#on the drugs-existential line: oddly it will come back

[marstyler42]

All Hozier songs fit on a triangle graph. One point is "I am so full of existential dread". One point is "I am so horny for you". The last one is "I need to do drugs as soon as possible".

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Kiwi 10

previously on Kiwi

As grueling of a schedule as it was, there was a bit of normalcy to the routine of it all that was an almost welcomed addition to her life. Each day had an itinerary, had a designated time for everything, nearly down to bathroom breaks and time to think. The entire operation was efficient and orchestrated a year in advance. At a very very recent point in her life, Lexa didn’t like the sanctity of the routine and often balked under the weight of it, rejecting regularity for sleepless nights and people who broke her, and for too much manufactured joy that came at the end of a straw or bottom of a glass. Strung out and hung over, she performed without remember, and found herself missing the joy of it all, digging a deeper pit into her own body and soul that she could ever fill up. 

But she was finding a way to make up for it. 

It started with her sister, as most things seemed to always. It started with apologizing and promising and fixing a lot of things she once thought to be irreparable. And once that was mended and blossoming, Lexa watered different parts of herself, allowing a small bit of her own forgiveness and honesty to shine through. 

There was rehab and therapy, of course. And more apologizing and promising and setting realistic goals and avoiding stressors and things that would make her weak. But from that was a kind of strength, and people saw it, the improvement, the urge and need to be good, to be an artist. That was what saved Lexa’s life, at the end of the day, her overwhelming urge to create and interpret and give back something to the world. 

Tour was debated hotly for an entire month before it could be completely agreed upon between the bandmates, but in the end, it was the absolutely gruelling schedule that Anya decided truly was the best way for her to keep an eye on her sister. She couldn’t do drugs if she didn’t have time. 

And even though Lexa found herself missing someone, something she hadn’t originally planned on experiencing, she welcomed the road life with open arms, hitting meetings in every town almost, and talking to a girl on the other side of the country almost non-stop. When she wasn’t bugging Clarke, she was writing, practicing, working out, or performing, and in the end, those were almost the only things that truly mattered. 

Deftly, Lexa’s fingers moved along the frets of her favorite guitar as she lounged on the couch in her suite. She knew she was in Texas, but not entirely sure which city, and she didn’t mind. She had the sunset and she had a great view. In a month she’d be in Europe before festival rounds, and then back on the second half of her tour until the fall. There was a schedule. 

Without noticing her sister approaching, she hummed along to a melody she’d been stuck thinking about but not sure what to do with entirely. The album they were touring on was heartbreak and pain and partying. It was some of her favorite things because she loved seeing those who understood her and the words. But it scared her to write something different and new. And as many times as she promised an ode to Clarke’s ass, she was afraid to write something so loving. So she strummed along and already felt a different kind of grit sneak into her words. She sang a few lines and wrote in her notebook, pausing and reworking and thinking out loud. She recorded a few bars on her phone before putting it together somewhat. 

No one would say she was unprofessional when it came to her work. It was important that she got things out, and she came with a full idea, formed and ready to be put together, a concrete idea that she was always eager to capture. Her words got a little better and the process got a little easier when she was sober, something she feared at first, if she was being honest. She didn’t need the crutch. Her entire last album was a way to heal. 

“Sounds good,” Anya finally offered, pushing herself from the wall where she leaned. “Different,b ut good.” 

“I thought we discussed your lurking.” 

“I lurk out of love.” 

“Hm,” Lexa grunted, tossing her pencil down on the notebook. She kept working on the guitar though, trying to get it right. 

Anya took a seat on the coffee table her sister’s feet were propped up on, and she grabbed the notebook, carefully skimming through the words jotted there in a deceptively neat hand despite how quickly they were laid upon the page. 

“I like this a lot, actually. Powerful.” 

“I don’t want to wri--”

“I know, I know. The basics. Universal human emotion with killer guitar. Nothing personal, blah blah,” the drummer muttered, hunching over as she flipped a page and looked at another idea, waving away the inevitable diatribe she’d already heard. 

“I don’t want to write sad songs anymore,” Lexa shrugged. “At least… I don’t know. I can’t say never. I just-- singing these songs, it’s been heavy. I kind of want to bring back some fun. Remember our EP?” 

“A lifetime ago.” 

“Yeah, but like pure rock’n’roll right? Like gritty guitar, quick fucks, bad drinks, having fun. Dirty but something to sing along to.”

“Except you don’t do any of that.” 

“No, but I miss… Do you miss having fun up there?” 

“I always have fun,” Anya shook her head, pushing aside her mane of hair as it fell in her face. “I have fun playing with you.” 

“I do too, I just… Clarke said something-- before you complain,” she interjected as Anya began to roll her eyes, “She said that she could see me enjoy certain songs more, and a lot has to do with who they were about.” 

“You’re afraid to write about Clarke.” 

“No… yeah, I mean. No one tells you that when you write about people, you’re stuck with the song, even when they’re not around.” 

Lexa sulked slightly as she fiddled with her strings and looked away from her sister with the confession. 

“You like her a lot,” Anya observed after a few moments of quiet and flipping through the pages until she caught something she liked. 

“Yeah, obviously.” 

“Good. I like her too.” 

“I think I might invite her out again before we head to Europe.” 

“You should.” 

“Is this…” Lexa took a deep breath and stilled her movements, almost a complete statue as she tried to formulate the proper words. “Is this what it feels like to exist, like normal?” 

“Relatively, yeah, probably,” her sister snorted a laugh and smiled as Lexa’s face twisted slightly. “You’re so used to living at extremes, but what you don’t realize is that life is exceptionally average most of the time, and my favorite things are moments of beauty in the most mundane spaces. Aiden smiling at me when he pulls my hair and bites my chin because that’s how he kisses. You, holding him. You and me on stage when we are perfectly in sync and the world is right. The best bite of a piece of pizza. Watching you the past few months, come alive. Fighting with Luke about not having enough wipes in the diaper bag. There is nothing wrong with feeling those moments and realizing they’re enough.” 

Lexa grit her jaw and nodded, still unflinching and unwavering, afraid to move an inch because she was certain the dream would end, and perhaps this was one of those moments, because the sun was setting, and her sister looked beautiful and alive and not like she was ready to commit her, but like she actually enjoyed being her sister again. 

Anya didn’t mean to say as much, but she closed her mouth and looked down at Lexa’s notebook again. 

“Invite Clarke for a few days. Let her get a feel of your life here. She won’t break your heart.” 

“You’re psychic now?” 

“No, but I think she couldn’t hurt to offer you a muse, even if you don’t want that.” 

“I can’t write about her.” 

“I think you already are.” 

“Nah,” Lexa disagreed, back to plucking the strings haphazardly. 

With a victorious smile, Anya picked one she liked the most and read it a few more times, attempting to hear what her sister had beneath it all. 

“I like this one,” she finally offered, handing over the page, bookmarked and dogeared in a way she knew would piss of her sister. “Tell me how to hear it.” 

Lexa took her time, looking at the page and debating as her sister looked on expectantly. This would be the moment, she was certain, that they began the next album in earnest. That alone was a journey that made her wary, which was why she hadn’t approached her sister with anything finished yet. 

“Low and singular at first, up to the first bridge and then BAM you come in, hard and heavy, just a beat, a heartbeat. I want it to be a blast, a catharsis, an unleashing.” 

“Fitting,” Anya agreed and nodded as she read, dashing a note here and there, drawing lines to indicate the swelling. 

“See, I can write songs not about girls.” 

“You can, I just think you want to write about a girl. So just let yourself.”

“It’s hard, being away and stuff. Kind of a weird time to start a relationship.” 

