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drarryruinedme7 · 5 years

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Trans Harry!

Hey nonny, thanks for this ask. It took me a while, but I hope this makes a little bit of sense. 💕

Drarry (Harry-centric) | Rating: T | Lenght: 2,3K | Tags: Trans (Genderfluid) Harry/Harriette, mention of sex, pronoun bracelet

Friendship isn’t always a picnic. Going through trauma together can separate people, but life always finds a way to bring close again those meant to be and Ron and Hermione will now have to learn to get to know their old/new friend Harriette.

I’m Not (Just) Harry

Harriette hurried down the stairs of Grimmauld Place, trying to finish tying her braid as the doorbell kept buzzing. She opened the door with a hand still holding the end of the braid, to find Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville standing in front of it, strained smiles on their faces.

“What…” She froze on the spot. She hadn’t heard from any of them in three years, always dreaming of a possible reunion but… it seemed too good to be true. None of them ever reached out, not even when The Prophet wrote those articles insinuating that ‘Boy Who Lived and Death Eater Boyfriend Planning to Take Over the Ministry’.

Maybe she was hallucinating? Hesitation coursing through her brain, she raised a hand and poked Ron’s cheek; it seemed real.

Ron’s eyes widened and then he snorted, shaking his head. “Erm, Harry? I know we…um.”

“Oh, for Circe’s sake, Harry, can we come in?” Hermione’s voice was soft, wary, exactly how it was when she had to talk with Ron after a quarrel. Except that this time it was toward Harriette.

“I’m not Harry.” It was out of her mouth before she could even think about it. Well, better this way. They had the audacity to show up at her house after three years of silence and what, expected to be immediately welcomed?

Ginny crooked her head with a fond smile on her face. She probably thought Harry was completely pissed off. “Oh, really? And who are you?” Neville snickered next to her.

She shook her head. “I’m Harriette.” And left the braid to show them her bracelet: it was light blue, pink and white, the trans flag. They probably had no idea what it was anyways. On it her pronouns: she/her.

Ron sucked in a breath as Hermione’s mouth dropped open. It was Ginny who recovered first. “I’m sorry Har-Harriette. We had no idea…”

Harriette opened her mouth to reply, to tell them to come in, when a familiar body pressed against her back, Draco’s scent reaching Harriette’s nostrils, pouring calm in her.

Draco’s drawl was soaked in his smirk. “Wow, what do we have here? Two weasels, Granger and Longbottom… as I live and breathe.”

Neville’s cheeks tinged a light pink, but when he spoke, Harriette recognized her brave friend. “Hi, Malfoy… Draco. Harr- Harriette, I know we didn’t call ahead, but… we wanted to speak to you. It’s been so long…”

Harriette nodded, shifting to the side to let them come in as Draco breathed in her ear, “Are you sure it’s alright?”

She turned, landed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Yes. They’re here in any case. We might as well listen to them.”

Once in, Harriette lead the way to the kitchen, inviting them to take a seat, pouring hot tea with milk for everyone. Draco sat next to her, sipping his tea. “So?”

Ron looked into his mug and then at Harriette. His eyes were shining, his fingers restlessly scratching the mug, a nervous gesture he never lost, then. “Harry…ette.” He quickly added, blinking a few times, opening his mouth and then closing it again. “Oh Merlin, I don’t know how to do this, I’m so sorry. We… okay, we’ve been idiots! Big, shiny idiots, who turned your back because you… you… fell in love with Malf-Draco. That was stupid but we were…”

“Mourning?” Harriette interjected, a smile appearing on her face. “Listen guys, I know. The War just finished, and I went and fell in love with an ex-Death Eater, a bully who treated Hermione like shit for years, posh, spoiled brat—”

“You know, I’m right here.” Draco pouted annoyed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Harriette snorted and reached for his hair, stroking it lightly. He looked pleased enough and closed his eyes under Harriette’s touch. She resumed, “But he has also flaws, of course.”

Harriette looked at his friends, at their rigid poses, their wary eyes. “It must have been difficult for you to accept it. I know it. It hurt because you are… you were my family. But I understand you and I’m not angry with you.”

Hermione sniffled and that’s when Harriette realized she had been silently crying, clutching the mug in her hands. She wiped away the tears with a hand and took a deep breath. “Harr-Harriette, we’ve missed you so much. We know… Luna, Dean, Seamus, they’ve all stayed friends to you and I… Every day, I wanted to call you, to-to see you, but… every time I thought it was too late, I had fucked up, we lost each other. But…”

“What she’s trying to say—” Ron interrupted her, placing a hand between her shoulder blades, stroking her back with his thumb. “—is that we want to get to know you again. You, with Draco, you, Harriette, you… our friend. We miss you.”

Ginny and Neville were nodding alongside, Ginny looking directly at Draco. “You still stole my boyfriend.” Rising an eyebrow, defiantly. Smiling, shaking her head. “And I’ve been a hypocrite. I knew things didn’t work between us Harry, um, Harriette. I just… I was hurting. I thought you were my person and. Yeah.”

“Is anybody addressing the fact that I’m here?” Draco gestured towards himself in a theatrical manner, rolling his eyes.

Harriette laughed, happy that someone mitigated the mood. “We could never forget it, love.”

Everyone laughed, the tension in the room vanishing a bit. It was Draco once again to dissolve it. “Do you want to stay over for dinner? We have some friends coming, I’ve got a promotion at work, you know.”

Neville lightly clapped his hands. “Congratulations Draco! Well, why not? I can cook my special cookies.”

Harriette nodded, smiling. She looked at Ron and Hermione, an understanding look passing through them. No matter the years they’d spent apart, they still were her family.

—-

Pansy arrived less than an hour later, the disbelief of seeing Harriette’s friends melted away as Neville started paying her compliments, one after another, making very clear to everyone he found her ‘incredibly changed from school’, ‘so clever,’ and ‘that blouse looks fabulous on you.’

After accepting Neville’s compliments with a predatory grin, she turned to Harriette, surveying her. “Harriette! You’re still like this? Everyone will arrive in an hour!” Pansy gestured at her clothes and face, rolling her eyes. “I always have to step in, don’t I?” She Accioed her make-up and sat on the couch next to her, started applying her make-up.

She was putting her mascara when Harriette looked at Ron, smirking. “Wipe off that expression from your face Ron.”

His cheeks turned an alarming shade of red, his freckles almost disappearing, mixing with his blush when he spoke. “I! It’s just… you… why the make-up? When? How? I mean…” Hermione’s elbow in his ribs startled him and he abruptly stopped talking, looking mortified.

Pansy rolled her eyes, finishing to apply a deep red lipstick on Harriette’s lips. “You sound incredibly transphobic, Ronald; may I suggest you take a deep breath and count to 10 before speaking? The majority of Harriette and Draco’s friends are gay, one of them is trans as well, you may want to watch your tone.”

“Oh, leave him alone, Pansy. It’s all new for them, I get it,” Harriette said, finally finishing tying her braids and smiling at her friends, now gathered around her. Draco approached her and sat next to her, caressing her jaw with a finger.

It was true. It was all new to them, and they were there, finally open to listening to Harriette, finally there for her, and she wanted to make them feel part of her life again. Smiling, she started talking. “See, the thing is that after the War I felt so fucking lost. I had no clue what my life should have been because, because… there was no one to tell me. I mean,” Harriette took a deep breath, Draco stroking her cheek helping her stay calm. “Since my first year of life, I was never actually free, was I? The Dursleys, they… abused me. I know this now. I had no voice in my life and then I came to Hogwarts and yes, it was great. Except that… I still wasn’t free free. I lived only to save my arse from Voldemort and then to save everyone’s arses. I… never had the time to discover myself. Like, could I sing? Could I draw? Did I like hot chocolate or tea more?” A sob escaped her — she was still going to therapy, learning to deal with her past. Talking with her old friends, the ones that knew her when everything was out of her control, was proving to be difficult.

Pansy hugged her, wiping away the few tears stuck in her eyelashes, careful not to smudge the mascara. Harriette looked up, towards Ron. After all these years, having him back seemed like a dream and she sighed in relief. His eyebrows were knitted together but Harriette could see in his eyes he wanted to understand, to listen to her, to be there for her, finally.

Draco squeezed her shoulder and asked, “So, do you like hot chocolate or tea more?”

Draco’s irony helped once again to improve the mood, making everyone laugh and Harriette’s heart lighten.

“You know I don’t like hot chocolate! Well… In the end, turns out that I didn’t even know anything about my identity and my sexuality. Eventually, during our eighth year, I discovered I was attracted to Draco, a boy. And what a boy. Ex Death Eater, spoiled, bully—”

“We’ve already been there, thank you!”

“—and yeah, we ended up together. As you all know. Most people disliked us, and me, for loving Draco, but… now things are settling. The world has learned I have my own life, apparently, and I can do the fuck I want with it. And Draco, we’ve been together for three years now and I couldn’t be happier. He’s helped me through all this discovery, you know?” Harriette closed her eyes, gathering the courage for the next part. When she opened them again, she saw all her friends looking at him with genuine curiosity, smiles, fondness, patiently waiting for her to continue. She found in their eyes the strength to go on.

“Now I… go to therapy. I uncovered certain memories with my therapist and discovered that, well, I don’t always feel exactly like a boy and… this is me now. Not — not always, just… at the moment is… something I’m trying to understand better. That’s why I have the bracelet. You’ll meet Steph later, she’s trans too. I don’t know what my future holds, but right now I’m… Harriette or Harry, depends on the period, and I need, I need people who can support me in this.”

“Oh, Harriette…” Hermione was suddenly in front of her, crouched at the foot of the couch, taking her face in her hands. “We’ll be here for you, I promise. I love you and I think it’s wonderful you’re finally living your life, and not the one that others want or think for you.”

“Yeah, you’re my best mate, you’ve always been. I’ll try to be here for you, Harry or Harriette or whatever else.” Ron got up from his seat to go hug Harriette too and soon Ginny and Neville joined them.

There was no need for a lot of words: they grew up together and even if they’d be separated for three years, they still loved each other, they still cared for each other.

When all of their friends arrived and were socializing in the dining room, Harriette took a moment alone, observing them all together from the atrium, dancing with the music, chatting, eating. Ron was embarrassing himself in a wild dance with Steph, Neville and Pansy were shamelessly snogging on the couch, Hermione, Ginny, Blaise and their other friends were playing truth or dare, laughing, kissing, singing.

Harriette sighed, contented to have them all back in her life, a tear slowly rolling down her cheek. A warm body again appeared at her back, embracing her in a tight hug. Draco kissed her neck, whispering to her ear, “Are you alright, love?”

She nodded, fearing that opening her mouth would bring a vale of tears.

“I told you they’d be back in your life.” He smirked on her neck, tickling her.

“Shut up,” she muttered, already half-hard in her pants.

Draco sneaked a hand lower, brushing it on her bulge. “You didn’t tell me you were still thinking about your gender. It’s been months since you started wearing the ‘she’ bracelet, I thought…”

Harriette bucked her hips forward, pushing her bulge against Draco’s hands, moaning at the touch. “I… don’t know, Draco. I still… it’s complicated. There are days when all I want is to wake up without my cock, my beard, but… other times I like it, I… love having sex with you giving attention to my c-cock…”

“Like I’m doing right now?” Draco’s voice was low, sending sparks down Harriette’s spine. His hand slipped inside her trousers, gripped her cock, giving a slow tug.

“Merlin, yes.” Harriette was already meowling, bucking against his hand to get more. “B-but we, this is your party, w-we should…”

“Fuck until dawn? I agree.” Draco took her hand and tugged to bring her away from the party.

Harriette snickered, following him, muttering under her breath, “Not exactly what I meant, but well, who am I to say no?”

—

Thousands of times thanks to my betas/sensitive readers @primavera-cerezos, @everyoneinspaceisgay and @zopno. ❤️❤️❤️Tagging @bblgumbby, @inevitabledrarry and @secretlycrazyhummingbird. ❤️

#drarry #drarry squad #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #trans harry #trans character #genderfluid harry #harry/harriette #pronoun bracelet #draco x harry #drarry ficlet #mywriting #rating: T

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splendidlyimperfect · 5 years

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Sting’s entire life changed when he was eleven years old and his best friend Rogue told a secret that he’d promised to keep. Taken away from the father who abused him and the best friend who’d tried to save him, Sting tried to start a new life with his uncle. But the trauma wasn’t easy to escape, and eventually Sting turned to drinking to forget the things that hurt.

Now he’s an adult, and he hasn’t been sober in years. But when drinking nearly kills him and a near-stranger saves his life, Sting has a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Natsu helps present-day Sting to deal with his trauma and try to start a new life.

Chapters (12/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel & Sting Eucliffe, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia (Fairy Tail) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

**TW for discussions of an unhealthy relationship, mention of rape/noncon (not graphic)

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re· ha· bil· i· tate | \ ˌrē-ə-ˈbi-lə-ˌtāt transitive verb : to restore or bring to a condition of health or useful and constructive activity

xiii winter age nineteen

Sting stops talking when he realizes his throat hurts. When he looks up from the couch, he can see the last rays of the sunset dipping behind the buildings before winking out and leaving the apartment in darkness. Natsu flicks on the coffee table lamp, then leans back against the couch, looking down at Sting.

“Your dad did this to you?” Natsu asks softly, brushing Sting’s hair back and running his finger along the thick white scar that stretches from his eyebrow past his hairline. Sting nods. “Fuck,” Natsu says, and Sting looks away, down at his arms and all the scars he’s put there.

Continue reading on AO3

“That’s not…” He trails off, rubbing his arms and moving to sit up. There’s a sudden discomfort in his chest, a not-quite-right feeling that this is too much, that he’s too much, that Natsu doesn’t need to deal with all this shit.

“Is he still alive?” Natsu asks, putting a gentle hand on Sting’s shoulder to keep him from moving . When Sting shrugs, Natsu makes a sound that’s half frustration, half a growl. “He’d better hope I never run into him.”

Sting can’t decide if he wants to cry or laugh, so he settles for a shaky exhale. His stomach hurts.

“’s not an excuse,” he says eventually. He can feel Natsu’s question and adds, “for doing all the shit I did, and for—for yelling, and hurting, and being so fucking stupid.” He’s so tired, and suddenly he feels very, very small. “I miss Rogue,” he whispers. “And Uncle Wes.”

Natsu doesn’t answer right away, just keeps a gentle pressure on Sting’s shoulder and continues to comb his fingers through Sting’s hair. “You haven’t talked to him?” he asks eventually. “Your uncle, I mean. Since...”

“Two years,” Sting says quietly. “I wanted to, I did, but I just...” Tears well up again and he groans, rubbing his face. He’s so tired of crying. Natsu makes a soft sound, then looks down at Sting contemplatively.

“Is your stuff still at Ryan’s?”

Sting’s stomach churns at the name. He nods.

“What’s his address?”

Sting blinks. “No, I don’t... it’s just...”

“Hey.” Natsu squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. “I’m not gonna kill him or anything, I just wanna get your things back.”

Sting thinks of his clothes in Ryan’s drawers and his toothbrush in the bathroom, and he’s about to shake his head when he remembers his backpack. It’s stuffed in the back of Ryan’s closet, empty except for a picture of him and Uncle Wes, and the stuffed bear.

He nods, staring down at the backs of his hands and saying, “Okay.”

Natsu doesn’t leave Sting alone for a week, and when he does, he’s only gone for a couple of hours. Sting feels like throwing up the entire time, and when Natsu reappears in the doorway, Sting nearly cries.

“Here.” Natsu hands Sting the backpack. His knuckles are scraped and bruised, and when Sting frowns at him, Natsu just shrugs. “He was uncooperative,” he says. “I had to negotiate.”

The next day they’re watching the news and a segment comes on about an anonymous tip leading to a drug bust and apprehension of someone selling to minors. Sting’s heart leaps and he wants to say thank you, but Natsu just hums and keeps washing the dishes.

