Getting personal…

Let’s see if it sticks.

There are 7billion people in the world.

And then there’s me. The endlessly tired 1,61 m mushroom.

I wanted to start this chapter by flat out lying.

I wake up at 6:50 each morning. At 7 sharp I’m out the house getting my 45 minutes of walk of shame and fresh air.

Truth is. This is day one. I’m not good at sticking to habits. I hate waking up early in the morning. I’m more of a late morning perpetual exhausted pigeon. So when I say to you that I woke up this morning at 6:50 please do not imagine that I didn’t hit the snooze alarm 5 times, mentally clocking “5 more minutes”, that it didn’t take a lot of effort to pry open my eyelids, empty a hurtful bladder, pull a pair of leggings over my thick thighs, wash my face and pretend I’m one of those healthy nut jobs people.

But I’m out. Out of the door. Out in the freezing fucking air of late March.

Good fucking morning to you too reader!

Hope you have better luck sticking with habits than I do. And by luck I mean … goddamn you for working so hard on yourself! You’re at least one step ahead of me. And that should count for something, right?

In works…

Of all the nights, tonight the diner is full of laughter and conversations.

I’m tugging at my skirt again for what it feels like the millionth time, the leather material ridding up my tights showing more than I’m comfortable every time I fidget in my chair. I regret allowing Hannah to play dress up with me. I would’ve much rather had my black hoodie on, the one with frayed sleeves, that gramma passed on when I was accepted to Harvard University. The level of frustration pilling up inside me is overriding the anxiety of accepting this blind date in the first place.

My fingers are tapping impatiently against the blue tablecloth. My supposed date is late. There’s a subtle discomfort tugging at my conscience for keeping occupied a table while other people are waiting in line for food and a good time. Something I was promised to have but not delivered. I pull my phone out of my bag and text Hannah for the first time since I sat down.

“Who the heck is this guy Han? He is 15 min late. I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

The diner door opens and I look up distracted hopping that maybe my date is finally here. Disappointed tugs at my insides when the hockey team strolls in bringing with them a gust of spring breeze. A shiver runs down my spine and goosebumps settle on my bare forearms. They turn everyone’s attention with their loud laughter and sure one might say gorgeous faces. Every single one of them knows how to play a crowd and how to captivate a girl’s attention. There’s smugness in every inch of their bodies, which if I am honest with myself sometimes envy. It must be nice to know your spot in the world and the power it brings with it.

I sigh because this is exactly why I wanted to stay at home. It makes it easier for one to feel secure in their little bubble when one avoids confrontation with reality. I don’t date. Not after… I curb that thought as soon as it poops into my mind because nothing good can ever come out of it. I promised Hannah and dr. Sanders that this year will be different. That I will put myself out-here and see what comes out of it.

Jake Hawkins, captain of said hockey team is last to enter the diner. He’s sporting a pair of black cargo pants and the Harvard’s hockey team hoodie and I sigh because nobody should be allowed to look like that and walk unrestrained through the world. He laughs at something his teammates say and the dimple on his left cheek that pops every time he smiles is good enough to make a girl forget her name.

Not this girl.

The waiter comes to lead them to their booth. She’s in her early twenties with braided blond hair across her shoulder and a pretty girl next door face. Jake whispers something in her ear and winks at her when she giggles softly. I can see the blush flowering on her cheeks from across the room and I roll my eyes involuntarily. He turns around to scan the room and a pair of gorgeous green eyes stare me down in surprise. I can’t actually see his eyes from here. But I know how they look. Hannah has a Harvard hockey calendar right above her bed and his September photo has been with us for over a year now.

I realize I’ve been staring back at him for more than what should be appropriate when a frown of curiosity deepens between his brows and I experience an unexpected rush of heat, making its way down the tip of my toes I shift my gaze to my hand at the same time as Hannah’s message pops onto my screen.

“I am sorry Brie. He still hasn’t showed up yet? Alex said he’s a cool guy and you guys have a lot in common. I swear I’m going to cut his balls off for standing you up.”

I smile lightly at the show of solidarity. Hannah …. A throat clearing makes me jump out of my skin and I knock over the milkshake glass in front of me. I feel the pricks of embarrassment rising bright red onto my cheeks while I try to reach for the glass before it rolls off the table and dab the contents of the spilled milkshake from the tablecloth.

“Sorry for that” a masculine voice breaks through the blood pounding loud in my ears. “Also, sorry for being late. After the storm last night the roads are shit, and I had to drive slower than usual.”

Slowly I bring my eyes up to the person in front of me. He gives me a sheepish smile and sits down across from me. I nod in understanding. The storm from last night had left the streets damp and gleaming under the streetlights, and the fog that lingered the morning after was enough to scare someone to venture outside. The air was still thick with the earthy scent of rain-soaked soil and the chill of early spring.

“Hi. You must be Brieanne. I’m Drew.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes me wanna bail this date altogether. Nobody calls me that anymore and sometimes my full name brings a pang of distress inside my chest. But I shouldn’t fault him. He doesn’t know what that name brings with it. I’ve considered legally changing it a dozen times, but gramma Jossie chose it for me and she was my favorite person in the entire world. Sometimes I convince myself that I’m honoring her by not giving the past power to sink its dispair into me.

He reaches a hand towards me and I shake his back awkwardly.

“Hi. Just call me Brie. Nice to finally meet you, Drew.”

The same waitress that Jake winked at comes back to our table and takes Drew’s order. Another wave of laughter distracts me in the hockey team’s direction and it throws me out of balance when I notice that Jake’s eyes meet mine once again.

“Noisy bunch. Hockey players.”

The retort brings me back to my date but all of a sudden I’ve lost all interest and I just wanna get out of here. It does not help that my date keeps glaring at his phone.

