#this is why i push and be so annoying about the random hindi

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I love your book reviews under the banner ‘Treat Your S(h)elf’ - nice play on words. You have such a wide and cultured range of interests that I really learn something new. Do you read poetry? What are your favourite poets? What are you currently reading?

I love reading poetry because as the poet Robert Frost put it succinctly, “Poetry is when emotion has found its thought, and thought has found words”.

Poets are before anything else in the words of W.H. Auden, “a person who is madly in love with language” and language is the bedrock of any culture and society and ultimately civilisation. When you truly think about it, poetry is meaningless when it has been left to gather dust on a piece of paper. It is simply a memory of an idea conjured up by a writer with something to say. Poetry must be read, it needs to be experienced because it keeps these ideas burning. These meaningful concepts about the nature of life, death and everything. Every time a person reads a poem, a new bright spark emerges in that person’s head. A new way of thinking, a new way of understanding. That is exactly why poetry must be read because it is the essence of our language.

The reasons I personally read poetry, you ask? Here are some reasons I can think of from the top of my head others are too personal to reveal:

I read poetry because poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn. And I read poetry because it is what happens when my mind stops working , and for a moment, all I do is feel. This is good therapy for me as I’m not the most openly emotional or prone to displays of emotion in public. It’s just not how I was built. Poetry helps one to feel. So some poems remain so close to my heart.

I remember when I was about to go on my first tour to Afghanistan I was quite calm and cold blooded because that was and is my nature. My father - who served with distinction in uniform like his father and grand father, and great-grandfather before him - was always proud and supportive of me being the black sheep of the family as the only girl in our family going through Sandhurst and now I was off to the last embers of a war in Afghanistan that everyone had forgotten about. He was concerned - like the rest of my family - like any loving parent about what might happen. But he didn’t question my professionalism or my abilities so he didn’t give me that lecture instead he thrust in my hand both classical literature (Thucydides and Homer in particular) and the works of selected poets. He told me poetry will save your life. He wasn’t anxious about my physical safety he was thinking about my soul. For what happens during war and what comes after if and when I come home. Long story short: poetry saved my life.

By nature I am restless to an incredible annoying degree. I fear being bored. I find it hard to sit and be idle. Poetry is my balm for boredom.

I am incredibly busy and I work punishing long hours. Time is premium. People make demands on me and my time. Poems are like super-condensed stories, and are therefore usually short enough to be read over your morning tea/coffee. In this fast-paced world we live in, sometimes poems are a better alternative to reading fully-fledged novels, or even short stories and poetry gives you the chance to continue to expand your literary horizons even during the busiest times in your life. And becoming more widely read is an incredible way to ensure you are continuously growing, and learning, while becoming a more cultured individual at the same time. There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you and when I read some of those beautiful pieces of poetry by my favourite poets it's like the paper is filled with the breathings of my heart.

The most frightening thing is people I know stop growing culturally after they leave university and get on with the business of life i.e. careers, marriage and family. Once on that treadmill they don’t or can’t stop. They are unable to step off and take a breath. Poetry gives you a breather and helps you to re-centre your priorities.  The more you read poetry, the greater your quest for knowledge awakens. Doorways will open inside your mind and unlock your hidden potential for a greater understanding of life. Anyone who reads poetry often can connect with this conclusive sentence formation that defines your very questionable outlook on life.

I also believe poetry allows us to be less rigid in our thinking with an authentic, personal touch. When I read poems, nothing is often straightforward. Every poem has a meaning hiding under it, but it is blocked by a myriad of literary devices such as metaphors and symbolism. It is important to be able to think more figuratively because it allows you to understand ideas and perspectives in a more abstract and possibly more meaningful way. Sometimes I find that having a single page of beautifully crafted words can be enough of a distraction to spark a sudden creative leap in my brain. There have been many times where I've miraculously thought of ways to solve a problem (big or small) purely because reading poetry forced me to think differently from the usual day-to-day thoughts required for general life.

Poetry is best read when you’re hidden from the outside world, in a quiet little spot, somewhere away from all the hustle and bustle. It is increasingly hard to do just that. I have so many demands on my time and limited space but I force myself to carve out the time and space to do this - one must try. As a rule I switch off all social media (not that I have many to begin with but most definitely my phone). The best time for me to carve out time is when I’m traveling as I’m able to shut out everything around me. Usually when I’m waiting for a flight in the business class departure lounge it’s quiet and not too many people to distract me and there is usually a delay to the flight. When I check into a hotel I feel a disconnect to the world around me. I feel like an alien. Poetry helps me to connect again. Poetry calms and focuses the mind. With poetry I can almost reset my day because it’s not just a time zone I have to get used to but also a state of mind - and especially if I find myself being unproductive too!

I often escape Paris and go into the countryside. I love going on walks, hikes, mountaineering, and other outdoor pursuits. It allows me the space and time to read poetry and reflect in peace. And of course I snatch time before I go to sleep to read a poem if I am not too tired.

The point is that I need the head space to absorb the poem and take some time to work out the meaning of the full entity. I try not swallow a whole book in one sitting, instead I read a few poems and leave the book until the next day or a few days depending on my schedule. Sometimes, you can read a poem again and you will find other meanings or pick up on information that you couldn’t see before. That’s poetry, you create the film, journey or picture inside your mind from reading the words on the page.

As for my favourite poets this is of course is a very personal choice. I didn’t read English at university but rather my academic interests were Classics and History, so I profess a very paltry poetic palate. Still, I’m grateful to those friends more versed than I to point me to other poets. So I do my best to keep an open mind and try and read poetry recommended by others or some thing that captures my eye when I browse through book stores or read it as a passing reference in a book I am reading. 

Different poets and poems are discovered at one stage of life and where I happened to live in the world and only take on another meaning when re-read them at another stage. So I tend to re-visit poets I used to read as a teen and then see how it resonates now.

The majority of my poetic readings are in my native English and Norwegian languages but because I have varying degrees of fluency in other languages (because I grew up there for instance) I love widening my poetic palate. One of my regrets is not knowing Japanese and Chinese to a sufficient degree to really read poetry in those languages even if I have basic fluency in literature and everyday conversation. So reading Ezra Pound is one way in English to appreciate these Eastern poetic influences. I’m also ashamed to admit that I only know a woeful smattering of words in Scotiish Gaelic - my Anglo-Scots father knows it fairly well but even he struggles - and really I must find time in the future to learn more of it because it’s such a fascinating language (not least because it’s also dying out and that is tragic).

