#and since then ive been scared of smelling roses out of nowhere

[diggersofgraves]

when i say "ive actually lowkey always had a fear of angels" and they say "oh yeah, biblically accurate angels are kinda creepy" NO NOT THOSE, THE ONES IN CHURCHES, THE COLORFUL ONES, THE BABY LOOKING ONES THE ONES WHO LOOK ALL SERENE AND RELAXED THOSE, THEY SPOOK THE FUCK OUT OF ME ALWAYS HAVE ALWAYS WILL

[yourlatitude]

indemnify. (i)

Gaius got his second chance from his savior, yet he finds it hard to find justification on her behalf. While Gaius searching for his meaning, someone else is looking for him for another reason.

(18+ Trigger Warning. Explicit. Smut. Heavy one.)

The story is set long after the last war with Rheya and Gaius is confused with his purpose. This is based on my weirdest dream ever. Bloodbound is the perfect story for my dream. In this story, My MC (Adora Ramsey, now Raines) married Adrian and I spare Gaius to have his second chance. This is a two part story. Enjoy!

(Bloodbound: Gaius Augustine x Lily-Rose Raines (OC)) 

PART I. PART II.

i.

London is wet and gloomy. Perfect place for him. 100 years living in England, he feels like finally, he found his perfect lair. After being spared to live, Gaius roamed around the world. Trying to find his reason to live, trying to find justifications why the Goddess decided to spare his life. 

His Goddess.

His steps stopped in front of the Museum building he's been working for. For the last 50 years, he's been telling the story behind all paintings regarding vampires. It's been almost 300 years since his Goddess saved the world from his previous Goddess, fuck that's probably confusing right? But Gaius can't help it. Rheya was his Goddess once. Adora is the Goddess now and Gaius needs someone, fuck, even something to worship. If he isn't a worshipper, he is nothing. When Adora spared his life, she took half of his soul with her.

He decided to go to work earlier today. It's been raining so fucking hard in London since morning and the sun is nowhere to be found. That allows him to go out and blending out with humans. He finds it amusing that after 100 years, humans found vampires no longer interesting. After his Goddess decided to breach the wall between humans and vampires, they live together side-by-side just fine. Silly of him back then, thinking that vampires could rule humans like a little toy when the reality is, humans always evolving. And creatures like him always stuck in one reality, between life and death. But Gaius stopped complaining, if his Goddess decided that this is the kind of life that she thought the best for her kind, then it is the best.

"You are early,"

"No sun outside and I'm bored," he said as he smiles. His coworker just nods and usher him to get inside. Gaius proceeding to walk to his office before he stops in front of a painting he knows too well. 

50 years. 

50 years he's been looking at her face and his heart yearns for a glimpse of her more and more each day. Dark brown hair, almost black in some of its layer, brown eyes too deep, piercing to his soul every single time he stares at them. This painting serves no justice of her beauty, but this is the closest he could be with her.

"You know, her hair is actually not that wavy in real life,"

A soft voice startled him a little bit. Very unusual of him. But again, he got here too early and the museum still packed with humans. Too many voices to concentrate while his eyes are too focused on the painting.

"Yes, it's not. It's actually darker too in real life," he nods and turns around.

His heart stops.

She stands across the room, yet he can hear him perfectly well. Vampire? In the middle of the day? Maybe she finds rain as freedom too like him.

Long golden brown hair framing her face down until it reaches just below her chest. Gaius couldn't see her face clearly as his vision to her got blocked by people walking around repeatedly.

Yet those eyes. She is a vampire.

Pair of deep reddish eyes, staring into his soul. Much more to his dislikes. 

Why her eyes are red? Did she just have her feast? Is she planned to feast here? That would be foolish of her.

He stares and just stares. Can’t bring himself to get a closer look or run to her like how his heart yearns for her, somehow. Why? The voices inside this museum suddenly gone, nothing to his ears as all he can hear is her breathing and the sound of his own heart.

Since when his heart beating this fast? He is a goddamn vampire. Ancient one. His heart isn’t supposed to pumping his blood this loudly.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Who are you?

That girl walks closer to him. The closer she gets, the stronger her scent filling his nose. The louder her heart sounds. The redder her eyes became. Vampire? Definitely. But she radiates warmth like a human. She smells like a human.

Red eyes. Blood red eyes.

Not until she stops two feet away from him then he realized.

"Adora."

His lips accidentally slipped that name.

“Adora? You know my mom?”

She looks so much like Adora. Unconsciously, he stretches out his hand at her, “Let me feel you.”

That girl looking at him in confusion, yet Gaius still takes his chance. She’s too much like Adora. He needs to make sure.

“Please,” He whispers, chocking his own breath.

Last time he checked, 100 years ago, Adora is still in New York with Adrian, settled down. Happy. Healthy. Why she’s here now in London? Alone? Is God, whichever that is, finally hearing his yearns? Is it his chance already, finally, to have her?

“Who are you?”

That girl takes a step closer him before placing her hand on his.

A rush of warmth and shock almost make Gaius dropped to his knees.

How? How is it possible?

The girl looking at him in more confusion.

How can he not recognize it? Two faces blended into one. Two faces that destroyed and building his soul, again and again, every time Gaius thinks of them. His sins.  

“What’s your name, child?” his words came as a yearning whisper.

She stares at the painting once before he stares at him, “Lily-Rose. Lily-Rose Raines. And you are?”

“Gaius. Gaius Augustine.”

ii.

The second time they meet is in the museum again. But now, he caught her staring at Adora's painting instead of him staring at Adora's painting. 

"You killed her once," she said.

Gaius stops right behind her, framing her smaller figure between his reality and his fantasy, "I did."

“Why?"

"I just did."

She turns around. 

Red blood eyes. Why her eyes are always red? Is she always angry? What makes her always angry?

