#litherlandlockwood

[lockwoodlitherland]

DAMIAN

Name: Damian Parvi-Beckenheim Age: Twenty One (during original) Birthday: July 17th - Cancer  Height: 5ft 8

[FC: Manish Dayal ]

The good-natured smile that usually lit up his face died instantly. Damian shook his head gently, closing his eyes tight for a minute before opening them; there was a ghost on his doorstep. Unable to move his startled gaze away from the figure, he kicked clumsily at the wheelbarrow he’d been pushing, sending it rattling into the dense, frosted shrubbery that lined the long driveway up to the cabin. He was wearing his uniform: thickly muddied combat pants tucked into chunky walking boots, navy blue polo embossed with the logo of the Provincial Park that Beck owned and used as the guise for the family’s private territory.

“I- uhh.” His mouth hung open slightly and he let out a long breath, dazed, walking towards the porch. One hand gestured out in front of him in a half shrug while the other fumbled for his keys in his back pockets. Damian took the steps up to the doorway two at a time, brushing past her. He didn’t say anything. Truth be told, he had no idea what to really do with himself here or how to react to her sudden arrival.

He had changed since the last time Jamie saw him. The passing by of all those months had matured his features, subtly changing his face to reveal more bone structure than chubby cheeks. He’d grown a little taller, but mostly he’d grown wider. His shoulders and chest had filled out to become more muscular, his arms were much stronger and thicker. With age and with the hard work that came along with the physical labour of tending the park, Damian had really grown up in his appearance. Over the winter moths he had let his soldiers’ crew cut grow out. Now, his thick black hair was a little shaggy about his ears where the undercut had begun to grow. Currently, the thick mass of it was quaffed up and slicked back over to one side, held in place –most probably- by his sweat. Black stubble covered his more defined jaw line. He smelled of the earth and damp and sweat that smeared patches of his warm tanned skin. It was a considerable change from the baby faced, spiky haired boy Jamie had first met, all those years ago.

For a moment he lingered, looking uncertain before finally twisting the key. He gave the heavy wooden door a shove, looking back at her for a second with a furrowed brow, both confusion and concern in his deep brown eyes. Damian had always been so easily manipulated, Jamie had known that especially. He knew it, he hated it and he feared it.

Why is she here? He worried. Things had changed so much in the time they’d spent outside of each other’s lives. Absentmindedly, he threw his keys into the beaten metal bowl atop the set of drawers beside the row of coats that lined the wooden panelling of the hall. Damian was pretty sure the last time he was with her, it had been for sex. Sex was one thing; sex could mean a lot of things Damian had learned. Maybe this was different, he always had struggled to read her. The unexpectedness of this encounter had sent his mind spiralling a little, why did he feel embarrassed?

Taking a deep breathe he moved his palm over his forehead, brushing his fingers into the thick quaff of hair and holding it there for a moment as he turned around to Jamie in the doorway. He was trying to figure out and process what he was feeling before just lashing out into any kind of impulsive action, as Silvie had been helping him to do. There was an anger that sparked in his chest at the sight of her, crawling up his back and setting in his shoulders. He recognised the dullness of it as the shock at seeing her began to fade. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shake it off.

Let it go Parvi. He told himself, Annika’s voice echoing in his ears. After a second of holding his breath, mouth open, waiting for the words to come, he finally broke the icy silence.

“Do you, uh, want to come in?” He gestured further down the hall with his free hand.

BASIC STATISTICS

Full name: Damian Jalesh Parvi (legally changed to Beckenheim) Name origin: Westernised version of the Punjabi ‘Daman’ Nickname: D or Parvi Nickname origin: n/a Do they like the nickname?: Yes Preferred Pronoun(s): He/Him Titles/epithets: n/a Sex/gender: Male Age: Twenty One (during original) Birthday: 19th June Place of birth: Toronto, Ontario, Canada Race: Indo-Canadian Religion: Sikhism/Agnostic Occupation: Park Ranger

Relationship Status: Single

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE Height: 5ft 8 Eye color: Dark Brown Face shape: Oval Distinguishing facial features: - Other facial features: -

