?”

“You don’t know that it’s false.”

“And you can’t trust that it was real.  It’s not worth dying for, Mulder.  And it certainly isn’t worth killing yourself for either.”

“Who would even care?”

“I would care!” she says forcefully, punching the bed in sudden frustration.

Mulder’s hands slip from his face, but he stays bent and tense in the middle of the room.  Hot tears gather in the corner of Scully’s eyes and it makes her angry.  She discretely swipes them away and turns to lay on her side, facing the wall.

“Honestly, how dare you,” she says, and doesn’t even care about the bitterness of her tone.

A few quiet minutes pass and then Mulder lays back down in the bed.  She tries to keep her breathing quiet through her gritted teeth, but she’s ready to snap with tension.  And then it all deflates when she hears Mulder suck in a breath and she knows he’s crying.  She rolls over and touches his face.  He turns towards her and curls up in a fetal position, the top of his head butting into her chest.  She sighs and runs her hand down from his neck, along his back, and then up to thread her fingers in his hair.

“Oh, Mulder.”  She sighs and presses her lips to his temple and he snakes an arm over her waist and holds on to her shirt.  She can feel his tears bleeding through to her chest and she knows the silk will be stained, but she doesn’t care.

“I just want to know,” he coughs.  “I need to know.”

She rubs his back again.  “I know,” she whispers into his ear.  “I know.  But, that wasn’t the way.”

He shudders against her and then shivers.  She reaches down and pulls the covers up and over them both.  She strokes his hair and sweeps the dampness from his cheek away with her thumb.

“Don’t leave me behind again,” she says.  “Whatever road you want to follow, Mulder, I’ll be right beside you.”

“You don’t have to do that for me,” he answers.

You have no idea what I do for you, she thinks.  What I have done for you.  “You’re my partner, Mulder,” she says.  “I wish you would remember that.”

His hand relaxes at her back and he lifts his head from her chest to look at her.  He’s staring at the point between her brows and she nearly lifts her hand to check for a nosebleed.  Just thinking about it makes her nose tingle.  She nervously licks the side of her mouth and finally, he lays his head back down against her chest.

“I wish you would too,” he says.

She closes her eyes and buries her nose in his hair.

The End

[sending-the-message]

About A Girl by kevinheartskye

I didn’t ride the bus. My mom went to work at six in the morning and as a result I was often dropped off in front of my high school at five-thirty in the morning. I was always the first one to homeroom, but Amanda was always the second person to show up with Skye close behind her. It was the last day of our freshman year when I had worked up the nerve to ask Skye to join me after school at the Youth Center. We had been dating ever since.

It was a nice thing. I was dating one of the prettiest girls in the school and each morning I’d have the better part of an hour to spend with her until the rest of the class showed up. The only real mar on this experience was that Amanda seemed hell bent on interjecting herself into every conversation. It was as if no one was allowed to have Skye’s undivided attention. We were halfway through our sophomore year when I realized I was starting to hate Amanda.

Don’t ask me why, but I got in my head that it would be a good idea to play a prank on her. It was a simple thing. I propped a five gallon bucket filled with water on top of the door to the classroom and left the door slightly ajar. The bucket leaned against the top of the door frame and I kept the door in place with a chair. Amanda would come bursting through as she always did and the water would drench her. I don’t imagine Skye would have been incredibly happy with me, but it would have at the very least conveyed the point to Amanda that I didn’t really like her all that much.

I made sure everything was in place and to my horror Skye burst through the door. In nearly four months of waiting for them to enter she had never come in first. The whole event played out in slow motion as she pushed on the door and the bucket came down bottom first. I watched as the hard plastic edge backed by forty pounds of water slammed down on the front of her head and cut deep into her forehead. The bucket bounced off her face and poured out onto the ground as Amanda ran in right behind Skye just in time to get her feet wet as her best friend fell unconscious and bleeding at her feet.

I stood there dumbfounded as Amanda dropped her books and started shouting for someone to call an ambulance. I walked over and knelt down in the water trying to hold Skye’s hand. Amanda batted my hand away and said, “What the fuck were you thinking Kevin?” I stuttered, “I-I thought…” Amanda interrupted, “You thought what Kevin? Speak up.” I gathered myself and said, “I thought you were going to be the one coming through the door.” I reached down to grab Skye’s hand and Amanda stood up and kicked me saying, “Get the fuck away from her you fucking psycho!” She then poked her head into the hall and screamed, “SOMEBODY HELP US!”