“When have you ever done anything the easy way?” 

As much as she wanted to argue, Lexa stopped herself and agreed. It didn’t matter. She knew her sister was right, and maybe that was okay this time. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Even though it was nearing the end of her shift, the bar still felt full of people in a way that weighed on her. She was hoping to leave at a mildly reasonable hour to crawl into bed and get a reasonable amount of sleep for the first time in a long time. The universe didn’t seem aware of that plan as she tried to re-read the letter left in her letterbox the day before. 

“You going to grab that order at the end?” Raven interrupted her thoughts. 

“Why fucking not.”

Struck by her sour demeanor the entire night, Raven debated how to handle Clarke. There were different moods for her that required different responses. She wasn’t quite sure which kind of friend she had to be for the evening. 

Even though she couldn’t admit it yet, Raven saw that Clarke seemed oddly different after meeting Lexa Woods. She was driven and happy and doing more. She was content and afraid of the future, but for different reasons. 

“Are you being a little crabby because you miss your girlfriend?” Raven sang, clearly aware that she was annoying her friend. 

“She’s not my… well maybe-- no wait. That’s not why I’m-- And I’m not crabby,” a flustered bar tender shook her head, processing all of the words and how wrong they all were. 

“You miss her.” 

“How can I miss someone I never had?” 

“Oh, you have her,” Raven rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as she watched her friend huff and be annoyed at the common knowledge. “She’s flying you out again to see her, for a few days and two different cities of tour dates. You’re dating Lexa Woods.” 

“I think I would know if I was.” 

“I’m honestly not sure you’d know.” 

For the rest of the evening, they worked and waited until the bar cleared out and they could wrap up the hard part. Raven poured them both a drink when the door was finally locked and sat down across from her friend, unperturbed by the sticky bartop or the cleaning they were about to do. 

With a flick of her head, Clarke took the shot and hissed against the feeling of the painful liquid on her throat. 

“They’re tearing down my building,” Clarke sighed. “I’ve got a month.” 

“No wonder you’re in a snit,” Raven nodded. 

“And I haven’t gotten laid in a few weeks.” 

“Yeah, I can tell.” 

“It’s just… It’s just… It’s just... “ she sighed and shook her head before pausing to pour herself another drink and taking it back. “I think I’m getting ahead, right? Like if life is broke up into categories, love, money, job, happiness-- and I can’t get all of them to be okay at the same time. It’s exhausting.” 

As she spoke, Raven finished counting the cash and carefully handed over the split from the tips, handing a pile over to the barback that wiped down the tables while they stood there, veterans and exhausted by the night, no longer excited to keep drinking and stay up until about four. Clarke braced herself on the counter and stared at the empty shot glass, watching a droplet drip down the side slowly then all at once. 

“So what do you have together now?” 

“Hm?” 

“Out of those things, what is working for you now?” Raven asked. “I mean. You’re dating a rock star. You have a great internship and you are somewhat decent at it. You have to move and that’s it.” 

“It’s a pretty shitty thing. I can barely afford the shitbox I live in now, let alone another place.” 

“Come live with me.” 

“In your studio? No thanks. We’re close, but I don’t think we can be that close without killing each other.”

“Why don’t--”

“I’ll figure it out,” Clarke sighed. “I can’t think of solutions tonight.” 

“We can drink, if you want.” 

“Yes please.” 

“And,” her friend grinned, complete and utter mischief and nothing good at all as she dug behind the counter and pulled out a magazine. “We can read all about a sexy singer and a mysterious blonde she’s been seen with.” 

“Are you kidding me? Where did you get that!” 

Even though she moved as quickly as possible, Raven dodged Clarke’s advance, wiggling her eyebrows as she surveyed the pictures and laughed, enjoying her friend’s discomfort. Stretch as she might, Clarke couldn’t grab the offending image and she groaned, growing agitated in a way that her friend enjoyed. 

“I’ve just been saving this to enjoy when I had a free moment. Thinking about how much I could make by telling them who the cute blonde sucking on Lexa’s Woods’ neck is.” 

“I wasn’t-- They didn’t-- We weren’t--”

“Hmmm interesting,” Raven mused as she opened the magazine and Clarke got a glimpse of the front cover for the first time. 

Completely mortified, she blanched, the blood disappearing from her ears and face as she saw a grainy image of the two of them out to a lovely late dinner post-concert last time she visited. It was a good night and she thought they were alone. She also just really liked to kiss Lexa and she didn’t want to wait. 

“When aked about the new friend, the singer simply smiled coyly and said she was very happy,” the bartender read before flipping another page. “And my horoscope is trash.” 

“Give me that,” Clarke finally snatched the paper, flipping through the rag before coming face to face with herself. 

There was no way for anyone else to know it was her, at least not really, but Raven knew as she slipped her beer and started sorting the receipts. She knew and she knew the right thing to say most of the time, too. It only took a few moments of flipping for Clarke to toss the magazine back ont eh counter and shake her head before pouring another shot. 

“You’re going to be fine, Griffin,” Raven promised. “You’re ready to be happy.” 

“I don’t know how to be happy.” 

It wasn’t quiet in volume, but it was hones and quiet in its purpose. Clarke took the shot and slumped slightly under the weight of the honest and the feeling of maybe trying to believe how her friend’s suggestion could be real. 

“You do.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

Defeated by the rain and the past week, Clarke adjusted the bag that hung on her shoulder and leaned slightly against her large suitcase in the lobby the chic high rise. No one else was around save for the attendant at the desk who casually watched her without actually looking, keeping an eye on the happenings for very important people lived in his building, and he took his job very seriously. 

It was an act of utter failure and somewhat dependence that Clarke despised above all else. She never wanted to need anyone, and she never wanted to be a burden. When it came down to the fact that she needed help, she recognized a kind of guilt and shame that made her rile against herself, as if her own bones were bending and getting smaller. 

With an uncoordinated effort, she made her way to the elevator when it arrived in the lobby, and she tried not to think too much, instead looking forward to a good bath and a good sleep to get her head back on straight. 

She was going to make short business of needing someone’s help. She wasn’t keen on being given charity, and she certainly wasn’t ready to make Lexa feel like she was being used. That scared Clarke more than anything. 

As soon as Clarke stepped into Lexa’s empty place, she was afraid she’d gone into the wrong place because it was not actually empty, but rather warm and alive. The warm lights and candles glowed against the dark of the windows, while a sound of sizzling and the smell of garlic came from the kitchen. A record scratched in the corner. 

“Hey, I was wondering when you’d get in,” Lexa smiled and reached to grab the bottle of wine. “I was afraid you’d be later and it’d get cold.” 

The bags dropped. 

“What are you-- Wh-- How?” Clarke furrowed and shook her head. “You’re supposed to be in Philadelphia.” 

“I play there tomorrow. I thought you were a real fan.” 

She was putting the finishing touches on the small dinner prepared and plated on the dinging room table, but Lexa was every bit comfortable, as if she hadn’t been on tour for the past three months and not anywhere close to New York. 

“But what are you doing here, now?” 

“Came to welcome you to my place, well, your place, our place? No, your place.”

“It’s your place, Lex.” 

“Yeah, but it’s yours when I’m not here, so tonight it’s ours, I guess.” 

Happy and cozy, bare feet moving around and finally standing in front of her girlfriend, Lexa smiled and towered there in Clarke’s confusion. 

“Did you miss me?” Lexa grinned, and despite all of the feelings and the anger and the self-hatred, Clarke melted at it. 

