#there's also something about this seemingly unopened smell coming from the book that is slightly intoxicating to me...

[kaoarika]

From my recent haul, I gave in and bought Smile: (Ryo Ikuemi's) The 40th Anniversary of Debut Special Book, because I was curious and no one else clarified to me what this was, tbh.

It's basically that: a book that collects many things about Ikuemi's career as a mangaka, including comments about her own series, what media adaptations they have had received (up until that point in 2019), what I assume is the "stapples" of what kind of elements or nods she would include in her series (literature, animals, fashion), her favorite pages of a selection of her series (including illustrations), a few interviews and a handful of homages/contributions in this book made by other contemporary artists and/or friends.

And I mean, it's a nice book. I appreciate the timelines for context of her career and for all the media adaptations her series have had (including a few records and "audiobooks", which I think are what we know these days as Drama CD, because, well, these were released in cassette form, too? at the time, I meant, lol).

The pages and the illustrations are a delight to see.

I cannot collect everything of hers (imagine that, lol), but some pages' panellings are simply gorgeous, like the one in the left above?

What I was slightly? disappointed was the limited illustrations' selection. I don't think that Ikuemi has had another illustration book of hers (The Best of Ryo Ikuemi [1990-1994] is the one that I bought last year), besides that one co-joint exhibition she did a few years ago? so it would have been such a nice thing to have more illustrations in color (don't remind Shuei*sha that their Betsuma Memorial website is still up, lmao)... like, I apreciate that it has some from her first couple of series, which, I mean. Especially POPS. It's the one series that put her on the map and it should mean a LOT to her. I also appreciate that it basically tells you about her artistic evolution in those 40 years.

(I'm only posting only this one, which is pretty resumed, lol, from 1988 towards the 2010s, but man, if those two in the right-center page aren't... really something)

I did mention it contains some contributions, like essays and a few fan comics made by other artists. I SAY, "contemporaries", but what I meant is more like "well, she has been doing manga for so long... so... I feel it's more like, friends? of her. I do know, for example, that she considers Nakahara Aya (LoveCom, DameKoi) as a friend, but she is absent here. Mangaka like Shiina Karuho and Obata Yuki, or Kawahara Kazune and Sakisaka Io, include some fan comics of hers. Interestingly, it's neat seeing how Shiina or Kawahara try to imitate her style.

(this is from Kawahara's contribution, based on Torch Song Ecology)

There's also what I assume (there's too much "assume", because I don't read much JPN and Google Lens doesn't work in my 5 year old phone to try and use Translate) is like a lost? chapter of I LOVE HER, that seem to happen in the middle of some events... but, it's drawn in more recent times (given the art style is more close to her recent stuff than, well, early 90s I LOVE HER) and it's kind of cute. It has this sketchy look more like a manuscript, so.

I really wish Ikuemi's work was more... oficially widely available (or, heck, more fan tl'ed... or AT LEAST complete... some series of hers that catch my attention, and turns out they haven't been continued in years...). I always seem to ask for her works to be licensed here in Mexico (or at least what I think are more "accessible" due them being "recent" or at least, a bit more well known), because... well, Ikuemi's works are a bit strange in general as they don't tend to fit into a "cookie-cutter" mould of shojosei series (especially those that were published in Betsuma between the 90s and 2000s). But, man, I want that kind of "strange" shojosei manga here and let her be more well known (I say "strange" because they tend to be... strange, lol - I'm currently reading My Beloved Niina/Niina, my love, and MAN that series is a storytelling mess -and without doubts, because I feel like, as it was being published online, and Ikuemi was ALSO working on another few series or one shots at the time... and the quality in the story? it shows; no wonder she doesn't seem to say much on the Special Book about it... I have been enjoying it, but the final stretch...)

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 8 - Welcome to Our Freakshow

_____

Stirring awake, she tries opening her eyes, finding that it's exceptionally difficult due to her drowsy state. She waits a moment, collecting her bearings and slowly coming to the realization that, instead of leaning against a wall like she remembers doing, that she's laying on her back, on a seemingly cushioned surface. Like a bed. That's strange... did she sleepwalk? Or get up and get back in her bed? But she doesn't recall such a thing. Maybe she was just too tired to pay attention.

That dream though... This time, the dream was a bit... different than usual. There wasn't any static, there weren't any dead bodies, she wasn't in a completely different setting. All she remembers is feeling a rush of adrenaline, a moment of panic, then blackness. It was definitely odd, not that she's complaining any. If she had dreams like that all the time instead of whatever she's been experiencing recently, she'd be a lot more at ease. She can faintly remember seeing someone, or something, in front of her, trying to keep her quiet. It looked a little familiar, but she can't seem to figure out why. 

