4rtheyenews

[mysweetestcreature]

Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies

Words: 24.5k

Warnings: Mentions of death...smut?

Summary: Why can’t two people who are meant for each other get it right?

***

They’re fighting again. All Y/n can do is shut her eyes in the hopes that when she opens them, everything will be okay. But no amount of wishing can drown out the noise. 

“I can’t keep pretending like everything is fine! It’s not. You know it isn’t, Matt,” she hears her mother erupt between sobs. Lately, it’s been the same angry words shouted at one another over and over again. Y/n takes her baby sister, Ava, in her eight-year-old arms. She hugs the baby close. If she can’t block the screaming out, at least she can protect her sister from it.

“Grace, please.” It’s her dad’s voice. She’s never heard him sound so desperate. “What about our family? The girls need you. I need you! You can’t just walk away from us.” 

There’s a sudden silence that follows. At first, Y/n thinks that maybe her parents have reached a resolution. Her dad has always been good at negotiating. It is his job, after all. She’s seen him in action whenever he brings her to work with him. Maybe he’s managed to work that same magic on her mum. She gently lays Ava down on the bed, creating a makeshift barrier of pillows on either side of her, before exiting the room and running down the stairs. 

Before she can reach the bottom, she’s forced to a halt when she sees her daddy slouched over on the last step. His head is buried in his hands, his shoulders are shaking. He’s crying. That’s a sight she’s never seen before. He’d always been the picture of bravery and strength, but now that’s been washed away and replaced with someone who looks broken beyond repair. She doesn’t recognize him.

Where is her mum? She slips past her dad, despite wanting to throw herself in his arms for comfort. Besides his sniffling, the house is quiet. There’s no trace of her mum. It scares her.

“Where’s Mummy?” she asks meekly, turning to her father.

He doesn’t respond, but instead, he brings his hands out of his hair, and stares painfully at the door. Without thinking, she throws it open, the sun’s light momentarily blinding her for a few unhinged seconds. It’s only the screeching of wheels on road that brings her back.

“Mummy!” she cries, running as fast as her short legs can take her. Her eyes begin to swell with tears. The black taxi is still, and she’s just able to stare at her mum through its window. “Mummy, where are you going?” she pleads as she bangs on the door, but her mother doesn’t even flinch. Why won’t she look at me? 

The engine starts up, and the car begins to drive away. Y/n chases after it, crying out for her mum to come back. “Don’t go! Please don’t leave me!” It picks up speed after it turns the corner. She feels herself slowing down, but even then, she refuses to stop. The distance between herself and the car becomes too massive.  

“Mummy, come back!” 

Arms envelop around her, and now she’s running on air. “Let her go,” her dad tells her, and she can feel his own tears against her neck. Her feet stop kicking, it’s like the energy has completely drained from her body. Her mind, however, is still racing. 

***

A few days later, her daddy packs both hers and Ava’s bags, and loads them all into his car. She doesn’t ask questions, and instead busies herself with the fleeting landscape. A part of her had expected all that’s happened to be a part of some elaborate nightmare. But each morning, she wakes up to her parents’ bed left untouched, and her dad asleep on the living room couch. Ava is asleep beside her, and Y/n can’t help but think how lucky her little sister is to be living in ignorance. At three months old, she’s only just learned to hold her head up. Barely. Y/n doesn’t remember anything from that age, and maybe that’s a good thing. Had her parents always been this hostile towards one another? Had her mother done this before? What if she had? Does that mean she’ll eventually come back?

“We’re going to be staying with your grandparents for a while,” she’s taken out of her thoughts when her dad finally speaks up.

“Why?” She catches his eyes in the rearview mirror. They only ever go up to Nan and Gramps’ house during the holidays.

His fingers thump against the steering wheel, and he breathes in deeply as though to say something. It takes a moment before he answers her. “I just...I can’t do this alone.” His voice breaks, even though he tries to pass it off with a cough. “It’ll be good for us,” he says again. “You’ll see.”

When they hit a red light, he turns to look at her. He smiles weakly. No matter how much she wants to believe him, she still yearns for her mummy. It’s become especially hard in the mornings when her hair is knotted from tossing and turning in her sleep, and her dad can’t manage to tame it for the life of him. Her mum would often braid her hair, and like magic, it would remain intact all day. She always loved how gentle and soothing her mum would be as she brushed each strand with such care. That’s not to say that her dad isn’t trying, of course, but it’s just not the same.

***

Her grandparents live in a little town called Holmes Chapel. It’s pretty, she supposes. The buildings are a lot older, and the streets aren’t as busy as they are back home. She sits back and takes a deep breath. Her tummy flips a little when she thinks about how she might never see her old friends again, or her room, or even Mrs. Watson who lives next door (she would babysit Y/n and Ava whenever her mum had to run some errands). 

When she looks out the window again, she sees Nan and Gramps stood on their front porch, smiles reaching their eyes. 

“Where are my babies!” Nan exclaims, her arms stretched out. Her dad says a quick hello before opening up the back door. Y/n hops out, and her legs feel a bit unsteady from having been cramped in the car for all those hours. 

“Hi, Nana,” she greets sadly. Nan’s smile falters slightly, but she doesn’t seem to let it deter her.

The elderly woman bends down to her height and gathers her in her arms. Over Nan’s shoulder, Y/n watches as her dad whispers something in Gramps’ ear. Although she can’t hear it, she can tell by Gramps’ reaction that it can’t have been good. “A bit peaky?” Nan asks, when she finally pulls away. She cups Y/n’s cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I just took the cookies out of the oven, actually. Let’s go check on them before your grandfather gobbles them up.” 

Gramps groans behind them. “It was one time!” 

Nan waves him off, guiding her through the front door with an encouraging push. “Oh, you won’t believe all the colors I bought for you at the crafts store yesterday! I know how much you love to draw,” she says. Her voice drowns out when she hears something fall outside. “Arthur Y/l/n! If you break another one of my pots, I swear to–” It leaves Y/n to wander through the hall on her own. Her grandparents’ house is quaint and orderly and smells vaguely of warm vanilla (probably from the cookies) and jasmine. The walls are covered in framed photographs of her daddy and his older brother through the years, a few of a much younger Nan and Gramps, and finally of Y/n, Ava and all of her cousins. (They live in Nice––her Uncle Brandon married a French woman named Dominique––and only ever seem to come around for Nan and Gramps’ anniversary.) Finally, below her uncle and aunt’s wedding photo, is her parents’. She tries not to stare at it too long.

***

Y/n decides that maybe spending time with her grandparents won’t be so bad. After all, her and Ava don’t have to share a room anymore, which means that she won’t be woken up by her little sister’s 3 am wailing fits. Nan’s done an impressive job decorating on such short notice, too. The walls are still plain white, but at least there are some pretty stickers of butterflies and flowers and a few of Y/n’s favorite cartoon characters. Even the windows are nicely covered with those gel ornaments that she loves to poke. 

It’s all very nice, but she still wonders about when she’ll be able to sleep in her own bed, in her own house, under her own sheets.

“When are we going home?” she asks her dad as he tucks her in for the night. His hands stop in the middle of smoothening out her blanket, his eyes remaining glued to one of its printed ballerinas. 

“To be honest with you, love,” he sighs, “I don’t know if we’ll ever go back...at least not anytime soon.” 

“Oh.” That’s not the answer she wanted to hear. What if her mum does decide to come back? It’s still possible, right? After all, her mummy had always told her how much she loved her. She would scoop Y/n into her arms and twirl her around the room as they both laughed their hearts out. When she was sick, she’d always have her favorite tomato soup and grilled cheese. Every day after school, she’d sit down with her and help her do her homework and then give her an extra cookie if she didn’t complain. 

Then another thought pops into her head. Her mum hadn’t been able to do any of that stuff recently. It had been like living with someone who looked exactly like her mum, but without all the warmth and tenderness that once was. Y/n turns away from her dad and starts to sob silently into her pillow. 

Maybe she isn’t coming back, after all.

The dip in the bed from where her daddy had been finally reinflates. He’s about to wrap his hand around the door before she stops him. She calls out his name, sitting up with her arms around her knees. 

“We’ll be happier here?” 

His shoulders visibly relax, and for the first time in what feels like so long, he offers a sincere smile and nods affirmatively. She hadn’t realized how much she missed his smile until now. There’s something about it that she can’t quite describe, but she feels the safest she’s felt in a while.

***

Her daddy had left for the airport some hours ago. Gramps had offered to bring her along for the ride the night before, but she decided that she would rather not watch him leave. Instead, she pretended to be asleep when he came into her room and kissed her on the forehead. She knows he’ll be back in a few days, but it’s always tough when he has to go. It’s one of the other reasons they needed to move in with her grandparents, her dad has to travel a lot for work.  

As soon as he and Gramps had loaded the car and driven away, she had stepped outside and sat down on the grass. That had been before the sun had totally risen. Now, it’s up high and shining its rays on top of her head. Nan, who had been surprised to see her granddaughter sitting out on the lawn so early in the morning, had asked her if she wanted breakfast, but was told she wasn’t hungry. 

They’ve only been living here for a little over a week. She thought that they would’ve had more time to adjust before her dad had to fly off to wherever it is they’ve sent him. So far, things have been fine...or at least they’ve been as best as they can be. She tries not to think about her mum too much (she’s down to only once or twice a day). It’s a good thing that Nan and Gramps have a million ways to keep her busy.

Today is different, however. She’d had her daddy with her when she felt homesick. Now, she feels alone. 

“Hi,” her head snaps up, and there’s a boy, maybe around her age, standing above her. He has messy brown hair that curls at the ends, his pleasant smile is complete with dimples on either cheek. It’s his eyes, however, that hold her attention. They’re like spearmint, if spearmint is even considered a color. Or maybe they’re the same shade as the stems of her Nan’s petunias. She can’t quite describe it, but she can tell that she likes them. 

“Hi.” 

The boy takes her response as an invitation to sit down beside her. “I’m Harry. Do you want a Freddo?” He pulls out a chocolate frog from his pocket. “My sister always eats chocolate when she’s upset, and she’s a girl, and you’re a girl, and you looked kind of sad, so...” He gives her a lopsided grin.

“I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,” she says. 

He––Harry––rolls his eyes. “I just told you, my name’s Harry.” He shifts a bit, then points to the house on the left of hers. “That’s my house there.”

“What if I don’t want to believe you?” she challenges, but she’s failing miserably not to grin at how utterly exasperated he’s getting.

With a defeated sigh, Harry shouts towards the house. “Oi, Gem!” It takes only a few seconds for a head to peak out of an upstairs window. 

An older girl, maybe around thirteen looks like she could throttle him. “I’m on the phone, Harry! Bugger off or I swear I’ll––oh, no, no! Not you, Blake.” She disappears back into her room. 

Y/n can’t help but giggle, and Harry turns to her, a triumphant look on his face. “See. Told you.” 

Once again, he offers her the Freddo, but this time, she happily accepts it. They sit in a comfortable silence as she nibbles on the chocolate. 

“I’m Y/n,” she finally tells him. 

Harry studies her carefully. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Y/l/n your grandparents? Because I’ve been over there loads of times––she babysits me when my mum and Gem are busy––but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

She nods. “Me, my sister and my dad moved in last week.”

“And your mum?” he tilts his head.

Her teeth bite down on the inside of her cheek. She looks at him wearily before staring down into her lap. “It’s just us.”

“Oh,” is all he replies. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “My parents are separated too. My dad lives in the city, but I still see him most weekends.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see my mum again,” she frowns.

What he does next startles her, but she’s more surprised at how quickly she relaxes. He wraps an arm around her and brings her closer so she can lean on her shoulder. “Mum says hugs help a lot,” he says sheepishly, she can feel his eyes on her. She nods against him, and it encourages him to continue. “I’m sorry you can’t see your mum, but hey, you can always talk to me! I’ll be your friend.”

It’s her turn to look up. “You promise?”

“Promise.”

***

Y/n decides that she really likes living with her grandparents. Her and Harry are practically inseparable, spending the better part of the day together (and sometimes during the night when they have sleepovers). This means that she hasn’t cried in a long time, and she’s heard her daddy tell her grandparents that things are finally starting to look up. Her daddy looks better than he has been in ages, he doesn’t have that faraway look in his eyes anymore. 

Harry usually comes over after breakfast, or even earlier when he knows Nan will be making French toast just the way he likes it. They play the entire day, a variety of games that range from hopscotch to pretend, to sneaking into Gemma’s room to dig into her stash of sugary treats because the girl has enough Freddo frogs to last her until next Christmas. He even likes to draw with her, even though she knows he rather be outside running around. 

Sometimes Gramps will drive them into town, and they’ll go to the park or the ice cream parlor or their favorite Chinese restaurant. (She learns that she prefers shrimp over pork fried rice). There’s also a bakery that she thinks is the cutest place she’s ever seen. They serve all sorts of pastries and desserts that the owner, Martha, gives them for free when the rest of the customers aren’t looking. Y/n thinks that’s all to do with Harry. She’s eight, and she can already see how charming her best friend is. She’s glad that she has him by her side. He’s made her time here better than she could have ever imagined.

But soon enough, September comes along, and with it, school. Y/n would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. While she and Harry will be attending the same school, he’s a year older, which means she might not see him nearly as much as she’d like. 

“It’ll be fun! You’ll see,” he tells her as they walk to school. “And we have breaktime, too. I can introduce you to all my friends, and you can introduce me to all of your new ones!” He sounds far too excited. 

Y/n pulls on his sleeve, and he clumsily stumbles back a bit. “But Harry,” she whines, digging the toe of her shoe into the sidewalk. “What if I don’t make any friends?” 

“You?” he gasps. “You’re like the most awesome person I know! Just be yourself.”

She doesn’t say a word, instead, she drops her head to look anxiously 

“Come on.” He takes her hand in his. “I’ll be at the end of the hall if you need me.” And they walk the rest of the way hand in hand. 

***

Harry drops her off at her classroom before going to find his. He promised he’d walk down with her for lunch, so at least she has that much to look forward to. When he disappears down the hall, she finally lets herself turn around to examine the place she’ll be spending the rest of the year in. 

The desks are all perfectly aligned, with names of her classmates in bold and colorful writing on cards at the very front. She quickly looks for her name and takes a seat. On the board, her teacher’s name is artfully written in the center. Miss Ferguson. She must have been the one who had greeted Y/n at the door a few minutes earlier. 

Y/n’s curiosity gets the best of her, and she starts committing every feature of the room to memory. The pictures of letters and corresponding objects and animals along the top of the blackboard are just like the ones from her old school. From her seat, she can see the playground, and she fantasizes about all the time she and Harry had spent on the monkey bars and hidden in the tube slide. 

“Do you want to trade notebooks?” Y/n turns in her seat in the direction of the voice. Behind her is a girl with blonde pigtails and an adorable gap between her two front teeth. “My mum always forgets that I don’t like purple.”

Y/n stares down at her own notebook, which is pink with white polka dots. “I like purple.” 

The girl grins widely. “Yay! You’re nice, I like you. I’m Penelope,” but as soon as she says it, her nose scrunches up in disgust. “But I hate being called that. So, just call me P or Penny!” Y/n gives a brief introduction, and the two girls trade notebooks. 

“You’re new, right?” Penny asks.

“Yup,” Y/n confirms, fishing her pencil case out of her backpack. “I moved here at the beginning of the summer.”

“Really? I’ve never lived anywhere besides here before, but when I’m older I want to live in London!” 

“That’s where I’m from,” Y/n says sheepishly. She hasn’t thought much about it, but when she does, she still misses it a fair amount. 

Penny’s hands go to her cheeks as she gapes in astonishment. “That’s so cool! What’s it like? Have you ever met the Queen?”

Y/n giggles. “I don’t even know where the Queen lives!” 

“Ugh, I’ve got so many things to teach you, then.” She and Penny make plans to hang out during breaktime and lunch.

Maybe Harry was right after all.

***

When the bell rings for lunch, Miss Ferguson’s class files out of the room in a somewhat straight-file line. Y/n walks behind Penny, her new friend is explaining all the proper ways to curtsy in front of a prince when a hand reaches out and tugs on the back of Y/n’s collar. 

She spins around, ready to thwack the whomever it might be. “I leave you for a few hours and you’ve already forgotten about me?” Harry smirks. 

“You just surprised me, that’s all,” she says. She’s fallen to the back of the line now. Penny stays back too and walks over to the two of them. “Harry, this is Penny! She’s in the same class.” 

Penny’s eyes nearly bug out of her head and her cheeks flush a shade of pink. “Hi-hi,” she stutters. Y/n stares at her for a moment, unsure where this sense of shyness has suddenly come from. She shakes her head, it’s probably just a draft from an open window. 

“Hi, Penny,” Harry returns kindly. He then turns back to Y/n. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria. I’m starving!” 

“Yeah! Let’s go!” Penny says, sounding much more like herself. Y/n walks in between them, feeling content. 

***

By the time she’s fifteen, Y/n has all she can ever ask for. Her dad doesn’t travel as much anymore, except for trips to the London office once a month, he’s able to work from Manchester. Ava’s seven now, and therefore able to cause all sorts of mischief. In fact, just last night, she’d eaten the entire leftover cake in the fridge when the rest of the family had gone to bed. She claims it was a ghost, but the frosting smeared across her face told everyone otherwise.

Penny’s practically moved in with them. Things at home aren’t always the best for her. Her mum usually spends the days drinking, the nights clubbing, and the early hours of the morning in some stranger’s bed. As for her dad, Penny doesn’t bring him up much. He decided to reconcile with his wife when Penny was three years old, leaving her and her mother penniless and alone. And well, she hasn’t spoken to him since. 

Finally, there’s Harry. He’s still her funny, sweet, and incredibly cute best friend. He’s sixteen now, far more mature than her. While they still spend loads of time together, he has his friends, and she has hers. Although, he does still come around for breakfast on the weekends––Nan’s French toast is still his most favorite thing on the planet––and they usually spend the rest of the time catching up on homework and watching movies they’ve already seen a million times. She loves how she’s never bored when she’s around him. They could be laying on the grass outside her house (much like they usually do) for hours, talking about nothing and everything, and still never run out of things to talk about. 

Except in the last few months. The thing is, Harry’s got himself a girlfriend, Lia, and she doesn’t like Y/n. There’s no logical explanation as to why, but whenever Y/n tries to talk to Harry at school, Lia slips her arms around him, like she’s claiming what’s hers, and glares at her until she has no choice but to retreat. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Harry that his first serious girlfriend is a total bitch, no matter how much she wants to. 

It’s a Friday night, Penny is staying over. She’s lazily flipping through last month’s edition of Vogue on Y/n’s desk. 

“Have you ever been in love?” she asks. 

“We’re fifteen. It’s not like there’s been much opportunity,” Y/n chuckles. She glances up momentarily from her sketchbook. If there’s a punchline, it never comes. She then gives her a look. “Why, have you?”

Penny shrugs. “Sometimes I think I am, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d never see me like that.” 

Y/n doesn’t respond to this. She’s heard stories about the boy Penny’s apparently fancied for ages now, but for some reason her friend refuses to give her a name. If she had to guess, it’s probably Bobby Baker from her French class. They dated for a few months when they were fourteen, but things had ended abruptly. Sometimes she’ll see them talking between classes and while in line for lunch. Her money’s definitely on Bobby.

Not wanting to press her for details, however, Y/n changes the topic. “Harry’s probably in love with Lia. I saw them snogging at the bust stop this morning.”

Penny groans. “They’re so gross!” she pretends to gag. “Oh, Harry. You’re so handsome! Kiss me before our lips dry out! Oh, Lia, you’re so pretty. Take this flower as a sign of my undying affections!” She imitates them, doing it so flawlessly. 

They share a look, and suddenly, they’re balled over in fits of laughter.

“How do they even breathe?” Y/n wheezes into her pillow. It’s not to say that she hasn’t kissed a boy before. It’s just never been as intense––or as nauseating––as that. Besides, none of her boyfriends have last long enough. Harry says that it’s all for the best, according to him, none of them are good enough for her. 

“They’re twos, you’re a total ten,” he had said to her once. She pretended not to feel her heart leap at the compliment. “A ten can’t go any lower than maybe a seven.” She wanted to say that she thought he was a ten, too, but was too embarrassed to say it.

***

Penny leaves early the next morning, but first helping herself to some of the food Nan had just prepared before zipping out the door. She leaves Y/n half asleep and barely functional.

“So, what’s the gossip?” Nan teases her, pouring her a cup of tea. 

“Same old, same old,” she yawns. She breathes in the steam from her mug and smiles. 

Nan places a plate of French toast in front of her. “Talking about the same old things until three in the morning? If only your grandfather and I could stay up that late. Of course, we’d be doing other things that decidedly aren’t–” she pauses, and Y/n’s never been more thankful. They both turn towards the back door. “Ah, and I was just beginning to worry.” 

Harry mutters a sleepy good morning, then stumbles into the seat beside Y/n. He looks at her breakfast, then looks at her. As if they can communicate silently, Y/n pushes her plate towards him. 

“Harry, dear,” Nan starts, making up a new plate for her granddaughter. “How does your mum feel about you spending so much time here?” 

“She’s fine with it,” he says, mouth full of bread. “As long as I bring her back some food, she says I can spend as much time here as I want.” 

Nan just rolls her eyes. “Will that be banana or blueberry then?”

“Hmm...” Harry pretends to mull over the options, but Nan knows better. Y/n watches with amusement as she places both bananas and blueberries on top of the French toast, then places it on a disposable plate and wraps it with tinfoil. 

She turns to them. “I’m just going to pop next door and give this to Anne.” Just before she can slide the door open, she calls one last remark over her shoulder. “Try not to burn the house down. We just had the floors waxed.” 

Y/n continues to sip on her tea, and Harry hums happily around another delectable bite. They sit in comfortable silence. 

“I feel like we haven’t talked in a while,” he says. He looks at her curiously. “Why is that?”

She has to bite her lip in order to stop herself from saying something she’ll regret. “Well, you know. I’ve been really busy lately.” From the corner of her eye, she can see how one of his brows shoot straight up.

“Busy with?”

“You know there’s an art show happening soon. I’ve been spending all my time in the art room.” She knows she isn’t convincing anyone, let alone him. He can read her like a book.

But if Harry is thinking she’s lying, then he doesn’t say anything. “Right,” he says aloofly. Taking another bite of his––her––breakfast, he continues. “Lia’s going to have a few pieces on display.”

This catches her off guard. “Lia’s into art? Since when?” 

He gives her a noncommitted grunt. “It’s news to me too.” He takes her mug from her hands and takes a sip. “But she seemed really interested when I mentioned you were participating.”

“Huh.” She rests her chin on her fist. That’s strange. She’s never seen Lia Hall set foot anywhere near the art room. Lia’s a cheerleader and spends most of her time cheering on the school’s football team, which is how she and Harry got together. Y/n would know if they shared any common interests. At least that way, she could talk to Harry without her grumbling bloody murder under her breath. 

“What is it?” his question pulls her out of thought. She plasters a smile on her face and says it’s nothing. 

***

Her bedroom window is right across from his, and they’ve been using it to their advantage since they were kids. When they both had bedtimes that were too early to ever enjoy the night, they would look out their window and find the other looking right back. They’d spend the night trying to make the other laugh with funny faces and their own little game of charades. 

But as Y/n looks up from her half-finished essay and through the glass, she doesn’t need elaborate hand motions to know that Harry is pissed. She wonders if he realizes where he’s standing or maybe he just doesn’t care right now. He looks like he’s trying to stay calm, but Y/n knows him better than that. While he isn’t one to yell, his voice does get tight when he’s trying hard not to. 

He runs a hand through his brown locks in frustration. She feels guilty for not having the strength to turn away, but she’s just too curious for her own good. If only she could read his lips just to get an idea as to why he’s so upset, but alas, that’s never been her talent. She waits, occasionally working on her essay (occasionally), then lifting her head back up to check up on him. 

When she looks up after a stroke of genius that had promoted words to pour out onto the page, he’s gone. Her shoulders drop in disappointment. Oh, well. At least all she has to do now is proofread. 

“Did you know your nan is making pot pie for dinner?” 

She swivels in her chair, her eyebrow tilting up. “I did.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” he pretends to be hurt as he falls onto her bed. “I’m wounded you would choose to withhold such valuable information from me.”

“I’m sorry?” she chuckles. Closing her laptop, she sits on the floor right beside where his head falls of the side of the bed. 

He turns to her, his upside-down face grinning pompously at her. “Eh, you know I can never stay mad at you.” She thumps his forehead with another laugh, but he only continues to smile.

*** 

Y/n’s always loved art and how it can imitate life in the way the artist chooses. Ever since she can remember, she’s been doodling landscapes and portraits on napkins or just about any plain surface she can get her hands on. She thinks she gets it from her mum. There’s not much she can remember about her, but she does recall her mother’s love for the fine arts. And as much as she tries not to think about her, she’s happy she knows where she gets it from. 

Mrs. Cuomo, the art teacher, says she has a gift, and Y/n tries not to let it get to her head, but she can’t help it! She’s already taken to looking for art programs around England. If she wouldn’t miss her family too much, she’d consider going abroad. 

“Paris seems fabulous, don’t you think? I mean, they have some of the best fashion schools in the world.” Penny muses as they walk around the gallery. “French boys are a plus.”

“Is that where you want to go after college?” 

“Possibly. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to afford it, though.” 

Y/n nods, understanding her friend’s situation.

They continue to browse all the art on display, until stopping at Y/n’s exhibit. She has three paintings. The one on the left is an abstract portrait of Ava that she’d been working on since the last art show. It was inspired by her little sister’s fifth birthday. Dad had bought her the cutest little periwinkle dress with a grey ribbon around the waist. It’s something Y/n would’ve been over the moon for at that age. But Ava being the little rebel she was (and still is) had gotten it all dirty. Right before her party, she came trudging back into the house, a complete mess from head to toe. Y/n’s entitled the portrait Muddy Princess. On the right is a landscape of a forest with the simple name Serene Acres. Finally, the one in the middle is a sideview of a boy laying in the grass. His hands are behind his head and his eyes are closed. He looks relaxed, like he’s never had a trouble in the world. As do all her paintings, this one had started off as a mere sketch born from a vision that she suddenly had just as she had woken up. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it anything more than that. But the longer she spent refining it, she just knew she had to take it all the way. There’s something comforting about him. This one in particular is Y/n’s absolute favorite. 

“Oh, you’re totally going to win this year,” Penny enthuses. “I’m not saying this because you’re my best friend and I’d literally give you a kidney, but seriously. You’re golden.” 

“I hope you’re right,” she says nervously. “Mrs. Cuomo said that the judges are going to be a lot more critical this year. I just hope they like my stuff.” 

Penny waves her off, as if she were talking nonsense. “They will.”

“Will what?” A pair of familiar hands land on her waist, and she can’t help but smile when sees him gasp at the wall in front of her. “Woah,” he’s speechless. She pats his arm as she steps away from him, afraid that his girlfriend might catch sight of them. 

“You like them?” she smiles. He nods, still unable to speak. 

“So, where’s Lia’s display?” Penny asks, but Y/n can sense the annoyance in her voice. She knows all about the girl’s hatred of Y/n.

Harry stares blankly, until finally registering the question. “Oh...um. She decided not to enter, after all.” He wraps an arm Y/n once again, and this time, Y/n doesn’t bother pushing him off.

“That seems sudden,” she says.

“Well...” Harry looks left and right, like he’s making sure no one will hear them. “I guess she realized that she didn’t stand a chance.”

This makes Penny snort. “Are we talking about the same girl here? Lia Hall does not back down. From anything. I’ve seen her at the mall fighting over jeans with University kids. She’s scary as hell.”

***

She’s laying on the grass on her front lawn when Harry comes outside and joins her. His body is oriented in the opposite direction so that their eyes are aligned if they were to face each other. He doesn’t say anything more than a hello. His hands are placed on his stomach and his nose wriggles when a cool breeze brushes past. 

“Lia and I broke up,” he suddenly says, but his voice is even and calm. 

“I’m sorry.”

He laughs loudly. “No, you’re not.” He glances at her before facing back up. “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that you two don’t get along.”

“At least I know you’re not dense.” She bites back a smile. Why is she so elated with the news? Does that make her a bad person? Who’s to say? “She was pretty awful.”

“She was hot, though,” Harry interjects.

“I suppose.”

Silence washes over them. If she were any more relaxed, she’s sure she could fall asleep right here, next to him. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“The clouds, Harry. Aren’t they beautiful?” She giggles when he squints at the grey canvas above them. 

“There are no clouds,” he says flatly. He turns his head, their eyes lock.

She swallows, and she’s the first to turn away. With a content sigh, she lets her eyes droop closed. Even without looking, she can feel the way his gaze lingers, like he might be waiting for something more. “You too,” it’s a gentle request, possibly an order. He’s never been able to deny her anything. 

“Alright then,” there’s an amused tone to his voice now. He breathes deeply, his own eyes closing as the air leaves his chest. 

They lay motionless for a comfortable few minutes. Things are quiet between them, and only nature’s melody that plays uninterrupted. 

The wind whistles, and the leaves on the trees dance along with crisp and breezy movements. As the air––which smells strongly of fall’s fiery allure––rubs against her skin and tickles the tip of her nose, another blissful smile leaves a pattern across her lips.

“What do you see?” she asks.

“Not much, honestly. My eyes are closed.” 

She punches his arm. “Don’t be an arse.”

He groans out in pain. “Fine then,” he concedes. “What do you see?”

The image is vivid in her head. “Purple clouds.”

He chuckles softly.

“What color is the grass?”

“Green, of course.”

“That’s boring,” he teases.

She huffs in annoyance. “Not everything needs changing, you know.” He doesn’t challenge it.

“And the sky?”

That’s her favorite part. 

“Tangerine.”

“That’s a fruit.”

“and a color.”

“Why can’t you just say orange?” 

“Because,” she starts in her best ‘you better listen to me or else’ tone. “Orange is a meh kind of color. But tangerine? It’s a bit more exciting.”

“Exciting,” he repeats slowly, as though he were testing the weight of the word on his tongue. 

When she opens her eyes, fully expecting him to be looking at her as though she had two heads, she’s surprised to see that his are still closed. She finds herself studying him. The way his chest steadily rises and falls with each even breath. He looks as calm as she feels at that moment. It’s then she can appreciate just how handsome he really is. Of course, she’s known it for a while (but she’d never tell him that).

So, she turns her head back towards the grey-washed sky and paints over its gloom with an image of their own. 

***

Right before he starts Year 13, Harry’s dad, Des, moves to Boston. Harry tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, but Y/n knows that he misses him a lot. Even though his parents have been separated for a long time, he’d at least had a good relationship with both of them. He and his dad would do “manly” things like fishing and batting at the cages. He keeps telling her that he’s fine, and it’s not like he’ll never visit him, but she can sense that something is troubling him. 

It takes a bit of finesse to get him to talk, and once he does, she immediately regrets it. 

“He wants me to follow him,” Harry says, scratching the back of his head. Y/n thinks she might throw up. Boston...America...it’s just so far away. The farthest she’s ever been is Italy on vacation. 

She stares at him apprehensively. “Do you...umm...do you want to go?” 

Harry doesn’t answer her at first. It takes to the count of five for him speak. “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean...it’s a lot to ask, don’t you think? He’s asking me to uproot my life here.” He gazes at her. “And I really like it here.”

She lets out the breath she’d been holding. She doesn’t think she’d be able to handle being that far from him. He’ll be starting University in the fall, and him going to London already feels too much. Goodbyes aren’t easy for her, and she doesn’t think they’ll ever get easier. 

“At least both parents want you,” she doesn’t realize what she’s saying until it’s up in the air. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“No, it’s fine,” she shrugs him off. “It’s just, you’re lucky that both of them love you.”

Harry appears to think hard on this. “I love you.”

Her heart stops beating, her eyes double in size.

“What?” 

He reddens, and for once, she can’t tell what’s going through his head. His jaw juggles back and forth, and then he coughs like he’s got something stuck in his throat. He wipes a hand down his face. “I mean, you’re my best friend, of course I do.” 

Just as quickly as it had enlarged, something inside her deflates. “Oh, right,” she tries not to sound disappointed. It’s a little awkward now, but she’s at least comforted in the fact that he values her so much. She nudges her elbow against him. “Hey,” she quips.

He tilts his head.

“I love you too, doofus.” 

***

Y/n’s always thought her dad to be a kind and fair man.

Matthew Y/l/n doesn’t spoil his girls, but he also knows how to reward them for a job well done. He’s also one of those approachable dads, the ones you can talk to about a crush without him getting overly protective. From when she was eight and until now, he’s always been there for her and Ava, and for that, Y/n is forever grateful. 

Which is why she feels like she can discuss this one teensy little thing with him. Now, Y/n, she’s made up her mind about wanting to pursue a career as an artist. Some might say it’s insane! Risky! Financial suicide! But isn’t the threat of failure all the more reason to strive? She thinks so, and she just knows that her dad will too!

After dinner, which is when her dad is at his happiest. His belly is full of Nan’s roast, and he’s sitting next to Gramps on the couch while they watch sports. This is her chance. She’s already practiced on everyone else in the house, plus Penny and Harry, so she has a pretty solid plan on how to approach him.