“Why are you here?” Clarke shook her head, feeling bad still. “I didn’t--”

“I wanted to make you feel welcome. Nothing less welcome than a dark place, with no food. I wasn’t even sure I’d left the heat on to be honest, and it’s been cold the pas--”

Without meaning to do it, Clarke lurched forward and hugged her girlfriend tightly. She buried her face in her neck, making them both wobble slightly but leaving her undeterred. 

“I got you a key made,” Lexa whispered, surprised by the outburst. “I want you to be comfortable here. I like… I like the idea of you being in my bed.” 

“Even if you’re not here.” 

“I’ve never had someone to come home to.”

It was quiet and honest and even though dinner was on the table, and even though the record was done on its side and it stopped, creating a silence that prevailed the many tired thoughts that possessed both, they stood there. 

“You’ve been having a rough time. I know I can’t be physically here that much, I want to be around for you,” Lexa whispered. “I made you room in the closet.” 

“I won’t be here long.” 

“You can stay as long as you want. I mean it.” 

“It’s been a real shit month.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Aren’t you tired? Weren’t you in DC last night?” 

“So you are a real fan.” 

Clarke laughed even though she didn’t want to. Lexa’s arms stayed around her as she pulled away and she sighed because she had no other alternative-- there were too many feelings and thoughts that left her frazzled and she needed to hide all of that to savor this moment, regardless of the fact that she’d lost her home and was desperately missing the girl that cooked for her. 

“Want to come to my show tomorrow?” Lexa asked. “You can come up with me for the night and we could have two consecutive days together.” 

“Two? Wow, you must like me.” 

“I don’t just let every Tinder hook up house sit for me.”

NEXT

[fourletterworld]

Chapter 1 - Is this Real? Was a Big Brother

I had a dream where I was laying on my back in a monorail, watching telephone poles pass by through the windows as I stared at distant clouds. I can't remember what lead to this scenario, but I soon heard Cody's voice speaking to me from no particular location. It was as gentle and near as ordinary conversation, yet I never saw his face.

"Dust?" he called out, questioning, as though this connection was as strange to him as it was to me.  

I remember calling back excitedly; the incredible apathy I had been feeling during this point in time evaporated. I felt pure like I was a kid, as I immediately entered into a long conversation with him, asking him things he couldn't explain.

"What do things look like where you are?" I'd asked, and I could tell he had a semblance of an answer, but I imagined he didn't want to invalidate anything with words. Cody often wouldn't explain something for fear of not doing it justice. I fear putting our conversation into true dialogue for the same reason.

I remember asking if he was okay, which he said he was with certainty and positivity. The majority of our conversation faded in the mist where most of my dreams fall behind, but I recall clearly that his voice was light like it had never been in life. It had an intoxicated enthusiasm, but with absolute clarity of emotion and speech. It felt, to me, like he'd become the man he was supposed to be. The man he would have been had the pangs of chemical torture never got such a grip on his brain.

Cody had mental problems throughout his whole life. When he was young his ears would burn red hot and he would go into hysterical fits of laughter that would bleed into crying. He had a lot of allergic reactions that affected him emotionally, and he always had a hard time focusing and sitting still. When we were kids, I recall many times sitting next to him in restaurants, where he would get agitated toward the end of the meal. He'd lay back on a booth and start bicycle kicking me. The age gap made it unfair for me to fight back, and so I resorted to needling him: like asking him if other kids in his school looked like old women or if it was only him. He'd try to mask a grin with an evil expression, and then sit upright to throw body punches. I'd laugh and try to grab his wrists, while my Mom tried to yell at us from across the table. If my Dad was ever there, he'd make the ordeal into a scene which would embarrass my mom, scare the shit out of Cody and I, and promptly put a stop to the nonsense.

The psychological abuse I retaliated with was just as unfair as hitting back, but in 2019 before Cody passed we talked about this over phone. Cody told me I was always such a bastard growing up, but he always thought the shit I said was funny, and he attributed this to our unified sense of humor.

I didn't usually make fun of him though. I was really sympathetic most of the time, and he knew he could come to me when he was having problems. I think about one time in particular. Cody was eleven years old and he knocked on my bedroom door. When I let him in he was shaken like he wanted to cry and I was immediately alarmed.  

“What’s wrong Codes? Are you okay?” I thought maybe he’d gotten hurt, but what he told me dazed me momentarily and took me a second to grasp.

He said he was laying on his back and started thinking about what life is. He was stricken with rudimentary existential questions, like why are we here, and what is life, and is life even real? When I say these are rudimentary questions, I don't mean at all that the experience of these questions are uncomplicated... They are vast and overwhelming to deal with if you are emotionally invested and living them, and Jesus Christ, especially if you are eleven years old and afraid of things as simple as being kidnapped.  

Though, I didn’t understand that at the time. I was having trouble understanding how something theoretical could bring you to tears. I could wrap my head around what he was telling me easy enough, but it was the difference between someone explaining free falling from an airplane or actually being the person that jumps from the hatch. I think a lot of people who discuss things philosophically forget that understanding the premise of something existential isn't the same as living through it, and when Cody was explaining this to me, I was still years from experiencing anything similar myself, and still, to a lesser degree than I believe he had.

I listened to what he told me, and amidst my concern, I kept thinking about what a special brain he had. This was before he started experimenting with drugs, so all of his thoughts were uninfluenced in that way. I mean, I can't stress it enough, the kid was eleven. I don’t think I had an unprovoked thought until I was in my twenties. I still can't decide if whatever unlocks these intense ideas about the human condition comes from the imagination or some kind of fucked up rationale... The same kind of rationale that comes to the conclusion to put a gun to your head to erase all the anguish.

It is sick to say, but I imagined him dying prematurely many times before he did. He was tremendously encumbered by life, but rather than to become sluggish and uninspired, Cody was restless, which I correctly considered to be a terrifying combination.

After high school, I had moved away to Oregon for less than two years, in an effort to continue a relationship that hadn't been working. During this time Cody began to drink and smoke pot regularly. We talked on the phone often, and he subtly told me what he was getting up to, and I felt worried about him. I was selfishly torn between being his friend and being a good older brother. I was also selfishly torn between being a hypocrite and being a good older brother.

One day, my friend went to his then girlfriend's mom's house, who had a younger sister Cody was friends with. Fourteen-year-old Cody was passed out on the front lawn in the middle of the day next to patch of his vomit. My friend called me and warned me about this situation, and it was at this point I told my Mom. Neither she nor I controlled the situation at all.  

Oddly enough, this friend that discovered him on the lawn was also the same friend that discovered his body on the dirt road after he had overdosed. He was called to the scene as an EMT, on a day which he was randomly working in the area when he shouldn't have been. This coincidence is maddening to me, as though God or the Universe or whatever is saying that it meant to happen... But usually when you think of things meaning to happen, the unifying idea is supposed to bring you peace, but to me, it was a slap in my face that I deserve. To me, it was only meant to be because I didn't stop this from going off the tracks when I was warned first. It's a strange and fucked up parallel I can't get out of my head. Then sometimes I think, is any of this even real or am I drawing spiteful lines between a meaningless constellation?

When my Mom and I were in the hospital, we discussed his addiction problems at length to a doctor as we sat by Cody's bed. The Doctor then asked, knowing the answer, "You never put him into a rehabilitation program?" He looked at me. His eyes and tone brimmed with sympathy, but his question was built without any emotional integrity. Though, being a guilty human being, I did get casted with shame, but additionally swelled with momentary rage at the doctor’s useless blame. I was very close to cruelly criticizing the doctor, and had I been a person that indulged in self-gratifying drama, I would have.  I instead didn't answer the question, but my Mom did, and it hurt her, because the answer was, of course, no.

