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[briskofmisery]

THE GRUDGE

TW: Death

“‘It was a mistake,’ you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.” — David Levithan

How is it possible to remember every word you ever said but still feel trapped? Floating above my very being, the palm of my hand dripping with uncontrollable sweat, reminiscing over the infinity necklace I held in my hand just a few moments before. The soft, almost metallic embodiment of a long thread of hope; for Belly — for us, and everything we could be if we let ourselves. If I let myself. Deceit consumed me then, but I let it slip through the cracks to prove that my pain meant nothing; that whatever feelings enveloped me into a messy heartbreak was a falsity. Holding memories of us in my hand. 

In the car, lacking wishful thinking, a burdened anxiety weighted over me, the sight of the two of them still engraved in my mind like a forever memory. My words of manipulation and hurt were laced with betrayal, the opposite of remorse. The highway stretched on for endless miles, the brief respite of clapping thunder shook the cloudy skies on the boundless road. Soon, a heavy downpour of grim rain ran through the still air. For a moment I ached for the smell of rain, some relief after poking and prodding Belly and Jeremiah in the car. 

Cousins Beach was three thousand miles away from where I stood; a distant paradise where the warmth of a sunny day felt like an unattainable treasure – a rarity. I could see it, or I wanted to at least. A glimmer of hope amidst life’s chaos. Some hope in the waves when everything went to shit. Regret filled the air, knowing I had let Belly go, even if it was for a single moment out on Brown’s campus. I let her think that whatever this was between us wasn’t real; that it was just a figment of her imagination. Jeremiah was the one who wanted her, ached for her, cared for her – I made sure she believed it too.

But somewhere in the hushed darkness was just us. My last chance. My last chance to tell her how I felt. “Belly? I didn’t mean it. What I said earlier, I didn’t mean it. I still want you. Of course I do,” I whispered, the soft, enveloping light had buried us. I always wanted her; that hadn’t changed a thing. It was steadfast. Yet, a burgeoning sense of betrayal gnawed at me. That unforgettable night played in my mind like it was magic. Now, roads never cleared, traffic never let up, and an enduring storm refused to pass.

I loved her, the emotional turmoil of the day settled within me. I had picked up Belly’s favorite sour patch candies at a gas station off the highway, an attempt to prove something to myself, to Belly, and perhaps even to Jeremiah. Everything was out of sorts, as if we were all set adrift in the fractured memories of our pasts. At the motel with a single bed, a wave of hurt washed over me, seemingly endless. My earlier resolve to fight the urge to show what I felt seemed difficult now. The sun dipped below the horizon, and nightfall descended like haunting spectors of forgotten wishes. Somehow, I craved a sense of tranquility amidst the storm – a moment to think in my own crumbled silence and make sense of what had happened. 

Beneath the relentless rainstorm and occasional rumble of thunder, I found myself gazing up at the night sky, savoring the evening air that carried the scent of rain-soaked earth and fresh grass. The stars, twinkling in starlight, offered a solace that made calming anxieties easier. Made it feel safe. Yet, words seemed simply inadequate to convey to someone else, like a lost sanctuary slipping away in a receding tide. 

The raindrops trickled down my cheeks, mingling with my tears. I didn’t look at Jeremiah. Instead of invigorating me, the profound sense of betrayal left me more shattered than I could have ever imagined.

I swallowed my saliva harshly, wrestling with an overwhelming vulnerability that had remained hidden deep within me. It was something I hadn’t let myself feel because I refused to let anyone see how ugly my heart was. How hurt I was. But the truth was clear – I still loved her. That I couldn’t help.

The truth was real; I thought Belly knew that my love was raw and real when we kissed on the beach a summer ago. I thought she understood that our night together in December meant everything to me. I remembered every word she spoke, her hands brushing my chilled cheeks, the cold air enveloping us. However, this time, nothing was the same. The fear of losing her haunted me for a lifetime. She had chosen Jeremiah. I had witnessed them together that morning, waking up amidst my own blood and tears, and in the wind, there she was embracing Jeremiah’s arms. She was his, a reality that cut deeper than any knife to the heart.

I wished for us to exist in an eternal embrace beneath the starlit sky and the gentle caress of the sea breeze brushing up against my skin. I wanted us to be infinite. I should have read the signs when she returned to me, but by then, I was already lost. Gone. In the confines of that small motel room, she stood before me in Jeremiah’s Finch sweatshirt, doubt consuming her, and the weight of our loss hanging over us both. She had made her choice, and it was crystal clear. Beneath the comforter on the bed lay the infinity necklace; it was hers, it had always been hers. Letting her go seemed more right than ever before. Fighting it seemed pointless. I felt like a coward for letting Belly walk away once more, but this time, we felt over. Yet, I had made a promise to my mother on her deathbed the night she died – a promise that I would always do right by Jeremiah. It felt like the last act of righteousness in a long line of wrongs. It was like closing a chapter in a book I never wanted to end. I had chosen to bear the pain instead of hurting those I loved. Perhaps it was my downfall that made the pain unbearable. Because despite my loyalty, I let her go.

It was final. Moving on proved a far more daunting task than I ever imagined. Cousins Beach had become my home again, a place now healing and ushering in new beginnings. My mother wished for this house to embody a sense of hope, renewal, and joy, even in her absence. It held a special place in her heart that would never fade. It was boundless. Cynicism was mine; I was a coward, and I knew it. But this, coming back to this house, was the one thing I couldn’t afford to mess up. My mother had wished for all of us to be okay, to eventually find happiness, and move forward without her. The warmth of the house when I entered it consumed me, but it wasn’t the same. The echoing emptiness reverberated in my ears like a haunting nightmare. My mother’s vacant bedroom tore at my very soul, and it hurt in this regretful, remorseful way. It felt like happiness had been locked away and someone threw away the key; things would never be the same. Boxes upon boxes, remnants of our lives, returned from the movers, scattered throughout the house. In Belly’s bedroom, the blue-white, starless wallpaper still clung to the walls behind the furniture. My chest constricted, tightening slowly and steadily. It then dawned on me that she wasn't mine to lose anymore.