When Sting shows Natsu the picture of him and Uncle Wes, Natsu puts it up on the fridge, next to a photo of himself kissing a girl with long, dark hair and cutoff jeans. She’s gorgeous, and it takes Sting a few days to work up the courage to ask about her.

“Him,” Natsu corrects, staring wistfully at the picture. “That’s Ellie. We lived in a small town and he couldn’t be himself.” His mouth twists in a way that looks like he might start to cry, and he turns back to the stove where he’s making spaghetti.

“You still love him,” Sting says, leaning forward on the counter. Natsu nods. “What happened?”

Natsu sighs. “I left.”

By the time Natsu goes back to school for the new semester in January, Sting has been sober for seventeen days. He spends the morning trying to read, and when anxiety sets in at lunch time, he starts to clean. When Natsu gets home just before dinner, Sting has scrubbed nearly every surface in the apartment.

“You doin’ okay?” Natsu asks, dropping his backpack on the floor by the front door. He’s got a stack of papers in his hands that he sets down on the counter.

“Mm.” Sting tips his head side to side noncommittally.

“You stayed here?”

Sting nods, even though Natsu would know if he’d left. He doesn’t have keys to the apartment, and nobody would have buzzed him back into the building. For now, not having that option makes him feel safe.

“I’m proud of you,” Natsu says, squeezing Sting’s shoulder as he heads toward the bedroom to change. The words sting just a little – an echo of Uncle Wes and a kindness Sting didn’t deserve. This time, though, he lets himself accept it. He’s going to do it right this time.

He settles down by the counter and looks at the papers, realizing it’s a pile of brochures. One of them is for Alcoholics Anonymous, which he makes a face at but pulls closer to him. There’s one for trauma therapy, another for support groups for adult victims of child abuse, and one for the sexual assault center.

He frowns at it. “What’s this for?” he asks, looking over at Natsu as he comes back out of the bedroom wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Natsu raises an eyebrow at him and Sting’s eyes widen. “I didn’t...” Sting hesitates, then tries again. “Ryan didn’t—”

“Sting,” Natsu says gently, reaching over the counter and squeezing his hand, “You were sixteen and drunk, and he was four years older than you. That’s not sex, that’s rape.” Sting flinches at the word but doesn’t let go of Natsu’s hand. “Did you want to sleep with him?” Natsu asks.

Sting shakes his head. “No, I… but I said…”

“You weren’t in a healthy relationship with Ryan,” Natsu continues. “You were taken advantage of, drugged, and assaulted by someone when you were still just a kid. Even if you had said yes and had wanted it, he was an adult and you weren’t, and that’s wrong.”

“I wasn’t a kid,” Sting says softly, staring down at the brochure. It’s bright purple and there are daisies on it.

“You were,” Natsu says. “You’ve had to be grown up since you were really little, but you weren’t an adult. You were a kid when your dad hurt you, and a kid when you ran away, and a kid when Ryan took advantage of you. Now you’re an adult, and now you’re making the right decisions.”

Sting’s not sure what to do with that. He’s too surprised to cry, so he just squeezes Natsu’s hand back and then spends the rest of the afternoon reading through every brochure.

“Will you come with me?” he asks after supper . He picks at his salad, not meeting Natsu’s eyes. “To the meeting, I mean. I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Asking for what he needs is terrifying, and he doesn’t even hear Natsu’s answer the first time over the frantic pounding of his heart. Eventually Natsu touches Sting’s arm, not commenting on the flinch as he says, “Of course.”

Sting doesn’t talk at all at the first AA meeting – he spends the entire time holding Natsu’s hand and biting the inside of his lip to keep from crying. The next day he has an appointment with a trauma therapist, and then a group at the sexual assault center, and by the end of January he feels like he’s been ripped to pieces.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers to himself one night when he’s curled up on the sofa bed in the living room, holding the stuffed bear tightly against his chest. Everything aches and he can’t stop shaking, and he’s torn between knocking on Natsu’s bedroom door to ask for help and running away. He’s exhausted and miserable and he just wants to not fucking feel anymore.

His phone is sitting on the table beside the couch and he grabs it, opening up the photos folder and staring at a picture of him and Rogue that he’d managed to find, years ago, when Uncle Wes had brought all his thing from his dad’s house. In the picture they’re six or seven, sitting in the grass near the playground under the hot summer sun. Sting’s got long, curly hair, and he’s kissing Rogue’s cheek while Rogue smiles shyly and holds a bouquet of dandelions that Sting had picked for him.

“I’m sorry,” Sting whispers , and he’s not sure if he’s apologizing to Rogue or himself. The look on his younger self’s face is one of pure adoration, and he can almost remember the innocent way that he’d loved Rogue since the moment they’d met. “I miss you so much.”

He wipes at his cheeks, closing the photos and opening an internet tab. Before he can stop himself, he types Rogue Cheney into the search bar, holding his breath as the results load.

The first link is Rogue’s Facebook page. Sting clicks on it with shaking hands, and his heart does something funny as he stares at the profile picture. Rogue’s hair is long and pulled back in a ponytail, and he’s smiling at something off screen, silhouetted by the sunset.

It’s the same smile Sting remembers from sleepovers and movie nights and playing Super Smash Bros together.

Student at University of Pentstemon, it says next to the picture. Sting doesn’t recognize the city. He clicks on the Photos tab, and slowly starts to scroll through the pictures of Rogue.

There aren’t many that are public, but Rogue looks happy in all of them. There’s one of him and his parents and Gajeel, who looks so much older than Sting remembers. Another is of Rogue and a girl with white blonde hair that Sting doesn’t recognize, with the caption Mathlete Champions 2017! There’s a few of Rogue in front of paintings in a gallery; another of him at the beach with his hair in a long braid; one of him with glasses, laughing at something an unfamiliar boy is saying.

Something aches in Sting’s chest, but it’s not the familiar pull of grief. There’s a bittersweet sadness there, mixed with a sense of contentment. Rogue is okay. Rogue is happy .

And for some reason, even though Sting probably won’t ever see him again, Sting wants to make him proud.

He flips through a few more photos, then sets the phone down on the table and kicks off the blankets. Then he heads down the hallway, hesitantly knocking on Natsu’s door , and when Natsu opens it, Sting says, “I need help.”

“What do you want to do?” Natsu asks a few months later over breakfast. Sting frowns at him. “For a career, I mean.”

Sting chews his bottom lip – he already knows the answer to Natsu’s question, but he’s been avoiding it.

“What did you wanna be when you were a kid?” Natsu asks instead.

Sting sighs. “A cop,” he says quietly. “Like my dad.”

They’re both quiet for a minute and then Natsu nudges Sting’s foot under the table. “Do you still want to?” he asks. When Sting doesn't answer, he adds, “That doesn’t make you like him, you know that, right?”

“You don’t know that,” Sting says, stabbing his chicken with his fork. He’s angry, suddenly, and he hates it. None of this is Natsu’s fault – he's done nothing but help, but he’s the only person in Sting’s life right now, and it’s hard not to project on him sometimes. “I already turned out just like him.”

“Stop that,” Natsu says, kicking his shin. “You’re not like him and you know it.”

“I—”

“Nope.” Natsu shakes his head. “I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you talk shit about yourself. You’re better than that.” Sting glares at him half-heartedly and Natsu flicks a pea at him. “So. You still wanna be a cop?”

“Yeah. I, uh... never finished school, though.” Sting tries to keep the red flush of embarrassment from rushing to his cheeks.

“High school, you mean?”

“Mm. I barley finished grade nine.”

“Do you want to?”

Sting frowns. “Go to high school?”

Natsu looks like he’s about to be exasperated but then thinks better of it, and Sting’s relieved. It’s taken a while for Natsu to figure out that Sting doesn’t know a lot of things that he takes for granted – things like how to open a bank account or drive a car.

“No,” Natsu says, shaking his head. “You can upgrade. It’s called a GED – it's a high school equivalent but you can take the courses online or at the college.”

“Oh.”

“You want me to check it out for you?” Natsu offers. “Actually, why don’t you come with me tomorrow? I can take you to student services and then you can go to the Starbucks while I’m in class.”

Sting chews his lip uncertainly. “There’s, um... is there a different place I can go?” Natsu tips his head, puzzled. “There’s a liquor store across the street from the Starbucks,” Sting says quietly, cheeks burning with shame.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” Natsu says. “I’m an idiot. Of course.”

School is hard. Sting nearly gives up after the first few days, but Natsu doesn’t let him. They do their homework together at the kitchen table with popcorn and iced coffee – Natsu reading about art history, Sting trying to figure out how the hell to do trigonometry.

Between school, therapy and AA meetings, Sting finds he doesn’t have time to think about drinking. The cravings that had nearly been unbearable in January are intermittent by August, and manageable by December.

At Christmas, Sting goes home with Natsu. His parents are sweet and welcoming, but Sting feels awkward and out of place, especially when he overhears Natsu asking his mom to not offer wine with Christmas dinner.

The day after Christmas, Sting knocks on Natsu’s bedroom door and is surprised to find him crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting down on the end of the bed where Natsu is sitting with his legs against his chest. Natsu doesn’t answer, pressing his forehead to his knees and biting back a sob. Sting moves closer, chest aching as he watches Natsu’s shoulders shake.

“I miss him so much,” Natsu says eventually, rubbing his face and sniffling. He holds out his phone, which he’s been gripping tightly, and Sting looks down at a picture on the screen of Natsu kissing Ellie’s cheek. “I talked—just got off the phone with his mom,” Natsu says. “She doesn’t know either.”

“Doesn’t know what?” Sting asks.

“Where he is.” Natsu rubs his face. “He disappeared after I left, with his new boyfriend and... he stopped talking to me, hasn’t answered my texts or calls in a year and I thought maybe his mom would know but she said she hasn’t heard from him either. He’s just gone.” Another sob bursts out of Natsu and Sting wraps his arm around Natsu’s shoulder. “’s my fault,” Natsu manages around the tears. “I shouldn’t have left, I’m so fucking stupid and he’s gone, and I c-can’t find him, and I miss him so fucking much.”

Natsu’s tears tug at Sting’s heart and he holds him closer, realizing that he’s crying too.

“I’m sorry,” Sting says, and the apology is both for Natsu and for Uncle Wes, who Sting can picture in the same place, trying and trying to find Sting and never being able to. “I’m so, so sorry.”

#fairy tail #ftlgbtales #ftlgbtfics #stingue #sting eucliffe #natsu dragneel #hurt/comfort #angst #new chapter #update #my fic

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chimcharstar · 5 years

Note

1 THROUGH 55 AND 1 THROUGH 30 GO GO GO

LETS FUCKIN GO

tumblr please actually make this a keep reading

55 interesting questions you should drop in someone’s inbox

1. If you didn’t have to sleep, what would you do with the extra time?

I ALREADY WATCH NETFLIX AND AGONIZE OVER MY STORY

2. What’s your favorite piece of clothing you’ve own/owned?

MY JACKETS. ANY CHEST OBSCURING, BROAD SHOULDERED, COZY JACKET

3. What hobbies would you get into if time and money wasn’t an issue?

DANCING, ID NEED TO GO TO CLASSES OR SOMETHING

4. What would your perfect room look like?

IM ACTUALLY PRETTY HAPPY WITH MY ROOM BUT IVE ALWAYS WANTED A LAVA LAMP, AND 1800 MORE PLANTS COULDNT HURT

5. Do you play sports?

6. What fiction place would you love to go to?

SINNOH REGION

7. What Job would you be terrible at?

DEBT COLLECTION. I WOULD BE GIVING SHIT TO PEOPLE FOR FREE. I COULDNT BEAR BEING ENCOURAGED TO FORCE PEOPLE WHO CANT PAY FOR SOMETHING TO PAY MORE

8. If you could turn any activity into an Olympic sport, what would it be?

SERVING. HOW MANY PLATES CAN YOU CARRY AT ONCE

9. What’s the most annoy habit other people have?

WALKING IN MY SPACE BUBBLE WHEN MY SENSES ARE OVERLOADED

10. What skill would you like to master?

A SECOND LANGUAGE

11. What would be the most amazing adventure to go on?

THE ONE FROM MY DREAM WHERE I KISSED A GIRL DYED MY HAIR BLUE AND WE ELOPED TO BRAZIL TO RAISE SHEEP

12. What’s your favorite drink ?

THAT CHRISTMAS SHIT. PEPPERMINT MOCHA AT STARBUCKS. A FRIEND GOT IT FOR ME ONCE. NOW I ORDER IT A BILLION TIMES.

13. What state or country would you never like to go back to?

I HAVE NOT TRAVELLED MUCH EVER

14. What songs do you have completely memorized?

I DONT REMEMBER LYRICS SO MUCH, BUT I COULD PROBABLY REMEMBER HOW MANY SONGS GO COMPLETELY

15. Are you usually early or late?

LATE. IM GETTING BETTER THOUGH

16. What takes up too much of your time?

GETTING OUT OF BED

17. What do you wish you knew more about?

SWORDS

18. What are some small things that make your day better?

COFFEE. SOMEONE SAYING SOMETHING NICE TO ME.

19. What TV channel doesn’t exist but really should?

QUEER EYE BUT BY TRANS PEOPLE FOR TRANS PEOPLE

20. Who has impressed you the most with what they’ve accomplished?

YOU. AND ME. ITS GROWTH

21. What age do you wish you can permanently be?

21, SO I HAVE TIME TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCKS GOING ON

22. What TV show or movie do you refuse to watch?

13 REASONS, THE BOOK WAS TRIGGERING SO I WONT RISK IT

23. What would be your ideal way to spend you weekend?

TAKING A WALK, HAVING COFFEE, WATERING PLANTS… IM HAPPY

24. What’s something in your life that’s considered a luxury?

I HAVE PERFUME...

25. Is there anything you’re too young/old for?

TO YOUNG TO NEVER DRINK. TOO OLD FOR POKEMON

26. What’s your favorite genre book or movie?

I DONT HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN FOR EITHER BUT I SEEM TO LIKE URBAN FANTASY A LOT

27. How often do you people watch?

I THINK IM SO POLITE BUT HONESTLY, I QUIETLY SCRUTINIZE SO MANY PEOPLE ON THE TRAIN EVERY DAY AND GUESS AT THEIR PERSONAL HABITS AND SELF IMAGE.

28. What’s the best single day on the calendar?

MY BIRTHDAY, SAGITTARIUS SEASON RULES BABY

29. What are you interested in that most people haven’t heard of?

I DONT KNOW ABOUT ANYTHING PPL HAVENT HEARD OF BUT IM INTERESTED IN BLACK HOLES

30. Do you relax after a hard day?

FOOD. NETFLIX. DECOMPOSING ON TUMBLR

31. What’s the best book or series you’ve ever read?

I HAVENT READ A BOOK I REALLY LOVE IN AGES. HARRY POTTER AND ARTEMIS FOWL WERE MY FAVOURITES GROWING UP, BUT CORNELIA FUNKES BOOKS SLAPPED AND HIS DARK MATERIALS WAS GORGEOUS

32. Where’s the farthest you’ve ever been from home?

IDAHO?