"Why?" She asked him again.

Gaius sighs and tears his eyes away from hers, "She stood in front of my purpose back then."

"How about now?"

"She is my purpose."

Lily-Rose just nods and they decided to just stay in the silent.

iii.

The third time is in Gaius' office. It was late in the rainy night. 2 weeks after their second meeting. Lily-Rose just sits on one of his office sofas and stares at him for three straight hours.

"Ask if you have something to ask," he said.

She moves so slowly to the armchair, letting her leg stretches out from the slit of her satin gown. Gaius knows she can smell him. Gaius knows she can hear his heartbeat. 

And he is not playing this game with her.

"Aren't you curious about me?" She asks, sounding like a purr to his ears.

"You will tell me what you want to tell me." He gives her a glance before continuing to read the parchment on his desk.

"Aren't you curious about my mom?" She continues. Gaius drops the parchment and sigh.

She knows how to bait him. She is too much like Adora.

"Oh, you curious now? Don't worry, mommy is healthy in New York. Healthy and just as beautiful as your painting." She said with a smirk on her face.

"You look like her,"

She raises an eyebrow, "So you think I'm beautiful?"

"You are."

She roses from her seat and walks to his desk, placing both hands on his desk, proudly, alluringly, wickedly, offering the front view of herself to him.

Yet... it's her eyes, he couldn't stop staring at.

"Your eyes."

"I give you my breast to look at and you focus on my eyes. You miss out on the good stuff, Mr. Augustine." She chuckles. He didn’t.

"Is it always like that?"

They stare at each other before, to his surprise, she tears away from his gaze. Looking shy? Scared? Anxious?

"No. It was brown before." She pulls away from his desk. Gaius tilts his head in amusement and curiosity.

"It was as deep as my mom's. 10 years ago, I had a dream and when I wake up, It changed. Never come back to brown until now."

10 years ago?

"How old are you, Lily-Rose?"

"How old do I look?"

"Barely 20." He answers quickly. Lily-Rose smiles at his answer. "I'm legal enough to be in your bed, Mr. Augustine." She teases.

"Not answering my question."

She sighs, "Do I have to spread my legs in front of you and send you an official letter for you to fuck my vagina? You know what I want from you. You can smell me. I can smell you. Are you that old-fashioned?"

No. Gaius is not playing this game with her

"How old are you, Lily-Rose?"

"Turning 50 this July." 50?

"Are you turned by Adora or Adrian?"

"Both."

Both? A vampire could only have one master.

She slumps on his sofa and stares at him. For once there's no tease in her eyes. Just confusion, and a little hint of fear.

"I am not turned, Mr. Augustine. I was conceived. With my face, you could guess already who is my mom and my dad."

That confirmed his fear. Conceived? How come?

iv.

The fourth time they meet, they fucked. In Gaius' little house on the outskirt of London, 1 month after their last meeting. Lily-Rose in front of his door, in rainy midnight. Wet and crying. The next thing? Gaius couldn't remember.

All he remembers is she fucked him and so did he.

Lily-Rose under him. On top of him. Beside him. Crying. Moaning. Mewling. All Gaius could think is this is the first time Lily-Rose ever called him Gaius instead of Mr. Augustine. 

She called him Gaius while his cock thrusting inside and out her young little cunt. She called him Gaius while his mouth latched to her wet pool. She called him Gaius while he took her from behind, claiming her everything.

Yet she surrenders at his mercy. Letting him using her body, biting her, marking her, and he didn't stop to his disgust.

How could he?

To add his sins, he forgot about his Goddess while his cock burying deep inside her so-called-daughter. 

And he never forgets about Adora before. Never.

Lily-Rose lays beside him. Eyes closed as her breathing calmed down. He could stare at her for days and not complaining about it. She looks so much like Adora, with a hint of Adrian here and there.

“Do you love my mom?” She said, finally opening her eyes.

“I do.” He replies rather quickly. She doesn’t answer, just staring at him with an expression he can't understand.

“You turned my dad. You killed my mom. And now you fucked me. Isn’t it too much of a kink even for you?” She whispers.

“You tempted me. You let me.”

“Did my dad permits you to turn him? Or my mom to kill her?” She propped her head with her elbow, placing one hand on his chest.

“No. But you permitted me,”

She chuckles, “I did. I must be sick. I let you cum all over me.”

Gaius choose not to comment on that. His hands unconsciously caressing the younger vampire’s skin. She is so warm, too warm for a vampire.

“How- how did you happen?” He asked.

Lily-Rose gives him a ‘what the fuck’ look at his question, “Seriously? How did I happen? Sex of course. We just did it.”

“No, Lily-Rose. I know about intercourse. But how? Both of them are vampires. Vampires can’t bear children,”

“I am a miracle.”

You are.

“How?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to have more knowledge than I do? I’m only 50 years old.”

A wife. A child. Adrian gets everything. Is this God showing him mercy?  After all, Adrian did lose everything.

A pang of jealousy hit Gaius so hard, he had to flinch it away. Did he not suffering enough too? He loses everything too. When will God, if there's any, show him some mercy?

“I’m the product of your sins, Mr. Augustine.” She whispers. Is she? She looks more like an angel than a sin.

“Gaius. It’s Gaius. You called me Gaius earlier and I like it better.” he said. Lily-Rose shakes her head, “Gaius is only when your cock is deep inside me, Mr. Augustine. My endearment to you.”

Her hands already stroking him again. His heart clenched when her hand tightening around his shaft and her lips already down on the tip. He can feel he is tempted again.

Shame. Guilt.

“What are you doing to me?” He whispers and she licks him.

Lily-Rose managed to look so innocent as she looks up, “Me? I’m simply sucking your cock, Mr. Augustine.”

