margaretbjorgman-blog

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

“yeah, that’d help,” he quips, almost as if he’s answering with an equivalent of a ‘duh’. he’s completely messing with her although truth be told, having a menu beforehand would actually help. it’d at least give him the opportunity to ask someone in his family for some insight as to what he should get and what he should steer away from. hell, he’d even ask calista if given the chance knowing that the playful teasing from her end would be worth it if it mean he didn’t have to spend the entire night drinking on an empty stomach. it at least would help his mood throughout the night as he rubbed elbows with chicago’s elite, making them that much more bearable.

blue eyes trail after her sudden movement, watching how their fingers brush against each other before she fishes into her purse and retrieves two items that threaten to leave a frown on mateo’s lips. it’s a vice he’s never understood, mainly because it brings up memories of his biological mother and he associates smoking with the patio of their cluttered mobile home littered in buds his mother would discard throughout the day and night. it’s nothing like the image in front of him but it’s a sour memory nonetheless. how she’s able to make it look so damn attractive? he’s not sure though it barely makes up the fact that he’s not too fond of it. yet, he remains silent. they just made up from one fight, mateo isn’t dumb enough to pick another. it was better to chose his battles and this one was one he knows he’d never win anyway.

their fingers continue to graze against each other as she swings her hand toward him every so often, leaving her touch lingering on his skin. it continues for a few fleeting moments before he decides to catch her hand in his the next time she feels her fingers brush against his. interlacing their fingers, as he pulls her a little bit toward him.

as their eyes meet and her question lingers in the cold air, mateo can’t help but grin. he has to actively stop himself from chuckling at her question knowing that public transportation is completely out of her element but one he’s all too familiar with.

“it’s definitely safe,” he nods, “but in any case, i promise to keep you safe.”

with a hand caught, she looks up. between the cold air, the alcohol and the drugs, calista can barely feel the skin on her face; however she’s sure if she were to stumble upon a reflective surface, she’d glimpse at a light touch of rose shading otherwise pale skin. she gives him a light nod, giving no resistance to his pull. holding tight to the fool’s gold that coats his hand, the same that melts and drips from his tongue. 

“okay”, she says.

and so she lets him lead her to a very much unfamiliar bus stop, she tries to let the cigarette hang mostly in her hand but occasionally there’s the need for a settling drag. a pull from the ground that adds weight to her fleeting soul.

when the time comes, when the bus pulls over, wheels and breaks loudly digging into the pavement as to bring it to a halt, she clings closer to mateo, to his warmth and glances up like a child, almost asking for either permission or reassurance before following on the climb.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

her lips purse together into a tight lipped grin as she keeps her gaze on his paired with an air of mischief. shaking her head slowly to answer almost as if she’s challenging him. is she joking? absolutely not and certainly so. it’s definitely not a joke but it is one hundred percent a lie. the truth is that she’s a pretty skilled swimmer but what good does admitting that do her when she’s ready to play the damsel in distress, just waiting for her prince to come and rescue her?

so she lies, as the delicate features on her face morph into something much more innocent and playful while a manicured finger takes the fork inside the glass container and gingerly pokes at a slice with it. focus momentarily shifting from daniel to the shimmering fruit, the sweet flavor melting onto her tongue as she’s certain she’s never tasted anything like it. the quality fruit definitely wasn’t why she was focused on getting daniel wrapped around her little finger but it didn’t hurt either.

as she finishes her last bite, she focuses back on the man standing in front of her. they’re not the only ones on board though ana couldn’t care less. her mother had set what her purpose was and anastasia had no intention of failing at it. she tunes the rest of the crew members out, their purpose is useless unless it is to serve them and currently, their services aren’t needed.

“so does that mean you’ll save me if i start to drown?”

.

he smiles, sets down the tray on a fixed wooden table and wonders if his cheeks will ache after an hour. “you won’t drown”, the words are tied with a shake of his head, a laugh manages to paint his tone. “come on then, it’s either a lessons or the life jacket, now”.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

there’s an emptiness inside of her, hollow and dark, a wave of emotions she’d been riding out for the past few weeks. completely fine one moment and an absolute wreck the next. it’s as if that perfect crystal cage of fantasy has shattered beneath her, leaving her blooded and bruised. cuts so deep that leave her to wonder how its even worthwhile? fragments of a sunny disposition and endless optimism lay scattered, she’s stuck between wanting to believe the heartbreak was worth it and letting that void envelop her. would it be easier to grow cold and indifferent? she’s seen that look in others, the loneliness behind their eyes and how they shield themselves from feeling anything remotely genuine. it’s sad but more than anything, it’s safe. despite never being one to take risks, this was the one time safiya stepped onto the ledge, letting herself jump over and risk whatever it was that came with her ill fated decision. one that wasn’t suppose to end the way it did. 