33. What’s the most heart warming thing you’ve ever seen?

LUCIFER WAS LIKE YOU DESERVE SOMEONE WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR BORING MIDDLE NAME JANE AND KNOWS THAT EVERY MURDER BREAKS YOUR HEART AND YOU SIMPLY DESERVE BETTER SO NO MORE MOMENTS WHILE THEYRE HAVING A MOMENT AND CHLOE IS WATCHING THIS FUCKING IDIOT AND IVE WATCHED THIS BEFORE SO I KNOW SHES GONNA KISS HIM AND THEN THEY KISS

34. What’s the most annoying question that people ask you?

ANY SMALL TALK QUESTIONS

35. Would you give a 40 minute presentation with no preparation?

YES. ID MAKE THAT SHIT RIGHT UP. SKILLS

36. What’s something you think everyone should do at least once in their lives?

GIVE ME A HUG AND SOME CHOCOLATE

37. Would you rather go Hand Gliding or Whitewater rafting?

HANG GLIDING

38. Dream car?

SOMETHING I DONT HAVE TO WORRY WILL FALL INTO PIECES AT ANY MOMENT

39. What’s something so many people are obsessed with and you just don’t understand why?

STRAIGHT LOVE SONGS

40. What are you most looking forward to in 10 years from now?

HAVING A CAT

41. What’s something you’ve been meaning to try but haven’t gotten to it?

DECORATING THE DOLLHOUSE I RESCUED FROM THE BATHROOM

42. What’s the best thing that’s happened to you all week?

IM NOT VERY FAR THROUGH THE WEEK AND I HAVENT ENJOYED MOST OF IT BUT PEOPLE SAYING ADORABLE THINGS

43. How different was your life one year ago?

NOT A LOT DIFFERENT, IM JUST LONELY IN THE CITY NOW, MINUS A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, ONE YEAR ON T

44. What/who would you rate 10/10?

MY CACTUS JAKEN. I DROPPED HIM SO MANY TIMES AN ENTIRE HALF OF HIS SPIKES ARE FLAT SCARS. AND LOOK AT HIM. THRIVING

45. What kind of art do you enjoy the most?

GENUINELY MADE ART

46. What do you hope never changes?

MY T PRESCRIPTION

47. What movie title best describes your life?

I LOOKED THROUGH NETFLIX AND I PICK TWILIGHT

48. What website do you visit most often?

TUMBLR

49. What’s something you’re looking forward to this year?

MY BIRTHDAY

50. What’s something you’d like to unlearn?

FINDING A REASON TO CANCEL EVERY SINGLE LITTLE THING

51. Where would you spend all your time if you could?

WALKING BY SOME RUNNING WATER

52. What age would you like to live to?

80. THATS MY MENTAL HEALTH ANSWER

53. What’s something you’re most likely to become famous for?

SOMETHING CREATIVE WOULD BE AWESOME

54. What’s something you’re most likely to be arrested for?

CRIMES

55. What’s something you really want but can’t afford?

A CAT

Lgbt+ ask game

What do you identify as and what are your pronouns?

I’m even a little shaken by a questioning state right now but for a while I’ve felt the best fit is the androgynous label -- I read a description of it being the purple on a pink to blue scale, both at once but not specifically either one, and something else by itself. I’m also happy with a cryptic masculine grey area. My pronouns are he/him.

How did you discover your sexuality, tell your story?

During the Puberty 1.0 nightmare, I was basically living someone else’s life, and any attraction I felt wasn’t in relation to myself. I felt disconnected from my body and gender and everything too, and I felt a lot of social pressure to experience a certain type of attraction, fit into a certain role, et cetera, and none of these feelings existed in me at all, so I used to identify as ace. When I realized I was trans, I was too caught up in the, transition safely, my life is a lie, stopping dysphoria drama to focus on this, but I had an idea I might be a gay guy judging from my gay creative writing until I caught feelings for a girl and realized this wasn’t the first time that had happened. Some bi positivity and nonbinary rage later, I am reminded that gender is a joke.

Have you experienced being misgendered? What happened and how did you overcome it?

Yes of course A LOT. Starting with my parents, who do it aggressively and maliciously. And plenty from strangers and customers, mostly after hearing my voice pre-transition. It used to hurt terribly because I was dealing with so much other stuff at the time, and one little thing could be the last straw, so I used to react strongly and harshly, to people you express yourself to anyway. On T, I’ve been so much more chill and confident, and it’s less painful to accept that some people just don’t know any better, although that doesn’t change its effect.

Who was the first person you told, how did they react?

I don’t remember, I think it was a high school friend. I vaguely remember texting someone in a bathroom during a crying session at work. My high school friends were all warm and supportive.

Describe what it was like coming out, what did you feel?

It was scary as hell. I’m sure coming out (with your gender specifically) is scary by nature because it’s a huge truth to be telling that can really change how the people you love perceive you, for better or for worse, but for me, I’m also thinking with the dread and certainty that my family would be too conservative and potentially dangerous. Coming out to my family was one of the worst, most painful things I’ve ever been through -- being kicked out and laughed at, a lot of drama, confrontations, Bible readings and being ganged up on at odd hours, trying to comfort my mom who took it as her personal failure -- I was shaking with adrenaline 24/7. I think of the “I’ll suffer through anything as long as it has meaning” comment that was about angsty fanfics, but knowing the truth about myself was a source of unshakable strength and it felt refreshing and even triumphant to say, like I was giving myself permission to exist for the first time. I came out a bunch of times, though...

If you’re out, how did your parents/guardians/friends react?

My family reacted mostly badly, my sister is a little confused but has the spirit, and my friends have been wonderful.

What is one question you hate people asking about your sexuality?

It’s more of a gender thing, but I hate it when people imply that I shouldn’t be on T or are subtly trying to talk me out of it with their questions. After all the disrespectful as fuck bullshit I heard from my parents, I’m tired of this.

Describe the style of clothing that you most often wear.

Zombie apocalypse denim? Gay Layers

Who are your favourite lgbt+ ships?

I’m not really emotionally invested in these “ships” you cool kids are talking about. I like canon, age-appropriate ones.

What does makeup mean to you? Do you wear any?

I’ve never really worn makeup. I brazenly never bothered to growing up, and if it had an effect on me socially, I was too tuned out to care. My sister always wanted to do my hair and makeup, but I wasn’t interested and wouldn’t let her, much to her frustration. I wore some for a musical once though, and I had no idea what I was doing and it was extremely uncomfortable. I felt what I know now is dysphoria and ended up using the lipstick to draw. Another aspect to this is my family forbade it (or my dad made the decision for everyone), not that it made my sister feel less pressured to wear it, so maybe it was some female presentation I could easily get out of. For that reason, I don’t have super strong feelings about it. Not understanding it probably resulted in me feeling left out a lot among my peers.

Do you experience dysphoria? If so, how does that affect you?

Yes. Before my realization, it was a numb horror I wasn’t consciously aware of, ruining nice things growing up to the point where I feel like I missed out on being a teenager. I remember it as feeling nauseous while sitting in a corner, feeling like none of my clothes ever fit for some mysterious reason. Living with my family in the closet, it defined my life, and I was obsessed with my presentation. These days, it does not bother me on that level at all, except a minor freakout now and then if I get really wild and wear feminine clothes. Or I still feel it in more subtle ways, when I default to customer service voice, or when guys my age are twice my height and I look aaaall the way up at them and wonder what gender they see me as.

What is the stupidest thing you’ve heard said about the lgbt+ community?

Trust me, I have heard truck loads of dumb shit and the winner is the Gay Agenda is R****a’s propaganda to weaken the integrity of North America. Considering what is happening over there, it was enragingly stupid.

What’s your favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?

I feel like I can be myself around lgbt+ people. I don’t feel like I have to hide stuff or put on a show, and I’m not afraid because it’s familiar territory.

What’s your least favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?

Aside from obvious problems like TERFs, ace discourse. Ace people are part of the community if they want to be and that’s enough on that, my skin is already breaking out.

Have you ever been to your cities pride event? Why or why not?

I finally went to a Pride event this year! I was surprised it was the first one I’d been to, then remembered my parents discouraged me from going anywhere, never mind to a gay where.

Who is your favourite lgbt+ Icon/Advocate/Celebrity?

I can’t think of many people right now, but Leslie Feinberg seems awesome, and some quotes from Stone Butch Blues are very validating.

Have you been in a relationship and how did you meet?

No. Technically I have been in one, but it was shitty and ridiculous, and basically platonic, and I don’t want it to count.

What is your favourite lgbt+ book?

I barely read… I read Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe in high school and it was honestly so precious.

Have you ever faced discrimination? What happened?

Yes. I got kicked out (but then kicked back in again), had my stuff stolen and damaged, was verbally harassed… and I was indirectly fired by an employer, but We Will Never Know Why...

Your Favorite lgbt+ movie or show?

Queer Eye! I don’t know of many though, and some important ones, I just haven’t watched.

Who are some of your favourite lgbt+ bloggers?

My mutuals :D

Which lgbt+ slur do you want to reclaim?

I’m okay calling myself queer.

Have you ever gone to a gay bar, or a drag show, how was it?

No, but I did see some drag performances at the one (1) Pride event I went to, and they were jaw-dropping.

How do you self-identify your gender, and what does that mean to you?

I’m not sure what this question means, but I decide what fits right by what makes me feel the most alive and emotionally real and in the moment. What makes me feel the most attractive to be honest. There’s a post about dysphoria I saw going around, the things on it are basically what I use to figure things out.

Are you interested in having children? Why or why not?

I am actually! Not anytime soon, but I’m the responsible type for sure, and judging by the way I love growing plants and being around animals, I’m probably a nurturing person. I actually like kids too, lol, they’re just so high-energy.

What identity advice would you give your younger self?

You’re a boy. Go!

What do you think of gender roles in relationships?

I think people are going to have different ways of expressing themselves that make them happy, but… I don’t think they should infringe on basic human decency. When I hear “role” I think of acting a certain way because someone told you to, something I want to disagree with on the spot.

Anything else you want to share about your experience with gender?

People move out of my way on the sidewalk and take me seriously now. Privilege or self-confidence… I never want to forget what it used to be like, or get too entitled.

What is something you wish people know about being lgbt+?

That it’s simply living one’s reality. I think that trips up a lot of straight people -- that some people just come like this, and they don’t have to make it fit into their personal identity.

Why are proud to be lgbt+?

Because I worked hard to be alive and happy right now. I’m proud of choosing to get through those rough patches, take care of myself, heal, take walks, cook breakfast, learn healthy coping mechanisms, that was out of love for myself and a defiant conviction that I have a place in this world.

#chatty tag

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not-all-that-chic · 6 years

Text

Gunpowder Blush

Jaebum x Reader [Police!AU]

“ On a normal day, I would find myself doodling away on my brightly colored post-it notes, daydreaming about my boss until Jinyoung chastises me about my lack of productivity.

Today, however, was not a normal day. ”

trans. | Your opinion is extremely important to me.

genre | Fluff, Smut, Drama

wordcount | 11.9k

warnings | language, gore, dirty talk, rough sex, male dom, degradation, exhibitionism, edging, masturbation, overstimulation

rec. track | ♫ ♩

video | ►

in·frac·tion inˈfrakSH(ə)n

a minor or petty offense that may be proceeded against summarily, and without a jury.

misd. ⟨infr.⟩

"Oh my god!" The bullet is deeply lodged into his calve. I start to shake, becoming faint at the sight of his blood. He places his hand over the wound and squeezes it.

"Fuck!"

"What do I do?!" I panic and look around, eyes flitting everywhere impatiently, wishing the gods would come down and help me and him. "I need to call an ambulance or-"

"Run after her!" He growls at me. I flinch.

"Are you crazy?! You just got shot!"

"I'm not disabled! I can take care of myself! Don't let our suspect and one piece of evidence get away!" I hesitate to leave him. "I promise. I will be fine." His voice and eyes soothe my worries and my beating heart. I nod and run off in the direction she went, my adrenaline firing.

Luckily, she's rather slow and Mulgogi is slowing her down. She's already in her car when I reach her. Once she realizes the situation, she grabs her gun and shoots out her window, aiming at me. In her shakiness, she misses. But out of fear I duck and am effectively paralyzed. She drives away quickly and I can't do anything—

Her license plate! I memorize the numbers and letters. DCG4476. It's a black SUV with some flashy rims. I commit it to memory. Cursing myself, I feel terrible that I couldn't stop her.

I disappointed him. I suddenly realize he's hurt and run back, heart pulsating. In my moment of passion, I didn't fully asses the damage. Oh god, what if he bled out?! No, I shake my head. He'll be fine. He said so. I can't help fearing for the worst. When I return, he's in the same place, head leaned against the wall, hissing in pain.

Once I reach him, I slow down and land on my knees in front him. He opens one eye.

"I already called an ambulance.." Nodding, I hold my hands in my lap.

"Can I...?" Tentatively, he lifts his hand off the wound. Thankfully, it's bleeding, but not to the point of severe blood loss. The skin around it is torn and there is gunpowder entering the flesh. I almost gag.

"It was an old bullet," he tells me through grit teeth. I don't know know what it means, but it's nothing good, I know that much. I rip off the edge of my shirt sleeve and apply it to the wound, applying pressure so he won't have to. I frown at his condition, feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry..." He sighs. It only fuels my guilt further. "If only I hadn't kept the cat..."

"I'm sure there is cat hair on me and the rest of this house that will be enough for this case."

Lowering my head, I mumble, "If only I hadn't taken you to my house. You wouldn't be shot."

"Be quiet." He commands me, anger laced in his words. "This self-pitying attitude of yours is tiresome. I already told you I was fine. Why do you keep blaming yourself?" I can't even look at him.

"I don't know! I just do! I've always been like this." I choke. He lifts my head up, hand on my chin. His eyes soften, but there's underlying frustration there. He wipes my cheek with his clean hand.

"Don't cry. It doesn't help any."

"I'm sorry."

"There you go again. Do I scare you?" I blink owlishly at him and he wipes my cheek again. To my own surprise, I blush.

"No. U-um. You're really nice. Yeah..." He watches me sputter for words with tenderness. "I just feel bad for putting you in this situation."

"Then let's have an agreement. Tell me what it is that worries you and I'll tell you something about myself." His words... I realize what he's doing. Constantly, he checks my expression and eyes. He wants to get my mind off my obvious failure and fears at his own expense. However, it doesn't feel as if he's babying me. It's odd.

"Okay. Well um. I'm worried that I won't live up to your standards. And I'm worried that you'll get mad at me or be disappointed. I'm scared you'll think less of me. You hold me on a high pedestal and I don't want you to be disillusioned by my failures."

"You told me you weren't afraid me."

"I'm not!" I insist.

"Then why are you so afraid of me being disappointed?"

"I... I'm not sure." His eyes widen suddenly as if realizing something. Something in the air has changed. His hand lands on my hands.

"After hearing that..." I tilt my head. He shakes his. "It's nothing of importance. Just, you're not quite sharp when it comes to yourself."

"What?"

"Well, I'll tell you something about me," he changes the subject quickly. Although I want to ask him to explain himself, I don't want him to get mad or anything. He hisses when he adjusts himself.

I suddenly think back: when will the ambulance arrive? You would think someone being shot would be a priority! And although he's hiding behind his cocky attitude and comforting words, I can see him shift in discomfort.

"Okay."

"Around three years ago, I was still an officer."

"Really?!"

"Of course. You think I was born a Chief Inspector?"

"Well, no..."

"I really loved— and still love —being in the middle of the action. I was a part of the Seoul SWAT team." Mouth agape, I'm suddenly no longer shocked by his confidence and bravery. "Shocking, isn't it? Would you believe me if I said Mark and Jackson worked with me, too?"

"Mr. Tuan? Seriously?"

"We were on the same squad. I was our squad leader."

"Why did you leave?"

"I didn't leave. I was promoted to Chief Inspector for our division. I was going to stay, but the constant calls were wearing my body down." I nod. It's entirely impossible in my mind for someone so strong like Jaebum to ever get tired.

"And Mr. Tuan and Jackson?"

"When I stepped down, they came with me."

"Do you like being Inspector?" He shrugs.

"I don't have a passion for it. But it's my job now." He frowns. "It's peaceful, but I miss my SWAT team. When you become so used to those stressful situations, you start to miss it."

Before I can ask him to elaborate, the telltale sirens sound and I sigh in relief.

The days pass at a torturous pace. Even with my description of the car and the exact license plate number, nothing is happening. There's only one week until the court hearing and the lawyers involved can start their cases for their respective sides. I can only sit uselessly. At least today, Jaebum will be released from the hospital.

His recovery went well since he obediently took all the medicine he needed and ate plenty of food. I'm glad he didn't break any bones; just damaged a few nerves. I visit every day and I'm getting ready to visit again.