This dream was a lot more up-close and personal, though. And it felt so... so real. Realer than her others have been, which is pretty baffling. What did the figure look like? Mostly black, with some dark blue? And a type of inky liquid? The whole incident is blurry to her, though she assumes it's because her mind wanted to make it all unnerving. 

That voice, though. She knows she's heard that voice, before. Where? That's a total mystery to her, but maybe with some thought about the matter, she'll be able to place it. Or maybe it's all just in her head and she's never heard that voice in her life. She brings her hands up to rub her face, attempting to wake herself up a bit more so she can actually open her eyes and finally gathers the energy to sit up, if only slightly. As her eyes adjust to the moderate amount of sunlight spilling through the crack of the currently shut curtains right beside her, the first thing she discovers is that the scenery is... well, completely different from the bedroom she was in previously.

It's much smaller, being only big enough to hold an average-sized mahogany dresser to her left, a bedside desk to her immediate right crafted of the same wood, and sitting atop that desk is a lamp with a candlestick shade, a glass of room temperature water, and an unopened small pack of crackers; the kind one would receive from a restaurant. A window with simple brown and red drapes sits directly beside the desk, and across from her, on the other side of the room, is a shut door. She's unsure if it leads outside or to a closet of some kind.

The wallpaper in the room is white with occasional, tiny flowers colored a delicate shade of blue printed onto it, and the floor is made of hickory hardwood, part of it is covered by a thin, maroon rug of oval shape. The musty smell that the room itself puts off gives her the idea that it hasn't quite been used in a while, though the small cobweb dangling in the corner of the ceiling proves that theory. Either that, or it just hasn't had a proper cleaning. 

Her heart skips a beat and she doesn't even try to slow her breathing for the time being. This isn't her bedroom, nor is it any other room in her Nana and Pops' house, at least not one that she can remember. As far as she can tell, she's in a whole other household completely. But why? Who brought her here? Her gaze travels down to her body, almost instantly seeing a bandaid stuck to the inward area of her elbow. What the heck...?

Instantly, she peels it away in one quick motion, tossing it aside and not giving the very brief discomfort it causes any thought, instead focusing solely on the barely-noticeable pinprick still very present in her skin. She knows what that is. That's where somebody stuck a needle into her arm. But who? And why? What did they inject her with?

This thought sends her mind into a frenzy as she fully comprehends the startling, unexplained situation, and she throws the blanket that had been apparently placed over her prior to her awakening away, and jumps to her feet, almost instantly being hit with a wave of dizziness once she does so. Shaking her head to rid herself of the disorienting feeling, she uses one hand to prop her body against the wall to ensure she doesn't fall down, and with the other, she pulls back the drapes hung in front of the window, sticking her head through the widened crack and squinting her eyes at the minor change in illumination.

She can barely see through the thick greenery grown in front of the glass and obscuring most of the outside world, though she manages to see the trees that surround, she assumes, the whole house. Her grandparents live in a heavily wooded area, yes. But she knows for a fact that the lawn around the length of their house is almost completely free of trees. She isn't in her grandparents' house anymore. So where is she? And how did she get here?

Without a stroke of hesitation, she curls her fingers beneath the bottom rim of the window, and with one swift tug, attempts to open it, trying again when it doesn't work. She doesn't know why she's here, and she refuses to stay long enough to get that information. If it weren't for this being totally unfamiliar territory to her, sure, she may have stuck around until someone explains it to her. But not only does she get a bad feeling from this room, this place, but she also has plenty of reasons to want to escape. 

It's very apparent to her that she was drugged and brought here against her will. How? Beats her, although she isn't going to stop long enough to question it for too long. With wide, frantic eyes, she searches for a lever to unlock the window, seeing two of them on opposite sides of the frame and instantly pulling them toward her. Hopefully, this will actually work this time. She spends the next two minutes yanking upward on the window, hoping to the highest heavens that it will eventually fly open so she can get out. Her grandparents must be worried sick if they've been calling for her, and looking for her, and she isn't even in the house. She doesn't know where she is.

How long has she been gone? There isn't a clock in the room so she can't actively check, but she assumes it has to be around nine o'clock in the morning, given the angle of sunshine flooding in through the trees. It's only a guess, though. "Come on, just open, you stupid thing..." she mutters, really not wanting to use the door as her escape route. But if it has to be done...

Finally giving up on the window with an aggravated slap against the glass, she twists around, searching desperately for a weapon of sorts. If she has to wander out of this room in an unknown, likely dangerous house, then she sure as heck doesn't want to go out unprepared. Quietly, yet hurriedly, she opens the drawers to the dresser, then the one attached to the small desk, but to her misfortune, finds nothing. Everything is empty. 