I then apologetically kissed his forehead. I remembered smelling his oily hair, and I then cried onto his rough hand, holding it and hoping it would miraculously squeeze mine back, but of course it never did. I'm still there each day in disbelief. I've personally experienced this and it still feels like someone had to explain it to me.

So, I'm lying on my back in the monorail in my dream, and I look up and say into the nothing, "Cody I want to hug you", and all he could do was say "I love you Dust".

So I said, "Cody, how do I know and of this is real?" and he replied with something meaningless, and I woke up.

[peace-love-piper]

Piper was laying in her bed in her room at Borgin & Burkes. There were still a few days to go before they were supposed to leave for France, but Maeko had left for her big camping trip two days ago; it was strange how the absence of a very quiet person could still make a house feel empty.

Piper was on the verge of drifting off to sleep when she heard the creak of a floorboard outside her closed door. She stared at it for a moment, and though there was no more noise, sure enough, after a moment, she could pick up the faintest wisps of energy as they trickled up through the cracks between the door and its frame. She sighed, and then decisively walked over to the door and opened it, where she was unsurprised to see Oz standing on the other side, half-naked as usual and looking like a Niffler caught with a diamond.

“Piper!” he said with unconvincing casualness, “Don’t mind me, I was just, er…” He trailed off, unable to come up with an excuse.

“Oz, would you like to sleep in here with me?” Piper asked kindly. His black-ringed eyes glinted sheepishly in the low light, and Piper added reassuringly, “It’s okay. I’m alone tonight, too.”

Not requiring further convincing, Oz grinned appreciatively and sprang into Piper’s bed in a manner that was, somehow, both catlike and uncoordinated. Piper tucked herself into bed on the opposite side and closed her eyes. She was used to the distinctive energy of both her roommates at this point; Oz’s was frantic and could be intense, but it held a quality of organized chaos reminiscent of listening to jazz music too loud inside headphones. It was comforting, now, in its familiarity, but the fact was that simply having someone else in the bed with her—no matter who it was—suddenly made Piper not very tired at all.

She rolled over so that she was facing the middle of the bed, almost touching noses with Oz. His eyes were open and he smiled a disarming, impish smile—so eerily similar and equally as unreadable to the one often worn by his half-sister.

“Oz, can I ask you something kind of…personal?” said Piper.

“Sure thing, Peach. I’m an open book.”

“Well…you and Maeko, you’re…you’re half-siblings, right? So, I was just wondering…” Piper flushed, embarrassed; staring into his face she couldn’t seem to find the words she was looking for, or the courage to ask them.

Oz seemed oddly unoffended by Piper’s lack of social etiquette on the subject. If anything his smile widened as he rolled onto his back and said, “Ah, the age-old existential quandary: where do I come from? What’s my Tragic Backstory?”

“Well, erm…yeah, I guess,” Piper said, turning several shades darker pink. She really could have handled this better, but…she was curious.

Oz sighed and stared up at the ceiling for several long moments, resting his head on his hands. Piper watched his face crinkle up into a wince, like the memories he was dwelling in were painful, and Piper was going to tell him she was sorry and to forget she’d said anything, but then Oz said:

“There’s not much to it, really. It’s not particularly tragic or particularly interesting. Maeko’s dad’s name is Richard Burke—I’m sure you will have heard of him, no? Real slimy prick. Definitely deep into the Dark Arts and got the hell out of dodge when the Ministry cracked down on that kind of thing around here. That was right around the time Maeko was born, and her mum—my mum—well…she got lonely. Women, huh?” He glanced at Piper and gave her a cheeky little wink that seemed wildly inappropriate given the context of the story. Piper squirmed, uncomfortable, and Oz continued: “Maeko’s godfather’s name is Donovan Pryce, and—ding ding ding!—you guessed it! That evil bastard is my dear old dad.” His tone was flippant, but Piper of course could feel the cacophonous waves of resentment and longing that were rolling off of Oz and shocking into her system.

It certainly did nothing to lessen the sensation, but Piper being Piper reached out tentatively and took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his in a small attempt to comfort him. Oz gave her a sad smile and squeezed her hand back a little. Then, after a moment he continued, “Who knows how long the affair went on…in all likelihood it started long before Richard bounced and Maeko was born. But whatever happened, nine months later and I was born. Isla—that’s our mum—she got word from her hubby that he was just hiding out until it was safe to return, and maybe she was scared of him or maybe she was just plain naive, but she suddenly started feeling real guilty about having a kid with another man. She wanted me to live with my father but honestly, he just really hates children. So they sent me to live with various relatives and told me my parents were killed in the war supporting the Dark Lord, and I was homeschooled—not very well, I might add—because I guess that made it less likely the truth would get out. Which, you know, it eventually did, at the trial that sent all our parents to Azkaban…where I for one hope they all rot ’til they’re dead.”

The sudden surge of hatred burned against Piper’s palm, but she winced through the pain. It was gone almost as quickly as it came, though, and Oz softened back to his usual distant, humored disinterest; that was just the way he was, pinging between emotions like a pinball machine. “Maeko was not thrilled about having me in her life at all, at first, but…well, neither of us had anyone else, did we? So we’ve just…tried to make the best of it.”

Oz turned toward Piper and, disentangling their hands, used his to toy with some strands of her bright orange hair. “Why do you ask? I mean, you’ve lived here all this time and you wait until now to start prying into our personal lives?” Oz said with his signature brand of off-color humor.

“Well…” mused Piper, trying to think of a way to voice her reasoning without sounding completely selfish, and coming up with none. “…it’s just…my mother has always been so secretive about everything I’ve ever wanted to know about myself…who my father is, the details of our Veela line…I’ve felt like an enigma in the world for so long and I just…I don’t want to go my whole life without knowing.” Oz’s fingers traced abstract shapes on her arm and Piper shivered, feeling vulnerable.

There was silence between them for a long beat and then, with a quaver of uncertainty in her voice, Piper said, “I guess what I want to know is…do you think it’s better, to know? Even if the truth is painful, or unpleasant?”

Oz withdrew his hand and seemed to genuinely ponder this for a moment. “I think it’s always better to know, Pip. I doubt there’s such a thing, really, as being blissfully ignorant.”

Piper nodded in solemn agreement. “I’ve…I’ve had a hard time working up the nerve to admit to Loxley that it’s something I want to look into. He’s so touchy about things having to do with his own past, you know…painful truths that he’d rather keep buried. And besides, learning more about my Veela heritage means really acknowledging what I am, and…I guess I’m just scared of what that will mean, for us…”

Oz frowned in confusion. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Well...people who have said that they care for me, in the past…it’s never been real, really. It’s nice while it lasts, but…people have a tendency of telling me what I want to hear, because, I’m…I’m so pathetically desperate for affection that they just…they can’t help it, it…it goes along with the charm, being…influenced, emotionally, by my desires…” Tears were welling up in her eyes and her throat was tightening up, and Piper hated how utterly stupid she was. People like Oz and Maeko and Loxley had it far worse off than she ever had, and yet she still had the capacity to sit here feeling sorry for herself? It was beyond comprehension, and Piper hated herself for it.

Oz stared at her with an air of genuine sympathy, but also like he had no idea what to say. After a moment he drew up Piper’s hand again and, wetly and unrefined, he kissed her fingertips. Then he said, totally deadpan, “Well for what it’s worth, I think you’re an ugly cow with no redeemable qualities to speak of.”

Piper, who understood precisely what he was trying to say, gave a wet laugh and smiled. “Thank you.” She sighed, and closed her eyes, allowing the lingering tears to tumble down her cheeks.

