#these pics are missing someone pounding me into the mattress

[cross-eyed-boy]

tboy ass arch for a nice end of the week <3

(taking mirror selfies of my ass is my new favourite passtime :3)

[he/it]

[averyfawkes]

I wake up feeling wonderful and energized. I look and realize that I just slept in my underwear. I was so exhausted yesterday that I thought I would have a fever the next day. But this morning, I feel renewed and full of energy. I notice my morning wood poking out of my underwear. I was about to reach down and start jerking off when I heard this voice in my head.

I want to fuck someone. I'm so fucking horny. I hope I can find a tight ass to fuck soon. I'm so horny that I can fuck my pillow and shoot my load in it.

I realize how horny I am right now and simply jerking it off won't relieve it. I turn to my stomach and start rubbing my cock against my bed, humping the air as if I'm fucking someone. I got so lost in lust that I didn't notice that I'm actually leaking pre-cum right now. What is wrong with me? I need to pull myself together.

As much as I want to stand up and start my day, I find myself stuck in my bed, humping like there's no tomorrow, and almost on the verge of orgasm. I feel my body stiffening before I moan while my cock shoots out into my mattress. I heave on my bed, trying to regain some sense of control in this situation. As I feel myself getting down from my orgasmic high, I slowly rise from my bed and see the mess I made. I reluctantly pulled away my bed cover since I just replaced it 2 days ago. I walk towards my washer and toss everything inside, along with my stained underwear. I decide to get a cup of coffee first before I shower, just to clear out my mind.

I brew a pot of coffee and put 2 pieces of bread inside the toaster. I should cook breakfast but I'm still feeling squeamish from what happened in my bed. I just let out a deep sigh and realized that I haven't cummed like that for quite a long time now. It's like my whole body is on fire and all I can think about is cumming my brains out. I guess being a doctor made me spend less time on dating that I haven't had any good fuck for a long time. I miss that, and I think I should get back into dating again.

Yeah, you should find huge, muscular men and have them fuck your ass until you can't walk.

Shit, how awesome it would be to install Grindr and find myself a nice hot stud that can fuck me until I can't walk. But I have lots of appointments for the day. I can't just skip all of that for a simple booty call. My patients need me and I want to be there for them when they do.

But I want to get fucked. I want to have a big, juicy dick pumping in and out of my asshole, or a tight, perky butt to pound into. Whatever is easiest to get right now.

But I can't concentrate on my work if I don't deal with this right now. I should call in sick for the day and spend the whole day browsing through all the gay dating apps that I know. Yeah, I think I will do just that. I open my phone and begin downloading a ton of gay dating apps, signing up for accounts, and setting up profiles. I feel so giddy and excited like a teenager but you can't blame me, I haven't tried this before. I'm used to taking the girl I like into romantic dates before waiting for the right time to ask them if they want to have sex with me. Wait, I'm gay right? I don't like women. Why did I date women back then?

Focus on setting up your account, time is running out and you need to get laid, fast.

I shrug my thoughts about women aside as I continue setting up my profiles in different apps. As soon as I finished it, I started to swipe right on anyone that tickles my fancy. They need to be taller than me, older than me, and have a more muscular body than me. Fucking them or getting fucked by them seems hot to me so I don't mind. Just 5 minutes from creating my accounts, I already got a match from a big bear of a man that is so my type. His profile says he's a bottom and a little submissive. He wants me to send him a picture before he agrees to go here in my house. I grin as I get up and walk into my bathroom to snap a decent pic. As I stare at my reflection, I think that I'm hot enough for this guy.

You need to get shirtless. And remember that leather harness you bought for a costume 2 years ago, wear that before you take a picture for this man.

I remember the leather harness that I brought 2 years ago when I was wearing a cop costume. I run up to my storage room and frantically look for that leather harness. As soon as I grab it, I run back to the bathroom, tear off my shirt, and snap a picture before sending it to my match.

He immediately replied and confirmed that he'll be here in 5 mins. I giggle since I never did this before. Letting a complete stranger into my house just for sex is not my usual thing to do but I'm horny and I need someone right now. I waited for five minutes and perked up when I heard the doorbell ring. Before I walk up to my door, I figured that I should put back my shirt since I'm meeting this stranger.

You look so hot right now. Greet him and put him in his place. He's a submissive motherfucker and you will fuck his brains out. You need to turn him on first and wear this leather harness with shirtless.

Nah, I look hot right now. I'll greet him like this and see his reaction. I run up to the door and slowly open it. I see a man staring hungrily at me. I immediately recognized him as my match in the app so I stood aside and let him in. He walks into my house without breaking our eye contact. I close the door behind and lead him into my living room.

"So, how do you want to do this?" I ask him, trying to get the feel of this man.

"How? I want you to spread me wide and eat my ass first before fucking me. Don't worry about condoms, I cleaned out my hole for this. I still won't mind if you want to use one. And since you said that you're discreet, I don't want you greeting me when we meet outside, okay? I have a family and a job to protect. If you can't do that, I'm walking away." The man explains to me as he pulls his shirt away.

Oh no, this man has a family. I don't want to be involved with a family man. I'm no whore. I can do better than this. I should just decline his offer and send him away. This is just a bad idea.

Say yes. You just have to fuck him and you can be on your usual day. No strings attached. That's what he also wants. He wants your cock and you better give it to him good.

"Sure. Is that all?" I find myself saying as I feel myself smirking at the man.

The man then grins back at me as he gets naked and kneels on my sofa, lifting his ass in the air and showing me his asshole. I understand what he wants to say as I pull down my pants and free my rock-hard cock. I was surprised to see my cock already leaking pre-cum but I'm too horny to care. I aggressively slap his bubble butt before I grip his waist and thrust my dick straight into his inviting hole. I moan as soon as my cock penetrated his flesh, starting by slowly thrusting in and out of him.

I let myself feel the rhythm of the man's body before slowly increasing the pace of my thrusts. I feel myself getting lost in pleasure as I hear the man moaning and begging for more. I feel like I'm up for the challenge so I start pounding his ass like there's no tomorrow. The man starts wailing as his legs begin wobbling. I reach out to grab both his arms and begin mercilessly tearing his hole.

But then, I felt something click inside me. Something that I never before. I let out a gutteral moan as I feel my cock explode inside the man's ass. For some reason, I feel the cum shooting out of my cock more thicker and much more viscous than my usual cum. I grab the man's arms tighter and pull him closer to me. I could hear the man begging me to stop for a while but I ignored him. I just keep on pumping my load inside his ass for quite some time. In the middle of my endless orgasm, I feel the man under me begin squirming and twitching out of control. I realized that I've been cumming for a long time now and should have stopped minutes ago. There's clearly something wrong with what's happening and I should check if the man is still okay.

Just hold him tight and keep on pumping him full of my slime. We need to turn him into a puppet just like you. Just keep him in place while I assimilate his mind and body. You love cumming, don't you?

Fuck yeah, I love cumming! Cumming is the best. I will cum my brains out into this horny slut and pump him full of my seed. He won't be walking for days after this. I just have to keep on pumping and pumping cum until you're done turning him into a puppet like me. Wait, I'm a puppet? When did I become a puppet? And who am I talking to? What the hell is happening? I instinctively jumped away from the man as I suddenly pulled out my cock from his ass.

To my surprise, there is a gel-like string connecting my urethra to the man's asshole. My sudden disconnection to the man caused him to become aware of what was happening. He looked behind him and started at the sight of the slime connecting my cock to his butt. I tried to run away but suddenly felt my body instantly getting tired. I fall on the floor as my consciousness fades to black.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Nick almost caused me to lose this beautiful, hunky bear. I can't believe that someone with a huge cock wants to bottom. But that doesn't matter anymore since I'm in control now. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and admire my new puppet. I snapped a picture using Nick's phone and sent it to my email address.

I close my eyes and try to access this man's memories again. I tried earlier but I got rejected. Now that he's all clean and calm, I think I can do it. As soon as I open my eyes, his memories begin flowing in my mind like a calm river. I look into the mirror again and smirk.

"You will be a great addition to my collection, Dylan. I assure you that I'll use your body for all it's worth."

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Two

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2921

Warnings: bad language words, blink and you’ll miss the angst, just some fluff

A/N: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

You awoke with a start, feeling as if you were late for work or something important and forgot to set your alarm. Your heart beat an erratic tattoo against your ribcage. Scrambling for your cell phone, you blindly reached across the side table near your bed in a panic. Unplugging the phone, you brought the device an ungodly closeness to your face. It was only 6:17. On Saturday.

Your pulse throbbed behind your eyeballs, and a strange stickiness coated the inside of your mouth. Did you drink that much last night?

How could you not? Timmons was a fair boss, and you enjoyed your job, but that dude loved the sound of his own voice.

The quarterly business dinners were mandatory for all employees, even for the P.A.s. Typically, they weren’t so bad, but last night, Timmons felt the need to toot his own horn for landing a massive contract with Stark Industries slash The Avengers. He went on and on about how great it was for the firm.

He was like a giant kid in a candy store with his ramblings. ‘We will be promoting the face of The Avengers and everything that goes with it,’ he spouted off like the firm was god’s gift to public relations.

You groaned at the reminder of last night’s presentation. The contract wasn’t even in effect yet, and you were sick of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Timmons could be a real buzz kill.

Rolling to your back, you brought your phone up to tap the screen to read the emails you received overnight. On display was a text from 11:04 by someone named James. It read: “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Your mind went back to last night again, trying to recall who this James was. He must be significant if you plugged his contact information into your phone already. Had you met someone last night?

Drawing a blank, you clicked on the text bubble to pull up the thread. Briefly scanning through the numerous texts, everything came rushing back. In an attempt to text your sister, Robyn, you mistakenly texted this mysterious, James.

You felt like an utter buffoon when you learned he wasn’t Robyn. You always did have a way with the cute boys. Probably why you were single. You groaned out loud as you read on.

You im safely inside my apartment. Pretty sure no one followed me home

James Did you triple check the lock on the front door?

You yes dad yeesh

James There are a lot of bad people out there. Just want to make sure you’re safe.

You sounds like you watch the news too much but its sweet of u to care

James I know from experience.

You r u the bad guy or have u been the one mugged?

James Let’s just say I have friends that have dealt with the bad things of the world.

You right i almost forgot ur a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie

James Did you ever send your sister a text?

You shit thanks for reminding me i have such a crazy story to tell her

James Only good things, I hope.

You oh yeah all the good things an enigmatic yet handsome stranger cares more about my safety than any of my ex-boyfriends ever did.

James My ma raised me right.

You id say

James_ I hate to cut this short, but I think you need your rest. Especially if you’re meeting your sister tomorrow._

You i dont want to agree but ur probably right

You whats ur name btw?

James My name? Why? Do you plan to continue texting me after tonight?

You duh ur fun to talk to

James Oh.

You or not its cool if u dont want to

James It’s James.

You nice to meet u james im (y/n)

James Nice to meet you as well.

You my sister just texted me back and were still meeting at 9 i should go 

You goodnite james

James Goodnight, (Y/N).

Oh. My. God. Had you seriously drunk-flirted with a stranger and offered to keep texting him? You had no shame with a few drinks in you.

You brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and sighed loudly.