“Hey, daddy,” she says sweetly, plopping between him and Gramps. He smiles at her and flings an arm around her shoulder. He returns his attention back to the telly. She gives Gramps a look, one so pleading that she thinks she might have just made him tear up, and he clears his throat and excuses himself. 

“I’ve, uh, got to take a shit.” And he stumbles into the hall, Nan’s snorting following closely behind. 

“So, dad, there’s something I actually want to talk about,” she starts, turning so she’s completely facing him. Matthew presses on the remote so that the screen is completely black. He prods her to continue. 

Y/n chuckles nervously. No big deal. “You know how I’m like crazy about my art? I mean, I’ve won three competitions in the last nine months!” 

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ve been telling everyone at work that my daughter’s an artist. You should’ve seen Anthony’s face when he found out you were the one who beat his boy out for the ribbon...”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad.” She can feel herself getting excited. “And I’m so proud that I get to make you proud. I mean, you’ve given me so much, I feel like it’s the least I can do.” On her lips is her most dazzling smile. 

He eyes her suspiciously. “Okay, I’m sensing something else going on here. Spit it out.”

“Well, it’s just that next year is my last year of college, and I’ll be applying to universities soon, so I was hoping that we could talk about me pursuing art.”

“Pursuing art, as in...?”

“Dad, I want to be an artist.” That wasn’t so bad, right? She can see her dad’s face waver in emotion. At first, he looks confused, then maybe a little unsure, but then he’s just unreadable. “Thoughts?” she presses.

“No.”

Had she just heard him right? “What?”

“No.”

“But, Dad–”

“There’s little to no security. The odds of you even making a decent living out of it are practically one in a million.”

“Wait, just hear me out first...”

“I’ve heard enough, Y/n. You’re not going to throw away an education on a hobby.” He sighs, and for a moment, he looks almost guilty. “Look, I’m not telling you to never paint again. I’m just saying that you need to approach this from a more realistic point of view. How about you major in something more reliable––like business or nursing––then minor in what you want?” He continues to ramble on about different prospects, but she’s completely drowned him out by now.

There’s a spot on the rug that’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Where had she gone wrong? He’s never been so forceful with his decisions before. Had she overlooked a portion of her speech? 

“Mum loved art,” she whispers, but it’s just loud enough for him to hear.

Matthew stiffens at the mention of his estranged wife. “Your mother loved a lot of things. A lot more than she ever loved us.” And with that, he gets up and leaves.

***

“I think you should go for it,” she can always count on Harry to support her. 

She sighs, burying her face in his pillow. It smells of coconut and lavender. After her dad had walked out, she’d ran across the yard and had tackled Harry with a hug while he was taking out the trash. He’d given her some water (God knows how hysterical she’d been moments prior) before leading her up to his room so she could calm down.

“What if Dad’s right?” she mutters. “What if this really is just a hobby?” She suddenly feels herself being flipped onto her back, his legs straddling either side of her, his eyes boring into hers like lasers. Thoughts flash through her head, and it crosses her mind that he might actually kiss her. But he remains still.

“Look at me,” he says. “You’re amazing, and you know it. I know it. This whole damn town knows it. If there’s one person I know can make it as an artist, it’s you.”

While his words do encourage her, she’s far more concerned with how close he is. She nods in acknowledgement, and he flops next to her. Both of them stare at the ceiling. She wonders if he ever feels what she feels. 

“I got you something,” he says after a few minutes. He quickly turns and fishes for something under his bed.

“A present?” she doesn’t bother hiding the playfulness in her voice.

He kicks the side of her leg. “Grow up.”

“Can’t, I’m too excited.”

He pulls out a giftbag and hands it to her. “Saw this when I was out with Mum and well, it reminded me of you.” 

Peeking into the bag, she immediately smiles. “Is this...is this a frog?”

“Yeah, because remember when we first met? I gave you a–”

“Chocolate frog,” she finishes. It’s a plush toy the size of a basketball and its body is the same colors as their special world. Harry must’ve picked it out because of it. He’s always been thoughtful like that. It shouldn’t surprise her, but whenever he remembers these little things, she can’t help but feel weak at the knees. She and hugs her new frog to her chest. “It’s so cute! Oh, what should we name it?”

“Well, I feel like there’s only one appropriate name for it,” he winks.

“Kaleidoscope?” 

“That...that wasn’t even close to what I was going to say.”

She giggles, reaching over and bringing him in for a hug. “I’m just messing with you! We’ll obviously be calling him Freddo.” She sighs happily when his arms hold on to her tightly. Yeah, she likes his hugs a lot.

***

It’s the middle of March when Harry’s cousin comes to live with him. Jared is about his age, with the same shade of brown hair, only his is straight as opposed to Harry’s mess of wavy curls. Harry had told her that Jared’s mother (Anne’s sister, Sonya) had just passed away after her battle with cancer, and Y/n’s heart broke for the boy she barely knows. Similar to Penny’s situation, Jared’s dad isn’t in the picture. He’d left him and his mum before he was even born, and according to Harry, Jared’s always been very bitter about it.

Jared doesn’t leave his room much, only for school and for meals. Harry’s the only person he talks to because he wants to, not because he has to. They were practically like brothers before Jared had moved away, which Y/n is surprised to hear since she’s never heard of him before. But apparently when they were kids––way before Y/n moved in next door––Jared and his mum would always come over Harry’s house, and they’d play until one of them had to be forcibly dragged away. She had laughed when Harry had told her the story of how he and Jared had gotten stuck in the tree out back for five hours because the adults were so busy chatting inside.  

Sometimes Y/n will stop by and personally offer him some of Nan’s famous chocolate pie, and he’ll accept it only to give it to Harry once she leaves. Of course, she knows it’s nothing personal against her, it just makes her sad that she can’t help someone who is so important to her best friend. It’s hard for her to see Harry worry so much about him, and she really is trying her hardest to help him out. She doesn’t think Jared hates her, if anything, she always catches him staring at her in the halls when he thinks she doesn’t notice. That’s a promising sign, right?

“I happen to think he’s very good looking,” Penny tells her as they walk to Physics. “He kind of reminds of a young Leo.”

“You said the same thing about Harry last week,” Y/n giggles.

“They’re related, aren’t they? Maybe beautiful genes run in the family.”

Penny looks at her. “What do you think?”

She stares back at her. “About?”

“You know, Jared!” 

Y/n’s lips purse together. She hadn’t given him much thought, honestly. 

***

She’s glued to her sketchpad while sitting on the front lawn when she notices a shadow approach her. Not bothering to look up, she pats the spot beside her.

“Nan says that the pudding will be ready in ten,” she says. 

“That’s...cool.” That’s not Harry.

Tearing her eyes away from her latest drawing, she turns her head and sees the last person she expected. “Jared! Hi!” she squeaks.

He offers her a side grin. “Hey,” is all he says. He looks down into her lap. “You’re really good.”

“Oh, thank you.”

He rubs his hands on his jeans before settling them around his ankles. “Uh...do you mind if I sit here with you? You can say no, I was just feeling a little stuffed up in–”

“Of course! I love company!” she smiles broadly.

“I don’t know, you and that pencil were looking pretty cozy,” he suggests. She quirks a brow at him, but when the signs of a smirk begin to change the way his eyes gleam, she finally gets it.

“Jesus, that’s disgusting!” She doesn’t hesitate to slap him over the head. He sniggers in return but doesn’t say much more after that. Y/n continues to draw, but occasionally she’ll look up and catch him watching her. He immediately turns away, pretending to be busy with a blade of grass, or he’ll start whistling like it’s a sitcom.  

***

It doesn’t take long before Jared finally opens up to her. He’s funny––really funny, even though most of his humor is dirty––and is constantly finding ways to make Y/n laugh. She’s found that he does a nearly perfect impression of Austin Powers, and she enjoys it very much. There are also certain angles that really highlight how handsome he is. His eyes are a deep brown, almost the same shade as his hair. There are freckles evenly spread around his nose, almost as if they’d been specifically placed there. And oh, his lashes! They’re just as long as Harry’s, except maybe even fuller. She imagines what they would look like with a fresh coat of mascara. (She jokingly brought up the idea once, and to her delight, Jared says he wouldn’t mind it one bit.)

Harry seems happy that his cousin appears to be back to his old, goofball self. He’s definitely not as stressed over trying to get Jared out of his room as he had been in the immediate weeks after his Aunt Sonya’s death. Even Anne is starting to smile more. Losing her sister had been difficult for her, but Y/n admires how she had stepped up and took her nephew in without hesitance. She’s almost positive that that’s where Harry gets his selflessness from.

“Okay, real question, would you rather give up all desserts or all cheeses?” Jared asks. He always plays this game with her. She thinks it’s cute, sometimes even thought-provoking if she’s really into it. 

“Hmm, that’s a tricky one. Because what about–”

Both their eyes grow wide. “Cheesecake!”

Her head falls onto his shoulder as she laughs. She doesn’t see how Harry turns away. Although, sometimes she’ll notice how he’ll have this weird look in his eyes whenever the three of them are all hanging out together, but she thinks she’s just imagining it. 

***

When Penny tells her that Jared might like her, she doesn’t totally object to the idea.

***

A few days later, Jared kisses her. It’s one of those kisses that happen when you least expect it. She’s frozen in shock until his lips pull away. It’s strange, she likes the feeling, but something seems amiss. He looks at her nervously, like he’s afraid he’s done something completely wrong. But when she finally manages to get over that initial uncertainty, a grin slowly forms on her lips, and he’s kissing her again.

***

In two weeks’ time, she sees Harry snogging Penny outside his front door. She isn’t sure how to react, but she knows there’s this weird feeling inside of her that she doesn’t like.

***

Her and Harry haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since they started dating other people. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, in fact, she really misses him. Saturday morning breakfasts just aren’t the same without him shuffling into the kitchen in his half-asleep state. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was going out of his way to avoid her. Penny says that maybe he’s just feeling awkward because her two best friends are dating. (It turns out Harry had been the guy she’d been pining over for years.)

Maybe that’s true, but shouldn’t that make it easier for them to find themselves in the same room? She’s happy that Penny’s finally happy! Things hadn’t worked out with her last two boyfriends because all they wanted was to take advantage of her. If there’s one thing she’s sure about, it’s that Harry would never cross any lines that Penny hadn’t invited him to cross.

When they’re in Harry’s car, she’ll catch glimpse of how Harry takes Penny’s hand over the console, or how she’ll feed him fries from their takeaway. It makes her happy to see them like this. Really, it does.

Jared is just as much a gentleman, too. They haven’t done anything past snogging, and she’s okay with that. She isn’t even sure she’s ready for that type of commitment. It’s not like she has this idealized fantasy about losing her virginity. She doesn’t expect it to happen in the same way as the movies, with candles and a bed full of rose petals, or any of that romantic stuff. If the time’s right, it’s right. All she wants is to make sure her heart’s a hundred and ten percent in it before she lets anyone in. She wonders if Penny and Harry have talked about going all the way.

“Yeah, we’ve talked about it.”

“Oh,” Y/n tries not to sound surprised. “And how did that go?”

Penny gives a noncommitted answer. “He says he’s willing to wait until I’m ready. But the thing is, I’m ready now!”

***

Penny loses her virginity soon after. Y/n is the first person she calls, and it’s a bunch of squealing and bragging about how perfect it all was. How gentle and attentive he’d been, and how she can’t wait to do it again. It takes everything in her to not hang up. She loves Penny to death, but some things––at least in her opinion––are left unsaid.

***

The first time she and Harry get to spend time together, as in just the two of them, is when Jared is stuck in bed with a cold, and Penny is out with her mum. It’s not exactly planned, in fact, she had only seen him from the living room window whilst helping Nan dust the mantel. Deciding she couldn’t let the opportunity pass, she drops the feather duster and runs out the front door.

“Hey, stranger,” she greets, but she doesn’t sit. It’s only now she sees the bottle of beer hanging between his fingers. He usually only drinks when he’s got something messing with his head. 

He nods at her, and gestures to the spot beside him. She sits, but it feels to calculated for them. Usually, she’d plop down, not caring if their knees would brush together. Now, she’s careful to leave at least a few inches between them. And she hates how awkward things feel between them. In a matter of months, they’d gone from being attached at the hip, to barely acquaintances. 

“So, what’s going on?”

He takes a sip from the bottle, his face twitching with disgust as he does so, then takes a deep breath. “Do you ever feel like things should be different?”

A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair over her shoulders. She doesn’t know if the goosebumps running down her spin are from that or the it’s from the magnitude of his question. “Different, how?”

His features soften when he finally looks at her. As in, really looks at her. It feels like so long since he’s done, that it takes her breath away. He doesn’t say anything yet, but she can see in his eyes that there’s something there. 

“Harry?” she whispers.

His eyes drop down to her lips, and he licks his own in reaction. Nothing seems to matter at that moment. If her mind had been juggling with thoughts before this, it isn’t now. All she can think about his him. How good it feels to be so close him, and how she wants to be closer. 

Then it hits her. Jared. She’s with Jared, and Harry’s with Penny. She’d been leaning into him, but now that she’s broken from his trance, she straightens up.

Harry brushes off his disappointment with another sip from his beer. His stare lands across the street, where a pair of children are chasing each other around a tree. He drops his head, his hand wrapping around the base of his neck.

“I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow.”

She nods slowly. “Visiting your dad?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Something like that.”

Finally, he stands up, then offers her his hand so she can too. He doesn’t let go right away, and she revels in how good it feels. She smiles down to where they’re holding each other, then stares into his green orbs. 

Pulling on her arm, she’s suddenly trapped in his embrace. She hugs him back, her hands sliding up to his shoulder blades and pinching his t-shirt between her fingers. It’s all a bit confusing, but she continues to cling to him. She feels his nose nudge the crown of her head before he lets go.

He turns around and doesn’t look back. 

She isn’t sure what just happened, but it feels a lot like goodbye.

*** Ten Years Later

“It doesn’t feel right,” she sighs. “I can’t be the only one who’s thinking it.” He shuffles in place, eyes scanning the room around them. “What do you suggest then?”

“Take this to the empty wall by the entrance, then move the Reynalda exhibit closer to the back. It’s our main attraction, we have to make people work for it.”

Angelo nods approvingly, and she calls a thank you out to him as he gets to work. Y/n watches the rest of her staff disperse into their allocated directions, and it’s then she can finally take a moment for herself. Sometimes she feels suffocated, but at the same time so hollow.

There are so many reasons why Y/n shouldn’t be feeling as empty as she does now. After all, her life is pretty damn close to perfect. She graduated university with high honors, she has a well-paying job as director of a prestigious art gallery, and she lives in a beautiful two-bedroom apartment with her adoring fiancé who she’s been with for the better part of a decade. 

She can’t pinpoint when exactly she realized that something had been missing, or maybe this feeling has always existed somewhere deep inside, and she’s just been really good at hiding it. The only person who knows about this internal battle is Ava, but Y/n doesn’t like to bother her too much since she’s busy with coursework, as well as her own problems that come with being nineteen and young. 

Of course, there’s Jared. Her love. Her rock. Her other half. She doesn’t know why can’t talk about this with him. Maybe it’s too much of girl problem, or maybe it’s just guilt. The last thing she wants him to think is that he’s not enough to fill this void in her life. If anything, he’d been able to pick up all her damaged pieces when she just couldn’t. He’s great, more than. She depends on him, and he’s never let her down. 

But if that’s true. Why can’t she just be honest?

***

“Right, I’m heading out now. I’ll see you–” he pauses, and she can see the concern overtake his features from the reflection of the blank television screen. He walks around their living room and kneels in front of her, his hands rubbing her lower thighs with every intention to soothe her. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I don’t really know,” she laughs, then shakes her head. “It’s silly, really. You go ahead. Go have fun with Sid.” It’s her best attempt at a smile, but it’s a weak one. 

He looks at her unsurely, like he’s debating if he should protest or not. She kisses him gently on the lips. 

“Go.” And she nudges him to his feet. Although she can tell he’s hesitant, he eventually concedes, leaning down for just one more peck to her forehead, then he’s out the door.

She needs to find a way to depress this strange feeling. It’s starting to affect too much of her life. A life that she enjoys, thank you very much.

Before she falls slave to her thoughts, she slumps into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of cabernet. Maybe it’s a far too generous portion, but is there ever such thing as too much wine? At least for tonight, the answer is no.

The alcohol burns her throat with its bitter sweetness, and she finds comfort in how it settles at the pit of her stomach. She breathes in deeply. This is just what she needs. It’s all in her head. Stress, probably. 

Just as she’s about to rewrap herself in her blanket, the front door opens and closes with a gentle thud. She swings around, brows curling in question as Jared slips off his coat leans against the nearest wall.

“Sid will understand. You’re the one who needs me tonight.” 

She leans against the arm of the couch, a moved smile playing at her lips because, wow. How did she get so lucky?

***

“I found another grey hair this morning,” Jared says. “Is this what getting old feels like?”

She runs her fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-eight, Jae. And besides, silver foxes are pretty sexy.” 

“I guess I’m a bit of a Clooney.” And he wags his brows suggestively. If he’s trying to come onto her, it’s not exactly working, but she’s also not completely turned off. This is why they’re good together. After all these years he still knows how to make her laugh.

They’re about a quarter though their takeaway (and she’s so touched that Jared decided to stay home that she doesn’t even say anything about the pork fried rice) when their doorbell sounds.

“I got it, hun,” he says, placing his plate on the coffee table, and grabbing a napkin before greeting the unexpected guest.

Y/n is pleasantly surprised when Penelope falls into the seat beside her. She looks dressed for a date, but the way she blows ferociously into the air, Y/n knows that things haven’t gone her way.

Without asking, Penny helps herself to their food, moaning as she stuffs a spoonful of that same fried rice into her mouth. “If I wasn’t wearing this dress, I would a hundred percent finish this whole thing.”

“You can borrow some clothes,” Y/n offers. Her friend pretends to contemplate, but she’s the first one to stride over into the master bedroom. 

Y/n pulls out a fresh pair of pajamas, and when she turns around, her mouth quirks in a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Under Penny’s dress is the daintiest set of red lace lingerie she’s ever seen. (And she has her fair share of lingerie since she knows it drives Jared wild.)

“Looks like you were in for a sexier evening,” she muses. She tosses Penny the set.

Her friend rolls her eyes. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing,” she says. Y/n isn’t quite sure what she means by it, but smirks, nonetheless.  

“Now...” Penny pulls her hair through the hem of the borrowed shirt, “let’s finish off that food, shall we?”

Jared doesn’t say anything when they get back, either too consumed with his egg rolls or not wanting to interject himself into the conversation. Y/n simply kisses him on the cheek as she settles back into her meal. 

She glances at Penny for a moment, and her curiosity becomes overpowering. “Okay, so I wasn’t going to ask, but I feel like I have to now,” she explains. Penny cocks a brow at her. “What happened tonight.”

“He cancelled last minute. I was already at the damn restaurant when he texted saying something came up.” She stabs a piece of orange chicken. “It’s a bunch of bullocks if you ask me.” Typical Penny. It wouldn’t be fair to say that her friend is prone to trust issues, but it does take a little more effort. Ever since Harry had broken up with her back when they were seventeen, she hasn’t kept a relationship for more than a few weeks because she claims she doesn’t want to risk getting her heart broken again.

Harry Styles had broken her best friend’s heart, then disappeared to another country. Y/n hates him for that. She hates that he threw away all those years of friendship without a proper explanation. She hates that he abandoned her, especially when he knew how insecure she is about goodbyes. 

But not every guy is Harry. There are good ones that will stick by you no matter what, like Jared. Y/n reaches over and brushes his bangs away from his eyes. Penny just needs to find her person, and Y/n just knows that once she does, she’ll finally feel right.

“This is that Ahmed guy from the gym, right? I don’t know, Pen. He’s a decent bloke. Maybe something really did happen.”

Penny pulls a face, like she’s just oversaturated her food with soy sauce. “Wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s got baggage, and he won’t accept that he isn’t happy to carry it anymore.”

That last bit sticks to her. 

***

Her job requires her to have both a deep appreciation for art and a mind for marketing strategy. It had been the closest compromise that she and her father had come to when she had started her plight for a degree. 

After spending the last of her year of secondary school having second thoughts about the plausibility of making it in the art world, she decided that maybe her dad was right, after all. He would tell her to be in charge, to take control of her life. That way, she’d never be blindsided by anything. She’s still around the world she loves––the canvas, the acrylics, the community of dreamers who share their passion with the world––just from a more business perspective. The more she reflects on those naïve teenage years, the more she appreciates the direction she’d took. She has the best of both worlds, in her opinion. A steady income, and a building full of paintings and sculptures and history. What more can she ask for?

“Y/n!” She looks over her shoulder, where Angelo, her assistant, waves some a sizeable file in his hands. He gives her a knowing smirk.

“Good news?” she teases.

Angelo hands her the file. “Sales report can confirm.”

She glosses it over, satisfied with the numbers. Looks like she’d inherited more from her dad than just his advice. “And they said Expressionism was dead.” Their last grand showcase had been an ode to the German Expressionism movement. They had drawn criticism in the days leading up to the event because some saw it as outdated. But that’s just ridiculous. Art is art. And while history remains in the past, it doesn’t mean that it can’t be appreciated. Y/n’s vision for the gallery is embrace both the old and the new.

“Degenerates,” Angelo rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Dax, Narsi, and I are thinking Damond’s for lunch. You in?”

She looks down at her watch, and curses under her breath. “Can’t,” she sighs. “I have to interview the new curator in a bit.”

“You work too much,” he says humorously, but they both know there’s truth stitched into his words. He gives a friendly squeeze to her elbow. “Bring you back sandwich?” 

“Please,” she smiles. He gives her a mock salute before turning on his heel. 

When he’s completely out of sight, she lets her lips fall into a frown. She examines her watch again, there’s still a few minutes until their scheduled virtual call. She uses the time to stroll the halls, something she doesn’t really get to do. Well, not for fun, at least. 

Things are currently in transition, and all of the Maximalism works are finding their way onto her walls. She stops in front of one in particular that just screams color. With its carefully planned, yet freeing mixture of patterns and textures, it’s a piece to tickle the brain. 

“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes widen. That voice. She feels everything from her body to her unsuspecting heart freeze.

Her grip on her own arm tightens painfully. She thinks she might turn blue from her inability to breathe at this moment. 

“I’ve always liked how much of the artist we can feel. It really captures the complexity of character.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I agree.” She risks all and looks up, and he’s right there waiting for her. Harry. Her arms drop to her side as she feels herself grow weak.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Hi,” he whispers, then smiles. That smile. She had tried so hard not to think about how it had once been her favorite image. His dimples have caved in deeper, if that’s even possible. And his eyes, they’re the same brilliant green she remembers. “I saw an ad in the paper and thought I’d check it out.”

Something must be strangling her vocal cords because she finds that she’s unable to make a sound. 

***

“And what did you do?” 

Y/n drops her head to the table, not even caring if it’s dirty. With the day she’s had, it’s the least of her problems. “I was in shock! I-I think I might have screamed at him.” 

Ava snorts into her drink. 

There’s not much about earlier that she can clearly recall, but she does remember how she had fled to her car and driven halfway across the city to her sister’s dorm and dragged her to the nearest pub. Why? Because she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Why would he just...show up?” she questions. “It makes no sense!”

“Probably got homesick,” Ava shrugs. “Plus, Dad says it’s been in the work–”

“Wait,” Y/n’s head snaps towards her. “Dad knows?”

The younger woman looks at her as if she were insane. “Duh, he’s the one that approved the transfer.”

“But why am I only hearing about this now?” She feels herself heating up with annoyance, anger, and something else that makes her want to pull her hair out. Ava doesn’t respond right away. She looks down at her now empty drink and watches as the ice cubes into water. 

“Well,” she starts, still not bothering to meet her eyes, “ever since he left, he’s been a bit of a taboo subject for you.” 

Her jaw tenses at that, and she sits back in her chair. That’s a bit of an overstatement. Y/n had reacted the way any person would have if put in her situation. She huffs with frustration. “So, what else is everyone hiding from me?”

“This isn’t an intervention, enough with the dramatics,” Ava says.

Y/n’s lips form into a straight line. She looks over the bar and tuts her tongue. “I need another drink,” she mutters. “Where the heck is Penny? She’s supposed to be working tonight.”

***

After Ava had started going to school in the city, her dad had decided to move into the London office full-time in order to be closer to both his girls. And lucky for Y/n, he’s just close enough to get information out of. She visits her dad during her lunch break because she needs answers.

“Dad, we need to talk,” she demands, bursting through his office door without any regard for just about anything. “Explain to me why...”

Matthew Y/l/n tilts his head at her with a raised brow, and the person sitting on the opposite side of his desk has an expression to match.

“Perfect,” she sneers. “We’re all here, then.”

She nearly loses it when Harry choke down a laugh while getting up and offering her his now empty seat. She takes it, but not before she glares at him and his stupid face. 

Her dad looks like he’s been caught in a crossfire, and he calculatingly smooths down his perfectly ironed tie. Harry takes the seat beside hers, except he makes a point to pull it a few inches away.

“So...” her dad practically sings. “Harry’s back!”

“I can see that.” From the corner of her eye, she sees a smirk. “Why are you even here?” 

Harry doesn’t seem offended despite the harsh nature of her tone. He chances a glance at her dad before turning to her. “Work,” is his first answer. He bounces one leg over the other and leans back against the back the seat. His expression softens. “But I guess I just really missed home.”

She thinks that’s bullshit. No decent person would leave everything behind without a second thought. “It took you ten years?”

“I did what I had to do,” he retorts.

“And that was to just disappear?” 

“This isn’t really the place nor time...”

“Then why bother coming back!"

That manages to crack Harry’s calm demeanor. He looks at her as if she had knocked the wind from his lungs. At this point her chest is heaving, as well. She forgets where they are and that her dad is a witness to this outburst. 

“I, uh,” they both turn to Matthew as he tries to find the words to appease the situation. “I was thinking we could all go out for dinner later?” He’s joking, right? He smiles as her, but with that ‘I’m your father and you don’t have much of a say in this’ look in his eyes. “How about you and Jared meet us around...say, seven? Hey, you know what? Bring Penelope, too!”

“Pen–”

Matthew swivels in his chair and practically hops to his feet. He leans down and kisses Y/n on the head. “Got to get to a meeting. I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s gone. It leaves her alone with the person she wants nothing more than to get away from.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. There are so many things she feels bombarding her all at once and there’s not one thing she can make sense of. Harry doesn’t say anything. Instead, he’s typing something on his phone. His lips are quirked up in an almost-grin, and she can’t help but feel miffed that he has the audacity to pull such a face in her presence when all she can do is glower. 

“I guess we’ll talk later?” he suddenly says. He slips his phone into his pants pocket. She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Like her dad had done, he gets up and starts towards the door. But before she can even hear it graze against the carpeting, he mutters one last thing. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

Her dress squeaks loudly against the leather of her seat because she must have turned too quickly. Their eyes meet, his are difficult to read.

***

“...and I’ve been trying to look for a flat, but the boss works me too hard,” Harry smirks over at Matthew. Her dad lets out a hearty chuckle as he finishes off the last of dessert.

“Well, if you’re really that overworked, it’s not at all obvious,” Penny says with a saucy smile. “Definitely still a catch.” She touches his arm, and Y/n digs her nails into her palm because it makes her feel sick. It’s ridiculous that she’s so bothered by how quickly conversation had flowed between Harry and Penelope. 

Jared has an arm around the back of her chair. He looks bored with the conversation. She can’t tell if he’s irked at Harry (in the same way she is) or because he sees how much her dad likes him. That’s not to say that Jared isn’t well liked by Matthew. He did get his blessing to propose, after all. Yeah, they’ve been engaged for a while now. But so, what? Long engagements are common enough, and it does allow the two participants to fully get to know one another, as well as get close to the important people in their lives. Things just aren’t as smooth between her dad and Jared as she would like, but she supposes that’ll ease over with time. 

“I wouldn’t let my current appearance fool you,” Harry snorts.

“Is that a challenge?” Penny bats her lashes at him. 

Y/n can’t take it anymore. “So!” she interrupts, “Pen, didn’t you go out with that Vogue photographer last night?

Her friend gives her an odd look, but when she sees the rest of the table’s eyes on her, she waves it off. “Oh, yeah. But it didn’t end how I would’ve liked.” She gestures between her legs. “He had a little trouble getting it up.” 

“Penelope Swanton,” Matthew warns, as if she might give him a heart attack. “Parental unit sitting right here.”

Everyone shares a laugh except for Y/n and Jared. The latter just stares at the tablecloth with vague intensity. It’s strange that he hasn’t made a quip all night. He’s usually the one who talks the most...well, besides Penny. 

“Maybe pretty girls scare him,” Harry chuckles. “It happens to the best of us.”

A mischievous glint sparkles in Penny’s eyes. “Do I scare you, Harry?” 

“COFFEE!” Y/n all but screams. “We should order coffee!” She can’t just sit there and watch her friend make the same mistakes all over again. It would be a serious miscarriage of justice is she were to let that happen. 

But she can only stall for so long, and before she knows it, they’re all making their way out of the restaurant. It’s that awkward phase of standing outside and making small talk before someone has the balls to leave. Harry offers Penny a ride, and Y/n has to watch as they get into his car, laughing like he hadn’t broken her heart all those years ago. 

Jared still seems to be in a mood as well, but he plays it off and tells her he’s got a stomachache from the scallops he had as an appetizer. She rubs his back as they wait for the valet to bring their car around, glaring at Harry’s taillights before he turns onto the road. 

***

Y/n manages to not think about Harry for a few weeks. With the newest exhibit opening up, it’s kept her body and mind busy. By the time she gets home, she’s tired and all she wants is to put her feet up and watch reruns of Downton Abbey.

The doorbell rings, and she can’t help but groan because she was just getting comfortable. She looks through the peephole, then shakes her head knowingly. She pulls the door open.

“Don’t you have work?” she asks playfully, but she wishes she could take it back when she sees the broken look painted across Penny’s face. “Oh my god, are you alright?” She guides her friend into the apartment and sits her down on the couch.

Penny suddenly bursts into tears, her face falling into her hands as though she were hiding her shame. Not wanting to distress her further, Y/n gathers her in her arms and lets her cry it out. They’ve been through a lot together, and in all their years of friendship, she’s never seen her look so somber as she does now.  

She strokes her hair, whispering her reassurance even though she’s left in the dark. Penny breaks from her hug and wipes her eyes with her knuckles before looking at her with misty eyes. “I’m...” but she starts blubbering, and nothing coherent can be understood. Y/n waits patiently until she can speak. “I’m pregnant.” 

Y/n feels the color drain from her face while her head fills worry. She can’t decide who she’s worried more about, Penny or her baby. Penny is an adult is capable of making her own decisions, but she can also be reckless. She can barely pay her rent on time and her work schedule isn’t the best either. A baby would mean growing up, but Y/n knows that Penny’s still trying to figure things out. 

Then, the inevitable question bubbles in her throat. “How far along?” Penny sniffles. “About six weeks.”

Y/n feels awful that the first thing she feels is relief. Not Harry’s. “And the father?” 

“I can’t tell him,” Penny cries, she lays her head in Y/n’s lap. “He’s...he has a...” She doesn’t need to finish that sentence for Y/n to understand.

“Penny...” her tone is every bit of disappointed. 

***

She accompanied Penny to her first appointment to the OB-GYN this morning, and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat had been enough to drive both women to tears. It was beautiful, and the look in Penny’s eyes said all that they could. Sure, Y/n had worried about her when she first learned of the pregnancy, but that had immediately changed with just that one look. 

One day, Y/n hopes to have children of her own. She and Jared have opened up the topic a few times, but they never seem to be on the same page when it comes to starting a family. He claims it’s because his job’s hours are too crazy to juggle an infant. He’s the physical therapist for the National Football team, which means he has to go with them on away games. Deep down, however, Y/n thinks he’s afraid that he’ll end up the way his father did. She wants to tell him that’s ridiculous, but she always has to walk on eggshells about that. 

It’s okay, though. Until she and Jared can come to an agreement, she has no qualms over spoiling her new niece or nephew. Auntie Y/n. She likes the sound of that. So much, in fact, that she finds herself outside of a baby boutique on the high street. She wonders if Penny will be having a boy or a girl. 

“So cute!” she smiles to herself when she sees all the onesies on the mini mannequins. Would it be too early to plan Penny’s baby shower? She’s so lost in hypothetical party planning that she doesn’t notice see body before they collide, and warm liquid misses her shoes by mere centimeters. 

“I’m so sorry!” she rushes out an apology. There’s an unflattering brown stain on his otherwise perfect white button-up. She grabs for her wallet in her purse, hoping to at least pay for the damages, but stops when she gets a good look at him.

“You.” 

The world must really have it out for her. Harry looks down at his tainted shirt. “Nice seeing you too.” 

“Sorry,” she says again. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Head in the clouds?” he muses, shaking his sleeve of the last remaining drops of coffee.

She smiles tightly. “Just window shopping.”

He looks at the store in front of them, and his head snaps towards her. “Are you...?”