“For what it’s also worth, I think he does really care for you, despite your freaky little powers…” Oz continued, “…but I’m also a certified unstable lunatic and a drug addict, so take that with a hefty fucking grain of salt.” He smirked lopsidedly and Piper hugged him around his middle, and neither of them said anything else.

And, eventually, they both drifted off to sleep.

[brandonxdylan]

Terminal Bliss (1990)

Around season 5 of my premiere binge of Beverly Hills 90210, I decided that I was officially obsessed with Luke Perry, and while riding one of my crush highs, I purchased a VHS copy of his first movie called Terminal Bliss, which has never had a DVD or streaming release. It wasn’t cheap, but now that I’ve watched it, I feel like it was worth it. You know those store brand colas that always try to look like Coke but are always conspicuously, almost subversively...off? Well, Terminal Bliss is to Bret Easton Ellis’ Less Than Zero, as Dr. Skipper is to Dr. Pepper. I don’t think I can put it any clearer than that.

But I’ll try. What follows is part review, part commentary. I know it really has nothing to do with 90210 besides the fact that it stars Luke Perry (who, for the record, is basically playing Dylan McKay here, albeit a version of him with less fucks to give), but I figured this is the best place to post it, because I know I have a few followers who share my love for our reigning Fred Andrews.

We open with some moody shots of a boat drifting on a lake at sunset, and some kids playing in the twilight as Alex, our narrator and protagonist (although tbh you won’t be rooting for anyone in this film) provides a voiceover about the time he witnessed an accidental suicide. It seems while he was a child playing in a tree, a man came up and tied a rope around a branch, planning to hang himself. But the branch breaks, and he falls to his death instead. I’m not sure if this is supposed to be real or just a metaphor, but either way it’s super pretentious and heavy-handed (as is the rest of the movie), and it will come into play later, so hold that thought.

We then transition to Alex and his friend John (played by the reason for this post) as they play lacrosse. Alex and the new girl in town, Stevie, make eyes at each other. John asks Alex, “who’s the bitch?” and follows it up with, “you fuckin’ her?” Just the first of many classy lines courtesy of John/Perry, and I’m not complaining.

After this, we move into meeting the other members of their crew, including the improbably-named Bucky, a freshman at Ohio State who deals drugs, as well as his girlfriend and “best customer” Kirsten. Also Craig, played by the late Alexis Arquette(!) who is a huge Grateful Dead fan and who seems to lift right out of this circle of friends, but is also the only one who gives a solid, believable performance and actually manages to be likable. While out for a drive, John gives Stevie acid, apparently for the first time, even though Stevie seems to have a thing for Alex, who makes eyes at her once again. Alex says in narration that because he wanted her, so did John. Also, now seems like a good time to apologize for the shit quality of these screencaps. I’m not working with primo sources here, folks.

They then go this club (which seems to have an apocalyptic jungle theme) where Stevie and Kirsten waves their arms around dreamily together.

Kirsten says she’s into Stevie’s necklace, and Stevie says without a hint of irony: “my daddy made it for me. He’s dead now.” Then they all do blow and John brings Stevie into some sort of bathroom? Storage room? Anyway, they have sex, right there in the club, surrounded by lava lamps. Alex watches (creepily), and it seems like Stevie sees Alex too, but neither one says anything.

A few months pass, and it’s established that John (sporting an adorable scholastic look: see below) and Stevie have become an item, which stresses out Alex, who tries to deal by journaling(!!) This bites him in the ass, though, as it seems he handed in his angsty, bitter, drug-fuelled musings as an English assignment (sensible), and his teacher (appropriately) interpreted them as a cry for help and showed them to his mother. When informed of this, he calls his teacher a “lying antagonistic bitch” in front of the whole class, and is promptly hauled into a parent-teacher conference where his mom says that Alex “has become arrogant and sarcastic.” I love it. Alex is told to apologize to his teacher, but requests an “alternate path.” This is the point at which I realized that Alex is a pretentious douchebag, and no, there is no redeeming character arc to come. Alex then says he’d prefer to be suspended, is suspended, and then threatened with rehab, which he likens to being “burned at the stake.” Like...what did you expect? Also, he says that Stevie had an abortion, and John makes creepy eyes at Stevie’s freshman sister Tanya. Both of these things will also come into play later. Sort of. 

Back at Chez Alex, Alex’s Siouxie Sioux-looking mom goes for a tan in her home tanning booth, as yuppie mothers are wont to do, but not before taking a Valium, which seems like a real bad idea. She tells Alex that he has to stay and watch her to make sure she doesn’t fall asleep. He does, for a minute, but then he starts getting existential, and wishing that he was aborted like Stevie’s baby so he wouldn’t have to go to rehab. Jesus Christ, Alex, grow up. Anyway, it seems like in the midst of all this, he leaves because we hear the door close, a buzzer go off, and his mom scream his name so like...is she okay? We don’t know and it’s literally never mentioned again.

At John’s super bougie graduation party, Stevie gives Kirsten her dead-daddy necklace as a token of their friendship.

After John notices Kirsten wearing it, he hits on her, but she rebuffs his advances. John: “What, a guy can’t cop a feel in his own house?” Then Kirsten implies that it’s not that he hit on her, it’s that he’s doing so “in front of the whole world.” K. But it all turns out to be a moot point anyway because Bucky walks in, which ends the conversation.

Alex gets out of rehab just in time to make it to the party, and they all go for a joy ride in the new Porsche that John’s parents gave him as a graduation present. Here, yet another reason why John is basically just Dylan McKay. Also, Stevie pulls a Footloose and almost dies but it’s chill.

They go for dinner at Bucky’s dad’s country club, where Craig does a shitload of acid, and John is a dick to Stevie, who seems to be losing interest in him. When John invites her to go to the wine cellar with him and do some blow, she refuses and so he grabs Kirsten instead, calling her a “snow bunny,” which I think is the cutest way to say “coke fiend” that I’ve ever heard. And naturally, they do each other, in addition to the blow.

Meanwhile, at the table, tensions flare inexplicably between Bucky and Alex, who puffs on a cigarette and chews the scenery like it’s turkey jerky as he rips Bucky a new asshole for no real reason, calling him out for being a privileged asshole who is destined for a life of suburban mediocrity. Jesus Christ, man, what did Bucky ever do to deserve this unwarranted tirade? He’s not even a villainous character. He’s barely even a character at all, he’s been on screen for like three minutes total at this point.

But Bucky does not take this lying down, and snatches the wig right off Alex’s head, calling him out for basically being just as privileged as he is. It’s the pot calling the kettle platinum, if you will. Anyway, their bitch-fest is interrupted by Craig who has a coughing fit (because of the acid? I guess that could be a thing). Alex takes off, followed by Stevie, and the two inadvertently interrupt Kirsten and John having sex in the wine cellar (as you do). Alex straight up sees them going at it, And although Stevie doesn’t, she sees enough to suspect. She also sees the necklace she gave Kirsten sitting on the floor, and picks it up. Kirsten’s response to all of this is to ask Alex which rehab he went to, because she thinks she’s getting too addicted to coke. Like that’s her actual excuse for fucking John. Whatever helps you sleep at night, sis.

Later, John goes to Stevie’s where he again creepily leers at Tanya, who is sunbathing by the pool. He tells her that she arouses his Lolita complex. Ew.

Then Stevie waltzes into the backyard while eating ice cream right out of the tub. This will be a recurring motif with Stevie, as you will see, as her passion for ice cream comprises about 83% of her character. John says that he has a gift for Stevie and so the two go for a drive. First, he gives her a snake (wtf?)