perhaps it was the way it happened. the lack of explanation or reasoning that completely blindsided her. one day they were fine, the next they were done. all but a simple “this isn’t working out” as he left her standing there, alone as she watched him through tears fade into the horizon, trying to process what had just happened. yet it wasn’t necessarily the lack of reasoning that caused her to shut out the world, it was the search for an explanation that caused her to fade into the background. how she had tried to call and text, only to be left on read; how bitter and ruthless his words were when she pleaded for something more, anything to make sense. desperate and childish, pathetic and delusional. his words had made her feel so insignificantly small, a cruelness that echoed in her mind every time she closed her eyes

she doesn’t remember much after that. a haze taking over as he twisted the knife into her chest and watched her run away. the first few days were spent locked in her room crying, the next few just idly wandering around the house. it took a week for her to go out again, a facade of sunshine and warmth taking over as inside she felt absolutely numb. the mess she’d gotten herself tangled into being one she knew she couldn’t tell anyone about, not without risking any type of repercussion. so she carried it, silently with her as she’d constantly stop herself from bursting into tears. life returning to normal as days turned to weeks or at least, almost. the one place safiya couldn’t bring herself to step into was her finance class. she couldn’t see him, there was no way she could sit at her desk and watch him give a lesson to the rest of the class when all she wanted to do was scream. 

 an absence she was sure no one would notice until perhaps the most unlikely person did. danilo’s calls and text remained unanswered at first, it wasn’t hard to ignore him after all. except he was persistent and upon the mention of failing the course, safiya knew she had to sleep on the bed she made. she could ignore him forever and put her scholarship in jeopardy or cautiously take the help danilo was offering to help her get back on track. which, as much as safiya didn’t want to step foot into that classroom again, her studies were still a very important priority. she wasn’t about to lose a full-ride scholarship because of a man, no matter how stupid or broken she felt because of it.

as much as she didn’t want to take him up on his invitation to meet him at the restaurant, her options felt limited and she knew she’d soon run out of time to the point of no return if she wanted to pass finance. so she found herself in the back of the restaurant, sitting in a corner as she watched the rest of the world pass her by. laughter and voices ringing in her ears as they went on with their life as safiya felt like an absolute ghost. gaze empty as she focused on looking out at the window aimlessly, leg bouncing underneath her as tried to calm her nerves. she didn’t want to be there and with every second that passed, it only made the desire to get up and leave even greater. so what if she failed? what if she lost her scholarship? at least she’d never have to see the professor or danilo ever again. ( @conscientes​ )

he’s been turning at night. cream silk sheets lie tangled by his feet, on the floor. the black fur of a doberman shimmers against the moon’s light as she curls by the bed’s side– it must know something he ignores or perhaps avoids, because there’s the whisper of a name on his lips as he wakes and the taste of it he tries to wash away with water splashed on his face. 

his hand lingers by the plate’s side on the breakfast table. it fidgets with an unused silver fork and then reaches for a phone, for a text interaction he’s read far too many times in an app he doesn’t like but has to deal with anyways because of united states’ stubborn attachment. a sound leaves his mouth, one that can be classified as both a grunt and a sigh as his finger scrolls up and she refuses to respond. a finger stabs at the ‘lock’ bottom as if he could trick a security camera from catching the action. as if he could trick his brain into forgetting it even happened. he stares into a ceramic cup of espresso, beating it to a staring contest and jumps when his phone buzzes against the wooden table.

there’s a meditation technique that helps him sleep when a black mist plagues his thoughts. you’re supposed to keep your eyes closed as you begin with twin deep breaths and when you’re ready, you’re to imagine sunshine in a solid-esque form, one that can be absorbed into the skin on your toes and travel smoothly through your veins, up your legs and towards your head as it warms and settles a restless self. danilo can compare his particular predicament to it, but rather than sunlight being invited, it feels like a violation. his entire being can feel it but it escapes him for lack of a name, a label. it feels off, wrong; his mind rejects it with a strong “STOP” as it runs a finger down his stream of thought, his body attempts to expose it through finger tapping and neck cracking. it doesn’t feel like sunshine, it’s not warm though the origin of it somehow is. this thing, unfamiliar and almost spun by the moirai, it itches.