“No,” she replies immediately. “A friend of mine.”

For some reason, his shoulders seem to relax. He’s still incredibly handsome, though she never doubted that that would ever change. Under his wet shirt, she notices a sizeable few tattoos inked onto his chest. The sight intrigues her, and she has to stop herself from reaching out and tracing them with her finger. 

“Let me pay for your dry-cleaning,” she says, tearing her eyes away from his body. 

Harry shakes his head. “There’s no need, honestly. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” She really doesn’t want to be in his debt. “I’d feel better if I could make it up to you somehow.”

“No, really. It’s fine.” Why is he so stubborn?

“I insist.” 

He studies her for a moment. She imagines that she can see the gears turning as he thinks. 

“I’m actually on my way to a viewing, and well...I’m not really sure what to look for.”

She replays his words in her head. “So, you want me to...help you pick out an apartment?” That can’t be right.

“My car’s just over there,” he points with his chin. “What do you say?”

Alarms are sounding in her head, each one screaming a different command between her ears. A part of her is saying it’s a bad idea, that she should stand her ground and stay mad at him because of what he had done. On the other hand, the rest of her––the biggest part of her––wants to indulge in the feeling she has when she’s with him. It’s a crazy mix of fury and joy that isn’t entirely unbearable. 

“Fine,” she concedes, and she brushes past him and starts towards his car. “But only because I feel bad about the shirt.” She doesn’t dare look back. She slides into the passenger seat and buckles herself in. Her stomach is doing cartwheels beneath her high-waisted pants. 

Harry gets into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the engine right away. He pulls his jacket off and places it neatly on the console. What he does next makes her regret getting out of bed this morning. Her mouth dries as he undoes every button of his shirt and reveals the tattoos she’d been fantasizing about earlier.

“Do-do you mind?” She feels her cheeks heat up, and she turns to the window in hopes to find a distraction. 

“Well, I’m not going to talk business looking like I’ve just been bullied by a barista.”

“That’s completely beside the point!” 

“Well, you can look now, Mother Teresa,” he says smugly. She hesitantly cranes her neck back. He’s now sporting a similar shirt, but this time, it’s dark grey. “See?”

She huffs, then mutters something under her breath. He smiles at her, like he’s just dying to tease her, but ultimately decides not to. She just glares straight ahead.

“Just drive the damn car.”

***

“And this unit is complete with its own balcony which overlooks the Thames,” Mariette, Harry’s real-estate agent says to the both of them. “It sets the mood nicely, don’t you think? And it happens to be very popular with our younger couples.” She sends them a not-so-subtle wink. 

Y/n feels herself flush, and she ducks into the kitchen and pretends to inspect the marble countertop. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry says. He doesn’t seem to be paying that much attention, or if he is, he’s really good at hiding his own embarrassment. Y/n wonders if he’s just humoring the over-zealous agent. After all, he was never the type to correct someone over silly little details. 

Mariette tells them to walk around, get a feel for the place, before excusing herself to make a phone call. Y/n follows Harry up the stairs where all the bedrooms are. There are three, and the master bedroom has its own ensuite toilet and bath.

“What do you think?” Harry asks her.

She glances at the view from the window. It’s beautiful, gorgeous even. The building itself is in one of the nicer parts of town, where the congested London traffic wouldn’t take away from its overall aura. She can already picture him spending the mornings on the balcony with a cup of tea and a book or passed out on a king-sized mattress in the bedroom after a long day of work.

“It’s nice,” she answers truthfully. “But it doesn’t matter what I think.”

Harry looks at her like she’s spewing nonsense. “I asked for your input, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But at the end of the day, it’s your home. Not mine. You might not even stay around long enough to enjoy it.” The look on his face when she lets that last part slip out makes her wish she had just shut her mouth. She leaves him in the bedroom and heads into the hall. She needs to get away. Why couldn’t she have just given him a simple answer? Why does she continue to open up old wounds that she knows she’ll never be able to close? 

Before she can get far, however, his fingers curl around her shoulder. He swallows thickly behind her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Until now, he hadn’t apologized. She hadn’t expected him to, and now she isn’t sure how to take it. This should vindicate her, but all she wants to do is curl up and close herself off from the world, even for a little while.

She looks down to her feet, and as though on cue, her eyes begin to fill with tears. Her hand quickly lands on her mouth to muffle a sob.

He turns her towards him, holding her by the waist. In a split-second, she’s wrapped in his arms. She tries to pull away, but her body is too unwilling to lose his familiar warmth. 

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” she whimpers against his shirt.

His chest heaves. “Because if I did, I’d never be able to leave.” His words shake her.

She pulls away slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “But what about me?” she asks. “Harry, you were my best friend, and you just treated me like I meant nothing to you.” It made her feel like nothing. Apparently, she’s an easy person to leave behind. First it was her mother, then the person she trusted most. She couldn’t tell you which had broken her more.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” 

Scoffing, “A bit late for that, no?”

“Then let me make it up to you,” his plea is coated with desperation. Every bit of him shines with sincerity that she wishes she could ignore. His touch burns her through her clothes like blue flames. Body and mind are rekindling, and now that she remembers what it feels like to be close to him, she can’t see a version of herself that doesn’t want him back in her life.

“I don’t know if I believe in second chances,” she says softly. His grip on her loosens substantially, and there’s a sudden fear that he’ll let go. “But,” she continues, “you’ll be my first.”

It’s a bone-crushing, heart-enlarging hug, and it leaves her feeling happier than she’s felt in a long time.

***

They’re not the same two kids who would spend every waking moment together, but this is the closest they’ll ever get in adult life.

Harry visits her on her lunch breaks and lets her bounce marketing strategies off of him whilst they walk the gallery. Just like her dad, he has a well-versed business mind. It feels good to be able to talk to him again. It’s like a part of herself has risen after years of sleep and is finally seeing the light of day. Under the fancy suits and numerous tattoos, he’s still the same guy who can listen to her talk for hours without fail.

She’s even had him over for dinner at her and Jared’s place. At first, she was afraid that things would be tense between the two of them, after all, Jared hadn’t talked much during their dinner nearly a month back. To her delight, however, they seemed to pick up where they left off, and spent majority of the night talking sports and all that ‘man’ talk that she can never be bothered to understand. 

If a month ago she had felt empty, she can proudly admit that she’s starting to fill up.

***

When Penny announces that the baby is a girl, Y/n is probably the most excited. She visits the baby boutique she’d been browsing some days ago and buys a rubber duckie onesie with a matching headband, along with four other matching sets.

“You really shouldn’t have to go through all the trouble,” Penny scolds her.

Y/n waves her off. There shouldn’t be any of that nonsense. She likes being able to spoil her best friend’s future child. “I want to. Just humor me, okay? I’m aiming for Auntie of the Year.” She lays all the rest of the outfits on Penny’s sofa.

“It’s true,” Harry adds. “She’s already had the bib made.” Y/n flips him off but is far too delighted by all the pretty patterns to come up with a proper retort. Rather, she tries to sweep Penny into conversation about a real baby shower (and not just the one she’d planned in her head), discussing potential guests and a wish list that she should start setting up on Amazon.

Jared and Penny give each other a look, and the way the former’s jaw tenses doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry but completely goes over Y/n’s head.  

***

“Why don’t you put any of your own work on display?” Harry asks her one day.

“Honestly?” she sighs, “I haven’t actually made anything in...well, almost a decade.”

His jaw drops. “I don’t think I heard you right, a decade?” 

The same amount of time you’ve been gone, she thinks to herself. Of course, now that they’re back to being friends, she would never say it out loud. 

***

Nan had called her up and asked if she and Ava would drive up to Holmes Chapel and help her sort out all the things to donate. They try to visit their grandparents every few months because they are getting to the age where they won’t be around for long. Although, Nan will tell anyone with ears that she’s stronger than she was in her twenties due to her weekly spin classes at the community center. Meanwhile, Gramps is still the same as ever. He still sits in front of the TV and watches highlights of games he’s got recorded on the DV-R, and accidentally knocks over Nan’s petunia’s when he backs the car out of the garage. 

Her childhood bedroom is also how she had left it. Sure, her teenage years had called for a bit of renovation, but underneath posters of her favorite actors and boy bands are the youthful stickers Nan had put up when they had first arrived. 

She rummages through her closet, throwing old clothes in good condition into her donation basket. There are even some that were never worn, and she debates whether she’d be able to use any of it, but ultimately decides against it.  

The top shelf is full of empty shoe boxes and other things she had carelessly thrown up there. Her old sketchbook falls open, face down, at her feet. 

She picks it up and is greeted by the same sketch that had won her first prize in the art show all those years ago when she was fifteen. Her fingers graze over the pencil lines, and it’s like being reacquainted with an old friend. She had spent months on this one drawing, and it had turned out to be her greatest piece to date (the actual painting is still being preserved at the school).

“You know, I always thought that boy looked like Anne’s boy,” Nan says nonchalantly. Y/n hadn’t even heard her come in. 

“What?” Y/n stares intently at the paper. “You think so?”

Ava practically skips in. “Oh, gossiping, are we?” She sounds just like Nan. Y/n can’t help the roll of her eyes. 

“I was just telling your sister about how that painting of hers up at the school looks a lot like Harry.”

“Is it not supposed to?” Ava seems genuinely confused. 

“I mean...it wasn’t actually based on anyone in particular,” Y/n says, feeling the need to defend herself. “It was just...something I envisioned in my head.” She turns back to her closet, leaving Nan and Ava to carry on their conversation on her bed. 

Reaching her arm up high, she feels around the shelf until she pokes something soft. When she brings it down, she can’t help but grin. Freddo. She had almost forgotten about him. After Harry had left, she had gone on a bit of a rampage, and any reminder of him had fallen victim to the trash or banishment to the top shelf.

Nan must notice her smile because she comes up and cradles her from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder. “It’s funny,” she says, and Y/n looks back at her expectantly. “I also thought that you two would end up together, but I guess I was off by a bit, huh?” She kisses Y/n on the cheek and calls for Ava to follow her downstairs.

Y/n stares at the toy as though it held some sort of secret.

***

She’s lucky she’s home by herself––Jared is off at the pub for his and Sid’s weekly meet-up––because now she has time to unwind and be as antisocial as she wants. Work had been stressful, mostly because the exhibit is set to open next week. And really, all she wants is to be under her favorite blanket with a cup of hot chocolate and just be dead to the world.

Even though she thinks that, however, she can’t help but tap on her phone screen every few minutes. Sure, she likes the time alone, but she also likes being needed. Ava says it’s a control thing, but she really just prefers to be in the know. Lately, Penny’s been spamming her with messages and phone calls about the baby or sometimes it’ll be for a little reassurance. Of course, she’s more than happy to support her. It’s brave of Penny to tackle this alone. The baby’s father is completely out of bounds, so she’s told, and Penny says she’d rather her baby grow up with just a mother than in some dysfunctional setup.

Speaking of dysfunction, she hasn’t been able to properly think straight ever since her visit with Nan. What the elderly woman had told her hadn’t exactly shocked her, per say, but it did have her rethink some of the interactions between her and Harry. It’s ridiculous, really. They’d been best friends since she was eight and he was nine. They know each other’s ins and outs, likes and dislikes, what makes the other laugh and cry. They’re simply comfortable. 

Okay. Maybe there had been times where she thought that the possibility of something more was on the table, but that quickly proved to be all in her imagination. She had her boyfriends and he had his girlfriends. She fell in love with his cousin, and he dated her other best friend. Then he left town.

Then he left.

***

Abandoning her original plans for the night, Y/n finds herself at his door. 

“Hey,” he greets her, but his warm smile falters when he takes note of her appearance. “What’s with the look? Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, she’s too taken by the image of him and the way her heart feels like it might burst from her chest to comprise a full sentence. He doesn’t push her, though. He fishes into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a shapely object wrapped in purple foil. “I-uh, I don’t eat chocolate that much anymore, but they don’t have these in America, so I’ve been snacking on a few of these a week.” It lands itself in her hand. “Just like when we were kids, right?”

It’s a Freddo. A fucking Freddo. Her fingers curl around it.

“You once asked me if I thought that things should’ve been different,” she says. “What did you mean by that?”

Harry doesn’t answer. She tries again.

“Why did you leave, Harry?"

“It’s been so long, I don’t even remember.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She takes one step closer. He evades her eyes, like he’s afraid they’ll speak on their own. Her stomach tightens because it’s all starting to make sense. His words. That embrace. These feelings that have always existed between them. “You left because of me.”

It’s not a question, but a sure statement. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. She slides a hand up to his cheek, forcing him to look at her. When he finally does, she’s sees it. And her gut says it’s not the first time. 

It’s heartache. 

She knows because she sees it every time she looks in the mirror. It’s taken her this long to realize it. That hollow feeling that’s been consuming her, it disappeared the day Harry Styles walked back into her life. Once the anger over what he’d done had subsided, she’s felt nothing but joy since. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She wants to scream. 

“You made him happy,” is all he says, almost regretfully. “I couldn’t take that away from him.”

“So, you didn’t even consider how I felt? Harry, I would’ve...would’ve–”

“And that’s why I had to leave!” He wipes both hands down his face in frustration. “We would’ve ended up hurting two people we cared too much about.”

“You don’t know that–”

“If I had tried to kiss you that night, would you have let me?” His gaze bores into her. 

Yes. The voice within her screams it over and over. He must already know her answer because he just smiles sadly at the floor. This is why he had done it. He knew that if he had stayed any longer, it would have only been a matter of time before they gave into each other. 

It makes her sick. 

“I figured if I just took myself out the equation, the rest of you would be spared the heartbreak.” He sighs. “And it worked. You and Jared are about to start a life together, Penny’s got her baby. You’re happy.”

She wants to counter him, but she can’t find the strength. “What about you?” she whispers instead.

He tilts his head to the side. “I came back to prove to myself that I could be happy for you.” His jaw slackens, and he doesn’t continue.

She’s toe to toe with him. “And are you?”

The next thing she knows, her back is against the wall, and her fingers are tangled in his hair. His lips feed her, makes her blood come alive like she’s never lived until now. She kisses him with everything she has. Every drop of anger and every ounce of emotion that burns through her veins. His hands keep her body as close to his as possible, yet, they feel so gentle as they caress her curves like she’s made of glass. It feels so right.

And it shouldn’t. 

Just as sudden as it had started, she pushes him away. He doesn’t fight her. Without another word, she leaves his apartment.

*** When she makes it home, Jared is about to get ready for bed. She drops her clothes to the floor, and his soon follow. They fall onto the bed, his teeth gnawing down her jaw while his hand slides down to cup her heat. He asks her if she’s ready once his member is nudged against her opening. She nods, and he pushes into her, just as he’s done many times before.

She tries her best to focus on how good this should feel to have him inside of her, but the more he moves, the more she feels like this is all a mistake. It feels all too similar to when she had given him her virginity. It happened the night after Harry had skipped town. She was upset and wanted to feel something aside from the pain he had caused her. Jared had been there, and things had soon escalated. But it didn’t feel right. Her heart wasn’t in it, and so her body couldn’t give itself the relief it had been searching for.

It hasn’t felt like that since, or maybe she had gotten better at hiding it, just as she’s done with everything else. She had hoped that sex with Jared would put her mind and her heart back into perspective, but instead, she feels even more helpless.

One kiss with Harry had meant more to her than any of this. It fills her with shame because shouldn’t want to be with anyone except Jared, especially when all he’s ever done is love her. 

She doesn’t realize it’s over until he rolls off her with a content sigh, then stumbles into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, and it’s then she feels the tears start to fill the rim of her eyes. Her thighs clasp together as her humiliation fully sets in. She turns on her side and covers her naked body with the blanket that had been pushed to the foot of the bed. Jared returns minutes later, mumbling a goodnight. If he has something else to say, he doesn’t. It takes to the count of five for him to drift to sleep. 

***

“I need to cancel the engagement,” she says. Ava gives her a circumspect shrug of the shoulders, like she’s trying not to say the wrong thing. Y/n turns to her, hands twiddling the fingers in her lap from stress. “What do you think I should do?”

Ava looks at her, the pity is obvious on her face. “I don’t know, sis.” She rubs her back. “Are you going to tell Jared about you and Harry?”

“I have to.”

***

She doesn’t have the opportunity to talk to Jared until the night of the exhibit opening since he’d been in Spain on a team trip. It’s eating her up, how she hasn’t told him yet, but at least by the end of today she’ll no longer be holding on to something so big. He had promised to come straight to the gallery once he landed back at Heathrow. His flight was set to get in two hours ago, so it’s only a matter of time now. 

More and more people are starting to fill the floor. Most are patrons whom she sees frequently at these events, but there are some new faces mixed in the crowd. She’s lucky that Ava and her grandparents are here to support her, especially when she’ll probably need them afterwards. 

“Hey, don’t look so nervous,” Nan tells her. “The place looks great. You know, I overheard that guy in the red Chanel that he’s interested in buying.” Bless her, Y/n thinks. Nan’s always had a way of diffusing the tension, even when she isn’t aware of it. 

“I’m happy you guys are here,” Y/n says, and she brings her friend in for a hug. 

Nan gives her a confused smile. “Of course, we’re here. We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she proudly declares, and she elbows Gramps in the ribs when he doesn’t contribute. “Honestly, try to look a little alive.”

“I put on a tie, didn’t I?” Gramps rolls his eyes, but then he sends Y/n a wink.  

“Where’s Penelope this evening?” Nan asks, scanning the room, brows furrowing. Y/n feels a sweat break out. She just hopes that Penny will understand when she finds out about her feelings for her ex-boyfriend. It’s been years, sure, but there has to be some kind of friendship code that prohibits this sort of thing. “And where’s that fiancé of yours? He should be here with you.”

“Probably just got stuck in traffic,” Y/n says, but honestly, she’s reveling the extra time she has to prepare.

Nan hooks arms with Ava and Gramps, and they walk the floor while Y/n greets a few of her guests. Her dad is one of them, no surprise there. He pecks her on the side of the head and lets out a perplexed sound as he gazes at all the art. 

“I feel like I should understand this kind of thing by now,” he muses, gesturing to the portrait of naked man made from duct tape and spoons. “Anything after 2003 is lost to me. I just don’t get it.”

“Are you proud of me?” Y/n shocks herself with the question.

Matthew looks stunned himself. “Why would you ask something like that? You know that I am.” He pulls her aside, so they have a little more privacy. “Sweetheart, is everything okay?” There’s worry in his eyes. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she appeases, “I just wanted to hear it.” Her dad doesn’t respond but hugs her tight. They stay like that for a moment, she’s always felt safe in his arms, until she feels them loosen around her. She looks up at him, his look somewhere else. When she follows it, her heart skips a beat.

“Harry!” Matthew takes his hand and shakes it. “I haven’t seen you in a full two hours!” 

The younger man lets out a slight chuckle. “It’s been unbearable. I just can’t keep away.” He turns to her. “Congratulations.” 

A nod is all she can afford. 

Matthew looks between the two of them, and their situation feels almost familiar. He coughs into his hand and excuses himself as he chases a waiter down the west wing. 

“Can we talk?” Harry asks her. 

She purses her lips to the side. There’s so much she wants to say to him, but she’s afraid of what she might do. 

Against her better judgement, she leads him into her office. She leaves the door open behind her in the off chance that things intensify. She doesn’t need any more guilt on her plate. (But she wishes he wasn’t wearing such a properly fit suit. It’s far too distracting for the seriousness of the situation.)

Leaning against her desk, arms crossed over her chest, she waits for him to speak. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It was both our doing,” she stresses. If you asked her who had kissed who first, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. “We just...got caught up in the moment.” I let my heart dictate my actions.

He looks hurt by her words but doesn’t press her on it. “I should’ve stopped it. I always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you, and when it happened, I...” He shakes his head, and she’s thankful that he’ll never finish that sentence. She’s already heard it in her mind. Hearing out loud would cause both of them too much agony.

“I know,” she rasps. “I can’t stand here and say that I didn’t want it, but–”

“you don’t want to hurt him.” She smiles appreciatively, though, sadly. In another life, maybe they would have a chance. This one doesn’t have a place for them. Even if she ends things with Jared, it doesn’t erase the fact that they’re family. She could never start anything with Harry without him getting hurt. It’s a matter of acceptance now. 

This must have been what Harry had been feeling when he had left. As much as it hurts to remember, she thinks she at least understands it better. 

“I need air,” she says, not wanting to entertain those thoughts further, “join me?” She grabs her phone from her desk. It’s getting late, and she’s starting to worry about Jared. 

They leave her office and start towards the back door that some of her staff use when they want a smoke. She usually avoids it for that reason, but it was getting too stuffy in there. Her lungs will forgive her if she takes this one moment to herself. Her screen unlocks, and just as she’s about to press on her fiancé’s name, Harry pushes the door open and she looks up as the evening breeze brushes her face and then...

“What the hell is this?” She drops her phone to the ground. 

Jared and Penny pull away from each other, but the space between them is nearly nonexistent. The latter meets her with scared eyes that soon begin to fill up. One hand covers her mouth as she chokes on a sob or maybe even fear, while the other clasps over her swollen belly. Y/n’s eyes drift down to it. It clicks. 

“Y/n...” Jared starts, he’s breathing heavily. “Let me–”

“That’s why you couldn’t tell me his name,” she says shakily. It’s directed at Penelope. “You couldn’t tell me because it was him.” The night Penelope had come over unannounced after her alleged date cancellation at the same time Jared had cancelled his own plans. “I’ll make sure he knows what he’s missing.” And that’s exactly what she had done, and right under her nose. They’d have been sneaking around behind her back for months.

“We d-didn’t mean for it to get this far...” Penny tries to explain, she steps out from behind Jared’s shadow. The usually confident blonde has lost several inches of height. She says something else, but it’s like Y/n’s just drowned out all the noise. Her eyes still haven’t left Penelope’s stomach. 

She wants to hate her. She should hate her. But she’s just an innocent victim caught in her parents’ web of lies. Then she grits her teeth at Jared. How far he’s fallen from the pedestal she’d put him on. Now she’s certain that she had inflated his image in her spiraling guilt for having feelings for another man. To think that only minutes ago she was about to plead for his forgiveness for kissing Harry, when all this time he’d been fucking her closest friend. 

“Jared,” his name weighs like venom on her tongue, “I want you out of the apartment by tonight.”

She just runs. Down the alleyway, ignoring all the calls of her name behind her. Harry’s voice is by far the loudest. There’s a thud, followed by a scream. However tempted she is to look back, her legs have developed a mind of their own and lead her towards the busy sidewalk. The bright streetlights burn her eyes, but she doesn’t stop.

She keeps going until she finds the first empty cab. Getting in without a second to hesitate, she closes the door and tells the man behind the wheel to just go. 

“Where to?” he asks her. Her first instinct is to go home and lock herself in her room, but she realizes that she’ll probably have to confront Jared again, and that’s not going to happen. Her second and third options are still at the gallery, completely oblivious to all the night’s revelations. There’s just one other person on that list, so Y/n gives the driver the address. 

***

It takes less than twenty minutes for her to end up in front of a building with bright blue doors and window panels to match. She climbs the steps, one wobbly footstep at a time, but only hesitating once. Her knuckles curl at her sides, until lifting them up to knock against the heavy wood. Light from inside peeks through the curtains.

A woman appears in the open threshold, that faint light from inside creating a halo around her figure. She looks unreal, like something straight out of a storybook. Her ethereal face just as kind as Y/n remembers. It’s the most immaculate she’s ever been. 

Y/n feels herself lose the battle with the emotions she had managed to keep on leash from just one look from her. 

With a whimper, her mouth struggle with the words. “Hi, Mum.”

***

Grace sets her up in the guest room and supplies her with a cup of tea and biscuits. As she’s setting it down on the bedside table, Y/n can’t help but take note of her appearance. It’s been nearly twenty years since she had last seen her mother, but why is that she’s never looked younger? Her eyes no longer have the eternal vacancy that had highlighted her once slack expression. 

She looks happy. 

“Thank god I did the shopping earlier this week, huh?” Grace muses, opening up a new pack of biscuits. Each word to leave her lips feels smooth against her ears. “I’ve developed a bit of a sweet tooth in my old age.” Y/n doesn’t know if she appreciates her efforts to make conversation, but it does give her time to think about what exactly she wants to say. 

They drink their tea in hushed sips, like they’re afraid that any loud slurping might cause some offence. Y/n stares down into the contents of her cup, annoyed that it’s the perfect color. A part of her had wished that she could find something to fault her with. 

“So,” Grace hums, tapping melodically on the porcelain in her hands. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”

Y/n barely lifts her head as her hands strangle the air with frustrated rigidness. “I’ve spent my entire life trying not to become you.” From her decision to follow her dad’s wishes, to keeping appearances for a relationship that she now knows was destined for destruction, she’d made every choice for everyone else. 

Grace doesn’t respond, but her mouth parts with a staggered breath. 

“I wanted to believe that I was happy. I wanted to do what you never did because I didn’t want to hurt the people I was supposed to love.” All the years she’d never confronted these feelings have ultimately resulted to this. “You broke us,” she says, staring her directly in the eyes. “You ruined every image I had of love.” The anxiousness that had put her through hell had to come from this. The truth is, she couldn’t break it off with Jared because she didn’t want to hurt him in the same way that her mother had hurt her dad. That’s it. She ignored every gut feeling that told her it wasn’t right because of the bitterness she felt towards her mother.   

“The choices we make aren’t genetic,” Grace says softly.

“Aren’t they, though?” she shrieks. She bounces to her feet and paces in front of the bed. “Penelope’s mother was the other woman, and now Penelope is pregnant with my fiancé’s baby! You ran away from your family because you couldn’t forget him.” 

By that, she means her mother’s new husband, the one she had left them for. It had been during her last year at university that Y/n had discovered the truth. He had been her professor for her art history class. She recognized him from a picture she had once seen in her mother’s jewelry box. She just hadn’t put two and two together until then. “And I...I can’t forget the person I’ve loved since I was eight. What makes us different, Mum?”

Grace holds her chin close to her body. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But tell me this. Why haven’t you planned your wedding?”

This causes Y/n’s pacing to cease. She stands at her mother’s knees, blinking rapidly. “How would you know anything that goes on with me?”

Her mother stands up as well. They’re about the same height.  

“I know it’ll make never make up for what I did but believe me. I’ve never stopped trying to be in your lives...even if it was from afar.” Her hand is shaking as she reaches up to cup Y/n’s cheek so she can wipe away her tears. “I was there when you won all your art shows back in school. I was there when you graduated university.” She’s crying her own tears now. “And I was excited for you when you got engaged three years ago.” 

Y/n doesn’t let herself give in. She pulls away. “It was supposed to be a long engagement.”

“Is that what you keep telling yourself?” Grace looks at her pointedly. Y/n’s bottom lip starts to quiver. Her mother grasps her by the shoulders. “Maybe that’s what makes you different from me. You stopped pretending before it was too late, you just hadn’t realized it.”

“Is that supposed to make me a good person?” Y/n challenges. 

“No,” Grace answers honestly, but she sighs with a small smile. “But it makes you a better person than me.”

***

She doesn’t recall ever falling asleep, but she can still feel her mother’s hand stroking her hair as she had laid her head on the pillow. The morning sun shines through the curtains of the unfamiliar room and greet her with slithers of light by her feet. Waking up here feels strange, but she’s experienced comfort that she hasn’t felt in so long.

The rug-lined steps make little to no sound as she makes her way downstairs. From the bottom, she can hear two voices talking in hushed tones from the kitchen. One is unmistakably her mothers, while the other is deep and manly. She isn’t sure how to make approach them, suddenly feeling self-conscious for having intruded. But soon enough, her mum catches sight of her and invites her to take the stool beside her. Y/n walks in, passing her mother’s husband, who smiles kindly at her. She had liked him as a professor before she had found about his private life.

“Good morning,” Grace says. “Lawrence’s just been to the bakery.” She pushes a box full of a variety of goodies. “Eat as much as you want.”

Y/n picks up a croissant and gingerly pulls it apart. She avoids how her mother and her husband gage in her every movement. 

“Did you sleep well?” It’s Lawrence who asks her. She nods. Lawrence and her mother share a look, and through their eyes they seem to converse. It reminds her a lot of how she and Harry had always been able to tell what the other was thinking without having to verbalize. Lawrence finishes up his cup of coffee, then circles around the island and kisses his wife on the cheek. “I’m just going to pop to the store,” he says. She catches the back of his head before he disappears. 

“I thought you said you had just done the shopping?” Y/n asks her mother. The older woman shrugs, continuing to pick at her breakfast. Oh. She sees that there’s apparently more to talk about. Y/n does in fact have a few more questions she wants to ask, if anything more than to talk to someone who knows what she’s going through. She takes a deep breath. “Are you happy?” The words feel awkward as they leave her mouth. Grace looks at her, questioningly. She nods towards the door. “With him?”

“Yes.” 

Y/n’s heart breaks for her father. 

“He’s my best friend,” Grace says dreamily. “I’ve known him all my life. Loved him about the same.” Y/n feels goosebumps startle her skin.

“So,” Y/n treads cautiously, “was he worth it?”

“There are things that I would have done differently when it came to you and your sister, given the chance,” her mother sighs, but when she looks at her with those eyes that are so full of light and what she guesses must only be love, Y/n gets it. “But otherwise I’d choose him all over again.”

***

She knocks impulsively on his front door, not caring if his new neighbors think she’s out of her mind insane. Her limbs are tight with anticipation, especially when she hears the scuffle of feet against well-polished hardwood. Harry stands in the open doorway dressed in a white t-shirt and black joggers, and an adorably confused look floating in his sleepy eyes. But when he registers her before him, it’s like he’d been hit by lightning and suddenly jolted awake.

“Has anything changed?” she asks, almost pleadingly. He just stares at her, frustrating her already exhausted nerves. She hadn’t come all this way after a rollercoaster of a night to not get an answer. “Am I...Am I still all that’s in...” And rests her hand where his heart is.

Her own heart leaps in her chest when his dimples emerge from his cheeks. He lays his own hand over hers, stepping towards her but also pulling her incredibly close. “It’s always been you.” 

And no words have ever made her cry out of shear joy. She laughs, or maybe it’s more of a wet giggle, before throwing her arms around his neck and bringing him in for a scorching kiss. Unlike their first kiss, this one is filled solely with everything they hadn’t allowed themselves to feel. He nips on her bottom lip, and her mouth parts and welcomes his tongue to explore every unchartered inch. He grasps her both her thighs and carries her to his bedroom. 

She can’t believe she’s gone this long without knowing his touch. Every movement of against her skin, and every exploration of forbidden pleasure makes her stomach coil and beg for more. He lays her down on his bed, his body hovering over hers like he’s afraid she might slip away. 

He leans in a little lower, and she gasps when she feels him hard against her hip. “We don’t have to do anything,” he gulps, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’ve been through a lot, and I just want you to know that–” but he doesn’t get to finish because she shuts him up with the fire in her eyes. She loves him for everything he is, even when he’s being selfless to a fault. 

“We’ve waited too long for this,” she breathes against his lips. “Let’s choose us.” 

A low throaty moan surges from of her as he grinds himself against her, sending currents of electrifying energy down to her aching entrance. Her mind becomes cloudier with his every caress. His hot breath against her longing flesh only intensifies her need.

“Please,” she begs, fingers working on the hem of his shirt. “I want you. God, please I want to feel you.” 

He chuckles softly as she whines, pecking her again. “Patience, love,” he teases. His lips glide down to her ear, his breath sending shivers down her inflamed body. “Show me where you want me.” 

Taking reign of his hand and guiding down the front of her front, she smirks at him. His pants become unbelievably tight as she lets him linger over her chest, her head falling back when the warmth of his hand flicks over her pebbled nipple. “You want me between your pretty little tits? Is that what my girl wants?” His girl. Nothing in this moment could sound so perfect than the words to have just left his lips. It’s enough for her to want to bring him in for another impassioned kiss, but she restrains, shaking her head mischievously as he squeezes gently on her breast. She leads him further down, his palm sliding down her abdomen. 

“Here.” She slots her fingers through the spaces between his and their tips graze the base of her dress, toying with the flimsy material until finally slipping beneath. He groans as his skin comes into contact with her pussy emanating all that delicious heat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” She rubs against him just enough for him to feel her center through her panties, and he swears to her that he might come then and there. Wasting no time, she pulls his shirt over her head, only breaking their kiss to appreciate all the tattoos on his sculpted chest. When she’d seen them before, it had only been for a quick few seconds, and she’d been far too flustered to take anything more than a peek. But now she can’t help herself, and she lets her fingers dance across the ink, the point of her nails tracing over the edge of every design. She spends the most time on the moth, or maybe it’s a butterfly, she couldn’t say. 

All she knows is that something about it makes her feel at peace, like she’ll always be safe as long as he's there beside her. She tears her eyes away from his chest to find him looking at her as though she were everything that’s right with the world. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, and she just beams, eyes looking back at him with such sincerity. 

He kisses the side of her mouth before descending along her body He takes his time, his lips pressing over every possible inch of her, leaving no surface neglected. Where his hands had been prior, he takes an erect mound in his mouth, tongue swirling around in through its covering. Each touch leaves her breathless, her back arching in intense anticipation the further down he goes. When his nose nudges at the bottom of her skirt, she lets out another frustrated whine, and he chuckles softly at how her abdomen sucks in as the stubble on his chin prickles goosebumps across her skin. 