Both knows that it’s not what he asked and both knows it’s not the answer.

v.

Every time they met, they fuck. In his office, in his house, in the museum, in the park, in front of Adora's painting.

Just let him die.

They fuck like their time is limited. When they fuck, his intention is to break her. To find reasons why she keeps doing this. Why she let him cum all over her? Inside her, on her face, on her back, on her chest, there's no more fucking spot he hasn't let his cum drip on her already. 

She smells like him.

His heart is full of guilt and shame after they fuck. Looking at the much, much, younger one, laying down on the floor, spent, red skin between her legs and his smell all over her. Why?

He feels guilty for fucking her.

He feels ashamed.

But he couldn't stop. Not when she looks at him like he is her savior. Like she worships him. Solemnly, only him.

"Stop, fuck- Stop-" His breath hitched as he holds her hip, Lily-Rose rocking on top of him, bouncing eagerly as her world depends on it.

"No. I can feel your cock twitching inside me. Here, Gaius. Here." Her hand guides his hand to her navel while she sits on his cock. Red blood eyes staring at him, clouded with arousal and yearn. She yearns for him. 

Does he look like that every time he stares at Adora's painting for 50 years?

"What are you doing to me?" he grunts as he can feel his cock on her navel every time she bounces.

"Make me come, please. Please. Hurt me." She cries as her movement turns clumsy. "What are you doing to me, Lily-Rose? What the f- fuck... are you doing to me?" Gaius moves his hips upwards to meet her movement. 

"Tell me, what the fuck are you doing to me?!" He groans as he flips their situation. Frustrated. Having her crying under him, moaning as her life depends on his cock, his thrust, his decision.

"Please- please make me come. Spill your cum inside me like you usually did. Please. Mark me. Please, please, please."

He wraps his hand around her neck, fastening his pace. Break her. You must break her and you will no longer feel your guilt, Gaius.

Lily-Rose wraps his legs around his hips, claws his back like she's afraid he will stop.

"Tell me and I'll cum inside you, whore."

She opens her eyes as he said that, teary red blood eyes and.... solace?

"I let you taste your own sin, Gaius. I make you do what you love the most. Making sins."

And he comes. He comes so hard inside her, he cries.

She wanted to hurt him.

And she did.

[featherymalignancy]

Like a Lonely House: A Nessian Story of Betrayal and Redemption Masterlist

From the studio that brought you the Not Just Shy Glances and Flower Crowns™ Elriel angstfest Tender Jar comes Like a Lonely House, a Nessian story that seeks to answer the question, “If Nesta is steel, what is the forge, and who is the blacksmith?”

Warning: NSFW for language, mild violence and smut. This story is not ACOFAS complaint, but it will borrow elements from the story. oh, also tons of angst.

                                    Like A Lonely House

                           "so I wait for you like a lonely house

                         till you will see me again and live in me.

                                  Till then my windows ache.”

                                         -Pablo Neruda

Synopsis: Fifty years after the Hybernian War, Prythian has settled into a sleepy peace, and nowhere is this peace more evident than in the Night Court. Feyre and Rhysand continue to rule like demigods from their seat of power in Velaris, Elain and Azriel are newly married and quietly expecting their first child, and Mor has moved to Winter to be with her mate, Ellaria, sister of the newly-minted High Lady. Nesta and Cassian have changed as well, and after fifty years of barbed words and heated glances, they stand on a precipice of something that scares and excites them both. However, it only takes one night of weakness on Cassian’s part to change everything, and with a young Illyrian prince gaining power in the North, Nesta agrees to an marriage alliance, both to protect her family and get her as far away from Cassian as possible. As things unravel between them, Cassian begins to suspect there is something more deliberate seeking to keep them apart, and he struggles to uncover the truth and win Nesta back before it’s too late.

Part I : Nesta tensed. He also smelled of desire, both his and someone else’s. Her nostrils flared at the sweet, floral scent of another female, and she felt a thousand cracks spidering through the four glass chambers hanging in her chest, threatening to send them all plummeting down.

“Please, it’s not what you think,“ he begged, eyes awash with pain. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she snarled, closing the distance between them and shoving his shoulder—hard. “I could smell you for ten feet away!”

Part II: “Come back later?” Elain said, slipping from Azriel’s side to approach, a hand outstretched to brush Cassian’s arm. “But you just arriv—“

Cassian, in his distress, let the barrier he’d been holding around himself slip, and Elain broke off as the scent reached her the same moment it did Azriel. 

Before Azriel could stop her, Elain reached back and slapped Cassian across the face, hard enough that his neck snapped to the side.

Part III: 

“Permit me to assume, Şehzade, that you did not ask me all the way here to discuss my wife’s beauty.”

“Of course not. I asked you here to inquire about her sister.”

“That questions is probably better suited to the High Lady Herse—“

“No,” Adan interrupted. “Not her. The cauldron-born. Nesta.”

At Azriel’s rather steely look, Adan gave a soft laugh.

“Now perhaps you see why I asked you here and not the Lord Commander.”

Part IV : 

“Brilliant,” Nesta interrupted. “I hate politics; I’m going back to bed.”

She spun on a heel to storm out in the same fashion she’d stormed in, but it only took one sentence from Rhys to freeze her in her tracks.

“Prince Adan’s asked for your hand in marriage.”

Nesta whirled back around, face bone white, and Rhys flashed a dour smile.

“Do we have your attention now?”

Part V:

“Would you do it?” Nesta asked. “For my sister, for your brothers, would you do it?”

Rhys’s gaze shuttered a bit, but his voice was even when he spoke.

“I would do anything for them.”

“Exactly,” she said, throat tight as she turned the study the far wall again. “I failed Feyre and Elain once by doing nothing when I could have done something. I don’t intend to make that mistake again.”