No one ever claimed that letting go was easy; they only said that it’s been done. We hold onto those we love like moths drawn to a flame. People who were once embedded in our minds, like pieces of our souls. When we lose them, their absence becomes etched in our hearts forever. All this time, I had hoped that infinity would mean something to her, a love that would sing a thousand times over, but it never did, not in the way it did for me. Even when I thought I was too late, my words were simply not enough. In my heart, I understood that hurt people hurt people, as painful it was to admit. We both drew blood, but I know those cuts were never equal. I’m the one left because now you’re gone.

[briskofmisery]

ALL TOO WELL

TW: Death, cancer, alcohol

“Everything turns on pain; the rest is accessory, even nonexistent, for we remember only what hurts. Painful sensations being the only real ones, it is virtually useless to experience others.” — Emile M. Cioran

I’ve become afraid of falling asleep, the perils of daydreaming mocking me until my last breath. The damp sand slid beneath my feet, the torment consuming me as our eyes met. The beach house, once reminiscent of a home, now resembled a decaying flower in springtime, a reminder that my mother was gone. The scent of old gin, beer, and tequila shots filled the air as I gazed at the mess before me, the house filled with empty bottles, cans, and graffiti. For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe this house could still be mine if I let it. If only I convinced myself long enough, perhaps it could be ours again. But it wasn’t. Julia’s words made that painfully clear. The house, now sold to another family, had slipped from our grasp; it wasn’t ours anymore. These promises of hope I had been telling Jeremiah felt like a lie. I felt everything inside of me daring to break down and collapse into the very thin air we shared.

Everything seemed to be a blur, like a chaotic tangle of emotions and a flood of anguish, tearing me apart. The memories that once held significance were now hidden in boxes, tucked away behind closed doors. This was no longer mine. This house wasn’t mine, it had slipped away from me. The panic within me grew, the hollowness of the house echoing as the guilt enveloped me. Hope is a dangerous path to go toward. I always knew hoping for an answer in the clouded skies was not meant to be. But I didn’t want to say goodbye. Hope ebbs and flows at unexpected times. I always dreamed that happiness would be a brief respite. Deep down, I wished for a savior amidst the storm — ached for it. And then there was one.

Nevertheless, even amidst those moments of solace and optimism, the echoes of last night out on that beach, continued to play in my mind like scenes from a movie. It felt as if I was parting ways with long-forgotten loves of the past. I remember how farewell seemed to slip through my fingertips, while Belly’s tearful gaze remained fixed on the dampness of the sandy backdrop. Once again, I had lost her. Right after a brief moment of relief, when the illusion of hope had quickly embraced me with this unique feeling of hopefulness, it was gone. How could it disappear into oblivion so effortlessly? How could it slip through the crevices, into the shrouded darkness, so easily? Had it been me? Was it my doing?

I knew Belly had heard every word so poetically, and my desperate plea to save the beach house was nothing more than a manifestation of guilt. Words failed me; but I believed she knew that I meant every word, every expression of hope, and declaration of love toward her, she knew. I thought she knew how in love with her I was. I thought that when I confessed to her on this very beach last summer, she understood that I loved her. The anguish and fracture in my voice let out signs of my desperation.

“I thought that we loved each other,” she said, her voice catching hoarsely. Her words carried an ache of pain, like a silent, agonizing cry. The words seemed so pitifully inadequate to say, but I meant every word. “We did,” I responded without meeting her somber gaze, so she knew I meant it. I knew my love was real. Then, she said something she knew would shatter me completely, “I guess not enough.” I wanted to plead with her, to promise a glimmer of hope amid the darkness. But she stood before me, crying, her eyes glistening with tears, so I didn’t. I let her go. As my feet sank further into the damp sand, I watched her leave with the bottle of tequila still in the palm of her hand. I didn’t know what to say then, but once I managed to find the right words, the moment would have been over. I wished I could express to her what I really meant, yet it seemed as though what we had was broken. I was willing to prove Jeremiah right, that I was a coward. That I had let Belly walk away once again. Thoughts of all the things I should have said to prove my love for her was infinite, swirled in my mind, but instead, it felt like we were simply as close as strangers once more.

I think I left a piece of my heart out there on the damp sand and within the cosmic tapestry of stars on that stained-glass night. I wanted to cry, perhaps even to shout, if only I had the audacity, into the gentle radiance of the moon while gazing up at the constellation of stars. 

Come morning, the universe enveloped me into a brokenness I hadn’t experienced since my mother died. A heaviness settled in my chest, and I found myself succumbing to guilt as I allowed Belly to ruin me again. Yet, when Laurel saved the house from Julia and my father, she felt like the fiercest, strongest woman I’d ever known. My mother would never have wished for this house to slip out of the family name; she would have wanted her boys to have it. The beach house always had a special piece of her heart. My father was far from a hero, let alone a decent father or husband. He was a cheater, a liar, and a coward. Maybe he cared about my mom, maybe he didn’t, but in this house, I knew what he meant. Time was merely a construct, yet in the beach house, she was everywhere. She shined brighter than the sun in Cousins. 

A surge of hope washed over me, rekindling the possibilities of hope that I had long abandoned. Hope had become a myth I had laid to bed for a while now. I was a pessimist, willing to right the wrongs of those who tried to tarnish my mother’s legacy. Haunted by her sweet lullabies, I found myself trapped in a dream of wishful thinking in a life filled with promise and success. My acceptance letter from Stanford University opened up new doors for a future, even with her passing. My cynical heart pained me long enough, now I could finally be free of it all.

I wanted to admit that being “just friends” with Belly, whatever that was to us, was never what I wanted. Fate had brought with it a sigh of relief; if I allowed myself a reprieve, happiness would follow. Yet, I couldn’t help but believe that lie was a means of punishing me in the end. I knew that when I drink, I still remember. Once I passed my biology final, I would tell Belly how I felt. Just this once, I would open up to her. I dreamed of a future with Belly at Stanford, if she wished. And if she wanted, I’d chase a constellation of stars for her. If we let ourselves, happiness would come. But in the back of mind, doubt lingered. I wondered if I was too late. If I said that the words were a lie, that this love was raw and genuine, would she love me now? Would she give me her heart in her hands? 