“Please, just. . .” and the final remains of her inhibitions drain from the tips of her fingers and toes. “I want your cock inside me.” 

“Christ, you’ve got a filthy mouth.” And he tears her dress from her body and pulls her panties down her silky legs, leaving her completely bare before his eyes. From a pale green, the color of his irises darkens with a fierce and pounding desire. It sends vibrations down to her pussy and all she wants is for him to bury his face in her dripping arousal. She bites harshly on her lip once he licks between her slick folds. “So sweet,” he mutters, his lips slipping through the barriers to find her sensitive little nub. “I could just stay here forever.”

“Harry. . .” she gasps, fisting the sheets as her hips lift off the mattress. “It feels so good.” Her legs hang over his shoulders as he encourages her to ride his face until she’s begging to release all over his tongue. “Oh god, don’t stop.” 

One of his long fingers that had been drawing small little circles on the inner part of her thigh smooths over her damp skin until it forges its way into her glistening heat. The other hand moves down his own figure, undoing the button of his jeans and sliding past the waistband of his boxers. 

As the knot in her stomach twists with tremendous force, it pushes her closer and closer to the edge. He inserts another finger, the two digits piston in and out of her, working harmoniously with his skilled mouth. She screams out, her back arching to an almost impossible degree. It all becomes too much for her, bursts of light flashing behind her eyelids.  

“I’m gonna come,” she moans, cheek pressed deep into the pillow, eyes shut tightly to welcome the stars as she lets go with cacophonous convulsions. 

“That’s my good girl, come all over my tongue. That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

He climbs back up her body, a content smile awaiting him when their faces become level with each other. Another exchange of ardent kisses, and she feels herself tingle at the taste of her on his lips. Even after her orgasm, she already craves for another, but this time she wants nothing more but to feel him stuffed inside of her. She wraps a leg around his hip, the edge of her foot pressed against the side of his ass as she presses her core into his bulge. 

“I need to be inside of you.” He leaps off the bed to push off the last pieces of constrictive clothing. His cock springs free, flushed red at the tip and just desperate for her amorous touch. 

And he’s big, she had always had an inkling, but to see it in the flesh is a whole new sensation quivering between her thighs. “It’s so big,” her thoughts become vocalized. 

With his knees back onto the bed, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down lower, his elbows planking on either side of her. “Feel how hard I am for you?” He hisses as her warm hand wraps around him, her thumb swiping along a dribble of precum. She lathers him in his own arousal. “Think you can handle my cock?” 

She’s completely in awe, and her mind runs untamed with fantasies of how it would feel hitting that special spot deep in her cunt, every rigid vein carving its impression in her walls. “You know I can,” she dares him. 

“Fuck.” He kisses her deeply, his hand taking ahold of his cock and glazing it with the remnants of her last climax and gliding just between her wet folds.  “One last time–” he swallows hard as he pulls away from his lips, “–are you sure you want to do this? I mean, I...”

Their eyes meet, a wordless understanding worth more than any spoken language as she cups his cheeks. 

The entire length of him slides into her tight hole until he bottoms out, his balls pressing against her taut ass. She feels undeniably full, never having experienced such exhilaration in her life as Harry’s bare cock stretches her out completely. 

“Just slid right in,” he grunts, dropping his face into the crook of her neck. He bites down and sucks greedily on the spot until he’s made his mark. She gasps in mild pain, but it feels too good to know that she can finally be his. He pulls all the way out, before slamming back in with ease, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as her walls flutter around him. “It feels like you were made for me” She feels marvelously tight, squeezing him for all he’s worth. All she can do is nod, her voice caught in her throat as his thrusts become harder and faster.  “It’s all mine now, your pussy, your lips. You’re all mine.” 

“I’m yours, all yours, Harry.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders. “God, your big cock feels so good in my tight pussy.” Nails dig into his back as they run down and carve crescents into his flexed and sweaty muscles. 

They move flawlessly in sync as she rises up to greet his every thrust with just as much excitement and fervor. Both their bodies are on fire, a pressure building up at their very core and threatening to unravel at any moment. His balls tighten, and he knows he won’t last for much longer. He looks down between them, his cock completely soaked with her with the most sinful sounds resonating whenever he pushes in and out of her delightful heat. “I love you,” he breathes into her ear, his fingers indenting into the plush of her hips. He loses any sense of rhythm he might have started out with, his movements becoming more and more urgent as he chases after his high. 

“I love you.” Her second orgasm fast approaches, she feels it thrill every one of her nerves as though currents of electricity were running through her veins. She’s so close, and her hand slips between their sweaty chests to rub desperately on her clit. Her head is spinning with an aspiration to reach the brink of ecstasy. 

“Come all over my cock,” he pleads as he pushes into her with incredible force. “Want to feel you come around me.”

And that’s it for her. A wave of pleasure crashes over her and she cries out with a high-pitched moan. Her legs hugging him so tightly that he barely manages to move. She rides it out, rolling her hips to feel him continuously poke that special spot. Soon enough, her mind is on a cloud, the rest of her body soaking up the bliss of the moment.

His movements only become more erratic, and the breath leaves her body once he releases inside of her. Hot white ribbons shoot out and paint her walls with the image of a sensational love. It warms her center, her lips turning up in a lazy smile as he remains within her even after the final drop has left his tip. Once they’re heaving chests calm to a natural pace, he collapses on top of her, arms willing their way between her and the mattress to gather her into a tender embrace. She scratches the back of his head and sighs contently.  

“To think we could’ve been doing that for,” and she counts the years on each one of her fingers.

Harry chuckles in between her breasts, then reaches up and plants a quick but sweet kiss to her lips. “How long are you going to be holding onto that one?” She pretends to think, her mouth quirking to the side as her brows furrow in contemplation. “Until we make up for all that wasted time.” 

***

“I got you something.” She looks up at him, her body still wrapped in his arms as they lay naked in his bed. Memories of what feels like another life flip through her head.

“Is this what déjà vu feels like?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Do you want it or not?” 

Smiling, she kisses enthusiastically and nods her head. He gets up, and she has to stop herself from frowning when they lose all contact. She sinks into the sheets and waits impatiently for him to come back. Listening to him rummage through his closet, then to the growling of her tummy–and she makes a quick mental note to ask him to order something for them in a while––she tries to relive every detail from the last few hours in her head. She didn’t know that sex was supposed to feel so good.

“You told me that you hadn’t drawn in almost ten years,” he states, making his way back to the bed, but this time, with a bag clutched in his hands. He places it in her lap, then slips between her and the headboard, arms going back to their initial position. “Maybe it’s time you started back up.”

Y/n opens the enclosed wrappings. Inside the bag is a new sketchbook and a carton of 9H pencils. She carefully grazes her fingers above them. There’s a feeling in her chest, like she’s just been reunited with an old friend. 

“But what would I even draw?” She’d lost all sight of that part of her life, and it seems unlikely that those creative juices will just come trickling back to her now. 

Harry kisses the side of her head, and she leans into him easily.

“Whatever inspires you.” 

It’s just that easy. She closes her eyes and reflects on what has always made her feel any bit positive. Ava and her bluntness; her dad and his sense of duty to his family; Nan and Gramps and their playful bickering; Nan and her proclivity for gossip; Gramps and his hatred for ties. All of them had been a comfort to her, even when she hadn’t realized it. They were part of what had kept her afloat.

Feeling Harry’s heartbeat press up against her back, she knows that she’ll never have to worry about drowning. She opens her sketchbook to its first clean page and lets herself be happy. 

***

“Thanks for meeting us here,” Jared says, offering her a modest grin. “I would’ve understood if you didn’t want to.” Penny nods beside him. Jared had texted her and asked if she would meet them for lunch, so that they could talk. At first, Y/n didn’t think that necessary. What was the point when it was all out in the open now? But with some convincing from Harry, she realized that she had to confront this.

“There’s no moving on if we don’t talk about it.” Y/n takes the seat across from Penny. She looks at the girl she’d consider a sister, studying her rounded and healthier features. Pregnancy looks good on her. “You look good.” 

Penny smiles thankfully. “So do you.”

They talk about everything, even the stuff that feels like it should hurt. But it doesn’t. Clarity exists where it hadn’t before. She tells them that about Harry, and apparently it isn’t much of a shock to anyone, which shocks her. Jared then admits to having had all these doubts about their relationship but had stuck through it because of his own insecurities. That had had hit close to home for Y/n. It’s somewhat of a relief that she hadn’t been the only one who felt that what they had was temperamental. 

“You were there for me when I was at my worst, and for that, I’ll always love you,” Jared sighs, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “But...”

“That’s all we were meant to be.”

He nods sadly, pulling back. His other arm is around Penny’s chair, and Y/n can see his fingers playing with the ends of her ponytail. 

Penny must notice this, and she quickly shrugs him away. “Sorry,” she mutters.  

Y/n shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she waves it off. “This was good. At least now we can all carry on with our lives.” She gets out of her chair. “Good luck,” she says to the both of them. Then she looks directly at Penny. “I know you’re worried about making all the same mistakes as your mum, but...” she smiles, “someone said to me that mistakes aren’t genetic. I know you. And I know how much you love your baby. Just promise me you’ll be there for her.”

With that she turns towards the exit. Before she can get far, however, she feels a hand grab her own. She looks back, and it’s Penny. Her eyes are teary, and her chest lifts erratically. “Do you think that...” she swallows, “...that you’ll ever forgive me?”

“Do I still get to be called auntie?” 

Penny lets out a stifled giggle. “Yes.”

Y/n touches her comfortingly on the shoulder. “Then, one day.”

She walks out of there feeling completely at peace with herself.

***

Two Years Later

The newest exhibit proves to be a hit. It’s smaller than its predecessors, this time only containing the work from a single artist. 

She and Harry walk hand-in-hand, greeting all of guests and just enjoying each other’s company. Gramps isn’t moping as much as he usually does, and she thinks it’s because Nan’s bought him a clip-on tie that doesn’t strangle him around the neck. Ava and Nan are gossiping with some potential investors, while her dad tries to apologize on their behalf. 

On the other side, her mum and Lawrence discuss color theory in relation to one of the spotlight pieces. She catches a glimpse of the civility between her parents when they catch each other’s eyes from across the room. 

“I think it’s the gallery’s best showcase yet,” Harry tells her and kisses her on the lips. “Really, I don’t see how anything might top this.”

Y/n laughs. “You’re just trying to get laid.”

Harry wags his eyebrows. “Is it working?” She doesn’t need to give him an answer with words, so instead, she pulls him by the lapels of his jacket and their lips meet in another sweet kiss. 

They stop in front of the piece in the very back, the one that’s drawn in the most viewers. They squeeze through the polluted crowd until they’re close enough to the front. He wraps his arms around her, and they both admire its beauty. 

Two kids laid out on the grass; eyes closed with content smiles on their faces. The sky above them, a product of their combined imaginations as well as the excitement of hopes and dreams. 

Below the canvas is a placcard with the painting’s information. 

Y/n Styles, Purple Clouds and Tangerine Skies.

***

A/N: HOPE YOU LIKED IT!

[eirian-houpe]

Tuesday - Chapter 2

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle (Once Upon a Time)/Nicholas Rush

Characters: Nicholas Rush, Gloria Rush, Belle (Once Upon a Time), unnamed OC

Additional Tags: going round in circles, Time Travel, Alternate Universe, Angst, Eventual Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: When you go poking around in time, you might sometimes find that it pushes back, as Nick Rush finds out… the hard way.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 2 - Do I know you

The windshield wipers moved back and forth across his field of vision so quickly they were a blur, and still he could barely see for the driving rain. Exhaustion pulled at Nicholas Rush like a man that had lived ten thousand years in a single lifetime.

“Shit!” He voiced the sudden epiphany aloud and slammed on the brakes, then spent the next few seconds turning the wheel one way and then the other, using more energy than he had, to control the slide as the tires lost traction on the rain soaked road and the car glided almost gracefully into the hedgerow, and the ditch before it.

He hissed out the expletive as the seat belt tightened around his chest to prevent his fall.

“Fuck!” he snarled again and slapped both hands against the steering wheel, before reaching for the key to try and restart the stalled vehicle. The engine coughed, but nothing more. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference even if he had got it going again. He’d never be able to get out of the ditch, not by himself. He had no choice but to call for help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that he had communicated across galaxies, and yet as he struggled to pull his cell phone out of his pocket, the words, No Service, glared at him from the top of his screen. He let out another snarling string of colorful language that became a fragile, humorless chuckle as he remembered that he hadn’t done any of that yet, and wondered whether this was the reason the Ancients had created the communication stones in the first place. He knew otherwise, but it was an amusing fantasy and stopped him from losing his temper completely.

He turned and peered into the darkness, seeing nothing but the driving rain. It would do him no good to stay with the car, if the last few hours were anything to go by, this was a road not often traveled. There would be no one come by any time soon. 

With a sigh, he slipped the phone back into his jeans pocket and reached for his jacket from the back of the car, trying a second time once he’d released the seat belt, and twisted one way then another to pull it on before he opened the door.

No sooner that, than the wind driven rain blew into his face, and he began to sink into the rain soaked mud underfoot as he stepped out of the car. He leaned back in to pick up the things from the passenger seat, then slammed the door and hurried to the higher, firmer ground of the black top.

A faint feeling of Deja Vu gripped him as he looked first one way and then the other. He’d done this before, and he still had no idea where he was, or which direction he needed to go, but figured that since he hadn’t passed anywhere that looked as though it had a phone he could use, it would serve him better to continue on in the direction he’d been driving. That would be for the best.

He was soaked within seconds, and cursed himself for a fool with almost ever step, until the faint, golden glitter of light ahead sparkled off the falling rain. He breathed a sigh of relief, and put his head down, to move more quickly through the downpour.

By the time he reached the cottage, he was soaked right through to his underwear, and after knocking tried to wait as patiently as he could, listening to the faint sounds of movement from within, but after several long moments of standing with the cold rain trickling down the back of his neck, he lifted his hand to knock again.

The door was opened by a small brunette, who had a shocking white stripe descending from one temple. His belly tugged at him, sending the smallest of waves lower, to center in his groin, and he covered the sensation with an apologetic cough.

“I erm… I wonder if you have a phone I could use?” he began as the blue eyes looked him up and down. “I had a wee accident further down the road and—”

She smiled and stood aside with a gesture for him to come in. It cut him off mid explanation, and as she closed the door behind him she said, “I’ll find you some towels. Can’t have you standing there wet through, you’ll catch your death.”

The sense of deja vu fluttered though his belly again as did the strengthening of the unexplained attraction that had warmth building in his groin, and her familiarity pulled at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch or an elusive word on the tip of his tongue.

…He wrapped an arm around her waist, another into her hair, to tug her closer as they shared the heated, desperate kiss, tongues tangling…

He jumped and gasped slightly as her soft voice shattered the unexpected vision, but he could still feel her, taste her, smell the rose of her perfume.

“There’s a fire lit, if you want to get warm.”

“Thank you,” he managed, his voice thick with the desire he remembered, but knew he had never shared, and as a distraction to his obviously addled, sleep deprived mind, started to follow the sound of the crackling wood that beckoned, warm and inviting, as was the faint aroma of cinnamon that replaced the scent of roses which he smelled with every breath.

She returned a moment later, carrying a towel under one arm, and what looked like pajama pants and a folded bath robe in her hands. These she set down on the chair beside the fireplace.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Nicholas?”

The question, asked so casually, almost stopped his breath, and frowning, he looked down at her again, finally entertaining that the feelings of deja vu meant something more than his mind playing games with him. 

“We’ve…” 

He turned her, releasing her with one arm to sweep the things from the top of the desk in almost the same moment that he lifted her to it, and she giggled playfully as she started in on the buttons of his shirt.

“…met, haven’t we?” he asked, his tone tight with the effects of the new vision.

The homeowner chuckled and pressed the towel against the middle of his soaked chest. “We have,” she said. “But it was quite some time ago.”

“You’re going to have to try and be a bit more specific than that,” Rush glanced round at Brody, the illusion with which Destiny was currently tormenting him, “if you expect me to produce the desired results instead of, oh, I don’t know, flying us straight into the sun instead of around it?”

“There’s no need to be quite so testy, Doctor Rush.” Brody-Destiny said.

“Testy,” Rush actually looked up from the small notepad in which he was scribbling as, ahead of them, the star loomed closer and closer. “That’s rich coming from the likes of you.”

Brody… Destiny said nothing.

About to return to his work, Rush thought better of it and pointed at Brody for a moment as he said, “In fact, ever since I set foot aboard this ship, you have been the most objectionable piece of hardware I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with. Your interface is counter intuitive. Your AI, quite frankly, is temperamental at best and bordering on hostile most of the time, and when you don’t get your own way you resort to threats to make sure that we do as you say.”

He turned back to his notes then, consulting the complex mathematics he was working over multiple pages, and making cautious inputs into the navigation array in front of him.

“Wow.” It wasn’t Brody’s voice that answered him, but Gloria and a part of him cringed inwardly. What the hell made Destiny think she would be able to motivate him to solve the equations. “I love you too, Nick.”

She reached up to run her fingers through his long hair, but he swatted away the touch, much as he would have done a mosquito.

“Again,” he said with exaggerated patience, “the possibility of survival, provided I get my calculations right, or certain destruction in the heart of a dying star. Your choice.”

“Fine,” Gloria said and took a step back. “Calculate away. Don’t let me stop you.”

He put his head back down to his calculations for barely a moment before he felt Gloria’s eyes - well Destiny’s replica of Gloria anyway - boring into the back of his head and with a sigh, he half turned and said, “With you looking over my shoulder, that’s not likely to happen, is it?”

“Oh, I… would you perhaps like someone,” Gloria said, directly over his shoulder this time.

“…Less distracting,” Doctor Jackson finished, from the exact same spot.

“I’d prefer y’weren’t here at all, actually,” Rush snapped. “It’s not helpful and it’s not going to make me work any faster.”

“Killjoy!” Jackson snorted, “I knew someone once, had a bumper sticker on the back of their car that said, The closer you get, the slower I drive. They thought it was hilarious but—”

“Doctor Jackson!” Rush looked pointedly over at the far side of the room.

“Fine, fine,” Jackson muttered, moving away.

“Anyone would think you find him threatening.” Brody again, and this time, Rush looked up and almost snarled at him.

“If you must be here, then I wish you’d at least stick with one form instead of changing every two seconds.”

“Well, who would we—” Brody cut himself off. “Oh, I know.  How about…”

“Hello, Nicholas.”

Rush was fairly sure he’d never heard the voice before, though was somewhat surprised - or perhaps disappointed - that Destiny hadn’t chosen Amanda to be her spokesperson. He glanced up from the calculations again, to take in the small brunette with the deepest blue eyes he thought he’d ever seen. A complete stranger to him though, and yet also intimately familiar.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” he said, a ridiculous question as of course he knew her. She was Destiny.

“Not yet,” she answered enigmatically, “but you will… quite well, as a matter of fact.”

He stared at her as though she had suddenly grown an extra head. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, surprised beyond measure - completely caught off guard.

“The star, Nicholas,” she answered softly, nodding toward the view screen. “You can satisfy your curiosity later - when we’re not all in imminent danger of being toasted to a crisp.”

“Hmm?” At his confused, distracted query she gestured again to the star fast approaching - though the truth were the other way around - Destiny’s forward viewer. “Yes, yes of course.”

Rush turned his full attention to the remaining elements of the calculation, and began rapidly punching data into the console on the arm of the pilot’s seat. He glanced over his shoulder at the figure still standing, calmly, watching the approaching star, a strange look of fond amusement on her face.

“You might want to hold on for this,” he said.

Brilliant heat and light stretched reality, like molten glass being blown on the end of a glass worker’s tube, and around him, Destiny stretched and buckled, and the light grew until it became too bright for him to see, and he screwed up his eyes, until at last, the light faded.

"Okay, who can tell me the significance of Shaw’s algorithm?”

The student stood, answered, his words all bending into one meaningless speech. He’d heard it before, it was no more helpful now than it was then.

It made his head ache at the temples. This was where it originated anyway and he remembered, if memory was what this was; if seeing visions of some point in time that he was visiting, painfully so, again and again could be called memory, risking everything in order to gain… what? 

The future-memories were already fading, faster this time than the last. That wouldn’t do… that would never do.

If he forgot now, he’d just go through the motions, same old, same old - wouldn’t remember that the Gloria he carried in his head told him… will tell him… that he was not the man she fell in love with and that it was her death made him callous.  Was that true? Had he… would he become that way?

He shook his head at himself. He had to find a tense for this - a way to refer to events in this never ending loop. A way to remember. Longer.

If he could do that, perhaps he could find that one key moment around which everything pivoted, and could make a change, a real change. Break the cycle. Find the answer.

Did you find what you were looking for?

He blinked, just as Gloria’s friend came running down the corridor after him… calling his name, reminding him that he had somewhere to be. Could this be it? Could this be the one factor that would send his life, and those of everyone else, veering off down another, gentler path?

He made it from the university to the oncology department in record time - less time than it should have taken. His dashboard clock read 4:06 as he hurriedly parked the car, barely pausing to lock it, before racing for Doctor Browning’s office, arriving breathless just as Gloria was being shown into the ‘inner sanctum.’ Surprised to see him - hadn’t he told her he wouldn’t be there - she smiled up at him as she sat down, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, both to her and to the Doctor who entered from another door with a file folder in his hand. “Traffic.”

“It’s all right,” Gloria told him, and took his hand to squeeze it tightly as he pulled up a chair beside her. She wasn’t to know that on every other occasion, she’d been there alone.

He sat in his office, chewing on the side of his finger as he contemplated the argument in one of the student’s papers and almost jumped when the phone rang.”

“Yes,” he answered curtly, only then noticing the time - 4:46.

“It’s back.” Her voice sounded tight. As though she were trying not appear upset or anything other than resigned.

“I had a feeling,” he said.

“You did? You… you never said so.”

“No,” he confessed, guilt crowding in on him.  He should have said.  He shouldn’t have blown her off that morning with empty platitudes, when the real reason he didn’t want to go with her to the doctor’s appointment was that he was afraid. Terribly afraid.

“I can’t go through this again, I can’t.” She wept then, and he didn’t know what he should say - what he could say. “Nick? Nick are you there?”

He squeezed back as the doctor sat, opened the file, and took a breath, preparing to tell them what they both feared. This wasn’t his answer.

The room above his head spun as he levered himself up, reaching for the bottle and the glass, bring them together to pour a stream of amber liquid into the tumbler, and then straight into his mouth. Half of his drunken self wondered why he didn’t just abandon the glass altogether.

“Cut out the middle man,” he slurred, even while pouring another couple of fingers into the whiskey glass.

“Pardon?” A voice interrupted his valiant attempt to get so hammered that he didn’t remember he’d lost— He frowned then. How the hell did this man get into his house. Hadn’t he locked the door? Doctor Jackson evidently caught his sour expression, and immediately added, “I’m… sorry, I… I rang the bell several times, the er… door was open.”

“Yes,” he agreed, sitting up and rubbing at his bleary eyes.

“I’ve got some great news,” Jackson said. “Our source among the Lucian Alliance has come through. We’ve got the location of a planet that just might suit our power requirements.”

He looked up at the man, blinking as he picked up his glasses, and put them on. The world became clearer, but no less unstable… still spinning. “Then let’s go,” he said, and when Jackson made no move he added, “What are we waiting for?”

“I’m… thinking maybe it’d be better if we, er… You should maybe sober up first, hmm?” Jackson leaned down to help him up, and Rush could tell by the expression on his face that he must smell as bad as he suddenly felt, a thought confirmed a moment later, when Doctor Jackson added, “Aaand maybe a shower and a change of clothes.”

Water, like hot needles fell down over his head, cascading onto his body, chasing away the fog that marred his brain, but forming a swirling mist at his feet. He covered his hands with soap, and used the soap to scrub away the foul sweat that his body expelled, remnants of the alcohol with which he was drowning himself, numbing himself to his grief.

As the numbness lifted, memories flooded in. Her face, her smile, the way he’d let her down - put work before his love for her, for fear of losing her, and losing her anyway; throwing himself into the depth of despair that could only be born by driving himself to the edge of exhaustion with work, or as then, at the bottom of a bottle.

He laid his forehead on the class of the shower, his mouth open, his body wracked with silent sobs, swallowed by the steam still rising in the captive compartment and…

…Rush shuddered, taking a huge, uncomfortable breath as the stasis field faded, then blinked out and he slumped against the perspex door that began to lift away, rising to deposit him on the cold of the deck; his shallow breath fogged in the frigid air.

“No, no, no,” he gasped.

Coughing, still shivering, Rush rolled onto his back, forcing his eyes open and searching through the blurred vision for something, anything, that might get him out of the deadly nature of his situation. He spotted the lone EVA suit against the glass of the last closed and functioning stasis chamber.

He reached with a hand that was fast becoming numb, grasped the ridge of the wall and began to drag himself toward it.

“Not again… Not. Again.”

[jane-the-zombie]

Kiss Me Deadly || Felix & Jane

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Sharen Dickwell’s house on the lake.  PARTIES: @streetharmacist & @jane-the-zombie SUMMARY: We wrote this while BUZZED CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug Use, Explosion 

There was something kind of funny about the way shame hit the second the sun went down. It became heavier and weighted, the reality of going to do something that was against everything Jane stood for hitting her just as she threw her leg over her bike. The feeling mixed poorly with knowing that she could die at any time. Since Kaden had told her what Regan’s death scream meant, the rush of death pumped raw adrenaline through her - a welcoming feeling. A feeling of freedom, of carelessness, of euphoria she couldn’t quite describe. But it also created a dulled sense of panic. Jane gambled with her life every moment of every day, choosing to do things most people wouldn’t consider safe so she could feel that rush. She had never let it affect her morals, but now in the wake of her possible death, Jane was compromising that so she could feel a rush she had never felt before. Something that was dangerous and exciting and something she hadn’t done solely because of her job. The voice in the back of her mind - the same one appeared when she jumped off cliffs and planes and pushed her motorcycle past 90 when she wasn’t wearing a helmet - told her that this was wrong. It was quieter these days, drowned out by Jane chasing whatever it was she wanted, and she silenced it as she pulled up in front of the Lakehouse Felix had directed her too. She pulled up front, parking her bike on the side of the road as she stared up at the house.

Jane had never been here before. She glanced at the mailbox. 70 - Dickwell. She grimaced. What an unfortunate last name. She told Felix to meet her out front so he could give her the drugs, and she could give him the money and that would be that. She didn’t want to see him and she most certainly didn’t want to hear what he had to say about what she was doing. Jane would just do everything in peace. As she leaned against her bike, she looked at the house. One of the porch lights was out, and the door was left open. Her eyes narrowed. “Felix?” Jane called, but there was no answer. Something was off here. Without another thought otherwise, Jane walked up the walkway of the house, and entered. “Felix? Ms. Dickwell?”

Sharen Dickwell wasn’t the weirdest client name Felix had happened upon in his almost-two-centuries of existence, but it was certainly up there. Very up there. Nearly up there enough that he couldn’t hardly keep from laughing when he passed by the mailbox. It was business he was after and his expression said as much. He didn’t often like to make house calls. They were too risky and leaned a little too close to russian roulette circumstances. He didn’t approach the Dickwell residence with concern. Not really much of a bother at all on his mind. There was a small back porch attached to the home that he waited on and looked out over the lake. Things seemed to be settling and that only said so much in a place like White Crest.

Sharen had given him the directions and told him to wait. Something to do with meeting her sister and she wouldn’t be gone long. Or was she looking for her wallet? He didn’t think much of it as he stood on the creaking balcony and took a small drag of a cigarette. Didn’t think too much of anything. Fuck, he was tired. Emotionally drained. His rumpled appearance said as much. Bloodshot eyes, suit less than perfect. Oh well. After this was done, he would be meeting Jane. That had him thinking and his brows furrowed. It was a little strange, her sudden inquiry into drugs. Especially after every arrest attempt he could recall. Heck, there were a lot, and that was just back in Portland. White Crest assured a few more. He leaned against the wood and looked down on the still water below. Flicked his ashes into the water. It had been a cool minute since anything from Sharen. He turned back to the patio door with a frown.

“Ms. Dickwell? Hate to tell you this, but I really don’t got all night.”

“Felix?” Jane was getting increasingly paranoid. She wasn’t sure if it was because of how on edge she was or if it was because this woman’s house was sort of creepy. It was neat enough, with white washed walls and semi-ornate trim along the walls that indicated that Ms. Dickwell was wealthy, but things were just… too clean. There wasn’t any sign that anyone lived in the house. Nothing was out of place, like it was on display for a real-estate open house or something. Things smelled sterile even. She moved through the house, checking each room, but there truly was no sign of life anywhere. She rounded off into the kitchen, seeing the big glass doors that lead off outside to overlook the lake. God, a house like this must have cost a pretty chunk of change. She didn’t envy the mortgage. Jane stopped though, thinking she heard a voice, but more importantly, she thought she smelled gunpowder. “What the hell -” As someone who frequently used her weapon, she knew the smell of it when it hit her nostrils. “Ugh.” And then she heard the quiet ticking. A timer? Jane rounded the island, and froze.

Resting on the island stool was a neat little device attached to an alarm clock.  She looked down at it blankly. “What?” Jane asked it stupidly, just like she did when her step stool at home was misbehaving in its cage. Like it could hear her and listen to her. Except the clock was counting down from 35 seconds and she realized that even if she sprinted out of the house, there was no way she wasn’t going to die. The cultists at the beach were one thing, but death was another. Jane backed up slightly, her black boots clicking against the hardwood floors. She had no first hand experience with bombs. She had been on scene where ones have been found, but there was nothing stopping her. She couldn’t think. Everything had stopped. It was time. The inevitable.

As the counter went below 29 seconds she had a thought. “Felix?”

Felix started to pay how long Sharen was taking a little mind. Especially as the heat of his cigarette started to meet his fingers. Careless. He could already feel Bea’s eyes on him, concern alive in her eyes. She wanted him to be okay. He could try that, yeah. Even if it didn’t fir quite right. With that in mind, he adjusted his tie, lips pursed. It started to get a little silly. At the rate things went, he wondered if a consultation fee might not be a bad idea down the line. He paused to eye the ashtray. Clean. Pristine. Even the sticker on the bottom wasn’t touched much. He set it back upright and ashed out his cigarette.

“Alright, Sharen,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I think I’m gonna have to cash out on this. It’s getting a little foolish and I’m not in the mood.”

He shook his head as he stepped one foot over the threshold of the patio door. A strange yet familiar sound was in his ears. As he glanced over, a strange but familiar face was there too. Looked like someone might have gotten a little impatient.

“Jane?”

The clock continued to tick down faster than Jane would have liked. She didn’t know where Felix was. She hadn’t talked to Marley today - she needed to apologize for being a bitch. What about her dad? Her siblings? What were her last words to them? Why did it suddenly matter like she wasn’t going to be alive and kicking in 24 hours?  And where the fuck was Felix?! Thoughts raced in her head and she saw where the fuck Felix was, his form in the doorway, saying in her name. Son of a bitch. A jolt of panic went straight through her as she met Felix’s eyes, her brown eyes wide. “Felix no!” she gasped, horrified. Just because she died and came back didn’t mean anyone else would too. She flew to him before he could say anything else, ask her any question, or say anything at all, really. Jane collided with Felix hard, slamming them both outside onto the deck. He didn’t struggle much as her arms wrapped around him, gripping him by his rumpled suit as tight as possible as she threw them both up and over the low railing of the patio.

Just as her feet left the wood deck, the house exploded into a deafening fiery mass. The ringing in her ears and intense heat of the explosion was hardly noticeable as Felix and Jane plummeted into the lake water. It took Jane a second to reorient herself underwater, watching as fire colored everything above the surface. She was still clutching onto Felix for dear life - life. Oh shit! They were alive! She exclaimed as much, and promptly inhaled lakewater up her nose and lungs. Jane jerked, her grip loosening as she started to kick and push herself upwards, chest burning. She wasn’t going to be a witness to an explosion just to drown afterwards.

With one final push, she broke the surface, spluttering and hacking water. “What - What - Felix! Felix, where are - Shit.”

Felix no? But what about Felix yes? Confusion hit him hard, the disorientation enough to lock his jaw up, and he could only stare at Jane as she ran at him. Wait, had she lied to him? No, she had promised and the way things went, she couldn’t just go back on it. That was an arrest tackle about to be mad if he had ever seen one. It didn’t bode well. Why was she running at him full-bore? All good questions that jostled in his head the minute she slammed into him. Shoved him straight back through the door he had walked in through and--there went the ashtray--straight over the railing. He blinked in the air and then the house exploded. The shockwaves and pure adrenaline from having walked into a house rigged to blow scattered his illusion. The heat of the blast didn’t last long as they crashed into frigid water. Water. They were in the lake. She let go of him and for a moment, he didn’t move. Dazed. He stared up through the dark to see the blaze overhead. It stirred him to move.