Rhysand measured her reaction, brows knitting slightly.

“You asked what made me different from the others.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I’m different because I know what you’d be sacrificing. I know what it feels like to cede your power, to bed and obey someone you don’t love.”

Part VI

More silence. Cassian grit his teeth, trying to swallow the lump in his throat as he pressed on.

“And I know you won’t believe me, but I didn’t betray you, Nes. At least, not willingly. I had hoped to have proof by now, to show you, but—“

He broke off, swallowing thickly.

“I don’t,” he admitted, fingers pressing into the wood of the door to keep himself from reaching for the handle. “The only thing I have is this: that I love you, Nesta Archeron. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I will love you until I am dust and ashes. If you believe nothing else, please Nesta, believe that.”

Parts I-VI: RECAP

A quick summary of the story thus far.

Part VII

Nesta,” he began, advancing a step. “I’m sorry.”

Her only reply was several steps in the opposite direction.

“Why are you sorry?” she said, voice clipped and cold.

“Because I failed you.”

Her expression grew stormy, and he wondered where things had gone so wrong that even now she still hated him. However, after a moment he watched the thunderhead raging in her grey eyes swell and erupt, her face melting into something sorrowful and stark.

“No,” she said, and he realized the tightness in her voice wasn’t anger—it was tears. ”It’s I who has failed you.”

Next time on Like a Lonely House, Part VIII...

Lieutenant Na’ahmah stiffened.

“You wish me  to betray my prince’s confidence, is that it?”

Rhys shifted in his seat, gaze steady.

“I wish to know where there is cancer in Illyria so that I may cut it out before it spreads. I am not accusing your prince of anything, merely asking the question.”

“You speak of Illyrians as if you are not one of us.”

Rhys shrugged.

“I am only half-Illyrian, and I have faced my fair share of prejudice for that fact. You will forgive me if I lack your ardent patriotism, admirable though it may be.”

A muscle feathered in the lieutenant’s jaw, but she otherwise remained silent.

“Have you something to add, Na’ahmah?’

She shifted on her feet, wings rustling.

“May I speak freely, My Lord?”

Rhys’s eyebrows rose.

“Of course. Always.”

Na’ahmah nodded, glancing down at her polished boots as if to compose herself before looking Rhys straight in the eyes.

“Also long as you consider Illyria to be brutal and backwards, it will be. And every time you treat us like savages, you support those who seek to uphold the old ways and silence those who would see things change. Adan is a bright light after centuries of darkness, and he would sooner destroy himself than see Illyria harmed.”

[sassyshortstack]

I had a random flashback again today. It came out of nowhere. They got better - or rather fewer - this fall, and now it feels like they’re seeping back. They don’t last as long as they used to, but they’re just as real and even more jarring. When they come, my breath stops and I don’t realize it until my brain lands back in the present and I remember to breathe.

So, I’m going to sift through the memories in the hopes that writing about them will help keep the disturbing flashbacks at bay more. TW: cancer, death, grief, suicidal thoughts.

My sister Rebecca died on August 25, 2016. I watched it happen. But in many ways, I still don’t believe it.

On New Year’s Eve 2015, she was diagnosed with Stage IV cervical carcinoma and metastatic lung nodules. Which basically means she had a giant tumor in her uterus, and it had spread enough to cause damage to her lungs before we knew. She underwent chemotherapy and radiation for the following eight months. In the summer of 2016, she had to use an oxygen tank way too fucking often. Then one night in August, a week before she died, she started having sudden chest pain. My mom and I drove her to the ER. When they took her back to one of those terrible half-open ER rooms, with mattresses that are way worse than even the ones in my college dorms, I was with her. The nurse asked what pain level she was feeling on a scale of 1 to 10, and she managed to get out “Eight.” Somebody told my mother that Rebecca had a pulmonary embolism (a blood clot in the lung). Later that night, I asked my mom what that meant, and she told me just that - “it’s a blood clot in the lung” - but I didn’t really understand what it meant until days later.

My dad came to the hospital from the meeting he’d been at when we first brought my sister to the ER. He called my brother, who was several states away, to book a flight to come home right now, and in the back of the mind I realized that wasn’t a good thing. But I wasn’t scared. I knew my sister was stronger than this disease. I knew she’d make it. I just knew.

I wasn’t really scared until three nights later, when Dad, Andrew, and I were asleep (sort of) at home and Mom was at the hospital overnight. She called my dad at three in the morning to say Rebecca was having trouble breathing and being admitted to the ICU, and we needed to come right away. We all threw on clothes, jumped into the car, and sped off. I could feel my heart thumping so hard it was trying to escape my chest, as if my system beating harder and faster would help keep her alive too. We half ran into the ICU, and I was so afraid. I’ve never been afraid like that. I was standing on a sheer cliff of terror, ringing in my ears, my head spinning, so scared that she would be gone and I wouldn’t be there for her. My sister, my best friend in the whole world, my soulmate and guardian and inspiration and dearest love.

When we finally made it through security and all the fluorescent, sterile-smelling hallways and arrived in her room, I was relieved to see my sister alive - and then I saw our pastor standing there. Anger like I had never known pumped through me. Why the hell is she here? Rebecca isn’t dead. She shouldn’t be here, we don’t need her. I tried to push the fury aside. I played the part when she asked us to pray together, when she blessed my sister, when she read from the Bible. But inside, I was full of rage. Stop treating my sister like she’s dead. She’s right here, and she’s going to be fine. Fuck off.