The euphoria that had embraced me was fleeting, fading just as quickly as it had come. I made my way down the stairs of the academic building, through Brown’s lush greenery, and headed toward the parking lot to share news of my exam. Only the smile I had been wearing was now faded, as if it was never there in the first place. If I didn’t let anyone in to see my ugly heart, no one could get hurt. 

There was Belly, standing in front of my car, her fingers grazing Jeremiah’s cheek, his hands wrapped around her neck in a passionate kiss — and she was wearing my Brown sweater. I suddenly felt indescribably sick to my stomach, my heart collapsing. A mixture of complete shock and disbelief etched across my features, as I stood there, frozen. All hope had completely faded, dreams torn from my mind. Dreams in which Belly and I could be happy together. However, cynical hearts aren’t meant to experience that happiness; it was a veil of joy. Seeing how passionately Belly kissed my brother managed to send shivers coursing through me, like they were both two magnets pulling toward each other by gravitational pull.

The double betrayal shattered me, as though a dagger had been thrust into my heart, piercing it without fail. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be here; I knew I was intruding on a private moment. A few seconds later, after stopping short of the car, I deliberately cleared my throat loudly, so Belly would know it was me. “Ahem,” I spoke up. My gaze fixated onto them both, filled with regret, sorrow, and even hatred. 

Last night, I dreamed that we could get back what we had lost over changing seasons. I thought infinity, Venus, and Junior Mint held deep significance to her, but it didn’t, or perhaps it was this figment of my imagination that led me to believe in the possibility of hope. Even though Belly had helped me study for hours upon hours, from evening until dawn, her act of betrayal weighed heavily as we gazed at one another. At that moment, nothing felt right; everything shifted, leaving me shattered. I was too late. My plan to confess my love to Belly was merely an illusion now. It dawned on me that Belly and I were never going to get back what we had, because she had made it be over. My last shred of sanity slipped even further, leaving my skin lacking color. For whatever happens, the things I didn’t say haunt me. Even when it hurts, I still remember.

[briskofmisery]

WHEN WE WERE YOUNG

TW: Death, cancer

"I knew that what was left of me would always love you, but never in quite the same way." — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

June came, but spring still haunted my mind. The moment I entered the summer house, the four enclosed walls enveloped emptiness and hollowness that resembled a raw, exposed wound. With each breath I inhale, I’m set adrift between the ocean’s waves, washed ashore, tossed like riptides along damp sand.

It had been a month since my mother passed away, leaving the world in search of the heavenly stars during the summer season. Some people control their emotions; others are driven by their agony. I was a cynic. While some believed that June would bring a sense of renewal and rebirth, reconciling past heartbreak and inviting a future amidst the waves, I knew better. The moment Liam Meyer from the East Side informed me of the house’s sale listing, I knew I had to make things right in Cousins. Lingering between nightmares and reality, I drove a couple of hours from Brown University to Massachusetts in a matter of days.

Returning to the summer house that once felt like home, I was met with a darkness devoid of light. The memories of my childhood were tucked away behind locked doors, much like secrets in hushed silence. Seeing the ‘For Sale’ sign planted in the ground felt like losing my mother over and over again, a knife repeatedly piercing my heart, leaving me for dead in a sea of desolation.

Everything that happened with my mother these last few years became trapped in my mind. I remember carrying her up the stairs last summer when she was too weak to do so. I remember keeping my mother’s cancer a secret for months before its weight became unbearable. I remember the look my mother gave Jeremiah and me when she chose to undergo the cancer trial after promising herself she wouldn’t. Tears welled up in my eyes, my brother’s face swollen and paralyzed in despair.

The pain enveloped me like a letter addressed to the moon and the stars. This was my secret to bear. I didn’t want Jere to experience the pain and haze of grief of losing my mom all over again like I had. I yanked the stupid sign out of the front yard, tossing it in the garage, as if casting away a symbol of paranoia and turmoil invading our lives.

Gazing into the blackness inside, my mind drifted to the last time I stood within these walls. Only my mother was still alive, and I wasn’t alone. It was with Belly.

I remember chasing her amidst the waves and the season’s first frost in Cousins during the bleak midwinter. I had been driving all night. I wondered whether she had consumed my thoughts since last summer, because I was lost in her sweet melody. I remember the snowflakes adorning the sky, and Belly making dusty hot cocoa, which she proudly swore to be her specialty. Her face drew freckles like constellations in the cosmic illusion of stars. She had words on her cheeks, and I knew she was afraid when our eyes locked. I don’t recall the last time it snowed in Cousins, maybe because my mother never took us here in the wintertime. Belly and I etched snow angels in the frost, and I fell more in love with her, giddy as can be.

When we returned, we nestled beside the living room fireplace, coolness washing over us. Her warm hands brushed delicately against my frozen cheeks, and I think I blushed. I shuddered softly, nuzzling my face into the palm of her hand. “That feels good,” I whispered into the sun’s rays. “Yeah, that’s ‘cause you’re cold-hearted,” she answered. I didn’t lift my gaze as she spoke, only grazing her features, basking in the warmth of her touch as I replied, “For everyone else, maybe. Not for you.” I didn’t look at her when I said it, because I meant every word. Belly had ensnared my mind, enveloped my heart, and illuminated my very soul. She was like a comet streaking through the sky with no starting or ending point. Our eyes locked then, her heartbeat palpable when we kissed, her wearing the infinity necklace I got her last summer. No matter what happens, we’ll still be infinite, I told her. Her lips tasted like salty air and beach sand, drunk with tenderness.

Somewhere between winter and spring, our flame burned to the ground, but our love remained infinite. Tomorrow morning I would call the bank to see if it was possible to access my trust fund to cover the cost of the house, a fragile thread of hope that I clung to desperately. It was Jeremiah’s voice that woke me from my somber haze. His words echoed within the walls of the summer house. No one was supposed to know.