She looks beneath the bed, under the rug, behind a door that she discovers leads to the closet, though still sees nothing whatsoever that could be of use to her. It's almost comical how utterly defenseless she is right now, and she would laugh if she wasn't so terrified. Chewing on her bottom lip nervously, she feels worried tears prick at her eyes as she hesitantly walks toward the still-closed door, the one she is now confident leads to the rest of the house, and reaches out, wrapping her fingers around the knob.

With a deep breath and a mental pep-talk, she tries to twist it, her heart dropping when it, too, doesn't move. She tries again, after all, maybe it's just stuck? Nope. Whoever brought her here has locked her in and now she has no way of possible escape. What should she do now? The window obviously isn't going to budge, but should she keep trying? Or just wait until somebody eventually comes inside and attack them? It doesn't look like she has another option. 

Her gaze shifts back over to the desk, then to the water still sitting untouched on its surface. Of course it's untouched. What is she going to do? Drink it? Only an idiot would do such a thing. But... that does look like a rather heavy glass. Heavy enough to lob at someone's head and hope they get knocked cold? Guess there's only one way to find out. 

She snatches it up, not caring about the drops of water that fall to the floor from the action, and stands only a couple of feet in front of the door, drawing her arm back and getting ready to throw her only defense mechanism at the first thing she sees come into the room. Maybe she'll catch them off-guard, at least long enough that it will enable her to get out, for the most part, unharmed. Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait for very long, for soon she hears footsteps outside before the knob turns and the door slowly swings open.

Not taking time to pay attention to many details of the person entering the room, she launches the glass at them though only manages to strike them in the shoulder, the water from inside splashing out and either soaking that area of their clothes or hitting the floor, the glass following closely behind and breaking into several different pieces. The person releases a grunt of surprise, flinching back slightly and looking down at the makeshift weapon hurled at him, then shifting his gaze back up to the h\c-haired girl standing warily ahead.

She would have used that as a distraction and booked it past him and out of the room, and that's what she originally intended, had it not been for the unusually tall figure still standing in front of the door, blocking her path and making it impossible without a struggle. Dang, I should've waited until he was farther inside to actually throw it...

Once he tilts his head back up in her direction, she sucks in a sudden breath and hurriedly backs away in a mixture of fear and shock, trying to comprehend the sight before her but having quite a bit of trouble. That's what he looked like. That's what the figure in her dream looked like. Seeing him now, in real life rather than just her mind, she can remember that. This is why she felt so afraid. He's terrifying...

But it was just a dream. It should have just been a dream. Is he the one who brought her here, wherever 'here' is? She backs away so fast that she runs into the foot of the bed, nearly tripping though able to catch herself before she actually falls, and continues until her back hits the wall. He stands in the same place, staring at her through the black, empty pits replacing his eyes and realizing how alarmed she clearly is. Not that he can blame her for that.

He raises his hands in a non-threatening manner, keeping his posture mellow and speaking, voice deep. "Y\n... I know what you're thinking."

It knows my name? It knows my freaking name?? Her breathing quickens and her eyes frantically avert around the room, trying to find something, anything, to use as a potential weapon, but her luck runs dry. She stays silent, waiting to see what move he'll make, if he'll even make a move. 

"...But you're okay. No one's gonna hurt you." He takes a small step forward, keeping his hands up to show her he isn't holding anything. She only backs farther up into the wall, narrowing her eyes up at him and remaining silent. "You were brought here so we could protect you."

'We'? There's more of them? She parts her lips, nervousness coursing through her veins as she contains the tears trying to spill over and onto her cheeks. "Wh...who are you?" She tries to make it sound like a fearless demand, but it comes out as a meek whisper. No, stop it! He can smell fear!

He hesitates a moment. "You... don't recognize me, but I'm Jack." Her eyebrows furrow incredulously as she stares at him, gaze unwavering. "What I told you about moving here with my mom, that was a lie. I do live here, but... I'm with a group of people. Not my mom."

"I don't believe you," she manages to spit out, tone venomous and looking past him, through the door, into what seems to be a hallway. This... this seemingly eyeless freak is Jack? No, Jack was normal. This person isn't. But she has to admit, his voice does ring some bells in her mind. 

"You don't have to. Point is, you're here for protection. Nobody here is going to hurt you in any way, you don't need to be scared." 

Right, and I should trust the guy who drugged, kidnapped, and brought me here to his 'group' against my will for what reason? "Let me go," she says, voice hardening and muscles tense. He shakes his head, taking another step forward.

"That's something I can't do."

"I don't want to be here. Let. Me. Go." Her hands clench into anxious fists, heart pounding what feels like a thousand miles an hour as he takes yet another cautious step forward. Maybe I can incapacitate him then run like a madwoman through the door. 