Then, the real gift, which is a black, oversized t-shirt (which is oddly even more wtf than the snake). As she reluctantly puts it on, John gets all weird and handsy, talking about how his babysitter used to get changed in front of him and it turned him on, and then talking about how constriction is the worst way to die (is that what the snake was supposed to represent?) This is all presumably the last straw for Stevie, and understandably so, as she tries to break it off with John, who pins her down and is alternately angry and weepy as he confesses his love for her. Eventually she wriggles free and runs off. Run, bitch, run.

A few days later, Alex shows up at Stevie’s, interrupting a dream she was having about her giving birth. What follows is the most bizarre conversation in the whole movie. First, Stevie offers Alex ice cream (again, right out of the tub, natch), saying that it’s “creamy, and dreamy, simply to die.” What’s with the hard sell? Are you a brand ambassador for Häagen-Dazs or something?

In response, Alex chooses to ignore this entirely, and instead says: “You know, music is the ultimate form of expression.” THANKS ALEX, NO I DID NOT KNOW THAT BUT THANKS FOR BRINGING IT UP EVEN THOUGH LITERALLY NO ONE WAS TALKING ABOUT MUSIC. They then take a hard turn into talking about sex. To make things stranger, Stevie gives Alex her necklace, without explanation, and starts playing the piano (is that necklace cursed or something? Why does she keep trying to pawn it off?) Alex proceeds to say some egregiously pretentious things about her choice of music (Shostakovich, for the record), as well as her choice of rendition. Around this point, Stevie gets annoyed with Alex’s presence (which makes sense), but he placates her by finally accepting her offer for ice cream. “You know, I think ice cream’s better than sex,” she says. OF COURSE YOU THINK THAT. Alex says that he can’t really comment on that comparison “...since I’ve never had ice cream.” BARF.

Then John shows up in full Dylan-mode: drunk and bitter. He tries to get Stevie to invite him in for the night, which she refutes by saying her parents are home (which they aren’t), and so Alex drives John home. En route, John warns Alex that Stevie is “a manipulative bitch.” Alex then calls out John for being a douchey nympho, and then John calls out Alex for being a know it all. Calm down, fellas, you’re both right.

At the grocery store, Alex listens to Craig go off about the virtues of the Grateful Dead, while carrying around an eggplant. They then run into Stevie and Kirsten, the latter of whom is eating a piece of fruit. When Craig asks what it is, she says “I don’t know.” Reasonable. I mean who hasn’t just picked up a piece of fruit from an unlabelled bin at the grocery store and started munching.

Stevie tries to talk to Alex (IN THE ICE CREAM SECTION), who is predictably standoffish and rude. Be that as it may, Stevie invites him to her sister’s party, and he reluctantly accepts.

Also, as a stray observation, I just wanted to point out that Kirsten always seems drunk. I don’t know if that was an acting choice, if she was directed that way, or if it’s just the way that this actress is. But in any case, it’s both ineffective and endearing, and goes a long way in contributing to the borderline surreal vibe that this movie has. Like this clearly does not take place in our world.

At the party, Bucky talks to Kirsten about their upcoming European vacation, which she seems kind of “meh” about. Then John shows up, and Tanya says that although she wants him there, she feels weird because of his relationship with her sister. Then John says it’s cool because he never really liked Stevie anyway. Tanya seems to accept this happily, which is kind of a bitch movie imo but whatever. Then, presumably for the sole purpose of stirring up an already over-stirred pot, Alex shows up to return Stevie’s necklace to her in front of all of their friends, which seems to reveal to everyone that John and Kirsten had a thing, and that Alex and Stevie KNOW they did. This motherfucking necklace, I can’t with this.

Bucky and John exchange words, with John making some low blows about Kirsten’s drug habit and how it was easy to get her to sleep with him because all he had to do was “put her on the one gram cycle.” Ouch. Anyway, Bucky retaliates (deservedly) by pushing John into the pool (which I TOTALLY called by the way).

Tanya pulls John out of the water and takes him into a bathroom to dry off and tend to his broken lip. He compliments her perfume and asks if it’s Stevie’s, which I guess is supposed to solidify his obsession with her, and to explain(ish) what he does next. He says that Stevie told him that she has a crush on him, and she admits it. Then they start making out but Tanya gets second thoughts and tries to protest. John doesn’t stop, and proceeds to rape her, all the while muttering Stevie’s name. Yikes.

Meanwhile, Kirsten apologizes to Stevie for sleeping with John. Stevie responds by screaming: “YOU ARE DISGUSTING!” This causes Kirsten to break down, and she confesses that she’s really struggling with drugs (as she literally does a line of coke), and how her dad is sending her to Europe with Bucky to save the embarrassment of sending her to rehab. Stevie softens and the two hug it out.

Craig shows up at the party with an old VW wagon to say bye to his friends before he commences his tour with the Grateful Dead for a year. Why was he in this movie again? I mean, aside from being the only likable character and serving up this LEWK:

John finds Stevie and offers her ice cream (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) as a last ditch effort to get her to go to his lakehouse, which he’s been trying to get her to do for most of the movie. She tries to say no, saying that they need time apart, but when John insists that nothing will happen because Alex is coming, she has a change of heart and agrees to leave. That very minute, for whatever reason. I mean if it were me, I’d wait until the next day instead of leaving in the middle of this huge party I was throwing, but you do you. Before they go, Tanya shows up looking devastated, but won’t tell Stevie what happened. Kirsten agrees to look after her while Stevie’s gone.

At the lakehouse, Alex says in narration that he realized that inviting both of them was just a ruse so that he could get Stevie there. No shit. They take the speedboat out and John literally drags Alex all over the lake on water skis, ignoring his signals to stop until Alex faceplants into the water. Fantastic.

Later, Stevie catches Alex reading a book on existential philosophy and low-key calls out his overwhelming pretension. Alex then shows her lines he’s drawn on his arms where he would cut if he were *actually* suicidal. He calls it “necro-masturbation” and she’s understandably put off by this weird confession. Still, instead of heeding this as the final in a long line of crystal clear harbingers of the doom to come, she ignores it and stays.

That night, during a power outage, Stevie starts up a game of Twister by candlelight, which leads to some brief albeit appreciable homoerotic play between John and Alex, and later, a makeout session between John and Stevie. Surprise, surprise. But then, Stevie pulls away and says “that was goodbye.” Goddamn.

Alex muses about how changed John is, and how worried he is about him as he sulks off by himself. The next morning, John asks Alex for help tying up the speedboat. They row out to where the boat is, chatting about acid as they go. Meanwhile, Stevie wakes up and watches from the shore as John gets on the speedboat and tells Alex just how much he loves Stevie. Alex is not having any of it, however, as evidenced by this face:

John then admits that he poked a hole in his condom in order to get Stevie pregnant. Alex calls John a “bastard” in the most dramatic of all stage whispers, as John strips down to provide the patient viewers with the first and only shots of a topless Luke Perry.

Then John leaps into the water with a rope to tie the boat to its anchor. But his foot gets tangled in the process, and he can’t surface. Alex watches, as does Stevie, neither one doing anything. Although in his defense, Alex does effectively convey some conflicted thoughts on the matter. This goes on for a minute or two until eventually, John FUCKING DIES. Alex ties all of this back to the idea of accidental suicide as introduced in the opening scene: John seemed intent on killing himself with drugs, but killed himself in a different way instead...sort of...I guess. Alex posits that even if he did cut John loose, he would have killed himself with drugs eventually anyway. FAIR FAIR OKAY ALEX BUT MAYBE LET’S BACK UP TO THE PART WHERE YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM BUT DIDN’T? Like I know he was a disgusting rapist junkie but basically everyone in this movie is so like fuck off with that holier than though shit pretty please?