So below is an eclectic and random list from the top of my head and in no real order of preference:

• Homer (Greek) • Sappho (Greek) • Rumi (Farsi) • Mirza Ghalib (Urdu and Farsi) • John Milton • John Donne • William Shakespeare • Dante (Italian) • Robert Burns • William Wordsworth • Samuel Taylor Coleridge • William Blake • John Keats • Emily Dickinson • Christina Rosetti • Gerald Manley Hopkins • Walt Whitman • Oscar Wilde • W.B. Yeats • Rudyard Kipling • Wilfred Owen • Alfred Tennyson • Rainer Maria Rilke (German) • Cavafy (Greek) • T.S. Eliot • Hilda Doolittle • Marianne Moore • Sylvia Plath • W. H. Auden • Olaf H. Hauge (Norwegian) • Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (Norwegian) • Aslaug Vaa (Norwegian) • Rolf Jacobsen (Norwegian) • Sarojini Naidu (Hindi) • Gulzar (Hindi)

Living in Paris I tend to read more French poetry these days. By osmosis it helps me appreciate the French language and French culture even more.

• Charles Baudelaire. • Paul Verlaine • Jacques Prévert • Arthur Rimbaud • Alphonse de Lamartine • Alfred de Musset • Paul Valéry • Paul Eluard • Jean Genet • Françoise Villon

Poetry is an art that combines the essence of life through the fabrication of reality. Poets challenge and nourish me with their wisdom, philosophy, love and journeys beyond what used to be the limits of my own creative imagination. They push my boundaries ever so more. In doing so they grow my mind for understanding, my heart for empathy, and my soul for wisdom. It would hard to disagree with Robert Frost who sums up what poetry means to me, “a poem begins in delight, and ends in Wisdom”.

Thanks for your question

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 62

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @ocfairygodmother​

  She stands on the patio area; where terracotta and highly polished stone and faux games of various colours -laid out in intricate patterns- meet rich, luscious green grass. A fussy and cranky Addie lying along on arm and a hand over her eyes; shielding them from the bright, powerful sun as she watches TJ and Millie -supervised by their uncle- entertain themselves on the elaborate wooden playground.  Their exuberant and lively conversation floats on the breeze, accompanied by their giggles and occasional bickering; Millie successfully teaching Saju how to climb the stairs to the slide and slip down it. Less than a hundred feet avail one of the handful of nannies -Diya, an elderly woman who had helped raised both Anil and Saju and speaks both Hindi and Bengali but very little English- keeps a firm on hold on the back of Declan’s shirt as he crouches dangerously low to one of the many ponds; attempting to get a better look at turtles and frogs.

The three of them are settling in well; random tearful moments of missing home and school and their daddy, yet making the best of the situation. Always finding something to do to keep themselves busy and always managing to laugh and smile despite the tremendous changes to their young lives. TJ and Millie are especially adept at accepting new challenges; never struggling with transitions or upsets to their daily routines, simply taking things as they come and ‘rolling with the punches’.  Rarely paying attention to the heavily armed guards that continuously patrol the perimeter and line the roof of the house. Their nerves don’t seem frazzled by the open display of weapons; never asking questions regarding just who these men are and why they’re always watching them.

Tanner is an entirely different story. He’s always struggled with change; becoming incredibly anxious with even the slightest tweak to his usual routine.  Seeking comfort in familiar surroundings and finding it in sights, smells, and sounds. Needing advanced warnings before switching from one activity to the other; a sudden, abrupt change enough to bring on frayed nerves, irritable behaviour, stomach issues, and even tears. He’s easily overwhelmed by new and unfamiliar situations and is easily annoyed by crowds of people and too much noise  or activity going on around him. He loves his version of normalcy; the same faces and voices surrounding him, the comforts of home with his own belongings and the sound and the smell of the ocean. And while he loves his siblings and shares an enormous, powerful bond with his twin brother and doesn’t shy away from playing with the others or sharing in adventures, he’s happiest when left alone; comfortable and content doing the things he loves.

It would be easy to force  him to be more  like brother and sister. To just throw him into sports as opposed to always having his nose stuck in books or engrossed in school work. To be more ‘kid like’  and pursue being a social butterfly instead of secluding himself.  And while they encourage him to at least try and broaden his horizons and to experience new things and attempt to join in the fun that his siblings are having, they refuse to push him out of his comfort zone. Both had had parents that weren’t happy with how they acted or behaved and had been forced into becoming entirely different versions of themselves.  Made to ‘fit in’ by society’s standards instead of being encouraged to be who they were meant to be. And they adamantly refuse to do that to their own children; knowing too well the kind of temporary anguish and long term negative effects that are inflicted when you’re forced to be something and someone you’re not.

He lounges under one of the many trees that form a border around the yard. Using a dozing and complacent Mac as support for his back; bare feet dug into the grass and his knees bent, impossibly thick and heavy hardcover novel resting on his thighs. Those wayward locks of hair falling across his forehead; brow furrowed and eyes narrowed in concentration. A facial expression identical to one she's seen many times in the course of nearly seven years.

Satisfied with the level of safety and security being provided to her other children, Esme moves a whimpering and grumpy Addie to her chest -a hand on the back of her head when the baby immediately nestles her face into her shoulder- and journeys over to where Tanner sits.

“What are you doing, nugget?” she inquires. “You look pretty comfy.”

“Just relaxing,” he replies without looking up. “Reading some.”

“You don’t want to go play with your brother and sister? Maybe go swimming? Or go and see the animals?”  She often wonders if he’s lonely during his frequent moments of solitude.  Unable to stop herself from worrying that he is. That he’s somehow missing out on his childhood even though he’s always expressed just how happy he is doing what he loves, not what others expect him to do.

“No, I’m happy where I am,” Tanner says. “Mac’s keeping me company. Besides. I’m kinda tired today. I did lots yesterday. And the day before. I just want to hang out.”

It’s easy to forget that he’s only five. So well spoken for someone so young; words always coming so easily to him and his tone always low and calm and his face and eyes so serious. Phenomenally intelligent and intuitive. And sensitive to a fault; always worrying about things that are way behind his years. Like his father in so many ways; allowing very few people to get close to him but fiercely protective of those who ‘make the cut’. Loving so deeply and so profoundly. Traits that his father successfully manages to hide from just about everyone, but Tanner is so open and honest about.

“What are you reading?” Esme asks, as she sinks down onto the grass beside him, stretching out her legs and laying Addie along her thighs.

“Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You’re reading a Harry Potter book?”

Tanner nods.

“You’re five.”

He shrugs.

“Where did you find that?”