Jere’s voice shattered my reverie, seeking answers beneath futile dreams. I stood beside the fireplace that once flickered fierce flames this past winter, like an immovable object, shaken but unwavering. I refused to leave. Fuck school; all that mattered was preserving Mom’s legacy and saving the house. I was hurt, and I wanted to protect my brother from the pain of losing Mom’s house; my emotions remained hidden, locked away. 

The words escaped me without thinking. Suddenly, Belly emerged from the shadows, her voice a hoarse tone that sent shivers down my spine. I turned toward her, shuddering when I heard her. Amidst changing seasons and tumultuous storms, finding serenity during the chaos proved difficult. I couldn’t believe that Belly was here. I didn’t want her to know; I didn’t want to see her, and I missed her all at the same time. It was like seeing a ghost in the wind, one who haunted me for a lifetime. Refusing to meet her gaze, I averted my eyes; the pain was too much to bear. Seeing Belly was like repeatedly losing a part of myself. An ache that wouldn’t heal. At night, we watched “It Happened One Night,” the first movie my mom and Laurel would watch each summer. I hadn’t realized that come tomorrow, all of this would be over. 

Belly’s presence drew stars around my scars; now, I was bleeding, gasping for air in her wake. Nightfall came; the house still smelled the same, but when we returned to see the house empty, a surge of guilt washed over me for leaving to begin with. I knew leaving was a mistake. One day of hope. One day of freedom. It all faded away. Reminiscing memories of when we were young, now reduced to ashes. We were like innocent little kids skipping stones without a clue. I came to believe that happiness wasn’t meant for me. These hidden truths and choices inflicted a sense of madness, stripping away possibilities of hope. We hadn’t been kids for a long time. I wasn’t the same boy who gave Belly a polar bear with sunglasses, which she named Junior Mint. And she wasn’t the same girl. I should have known better. I should have stayed.

Standing in the living room of the beach house I had known forever, it was nothing more than an empty shell encompassed by four walls – nothing more, nothing less. As I peered around the house, I surveyed the wood and doors that once held meaning. I wanted to cry, but tears didn’t come. Everything crumbled before my eyes, and when I saw Julia, I just fucking lost it. She was the reason for this void within me, the reason for this hollowness and emptiness that consumed me. She had no right to touch anything in this house. These were my mother’s, the things that had brought her joy before she died. This house was ours, a place where her magic touch still lived, even after death. Without my mother’s things, it was just a house.

I wanted to preserve every memory. Infinity, moments with my mother, her painting our portraits, last winter with Belly. I needed to escape this house that seemed to hold faded, forgotten memories. I feared that by losing this house, I would lose all my memories of my mother. I had told Jere that there was the slightest possibility of saving the house; now, I felt like a fraud. A liar. Teenagers shouldn’t bear the burdens of their elders’ mistakes. The pain of standing within those walls was overwhelming. No furniture, no paintings, none of Mom’s cherished knickknacks. Outside there would be peace; a stillness awaited amidst the storm. I longed for a moment of tranquility, a reprieve beneath this cosmic constellation of stars. I wanted quiet. Stillness, even for a moment. Because after I took a breath, it would all be over.

[briskofmisery]

A CONCERT SIX MONTHS FROM NOW

TW: Death, depression

“I'm a slave to my emotions, to my likes, to my hatred of boredom, to most of my desires.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

I’ve gotten used to how hushed promises whispered that clouded skies would soon be covered by a blanket of white flakes, like tales of disappointment and desires that filled with life’s dualities. The air turned crisp from the touch of the first frost, creating a tapestry of black stars that painted stories of galaxies and dreams. I could hear faint cries echoing in the silent night, chasing midnight’s breath.

Perhaps, in the end, I’ve turned prisoner in this slow dance to a most sorrowful death. The vicarious starvation clung to me like a delirious melody between stars and constellations in the sky. Nightmares have a clever way of keeping me from surrendering to tiredness; each breath I take became a departure from the very mortality I had been seeking. Instead, I find myself trapped beneath the weight of this lifeless illusion, yearning for a glimmer of hope.

The sound of glass shattering had become familiar, as my mother’s cries enveloped me in her distress, baring her soul to me as she fell apart at the seams. Sweet and endearing, yet too cruel for her own good, she had painted me as the martyr, deluding me into believing I was the savior steering the course to my personal doom. But I was nothing more than entangled within her intricate strings.

In the stillness, both body and mind succumbed to the somber haze of sanctified air, as her silhouette emerged like a ghost in the wind. A devilish creature turning sweet dreams into fragile whispers. The strong scent of decaying flowers in springtime concealed the notion of death my mother left behind, petals fallen across cold cement floors. Her laugh was like a bloody mirage — A haunting sonnet, orchestrating nostalgic reveries from when I was young. But her ignorance and youth got the best of her, my mother. I thought by autumn, I’d resigned myself to the guilt and betrayal she left behind in her wake. As December embraced its first snowfall, darkness loomed over every one of us, strands of detrimental haze ruining our paths.

“You don't want to make a scene,” My mother punctuated each word softly, as the afterglow from the living room cast a shadow over our heads. Autumn’s golden, crisp leaves hid the harsh aroma of death, her stern tone reminding the heavy rain that follows the changing hues of mid-October. “Please, Mother, if a scene was what you were avoiding, then perhaps you wouldn't have fucked the bellhop in the supply closet like a dirty, little whore.”

“Darling, how does it feel, to be nothing but a disappointment?”

I confess. I’m a pagan for the good times, beneath the cosmic illusion of anticipation. An envelope of catastrophe that hardly existed before. But words are like daggers to the heart when there is nowhere left to escape to — nowhere except a labyrinthine garden of death, separated by taunting whispers and closed doors in the night. Isolated by hearts where once-vibrant flowers now withered amidst the changing seasons.

Her abrasive shadow cast itself as a moth to a now broken flame. “You’re such a Goddamn fool, Elliott,” She slurred after a few too many glasses of whiskey, causing a glass sculpture my father bought at an Upper West Side auction to collapse, the sound reverberating through Mother’s annual Christmas party. She had always been mine to lose – A dead girl walking. Deep down, I wished to put her out of her depraved misery just this once. Then I could prevent myself from any defiled agony. Perhaps of all the hushed lullabies, the ones I told her were my deepest regrets.

