I’m not sure that this is something that I will do on a regular basis. I’m not sure this is a habit that’s going to stick. I’ve always been an artist, not a writer. A laughable notion, you might think, given the fact that I used to write to communicate. It was my main form of communication for… ****, I don’t know how long.
Maybe I miss it. I miss writing, even the menial things. I miss the feel of the pen in my fingers, and the way the words formed—like miniature pieces of art, in and of themselves. Writing was never a form of release for me, though. It was a necessity. So I know that my lack of writing recently cannot account for my actions lately.
I’ve done some stupid things. Beyond stupid. I know it, when I’m doing it. I know that the words that come out of my mouth are rude, crass, ignorant, or downright hurtful. I know that I speak dismissively to those who don’t deserve it. Those who’ve only helped me in the past. Those who have tried to make things better. Those who want to help me only out of the goodness of their hearts.
I realise all this. How can I not? I know there are people who care about me, but I don’t want them to. I know who I am, deep down. I know I can only disappoint them, as I must be a disappointment to all those who I have turned. Those who I have brought into this life.
Felicity – I didn’t even have a chance to break it off with her. She didn’t leave because we broke up. She left before I could even tell her that I was bored, and I wanted to see other people. I haven’t seen her in months.
Ishaq – Haven’t seen him in months, either. Haven’t got a ******* clue.
Angelique – Same as the above.
Abigail – Maybe I offended her. I slept with her. I left before she woke up. I saw her once afterwards, and now she’s disappeared. Ursula has said that she’s seen Abigail around. She’s not dead, then. But still refuses to answer my text messages. A disappointment to her too, it would seem.
Axel – Axel’s the only one who’s around. The only one I see on a regular basis. Sleeping with Phoenix, though. Any bet he’s returned to being an Altaire – would prefer to be one of her brood than one of mine.
See. I have no ******* idea where all this self-loathing has come from. I shouldn’t give a ****. I’ve been alone all my life, really. Have been that way out of choice, right? Or maybe I was just oblivious to the way I was hated, and now it’s just become obvious. I want to be carefree and I don’t want to be all tangled up in emotions. They get you nowhere. They get you hurt.
I have to apologise to Velveteen. I treated her like **** and she doesn’t deserve it. I’ll go to her, after I finish writing this. But she needs to know that I can’t be fixed. This is why I’m writing this – I heard, somewhere, once, that writing a journal is supposed to help you figure out your own problems. Stream of consciousness, or something—getting it out on the page allows you to untangle it in your own subconscious. Anyway, point is – she’ll want to know what’s wrong with me, and I can’t tell her. Why? Because I don’t know.
Here’s the deal.
I’m angry. All the ******* time. About everything. I’m so hungry, all the ******* time. The thirst is driving me insane. I never sleep. Maybe that’s a problem? I try, now. I figure the nightmares will be gone and maybe I’ll have a peaceful sleep. But I can’t. It’s like I’ve forced myself to stay awake and now, no matter how hard I try, I can’t go to sleep. An immortal insomniac. Fanfuckingtastic.
I feel like there’s something missing. There’s something that I need that I don’t have.
I burned a building the other night. I mean – an abandoned building. Went inside and set it alight, and sat out the front as I watched it burn to the ground, from the inside out. I stood inside the inferno for a minute. I wanted it to come crashing down on top of me. I wanted the flames to swallow me, as well as the wood around me. For a couple of seconds, I wondered what it might be like to die. I came to my senses, of course. Jesus, right? I realised how hypocritical it was. Wasn’t I pissed at Phoenix for killing herself and not letting her childer know.
Though I suppose, given the list above, my childer wouldn’t even notice.
The next night I antagonised Velveteen. I said and did things that she should have killed me for. I thought about doing things that… hell, if Micah found out, even now, I think he’d want me in my grave. Same thing again—that death wish. Is it just the thrill I’m seeking? Or do I really ******* want to die?
I don’t. Thinking about it now, no. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself.
Anyway, whatever. This is a thing. I might keep writing. I might not. But I suppose maybe someone should hear what I have to say, because I seem to lack the reason to open up to anyone or anything else other than a measly paper journal. I shouldn’t have snapped at Velveteen. I should have let her ask her questions, and I should have answered her honestly. What am I afraid of?
Maybe tonight. Hopefully tonight. Hopefully my death wish won’t get in the way again.
PS: I suppose I should add. I've got this odd affinity with fire. Like it's a thing that I created. Like the flames are my children. Can't say why I find it so...
There was a time I thought I knew what the Shadow Realm looked like. That time I took a nose dive off the Eyrie. The time that I woke up, bringing Jordan with me. I assumed that I hadn’t been dreaming, when unconscious. That I’d actually died, for a second, before coming back. I was so ******* wrong.
Woke up in a cold sweat. That’s right. Woke up in a cold sweat. I suppose even insomniacs sleep every once in a while, and now I just have more reason to never try to sleep again.