“the bristol, 7pm”

he was begging at that point, though he could not even question himself as to why. why, why why. somehow it’s always been about the very much unanswered ‘why’ with her. maybe he just likes the mystery of it all... though probably he just doesn’t like the buried answer. paper brushes against his fingertip as it slides down a page and edges a paper cut. his eyes scan the words printed on quality paper, his other hand holds the book open and taps its fingers against a black paperback cover. words are taken in, however remain unprocessed and danilo finds himself reading the same paragraph twice and then yet another time as his mind keeps wondering about the hour displayed on his watch. an ignorant spectator would mistakingly call him giddy, if they could feel the gaping void in the bottom of his stomach, they would know better. the time comes for him to grab the keys from the tall and slim table by his front door. when he takes a seat on the driver’s seat of his silver car, he lets out a sigh.

he’s known about this whole mess for a while now. he’s teased about it like a bored child, stuck in the back of a car for an hours-long roadtrip. holding it up in her face just to see how fast she’ll blush, how bright. such a precious contradiction she portrayed with her white dress and her mother’s bright red lipstick hidden in her purse. time and time again he wondered just for how long she’d be able to walk by the line that marked the division of two very different personas. he must’ve placed bets with the universe itself at least once or twice on exactly which side would prevail. with her ghostly silence, one could easily guess which way the air blew her to once the storm came. universe must be having a laugh now, it didn’t exactly please him. it’s still a guess, but one he acts on with foolish confidence. his plan as hasty as it is thoughtful.

danilo walks through the front door. his smile is polite as it nods to the hostess. he’s not been here too many times but the people that have paid bills of a certain amount have a way of being remembered in places like these. she nods towards a table in a corner and though she offers to guide him to it, he waves off the attempt with practiced charm. it’s not hard to spot her, in the sulking corner with a bouncing leg. the sight of it is bittersweet, though it lifts the corner of his mouth for a second as he wonders if she’d be able to recognize his own signs of unease. as he takes a seat, danilo clears his throat for a second– it’s been some time since he last used his voice in the day. there’s no need for senseless greetings, she probably wouldn’t care for one in her current state. 

“didn’t think you’d be early”, his shoulders give a shrug as they settle into his new surroundings, the knowledge of what’s to come adding force to gravity. any time now, too late to back down.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

“yours.“

his voice echoes in her mind, leaving her lips at a crossroads between a frown and a smirk. the frown that ends up winning threatening to give away the hand she’s playing — or rather the fact that she’s just going at it on a whim. the lack of endgame putting her on a road of disappointment if she doesn’t decide whether she’s trying to antagonize him, step into the past for a fleeting moment, or entertain herself in what has otherwise been a dull party.

actions fueled by lack of impulse leave her feeling stranded in the middle of a packed room. she’s losing. whatever the game she’s playing at with him is, it’s clearly one she won’t result victorious in. the intention had been to watch him squirm but the one feeling like she’s wanting to crawl out of her own skin is elsie. his touch lingers on her body and it takes everything in her not to melt into him. the song, their song, filling the air with intertwined laughter feeling like a cruel joke fate’s making at her expense. it’s not just uncomfortable, it’s unbearable.

except, elsie’s never been a quitter much less in wager’s of deceit and manipulation. instead, it takes everything in her to muster up a cheshire smile as she lets her touch brush against his warm skin.

she answers with a short nod. “i’ll admit it’s mine if you admit that i’m far more interesting than anyone you would have picked up at this party.”

hell, if she’s going down, she’s dragging him with her.

he’s not ready for the words that leave her mouth. as usual. the knock the breath out of his lungs and almost leave him standing still with his mouth hanging open. almost, though they do shut him up.

there’s sorrow in his gaze because it’s true and they both know it. what’s there to do about it though? he stares at her, eyes answering what he cannot as they sway to the rhythm (a bit slower, a bit looser), a frown twists at the corner of his lips and he guides her hand into a slow twirl. when they meet face to face once more, they stand closer than before. closer than what’s wise, closer than what’s comfortable. 

you know you are. the words almost escape his lips but he holds them back and extends the silence, his hand soft on her hip and traveling to the small out of instinct.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

perhaps had it been any other night, safiya would have questioned the how the night was unfolding. then again, had it been any other night, she probably wouldn’t have been such a weeping mess and danilo wouldn’t have been outside juggling her crap — material and emotional. nevertheless, she’s too tired to question any of it. instead, she watches with tired eyes as he pulls out his phone. too exhausted to even question what he’s doing. it’s a hopeless battle between wide eyes meeting his gaze and trying to even keep her eyes open. it’s both and neither, she’s sure she’s never been this tired.

