There’s a Reaper haunting him.
He looks at the portrait of his brother, works in the office that was once his brother’s, and the Reaper wraps cold and emaciated fingers around his throat. He searches for distractions, he is given ample distraction in the way of wine, any distraction, to keep from thinking of that Reaper.
There is a Reaper on the loose in the city of London, but that is not the one who haunts him at every waking moment. Not truly. He allows the media to call him that Reaper, he wears it like a cloak to make the criminal world fear. The gesture of protection is meager at best, and his brother looks down at him in silence.
His brother, the ever-present Reaper, a thought he can’t bear to face.
He turns his thoughts to the Japanese exchange student who murdered his brother, he drinks the wine he stores in his office, the portrait of his brother stares silently over him, and he stays far away from the courts in some desperate hope that the Reaper will finally lay itself to rest.
But he is not allowed to have things so easy.
And oh, does he resent his return to the courtroom. A foreign nobody, barely off the boat for a couple of hours and standing within the hallowed walls of the Old Bailey making a mockery of the law, using archaic techniques... He seethes and resents, especially when the young man has the audacity to demand the truth.
(He ignores the burning in those eyes, the immature fangs gripped tight on the lies. It doesn’t matter; they were both too late to stop the gears in motion.)
The young man is scared and not scared of the Reaper. He’s a fool and surprisingly clever. He is untrained and intuitive. There is a fearsome power coiled just under the surface of this young man, waiting to be realized.
He has to push those thoughts away, lest he expose the same weakness his brother did before him.
He drinks.
He struggles against the inevitable.
He does not turn to look at the Reaper following in his shadow.
Despite it all, he’s very well aware that closing his eyes and ignoring the facts does not make them go away. It only takes three trials against the young man to see the truth. He can pretend, he can deny his growing respect, but this Japanese boy acts in defiance of those who would tell him no. He will obtain the truth, no matter what it may be, and he will tear through any obstacle that dare stand in his way in court.
Londoners tremble over stories of the Reaper of the Bailey.
They should be concerning themselves over the wolf that has come to their city.
He looks at his brother’s portrait and wonders if the wolf could save him from the Reaper haunting memories he isn’t prepared to examine.
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because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
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gotta say I am a huge sucker for how Adventure Time will sometimes just cut to Princess Bubblegum doing something extremely morally dubious like cutting off a tiny person’s limbs with scissors and then sticking those arms and legs onto another tiny person’s limb stumps but then she'll turn around and go like "Good morning, Finn! Are you ready for a sploinking day?" and whatever atrocities she had just been committing will Never be brought up again.
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you get used to it, but it's tiring, because they need you to understand your own life as a series of goalposts. what college are you going to, what's your major going to be, whatcha gonna do with that, oh where will you settle down, when can i expect grandkids.
for the longest time my goals have been so blurry that they track into each other, their undefined edges slipping quietly back into the soft night. today i want to be a writer; tomorrow i will want to be a doctor, later i will wish i took that law school free ride. how the fuck do people just know what they want to do with their life?
where do you want to be in five years? i want to be alive; which is a huge step for me. ten years ago i would have said i want to be asleep and meant i hope that i'm dead by then.
but i want a yellow kitchen and a stand mixer. i want a garden and a fruit tree (cherry, if i can make that happen) and a big yard for my dogs to play in. i want to come home and read poetry out loud to someone and have them close their eyes to listen. i want a summer watergun fight. i want to make snowmen. i want to be the house to go to for halloween. i want my life to settle around me in a softness, for it to lay down gently. if i am very, very, very lucky, i want to travel; finally go someplace overseas.
of course i don't know what i want to be doing professionally. what i actually want to be doing is curling up beside my dog, settling in to read. i want to be making myself a cup of good coffee.
i can't answer the other questions. whenever people asked me what do you want to be when you grow up, i used to say i hope i'm happy.
i hope i'm still kind, five years from now. i hope i never get jaded and mean. i hope i have stayed in therapy. what do you picture yourself doing? when will you actually be an adult about this? why are you so afraid of being ambitious?
am i not ambitious? the other day i rearranged my furniture which doesn't quite fit into my apartment. i watered my plants. i'm going to try to propagate a cherry seed. my five year goal is to spend more time laughing. to lie down in a patch of sunwarm moss. to relax for a minute. to close my eyes and think oh thank god. this is why i stayed. this is finally it.
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