Hope is a myth in this bed I made just for me. I slip further into my subconscious, the taste of guilt and decay lingering on my tongue. I caused these shattered delusions, a promise of panic and disillusionment.

Dreams can easily be disguised as nightmares if we surrender our minds to them. The mind’s detachment can lead to unspeakable things when you least expect them to. Yet, she continued to haunt my dreams, even long after her passing. I tried to drown in a kaleidoscope of snow-draped pine that decorated the wintry winds – Self-destruction and ill-fated misery. A cruel creature of habit. Yet, the envelope of fading flower petals brought a perpetual coldness, a consequence of my impudence. Violent terrors returned, shortly after the weight of reality took hold. I was no angel myself; I was the product of my mother’s cries for help.

Leaves wore a fresh coat of white frost, while bare trees hung icicles as though they have grown weary after a long day’s work. A moment when the forest fire has departed, and there is a rebirth of hopeful festivities.

“Elliott, wake up, it smells of snow.”

I awake on the edge of delirium, breaking free from an eternal dance with death in my dreams. Hands soaked in blood, the taste of guilt and decay lingered as illusions of muffled gunfire that felt an awful lot like a bad dream. I’d managed to keep my mind at bay until then, chasing the midnight air forever as if it was to be the final breath I’d take. Her blood spilled stains the tile floor, corrupting the air with a metallic scent. Red bloodshot eyes burned from the glare of flashing lights when I took a deep breath. A stranger in the eyes of the beholder.

I stood up, finding myself trapped in the confines of these four walls. I ruffled through the printed pages of my sins, before sprinting outside where I was greeted by the white skyline and the smell of snow – this season I used to call home. Memories of snow angels and Upper West Side dreams enveloped me, a reality that had become a nightmare. Yet still, it was mine.

“Elliott, what the hell are you doing?” The sound of a woman’s voice is engraved in my mind, gradually harping off to a cross dissolve. I stared out the front door, the coldness seeping through my flared-up nostrils in surprise when the blackness consumed me. “It’s not even Christmas morning yet. Don’t you want to open your presents?”

I don’t remember there being laughter or Mother’s angel wings. It was the first snowfall of the season, a mere pull of autumnal grace that had allowed winter to begin. And all I remember is how she cried in vain.

[briskofmisery]

I KNOW IT WON'T WORK

TW: Death, cancer, anxiety

"I'd stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I'm not afraid of your dark.” — A.J. Daniels

Death is a double-edged sword. There are moments when it can feel as if the weight has been lifted from your chest, freeing you so you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Yet, there are other times it seems like the world is crumbling beneath your very feet. I always knew that this dance of death was inevitable, like closing the chapter in a book that had been perused and revisited countless times. Sickness does that to the people you love most. I just never thought I would lose her, too.

Facing the inevitability that I would bring her pain was a tough pill to swallow. Perhaps it was the grace of nature's autumnal pull that killed us, too – either way, call it ill-fated timing. I harbored a fantasy that in several years, my mother would still be alive, Jere and I would become inseparable, and Belly and I would be together – happy, even. Deep down, I think I always knew I’d fuck it all up somehow. I hid behind a mask of civility, keeping secrets like hidden gems. Every smile I wore, every word I spoke, they were all carefully crafted layers that shielded people from the ugliest parts of me. The reality was never supposed to be simple; accepting my mother’s gradual decline during my freshman year at Brown University was never meant to be easy. It was all a lie; A mirage.

It had been one month since Belly’s junior prom – one month since I broke her heart. My mom was dying, and as her life slipped away, so did her breath, her vitality, and her very essence. I never intended to leave Belly in tears at her prom; a night that every child dreams about, a night meant to be special. She looked so beautiful, like a princess captured from the pages of a fairytale. I didn’t want to leave her like this, in ruins. When I tried to plead with her and tell her that I loved her, I knew she wouldn’t want to hear it. Yet when she responded, her voice a river of tears, "You're the one leaving it like this," I knew I had to let this burn. I had to let her go, even if it meant she’d hate me, just for a little while.

I had fallen in love with a girl, who I had known my entire life. She became my favorite person. Her tear-stained gaze bore into me, like a torrential rain, each droplet carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words. Throughout last autumn and into winter, I called Belly every day, as if to hear her heartbeat while being physically apart. It was like being able to talk to her, listen to her heartbeat, and not be near her. It physically hurt every fiber of my being not being able to tell her how much I loved her. I came home sometime near Halloween, because I missed Mom, and it hurt too much to be with Belly and not be with her. A part of me believed telling Jeremiah the truth was the right thing to do, like a candle flickering with the hope of illuminating shadows. “It hurts, like, my chest physically hurts to not be able to tell her that I’m in love with her,” I confessed to Jeremiah quietly – a vulnerability I hadn’t embraced in a long time. I felt this electricity whenever I heard her speak, as I listened to her words like the sound of her voice was my favorite song.

When she gave me the infinity necklace back, she glanced at me, her eyes red and puffy with hurt. Raindrops mingled with my emotions, sliding down my face. Just as the sun, moon, and stars collide in an eternal cosmic dance that goes on forever, I wanted us to be infinite. Being with her meant everything, but my mother’s gradual decline overtook my body and soul. She was fading away, losing face, and it broke me.

Watching Belly walk away from me, seeking comfort in Steven’s embrace ruined me completely. Drenched in the pouring rain, a cold cascade of reality washed over me, and at that moment, I knew I didn’t deserve her. I knew she deserved someone who could be there for her through thick and thin, someone unafraid of sharing truths. Instead, the pain of this cosmic fracture and disillusionment tore through me like descending through the night sky. It felt final.

My mother died sometime before dawn. I remember because when I woke up that morning, it was still dark outside, and I had just returned home to Boston. I was in my childhood bedroom, reliving the prom over and over again in my mind — Like a haunting refrain, delayed anguish. I merely heard silence, broken only by sporadic sounds from a distant bedroom, and a hushed sob that made me sit up. It was Jeremiah.