“Somewhere important you need to be?”

I retort more bitter than intended. He looks back up at me and reaches a palm to scratch at his neck looking guilty.

“Not really.”

We look at each other uncomfortable not knowing how to continue with this conversation. A message chimes on his phone and now he’s texting back. I study him maybe for the first time he sat down. Light brown hair, reaching his shoulders. He’s wearing a blue blazer and a pair of grey checkered pants. His lips are pursed in a barely there smile and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Whomever he’s texting obviously has his attention more than I do.

“So… Alex says you’re studying literature at Boston University.”

He lifts a finger in my direction gesturing me to wait. A vein throbs painfully in my left temple. When he finally puts his phone down he looks at me puzzled as he forgot I was here.

“Right then. Do you wanna skip the pleasantries and go to my place? My friends are having a party and I think we’d be better off having some fun.”

He does not wait for my reply as his phone chimes again he’s now back texting.

“I was hoping to get to know each other better on this date that we’re at.”

I drawl the word date long enough to have his attention again.

“Look. You’re hot. I’m in for whatever this is. I just think we’re wasting our time in this crappy dinner when we could be having fun somewhere else.”

He checks me out from head to toe and smiles approvingly. He turns back to his phone and my eyes wander in Jake’s direction again. He catches my eyes and a look of pity flashes across his face. Anger is rising inside my throat and I look away.

Ok. That’s it. God, if this is you telling me this date was a bad idea. I got your message loud and clear. The last thing I need is Jake fucking Hawkins to pity me.

“This isn’t going to work out.” I blurt to my date.

“Oh. Don’t be like that. We’re just getting to know each other. If it’s that important to you we can stay.”

I’m too riled up to even consider sitting here for another minute.

“I think it’s best if I leave. You obviously have a party that you need to get to and I have an exam early in the morning. I think we should call it a night.”

“Jesus.” He drawls. “I can’t believe I drove half an hour for this shit.”

He raises his voice for the last part and heads are turning our way. Time for me to make an exit. My hands are shaking when I plant a 5 dollar bill on the table and grab my jacket.

“This was fun. Let’s not do this again.”

“As if. If I’d known you would be this bitchy about me being 5 minutes late, I would’ve skipped this altogether. Not even worth the ride.”

I am certain that people are staring at us and I don’t want this to turn into an argument. I do not need the attention. So I nod in his direction and I force myself not to run towards the exit. I keep my eyes glued to the pavement as I stalk towards my car.

This whole night was a mistake. I know I am escalating this exchange to the point where my knees might give in. But I wanted this date to bring me something. Comfort? Some sort of win that I finally took one step forward and maybe it will be ok to take another one? I don’t know. Or maybe I just wanted to be done with it and prove to the world that I, Brie Daniels do not belong in a relationship.

I can recognize a spiraling when I see one. Especially if I’m the one going down the rabbit hole. A sob slips through my lips as I reach the handle and pull angrily at the door. I slip inside the warm interior and stare at the wheel for a minute while my phone goes crazy in my bag. I inhale and exhale through my mouth to ease the scream that is lodged inside my throat. I finally reach for it and Hannah’s face fills the screen.

“Babe, what’s wrong? You haven’t responded to my last two texts and I started to worry. Brie…”

“I’m fine.”

My voice comes raspy and I flinch to the sound of it.

“He finally showed up 20 min late and he was a dick throughout our conversation.”

“Did he say something to you? Brie, I swear I’d cut his balls off if he was nasty to you. I’m soo sooo sorry for this. I was hoping you’d finally have a nice date and maybe you’ll get out more for a while. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Please come home. We’ll make some hot chocolate and watch one of those sappy movies you love so much.”

“I’m fine Han. I think the worst part of it was seeing Jake Hawkins pitting me. Who the fuck does he think he is? He doesn’t even know me.” I say more angry than intended jabbing at the steering wheel.

“Whoa. Back it up there for a sec Brie.”

I frown at her sudden outburst.

“What does Hawkins have to do with this conversation. Brie… did I miss something?”

I sigh.

From Anxiety, With Love

Part I

She was staring through the bus window, ignoring the miserable expression on her reflection, at the train station. With each train arrival, she kept craning her neck, hoping to see her friend’s curly, fiery hair surging from the crowd of people busy going places. She was late, and Allie was going to kill her.

She left Grace about 15 messages since she got on the bus, hoping from the bottom of her shoelaces, that either Grace’s phone battery was out or she had no signal. Either way, Grace had to be here on time.

The phone chirped in her hand, the screen lighting up at the incoming message. Grace was finally texting back. A short lived sigh of relief blew past her lips.

„Allie-cat can’t make it!”

Grace wasn’t coming. Allie shifted in her seat, a bubble of hysterical laughter caught in her throat. Heart thumping faster in her chest, she stared at the three dots on the screen, silently praying that Grace was pulling her leg when another message popped up.

„Got stuck at work. We had an impromptu visit from a client this morning, and the meeting is not over yet. Please don’t be mad at me. Please don’t get off that bus. You need this.”

Allie, shook her head in disbelief, anxiety creeping down her spine. She definitely needed to get off this bus. No way in hell, will she be trapped on this trip for a full day with a bus full of spanish-speaking strangers. She grabbed her backpack, stuffed her hoodie inside, and jumped on her feet. The phone she set between her legs to gather her things, slipped between her tights on the floor. She froze as heads turned in her direction. People starring confused, some concerned. A deep blush crept along her neck, and she slowly crouched to recover the blasted phone. By the time she stood up again, on shaky legs that is, the bus doors closed and the vehicle began to move.

„Hola amigos! Mi nombre es Irai, hoy soy su guía y juntos vamos a disfrutar de este hermoso día en nuestro viaje al Caminito del Rey.”