“When I was talking to Anil yesterday, I told him that I really like to read. But not little kid books. Older kid books but not too much older. When I woke up this morning, there was a box of books by the bed, with my name written on it. Anil got them for me. All of the Harry Potters. I picked this one ‘cause I like the picture on the front.”

“And you can actually read and understand it?”

“Mom, I’m not stupid.”

��I never said you were stupid. In fact, you’re insanely smart. Almost too smart. But you’re also only five, nugget.  A five year old being able to read that well?”

“You and daddy always read to me, even when I was a baby.  I remember how you guys always made me repeat words, even when I was small. They’re in my brain and I recognize them when I see them and remember them. That’s how my brain works. I know what things say and I know what they mean. Is that weird?”

“Not weird. Just...I don’t know...just...wow.”

“Daddy said next time we’re in town, I can get The Hobbit. And then maybe Lord of the Rings for my birthday.”

“Can you read me some of Harry Potter?”

Tanner frowns. “You think I’m lying? I’m not making it up. I CAN read it.”

“Just humour me. Pick a random page and read me a bit of it, okay?”

“Alright…” he huffs dramatically, then grabs a leaf off the grass to use a bookmark before flipping to a different place in the book. “Now? Start now?”

Esme nods. “Just pick something. Anything”

“Okay…”   one of his fingers rests on the page, the tip slowly following each word. “...it is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something and would give anything to slow down time, it has a ….” he pauses, frowning up at her. “I don’t know how to pronounce that word.”

She peers down at. “Disobliging.”

“...it has a disobliging habit of speeding up.”

Esme’s eyes widen.

“What? What’s wrong, mom? What did I do? Was that wrong?”

“No. It was right. Every word of it. I just...I don’t know...I think maybe daddy and I need to talk about sending you to a different school.”

“One for smart kids? ‘Cause no offence to any of the other kids, but they’re all stupid. I know how to read words like ‘cat’ and ‘dog’ and ‘ball’ and I can write sentences with those words in it. With my eyes closed! I know my full name, my address, my phone number. I even know daddy’s full name and his cell number and when he was born; day, date, and year. I  even know how to tie my own shoes. A lot of those kids don’t do that stuff. Not even TJ knows how. Why can’t I be in a bigger kid class? Where the work is harder?”

“I don’t know if that’s allowed.”

“What? The school doesn’t like smart kids or something? It’s so boring there. I could stay home and you and daddy can teach me. You guys are both smart. You went to college.”

“I don’t think either of us can give you what you really need,” she admits. “Learning wise. But we’ll talk about; daddy and I. Okay?”

Tanner nods, then flips back to the page he’d been engrossed in when she’d interrupted him. “Hermione’s my favourite,” he says. “I read it for her mostly. I don’t care much for Ron or Harry. I think they’re whiners. Who’s your favourite?”

“I don’t have one. I’ve never read them.”

“What?” He looks mortified at the mere suggestion. “You’re how old and you’ve never read Harry Potter? That’s shameful mom. Maybe daddy’s read them.”

“I highly doubt your dad has read Harry Potter. He’s not really into that kind of stuff.”

“Daddy’s into cool guy stuff. Like UFC and football and beating people up.”

“Well he doesn’t necessarily LIKE beating them up. Sometimes he doesn’t have a choice.”

“He kills people sometimes too.”

Esme nods. “Sometimes.”

“Is he going to hell for doing it?” Tanner inquires. “For killing people? Isn’t killing people bad?”

“Most of the time it is.”

“But they deserve it, yeah? The people daddy kills? They deserve it?”

“Why are you talking about this? You’re five.”

“I’m not a dumb little kid. I know what daddy does; I know what his job is. I do hear people talking, you know. I know he gets paid to hurt people. I know he gets money to kill them. I know he’s a mercenary.”

Esme scowls. “How do you even know that word?”

“I hear things. And they stay in my brain. I don’t care, that's what he does. It’s just his job, it’s not who he is. He’s daddy. That’s all that matters. That when he’s with me, he’s just my dad. He only hurts bad people. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That’s the last thing he’d ever do. Hurt you.”

“I know. And I know he won’t let anyone else hurt me either. I feel safe when I’m with him. Because he’s big and strong and I know he’d protect me no matter what. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.”

“No. He definitely wouldn’t.”

Tanner sighs heavily. “I really hope he’s not dead.”

“What? Why would you even say that?”

“He hasn’t called in two days. Daddy always calls. ALWAYS. Right before bed. But two days and no calls. What if the bad guys got him?”  He draws in a shaky breath as tears well in his eyes. “What if he’s dead and I never get to see him again?”

“Your dad is NOT dead.”

“What if he’s gone and I never get to hug him or his voice again? Or I never get to apologize for all the times I was bad and made him angry.”

“Tanner...oh my goodness…nugget…” she reaches out to brush his hair from his eyes. “Tanner...what in the world goes in that head of yours, baby boy?”

“I don’t  mean to be bad. I don’t make daddy mad. I don’t mean to make him yell sometimes. I don’t mean to make him hate me.”

“Okay, first of all…”  shes gives an appreciative smile to one of the other caregivers that rushes over when she sees Tanner in distress; taking Addie and giving Esme the freedom to scoop the now sobbing five year old into her arms. Cuddling him as she would a baby; across her body with one arm under the back of her legs, the other around his shoulders. “...daddy could never...EVER...hate you. He loves you. More than anything else in the world. He always has and he always will. Just because he gets mad and yells, doesn’t mean he hates you. And how often does he actually get mad and yell?”

“Not much.”

“It takes A LOT to get daddy THAT mad. And even if he does get angry, he still loves you. And it’s really not you he’s upset with. He’s just frustrated more than anything. And sometimes, that frustration isn’t even about you. It’s about him. He’s frustrated with himself. Because he struggles and it makes him sad and angry with himself and unfortunately, it gets taken out on your guys. Or me. Do you remember what I told you? About daddy’s brain?”

Tanner nods. “That it hurts. That it’s sad and in pain.”

“Well he’s working very hard at making his brain better. And the doctor is helping him and I’m helping him. And so are you guys. Because it’s you and your brothers and your sisters that make him the happiest?”

“Can’t he take some medicine to get better?”

“It’s not that easy. But he IS working on it. He works on it every day. And he’s tough and he’s strong but sometimes he needs help. He needs us to help him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The five year old nods.

“Daddy always loves you. He could never hate you. He helped make you. You’re part of him. You’re part of his new life; his second chance. There is no way he could ever hate you.  Could you ever hate him?”

“Never,” he sniffles. “I love him too much.”