I don’t remember much after that, just that when I went to go check on Mom, she wasn’t breathing — her heartbeat faltered, her countenance serene yet lifeless, her lips their rosy hue to a subdued purple.

The weight of losing my mother proved heavier than I ever thought possible. Life blended with pain and regret, a recipe for self-destruction. The sounds of birds chirping and rounding out unchained melodies became a thing of the broken, almost distinct past of heartbreak and hurt in May.

The funeral stretched on, and I felt like an outsider in my own skin. Someone sang a hymn I never heard of, and my dad said a few words, void of genuine love and devotion, seemingly falling flat. I watched as my brother and Belly wept in the church pews, their quiet sobs echoing in the four enclosed walls. Back at the house, a sense of brokenness consumed me – my heart raced, and intermittent breaths whispered like wind rustling through the leaves. My mother’s death hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me gasping for breath in its wake. I wanted to say something, but words remained elusive. Then Aubrey appeared in the hallway, seeking a bathroom of all things. A wince escaped me; the sight of her tightened my chest, and my heart clenched, especially when hearing the muffled voices downstairs. I curled into Aubrey’s lap like a child after a haunting nightmare. I wanted to cry, but no tears came out, and I didn’t want to hurt in front of Aubrey. I crumbled; it felt as if I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t help but wish someone else had found me at that moment. I couldn’t let myself embrace the reality I was living in. I wanted my mother to tell me that everything would be okay. Footsteps ascended the stairs, their creaking echoing like walking on eggshells. It was Belly, who swallowed hard when she saw us together; her gaze mixed with surprise and betrayal.

She froze at that moment, rushing downstairs before I hurried after Belly. And then she said something that she knew would hurt me; or rather, something she knew would hurt us, “Go to hell.”

I stared at her, my gaze steady yet pained. I could tell she was in pain after my mother died, but I was, too.

So I said something that I knew would hurt her back. “I should’ve known you’d be like this. I knew it was a bad idea, starting something with you.”

In that instance, everything felt indescribably wrong. The weight in my chest engulfed me like a distorted illusion, like a labyrinth of shadows weaving through my mind. As Belly stumbled over a carpet and rushed out the front door, I remained in the hall, looking around at the guests – some of whom I didn’t recognize at all, others whose faces were familiar but no names came to mind. Laurel looked at me then, an embarrassed look on her face, not for me, but for Belly. I turned to run after Belly, regretting my words. But I didn’t. Instead, I lifted my gaze to find Aubrey at the top of the stairs, her widened eyes locking with mine.

For as long as I could remember, it had always been Belly Conklin: the girl I kissed on the beach last summer, the girl I tutored in trigonometry in autumn, the girl who ran through winter's snowy beach in Cousins in December with me. The girl I loved.

As I stood there, I realized how screwed up everything had become. My mother was gone, and Belly and I had made a scene at her funeral, in front of an entire party. My face felt taut; I wanted to fall apart at the seams right there. Didn’t Belly understand how much I cared about her? From the moment we kissed on the beach, I thought she knew. I thought I had ignited a flame. Aubrey was just one who found me, but I really wished it was Belly. I wanted our love to burn forever.

[briskofmisery]

WALKING IN THE WIND

TW: Death, cancer

“Adventure is worthwhile in itself.” — Amelia Earhart

Sickness is like a storm that temporarily clouds even the brightest skies. Revelations, as is change, are hard pills to swallow. It’s almost a diversion of reality, ripping away pieces of hope, leaving us strung along like puppets on marionette strings. My mother had this special way about her, a magic touch that brought comfort and warmth to those she cared about. Only a few truly appreciated it, but everyone couldn’t help but be drawn to her charming nature.

Accepting her cancer was never meant to be simple. Learning the truth at Belly’s debutante ball was devastating, similar to an unrelenting storm that left a trail of heartache. Like the falling leaves of autumn and the frost that covers nipped trees in winter, those months were spent handling my mom’s medical bills and navigating our tight-lipped insurance company to avoid debt.

Each day, I mustered up the strength to make drinks which resembled vanilla daiquiris – no alcohol – for mom, a flavor I knew to be her favorite, in hopes of kindling her spirits and renewing her weakened strength. My mother, who once had a vibrant spirit, now seemed delicate, like a fading flower in the season's first frost, and the dark circles beneath her eyes crowned her face like a haunting melody of a broken record. Her touch now felt cold, like life itself was slowly ebbing away. It hurt to watch her dance with death as if I were watching a waning candle’s feeble flame — A dark cloud that hung in the air, a shift in the winds. I think my mother accepted her death years ago when she made the conscious decision that undergoing months of chemotherapy was too much of a cross to bear. She just wanted to have one more perfect summer at the beach house she loved so much.

The days grew long and tiresome as her light diminished, while my body turned numb. My heart constricted, but I saved face for her; I didn’t want her to know I was hurting. I wanted to be the light she needed to live, even on her worst days. I wanted to be her favorite Sunshine Boy, watching Marilyn’s “Some Like It Hot” together, sitting by her side, and letting her coddle my face like I was a fragile infant, and she was this force of nature. I knew those days would be over soon when the new year came. The snow decorated the skyline like a magical, white tapestry that we once cherished in January before time stopped in April when her dark circles turned purple, an amethyst color; her face was tight, and the color of her lips was pale in comparison to what they used to look like.

I remember my mother sitting on the couch in the sunroom, smiling as she watched Conrad take Belly to her junior prom. I could see the two of them through my mother’s large tablet screen, Conrad enveloping Belly in his arms, her wearing a gorgeous lilac prom dress that made her shine like a star. As I squinted at the screen, holding a drink resembling a strawberry daiquiri for mom after they ran out of vanilla at the local grocery store, I couldn’t help but notice the sullen expression on Connie’s face while he stood next to Belly. But then he said he forgot Belly’s corsage, and I couldn’t help but despise him for that. 