"You need to stay here. Somebody dangerous is after you, and this is the only place you'll be safe."

"Says the one who shoved a needle into my arm and pumped me full of whatever-the-heck it was you used to knock me out with," she retorts, fiery attitude returning in full form due to the alarming and unexpected circumstances. She hears him let out a sigh, muffled by his navy blue mask. 

"I only did that because I knew you wouldn't come with me willingly."

"Oh gee, I wonder why." She scoffs, eyeing the door now a couple of feet behind him and contemplating her chances. Just come a little closer, buddy. I dare you. 

"Look... I know you're scared and don't know what's going on. I can explain it to you, you just... need to pay attention." He steps even closer. "We don't want to hurt you."

"Yeah...?" Her timid, soft tone is very intentional, and he tilts his head slightly at the sudden shift in expression and eases even nearer. 

"Yes, Y\n. I promise." She uses the wall to brace herself as she lines her foot up with her target, mentally preparing herself for what she's about to do. 

"Wish I could say the same." Before he has time to react, she brings her knee up and forcefully rams her foot between his legs, causing him to double over in pain and give her enough time to dart past him and through the door, grabbing the knob as she does so and slamming it shut behind her to spare herself as much opportunity as she can. Briefly, she checks for a lock, only seeing a keyhole and figuring out he must have the key, so she glances to the right, thankfully spotting what she guesses is a door to the outside world. 

She rushes down the hallway, past another door across from the room she was just trapped inside, and directly into a small living room with nothing but a maroon sofa slid in front of a covered window, an armchair at a 90-degree angle, and a coffee table in front of both with a few meaningless items scattered on top of it that she could care less about. Heading straight for the door, she turns the brass lock up and yanks the door open, blinded by her motivation to escape and be as fast as humanly possible. 

Yep, just as she suspected. She's surrounded by forest, overgrown grass, and overall a poorly maintained lawn. She can only hope that she doesn't trip over any of the obstacles between her and freedom. What's most hazardous is the fallen branches and rocks hidden by foliage, so hidden in fact, that she wouldn't know that they were there until she was eating dirt. The sun's light is mildly obscured by the large number of trees looming over her, but she can see her surroundings clear enough that it shouldn't cause a problem, at least not one too big. 

She leaps off of the small, wooden porch and into the lengthy grass, using it as momentum to gain more speed and hurrying in-between the many trees. She has no idea where she is, but the trees seem to be, overall, the same kind that grows around her grandparents' house, so she has hope that she's at least in the same general area. Could she have been hauled off to a whole other state? Surely she wasn't asleep for that long, right? ...Right?

She sticks her hands out and swipes the brush and low-hanging branches out of her way so she doesn't get stabbed in the eye and have her vision rendered. That would be a very bad thing, so of course, she wants to avoid it. Occasionally, she feels the sharp impact of various plants scratch up her arms, twigs getting caught in her hair, and briars sticking through the thin material of her socks since she didn't have any shoes on while sleeping, though ignores it, for the most part, focusing on finding a trail, a road, something other than pure forest. Something to lead her back to civilization so she can get hold of the police, and in hindsight, contact her grandparents. They must be so worried about her. How long has she been gone?

The temperature isn't extremely hot yet, but she suspects it will be steadily rising the later into the day it gets. Adrenaline pumps through her body, her mind not fully able to comprehend what just happened. Did she really just escape her kidnapper? How often does that happen? Maybe she does have a chance of survival, after all. Well... she does as long as she doesn't get caught, again. If he wasn't intending to hurt her before, he for sure will after being kicked in the nuts. She's no dude, but she can imagine that getting hit in such a... sensitive area, can't feel very good.

Not that she cares about that right now, anyway. He had it coming. Past the erratic beating of her heart, she can hear the crunching of greenery beneath her feet as her speed gradually increases. The farther away she gets from that house, the more of a chance she has to escape. But then he'd track her down, again. He knows where she's staying. He took her from her own temporary home. But then does that mean... what did he do to her grandparents?

She's shaken from her thoughts when she hears the faint bark of a dog, the sound drawing closer and closer no matter how fast she runs. Oh no... They have a freaking dog, too? Now I'm dead for sure! Quickening her pace does nothing whatsoever, and not even a minute later the barking is so close by she swears the dog itself has to only be a few feet away. Oh no, oh no, oh no, please don't—

A sudden blunt force takes hold of her ankle and tugs her back, causing her to lose her balance and fall forward with a pained grunt as the force becomes firmer. She isn't stupid, she knows that the dog just bit her, and she likely isn't going to coax it into letting her go. After all, if that guy and his friends regularly kidnap random people then they probably have a lot of runaways. This is nothing new to the dog. 