Describe their smile: Good natured, friendly, goofy Left or right-handed?: Right How do they dress?: Casually and comfortably Any special accessories? If so, why are they special?: Wrist Watch- belonged to his biological Grandfather who migrated to Canada from Punjab, India. Wrist band made by his little sister Silvia. Something they always carry with them: Above and Park shed’s keys. Weapons: n/a Describe hairstyle: Quiffed, overgrown crew cut Natural hair color: Black Natural hair texture: Thick and straight Cleanliness/grooming: Good Miscellaneous physical characteristics: Stocky, barrel-chested, thick armed Usual mood/expression: Cheerful

SPEECH AND COMMUNICATION Pace of speech: Slow Voice tone: Accent: Ontario, Canadian English (slips into mothers more traditional Indian accent when angry or drunk, swears in Punjabi) Describe their laugh: Describe general speech pattern: Mannerisms/demeanor: Typical posture: Gestures:

LIFE Current residence: Beck’s Park Cabin Do they live with anyone?: Usually Where would they ideally live?: Same place Any pets?: Current occupation? Are they satisfied with this?: Park Ranger, yes General health: Great

FAMILY OF ORIGIN Mother’s name: Paavani Parvi Mother’s age: Deceased at thirty five Mother’s living status: Deceased Father’s name: Vikram ‘Vik’ Parvi Father’s age: fourty nine Father’s living status: Alive Describe relationship with parents: Was caring, positive, loving but tentative with mother, Any other caretakers?: Avan Sharma (maternal Grandfather), Kelsey Beckenheim Siblings: Silvia Mahi Parvi Describe their ancestral history: Punjabi Indian, Indo-Canadian, Canadian-English

EMOTIONAL CHARACTERISTICS Describe their sense of morals: Lawful Good How do they act in public?: Stiff but friendly How do they act privately?: Relaxed and goofy How do they react in a crisis?: Lean into impulsivity, uncertainty, anxiety, finds it hard to control emotions, especially anger How do they view life?: Simply How do they view death?: Not fully considered What motivates them?: Family, nature, happiness What makes them happy?: Family, food, nature, exercise What makes them sad?: Uncertainty, other people’s sadness, conflict What makes them angry?: Carelessness, Jamie Smith/Rivers What humiliates them?: Lacking confidence to stand up for himself, others

RELATIONS WITH OTHERS Who are their close friends?: Jackson Koh  (Jay), Abbie Tomlinson (f, park ranger), Shannon Tremblay (m, park ranger), Marcus “Levers” Levesque (m, park ranger) Sexuality: Heterosexual First love: Jamie Smith/Rivers Current love: n/a

MENTAL ATTITUDES Any psychological issues?: Anxiety, managing anger Intelligence level: Not academic Self-confidence level: Low self confidence Optimist or pessimist?: Optimist Emotional or logical?: Emotional Dominant or submissive?: Submissive Patient or impatient?: Impatient when stressed, mostly patient Compassionate or self-involved?: Compassionate Greatest fear: Losing his family, especially biological sister Silvia What is their greatest strength?: Simple, caring nature What is their greatest weakness?: Lacking self confidence, people pleaser Biggest accomplishment?: Managing the park and its employees Biggest regret?: Jamie Smith/Rivers

[lockwoodlitherland]

ANNIKA

It was cloudy now, her memory of it all. Any time a trace of it emerged from the depths of her mind it was like a great, sluggish, looming thing made of tar. Her heart would race and a shot of panic would burst through her like a beam from the pit of her stomach to the back of her throat and she would swallow it back down again. 

Take a deep breath, hold it, gulp. Shake her head, rub her eyes to wipe away whatever image was lurking before it could be fully realised in her mind’s eye. 

Annika told herself that she couldn’t remember, that it was hazy because she had legitimately forgotten. There were gaps, huge gaps, which she tried desperately not to acknowledge in fear that, if she ever interrogated them with any real will to see,  she would see something, a part of herself, which she didn’t want to come face to face with. Along with that, Annika found it hard to distinguish between the truth of the past and the stories of it, the lies or embellished truths that she had told over and over.

She had always run, for as long as she could remember she ran; all her life she had been running, and she had never stopped. 

It seemed there had been four versions of Anni throughout her life, each one moving in the place of the broken one that had come before, protecting her until it itself was broken and needed replacing.