she matches his reaction subconsciously as a deep sigh escapes her lips. chest rising slowly before a loud exhale leaves her body. somehow it’s still not enough to settle the restless thoughts and lack of oxygen she’s sure is reaching her brain. all she’s left with is watching how their breath dissipates into the cold chicago air. seattle was never this cold. oh, how she suddenly misses home.

it’s that last thought that’s about to send her spiraling once again but somehow, by some miracle, danilo’s action consume her thinking and she finds herself needing an extra second to even reconcile with what is going on. she’s too far worn out to even know what’s going on so all she’s left with is complying. he guides her down the road and she follows silently. her mind blank, numb. nothing but the soft echo of the night playing in her head. she should feel wary, hesitate on his intentions, especially considering how he drove her out of his apartment but despite it all, she can’t help but feel safe.

it’s not just because of what side of town they’re in. despite the taunting and insults, there’s something about him that safiya can’t help but trust. she can’t explain it, only accept it. as they reach the bus stop, her lips part to speak but nothing comes out. it somehow starts to click as the blinding headlights loom closer except once the doors swing open and she feels him behind her, she realizes that she’s unsure of what’s going on. perhaps even more confused than when he lead them toward the bus stop.

why is he still with her?

“sit.” the whisper that leaves her lips is hoarse almost as if she’d forgotten how to speak, sound barely filling the air around them but loud enough for him to head as she looks up at him.

“please sit,” she adds, a little clearer this time, “it’s at least a forty minute drive.”

slowly but surely as the seconds pass, she takes in more of the situation around her. the dark cloud of dread and heartbreak still weighing over her but somehow more alert under the fluorescent lights of public transportation than the bright chicago moon. 

“here,” she says as she extends out her arms to take back her things. it dawns on her that he doesn’t belong. despite how he seemed to know how to navigate his way around the bus and being completely indifferent to his current whereabouts, there’s an elegance about him that clashes with the ruggedness of the old bus. the way he stands, the clothes he wears, the interior of the worn and torn bus around him all remind her the vogue photoshoot’s ercin would cut out and paste on her side of their bedroom wall.

he barely hears her. soft, broken, danilo has to glance over with furrowed brows and lean towards her seat. 

‘please sit’. that one he’s able to make out with more clarity, eyes falling on her mouth and reading the words on her lips. there’s not a lot on his mind as the bus rides through darkened streets, his grip on the metal is loose and relaxed. he’s almost let the ride and the lights and the rumble absorve the contents in his mind and make them theirs. he almost jumps at her voice just then and there’s a lapse of confession just now as if the words “fourty minutes” had lost their meaning and relation to his existence.

then she extends her arms and he comes back into himself, all more aware of his surroundings and his unfortunate situation, the buzz in his blood and the tiredness pushing against his eyelids, needing them shut. she doesn’t have to beg for her things, he’s more than content to oblige. with an easy swing, he hands over the bag to her extended arms with a slight nod and casually takes a step back. 

forty minutes. forty minutes one way, forty more minutes the other way... or maybe he could just call a cab. somehow the thought of spending money to get her home didn’t really come to him in a time of need and now he wonders if it was a wise move– to save on money but not on time. which is more precious? time. the answer is obvious and he mulls it over with a sour frown. he takes another step back and though the seat beside safiya is free, he lowers himself on the one across with crossed arms and his head looking straight away. 

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

“hmm,” he responds, a lazy smile filling his features as he stares at her with a glint of admiration in his gaze, “well, glad one of us did then. so, tell me, what should one eat prior to these events? you think after all these years i would know but i’m still as clueless as ever.” an effortless chuckle leaves his lips at the admittance of his naivety. truth be told, he definitely would not have made it in this world without calista. he’s unsure of whether she realizes it but she’s been his lifeboat since the day he walked into the world of glitz and glamour. eyebrows raise in amusement at her question and he can’t help but laugh despite feeling a little foolish. still, he keeps up the teasing. “what?” he questions innocent, “i never took you to back down from a little risk. besides, i’d wouldn’t dare move a step without ensuring that you weren’t indecently exposed.” a beat later he gives up the act. “fine. so no piggy back rides, tossing you over my shoulder, or bridal cary. i have a place in mind but how do you feel about riding the bus? it’s one of my favorite places from back in the day. it was open at all hours and they serve the best tacos.” he’s trying to make it a selling point though he’s well aware of how easily he’s probably losing. none of the words that have come out of his mouth are ones he’s sure interest calista but it’s late and options feel a little limited. somehow mcdonald’s or denny’s seem like an even worst idea to suggest - a stroll around his old neighborhood somehow seems like the best option.

