My Mom died yesterday.
Somehow, in all the imaginings I've imagined, I've never imagined my Mom not being just a phone call away.
And I don't care about the double-negative in the previous sentence because right now, I don't care about much of anything.
I can't let myself care(more) about anything right now.
Autopilot is what I'm running on and avoidance of anything other than have-to-do's has become my New Normal as of 5:20AM yesterday.
I might laugh at the cliché I've become if I wasn't so wrecked. As it stands, at the moment I can't imagine myself ever laughing again.
And someday I'll probably laugh at myself for allowing the crybaby-drama queen part of me to rear it's ugly head. Possibly.
I've always been aware of how blessed I've been to have both my Parents alive, my Dad is 86 and my Mom turned 84 just three days ago.
It sucked that we had to celebrate her birthday in the hospital but she'd just had surgery on her shoulder after breaking it. Of course there are always complications when they're older but I wasn't having any of that. Not 'my' Mother.
Ok so I just realized, I'm not ready to really write yet. I mean I know I will be, my muse has been nibbling at my brain for the past few weeks but Life kept getting in my way.
I know that more than anything right now, I need to write.
But my eyes are tired of crying and there is a heavy lead weight in my chest.
I know I shouldn't pull into my shell but I think I have to regroup.
Usually I call my Mom when I have to regroup.
This is a lot harder than I never imagined.(less)
The loud ones sit in the back, quiet in the front. That's the way it is. The seats are elephant skin, graffitied upon with schoolhouse abandon. One kid's drool drips from his lip and waits by the door.
There's the kid who eats his breakfast by the window each morning. And the kid who laughs at everything, especially the whispered word "penis." A girl sleeps against her backpack's shoulder. Next to her, someone reads in a puddle of light. And then there's the asshole hopped up on Redbull, who thinks simple courtesy was something thought up by the French during the Dark Ages, and that no one really remembers it anyway.
It's a common cast of characters.
The bus driver looks at me with tired eyes. He wants to know if I'll come aboard this crazy train.
Oh, no, hon. You have it wrong. I don't want to kill myself; I just want to die. There's a difference.
I don't want to drag a knife across my arm. I don't want to swallow a bottle of pills. I don't want to put a gun to m(more)y temple and pull the trigger or tie a noose and kick the chair out.
No, what I want is for someone to T-bone me going ninety two miles an hour. I want someone to burn my house. I want to develop cancer, I want to be caught in a shoot out.
Do you see the difference? I want to die, but I want someone else to do the dirty work for me. And that's what I hope for, every day, every night. So, you can relax, dearie, because I'm not going to kill myself. (less)
It was nearly dawn, the first hints of day brushing the far horizon. Roy stood on the ledge of the building, his hands in the pockets of his long coat as he looked out across the rooftops. Pre-dawn was the most peaceful time of the night; all the late(more) night revelers had dispersed, and only the very, very early risers were beginning to go about their business. The city was not silent, but muted.
Edward trotted up behind Roy and slung himself over the ledge into a seated position, legs dangling out over the five-story drop as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Slow night," Edward reported, leaning back on one hand and scratching his chest with the other. He wrinkled his nose and glanced at Roy. "You stink of blood, Mustang. You haven't been feeding again, have you?"
There was no surreptitious way for Roy to check to make sure that blood was not streaked around his mouth, so he looked away. Edward sighed heavily as Roy glanced down the street. "Roy, you can't go feeding off of people, I thought we had an understanding."
"I haven't killed anyone," Roy said softly. "I was just ... hungry."
"If you're hungry and you need fresh, you come to me." Roy sensed Edward standing up and glanced back over at him. Edward was close, he touched Roy's face with one bare hand and Roy sighed, the warmth of Edward's flesh comforting. "Don't backslide, please," Edward's voice was soft, almost lost in the wind. "I can't lose you."
Roy turned his face into Edward's hand; he could smell the blood through his flesh, pulsing warm in his wrist. He bit Edward's wrist before he realized what he was doing and looked up to see Edward smile brokenly as he fed.(less)
Oh no, I messed up. A fatal mistake. What have I done? I pull the bedsheets up to my head, hiding my shame. A warm hand suddenly flops over my naked body. I am aware of someone breathing evenly beside me underneath the sheets. My breath freezes as it(more) clicks in my head that it's not my boyfriend beside me.
What have I done?
I slowly withdraw the sheets and the smell of stale beer and cigarettes hit me. It was then I realize this was not my room, and this strange abode is probably the person's home. I slide out of the bed and heard a loud groan from the bed. The person disentangled themselves as a blond head pops out.
"Ian?" I whisper, not feigning my surprise. He squints and blinks at me, a flash of recognition passing through his face. He smiles widely at unclothed form. He says hey and walks over to me and puts his arms around me. I stiffen as our skin makes contact. "What happened last night?"
I could barely remember last night. All I remember was being invited to a party and me declining the drinks as I wanted to be home early to surprise my boyfriend. Ian had kept cajoling me - just one drink, there is no harm - and I found out the hard way that he had poured straight from the bottle of his hardest liquor.
"Oh God..." I whisper as his lips trail my neck. "What have I done."
"Shh, shh. Wasn't last night fun?" He replies in between kisses. "It was magical for me."
My body starts to shudder in repulsion of what he had done - no, what I had done. I could not stand it and sprinted from his grasp and out of there.(less)
I seem to have lost the thread of these words; I've bled myself dry. It's as though I've been drawing from a finite well of thought, heedless of the need for foresight and prudent conservation. What's left is nothing short of appalling. Insubstantial. Or worse, operating under the pretense(more) of substance. A mixture more of mud than of the sweet and cleansing rainwater it promises.
But perhaps, if I dig deep enough, I might strike groundwater. It could be a futile effort - I am not the most resolute of workers, prone to losing focus and quickly exhausted by what does not come easy. Still, it's a fond desire of mine to replenish that well, no matter how long it takes.(less)
I roll out of the way and stumble upwards, blindly grabbing out in the thick darkness for something to hold. But instead of craggy rock, I grasp something fleshy, something alive. I nearly shriek, but then a hand is thrown over my mouth.
(more) "Shhh, Mila," whispers a voice, and I know that it's the Prince.
"Where--" I start, but he presses his palm even harder against my lips. And then he tugs me forward, pulling me quickly but quietly across the cave's floor.
"Oh, no, you don't!" A gleeful hiss, accompanied by the stench of the long dead, hits my ear and rattles me to the core. "You won't be leaving here any time soon, little outcast. The fun is just getting started!"
I can't help but scream as the Prince's hand suddenly vanishes from mine, and I am alone in the dark once more.(less)
Oh shit fuck damn bollocks christ NO.
That did not just happen.
That most definately did not happen. It was the opposite of what happened. It was a trick of his mind that was just awfully good at confincing him that he'd done-
"Dude, did you just(more) /kiss/ me?"
"Um." He blinked. "Yes. I think I did."
"My brain is not at peak performance level right now."
"Please don't hate me."
"Dude..." John sighed, running his hands through his jet black hair. God, you love that hair.
"You're not gay!" He sighed. "I know, I'm sorry, it was a dumb move, I'll just go crawl in a hole and die and you can forget-"
The fucker /sniggered/.
"You laughin at me?"
"You're so cute when you're flustured." John laughed. "Dude, I was gunna say that we're best friends, you know, it could be too weird. But..."
"You're an alright kisser." John shrugged, holding in his laughter.
You tackled him to the floor and kissed his whole face, the handsome dumb fuck.(less)