His antlers breached the surface, the rest of his head not long after as he spat out water. The dim lights of his eyes halved as he squinted. His glasses were gone. Or so he thought, until the broken frames floated up to the surface. He looked at them for just a second before he looked over to Jane.

“What the heck was that?” He looked at the burning lakehouse that they both had just readily been in. They hadn’t died. They could have. But they didn’t.

A large tree rose out of the lake as Jane coughed, treading water as she hurriedly looked for Felix. Oh. Wait. That was Felix. The tree was Felix. Her mind scattered, she looked back toward the wall of flame that had become the house. Holy shit. “Bomb in the kitchen.” Jane spluttered, coughing. “Just sitting there.” There was a bomb in that house. And she survived! She survived the explosion! She survived a mass of cultists and an explosion! She looked back to tree Felix, before her eyes widened. Felix wasn’t supposed to be a tree. Jane stared at him horrified. “You have a branch in your head!” she said, immediately concerned as she swam closer and reached up, grabbing the - oh. Jane stared as her hand circled around the antler. Tree Felix. Stupid. She was going into some form of shock. She looked back at the burning house, and then at Felix’s face with his glowy eyes. “.... Did you know you’re horny?” Jane asked, still holding on to them. “I mean, horns? I mean, antlers? Antlers. Antlers!” And suddenly she felt the rush. The rush from the fact that they just survived a whole explosion. Unfortunately, that made her start laughing really hard. So much so, she couldn’t stop.

His ears rang, that was a given, but it took Felix a long moment to acknowledge what she had said. Even as bits of the house floated by him. The house that apparently had a bomb in it. A sharp pain burned in his shoulder. Similar pain traced along his jawline. When he glanced down, he could see the black liquid wisps that smoked out of a cut in his shoulder. He didn’t bleed anything near similar to humans but what he did bleed was there, black ink in already dark water. He was vaguely aware that Jane was talking to him. Wowza, they had almost died and for some reason, he started to smile. The nerve shock of his antlers being grabbed startled him out of self-assessment. He stared at Jane, eyes bright circles of surprise. He blinked.

“Yes, Jane,” he said plainly. “Yes, I am fully aware that I’m horny.”

His head jerked slightly as she talked and he shut his eyes, prayed to some fate as he waited through it. They had just been in an explosion and the energy was, well, properly shaken. He could have died. And it was a funny feeling. When was the last time he considered that he might? As he pondered over it, she began to laugh and he couldn’t help but laugh too. Tired as he was. Exhausted as he was. It rasped out of him as tears of some nature or other leaked from the corners of his eyes. It really had been a month, hadn’t it?

“Criminy, Jane, they’re just antlers. Whatcha laughing so hard for?”

Jane was wheezing by the time she stopped, full tears coming out of her eyes, as her limbs burned from keeping herself afloat. Finally, she let poor Felix go, hand splashing back into the water as she stared at him. Something was starting to hurt, she realized. Her back, her right arm and hip. Was she bleeding? Shit. She was. Whatever. Felix spoke and that it set her off again. Her loud laughing pierced through the air, half sobbing as she cackled. “Holy - fucking - crap! I’m supposed to be dead! I was supposed to die! I’m not dead!” And then she let herself sink down under the cool water for a full 10 seconds. Reorient. Calm down. Where was all her police training? Well, she supposed she wasn’t here as police. She was here to buy drugs. Breaking the surface again, she took a large breath of fresh air, the nerves inside dancing under her skin as she looked at Felix, panting heavily. “I didn’t know you had antlers,” she blurted out, swallowing a half hysterical giggle. You’re hurt -” Jane registered, reaching out to him - this time not quite touching him. “Come on, to shore. Now. So I can take a look.”

It seemed to click for Felix as she said it. I was supposed to die. The bite. The burning dress. The one time he offered her drugs before and was sure he was about to get arrested. The time, right then, that he was going to sell her drugs and she promised he wouldn’t be arrested. She thought she might die. She risked herself for him. Even in post-explosion daze, he could piece that together. It didn’t leave him as the water weighed him. Exhausted him. With his antler free, he shook his head back and looked up at the moon. Even in his peripheral, he could still see the burning lakehouse. Sharen Dickwell must have really had it out for him. And to think, he almost considered not telling Jane about the lakehouse deal. To think he might have been scattered to every wind, no more a shadow. No more anything. A strange thought. When Jane resurfaced, he looked at her again, mouth slightly parted.

“...Holy cannoli, you saved my life.”

He moved with Jane as she guided them toward the lake’s shoreline. Mud on their hands and shoes as they crawled out of the heavy water. A quick glance at her told him he wasn’t the only one hurt. He patted his pants pockets, his suit jacket.

“Oh thank the fates,” he said, antlered head tipped back as he sighed relief. “The shrooms are okay.”

“Yes,” Jane agreed, because it was true. He wouldn’t have known about the bomb. Ms. Dickwell had to have put it there, and left, leaving poor Felix to his fate. Thank god she went inside. Thank god she’d looked around. Felix wouldn’t have survived - they were both hurt already. “You don’t come back,” she said, as if that explained everything. “You - You would have died forever.” They clambored to shore, the mud sticking to her leggings and hands as they pushed themselves up onto the lake beach with a low moan. Shit. Things were really starting to hurt now. She shook her head as Felix mentioned the shrooms, looking up at the night sky with a low laugh.

“The shrooms. They’re okay!” Jane said, sarcasm mixed with laughter as she sat in the dirt. She hissed in pain. Ouch. “Oh god.” Those were her shrooms. Her shrooms were okay. Shit. Luckily the burning house gave them plenty of light so she could properly see him. “You - do you heal quickly? How much pain are you in? I -” Jane ran a hand down her face. They were in a pickle, weren’t they? Jane shrugged out of her leather jacket, hissing quietly in pain. “Think I’ll manage.” She looked curiously at him, considering a moment. How many times had she tried to arrest him over the years for making comments lesser than that?

She laughed lowly. “At least something survived.”

A human had saved his life. Felix tried to get a grasp on that. He hadn’t even made her promise to save his life and yet, she had done it. As he sat on the beach, he stared at the mud. Dim lights blinked in and out. Why had he not considered death so greatly before? His jaw worked as he tried to think it over but he couldn’t. Jiminy Christmas, why did he feel so tired? Why was pain so alive in him? He hissed slightly as he dug into his shoulder. His fingers burned and his wrist snapped forward as he pulled out a decently-sized shard of something out. The way it burned, he knew what it was. Iron.

“Nope,” he said as he tossed it out onto the mud. The rush in him forbade him from anything but honesty. No word play to be found. “I wouldn’t have come back from that at all. You saved my life. I owe you a debt. You know that, right?”

He breathed in as he tried to center himself. There was more iron in him and ground his teeth together. Careless. How careless could he have been? Walking into some stranger Sharen Dickwell’s house like nothing might happen? Things had not gone well. Hell, he was tired. He took to taking out the iron shards he could readily get his fingers on. “It doesn’t feel great,” he admitted with a dry laugh. “But I’ll make do with all this, detective. Don’t you worry your not-dead head over it.” She bled too. What a human thing to do. “And your pain?”

He rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a slightly soggy blue mushroom. Glanced at Jane.

“So, not quite a painkiller, Jane. But it’ll get the job done.”

A debt? Somehow that felt wrong, but Jane nodded anyway, looking up at the moon. They were hurt and bleeding, and she probably needed to go to the hospital or something. Sooner or later, someone was bound to call the police. But this was the part of town where this wouldn’t get reported until the next day, and all the CSI’s would be shitty and cranky about it, and Marley and Keen would complain and ugh. Jane groaned quietly, stretching her arm and leg as she glanced at him. “I would have saved you no matter what, Felix,” Jane said quietly. There was something laced in the words that she didn’t quite know what to label. Were they truly friends? After years and years of her chasing him with handcuffs after one fateful evening of her torching her expensive wedding dress, all the quips and innuendos and everything else in between, were they friends? Jane didn’t have to think too hard on it, because she suddenly realized how grateful she was that he was here in White Crest too. Made the bad a little less bad.

“Well… I’m not dead,” she reminded with a wary grin, before wincing as she shifted. “But it hurts a fair amount. Ouch.” And she would need to stop the bleeding and clean the wound for whatever was lodged in there. Jesus. She squinted slightly at the blue mushroom he held out to her, looking down at it and then back at him, and then back down at it again. She had a decision to make. And as the house burned behind them, Jane already knew what it was going to be.

“Oh Hell,” Jane whispered to herself, holding out her hand for it. “I still want to do them before I die, I might as well do it with you, my friend.”

The little blue mushroom was dropped into her hand, and she popped the mushroom back.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Red Letter Day (baon)

Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally paying a visit to Alphys to check on the results of her tests.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Mentions of sickness, Mentions of LV, mentions of past trauma, Possible Past Medical Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: I’m getting my timeline a little scattered, but man did I need something funny and cute.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it here!

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The drive to the Embassy from New New home took about fifteen to twenty minutes depending on traffic. During the week, it was one that Edge took twice a day, occasionally listening to the radio, more likely to a podcast or the news.

Today, they were hardly five minutes into the drive and Stretch was already fidgeting. He’d hold Edge’s hand for a moment only to drop it, switch to flicking his lighter through his fingers, then back to holding hands. Once, he even started pulling out a cigarette only to catch himself, tucking the pack back into his hoodie pocket and switching back to the lighter.

It ached to see him so disturbed. Whatever Alphys had to say about his test results, at least Stretch’s anxiety over them would be finally over.

He’d come awake slowly that morning, having woken last night with Edge’s nightmare, and his sleepy pleasure at being brought a cup of coffee in bed had quickly turned to suspicion after a few sips. His reaction at being told Alphys moved up their appointment had been pure anxiety and Edge did not regret keeping the information to himself until then.

Sitting here now, his attention split between the road and watching as Stretch squirmed, he only wished there was something he could do to help, past keeping a hand available to be held whenever it was needed.

He’d accept his helplessness for now. This part would be over soon and he was braced for any answer Alphys offered, ready to do whatever was needed to help his love. Physically, mentally, anything and everything in between, he was prepared to offer it.

Now they only had to get there.

The parking lot at the Embassy was a secured one that required an ID, and Edge had his own parking spot at the back of the lot. Today, he forbore using it, instead parking as close to the entrance as he could.

If Stretch noticed, he didn’t comment on it, scrambling out of the car and already heading towards the entrance the moment the car was in park. He lingered there outside, waiting for Edge to catch up, hands shoved into his pockets and even then Edge could see his hands clenching and unclenching, the shrunken quality of his eye lights. He was scared and trying very hard not to show it.

The protestors across the street were there night and day, though at this hour there were only a handful of Humans, their ragged signs sitting propped at their feet. It seemed even racism required morning coffee to get going, Edge thought with dark humor. He moved to stand with his back to them, blocking their view as he gently took Stretch’s face in both his hands, giving him a brief kiss.

“It’s going to be okay, love,” Edge whispered to him. Stretch took a shaky breath and let it out, nodding slowly.

“yeah. let’s get this over with.” He turned and opened the door, and Edge followed him in.

Everyone who came in was required to swipe their ID, and even though Stretch could easily shortcut to any place in the building, he always did. It was for security purposes and Stretch had told him once that if Ass-gore had to do it, then he supposed it wasn’t beneath him.

Edge hadn’t commented on the nickname, that was a battle he wasn’t about to join.

As far as he knew, Sans was obedient about scanning his badge as well. His own brother, Edge couldn’t say, but that was another pie he was refusing to take a slice from. Red was a part of the security department, in official and unofficial roles, and if they had issues with him, he’d leave it to them.

The guard at the station offered them both a genuine smile, his curiosity obvious, but he didn’t question them. Anyone else would need to sign in with a purpose to visit, but Stretch was on a rather short list of people with classified access. Not that he ever used it. He knew the way to the labs, was already headed towards the elevator with Edge on his heels, but he went to them only rarely.

That was an issue that Stretch did not discuss, but then, neither did Red or Sans. Edge couldn’t remember the years his brother spent working at the labs in Underfell. On the rare occasion he said anything, Red usually made cracks about working there as a janitor. Sans was more amicable and often helped out in both the laboratories here and Stretch’s in New New Home, but for all the usefulness his brilliance offered the Monster community, Stretch refused to work with any of the other scientists.

Once, many years ago, Edge thought him selfish for it. Now, having spent dark nights with his lover in his arms, listening to him brokenly confess to watching his brother die during the resets, he could only wonder at what sort of trauma Stretch endured in the labs in Underswap that he refused to even discuss it.

It might be better that Edge didn’t know, and that whoever deserved to be punished for it was far from his reach.

At least Stretch was able to still enjoy his love of science, that hadn’t been stolen from him. But Red avoided the labs entirely when he could, and if Stretch wouldn’t talk about it, expecting any information from Red was less likely than stumbling across the Loch Ness monster in a puddle on the street.

In this elevator heading to the labs, all he could do was hold Stretch’s hand, squeezing gently as it trembled in his grip, and try not to think of the day Stretch had come on his own to get the tests done. He should have been suspicious then, too trusting and—

No. He was not allowing that thought any sort of traction, would not allow the faint whispers of his LV to taint any other part of him. He was here today and Stretch had told him the truth. That was all that mattered.

He heard Stretch inhale raggedly as the elevator doors opened, but he didn’t hesitate, walked straight through them with his normal lackadaisical stride, forcing Edge to slow his own steps.

The labs took up an entire basement floor of the Embassy, chosen to be placed here rather than at New New Home for reasons of practicality and safety. As far as construction went, Monsters were well familiar with how to build underground and the structure of the entire building was able to withstand everything from earthquakes to a concentrated magical attack.

The main room was an open layout, with plenty of tables and machinery around, and the walls were lined with doors that led to private labs for experiments that required more discretion. The scientists who worked here did so with the knowledge that their experiments would be used to better the lives of Monsters and Humans alike, and Alphys herself had demanded strict protocols on what experiments were allowed.

That was not a surprise; Edge had met the Amalgamates who stayed within New New Home. He had his own opinions on them that he kept to himself, and he’d easily agreed to the rules for laboratory protocols. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with her being the one to run tests on Stretch, but no one knew more about souls than she did.

Alphys was at one of the work tables and she brightened when she caught sight of them, waddling over.

“hey, lizard lady, how’s it going?” Stretch’s grin was the most genuine expression he’d offered since they’d gotten in the car. He leaned down, holding out his arms in offering. Once, Stretch had told her she could take the hug if she wanted or not, and he wouldn’t be offended either way. Today was a hug day and Edge did not know if that was good or bad.

But her smile was warm. “It’s g-going well! Why don’t we talk in my office?”

She led them to a closed door, unlocking it, and they followed her inside. The various clutter was a stark contrast to the orderly lab; her desk covered in papers, walls lined with anime posters and a framed picture from her wedding. There was another picture of Undyne on her desk, grinning at the camera, and a pink paper heart was taped to one corner with a sticker that blared the word ’kawii!!’.

Alphys bustled around, muttering to herself as she gathered up paper stacks from the chairs, gesturing at them to sit before she settled into her own seat. “Did you want a drink?”

“nah, i’m good,” Stretch waved it off, “just tell me the truth, do i need to start shopping for a urn or what? ‘cause i’d kinda rather get my dust sprinkled properly and a mason jar isn’t the aesthetic i’m looking for.”

“Don’t,” Edge said sharply before he could stop himself. He knew that biting sarcasm was only a defense mechanism, but he couldn’t listen to that. He couldn’t.

Sweet creature that she was, Alphys looked horrified at the black joke, “N-n-no, of course not! Y-you’re fine!”

That was not the answer Stretch was expecting. He blinked, the mask of his indifference slipping to show a struggle between disbelief and tremulous hope.

“fine.” Stretch repeated, slowly. “so why am i down an hp?”

She shrugged, “Stress, past sickness? There’s a lot of reasons for HP to drop and nothing unusual showed up on any of the tests. B-but, see here. You can’t see it in a Check but—“

She pulled out a small device out of a drawer that looked like a tablet and walked over. Alphys didn’t seem to notice Stretch’s slight flinch as she settled something that looked like a stethoscope over Stretch’s chest. She showed them the tablet, charting a mass of numbers.

“See here?” She pointed at the screen with one clawed finger. “Checks don't show the decimals, but if you can look a little deeper, you’ll see it’s c-coming back up.”

It was, Edge saw, swallowing down his own relief. The tablet was showing deeply into the decimals, but as they watched, the last number went up by one. And again, very slowly crawling upward.

“If it keeps up like this, y-you’ll be back to five in a few months!” She beamed. Her smile faltered as Stretch made a small sound, shaking so hard the bones of his fingers clattered against the chair arm. “Are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” Edge told her quietly, and pulled Stretch into his arms as he finally broke and the tears started. Held him gently as he cried, murmuring soft words and nonsense while the fear loosened its hold. Long minutes passed before Stretch pulled away, sniffling and wiping at his face with his sleeve.

Alphys already had Kleenex and a bottle of water in hand, practically shoving them into Stretch’s lap as she burbled out tearfully, “I’m so sorry! I would have told you over the phone if I’d known you were so worried, I only wanted to show you the results! I should have known, I could have told you—“

“it’s fine, lizard lady,” Stretch said and this time it was Alphys who held her arms out for a hug, the two of them embracing amidst tears. “s’all good.”

She nodded, sniffling, and drew back. “Th-the only thing I can recommend is getting plenty of rest, eat good food. It’ll speed up the process.” She gave the pocket of his hoodie a little poke, tapping the visible bulge there. "You should stop smoking. It retards your magic and it could be slowing down the process.”

“did you have to say that where he could hear?” Stretch groaned.

“Yes,” she said unrepentantly. “I don’t want to see you in an urn or a mason jar, and definitely not an ashtray.”

Edge said nothing, but Stretch still sighed. “i’ll try, okay?”

“Try hard,” Alphys said sternly.

She went on to show Stretch a few more test results, the two of them slowly descending into scientific jargon that Edge didn’t even try to understand. He’d gotten what he wanted out of this visit, the only words he wanted to hear.

Stretch was going to be fine and that was enough.

Once they were finished at the lab, Edge drove them back home. He thought about offering to take them for lunch, but the stress of the morning was hitting Stretch before they even made it back to the car, his untied shoes dragging as he walked. He was asleep by the time they made it out of the parking lot and Edge didn’t hesitate to let him sleep, carrying him carefully into the house and settling with him on the sofa, a blanket drawn over them both.

Normally, he wasn’t one for naps, especially not in the mid-morning. Today, he felt unexpectedly tired, all the worries of the past days seeping away and leaving exhaustion in its wake. His normal urges to be moving, working or cleaning or cooking, abandoned him, and Edge settled on the sofa with his sleeping husband in his arms, holding him close. Drowsing in the pocket of shared warmth beneath the blanket.

He couldn’t say how long he slept when he heard the soft click of the unlocked door, the almost silent footsteps. Edge didn’t opened his sockets as he called on his magic, flexing his fingers beneath the blanket as he reached out to turn his brother’s soul blue and lifted.

When he turned to look, Red was dangling in the air like a marionette, a sharp grin on his face. He tipped his head towards the door, one brow bone raised and Edge frowned, lowering Red to the floor before carefully pulling away from Stretch. Who murmured discontentedly, his face scrunching unhappily at the loss of warmth. Edge pressed a kiss to his skull and whispered a soft promise to return. Likely it went unheard but Stretch still settled with a sigh, burrowing into the blanket

Red was sitting on the steps when Edge walked out, an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth, “how’s the honey bun.”

Ah, of course. If there was one person Red had difficulty getting intel from it was Alphys, and they’d been in her office to talk.

There was a small, petty temptation to let his brother squirm a bit for the answer, but Edge resisted it, “He’ll be all right. His HP is recovering. She recommended he quit smoking.”

Red snorted loudly. “have fun with that.”

Edge didn’t think he imagined seeing a line of tension in Red’s shoulders relax. He’d been worried, Edge realized, far more than he would ever show or say, but enough to come by the moment he knew they had answers. Knowing that made a painful knot in Edge’s soul ease, a silent forgiveness for his brother keeping secrets from him about Stretch. Red did care about Stretch, he knew, past him simply being a precious liability for his brother. It was still nice to have it confirmed from time to time.

But it didn’t stop him from slapping Red on the back of the skull when he started lighting his cigar, hissing, “Do not smoke that near me!”

Red only grinned, unrepentantly, “yeah, yeah, get back in there with the honey bun. might want to get in your chucklefucks while you can, before the nicotine withdrawal hits.”

“Sans—“ Edge started to snarl, but he was talking to thin air, leaving him with no one to take his irritation out on. He blew out a sharp breath and shook his head, rubbing at his nasal bone to stave off an incipient brother-shaped headache.

Then he went back inside to take his brother’s advice.

-finis-

[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 13

431 days. A tragus piercing. A black pencil tattoo permanently etched at the highest point of my right ribcage, and shadow roots in my sandy hair thanks to Becca, my new hairstylist recommended my latest friend, Tia. All things refreshed and renewed in the life of Liv Elliott. Single Liv Elliott. Okay, nearly all. One thing most certainly, and sorely remained the same. My beating heart was still smashed like a steel mallet had turned loose on it. Sure, the festering emotional cut of our breakup was beginning to mend with time. But, we all know with a healing cut, comes a forever scar. Not a scar representing a victorious battle, or a valiant effort. But one of sheer, naïve stupidity.  I choked on a daily spoonful of utter confusion wondering where the road took such a drastic detour towards that killer cliff we had so recklessly plunged from. I constantly fought the burning urge to scratch and claw my way back up the side of that treacherous mountain to find my way back to the earliest road. The road with Colton as my copilot. 

I so graciously allowed myself 2 weeks to hide away. Flounder in tears, Rocky Road, and maybe even a drunken bonfire of most photographic evidence that Colton ever existed. I avoided mascara all together, concluding that some point of my day would inevitably lead to a blubbering breakdown as I hid in the office bathroom. I rearranged the entire span of my apartment, hopeful maybe the new positions of furniture would confuse the ghosts of him that all too often appeared laid out comfortably on the couch, ankles crossed during a Sunday nap. Or slumbering face down with one hand under a pillow and the other stretched out toward the opposite side of the bed, lips loose in sleeping breathes. I couldn’t outrun the flashbacks no matter the effort. Even still, he haunts me on a Saturday morning at The Grind, or on a Tuesday night at my place with takeout from the B-rated Chinese joint down the street. However now, the sickness of utmost sadness, overcome with a rancorous flood of anger instead. Mostly with Colton, rightfully so. But myself as well. The foolish, undignified way I had just fallen under his potent spell, I might as well have just dropped to my knees and waved the white flag the second he introduced himself. And yet, the unsolved mystery remained. HE had said he loved me first. Sure, I felt it near the moment he kissed me after our run through the city that morning, but I chose to bury the words for another time. Colton on the other hand, had no problem spouting off his revelation to me. Nor did he stutter on the admittance of apparently “thinking with his dick” when it came to the matter of our meeting that fateful morning either. One thing I was able to confirm, was the son of a bitch clearly suffered a severe case of habitual word vomit.

The Pilot for me was a bit of a safe haven in a war zone, it being a place I could hide from the demons a bit. My new title at the paper requiring me to cover all things fighting within a 100-mile radius on the other hand, posed a bit of an issue. Thank the holy heavens I had avoided the press conference for his first match following our demise, due to the short, paid hiatus I took to visit Westfield. A taste of nostalgia and familiarity seemed like suitable therapy for a maimed heart, and maybe a good caudle from my parents. An attempted one, at least.

Tony and Elizabeth, said parents, were good parents in general. I won’t take that away from their accomplishments. But when basketball gracefully bowed out of my life, their involvement followed suit. Dad & I always had ball as that bonding clue to hold us tightly together. Saturday mornings following Friday night games always began with film, 150 free throws out back on the handcrafted mock court he’d constructed for me, ending at Al’s Diner for pancakes. That first fateful Saturday after my knee surgery, we tried to replay the film and retreat to Al’s, but when the conversing concerning if I’d pass the current scoring record at Westfield High, or whether I would commit to University of Louisville or SIU no longer applied, we drifted. When the “basketball dad” shadow from the sticker he peeled from the rear window of his pickup truck faded, a hefty portion of the pride he held for his daughter did too.

As far as a closeness with mom, there truly wasn’t much. She preformed the expected team mom duties by hosting bake sale fundraisers, and chaperoning homecoming dances. But that dependable shoulder never pushed much further in the emotional realm of a relationship with me. My dad & I had always held a special closeness, leaving her to feel somewhat shoved to the proverbial back burner. I was never much for the “foofy” tea parties, or pageant queen aspirations she had, which no doubt drove the wedge deeper between the two of us. But, when I moved so far away, it seemed distance, and time had healed some wounds in our connection. When I arrived at the simple square, two story siding home on Lake Lane, my first friend in life, our Collie, Indiana nearly mounted to hood of my car to get to me. No doubt, his name sake my dads favorite action movie character, and my home-state.

“Hey Indy, you sweet boy! I’ve missed you, ya’ big guy!” I rumpled the cashmere like white coat around his neck.

Mom galloped out the red front door first, dad following suit at a slightly slower pace.

“Liv, honey! Oh, we’re so glad you’re here! We’ve missed you,” my mom squealed towards me with open arms.

“We really have missed you, kid. Look at ya’!” Dad persisted with the ever annoying greeting of ruffling the top of my head like some socially incoherent teenage boy.

They probably did miss me, I’m sure. But, apparently not enough to ever offer a visit with me since moving my things to the city of Pittsburgh. No matter what bitterness flowered, as I dragged deeper into adulthood, I had resolved that you only got one set of parents, and the importance of appreciating the ones you did get was dire. So, I decided to nurse some long dwelling resentment and go into this visit with a forgiving heart.

“I missed you guys, too. Things still look exactly the same around here.” I inventoried those familiar, award-winning rose bushes my mother grew in the landscape, and with attached garage door open, I was able to see dads tool shop sanctuary in exactly the shape I had left it. Not a hammer out of place.

“Let’s get you inside, sweetie. Dinner will be done soon, & I’m sure we have some catching up to do.” Mom placed her hands over my upper arms, guiding me into I’m sure a spotless house, while dad unloaded my suitcase from the back hatch of my SUV.

 Steaks cooked to perfection courtesy of Tony Elliott, self-proclaimed grilled master, were served in the newly remodeled dining room, and the 3 of us sat in the same assumingly designated spots that we had for all my childhood years. I did miss a motherly, prepared with love, home cooked dinner so I wasted no amount of time scarfing down the contents of her delicious spread.

“How are things with the promotion, Livvy? They aren’t taking advantage of ya’, I hope?” Dad dropped his fork gently to his plate, taking a sip of his tea.

“Things are good, dad. Ryan, my boss, really does treat me excellently. He’s always super complimentary of my work.” I assured.

“Sounds like a nice guy. Maybe someone has a little crush?” Elizabeth winked while sorting through the last few sprigs of lettuce in her salad bowl.

“Ha! No thanks, mom. He’s an awesome guy, but I’d never see him like that. Plus, I could never date my boss, you know that.” I scoffed all too quickly.

Alright, you fraidy-cat. Get to it, here! Tell them. About him.

“Plus, I think I need a little break from men these days.”

“A break? Meaning there’s been some boys around since you moved?” Mom was the first to chime in, while my dad sat idly by, trying to appear casually at ease. But, I knew he was hearing every syllable of the exchange between his wife and I.

“Just one guy, mom. Well, there was one guy.” My attention never left the chopped, leftover chunks of food on my white porcelain plate. “Remember the first piece I did on Mixed Martial Arts? My first front page?”

“Liv, don’t be ridiculous. Yes, it’s laminated and framed in the living room. Go on..” she answered, leaning on her hand as an elbow rested on the table for a blinking second, before she retracted it, minding her usual manners.

“I was with one of the competitors. Like, in a relationship for several months actually. Colton, the fighter who I was working one-on-one with.”

There, at least he’s out in the open now. The dirty secret is out.

“Was, meaning not anymore then?” Dad finally broke his cold silence.

“Not anymore, no. We haven’t been together for a while now. But, I….. I uh, I didn’t handle the split so well. Which is part of my reason for coming to see you guys.”

My mind spun like a tilt-or-whirl trying to sort through what needed to be said, and what I should leave out. They didn’t need to know how harshly he’d spoken to me, nor the pathetic amount of sick days I’d used to wallow in my tear-stained sheets and overindulge on snack-packs.

“It sounds like things were serious, honey. Frankly, I’m a little hurt you never told us about him.” My mom had taken an overbearing interest in me when I started dating in high school. Boys were something she saw as her forte, I assume. Dad and I had basketball, now she and I could have boys, and relationships. So, the lack of sharing about my now ex-boyfriend seemed to perturb her.

“It was serious, mom. Yeah. I loved him. I was in love with him. Case in point, why I didn’t handle our breakup with much dignity.”

“What happened, Liv? Anything I should be concerned about,” dad inquired in the ultimate “dad” tone of voice.

“It just didn’t work, guys. It’s done, and life goes on. Nothing more, okay?”

Life goes on, huh? Let’s practice what we preach, dear.

“Losing a love is hard, sweet pea. But you’re a strong, successful young lady, and you’ll recover just fine. I know it!” Mom smiled.

I admired her A+ efforts for the “mother bear” sermon. It’s what I needed, truly. No matter how I wanted to tell her I needed those little chats years ago. I needed that reassurance back when I thought life hated me, and some karmic attack had been yielded on my life. Recently though, she had been heartily trying with our relationship. Both of them had. And although the repairs were long overdue, and far from complete, I was thankful nonetheless.

 I hadn’t been back to my stomping grounds since I’d left slightly over three years prior, so I had my fair share of hellos to exchange, most importantly being my childhood best friend, and the shooting guard to my point guard, Sara. She hadn’t spread her wings from our small town, instead chose the “marry my perfect high school sweetheart and have the most painfully adorable twin boys on the planet” lifestyle, which suited her beautifully.  She met up with me at the local dairy freeze for a greasy order of cheese fries after ending the work day at her parents’ dental practice where she was employed as a hygienist. Sitting alone at the wooden picnic table carved with an array of heart enclosed initials of couples I knew never made it past junior year prom, I felt strangely foreign in the little town now. Distant, or homesick. Every hardware store clerk or mail carrier knowing about the family pet you had to put down because all news travelled like an unruly forest fire in Westfield, now seemed displeasing rather than endearing. I basked in a bit of big-headed pride realizing I had maybe outgrown this little corner of the world, and home suddenly felt eastbound. Whether that had anything to do with my recent ex had yet to be determined.

Sara arrived right on time, going straight for the counter to order her favorite Dr. Pepper ice cream float as she put it “first things first.” The girl may have been the only person in the whole population of 2,000 whom I held in trusting regard, so she was kept up to date through a hefty amount of text messages about the tumultuous romance of Liv and Colton. We exchanged a squealing hug before diving right into the heavy matter.

“How are you? First off, you look freakin’ amazing. The big city looks good on you, Elliott,” Sara flopped into her seat, pulling off her pink labcoat.

“Shut up, you liar. The bags under eyes have bags, Sara. I’ve been a sloppy, sobbing, bitchy, pathetic mess for going on two months now. Like, who am I and will it end?!” I felt so light being able to genuinely come out in the open with all the emotion I was dealing with. A crucial missing piece to my life in the Burgh was a real, true friend such as Sara. Someone to take shoe shopping, and call drunk at 3 a.m. when you’re well into a half of bottle of Pinot and can’t keep from hysterically bawling over the ghastly way your boyfriend spoke to you.  A woman needs the Lavern to her Shirley to share life with.  

“It’s called love, honey. Welcome to the party,” she sucked vigorously through the straw of her float. “We’ve been waiting for you to show up.” I appreciated her gracious attempt to lighten the mood.

“Well if this is what it’s all about, I won’t be coming back.” I spoke mumbled chewing on a fry.

“It doesn’t always turn out this bad, babe. You just fell really, really hard. Which means getting over it will probably be equally as difficult. As much as I hate to see you like this…”

“Easy for you to say, Sara. You practically married Prince Harry or something. Can’t I just borrow yours sometime?” I clowned.

Her husband was truly the best of the best, and he’d been that way since the beginning. So, I always harbored some envy of sorts toward the seeming perfection of their relationship.

“In all honesty, Sare, I don’t know that I’m going to have the same feelings for whoever comes along like I did Colton. I’m not going to be irrational enough to say I’ll never love again, because I know that’s just silly and overdramatic. I’m just not sure it’ll be as raging and romantic, ya’ know what I mean?”

Just as she was about to hit me with some bogus line probably directly from an article she’d read in Cosmopolitan, a familiar voice intruded.

“My God, am I having a flashback right now?” Our varsity head coach Eric Gibson yelled from the open window of his parked car.

The guy was a true, unadulterated saint. He’d pulled me from the 8th grade roster to dress up for him on JV, so I lost count on how many games we’d competed in together. He shed nearly as many tears as my own father had when I collided with that player from Carson County causing me to close out my chapter as a ball player. He quickly locked the doors to his vehicle with two beeps of the horn, and made his way eagerly to us.

“Coach, how are you?” I stood to meet his incoming hug. With Sara still residing in Indiana I’m sure their paths crossed frequently in town.