Over the three weeks he was resting, I'd like to think we became rather close. I feel like I've made a dear friend. Jaebum is a bit rough around the edges, but if you can weasel into his heart, he's a wise and gentle spirit. He loves cats, reading books and he has quite the appetite. I may have snuck him a few bags of cookies on occasion. I'm extremely thankful to have met him. I've learned a lot about him— and surprisingly —about myself, too

Since work is rather slow today, I decide to leave early.

Jinyoung smiles. "Going to see the Inspector off?"

"Yeah. Today's his last day." I return his joyful expression.

"You seem a lot more cheerful these days." He sends me a sly look, but I shrug.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Mhmm. Of course. Well, call me later."

"I will." Grabbing my belongings, I walk out of the office, but when I open the door, Mr. Tuan bumps into me. He grabs my shoulders to steady me.

"Oh! How's my special employee doing?" He grins and ruffles my hair. The contact doesn't send fireworks up my spine like it usually does.

"Pretty well. Thank you for asking, Mr. Tuan." A soft chuckle bubbles out of his lips as his eyes wrinkle. His expression isn't as cute as I remembered it.

"You know, you look so content and cute these days. What brought that on?" His compliment doesn't make me blush and revert into a blushing mess. I find myself laughing along with him instead. It's odd and somewhat concerning; for two years I've had a crush on my boss. I couldn't have possibly lost feelings so quickly.

"I'm not sure. I'm actually rather stressed with this case and Jaebum's recovery." He raises an eyebrow, confused.

"Jaebum? You're on a first name basis with him?"

"Yes. I consider him a friend."

"Oh? Isn't that... funny."

"Is it? I guess it's a little weird, but Jaebum is really nice and so intelligent. He's a great leader and he's brave. And funny." His expression becomes more and more gleeful with everything thing I say.

"You must really like him."

"Yes!" He chuckles and places a hand on my back.

"Then don't let me keep you! Tell Jaebum I said hi!"

"Yes, sir!"

I practically run those 10 blocks to the hospital. It was an important day for me and for the investigation. Once I reach the hospital, I grin. The receptionist has seen me many times and nods. The trek down the hallways makes me anxious. It's his last day. If anything I should be happy he's going to be released, but I can't shake something off, and I don't know what that something is.

I quickly find Jaebum's room and am greeted with the sight of two older people there. Quietly, I step into the room. Jaebum spots me first. He says my name: a wonderful sound. The two people turn around, at first wary, but then they seem happy to see me as well.

"Oh! How lovely to finally meet you, dear!" The word "finally" really sticks to me. She stands up and embraces me.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm so glad such a nice girl is taking care of our son." It suddenly hits me as Jaebum's father hugs me. His parents. My throat is dry, but I feel really warm knowing they already like me so much.

Jaebum watches us interact, his eyes looking like they will burst any minute. They seem to sparkle with unsaid emotions. Although he's rather stoic, I've never seen him so happy before and it makes me smile. I blush at his cute and unguarded expression. He looks like a child with his favorite pet.

"Meet my parents."

"It's nice to meet the both of you." For some reason, it never occurred to me that Jaebum had parents that loved and cared for him. I haven't seen my parents in— I don't even let the thought settle in my mind. My heart aches for him, who is so happy with his parents in the room.

"Sit down." Jaebum pats the chair beside him. I blush and do as he says. His parents get comfortable as his dad instantly goes to protest.

"You know how much he argued for us to not take that seat?"

"If only you would have heard him, dear! "No, Mother. I'm saving this seat. You'll see who she is. She's just like you." My goodness, he has never been so stubborn." I cover my face with my hands and stare at the floor. What did all of this mean? Why was Jaebum so eager to introduce me-

Oh no. I thought we were just friends! I guess he still has feelings for me. What am I supposed to do?! How do I reject— well? Suddenly the idea of rejecting him doesn't sound so pleasant to me. I don't want him sad. Plus, wouldn't he be a great boyfriend?

"What are you thinking?!"

There's a pregnant silence. Suddenly his parents burst into laughter. Jaebum shoots me a questioning look. Did I blurt that?

"What are you thinking?" Jaebum grabs my hand. My previous thoughts return to me and I gently pull my hand back. His eyebrows furrow.

"Honey," Mr. Im mumbles to his wife. He points to his watch. "It's nearly three." They both stand up and smile.

"Will you take care of our son? I'm afraid we have a flight back soon."

"Yes. Please take care of him. He's a stubborn and dumb kid."

"I'm not a child anymore."

"In my eyes you are. Let's go, honey." They come and kiss Jaebum on the cheek. He watches their backs.

"Have a safe flight." They wave me a goodbye, which I return, before exiting the room. I'm still in shock over my thoughts, his actions, his parents.

The past five minutes have been quite eventful.

"What is it?" Jaebum asks me, the sparkle in his eyes never leaving. It's so cute, but I try to swat that thought away. I can't possibly.

"Nothing."

"Tell me what's wrong." He grabs my hand again and my face bursts into a bright red. His touch is soft and when I look into his eyes, I'm trapped. They seem to have an intense aura that I've never noticed. I can't look away. And he has two little moles above his eye. His hair frames his face perfectly. Not to mention his strong nose. He looks like a Greek God. How could I only now notice?!

And his lips are very pink.

"I can't!" My thoughts culminate in a simple statement: I have fallen in love.

In the two years I've worked in this division, I've met and spoken with the Chief Inspector many times. I've had the pleasure of working with Mr. Im in the last month or so. And now the last three weeks to fall in love with Jaebum.

And now he has to carry this burden. I lower my head. Maybe he doesn't like me back. My brain tends to make up ideas that aren't real. I was probably delusional and making up fake scenarios in my mind where he liked me. Yes. That must be it. He just praised me because he admired my intelligence. He talked to me because I was his friend. How could I have been so blind, to lead myself on like that?

"You're doing it again." I can hear the disappointment in his voice. He lifts my head up. "Why are you crying?" Gosh and now he sounds frustrated and it's all my fault. Stupid me for getting too deep in his charm. He wipes my tears, but they don't stop. I start to hiccup.

"I-I'm so-rry!"

"I can't help if you're you like this."

I can't tell you! I want to say. It will ruin everything! I scream in my mind. I want to say it, but I'm scared.

He interlaces his fingers with mine and the other is dedicated to softly running through my hair.

"Come on, baby girl." My heart stops. Time freezes. I feel my whole body go limp and tense all at the same time.

"Stop crying." Heat pools in my body, threatening to burn me alive. My tears abruptly stop. He watches me.

"Speak to me. I know you're-"

"Baby girl..." I drift. For once, my mind is utterly empty.

"Yes? I said that. Do you want me to refer to you as something else?"

"N-no! I mean-well I! I!" Sighing, I gather myself. "Why did you call me that?" He rubs his forehead and smirks, amused.

"I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

"You're sharp, but not when it comes to matters of the heart." He grabs my face and suddenly his lips are so close to mine I can't even think.

"Jaebum..."

"I'll kiss you, but only if you ask nicely."

I'm beyond embarrassment when I whimper my response. "Please." He obliges. His lips feel even better than they look. I want to bring him close and taste him even more. His hands are rough from his work, but it feels nice and sends a tingle somewhere I have no experience with. I'm ashamed of my own body's receptiveness to him.

He pulls away and I quietly whine. He smirks, but doesn't comment.

"I want to make sure you get it."

"What?"

"You're mine. You're my girlfriend. I told my parents as much." It's suddenly all too much for me. "Your crush on me was extremely obvious. I humored you at first, but now I like you." My ears feel tingly. His words touch me deeply. I've never felt so loved and needed in my life. I can't help my tears again. I feel like a huge crybaby, but it's not my fault.

"I want to t-tell you something."

"Go ahead."

"I know I'm really snotty and weak and I cry a lot-"

"You have a soft heart. Not a problem." I shake my head.

"Please listen, okay?" His expression becomes completely serious. Taking a deep breath, I go into the recesses of my mind, to a place I don't like going.

"When I was younger, I had a pretty normal childhood. My parents were normal people. I had normal friends. Everything was fine. Then, my grandmother on my dad's side died.

"My dad was really attached. Her death really affected him. He began neglecting me. He insulted my mom. He never used violence or got drunk, but he told me I was weak and dumb. He rarely came home and my mom dropped all that negativity on me.

"She would tell me how much she hated him. I still loved him and I tried to understand him. It was hard for me because I hated my dad for being the way he was and I hated my mom for hating him. I wanted to love the-" I felt a knot in my throat.

"That's in the past."

I go on, "Eventually, my mom divorced him, but it was hard for her and me. She had to work two jobs. Sometimes I felt like I had no parent. I was glad I had Jinyoung to support me. We went to college together. I would do anything for him. He helped me when I needed it the most."

"I'm proud of you for telling me this." He puts a hand on my head and I glow from the praise.

"I'm happy you're the first person to know. I trust you."

"Now it's my turn to admit something. This is the first time in my life I have ever been so invested in someone." His serious and straight to the point attitude sends a shiver up my spine.

"Jaebum..."

"I'm serious about you."

"I..." The words die in my mouth.

"You can doubt yourself, but never doubt me." He comes closer to me. My heart screams at me from within my ribcage. It wants to be let out. This pressure on my shoulders disappears and I feel light. My brain is telling me this is fine. I should do what I want to do and not worry so much. He grabs me and pulls me onto the hospital bed. I become anxious, but his confidence dispels my worries.

I like it. This relationship I've accidentally stumbled into. It's the most wonderful accident.

"Let me prove to you how much I need you, baby girl." The nickname has my heart flipping, but I feel red hot. I want him to make the burn go away.

"Please, Jaebum," I beg, already anticipating what's to come. His eyes close and he groans. His arms hold me on top of him. When he looks at me, he's engulfed in something dark. I nearly fall on him from the look of pure hunger on his face.

"Go lock that door."

I could promise with my faulty memory that I have never run and locked a door so quickly. And he remarks on this.

"Eager?" When I sit back near him, he drags me to straddle him. Shuddering, I breath with difficulty. He looks me up and down and I feel naked already under his intense staring.

A shaky, "Yes," is all I can pull from my parched mouth. His hands dig into my hips and he brings me closer, forcing me to rub my clothed pussy on his already growing erection. My face burns when he exhales. I'm overwhelmed.

"I don't know if I can be gentle if you look like that."

"Don't—do what you want with me." He suddenly yanks me down and my lips crash into his. The impact hurts, but his adept lips make me forget quickly. Jaebum bites my lips rather harshly and I wince. His hands explore my sides and land on my ass as he gives it a squeeze. I moan into his mouth and he practically eats it. He shoves his tongue in my mouth and I let him explore me. His tongue leaves me dizzy, like I'm drunk on his taste. I feel limp in his arms, merely enjoying the sensation.

I've never experienced something like this before. I feel an immense pressure in my lower abdomen and my clit pulses. Although I can't figure out anything with Jaebum kissing me and grabbing my ass, I am cognizant enough to know that I need more than just a kiss.

I— reluctantly —separate and blush at the trail of saliva connecting our lips.

"More..." I moan.

"You're so hot. Fuck." He obliges quickly. One of his hands travels down and into my pants. The contact of his rough finger on my clothed clit makes me moan shamelessly and bite my lip.

"You've never been fingered like this, huh? You want me to make you cum just like this?" His voice growls in my ear. My body shakes as I rest my face on his neck, breathing shallow. He slowly circles my clit with his finger, occasionally pressing onto it. It sends electricity up my spine and down into my stomach.

"Your panties are fucking soaked. Is this all for me, baby girl?" He rubs a certain spot, the directness of the stimulation hurting and making me moan. It's so much— too much.

"Yesyesyesyesyes. Oh fuck—" I can't speak; I just buck into his hand, finding purchase. He ups his pace, fingers relentlessly vibrating against my clit. I release a wanton moan and bite his shoulder. Sweat beads on my forehead.

"Moan for me. I want everyone in this hallway to hear you." My moans are needy and loud. I feel close. I'm not sure what close is, but the pressure on my clit and Jaebum egging me on with his words brings me deeper and deeper. Just when I feel like the burning is about to boil over—

He stops. I whine at the loss of contact, but he yanks my shirt off my body, taking my bra along with it. He latches his lips to a nipple and bites it. I cry out.

"Open your eyes and fucking look at me." I obey quickly and nearly cum on the spot: he's sweating and his hair is messy, but his eyes are alive with carnal and raw desire. He lasciviously licks that nipple before sucking it. My hands shake, but I prop myself up, making it easier for him. His eyes never leave mine. And I don't think he wants to stop looking.

Jaebum begins to slowly grind up into me. The sensation of his clothed cock rocking on my clit has me whimpering again: "Jaebum..." I feel his cock on me. There's no doubt he's just as turned on as I am.

"That's right. Moan for me, you fucking slut." The derogatory terms make my pussy clench. I moan as my eyes roll back. He sucks on my nipple and releases it with a pop before giving the other the same attention.

"Fucking love it when I call you names? I bet you do. You're so wet I bet if I touched your pussy now my finger would slip right in." Despite the lewdness of his words, I don't doubt it. I probably have soaked through my panties. Blushing at the thought I look away. Pain rushes into my body when I feel him twist my nipple.

"Did I say you could look away?" I whip back in his direction and his smirk goes straight to my eager cunt.

"N-no..." The dynamic change from sweet and caring Jaebum to this has me quaking with anticipation. I reach down towards his pants. His dick is poking me, already hard as a rock. My hands gingerly wrap around it and give a gentle tug. He throws his head back and groans, guttural. His face full of ecstasy makes me want to touch him more, urge him to make more of those delicious moans. I want him to just fuck me until I can't walk. I grow impatient. As if hearing my thoughts, he stops.

He pushes me off him and I blink with confusion.

"Well? Take your pants off." When I see him taking his shirt off I take it as my cue. At the speed of light, I take off my pants. I hesitate at my panties. Looking back at him, I gape at his body. The planes of his chest are smooth and slicked with sweat. His stomach looks built, but not too much. There are some hairs on his abdomen that lead down lower into his pants... I swallow my saliva.

"Like something you see?" My eyes flit back to his smirking face.

"I want to suck your cock." It catches him off guard and I surprise myself. Where did this confidence come from? He growls and gets off the bed, cornering me like a predator. I back up I until my back hits the wall. Jaebum places his hand on my head and shoves me until I kneel down. I look up at him, hands in my lap.

"Work for it, slut." Eyes wide, my hands make quick work of his belt buckle and pants. Dragging his pants and underwear down, my mouth waters once his cock springs out. It's red at the tip and angry, precum leaking out. I don't waste any time and give a few kitten licks.

"Shit..." he squeezes his eyes shut, hand on the wall, and I preen at his reaction. Motivated, I take half of it into my mouth, watching his reaction. He growls and grips my hair. I hollow my cheeks and suck, bobbing up and down on what my mouth can fit. His hand tugs on my hair, making me wince. Jaebum looks at me, sharing eye contact, and bites his lip.

"Bet you love having my dick in your mouth." I moan, sending vibrations to his cock. He grabs the back of my head and shoves the rest of it in my mouth. My nose touches his abdomen and when his cock reaches the back of my throat, I gag. I can't breathe. Tears well up in my eyes, but I force myself to relax.

Once I do, he relentlessly fucks himself into my mouth. I hold onto my complaints, but at the same time, I like it. Him using me as an object to reach his orgasm, it makes my pussy ache for him. He's using me to satisfy his needs. Every time he rocks himself my throat burns, but the roughness makes me wetter.

"Touch yourself," he says through clenched teeth. My hand is shaky as it touches my forgotten clit. The relief I receive is instant. Eyes rolling, I nearly forget Jaebum's cock in my mouth. I flick my wrist, abusing my clit with my middle and forefinger. The juices from my aching sex remind me of what's to come.