What did you know of this James? He had a New York area phone number. Check. He could have been a real dick about your mistake but wasn’t. Understanding. Check. He worried about you getting home safely in your inebriated state. Caring. Check. Not too forthcoming with the nine to five. Secretive. Check. His mouth looked so soft and plush, and his eyes were made to drown in. Gorgeous. Check.

A heat simmered beneath your skin as you recounted the shortlist you’d made. Were you lusting over someone you’d exchanged less than forty texts with? Had you somehow woken back up in high school?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you stared at the screen displaying the message thread. Were you really considering this? You nodded your head to answer your own question. Where was the harm in a little shameless flirting? If worse came to worst, you could always block him.

With your mind made up, you began typing into your phone, constructing an apology.

You Good morning! First off, I want to apologize for the way I behaved over text last night.

You Though, I do like to imbibe in the occasional drink or two, I am, by no means, a lush.

You Please take everything I said with a grain of salt. Apparently, I get loose-lipped and cheeky with free wine. 😐

You Again, I’m sorry and understand if you wanted to cease our correspondence for my behavior.

You blew out a breath and tossed your phone aside. It was up to fate now and a stranger named James.

You laid in your bed for several minutes staring at the ceiling, contemplating between whether to send a ‘haha just kidding’ text and what the weather would be like, so you could forego shaving your legs in the shower today.

Your phone chimed during the pondering of hair removal, indicating a new text. You knew it was James proclaiming you a freak and to forget his number, but secretly, you hoped it was Robyn canceling today.

Seizing the phone from your mattress top, your heart’s beat increased with each second you went without looking at the screen. Finding the courage, you flipped the device over to read the message.

James Quite the formal apology, Ms. Professor.

You smiled at the text. It didn’t tell you to pound sand or eat shit. No, it was teasing and in jest. You sighed in relief.

You Cease our correspondence too much?

James No, no it was perfect if this was 1863, and you were breaking up with me via telegraph.

You Stop!

James Exactly! ‘Never speak to me again!’ Stop. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Stop.

A belly laugh disrupted the tranquil air of your bedroom. You quickly thumbed out a reply once you caught your breath.

You You’re incorrigible.

James I’m glad to see you are using proper capitalization and punctuation this morning.

You Ha!

You When you are buzzed and/or tipsy, capitals and periods be damned. Like you’re so perfect when you’re drunk.

James We all have our flaws.

Was he implying he was a sloppy texter when drunk, too? You shrugged it off as him being cryptic again.

You What are you doing up so early on a Saturday? I didn’t wake you, did I?

You were suddenly stricken with guilt. You should have waited for a more reasonable hour to send out rapid-fire apology texts. Not at 6:36 in the morning. You didn’t want last night’s behavior hanging over you, though. Better to clear the air now than later. You could always ask for forgiveness again if you had disturbed his sleep.

James I had just gotten back from my run when I saw your texts. I have training this morning.

You Oh, right. For your hush-hush, super top secret mission/quidditch game.

You You ever gonna tell me what you really do?

James_ Maybe. Someday._

How far away was someday? Was he planning to text you until you both died or until he got bored? How did texting relationships even work?

You Or is it one of those situations where if you told me you’d have to kill me?

James 😈

You There you go again--being all mysterious.

James Keep ‘em guessing and coming back for more.

You Has that strategy worked well for you in the past?

James Got you to text me again this morning, didn’t it?

You scoffed at what he had suggested. He was correct, but your stubborn streak would deny everything.

You The only reason I texted you this morning was to apologize for acting like a drunken fool last night.

And to squash the curiosity burning in your veins. But he didn’t need to know that.

James Oh.

The reply caused you to furrow your brow and your stomach to drop. You regretted not adding more levity to your last text. Of course, it wasn’t the only reason you were drawn to him.

You I appreciate that the selfie you sent wasn’t a dick pic. And you genuinely seemed to care about me getting home safely. Thank you.

You And maybe- a teeny, tiny bit- is honestly interested in getting to know you better.

You waited on pins and needles for his text, watching the pulsing ellipsis on your screen. Was he just humoring you?

James Hook. Line. Sinker.

Reading his response generated a flush from your jaw to your hairline. You growled in embarrassment. You fell for the oldest trick in the book. He baited you for a compassionate answer, and you delivered beautifully. Hook, line, and sinker, indeed.

You You’re an ass. I take everything back.

James Don’t be mad. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, but you played into my trap wonderfully.

James If it makes you feel any better, all kidding aside, I want to get to know you better too.

James I fell asleep with a smile on my face last night and woke up with one this morning.

James Because of you, (Y/N).

A flutter broke apart in your chest. You hadn’t time-traveled back to high school; no, this was junior high territory.

You You’re lucky you’re so damn charming, James.

James Doll, you have no idea.

The subway ride into Manhattan usually gave you the chance to get a little reading in since it took nearly fifty minutes from Queens. Not today, though. You spent the entirety of the train ride texting back and forth with James. It was mundane stuff, but you were getting a grasp of who James was as a person.

You Favorite color?

James Black. You?

You Blue.

You Favorite ice cream flavor?

James Chocolate. Yours?

You Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.

James I didn’t realize we were getting specific.

You We weren’t, but that’s my favorite.

You Favorite movie?

James I like the classics- The Wizard of Oz, It’s A Wonderful Life, Frankenstein.

You I have too many to list, so don’t ask.

You Okay. Lightning round because I’m almost to my stop.

James Where are you going again?

You paused your reply for a brief second, wondering if you should divulge your destination. You’d known James less than twenty-four hours; although, it felt like weeks after this morning. Where was the harm in telling him where you were meeting your sister? There were nearly nine million people in this city. There was no way you’d ever bump into each other.

You A bakery in the Upper East Side called Two Little Red Hens. Ever been?

James Don’t think I have.

You Well, since you like chocolate, they have a fantastic cake called Brooklyn Blackout. Super rich but delicious.

James Sounds right up my alley.

You Cats or dogs?

James I’m gone too much, so cats.

The answer piqued your interest. Maybe he was an athlete. Wouldn’t it be practice and not training, though? Or he’s FBI or CIA.

You Socks on or off for sleeping?

James Off.

You Silver or gold?

James Silver.

You Morning, noon, or night?

James Night.

You How do you take your coffee?

James Room for sugar and creamer.

You Boxers or briefs?

James Boxer briefs.

You laughed out loud, looking around the subway car to see if anyone was paying attention to you. Per usual, they weren’t.

You Touché.

As soon as the train stopped, you gathered your purse close to your body and made for the exit. You followed the crowd of fellow passengers through the turnstile and ascended the stairs onto street level.

The morning sunlight caressed your skin like a warm blanket. The humidity wasn’t too bad, yet, but the threat of afternoon thunderstorms still hung in the air.

Even with the reasonably early hour, the sidewalk was stuffed with people, carrying to-go coffee cups or shopping bags. You fought for your little spot of real estate on the grimy concrete.

Stopping at a red traffic light, waiting to cross, you typed out another question for James.

You Pineapple on pizza--yay or nay?

The light changed as you finished, and the throng of pedestrians around you guided you across the street. You spotted Robyn outside the bakery as your phone dinged with a new text alert.

“Wow, I’m surprised you made it on time,” Robyn said as you hugged hello.

You looked at the clock on your phone. 8:58. “You and me both, sister.” Glancing back at your phone’s screen, you giggled.

James What kind of monster puts pineapple on their pizza??

“What’s so funny?” Robyn asked as you accompanied her through the bakery’s door.

With a grin on your face, you punched out a quick reply:

You Well, it was nice knowing you, James. It was a swell friendship while it lasted--a whole 11 ½ hours.

Robyn elbowed you softly in the ribs with a look on her face, seeking an explanation.

“Ow,” you grunted. “What?”

“You tell me. I half expected a zombie to walk through the doors today after your text last night. Not Suzie Sunshine.”

You both edged closer to the counter as the line in front of you dwindled.

James Say it ain’t so, doll! Pineapple on pizza? Really??

You let out a low chortle as you skimmed the text. You glimpsed up at Robyn as you shuffled forward in line again. “Believe me, I’m pretty hungover,” you replied, shoving your phone in your back pocket. “It’s a funny story. I’ll tell you everything when we sit.”

Robyn stared at you warily, still trying to figure out what had come over you. “Okay,” she conceded, stepping to the register to order.

With each of you supplied with an iced coffee and a peach ginger scone, you found an empty table by a window along 2nd Avenue and proceeded to tell Robyn about James.

When you stopped to catch your breath, remembering the whirlwind the last twelve hours had been, you peered at your sister for her reaction.

She stared at you like you’d grown a second head. She shook her head in disbelief. “(Y/N), what where you thinking?”

Your brow pinched in confusion. Was she actually scolding you? You crossed your arms over your chest. “I was thinking about how my big sister is always telling me to meet new people and how it’s time I thought about settling down.”

“Not like this it’s not,” she hissed. “This is how your body parts end up in someone’s freezer!”

You choked on the piece of scone you shoved in your mouth before she started ridiculing you. After coughing to clear your airway and taking a sip of your iced coffee, you leered at Robyn. “Oh, my god! Dramatic much? Have you been binge-watching Dateline again? Jesus Christ, Robyn, he’s harmless,” you countered.

“You think you’ll be so careful, but you’ll let one little detail slip, and he’ll find you,” Robyn said before taking a pull from her coffee.

“You mean, like, how I was meeting you at Two Little Red Hens at nine o’clock?”

Robyn’s mouth popped open in an O. “What the hell, (Y/N)?” she stage-whispered. “Are you trying to get yourself kidnapped and sold into sex trafficking?”

“Please,” you drew out in one long syllable. “He doesn’t know what I look like. How would he snatch me?”

“He could look you up on Facebook.”

“Without a last name?” You shook your head, no.

“What about a reverse search on your number?” Robyn asked, pushing the plate holding her scone away. “That’s a thing.”

“Perhaps, but it seems like a lot of effort for a mistake I made. It wasn’t like he was seeking me or anyone else out.”

Robyn huffed out a breath and folded her arms in exasperation. Always the protective big sister. You could tell you were breaking her down, though.

“C’ mon, Robbie. It’s all in innocent fun. I’m not saying I’m hoping he’ll turn out to be Mr. Right, but the banter is fun,” you remarked. “James is charming and witty and nice to talk to.”

Robyn shook her head once more, frowning. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You reached across the table for her hand and squeezed gently. “Me too.” You smiled slyly, remembering last night’s dinner and Timmons gushing about The Avengers. “If not, I know how to get ahold of a couple of centenarians who know chivalry isn’t dead.”

Chapter One | Chapter Three

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@hommoturttle @courtneychicken @vidzbyemz @vicmc624 @shawnie--jo @redbarn1995 @learisa @austynparksandpizza @ddowii

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[hoodoo12]

Fortress

A request for “the reader is having a bad time mental health wise and they make a blanket fort together and just. Chill? Maybe cuddles and some reassurances?“ led to this, with some other influences. We could all use some comfort nowadays.

Mature (Dewey Finn/reader)

@thewolfisapartofmysoul  @janitor-boy @beejiesbitch @turtlepated @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @mimiscappinisideblog 

Enjoy! `

It’d been bad. So bad. You were tired and more than that, weary. Everything was too much but still you pushed yourself through each day, because it was expected of you, because people counted on you, because there wasn’t anything else to do anyway, during these times.