“Well that’s how he feels about you. And no. He’s not dead.”

“How do you know?”

“I would know. Trust me. He’s just busy, nugget.  He’s got a lot going on. A lot on his mind and a lot to do.”

“He’s too busy to call us?”

“Sometimes he has to go places where he can’t use his phone. Where it’s not safe to call. But he will when he can. But he’s not dead. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right, mommy. ‘Cause I’d miss him. So much. I’d miss his face and his voice and smile and the way he tucks me in. And the way he always teases me about being so short. I get mad when other people do it, but not when daddy does it. It’s funny when daddy does it.”

“Well he makes fun of me for being short, too. I always tell him he's just ridiculously tall and has ridiculously big feet.”

“He DOES have really big feet,” Tanner declares, then giggles. “And his hand is bigger than my whole head, I swear. I bet he could kill someone with one punch. Do you think he could? Do you think he could break the guy at the grocery store in half?”

“What?” Esme laughs. “What guy at the grocery store?”

“The one that touched your bum. That guy with the weird hair and the Mustang. Do you think daddy could break him in half?”

“Well maybe not literally. But he could definitely hurt him pretty bad.”

“Could he kill him?”

“What is this obsession with your dad killing people?”

“I’m just curious. I wanna know how he killed someone with a garden rake. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” she says, as she combs her fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t there. I just know he did it. I don’t need the details.”

“And it was two people, yeah? How? I don’t understand it. I’ll have to ask him.”

Esme laughs. “You can ask, but I don’t he’s going to tell you.”

“Because you’ll tell him NOT to tell me.”

“Exactly. You need to know the details. Not with that kind of stuff.” She presses a series of kisses to his forehead, then his tears away with gentle fingertips. “Want some lunch?”

“I could eat. Can we have normal food? Like our normal? I miss our stuff.”

“I’ll see what’s in the kitchen and we’ll go from there.”

“Can I help? I wanna help.  Remember when I used to always help you when it was just me, you, Millie and TJ? When daddy didn’t live with us for a bit? I was little but I still helped.”

“You were a big help,” she praises. “You used to love to fold laundry.”

“And you used to wrap me in the warm towels from the dryer. I liked when you did that. And I used to bring you tissues when you were sad and you would cry. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” she presses a kiss to his cheek. “You were like a knight in shining armour.”

“I slept with you all the time when you were lonely. Because you missed daddy even if you were really mad at him and didn’t want him around.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want him around. I just…”

“I know why he wasn’t there. Why he had to leave. It’s okay, mommy. I don’t blame you. Daddy wasn’t daddy. And it made me sad. I didn’t like him very much. He was really mean. He yelled a lot. Especially at you. I didn’t like it. I wanted to punch him in the face.”

“My little protector.” She kisses his cheek once more, then tousles his hair. “You know too much for someone so small.”

He pouts. “I’m not small.”

“Yes, you are.” She nuzzles the tip of her nose against his temple. “And you always will be to me.”

***

It’s shortly before one in the afternoon when Tyler  arrives; stepping out of the chauffeured car provided by Anil. Eyes surveying  the enormous white stucco ‘Spanish hacienda’ inspired home;  immaculately kept lawns and gardens and an elaborate marble and gold fountain in the middle of the circular interlocking brick driveway. By normal standards, Mahajan’s had been lavish and large; sleek and modern, sparsely furnished and feeling cold and empty. Anil’s is unlike anything he’s ever seen;  the gigantic home somehow welcoming with its turquoise colored front door and matching shutters on every window. The grounds are equally sprawling; everything well maintained and expertly manicured; gardens bursting with various types of flowers in a wide variety of colors. Not the kind of place that you’d expect someone ex military to reside in. Hell, even his own home is far beyond anything he could have ever dreamt about or hoped for. The five million from the IRA making it possible to afford a place like that, and with Anil’s generous initial offer and the constant flow of money going into the bank, he won’t ever have to worry about living expenses ever again. No more lying awake at night wondering how the hell he was going to pay a mortgage and all the bills, never mind how he’d put clothes on his kids’ backs and food in their bellies.

He shrugs a simple black backpack onto his left shoulder, the simple movement causing him to wince to when the fabric of his shirt presses and rubs against his upper arms. The injuries are noticeable now, and far worse than he’d expected them to be; the knees that had pressed into his biceps leaving purple and black bruises that he can feel  right down to the bone. In a futile attempt to spare his kids the sight of the worst of the damage, he’d worn a long sleeve shirt to hide the marks, only to find that even the softest and smoothest of fabrics and the smallest of touches irritate his arms. His right is in a sling; forearm immobile across his chest, the shoulder long popped back into place yet still relatively useless and needing support. And his throat still throbs; rows of visible finger marks  and solid area where a forearm had been placed against his neck in hopes of holding him still or rendering him unconscious.

It’s an all over body ache like   he’s never experienced before; pain that seems to travel right to his very core, settling in and gnawing incessantly. Thankfully the after effects of the drug he’d been injected with have almost disappeared; only hampered by moments of temporary memory loss, confusion, and brief episodes of dizziness.  He’d slept for two days. Only waking long enough to make trips to the bathroom and to get as much liquid into him as possible. No energy for anything beyond that. Battling crushing fatigue and an incessant migraine that saw the need for the curtains to be tightly drawn and all lights and television turned off at all times.

As much as he wants to be in on the action and feel useful  to the team, the fact remains that right now, he’s anything but.  Knee still throbbing and limp much more pronounced, a store bought brace doing little to immobilize it or help alleviate some of the pain. He’s able to use his right hand, but has very limited movement in the shoulder itself, making even the smallest of tasks like dressing himself almost impossible. Deep bruises travel along the small of his back and into both kidney areas; the physician Anil had brought in the day after the attack believing the bruising most likely affects the organs as well. Each piece of damage already done to a broken and tattered body making him the weakest link and forcing him to step back for a couple of days. And for once he’d been relieved at the thought of being benched until the doctor declared him ‘medically fit’ to get back into the thick of things. And when Anil had assured him that the team would be fine without him and told him to take the next forty eight hours to spend with his family, he hadn’t stuck around long enough to question the decision.

One of the armed guards leads him to the backyard, and he can hear the kids before he sees them; their excited chattering, squealing, and giggling accompanied the sound of splashing water and Kyle’s deep, calm voice. And it’s his brother in law that sees him first; giving him a broad smile and a nod in greeting, then whispering something in Millie’s ear as she clings to his neck. Her wet hair sticks to the sides of her face and her forehead when she glances over her shoulder; eyes immediately sparkling and a bright, wide smile spreading across her face.