I didn’t make it to my first class that morning. I didn’t even get to see my girlfriend loaded onto an ambulance. The school security officer rushed in and saw Skye bleeding on the floor as a frantic Amanda pointed at me and shouted, “He did it!” The security officer grabbed my arm and wrenched it behind my back before leading me out of the room against my will. When the ambulance and police arrived I was cuffed and placed in police custody. The school suspended me until the end of the year and the local juvenile courts gave me a two year suspended sentence for reckless endangerment with a year of probation. On top of this, I did thirty days in Juvenile Hall during the summer. When it was all said and done, one simple prank had all but ruined my life. But my story doesn’t end there. If anything that was the first in a long series of unfortunate events that didn’t really make much sense until very recently.

I returned to school the following year as a Junior. The school had seen fit to make sure I was in a different homeroom than Amanda & Skye. Still, I paid a freshman kid five bucks to pass a note to Skye that read,

Skye,

I’m so incredibly sorry. I would have reached out before now but my parents lawyer told me not to contact you or Amanda. I just wanted to say that I am so very sorry that I messed up and hurt you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry.

I was sitting by myself at lunch when Amanda walked up to my table and threw the note at my tray saying, “Skye doesn’t want to talk to you. Leave her alone creep.” I shot back, “She’s more than capable of telling me that herself, why don’t you fuck off Amanda.” She smiled and said, “Okay, I will. It would be a shame if you were to violate your probation though.” At the time, I had no idea what she meant. In retrospect, I wish I had stood up right then and beat her to death right there on the spot.

We were a couple of months into the school year when it came time for the Fall Formal. I showed up alone and couldn’t help but stare as Skye and Amanda showed up in matching blue dresses. Skye had been wearing her hair down over her left eye ever since I had mistakenly given her a rather disfiguring scar from her brow to her hairline. Even with the scar, she looked absolutely stunning. What more, they both walked up to me. Amanda looked down at the floor and said, “I talked to Skye and well… I think she should say it herself.”

Skye looked in my eyes and said, “I don’t think we could ever really date again, but would you mind dancing with me tonight?” We danced to a few songs as Amanda wandered off on her own. It was a magical night. We danced for the better part of thirty minutes before we moved over to a table and started talking. Skye leaned over and said, “I forgot how much I enjoyed spending time with you.” It was a dream and I was so worried I was going to wake up. I replied, “I’m just surprised this is all happening.”

Amanda came over with drinks and handed one to each of us before pulling up a chair. I looked over and said, “You’re being uncharacteristically nice Amanda. Is this poison?” She laughed and said, “Oh Kevin, if I were going to kill you I’d use a knife.” It didn’t really answer my question but then again I was sixteen and I wasn’t exactly thinking anything could go wrong in that moment. I had Skye back, if only for a night. Amanda was being civil like the old days. The whole thing almost seemed like a happy ending of sorts. That’s the problem with happy endings though. That’s just where the story ends. If I ended the story here it would be a great place to fade to black and show some still image with a success story. Instead, I started feeling incredibly woozy and my body started tingling all over. No sooner than I could process what was going on, Amanda and Skye were walking away from the table.

Skye looked back if only for a moment and I saw a look in her eyes that I didn’t really understand at the time. It was almost as if she pitied me. I stumbled hazily toward them only to be met by the school security officer. Someone had called the school at told them I was selling drugs out of my locker at the Fall Formal. It didn’t help that I was somehow high as a kite. They popped open my locker and found a few grams of ketamine. Later testing would show that it had been added to the punch bowl as well. Despite my pleas that I was being set up and that Amanda had drugged me, no one was hearing it. My probation was revoked and new charges were levied.

I would be nineteen before I saw freedom again.

For almost three years I sat in a cell reading books and working out as I tried to get through the time itself. Some nights I’d lay there daydreaming about a life with Skye until I went into dreams of freedom. Eventually I stopped caring about what might of been and started focusing on what actually happened. It occurred to me that Skye had to have been on it. I told the story to my cellmate and he was like, “Dude it sounds like the bitch was in on it.” I don’t know why that had never occurred to me before that night laying in my bunk but from that point on I was able to clearly piece it together in my head.