You got up, went to work, came home, went to bed. On repeat. Day after day. You wanted to see Dewey--really see him--but he’d been following the stay at home orders in his apartment, so all you really had were text messages and the occasionally zoom call. Each time you saw him on the grainy video, his hair looked wilder, his beard more scraggly. 

He listened to your complaining. He made appropriate noises when you told him how tired you were, and how sad you were that everything had been turned upside down. He wasn’t much into traveling, but nodded when you started crying about the fact a trip you’d been looking forward to had been canceled. He might have been bored, but he never voiced that to you. Instead, he reassured you that everything was going to be okay. You never realized how much you missed hugging him or watching him play Guitar Hero. Just being with him seemed like a luxury that you never realized until it was taken away.

The very rare occasions you mentioned maybe some sexting or even maybe possibly some mutual video sex didn’t end well due to embarrassment. Both his and yours.

Dewey Finn wasn’t a dick pic kind of guy.

So there was nothing to do but keep plodding along. Every message between you ended with, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

Until one day, almost two months into this, instead of, “I can’t wait to see you again,” he said, “Why don’t you come over?”

“What?” “Come over. We haven’t actually been together for so long.” That’s what you wanted. Exactly what you wanted. But now that it was officially offered, you worried. “I don’t know, Dew--you haven’t been out, if I got you sick because I’ve been working this whole time . . . I don’t want to be the reason you get sick!”

“I’m not gonna get sick.” His reassurance crashed against the rocks of your worry. “It’s not like there aren’t people around. I get Door Dash. I even go down  to the lobby to get the mail.” His little brushes with the outside world were nothing like yours: you were required to work and deal with random members of the public. It was a huge component of your stress, just having to be out and around people while everything on the news was dire and worrisome. Dewey knew all that; it was one of the things you mentioned repeatedly when you spoke with him. Still, he insisted. “I miss you, baby. I want to see you again. I want to hug you again. Don’t you miss me?” That was something else you lamented to him frequently. For him to toss it back to you was a low, but effective, blow.

“Okay. I’ll come over. But I’m not taking my mask off!”

He pointedly ignored your threat. “Good! Great! Awesome! I’ll have something delivered--you want those street tacos from the place down the road? I wonder if they’d deliver a frozen margarita--” You laughed, told him you’d see him tomorrow at seven, and he blew you a kiss that you returned. Worry was still a companion, but you had to admit you were excited to see him too. 

⁂

It felt weird to be out on the street and now walking up the stairs to someone else’s apartment. For two months it’d been nothing but hurrying to work and home, then a quick shower and trying to keep your low grade anxiety away until you fell asleep to do it all over again. It was that same anxiety that made you carry an extra set of clothes with you; you weren’t going anywhere near Dewey with clothes that had been out in the world, possibly contaminated. You were going to change the second you got in the door before he had a chance to hug you.

At his door, you knocked, heard a muffled, “Come in!” and actually sighed in relief that he wasn’t opening the door for you. That’d give you a chance to put on your spare clothing.

Opening his door and stepping inside the short hallway that served as an entry into the apartment, you were confronted with a barrier only a two, maybe three feet away--basically just enough for the door to swing inward. Dewey had created a wall of cardboard that blocked the hallway completely. Although there was a small entrance at the bottom, near the floor, you couldn’t see into the rest of his apartment at all. 

“Dewey, what the hell . . .” “Come on in, baby!” he called from somewhere deeper in, his voice almost as muffled as before. “There’s some hand sanitizer if you want!”

No lie; he’d left a pump bottle of sanitizer near the hole at the floor. This was weird but oddly intriguing. With a sigh, you quickly shed your outerwear and your street clothes, doused your hands in sanitizer, and slipped into the soft pants and tee shirt you’d brought along for what you’d thought would be an evening of just lounging with Dewey. You hadn’t expected any of what you’d seen so far. 

“Okay. I’m coming in!” you said loudly, crouching to look into the hole. 

It was dark in there. What the heck had Dewey done? “Okay, baby! Can’t wait to see you!”

Keeping your phone clenched in your hand for some light, feeling a little like Alice going into  a rabbit hole, you awkwardly started to crawl on your hands and knees into the entrance.

Dewey had created some kind of cardboard tunnel. Where he’d gotten all the cardboard and duct tape was beyond you, let alone figuring out how he’d even come up with something like this. He’d never mentioned anything like it to you in any of your conversations. 

Scooting along, it was longer than you expected, with a couple of switchbacks and one place tall enough you could stand in, although you had to turn sideways to squeeze along the corridor he’d created.  Occasionally he’d call out to you, saying you were doing great, that it was just a little further; that he couldn’t wait to see you. 

It almost sounded like he’d put cameras up and was watching your progress, but you hadn’t seen any. The shaking of the structure as you made your way through it must have been advertising where you were enough. 

Finally, after crawling on his floors through an semi-creepy cardboard tunnel for what seemed like too long for the size of his apartment, you saw a light up ahead. 

After one more corner, you found that, although still enclosed in a dome of cardboard, it opened up to a larger--for lack of a better word--cavern. A pile of blankets and pillows filled the space. A lamp, with its electrical cord snaking out to somewhere that wasn’t inside this cave, lit the area. Sitting in the middle of all of it, was Dewey on his mattress, grinning like a fool. He wore no mask, and you saw he’d trimmed his beard. 

“You made it!” he greeted you, holding his hand out for yours. The space wasn’t tall enough to stand up in. You crawled out of the tunnel and next to him, sitting up. For a moment, all you could do was hug and then you couldn’t help but want to kiss him, so you ditched the mask you insisted you would wear. It made your heart pound to feel how strongly he returned the affection. Finally though, after kissing him so long your lips tingled, you had to pull back and ask, “Dewey, what is all this?”

He shrugged. “Just something I did for you, baby. We can’t travel anywhere, so this was the best I could do like an adventure. Here--I got those tacos.” He reached to his side and grabbed a paper bag. “Contactless delivery,” he assured you as he pulled individually boxed food out.

With a smile, you accepted one. While the two of you shared the messy meal, he told you about how he’d planned out this whole thing: a vague outline of how he wanted it to be, collecting cardboard from the neighbors and bodega around the corner, ordering <i>so</i> much duct tape. The construction had taken some time, and he’d given up living space to create the structure. You let him talk, happy to hear about something that was creative and unique. It was nice to focus him and what he’d done for you, instead of the anxiety that threatened to drag you under. 

Finally, full of tacos and still so happy to just be with him, you lay back on his mattress. After shoving all the garbage back into the bag it’d arrived in, Dewey joined you. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “One more thing!”

You expected that to lead to another kiss, but were wrong. Dewey stretched around and fumbled with the switch for the lamp, Managing to turn it off, the small space was plunged into darkness. Reaching for him to help settle him beside you, you said, “Dewey, what--”

“Shhh. Just look.” Faintly, as your eyes adjusted, luminous specks became clear on the cardboard above and around you. There was no pattern to them; it was like he’d flicked a brush of paint randomly at the cardboard. But here and there were actual stars of varying sizes, drawn in the little-kid way of one line crossing over itself to make the five points. 

In the absolute dark, the pale green-white of the paint gave a passable impression of a starry sky. 

Dewey settled snuggly beside you. It was comfortable in this nest of blankets, with him so close. 

“I wanted this to be a safe space for you. Something far away from out there,” he whispered. “Just you and me and a galaxy above us.”

Lucky for you it was dark, because then he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes. You were pretty sure he knew anyway, as you buried your face in his shoulder and neck and made them both wet, but he didn’t say anything of it. You managed to give him a whispered thanks in return, and spent the rest of the night pressed against him, sheltered in a cardboard cave. fin

The inspiration for this came not only from the prompt, but from Will Blum’s self-made quarantine project: “Floyd Collins”. Check it out (and the ‘making of’ documentary called “Through the Mountain”, also available on YouTube); it is amazing and truly a labor of love. 

[bookandcranny]

If You can Change Your Tune

The interloper arrives in a rented moving van, the same sort as all the ones before.

“Are you sure about this?” her friend asks as they pull up to the house. “I know you’ve always had a thing for fixer-uppers but this place might be beyond saving.”

Even as she unlocks the front door the wind whistles a note of warning through its rickety frame. The floorboards beneath their feet crackle and moan at the intrusion.

“All it needs is a little love,” the interloper retorts. Her name is Ann. I remember her from the showing, a woman of insufferably good cheer walking room to room with the equally annoying realtor of the week, a dopey smile hanging from her lips.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. People like her come around from time to time with aspirations in their heads of moving into the rural countryside to rehabilitate my thickets into sprawling gardens or write the next great American novel from within my historic walls. Seeing the reality of the place in person was usually enough to convince them to chase their fantasies elsewhere. However, it appears this particular happy-go-lucky thorn in my side needs a bit more work to dislodge.

“Are you sure you’re not in over your head?” the other one asks. I try to guess at their relationship. Friend? Sister? A lover? I’m sick to death of couples.

“It’s a little late for me to back out now,” Ann laughs, twirling the keys around her finger. “Don’t worry, Nick’s bringing his crew over tomorrow to start on the repairs. She’s a project but the foundation’s sound. Next time you see this place she’ll be a real beauty.”

“’She’?”

“Yeah, you know, like how people call cars or boats a she.” She climbs the stairs and runs her hand along the dusty banister. I think of splinters— with luck maybe she’ll get tetanus- but nothing comes of it.

The house is my body. Two stories, twelve rooms not including the attic, an old-fashioned spiral staircase, and me, the greatest antique of all, left to rot. Once upon a time a family used to live here: a mother and father, a veritable litter of hyperactive young children, uncles and aunts and cousins who would stay with them some summers and during Christmastime, and the wizened pale face of a grandfather who watched over them from above the mantle. It was all very precious, very southern hospitality, very postcard perfect. All very gone. Not even their ghosts remained; just me, and all the better for it.

Chesterfield is the name of the county as well as the nearest town, though from what I understand that’s using the term lightly. Most folks local to the area know better than to disturb me, but sometimes they get bold. Bored teenagers mostly, or suited vultures looking to see if there’s any profit to be squeezed from the property. In its heyday, the house was probably a sight to behold, but I wouldn’t know much about that. Memories of my life, if ever I truly lived, are slippery like oil on the water’s surface, impossible to grasp.

Though without eyes or ears or a mind to make use of them, I can “see” through my many windows— if eyes are the windows to the soul, maybe windows are can be eyes to the spirits— and “hear” any sounds that tremble through my frame. I’m grateful for these senses; they help me keep things in order. If someone starts to get a little too cozy with my corridors, and providing the spiders don’t scare them off first, I just slam a few doors, flicker a few lights, and they go running.

The interloper and her extra finish moving in the last of the boxes. She squeezes her arm and gives her a peck on the cheek.

“I’ll send you pics once I’ve got my room set up,” she says.

“Bold of you to think you’ll survive that long. This place is definitely haunted. Do you get cell service out here? I want to call a coroner and tell them to save your spot.”

“I don’t remember making this big a deal when you moved into your first place.”

“It had bed bugs, but it didn’t have ghosts.”

Ann makes a face. “I’ll take my chances with the ghosts.” She puts an arm around her shoulders. “Kim. You’re acting like I’m dropping off the map. You’re the one leaving the country.”

“For two weeks!” Her expression grows tense. “I feel bad leaving you like this. I should’ve been there for you, there was just so much going on.”