Their guide’s voice boomed inside the bus, announcing their departure.

Oh no, no, no! As he went along describing what their day would look like, panic flooded Allie’s chest, and she froze mid-stance. She urged her legs to move, to shout the bus to stop, but none of these intentions left her mouth. She would cause a commotion and people would stare at her, would get annoyed by her interruption.

She surely could just go ahead, and have a private conversation with her guide and all would be clarified and they would let her off at the next stop. She will figure out how to get back to the train station after that, get on the train, home, in bed, to safety.

But she did not know enough spanish to form a coherent sentence for the life of her. And because there weren’t any more available bookings for the english trip, Grace just shrugged her shoulders and booked the spanish one. Grace knew enough spanish for the both of them. But Allie did not. The only spanish words in her vocabulary were „Holla” and „Gracias”.

She only made the trip to Spain because her friend got the opportunity to work a full paid month in Malaga. And Grace asked her to come along. With a broken heart to be nursed, out of a job, she agreed half-hearted, with the promise that a scenery change would be good for her. This did not feel good.

She closed her eyes, slowly inhaling through her mouth. Surely someone on this bus knew enough english to help her clarify all this out, then she would be on her merry way with enough time on her hands to dwell on how terrified she’d been. Maybe she would even laugh it of by the time Grace return home.

The mere thought of being put in another situation where she would have to explain her inability to know the basics of „Hei, excuse me, can you help me figure this out?” raised goosebumps on her skin and made her stomach churn in despair. So she did the only logical thing she was capable off. Sat back in her chair, drew her legs up her chest, hugged her knees, closed her eyes, and prayed that this day would be over soon.

Another message from Grace lighted up the screen.

„Allie-cat … please text back. I need to know you’re ok.”

But she didn’t. Not for a while.

Little nugget of hope

My job devoids my eyes of sunlight…

• ‎‎‎I whisper – hang in there for another bill;

My body bends and aches in parts and nooks…

• ‎‎‎‎‎‎I whisper – hang on, we’ll get better soon;

My inner child shakes violently under waves of anxiety…

• ‎‎‎‎‎I whisper – hang in there for another heartbeat;

My mind screams in broad daylight „Off yourself!”…

• I whisper – hang in there for another sunset.

A thousand lies

– Why did you do it Annalee?

The media was in a frenzy, every each paper and article for the past few weeks covering the story. But truth be told, when it came down to it, he had a hunch nobody really knew her story. Sure there were records of her service, a good street cop, no family members alive, none they knew of, of course, but plenty of memorable mentions in the LAPD chronicles. Her colleagues described her as always being polite and involved in her service, but other than that she kept to herself.

She kept silent for over 4 weeks now since they’ve discovered the bodies. Or so he was told. He’d seen the photos of her victims. Nasty business he thought. Gruesome smiles were carved into their faces, their mouths sewn with fishing thread. The autopsy files revealed nothing more. The theory was she used Rohypnol with all her victims. They didn’t show any signs of struggle, and she sure as hell could not overpower a man twice her height with ease. Her last victim was a month old. A teenager, about his daughter’s age. The entire case was a shit show, and they had nothing on her, except the photos she hid in her locker room. He didn’t know what to make of that. Was she that balssy? Or just insane?

Annalee was questioned countless hours by LAPD and finally FBI stepped in. Nothing got through her. She refused talking to her appointed lawyer who tried his best to help her get ready for the upcoming process. She even refused her free call.

So, in all fairness, he wondered what exactly was he doing here and how was it that now he was across the table questioning her.

She looked at him with empty eyes and gave a resigned sigh.

Raising the cup of tea she was was holding in her hands, steam still rising over the plastic edge, she emptied it in one big gulp.

Her hair was tied in a messy knot over her head, curls spilling all over the place. The skin on her lips was cracked and reddish, like she’d been chewing at them a lot. She was wearing the standard orange uniform, and she’d been moved to a special unit, kept away for everyone’s safety.

She pondered for so long staring at the bottom of the cup, that he wondered if she would ever engage in a conversation.

Readjusting his slippery glasses for what felt like a hundred time, he shifted impatient in his chair. Readying himself to engage in another questioning tirade, she opened first with a croaky sound that startled him for a heartbeat.

– Before we get to the answer you are looking for, we need to go to the beginning of it all. It will not change the outcome and the things I’ve done. I am not looking for an absolution. I do not regret the choices I’ve made. But I need you to understand that someone had to do it. And for the longest time, the Annalee that’s sitting in front of you was as happy and hopeful about life as one could be being dealt with some shitty life choices.

She leaned over the table to look him square in the eyes. A vein throbbed alarmed on his right temple, but he stood still.

– Don’t worry Teddy, we’ll get to the bottom of this – she gave him a sympathetic smile, that did not reach her eyes.

At his 50 years old and 20+ years experience on the force, Edward Donovan prided himself with not being shocked by much anymore. He’d seen his fair share of gruesome crimes and dealt with despicable lowlifes. But hearing that name again, he felt all the blood drain from his face. His stomach lurched and the sudden feeling that his world would come crushing down and he had no control whatsoever, made it hard to breathe.

No one. Not a single person in his carefully crafted life called him Teddy anymore.

The closure I never got

Hi you, 

This is an apology for not allowing us to be.  

And an olive branch for closure. 

It started with our daily commute rides, fidgeting next to each other on the bus, not ever addressing a word, but many glances. And your Facebook request later on.

I don’t know what prompted me to text you that day you smiled at me. I don’t recall if there was something lingering at the edge of your smile, or if it simply sparked curiosity as to why I was the recipient of it.