He couldn't even manage a brief smile to make Belly happy, even for just a few seconds. I knew that if I were the one taking Belly to the prom, I would have made sure everything was done right. I would’ve gotten a beautiful corsage that perfectly matched her dress, and I wouldn’t have forgotten it. I would’ve remembered because she was special. As my mother spoke, her voice carried a soft laugh. “He left it in his dorm fridge,” she explained. “It was so beautiful, too. He sent over pictures – orchids.” My mother’s mere excitement at seeing Belly with one of her boys was palpable. Didn't she understand how much I had wanted to be the one to take Belly to the prom? 

I ignored the so-called considerable gesture, sitting next to my mom on the couch and propping her feet up in my lap before quietly telling her to drink up. And then she stared at me, her eyes softening, when she saw the pain in my eyes. I missed spending summers in Cousins with my mom, Conrad, Belly, Laurel, and Steven. Maybe I just let the faded memory of her disappear into the emptiness I felt since she’s been sick. The truth was, I didn’t want anyone to see me hurting. I didn’t want my mother to see me as a little kid. I didn’t want Belly to hurt the way I did, and I wanted my brother to be happy, even if it cost me.

With Connie off on his freshman year at Boston University, the pile of mom’s medical bills and insurance paperwork grew quickly. Even long after Halloween passed, I found myself spending countless hours sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by Black pens and stardust. While my senior year of high school drew to a close, I couldn’t quite let it all go; everything was all-consuming like I was suffocating, drowning in a sea of emotions, trying to come up for air. It seemed like I was all alone in this, watching my mother’s decline. It was exhausting trying to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

As April turned into May, her condition deteriorated, and then she died early in the morning. I felt a deep emptiness in my chest when I saw her lying there, devoid of breaths, inhales, or exhales; I only heard silence. I wanted to call my best friend and tell her how much I needed her by my side when mom died. But Belly was nowhere to be found. She never called, texted, or mailed any letters. All she received was a phone call from my dad, and in just a few days, we laid my mom to rest.

I remember that the funeral was long and agonizing. People who barely knew her sobbed, shaking my hand as if to offer comfort and extend their condolences. Tears rolled down my face while listening to a pastor who never met her deliver a eulogy. I couldn’t help it; everything hurt. My mother was dead, and I was all alone. I felt like I lost a part of myself the day she died. In a way, I had my dad and Conrad, but we were all too different, and I didn’t want anyone to see how much pain I was in.

Of all the people in my life, the only two people who truly understood me, who really saw me, were Belly and my mom. At the funeral, Belly wore a long, black dress that was a bit too tight, but I knew it was my mother’s favorite. We hardly spoke to each other, only exchanged what felt like mumbles. She used to be someone I could talk to about anything; I’d go to her if I was ecstatic, hopeful, or I just needed someone to vent to. I could feel the heaviness in my chest enveloping me, and I wanted to grab her, to confide in her about how hard these last few months, days, and even hours had been. 

Everything had become so difficult now, and most nights, I just cried myself to sleep without so much as a blink. I desperately wanted to tell Belly how much I missed her, to relive old memories at the summer house with my mom, and to cry together when the pain became too unbearable. Belly knew just how special my mom was. Without her, I wasn’t mom’s Sunshine Boy; I was just me, and it hurt.

[briskofmisery]

ODE TO A CONVERSATION STUCK IN YOUR THROAT

TW: Death, suicide

The dense air clinging to the etched, sun-kissed sky has enveloped me like a letter addressed to the vacant stars. Clinging to dreams disappearing in the starlight. After waking from a burning nightmare that I believed was a daydream, the evening humidity was embracing the moonlight I had been longing for in a faded disposition. Days wasted away unfazed like silly songbirds humming a tune in a careless melody that echoed anew. Of some other place. Ridden of immoral sins and atmospheric debris. I ponder life’s endless questions, promises of hope and peace after all things are said and done . . . and I am left in the dust.

I never knew the sounds of birds harmonizing in the broken summer wind would remind me of how my pulse beat underneath when she kissed me beneath the natural glow of the moon. It was soft and gentle; I remember because when I leaned forward, I was listening to her heart beating, too. I painted her as a fallen angel in my mind, like a ghost in a story not made for me but another lost lover from another time. Two people set adrift by day’s end and the woozy, infused moonlight . . . letting go of old heartbreaks and new love. Something forbidden, torn from a reality I dreamt of in a restless nightmare. The beginning of withering daydreams that sang a familiar song of memories past.

The air in my lungs is a harbinger of agony I refuse to accept. I sit beneath the constellation of these ridden stars that ignite the pain written in my lungs, entrapped in a world so far from my own. Forgotten memories and remembrance of moments long gone in the wind. The taste of saltwater in mid-August burns deep in my tongue and throat, the riptide enclosing, as if the motions were made just for me, sipped away like a bottle of wine. And she was mine. I look up to count the constellation of stars draped in the evening sky like a canvas mirroring an early Vincent Van Gogh painting. The glow crosses my pale complexion as I stare out into the long, salty abyss of air and light.

“What is it you once told me about love and death, Caroline?” I asked her this while she lay her head in the damp sand, and my bare feet struck the saltwater like no time had passed, sinking deeper into the wetness.

“People fall in love, people die. What else is there to say, Josh?” She’d quip jokingly in my ear, as the moon hung in the balance, in between tidal waves and the ocean breeze I was clinging to. Like loose tears escaping the swollen rivers and blue seas. I clutched wet sand in cupped palms, soaking in the airy feeling the waters brought me. I found my gaze plastered on hers once more before breaking the silencing daze and then blowing caution to the wind. “You told me, ‘death is infinite, and so is love.’”

“It’s true. Both are forever permanent, you know that.”

So I fall, I crumble, and I wake up at dawn the next morning chasing the waves to catch my own breath again and again. I mumbled something about the fear of agony buried deeply under my breath at the thought of love, death, and the pain that is inevitably forevermore.

“So morbid. Why don’t you make a wish instead? Wish upon a shooting star like God intended,” She said softly from behind me, as she stood up from the wet sand to gaze at the striking meteor burning in the Earth’s atmosphere.

“Like God intended,” I repeated quietly to the ocean. The boundless nature of space and time encapsulates the very tune I had sung since I was a little kid. Those promises of hope and serenity. The palm of her hand grazed my shoulder like a mother’s warm touch for her infant child.