“It wouldn’t have changed my mind.”

She sighs dramatically. “No, nothing can, can it? I fear for whoever you end up tricking into marrying you.”

Ann slaps her playfully on the arm. “Do not start on that. Speaking of which, don’t you have a honeymoon to be on? Go on, get.”

Kim puts her hands up in mock surrender and backs out the front door. I raise one of the loose planks on the porch and she trips, just barely evading a tumble down the front steps.

“See? Cursed!”

“Go!” But she’s laughing as she adds, “Thank you for the help. It means a lot, even if Sophie is gonna kill me for keeping you this long.”

“I’ve got time to talk her down.”

The U-haul rumbles away down the dirt road until it’s a muddled blur in my perception and then, finally, gone. I’m alone with the enemy now. More importantly, she is alone with me.

I slam the door. It’s the easiest most classic trick in the book. Ann jumps and looks around. I know what she’s thinking. Just the wind? Or could it be…?

But no, one small act like that won’t be enough to convince her. With a shrug, she returns to the task of moving in. She shuffles around a few boxes in the foyer and starts moving them one by one up to the second floor. All things considered she hasn’t much to move in, but I’m not fooled. Where one intruder appears, more will follow, and bring all their junk and their noise and their petty living problems with them.

All my original furniture was auctioned off in an estate sale. It took place right here on the lawn, and I watched through my windows as they divvied up my family’s belongings, breaking them down into numbers and measures of worth for the masses. For the most part though I didn’t miss it. The absence of clutter made the space feel bigger, and I got used to the emptiness.

The interloper sets up in the master bedroom and unpacks some supplies to give the room a cursory cleaning. The agency normally sent someone over to prepare the place for new residence, but since the last few rounds of movers had come and gone, they hadn’t bothered. If Ann minds, she doesn’t show it, and I have to admit it’s nice to have someone sweep away the dirt and detritus.

After cleaning to her satisfaction, she starts opening boxes with foreign labels and assembling her furniture from strange little kits, turning sheets of instructions over in her hands as she nibbles on a hangnail. The result is a set of cheap-looking geometric furniture that makes her curse as she accidentally attaches the table leg to the chair and the chair leg to the bedframe. Something about watching her work transfixes me. Probably her comical ineptitude.

After she fixes all the furniture she dresses her new bed and starts cluttering her shelves with all kinds of bizarre toys and knickknacks. Among her affects is a paperback book titled “the art of moving in and moving on”. I scoff.

“This is a temporary arrangement. Very temporary, you got it?” I tell her, though I know she can’t hear me. I know this, but it still annoys me. It feels like she’s ignoring me.

The interloper smiles to herself and takes out a black rectangle that she holds up like a camera, though the shape is far too small and thin. She lowers it, considering, and then from yet another box digs out a string of Christmas lights and hangs them up above the bed.

“It’s June,” I say, dumbfounded.

I look at the string of lights and put pressure on one of the bulbs until it bursts. She jumps, but the moment passes. She spends the bulk of the evening fussing with her camera-thing until she falls asleep.

Fine. If she wants to play hardball, I’ll play hardball.

 --

 In the morning, the interloper’s camera-thing plays a tune to rouse her. Her waking is both a curse and a blessing, for while I was glad to be free of her active meddling, even as she slept I was never able to completely ignore her presence. I feel her like an itch, like a stubborn pimple forming beneath my skin, and I’m glad to sense her rising if only because it means I can get back to business sooner rather than later.

The water heater and other facilities are still in good condition from the last unfortunate newcomers I drove from my doorstep, which frees her to take a long shower, singing obnoxiously all the while. This, however, is a perfect opportunity for me. When the heat from the shower fogs the chipped bathroom mirror, I brandish my loathing like a pen and write her a message. Granted, precision isn’t my forte, so the words come out a little smeared and crooked, but still the intent is clear as can be.

LEAVE

Ann squints at the streaked mirror. “Love?”

“Are you really that stupid?”

She looks around but, seeing no one, shrugs it off again and starts to brush her teeth. When she ducks her head to spit, I quickly try again.

MINE

“Mina? Who’s Mina?”

I groan. Okay, perhaps a more symbolic approach. I will the mirror to shatter, but just then a loud knocking sounds and Ann runs off in a frenzy before she can see the long crack forming down the center.

“Door’s open!” She calls from the landing as she hurries to finish dressing with one hand and wrangle her hair into a towel with the other.

I try to hold it shut, but despite my efforts, the door is forced open and a parade of half a dozen handymen file into the entryway. As they start setting up, a burly towheaded man breaks from the pack and goes to meet Ann as she’s bounding down the stairs.

“Careful, careful. Don’t put your foot through anything before I’ve even had the chance to bill you.”

“Nick,” Ann says fondly. “If these stairs could handle me, Kim, and the fifty-pound mattress we lugged up there yesterday, I think they’re stable.”

“You gals didn’t have to do all that. I could’ve—“

“It’s fine,” she insists. “You’re helping me out enough as it is.”

“Yeah, well, we’re even for that whole thing at Kim’s wedding now.”

“More than even,” she agreed. “I know this was last minute. Dinner’s on me tonight. I’ll order enough pizza for the entire crew.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You haven’t seen how much Seth can eat.”

Their easy banter disgusts me. Living people are all the same; wandering around with blind optimism or bemoaning every bad turn, blissfully unaware of how little it truly mattered. One wrong step with those tools of theirs and any one of them could be joining me among the shiftless dead. I don’t have any desire for that kind of company so I decide to wait until they’re done with their renovations before I risk trying to scare anyone again.

As it is they hardly need my help. Ann, it turns out, is more than just clueless, she’s a klutz. If that isn’t enough she insists on “helping” right up until she almost shoots herself in the foot with a nail gun. Nick warns her not to try it again but I don’t feel any anger from him. The crew are all familiar with one another and with her. They chat and toss around jokes between tasks; someone puts on music.

The feeling isn’t quite a tangible one, but then neither am I. It’s an energy I struggle to describe, something like wading in a river and being aware of a splash rippling from upstream. Compared to the sharp tang of fear I’m accustomed to, all this amicability is nauseatingly sweet.

Ann beams, and the high arches of her cheeks dimple and flush darkly, round as apples.

“What exactly do you have to be so happy about?” I hiss in her ear.

As much as I hate to admit it though, I can understand why someone like her moved so easily among the crowd. Even when she was getting underfoot, she’s a difficult person to condemn for it. How could anyone begrudge her excitement when it was so abundant? Or her love when it was so freely given?

Growing impatient with it all, I knock a toolbox off the top of a stepladder and send its contents scattering in all directions. It lands hard and the sounds of work, the music and the laughter, all come to an abrupt stop.

“What was that?” someone asks. A worker crouches down underneath the arch of the ladder to collect some of the scattered screws and I, with great satisfaction, tip the thing over on top of him. The damage is little, but it’s enough to get the entire crew good and spooked.

“I didn’t touch it,” the injured handyman insists as he nurses his bruises with an icepack. “It just collapsed.”

“Maybe this place is haunted,” another jokes, but her smile doesn’t quite cover her nervousness.

“Kim said the same thing,” Ann muses to herself. Nick looks at her and she startles, as if she hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud.

“I was wondering how you were able to afford this place, even with the damage.”

“Oh don’t start with all that black cat broken mirror stuff. You see bad omens in everything.”

“And you don’t see red flags until they’re waving right in the face. Not even then,” he accuses. Her guilty expression says there’s some truth to his words. “Tell me honestly, is this house haunted?”

“That’s silly. Of course not.”

“Then how do you explain what just happened?” I demand with frustration.

“Then how do you explain what just happened?” asks the injured worker.

“Thank you!”

Ann hums thoughtfully and looks up at my aged walls, my decrepit ceilings. “The realtor warned me there were rumors about this place. This house has survived fire, flood, and an attempted demolition; somehow nothing was ever able to destroy it, and every person who’s lived here had reported seeing strange things. Objects moving on their own, strange sounds at night.”

Nick leans forward in his seat. “And what did you say when they told you all that?”

“I told her it sounded perfect.”

He puts his head in his hands. “Ann. Mary-Ann Thorne. Tell me you did not buy an actual haunted house. When Kim told me you just up and bought a house on a whim I thought that was crazy enough but this…”

“I didn’t buy a haunted house,” she says. She stood up straight and spread her hands with a dramatic flourish. “I bought a survivor. Houses are like people. They have personalities, they have their own little quirks, their likes and dislikes. Old houses most of all. I could tell as soon as I walked into this place that… well that she had something special. I can’t explain it, I just felt so drawn to her.”

She places her hand on the wall and holds it there. If I were alive I think I would shiver.

“She’s been through a lot, but with some TLC she’s gonna sing, I can feel it.”

“That’s crazy,” Nick says, but she isn’t listening. Not to him. It’s almost as if… almost…

“Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t respond. Of course she doesn’t. I berate myself for even daring to expect something so deluded. However, her little speech seems to encourage the crew, or else they’ve just calmed down enough to put aside their reservations and get back to work.

Watching them I feel… strange. Even when my house had been lived in before I had never really felt so cared for. It’s all ridiculous of course, a blind act of charity sprung from some silly woman’s misguided and misdirected affection. While the workers patch holes and replace crumbling pieces, the interloper sweeps and scrubs, eager to do her part.

Evening falls, and Ann prepares to head into town to pick up dinner.

“The guy on the phone said they don’t deliver to this address for some reason,” she says. “Weird.”

“Why don’t I go,” offers Nick. “I’ve got the truck. There’s more room.”

“Okay,” she reluctantly agrees. “But I’m still buying, clear?”

“Crystal.” There’s a faint air of nervousness wafting from him, I think. I suspect he’s been hoping for an opportunity to get away from me for a while.

The rest of the crew seem mostly recovered from their brief brush with the supernatural. I intend to fix that.

I start by flickering the lights, another classic. Someone gets up stammering about checking the fuse box in the basement, but as he and Nick each go for the doors I slam them both at once, creating a nice echoing effect that rings all through the house.

“Try writing that off as the wind.”

“I got a better idea,” another someone offers up. “How about we all go into town for dinner? It’ll be nice to get out of— it’ll be nice to get out, let the dust settle here.”

“Come on, Ann,” Nick gestures. “We can swing by the bar after. It’ll be fun.”

She hesitates, a strange look on her face, and takes a step back. “You all go ahead. I’m not that hungry.”

“Ann.” He speaks more sternly now, looking something like an older brother with a neat wrinkle of worry taking up residence on his brow. “Come on.”

“I’m fine here, and you’re being silly. If you don’t believe me, bring me back something after you eat and you’ll see that I’m perfectly safe here alone.”

“But you’re not alone,” I whisper, for nobody’s benefit but my own. “What would you say, if you knew. If you really knew.”

“Besides, I’ve already spent the night here once. If something were going to happen, why didn’t it?” She pulls a smirk, puts her hands on her hips. “Maybe it’s just you guys my house doesn’t like.”

Nick huffs an almost-laugh and relents, not entirely satisfied but not looking to argue the point any longer. He tells her to call him right away if anything changes and then he leaves. The workers file out after him, the last of them gingerly shutting the door behind him, so as not to anger me.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” I ask her. My voice, such that it is, takes on a plaintive edge. Pitiful. I correct myself, refocus my aims. “You’ve had plenty of chances to run, and it’s only going to get worse from here on out. You know that, right? You’ve got to know this isn’t just some twenty-four-hour fever. You can’t get rid of me. It’s my house.”