His pace doesn't relinquish for even a second. I can't even breathe. And his hands dig into my scalp and pull me any which way. Jaebum moans particularly loud and it makes my pussy throb. My fingers hiccup at the sound.

"Your throat is so warm— fuck! You're so dirty, fucking yourself while my dick is down your throat." I spread my legs more, eager for more. I shove my hand down my panties and shove a finger in my hole. He takes his cock out of my mouth to let me breathe, but I can only inhale once before he slams it back in. A tear rolls down my cheek. The pain and pleasure melt together to the point where I can't discern the difference.

My stomach clenches and I know this time that I'm near an orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum. So close—!" He grunts, barely able to speak. Whimpering, I feel myself climbing a hill. It builds and builds, threatening to burn me alive. "Come on, baby girl. Choke on my dick." On command, white-hot pleasure is searing through me and I close my eyes. My legs shake and my body falls limp, rubbing out my orgasm. He yanks my head back and takes his dick out of my mouth. Coughing, I grab my throat and breath in the air I was desperately missing.

When I open my eyes again, he's panting and working himself to his own release. I encourage him.

"Please cum, Jaebum. Cum all over my face." With one final groan, his seed releases onto my face and he closes his eyes, hand on his forehead. We both let our labored breathing mingle and slow as we come down from our highs. He wicks away his sweat before looking down at me. Smiling, I gaze into his eyes with adoration.

"Wipe that innocent look off your face. I'm not done with you yet." I'm unable to wonder as he suddenly picks me up and tosses me onto the hospital bed. He fully removes his pants and underwear. And then I'm suddenly reminded of where we are. We're about to have sex in a hospital room where anyone could hear.

"Jaebum, maybe we should stop." His hand lands on my clit and I gasp, breath hitching. He rubs me from on top of my panties and I feel myself building already.

"I want to taste you, but I can save that for another day." I can't manage a protest when he pulls my panties aside and shoves a finger inside. The moan that escapes me is so needy and lewd, I would be surprised if no one heard it.

"Oh, Jaebum!"

"Look at you. So fucked out and I've barely done anything. Are you sure you want to stop?" At the unforgiving pace he's fingering me, I can't even think. He smirks and adds another finger. My moans grow louder and more desperate. I arch into him, my breasts grazing his chest.

Jaebum leans down and sucks a huge hickey on a random spot on my neck. With his free hand, he takes a nipple between his fingers and pulls it. The searing sensation clouds my judgment. His fingers hit a spot that has me nearly screaming in his ear. He adds another digit and scissors me sloppily. My juices coat his fingers and I can hear how he fucks me, so hard and fast and without mercy. The familiar heat grows in my stomach and he continues to move around inside me. My vision grows blurry by the second.

"Oh god! P-please! I'm so close!" At that, he abruptly removes his fingers with a growl. I want to yell at him for continuing to tease me, but he flips me over and slams his cock into my pussy. A scream rips from my throat and he moans in tandem. The force of the impact has me gripping the bedsheets in a vice.

"Holy fuck! You're dripping. Your pussy swallows me so good, baby girl." I whimper, the stretch hurting my virgin hole. And he notices, just letting his cock settle inside me. He growls and squeezes my hips hard. The grip he has will definitely leave marks, but for now, it only fuels my libido.

"It's taking every ounce of my self-control to not pound you into this bed." I wiggle my ass, telling him it was okay, and he slowly thrusts into me. It hurts for a little, but then I find myself wanting more.

"Faster." Once he hears that, he takes his cock out and shoves it back in. He sets a steady pace. His breath is shallow, but he doesn't slow down for a moment. The idea of getting fucked doggy style never appealed to me, but the way his cock naturally curves into me makes me want to convulse. It's so good— too good.

"Say my name," he whispers lewdly into my ear.

"Jaebum." The idea of someone possibly hearing our moans, my screams, the intermingling of our pleasure only takes me higher.

A sharp pain on my ass suddenly wakes me from my stupor. Moaning, my toes curl in response.

"Fucking scream it like you were earlier."

"Jaebum!" He smacks my ass again and I hiss, but I'm seeing stars. His hand rubs the spot and I whimper.

"This is fucking amazing. Your pussy was made for my cock." His filthy words make my pussy clench around him. I feel myself getting closer and closer. He pushes my head down onto the bed. I raise my ass and spread my legs more, allowing him to reach deeper and deeper. The bed rocks back and forth at the force of his thrusts.

Jaebum spreads me open and suddenly reaches a spot that has me screaming. And he hits it over and over again. I pant and moan, so close I can taste my orgasm.

"Are you enjoying this? Knowing someone could walk by and hear you moan like the bitch in heat you are." My eyes roll to the back of my head.

"I'm close! I'm gonna cum!" He picks up his pace and slams into me. My hole is dripping with my juices and the sweat coming from us both. His hand reaches for my hair and pulls me up.

"Then do it. Cum!" My body feels like it's on fire. Even my throat is raw from screaming. "I want your filthy cunt dripping. Cum all over my cock like the cock slut you are." The force of my orgasm hits me like a freight train. With that last sentence, I feel myself falling over the edge. My body convulses and my wet pussy contracts around Jaebum's dick.

He still hasn't cum yet, so despite how tired I am, I try to help him reach his own. "Come on baby. I want you to cum inside my pussy. It's so wet for you." He moans loudly and speeds up— I didn't think it was possible —and my clit protests at the overstimulation. It hurts.

"Fuck. You're so hot. So hot. So wet. I could fuck your little pussy and never get tired." He leans over me, breath fanning on my neck. I turn to see his face, and I nearly cream myself. His fucked out and blinded by pleasure expression. His eyes are blown so wide they look black. They're clouded and lost in the ecstasy and I want to cum again. Jaebum bites down on my neck and I moan.

"Oh, baby—please!"

"Cumming again? Can't get enough of my cock, huh?" My eyes close and I feel his cock pulsing inside of me. "Scream my name. I want to hear it from that pretty mouth."

"Please cum inside me— on me I don't care just fuck me harder!" With one particularly hard thrust, I cum again. "Jaebum!" If no one in the hospital heard me the first time, then they could hear me that time. A loud moan falls from his lips as he leans over me, his frame swallowing mine. Jaebum thrusts a few more times and he follows, pulling out and cumming all over my ass and back.

He falls beside me and stares into my eyes. We slow our breathing and lie there peacefully, just watching each other. His fingers brush the sweat-matted hair from my face.

"You look so beautiful." I glow from his compliment and smile. He returns it and I blush, in awe of how beautiful he looks when he smiles. The edges of his eyes wrinkle as his eyes disappear beneath his eyelids. I've never been so happy just watching someone smile. And it makes me curious.

"How can you smile so cutely after you just got done mercilessly fucking me?" Jaebum laughs loudly, his mouth opening wide like a dinosaur. I feel my heart pound at how endeared I am. His laugh dies down and he looks at me in worry.

"I didn't hurt you at all, did I?"

"No. I really liked it..." Face burning, I hide behind my hands. Arms envelop me as I get pulled into his chest. He gently rubs my back and kisses the crown of my head.

"I'm glad." There's a warm silence the fills the air, but I feel myself enjoying it. In his arms, I feel so at ease, so at home. It's like a belonged here all along. To think I was afraid of him before. There's nowhere more safe for me than here with him. And I will never doubt that again.

"Why can't I come with you?" I bite my lip. He closes his eyes, arms crossed.

"It's dangerous. Did you forget that I'm still healing from when I got shot? Or did that casually slip your mind?" His tone is hard; he won't be budging anytime soon. Fiddling my fingers, I look up at him. He returns to looking at the file on Mr. Jung's mistress.

What if Ms. Kim shoots him again? What if this time it's fatal? Sweat forms on my forehead. I feel too attached to him. I've come to depend on Jaebum's resilience and unbreakable will.

Face taut with worry, I reach forward. I feel him tense once my arms wrap around his midriff.

"Please, Jaebum. Don't risk your life." Jaebum places a hand on my head to comfort me.

"You know I can't promise something like that, baby girl."

"Lie to me a little?"

"You know I don't like lying, either."

"Then make sure to catch that bitch and put her where she belongs." He bursts out laughing and I retract myself. His laugh makes me smile, too.

I will never doubt him.

He's been gone thirty minutes. And these 30 minutes have been hell on Earth for me. I can't stop gnawing on my pen and scribbling little tornadoes on my sticky notes. I've watered my cactus and poked myself a few times in my shakiness. Jinyoung isn't even here to calm me down, having gone with Jaebum along with a few more officers. My toes feel sweaty and cold all at once. I've taken six trips to the break room to drink water.

I stand up, about to take my seventh.

"Hey!" Mark calls my name, urging me into his office. I anxiously stand in front of his desk.

"Yes?"

"Your pacing is making me anxious," he smiles.

"Sorry. I'm really worried."

"I know you are, but you have to calm down. Jaebum has done much more dangerous things." I frown and look at the ceiling, holding back— some extremely childish, dumb, stupid, irrational —tears. It makes me frustrated with myself. Curse my own overthinking and my own anxiety. Without Jaebum or even Jinyoung, my emotions control me.

I hear Mr. Tuan sigh. "Jaebum would kill me, but I think if you don't see him yourself, you might faint and die yourself." At once I return my eyes to him, shocked. Is he insinuating...

"Mr. Tuan?"

"I believe Jinyoung left his police car in the lot. You know where the keys are, right?"

He is!

"I won't be covering for you. It's my position on the line," he tells me sternly. Nearly vibrating in a mixture of anxiety and joy, I bolt out of the office.

"Thank you, sir!"

He shakes his head and leans on his desk.

Once I get to the parking lot and plop into Jinyoung's car, I review the floor plans of Ms. Kim's house. She was a stupid criminal without much foresight. Her house is only three miles from the station. Which only increases my anxiety.

Forty minutes since Jaebum left. Anything could have happened. In the blink of an eye he could— I literally shake my head and throw the papers down before gripping the wheel. Calm down. Don't doubt yourself. Jaebum will be fine. He probably already apprehended her and has Mulgogi safe elsewhere.

I try not to let the dark cloud engulf me, but I can't control it.

And even if I called her foolish for not having any foresight, it didn't occur to me to bring some kind of weapon. When I encroach on her apartment, I find that there isn't anyone here. Not a single police car in sight. Eyebrow raised, I park in the lot and blink. I grab the papers from the passenger's side.

I'm in the right place.

The apartment is on the second floor: 297B. However, her car is nowhere to be seen. As a matter of fact, there isn't even one car in the lot. It's peculiar... very much so. The area isn't off limits to the public, really.

...What's going on?

I watch the police car pull into the lot, silent, just how I asked. Exhaling through my nose, I watch the apartment door. All clear thus far. Everything is going smoothly. We can take the cat still, for confirmation of what we've been told.

"They've arrived, Jaebum," Jackson tells me quietly. I nod.

After getting the inside from HQ that this was, in fact, an insurance fraud from a gang, we were forced to stay far from the apartment. To think that Kim Sungjeong was involved in this. Mr. Jung was a poor fool, tricked by a foxy escort. All just a convoluted ploy to take his money before killing him, not leaving a trace.

Tsking, I keep my radio near.

"I have a message for you, Inspector." I bring it to my face in an instant.

"Identify your station."

"Infiltration unit."

"Receiving well, report."

"My location is on the corner of Chigo and Gomae."

My blood becomes cold. That's near here. As in almost arriving. As in not here yet. As in, that car is not the infiltration unit.

"WHO THE FUCK IS IN THE PARKING LOT THEN?!" Jackson flinches from beside me, catching onto the problem quickly.

"Uh, sir-"

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY DOING?!" I can't even think about using code. That person is endangering their life. My heart is pumping. There doesn't need to be any more casualties— fuck, or deaths —than there's bound to be. This is gang on police force warfare. It's no longer a case of matricide. Leaning forward, I try to make out the police car number from the lot we are situated.

I can't concentrate; my vision is shaking.

"Jackson read that."

"It looks like...394." A three hundred series. Those belong to Mark's station.

"Fuck!" I slam my hand on the steering wheel, patience wearing.

"Don't get anxious, JB. Losing yourself won't help."

Practically growling into my radio, "Infiltration unit, relay a message to Lookout unit."

"Transmission completed, on standby, sir."Every second I sit is a second of building danger.

"Well?!"

"Relaying message... It's Jinyoung's."

"What..." I furrow my eyebrows. Jinyoung didn't take his car.

But my words, thoughts and breath stop in my throat.

I recognize those dainty hands and blue, pencil skirt even from a distance. My stomach drops to my feet once she is fully outside of the car. I'm so livid, livid at her stubbornness and lack of faith in me and the squad. Now she's in danger.

"Damn it all to fucking hell—fuck!"

Grinding my teeth, I grab my radio: "Going in, all units within radius."

Swinging the car door open, I sneak across the street to avoid revealing Jackson's position. But once I'm in the open parking lot I sprint. And she turns around, having the nerve to look shocked.

"Jaebum?" He grips my shoulders, anger pressed on his face.

"Do you know what you've done?" My shoulders begin to hurt from his harsh grip.

"Jaebum, you're hurting me..." I flinch. He softens and releases me. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, visibly trying to calm down.

"This isn't just a murder. Yes, Ms. Kim killed him, but she's an escort."

"What?"

"She's working for the Jajusaeg Nun gang as an escort. This was an insurance fraud and murder to steal Mr. Jung's money and frame his wife. That cat is the difference from an innocent woman being freed or locked up for life. Here." He gives me the papers with all the information they've gathered. I feel myself start to shake. Just what have I gotten myself into?

"Right now, we're in danger. For all I know, there's a sniper or something on our heads. This is gang on police warfare. Just being open in this parking lot is a risk. Let's move," he tells me as he grabs my hand and walks us near the apartments.

God. I'm so stupid. My knees barely hold me up. I don't really care if I die, but Jaebum... he's risking his life just by coming out of hiding to get me. I look up at him. Why can't I listen to him? He's always right. Not once has he steered me wrong and yet I'm here, putting our lives and potentially the rest of the officers' at stake. And I'm supposed to be a genius.

"Stay strong." He squeezes my hand. "I'm here. As long as you stay calm, we can figure out a safe way of getting what we need without anyone getting hurt."

And we are at the door of her apartment. My breath hitches. "Alright, I need you to crouch by the door and keep your eyes on our surroundings. If I scream, don't come inside-" I nearly choke on the knot in my throat. "-And report into my walkie-talkie. Jackson will be parked at the drugstore, tell him to bring back up." He unclips his walkie-talkie and gives it to me.

And then he takes his gun out of his holster. I only now notice how dizzy I feel and just how badly I want to turn back time to before I came to this lot. I hear him remove the safety. I steel myself. I have to. If not for myself, then for Jaebum.

He twists the knob; it's already open. His expression hardens. If anything, the fact that the door is open is worse than it being locked. They're expecting us.

"Seoul police. Come out now and no one will get hurt. We can settle this peacefully. This is your only warning."

The silence is deafening.

I could hear the creaking of the door, Jaebum's breathing and droplets of water from something leaking. My stomach flips when Jaebum starts walking in. I stare at him, eyes flitting wildly, hoping he'll feel my fear and return.

He doesn't and just continues deeper into the apartment. Once I can't hear his steps or breathing, I begin a mental scan of the apartment.

The walls are a white color with some overlapping paint, a sign of a poor paint job. The door has splintering wood; it has seen some wear and tear. It's surrounded by bushes and trees. A trail leads into a wooded area near the complex. It isn't a constructed trail, it's as if multiple people have gone back and forth through it. I take note of it mentally.

Outside of the apartment, there is a welcome mat. Oddly enough, the bristled mat has a wet spot. With curiosity overwhelming me, I swipe it with my finger. A clear, semi-sticky liquid. And then I bring it to my nose.

Kerosene.

I bolt out of my spot on the ground and see a small, almost invisible trail leading inside the apartment. Panic sets in and I throw what Jaebum told me to the wind. Running into the apartment, I look around the living space, my eyes and mind overwhelmed by the information overload.