Amanda and Skye had shown up to that dance with the intent of getting me arrested. While Skye kept me distracted, Amanda had to have gotten into my locker somehow and planted the drugs. Then, Skye led me over to the table and Amanda fetched us some drinks. That’s why neither her nor Skye was drugged. She dumped the extra in the punch bowl so it would look like I was pulling another prank. It had to have happened that way. Nothing else made sense. I spent my last year on the inside plotting and planning to kill Amanda, but that all faded away when I got out.

Amanda and Skye had gone off to college and I had to move in with my grandmother. I wasn’t on probation anymore and my juvenile record had been sealed, but for some reason every place I tried to apply for seemed to pick up on the fact that I had done time. No one was hiring me and no one from high school had any desire to hang out with me. I spent most of my time alone in the tool shed behind my grandmother’s house because it was the only rainproof structure on her property that was close enough to an open wifi network that I could actually get online. This was the winter of 2007.

I got onto this new thing called Facebook. I made a profile under the name Jim Stone and added most of my old friends from high school to get an idea of what happened while I was away as well as to have an excuse to check up on Skye and Amanda. I don’t think I was actually planning on hurting anyone at that point but I was still curious and obsessed. I had stopped taking my medication the day I left the prison and I had picked up a bit of a drinking habit. It wasn’t long until I figured out that Skye and Amanda were attending college at the local state university.

I walked past there a few times. It was your typical used book store on the court square. Rows of books in the back, a few coffee tables and a few sofas. Both girls sat at a register toward the front and neither saw me as I walked passed on several occasions. I learned their schedules. Skye would walk out with the deposit bag each night and Amanda would lock up and leave roughly fifteen or twenty minutes later. I brought a voice recorder with me and set it up so I could catch Skye by herself. I guess I figured if I could get her to admit that she and Amanda had set me up that I could get some sort of vindication or something. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking.

Skye walked past the alley where I had posted up and I jumped out behind her saying, “Did you really think you could get away with it?” She turned around and shrieked in terror. I stepped forward and said, “Admit it!” Skye took a step back and said, “I’m sorry Kevin, Amanda said it was the only way to make sure you’d leave me alone forever. I never even wanted to talk to you again.” I shot back, “You could have just told me that!” She was crying at this point and said, “I’m so sorry.” I said, “What are you sorry for?” as I leaned in closer. She all but whispered, “I’m sorry.” I was shouting at that point and said, “Sorry doesn’t give me a job or money Skye! No one wants to hire the girlfriend abusing drug dealer!” She pushed the deposit bag forward and said, “Just take it!” I was holding the deposit bag as I felt a sharp pain between my legs followed by an intense burning in my eyes.

Amanda had ran up from behind and kicked me square in the taint. As I went down she emptied a can of pepper spray into my eyes. In all the commotion she pulled Skye away from me. I rolled around on the ground for several minutes as I tried to push through the pain in my eyes and stand up. I had just made it over to the window of the bookstore when I could make out the blue and red flashing lights through searing pain that was my eyes.

I caught another charge for assault and attempted robbery. As an adult, I was sentenced to four years with the possibility of parole in two. I ended up serving three before being sent home because of overcrowding. One of the conditions of my release was that I go nowhere near Skye. Again, no sooner than I was outside the prison, I stopped taking my medication like the idiot that I am. I started to fixate again. I logged back into my old Jim Stone Facebook account and I was still friends with half the guys from high school. I went ahead and sent a friend request to Skye. It was 2011 and everyone was playing games on Facebook. I sent random game requests to Skye and after a while I started talking to her.

It was just casual conversation at first. She’d complain about her roommate being a control freak and how she wished she could just get away. I’d talk about work and how I couldn’t stand the customers that came into the gas station at night. This continued for about a month before she sent me a message that read, “Kevin, I think we should meet up.” I replied, “How long have you known?” She replied, “For a while now XD.” I balked at meeting up at first, but over the course of the next few weeks we built up a new rapport. She apologized for helping Amanda. I apologized for being so inconsiderate. I dunno, from there it almost felt like we were reconnecting and rekindling something that resembled a relationship. One day she suggested we meet up at the park. I jumped at the opportunity. I put on my best casual outfit and layered on the cologne.

I was sitting in a bench at the city park when I saw Skye and Amanda walking around the bend. Skye looked at me in horror as Amanda smiled from ear to ear. I ran up and said, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” I shouted this at Skye as Amanda’s smile turned to a look of contempt. She shouted, “Go away Kevin! Stop creeping on my best friend already! SOMEBODY HELP!” Before I could respond I was feeling a familiar searing pain in my eyes followed by what felt like a crowd of people kicking me while I was down.