She starts up the stairs. I follow. I have no other choice.

“Are you really this dense? How can you ignore the signs? How can you believe there’s anything here worth salvaging?"

She walks into the bathroom and stares into the cracked mirror.

“What are you doing now?” I complain. “Looking for answers? I couldn’t give them to you if I had them. Or are you just admiring your pretty reflection?” I stroke the mirror’s surface. “Must be nice, to be young and lively. If you leave now, you could have years and years of perfect ignorance, uninterrupted by those pesky reminders of death. You could have a life, and you’re wasting it.”

She touches her fingertips to the cool glass with a mystic look in her dark eyes.

“Mina?” she whispers.

“My name isn’t Mina.”

Or maybe it is. Might as well be, for all I know. I think I must’ve had a name once. Surely there was a word, a simple sound, some collection of syllables that meant I see you. Surely there had been someone to speak it and make it real in their mouth. But how should I know? And if such a person did exist, what does it matter now? I’m not a person anymore, I’m a thing that happened, a thing that’s happening still. I’m a box built to hold my history, filled up to the rafters with hurt and resentment. That’s as close as I get to living. If I could move independent of my dour walls like her, I think, I wouldn’t be wasting my time moldering in the darkness.

Ann shakes her head. “Silly. I’m being silly,” she tells herself. Looking up at the dim light fixed above her she adds, “I should probably check on that fuse box after all.”

She goes back down and opens the door to the basement. She flicks the switch on the wall a few times but that bulb's been long neglected. Even those who swear up and down they don’t fear the fables or superstition became suddenly shy when it comes to probing the deepest depths of this old house. Ann turns, presumably to seek out a flashlight, when her heel catches on one of the repairmen’s screws that had rolled loose. It’s not even my fault this time, technically.

Like some kind of morbid slapstick, her foot shoots out from under her and she stumbles backwards towards the open basement door. It’s a long drop that awaits her, followed by a fast end if she’s lucky. And I know well enough by now that she isn’t.

Without thinking, I push her. Instead of that foresworn drop down the basement stairs, Ann finds herself tripping backwards into the wall instead. She rights herself, takes in a sharp breath, and then releases it with a sigh. She’s dazed but unharmed. I find myself mirroring her relief.

She smiles. “Thank you,” she says.

Then she closes the door and walks away.

That has never happened to me before. Normally, to manifest, to have any direct impact on the physical world, I have to summon up a great deal of anger. That isn’t too hard for me; I’ve been angry a long time. But in that moment, I hadn’t been angry. I think I’d been afraid. For her safety? No, of course not. More likely I’d been worried she would leave behind a ghost and I’d be stuck with her invading my personal space for eternity. Still, I’d never… never done anything like that before. I’d never helped somebody. I suppose I’d assumed it couldn’t be done, even if I wanted to. Ghosts, spirits, malevolent spectral entities or whatever you like to call it, that’s not what we're for. That wasn’t what I did, until I did it.

I become aware of singing coming from the kitchen. The fool is never not singing or humming or whistling something. I know music; it’s not as if I’m totally uncultured. While I have no lungs nor lips to make sound, sometimes on a stormy night the wind whistles through my walls, each creak and moan playing for me the orchestra of slow degradation I’ve come to know well.

This is not that. This is… I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know the words. Is it too late, I wonder. I can’t. I’m not ready. Oh but if you can give me time, stranger, I think I want to learn your song too.

[sassyshish]

Flames

Part One

Or the one where she runs into her ex-boyfriend and the feelings rush back strong.

Meet Me in the Hallway

“Why did you do it?” Tears dried up on her face, she allowed the rage and disappointment consume her so much it left her with nothing more than a pounding headache that beat behind her eyes.

When he saw her sat at the foot of the bed holding his old phone in her hands, he understood what happened.

“Baby…” Harry started, interrupted by her hand shaking and stopping any of his excuses.

“Don’t… don’t you dare say you can explain. There is nothing to explain here.” She whispered, still not meeting his intense look, tone croaky and empty of any emotion.

“Please…” A desperate word, the only thing his mind could conjure to get to her, to stop her for what he knew was about to happen.

“I asked you if anything happened and you said no. You looked me right in the eyes and said nothing fucking happened!” her voice gaining force and turning angry towards the end, eyes snapping to him.

Her stare was on fire, he never thought he would be the one to provoke such emotion. He couldn’t even describe her face at that moment.

“I’m so sorry… I love you.” He tried to placate her rage.

“Go fuck yourself!” She spat and threw his phone on the ground, making him jump from the loud sound. “This is not about love, Harry. This is about respect, and you had none for me…” A lonely tear streaming down her cheek and falling on her fist.

Her chest felt heavy, breathing was too difficult, temples pulsating and a veil of tears forming in her eyes and blurring her vision for a second before she fervently blinked them away. She kept her hands closed tight because she didn’t want him to notice how they were shaking.

Harry had recently changed phone, leaving his old one in the first drawer of his bedside table. She was cleaning up that day when she found it, innocently switching it on to send a few pics he had of them, but when she opened his texts, she observed that right under her name was his friend’s Jeff, but it wasn’t his name to excite curiosity in her as much as Harry’s last text to him, reading "I fucked up this time."

A chill running down her spine as to warn her to not open it, to mind her business and not read the content. She had never touched Harry's phone, always respecting his privacy and trusting him enough to not snoop into his things.

He had described everything to his friend, telling him that the evening he went out with some friends he let Alice crash at his place, he told him how they were shit-faced. She had sneaked into his bed and how she tried to kiss him and was all over him. They didn’t live together, even though she stayed the night almost every time, but she was at her parent’s house that evening because her mom didn’t feel great.

At that moment, she felt like dying, the phone dropping to the mattress and tears flowing out powerfully, not believing what her eyes had read.

Harry had that habit, he didn’t talk much, if something was bothering him, he would shut everyone out, closing up in himself and would sometimes grab his journal and put down in words his frustrations, but never to her.

At first, she paid no mind to that trait of him, respecting his introverted nature, but on the long stretch it started to be a problem, added to the fact he wasn’t confrontational at all, and he avoided arguments like the plague.

So, she found herself with him being silent for days, she had to force him to talk when he wasn't fine, pulling out every word from him, and once again he didn't tell her something important to her, and she felt betrayed. She had the right to be informed if a woman slept in their bed or if she had tried anything with her boyfriend, it wasn't so complicated to understand.

Her swollen eyes fixated on his figure, searching his face and getting the impression that she didn’t know him at all, he felt like a total stranger.

"I… I…" he attempted to murmur, but his voice dropped, feeling like someone was choking him, his throat so closed up, he found difficult even to breathe.

“What, Harry? You what?” she was tired, tired of crying, tired of watching him stand there as a fool.

“I… uuhm… I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you… I didn’t cheat on you, I swear. I left the room right after, I slept on the couch.” he hesitatingly mumbled, already knowing she wouldn’t be satisfied with only that pathetic effort.

“Harry that’s not the point, I know you haven’t slept with her. But still... you didn’t tell me what happened, and it’s crushing me.” She wasn’t even angry anymore, just overwhelmingly disappointed. She felt embittered that he let her down and once again he shut her out and didn’t trust her enough.

"… And you know what's funny? If you told me about all this, I would've tried to understand. I mean, I wouldn't have been thrilled about it, we would've argued for sure… but me finding out this way? It makes me think you wanted that to happen. You keep stuff to you, I always have to find things out and it fucking hurts, don’t you get it? I have to fight with you to know your thoughts, every little thing seems a struggle these days. I can’t keep going on with someone that after all this time still doesn’t let me in, it should be easier than this."

Her voice held a strange tone, her stare had lost that special sparkle it held when her eyes would lie on him. Harry was about to feel sick, he felt frozen in place, a voice screaming in his head telling him to do something, to plead with her, to move to go to her, to hug her, but he couldn’t do any of those things.

“I don’t deserve it.” She said with resolution painted over her features.

“You don’t.” He slowly murmured.

Silence filling the room while they both took in what had happened.

After months he still felt guilty to no limit for the way it all went, but he didn’t have the balls to reach out for her, nor he had the right to. He knew her perfectly when she took a decision there wasn't a second thought.

He didn’t expect the phone to ring, and it never did.

They had friends in common, so he checked on her, Harry always knew what she was on about, content to know she was fine. He was still in love with her, and he was sure that it wouldn't go away anytime sooner, so he lived with it, watching her from afar, joyful when she succeeded and sad when she failed.

She refused to even think about him, let alone talk. In the following weeks after their breakup, she focused on her studies, filling her days to the brink, so when she would go to bed she would be so wrecked that sleep would take her.

But sometimes her mind played tricks on her, recreating memories in her dreams, making her burn in the longing, and it would be so vivid, she could touch him, could hear his slow deep voice, but eventually he would disappear, and she would wake up with the hole in her chest opening like an abyss.

She missed him terribly but refused to get in touch with him, even though sometimes late at night she would grab her phone and open his text field and look at his name for the longest time,  repeatedly reading his last text: "I'll be home in 20. Love Ya"

At some point, she got tired of torturing herself and deleted everything, leaving on the phone one picture, one of her first birthday spent together when he went to her house with flowers just to take her back to his place where he had planned a whole romantic dinner. That night he had a high fever and felt sick, but he still tried his best to make her have a beautiful birthday, even if they ended up in bed with her taking care of him and Harry protesting he felt fine, insisting on going out to celebrate. That night she realized she was in love with him, and she held the memory very dear.

Time passed, and their lives took different turns, both moving on and learning how to live without the other. But the tenderness awoken by the memories was still there, her heart still skipped a beat when she would hear his name, and Harry would still ask of her now and then, to make sure she was okay, to be assured she was happy and well.

“Hey.” A slow deep voice behind her back. It was only a tiny word, but she could recognize that voice even in a thousand years. She knew the tone, she knew it from time ago, she heard it on the radio all the time.

“Harry.” She whispered turning around, a genuine smile brightening her whole face when she met his sparkling eyes. He opened his arms without thinking, and she slipped in the hug naturally, keeping him close and breathing him in.

“Oh my God, it’s been so long…” he murmured in her ear before letting her go, his hands trapping hers and warmly holding them.

“Yeah… We don’t see each other since, what? Two years, I think.” She let her stare roam his face, capturing all the small changes, acknowledging his short hair, the light stubble on his chin.

God, there was a man standing right in front of her, not the handsome boy she used to know.

When Harry entered the bar, his eyes went immediately to the beauty at the counter, his stare fixating on her perfect ass that was wrapped up in a lovely, lovely short skirt. But he looked better, feeling something familiar in the way the girl sat in the tall chair, in the way she pushed her hair back, and when he recognized her his heart stopped for a little, a joy he hasn’t felt in a long time pervaded his body, and without thinking it twice he went right her way.

She looked amazing, more beautiful than he remembered, and he couldn’t help his hands from holding her tight when he engulfed her in his embrace, he couldn’t help his face immersing in her hair and take in her new perfume. She looked so different yet so familiar, from her head to her toes she had changed so much, and she had gained a certain confidence in her that was definitely endearing.

