So many layers that cross my mind. Here in the expanse, out on the truck, my whole self goes haywire. Suddenly I'm sixteen and high on shrooms. Suddenly strangers wake me up in the morning and I sleep 16 hours a day and everything is strange and different and(more) yet, somehow, I am still the same.
I cough out the phlegm and breathe in something sweet. So many ties bind me to this universe yet I already feel half dead. Am I even alive? Am I even awake? Is this all just a curious dream that will disintegrate in a moment?
The pain swallows me whole yet...somehow it frees me. I am free from expectations. Free from this home that was all I knew. Out in the world, I find that things are infinitely better and infinitely worse then I could have ever imagined.
So I traipse along, 16 and in the middle of fucking nowhere. Adrift in some sea of life and strangeness and drugs that curl around me like a half-empty dream. I wallow in the lost-ness. I accept it. I am nowhere and I am no one and all is lost. What pretty thoughts for a young girl.
So deeper I go, into the loss and the confusion and the drugs and the shame. So many kinds of loss surround me. But do I regret it? Picking up and leaving the world I once knew? For so very long I did. For so very long I agonized about my own wrongness and pain I caused. But there was so much pain inside me that it simply spilled out. No, your honor, I do not regret it. Not one bit. It made me who I am. Being so very lost it...it allowed me to finally be found. (less)
Reading back through the triggers I wrote before, it is difficult to remember where I was. I am so disconnected from that time and place that I cannot feel the way I felt then. I cannot see what room I sat in as I wrote it, though it is(more) likely the same four walls I sit in now. Everything has changed, and that time feels worlds away. I read through them and wonder whose words scroll across the page. Surely they are not mine. (less)
Melinda's hands shook. She stared at the words on the note, the handwriting foreign.
"My Dearest, Melinda. Please understand this decision. Your father and I only want what is best for you. We will always love you. Love, Mom."
Melinda whirled around. "Mom, what is this?"
Her mother turned a ghastly shade of white as she stared at the floor. "You weren't supposed to find that," she said, "at least not yet."
Staring at the note, Melinda tried to process the last five minutes. While looking for a box of Christmas decorations in the attic, she found a small trunk under a quilt in the far corner. Inside the trunk were a hand-knitted baby blanket, small pink doll, this note, and a picture of two strangers.
She stared at her mother. "What does this mean? Mom, am I adopted?"
The woman who raised her burst into tears. "I'm so sorry, honey. This isn't how we wanted you to find out." She tried to embrace Melinda, but the daughter she loved back away.
Melinda grabbed the letter and ran out the door without looking back. When her legs failed her, she stopped and sat down on the side of the country road, wiping the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands. She smoothed out the letter and read it again and then again. It started to get dark. She had so many questions, and she needed answers.
Wiping the gravel off her jeans, she stood up. Her slow, deliberate steps became quicker as she moved toward the home she grew up in. She rushed through the front door. Her mother, eyes blood-shot, sat on the couch, looking both relieved and terrified.
"Melinda..." she started.
Melinda cut her off, and held up the note. "Whose words are these?" (less)
Gotou always seemed to try to excuse himself from outings whenever the outing involved other people. It had become a trend that Masayoshi noticed, especially in light of the Flamengers' guest appearance on Neo Red Axe. There had been filming to be done - Gotou stayed behind, he had(more) to work. It made sense - but every single time, he had to work. Masayoshi finally made a few furtive phone calls, and when Gotou walked through the door that afternoon he had a duffel bag pushed into his arms.
"What-?" Gotou asked.
"Get changed, we're going," Masayoshi said cheerfully. "There'll be a car her in twenty minutes."
"Going?" Gotou stood frozen in the doorway, still holding the duffel bag in his arms. "Where are we going?"
"Don't worry about it, I've got it all under control." Masayoshi nudged Gotou toward the closet. "You're on vacation for the rest of the week."
"I'm - Masayoshi, what did you do?"
"There's a small press tour for the Flamengers being on Neo Red Axe." He had his body in front of the door now, if Gotou tried to make a break for it he'd have to go out a window. "You're coming with me, I didn't want to go alone."
Gotou scowled at him. "I don't want to go on a press tour, they'll-" he stopped, turned a little red and turned his glare on the closet door.
All at once, it clicked.
Masayoshi stared at Gotou, a little stunned. "Are you - have you not been coming with me to protect me?"
"I don't like press," Gotou said softly. "Our relationship is really no one's business but ours." He jumped a little when Masayoshi threw his arms around Gotou's neck and hugged him close.
A written letter was all that Alfons felt Edward deserved, in the aftermath. It was curt, cold, absent of the warmth Alfons seemed to exude. Bitter, like salty ocean air; angry, like the twist of a maelstrom.
"I was not a troubled person before I met you." "I a(more)m exhausted of your tears." "I am through with you. Whatever friendship we had, you can consider it ended." Edward had stood in the emptiness of the road and felt as if the very fabric of his heart had been skewered. Tears became sobs became an empty, itchy panic inside of his skull, ringing in his ears. He struggled to make sense of how these words could have come from the pen from the hand of Alfons Heiderich, whom he loved. Whose words would be forever branded into his memory, a source of scorching heat in lonely isolation.