She can hear the dog's low, threatening growls from behind her as its teeth sink through her pants and into the flesh on her leg, hard enough to leave indents but she doubts it will draw blood. She could be wrong, though. Her breathing is quick as she attempts to collect her bearings, wanting desperately to get away before whoever owns the dog comes to collect her and send her to the inevitable... whatever they do to the people they forcefully take here. 

She swallows a cry of fear, keeping her eyes planted down to the dirt that broke her fall and meekly trying to pull her leg out of the dog's mouth. It becomes apparent to her that it isn't going to let go when it shakes its head and drags her a couple of inches backward, heightening the volume of its snarl. It sends another bolt of pain up through her ankle, and she winces, wracking her brain for solutions to this particular situation. If only she had watched more National Geographic then maybe she'd know what do to when a potentially rabid dog attacks...

Maybe... it plays fetch. Yeah, she mentally scoffs, 'fetch the human'. Unfortunately, she doesn't see any stray sticks around that could be thrown, not that she could reach very far even if there were. Hesitantly, she twists her head around to look at her captor, eyes widening when she meets the narrowed ones of an unusually large Husky, its gaze boring into hers and sending another twinge of pain through her leg when it bites down harder. 

Her eyes travel down to the inflicted ankle, seeing not pointed, regular canines, but instead flat, human-like teeth, greatly catching her off-guard and making her gulp. What has she been thrown into? First some guy without eyes leaking some black, runny goop from his sockets, now a dog with human teeth? What's next, cyborg zombies from space? How does this even exist? It should be impossible.

But here she is, and here it is, latching onto her leg without mercy and being very real. "H-hi, doggy..." she starts, voice shaky and soft as to not alarm it and send it into full-on attack mode instead of just catch-and-keep mode. It releases another unfriendly growl, its eyes holding aggression. It's obvious this animal—if you could even call it that—isn't trustful of her in the least. Something she considers very hapless. "Let me go, please..."

She's so distracted by the freakish-looking dog that she doesn't hear somebody else steadily approaching, not until they're standing directly above her, their shadow blocking the sunlight and casting shade over her body. She doesn't even want to look up for fear of seeing something even stranger than a dog with actual human teeth but also doesn't want to seem weak in front of a possible deranged psychopath. What's the worse it could be though?

Don't jinx it, Y\n. Giving into both temptation and her strong urge to remain as bold as possible, she cranes her neck and her eyes trail up, taking notice of his converse shoes, ripped jeans, white hoodie with... questionable red stains, and shoulder-length black hair. Interesting style. His eyes are a bright, icy shade of blue, and the bottom portion of his face is covered with a black bandana being used as a makeshift mask. Why would he need a mask? Ya know what, I don't wanna know.

"Well, hello, girlie," he says, voice low and gruff as he stands in a casual-looking demeanor and gazes down at her. "Ya know, it's rude to leave without saying goodbye." She sends him a glare, her tone mundane and holding a sense of obviousness.

"We never even met." He raises an eyebrow in response, bending his knees and squatting down closer to her level.

"And whose fault is that?" She doesn't answer, instead continues mildly struggling against the dog's grasp and glancing at him expectantly. He looks at her with the same expression. 

"Call it off." She assumes that this canine belongs to him, either that or he's used to its presence because he isn't freaking out about it. He stares down at her, unblinking, and the dog bites down harder, making her intake a sharp breath of discomfort. "Please. It hurts."

"Oh, it hurts, does it?" He takes his hand and pulls his 'mask' down around his neck, revealing the very noticeable scars that look to have been messily carved into his cheeks, forming a crooked, permanent smile. She withdraws slightly, a bit alarmed by his disfigured face. Sure, it's definitely freaky and raises inquiries, but it's not as unnerving as random men showing up with featureless masks and no eyes who kidnap you in the middle of the night. "I do believe that's the point."

She stays silent, taking in his odd attributes. Those cuts, no matter how healed they may be, look like they could burst open any second. Did he do that to himself? What kind of sick freak would carve a smile into their face? Then again, who would own a dog with human teeth? He smirks—at least, she thinks it's a smirk—and leans in closer, causing her to scoot farther away. Well, as far away as she can get, considering her current restraint. 

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He's probably well aware of the thoughts racing through her mind and is taking pleasure in making her uncomfortable, but her expression hardens, not willing to show him that he's getting to her. 

"No." She takes a glimpse at the dog still holding onto her tightly, refusing to let her go. "Dog got my ankle." He snorts in what she takes as amusement, his gaze shifting down to the dog briefly as well before he meets her eyes again. 

"Fair enough." He snaps his fingers, rising to his full height and pulling the bandana back up over his mouth and the bridge of his nose, once again hiding his slightly disturbing facial features. "Smile, let go." As soon as the command leaves his mouth, the dog, who she now knows is called 'Smile' for fitting reasons, immediately releases her ankle and takes a step away from her, attention on the male of average height. 