Annika Traskolnikova: a girl who had fled from her parents and her birthplace in Russia as soon as she was able. Who had run from the pain there and the guilt of not staying to protect her siblings. Who had run from her own weakness in the face of her Father and his cruelty. Who had run from the contempt she held so strongly for her Mother; a woman who would consistently drown herself in drink to numb her own pain, as well as deafen the sounds of what her husband did to their children.

That was early on and a life that Annika had so far separated herself from now that it no longer felt like it had happened to her, but as if it were the story of someone else, in a book she had read long ago.

The next version was Annika Trace: a young woman in her late teens who, after living with her Grandmother in England, had been launched into the fickle and fast-paced world of modelling. Moving to the States and later choosing to reside in Canada. This choice perhaps influenced by the broken Russian girl deep inside that Trace was viciously protecting. A girl who craved to feel the cold and live in the snow again.

Beautiful, sour and sly people surrounded her, marketing her body, coveting her image, caring next to nothing for her wellbeing or her soul. She remembered the intoxicating rush of it all: the love, the position of power, the idolization and obsession for her that had fueled her ego and dictated her self-esteem. 

Here, Anni had learned that the sharpness of her mind was more of a hindrance than a virtue. Learned that she wasn’t worth anything outside of her shell. That she didn’t deserve love or kindness, so neither did anyone else.

Who she was had never mattered in that world, not truthfully, she never felt as though she had substance there. This version of herself had quickly gobbled up as many vices as she could find in a vacant attempt fill a void inside herself that she had always known would never close. This was simply her lot in life and she was resigned to it. There was a certain power in that, a freedom. The freedom of not having to care. Her dreary feelings were like a black eel, coiled inside of her. In apathy she found no pain. By drowning herself in drink and drugs -as Traskolnikova’s Mother had, the Mother she had so hated for the same thing she now did herself- and other people’s vapid physical affection for her, she had found comfort for a time like a strange, warm, smothering blanket. But she had always known it could never last, it wasn’t realistic. Her wretched self would always come ambling up behind her. The anguish, the frustration, the terrible nothing that clawed inside and sought to snuff her out. And one day, she had decided to let it.

She remembered this version of herself  the most murkily now. The circumstances surrounding the day that Annika Trace had killed herself were uncertain to her, detached. The thing that the Anni who lived now remembered most vividly was the rain, weeping from the sky in great cold sheets that laminated her long red hair across her face. She remembered standing on the isolated stone bridge in the forests surrounding the exclusive five star spa resort which hosted the birthday party for her then boyfriend and fellow actor/model Oliver Elms. She remembered that she had had begun to fall out of favour in this world; the bright spark of fame she had garnered increasingly fading to an ember. She remembered feeling warmth, stimulated in her by the mammoth cocktail of drugs she had consumed; prescribed and not prescribed, legal and illegal. She remembered the screams of the older man with the kind face who she had met in the spa earlier that week, as he ran towards her and she let herself fall blissfully from the bridge. Anni remembered waking up. The man with the kind face holding her, telling her to keep her eyes open whilst a fire, a feeling larger than she had ever remembered feeling before in either of her lives, tore through her body, bringing her back and turning her into something else.

The third Annika, the most recent face, was Annika Beckenheim (Anna, officially). The man with the kind face had turned out to be Kelsey Beckenheim. A man who took her into his family, who saved her life. But that was a life she hadn’t wanted to continue living. Luckily, she wouldn’t have to. Annika Trace had died that day by all accounts; it seemed that someone else, far off, had seen her fall into the water that night. ‘A beacon of light and talent cruelly ripped from this world before her time’ she remembered reading the unoriginal headline from one of the media tributes that relentlessly circulated for a short time, despite her body never being found. 

 Annika Beckenheim was an incomplete face who mingled with the bits of Annika Trace that lived on. The two melded together to hide and protect the girl Traskolvikova and the wretched broken parts of Trace. Anni had even let parts of Trace’s life blend with Beckenheim’s when she had sought out Oliver Elms again. This had been for comfort during a time when Beckenheim’s life had begun to fragment, but it had also been to gain access to the money that she had accumulated in her previous life. 

Physically she changed herself in order to further solidify the separation. The trademark red hair of Trace was dyed and toned white-blonde, she began tinting her eyebrows and lashes to darker shades, and she gained a healthy weight. Ageing had helped her too, as she moved into her mid to late twenties her features had seemed to sharpen. All of this suited her fine, the further away the better.