Bags— black, full bags —litter the ground. It's obvious what is inside. On the counter, there are at least 7 pairs of keys. I grab a pair with a single key— likely the apartment key —and put it in my skirt for later. There's a recently used ashtray, the tip of a cigarette releasing the most minute traces of smoke. Ms. Kim never smoked. And the couches had stains.

Without a moment to think, I hear a gun cocking. I close my eyes and swallow my fear, emotions, everything.

A strange voice in my ear, "Should have listened to Mr. Strong Policeman, girly." My breathing picks up. "Scared, huh? Won't you turn around for me." I slowly do as he says, taking a moment to sneakily stuff the walkie-talkie into my sweater. It's a man I've seen on tv plenty of times. My expression morphs into fear.

"You..."

"I like that expression. I would gladly explore some more pretty faces, but I don't have time."

I only now notice Jaebum, who is silent as a lamb. He's perfectly fine, not a scrape on him, but then I notice why: he's staring at the lighter in Min Yoongi's hand. The notorious pyromaniac of Seoul's biggest gang. And he knows he has the upper hand.

"You have something I want." Yoongi suddenly grabs my throat, squeezing.

"W-what-?"

"Those papers! Give them to me." He lessens the pressure on my windpipe.

"I won't- give them to you." Jaebum tries to creep on him, but Yoongi flicks the lighter on.

"I hear you. Sit the fuck down like the dog you are."

Jaebum scowls.

"Growling like a mutt. Sad," Yoongi shakes his head. Then he returns to me. "Well, if that's the case, I guess I'll have to take you and the papers with me. Hm? How about it?" I shake in fear.

Yoongi twists me around and uses me as a shield. Jaebum raises his gun in that instant. Despite knowing Jaebum wouldn't shoot me, I feel lightheaded as I stare down the barrel of the gun.

"Don't shoot your girlfriend. Let's be civil." The lighter is flickering near my face.

"It was never civil."

"God, you're so fucking annoying. I need to take my leave." He drops the lighter directly on one of those kerosene lines and drags me along with him and outside of the apartment. The apartment very nearly bursts into flames. I watch on in horror.

"JAEBUM!" My throat rips out an agonizing scream. Yoongi pulls my arm almost hard enough to pop it out of its socket. We go into the forest, through that exact path I felt suspicious about earlier.

As I continue to distress in silence, Yoongi rolls his eyes.

"Stop whining. I wish it was that easy to kill that guy." I stare at his back as I follow him. He casually juggles the lighter in his hand. His pants are loose around his lanky legs. But something catches my eyes about his gait. When he walks, he puts more pressure on his left leg.

It's no wonder he didn't try running from us as soon as he saw us. Or... did he know I had the papers? Speaking of, he lifts them up to read them on occasion, as if to absorb the information.

We soon appear in an area littered with cabins in several states of disarray. As we climb the steps of a cabin, I notice bullet holes in the walls and sections of frayed wood. I shiver, knowing that was a sign of Min Yoongi's activities.

He slams the door open and announces himself, "I'm here! And I brought the police info!"

I stand near the door, touching the wood with my fingers. It gives a little. The building is old and judging by the frayed wooden posts outside, would easily burn if the dry wood caught fire.

"Hey. Get over here. Can't have you running off." After I return to his side, a tall man appears.

"Good. I think we— Who is this?"

"Oh, her? Just some police girl. She was with Jaebum."

To think I'm in the middle of a gang's nest, standing in front of the rumored leader. It sends chills up my spine. I could die at any moment or be subjected to anything they decide to do. Namjoon eyes me with curiosity.

Yoongi hands him the documents and he looks through them absentmindedly before turning to me.

"What should I do with you, hm?"

"If you don't mind, I actually had something in mind."

"What?"

"Jaebum seemed real keen on keeping her alive. Maybe she has some value."

"I'm following."

"We could lure him out, rile him up and BAM—!" He flicks his lighter and stares at the flames before turning to Namjoon.

"As much as I like the idea of getting Jaebum off our backs, with these papers in hand, we have enough to settle Sungjeong's court case."

"Ugh. So boring."

"We can leave this area and find a newer and better hideout. Let's not get greedy."

"Fine." Yoongi crosses his arms. "So what do I do about her?"

"Make sure she doesn't get into trouble. Otherwise, it's not my problem." Namjoon leaves us in the entrance alone. Yoongi glares at me.

"I don't really care what you do around here. You don't seem real bright, though, so let me give you some rules." I flinch when he gets close to my face.

"Don't run off. I'll find you and you won't like it. Don't go snooping where you don't belong. Don't come into my room." I can only nod as a twisted smirk morphs into his face.

"Good."

God fucking damn it.

"Damn it all! Fuck!" I punch the hood of my car, growling. Jackson is talking to the SWAT unit, who are prepared to search the area and take prisoners.

But who's to say I won't go in there myself.

"Piece of trash, Min Yoongi." He stole the most important papers in our repertoire. Those documents had more than enough evidence to convict Ms. Kim of the crime. And the incredible bonus of locking up some Jajusaeg Nun gang members for assisting a murder.

And now they can trash them. Throw them away and throw away any case against Ms. Kim.

My little mouse isn't safe either. They could be doing anything and everything to hurt her and I can't do anything to stop it.

"Don't look so down, Jaebum." A hand lands on my shoulder. I turn to Jackson's face.

"She will be okay."

"How do you know that? You don't. She could die and an innocent woman could be locked up. There's so-"

"Always the pessimist. What happened to the JB that loved drinking with me and sneaking itching powder into the squad captain's boxers?" I laugh. Then I get worried all over again.

"It's in my nature to worry about things outside of my control."

"Maybe put more trust in her. She's smart. You say it all the time."

"Sir," Jinyoung comes up behind me. "The SWAT team will move in as soon as they are ready." Teeth clenched, I close my eyes and try to find some patience.

"We can't afford to wait so long!"

At this point, I can't even find it in myself to care about the gang, or the case or any information.

I want my little mouse safe and in my arms.

I may be very obedient at work, but these people are not my bosses. It's entirely out of character of me to be so bold, but my desire to please Jaebum overwhelms my sense of danger. Pathetic, I'd say.

So the moment I saw an opening, I took it. With Min out and about doing whatever it is he does, I explore the huge cabin.

The house is barely livable and there aren't any decorative or personal items to be found. I suppose gang members don't care for trivial things like that. The floors are old and I cringe and pray every time they creak.

I hear stomping down the hall and gasp, flitting my eyes to find somewhere to hide. The walls— the floor— the couch— the walls-! Nowhere!

Then I try to look as natural as possible. The gang is pretty big, I'm sure they won't notice a new person? But I'm still in uniform! As I panic, the stomping grows closer and the floorboards get louder.

A bright idea— a figurative lightbulb appears above my head —formulates. I remove my jacket and wrap it around my waist and rip off my name tag and division badge.

Just in time, a tall, thin man spots me as he comes into the hallway I'm in. He smiles and looks me up and down. His welcoming expression instantly sets me at ease.

"Hello! I'm sorry, but I can't recall who you are..." his face is long and he looks comfortable, as if he's not in a gang.

"Oh." I steady my voice, "I'm a new member. Yoongi brought me in today."

"Oh! That's nice. I'm Hoseok." I introduce myself and shake his hand.

Then another brilliant idea pops into my brain.

"Actually, Namjoon wanted to see me. Can you tell me what hallway his office is?" He raises his eyebrow.

"Really? Are you sure about that, little lady? Namjoon doesn't see anybody. And a newbie? Definitely not." He crosses his arms. "You better start talking," he warns, any semblance of kindness gone.

Although I'm sweating and my heart is pumping, I force myself to swallow.

"It's about Sungjeong. Yoongi actually found the police papers. I think it's about that."

To my relief, Hoseok is calm again. Smiling, he pats my head.

"Don't scare me like that, Missy! I thought we had an intruder. Yes. That's true. I just got informed about that."

"Yeah..."

"Alright. Follow me!"

I nearly can't believe my plan worked so well. Hoseok motions me to follow him down the hallway he just came down. Then he points to a big oak door at the end of the hall.

"Namjoon's office is that fancy door down there. I have somewhere to be. If you get lost, ask for me." And just like that, he's gone.

Shaking my head, I walk down the hall. As if it was that easy. Such simpleminded gang members. As I near the door, I press my ear against it. Nothing. Not even a pen writing.

Taking in the hall, I notice a huge plant beside the door. For the most part, the hallway is bare with the exception of the plant.

Testing my luck, I knock on the door and dash behind the plant.

Again, nothing. No one is in there. However, when I go to twist the knob, it's locked. Obviously. But a police force member must always be prepared. I grab a thick Bobby pin from my hair and easily unlock the door.

You would think a gang leader would have a more secure office.

I sneakily enter before locking the door. The office is impeccable, documents filed on all the walls. It almost looks like a police file room. This gang leader is obviously very intelligent and organized. Being too curious for my own good, I look through the files and find so many interesting things.

Drug deals, theft, auto theft, assassinations and everything under the sun. These people were serious. As much as I could take in all this information, I need to be fast. I pull out my phone and take pictures of everything and a few odd documents.

Despite Namjoon's capabilities as a gang leader, his greatest flaw was underestimating my own intelligence and cunning.

Okay, maybe I'm stroking my ego a bit, but I've finally used my intellect for something useful!

I walk around and find the document very easily. It's right on top of his desk, some glasses beside it. He was looking at it earlier. Not wasting another moment, I fold it up and shove it into my shirt. When I leave the room, I lock it again.

No one is in the hall. Until I hear stomping again, but this stomping a lot more aggressive and with an odd gait.

Min Yoongi.

My heart sinks. He finds me and his expression is absolutely livid.

"Why did I know you would be trouble?!" He glares at me and I come forward, awaiting whatever he decided to do. A hand appears around my throat, squeezing. My vision turns black.

"L-let go..."

"Sorry, not really." And then he squeezes more, some strange sense of satisfaction in his eyes. I can feel my eyes almost rolling back. Blood rushes to my head.

"You've caused me a lot of issues. What should I do to show you your place?" My body grows numb by the second, but just before I black out, he releases my neck to let me breathe. I instantly collapse and breathe deeply to regain the air I lost.

"You can't be left in here. You're going in the shed." The man grabs me by my wrist, grip hard and yanks me up.

Shed?! My blood runs cold at the idea. I have to escape. Somehow I have to. The halls are empty, the floors are creaking. Yoongi's grip is impossible to get out of. We twist around so many corridors that I can't even focus on where we are.

One of my hands is free though. And he has a limp. His lighter is hanging slightly out of his pocket.

That's my best chance. I look at the back of his head, but he's so livid and focused on where he's taking me that he can't concentrate on anything else.

Hands fast, I take it out of his pocket. I flick on the flame and throw the lighter on the ground, the augmented flames of his lighter easily catching the dry and old wood on fire. He falters and trips on his injured leg.

"Fuck!" The flames grow easily. Yoongi grabs his ankle and growls at me. I dash down a random hallway.

"Get back here!" Surely his screaming alerted someone. But I can't think about that.

My goal is an exit. I keep running, adrenaline pumping. It feels like a maze, but my mind is in hyper-focus, eyes scanning and taking in my surroundings quickly. I've never felt so much mental clarity. I pass an area I recognize. Instinctively I go through an entryway and before me is the main entrance. It feels so close.

"I knew it!" The voice is familiar. Taking a quick glance behind me, Hoseok is standing there, but I only keep running.

"Get back here!" My nimble legs carry me out of the house, off the porch, into the woods. The walking trail making it easy to follow.

But I can hear the grass moving around right behind me. Hoseok is fast and catching up. You can only run so fast in uniform.

"You're so fucking dead when I catch you!" My heart and blood are pumping in my ear. I can't think.

I don't think.

I only run.

The walk that seemed so long when I was with Yoongi earlier is nothing now at the speed I'm running. My jacket is pulled off my waist. Tears fall freely from my face. Hoseok is right there.

"Stop now and I won't hurt you too badly!"

I can't. I can't stop now. Not when I'm so close. The trees are thinning and I can see the parking lot. Thank goodness. Only a little more and I'm safe.

But to my horror, Hoseok tackles me to the ground. We struggle against each other to gain control of the situation. He punches me in the stomach and I cough, wretching from pain. Some blood spurts from my lips. Taking advantage, he pins my legs beneath him. Every time he reaches for my hand or arm I bite his hand hard and we go back to struggling.

Then I remember: the house key.

I spit on his face, the blood covering his eye and distracting him for an instant, but that's enough. I rapidly pull it out of my skirt and as Hoseok pins my left arm, I shove the key into his side. He doubles over in agony and I take the opportunity to push him off and run into the parking lot. It's empty, but I remember Jaebum's words.

"Jackson! The drugstore!"

In a mad dash, I jay-run across the street— a few cars honking at me as I nearly get run over —to the parking lot full of police cars and even a SWAT team vehicle. I nearly cry from joy when I see Jaebum leaning against his police car, back turned.

"Jaebum!"

He turns around so fast, disbelief written all over his face. But it morphs into relief and joy. His arms open and I slam into him.

"You're safe. Thank God."

Once I'm in the safety of his arms, I fall down to the concrete. My adrenaline is gone. Jaebum follows and cradles me, running his fingers through my hair.

And everything hits me all at once. Tears stream down my face. He whispers nothing of importance— but extremely comforting —into my ear.

I was in a gang's hideout. I was kidnapped by a pyromaniac. Who knows what he was going to do to me in that shed. And Hoseok, he was ready to kill me.

He continues comforting me until my tears dry.

"It's okay, baby girl. You're okay. I'm glad you're here. You're amazing. You got out by yourself. I'm so proud. You deserve to rest." Jaebum begins to reach under my legs to pick me up, but I stop him by pulling the papers out of my bra.

I have to get this off me before it falls into the wrong hands again. He takes them into his hands.

His eyes are wide as he asks, "The documents? How?"

After calming down, I sigh and clear my throat.

"I tried being bold for once. One way or another I had to try or I would die in the process, so I went into Kim NamJoon's office and took as much as I could."

Then, I grab my phone and show him the pictures, his expression more amazed with each one. He turns to me, surprise melting into unbridled pride.

Jaebum grins, eyes crinkling and eyes sparkling. It sends a warmth into my chest.

"You're amazing, baby girl. I always knew it." I look down sheepishly. He places his hand on my head.

"With this, we can clear Mrs. Jung of her name, arrest Sungjeong and get the justice everyone wants." He looks at the photos again shaking his head in shock.

"And this... I don't even know, but there is so much here. Maybe we can finally get some leads on the Jajusaeg Nun gang."

After turning off my phone, he looks me deep in the eyes. He takes a deep breath and shoves me back into his chest.

"Jaebum?" I return his embrace.

"You are something else..."

"I love you," I mumble. And that's the truth. I can hear him smile— as peculiar as it sounds.

"I love you, too." He sighs, "I'm so glad you're safe. That's what's more important to me." He grabs my chin and tilts my head toward him. I blush furiously, our breaths lingering. Until he finally brings my lips to his.

My eyes close. Just taking him in. I've never felt so safe anywhere else. Our lips meld like the colors mixing on a watercolor painting, a beautiful mess that creates a new color. The feeling of his lips doesn't get hot like the day at the hospital.

It's soft and full of promises of the future.

When my mind is a mess, he is there to add to it. But he's there to put an order to my whirlwind. When I want to put myself in my hole, he crawls in with me. He brings a ladder though. When my heart is on fire, he stokes the flame. But he's always ready to put it out.

He is my balance, but he is also my gunpowder.

58 notes · View notes

foundcarcosa · 7 years

Text

ccxi.

1. Do your parents ever encourage you to hang out with people that you don’t like? >> He was invested in me making black friends. I wasn’t as interested in that when I was a teenager. I didn’t dislike them, I just didn’t have anything in common with the (alarmingly few) other black kids in my high school at the time. But by this time in my life, I think I understand what he was trying to do. It just didn’t work.