After two years one could think he would be way over her, but he wasn't and realized that the moment he laid eyes on her again.

"Yeah, something like that. But, how are you doing?… Oh! Don’t answer, it’s obvious you’re doing amazing, let’s cut the small talk. Let me buy you a drink, yeah?" He excitedly said, smile big on his face and hands tingling with the need to touch her again.

“You came a second too late, but we can sit and catch up!” she told him, raising the glass the barman had sat in front of her a second prior. She was trying to act normal, be cool about the sudden reunion, but on the inside, her heart was beating as fast as a butterfly’s wings and her stomach was doing backflips. It was pointless to say she didn’t expect to encounter the boy ever again in her life after their breakup.

Somehow, they never met through their common friends and let’s be honest, the kid was a star, what were the chances to cross ways with him in a bar? It looked almost like a fiction.

“Wait, aren’t you here with someone? I don’t want to steal you away.” She told him right after sitting down at a small table in the back of the place.

"Yeah, came to meet up with some friends, they won't mind, too busy playing pool over there." He nodded his head towards a group of guys standing around the table, very concentrated on their game.

“What about you?” he asked turning his complete attention to her, arms crossed on the roundtable.

She sat right next to him on the couch, with her back leaned on the arm, her outer leg bending and going under her ass. Harry smiled when he watched her doing it, remembering she could never sit properly. The atmosphere between them was intimate and relaxed, they both were content and happy to be with each other.

“Nah, I’m alone, and before you give me the ‘oh my god sad, lonely girl in a bar’ look, let me tell you I work nearby and just got off, so I decided to have a drink.” she laughed and explained to him.

“Oh yeah, and you were all alone at the counter with your drink and I show up! Looks like the start of a romantic comedy.” He smirked while his voice went down to a warmer tone. He didn’t mean to flirt so openly with her, but it came out naturally, and he bit his tongue when he noticed how she tensed up a little after, so he quickly recovered asking her about her job and having a nice catch-up.

“I got your album, H. It’s brilliant.” She complimented him, hand going to his forearm squeezing warmly.

When she first listened to the album, she cried like a baby the whole time, both from pride and hurt. His words cut deep in her, and somehow, she knew part of those lyrics was an open letter to her, as to apologize for everything that went down.

When she got hands on the cd, she left it to sit on her bedside table for two days straight, not having the courage to put it on, but when she did, she could only go through “Meet me in the hallway”, bawling immediately. She knew it in her bones it was about them, every single word hit her like a brick right in the middle of her chest, feeling the same pain she did when she left his house that day, making it seem as if it happened only a few moments before.

After the first song she forced herself to listen to the whole thing, and after that, she had to listen to it again and again. That day she laughed with the cheeky songs, she danced, and she cried, exorcizing once and for all the emptiness his absence had left. She felt exhausted, but lighter, finally ready to close that chapter of her life for good.

And then a few weeks after that, she met him in a bar. The irony.

“Did you get it or you’re saying it only to be polite?” He said with a cheeky tone, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I did, I promise! Don’t make me list the names of the songs now! You know how competitive I get…” She said giggling between words, not believing herself that night and as the drink went down, she could feel herself becoming flirtier.

She hasn’t felt that vibrant in so long, it felt good to be in his company, to see him smile at her, his dreamy green eyes looking at her with that sparkle of amusement she knew so well.

“Oh! I know that for sure, I still remember that kick you gave me that night at Jordan’s when we were playing Twister…” he accused making her almost spit back in the glass the drink she was chugging.

“Liar! You fell on your own, you’re just a sour loser!” she said agitated as she strongly sat her glass on the surface of the table.

“It is a well-known fact that you play dirty.” He kept teasing her only to get her even more flustered than she already was.

The words that left her mouth after that could only be blamed on that second Mojito she was downing because if she had been sober she would've never let herself be that bold.

“Oh, and whom better than you know…” she said giving him that smile she gave only when she had certain thoughts.

He froze in place with his glass midway to his lips, his eyes unhurriedly moving to her while his heart skipped a beat. He was at loss of words and didn’t expect that in the slightest, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

"I’m sorry… I shouldn't have said that, I'm a bit drunk I guess, maybe it's time to go." she tried to awkwardly apologize, not looking towards his direction.

"No, no, no… please don’t go. It was nothing, just a joke, c’mon." he said with an urgency, not wanting their evening to end so soon. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many questions he still wanted to ask, he wanted to learn everything she did in those two years he was out of her life. She looked at him seeing his pleading expression and caught the desperation that briefly crossed his eyes.

“I know I might seem fine, but, Harry, this is getting painfully uncomfortable… I wasn’t expecting to see you ever again.” She hesitantly said, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

“I know, same here. Now we said it, can we enjoy the rest of the evening? Please?” Harry grabbed her hand without thinking and kneaded his thumb on her palm in a soothing way, that simple gesture calming her instantly.

She looked at their hands and absentmindedly traced his cross tattoo with the pointer finger of her free hand. They stayed like that for a little, enjoying the silence and letting themselves have that brief moment.

“I’ve been missing you.” Harry drawled, not finding the courage to stare into her eyes. Her heart missed a beat more for the fragility of that sentence than for the words itself.

“Me too…” She whispered searching his eyes and finally meeting those breathtaking green gems while he hinted a shy smile.

“Listen, I have something to say… actually, I wanted to say this for a long time, but, you know, with the way we left things I didn’t have the balls to text you.”

“Harry there’s no reason for this now…” She interrupted him feeling uncomfortable again, taking her hand away from his. If he wanted to go there, she couldn’t have him touching her.

“No, there is. I need to apologize to you. I wasn’t the boyfriend you deserved, I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t share my thoughts and a whole list of other things I didn’t do. But please, I want you to know I never cheated on you, never even thought about it for a second. I had eyes only for you and no one else.”

Her eyes stung while he talked, surprised to no end by his little speech. Harry has never been that honest with her, and she was astonished that he said those things while directly looking at her, no mumbles or never-ending silences in between words.

“I… I know you never cheated on me, it wasn’t about that Harry.” She tried to keep her composure while blinking her eyes to clear them from tears.

“I know but I needed to clear that out in case you ever had a doubt about it.” He talked softly as to not get her more nervous than she already was.

“I could've done more too, I could've stayed and fight stronger. But I choose what I thought was the easiest way. I thought we weren’t compatible.” She sniffled a little, clearing under the corner of her eye.

“Don’t cry, baby, your makeup will run.” He joked and lovingly caressed her smooth cheek.

“I couldn’t care less…” she scoffed while looking down at her fingers playing with the empty glass on the table, and her eye fell on the watch on her wrist.

“Oh my God, it is really late though, I have to wake up early tomorrow. I really need to go Harry!” she said with concern, she didn’t want to say goodbye yet, but she had to go.

“Okay, let me walk you outside,” Harry said with a smirk, he didn’t seem bothered at all.

They were standing side by side waiting for her taxi to arrive, and as the driver parked on the side, she turned to him to say goodbye.

“I want to take you out.” He talked before she could pronounce a word, resolution painted all over his features.

“You… what? Out like a date?” She was shocked to say at least.

“Call it how you want. I want to have dinner and spend more time with you. Don’t over-think it, baby.” He took her face in his hands and looked directly into her eyes. He needed to stop calling her baby because it was making her knees weak.

“Okay, tomorrow night is good?” Harry asked after a little when she didn’t speak.

She could merely nod, her tongue losing the capacity of forming words.

“I’ll pick you up at 8.00, text me the place.” He whispered to her while his eyes moved to her lips, knowing it was wrong to even think about it, but couldn’t stop it from happening, so he leaned down to place a soft, chaste kiss on her beautiful lips.

Harry sensed her take a harsh breath in and tense up, but he didn’t let her time to think of a reaction and he fastly pulled away from her, leaving her dumbfounded and confused.

“Your taxi is waiting. Goodnight, baby girl.” He nicely reminded.

“Oh, yeah, sure… Goodnight, Harry.” She blinked and came to her senses, turning rapidly around and getting in the backseat, not even throwing a glance at him.

While the car rolled away from the bar, she couldn’t help her fingers going to her mouth where his had been a brief moment before, a timid smile gracing her lips.

He watched the cab go away, standing on the sidewalk till it turned to the left and disappeared. His emotions revolved around giddiness and excitement, a bright smile plastered on his face while he put his hands in his pockets and unhurriedly went back in the pub to enjoy the rest of his night out.

Part Two - Embers 

Masterlist - Tell me what you thought

[hangonimevolving]

The Happiest Place on Earth, and New Year 2020 Adventures

Dear readers - I have a really convoluted update for you all today, but (I think) it has a happy ending!

First of all. HAPPY NEW YEAR 2020! Hope the new year brings us all peace, fulfillment, and most of all.... GOOD HEALTH.

The family and I kicked off the holiday season in a veritable flurry of activity. The kids celebrated their school holiday show with great fanfare...

And then I had a personal high, as I completed my second-ever Jingle Bell Jog 5K race successfully!

This was the first event of my race series and fundraiser for the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research. so I was extra happy at having ticked this item off my to-do list.

That same day, just hours after I crossed the finish line, Dr. Spouse, the kids and I packed up the car and headed north to the Orlando area, for a 6 day vacation. The week was planned to include a four-day stint visiting the parks at Walt Disney World along with my parents, who would be flying directly from New Orleans to join us.

We had a blast on this trip! After a few rough months, it was so much fun to make new memories with Ajima and Thatha, especially since taking the grandkids to Disney has long been an item on Thatha’s bucket list. We were delighted to help him work on this one!

The trip was *almost* perfect. Almost. There was just one hiccup.... and fortunately/unfortunately, it mainly involved me.

I woke up on the final day of our Disney parks adventures - Thursday, December 26 - ready to tackle Epcot, which is my favorite of the four parks. But the minute my eyes popped open, I just knew something wasn’t 100% right with me. I felt like I’d been hit by a BUS. I had horrible body ache all over, my head was pounding, and my chest felt heavy, as if someone had poured a gallon of wallpaper paste into my lungs. I groaned to myself, knowing what this meant - I was probably coming down with a cold - but I still forced myself up and to get ready, since it was our last day of the trip and there was no way I was missing it!

By the time we loaded into the car and headed out, the leaky faucet nose had started.  I definitely sneezed a LOTTTTTTT through the entire day - huge, rib-cracking sneezes, that had my entire rib cage and back hurting well before lunchtime and through the evening. But I pressed forward, tried not to make a big deal. As I had been throughout the trip, I was even more militant in insisting the family use hand sanitizer and antibacterial hand wipes all day long than I already had been (which was a lot). But yeah, it was a very long and difficult day.

I put myself to bed in isolation that night - I didn’t want anyone else catching my germs!  The good side of my isolation is, I didn’t disturb anyone else’s sleep that night, and I managed to abstain from infecting anyone. One down side is, I suppose it meant that no one in the house saw how sick I actually was, and by the transitive property, perhaps even I didn't register how sick I was. That night, I ran a very high fever, yet was having teeth-chattering chills for hours. I couldn’t breathe through my nose, and coughed nonstop. I got awful, fitful sleep, with weird, violent, vivid dreams all night.