“what? you want a menu?” she arches a brow at him for a second. a nail runs down her own arm and pushes against the skin leaving a faint peach trail on it path. calista’s gaze drops to the cement walkway, her lips turned up around the corners falter and she takes a breath. a hand hangs loose by her side and it wanders until a pinky brushes past mateo, his warmth like powder being licked off the tip of a finger. a sparkly purse hits her hips in a swing, she catches it and immediately fumbles through its contents until she produces the silver lighter and a cigarette. 

he goes on and she catches phrases. looking up every now and then as the cigarette is placed in between fingers, lighter produces a bright flame, she blows through the rolled tobacco to keep it lit. seconds in which his lips move and she sees more than hears the words leave his mouth. something about her dress, and tacos and a bus. the girl lets out a puff, quickly redirecting the smoke away from the man who’s sure to wear some kind of disapproval in delicate features. she doesn’t look up anymore, or at least not at him, but the left hand still wanders and searches to brush against his skin every now and then. she tilts her head, unsure of her reply; there’s a tingling that carefully makes its way up her spine. 

had she been a little more present in this plane of existence she might’ve never even considered the though of riding public transportation this late at night. or ever. it’s not like she’d judge too much if any of her acquaintances rode the buss to get to places but the idea still sounds entirely uninviting and frankly unnecessary. her displeasure with the idea might very well be plain in her own face, no point in hiding it anyway but she still doesn’t turn it down. her eyes meet his at last, she takes a drag from the cigarette and takes in the blue that would not be visible were it not for the streetlights shining above. 

“i– is it...” she licks her bottom lip, her voice is soft “safe?”

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

@margaretbjorgman-blog​

there’s a playful smile painted on glossy lips as anastasia  looks up with a glint of mischief sparkling in brown eyes. she all but bats her eyelashes at him while scanning his features, already preparing a reaction to whatever his response is. it’d be exhausting if he actually wasn’t quite fun to be around. nonetheless, despite actually enjoying herself around his company, her mind still has to be focused. every word, smile, touch, having a purpose: to charm, manipulate, and ultimately use.

“you know, i don’t actually know how to swim so if your plan was to jump off the boat in the middle of the ocean, i might need your help,” she teases as she brushes a hand against his arm.

.

daniel almost misses her sparkling gaze– eyes set on the glass container with glistening peaches. he holds it on both hands like a cookie tray fresh out of the oven and gives a lazy smile that somehow enhances his soft blush; a permanent flush from hours spent on the summer sun, though brightened by their current standing.

the pair, only a step or two away from each other’s noses, standing somewhat coincidentally in the middle of a pristine wooden deck. hazel eyes offer a slice of the fruit as the captain brings the boat to a stop, the engine’s rumble fades into the ocean’s quiet vastness. anastasia speaks and he makes sure to meet her eyes. politeness or genuine intent. it’s both an awkward and an oddly relaxed afternoon as they meet in the middle of the ocean for a friendly encounter– a rather private one; all on their own aside from the pair of bored and silent crew members hanging in the back with both feet up on the dash and their phones attached to their hands.

there’s an unease, a restless stirring that disguises itself as electricity (or perhaps is). it’s perhaps an unintentional touch, but daniel inevitably lowers his eyes to the very spot, as if there’s anything to be found. one heartbeat, he brings back an unchecked smile.

“please tell me that’s a joke”