2. Would you think it was odd if someone got fabric paint to decorate their underwear? >> Well, sure, but I’m not one to judge.

3. Do you ever stalk old friends? >> Nah.

4. What year was your worst school picture taken? >> The one I remember best was in ninth grade.

5. What made it the worst? >> I... really don’t know what my face was doing. But I must forgive myself. That was a very tumultuous time in my life.

6. Do you think you could count all the freckles on your body? >> I don’t have any.

7. Do you ever crave a good cuddling? >> Sure.

8. Which of your friends has the coolest siblings? >> ---

9. Are you ever greedy? >> Sure.

10. How much would you pay someone if you never had to go to school again? >> You don’t have to pay me to do what I was already planning on doing.

11. Would you like to be home schooled? >> The opportunity for that is long past, but I want to unschool any child I raise.

12. Would you like to go to an all girls [or if you’re a boy then all boys] school? >> I wouldn’t want to go to any gender-segregated school.

13. Why or why not? >> I don’t see the purpose of dividing a student body based upon... well, the students’ bodies.

14. Is your school’s band any good? >> ---

15. Do you have a favorite lyric from any song >> I have a lot of favourites, but let me see if I can pull one up at random... Ah. “My soul brings tears to angelic eyes” is still a favourite of mine (God Called in Sick Today, AFI). Unfortunately, I just noticed that for some reason half of my digital copy of Black Sails in the Sunset is just... missing. So now I have to download a new copy, but TPB never completely recovered the seeder-ship that it used to have, so I’m stuck on “connecting to peers 0.0%”. :/

16. Who is the biggest attention whore that you know? >> I mean, probably someone in the Cluster B Discord.

17. Is your life no longer enjoyable? >> False.

18. Did you get to see your friends as often as you would have liked to? >> Aside from Sparrow, my entire social circle is online, so I guess I see them as often as they log in.

19. Does orange sherbet sound good right now? >> Not really.

20. Would black hair look good or bad on you? >> I’m sure it’d look fine on me. I’d prefer something more complementary to my colouring, though.

21. Are you on anyone’s hero box on myspace? >> ---

22. Who has the biggest eyes that you know of? >> I’m not sure.

23. Do your wrists ever hurt from typing too much >> No, surprisingly. Probably because I’ve been typing since I was very small.

24. What can you imagine as being the worst thing that could happen to you right now? >> Me falling violently -- like ER-level -- ill at any point today.

25. How many times did you go swimming this summer >> Zero.

26. Have you ever been to a hard rock cafe? >> I’ve been to the one in Times Square, back in 2006. I found it to be a sad sort of place -- overpriced and terribly commercial, lacking in personality. I’d rather go to literally any trashy bar on the LES. Or Duff’s, which boasts an extensive hard-rock history. 27. When was the last time someone called your cell-phone and you didn’t know them? >> The other day. I think it’s still people calling for whomever had this number before me. I haven’t even set up my voicemail on this phone yet because no one calls for me and I don’t feel like getting holiday-related voicemails meant for that other person.

28. Do you hate it when people overuse the phrase ‘lol?’ >> No.

29. Do you ever have those weird little dreams where you’re like half awake? >> Yes, all the time.

30. Do you ever push your pillow off the bed? >> No.

31. What’s more important to you living it up or getting good grades? >> ---

32. What do you think of little children? Annoying as hell or cute? >> I’m pretty fond of children, even when they’re annoying. I imagine it’d be a little different if said child was mine, since I’d never get a break. :p

33. Is there any song that makes you think of your dad? >> Anything by Marvin Gaye, since that’s his favourite singer. (I can honestly see why, his songs are timeless and his voice is lovely.)

34. Do you ever look for comfort in surveys? >> Not really. Mostly for space to think.

35. Do you like frogs? >> Sure, they’re neat as hell.

36. Have you had any really bad experiences while plucking your eyebrows? >> No.

37. Who of your friends acts the most like a prep? >> Can anyone even be a prep once they’ve long passed adolescence...

38. Is the whole prep thing overrated anyway? >> Probably. I wouldn’t know.

39. What’s up with Fergie’s song Big Girls Don’t Cry? >> I don’t know, I’m not familiar with that song.

40. Is it hard to stay friends with someone when one of your close friends hates them? >> It’s difficult when the hating friend doesn’t want anyone else to hang out with said hated friend, or when hating!friend trash-talks hated!friend all the time. When your social circle is closer to a single circle than a venn diagram (or two separate circles), it becomes messy after a while.

41. Have you ever read The Outsiders? >> I read almost all of it sometime in high school, then I dropped it and never picked it back up again. Maybe one day I’ll give it a try again, but it’s not a priority.

42. What did you think of it? >> I guess I didn’t much care for it, since I never finished it.

43. What does your backpack/messenger bag/whatever you use for school look like? >> I don’t go to school, but I have three backpacks. One is a tiny black Jansport for carrying small things hands-free, one is a tropical-print regular-sized backpack for carrying Normandy when I take it places, and the third is a heavy-duty black laptop bag (that one was for Heimdall, which is a fair bit bigger than Normandy).

44. Where did you last go shopping at? >> Meijer.

45. Would it be weird if a person’s real name was Cheeto? >> Well, sure.

46. Is there anyone you want to give a hug to? >> Aside from Xibalbans, I’m not sure. I haven’t initiated a hug in a very long time.

47. What is the difference between giving and receiving a hug? >> Initiation. Also, a hug you give is definitely one you desire. A hug you receive sometimes is just one you tolerate, lol.

48. What are you listening to right now? >> Christmas Canon Rock, Trans-Siberian Orchestra. God, I’m so hype for tonight. (I didn’t choose that song on purpose, though, iTunes is on shuffle.)

49. Do any of your friends have the same name as any of your family members? >> I mean, maybe. 50. Have you seen Talladega Nights? >> Yes.

51. If so what was your favorite scene in it? >> For some reason, “shut up, you little pot-licker, or I’ll put you in the microwave” is a line that punched me right in the funny bone, so I still remember it. I haven’t seen the movie in years, though, so I don’t remember any other favourite parts. I should rewatch it and see if I still find it as funny as I did.

52. How often do you paint your nails? >> Not very often. High effort, low return (the varnish starts chipping pretty fast because of how often and to what ends I use my hands). I might do them today.

53. Have you ever taken a picture of you kissing someone? >> Sure.

54. If you are one of those people who’s always single do you ever long for someone to sit around and take pictures of while kissing? >> ---

55. Can I buy you a ‘drank?’ >> ---

56. If you know what song I’m referring to, why do you think T-Pain says drank and not drink? >> Dialect.

57. How come boys never take surveys? >> They do. Just not as often, I suppose. I wouldn’t know why.

58. What is the last thing you did on powerpoint? >> ---

59. Do your grandparents know what myspace is? >> ---

60. When’s the last time you sprinted? >> I don’t remember.

#surveysofsamedi

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rexylafemme · 7 years

Text

time together with time to spare; time to learn, time to care

i feel seasick with grief. my stomach feels like a rubber hot water bottle being tossed about between two hands, sad water sloshing around, springing up through my throat to my eyes which keep welling up. my heart is beating and radiating from it is a dull burning feeling that contracts and expands through my chest as i breathe. my fingers are trembling and i can’t keep them steady, my whole body is slightly tingly, vibratory. tears keep surfacing, a wall of water over my eyes, cascading from behind my eyebrows, but then i breathe and they don’t fall. it’s 12:10pm and i must be hungry because i haven’t eaten since early afternoon yesterday, having been at hospice all day in new jersey until close to midnight. my mind feels hazy, my stomach is sour and i feel empty all over. it feels like a hangover, but i am just living through death.

i’ll stop writing to eat soon because i know i need to care for myself well through this, but right now i need to write through what i feel first. i’m telling myself i will neglect everything i need to get done today, but i’m not sure that’s true. i’ll decide if maybe being productive toward tour tasks, making my video collage for my performance, making some important phone calls, going outside, anything other than just being in this, will be helpful to me today. if it won’t, i won’t allow myself to be stressed by obligation. i don’t want to use anything—workaholism, frenzied cleaning, substances, tv, sleeping—to distract myself or to numb myself or to get lost in something else.

i put two slices of bread in the oven, i’m going to eat toast. i think about orange juice, but my whole torso already feels like it’s coursing with watery acid. i sigh and i think “it’s unfair.” i wonder about spiritual justice, i wonder about consequences, i ask myself, or my thoughts vocalize themselves in my head, asking the void, asking the matrix, asking the ether—why?

i was supposed to spend the day yesterday at my aunt linda’s with her and my mother. my mother texted me on saturday night at around 10 that we couldn’t hang out because instead, she, linda, and my uncle, tommy, were going to go see our cousin, maureen, in hospice. cousin is kind of misleading, given maureen is my grandmother’s niece. she’s 77 and more like an aunt to them, a great aunt to me. funnily, i was sitting on the rocks of the east river in red hook, off the street maureen grew up on when i get the text. i call my mother immediately, to ask if i could come with them. i call my uncle and leave a message, asking what the best way for me to link up with them tomorrow is if they are going.

i didn’t know how badly my mother was really doing until i saw her yesterday, or i did know, but haven’t been able to deal with it. and none of us knew how badly maureen was doing until we saw her yesterday, her dying. my mother didn’t come. she’s in a really fragile mental state, she’s not eating or taking care of herself, she’s foggy and quiet, and my uncle picked a fight with her before i was heading to queens and then she felt too sick and upset to come. my uncle was a huge, mean asshole lacking compassion as usual, and it’s his fault she didn’t come because the miscommunication about scheduling was his fault, but instead he just did what he and a lot of them tend to do in my family, blamed my mother, yelled at her, shut her down. she’s an easy target and she’s very sensitive.

i burnt my toast, but i’m going to eat it anyway, with half an avocado and some salt. i bite it, i chew, move the food around in my mouth until it is mush, swallow. it doesn’t taste like anything, it just feels like changing textures on my tongue, between my teeth, against the soft inner walls of my cheeks.

i saw my mother briefly around the corner from the house, felt hopeless and heartbroken. she kept saying she was okay and i kept saying she wasn’t. sometimes loving my mother, a lot of times, loving my mother, has meant begging her to care about herself enough to stay alive. she is slowly killing herself it seems sometimes, the house—how tommy hoarded it, how tommy and dorothy began hoarding her apartment after my mom took dorothy in—is killing her, their cruelty, their verbal abuse, the meanness, is killing her, me, us. i know i’m going to have to decide to restructure things in my life to take the reins to help her because she can’t do it herself at this juncture, in this way. but i do have faith that once she’s back on her feet a bit, once she’s shown some care, she can push forward again. nobody in our immediate family has a lot of faith in her but me. no one takes any responsibility for her well-being but me. because she’s the crazy one. because she’s the punching bag. i try to think clearly, i try to think of ways i can step in here without it overwhelming my life, without having to sacrifice what i need to do with myself. i try to be reasonable about what i’m dealing with here, i try to not catastrophize—i can deal with this after i return from tour. is there time for that? will she be okay by the time i get back? will she be alive? reasonably, yes, she will be alive. she may not be any better than she is right now, though, but what i could accomplish toward that in a month in a fucked up personal state is unclear either way.

i think about next year and how i’ve been considering not going to the conservatory, been weighing my options and thinking about my dreams, my goals, what i’ve made and not waiting to live my life the way i want to. how i’ve been thinking of actually just extending the tour, starting the performance/organizing collective with the emerge people, working and traveling and using the money i raise toward performance programs that aren’t THE WHITE RICH ESTABLISHMENT and that also provide more financial assistance. not going $40,000 more into loan debt on top of the rest and having to raise $4-6,000 a semester on my own, just to go, not including housing, life expenses, everything else. i think about how i can take classes with laverne cox’s acting coach, singing classes with julia, queer-oriented body and movement classes, the doors that have opened for me through emerge with connections, fellowships, residencies, how i can develop my own framework for education and pay less for it, while also maybe getting more of what i need in ways that honor me. in a way where i wouldn’t have to, on top of being at school from 9-5 or 6 each day, and working some nights and weekends, have to do the extra work to just teach everyone about who i am, about trans-ness and identity and privilege in general, on top of the psychological struggle it will be just to be in a program like that where the point is to delve deep into emotional landscapes and embodiment, but also—the psychological struggle of having to be a woman, literally, in scenes (and like rich wife canon characters). i think about all the work and energy i’ll put into transforming an institution that will revert back to itself for the most part upon my leaving. because that’s what i do in these settings. i think about being one of the only trans poor people there and i wonder why i would do it. i wonder what i would gain.

i tell myself if i don’t go, if i just run with what i’ve made, this book, six years in the making, run with what i’ve built in performance and with emerge, see where that goes, i also could always reapply and get in again. i got in with no training whatsoever. i got in because i wanted to, because i gave it everything. but maybe i want to give myself everything, maybe i want to go for my dream in a different way, in a way i’ve been dreaming about for a long time. maybe just because i am used to running myself ragged, running on empty, on fumes, used to being an exception in an affluent establishment institution and codeswitching and fighting my way through it, doesn’t mean it’s what i should do. maybe that’s an old dream, maybe that’s just what flashdance and gypsy and some theatrical version of meritocracy told me to do.

i’m diverging, i want to focus on yesterday, but i can’t separate the future, my future, from the present. my mother gets inserted into my planning. i wonder if that’s wrong. i think, maybe choosing not to go, well, i know choosing not to go, will make it easier for me to support her. but what kinda role should that play in my decision-making? i think that our radical communities, steeped in academic theories on what’s right and wrong in terms of how to be and act and live can be as blindly and naively individualistic as any other framework, sometimes don’t speak to the lived realities of poor families and what we have to do to survive and help each other survive. but also, codependence has been a sour reality in my family life and i’m constantly evaluating what support needs to look like in my life. as my cousin denise, maureen’s daughter, said yesterday, take care of yourself first, then take care of your mother. which is, i imagine, what has sustained her through taking care of her own mother.

i think, too, that going might be a bad kind of drain on my mental health, a bad kind of obsessive attention to my craft at the expense of a lot of other necessary parts of my life: like focusing on self-care and community-care and my family, blood and not, and herbal transitioning and just nourishing myself in all the other passions and desires and needs i have. i worry that the program won’t honor a much-needed and awaited dedication to balance in my life that i have been working hard and successfully (in some ways) to cultivate. because the kind of rigorous it is is the kind that tells you to push yourself beyond what you are reasonably capable, that kinda ragged discipline where you break yourself and don’t be a wimp/baby/sissy. no crying in baseball kinda system. i don’t know that i believe in that anymore. i believe in pushing myself, i believe in breaking, i believe in rigor, but maybe not in that way. and maybe not in that setting. who will hold me there?

yesterday, like my whole life, and maybe anyone’s, especially where family is concerned, i was a child and i was an adult. precocious in my emotional intelligence, seen and held mostly by myself and by denise, maureen’s daughter. it was like years collapsing. it was like when grandma and donna died, like when maureen and denise showed up for us, for them? my aunts and uncles, their cousins they raised or grew up with. tables were turned. denise is a year younger than my mother, denise. maureen and denise were integral to my survival through my childhood, especially through the first couple years after my grandma and donna’s death, all the chaos that ensued. which was just a continuation of other chaos.

time collapsed. it was so ordinary and normal to talk to denise. it was so ordinary and normal for us to be all over each other with sweet, familial, friendly affection. we saw each other as we always did, denise, 58, me, 28. having these beautiful and complex relationships with our mothers. being two people who were always kinda different, always set apart. two people with so much exuberant love for people, two creative and eccentric and short people. and, interestingly, tho i was an only child, i always was treated as a kinda sibling to my 6 aunts and uncles and my mother, and denise, tho she had 3 siblings, was always kinda like an only child, much closer to maureen than to her siblings. linda said, “denise is going to be so lost.” because she has been so close with maureen, living with her since before i was born aside from her own stint in the bay area and other moments in NYC, and, recently, taking care of maureen through the last two years, two years i didn’t realize until yesterday had been so extreme. taking care of her almost exclusively, as her siblings live out their married lives with children and ordinary career paths (no judgment, it’s just how it is). denise being the eldest.