“I’m doing fine, Liv. Shocked to see you here, girl! Are you back in Westfield?” He patted Sara with a coy hand to the shoulder, and we returned ourselves after the exchange of greetings.

“Oh, no no. Just here for a visit. I finally got the chance to take a little vacation from work, so I thought I’d come check in on Sara, and my parents.”

“Yeah, you’re a real superstar here, you know that? Everyone had a field day when your article made the front page for your paper. It was the talk of the town!”  

I blushed vividly at his statement. “Thanks, coach. It’s really nothing though.”

His mouth opened wide in defense. “It most certainly is something, Liv. It’s a huge accomplishment! Don’t be so modest. Hard work deserves to be recognized, and I know you’re no stranger to working hard in everything you do.” He paused to nudge my shoulder that grazed his. “ You’re talented, Elliott. And scrappy as hell when need be! Those big shots at that newspaper better just stay outta your way.”

Suddenly, there it was. The switch of undignified pity had self-destructed. Leave it to Coach to set me straight as he always did. I was scrappy as hell! The 4 games I’d been ejected from back in school clear evidence. It was time to exercise that same fearlessness and grit to scratch myself to the surface again, leaving behind this lonely, moldy grave Colton had dug for me. He may have outweighed me by an easy sixty pounds, and could’ve snapped me in half in the concern of strength. But mentally? It’d have to be ruled a no contest.

That night, back to square one in the little town in Indiana, over cheese fries & cheap milkshakes, with an out-and-out smack reminder courtesy of coach Gibson, I awoke. The sleepwalking, gray way of life a thing of the past. I excused myself from the parade of self-pity I had long been the grand marshal for.

“Maybe she’ll take your word for it, Coach. I’ve been trying to get that very same thing through that thick head of hers.” Sara interjected, slurping the last traces of whipped cream from her glass.

“Okay, okay, you two. Lay off before it all goes to my head.” I shook with a chuckle, and decided then and there, that I was going to find peace and satisfaction in life when I got back to Pittsburgh, someway, somehow, no matter what. I wanted my heart back from him. The heart he clearly had no use for any longer.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

[soft-jaw]

She stirred, she lay on her side facing the window that was centered in the wall her bed was pushed up against. It was closed shut, curtains drawn. Starlight pressed against the other side, just peeking through. The exposed skin on her arms was coated in gooseflesh that prickled, almost stinging. She shivered despite the soft white noise emanating from the grates in her floor. It usually soothed her, helped her find sleep against the silence of the house.

There was a low moan in the night outside. She thought at first it was the wind but upon moving the curtain aside, she saw the trees stood still in the dark. The sparse pines in the stretching yard looked static against the lawn. The chainlink fence at the far end rattled ominously as she stared bleary eyed into the distance. Nothing is there, she thought, you’re just half asleep. She rolled over to face away from it, curling into a ball as she drew the covers tighter around herself.

The fence rattled again, she imagined a raccoon climbing over it. Skittering, moving hurriedly in search of scraps to pilfer from the neighborhood trash before the sun rose up to expose it. She wondered if that low moan was in her mind, it was almost somber. It felt like a voice from the hills, she imagined a tree falling down upon the shape of a man. Breaking his body as one low death moan escaped his lungs and became part of the forest sounds around him. She imagined the opening of a cave, air from deep within the earth seeping out like a cold rattling breath. The scent of dirt and slippery moss filled her nose, she could almost feel some slick subterranean surface at the bottoms of her feet. Moisture dripping from long stalagmites and plunking into the rock below, wearing it away. A place worn down for her, a perfect fit.

She felt like she was falling, down and down and then jolted awake, her breath heavy in her throat. Something turned her around, she stared out of the window into the darkness of the yard as if she was called by some voice in the distance. Beyond the chain link fence was marshland, it stank in the summer and boasted mosquito swarms and dragonfly eggs. The wet ground would suck your shoes off if you weren’t careful, sharp grasses grew in towering tufts with cattails and sedges. It wasn’t often if even at all that anyone would venture through it. But she knew beyond that expanse of muck was a small island. All but hidden by the reedy brush, the inky pines that marked it stuck out at the right vantage. And when the snow packed down upon itself in winter and smothered the marsh, they stood stark and still with white caps to soften them. Sometimes, she thought, they looked like black fangs. In winter they looked like molars.

She had gone there last summer with her brother, they wore big rubber fisherman's waders that belonged to their father and stank of bug spray that had made her choke when applied. She had lived beside it for so many years and had never, not once, explored the marsh. But he was visiting home from university and had been struck by a drunken idea the night before, when they stumbled inside the front door long after their father had gone to bed.

Once the bars closed and their friends had all filtered home, she saw an odd look cross his eye. Perhaps it was the thrum of the cicadas as they walked, or the smell of wet earth that had suddenly slid into the night air as they turned onto their street from the main road.

“Remember that night, when I was twelve? When I went in?” His tone was nostalgic, but he didn’t look it. His face was blank, an emotionless mask that covered the cheerful drunk he had been just moments ago.

“I do, I remember.” She mused, she smiled wryly at him but he didn’t look. His eyes were on the marsh, though you could only see it in between the houses. She felt cold despite the warm summer night. “I always wanted to ask you about that.”

“I know,” He said, glancing at her, his smile returned as they passed a long ranch style home just a few blocks down from theirs. “I found something. Something you wouldn’t believe unless you saw it yourself.” Her skin prickled, he went silent again as they passed between houses, the marsh was lit well by the moonlight. It seemed to emanate a wafting glow, the thought of marsh gas crossed her mind. Natural fumes refracting the moonlight, the smell of decay caused her to stop, eyes skirting over the curb half expecting to find roadkill rotting in the gutter. He paused a few steps ahead, having to tear his eyes from the marsh to face her.

“What did you find? Treasure? Gremlins?” She waved her fingers wickedly at him, half joking, half nervous. What was there to find in some bog in your backyard? “Mammoth bones?”

“You’ll have to come with me, little sister. You’ll have to come and see.” A car passed them then, headlights washing over his face caused the cloudy look to fade. “Wanna race?” As soon as the words left his mouth she was running, it was a game they had played since childhood. Once one of them says race, they would run, half the fun was getting the head start. Shooting off in a sprint before the other could even finish the phrase.

“It’ll be an adventure, we’ll go in the morning, once dad leaves for work!” He hollered, panting a few steps behind her as she sprinted down the sidewalk. As she got older, her determination to run faster than him grew and now he was the one trailing behind. She whooped as she reached the front door of their two story house, sliding in the key and unlocking it happily as he crossed the stoop behind her.

He promised to wake her in the morning, and they retired to their childhood bedrooms to sleep.

He had to show her what he had discovered all those years ago. What he had festered over for so, so long.

He had never brought up that night to her before, but she knew exactly what he was referring to. She was there too, not in the marsh but watching curiously from her window. The same one she gazed out of now, with a numbness washing over her. She remembered the flash of his form, so much smaller then, as he climbed the fence and clambered into the reeds. She had watched for hours that night, she saw his flashlight beam finally wash over those trees and disappear.

She had watched still, when hours later he crawled out of the mud at the edge of the marsh and climbed back over the fence. The sun was tugging the night gently just beyond, but it resisted the dawn that morning. She was in a daze as she descended the stairs in silence to receive him.

She was the only one left awake, the only one who knew where he went as he slipped into the night for some adolescent thrill. And she was the only one who greeted him from the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, entranced by how easily it would have been for him to disappear completely.

He gave her an odd look when he slipped through the back door. He was only twelve then but he looked ragged, his hair slicked back with drying mud and face stickered by plant matter. His some odd teenage years hung on him like he had seen centuries instead, his eyes flat and dark. He removed his filthy clothing, letting it fall wetly to the ground before stuffing it all in a trash bag that he took outside. He barely acknowledged her. She felt like she was witnessing a murderer get rid of evidence, calm, cool, collected. Determined to become clean again.

She felt like it was a private ritual, like she was intruding, and returned to her bedroom. The house was silent after that, the heater kicking on after a while to wind her down. They slept late into the afternoon, and barely spoke the rest of that day.

She had never liked being in the backyard alone. Something about that wet tangle just beyond the fence made her queasy. The anaerobic soil smelled sulfuric in the heat and the insects cried all night, high pitched tones that waned and crescendoed eerily if that’s all you could hear when the house went dark. Even the tall grass made a noise as it whipped in the wind. Their parents warned them not to climb the fence but her brother always did it anyway. And he was the only one. He never got far before their father called his name loudly from the back porch or whatever open window he had spied his son misbehaving from. And her brother would clamber back over the fence, shoulders hunched and sulking.

They never spoke of what he had found in the dark in the marsh, but something burned in her to know. The same look had been in his eye then, as adults, they waded in. She had a thick flannel shirt on despite the bright summer morning and was sweating heavily, the gardening gloves on her hands didn’t help either. Silence hung between them as they walked and panted for their effort. It was rough terrain and the water was often above her knees, they moved slowly towards the center. She was afraid she might sink into the ground or get stuck in the reeds, but her brother had brought a small gardening sickle for clearing brush. She followed his every step, feeling like she was in a trance after a while. She was a shadow clinging to his back as he did all the hard work.

When they reached the small island it was midday. She realized they hadn’t even eaten breakfast and turned around to look for the house behind them from the higher ground. They weren’t as far away as she had thought. She could turn back and find her way if she had to. She wanted to turn back. Her brother watched as she had her back turned.

“We should hurry, I want to get it over with.” He said, his voice flat. It lacked the feverish charisma that had convinced her to join him the night before. He had made it seem exciting then, an adventure, like something great would be waiting for them at the end. But he wouldn’t say what.

“Get what over with?” They stared at each other for a while, like it was a standoff. But he never answered, and turned after a while to walk into the trees.

The pines were packed in a dense cluster ahead, their dark needles vibrating in the breeze. They looked like teeth, like daggers. Like stalagmites drip-dripping in the dark. She had seen them from afar a thousand times and they never changed. There were no pinecones on the needle strewn ground, just some rocks and small white mushrooms growing in the shade.

Her brother pushed into them and she followed closely, a strong sense of unease washed over her as they walked. Through the trees was a mound, a natural entrance into the earth. It looked like the rock had just split, ripped up to reveal something they shouldn’t know about. The tallest pines grew on top of it, their roots stuck out oddly from the thick layer of black soil atop the rock. Like they were grasping out, if not for air... then...

“I’m not going in there. I don’t like tight spaces.” She said, he gave her that odd look again, eyes flat and cold and dark. Like a hole in the earth looked out from them. He said nothing, grasped the roof of stone above the cave mouth and slid inside.

Like a meal. Her stomach growled then, she was so hungry. She couldn’t follow him. She sat on the ground instead, waiting for him to come out. He would be laughing, he was pulling her leg. She shivered, filled with a sickly feeling of anticipation as she sat in the shade of the pines..

Hours slipped by, she felt as if she had been sitting there for an eternity. Her brother remained in the hole. She thought of shouting into it, he could have been hurt. He could be dead. But she felt as if the hole would pull her in, and decided against it. There was something wrong with it. There was something wrong with the trees and how they blocked out the ever present whine of the marsh. She wondered then if he would find his way out as he did so many years ago, when they were children and only she had known he was lost in the night.

She wondered what it contained, what was waiting for her beneath the dark soil. It was all out of place in the landscape beyond, different terrain. It felt like sitting in a bubble made to look like a real place, it was just that it wasn’t a place that belonged where it was found. There was no land similar to it anywhere nearby. The cave was off putting as well, the way it jutted open so perfectly, as if it were placed with intent. It was just big enough for a grown man to fit, and reminded her of a water slide; the kind at amusement parks that shot you down twists and turns encased inside a plastic tube. But the opening was dark, and the silence of the clearing was deafening. Her mind struggled to stay clear, thoughts wouldn’t form normally there. She wondered what drew him to it, again and again after so many years. Maybe it was harmless, it was just a hole in the ground after all. But there was such a sick feeling inside her, such anxiety that she knew in her bones she shouldn’t dare go inside.

She was filled with desperation, not knowing what to do but knowing she couldn’t bring herself to stay. She would walk home to eat and call the police. They would send firemen or some sort of rescue service and her brother would be fine. She finally stood and ran from the clutch of pines and searched for their path in the marsh. Her brother had the sickle with him when he descended. The reeds pulled at her body as she struggled back to the house. She didn't have him to lead her now, and it was hard to tell what direction she was going. The grasses seemed too tall, the ground was too soft and uneven to run over or even walk easily.

It took her hours it seemed, the sun had fallen by the time she flopped back onto the lawn, exhausted. She was frenzied, filled with adrenaline the whole time. Like she was being preyed upon, like she was escaping the maw of some jungle cat nipping at her heels. She felt insanity pulling at her temples as she rose again before she lacked the energy, and scaled the chainlink fence. A force of dread washed over her when she landed clumsily on the ground in their backyard. The fence rattled and she sprinted into the door on their deck. She chalked it up to the force of her climbing it and toppling over and didn’t look back as she slammed the door, turned the bolt, and locked it. As she started walking wearily towards the kitchen, someone tried the doorknob. Twisting it roughly from the outside, she stifled a scream with her hand when her brother’s face peered into the window. She felt she would be sick.

“Let me in, I’m cold.” He said, his voice was odd. It sounded warped through the wall of the house. It was too clear in her head, she thought she ought not be able to hear him at all. Shaking, she affixed the door chain and cracked it open. He looked wrong, his eyes too dark to be his. His hair was slicked back with dried mud and his smile was wide. She wanted him to be joking.

“What was that?” She whispered, her teeth grit together so hard it hurt her jaw.

“Why did you leave? You left me there.” There was no emotion in his voice, no explanation.

“I didn’t know what happened, you were being so vague! You know I don’t like tight spaces.”

“You should have just followed me.” His dirty fingers grasped the door near the chain.

“Why would I follow you into some dirty hole?” He looked angry then, as if she had insulted him.

“I wanted to show it to you. You’ve always wondered.”

“Why can’t you just tell me, instead? I don’t want to see it. It’s scary.” She would go if she knew what was waiting for them, she hated the not-knowing. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t just tell her.

“It’s not scary. It’s safe.”

“What if you got trapped? And suffocated or starved to death down there?” Tears were streaming hotly from her eyes then, running into her mouth. She wiped them away.

“It’s safe for us. We should go back together.” He sounded insane, he sounded pleading but without the inflection. She could feel his desperation, it emanated palpably from his dark eyes.

“I’m never going there again, you’re not making any sense!” She was practically screaming now, she had reached her limit of rationality. She would NOT go back.

“It will make sense once you see it!” He screamed back, trying to open the door despite the chain, she could hear the bolt begin ripping from the frame.

“I’m not going!” She slammed the door on his hand, and when he recoiled from it, she closed it firmly and locked it. Running up and into her bedroom, where she cried. Hoarse, body racking sobs that left her gasping on the floor. She would talk to him in the morning. She wouldn’t go back.

But when morning came, the waders she had thrown on the kitchen floor were gone and the damp and dirty clothes from her hamper had disappeared. Her brother was asleep in his bed, looking clean and alive again. He had gotten in somehow, or had it just been a dream that left her laying in front of her bedroom door?

She didn’t wait around for him to get up, she showered and went off to work, then out to dinner with a friend. The house was dark when she returned, it was empty. Her father had gone out that day as well, off to work or some other errand. She hadn’t seen him before leaving but she hadn’t heard from him either, no calls or texts about any mess or the fight they had at the back door.

She returned to her room and sat on the bed, knees curled beneath her chin as she cradled herself. She tried to calm her racing thoughts and breathed deeply, eyes closed for a while. Then she heard the rattle of the chainlink fence.

The sun had just sunk beyond the horizon, there was no moon that night. Just pinhole stars splattering the dark sky. But something triggered the light on the back porch and washed the yard in yellow tones. She could see her brother, standing there in the dark with his eyes on her window. He looked like a shadow, like something she ought not see for sanity’s sake. He rattled the fence with one hand then climbed up and over it again. He watched her from the other side. She couldn’t hear him from where she was but she knew he was saying her name, beckoning her. She wouldn’t go back there. She wouldn’t go back. And so he turned from her then and returned to the hole in the marsh, and she hadn’t seen him since.

Nobody came looking, nobody wondered. Pictures of him disappeared, over time, as if he had faded. His bedroom had been turned into an office when she was away. There was no evidence of the brother she knew had been there. He had been there, he had. But now only she could feel him, waiting.

Their mother had passed when they were young, some sickness took her before they could understand what sickness was. Her father had never remarried, never dated. He worked and cared for them, and sat in his armchair after dinner every night. But somehow even he hadn’t noticed his son was gone.

Their lives went on without him, it had seemed. Yet still some nights she swore she could hear him at the fence, calling her. Still some nights she wondered if she had cracked her psyche somehow, and he only existed in her mind as part of some delusion. Then she would look at her palm and see a small scar he had caused with a stick in the yard when they were children. Even still at times she forgot him too, during the day she barely thought of him at all. But night brought an unease upon her, the marsh still stank of rot in the heat of summer and the insects still screamed in the night. The black pines still peeked out when she looked from her window, like fangs slipping out from the lips of a dog. They grimaced at her, waiting to sink their sharp teeth into her arm. But she wouldn’t go back...

As she gazed then out of her window, she could swear she saw her brother in the tree line, his figure awash in tones of green that glowed ghostly in the darkness. His hand waving lazily at her, beckoning her yet. Would she ever go back? There would come a time where she would be too old and weary to navigate the marsh. To slide into that hole and be forgotten. Something in her soul would whisper that is where you belong, that is where you will go in the end. Into the void beneath the pines.

Was it destiny or some odd arrangement he had made with her and whatever it was that called him home? Something that made her mind crack and fray at the edges, burdened her with knowing. She knew too much to forget the things she hasn’t seen yet. Maybe it was better there, not dark and unhinging. Maybe heaven was through that opening in the earth. Or maybe it was hell, it was crushing, it was being buried alive and choking in the anaerobic soil of the marsh. No space for air inside the hole that was made for them to fill, and only them.

[charitystashwick]

The Red Table

by Charity Stashwick

Today was the day that I would die…but let me tell you about my life first. You decide which is better.

My stepfather kidnapped me when I was seven. Life hadn’t been great up until then. My mother and I moved from place to place depending on when rent was due and whether or not we had it. I’ll hand it to my mom, she never let us stay on the street or in a shelter. She was smart. She knew how to work the system. How to flash a smile and a little bit of money, just enough to get us into a place. I don’t think she ever paid full rent anywhere we moved. She would move those cups over and over underneath the eye’s of the landlords. Managing to trick him or her into letting us stay longer. She always had a job. It wasn’t that she was a slacker, it was just that her jobs didn’t pay much and certainly not enough to pay full rent. What I learned was that half of it was in the presentation. The brave face and the image of a hard working single mom. That worked almost everywhere we went. People were nice to my mom and my mom was nice to people. I had nothing with all the moving and lack of money, there was nothing left over. Clothes, shoes, toys, book bags, blankets, sheets, plates, cups…the really simple stuff. We didn’t even have that.  It didn’t matter. People always gave us that stuff. Sometimes, it was junk, but a lot of times, it was pretty nice. One time, I got a Barbie dream house. A ladies daughter was too old for it, and she thought it would be nice for me to have it. Even though most of the stickers were worn off, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever owned. I made the most of the time I had with it, because, I knew, that when we moved it wasn’t coming with us.  

Maybe this is where I learned to appreciate every moment? Live in the now, as they say. Anyhow, this life was also where I learned about people. And…for the most part..people were good. They were kind and they tried, each in their own way, to help us. Without learning this early lesson, I might never have survived what was to come. I might never have joined the nunnery later, to devote my life to God and to the service of good. To help give back to those who had once given to me.

Then he came. The devil (or so I thought), that would test every fiber of soul I had in me. I’m not sure what happened that brought my mom and he together? She’d never settled down after my dad died and what prompted her choice of my stepfather….I’ll never know. I told myself many stories over the years. Some sane. Some not.  Maybe he really was the devil in disguise? He’d come and tricked my mother and blinded her to how dangerous he was? Maybe he threatened her? He told her he would kill us both if she ever left him? Or kill just me? I thought of story after story in my head. Anything to avoid the thought that maybe my mother knew exactly what she was doing, and really had feelings for the monster. That she deliberately put us in danger over and over.  Anything but that thought.

My mother married my stepfather in the summer. We stayed in a run down cottage in New Hampshire. Rent was near nothing, so long as we did up keep on the place and kept it neat. It was nice for a month or two. The place was drafty, but we patched up the holes and stuffed newspaper into the cracks. The wind blowing through the birch trees outside was comforting and the light tussle of the leaves whispered us to sleep each night. My stepfather had a job pumping gas at a small convenience store down the road and my mother worked at the cash register. They could keep on eye on each other, and there were two paychecks coming into the household.

I was alone a lot, but that was OK. I was used to it. It was hard to make friends when you moved from place to place as often as I did. I could always find something to do and take care of myself…mostly.  September was coming and with it school. It didn’t matter that I’d moved from school to school. It didn’t matter that I had to make new friends over and over. It didn’t matter that sometimes the kids weren’t nice to me. I was tough, and besides, with a little time, they grew bored. I was no longer the new kid, and they soon found someone else to pick on. Or…I moved.  Fact was…I liked going to school. It was warm, there was food and there were interesting things to learn. I liked learning and sucked up whatever I could, wherever I could.

Then it happened. The night of the fire. The night that would change the short life I’d had up until that point, forever. Our little cottage was asleep. Wind was blowing through the birch tree’s comforting me. I was cold, but that was ok, I felt safe. It was the last time I would feel safe for almost 20 years. The tree’s were talking to me. Rustling and swaying and whispering their ancient language. It was then that I heard a creak on the floorboards. I peeked out from my thin blanket toward the noise and there he was. My stepfather, standing in the doorway, but something was wrong with him. Something was terribly wrong. He was different. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde different. Hyde was standing in the doorway. His figure was hunched and crooked. I couldn’t find my breath I was so scared. The birch tree’s whispered warnings in the air.

“A monster is coming. A monster is coming. Run.”

I could hear their warnings but I was paralyzed. A match struck and a flicker of flame danced against the dark shadow of my stepfather. He held it to his face. My God…his face was the devil. His face was the blackness.

“His face! His face!” the tree’s screamed.

I was still too scared to move. His eyes were fixed on me with intent and purpose. He dropped the match and it quickly caught the brittle floorboards on fire. He strode toward me with flames licking up the sides of the doorway like an exit from hell. I clung to the thin blanket, eye’s like saucers, breath caught for a scream that just wouldn’t come. He swept me up in his huge arms, wrapping me in my blanket so tight I could hardly breath. Wrapping the blanket around my mouth. That was when I found my voice and screamed for my mother. A child screams for her mother first. Screams for the safety of the womb and the first sips of milk for life. I screamed and screamed for her, but she didn’t come.

When I’d lost faith in my mother, I screamed for anyone to save me. Anyone to come. When that didn’t happen, I screamed in anger. It was going to have to be me to save myself. It was up to me to be brave and take care of this problem on my own. I kicked and wiggled but he held me fast. I could hear the house burning and crackling. I could hear the tree’s screaming.

“The fire! The fire!”

I couldn’t hear my mother. Did she get out? Was she alive? Had he done something to her? The heat from the flames sunk into my blanket, burning my skin that only five minutes earlier had been so cold. Where was he taking her? I kicked and screamed more as he walked us away from the little cottage in the woods of New Hampshire. As his boots crunched the dry leaves and twigs.  He hit me to quiet me, but it wasn’t enough. I kept fighting. Then he hit me again and that  had done the trick. The flames, the screaming tree’s..it all became black.  

[hglasz]

My Olive Branch

I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was just doing things different.

It started sometime in February. At least that’s when I assumed it started. Of course, there were signs that something was a little off a couple years ago when what I call my “Dark Year” began. But February. That’s when it all hit. 

It seemed normal at first. I was just taking care of myself. I was going to the gym a little bit more and eating a little bit less. That was the way to happiness. Losing weight would make me feel better about my appearance, and that would make me feel better about my life in general. Slowly, and with great ease and caution, I began cutting back on my meals. Today I’m not going to eat until noon, I would tell myself. Or Today I’m only going to eat raw foods. And suddenly, without me really recognizing the magnitude of my changing habits, it turned into Today I’m not going to eat anything and Today I’m going to go to the gym for two hours instead of one.

Like I said, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just a little different than everyone else around me. But a little different started becoming a lot different and I was isolating more and more until others took notice of me withering away.

I was sitting in my nutritionist’s office at school for our third appointment together the first time she threw out that still-hard-to-swallow word.

“You know, often times people with anorexia tend to be perfectionists and high-achieving individuals and....”

The wall I had begun chiseling away with her was rebuilt in a matter of seconds and I left her office that day swearing I would never return. I didn’t.

Two days later, I went in for a routine check-up with the nurse practitioner at school. She was only going to ask me how my antidepressants were working, maybe take my vitals, schedule another check-in soon, and I’d be on my way. It was one o’clock. Half an hour into our appointment, she sat down with me and communicated that she wasn’t comfortable sending me back to my apartment that day. I stared back at her blankly, not sure what she meant, and not sure where else I would go. The library? The union? Would I just stay in the nurse’s office for a few more hours until I was clear to leave?

“The level of care that we provide here is not enough to help you in your situation right now.”

Chest tightening, heart speeding, palms shaking, shoulders sinking.

Not more than ten minutes later and the head of counseling services at my school, along with my nurse practitioner, were on the phone with my mom, telling her that it was time for me to withdraw from Messiah for the remainder of the semester. I couldn’t take care of myself anymore, and I was putting my health - and my life - at serious risk. Two days of packing and trying my best to explain to friends and professors what was happening, and my parents came to pick me up from school and take me back home to Ohio.

I thought that was going to be the end. I was just going to lay in bed for a while, get the rest I had been missing out on, and go back to school in time for graduation. God, I wish it had been that easy.

I went in for an assessment at a treatment facility called The Emily Program in northeast Ohio, again in full denial that anything was going on that needed serious medical attention. After getting my weight checked and spilling out what felt like my entire life story and history with food, the counselor I was meeting with told me I had no choice other than to enter into inpatient, residential treatment in Cleveland Heights.

And here we are now.

I’m typing all of this at 6:57 in the morning on a Sunday. I’m listening to the songs of birds, the humming of a coffeemaker, the gentle rolling of Cleveland traffic, and the shuffling of feet from my housemates. Two weeks ago I was admitted into residential treatment at The Emily Program to begin the process of recovery from anorexia.

Being here is weird. 

There’s really no other way to put it. I spend my days in and out of the offices of my nutritionist, my therapist, my physician, and my psychiatrist. I follow a system of tallies for my meals, making sure that I get in the proper amount of nutrients for each meal and snack. I eat at 8 AM, 10 AM, noon, 3:15 PM, 5:45 PM, and 8:15 PM, on the dot, every single day. I sit at a table with a couple other residents and the treatment home equivalent of a resident assistant. I “check-in” after every meal or snack, stating what was difficult about the meal and what I enjoyed about it. If I don’t finish my meals, I drink a chocolate supplemental shake, which is basically just over-glorified Nesquik. I sit in the same spot on the same couch with the same blanket for all of our group therapy sessions. I have a schedule for bathroom breaks. I wake up at 6:00 AM every morning to get my vitals checked. The amount of water I drink is monitored. Until yesterday, I couldn’t go anywhere without being in the eyesight of one of the staff members here.

Being here is weird.

But.

Being here is also saving my life.

I spend my days in and out of bouts of laughter with my housemates, all of whom know the severity of the deep waters of my struggles with my body image and my food habits. I get to participate in yoga and art therapy every day. I have a team of caretakers that invest their time in me and remind me that I am so worth the investment. I get stickers each morning when I do my individual check-in during group therapy (right now on my binder is a collection of alligators, penguins, lions, bumblebees, and one very sparkly fish). Even when I can’t finish my meals, the staff here encourages me along and praises me for what I could do, not reprimanding me for what I couldn’t. My parents visit me just about every other day, and it gets a little bit easier every time to open up to them about a part of my life that I’ve hid for so very long. I knit blankets, I color pictures of finely decorated swear words, I cuddle up with my housemates every night and watch a minimum of four episodes of The Office. I’m learning each and every day that the process of recovery from this disease is just that - a process. It’s going to take time. And that’s ok.

Yesterday was my first day allowed out of the house by myself. I had four hours to do whatever I wanted, as long as I remembered to have a proper snack right at 3:15 PM. I went to Starbucks first, thinking that’s where I would land for the entire duration of my pass, but after taking a few sips of my full-fat chai latte (because, contrary to my eating disorder’s thinking, 2% milk will not kill me), I found myself driving towards Ohio City and walking into Voodoo Monkey Tattoo, the first tattoo shop opened in Cleveland. I met my artist, named Dave, who asked me what I was doing for a living. Unlike what I tell most people (”oh I’m a student, just home for a little break before I go back”), I didn’t hesitate to tell Dave what I was actually doing in Cleveland. Maybe it was because he had a gun made up of tiny needles and black ink in his hand, maybe it was because I was just feeling extra chatty that day, but I told someone for the first time what I was struggling with, without the fear of being judged or misunderstood. His response was perfect. 

“Oh shit. Sorry, girl.”

I relaxed in the chair a little more and in the next fifteen minutes, I walked away with a beautiful olive branch woven into my skin in black ink. The olive branch, of course, is a symbol of peace. But for me, it has also become a symbol of growth. Of hope. Of a brand new life just around the corner.

I know I’m only in the very beginning stages of recovery. I know that my eating disorder will not magically disappear once I no longer have trouble eating pasta, or don’t go on excessive runs or bike rides after I eat a handful of nuts. I know that, somewhere along the road, I will fall back into familiar habits. I will need ongoing therapy, and ongoing conversation with family, and ongoing encouragement from the people that surround me every day. But I also know that that is no fault of my own. Being sick is not my fault. Leaving school is not my fault. The burdens I have carried on my back for a lifetime do not belong to me. I will have good days and bad days and days somewhere in between, but each and every day from here on out, I hope that I can take a minute to pause, breathe, and set down my worries and my burdens in order to pick up my own olive branch. 

Peace, hope, and a brand new life - they are just around the corner.

[blogparadiseisland]

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections http://www.nature-business.com/nature-everything-you-need-to-know-for-the-midterm-elections/

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Nature When are the midterms?

Nov. 6, 2018. Bring a friend.

days, hours, minutes and seconds left.

Nature What’s at stake in Washington?

435 U.S. House seats and 33 U.S. Senate seats.

Matters of interest include: which party controls the two chambers of Congress and has oversight power of President Trump and his administration. (Hint: Democrats will investigate far more aggressively than Republicans have, if given the chance.) Also, voters are generally eligible for those little “I Voted” stickers, which tend to be crowd pleasers.

Good to know: House seats are up every two years. But because senators serve six-year terms, which are staggered, 33 states have Senate races this fall.

Nature What about outside of Washington?

6,665 state positions and thousands more local ones.

Don’t forget the governorships, state legislative seats and scores of other nonfederal offices, down to the municipal level. Thirty-six states will elect governors this year.

Nature Who’s going to win the House?

Definitely the Democrats.Definitely the Democrats.Or the Republicans.Or the Republicans.Definitely one of those.

There has been talk of a so-called blue wave lifting Democrats to majorities in the House and Senate. And there are credible signs that Democrats are intensely energized this year. But a strong economy and protectiveness of President Trump will motivate plenty of Republicans. So there’s no guarantee which party will win big — there are just too many tight races. Take a spin through these poll results, and see for yourself.

Nature If Democrats take the House, what happens?

Politically: investigations, lectern-pounding, maybe impeachment proceedings. Legislatively: probably next to nothing, with a return to divided government. Which Democrats would consider a significant upgrade.

Nature If Republicans keep the House, what happens?

Politically: more one-party rule in Washington, perhaps an even more emboldened Mr. Trump, almost certainly no impeachment. Legislatively: more deregulation, maybe more tax cuts, maybe another run at repealing the Affordable Care Act.

Nature How many House seats do Democrats need to pick up to take over the House?

Nature How do they get there?

Start with many of the 23 Republican-held seats in districts that Hillary Clinton won in 2016.

But Democrats see plausible openings in dozens of districts, from diverse metro areas and suburbs — where many college-educated voters think little of Mr. Trump — to some rural seats. Here, we created a field guide to the main battlefields for control of the House.

Nature How many Americans live in competitive congressional districts?

More than 50 million or so.

There are about 75 competitive races out of 435 House seats. Districts are each intended to have about 700,000 people. So that gives us more than 50 million in competitive districts.

Nature Which states have the most competitive House races?

These 30.

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There are consequential races all over: California, the northeast (Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey), the Midwest (Iowa, Illinois, Minnesota), even traditional Republican strongholds like Texas. We’re keeping track of the tightest ones.

Nature Does my vote matter?

Yes.

I mean, sure, it is unlikely that your vote will be the literal tiebreaker in a given election. But this is not impossible! And the whole exercise can be civically meaningful even in races decided by more than one vote.

Plus, midterm turnout generally lags well behind presidential year turnout. So it’s a great opportunity for contrarians to undercut statistical expectations, if that’s your thing.