Once the action is completed, she flips on her back and sits up, bending her knee and examining the affected area. The bottom leg of her pants is not only soaked with saliva but also ripped in various places, and worse, she can see blood coming to the surface of the torn skin beneath. So I was wrong... Scowling at Smile, she rubs at her ankle, not even considering fleeing the scene again. Smile would most certainly catch her, and a failed attempt at escape isn't worth an injury, especially one disabling her to walk. 

"Good boy, Smile," he says, patting the dog affectionately on the head and earning an excited bark in response. "You have a fat, juicy steak in your near future." She rolls her eyes when Smile wags his tail, grumbling in protest and wincing when she hits a particularly raw area on her ankle. The man nudges her leg with his shoe, hard enough that it'll likely leave a bruise later, and she narrows her eyes up at him. "Hey, if you didn't want to be dog chow maybe you shouldn't have tried to run away."

"Well, maybe your buddy shouldn't have kidnapped me." 

"You kiddin'? Jack isn't my buddy. And I didn't even want you here, but the others thought it was the 'best call'." Before she has time to process it, she feels his hand wrap around her arm before she's effortlessly pulled to her feet, stumbling a bit and having to lean against a nearby tree for support since he let go as soon as she was up. "Trust me dollface; if it were up to me, you wouldn't even be here."

Her nose scrunches up in disgust at the abrupt and very much unwanted nickname, watching as he starts walking back in the direction she originally came from while he pulls out a phone, scrolling through something unknown with his thumb and looking back up at her as if waiting for her to do something. 

"Well? I don't have all day, ya know. I've got things to do." He signals ahead of him with his head, implying what he expects of her. She is currently zoned in on the small device in his hand, though. If she can get her hands on that, she'll be able to call the cops and get out of here. Back to her grandparents... if something hasn't been done to them. She will kill every person here if she finds out one of them killed or hurt her Nana and Pops, even if she dies in the process.

He continues staring at her for several more seconds, almost seeming confused as to what she's looking at so intently until he follows her gaze and it leads him to the phone. Raising his eyebrows knowingly, he grins from behind his mask, holding the device between his thumb and index finger and waving it in front of her face. 

"Oh, I see. You want this, don't cha?" She presses her lips together into a firm line, shifting her e\c eyes back up to his mostly-covered face and giving him an indignant glare. "What, you gonna call the police? Get us arrested?" A dark chuckle escapes his mouth, and he takes a step closer to her when she doesn't answer. "Lemme let you in on a little secret, girlie." She leans her head back as he gets way past her personal boundaries, staring her directly in the eyes as his entire aura grows dangerous and whispering. "Cops don't scare me. I've dealt with way, way worse than guns and tasers."

The mere tone his voice holds is enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up from unease, though she doesn't break eye-contact, no matter how much he may be trying to intimidate her right now. What the heck is wrong with this person! His words almost sound like a threat, and she has to hold her breath to stop it from shaking. 

"Keep that in mind next time you try and get out, k?" He brings his hand down onto her shoulder, giving it a rough pat before spinning around and continuing to walk ahead of her with Smile by his side, and she doesn't miss the way he discreetly pulls the shiny blade of his knife out of his hoodie pocket, in clear view of her, before putting it back and acting as if nothing happened. She gulps, quickly figuring out that this dude is not to be messed with. Not without proper defenses, at least. 

She tries to slow down her accelerated heartbeat, remaining completely still until he looks back at her with an evil glint in his icy-blue orbs, once again silently telling her to get a move on, to which she hesitantly obeys. If she were to try and run, she'd surely be caught. She doesn't want to get on this guy's bad side, not until she has a weapon of her own so maybe she'll have a fighting chance. Limping a few feet behind him, sharp pains zip up her leg each time she puts weight on the injury, and she stares at the man's back, watching as he presses the phone to his ear.

"I got her, don't send the others out to look." An incoherent voice erupts from the opposite line, and she tries to listen in on what's being said, though fails. "Well, call them back. It isn't that hard." What sounds like a scoff can be heard from the phone before he takes it away from his ear and shoves it back into his jeans pocket, seemingly done with the short conversation. "You better pick up the pace back there. I'm not gonna frickin' carry you if that's what you expect."

"Over my dead body," she retorts, though makes an effort to walk a bit faster to avoid making him mad, even at her disadvantage and the pain it causes. 

"That can be arranged. Smile." She eyes the dog warily as it raises its head in attention, subconsciously shifting closer to the male in front just so maybe she can use him as a sort of shield before she's completely mauled to death. "Shall we teach her not to say such a thing without actually meaning it?" Smile whines, she can't figure out if it's in agreement or confusion, but for her sake, she hopes it's the latter. 