“Daddy!” She shrieks, and abandons holding onto Kyle’s neck in favour of a frantic doggy paddle that takes her to the nearest ladder.  “Daddy!”

Tyler had promised himself that he couldn’t crack. That he wouldn’t allow his tattered and fragile emotions get the better of him. His kids don’t need to see that; him bursting into tears and having a complete emotional meltdown. But he’d come so close...so fucking close...to never seeing them again. To never hearing their voices or feeling their hugs. To never seeing them grow up. And it’s impossible to completely hold back the desperation and relief; his throat feeling incredibly tight and tears burning his eyes as he manages to drop down to one knee as his daughter comes rushing towards him.

“Daddy!” Millie throws both arms around his neck, body drenched from the pool. “You’re here early! Mommy said you wouldn’t be here for a couple of days! But you’re already here!”

“I was able to get things done early.” Tyler explains. “Thought I’d show up and surprise you guys. What’s going on? You having a good time?”

“There’s lots of stuff to do here. Lots of cool stuff. But I still miss you. I wish you were here to do cool stuff WITH us.”

“I’ve got two days to spend with you guys. We can do all kinds of cool stuff.”

“Two whole days?”

He nods.

“Daddy gets to spend two whole days with us, Tyler,” she says to her younger brother, as he practically shoves her out of the way to get to his father. Another set of arms wrapping his neck; a second wet body pressed up against him.  None of that matters. The dampness of his clothes, the wet hair against his skin, the smell of chlorine. The only thing that matters is the press of those tiny bodies against his, the sound of their voices, and the smiles on their faces and the tears in their eyes.

“What happened?” Millie gingerly touches his shoulder. “You hurt it? Again?”

“Just banged it up a little. I need to keep it in this thing for a couple of days. It’s nothing serious. Hey…” he lays a hand on the back of her head and presses a kiss to her brow. “...it’s okay. Don’t cry. I’m fine. I’m here, right?”

She nods, valiantly holding back a flood of tears as her gentle and curious fingertips trace the bruises on his neck. “A bad guy did this to you?”

“A very bad guy.”

“Did you kill him? ‘Cause he hurt you? Did you kill him?”

“Don’t cry, Millie,” TJ implores, perched upon his dad’s thigh, an arm still around his neck. “Daddy’s fine. He came to visit. That means the bad guy lost. That daddy was stronger and meaner than the other guy was. He’s alive, right? No bad guy’s ever gonna kill daddy. He’s too strong and too smart.”

“Does it hurt?” Her voice cracks as she continues her exploration.

“A little. The other guy looks worse.”

“How come?” TJ asks. “Is he dead? Please tell me he’s dead. ‘Cause that’s what he gets for messing with you.”

“How about we NOT talk about killing people?” Tyler suggests, and accepts the hand that Kyle offers; able to pull himself to his feet without too much or the dizziness setting in.

“You look like you’ve been to war and back again,” Kyle remarks, then hands over Declan’s small yet solid and strong body, wrapped in a towel.

“Feels I’ve been to hell and back.” he admits, and runs a hand over his son’s damp hair and places a long, gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Well if you look like that but you’re here, I take it the other guy is in a body bag.”

Tyler nods in confirmation, then lets TJ and Millie pull him towards the house via the side pockets on his cargos; talking over each other as they prattle on about the home theatre and the playground and the animals and all of the things they can’t wait to show him.

“How close did it come?” Kyle asks. “To you NOT being here?”

“Too close for comfort, that’s for sure. Needed to get away for a couple of days; clear my head. Figured this was the best place to do it.”

“Only place that matters,” Kyle reasons. “Things were starting to get a little tense around here. Wasn’t too bad when you didn’t call the first day, but when you missed the second? I thought my sister was going to have a mental breakdown. Then I see this…” he nods in the direction of Tyler’s injured shoulder. “...they didn’t get a hold of you, did they?”

“I’d look a lot worse if they did. And I definitely wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Tyler...oh my God…” The patio door slams shut behind Esme as she rushes out of the house in her bare feet, and he barely has time to pass Declan to his brother in law before she’s tossing her arms around his neck; her position on edge of the deck making them nearly the same height. Careful not to embrace him too enthusiastically; mindful of the injured shoulder, feeling the press of his immobile forearm against her. “...oh my God…” her hands are in the hair at the back of his head, fingers pressing into his scalp. And he can feel the way her body trembles against his and her tears against the side of her neck, not even trying to hold it in. Audible sobs of relief that have her shaking. And Kyle whisks Millie and TJ away; sparing the kids the sight of their emotionally fragile parents and giving them some sense of privacy. “...I was worried sick about you. Where the hell have you been?”

“It’s a long story.” He manages to hold back in his own tears, but the relief is evident in his voice. “I should have called. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I thought something happened to you. That they got a hold of you. And neither Yaz or Koen or Ovi would tell me anything but I could tell something was wrong. I figured it couldn’t be too bad if they weren’t showing up to tell me you’re dead. Are you okay?   Both hands are still in his hair when she pulls back to look at him. “Jesus Christ, what happened?”

“Not right now, okay?” He rubs the small of her back, then covers her lips with his in a long, slow kiss. “Later. When the kids are in bed. I don’t want them hearing them. I don’t even want YOU hearing it.”

“This goes way beyond someone just jumping you, doesn’t it.”

Tyler nods.

“What the fuck happened?” Gentle fingertips travel over the top of his shoulder and onto the side of his neck. “Never mind that. HOW the fuck did it happen? I don’t understand how someone could get THAT close to you? How…?”

His hand moves to the side of her face and he silences her with another kiss. Longer this time. Deeper. Harder. It’s desperate and it’s needy; fuelled by the realization that he comes so goddamn close to never getting a moment like this again. IF they’d managed to get a hold of him, he would have spent days, weeks, even months, being put through unbelievable agony and torture. Knowing his family was still out there; completely vulnerable without him to protect them. And he knows that Mahajan would have not only  let Esme know that he was still alive, but he would have made sure she knew exactly what was being done to him. With no hope of him ever surviving it.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”  Her voice is just shy of a whisper as she embraces him tightly, and she presses her lips against the side of his neck. “That you’re okay and you're here and I don't have to worry about you anymore. How long can you say? Overnight?”

“Couple days.”

“That’s more than I thought,” she sniffles. “I’ll take it.”