Unexpected and startling your blunt honesty – „I had a crush on you since forever, and when I see you it makes me smile. I wasn’t aware I did that today”.

It also made me feel like I had the upper hand. I mean, who confesses their feelings on the first text message?

Fine, it got me scared too.

But at the very least, I should have been upfront about my intentions.

I should’ve told you I didn’t reciprocate your feelings.

Mixed signals?

Yes.

Coward for ghosting you?

Yes.

Avoiding you on the commute after that?

Yes.

I am not sure how to resume these lines, since there’s resistance in you. You should stop holding onto people. Stop holding onto feelings.

Truth be told, I didn’t care enough to make this work.

ㅤ

I wasn’t sure where I was going with this. Tbh I just don’t want these feelings anymore.

Waiting. Holding onto memories that weren’t mine to start with.

2022 – I’ll leave them with you.

Where I’m going, I won’t be needing them anymore.

Enough to keep me going

Sometimes I think, I stopped writing, because I don’t want to write about things that hurt. I’ve been through so much physical and psychical pain in this past year, most days I needed to remind myself that breathing comes naturally and it doesn’t drain me out of energy in trying to find something real, something to grab onto, to ground myself. Most days I avoid meeting my gaze in the mirror because nothing that’s left here will help me stay. I don’t lean against the side of my mattress, because when I close my eyes, it feels like a rocking boat in the middle of the sea, waiting for me to take a final dive. I seek the stars in the darkest of nights, praying for guidance. I prayed to Gods and moons, and sometimes when I’m out of words and the silence it’s stretching inside my ribcage, and it grows deeper into my bones, I seek them silly fireflies. I tell myself, just some light, some light, it’s enough to keep me going.

About today

I am by the stove brewing water for my chamomile tea. My stomach has been burning for two days now. Pills, tea, food don’t help. I tried sleep, but it’s been evading me again. I’ve been in and out of sleep all night long, turning and tossing, making a mess out of my bed sheets. After a while, I stopped checking the clock on my phone. What use to it anyway? As of late, my days start all the same, in and out of focus. Sadness lingering on me like a second skin. There’s this tiredness in my limbs that won’t go away. My thoughts shift, but they end up in the same place. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want this life. Tears slip away over the bridge of my nose, in the hollow above my lip. Frustration makes its way up my throat and into my mouth, the taste of bile strong on my tongue.

Day’s end

She stepped barefoot onto the balcony, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. The tiles beneath her feet still held the warmness of the august sun.

Placing the glass on the coffee table, she poured about two fingers of whiskey.

She picked up the glass and downed the amber liquid in one gulp, then held herself very still for a moment. It burned her insides, but as it hit her empty stomach a pleasant warm glow radiated through her body.

Leaning into the doorframe, she watched the sun lower into the sky.

Days were melting into each other. Stacks of papers were covering both her office desk and the home one. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a good night’s sleep or a full meal.

The frustration of the stagnant investigation kept her out of focus and most often than she would like to admit, made her snap at her colleagues whenever she’d hit another dead end. Earlier in the morning, it seemed to be the last straw. The chief commissioner summoned her into his office and gave her a choice. She either took a day or two off or she would be pulled off the case. Not much of a choice there.

Not bothering this time with the glass, she grabbed the bottle. Taking another gulp, she took a step further, resting her elbows against the railing. The last time she got drunk, all those many years ago in Cabo, she fucked up badly. The scars on her back were a bitter reminder of misplaced trust.

The buzzing in her pocket pulled her out of her thoughts; a feeling of anticipation at the „No Caller ID” showing on the screen making her stomach twist. She held her phone to her ear, listening.

– I thought you quit drinking…

His familiar voice came at no surprise. She’d been expecting his call for a while now. What she didn’t expect was the jolt of longing that passed through her, making her nauseous. Still, she kept her composure, not a single muscle twitch betraying her feelings.

– I was never as good at suppressing my emotions. But that’s what made you the best.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do first. To smash her phone into tiny pieces or burst into the hysterical laughter that was burning in her throat. Maybe she ought to do both.

– I didn’t kill those people, Brie…

There was a crack in his voice, almost like a pleading.

Seconds stretched between them and she heard him sigh in defeat when met with more silence.

– It was good seeing you, he tried again, his voice going up almost like he was smiling. I guess this is goodbye. I hope you know… I never meant to…

She cut him short, crushing the flutter of hope rising in her chest.

– See you soon…

Ending the call, Brie tightened the grip on the whisky bottle, until the skin on her knuckles went white. She backed off from the balcony into the apartment, turning the lights on her way, until she was surrounded by complete darkness. A sob broke from her lips, and her palms pressed angrily against her eyelids to stop the tears.

She will find him, and he will pay. She wasn’t sure though if for the crimes he was accused of committing or for that night in Cabo.

All the things I never said

I remember the first time I bit my tongue.

My best friend’s cousin told me that I was a girl, like I didn’t know my place in the world. And in being so, I wasn’t good enough to play with them, even though I had so many scratch marks and bruises from all the games I’d beat him at. – The smugness in his voice still follows me sometimes.

I remember the first time I was truly angry at my mother.

My first period had marked my transgression into womanhood. Pain and despair filled my voice and trembling lips and hands begged my mother to fix it. But she just stood there, eating her Mac & Cheese, watching her favorite telenovela, not moved at all by the tears pouring from my eyes. – There’s resentment lingering in me, now still.

I remember the first time I was misjudged by my lack of motivation.

Senior year was the only time I showed a real commitment to improving my grades – college was a heartbeat away. My math teacher disagreed. I scored higher than my best friend because I studied my ass off, but she deemed me a cheater because I had helped my friend and she couldn’t believe that out of the two of us, I was actually the one to solve the problem. I cried myself to sleep that night. – After that, not good enough became my favorite mantra.