This woman had begun to live a nice life. A real life. A life were she had loved and been loved. Where she had been valued and had been allowed to make mistakes and learn from them. She had been cruel and she had been kind. She had found solace and an escape from the torment that had followed her around since her childhood. And in that, there had been the beginnings of acceptance.

As an amalgamation of all three people, all three lives, she was the most the real. She lived the fullest. She also lived in a supernatural fantasy; a story from the myths of her childhood, from the legends of Pagans, Indigenous Peoples and Scandinavian lore. It was the freest she had even been, yet the most surreal life of them all.

However, the plot of this story she lived had called for the darkness to return, for yet another tragic ending. The fear that always lay deep down like a frightened animal, ears pinned back against its skull, mouth spitting, it had always whispered that this could never last. And it hadn’t. Something terrible had happened and it had hurt worse because it had hurt not only her, but the people she had come to love and protect.

Her new family, who had accepted her and loved her and who had been the sunrise in her darkness: Damian, Silvie, Lil, Jay, Beck, Mitchel.

The friends and acquaintances that had taught her to care for herself, that she could be strong without hurting anyone else, that she could be fearless and compassionate at the same time: Cassandra Blake, Harley McCallum, Jamie Rivers.

The person who had affected her the most. The most positive things she had ever felt had been with him. With him, she had been the best version of herself. Lloyd Rivers had been indescribably important to her.

To save his life she had left. Afterwards, she had tried desperately, selfishly, childishly to claw him back. It had left the wound far worse, festering.

The loss of this life, this life she had made with him, was the most painful thing she had ever felt. Her future and the future of the people she had left was uncertain, teetering on a knife edge. Her every muscle grew taut, the corners of her vision started to darken. She could see only before herself and again she wanted to run, go somewhere, be away. Be someone else. She could hide again, Anni could flee and leave someone in her place. For a while she had been... too many different versions of a person, each protecting another. She had been everyone she could think to be. It seemed like a hundred faces, cycling one after another. She searched them for comfort, seeking someone who didn’t hurt. She would shove Annika Beckenheim to the back of her mind, with everything else she ignored and forgot. They could all fester together.

But how could she go on, when all her memories were bad, when everything that had shaped her was rotten? Who did that leave for her to be, another broken, sorrowful thing?

The wretched part of herself crawled back to consume her for a time. 

For an indeterminate amount of time following her loss Annika felt like she was moving through quicksand. She’d gone back to the isolation of the only home she had left, itself left broken in her wake and the wake of those who had begun to disassemble everything she had come to know.

She had considered killing herself again, hoping that this time it would stick. She had lost her strength, all sense of self, selves, was shattered. 

Until, one night she had found some forgiveness for herself whilst talking to her brother, Damian.

Sweet, simple Damian, to whom she had never given enough credit. He had seen the anguish and fragility in her, the anger and the hate. His wisdom that evening had motivated her to become the version of herself she practiced now.

Damian had driven her out into the depths of the Provincial Park’s acres in the cool chill of an early spring evening. To one of his favourite spots. Sat together and wrapped in blankets in the back of his work truck they were the audience to a breathtaking scene of natural beauty.

“It’s terrible.” Damian had said. His thick eyebrows knitting together with concern as he poured out some of the hot chocolate from his thermos, handing it to her in a battered enamel cup. “To have been hurt. It’s unfair, and it’s awful, and horrid, and painful, and shitty. But Anni… it’s okay to go on.”

Annika had shook her head, sniffing at the cup and staring ahead. Her eyes had seemed a soft pale green in this light, it was like the vivid colour had been washed out of them over and over, They were the green of leaves that were clinging to the very last bits of life they could.

“I’ll never control it.” She’d said abruptly, blinking tears. “It’ll always be there. I can’t just, carry on. I can’t just be me. I don’t know who that is. I thought I did but…” she was holding her breath to stop herself from crying but it meant choking the words out, “but I’d built myself up around him, around the future with him that I’d told myself was set. Around our friends and our family being here. And-“  her chest shuddered as she finished her sentence, struggling to speak “and it’s all gone.”