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Nature Can I vote early?

Depends on where you live. Early voting has already started in some states. Here’s a good roundup.

Nature How late can I register? Where do I vote?

Rules vary by state. This page is a useful guide.

Nature Will my vote be safe?

Probably. Maybe.

But really: There are serious questions about protecting the integrity of the vote — and the election process. And, as ever, the White House has been a wild card. Mr. Trump, who has often questioned the intelligence community’s consensus on Russian interference in 2016, has signed an executive order to punish foreign meddling, but lawmakers in both parties have been pushing for something more aggressive.

We broke down what we know about the Russia story for you here and here.

Nature What role is social media playing in the midterms?

A large one.

The prominence of platforms like Facebook, Twitter and Snapchat is nothing new for campaigns, but never before have politicians had more options to circumvent traditional media. One critical example: Candidates are aiming to produce the next viral video as a proxy for pricey television commercials, and often sharing the message largely through social media.

Nature What is Facebook doing differently?

Between expansive data leaks and (actual) fake news, in 2016 and since, it has not been a great run for Facebook. Besides the ubiquitous ads vaguely apologizing, the company has said it is on the case, on both fronts, but already the threat of influence on campaigns has proved very real in 2018.

The company has cited outside attempts to affect the midterms, with tactics that bear a strong resemblance to the Russians’ in 2016. One of many challenges for Facebook, as my colleague Kevin Roose wrote recently, is “to separate the ordinary rants and raves of legitimate users from coordinated, possibly state-backed attempts to sway public opinion.”

Nature How does the special counsel investigation affect the midterms?

Hard to say.

Many Democratic candidates have largely avoided the Russia affair to date, preferring to talk about domestic issues. But Nov. 6 is still a long way off, in political terms, and a major breakthrough in the investigation led by the special counsel, Robert S. Mueller III (or other inquiries into the president and those close to him), could become an “October surprise.”

Nature What kinds of policy discussions have dominated races?

Healthcare is universally a biggie, often with debates on two tracks: between Democrats and Republicans on the merits of the Affordable Care Act (still) and between Democrats and Democrats on whether Medicare for all is the long-term answer. Others: immigration, education, gun control.

Nature Do Democrats have a chance to take the Senate, too?

Sure, but the road is long.

Ten Democrats are up for re-election in states that Mr. Trump won in 2016, several of which he won bigly. By contrast, Democrats have a realistic chance to gain seats in only a few states, so their margin for error is close to zero, with Republicans already holding a slim majority.

Nature Which Republican-held seats must the Democrats win to have any shot at capturing the Senate?

Nevada, Arizona, Tennessee.

Texas is also on the radar, with Representative Beto O’Rourke running a strong race against Senator Ted Cruz, the man Democrats love to really, really not love.

Nature If the House and Senate split, what are the odds of any major legislation getting passed for two years?

Nature What sort of Republican candidates made it through the primaries?

The ones who seemed the most like Mr. Trump.

They did quite well in Republican primaries, often with an endorsement assist from the president himself.

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Subtlety has been rare, particularly in ads. In Florida, Ron DeSantis’s successful bid for the nomination for governor included a spot that found his young child wearing a “Make America Great Again” onesie. In another ad in Georgia, Brian Kemp, the Republican nominee for governor, sat in a truck he pledged to use “just in case I need to round up criminal illegals and take them home myself.” But do voters in a general election want more Trumpism? We’ll find out.

Nature Is it really the “Year of the Woman”?

Certainly looks that way.

A record 257 women are running for the House and Senate this fall, and more women have won House primaries than in any year in the nation’s history — 235.

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Women have also broken records in primaries for governor’s offices, and there are more woman vs. woman contests than ever before. And in many competitive races, women have emerged from crowded primary fields filled with men.

But despite a record number of female nominees, Congress remains a long way from achieving the gender breakdown of the country itself. Many of this year’s female nominees are running against men in competitive districts, or as long shots against male incumbents.

Nature What candidates are making Democrats excited?

The Democratic future appears to be young, progressive and racially diverse — from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the Democratic socialist who toppled a longtime House incumbent in a primary in New York; to Andrew Gillum, the Democratic nominee for governor in Florida; to Stacey Abrams, who is trying to become the nation’s first black female governor, in the Georgia race.

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Nature What candidates are making Republicans excited?

Nature Who can make history this year?

Lots of folks.

Andrew Gillum would be the first African-American to lead his state.

Stacey Abrams would be the first African-American woman to lead any state.

In Tennessee, Representative Marsha Blackburn, the Republican nominee for an open Senate seat, could become the state’s first female senator.

In Vermont, Christine Hallquist, a Democrat, is the first transgender candidate ever to be nominated for governor by a major party.

Rashida Tlaib of Michigan and Ilhan Omar of Minnesota, each seeking House seats, would be the first Muslim-American women in Congress.

Jared Polis of Colorado would become the first openly gay man to be elected governor.

Nature Have scandals affected the House outlook at all?

Well…

Two Republican congressmen from solidly red districts — Chris Collins of New York and Duncan Hunter of California — were indicted recently. Republicans, including the president, have expressed some worry about losing those seats now. Mr. Trump blamed Jeff Sessions, the attorney general, for the Justice Department’s decision to bring charges so close to November.

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Nature Is it common for a president to defend those accused of crimes on political grounds?

Nature Which Washington power players stand to lose the most on Election Day?

If Democrats fail to win the House, it’s hard to imagine Nancy Pelosi holding on for long as the party’s leader in the chamber. If Republicans somehow lose the Senate, their majority leader, Mitch McConnell, will probably not love life back in the minority. Confirming another conservative Supreme Court justice, for instance, would be quite difficult without 50 Republican votes.

Nature Are there ballot measures worth watching?

Several!

Among them: A handful of conservative states — Utah, Nebraska, Idaho — will consider proposals to expand Medicaid, with supporters hoping to outflank conservative lawmakers who have blocked the efforts legislatively. Some Western states have ballot initiatives involving energy pricing — including one in California about the state gas tax and another in Washington State on carbon emissions. And in Florida, a closely watched measure would re-establish voting rights for convicted felons who have served their time.

Nature Are the midterms just a referendum on Mr. Trump?

Largely, but not exclusively.

Local issues always matter, sometimes quite a bit. And policies from the Republican Congress — like the tax overhaul and the push for health care repeal — might be powerful motivators for many voters, for reasons that have little to do with Mr. Trump alone.

Nature Is Mr. Trump a boon or a liability for Republican candidates?

It’s like the real estate market: all about location, location, location.

Generally, the president is useful where he’s popular and less useful where he’s not. (Stunning, yes.) But many Republicans all over the map are welcoming his help. In 2016, Mr. Trump mocked Ted Cruz’s wife, his father and his faith.

Now Mr. Cruz, facing a tough re-election, plans to have Mr. Trump headline a rally in Texas.

Nature Can I trust the polls?

Yes and no!

Generally, polls are more revealing about the electorate and issues than highly accurate predictors for Election Day. This year, many projections suggest that Democrats have a better than 50-50 chance of taking back the House. And no one is saying it’s a sure thing. Here at The New York Times, the Upshot’s live polling project is a great example of both compelling data and radical candor about what we do not (and cannot) know for certain.

Nature O.K., the midterms end and then what?

Joy, relief, despair. And the 2020 presidential campaign basically starts immediately.

days, hours, minutes and seconds left.

Graphics by Sarah Almukhtar. Russian translation by Yuliya Parshina-Kottas.

Sources: United States Elections Project (voter turnout); Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University (female primary winners); Cook Political Report (states to watch).

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/10/02/us/politics/2018-midterm-election-guide.html | Matt Flegenheimer, Grant Gold, Umi Syam

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections, in 2018-10-07 01:39:59

[blogcompetnetall]

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections http://www.nature-business.com/nature-everything-you-need-to-know-for-the-midterm-elections/

Nature

Instructions for using this form

To reveal the answer, click on the question marked with an arrow

Arrow

Asset 2

Expand All

Collapse All

Nature When are the midterms?

Nov. 6, 2018. Bring a friend.

days, hours, minutes and seconds left.

Nature What’s at stake in Washington?

435 U.S. House seats and 33 U.S. Senate seats.

Matters of interest include: which party controls the two chambers of Congress and has oversight power of President Trump and his administration. (Hint: Democrats will investigate far more aggressively than Republicans have, if given the chance.) Also, voters are generally eligible for those little “I Voted” stickers, which tend to be crowd pleasers.

Good to know: House seats are up every two years. But because senators serve six-year terms, which are staggered, 33 states have Senate races this fall.

Nature What about outside of Washington?

6,665 state positions and thousands more local ones.

Don’t forget the governorships, state legislative seats and scores of other nonfederal offices, down to the municipal level. Thirty-six states will elect governors this year.

Nature Who’s going to win the House?

Definitely the Democrats.Definitely the Democrats.Or the Republicans.Or the Republicans.Definitely one of those.

There has been talk of a so-called blue wave lifting Democrats to majorities in the House and Senate. And there are credible signs that Democrats are intensely energized this year. But a strong economy and protectiveness of President Trump will motivate plenty of Republicans. So there’s no guarantee which party will win big — there are just too many tight races. Take a spin through these poll results, and see for yourself.

Nature If Democrats take the House, what happens?

Politically: investigations, lectern-pounding, maybe impeachment proceedings. Legislatively: probably next to nothing, with a return to divided government. Which Democrats would consider a significant upgrade.

Nature If Republicans keep the House, what happens?

Politically: more one-party rule in Washington, perhaps an even more emboldened Mr. Trump, almost certainly no impeachment. Legislatively: more deregulation, maybe more tax cuts, maybe another run at repealing the Affordable Care Act.

Nature How many House seats do Democrats need to pick up to take over the House?

Nature How do they get there?

Start with many of the 23 Republican-held seats in districts that Hillary Clinton won in 2016.

But Democrats see plausible openings in dozens of districts, from diverse metro areas and suburbs — where many college-educated voters think little of Mr. Trump — to some rural seats. Here, we created a field guide to the main battlefields for control of the House.

Nature How many Americans live in competitive congressional districts?

More than 50 million or so.

There are about 75 competitive races out of 435 House seats. Districts are each intended to have about 700,000 people. So that gives us more than 50 million in competitive districts.

Nature Which states have the most competitive House races?

These 30.

ME

WA

MT

MN

WI

MI

NY

NE

IA

IL

OH

PA

NJ

CA

NV

UT

CO

KS

MO

KY

WV

AZ

NM

AR

VA

NC

TX

GA

SC

FL

ME

WA

MT

MN

WI

MI

NY

NE

IA

IL

OH

PA

NJ

CA

NV

UT

CO

KS

MO

KY

WV

AZ

NM

AR

VA

NC

TX

GA

SC

FL

ME

WA

MT

MN

WI

MI

NY

NE

IA

IL

OH

PA

NJ

CA

NV

UT

CO

KS

MO

KY

WV

AZ

NM

AR

VA

NC

TX

GA

SC

FL

There are consequential races all over: California, the northeast (Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey), the Midwest (Iowa, Illinois, Minnesota), even traditional Republican strongholds like Texas. We’re keeping track of the tightest ones.

Nature Does my vote matter?

Yes.

I mean, sure, it is unlikely that your vote will be the literal tiebreaker in a given election. But this is not impossible! And the whole exercise can be civically meaningful even in races decided by more than one vote.

Plus, midterm turnout generally lags well behind presidential year turnout. So it’s a great opportunity for contrarians to undercut statistical expectations, if that’s your thing.

60%

presidential

year turnout

1950

2016

60%

presidential

year turnout

1950

2016

60%

presidential

year turnout

1950

2016

Nature Can I vote early?

Depends on where you live. Early voting has already started in some states. Here’s a good roundup.

Nature How late can I register? Where do I vote?

Rules vary by state. This page is a useful guide.

Nature Will my vote be safe?

Probably. Maybe.

But really: There are serious questions about protecting the integrity of the vote — and the election process. And, as ever, the White House has been a wild card. Mr. Trump, who has often questioned the intelligence community’s consensus on Russian interference in 2016, has signed an executive order to punish foreign meddling, but lawmakers in both parties have been pushing for something more aggressive.

We broke down what we know about the Russia story for you here and here.

Nature What role is social media playing in the midterms?

A large one.

The prominence of platforms like Facebook, Twitter and Snapchat is nothing new for campaigns, but never before have politicians had more options to circumvent traditional media. One critical example: Candidates are aiming to produce the next viral video as a proxy for pricey television commercials, and often sharing the message largely through social media.

Nature What is Facebook doing differently?

Between expansive data leaks and (actual) fake news, in 2016 and since, it has not been a great run for Facebook. Besides the ubiquitous ads vaguely apologizing, the company has said it is on the case, on both fronts, but already the threat of influence on campaigns has proved very real in 2018.

The company has cited outside attempts to affect the midterms, with tactics that bear a strong resemblance to the Russians’ in 2016. One of many challenges for Facebook, as my colleague Kevin Roose wrote recently, is “to separate the ordinary rants and raves of legitimate users from coordinated, possibly state-backed attempts to sway public opinion.”

Nature How does the special counsel investigation affect the midterms?

Hard to say.

Many Democratic candidates have largely avoided the Russia affair to date, preferring to talk about domestic issues. But Nov. 6 is still a long way off, in political terms, and a major breakthrough in the investigation led by the special counsel, Robert S. Mueller III (or other inquiries into the president and those close to him), could become an “October surprise.”

Nature What kinds of policy discussions have dominated races?

Healthcare is universally a biggie, often with debates on two tracks: between Democrats and Republicans on the merits of the Affordable Care Act (still) and between Democrats and Democrats on whether Medicare for all is the long-term answer. Others: immigration, education, gun control.

Nature Do Democrats have a chance to take the Senate, too?

Sure, but the road is long.

Ten Democrats are up for re-election in states that Mr. Trump won in 2016, several of which he won bigly. By contrast, Democrats have a realistic chance to gain seats in only a few states, so their margin for error is close to zero, with Republicans already holding a slim majority.

Nature Which Republican-held seats must the Democrats win to have any shot at capturing the Senate?

Nevada, Arizona, Tennessee.

Texas is also on the radar, with Representative Beto O’Rourke running a strong race against Senator Ted Cruz, the man Democrats love to really, really not love.

Nature If the House and Senate split, what are the odds of any major legislation getting passed for two years?

Nature What sort of Republican candidates made it through the primaries?

The ones who seemed the most like Mr. Trump.

They did quite well in Republican primaries, often with an endorsement assist from the president himself.

31

primary candidates

endorsed by Trump won

31

primary candidates

endorsed by Trump won

31

primary candidates

endorsed by Trump won

Subtlety has been rare, particularly in ads. In Florida, Ron DeSantis’s successful bid for the nomination for governor included a spot that found his young child wearing a “Make America Great Again” onesie. In another ad in Georgia, Brian Kemp, the Republican nominee for governor, sat in a truck he pledged to use “just in case I need to round up criminal illegals and take them home myself.” But do voters in a general election want more Trumpism? We’ll find out.

Nature Is it really the “Year of the Woman”?

Certainly looks that way.

A record 257 women are running for the House and Senate this fall, and more women have won House primaries than in any year in the nation’s history — 235.

235

women won House

primaries in 2018

1970

2018

235

women won House

primaries in 2018

1950

2018

235

women won House

primaries in 2018

1950

2018

Women have also broken records in primaries for governor’s offices, and there are more woman vs. woman contests than ever before. And in many competitive races, women have emerged from crowded primary fields filled with men.

But despite a record number of female nominees, Congress remains a long way from achieving the gender breakdown of the country itself. Many of this year’s female nominees are running against men in competitive districts, or as long shots against male incumbents.

Nature What candidates are making Democrats excited?

The Democratic future appears to be young, progressive and racially diverse — from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the Democratic socialist who toppled a longtime House incumbent in a primary in New York; to Andrew Gillum, the Democratic nominee for governor in Florida; to Stacey Abrams, who is trying to become the nation’s first black female governor, in the Georgia race.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Stacey Abrams

Andrew Gillum

Nature What candidates are making Republicans excited?

Nature Who can make history this year?

Lots of folks.

Andrew Gillum would be the first African-American to lead his state.

Stacey Abrams would be the first African-American woman to lead any state.

In Tennessee, Representative Marsha Blackburn, the Republican nominee for an open Senate seat, could become the state’s first female senator.

In Vermont, Christine Hallquist, a Democrat, is the first transgender candidate ever to be nominated for governor by a major party.

Rashida Tlaib of Michigan and Ilhan Omar of Minnesota, each seeking House seats, would be the first Muslim-American women in Congress.

Jared Polis of Colorado would become the first openly gay man to be elected governor.

Nature Have scandals affected the House outlook at all?

Well…

Two Republican congressmen from solidly red districts — Chris Collins of New York and Duncan Hunter of California — were indicted recently. Republicans, including the president, have expressed some worry about losing those seats now. Mr. Trump blamed Jeff Sessions, the attorney general, for the Justice Department’s decision to bring charges so close to November.

Chris Collins

Duncan Hunter

Nature Is it common for a president to defend those accused of crimes on political grounds?

Nature Which Washington power players stand to lose the most on Election Day?

If Democrats fail to win the House, it’s hard to imagine Nancy Pelosi holding on for long as the party’s leader in the chamber. If Republicans somehow lose the Senate, their majority leader, Mitch McConnell, will probably not love life back in the minority. Confirming another conservative Supreme Court justice, for instance, would be quite difficult without 50 Republican votes.

Nature Are there ballot measures worth watching?

Several!

Among them: A handful of conservative states — Utah, Nebraska, Idaho — will consider proposals to expand Medicaid, with supporters hoping to outflank conservative lawmakers who have blocked the efforts legislatively. Some Western states have ballot initiatives involving energy pricing — including one in California about the state gas tax and another in Washington State on carbon emissions. And in Florida, a closely watched measure would re-establish voting rights for convicted felons who have served their time.

Nature Are the midterms just a referendum on Mr. Trump?

Largely, but not exclusively.

Local issues always matter, sometimes quite a bit. And policies from the Republican Congress — like the tax overhaul and the push for health care repeal — might be powerful motivators for many voters, for reasons that have little to do with Mr. Trump alone.

Nature Is Mr. Trump a boon or a liability for Republican candidates?

It’s like the real estate market: all about location, location, location.

Generally, the president is useful where he’s popular and less useful where he’s not. (Stunning, yes.) But many Republicans all over the map are welcoming his help. In 2016, Mr. Trump mocked Ted Cruz’s wife, his father and his faith.

Now Mr. Cruz, facing a tough re-election, plans to have Mr. Trump headline a rally in Texas.

Nature Can I trust the polls?

Yes and no!

Generally, polls are more revealing about the electorate and issues than highly accurate predictors for Election Day. This year, many projections suggest that Democrats have a better than 50-50 chance of taking back the House. And no one is saying it’s a sure thing. Here at The New York Times, the Upshot’s live polling project is a great example of both compelling data and radical candor about what we do not (and cannot) know for certain.

Nature O.K., the midterms end and then what?

Joy, relief, despair. And the 2020 presidential campaign basically starts immediately.

days, hours, minutes and seconds left.

Graphics by Sarah Almukhtar. Russian translation by Yuliya Parshina-Kottas.

Sources: United States Elections Project (voter turnout); Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University (female primary winners); Cook Political Report (states to watch).

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/10/02/us/politics/2018-midterm-election-guide.html | Matt Flegenheimer, Grant Gold, Umi Syam

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections, in 2018-10-07 01:39:59

[computacionalblog]

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections http://www.nature-business.com/nature-everything-you-need-to-know-for-the-midterm-elections/

Nature

Instructions for using this form

To reveal the answer, click on the question marked with an arrow

Arrow

Asset 2

Expand All

Collapse All

Nature When are the midterms?

Nov. 6, 2018. Bring a friend.

days, hours, minutes and seconds left.

Nature What’s at stake in Washington?

435 U.S. House seats and 33 U.S. Senate seats.

Matters of interest include: which party controls the two chambers of Congress and has oversight power of President Trump and his administration. (Hint: Democrats will investigate far more aggressively than Republicans have, if given the chance.) Also, voters are generally eligible for those little “I Voted” stickers, which tend to be crowd pleasers.

Good to know: House seats are up every two years. But because senators serve six-year terms, which are staggered, 33 states have Senate races this fall.

Nature What about outside of Washington?

6,665 state positions and thousands more local ones.

Don’t forget the governorships, state legislative seats and scores of other nonfederal offices, down to the municipal level. Thirty-six states will elect governors this year.

Nature Who’s going to win the House?

Definitely the Democrats.Definitely the Democrats.Or the Republicans.Or the Republicans.Definitely one of those.

There has been talk of a so-called blue wave lifting Democrats to majorities in the House and Senate. And there are credible signs that Democrats are intensely energized this year. But a strong economy and protectiveness of President Trump will motivate plenty of Republicans. So there’s no guarantee which party will win big — there are just too many tight races. Take a spin through these poll results, and see for yourself.

Nature If Democrats take the House, what happens?

Politically: investigations, lectern-pounding, maybe impeachment proceedings. Legislatively: probably next to nothing, with a return to divided government. Which Democrats would consider a significant upgrade.

Nature If Republicans keep the House, what happens?

Politically: more one-party rule in Washington, perhaps an even more emboldened Mr. Trump, almost certainly no impeachment. Legislatively: more deregulation, maybe more tax cuts, maybe another run at repealing the Affordable Care Act.

Nature How many House seats do Democrats need to pick up to take over the House?

Nature How do they get there?

Start with many of the 23 Republican-held seats in districts that Hillary Clinton won in 2016.

But Democrats see plausible openings in dozens of districts, from diverse metro areas and suburbs — where many college-educated voters think little of Mr. Trump — to some rural seats. Here, we created a field guide to the main battlefields for control of the House.

Nature How many Americans live in competitive congressional districts?

More than 50 million or so.

There are about 75 competitive races out of 435 House seats. Districts are each intended to have about 700,000 people. So that gives us more than 50 million in competitive districts.

Nature Which states have the most competitive House races?

These 30.

ME

WA

MT

MN

WI

MI

NY

NE

IA

IL

OH

PA

NJ

CA

NV

UT

CO

KS

MO

KY

WV

AZ

NM

AR

VA

NC

TX

GA

SC

FL

ME

WA

MT

MN

WI

MI

NY

NE

IA

IL

OH

PA

NJ

CA

NV

UT

CO

KS

MO

KY

WV

AZ

NM

AR

VA

NC

TX

GA

SC

FL

ME

WA

MT

MN

WI

MI

NY

NE

IA

IL

OH

PA

NJ

CA

NV

UT

CO

KS

MO

KY

WV

AZ

NM

AR

VA

NC

TX

GA

SC

FL

There are consequential races all over: California, the northeast (Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey), the Midwest (Iowa, Illinois, Minnesota), even traditional Republican strongholds like Texas. We’re keeping track of the tightest ones.

Nature Does my vote matter?

Yes.

I mean, sure, it is unlikely that your vote will be the literal tiebreaker in a given election. But this is not impossible! And the whole exercise can be civically meaningful even in races decided by more than one vote.

Plus, midterm turnout generally lags well behind presidential year turnout. So it’s a great opportunity for contrarians to undercut statistical expectations, if that’s your thing.

60%

presidential

year turnout

1950

2016

60%

presidential

year turnout

1950

2016

60%

presidential

year turnout

1950

2016

Nature Can I vote early?

Depends on where you live. Early voting has already started in some states. Here’s a good roundup.

Nature How late can I register? Where do I vote?

Rules vary by state. This page is a useful guide.

Nature Will my vote be safe?

Probably. Maybe.

But really: There are serious questions about protecting the integrity of the vote — and the election process. And, as ever, the White House has been a wild card. Mr. Trump, who has often questioned the intelligence community’s consensus on Russian interference in 2016, has signed an executive order to punish foreign meddling, but lawmakers in both parties have been pushing for something more aggressive.

We broke down what we know about the Russia story for you here and here.

Nature What role is social media playing in the midterms?

A large one.

The prominence of platforms like Facebook, Twitter and Snapchat is nothing new for campaigns, but never before have politicians had more options to circumvent traditional media. One critical example: Candidates are aiming to produce the next viral video as a proxy for pricey television commercials, and often sharing the message largely through social media.

Nature What is Facebook doing differently?

Between expansive data leaks and (actual) fake news, in 2016 and since, it has not been a great run for Facebook. Besides the ubiquitous ads vaguely apologizing, the company has said it is on the case, on both fronts, but already the threat of influence on campaigns has proved very real in 2018.

The company has cited outside attempts to affect the midterms, with tactics that bear a strong resemblance to the Russians’ in 2016. One of many challenges for Facebook, as my colleague Kevin Roose wrote recently, is “to separate the ordinary rants and raves of legitimate users from coordinated, possibly state-backed attempts to sway public opinion.”

Nature How does the special counsel investigation affect the midterms?

Hard to say.

Many Democratic candidates have largely avoided the Russia affair to date, preferring to talk about domestic issues. But Nov. 6 is still a long way off, in political terms, and a major breakthrough in the investigation led by the special counsel, Robert S. Mueller III (or other inquiries into the president and those close to him), could become an “October surprise.”

Nature What kinds of policy discussions have dominated races?

Healthcare is universally a biggie, often with debates on two tracks: between Democrats and Republicans on the merits of the Affordable Care Act (still) and between Democrats and Democrats on whether Medicare for all is the long-term answer. Others: immigration, education, gun control.

Nature Do Democrats have a chance to take the Senate, too?

Sure, but the road is long.

Ten Democrats are up for re-election in states that Mr. Trump won in 2016, several of which he won bigly. By contrast, Democrats have a realistic chance to gain seats in only a few states, so their margin for error is close to zero, with Republicans already holding a slim majority.

Nature Which Republican-held seats must the Democrats win to have any shot at capturing the Senate?

Nevada, Arizona, Tennessee.

Texas is also on the radar, with Representative Beto O’Rourke running a strong race against Senator Ted Cruz, the man Democrats love to really, really not love.

Nature If the House and Senate split, what are the odds of any major legislation getting passed for two years?

Nature What sort of Republican candidates made it through the primaries?

The ones who seemed the most like Mr. Trump.

They did quite well in Republican primaries, often with an endorsement assist from the president himself.

31

primary candidates

endorsed by Trump won

31

primary candidates

endorsed by Trump won

31

primary candidates

endorsed by Trump won

Subtlety has been rare, particularly in ads. In Florida, Ron DeSantis’s successful bid for the nomination for governor included a spot that found his young child wearing a “Make America Great Again” onesie. In another ad in Georgia, Brian Kemp, the Republican nominee for governor, sat in a truck he pledged to use “just in case I need to round up criminal illegals and take them home myself.” But do voters in a general election want more Trumpism? We’ll find out.

Nature Is it really the “Year of the Woman”?

Certainly looks that way.

A record 257 women are running for the House and Senate this fall, and more women have won House primaries than in any year in the nation’s history — 235.

235

women won House

primaries in 2018

1970

2018

235

women won House

primaries in 2018

1950

2018

235

women won House

primaries in 2018

1950

2018

Women have also broken records in primaries for governor’s offices, and there are more woman vs. woman contests than ever before. And in many competitive races, women have emerged from crowded primary fields filled with men.

But despite a record number of female nominees, Congress remains a long way from achieving the gender breakdown of the country itself. Many of this year’s female nominees are running against men in competitive districts, or as long shots against male incumbents.

Nature What candidates are making Democrats excited?

The Democratic future appears to be young, progressive and racially diverse — from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the Democratic socialist who toppled a longtime House incumbent in a primary in New York; to Andrew Gillum, the Democratic nominee for governor in Florida; to Stacey Abrams, who is trying to become the nation’s first black female governor, in the Georgia race.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Stacey Abrams

Andrew Gillum

Nature What candidates are making Republicans excited?

Nature Who can make history this year?

Lots of folks.

Andrew Gillum would be the first African-American to lead his state.

Stacey Abrams would be the first African-American woman to lead any state.

In Tennessee, Representative Marsha Blackburn, the Republican nominee for an open Senate seat, could become the state’s first female senator.

In Vermont, Christine Hallquist, a Democrat, is the first transgender candidate ever to be nominated for governor by a major party.

Rashida Tlaib of Michigan and Ilhan Omar of Minnesota, each seeking House seats, would be the first Muslim-American women in Congress.

Jared Polis of Colorado would become the first openly gay man to be elected governor.

Nature Have scandals affected the House outlook at all?

Well…

Two Republican congressmen from solidly red districts — Chris Collins of New York and Duncan Hunter of California — were indicted recently. Republicans, including the president, have expressed some worry about losing those seats now. Mr. Trump blamed Jeff Sessions, the attorney general, for the Justice Department’s decision to bring charges so close to November.

Chris Collins

Duncan Hunter

Nature Is it common for a president to defend those accused of crimes on political grounds?

Nature Which Washington power players stand to lose the most on Election Day?

If Democrats fail to win the House, it’s hard to imagine Nancy Pelosi holding on for long as the party’s leader in the chamber. If Republicans somehow lose the Senate, their majority leader, Mitch McConnell, will probably not love life back in the minority. Confirming another conservative Supreme Court justice, for instance, would be quite difficult without 50 Republican votes.

Nature Are there ballot measures worth watching?

Several!

Among them: A handful of conservative states — Utah, Nebraska, Idaho — will consider proposals to expand Medicaid, with supporters hoping to outflank conservative lawmakers who have blocked the efforts legislatively. Some Western states have ballot initiatives involving energy pricing — including one in California about the state gas tax and another in Washington State on carbon emissions. And in Florida, a closely watched measure would re-establish voting rights for convicted felons who have served their time.

Nature Are the midterms just a referendum on Mr. Trump?

Largely, but not exclusively.

Local issues always matter, sometimes quite a bit. And policies from the Republican Congress — like the tax overhaul and the push for health care repeal — might be powerful motivators for many voters, for reasons that have little to do with Mr. Trump alone.

Nature Is Mr. Trump a boon or a liability for Republican candidates?

It’s like the real estate market: all about location, location, location.

Generally, the president is useful where he’s popular and less useful where he’s not. (Stunning, yes.) But many Republicans all over the map are welcoming his help. In 2016, Mr. Trump mocked Ted Cruz’s wife, his father and his faith.

Now Mr. Cruz, facing a tough re-election, plans to have Mr. Trump headline a rally in Texas.

Nature Can I trust the polls?

Yes and no!

Generally, polls are more revealing about the electorate and issues than highly accurate predictors for Election Day. This year, many projections suggest that Democrats have a better than 50-50 chance of taking back the House. And no one is saying it’s a sure thing. Here at The New York Times, the Upshot’s live polling project is a great example of both compelling data and radical candor about what we do not (and cannot) know for certain.

Nature O.K., the midterms end and then what?

Joy, relief, despair. And the 2020 presidential campaign basically starts immediately.

days, hours, minutes and seconds left.

Graphics by Sarah Almukhtar. Russian translation by Yuliya Parshina-Kottas.

Sources: United States Elections Project (voter turnout); Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University (female primary winners); Cook Political Report (states to watch).

Read More | https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/10/02/us/politics/2018-midterm-election-guide.html | Matt Flegenheimer, Grant Gold, Umi Syam

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections, in 2018-10-07 01:39:59

[internetbasic9]

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections https://ift.tt/2ObHrLk

Nature

Instructions for using this form

To reveal the answer, click on the question marked with an arrow

Arrow

Asset 2

Expand All

Collapse All

Nature When are the midterms?

Nov. 6, 2018. Bring a friend.

days, hours, minutes and seconds left.

Nature What’s at stake in Washington?

435 U.S. House seats and 33 U.S. Senate seats.

Matters of interest include: which party controls the two chambers of Congress and has oversight power of President Trump and his administration. (Hint: Democrats will investigate far more aggressively than Republicans have, if given the chance.) Also, voters are generally eligible for those little “I Voted” stickers, which tend to be crowd pleasers.

Good to know: House seats are up every two years. But because senators serve six-year terms, which are staggered, 33 states have Senate races this fall.

Nature What about outside of Washington?

6,665 state positions and thousands more local ones.

Don’t forget the governorships, state legislative seats and scores of other nonfederal offices, down to the municipal level. Thirty-six states will elect governors this year.

Nature Who’s going to win the House?

Definitely the Democrats.Definitely the Democrats.Or the Republicans.Or the Republicans.Definitely one of those.

There has been talk of a so-called blue wave lifting Democrats to majorities in the House and Senate. And there are credible signs that Democrats are intensely energized this year. But a strong economy and protectiveness of President Trump will motivate plenty of Republicans. So there’s no guarantee which party will win big — there are just too many tight races. Take a spin through these poll results, and see for yourself.

Nature If Democrats take the House, what happens?

Politically: investigations, lectern-pounding, maybe impeachment proceedings. Legislatively: probably next to nothing, with a return to divided government. Which Democrats would consider a significant upgrade.

Nature If Republicans keep the House, what happens?

Politically: more one-party rule in Washington, perhaps an even more emboldened Mr. Trump, almost certainly no impeachment. Legislatively: more deregulation, maybe more tax cuts, maybe another run at repealing the Affordable Care Act.