I remember the first time I stopped calling my best friend just that, * best *.

Because she refused to admit she cheated and still, I had to suffer the consequences. – My trust in people was never the same.

I remember the first time I looked down on myself in the mirror.

I was 13. My first crush asked me if I practiced boxing and in my confusion, he clarified – I had one of those noses. It seeded doubt and I’ve lost some love for myself. – I never got it back.

I remember my grandfather’s anger.

The sharp blade of a swinging ax put a crack in our new house door. My blanket was not thick enough to shield the shouting and the smell of liquor. Dad smiled sadly while mom cleaned his bruised knuckles the next morning; the same bruised knuckles that shattered my bathroom mirror 3 years later. – I never trusted men the same.

I remember the first time I acknowledged my legacy.

My favorite cartoon was playing on TV. Patience running thin over my baby sister shrieking. Seconds slipping. The imprint of tiny fingers on her pink soft cheek, startled both of us into focus. She – blurry green eyes wide open into silence; me – knees quivering into realization. – I’ve never held my hands the same.

‎

I am so heavy with self-restraint, most days I just see the exit sign.

Eve stands for trouble

Part 9…

Shots rang out. Some missed, most hit. The smoke swirled around Thomas, thick and noisome.

The last thing he remember was the ringing in his ears and the pain in his body when it hit the ground. He tried to bring everything into focus, but his eyes burned mercilessly, blurring his vision. Thomas’s knees were shaky underneath him and it took most of the energy left in his body only to stand up. Around him, like rag dolls, men and horses lay in piles, tossed carelessly across the field. Those who were still standing ignored the carnage and recharged their guns.

He put one step in front of the other, making his way back to his regiment. Another explosion, another cloud of smoke, in a desperate attempt to keep the enemy that pushed ever closer. The ground shook underneath him, the sound of hooves and the air around him compressed and expanded with the sound of artillery, making his ears buzz in response. Thomas collapsed near a munition-filled cart, fighting for breath, his face covered in muddy sweat beads.

All he knew was that they were coming for him. Most accurate, for his father. They were outnumbered. They didn’t stand a chance. He pulled a letter from his right pocket and traced the faded letters with bloody fingers. Through gritted teeth, he made a silly wish.

The sound of a horn cleared the valley, making Thomas jump out of his skin. Everything fell into silence. A terrible, empty stillness, sinister against the muted fighting farther across the plain. Then an unmistakable shrieking sound filled the air, a lingering dread washing over him.

Thomas jerked awake.

His heart stopped for a split second. He remained motionless, staring at the ceiling for a gut-wrenching moment before he remembered where he was. In the quiet of the morning, he could hear the servants busying around the house. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, wondering if it was too late to make things right.

Thomas groaned and flung his arm over his eyes. A dull throbbing had started in his head, and his stomach growled with hunger. He would have to leave his study sooner or later, either way.

Skimming the papers in front of him, a deep crease set itself stubborn around his mouth. He made little if any progress in mapping the course of that dreaded letter that he needed to exonerate his father. All trace was lost after the letter arrived in England. It annoyed him to recognize that maybe it was time to ask for help.

But first, he needed to find Eve.

Undone

I swallowed. It burned my throat traveling down my chest. It pushed back, full force, violently seeking a way out of my mouth. Clenched teeth, trembling fingers pressed hard on red-stained lips, I kept forcing it down until my heart started to bleed. Anxiety spread like wildfire to the tip of my toes reminding me of how much this body was starting to slip away from me.

I woke up this morning with an uncontrollable urge to rip my skin apart.

Eve stands for trouble

Part 8…

The conversation had unsettled her.

The evening had unsettled her.

And Eveline did not care for being unsettled.

She pushed her make pretend spectacles further up the bridge of her nose annoyed. Their arms pinched at her scalp, digging into the tender skin just above her ears.

The letters in front of her were starting to get blurry. She’d been at it for hours, trying to make up for the time she spent earlier in the day curled up in bed with Lucy, retelling a child-like version of the events that led to the dark bruises covering her lower back and the stitches that reminded her how careless she’d become.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled off her spectacles and pressed her fingers to her eyes, making black spots dance behind her closed lids. Pushing back the chair, she rose and faced the market square from her window. Outside, the sun had given up its hold on the day, and the room was cast in a soft glow from the lanterns that had been lit by one of the helpers.

„I want my friend back”, the words echoed in her head again. Involuntarily her palms took reach of her elbows and she had to lean into the desk behind her to steady herself. He sent her a letter later that day, inquiring about her health, with a wonderful bouquet of flowers. The letter still rested unanswered in her study at home, the smell of peonies lingering in the air. She couldn’t bring herself to write anything. What exactly was she supposed to say? Why are you here now? Why couldn’t you stay away? Why did you give up on me?

The question popped unwelcomed, making her wince. There was a time in her life when she’d fall asleep over crumpled paper, filled with rows of smudged words; questions she’d never dared to ask out loud; resentfulness mixed with despair building a home out of her until she was left with nothing.

And it was all for the best because, in the end, nothing could’ve prepared her for what came next.

A short knock on the door disrupted the pattern of her thoughts. She heard muffled voices down the corridor and that made her exhale a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Eve took a glance at herself in the window, acknowledging the unfamiliar eyes starring back, then she returned to her chair, making one last note in the book opened in front of her.

– I thought you were gone for the day.

She lifted her eyes from the papers scattered on the desk to meet the ones of her partner, who was leaning into the doorframe, his booted feet crossed and a half a glass of whiskey in his hand, dressed impeccably, as he always was. He had blonde hair that fell carelessly over his forehead and around his ears, framing sharp cheekbones and intelligent eyes. She’d never seen that shade of blue before.