“It’s okay now,” Tyler places a kiss on her temple. “I’m here. Everything’s okay now,”

“It’s so far from okay. I’M so far from okay. But you’re alive and you’re in one piece and that’s all that matters right now. I was so scared, Tyler. I was so fucking scared.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. That’s the last thing I wanted. It was out of my control. Believe me when I say that..”

“I do. I do believe you. I just…” she pulls away once again and takes his face in her hands. “...I’m just so happy to see your stupidly handsome face.”

He gives a small chuckle and pecks her lips. “Where’s the baby? And Tanner?”

“They’re both napping.  Tanner had a rough night. He’s having a hard time. And we really need to have a talk about him. About how smart he is. I can’t wrap my head around just HOW smart.”

“We’ll talk about it.”

“Go and see him,” she urges. “He’s in the living room. On the couch. He’s going to be so happy to see you. I’M so happy. And relieved. So fucking relieved.”

“It’s alright, Esme. I’m here.” He kisses her once more, then pulls her tightly against him with his one good arm. “I’m here.”

*****

Tyler spends a half an hour standing at the side of Addie’s crib. Watching her as she sleeps and reaching out to gingerly remove the soother than dangles precariously from her lips. The hand is soft and gentle that he lays against her hair; palm cupping the back of her head, thumb brushing repeatedly over her ear and then along the top of her cheek. And it’s then that he allows the tears to come. In that still, quiet room with the breeze fluttering the curtains and Addie’s tiny body rising and falling with each slow, steady breath. The enormity of what happened...what COULD have happen...finally hitting him. It’s the closest he’s been to death in nearly seven years. Had Farhad been successful at his attempt on the bridge and had Esme NOT been there to save him, his death would have been relatively quick; bleeding out in minutes and likely losing consciousness from shock before that happened. If his assailant had gotten a hold of him, death would have eluded him. At least until Mahajan felt he had learned his lesson.

He almost didn’t get this chance. The opportunity to see his infant daughter again. To see the way those long, dark eyelashes brush against the tops of her cheeks or how those soft, pink lips as if suckling from a bottle. To hear her soft breaths and the little murmurs and sighs. He’d come within minutes...maybe even seconds...of never experiencing her first birthday or seeing her take her first steps or hearing her call him daddy for the first time. It’s a sound -an experience- that always brings tears to his eyes and takes his breath away; the moment each of his children looked at him and smiled and finally knew exactly who he was and what to call him. Nothing on earth can possibly come close to that feeling.

He leaves her to sleep. Pressing the tips of two fingers to his lips before softly placing them against hers, then using a forearm to clear the tears from his face as he leaves the room.  He’d slept for two days yet he’s still so fucking tired; body feeling as if it’s on autopilot, as if he’s simply going trough the motions of living. And while it’s a tremendous relief to be with his family and it was desperately needed, he hates that the sabbatical has been forced upon him. That some fucking asshole hired by Mahajan had not only gotten that close to him, but had been able to inflict the damage he had. It makes Tyler question everything; his confidence, his abilities, his skills. Whether or not he’s reached the end of the line. Forty is considered relatively old and washed up as far as mercenaries are concerned. And even without his underlying health issues, he can’t help but wonder if the attack is a sign that he’s lost his age and it’s time to let go. To leave field work behind him and just concentrate on running things in the background.

Tanner is still fast asleep on the couch; flat on his stomach with both arms wrapped around a throw pillow and a pout curving his lips.  And he groans and grimaces as he kneels alongside his son, combing his fingers through his hair and pushing the wayward locks off his forehead; palm against his cheek, thumb brushing along the slope of his nose. And it isn’t until he leans in to press a kiss to his temple that Tanner stirs; giving a long, almost sad sigh and his eyes opening slightly.

“Daddy?” He breathes.

“Hey,” Tyler gives a soft, comforting smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“No, mate. You’re not dreaming. I’m really here.”

Those big blue eyes slowly widen; tears filling them, lower lip and chin quivering. “Daddy…” it comes out as a choked sob. “...you’re here...you’re okay...I was so worried about you. I was scared you were dead.”

“Well I’m not.” He lays a hand on the back of Tanner’s head and presses his lips to his brow, then his temple as those tiny arms circle his neck. “I’m here. With you.”

“You didn’t call. For two days! It scared me. I got worried. I thought the bad guys got you.”

“I’m sorry, Tanner. I didn’t mean to scare you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.  Things got a little crazy and I couldn’t get to my phone.  I  am so sorry, mate. You forgive me?”

Tanner nods. “I was dreaming about you.”

“You were? What were you dreaming about?”

“We went to Disney World. Remember how you said we could go when I was old enough? And that we could go on rides together? Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“That's what it was about. Going there and going on rides. And eating lots of joke food. And watching the fireworks. You let me sit on your shoulders. I like when you let me do that. Maybe we can go soon to Disney World?”

“Maybe. I’d have to talk to your mom about it.”

“You got hurt?”

“A little.”

“The bad people hurt you?”

“Just a bit.”

“What did you do to them? Did you hurt them back?”

Tyler nods.

“Did you kill them?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “I did.”

“Does it make you sad? To kill people?”

“Sometimes, I guess.”

“Why? If they deserve it, why would you be sad?”

“It isn’t an easy thing to do. Even when they do deserve it.”

“Don’t be sad about it, daddy. You kill people so you can come home and see us. That’s why you do it, right?”

Tyler nods, swallowing around the painful lump of emotional sitting in his throat, tears sparkling in his eyes.  Feeling regretful. Ashamed. Embarrassed of the person he’s become and the things he’s resorted to. The damage that his own hands have been able to inflict. The pain. The torture. The death.

“I don’t care if that's what you do,” Tanner continues. “For your job.  I don’t care if you kill people. They're not good people. But YOU are. Only good people help. Only good people fight back. That’s what you always TJ when he fights the bullies at school. You said that good people always stick for people who can’t stick up for themselves. And that’s what you do, right? You help people who can’t do it themselves.”

“I guess that’s  part of it. There’s so much more to it, though.”

“I don’t care what you have to do. Just as long as you come back. That’s all that matters. I don’t care what you have to do when you’re gone. As long as you’re daddy when you come home.”

He sniffles loudly and wipes away the tears that manage to escape. “You…” he presses a kiss to Tanner’s forehead. “...are way too pure and perfect for this world, you know that? This world doesn’t deserve someone like you.”

“Did you get to say? Overnight?”

“I get to stay for TWO nights.”

His entire face brightens. “Really?”

“Really,” Tyler confirms.

“We can do things together?”

“Yup. But I just gotta be careful with my shoulder. And my knee. It’s kinda messed up too.”