“No.” Damian had said, he pulled her close and she’d begun to cry into his chest. “If you don’t trust yourself then can you trust me? You’re the most resilient person I have ever met. You’ve come through so much and you’ve protected yourself in the best way you knew how. I see you Anni. I promise you, you’re important, you’re worth protecting, you’re a worthy person. You don’t need to be anybody else.”

Annika had always created these new persona’s to deal with memories she couldn’t face and situations she felt she was incapable of handling. She changed herself physically and emotionally every time. It was exhausting, damaging. Not since she was a child had she considered just, being her whole self. Herself who didn’t rely entirely on anyone else for her existence, for validation. She would learn to live, to live for her.

This fourth version of Annika, the person she was now, she was still learning, still coming to terms with… well, with everything. 

Simply, she was named Annika for now, she decided. That name, Anni, at least that, that had always been with her, and she didn’t want to wash that away.

[lockwoodlitherland]

DAMIAN & JAMIE

Damian had to be up early most every day; up, washed and in uniform in time to open up the park and tend to its many acres. Not alone of course, Beck had just over 30 employees working during the winter months and ten times that many in summer. Due to the current condition of roads however the majority of staff had had a hard time traveling to their lodges this month so Damian was short-staffed and mostly lonely. The public section of the park was made ever smaller in the winter, at times even closed completely, but that still meant hundreds of acres and odd jobs to do, so the friends he did have were sparsely spread. Today, he was looking forward to clearing one of the parks many walking trails ready for opening in the coming spring months.

Walking into the kitchen Damian struggled into his thick pullover, bumping into the counter as he wrestled with the arms. Regaining sight he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and poured himself some coffee so disgustingly thick and so eye-wateringly strong it'd have him wired for at least the next six hours. Damian made a face after his first glug and filled his thermos with the rest of the gloop. Still groggy, pulling on his boots and finding his keys he made his way out the back, locking the door behind him. He continued to rub his blurry eyes as he jogged down the wooden steps and past the figure heaped in blankets sat on the back porch. Yawning, he started to make his way towards the big shed beside the house, but all of a sudden he stopped, turned, doing a double take.

"Jamie?" With a tired look in his big earthy brown eyes he took a few steps back. She wouldn't listen to him if he told her to go inside. Bowing his head a little he jogged back up the stairs towards her, fiddling with his keys.

"D'you want more blankets?" he asked, watching the keyhole as his big hands fumbled at it.

Jamie heard Damian before she saw him, his heavy footfalls approaching the backdoor. A rush of warmth even brushed her back from the inside of the house but as quick as it came it was gone again. It was mostly the same for Damian every day. He worked hard, exceptionally so, but Jamie could see a definite passion in his eyes for what he did. These forests were part of his home. This park was more than just a public trust site to all of them. Or at least that was what she guessed. So this was why she watched him as he went, ready to call out his name but he'd already turned to face her.

She gave him a tired smile and shook her head. She would find herself dotted around random places in the mornings, her blankets always her companion. It was easier than trying to get back to sleep. For a few moments she just looked at him before turning away and reaching beneath one of the folds of the blankets by her knee. From the fabric she extracted a box and offered it to him.

"I made brownies," She said quietly, her eyebrows knitting as if she was confused by her own words. She hadn't made them specifically for Damian but...well she certainly wasn't going to eat all of them.

"For you to take while you work," She added, as if there were some confusion in her empty statement.

"They're not particularly nutritious but uh," She stopped abruptly and squared her shoulders, finding no more words. "Yeah," Even when she was trying to be normal she was weird.

For the second time that morning Damian had to do a double take as she offered the box up to him. Through the clean sharp scent of the mornings cool air he could smell the sweetness inside. At first he squinted, rubbed the corners of his eyes once more, moving hands away from the half-open door. He didn't quite know how to respond to the offering; the two had been living in a soup of mixed emotions and signals for weeks, but nothing like this, nothing this affectionate. After a brief period of thought, in which he confirmed that he wasn't hearing things and what just happened had in fact happened, Damian took the box without a word. Instead he opened the lid a crack feeling the warmth of the contents on his cheek. Raising a thick eyebrow to her he smiled a little.