And in some ways, I was right. Rebecca made it through the night. The scariest night of my life. I hated seeing her with that stupid bag under her oxygen mask, to help her breathe better. Seeing her with the oxygen tube so often earlier in the summer had been bad enough, but the mask was somehow so much worse. But she made it through the night. And the sun rose through the big glass windows by her bed, where I was perched in a chair. It was a stunningly beautiful sunrise - the sky morphed from a deep slate blue to all hues of pink and orange. I was the one sitting in the room with her when the sun came up - we were holding hands and not talking much. She nodded outside the window. “Look.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

At some point, one of the doctors came in to talk about their next steps, and although I don’t remember what exactly he said, he was basically telling us she’d be able to do outpatient radiation again in a couple days. My family kept saying that was good news, but I was confused and had this inexplicable bad, twisted feeling in my gut. I don’t know how I knew, but I just knew that he was wrong. If she was going to be better so soon, why did she still have to use that stupid oxygen mask? Why were we still in the ICU? I still knew deep down she’d make it, but I also knew that it wasn’t going to go the way he said it was. I felt totally spaced out. Looking back, that day - her first day in the ICU - was when the deep shock really started to settle in. We’d had tons of visitors every day she’d been in the hospital, and there were even more that day, including cousins, old teachers, church friends, work friends, and some people I hadn’t seen in years. In retrospect, that really should have been a warning to me. That night, our family friends made my mom leave the hospital instead of spending the night with her, which my brother, dad, and I were incredibly grateful for. They also made my brother and me leave to do something fun that evening.

I still just felt so wrong. I knew my sister would survive this, but I also knew the radiologist was wrong. I was moving and talking and hearing other people talk to me, but I was totally not in my own skin. We’d had tickets to see the Royals game that night, and I didn’t really want to go, but our family friends kept saying we needed to get out and do something, so Andrew, my Aunt Deb, Amanda (my cousin closest to my age, and who I’m closest with in my extended family), and I all went to the game. I was in the backseat behind Andrew, who was driving, and he and Aunt Deb were mainly the ones talking on the long drive to the stadium. I kept hearing their words float by me without totally connecting them. But then my aunt started talking in a way that suggested she was worried, that she was on the verge of tears, that she was scared for my sister. She said she wanted her to sign a fabric square for a quilt she was making my parents just in case. Dimly, I felt annoyed and angry again. Why did people keep doubting my sister? She already battled and overcame so much. She already made it through depression, and she was going to kick cancer in the ass. Why did no one seem to have faith in her but me?

And then one phrase in particular stuck out to me. “If indeed Rebecca does pass away.”

My breath seized up. It felt like iron weights were crashing around my ears and weighing down my chest, creating a racket and suppressing my airstream all at once. The world was disappearing. All that existed was the terrible noise and the horrible weight and the sickeningly blurred trees and buildings outside my window.

No one had told me.

No one had told me my sister was in danger of dying.

And that’s how I found out. Through an aside, in a car, on the way to a fucking baseball game.

And I still haven’t been able to forgive my parents for that.

The next day, everything got worse - but I somehow didn’t feel worse. I just felt empty. Dazed. I remember my aunt and uncle making my brother and me gluten free funfetti pancakes (my aunt had amusingly but very unintentionally bought the funfetti rather than regular box at the store without realizing) with big, ripe blueberries. I remember my sister’s regular doctor coming to talk to us. I couldn’t process what she was saying. It was like I could see her mouth moving, hear that there were words spilling out, but I couldn’t understand her. Like she was speaking another language I used to know, but I just couldn’t remember a lot of the words anymore. She sounded almost angry. I was confused. I think she was pissed at the radiologist who had been there the day before and told us a plan that would never come to fruition. My mother looked scared, but I was just lost. I had known, I had felt yesterday, that the other doctor was wrong, and it seemed like that was what Rebecca’s primary doctor was saying now. But I still knew she’d be fine.

Then the word “hospice” made it through the fog in my brain.

I didn’t understand at first, but gradually I realized. She was going to be transferred to a hospice house. Later that day, at home, I asked my mom what that meant. She said with tears in her eyes that they take people there who they think have less than a week to live. I think I cried a little with her, but deep down, I was still hopeful. I still knew she’d make it. She always had, after all. The hospice house was for old people who have lived their lives, not twenty-five-year-olds with so much left. She still had a chance.

That night, my other aunt - the one who got the funfetti pancakes - was taking her daughter Amanda and my brother and me to their house for the night. On the way there, it was suggested we get ice cream, so we stopped at a Freddy’s Frozen Custard. We all ordered ice cream, and laughed together about how this was the most productive feelings-eating session there had ever been. It’s amazing what good food and good family can do for the soul. I didn’t feel so alone all of a sudden. About two bites into our ice cream, Amanda started making a big production of wanting fries too to really complete the whole eat-our-feelings thing. She was being her funniest, Amanda-est best, standing up and running to the counter to get a large order of fries. The half hour or so we spent there, laughing and talking over the saddest fries and ice cream in the world, was oddly perfect. It was the most I’d felt like me all week.

The next morning, they moved her to the hospice house. It was a Wednesday. And since it was August in Kansas City, it was hot and humid and disgusting. I’ve never liked summer, but the summer of 2016 has given me eternal fuel for hatred for the season.

The hospice house was cozy and filled with love and prayers from many volunteers and former visitors. And I hated it. I hated the word “hospice,” which I hadn’t really heard or read since my grandpa died years ago. I hated the butterfly logo, the ornate carpet, the dimly lit rooms. More than anything in the world, I hated the smell. I can’t describe it, but it still fills my nostrils whenever I have panic attacks or flashbacks. It was totally different from the terrible sterility of the hospital, and different from any smell of any other house or home I’ve ever set foot in. It was all wrong, and strange.

Rebecca had so many visitors that day. We gave her a quilt square and a Sharpie to write her name, or to draw something. She was such a good artist. But she kept falling asleep. Why is she falling asleep? She kept starting to write something, and managed to get out a block letter A and little else. A? Why A? She kept falling asleep trying to write even one word. And I still don’t know what it was going to be.