She put the pen down, ignored the raised brow, and rested her head on the back of the chair.

– I’ve reviewed the information we’ve got so far in the Seaton situation. I feel like we are missing something. I should talk again to the cook. She was very proud of maintaining a tight schedule around the kitchen, but then again, she got all flustered when I asked her about the party, saying she doesn’t remember who got in and out of the kitchen that day. This is such a mess. Are you sure this job is worth it?

The question was mostly rhetorical, but when met with silence, she closed her eyes for a second feeling the heaviness of the day in her bones. Beneath her jacket, the skin around the stitches was throbbing angrily; pain she was trying a great deal to ignore.

– I’d rather know the story of those bruises. For someone who prides herself in being good at disguises, you did a lousy job at covering them.

Right. Nothing ever passed his sharp eyes. A bubble of something rose in her throat, but Eve wasn’t quite sure if was hysterical laughter or a hysterical sob.

– I’d say share that glass of whiskey first.

Her gaze traveled back to the door not surprised at all by the smirk she was met with.

The inconvenience of a memory

‎

You’re standing at the stove
Stirring a pot of creamy goodness with a wooden spoon

Light, circular motions
A crease between your eyebrows distracts the pattern

Work has been pilling
Purple light shadows under your eyes

But you’re here now
Surrounded by the smell of freshly cut basil and rosemary

Light refracts inside the kitchen,
A magnificent display of colors playing hide and seek in the 5 o’clock shadow

Tiptoe I plant a kiss between C3 and C4
Making goosebumps rise on the honey colored skin – you’re mine

A twirl and a smile, your arms wrap me in warmth
The tension between the shoulder blades breaks like the pop of a soap bubble.

Eve stands for trouble

Part 7…

The carriage came to an abrupt stop and the rapping on the door made Eveline snap out of her thoughts.

– Right, back to reality it is, she mumbled to herself while accepting the helping hand of Dwayne and carefully steping out on the cobble stones beneath her feet.

– You alright, miss Eveline? the large man lightly squeezed her hand, concern gathering at the corner of his eyes.

– I will be just fine Dwayne. No need to fuss.

She gave him an reassuring smile, one that she didn’t feel in the slightest.

– Things are gonna change now, him coming back and everything, aren’t they?

Eve looked startled into the man’s eyes and the deep set of his mouth.

– Not to speak out of place, he quickly added. We all missed having him home. He’ll be a great duke. But…

– I know, she exhaled loudly, feeling the sting of the stiches tug at her skin.

She wanted to add more, but the the sound of heavy paws padding on cobblestones and a familiar giggling distracted her. Against herself she smiled. A wide, real smile. She crouched to meet the little pup, tracing her hands trough his soft fur, scratching the black spot behind his left ear. She was met with wet kisses and enthusiastic barkings.

She raised her head, eyes catching a full glimpse of her daughter. She stopped at arm’s length, distress beaming into her beautiful brown eyes. Lucy waved a hand and gave a soft smile at the man sitting behind Eve, not betraying any other emotions. She was her mother’s daughter in all the ways that matter, Eve mused to herself.

– You weren’t here for breakfast, it was an accusation born out of concern and distrust echoed in the little girl’s voice.

A child her age shouldn’t have to worry for her mother never making it to breakfast or story time or any other time for that matter. Hopelessness washed over her, sinking deep into her bones. She always considered herself unyielding in the face of misfortune. Of that, she got plenty. She’d chosen this life, for her, for Lucy. Last night’s loss while a setback, it was not the end of the road. There was always a way forward, and she had the means and time to make that happen.

– Will I be forgiven If I tell you I’ve got a new story for tonight, Poppy?

Short for Penelope, she’d always use her daughter’s middle name when a distraction was necessary to diffuse the tension between them. Excitement got the best out of Lucy every time Eve tempted her with a new story and with a sheepish grin she bolted into her arms, hugging her tightly.

– You are forgiven, this time… she reached her little hand to stroke gently her mother’s cheek, and with all the seriousness she mustered, she whispered: I don’t like it when you’re not home for breakfast.

– Neither do I, Poppy.

Eve cleared her throat, trying to fight back the stinging in her eyes. With Lucy in her arms and the pup’s wiggling tail at her feet, she returned to wave goodbye to Dwayne.

– I miss Firefly, the little girl shouted in his direction, right before he climbed the carriage. When can I come see her?

– Anytime you want miss Lucy, she’s been waiting for you, he winked conspiratorially in her direction.

– Momma, can we go see her? the eagerness in her voice, made Eveline lips purse with misery.

– Maybe another time… she replied quietly, going back to the events from the night before.

– Don’t become a stranger, miss Eveline. You don’t have to…

She nodded in his direction, unsure of what came next.

About loss

I’m exhausted.

My fists relax. Knuckles are covered in tiny cuts and little specks of red. Anger didn’t help. 

I drop flat on my back against the hardwood floors, legs beneath me, crossed at the ankles. Eyes closed, I feel the vein in my left temple pulsing frantically beneath the beads of sweat that are covering my skin. There’s a knot in my throat that I keep pushing down, threatening to overspill the pain that I haven’t let myself feel yet. Breathing is hard. 

– You ok?

There’s a shadow leaning over me. An unmistakable voice protrudes, uninvited, through the buzzing in my ears. The remains of the last night’s dream linger at the edge of my conscience. I’ve dreamed about him last night. I haven’t dreamed about him in forever. Returning home must’ve conjured memories of him, waiting patiently to engulf me in more self-pity and destruction. Tears prickle the back of my eyelids. The need to melt into another makes my insides twist with guilt. The need to be touched, held, and never let go again overflows and I catch a sob before I put a crack in the little self-control I have left.