I have been trying lately, see. I figure with Jordan gone and that weight off my metaphorical shoulders, I wouldn’t have the nightmares anymore. The reason I took a nosedive off the Eyrie was because I was sleepwalking. Better not to sleep, right? I spent so much time forcing myself to stay awake that I’ve been struggling to actually sleep. Ever.
I did yesterday, though. Never again.
Now I really know what the Shadow Realm looks like. How do I know it wasn’t a dream, too? I don’t know. It could have been, I suppose. But it was far too real. Like I’d… given up on life completely and this place… it was like the city, but at the same time… nothing was distinct. I got a vague idea of places, but I couldn’t see them properly to actually be sure. There was no clarity. Just shadows, and darkness. I felt like I was living in some kind of retro black and white movie, but it was so much worse.
There was no one around. No one. Not even… aren’t we supposed to find spirits down there? Up there? Jesus, in there? Wherever the ******* place is.
It was one of those lucid dreams, which is another reason why I think it was real, and not just something my mind made up. If my mind can make up a place like that, I really do worry for my sanity. I’ve never been able to control my dreams before, but I was walking around and I knew what I was doing. I knew what was happening. And I can remember every single step I took.
And I couldn’t get out. Not to begin with. Like that dream where you’re trying to wake up but you can’t. When I screamed, the sound didn’t carry. It was stagnant, like the atmosphere was thick sludge. Like the darkness was physical.
I’ve heard people talk about doors. That’s what I was looking for. I couldn’t find one. I finally found the dagger I keep in my boot. I stabbed myself through the hand. Clean through.
So yeah, I woke up in a cold sweat. A cold sweat with a dagger through my palm. At the Morgue. I’d fallen asleep in the Eyrie, on the mattress in the corner of my hut. Fully clothed. Would I still be there if I didn’t have that dagger still in my boot? What would I have done to get out? And why the ******* morgue? Did I physically actually disappear? This wasn’t a dream.
The place itself didn’t scare me. I suppose I’m writing all this down in a bid to be completely honest with myself, if I’m not going to be honest with anyone else. The place, though highly disconcerting, wasn’t what scared me. It was the fact that I felt, more than once, the urge to just give up. To let those physical shadows curl around me, envelope me in silence and nothingness. The more I was stuck, the more I started to want to stay.
Not metaphorically. Physically. I already have a bullet in the groin that proves just how pissed off at me Micah is. He’s got a right to be, too. I don’t think anyone has ever been as generous to me as he and Velveteen have been. Though I have done nothing to Micah personally (and will still maintain that my attitude all around hasn’t been that bad) it’s clear that he and Velveteen have a very strong bond.
Velveteen and I had words. Maybe I did more damage to her than I thought. I did apologise to her, and I thought that went alright. Maybe I was wrong about that too.
Regardless of apologies made (to Ariadne, to Velveteen, even a thank you and a welcome to AJ) I’m still going to be hung and quartered.
I’m sure that, at the time, I made no attempt to hide how grateful I was for everything Velveteen and Micah haven given me, for all the ways they have helped. I am grateful for all the help that has been given to me by everyone, and I will remain grateful when help is given, when I do not ask for it. But sometimes, especially where my own personal issues are concerned, I do not want help. Maybe I overreact when they try to push it on me.
Anyway, doesn’t matter. I’m waiting to be ripped apart. I’m too stubborn to prevent it. I don’t want to grovel. Micah knows that I’m willing to take whatever he thinks I deserve. I’m not sure he realises that I’m serious. Pretty sure he thinks I’m laughing at him.
Maybe I’ll never be able to make it right with him.
Maybe he’ll never know that that’ll be the real punishment.
A lot has happened. I haven’t written because I don’t know if I care too much to actually write down every single detail of every single event in my life. I’ll do it in bullet point.
- Got the **** beaten out of me. Not by Micah alone – Tytonidae Fight Night. Was stuck in bed for three days. More about that later.
- Slept with AJ. Woman practically threw herself at me. Used the excuse of wanting to throw herself into things. Something like it, anyway.
- Told Grease Monkey. I think she got a bit jealous. I think I’ll write more about Grease Monkey in a bit.
- Finally heard back from Abigail. Would be stupid to admit I’m not worried about her.
I think I was on a suicidal bent. Fight night came around and I threw myself into as many fights as I could – and I was no good. I mean, I was ******* horrible. I’m not sure I actually wounded anyone. My heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t there to hurt anyone, but I wanted them to hurt me. I wanted punishment, maybe. Micah came last. He managed to dislocate my back for a third time. I asked him to finish me off and he wouldn’t. I had a talk to him; told him more than I’m inclined to tell most people. I think he realises, now, how sorry I am for the way I’ve been acting. I decided, then and there, that I’d try to control it. I’d try not to take whatever it is I’m feeling out on others. And although a weight was lifted from my shoulders after that conversation, it still didn’t change how I felt deep down. There’s still a yawning darkness that I can’t seem to illuminate, no matter how hard I look at it.
Talked to Velveteen the next night. Discussed the possibility that I might feel the way I do because I don’t have a woman to satisfy me. Sure, yes, AJ had thrown herself at me. I’ve had fun with a few women, but none of them have been permanent answers to a very huge question mark. Will I ever actually settle down? Is that what I really want? The piece doesn’t seem to fit, though. I throw it at the darkness in my soul, and the darkness doesn’t budge.