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

in hindsight, safiya will try to look back at this night and be able to put together bits and pieces. some moments more clear and much more vivid than others — messing with danilo’s belongings, the sudden meltdown as he challenged her after one too many sips of wine, the way he stood at the end of the street calling after her when she was adamant about getting as far away as she could from him. it’ll be a fever dream, one that’ll keep her away for weeks to come no doubt. except for in the present, as the cold chicago aired filled her lungs and threatened to pierce through her body, safiya was at a loss. the confusion threaded between his eyebrows nudging her to divulge more information, to give him a better glance at what it was that plagued her. except as much as she wanted to trust him, the surprisingly logical part of safiya refused to let any more words slip. she couldn’t have history repeat itself with his endless teasing, not with this. all she can do is stare at him as a contradiction of emotions envelop her. she stares at him in a widen gaze as the water works stop, brown eyes somewhere in-between a deer caught in the headlights and a pleading cry for help. she’s not sure of what she needs, much less from him. except the sudden confession seems to lift a weight off her shoulders and she can feel her body yearn to fold in on itself and let exhausted take over. the adrenaline rush slowing down its course through her body as she’s left feeling like a shell of who she is. panic suddenly rushes through her as she wants to take it back but doesn’t know how. she’s expecting him to say something that will surely twist the knife but his gaze falls to his hands and she’s hit with the sudden realization that it’s her belongings he’s holding. her eyes scan his body as she watches how he takes a better hold of her things instead of handing them back to her and sending her on her way. there’s a small voice in her head that commands her to reach out and take her things back, to leave him then and there and pray she manages to find her way back home. except she’s unable to move her body and instead responds softly: “little village.”

her voice is soft like a child’s whisper against the cold night. danilo leans in ever so slightly to catch the last syllable and automatically nods, taking out a silver phone from his back-pocket. little village is quickly typed into a map and as the blue loading icon blinks in and out of the screen, the man dares a glance through dark lashes at his companion for the night.

a sigh– one that’s deep and poorly concealed escapes his tiring body into a cloud of white mist. it hangs in the air between them, almost as a reminder from the events of the night. the shouting, the crying, the glorious headache building up under temples. 

danilo blinks at the bright screen and takes a steadying breath from the slight blur of the alcohol in his veins. at least there’s something keeping him warm, because his jacket certainly wouldn’t do the job all on its own. he nods towards the bus stop just a block away and guides his classmate down the cement sidewalk and otherwise quiet street. it’s dark and... lonely, but it doesn’t exude an air of danger given its socio-geographic position. once they reach the sign, it only takes a minute or two for danilo two spot a pair of bright yellow headlights and the accompanying rumbling of a large vehicle. it screeches to a halt and he practically pushes safiya up the stairs in case her now sedated-state refused to cooperate on its own. a nod is all the pair get as they walk past the bus driver and a lonely rider sitting in one of the front seats.

“here”, danilo nods towards a seat in the middle and stands to the side, hanging by one of the metal bars.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

she’s treading over an extremely thin line. a delicate sheet of ice that could crack at any moment and send her plunging down a reality elsie has no intention or yearning to face. it’s amusing to see how she he slowly unravels, unnerved by the little actions she knows he knows she’s doing on purpose. except one wrong move and elsie’s bound to be end up betrayed by her own heart. she won’t admit it, she’d never admit it but there’s something so comforting at the sense of his touch. the devious smirk curved on her lips transforms into a fully fledge cackle at his response, the retort so childish yet so endearing — though the last part she’d take to her grave before admitting to anyone. “and whose fault is that?” she shoots back, challenging him to answer. she’d argue that that particular blame falls on him. first and foremost for breaking her heart. secondly because of how he did close to nothing to stop the pretty girl he was so close to having wrapped around his little finger from walking away. she lets him lead them away to dance and she prays he doesn’t notice how her breath hitches at her chest once she feels his hand on her waist. the avoidance of his gaze brings her back to reality as the music fills the air and echoes in her mind. it’s all a game, she has to remind herself. a silly little game she decided to play in what is sure a futile attempt of giving lucas a taste of his own medicine. she’s unsure of how exactly, never being one to think before acting. feeling how stiff and awkward the two feel almost makes her want to call off her silly little plan. it suddenly doesn’t feel worth it when she’s known what it’s like to truly be embraced by his touch, to hear his laughter feel the air, and forget that a world outside the two of them existed. green eyes widen for a moment as his gaze finally meets hers and she almost nods at him, as if to say she’s traveled back to a moment in time when it was all real. she lets him pull at her and she can’t help but laugh lightly as he takes her into a small twirl. body easing just a big as she lets herself melt a little closer into him.

"yours”

lucas dances on the edge of a smile and a headache.