Nature How many House seats do Democrats need to pick up to take over the House?

Nature How do they get there?

Start with many of the 23 Republican-held seats in districts that Hillary Clinton won in 2016.

But Democrats see plausible openings in dozens of districts, from diverse metro areas and suburbs — where many college-educated voters think little of Mr. Trump — to some rural seats. Here, we created a field guide to the main battlefields for control of the House.

Nature How many Americans live in competitive congressional districts?

More than 50 million or so.

There are about 75 competitive races out of 435 House seats. Districts are each intended to have about 700,000 people. So that gives us more than 50 million in competitive districts.

Nature Which states have the most competitive House races?

These 30.

ME

WA

MT

MN

WI

MI

NY

NE

IA

IL

OH

PA

NJ

CA

NV

UT

CO

KS

MO

KY

WV

AZ

NM

AR

VA

NC

TX

GA

SC

FL

ME

WA

MT

MN

WI

MI

NY

NE

IA

IL

OH

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There are consequential races all over: California, the northeast (Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey), the Midwest (Iowa, Illinois, Minnesota), even traditional Republican strongholds like Texas. We’re keeping track of the tightest ones.

Nature Does my vote matter?

Yes.

I mean, sure, it is unlikely that your vote will be the literal tiebreaker in a given election. But this is not impossible! And the whole exercise can be civically meaningful even in races decided by more than one vote.

Plus, midterm turnout generally lags well behind presidential year turnout. So it’s a great opportunity for contrarians to undercut statistical expectations, if that’s your thing.

60%

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Nature Can I vote early?

Depends on where you live. Early voting has already started in some states. Here’s a good roundup.

Nature How late can I register? Where do I vote?

Rules vary by state. This page is a useful guide.

Nature Will my vote be safe?

Probably. Maybe.

But really: There are serious questions about protecting the integrity of the vote — and the election process. And, as ever, the White House has been a wild card. Mr. Trump, who has often questioned the intelligence community’s consensus on Russian interference in 2016, has signed an executive order to punish foreign meddling, but lawmakers in both parties have been pushing for something more aggressive.

We broke down what we know about the Russia story for you here and here.

Nature What role is social media playing in the midterms?

A large one.

The prominence of platforms like Facebook, Twitter and Snapchat is nothing new for campaigns, but never before have politicians had more options to circumvent traditional media. One critical example: Candidates are aiming to produce the next viral video as a proxy for pricey television commercials, and often sharing the message largely through social media.

Nature What is Facebook doing differently?

Between expansive data leaks and (actual) fake news, in 2016 and since, it has not been a great run for Facebook. Besides the ubiquitous ads vaguely apologizing, the company has said it is on the case, on both fronts, but already the threat of influence on campaigns has proved very real in 2018.

The company has cited outside attempts to affect the midterms, with tactics that bear a strong resemblance to the Russians’ in 2016. One of many challenges for Facebook, as my colleague Kevin Roose wrote recently, is “to separate the ordinary rants and raves of legitimate users from coordinated, possibly state-backed attempts to sway public opinion.”

Nature How does the special counsel investigation affect the midterms?

Hard to say.

Many Democratic candidates have largely avoided the Russia affair to date, preferring to talk about domestic issues. But Nov. 6 is still a long way off, in political terms, and a major breakthrough in the investigation led by the special counsel, Robert S. Mueller III (or other inquiries into the president and those close to him), could become an “October surprise.”

Nature What kinds of policy discussions have dominated races?

Healthcare is universally a biggie, often with debates on two tracks: between Democrats and Republicans on the merits of the Affordable Care Act (still) and between Democrats and Democrats on whether Medicare for all is the long-term answer. Others: immigration, education, gun control.

Nature Do Democrats have a chance to take the Senate, too?

Sure, but the road is long.

Ten Democrats are up for re-election in states that Mr. Trump won in 2016, several of which he won bigly. By contrast, Democrats have a realistic chance to gain seats in only a few states, so their margin for error is close to zero, with Republicans already holding a slim majority.

Nature Which Republican-held seats must the Democrats win to have any shot at capturing the Senate?

Nevada, Arizona, Tennessee.

Texas is also on the radar, with Representative Beto O’Rourke running a strong race against Senator Ted Cruz, the man Democrats love to really, really not love.

Nature If the House and Senate split, what are the odds of any major legislation getting passed for two years?

Nature What sort of Republican candidates made it through the primaries?

The ones who seemed the most like Mr. Trump.

They did quite well in Republican primaries, often with an endorsement assist from the president himself.

31

primary candidates

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endorsed by Trump won

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Subtlety has been rare, particularly in ads. In Florida, Ron DeSantis’s successful bid for the nomination for governor included a spot that found his young child wearing a “Make America Great Again” onesie. In another ad in Georgia, Brian Kemp, the Republican nominee for governor, sat in a truck he pledged to use “just in case I need to round up criminal illegals and take them home myself.” But do voters in a general election want more Trumpism? We’ll find out.

Nature Is it really the “Year of the Woman”?

Certainly looks that way.

A record 257 women are running for the House and Senate this fall, and more women have won House primaries than in any year in the nation’s history — 235.

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women won House

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235

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Women have also broken records in primaries for governor’s offices, and there are more woman vs. woman contests than ever before. And in many competitive races, women have emerged from crowded primary fields filled with men.

But despite a record number of female nominees, Congress remains a long way from achieving the gender breakdown of the country itself. Many of this year’s female nominees are running against men in competitive districts, or as long shots against male incumbents.

Nature What candidates are making Democrats excited?

The Democratic future appears to be young, progressive and racially diverse — from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the Democratic socialist who toppled a longtime House incumbent in a primary in New York; to Andrew Gillum, the Democratic nominee for governor in Florida; to Stacey Abrams, who is trying to become the nation’s first black female governor, in the Georgia race.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Stacey Abrams

Andrew Gillum

Nature What candidates are making Republicans excited?

Nature Who can make history this year?

Lots of folks.

Andrew Gillum would be the first African-American to lead his state.

Stacey Abrams would be the first African-American woman to lead any state.

In Tennessee, Representative Marsha Blackburn, the Republican nominee for an open Senate seat, could become the state’s first female senator.

In Vermont, Christine Hallquist, a Democrat, is the first transgender candidate ever to be nominated for governor by a major party.

Rashida Tlaib of Michigan and Ilhan Omar of Minnesota, each seeking House seats, would be the first Muslim-American women in Congress.

Jared Polis of Colorado would become the first openly gay man to be elected governor.

Nature Have scandals affected the House outlook at all?

Well…

Two Republican congressmen from solidly red districts — Chris Collins of New York and Duncan Hunter of California — were indicted recently. Republicans, including the president, have expressed some worry about losing those seats now. Mr. Trump blamed Jeff Sessions, the attorney general, for the Justice Department’s decision to bring charges so close to November.

Chris Collins

Duncan Hunter

Nature Is it common for a president to defend those accused of crimes on political grounds?

Nature Which Washington power players stand to lose the most on Election Day?

If Democrats fail to win the House, it’s hard to imagine Nancy Pelosi holding on for long as the party’s leader in the chamber. If Republicans somehow lose the Senate, their majority leader, Mitch McConnell, will probably not love life back in the minority. Confirming another conservative Supreme Court justice, for instance, would be quite difficult without 50 Republican votes.

Nature Are there ballot measures worth watching?

Several!

Among them: A handful of conservative states — Utah, Nebraska, Idaho — will consider proposals to expand Medicaid, with supporters hoping to outflank conservative lawmakers who have blocked the efforts legislatively. Some Western states have ballot initiatives involving energy pricing — including one in California about the state gas tax and another in Washington State on carbon emissions. And in Florida, a closely watched measure would re-establish voting rights for convicted felons who have served their time.

Nature Are the midterms just a referendum on Mr. Trump?

Largely, but not exclusively.

Local issues always matter, sometimes quite a bit. And policies from the Republican Congress — like the tax overhaul and the push for health care repeal — might be powerful motivators for many voters, for reasons that have little to do with Mr. Trump alone.

Nature Is Mr. Trump a boon or a liability for Republican candidates?

It’s like the real estate market: all about location, location, location.

Generally, the president is useful where he’s popular and less useful where he’s not. (Stunning, yes.) But many Republicans all over the map are welcoming his help. In 2016, Mr. Trump mocked Ted Cruz’s wife, his father and his faith.

Now Mr. Cruz, facing a tough re-election, plans to have Mr. Trump headline a rally in Texas.

Nature Can I trust the polls?

Yes and no!

Generally, polls are more revealing about the electorate and issues than highly accurate predictors for Election Day. This year, many projections suggest that Democrats have a better than 50-50 chance of taking back the House. And no one is saying it’s a sure thing. Here at The New York Times, the Upshot’s live polling project is a great example of both compelling data and radical candor about what we do not (and cannot) know for certain.

Nature O.K., the midterms end and then what?

Joy, relief, despair. And the 2020 presidential campaign basically starts immediately.

days, hours, minutes and seconds left.

Graphics by Sarah Almukhtar. Russian translation by Yuliya Parshina-Kottas.

Sources: United States Elections Project (voter turnout); Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University (female primary winners); Cook Political Report (states to watch).

Read More | https://ift.tt/2y66DI8 | Matt Flegenheimer, Grant Gold, Umi Syam

Nature Everything You Need to Know for the Midterm Elections, in 2018-10-07 01:39:59

[sandygoestospace]

Sandy Goes to Space

The Year 2003

Miss Lucy peered over the classroom and cleared her throat. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you enjoyed your morning walk. Let’s now settle in for today’s lesson. Baxter, stop scratching your rear. Pay attention.”

Sandy watched Miss Lucy intently. She started daycare just two weeks earlier, and Miss Lucy’s morning lesson was her favorite part of the day. Sandy loved to learn.

“Today, we’ll be discussing outer space.” Miss Lucy looked to the window and pointed her stick upward. All the little heads followed, and an object flew by. “That’s a spaceship, everyone. That’s how you travel through space.” Miss Lucy looked over at Bubba. “Except you, Bubba. You should never go to space. You’ll have trouble breathing.” Sandy flipped her ears open. She wanted to hear every little detail.

The Year 2015

My goodness, I hate mornings. I think I get it from my original caretaker. Brigitte always loved sleeping in and cuddling, and when you’re a small Cocker Spaniel, cuddling is not a bad thing. I dare say, it’s a great thing. Brigitte would always wake up at the first sound of her alarm and then shut it off immediately. “Come here, Sandy,” she’d say to me as I laid at the end of the bed. Then, she’d pull me in, and we’d enjoy the last minutes of the morning together in a warm embrace. Oh, how I miss Brigitte. Now, I just sleep outside of her door, and when the sun hits my eyes, I’m up. I’m 84-years-old – 13 in human years – and I can’t sleep like I used to. Anyway, up and at ‘em.

I head downstairs for my morning lady tasks. It’s a bit bizarre to the outside world, but I am currently permitted to urinate and defecate in the home. I have to admit that it’s rather convenient. I hear the ladies at daycare complain about going outside in the rain and cold, and I proudly brag about my living arrangement. You most likely are wondering how this affects the smell of the home. Well, I do these things in the basement. I have my own little corner, and the smell does not travel to the rest of the house. It’s quite wonderful really. Since Brigitte moved away, her parents are my caretakers, and they’re very kind to an old bitch like myself.

All done, and it’s time for my morning news. Brigitte’s father frequently falls asleep on the couch while watching Fox News. This is good because I haven’t been able to master the television’s remote control. Every time I try to press a button, my paw seems to hit four of them. I’ve given up, but if the television is already on, I’m happy to sit and learn about current events. It seems that election season is upon us, and I have to tell you, I am really disappointed with the Republican candidates for president. I tend to lean red, but it would seem to me that there are some backward stances within the party. For example, what’s the problem with gay marriage? I think that a simple homosexual encounter would do these people some good. One time at doggy daycare, I had a bit of a moment with a beautiful French Bulldog. Her name was Yvette, and as it is with the French, she had such a nice coat. It was a spontaneous occurrence, but let me tell you, I’ve never been pleasured like that by a male. Maybe Marco and Jeb should open a nice bottle of chardonnay and ease some of their sexual tension. Donald seems the experimental type. Perhaps he can help Dr. Carson open his mind. Of course, there are some other issues too. How about climate change? I agree with many of the economic plans. For example, trickle-down economics is super. The quality of my treats improved under the Bush administration. But, the Republicans need to join the 21st century on some other issues. Hm, speaking of ladies, Elisabeth Hasselbeck’s legs look phenomenal this morning.

It’s a normal day in Brooklyn. Things are good.

---

I awake from my nap to the sound of Brigitte’s mother on the phone with her daughter. “Ok, fine. I’ll send Sandy to you. I know you miss her. I’m so worried that she’s too old for the move though.”

Yeah, dear. I’m worried too! Where’d this idea come from? I have friends here. I have a comfortable couch here. I get to defecate and urinate in the home! Yes, I miss Brigitte. I don’t deny it. But, she visits, and I see her often enough. As they say in the movies, “I’m too old for this shit.” (Excuse my language, please.)

“I’ll look at tickets tonight.”

Tickets?! This can’t be good. Tickets means one thing – space travel. After we lost Bubba five years ago, I’ve been terrified at the thought. No matter that I’m not engineered with a Bulldog’s flat face; it’s a risk I don’t need. Brigitte’s mother walks over to her computer. I’m in trouble.

---

The car starts, and it’s time for the road to my death. Here’s what’s running through my mind: 1) If I had Hasselbeck’s legs, I’d, of course, be able to reach over and save myself. Those legs come with the pointiest heels. I love Brigitte’s father, but he’d get a stiletto in the arm, for sure. Maybe even the neck; 2) I didn’t get a proper last meal. Even the psychopaths on death row are treated better. If I were given a last meal, it’d be filet mignon cooked medium rare with a fruit salad for dessert. Fruit is my favorite thing in the world, and I really only need two items in the salad – apples and oranges; 3) How will I be secured for space travel? Our friend Twixy the Pomeranian told us that she was permitted to board inside of the ship. Oscar the Great Dane was forced into the cargo hold. I believe that the answer to my question is grounded in the size of the dog. I’m between Twixy and Oscar, but what the “F” does that mean for me? (Again, excuse my language); 4) If I ever see Brigitte, I will bite her.

We pull up to the space station. Ships are taking off and landing. There’s a rhythm to the process. A bit like Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake – peaceful. From my understanding, it’s different when you’re inside the ship. More like Jagger’s Satisfaction – raucous. We park, and Brigitte’s mother leads me by the noose (leash, whatever) to the station. I see no other dogs, which is depressing. It’d be nice to have some companionship in this scary moment. But, I’m a strong woman, and I will face death with courage.

When we get inside the station, it’s straight to a lady wearing a uniform and standing beside a tall podium. She must be important.

“Hi there. I’m sending this dog to Atlanta,” says Brigitte’s mother. “I’m worried about the trip. Can she be kept in the closet inside the cabin?”

“No, ma’am,” the important lady says. “This dog is too large. She’ll have to go in cargo.”

Blast it. To the cargo hold it is.

“And, do you have a cage for her?” asks the important lady.

“No.”

“Ok. Well, I’ll have one brought over.” The lady makes a phone call and then returns to her conversation with Brigitte’s mother. They discuss the details of my space travel, and as they conclude, a cage is delivered. This is my electric chair. The place in which I will perish.

I decide that I won’t go without a fight. I usually put up a moderate battle when it’s time to wash my ears or take my medicine. I don’t like these things. I’m not dirty and I’m not sickly, so I never understand the necessity for squirting cold ooze into my ear canal. The sad part is that I frequently lose this battle. But this time, it’s a matter of life or death; I cannot allow myself to lose. I start swinging my paws as Brigitte’s mother tries to pick me up and move me into the cage. I will not go. I scratch her. This does not bring me happiness, by the way. I like Brigitte’s mother, but I also like living. Living is good. Dying? not as good. She bleeds a bit and spanks me on the rear. I do not relent. I start chomping at her hands. I’m very embarrassed at my behavior, particularly because I am in public. But, the goal and the reasoning are clear. This goes on for a few minutes and then a second human enters the picture. The important lady steps down from her desk and, together, she and Brigitte’s mother surround me. I try to make a break for it, but they catch me. I’m placed in the cage, the door is closed, and the important lady sets me on a black roadway that slowly moves forward. I lost. The trouble continues.

---

At this point, I feel that there is nothing I can do. I’m thrown around a big warehouse like a bag of feces. It’s cold and dark, and in the distance, I hear a howl from a Bassett Hound. I lack the energy to call back. Here’s what I’m thinking: 1) People really have some ugly suitcases. I think my least favorite are the ones with all of the stickers on them. I understand that you’re proud of your travels, but act like you’ve been there before. Oh. Hehe. I can’t help but laugh. Sometimes, I do crack myself up. You get the point though; 2) I’ve never slept with a Bassett Hound. I wonder if there are some kinky tricks that can be played with those ears; 3) How do I get from this warehouse into the spaceship? Will there be any opportunity for escape? If I escape, where do I go? I’ve never been very good at finding home. I once was lost for three weeks after chasing a boy with a hotdog on a hot summer day. I got the hotdog, which was delicious, but I also got rather lost. So, even if I can escape, are the odds of death by escape higher or lower than the odds of death by space travel?; 4) If I ever see Brigitte, not only will I bite her, but I will defecate in her Prada bag. I’m too tired to think about anything else.

Oh, a treat in my cage. I eat it up, and then, in a sense of defeat, I close my eyes. If I have to go, I want to go in my sleep.

---

They drugged me! I hate pills, and I’m rarely tricked by those sneaky pockets. This time, though, they got me. I notice that I seem to already be in the cargo hold. This is interesting because it means I’m not dead. It’s rather loud, and it’s very cold. I’m not happy.

I guess I’ve survived takeoff, and that my death will occur during the flight. Before it happens, let me impart some wisdom that only old age can teach. It’ll do you some good. Lesson #1 – if he looks crazy, he’s probably crazy, so stay away. Ladies, this is for you. Men don’t change, and no, you’re not the one that will set him straight. I had an adventurous period in my life when I had eyes for a Beagle named Freddie. Now, how can I put this lightly? Freddie was a few dog treats short of a picnic. He was always putting his face in the garbage and drinking from the toilet. He had a wonderful sense of humor and a very athletic physique, so I looked past his shortcomings. I tried to train him, but nada, zilch, zippo. He was helpless. Don’t waste your time trying to change animals. They are who they are. Lesson #2 – always keep an open mind to other viewpoints. Let’s talk politics again. Today, I see too many folks entrenched in their own opinions. It’s always good to listen to other people. And, most importantly, while you’re listening, actually listen. Don’t spend the time preparing your rebuttal. We’re not Democrats or Republicans. We’re people, so embrace difference, be respectful, and learn to compromise. Otherwise, move to North Korea. Everyone agrees under a Communist dictator. Lesson #3 – treat your friends with lots of love because friendship is a special thing. You shouldn’t take it for granted. Always be considerate of people that love you and that care about you. Call on birthdays, but also call on other days. Don’t just wait for special occasions. You know, Brigitte really is my best friend. She’s always so caring and kind. I love that she asks her mother about my health, which actually isn’t so great; I’m just stubborn. I love that she takes me for long walks outside when she’s home, because it’s not always great to defecate where you eat. And, I love that she knows my little ticklish spot. I really love Brigitte. Hm. That’s something to think about.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! The ship felt like it just dropped thirty feet. It’s happening. I’m going to die! I hate space! If I ever see Brigitte, I’m going to bite her, defecate in her Prada bag, and snore in her ear. I’m closing my eyes. My opinion has not changed – I want to die in peace.

---

The ship shakes and the contents of the cargo hold start moving. Boom! A big suitcase slams into my cage. My little body rattles around the plastic walls. What’s going on? Did we crash? The ship is extremely loud, and it feels like the speed is changing drastically. I don’t understand.

Then, I hear something very faintly. I perk up my ears. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Atlanta where the local time is 4:45PM.”

I don’t think I’m dreaming. How can I tell though? I nibble myself, and seemingly, I’m awake. This is real. I’ve survived space travel. Let me get a bit Brooklyn on you – I’m the toughest bitch on the block, yo.

The ship starts moving slowly and then stops. The door to the cargo hold opens, and men start taking suitcases and boxes out of the ship. Then, they remove my cage. Daylight! I’m placed on a truck, and I start moving toward the space station. It’s different than the one in New York. Interesting.

---

Well, I’m in Atlanta. Life isn’t so bad, and I have to say, I think I can retire here just fine. Long walks, warm sun, and plenty of tummy rubs. It’s nice to have a best friend who cares, even if I did defecate in her Prada bag. Wipe that look off your face! That broad put me through space.

[itsworn]

Rare Find: Original 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 Rally Sport Not Driven Since 1980

The garage door to the suburban home in northern Ohio opened, and we could see a 1969 Z/28 plainly in the double-car garage. Most of the space was taken up by bicycles and what appeared to be toys.

“Karl is the guy who owns the car,” Michael Lightbourn said. “It was his father’s, and he’s got the power of attorney, so in a sense he inherited it, but his dad is still around.”

The previous night we had visited with Karl and his father’s sister, Juanita, at another house 4 to 5 miles away. Due to divorce, Karl would not be able to make an appearance the next day at the family abode where he had lived the previous 17 years.

“How long has it been parked?” Michael asked.

Karl said, “The last time it was driven was 1994. [My father, Stacy Quickle] took my son, William, for a ride. He parked it on Colby Road and it has not [been driven] anywhere since. We had a set of four Rally wheels under it, and I put on space saver spares. When those went flat, we dragged it onto a flatbed and into the garage where it’s at now.”

The time had come to sell because Stacy, living in California, had health issues and was “not going to fix it.”

“I’m not going to be the one to do it,” Karl said. “I’ve got nowhere to keep it. I don’t know what else to do with it.”

Karl was “3 or 4 years old” when Stacy, living in Elyria, Ohio, purchased the Z/28 brand new. Walking into the garage, we noticed the license plate frame inscribed with the Chevy dealer’s name, Sharpnack, on top and the location, Vermilion, on the bottom. The car sat low on those four airless space saver tires, which was strange but true.

“When I was younger it seemed like daily, several times a week, people asked, ‘Is this car for sale?’ He has said no for 49 years, and this is the first time, on March 29 [2018], that he sent me the paperwork and has agreed to sell.”

Z/28 is the big deal with this Rare Find, of course. But this particular example came from the factory with both (1) the Rally Sport front end, featuring the special black-painted grille with concealed headlights, and (2) the body-colored front bumper, option code VE3, aka Endura, made of rubber and optional on any 1969 Camaro.

Our appointment time was 8:30 in the morning. Don, Karl’s uncle, had just arrived to show us the Z/28. Don immediately slipped into the garage to start removing debris. We asked him to let us take photos first.

Being there in person is much different from receiving photos from readers, and this was an amazing find to come face to face with. How often do you see an unrestored 1969 model anything wearing its original paint and get to talk to people who have owned and driven the car since new?

The nonrunning Z/28 on that garage floor came to life as Karl and Juanita spoke. Karl said, “At around 20,000 miles, [Stacy] told me he was right over here on Pearl Avenue. He crossed some railroad tracks and he took off hard and hit a water puddle, and [the 302] developed a tick. About two weeks later he drove it to Vermilion, and that’s when [the Chevy dealer] said the wristpin had eaten into the cylinder wall.”

One of our first moves was to open the hood, which required a key to the aftermarket hood locks. We did this before checking out the trim tag to verify the Z/28’s originality, Michael said, “Want to see something amazing this car still has?”

“What?”

“The smog system. Those are the first things that got ditched on these cars.”

The AC radiator cap also appeared to be original, which was entirely possible, as the odometer was accurate at 37,403.4 and the car had hardly been driven since about 1980, the date of the last registration on the license plates.

We noticed tower-style factory hose clamps. The valve covers were stock as well. Overall, the engine compartment appeared like the dealer had done the replacement engine warranty work. The car didn’t change much from the early 1970s.

Juanita, eight years younger than her older brother Stacy, recalled how driving the Z/28 during 1970-1974 made her “the coolest kid in high school.”

Did she “hot rod” the Z/28? “I did my share of racing,” Juanita said, and “never got beat.”

“I remember driving it down 57 here and going from where the mall is to 254, running it through the gears and watching the gas gauge drop.”

With all the stories and Karl showing us the original title, from 1969, we were certain the car was a Z/28. The trim tag backed up the Z/28 package with its X33 stamping. But what about that engine? Lightbourn shined his light onto the pad on the passenger-side front of the engine, where it read, “CEA.” At the same time, Michael spoke on his cellphone to a former GM employee who worked for Chevrolet when these cars were new.

“CE” possibly refers to Counter Exchange or Chevrolet Engine. No matter—not just anybody could buy an engine stamped “CE,” which is a designation for warranty action and not available to the public.

In this light, an older GM muscle car with a warrantied engine is different from the same GM muscle car with a missing engine that has been replaced by a private party. Sometimes these shops or owners get a “correct DZ” block, but this engine installation would not be as rigorous as a CE replacement from Chevrolet.

In other words, collectors will spout, “Oh, the original engine is missing, so this Z/28 will never be numbers-matching.” Maybe so, but a Counter Exchange creates a correct factory replacement engine, authorized by Chevrolet procedure.

In this instance, the block needed to be replaced, along with the internals. The dealer reinstalled the remaining original parts, from the air cleaner assembly to the Holley four-barrel, the intake, valve covers, heads, exhaust manifolds, and right down to the smog system that was intact and those tower-style hose clamps. They even screwed on that original radiator cap, now appearing as icing on this cake.

The car will go to the collection of Duane Lobbestael from the Detroit area. Duane has been a Camaro buff since he was 10. Born in 1969, he bought his first Camaro, a 1969 RS/SS 396, in 1984 from saved paper route money. He really likes this 1969 Rally Sport Z/28 because it is a “survivor.”

The first words out of Michael Lightbourn’s mouth when he saw the Z/28 were, “Looks like a decent car.” This car has been garage-kept for all but a year or so since new. It sat low on flattened space-saver spare tires.

Karl had last seen the original window sticker in the pages of one of the old car magazines inside the car. Sadly, the invoice was nowhere to be found.

The original dealer replaced the original 302 in the early 1970s under warranty.

The four-barrel is an original Holley 780-cfm carburetor, as verified by the Chevrolet part number 3923289-DZ and Holley list number 4053. “913” is a date code where “9” stands for 1969, “1” is January, and “3” is the third week of the month.

The trim tag on the cowl has the all-important X33, which decodes as Style Trim Group with Special Performance Equipment (Z28) for cars built in Norwood, Ohio. “NOR” indicates Norwood on this plate.

Lightbourn pointed out that one of the battery cables was still factory original.

Incredibly, the original radiator cap remained.

A big surprise under the hood was finding the original smog system intact and in place.

When a Z/28 is equipped with RS equipment, the RS badges are deleted from the fenders. However, the RS logo remains on the steering wheel.

The trunk was full of debris, but the spare tire appeared to have never been on the ground.

The rear window had traces of rust around the moldings.

“CAE” stamped on the engine pad, passenger side, denotes a Counter Exchange, which was warranty work.

The odometer showed 37,403.4 miles.

The original Rally wheels were stored in a storage shed in the backyard.

The paint is the original Dover White with black stripes.

Hideaway headlights, part of the Rally Sport package in 1969, were in good condition.

Today, unrestored cars are popular with muscle car collectors. They like to see originality, like this original Z/28 badge in the grille.

Don, Karl’s uncle, struggles to get the trunk open in the sea of bikes and toys.

The biggest surprise of this treasure hunt was finding the original tires, with ample tread and probably about 500 original miles on them, concealed under 7-8 feet of boxes and toys in the corner of the garage.

Loaded on the trailer, the Z/28 was ready to be shipped to its new home. Michael Lightbourn’s plan is for the car to remain in its original state.

The post Rare Find: Original 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 Rally Sport Not Driven Since 1980 appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network http://www.hotrod.com/articles/rare-find-original-1969-chevrolet-camaro-z28-rally-sport-not-driven-since-1980/ via IFTTT

[skilletcreek]

Free For All

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Opinion – Yeah, we need to talk about last weekend. With hour-long waits on the north shore and no way for people to pay admission fees on the south shore, Devil’s Lake certainly didn’t feel like Wisconsin’s “Premier” State Park. We need to fix this.

You could see it coming. A perfect storm of unseasonable, warm temperatures and perfect weekend weather meant Devil’s Lake State Park was on the verge of its first crazy weekend of 2017. Back in day when I worked at various tourism attractions here in the Baraboo-Wisconsin Dells area, this is what we called an “all-hands-on-deck” situation. Part timers were phoned, everyone on salary was going to be working.. and if you were “on call”, you just would come in. That’s the way it works when you live in a tourism based economy. Sometimes, you go weeks without the hours you want. But when it’s full on when it’s “FULL ON”. It was clear, the park (Any outdoor attraction for that matter) was about to get slammed…

Of course, I don’t work at the park and state parks are not private businesses. So I could spend my weekend playing tourist, and that “all-hands-on-deck” thing was for others to worry about.  (Thankfully!)

On Saturday, on the north-shore of Devil’s Lake State Park, a quiet morning soon gave way to hour-long waits to get in. From my vantage point playing tourist, it looked like there was only one staffer working (Outside of the Nature Center.) in the whole of the park. 10,000 acres, 29 miles of trails, 2 crazy-full, public areas and one poor dude at a window. One ranger to register campers, sell stickers, answer phones, answer visitor questions, handle law enforcement issues..Whatever came up, one guy. If this observation was accurate, then you realize the various frustrations reported online and elsewhere. When you’re one person, you can’t put out the “lots full” signs, you can’t refill self-pay envelopes on outer lots or the other shore, (let alone at Parfrey’s Glen) you can’t enforce rules, can’t stop people driving back out the entrance road, you can’t clean bathrooms. Heck you can’t take a lunch or bathroom break yourself. You just go into full zombie mode and try to survive. I sure hope someone bought him a pizza!!! Having worked the visitor center years ago, I totally get where this poor guy was swinging. I also understand why some park visitors were frustrated. You can’t serve thousands of people with just one or even a couple of staffers.

Meanwhile over on the south shore it seemed to be a “free weekend” at the park. Again, there was no staff; No one had kept the self-pay box full and no one was on patrol to write courtesy notices (Tickets, to the rest of us…). My quick estimate is that maybe 40-50% of cars had valid admission passes on the south shore on Saturday & Sunday. (Yep, I did walk the rows.) For the most part, this wasn’t the visitor’s fault. Some even left notes! A long line of cars, religiously waited and pulled up into the small parking area to figure out how to pay.. They stood, read, looked at the empty boxes, read some more, talked to others and worried about getting fined.. before finally clearing the way for the next group of visitors to pull in and do the same routine over again. I watched the same routine on Sunday. I just felt bad for them. Some were really disappointed and worried that they would get fined! (You won’t by the way, you simply get a notice to pay by mail later.)

So let’s get some things straight right up front. First, this was a freak weather weekend (Well, not as freak as they used to be!). The park is under staffed. Most water is turned off this time of year to prevent freezing. Most bathrooms are closed. There are no concessions. It’s February. Even Devil’s Lake doesn’t run on full engines this time of year. In addition, I heard from an individual who said they had been to multiple parks over the weekend and hadn’t been able to get a sticker until they finally got to Mirror Lake on Sunday. So, even this isn’t just a Devil’s Lake issue.

Photos From Saturday & Sunday

Wisconsin State Parks are now expected to run on their profits without additional state funding. It’s well known that Devil’s Lake State Park’s profits alone fill in the funding needs of many of Wisconsin’s State Parks. Our parks simply cannot afford un-official free days here or elsewhere. (We’ve got signs to fix, and trails to repair!) Last weekend called for some “all-hands-on-deck” thinking in my opinion. The deck seemed rather empty.

How can the folks in charge justify raising fees at Devil’s Lake again this year, when it’s not collecting full fees now? Shouldn’t we diligently collect those dollars, before we go to the public and ask for more?  I realize that Devil’s Lake probably made a boatload of cash over the last weekend, but there was another full boat left at the dock!

I know that Wisconsin Parks leadership are in a tough corner. They are suddenly expected to run like a business without necessarily having that background. And let me be VERY clear, I’m a parks booster. I’m a volunteer and a Friends group member. I’m in full support of Wisconsin State Parks and their leadership, (I’ve got high hopes for their new director.) but when situations like this comes up, it undermines their own arguments and needs to be talked about. The parks have to grow past the last generation’s “need-to-know” basis and talk openly about the best way to adapt to a changing world and stay in the black while creating a great recreation experience for park visitors. Not to mention maintain the parks and protect their environments.

Devil’s Lake State Park lost a lot of money last weekend and the visitors didn’t get the service they deserved.  Discuss….

Did you visit Devil’s Lake or other Wisconsin State Park’s last weekend?  Please share your thoughts or experiences in the comments below!

** And of course, my crazy opinions are my own and often caused by too many hours of isolation in the deep dark woods. My posts certainly don’t represent the opinions of the Wisconsin DNR or any other group, organization or book club.

from Devil's Lake State Park Visitors Guide http://ift.tt/2m7TMSe