"I do mean it." Her words are strong, a lot stronger than she expected considering the nerves jumping in her throat, but she's satisfied nonetheless. He's quiet a moment before clicking his tongue, glancing back at her with crinkled eyes, and shaking his head. 

"Heh. Ya know, maybe you won't be as annoying as I thought."

"Oh really? Gee, thanks," she mutters, biting the inside of her cheek and dreading what's to happen when she gets back to...Jack's house. He certainly won't react well to her reappearance considering what she did to him. Was he telling the truth? Is he actually the Jack that she met just a couple of days prior? But... she doesn't see how that could be possible. Jack looked like an actual human being, but this person looked completely different... He is wearing the same attire, though, and his voice is undeniably similar.

If that is the case, why would he bring her here, to a place full of weirdos, Jack himself being one of them? As far as she knows, they seemed to hit it off pretty well. So why would he kidnap and put her in danger? Cause he's a psycho. Just like Joker wannabe over here. 

"Now, I think we both know what happens if you try and get away, again." She stares at the back of his head, unimpressed, as she wraps her arms loosely around her torso to soothe herself a minuscule amount. "Not that I care, of course. Frowny face just wants you alive, I could give less of a crap whether you become Smile's dinner or not if I'm being honest."

"Yeah, you already established that. I appreciate the concern, really." Sarcasm practically drips from her voice, as she tries to form some kind of escape plan in her mind. 

"Hey, what else am I here for?" Rolling her eyes and releasing a small huff, she looks down at her ankle as it steadily leaks blood, knowing she'll have to doctor it soon before it gets infected. Who knows what that... thing is carrying? Considering her no doubt unfortunate situation, she shakes her head in disbelief.

My God... what is going on? And why am I involved with it?

[ive-been-out-walking]

It was almost comforting - the return of an old friend. A friend you fought with and then stopped speaking to for awhile, but then suddenly reappeared in your life. That sweet, aching familiarity. The tightness in your chest, shallow breaths. Quiet, insidious, velvety, like a very warm and heavy animal lying down on top of you.

___

The word felt too large - sticky - like a Butterscotch in my mouth. I turned it over a few times, nudging the edges with my tongue, trying to couch it with other thoughts. Smart thoughts. Independent thoughts. It still came out like Butterscotch. Saccharine, and a little old-timey. “Husband.” The cool girls in the matching haircuts and leather jackets exhaled seemingly coordinated puffs of smoke and giggled.

“Your husband,” one said in a strangled approximation of a sitcom wife. The other one stubbed out her cigarette with her Chelsea boot.

I laughed. I was in on this joke. “I know, right? I sound like someone’s mother. We’re getting so old right?” Sometimes the only way to get out is to dig deeper.

“When I get married, it’s going to be in a field, and all of our guests are going to officiate. Like, instead of a priest or whatever. It’s going to be very secular and like, humanistic,” said Haircut. “Sounds like of Manson-y,” quipped Boots, even though she was nodding.

I tipped my solo cup back and felt the cold vodka and fizzy soda water mix in the back of my throat. “It was so good catching up. Let’s get coffee soon,” I said, and walked back inside.

___

Four days ago I decided I didn’t want to take medicine anymore. Three days ago I emailed my psychopharmacologist. That night, I placed one of the small white tablets into a pill cutter I borrowed from a friend’s house and never returned, gently squeezed shut, and cut the minuscule tablet into two impossibly, ridiculously small halves. It felt absurd that a half of a pill, already so small, now halved and nearly disintegrating in my sweaty palm, could produce any effect at all. I shrugged, to no one but myself - shrugging alone is still a wonderful expression of indifference - and washed it down with a bit of warm Pamplemousse LaCroix.

___

Today I woke up and couldn’t do anything. Well, I suppose that’s a stretch. After an hour of lying prostrate in bed with the sun streaming in through the open section of roman shade, I laboriously rolled over and checked my email. Bank stuff. J.Crew sale. More than one feministy newsletter.

As I sat up I realized I had to pee, immediately. I scrambled out of bed, down the short hallway and sat on the toilet, still scrolling through my phone. The cat jumped into my lap. After a few pats, I nudged her off, got up, flushed the toilet and…. And what? What was today even supposed to look like? Things without beginnings or ends or deadlines swam in my vision.

I stood, pantsless, in the hallway, cat weaving maniacally about my feet, meowing wantonly for breakfast. Frozen, I tried to push myself toward the stairs. Downstairs is coffee, breakfast, a laptop, even the TV news if I can’t stand the silence (I never can). But it wasn’t enough. The floor felt progressively colder under my bare feet. The cat gave up and sulked on the top stair. I pivoted back towards the bedroom, stepping lightly (though no one was home to judge or hear me), and climbed back into bed.