“clearly”. there’s not many things lucas is certain about in life; which is funny because his recurrent half smile and lowered lash seems to keep hidden behind at least two of life’s great secrets. his tone just now, however, holds every single drop of confidence currently available in his body. what’s she getting at, anyway?

it’s awkward. it’s sad. the people around them must be having a time of their life witnessing estranged skin meeting after some time with the oddest melody they could find. her chest rises and falls, he tries not to look. pretends not to notice their mutual self-restricted breathing or the soft laughter that floats away and dances over their heads– but he can’t. how could anyone manage such a task? the ghost of a smile surfaces on pink lips and lucas feels his muscles soften as the back of his mind tenses in panic.

how easy it is to forget if only for a second the wounds when the fingertips that made them now slide over their scars in a warm touch. easy to forget how he dug even deeper once upon a time, how he was the one to light the very first match over oily sheets and still holds his breath in terror when set in front of a fire.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

glossy lips part ever so slightly as louisa’s ready to protest against cali’s cool dismissal except she’s not exactly sure what to say. while she knows cali wouldn’t actually taunt her if she broke into an anxious mess, she isn’t exactly up for what she knows would be playful taunts once back on land. instead, she clicks her tongue together as she shoots her a sharp glance. cali has a point and lu hates it, the fact that she has nothing to retort. “fine,” she huffs, “but if the ride suddenly breaks down and we’re stuck here until dawn, you’re paying for my therapy bill.”

calista raises a brow immediately after hearing the word okay. as if to ask ‘really? you’re giving in so soon?’ not that the girl was looking for a fight but rather... expecting one from her always feisty friend. “fine”, the girl states with a smile on the corner of her lips, letting a small giggle escape right after. “though i have no idea what that would have to do with me.” she shrugs with an innocent look and a wink. “i didn’t know you had a thing against heights? you have that... i’ll eat the world kind of look. any other phobias i should know about?”

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

calista has a point and it takes everything in lu not to shoot a dumb remark back at her, instead she breaks the mesmerizing hold hazel eyes have over the colorful hues above them to look back and offer a cheeky smile. the added quip being just enough to cue the repressed eye roll as she laughs. leave it to cali to be a complete contradiction, a mystery wrapped behind a pretty face that despite the years of friendship, lu knows holds her own share of secrets. she’s about to let the train of thought drift and break her focus back to watching the sun set as the sudden halt causes her to narrow her gaze onto her best friend. “what did you do?” she asks cautiously. she’s not necessarily afraid of heights though she’s not a fan of them either.

the... careful tone in louisa brings a shy smile over calista’s lips, a rosy shade settles on her cheeks and a mild panic lingers at the bottom of her stomach. did she fuck up? calista bites down on her bottom lip for as second, then takes a sip from a previously untouched rosé. “relax” she waves off lu’s pointy shell. “it’s only a couple of minutes. what’s the point of having this view for a like a second?”

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

conscientes​:

there’s a brief rush of disappointment that passes through her as he denies her the satisfaction of a reaction by her words. almost as if he’s expecting them, perhaps maybe he’s immune to them? whatever the reason is, the first sting that elsie shoots his way is a complete miss and it’s utterly disappointing, really. it presents itself as a challenge that she’s ready to take on, determined to push his buttons one way or another until her second shot earns her more of the reaction she was fishing for. the corner of her lips twist into a smirk and she has to suppress a small snicker from actually passing through, not wanting to show her complete reaction. elsie revels in his reaction, watching as those pretty eyes widen and that deer in the headlight look briefly crosses his features. as their eyes meet, the smile on her face widens as an innocent look fills her eyes. she arches an eyebrow, staring at him almost defiantly as he searches for the right words to confirm her suggestion. the music filling the air and ringing in her ears is not lost on her and in all honesty, it bubbles a sudden urge at the surface to give up the act and run the other way, far, far away from the boy who broke he heart. except, elsie’s too stubborn to admit defeat. and, then of course, is whatever is happening subconsciously: the yearning to be close to him again despite everything that occurred between the two. “what?” she teases, taking a step closer to him, “it’s not like you have a better offer.”

he’s always known elsie’s been built different. there’s an intensity behind her eyes that’s hard and quite dangerous to miss, to overlook. as she steps closer, his back is met with concrete, throat swallows saliva and his skin tingles from the familiar warmth of her proximity. atoms, dumb and mindless, reaching out for that they once held close. lucas clears his throat, doing his very best to create this façade of coolness and cling to it for dear life. “well now i don’t” he lets out in the spirit of a salty 8 year old, though his eyes meet hers at last and he curses himself for those silly five words. not his brightest moment, in truth, to attempt to get back at her when he’s supposed to try to keep the beast at bay. a pause with flushed cheeks... and then: “come on then” his mouth lets out in an even tone, though his chest expands deeply in one preparing breath for whatever’s to come, whatever she’s sure to throw. lucas grabs elsie’s hand in tune with the melody ringing all around, and graciously guides her just a couple of steps away from the crowding wall and speaker zone. he sways a bit, before letting his fingers settle on her waist with eyes avoiding contact at all costs. ‘it’s no big deal’  he tells himself and he might as well have nodded at the affirmation. it’s strange to stand like this. strange to display such... stiffness when his memories are flooded with vivid moments, twirling and laughter to this very same soundtrack, with their very same hands. timidly, almost, he looks up with his green eyes asking something he’s not quite sure of. maybe something along the lines of ‘do you remember it too?’. his hand taking over, it pulls at hers and takes elsie into a small twirl.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