The judge didn’t give two squirts of piss that I had a chat log showing a nearly six month conversation with Skye on Facebook that invited me to the park. I was on probation and there was a no contact order. More to the point, the prosecutor had a sworn statement from Skye and Amanda that neither one of them used social media. My lawyer subpoenaed their ISP and Facebook for information, but neither seemed content with handing over the information. In the end, I was charged with a parole violation and served out the rest of my sentence.

I had a long time to think about my life and my situation during that last year of incarceration. Up until that point I had neglected treatment and medication while I was free. I saw it as more of an inconvenience than anything else. Antipsychotic medication has a tendency to leave me feeling kinda groggy at times, but the results were hard to argue with. When I was medicated I was attentive and not really prone to stupid behavior. While medicated, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the decisions I had made.

I guess it just kinda clicked with me that in order to be a healthier person I had to stay with treatment and medication when I got out. I signed up for an online college while I was in prison and ended up transferring to their main campus when I was released. Having served out my time I was free of probation and parole for what was probably the first time in my adult life. The college had great support services and I even had a tutor to help me with some of my classes. In those next few years I ended up finishing an associates degree in electrical engineering and even snagged a decent job working for that very same college in their maintenance department.

I had my life back on track. I lived in a tiny house I had built myself with a girlfriend I had met at the college. We had a half an acre of land just on the edge of town and the makings of a decent life. Sure, I was a three time convicted felon with a psychotic disorder and a messed up past, but I had overcome that and moved on, or so I thought.

I was walking through campus checking on the relay boxes when I noticed Amanda. I walked passed her like she didn’t exist. In fact, I started seeing her in more and more places, but each time I made it a point to avoid her. It was only when I went back to my truck and noticed she was sitting in her car parked next to me that I knocked on her window and said, “Are you following me?” She started her car and drove off.

Just to be sure I scheduled an appointment with my psychiatrist and had a full mental-health check up. I wanted to make sure that my medication hadn’t suddenly stopped working. My psychiatrist told me to contact the police if I really believed Amanda was following me, so that’s what I did. I went down to the police station and filed a harassment complaint and listed Amanda as the individual I wanted to leave me alone. They took my statement but told me that there wasn’t much I could do unless she made any other action.

I told Charlotte, my girlfriend, about the whole ordeal. It was at that point that she informed me she had just accepted a friend request on Facebook from Amanda. I called the police again and gave them that information as well. For the next two weeks I started seeing Amanda in more and more places. I have to admit I was scared there for a while. I was worried that I was either hallucinating or even worse that I was misinterpreting everything and that I was just fixating again. Ultimately, I stopped seeing Amanda as much and that was when everything flipped on its ear.

Charlotte met me at the door after work with a letter from Skye. I didn’t even open it. I went back to the dining room table and opened up my laptop to play some Fallout before winding down for the night. That letter sat on my counter for a week before I finally gave into curiosity and opened it.

It read:

Kevin,

I don’t even know what to say to you. When I found out the extent Amanda went to to punish you, I couldn’t even recognize her anymore. I’m not innocent in all of this, but you have probably figured that out by now. Amanda convinced me that if I distracted you at the dance you’d leave me alone forever. I mean, at the time she had me convinced you were stalking me and that she was intercepting letter after letter you were sending me, but that proved to be a lie. Like most things with Amanda, everything she did was some scheme or plan to make herself seem like my knight in shining armor.

I’ve been in therapy for the better part of a year now and one of the things I’ve had to make peace with is my part in what Amanda and I did to you. You aren’t innocent either. You had drunkenly accosted us at one point. Though I think the absolute worst is when Amanda catfished you and brought me to the park just so she could reinforce her narrative that you were a crazy stalker. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for going along with what she did. At the same time, I still resent the scar on my face. If you hadn’t put me in that situation I don’t think I would have ever felt like I needed someone like her. But I’m getting away from the point here. The thing is I’m sorry and if you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I think I might feel a little better. — Skye

I showed the letter to Charlotte and asked her if she had any opinion on the subject. She responded, “There’s a phone number on the back of the letter. I think you should tell her you’re sorry too and leave it at that.” I nodded and pulled out my phone and dialed the number. It rang twice and then a voice on the other end of the line said, “Hello. Who’s this?” I responded, “Is Skye there?” The voice shouted, “Skye! It’s for you!” A few seconds later Skye answered, “Skye speaking, who’s this?” I replied, “It’s Kevin.” She replied, “Kevin, how did you get my phone number?” I was on speakerphone and Charlotte ripped the phone out of my hand and said, “Because that crazy bitch Amanda sent my fiance a letter from you with your phone number on the back of it. You two need to leave my man alone or I’ll fucking cut you bitches!”