And I know it’s not the answer, anyway. Grease Monkey. I’m not sure how much I should say. I’m not sure how secure this journal is. Only that she inspired in me a tenderness I haven’t felt for anyone in a very, very long time. Maybe ever. Certain I took her virginity, and still she explored me in ways… I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before. Anyway, she’s fragile. I don’t want her to get hurt. She means more to me than anyone has in a while – but that hole inside of me still gapes. Sometimes when I’m alone it comes over me in a wave, and all I want to do is burn something. Or hurt myself. I can’t figure it out.
Only that it twitches when I think about Abigail; and when I think about Axel, with Phoenix. When I think about the fact that Ishaq, Felicity, and Angelique have gone missing. Every single time one of my progeny enters my thoughts, I feel that wrenching depression. It’s something to do with the bloodline, then. Something to do with… maybe something went wrong, when that ritual was performed upon me. I don’t want to think it, but maybe Phoenix is doing it.
Though, ******* Phoenix. Forgot about that.
Got the **** kicked out of me. Made things right with Micah. Then returned to the company that had gathered for Fight Night. Phoenix mothered me. Literally. Used a ******* napkin or something, and her spit, to clean up my face. That’s what mothers do, right? Mine never did, but I’ve seen it, on the street. So though I got the vibe that she actually really hated me even if she’d come to see me to apologise, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s yet another thing that I have to assess. Maybe I was just projecting. Regardless, everyone in Tytonidae seems to have accepted her back into the fold. Tytonidae is my home, and a faction that I trust. If they can accept her, and trust her, then it makes it easier for me, too. I said I would try, when we talked. I said I’d give her a fair go. Maybe I haven’t been so fair.
There. I don’t know, see? In some ways I am more happy than I have ever been, and I think Grease Monkey has something to do with that. There’s this fluffy billowing light that sort of sits in there beside the swallowing blackness.
I don’t know. See, no point in writing, really, because it’s still all as confusing as ****.
I feel the need to apologise for the next page or two, but who am I apologising to, really? I almost feel petty, but these are issues that are important to others, and it’s incumbent upon me to write them down; to figure out how I really feel. And I suppose from the very beginning, the fact that I am writing it down proves that in some shape or fashion I do care.
This has nothing to do with me, not personally. Not really.
I’ve already complained about the lack of company that my progeny give to me. I have come to terms with this. I have accepted it as a personal failure. I can see the bridge occurring in others in my ‘line’, however, such as it is. And it makes me feel the need to make up for my shortcomings.
Axel is the problem at hand. I organised a meeting the other day, for those in Fforde. Only Axel’s progeny showed up. Axel himself did not, even though he said that he would be there. None of my other progeny made an appearance, but that wasn’t a surprise. I don’t think any of them were even aware, no matter how I tried to contact them.
What surprised me, while talking to Renee, Ursula, and Paige, is that they themselves feel a growing divide toward their sire. Their concern was that he was far too preoccupied with Phoenix to care much about them. I defended him. Maybe there is a legitimate explanation. Maybe he is so damned in love that he doesn’t actually realise how neglected his own progeny feel.
I’ve since messaged Axel to ask him why he did not come. Apparently, he was stuck in a shock cage in the sewers. This is where I think I could be getting a little bit too sentimentally petty for my own ******* good, but I would have appreciated a message. He is a big boy and I have faith that he’s fine, and that the shock cage wouldn’t have done him much damage, if any at all. Point is, he didn’t show up. He didn’t message me during or after to tell me why. He remains at a distance. I do believe he can take care of himself, and I do believe that about most of my progeny.
And this is where I discovered that I cannot be angry at him for something I myself am guilty of. Maybe this is why my own progeny have drifted or fled. Maybe I didn’t pay them the attention that they deserved, simply because I had faith that they didn’t need me. Maybe everyone needs someone. I never much needed anyone in my life and so the concept is foreign to me.
I don’t know what it is lately, but I feel like I’m walking on the thin edge of a knife. On one side I have yawning, overwhelming darkness, and on the other a bright, blinding light. The last few days I have been drifting in the light; I do feel cared for. I feel a burgeoning optimism due to the conversations I did have with Ursula, Renee, and Paige. When I think about the conversations I have had with Velveteen, or with Micah, I understand that it doesn’t matter who I might be, I am not alone. I took their advice on board. I even comforted Phoenix. Maybe there was something magic in her spittle. Maybe she’s bewitched me in some way. No, I don’t really think that. But I feel good.
I don’t give a **** about Phoenix and Axel being together. I do give a **** that Axel is far more concerned with Phoenix than with his own progeny. They don’t deserve that. I have let them know that if they do not feel comfortable with him that I am available to them. The way in which I know I can make up for my own shortcomings, if I have lost my own progeny, is to at least make them feel like they have someone they can turn to.
I’m sure it’s not what Axel intended. I’ll track him down, soon, to talk to him. He needs to know.