and not knowing about maureen’s condition these two years: that’s partially the working class irish-catholic stoicism, as denise and i were discussing, sitting by a wall of windows in the hospice hallway, and that’s partially my family, my elders, being disconnected because of their dysfunction. and that’s partially maureen just not wanting people to know, not wanting to burden people, not wanting help, and also what denise called “vanity.” and so i don’t begrudge anyone for the ways they chose to deal, not deal, talk, not talk about what was happening. i am mature enough in these times now to not judge, to not have hard feelings. tho i do have regrets, and i expressed them honestly to denise. i wish i had seen her before now, have an actual conversation, see her laugh again, hear her speak, ask her things. denise said i shouldn’t. she loves me, she always has had a very special place in her heart where i live, that she wanted and expected me to be off, on my own, finding myself, spreading my wings. that it was no one’s fault that we weren’t as close. that we all do what we can.

that was the thing about maureen and denise and my grandmother and donna that were different: we talked about shit honestly, we didn’t hold back the hard stuff. the emotional experiences of these tragedies we lived within. so i told denise that i felt heartbroken, to tell her how much i value how encouraging and supportive maureen always was of my creativity, my sensitivity. how both of them really saved me through those times. how even before those deaths they were a respite for me. and she explained the last two years to me, and “you know how she is! she’s stubborn. she’s strong, she’s a tough cookie, she’s set in her ways.” the attendants call her queen maureen. exalted, the name card on the window by her bed in her hospice room says.

i didn’t know i was going there to say goodbye. we didn’t know. everything’s accelerated so fast since wednesday apparently. she was in rehab, the thought was she was going to get stronger and be alright, but then, a turn for the worse. of course when we were headed to hospice we knew that meant soon, but not like, any day. denise said one night all of a sudden maureen started saying, “mom, mom! mom, no i’m not ready. i need a jacket, i need my jacket.” and denise said, “nana, no, wait, i need a few days.” end of life care, comfort care.

we got out of the car in front of the hospital, linda and i, linda holding her portable oxygen tank, out of breath from just getting out of the car, waiting for tommy to park and enter together. as we stood there, we saw michelle, maureen’s youngest daughter, approaching. she looked at us and didn’t recognize us at first. then said, “oh my god,” hugged us. said to linda, “i didn’t recognize you. i saw you and was like why is this lady looking at me, wait she looks familiar. how are you feeling? like shit?” linda shrugged. tommy arrived. there was no preparing us. we got up to the hospice floor, i went to the bathroom. i took a deep breath and walked down the hall to maureen’s room.

there really was no preparing. she is so small. she is all bones, loose skin in places, taut skin in places, pale. i can’t quite remember what she looked like, which makes me sad, but i guess is a protective mechanism; she wouldn’t want me to remember her that way anyway. walking in to her was shocking. i tensed up, i felt sick, i felt frightened. it makes me feel sick to say that she, at first, terrified me. but it was the kinda fear that comes with knowledge of how much suffering she was going through, how much pain, how this was the last time i would ever see her. and this was a way i knew she didn’t want to be seen and her seeing me might make her feel more sadness and pain. i sat at the end of her bed on a chair next to lauren, her granddaughter, two years older than me and recently married in spring. maureen almost didn’t make it to her wedding because of her health problems, but, fierce miracle queen that she is, she did. and i remember the pictures from it on facebook, how just three months ago she looked so different, still like herself, tho much smaller and frailer and thinner and more tired.

so delirious through the morphine, out of it, so barely there, in body and spirit. and, yet, it was her and she was alert. glimpses: her hands, her eyes, those moran eyes as everyone always said of my grandmother’s side and their uniform eyes. she looked right into my eyes, my face—recognition and surprise and her own grief, i wanted to know how she was feeling, i didn’t know how to ask, i didn’t know what to say. i felt stupid and like a child who didn’t know what to do, my love felt confused, because i didn’t want to hurt her more, physically or spiritually. i didn’t know what was right. looking in her eyes and denise’s eyes both were like looking into my grandmother’s eyes. she could barely, barely speak. but she said “i haven’t seen you in so long,” and all i could say was i know. it broke my heart, but i know it wasn’t a judgment. i gently rubbed her back, i touched her shoulder. she was trying, straining to speak to me. i can’t even explain what it was like. what she looked like, what she sounded like, how few words were spoken, and yet it felt like a whole conversation. i can’t, i have no reference points. it was so unreal. she wanted to speak, but she couldn’t, she said some things and i understood. mostly i could understand her pain, swimming and restless inside it, the cage of her torturous body. and yet, it was her, and she was beautiful. her hands still gesturing against the bed in the ways i remembered. i sat down and i was drowning in memories of her, drowning in the sound of her laugh. catching up with the moment, that it was almost over and this wasn’t what i thought i was walking into today. loss and regret and confusion. deep deep wells of sorrow.

it is what it is. this is a motto in our lives. the lives in which we lived, for generations, of white poor poverty, surrounded by death, too-early-death, addiction, mental health problems, violence. it is what it is. and the blessing, the silver lining, as we discussed, that maureen is 77. that she outlived so many. in a life of hers peppered by early deaths and loss, people dying in their 30s, 40s, 50s. children dying. losing her dad so young when she was 9, losing her husband so young, losing her sister so young. losing michael and donna, her cousin-nephew, cousin-niece, my uncle and aunt, so young. the silver lining of, yes, all of this she’s experienced now in the last two years has been extreme—complications as a result of a radical treatment for uterine cancer 40 years ago. scar tissue from that radiation is all wrapped and twisted up around her intestines. apparently, since two years ago, it’s just been one problem, one complication, one thing worse than the other. she’s barely been able to eat in two years. she’s had tubes in her. the cancer came back, plus all the other problems. the silver lining being, tho the ill-advised-yet-of-its-time treatment caused excessive and catastrophic damage now, it allowed her to live out a life. to see her children grow up, to have grandchildren, to grow old.

but to see her in such suffering and pain, unfair. i wanted to stay with her forever, i wanted to sit with her, hold her and never let go. but i was also responsible to the people around me, her children, denise, bobby, sharon, michelle, my aunt linda and uncle tommy, and her best friend for 70 years, diane, who i had to move away from maureen so she could sit at her side, holding her hand, stroking her shoulder, whispering, crying.

i decided to leave the house. i started crying as i walked out the door, started walking to sunset park, turned around, to head to greenwood. on my way, i passed DENISE written on the ground, followed by a hopscotch board that only went to 8, the numerological path number of this year for me. like in january when i passed the hopscotch board to 8 in prospect park. i was crying with my black sunglasses covering it all, and then i laughed. denise had told me yesterday that her dad’s side, the madden’s side, had a grave in greenwood right by the entrance to the tunnel. i found it. i found a grave nearby that said GIVEN GRACE.

while i was getting dressed today, black short-shorts and black tank top, i realized i shucked the NYC-always-wear-black-thing my whole life because we were always in mourning in my childhood and i associated it with that. i was tired of death. wakes and funerals and hung heads. i am more grounded and peaceful sitting under the big curving tree that sheltered me from the summer shower a couple weeks ago. i’m sitting close to the edge of the pond. little turtle heads poke up from the surface from time to time. i wrote and i wrote and i cried. i called my best friend of 23 years, i told them everything: the school plan thoughts, how my mother is, the whole story of the day with maureen. i was crying and it was hard. but i wasn’t alone. i’ve known r. since we were five. i thought of maureen and diane, friends since 6 years old.

all day yesterday, from early afternoon to 11:30pm as we were at hospice, i thought about coming home to write through it all. to hold it all, to keep it all, why i don’t know. how i did this in the days immediately after my grandmother’s death, and donna’s. 15 pages, i think, single-spaced, paragraphless stream in lucida handwriting (god why). how, walking the 2 and a half blocks home from school that day, oct 30 2001, with natalia and esther, i felt off, distant, dread. how when we hit the corner of 83rd and 34th, i could see maureen standing in front of grandma’s house and my stomach fell to the floor. i knew. i said, no, i felt myself swirling, sick, drowning. i didn’t wanna cross the street, cross over into whatever was next, as if i could avoid what was already happening, what already happened.

i don’t remember the rest exactly, or i remember things that may have been dramatizations or reenactments, because i have exact visions of scenes i wasn’t there for, my aunt, donna, reclined on the couch sick before they took her to the hospital, monsignor mcguirl upstairs with my grandmother, blessing her. i wasn’t there for these things, they happened in the morning while i was at school. i can’t find what i wrote about it, years later, after the fray of eviction, moving, stuff going missing, etc. i remember i kept the chronicle in a plastic green folder and i would carry it around and re-read it often before it got lost. i guess in order for it all to stay real? like yesterday was unreal. or in order to grieve with myself. that was the thing—the writing of it gave me a place to grieve alone, to not bother anyone, it gave me a place to say everything. and maureen and denise were the ones who held me through grandma’s death, through donna’s, three weeks to the day later on november 20th. my immediate family couldn’t hold me. i was lost with them, i was a ghost. i was their equal. i was alone. i wasn’t alone. everyone, no one. there was me. there was maureen and denise.

when maureen said, as i held her, as i looked at her, “i was surprised to see renée,” as she searched my face and was moving her chapped mouth around, maybe looking for her voice, for something to say, maybe just grimacing or reacting to pain, kinda lightly moaning and humming, her gums and lips kinda pink with dried blood, so chapped. i just held her and asked why she was surprised and she said, “i don’t know. because i haven’t seen you in so long,” and at the time it made me feel so sad, such regret. i could only say “i know, i know.” i held her hand. we held hands, both of them. denise said later when i told her she held my hands that it was really special because it’s hard for her to even gather the strength to do that. it was meaningful. i stroked her back so lightly, would just place my hand on her shoulder, feeling her breathing, feeling her heart. “you’re so good with her,” denise said. i just shrugged, “i love her.” she got restless and said, “i don’t like…” “i need…” and i think she wanted me to move her. so i asked her how, where. her legs. i was honored she trusted me to help her. i asked for denise, but denise said i could do it. we did it together, lifted up her leg, bones, placed pillows between them. i told her i love her so much. i told her i was in red hook the night before, on conover st, “oh you were,” she said. i started telling her about sunny’s bar, but she interrupted me to say who was it just said they were in red hook, she was getting upset that she couldn’t remember, so i asked denise. john and esther, john and esther, i kept saying, trying to assure her because she seemed upset, maybe like she was losing everything.

then i had to move to let diane in, told her i would be back and she said, it’s ok. but i didn’t want to let go of her hands. the glimpses. my name out of her mouth like she always said my name. her beautiful voice.

when i first arrived and first saw her and saw linda touching her and crying, my lips started shaking and i had to walk out, briskly down the hall to the bathroom. tears welling up, but not falling and i felt like i was drowning and i couldn’t breathe and i was pacing around the small cube of the bathroom, and i hit my head against the wall and i slumped down it with my arms over my head, sliding down the wall, helpless. i was dry sobbing and swirling and i looked in the mirror—my lips red and purple and trembling, my chin quivering and that wall of water over my red eyes that wouldn’t break, or only slightly, a few tears. and i remembered all the times in the bathroom at grandma’s as a kid, looking into the mirror and crying, thinking my eyes looked so much more beautiful when i cried, all the hazel variations coming out at once, illuminated. and thinking i looked beautiful now, my eyes and my mouth. i wondered where everyone else was when i was in the bathroom crying alone then, a child.

anyway, maureen dying brings up everyone dying. because we were all there together, she was there and she was so beautifully present and supportive through it all, for everyone, but especially for me. michael, grandma, donna. of course mae, my grandma’s sister, and grandpa, tho i was a toddler. but i remember mae dying. i was her little nurse, i would bring her her pills in the blue pill case and water and i would tuck her in. i always wanted to heal everyone. i had a dream about her the night after she died that i thought was real. i was 3, but i can’t forget it. she came to me. i thought it was a memory, but my mother said it wasn’t, it was a dream. there was an empty gurney in the bedroom, dorothy’s bedroom, that they were caring for her in. there was the sense that she had been in it. but the wind just blew the white sheet around and she wasn’t there, she was released. i saw her in the hallway or i felt her in the hallway, touched by her presence, and i knew she was okay, i could smell her. and i was happy.

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and beyond all that got dredged up, all denise and i spoke of about those deaths, what came after, about the trajectory of my specific family system, my aunts and uncles and how and why they are—new illuminations and puzzle pieces on all sides. things i already knew, but just got confirmed by denise. things denise knew, but got confirmed by me. there was all this, all the pain and all the darkness, but there was also the memories of joy and simple sweetness. there was sitting in the hospice room, maureen asleep, tommy and bobby lying back on the other hospital bed, linda and denise and i sitting against the wall, diane sitting next to maureen, all sharing memories of their childhoods and laughing. and it was the weirdest thing, i could see them all as children in those moments, i saw the youngness in their faces, in their smiles, and i was this adult, younger than them, but somehow older in that moment, somehow watching them through time. and it was beautiful and it was strange and it was sad and it was lovely. and i was grateful to be a part of it, i was grateful to know something about them before it all got so ugly and twisted, or maybe even as it was, for them, as with my life. the kernels of beauty and togetherness amidst the suffering, the hardships. and i thought of who we were before, how we were, the togetherness i so valued that was so crushing when we, when they, lost it. gave up on it or destroyed it. and how through all that, maureen and denise were always so present for me. their house was a safe haven for me, nurturing and loving, a respite. how they held me and listened and how they honored me in my fullness—my talents, my deep sensitivity, my grief. the full realities of my life and our family’s life. how it meant a lot to me when denise said in the hallway, “you didn’t get a childhood, you had to grow up too soon,” and tommy was there and he was just quiet.

i could sense something in him wanted to challenge her on it, but he couldn’t. i also know there’s something that makes it hard for him to challenge me generally. which comes from i don’t know what, respect, or what i’m not sure. but it’s one win for my femmeness over his toxic masculinity. how later, when we were speaking without anyone around she said that even though the way they treated me as an adult, as a therapist, or straight up neglected me/fucked me up, was wrong and inappropriate, i was a gift to them. and it may be hard for me to see it that way, but i have all this material to work from and i can use it to be a gift for other people, too. that i’m a healer. and i was so affirmed in that. and felt seen. and i actually loved being myself, renée, in that space. didn’t want to be anything else, was fully me. some lipstick, some facial hair, obscured breasts, hot pants. just me. i’m not the best example of a trans person out there. i really barely give a shit about anything sometimes because there’s so much else than how i’m seen. it’s so unimportant to me sometimes.

i did think about maureen taking me to see lauren’s lil teen theatre company’s production of west side story, which started up an obsession. i would watch the movie every day and listen to the soundtrack obsessively, as my family fought or negotiated over the house in the background, as everyone unraveled and fell apart. how at the show i told maureen i had a crush on the beautiful boy who played riff. but in my head,too, i wanted to be him. he was probably 16 or 17, i was 13. she was like, “umm… i don’t think he likes girls.” haha, and he came out holding some boy’s hand. which, of course. the first of many beautiful queer boys i couldn’t get anywhere near. and i wanted to be him, but i didn’t know how.

and maureen, the beautiful young mother, as they called her in our family. she had denise at 18. just, the way she talks, the way she would move her hands. her elegance and her grace. the way she says the word “her,” in that lovely old brooklyn way. her hair and the way she smiles and laughs. the portrait of her when she was young that used to hang in her house that i was obsessed with, wanting to be her, wanting to know her then, wanting to someday be with someone as beautiful and kind as her, but not having words for that or knowing what that meant then. not really knowing what it means now either.

#grief #living #family #lineage #history #trauma #love #friendship #femmes #death #dying #mothers #time #hope #change #transitions

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