I half nod hoping that the shadow will move. To my irritation the silhouette crouches next to me, taking away the only ray of sunshine that was playing across my cheekbones. The only warmth I’ve felt in months. I can feel my composure slipping away. The politeness that was hanging on a loose threat between my clenched teeth splinters and I sigh loudly, sending the particles of dust around me in a frenzy. 

Annoyed my eyes snap. Flecks of gold stare back at me underneath furrowed brows. Every thought inside my head dissipates like a sky clears up bright blue after a cloudy day. The world turns upside down and reality strucks hard between my shoulder blades, the skin beneath my shirt gets clammy and goosebumps rise against my flesh. suddenly everything comes back into focus. The music inside the gym blasts loud from the speakers making the floor shiver underneath me. The squeak of someone’s shoes running on the treadmill, the smell of sweat and the collective grasps of air from a zumba class hit me all at once. There’s this nauseating feeling that climbs inside my throat and my eyes become blurry. I take in a full gulp of air and I almost choke at the unexpected air that fills my lungs like a wave crushing angry against the shore. I lean against my forearms and I blink twice in confusion.

– You need some help?

I nod my head involuntarily and take his hand the flashes of the dream melting into the moment. Steady on my feet I look up and his smile grows deeper, revealing one perfect dimple.

– I haven’t seen you in a while.

His hand still holds mine, his thumb making small circles against my wrists. He stares at me for the longest time, patiently waiting for me to pull myself back together. The thing is… I don’t think I can do that anymore. 

– I was wondering if you wanna hang out sometime?

The question comes in unexpectedly. The same question I asked all those summers ago. 

– You wanna attend a funeral? the words slip bitter out of my mouth before I can stop them.

The flinch in his eyes makes me take a step back. Yes.. Taking steps back is good. So I take one more. I mouth half an apology and I don’t stop running until I’m home. 

The bedroom door is closed. I rest my hand against the cherry wood, right beneath the words scribbled in anger with a pair of eyebrow scissors. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, images of a chopped blonde hair and storm brewing eyes gathering on the back of my eyelids. „Mind your business” A strangled laugh breaks out of me. She’s gone. And I don’t know how to exist without her.

Eve stands for trouble

Part 6…

He did not expect her to obey, obviously. But it puzzled him how serene she delivered her refusal to account for the events of the night before. She was staring back at him, unapologetic, matching the anger bubbling in his veins. And it hit him all of a sudden, how much of a strangers they’ve become.

– Eveline… he exploded on an exhale, as though someone had punched him the gut; noting only now, that he was holding his breath since the moment he stepped into the room and as it was, back into her life.

– I can’t… she shrugged helplessly.

– Eve, you cannot close me of like this; he ran his fingers through his hair, frustration pilling in the back of his throat. You cannot expect me to brush off the events that got us here. I find you in the early hours of the morning, bleeding and incoherent, hoping that by God you’d see the light of next day and all I get is a shrug?

– Well if we’re stating facts, I bumped into you, by mistake…she gave a small apologetic smile, but he wouldn’t have none of it.

His face tightened and a little tic pulsed in his jaw.

– Eve…

The sound came deep from his throat, almost a warning, because if he was to be honest, part of him was still … well … scared. The thought of losing her, fired every inch of his body and only the images of how she looked the night before, pale as a sheet in his arms, were good enough to burn this whole city to the ground, because nothing was worth having without Eve. She’d always been his weakness.

She closed her eyes, a shaky breath flying from her lips. He noticed pain flashing shortly across her face, and his anger only grew bigger.

– I know, she said in a whisper. But, you’re asking too much, and I … she took a long breath between clenched teeth and steadied herself against the window sill.

Closing the space between them, he reached encircling his arms around her. She tensed against his body, her warm breath tickling the hallow of his neck. He wasn’t sure he was allowed such liberties, but hanging onto her for the first time in what it seemed like forever, made the tightness in his chest a bit lighter.

– I really have to go now… she said abruptly, cutting the silence left between them.

Her hands pressed into his chest, putting distance between them, and the loss oh her warmth made him feel uneasy.

He nodded. Not because this was over. But because he could see beads of exhaustion gathering in the curve of her neck and he was afraid she would pass out again.

– I’ll get Dwayne to escort you.

– That won’t be….

He cut her weak protest short, and lifted his hand to cup her cheek.

– Unfortunately for you, I’m here to stay this time. And I want my friend back. I’ve missed her.

Her composure broke for a split-second, but the set in her jaw left no room for questions.

– What if… there’s nothing left of her? tiredness soaked into her features, eyes beaming with distrust.

– We’ll just have to find her again.

She gave him a sad smile, gathered her strength and passed by him, without another word.

Equally exhausted and annoyed, Thomas watched her from the window of his chamber climbing into the carriage. She was wearing a borrowed dress that was too large for her slender frame. The men attire he found her in the previous night made his brows furrow in frustration. He was very much invested now in figuring out what Eve us up to.

Taking a gulp of whiskey, the set in his eyes hardened. Mending things with Eve was one of the reasons he came back to London. But there were others that made his gut twist and his fists clench in balls of anger and anguish. To prove a dead man’s innocence and take over a dukedom most of the nights kept him awake and working tireless. When sleep took hold over his eyes and his mind grew cloudy, the nightmares came alive. He took another gulp of whiskey and made his way into the library. Pieces of paper were scattered all over his desk and chair. With a loud sigh that echoed heavily inside the chamber, Thomas set aside the glass in his hand and went back to work.

Yellow pills

My therapist once told me

I should try making purposeful decisions

a house shouldn’t be a hiding place

and happiness comes in tiny yellow pills.