The next day, I started suspecting that maybe I didn’t just have a cold - maybe it was the flu?  We tried to locate an urgent care clinic where I could get a rapid flu test, but it proved hard to find anywhere with a <6 hour wait, and I was absolutely determined not to get anyone else sick (least of all my post-CABG father or my two young kids).  So I insisted Dr. Spouse just call in a Tamiflu prescription for the entire household - it would be therapeutic for me, and prophylactic for all of them. He dutifully obliged, and we were all on Tamiflu by 2:30 pm Friday. We said goodbye to my parents this evening - they flew out of Orlando directly to New Orleans - and Dr. Spouse, the kids and I would drive back to Miami the next day.

That night’s sleep was worse than the previous, and featured the worst fever sweats I’ve ever had in my life, soaking through all my clothes, all the bedsheets, down to the mattress cover. It seriously looked like someone had dumped the Gatorade bucket on me after winning the Super Bowl. And again, I had violent, bloody dreams of war imagery all night....

The next day was every bit as painful as the last, and perhaps more so - my entire head and chest were clogged with sludge, the body ache was debilitating, and worst was that I felt like I couldn’t really think straight or make good decisions.  In a nutshell, we weren’t packed up at all, and I woke up from fitful sleep about 9:30 that day and to my horror realized we had to check out of the rental cottage by 11 - - I was trying to run around and pack, but my body and brain were literally not working properly together.  It was brutal - and we were definitely an hour late vacating the property.  I ended up falling asleep within minutes as we started our drive home, and slept 3.5 hours of the 4 hour drive, which SHOCKED me and Dr. Spouse - I never sleep on road trips!  Should have known this was a bad sign that something was really wrong.

Sunday and Monday, things started looking up. I still had terrible sinus congestion, but the cough and fevers were improving, and my energy level was slowly returning! Hurray! Time to get back to normal..... except, weirdly, some new weird symptoms popped up. I was blowing my nose a LOT, admittedly - but I developed a nosebleed sometime early Monday morning, and it just... didn’t stop. For well over 24 hours. Then I noticed a few weird red spots on my face and neck - I assumed maybe I’d scratched in my sleep when I was sweaty at night? But by Tuesday, there were more red spots in more places. Everywhere. On my back, stomach, chest, arms, legs, feet... my sinus symptoms were better, but these spots were weird.  It hit a head on Tuesday morning when Dr. Spouse and I sat down to breakfast. I definitely had more spots than I’d had an hour before. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and began to eat, but then I noticed my mouth felt funny. I realized, to my horror (sorry, TMI) - I had big spots in my mouth too, and they looked like these blood-filled blisters all over the insides of my cheeks and the back of my throat. They looked like dark purple jellybeans, stuck everywhere on my oral mucosa - and some of them were doubling and tripling in size before my very eyes. One burst, right there at the table, and suddenly a trickle of blood oozed our the corner of my mouth. Dracula Mommy, yikes - Dey was at once amazed and horrified. And all the while, my nose was still bleeding.

Dr. Spouse looked grave and got panicky. He had three patients to see in clinic, but he wanted me to get medical attention ASAP.  I initially felt like maybe this was a bit of an overreaction, I didn’t think it warranted an ER trip, and I was feeling rather sheepish to bother a lot of people, and bewildered at the childcare logistics - especially considering it was New Year’s Eve.  Besides, my sinus congestion and energy level were feeling better - so how sick could I really be?  

Well, turns out I was wrong. It turns out there was actually something seriously wrong with me.

Blood tests revealed I had developed a very serious condition called thrombocytopenia. This is a condition where a person’s blood platelets levels drop dangerously low, making it difficult or impossible for them to clot. It makes any sort of wound or injury or weakness in any vessel or the body a potential site for deadly hemhorrage. In my case, it happened to be very severe. The normal lab ranges for blood platelets are between 150,000-400,000. At my ER admission, my labs came in at 1,000, with a little downward arrow next to them! It was a dire situation - basically, I could have hemhorraged from anywhere, from my head to my toes, from my brain to my entire GI tract.  I could have died.

Very quickly after the issue was diagnosed, I was administered a transfusion of IV steroids, followed by two units of donor platelets.

After the platelets, I had to receive something called IVIG, or IV immunoglobulins. I believe these are to boost my immune system and help it stop accidentally nuking itself in the course of fighting the flu virus, or whatever pathogen started me down this insane road. The IVIG infusion, as it would turn out, would take like HOURS - maybe 8 hours total - and it was determined that I’d have to be admitted to the hospital (to the ICU, no less!) for a whopping FOUR DAYS, to receive further IVIG treatments until my platelet levels came back to an acceptable range. I was FLOORED and overwhelmed at this news, of course - again is really thought perhaps Dr. Spouse was being overly cautious initially. But I soon realized the gravity of the situation and promised to comply with all the healthcare professionals’ advice.

Although I cringed to do it, knowing a) what they’ve gone through recently, and b) the fact that we’d JUST spent the week with them in Orlando and sent them peacefully home, I found myself with no choice but to phone Ajima and Thatha from the ER and explain what was going on. True to form, they mobilized within minutes, and had plane tickets booked in no time. They arrived right around midnight on New Years Eve to relieve our wonderful friend/former Nanny S, who graciously pinch-hit and babysat the kids at home so Dr. Spouse could come be with me. I’d been in the ER from about 1 pm till maybe 5:30 or 6 pm, and eventually been transferred to an intermediary ICU room, where I’d spend the next 4 days.

Do you see my purple spots??  Hard to visualize in these pics, but they’re there.

I spent the next 4 days mostly in bed - I wasn’t permitted to walk around unattended, use the bathroom on my own, shower without supervision, etc. because even though I felt fine and am ordinarily physically able, I was considered a bleed risk if I accidentally stumbled or took a fall.  So in bed I stayed.  And for about 10-12 hours each day, I received IV infusions through both arms of steroids and IVIG.  It was a surreal experience, but also an incredibly fortuitous one, in that I didn’t really feel all that sick!  Dr. Spouse would come visit me for a few hours each afternoon through the nights, and my parents would bring the kids for about an hour each evening.  I had a wonderful crew of nurses who looked after me, talked with me, made sure I was comfortable and well-fed.  And my medical team was also very good, especially my hematologist, who was careful, methodical, and very even-keel about everything, explaining what had likely happened to me, what the next steps were, and what I should look out for in the future. 

I have A LOT more to say about this experience, especially all that has now happened afterwards, and all the follow-up care I must now receive.  It is going to be a journey for awhile longer.  But for now, a few thoughts in closing out this post....

It’s weird. Obviously, I wish NONE of this had happened - but I also felt so incredibly lucky.  Because: 

1). I’m so glad my post-heart surgery dad, senior citizen mom, and young kids didn’t get this virus, and that it was only me.  I’m also glad Dr. Spouse, our primary breadwinner, care provider for hundreds of people, and our beloved daddice of our family didn’t get it.  

2). If this absolutely had to happen to me, I consider myself lucky that in recent years, I’ve put my fitness first, and especially these last few weeks, I’ve been training for a race series, which means I’ve been eating right, training rigorously, attending to my cardiovascular health as well as my lean muscle composition, taking lots of multivitamins, and even pursuing yoga for restorative, rehabilitative, and emotional/mental health.  Basically, I was AS HEALTHY as I could have been going into this, and I think that saved my life.  I didn’t have a fatal vascular weakness that gave way to hemorrhage, because I’ve had the blessing of the opportunity to take good care of myself.

3). I have an ANGEL on my side.  My uncle Marley was definitely looking out for me.  Aside from being a huge source of love and support - it so happens that Marley suffered for many years from a platelet disorder which was constantly being managed.  He was of course the first person who came to mind when I got diagnosed with this issue - - and I swear he was looking out for me. I even have evidence to that effect.  Will share in a followup post.

4). Last but not least - - this one is overwhelming and wonderful.  

I met my husband when we were about 18 years old.  I had no idea at the time what the future held for us - but this person has evolved into many things, including a WONDERFUL, sensitive, intelligent, and proactive physician. He is REALLY, REALLY good at what he does for a living - and I think that’s because he would do it even if he didn't make a living doing it.  He LOVES his particular field of medicine.  And it so happens that he is a stroke neurologist, who sees patients with brain bleeds and emergency events related to bleeding/clotting every single day.  So it was my incredible fortune that the man I’m married to, saw what was happening with me, wasted ZERO time, and insisted I get care. 

My husband saved my life.  He is my hero.

Alright.  I think I’ll end this one here.  In upcoming posts, I’ll be discussing several things, including:

- the aftermath of my great Flu Adventure - the types of follow-up care and remaining question marks about my health (and hopefully I’ll be getting some reassuring data to share here!)

- an update about my Race Series!  Obviously (and heartbreakingly) I’m going to have to rejigger some things here.  I am working on my emotions with this.  But I’ll share it all with you.

In conclusion - -  I want to wish you all a happy new year.  May it be a year of good health and fortune for everyone!  Big hugs and big love  :)

[gingerambition]

Ginger Ambition Update

If you don’t know me, I’m assuming I’m your favorite ginger you’ve never met. If you’re reading this and you have met me however, you either have a huge secret crush on me, you’ve dated me and you’re looking for a subtle reference to yourself, or you recite my name each night as part of your Arya Stark–esque murder list. Honestly you’re more than welcome to my face, it takes an hour to put on before a first date anyway and is almost immediately ruined by excessive heat and pouting. You’d really just be saving me time at this point.

 Anyway, before I can publish my drafts about receiving dick pics in my late 20′s (FUUUUUUCK), Tinder dates that result in me either A. bailing him out of jail or B. ending up at a bar that is actually a wake, and being a proud member of the girls still blacking out in Ubers while everyone else is getting engaged club, I have to get some things off my (perky) chest. It’s kind of long but typing it out will be like losing 20 pounds of emotional weight. 

It’s been eight months since I got dumped. Two hundred and forty days later (I haven’t been counting I just did 8 x 30 on my phone) and I am still getting the same questions, so to avoid prolonging the graduation party effect (answering the same 5 questions on repeat the way I’m currently listening to “Look What You Made Me Do”), I am going to just put it all on the table. 

I got dumped at the end of December. It was days after celebrating Christmas with his family and attending my best friend’s 90′s throwback party where everything seemed normal AF. In fact I hear he’s up for an Oscar for his portrayal of communicating, loving boyfriend. So no, it was not mutual. He had his reasons. (Sidebar: the self-control I just showed in resisting the urge to put air quotes around the word, reasons, is similar to how I felt the other night when this old dude who was buying me Coors Lights was texting Taylor Kitsch, YES – THE ACTOR, and all I wanted to do was spider monkey across the table, grab his phone, and get the digits of a B-list celeb).  I felt the breakup was out of the blue.  I’m sure him and I will never see eye-to-eye on it, and that’s because he’s way taller than me so it’s physically impossible.  If I’ve told you “my story” in person, just skip this post. If you’ve been curious, here it is . . . 