Alex and Stevie comfort each other in silence as the film ends.

Honestly, this movie was a fucking trip. It definitely wasn’t bad enough to earn the “so bad, it’s good” badge. It was bad in a more subtle way. I feel like if I had been doing as many drugs as these characters, I would have enjoyed it a lot more. But even still, it was far from a waste of time, and managed to be entertaining in spite of its lesser qualities, which include (but are not limited to) amateurish acting, a goddamn hot mess of a script, clunky dialogue, and of course all of the super hamfisted and on the nose plot points involving drugs, rape, and promiscuity that even Beverly Hills 90210 and Riverdale wouldn’t touch.

There were some things I was kind of into though. For one, it was actually really well shot. Like, genuinely, by any film’s standards. There were some cool creative visuals, and the whole film had a music video feel to it, which kept things stimulating. As well, like I mentioned at the beginning, the movie almost manages to have a surreal, Bret Easton Ellis thing going. If you’ve seen the film versions of Less Than Zero or The Rules of Attraction then you know what I mean. But unfortunately it’s just a much worse film than either of those. With a better script, better acting, and some general polish, it could have been on par with them.

TL;DR: If you’re a fan of Luke Perry (or if ANY of what I’ve included in this post appeals to you in ANY way), then I would low-key recommend Terminal Bliss. I could see this becoming a bad movie night staple if only it were easier to find (I do not necessarily recommend paying a small fortune for a VHS copy). Also, the song that plays over the end credits is kind of a bop and I recommend that even more than the movie itself. 

If you’ve actually read through this whole thing, THANK YOU and GOD BLESS because I know this post is a fucking monster with limited appeal. But I felt it was my duty to write. Maybe I need to get a life, idk.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Kiwi 8

Previously on KIWI

It was like coming out of a bubble to turn the key and open the tiny, old studio apartment on the fifth floor in the building with no elevator and ancient, pealing paint. The grey of the world outside, in its thick, cloudy skies with the bitter sleet and wind that rattled the monstrous and bitterly cold glass and steel buildings to their core, all of it felt very comparable to the swirling, cold mess of being left behind by someone who was inherently the sun. 

As soon as Clarke closed the door, she leaned against it and sank down to the floor, her body exhausted by both the lack of sleep from the night before and her mind worn out from the high of being near Lexa for the past two months, and having it alarmingly stripped away despite all attempts to prepare for the inevitable. Still clad in her heavy winter coat and scarf and mittens and thick boots, she slumped there and held her arms around her legs, placed her chin upon her knee, and sighed as her mind worked hard to figure out what came next. 

The world seemed a completely new place now in that it was completely the same, she just saw it in a new way when Lexa was around. Her apartment was almost unrecognizable because it was part of a life that seemed much farther removed than just a few weeks. It wasn’t fair to meet someone like that and then to have to continue to go back to normal, as if she wasn’t aware that someone with such tiny, perfect ears liked to kiss her clavicle. 

For a few moments, Clarke sat on the floor of her apartment and allowed herself to miss Lexa before she began to formulate her plan. It would be a good idea to be away from the intoxicating presence so she could think straight, so she could get back into her real life, away from the distraction of a dream. Her rockstar was on her way around the world for the entire year, and she still had work to do to keep her busy. She would go back to her job and her internship and her pictures and her art and she would not wait for Lexa’s phonecalls like a sappy teenager. She would not mope. 

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Clarke decided as she took a deep breath and stood up from her sorry state. She would allow herself the remainder of the night to feel sorry for herself and miss Lexa, and then she would resume her life like it never happened. 

It was easy to wallow. She ignored the pile of mail and her phone. She tossed her winter clothes on the floor by the door, and she showered, washing away the last remnants of Lexa’s wonderful smell and feel. She ordered Chinese food and flopped on the bed, huddling beneath a blanket in a ball of comfort as the television prattled on about absolutely nothing at all that she could remember. 

Just for the evening, Clarke decided. She was going to allow herself to wallow so fully that it mended her from the hole Lexa left. 

It didn’t seem quite right that someone who was only around for a short time could create such a gaping divide in her departure. It wasn’t fair that Clarke allowed herself to get attached and had hopes that they would just keep doing what they were doing. Lexa was going to play a concert in Chicago, and she was going to travel all over the world, leaving little space for Clarke. To be honest, Clarke wasn’t even sure what she was going to do tomorrow let alone in the next few months. 

Well into the evening and a lot of junk food later, Clarke was a blob on the couch, sad and unsure of what to do to fix it. She wanted to listen to Lexa’s songs, but that felt oddly obsessive and like it would hurt too much. So as the evening drew longer, as the bad rom-coms ran into each other, Clarke sighed and debated if she was too sad to have a drink. 

As she dug through cabinets in search of some sort of booze to numb her pain for a few hours and help her sleep, her phone buzzed and the bartender groaned. She didn’t want to deal with Raven or the questions. She wanted to mope and stop being such a downer. She wasn’t going to fall in love and she hadn’t, and her world was still the same, Clarke decided as she settled on opening an old bottle of wine that was hidden deep in the back of the pantry. 

Ready to rebound from her mildly broken heart, Clarke poured herself a glass of wine before picking up her phone to tell her friend that she was already over it. As quickly as she slumped down into the pillows and blankets did she shoot back up upon seeing who the missed call was from. 

There was a frantic way to her movements as Clarke tried to redial and not drop her phone or wine glass. She nearly dropped it twice before putting it up to her ear. 

“Hey, I didn’t wake you, did I?” Lexa asked, slightly out of breath and nervous. 

“No, no no, I’m sorry I missed you,” Clarke smiled. “I was… uh,” she looked at the bottle of wine and then at her sweatpants and the cocoon from which she emerged. “I was just grabbing a drink.” 

“Ah, are you out? I don’t want to dis--”

“No, no, I’m home. You’re fine.” 

“Good,” Lexa smiled to herself on the other end. Clarke could hear it. 

“What are you up to?” 

“Just going on a run. I was calling you as a distraction.” 

“Always happy to be one of those.” 

Despite it all, Clarke took a swig of her wine and burrowed into her cocoon, content again to hear the singer’s voice. On the other end of the line, Lexa smiled and sat down on the treadmill in the empty hotel gym. 

“How’s your day been?” 

“Oh, yeah, um, great. Just kind of… caught up on a few things.” 

“It’s good to hear your voice.” 

Clarke’s cheeks burned while her chest felt like someone else was using a balloon pump on it. She was entirely too warm but unable to do anything short of burrowing deeper. 

“It’s good to hear you too,” Clarke confesses quietly. “How was your trip?” 

“Not bad. We did sound check and finished up about an hour ago. I’m excited to start this tour. It’s going to be a marathon but I think it’ll be good for my head.” 

“I think it will. Plus it gives you time to write me that ballad about my ass.” 

“I’ll write an entire album to it.” 

“Promises, promises.” 

“I don’t know why you think I’m kidding.” 

“Because your sister would never let you do that.” 

“She’s just the drummer.” 

“She’s the boss and anyone would know that.” 

Lexa huffed, indignant at the suggestion. 

“Just for that I’m going to make it a deluxe album. With 4 bonus songs.” 

“I’ll settle for just seeing you again, if that’s an option.” 

“It is a very strong option.” 

“I have to get used to the world without you in it again. It’s kind of weird,” Clarke confessed, her brow growing heavy. “I’m glad I met you though.” 

“For just a little bit. But you get me on the phone whenever you want, and that’s good enough for now I think.” 

“True. Can’t have you falling in love with me.” 