___

It’s night time. And a Friday night. Not that that matters. Days of the week bleed together, like one long, amber-colored day. Dappled light fading in and out. I got three parking tickets because I didn’t leave my house for two days, simply forgetting what day it was outside. (It was street cleaning day.)

I cook. Not from recipes, but from memory and habit, thinking of what my mom’s hands look like when they’re cooking these same meals from memory. I mix a bit of Dijon and pepper into soy sauce, and then, without thinking, dip my finger in and taste.

I’m back in my childhood home with the linoleum floor painted to look like terracotta tiles. I’ve pulled a green and yellow step stool from the hallway to stand on, allowing me to reach countertop height. She’s making skirt steak and mixing soy sauce, mustard, and pepper to make a sauce for it. Her pantsuit is a little wrinkled, jacket off now, and her blouse is unbuttoned enough that I can see a very sensible looking, flesh-toned bra peeking out. She smells like leather, a little bit of stale coffee and Annick Goutal base notes, lingering from the morning’s careful spritz. The bright, unforgiving kitchen fluorescents shine a halo around her head, blonde flyaways catching the light and dancing. She tucks a disobedient piece of hair behind her ear and smiles down at me.

It’s Friday night. I’m a woman now, still younger than she was then but not by so much anymore. The mustard and soy sauce don’t really mix. The mustard sort of curdles, but I don’t actually care. I lick the spoon and pour the concoction over some chicken, putting it in the oven.

___

Everything suddenly feels so close to the surface. It’s bubbling up from the Mariana Trench of antidepressantland, three years dormant. I’ve read that there are creatures down there that evolve without eyes because it’s so dark that they become evolutionarily useless. I assume that’s what my anxiety looks like. A big fish with teeth and no eyes, swimmingly around in a very dark, deep trench. It’s searching for food but I’m trying not to feed it. Unfortunately, food is abundant in the form of unopened bills, flagged emails, and crippling self-doubt.

Weird, disconnected, unexpected things bring me joy like walking slowly around the reservoir listening to a podcast about forgotten moments in history, but when attempts at recreating that joy are made, they fall horrifyingly, blankly short. The following day I feel joy doing laundry. Methodically sorting it into piles, guessing which garment is which by touch alone (eyes closed). Watching the indoor succulents grow in their little ceramic pots, or putting something back on a shelf so that it fits perfectly. I try to remember what used to give me joy. It feels far away. I can’t really grapple with that today, anyway. I’m not feeding the fish.

____

From where I stand at the kitchen sink washing dishes, I can see directly into the neighbor’s kitchen window. It’s oddly cinematic - a cleanly squared-off rectangle of color in a sea of darkness. I don’t know them (this is LA after all), but from what I can see, they’re like us. Young, relatively well-off, slightly left of center. They also have a tabby cat.

The husband (boyfriend?) could easily look up and see me, seeing him, but it would be unnatural to look up that way and so he never does. His wife passes by and gives him a kiss on the neck. I blush now, feeling like I’m intruding on their intimacy. It’s not sexual, and so I feel even stranger. Do they know I’m up here? So close that I can see their sweet expressions.

My husband comes up behind me, putting his hands on my waist and laughingly asks if I’m spying.

I feel as if we’re two mirrors, reflecting diagonally back at one another through the windows.

_____

Tomorrow I’ll wake up and it will be Saturday. A day when relaxing and languishing inside with a book and many cups of coffee is celebrated rather than frowned upon. People will post things like “Thank god it’s the weekend” on Facebook and I will like them because I do like the feeling that I’m doing the same thing everyone else is. Today, we are all unemployed, if only for 2 days every 5. Perhaps all this fitting in will even convince me to go out, see a friend, figure out what to say when they ask me about my life these days.

My voice is a little hoarse at first. I haven’t said much out loud, not one to fill my own silence with my own noise. Sometimes the loudness of a coffee shop echoes off my ears after so much silence, pinging around wildly inside my head, making it hard to think clearly. Sometimes I’m just grateful to hear people’s voices that aren’t on my TV. I notice more now. The way a girl stands, one foot tilted in, as she writes what seems to be an emotional text message. The barista’s curly mop of hair that he self-consciously combs with his fingers while taking an order. The hot dad, holding his kid’s hand, aggressively not making eye contact with any of the surrounding women.

Going home feels like solace. Maybe it should feel bad but it doesn’t. It feels like being wrapped in a blanket right out of the dryer. The TV voices are keeping me company on low volume, only the consonants pulling my attention. It’s the pitter patter of quiet life.