"So what, do they have like rat poison in them or something?" he asked, the dimples showing in his cheeks from the smile on his lips. Crouching down beside her chair Damian peeled back the lid and took out two brownies: one he gave to her and the other he took a huge bite out of. Truth be told he wasn't expecting them to be that great, so he was pleasantly surprised when he tasted the thing. When they were younger Lil had always baked with them, and it had become somewhat of a shared passion. So Jamie doing something like this...it meant something to him. Although Damian wasn't quite sure what that was. Nor for a minute did he assume that Jamie had made them with him in mind.

“It’s good.” He said, raising his eyebrows again,  lifting the half eaten brownie as if tipping an imaginary hat to her.

Relief flooded through her when he took her offering. He could easily have scowled and carried on walking but instead she saw some kind of happiness in his eyes. As he approached her she had the good humour to smile at his joke and after taking the offered brownie she chose to add, just as he took a bite "Nope, not rat poison. Cyanide."

There we go Jamie, whacking out the morbid jokes. She watched him for a few moments before she eyed her own brownie and broke a piece off. She recalled how after Lil had brought her here and they'd tried to get her to eat, she'd been eased into watching the woman bake cookies then given the chance to herself. Her heart ached slightly as she put the piece of brownie in her mouth and chewed, eyes downcast and unsure of where to settle.

She hadn't thought Damian would actually come near her. She'd just assumed the 'gift' would be given and he'd leave but his nearness brought warmth, even in the chill air. She couldn't even find words to say to him because she had nothing he'd be interested in even hearing. So she just sat, holding her brownie like a squirrel, a stark contrast to the way he practically devoured his own.

Whilst chewing he smiled, eyes downcast, letting out a puff of air from his nose as a faint laugh. Over the past few months Damian had let his thick hair grow out further and now it was pushed back, flopping over to one side. He'd let his stubble grow back in and it darkly shaded his cheeks. At this point he might not look amiss at an art class of some kind, with his lengthening hair and his woolly jumper. It was certainly a change from the dopey, clean cut eighteen year old Jamie had first met those years ago. After a moment of silence he looked up at her with his big brown eyes that had somehow never lost their light.

"Here," he handed the box back to her, taking a considerable amount of the goods out and wrapping them in a plastic bag he had in his pocket left over from his last lunch "there's not much in, only tins and bread."

Standing he turned to pull his keys out of the heavy wooden door. For a moment he lingered, looking uncertain. Deciding, he stepped towards her, putting a hand on her hair and kissing the top of her head.

"Thanks." he said finally, before patting his pockets to check that he had everything then jogging across the yard towards the shed.

 "Welcome," She replied faintly, eyes widening a little as he kissed the top of her head. Her body was stiff, surprised clearly, but she soon regained composure and watched him leave. Carefully she eyed the brownies in her hands and wrinkled her nose. She wouldn't eat them. Sighing she set them back into the folds of the blanket and stood up, shuffling toward the back door like an animate blanket monster. She was almost relieved when heat washed over her and after shedding the blankets she folded them neatly and put them on the sofa. As usual emptiness radiated back at her along with the sense of misplacement. That would never leave her though, it sat on her shoulder and hissed in her ear where ever she went.

"Water," She said aloud, as if forcing herself to think, before she headed toward the sink. Her gaze rose to the window she'd stared out of so many times and the looming forest looked back, dark and unmoving. Where did she go from here?

[lockwoodlitherland]

DAMIAN 

“I wish I could explain what it's like to just stand in a place like this to somebody from the city.” He breathed, frosted air whisping from his lips as he stared out at the scene beyond them, sincere longing in his tone.

“Nevermind what it’s like to live here, be responsible for looking after it.” The fingers of his right hand gripped the back of his head as he studied the landscape. The faint orange light of the setting Spring sun glinted off his watch as he moved, creating a faint beam of light behind his head.

“Standing right here, after an hours drive into the mountains to fix up some wizened old trail, with nothing but your mind and music that means something to you.” He didn’t smile, but his expression was easy to read; it held gratitude most of all, a sense of awe. A feeling of peace softened any tenseness to his features or in his body language.

“Driving for hours and not seeing another soul. Knowing you’re hundreds of miles from the nearest person. Understanding that the only thing you needed, to free yourself from all that stress, was to stand right here.” It was no secret that Damian had struggled to manage his emotions over the years; lashing out in anger or turning in on himself with anxiety. Towards the end of their relationship Jamie had increasingly become the target of these outbursts when they fought, even when they spoke.