“I already am,” Lexa chuckled and shook her head. 

“You lust me.” 

“That’s very true.” 

“Do you want to tell me more about your day?” Clarke asked, hoping to get a few more moments.

“If you have a few minutes, I could chat.” 

“I have a few.” 

“Cool,” Lexa grinned to herself before standing up, feeling the need to do something with her body. 

“Cool,” Clarke agreed, tucking an arm under her chin as she made herself shrink into the corner of the couch. 

By the time Lexa started talking, neither knew what to expect except that they were bad at pretending to be normal, and that it was going to be one hell of an adjustment period, even after just a few weeks. But Lexa started and Clarke sighed and decided to be a badass, independent woman in the morning. 

XXXXXXXXXX

She wasn’t sure how she could forget about the rush. It was a high like no other, where she got to beat herself raw and give every ounce of life she had in her and receive nothing but fulfillment back onto herself. After her first concert, Lexa was exhausted. She was enthralled and overwhelmed with joy, but beneath it all, there was pure exhaustion. And she sat there, drinking a water and trying to cool down, to wipe the sweat from her neck and chest, and she wondered how in the world she forgot what that felt like. But as soon as she wasn’t on stage, it dimmed. That feeling was not the same, and she realized it was perhaps the most fickle and unattainable highs to have. 

She found a good routine on the road. It helped that her sister was there, and was watching her like a hawk. It helped that she got to talk to Clarke often, and that made her smile when no one else was looking. It helped that she took time to write and refine, to work with her sister on the next album, or at least to try to do more. It all helped, and Lexa had no time to want a drink, just enough time to miss the girl she met on a dating app and who liked to get postcards from all the new cities Lexa passed through. 

More importantly, at the end of every day, Lexa was tired and spent her last waking moments talking to a very pretty voice that got farther and farther away. 

“I think I’m going to invite Clarke to a show next week,” Lexa decided in the quiet as they drove toward the media meet-and-greet in the newest city. “Fly her out. Show her a good time.” 

“That could be nice.” 

Anya measured her words because she had to with her sister. If she showed too much interest, she’d clam up. If she had any thoughts about it, she had to slowly work them into the conversation. Her sister was a tightrope and she was making such promising first steps. 

“Maybe I can see her sometimes. I want to see her more.” 

“You like her, don’t you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“She seems nice enough. Very normal. What is it that she does?” 

“Intern for a photographer. She wants to be a photographer too,” Lexa explained before growing slightly quieter. “And she bartends.” 

“Seriously?” 

“It’s not like she brings her work home with her,” she rolled her eyes at the worry. 

“I know,” Anya furrowed. “Does she know about your… condition?” 

“Yes, she knows about everything.”

“Everything?” 

“She knows about Costia and the drugs, and how bad it all felt and how good it all felt,” the singer shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably. “She knows about everything.” 

“Everything?” 

“Yeah. I told her about all of it. She yelled at me for asking her on a date at a bar.” 

“Well at least she has some sense.” 

“She’s kind of a weirdo, but in a really good way. She’s a really nice way to spend a day, and I’m enjoying getting to know her.” 

For a moment, the eldest mulled it all over. She knew some of what Lexa was doing with a complete stranger. She knew that she’d encouraged such a thing. She just wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about potentially giving her sister more leash to run with, though she knew she didn’t have much of a say in the matter. 

“It’s going to get out, if she’s here. Are you ready? Is she?” 

“I can protect us.” 

Anya bit her tongue and nodded. Her sister could see the act and appreciated it. Lexa had enough doubts herself about how successful she could be with making Clarke want to stick around. 

“I’m saying this not to deter you, but rather just to voice a concern,” Anya began. “But you can’t. It’ll come out. You were already spotted in the city before the holidays. I really like how happy you’ve been. I love that you’re putting yourself out there and living. But you can’t lie to yourself about it, Lex. It’s not going to work if you do that.” 

“I know,” she sighed, leaning her head against the window. “But maybe for a little while it can.” 

“For a little while, yeah.” 

“I want to see how she fits into my life now, on the road, before I get too attached.” 

She didn’t mean to chuckle, but Anya did before she caught herself. Lexa lifted her head quickly and furrowed at the noise as the car pulled up to the venue. 

“What?” 

“You’re not attached?” 

“She’s not.” 

“Ah. Good. I’m glad you’re at least smart enough for self-preservation.” 

“I’m not an idiot, Anya.” 

“When it comes to girls you are.” 

Lexa wanted to argue. She opened her mouth to say something as her sister slid out of the car and stood there, door open and waiting for a retort. She really didn’t have one though. Her sister was, once again and unfortunately, extremely right. From the very beginning, Clarke said not to fall in love, and Lexa didn’t listen. She never did. 

“How else am I going to keep up employed if I can’t write about how bad I am with ladies?” 

“You’re only bad at picking the right one. I think you’d be rather good at being in love.” 

“That’s a really weird compliment, but I guess I’ll take it.” 

As they walked into the building, Anya put her arm over her sister’s shoulder, a tick she knew she hated as it pointed out their height difference more than ever. She could see the little pink to Lexa’s cheeks and knew that she took it as the best compliment she could every give. 

“Bring her out and have fun,” Anya decided for her. “I think it’s a good idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Lexa smiled slightly before nodding, grateful though never able to admit that she needed that bit of permission and agreement with her idea. Instead, she just took it and decided it wasn’t terrible to talk about things. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“It’s been too long.” 

“You’re being dramatic.” 

“Am I?” Raven asked, thinking about it as she poured another drink and passed it out to a customer. “No. I’m not. It’s been weeks.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“You’ve been busy with all of the dating a rockstar things that one must do.” 

“And what is that?” 

The bar was loud and Clarke struggled to keep up with the busy night. She dreaded her reunion with her friend for this exact reason. She wish she’d never said anything about her date or her worry or any of it. She could have had a sexathon with Lexa and then never thought about it again. But Raven would let her forget, and she had a soft spot to keep Lexa around too. 

“I’m sure it was about a month of sex, expensive dinners, and good drinks and did I mention weird sex?” 

“It wasn’t weird.” 

“You shouldn’t be afraid to admit you like her.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s a good thing to like someone.” 

“She wants me to come out to a show in Seattle.” 

Despite being mid pour on a pint, Raven stopped, much to the chagrin of her customer. She furrowed and shook her head, not quite understanding. 

“What’s the problem with that?” 

“We’re just prolonging the inevitable,” Clarke sighed, smiling as she collected some money and shoved it in the register. “What am I going to do, fly out to her every so often? See her for a month per year?” 

“Sounds like an ideal relationship to be honest.”

“Not to me.” 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Rave admonished, taking a breather and grabbing her bottle of water from beneath the counter. “Just have fun.” 

“It was fun a few weeks ago, and then she just… she’s sweet. And I like her.” 

“So don’t go then.” 

“I want to go though.” 

Clarke already saw her stalemate before her friend so kindly walked her into it. There was a growing fondness for Lexa that felt downright normal and perfect and easy. There was also a restless unease that existed in the moments that highlighted their differences and their future. 

“Then go.” 

“You don’t think it’s stupid?” 

“I think wasting any time away from a gorgeous rock’n’roll star is stupid, and I think you are thinking too much because at the end of your shift, you’ll call her, and you’ll smile and blush and get all gross because you feel something.” 

“So I should go?” 

“You’re absolutely useless, just so you know.” 

“I know.” 

“You’d be good at being in love if you let yourself.” 

Clarke mulled over the words and offered only a weak smile as they sank in. She wasn’t sure how to exist like that, but she thought about maybe trying one day.

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