Not long after that, she started to sleep. And not long after that, she was slipping out of consciousness. Visitor after visitor came to sit by her, talk to her, but she was fast asleep. At some point, I took a break to walk around the hospice house garden. My aunt gently suggested calling a friend from St. Olaf. So I asked Ellen if we could talk, and she was happy to help. I paced around the garden, restlessly going by flower after flower, for once not scared of the bees. It was sunny and bright, and thanks to a breeze, not excessively warm in the shade of the trees. There were spinning wind sculptures amidst all the plants. I paused in front of a clump of yellow roses. Ellen had given me a yellow rose when my grandfather died. I stared at them as I told her what was happening. She just kept saying how sorry she was, and how it sucked, and how she wanted to help me any way she could. I told her, truthfully, that she was helping. (Side note: And she still does, every day. We are roommates. On the one year anniversary of my sister’s death, she kept me company half the night when I couldn’t sleep.)

I went back inside. I talked with people. Lots of them. They all looked at me like it was hard to face me. I couldn’t fully understand why. If anyone could make it through this, it was my sister. And no one seemed to know it but me. One of the hospice house nurses came to tell us they thought it would be soon now. But I just didn’t understand.

Evening came, and so did a storm. Rain started pattering against the windows at about the same time darkness fell. Late in the evening, at around nine o’clock, it turned into a real thunderstorm. Lightning was crashing outside, and inside, dozens of our friends and family - at least thirty people - were crowded inside the room. I don’t remember who first suggested it, but somehow, it came up that we should sing. My family - and many of our friends - are very musical, especially my parents, brother, sister, and me, and many of us were raised in the Lutheran church. So somehow, someone suggested we sing a hymn, and my brother started us off. A few of us looked up the lyrics on our phones, and within a few bars, the singing was full and strong. And then someone suggested another song. And another. And another. Sometimes, there would be a pause in between, and other times someone would just start singing a new hymn right away after the last one. I preferred no silence, because my sister was having more and more trouble breathing, and it was agonizing listening to her. So I was singing and singing, full and rich, not even having to hold back tears, overflowing with the music, helping lead the song. After a while, in the back of my mind, I wished we could do a Christmas song, but I was worried people would think it odd if I brought it up. But not a minute after this wish popped into my head, one of my little cousins asked my brother if we could sing “Silent Night.” It made me really and truly happy - and not just because I have the mind of an eight-year-old. We kept singing and singing (including a couple more Christmas carols, but mostly other hymns), and strange as it seems now, it felt totally natural. 

All in all, we sang for two hours. And we only really stopped because a nurse came by shortly after eleven to tell us that there was going to be a tornado warning in the county, and now might be a good time for visitors who needed to return home to do so before the storm got worse. So, most people left. Only my aunt and uncle, and three of our really close friends who might as well be related to us by now, stayed. They all went with the nurses to a chapel inside the hospice house, which had more cover from a potential tornado than my sister’s room. The nurses told my parents, Andrew, and me that we were welcome to stay with Rebecca unless there was a tornado coming our way, at which point they would come get us.

So we stayed. We decided each of us would be by her side in shifts while the others slept still in the room. My parents were with her first; I planted myself on the couch and Andrew took the rollaway cot. I couldn’t sleep anyway - not that he really could either. When my parents were ready to trade, he told me quietly to try and sleep. I nodded. I rummaged through my bag to see if I had brought my iPod, and was hugely relieved to see I had. With a blanket wrapped around me in a chair near Andrew, I put the headphones in my ears and sifted through songs to make a playlist, trying to bring some semblance of comfort or sleep. I was looking through music for quite a while, partially because I was half listening to Andrew reading my sister books - Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. She was a preschool teacher, and those were two of her favorite books in the whole wide world. I loved and hated seeing him read to her like that. Then he told me he was going to try and find our family friends. I said okay, and moved into the chair beside her. My parents were asleep. It was just her and me.

I moved the chair closer, so that I could hold her hand. We held hands all the time, so I knew the shape and warmth of her hands well. So it frightened me out of my wits when I took her hand and this time, it was icy cold. I felt a shock of panic course its way through me, but shook it off. I had to be with her. She needed me. I swallowed and took a deep breath. Then I took out my phone and started to read. An Awesome Book of Love.

The words fell from my mouth, staggering a little at first, but gradually with a rhythm.

...But we aren’t all of those things - you’re you and I’m me. And we’re as together as together can be. And you know I’m aglow with a smile on my face When I wonder what magic you’ll make of this place - Of this town, of this world. You’ll transform your surroundings! That spirit inside you is truly astounding...

I started to crumble a little. The words came slower and slower. But I had to keep going. I squeezed her hand tighter, willing warmth to flow it, willing her breathing to ease. Her breaths were coming too slowly, and it terrified me to my core. I’d never heard anyone breathe like that. I wanted her to feel better. I continued on.

...I love you! I love you! In so many ways - Over thousands of years, over billions of days...

Tears were falling rapidly. This book meant so much to me, and the words were so perfect for how I felt about her, Rebecca, my sister, my sunshine. Dimly, I realized a nurse had quietly walked in. I kept reading. It was one o’clock in the morning, and I was tired and scared and confused and crying a little, but I kept reading. I glanced at the words, but mostly I looked at her face, her long eyelashes - which had managed to grown back even longer than they had been before all that chemo - resting on her cheek.

...I love you! When I’m holding your hand, When you’re making a plan, When you’re thinking a thought, When you’re dancing a dance.

And then...I stopped. Because the world had stopped.

She was gone.

I had watched her last breath. I had held her hand for the last time. I was the last one to see her alive. I saw her die.

I fell apart.