“Maybe you’re getting too old to fight the bad people.”

Tyler frowns. “Excuse you? How old do you think I am?”

“Uncle Koen said you used to ride a dinosaur to school.”

“He did, did he?”

Tanner nods.

“Remind me to flush the toilet the next Uncle Koen is in the shower.”

Tanner giggles. “That’s savage, daddy.”

“You want to come outside with me? So I can’t spend some time with everyone? Wanna show me the animals?”

Tanner nods enthusiastically, then tightens his hold around his father’s neck when he tries to stand. “I love you, daddy. I’m sorry for the times I made you mad and I made you yell. That you hated me.”

“Mate, I could never…ever...hate you. You’re my son. I helped your mom make you. No way I could ever hate you. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way. For ever yelling at you. I shouldn’t do that. You forgive me?”

“Of course I do. You’re my dad.”

“I love you, Tanner,” Tyler wraps an around his son’s tiny frame and draws him tightly into him; eyes closed and his chin resting on the top of the five year old’s head. “You have no idea how much.”

[what-ever-happened-to-chip]

Marcus/Lana story I wrote, takes place after Gray had his freak out in the kitchen in the last story.

Marcus didn't release my hand the entire walk to his bedroom. He pushed the door lightly shut and dug in his deep pockets for his cigarettes. Marcus' hands were soft from lack of doing just about anything with them and his bulged knuckles locked safely between mine. Although he always loved to talk, it seemed like now he didn't just want to, he needed to. "Heyaa...you alright?" Gotta start somewhere Lana. "Yes would be a vague statement on the matter, but yes I am ultimately okay." He exhaled the thick Pall Mall smoke. He gave me a reassuring smile. "Any incidence like the such can shake someone, we are all made to preserve our mind and body and to see both at jeopardy leads essentially back to our own selfish motives of survival. A crass reminder, but a neccesary one." "Yeah I guess I'm sorta used to it being in camp by now. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing." "Would you excuse me for just one moment, dear." He gently placed my hand on my own knee. As he swiftly exited the room, I could feel the warmth leave my hand. My eyes gazed around his room. He was neatish, but very cluttered. Spread across his desk was piles of notebooks and books, notecards with his immaculate penmanship jotting ideas, overflowing ashtrays 90% pall mall filters. His closet was packed to the brim with blazers, cardigans, many dulled colors of the rainbow mismatched together. He loved clothes and took the pride to dress up in his own unique fashion everyday. These thoughts made me love him more. 'THIS IS BOOOORING, she's just sitting there, let's follow Marcus and see what he's doing until she gets back." "Perhaps he is only using the faciluties." I was gonna show him wrong, check and mate, camera engaged to Marcus, and bam, harry was right. Marcus at a reasonable fast pace, hands in pocket, walked down the stairs and turned the corner on to the third door on the right. He gently knocked and called out, "Denny, would this be a bad time to inquire for your time?" "Uh shit, hold on.." "Oh my god Aiden don't, he'll see" "Babe, it's cool, chill..." "whisper whisper....whisper" The door swung open. Jenn was rearranging loose strands of hair while trying to hold the comforter over her exposed bra. She was always jealous to give up alone time with Aiden, but Marcus was his friend and he needed a best friend, especially a cool one like Marcus. "Whatchu need homes?" "Would you be able to spare a gram for the night, a sharp too? I have been outta stock at the present time. "Yeah fer sure, if Joni hasn't fucking washed me out. For a bitch that can get free drugs whenever she wants, she seems to never have any of her own shit. Gray has ghosted the bitch so she's crawling around my shit these days." In a little flower shaped box, Jenn had lovingly gave all Aiden's "shit" a proper place to live in the bedroom. No twice used needles in her perfect little world. Marcus laughed in his head at the concept of a girlfriend being more worried about the physical mess of addiction rather than the cause it had on the boyfriend in case. However, the only annoyance drugs had in Jenn's life was it meant Aiden would talk to his friends more. Aiden held out the box like a bowl of candy and Marcus proceeded to pick out a 1/2 inch rock and assorted tools for the activity. "Thank you good friend, we'll converse tomorrow. Goodnight, Jenavieve." Most of Aiden's friend didn't bother acknowledge Jenn, it felt good that Marcus always at least gave her a greeting or a goodbye, sometimes both. They hugged each other tightly, for almost a full minute. Aiden rested his head on Marcus's shoulder like a toddler. Marcus closed his eyes and held a soft smile. Harry was bored. Thank god he was finally leaving. Oh fuck. "Ayyye ya Marcus, how ya doin?" Harry boringly sat through another 20 minute conversation him and Gippal had about dead romantic languages. This was so stupid, he never thought he hated Gippal until this moment. "Of course, to interpret any eastern religions, namingly Hinduism, Buddhism would never be the proper message without rudimentary knowledge of traditional Sanskrit, we could only roughly use Hindi to roughly define it, but well, jo hai no hai." They both let out pretentious laughs. "Well yeah, but couldn't ya say that about dead greek, latin, and all the like? Lots of those Christian fanatics like to use Latin instead of language, makes it deeper er something like that." he leaned back and clicked his tongue for no apparant reason. "Well fanatic indeed is the key word their, seemingly Christianity's domination of the whole western world led to Latin's prevelance yet today, however Sanskrit is actually still spoken as a live changeble language. The difference between a dead language lies not in the fact their are speakers still, but rather the ability to alter and update language to our modern needs." "I guessum, but maybe the inflexibility makes the language more understandable, certainly easier to learn, hell, sed quid scio?" "Clearly you know a great deal, my friend." This was so gay. Harry couldn't give a fuck about language or latin or anyone of it. He knew some Latin cause of his spells, but he didn't need to speak it. Just speak English, i'm sick of having to put on the translators just to get a joke. Oh thank god they are finishing up. Finally. "Indeed somethign to think about. Very well, Satyricon amicus~" "Oib, oib. facile accipere pitto" "I detect by your accent shift that was Al Bhed?" "oui kud ed syh, hmmm, lmajan" "That's just it, written Al Bhed is an easy cryptograph, so I am more or less fluent there, but spoken I have not quite grasped the dialect." "You got it man, just like any other, you gots to talk with it. Yer good at talkin so it shouldn't be no problemo" "Indeed so, I only find it would be fair to speak Lana, and your, natural language, makes for better conversation to speak the way another thinks." "How's that girlie doin' these days?" "Oh quite well, but to know for sure i'd better get back to her company" "Do yer thang man, I gotta work on some....." he began muttering whatever bullshit to himself and pacing away. Fucking finally he proceeded back to where Harry wanted him. That was super annoying.