I remember the day perfectly

because the winter in my bones was growing heavier

and I had my new yellow scarf wrapped around my neck

like a loose end, on a brink of collapsing.

She finally replaced the worn down sofa

I’ve been picking a part for a year now

and I remember the way melancholy

pulled at my skin, shifting uncomfortably

the smell of new, spreading through my every nerve like wildfire.

My ears were buzzing

tuned to the words hanged unspoken

in the space between her lips

the shaking of my hands not quite clear

beneath the certainty of change.

The folded paper sat heavy

at the bottom of my backpack,

my sentence cruelly served in blue-inked letters

Two weeks, I sat distracted

brewing tea in my small kitchen,

yellow pills in one hand,

a slippery self in the other.

Every night I took them

my legs buckled under waves of consciousness

heart pounding in my ears

trembling fingers reaching into ill-lit memories

for the me evading this body

that for so long I called home.

I’d close my eyes,

fear soaking trough my eyelashes

the room spinning out of control

drops of anxiety rolling down my spin

melting into the mattress.

The same mattress that hold my sanity in place

comforting this shell

without asking anything in return.

It didn’t feel right

the numbness that came with every sip of water

the way my name wasn’t mine anymore.

So I stopped going to the therapist…

After all, I sat better with myself,

than with the world.

Eve stands for trouble

Part 5…

A fire was lit inside the room while she sat silently against the window, watching as a gloomy day unfolded outside. She was worried about Lucy, imagining her confused face while stumbling sleepy into an empty bedroom, as she usually did before breakfast was served. They always had breakfast together. She swallowed the nauseating feeling that was making its way in the back of her throat. Getting out of there was of utmost urgency. She just had to deal with Thomas first.

As tuned to her thoughts, a quick knock on the door announced his presence. When she refused to utter an invitation, a heavy sigh echoed in the hallway, and he let himself in anyway. He stood in the middle of the room, hands behind his back, studying her for a long time. It made her uncomfortable, so she turned her back to him, because she feared he’d take notice on how much she longed to nestle in his arms. He was her childhood friend, her first love. Not that she ever said those words out loud. It seemed improper. So she nurtured those feelings, holding them close to her heart, hoping that one day he would return to her. That is, until he decided she was no longer fit to be his friend, and stopped writing her altogether. It took her a long time to repair the cracks in her heart, left in the awakening of his rejection, but now they were tugging at her insides, threatening to pull apart the stitches she so carefully sew over the years. She had Lucy now, she didn’t need anyone else. Certainly not him. With that in mind, she decided she had enough of the silent treatment. She mustered the courage to face him, hands across her chest, bracing for whatever came next.

– Shall we get this over with? Go ahead, ask your questions…

He cleared his voice, but then felt silent for a moment, and something shift in his eyes as though he changed his mind.

– How is you shoulder? Has the pain in your head received at all? The cut in the back of your head isn’t as bad as I initially though, but it must hurt as hell nonetheless.

Surprised by the worrying in his voice, it took her a few seconds to form any coherent words.

– The tea helped, she muttered softly.

He nodded, a slight look of relief crossing his face.

– Dr. Hayer gave you a sedative this morning, said you should be feeling better, but that the pain will come back latter in the day. You should stay in bed for at least a couple of days, until the bruises have faded.

Her gaze went to the bed, then back to him. She didn’t have days to spare.

– I need to be on my way now…

He frowned displeased with her statement.

– I should think not. Besides, we haven’t gotten yet to how we ended up here. Don’t you think I at least deserve an explanation?

So there it was. She felt the anger tugging at his words. And in return, anger churned in her belly. It’s not that she wasn’t grateful and he wasn’t entitled to an explanation. But she didn’t want him involved in her life. As a matter of fact, she wanted to be as far from him as possible.

– No.

Anger doesn’t always come in shades of red

Sometimes it comes in glasses of whiskey,

Stale breath whispering in the dark how fast can you run?

Sometimes it comes in the early days of spring,

Blossoming into deep purple lilacs,

Growing roots under soft skin,

Not for everyone to see.

Sometimes it comes in trembling fingers and silent sobs,

In the darkest corner of your childhood home,

The sound of broken glass echoing over freshly cooked eggs.

Sometimes it hits you on the sunniest day,

Walking home from work,

Numb limbs melting underneath you,

Panic rising from the pit of your stomach,

‘Cuz a stranger’s perfume unleashed the memories buried 3 feet underground.

And it’s all the same, the heaviness in his voice still lingers beyond the fist of dirt you covered his coffin all those years ago, fresh snow covering the tip of your boots.

There’s so much of her in me

I sit legs crossed inside my room, a strand of light pulling at the wrinkles on my forehead;

I tell myself, I survived this far;

I wonder if the darkness inside, has her name scribbled in scarlet red letters;

Underneath this skin, memories throb angrily;

There’s no shadow I can melt myself into;

What other choice;

Her mistakes are written in my DNA, her features plastered across my face;

There’s no reflection that won’t remind me, my blood is spoiled;

I have her nose they say – the silver of a sharp knife;

Altering the younger version she so carefully crafted;

My bones shiver under the weight of a clean slate;

But you can’t escape the thunderstorms that churn inside of you;

I remember her mouth, rotten … spilling venom like nobody’s business;

There was not a kind word – Ever ! – attached to those thin lips;

So I write … every inch of her, every bit of hatred in hopes of healing;

But it does not feel like healing;

It’s rewinding the same heartbroken song over and over again;

It’s drowning right beneath the surface;

Because it took all the air inside of you not to cave underneath dependence;

She’d slit your throat before letting go;

So I keep my scissors at hand;

Just in case the inside of my tights needs caressing;

I spend so much time alone, because I’m afraid…

That loving me isn’t enough.