I started crying like I’d never cried before. My parents woke up, realizing what had happened. My brother came back, and I remember us all hugging. I couldn’t stop crying. I was splitting at the seams. I was going to die. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to be in a world that my sister wasn’t a tangible, living part of. Andrew took me out to the living room, guided me to a surprisingly comfortable couch. I curled up on one end of it, just like I do at home, while he went to get the rest of our family. I cried like I’d never cried before.

After a few moments, I pulled out my phone and texted my St. Olaf friends. It was the middle of the night, so I was surprised to get a reply from my close friend Brenna. She had been sending me links to songs throughout the week as I updated her on everything going on. That night, she sent me “No One is Alone” from Into the Woods. It was beautiful and sad and perfect.

A little while later - I have only some dim memories of my family friends coming back from the chapel - Andrew and I ended up on the couch together, with all the adults in the room. We talked. And it occurred to me that this was the last day the three of us would ever be together. Now it would just be Andrew and me. We hugged for a long, long time, and I cried and got snot all over his shirt. Eventually, he got up gently to make us both green tea and get out a box of gluten free crackers. I hadn’t even realized I was hungry or thirsty until he did that. It was still raining outside, but it wasn’t storming so hard anymore.

At around half past three, we all left. Andrew and I went back to my aunt and uncle’s once more, and although I tried to be quiet, I woke up my cousin when I climbed into her bed. She looked at her phone, saw the texts from her parents, and wrapped me in a warm, comforting hug. So many people held me while I cried that night, but she was the one who made me laugh. The storm had picked back up by the time we got to their house, and when a huge streak of lightning, followed quickly by a loud crack of thunder, split the air, we both laughed a little.

“Rebecca must be throwing a party up there,” she said hoarsely.

I laughed. “Yeah.”

That week, and especially the night Rebecca died, has changed me forever, but I’ve grown enough to know now that this shitty experience hasn’t ruined me. It’s not the ending of my story, even though I still sometimes wish it was - and it’s sure as hell not the end of her story either. She lives on in me, and in so many other people - our family and friends, her music, even her preschool students. And even though I still find myself, like that night, sobbing in agony, or feeling empty and lonely and totally wrung out, or wishing the world would end or at least go away...I also find myself, like that night, surrounded by love more times than I can count.

She was always so full of love. Overbrimming. And I have been, too.

I still am.

- - -

I’d still love you no matter what sense it would make. I’d love you whenever, whatever it takes. I’d love you no matter, cause you’re you and I’m me - Together forever, in love as can be. - An Awesome Book of Love, Dallas Clayton

[kneelsingrace]