I Ubered to our apartment from the San Francisco airport (he couldn’t pick me up because he was drinking), and he was on the couch. He hadn’t unpacked from being home for Christmas yet. He got back to our apartment a day earlier. His shoes were on. I made us mac n’ cheese. I started nagging that he wasn’t eating his and it was getting cold, I even put the pepper out for you. I was snuggling our cat and asking him how much he missed his girls. He turned off the TV and said, using my full name, we need to talk. Every part of me between my throat and my belly button knotted together and tasted like acid and pennies, my limbs felt distant and heavy, I moved to him, but I felt more like I was watching myself. After we spoke (he whispered, I cried), he took his still packed bag, I tried to kiss him (I got his cheek), and I watched him walk down the hall as I so often did in the morning when he left for work before me. That was the last time I saw him. After 2 states, 4 apartments, 5 years, countless "babe, you need to double flush after that,” kitchen slow dance parties, and putting our mattress in the living room for pizza fueled sleepovers, it was done. And it is done, because I don’t believe in second chances when it comes to ex-boyfriends. At some point they always come back. Of that I am certain. It could be 5 weeks or it could be 15 years, but it always happens and I take comfort in that.

I called my best friend, she didn’t answer so I texted her husband. I called my mom. I called my sister. My best friend called back. I told my college best friends. I texted a few more girls. I told everyone I wanted to hear it from me, and gave them permission to pass it on like a shitty game of telephone, so I wouldn’t have to live it over and over. I cried myself to sleep wrapped up in a nest of blankets, pillows, and dirty clothes I made out of things that smelled like him. I woke up every hour, realized where I was, cried, fell back asleep, repeat. I left the TV on to feel less alone. The small studio, that I couldn’t wait to return to less than 24 hours prior, felt less like home and more like stumbling upon a movie set or the apartment of a stranger I follow on Instagram. I had an idea of who had lived there, how they felt, how I should feel, but I was suffocated between collections of crap full of memories I could imagine but not grasp, and inside jokes I could make an outline of, but not see. In 12 hours I had aged 5 years. Everything felt fresh, and sharp, and distant, and numb, and a thousand other emotions all at the same time and I didn’t understand how that could be. 

Then I did something I never thought I would do, I just left. I took a red eye flight back to Michigan, where I was just 24 hours prior. I left all of the apartment lights on, the TV, and our Christmas tree. I cut up our favorite t-shirt then refolded it and put it in his drawer. I snapped my Harry Potter wand in half (from our 4 year anniversary trip) and put it under his pillow. I took everything of his I could see from my bed and put it in the corner. I tore every Uno card in half and left them in a pile. I wanted to break all of his Legos and throw out the directions but my mom said no, and for some reason I listened. I pulled the felt monogram I made off his nightstand lamp shade. I deleted my wedding Pintrest board. I deleted all of our pictures together from my phone. If you don’t want me anymore, I don’t see the point in lingering. If I said doing all of that petty crap didn’t make me feel better, I’d be lying. It was better than drunk Taco Bell after a sorority date party. 

I took as many sweatshirts and yoga pants as I could fit in a carry on, my large suitcase, my purse, cornered our cat into her carrier, and I left the rest for him to ship. Here’s an old school story problem to give you a break from brown out figuring out how to tip and write your number of a bar tab at the same time, 1 sobbing ginger + 2 suitcases + 1 purse + 1 cat that weighs like 2 cats = this blog can write itself. But wait, there’s more! The Titanic soundtrack was playing at my gate and my Uber driver almost killed us. He didn’t understand English, so when my cat started clawing to get out of her soft side airplane regulation carrier, and I pleaded with her to stop (when it rains it pours), he slammed on the breaks - on the HIGHWAY - and said “stop? stop? stop?” I yelled, KEEP FUCKING GOING. Not a moment I’m particularly proud of, but it happened. I put in my 2 weeks notice and worked remotely, wrapping up projects, and apologizing in emails. I tried not to burn bridges. Hurt has a ripple effect not always immediately evident. 

The worst part for me is knowing one day, every adventure, every nickname, every private moment we shared together will be forgotten, will disintegrate, and I will be reduced to, “that ginger I dated for like 5 years in my 20′s and had a TV show no one watched.” I will be become one of his two truths and a lie options. I won’t even have a name. He will tell some Cliff Notes version of “our story” to the daughter he has with someone else who isn’t me when it’s her heart that is broken and craves assurance there’s someone out there for everyone.

I slept on and off for the next 4 days, a very Carrie in the “Sex and The City” movie when she’s on her honeymoon with her friends instead of Big, of me to do. I never said I wasn’t dramatic. I didn’t drink. I made myself shower. I went on long walks with my parents’ dog and listened to a “Guys Are The Wooooorst” Spoitfy playlist I made. Everyone was so proud of me and impressed by how I kept it together, how I’m still keeping it together. Friends were happy to have me home, to have me so close to them. I felt wanted again. It’s not hard to act fine when he’s on the other side of the country. I wasn’t going to run into him. He never drunk dialed me, never texted. As much as distance can make things hard, it can also make things easy. 

My first breakup with my first boyfriend when I was 19 was horrible. I lost a ton of weight (not in a hot way - in a, “her head is too big for her body” kind of way), I didn’t go to class, I passed out on porches, I took my anti-depressants on and off sometimes with whatever shot was on special or being handed to me. This time, simply put, I would not allow myself to be that girl again. I was like nope, too cute, too sassy, too many people who love me to go back to that. (Although it would be nice to basically fit my American Girl doll’s clothes again.) I received so many cards and presents in the mail from best friends, girls I hadn’t talked to in years, and old co-workers that I almost wish I got dumped sooner, preferably around the time of a Kate Spade Surprise Sale. 

So it’s been eight months. I’m 27-years-old and I’m starting over. I’m living at home. I bought a new old car. I thought 2017 was the year I’d be planning a wedding. Now the extent of my planning is what I’m wearing to work tomorrow and what city I will visit next weekend. But you know what? I’m happy. I’m loved. I’m done settling. 

[xaphrin]

You’ve Got My Hopes Up

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you sure you’re ready, Miss?”

[more under the cut]

Obi’s low voice, teeming with excitement vibrated through her, the sound dark and soft against the early morning silence between them. Shirayuki pitched forward, chewing on her lower lip as anticipation crackled over her skin with every syllable. It was as if the words he said made her feel like she was flying a hundred feet in the air, just waiting until she could come down. Excitement and something new and unnamed coursed through her, and all she could do was hold onto her phone, her whole body practically effervescent.

In the last two weeks her phone had barely left her hands, and she found herself responding to messages quicker than she ever had before. He still asked about her day and if she had saved any lives for whatever shift she had been working, but then there started to be deeper questions asked. It started easy enough, what is your favorite color? If you could have any superpower what would it be? Dogs or cats? But eventually it turned into deeper questions as they both carefully probed one another, what are your parents like? Did you have a good childhood? What made you want to be a doctor?

Each little question was like a petal opening up to find a flower trying to bloom. They were both so cautious that pushing too hard against each other could easily break what they were trying to build, and so each step was slow and drawn out. Each inch of their progression was carefully planned so that they didn’t scare each other off, and something about that was so comforting to Shirayuki.

And then she had gotten the message minutes ago: Pics?  

A part of her liked the mystery between them, not seeing his face made things easier almost. If she felt too embarrassed about anything she said or anything that happened, she could just pull the phone away from her ear and pretend that someone else had said what she did. But putting a face to the voice she heard on the other line would solidify that he was real - that this whole thing between them was real - and Shirayuki wasn’t sure if she was ready to face that yet. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to see the face of the man that would inevitably talk her through an amazing orgasm.

But curiosity got the better of her. “I’m ready. I promise.”

“Okay, but be prepared. It might be too much to handle.”

Her face flushed and she closed her eyes, trying to keep her emotions at bay. If her heart beat any louder, he was going to hear it. “I can handle it.”

“I trust you, Miss.”

Her heart skipping in her chest she felt her phone vibrate, letting her know she had a text message. Slowly, carefully, she pulled her phone down into her lap and opened Obi’s text, looking at the picture on the screen. That hadn’t been at all what she was expecting.

Her lips twitched, eyes widened, and before she knew it, Shirayuki had dissolved into a fit of giggles, Obi joining in on the other end of the phone. He seemed to find his little prank just as amusing as she did. Gasping for breath she pulled the phone back to her ear and fell onto her pillows, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t think I was expecting that.”

“I kinda figured.” Obi chuckled and there was the sound of him rolling over onto his side, stretching out along his mattress. “I thought maybe you might need a pick-me-up after this week, things sounded a little rough and I didn’t want you to feel alone.” A short pause filled the space between them and he spoke again, his words careful. “Besides I thought… well, I thought maybe we should still kinda take this slow, seeing as neither one of us know what this is or what we’re doing so…”

Her heart turned over in her chest and she let go of a soft sigh, unsure of what to say. He was trying to give her as much space as she needed, to come to terms with this in whatever way fit her the best, and she couldn’t articulate what that meant to her. He was giving her time to adjust not only to the strangeness of how their friendship had happened, but also time to adjust to the newness of everything, and she couldn’t have been more grateful.

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes and let go of a soft sigh. “For… everything?”

“Of course. Whatever you need, Miss.” His voice held a smile and he shifted again, stretching out a bit more. “So… tell me, did you like the photo?”

“I did.” Shirayuki looked at the photo again, her giggles bouncing around in her chest again. On her screen sat a too-fluffy grey and white cat with a little bow tie, looking like he was about to claw the person taking the photo. Just thinking about it made her smile and her eyes water with laughter. “He’s very handsome. Is he yours?”

“Nah.” Obi chuckled. “I’m cat sitting for my neighbor. I saw the bow tie at the petstore the other day and thought that Sir Tuffington Fuzzy Pants needed a collar that fit his name. I can’t wait to send it to my neighbor, I’m sure she’ll get a kick out of it. I’m sure she’ll never let me cat sit again either, but I guess that’s the price I pay.”

“It’s charming.” Shirayuki rolled onto her stomach, propping a pillow under her chest. It felt like she was in high school all over again and she was talking to her crush. It felt strange and bright and playful and she found she kind of liked the new sensation. “I appreciate you thinking about me, and for the picture.” A second skipped by, and she felt the words escape from behind her lips before she had the foresight to stop herself. “Do you… want a picture of me?”

Obi fell silent for a long moment, so long that Shirayuki was worried that he had hung up on her. Her face burned and she closed her eyes. Stupid. That was such a stupid thing to ask about. If he wanted a picture he would have asked already, and she didn’t have to put herself out there like she was advertising her very confused feelings. Her cheeks burned red and she listened to the quiet breathing on the other line, desperately thinking of something she could say that would make this all right. But there was nothing. She made her bed, she might as well lie in it.

“Obi, I-”

“Yes.”

He breathed out the word in a sound of desperation, and it rattled against her ear like a prayer. Her fingers twitched, and she buried them into the folds of her comforter, trying to keep her heart from pounding in her ears. She wasn’t exactly “selfie ready” at this exact moment, but with the right filter she could probably look okay enough to send a photo. At least she was wearing something halfway decent, provided he didn’t see her bunny-print pajama pants in the picture.

“Miss… I would love a picture of you, but…” He let go of another breath, this one sounding more like relief than desperation. “Not yet.” He licked his lips and hummed. “Slow, right? We said we’d take… whatever this is slow.”

She smiled and closed her eyes, feeling her heart jump against her chest, feeling like it was about to take flight again. A flush rushed down her cheeks and she pressed her forehead into the pillow under her chest, smelling her shampoo still clinging to the white fabric. “Right. Slow.”   

He hummed, the playfulness slipping back into his voice again. “But still… inquiring minds want to know, are you wearing the bunny pajamas?”

Shirayuki just laughed.