“Finding a better place in your own mind. A mindset that you can forget exists, unless you’re stood right here... That never gets old.” It was plain to see how much this last sentiment really meant to him. As he’d moved into his twenties he’d begun to hold a tighter grip on himself, managing to reign himself in before horrifying himself with the way he’d reacted to something, someone. Clearly, he’d given much of the credit for this to the landscape that they stood in together now.

He turned to her, letting out a breath of peace that pulled a sincere smile along with it. Seconds after his deep brown eyes met hers, he seemed to realise himself, who he was talking to, the fact that they didn’t talk to each other like this anymore. Bashfully, he let his hand drop from his hair, shoving the pair of them into the pockets of his muddied pants before awkwardly moving past her from the cliff edge to load the rest of the unused materials back into the truck. Despite his embarrassment, that aura of calmness that had seemed to plump him up like a leaf thirsty for water, that hadn’t appeared to budge. 

[lockwoodlitherland]

lannika

"Lets run away," she whispered, leaning down to his ear, one set of fingers walking up his stomach, the other holding hair behind her ear.

Lloyd looked at her with calm deep eyes, a smile curling across his soft lips. "Lets run away," He repeated breathlessly before leaning up and pressing his lips firmly to hers, a smile curving them even further.

[lockwoodlitherland]

LLOYD & ANNIKA

“Annika…” He said again, seemingly finding it hard to form words. He stepped back and set on the edge of the sofa.

“Could we make it work again? Me and you? I mean…I didn’t realise it before but something in my mind knows that I want this. I want you…“ He frowned and ducked his head, almost confused. He was sure he wanted her, he just needed to get his heart in on it too. “Maybe…”.

“Maybe, huh?” Anni gave a smile and let out a fast breath of air through her nose that might have constituted a laugh. 

She wasn’t so sure. She wanted him, she wanted him to want her. But all she ever did was hurt him. It seemed to be the only thing she was good at these days; hurting the people she loved.

Annika moved towards him, sitting on his lap and leaning her temple into his cheek. She gave a sigh, long and through her nose, fidgeting softly with her fingers in her own lap, gazing down at their legs, meshed together. Anni closed her eyes, defeated. She was tired, exhausted, she hadn’t slept in days and it felt like longer.

“I…” Anni had to take a deep breath. Nuzzling her forehead into his cheek, she began breathing in his familiar, calming smell. She held herself there for a moment, eyes closed, wishing that she could stay here like this with him forever, hiding from the world. It’s consequences.

“I love you”.

It seemed that even if Lloyd had outwardly forgotten how the treat Annika there were little bits of memory that still remained about how he’d once held her because Lloyd did remember the happier times he’d spent with her after all. His arms were strong and protective. Even if he didn’t love her like he once had, he could still hold her and keep her safe. He could do that. 

When she said ‘I love you’ he didn’t even tense up, but for the first time with Annika he couldn’t say it back. Not because he wouldn’t, just because it wasn’t love he felt for her. He adored her, yes. Respected her and really felt for her but not love, not this time round. 

“You must be tired.” He murmured, looking at her face, his eyes now soft, like they usually were around her. With an easy motion he picked her up and gave her one of his trademark lazy smiles. “If you don’t mind staying of course…”.

It half killed Annika when the words that came out of his mouth weren’t the ones that she wanted to hear. That she craved, that she needed, to hear. But it hurt more to know that it was her own fault that they were gone. That she’d probably never hear them from Lloyd again. She had to leave, she had to go, she had to run. Panic began to well up in her chest, moving up through her throat, threatening to drown her. This wasn’t good for either of them anymore.

“No, no, I have to go.” Annika wriggled in his arms until he set her down. His acts of kindness, the way he treated her, it felt forced now, wrong. It was all wrong. 

“I’ll let you get back to sleep.” Anni stooped to pick up her duffel bag, hoisting it over her shoulder. She wanted to apologise to him, to cry and become submerged under the bed sheets that smelled so suffocatingly of him. But it was better this way. 

“It’s fine.” Annika felt pathetic, embarrassed. She hurried towards the door, bile and hot tears rushing up from her stomach, her chest, begging to erupt immediately before she could escape this shitshow.

[lockwoodlitherland]

“The damage is done. I would have died. I would have loved you all my life.”