The slouched Lana perked up at the sight of him returning. She'd paced the room and looked through his writings, he didn't ever have a concern for privacy and if he did he would never  tell her, he would merely just keep it a secret. She was used to being patient when it came to Marcus. He wasn't neccesarily easily distracted, but easily engaged in whatever was around him. She hated herself for being disappointed that he brought back H. "I'm sorry I kept you so long darling, as we rest society continues to thrive." He used many pet names with people, however darling he seemed to save for more special situations. She felt more relieved. It was cute seeing them together, but Harry wanted more. He needed more. "Fuck this i'm drugging her to ask him questions, i hate waiting for the bitch to do something. " "Indeed so Harry Potter." As much as Harry loved the sound of his own name, it was starting to bother him the way Christian kept saying it, like he was mocking him. Harry opened a secret cabinet to the left of the monitors and began scanning around for the proper potion to guide the situation into what he wanted. "Mmmmmm I think I'll use a dash of love, a bit of truth....." He busily mixed away. Christian sat completely still, but scanned the room thouroughly with his eyes. "That's the magic touch! Okay this should make her start asking him things that might make things funner..mwah haha...." "More fun." "Excuse moi?" "Funner is not a proper word. The expression would be 'more fun'" This guy was really getting on his fucking nerves. Ugh. He placed the potion in the vaporizer, isolated to only work on Lana and pumped it through the vents of Marcus's room. Immediatly the effects engaged. Lana uncontrolablly began to talk before comprehending fully what she had thought. "I thought you weren't using lately?" Oh god she sounded like a bitchy controlling girlfriend, but she really was just curious. Who was she kidding she was bothered and she didn't know why. He never got annoyingly high, he always coasted at a light level, stayed attentive and active in the conversation. Since the day she met him he was a drug user so why now would she want it to change? She truly hated being 'this girl.' Dammit. Why did she say that? "Of course I wasn't lately, but a break would not be a break if one did not return would it, just simply the way things were." He smiled warmly again and excused himself to the bathroom. He knew she didn't like watching him do it, so it was considerate of him, but a pang of loneliness ran over her. Moments later he returned a wave of contentment ran over him, yet she still wanted to talk. "So are you using because you got by upset by before?" Fuck Lana, why do you keep saying these things? Stupid, stupid. "Perhaps there is a connection there, of course, any sitution like that not only is alarmingly in it's own right, it's probably the past associations I share like any human does. Familiar negative stimuli. And well comfort is occasionally do." He went silent and pondered on the wall for a moment. He beginning scurrying around behind his worn out recliner he spent the better part of his time in when he was alone. He pulled out a wooden guitar and begin picking random chords. "Sure, it just seemed you....whatever. I don't know what I'm saying." "Lana dear, are you feeling well? You seem to be rather confused in your sentiments. I mean that in no way condescending, really are you alright?" "Yeah I just wanna know you're okay I guess, not hiding." "I am well, however certain thoughts have the tendency to make one over think so i'd rather level my brain out and find a way to express it more productively." "I guess, but....." She wanted to be careful to not say anything else stupid, but all her thoughts felt like diarrhea spewing out of her mouth. She didn't even mean all the thigns she said, they were just stupid insecurities that passed though, they weren't her. Were they? Dammit, dammit.

"Lana i'd like to show you a song I had written a long time ago, one that reminds myself of this feeling."

Song

Harry was on the edge of his seat. He fucking loved when kareoke/watching people came together so neatly. He could feel his jeans get tight. Lana watched him intently, trying to catch every word, tears welled in her eyes and she couldn't help but to fall even deeper. Fuck why does he do this to my head. "Wow that was......beautiful. I wish I was better  with words. That was...." As she rose from the bed, he moved the guitar aside to make a seat for her on his lap. they sat in silence for a moment as he rocked the chair back and forth to lull them. "Perhaps times where words are at a loss is when music is essential. Of course, I could say something, but well I figure it gets the point across." "hey Marcus, i was just wondering.....what are we?" His eyebrow raised in genuine confusion and turned her on his lap to be face to face. "What are we you ask....as in the title given to the intimacy we share? We've been over this dear, I've never needed the security of labels to define what I share with the ones in my life." "I mean yeah. I know.......but Liza wasn't she your girlfriend, what made her different. I mean I get it if you felt a different way....but I guess after all this time, I don't know. I'm being stupid." "Stupid? No never, what possibly gives you that idea? Oh Liza.....yes my 'girlfriend' Liza, a term she demanded be told to all our companions to solidify her insecurity with the situation. I honestly felt that it made no difference  other than the way other's view a connection, but the power of word does hold a weight in our lives. Language is a strong tool, but not the only one, of course. Could you elaborate what it is you desire from this?" Lana's cheeks flushed. Jesus is this how Memo felt every time she talked to a boy? This is horrible, no wonder she doesn't like dating. "I guess it's not always I need to know, just sometimes you seem you forget about me. Like your devotion... wow that's a gay word....comes and goes." She felt even stupider now, why couldn't she stop talking? It was like diarrhea coming out of her mouth. Fat chance he's gonna like me the same after this. I'm just the same insecure girl he's met 100 times. "Lana I wish you would tell me your first reaction rather than the contrived one you think I wanted to hear. This isn't like you." His eyebrows began to tighten into a concerned look. "Talk seems like it might only make you feel more minimilized, here let me play your song again. It seems our memories don't always stay constant in this camp. I know I had a memory of playing it, but it's as if someone erased it from our minds to try and relive the experience." He briefly glanced directly into the camera. Fuck he was on to Harry. How did he know that he purposely erased it so Marcus could sing it again like the first time? Whatever, it was working exactly how Harry wanted. Bingo.

Next Song

Two songs in my watching. Harry was rock hard. This was good so good. "Damn that was so CUHH YOOOT! You know they're your fav couple now too J, just admit it." "J?" "I didn't say that, why would I be thinking about J? He's actually gotten pretty boring and annoying, i say Jay like the name, it's a nickname we used at hogwarts to mean friend." "You do not need to lie to me Harry Potter, the results are futile." Lana pulled Marcus's hand and led him to the queen bed in the middle of the room. The slowly began removing clothing and kissing softly. They proceeded to make love, not fuck, for many hours. Harry got shy and turned the camera off.

"Do you fear intimacy Harry Potter?"

"noooo I just think it gets boring when people just screw forever and don't talk about things. On that note Harry pulled his robe around his body and scurried away to the restroom.

Christian remained in his seat. Smiling.