I was taken aback and a little impressed with Charlotte. Skye started sniffling and crying on the other end of the line and said, “That fucking bitch! I didn’t send any letter and I don’t talk to Amanda anymore…”

What followed was a twenty minute conversation between Charlotte and Skye on speakerphone as I sat in the background and listened to the story from Skye’s point of view. Apparently Amanda had spent the better part of ten years telling Skye I was an obsessive stalker and luring me to various encounters so she could prove herself a valued friend. In the end, Amanda made a pass at Skye and when Skye rejected her, Amanda basically admitted to everything she had written as Skye in the letter and declared that Skye would never find another person willing to go to those lengths for her, but then Skye said something that changed everything in my mind. It was toward the end of her conversation with Charlotte when she said, “The worst part is that day the bucket hit me, Amanda told me to run in first and jump in Kevin’s lap. The bitch knew about the bucket and wanted me to get soaked. Me getting injured was just icing on the cake…”

It was in that moment that I realized my entire life of hardship and bullshit was in part because some crazy chick had a crush on my girlfriend and decided to destroy me as a result. Medication or not, I couldn’t process that kind of stress. I stood up and walked outside as Charlotte finished her conversation with Skye. They would continue to talk and become friends over the course of the next few weeks as I made it a point to see my therapist twice a week there for a while to try and work out the mountain of issues that welled up inside of me because of that revelation.

Skye and Charlotte became fast friends. It wasn’t long before Skye was coming over to sit with Charlotte or that they would go out together. Skye had started dating a guy named James and we hit it off instantly. Before long it was barbecues and beer with football on Sundays. The womenfolk would do their own thing and I had something I’d never bothered to look for until that point, a friend. James was in the National Guard and during one of his weekends away, Charlotte invited Skye to stay with us. All was going well until one night I woke up to a crashing sound in the living room. I got out of bed to see Amanda holding Skye with a knife to her throat. Charlotte filed out of bed behind me and said, “I take it this is Amanda?” Amanda shouted, “You think you get to have a happy ending? You think you get to have the girl and a life? You’re going back to prison Kevin. I’m going to kill everyone here and make it look like you did it. It’s not the first time I’ve set you up?”

I was going to respond but Charlotte spoke up saying, “Bitch, have you ever heard the line Maybe She’s Not That Into You? You aren’t killing me and you damn sure aren’t killing Skye…” Amanda pulled a gun with her free hand and shot Charlotte in the forehead. Brain matter and viscera sprayed out from the back of her head and splashed me. Skye struggled against the knife and Amanda stabbed her in the throat before letting her fall to the ground. Amanda then smiled and walked forward before reaching out and hand the gun toward me grip first.

The sound of the gunshot had alerted the neighbors and I could hear sirens in the distance. Amanda picked up on this and said, “Take the gun asshole. Be the hero. Skye coughed up blood as Amanda kept shouting for me to take the gun. I took the opportunity to punch Amanda square in the jaw before turning to run out the back door. No sooner than I had cleared the doorway, I heard another gunshot and felt the splintered wood hit me in the back of the neck.

I made it out into the front yard before Amanda shouted, “STOP!” and fired another shot. The police pulled into my driveway and jumped out of their cars guns drawn. Amanda shouted, “This asshole just stabbed my girlfriend and shot his fiancee in the head. He has a gun!” I put my hands over my head and knelt down as I shouted, “This crazy bitch just killed my fiancee and her best friend! I’m unarmed!” Amanda put down her gun at their request and the both of us were cuffed and taken down to the station as Skye was loaded into an ambulance. I sat down at the station for the better part of four hours before an officer came in to get my statement. After it was all said and done, I was released and told to go home.

As I walked out of the interrogation room, I couldn’t help but see Amanda sitting in the adjacent room smiling from ear to ear as she stared at me. I don’t know what to expect from here on out, but at least that crazy bitch is going to be in prison for the next twenty years. As for me, I have to bury my fiancee.