I fall back into a ceaseless, black vortex heading toward a Hell I’m unfamiliar with, one that I cannot seem to escape. So sweet, so kind, I smiled. I’m seemingly trapped inside. Like an ode to a conversation stuck in your throat.

I live in a world deceived by a whirlwind of ruptured epiphanies in blue waters where waves crash into shore, and the stars are hidden beneath somber, white clouds. The soft sound of seagulls lost below the moon and the stars sung the sweet lullabies the songbirds did each morning I fell to my knees for the ocean outside my window.

If fear is just a part of love, why do we let the pain submerged in our hearts become lost in our memories? We cling to the broken in hopes that our tethered hearts grow fonder as the pain remains infinite. The tales we tell ourselves about love and death are fiction, and instead, they are stories we repeat to our children and grandchildren so that hope is not lost in the fiery void. Figments of our imagination, as the moon shines woefully in the evening light. I’m broken, I’m hurt, and so are you. We are like ships in the night.

“When I'm around slow dancing in the dark. Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms. You have made up your mind. I don't need no more signs.”

Dance with me like I’m all alone. In the sand, I’m sinking further and further. Now I’m lost in the wind. Are we longing for painful memories that hurt more the second time around just to experience the burning more violently than ever before? It’s like a drug, a high I’m grasping. I don’t want to slow dance in the dark, I want to be free. Like we’re two drifters off to the sea in the midnight air. Completely and utterly unmoored.

“I never meant to hurt you, but still, I’m stuck replaying your every word from that night, like a sweet lullaby, as we gaze at the same old stars in nostalgic air. Maybe I'm just heartbroken that you used to be mine.”

She was a stranger, I knew. So trapped in frantic illusions that it stopped her from becoming bound by her own reveries. Maybe she laid a piece of herself to rest the day she left me stranded and trapped beneath the ocean breeze. Her head was in the sullen clouds, but I was her token between life and death, daydreaming about being somewhere else. “I wish I could be with you forever,” I’d whisper sweet nothings in her ear, long enough to feel my heart sink to my chest, and she’d dive into the saltwater to surrender herself to the ocean.

“I am yours, forever,” She’d tell me whole-heartedly, only to leave me heartbroken and without cause. Whatever happened to the girl who laughed and loved so easily?

“We've traveled the seas, we've ridden the stars. We've seen everything from Saturn to Mars. As much as it seems like you own my heart, it’s astronomy, we're two worlds apart.”

She was like the North Star. The only star that never moved. From dusk to dawn, everything else spins around it. The curiosity of life’s purpose made yearning for hope feel like a rotating constellation of Earth and dust. Slipping through tethered hearts, absent underneath sand and soil. She is caught, but not without feeling. She was mine, but I lost her and saved her. Time and time again. Somewhere along the way, I was lost in the wind, too.

“I never meant to lose you.”

But some people just can’t be saved.

“Joshua, you can’t do this again. You’re not in the right frame of mind,” I couldn’t bear to understand this pain, nor my reverence when it came to acting upon my own hurt. There were a million stars in the Milky Way Galaxy, but I was ripped from the wind and gone with the sea, and so was she. I was trapped alongside an ocean I didn’t know.

“Shut up,” I slurred wryly, laughing and smiling at her like a shard of broken glass colliding with an embroidered mirror. She slipped deeper into the breezy air, head in the sand, mind amid the sea. I watched her float away like a seashell traveling ashore. The pale yellow sun soaked the sky and faded into diminutive dust in the inky clouds. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I just need some rest. I want to sleep amongst the stars,” was all I said.

Her forest green eyes encompassed darkness, pain, and hurt, when the dazzling sun reflected upon her pale complexion. And she looked at me like it was her all along I should’ve saved.

“You’re drunk,” Her words left an ache burning in my memory, like a story from a past life. Alive from a distant memory missing in the darkness. I refused to smile to mirror her sad features and surrender my heart to her in the riptide. The colors bled into one another above the trees to form a perfect sunset, the moon emerging from behind the lurid clouds.

“This is all so stupid, Caroline. If death is infinite, why do we let ourselves love?”

My body crashes into the wet sand, overcome with sorrow, knowing her hurt bore her soul for so long, and I would’ve saved her time and time again, if it meant we’d have each other. Death was infinite, but so was love.

How can you fight for someone who never wanted to live in the first place?

The white noise continues, sounding off inside my brain whilst murmuring gentle lullabies to myself in her name. In her voice. Yet it only echoes. The sound of restive waves in summer months consumes me like disturbed voices ignited in a red flame. The stars cup the moon in a black silhouette, and the ocean echoes in my very ribcage like a song I heard before.

If she let me, I would’ve been her prince in the black night, and we would’ve both been saved.

“My infinity.”

[briskofmisery]

OUTER BANKS 01x07 — Dead Calm

[briskofmisery]

“How come you get his shirt and I get a shoe?”

[briskofmisery]

[briskofmisery]

I’m on no one’s side, I’m just looking at this objectively!

[briskofmisery]

OUTER BANKS 2.10 “The Coastal Venture“

[briskofmisery]

All we got, and I know for a fact all I got is you guys, okay? You’re it. I’ve come too close to losing all of you. I mean, shit, like, Kie you almost drowned. Pope, you were kidnapped. Sarah, you’ve been shot. John B, you were almost dinner for a freaking gator, bro. So this blaming each other is some Kook-ass bullshit, all right? Okay? We’re Pogues.

Rudy Pankow as JJ Maybank in Outer banks Season 2 (2020-) Directed by Josh Pate, Jonas Pate, and Shannon Burke

[briskofmisery]

me: i watch this show for the plot the plot: 

[briskofmisery]

Hey dad, I’m alive, by the way and i’m also thinking about getting married. Can we crash?

Madelyn Cline as Sarah Cameron in Outer banks Season 2 (2020-) Directed by Josh Pate, Jonas Pate, and Shannon Burke

[briskofmisery]

kiara being #annoyed at rafe 

[briskofmisery]

Don’t hide from me.