When Routine Bites Hard

*The loud, rhythmic beeping was the first thing I noticed as it forced its way into my unconscious, followed very quickly by the smell. That pungent, antiseptic mixture of alcohol sanitizer, bleach and the sharp scent of artificially chilled air, all used to hide sickness and mask death. It meant there was exactly one place I could be. I didn’t open my eyes, not yet, mostly because I didn’t need to.  Not only would it not help, but the pain was already throbbing in my head and, if I was honest, everywhere else too. It was cold, freezing actually, and the thin, scratchy sheet and blanket did little to ward off the chill. I swallowed thickly, my throat dry and aching as I struggled to clear my head and attempt to make sense of what was actually going on.  Flashes of moments raced through my mind, although they were moving far too fast for me to focus, as though someone left the reel on fast forward, and I whimpered in frustration. The movement from beside me registered before the sound, but only by a few heartbeats.  The gentle shift of the uncomfortable hospital bed, the rustle of the blankets and then that one word; the voice was familiar and quiet, gentle as always, although the tone was almost scared. “Grace?”* Finn. *My own voice cracked as I spoke, my throat dry from lack of use and dehydration I had no doubt, but it didn’t matter, not in that moment. My mind cleared, little by little with each passing second, and I could tell he was there by more than just his voice; the soft scent of mint, coffee and, somehow, sunshine lingered just beneath the cold, antiseptic hospital air calmed me if not quickly, then at least a bit.  I swallowed thickly, the feeling almost strangely foreign to my parched throat as I tripped over my words, struggling to get them out.* How- where- I can’t… *The sentence was jumbled and broken, each word failing to connect to the next no matter how hard I concentrated. “Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, it’s okay. I’ll just.. I need to get the nurse.” I had been in and out of hospitals for a good portion of my life, it kind of came with the territory, but in this moment the thought of being alone, of Finn in particular leaving, was suddenly terrifying and I grasped at his hand, ignoring the dull throb of the IV that I could feel in my wrist with every small movement. His hands were gentle as he held my small one in both of his, his thumb gently brushing over what was no doubt a failed IV site. The ache dissipated under the tender touch and I let out the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding.  “I’ll be back as soon as she’s done, I promise.”  I believed him, I always did. I’d never doubted him, not for a moment since we met. There was something about him, truly him, past the collar and the vows that made me feel safe and that… it scared me. It had become home. I nodded my head just slightly, and ignored the involuntary sting behind my closed eyes as I heard the gentle scrape of a chair over slickly polished linoleum as my hand was released to rest back carefully on the starched sheets.  As the gentle footfalls faded, I tried to focus, to make some sense of what was happening but it wasn’t working. Snippets of memories, faded and fuzzy, kept springing to the forefront of my mind; nothing that I could actually make sense of though. Pain, dizziness, that indescribable sensation of falling into something thick and black as darkness wrapped its arms around you and then everything else faded. I’d fainted, that was nothing new, but that alone was rarely enough for a hospital stay. There had to be something else I just couldn’t remember what. The tears of frustration I had been trying so hard to hold back finally broke free, slipping warm and wet down my cheeks. I didn’t allow myself more than a few moments and by the time I heard the quiet tap on the doorframe, I was wiping my cheeks and angling my head towards the door.  It didn’t mean anything, not really, but it was instinct.* Come in. *My voice was still gravelly and rough from not being used and I wrinkled my nose in distaste at myself.  The laughter that met my ears was musical and kind, much like the voice that followed it. “Thank you, Miss Cairde.  It’s good to see you awake.  My name is Jaymes and I’m your nurse for tonight. Well, for the last two nights, really. I’m gonna just listen to your lungs for a minute, okay? Just breathe in when you feel the stethoscope.”  I nodded absently, replaying her words in my head.  Two nights. How long had I been in here? Taking the deep breaths that Jaymes requested, I tried futilely to still my shaking hands, settling instead for grasping them in the thin sheets and forcing away thoughts that had nothing to do with my current predicament. Now was not the time.  The cold metal on my back, despite the obvious care given to warm it, kept me in the moment and I breathed deeply as Jaymes did her job. “Well, your lungs sound good, and you are awake, so that’s a huge improvement.” Gentle hands, warm despite the cold air, brushed over my wrist as she no doubt looked at the dreaded needle that was in my arm. I tried not to think about it.  It didn’t work.*  Can you tell me- I mean, what happened? *My voice was small, almost meek, and I internally cursed myself for being weak, even now. “DKA. Your blood sugar was thirty-two when you came in on Sunday.  It’s Wednesday now.”  The consideration and gentleness that the nurse gave in answering my unasked question was very appreciated and I couldn’t help but shake my head, strands of hair falling in my eyes as she continued her assessment.* Thank you.  I- two days?  How have I.. I mean, I’ve been out for two days? *I knew I must have sounded incredulous at best but Jaymes took it in stride, and I could hear the smile in her voice as she adjusted buttons and monitors with a series of fast, efficient clicks and beeps. “The human body is a delicate and complicated thing at best, Miss Cairde.  I can’t explain it but we were worried. Your boyfriend was a mess. I may have bent visiting hours the last two days before he would leave.”* My boyfriend? *The response was automatic and I had no doubt that the confusion was written on my face.  Another laugh, this one warm and delicate, drifted to my ears. “ About six feet tall, blonde, Bowie t-shirt and boots?  He wouldn’t leave your side, Miss Cairde.” My face warmed as heat crept up my neck and I dropped my head in a vain effort to hide behind my hair.* Grace, please.  And you mean Finn. He’s not my… it’s complicated. Very complicated. *It may very well have been the understatement of the year, but I heard the nurse hum quietly along with the scratch of a pen on paper. “If you say so, Grace.”  Her voice was a bit softer, though not quite gentle, there was a huskiness to it that wouldn’t allow that, but it was nowhere near unkind. “A bit of unsolicited advice though? Hold on to him. I haven’t ever seen Father Anthony quite so passionate about anything, and I haven’t missed mass in almost three years.” I could feel myself pale, if that was possible, and fought the overwhelming panic that rose in me, churning and twisting in my stomach and threatening to make it’s way up my throat.* I can’t- he’s… please don’t. *The words, such as they were, were fractured and broken, desperation dripping from each one. “No, no.  It’s not… not like that, at all.  I wouldn’t, not even if I wasn’t bound by laws. I may be Catholic, but that doesn’t mean I agree with all of the views. Happiness looks good on him, Grace, and whatever it takes to get, well, nobody should be denied that simply because of what they do for a living.”  Jaymes’s soft words, and the hand that covered mine for just an instant, a shockingly comforting gesture, brought me more comfort that I could fully express, and I just nodded mutely. “You’re okay. Now, speaking of, your gentleman friend is out in the hallway.  I think I’m going to step out and give you two a minute. Just press the button if you need anything.” I could hear the smile in her voice and felt the touch of plastic against my fingers as Jaymes placed the call button against the tips of my fingers before she turned and was gone before I could even mutter a thank you.  The room was silent for just a moment before I heard Finn’s boots, heavy against the linoleum, and his quiet, calm voice as he came back, the chair scuffing across the floor. “Grace, are you-?  How are you feeling?” The question was loaded to say the least, and I left the call button to reach out to Finn, bypassing the hand that rested on the bed beside me and stretching to brush my fingers over his cheek.  The action, delicate as it was, elicited a soft sigh, and he turned into my touch, lips brushing over my palm. It was heavenly.* I’m alright, a little foggy but okay. She, Jaymes… she knows you. *My words were quiet, almost a whisper, and Finn nodded, not moving away from my touch. “Yes, Jaymes is one of my parishioners, and one that I trust, fortunately. We have actually spoken at length many times.  She is one of the more progressive members of the congregation and has assured me she won’t say anything, to say nothing of confidentiality laws.”  He sounded calm, almost relieved as he spoke, and there was a hint of something behind his voice that I couldn’t quite place.*  I believe you.  And her.  She- she said you’ve been here as much as you can, that she pushed visiting hours for you. *It wasn’t a question but rather a statement and Finn nodded simply, finally moving away from my touch for a moment before his hand was once again wrapped around mine just a moment before he pressed a tender kiss to my wrist. “I couldn’t leave.  I didn’t want to. Father Macklepenny covered for my services. I needed to be here. I was… you scared me, My Grace.”  Finn’s voice broke just slightly, the emotion obvious, and I felt tears pricking at my eyes again, unbidden as my head, already fuzzy, swirled with thoughts and memories that seemed to snap into a sudden, blistering clarity.* I- I don’t ask, and we don’t talk about it, not really, but I’m asking.  I-” My voice wavered slightly but my words were cut off with the gentle press of Finnegan’s lips against mine in a kiss that held more promise than could be expressed with words, and I let myself, just for this moment, get lost in the possibility that it held as the machines, the hospital and the questions of the last few days melted away and I was left with the all consuming feeling of being home and safe.* #WhenRoutineBitesHard #TheRedDoors