She’d built up her barrier as arms raised to cross on top of her chest. The girl before Maggie looked rather uncomfortable in her position, yet the way she posed herself caught Maggie’s attention. She would’ve traced her outline against the mirror had she not been busy enough tapping her fingers against her bare arm. Impatience. Head against mirror, she tilted it to the side, daring a glance Joy’s way, a stare that was both cold and unimpressed. “Not while trapped on an elevator, no. Don’t tell me you’re actually enjoying this.”

“This world not moving fast enough for you?” Joy tried, training her gaze on some festering tar-patched crack in the upper-right corner of the mirrors. She leaned back so that her frame arched rather uncomfortably, the wet knobs of her spine pressed against the smudged chrome hand rail, indifferent or else comfortable in the flickering box they’d been shut into ( not shrodinger’s but a shark’s cage, suspended underwater, slow-motion space, except Joy supposed the shark was in it too; she was in it, too, with the angelfish ). 

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

“ Didn’t you ? ” A nervous laugh followed as pale cheeks colored a light pink. Maggie took a strand of hair between her fingers, the blush fading already as a brow raised, though her eyes wouldn’t linger on his for more than a second. “ That’s quite a statement. ” She mostly mumbled, twisting a golden stand.

[ these were the types of girls bailey enjoyed most—- the ones that fell right into his charm, no struggle. of course, he rather liked the c h a s e, liked when girls told him no, just so he could try harder and eventually “ woo ” her. but, at the end of the day, the ones that caused no problems were ALWAYS the best. ] hm, i don’t hear anything, darling. [he let out a cocky chuckle. ] c’mon, i know we both find me beautiful. for walt’s sake, it runs in my family. therefore, stare on, ma belle.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

basically i suck and i’m sorry

just a quick note on my activity: i am so so so sorry school’s been kicking my ass i haven’t slept at all but the weekend’s coming soon and i’ll hopefully have my life sorted out by then?? i mean at least enough for me to be on for quite some time!! i honestly only had time today to write those two replies which were the easiest to reply to but i’ll hopefully be able to slowly reply to everything by sundayy.

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

“I- what?” Cheeks soon set on fire as blue eyes widened in surprise and then embarrassment. Maggie’s hand grabbed a strand of hair and twirled and twirled until she was able to come up with a proper answer, then twirled some. “Me?” She let out a rather fake laugh– and a rather fake “cool” attitude as well. “I wasn’t starring...” Maggie mumbled into her hair mostly. “I mean you have a nice hair and eyes and–” She interrupted her own speech. “I wasn’t starring.” A nervous laugh and a queasy smile. Oh how she’d love to get herself out of the situation. “I’ll just– yeah, oh that was my mom, I’m coming! I really should go now, don’t want to keep her waiting.”

[ bailey admired himself in the glass-like surface of a puddle. if someone had asked him to pick his favorite part about himself, he would most likely tell them what’s not to like about his appearance? it would be completely too hard for him to decide on a favorite feature, almost as difficult as picking his favorite shotgun, or beer !! he noticed someone behind him in his reflection. ] i know, i’m beautiful. go on and stare. i’m undeniably the best looking thing around here. 

[margaretbjorgman-blog]

( caspian )

All it took was about three seconds–a sound, and the tell tale sign that something was wrong by the largely unexpected jolt received afterwards.Caspian had not been expecting it and thus he caught in his current situation; on the floor at the feet of Margaret Bjorgman, twisted in a weird sort of way. Trying to brush it off with a smile he attempted to press some of the buttons. Sheepishly turning to her he got up, brushing his hands on his pants briefly before bringing them up. “A metaphor?”

She glared. With such rage for a second, though not for the boy, it accidentally did land there as he tried to lighten up the mood or whatever the hell he was actually doing. She composed herself a second later, apologizing with her gaze as she took a step back, head coming to rest against the mirror with a ‘thud’. “ If only it was a metaphor– how long do you think it’ll take ? ”