Another Try

[Jesse Fforde]

I meant to just sit on the steps.

It's pleasant, I've found, to sit on the stops outside of Third Circle. The Fae don't like to come so close to civilized dwellings, though sometimes I think I can see them out in the thickness of the trees. In the murky shadows just beyond the lair's dim lights. Maybe it’s just that rising at the back of my neck that tells me something is watching me. It feels like there’s something watching me. Judging me. Finding me wanting.

Tonight, there’s fog. It’ll get worse, I think, the closer it gets to morning. It’s trying to be cold but the air is heavy, waiting for rain. I kind of want it to rain. I want a storm. I want a deluge. I want a flood. The atmosphere sticks to my skin and I’m restless. I’m always ******* restless.

Two nights ago I tried to sleep. Sometimes people come back after months away and I ask them where they’ve been. They tell me they were sleeping. Sleeping, for months. How do they do it? How do they shut themselves off? Is it lack of enthusiasm? A complete lack of any reason to get out of bed? And then, eventually, they turn into unfed husks. And it’s not that they don’t have the enthusiasm to get out of bed, they just don’t have the energy anymore. In order to finally pull themselves out of the coma they put themselves under, they have to have a want. A need to move. A strong urge to DO something, right? Is that it?

It doesn’t matter. Clover texted me – I ended up getting up not of my own volition but due to someone else’s summoning. I have to make the effort, for them.

They’re talking about Christmas, on the forum. I don’t know if I can make it to Christmas. And I don’t want to tell them that. Clover wants a good one. She wants to have fun. How is she going to have fun with me around? It’s still over a month away. Maye she’ll be over it, and she’ll be okay if I leave now. Maybe she’ll be able to enjoy herself in my absence.

I don’t know what I’m doing out here. I’m not on the steps anymore. I stepped into the fog and am writing by the light of my phone. The last message I got from her was just ‘okay’. I can tell she’s holding back. She wanted to transfer me money for the family fund but I really don’t see the point. There’s no one around who needs it. There’s nothing to spend it on. I don’t have any hope that it’ll change in the future. I tried, so ******* hard, to hold on to something good. To keep telling myself that positive things would happen. That eventually, I’ll be able to sire again. Eventually, this family will grow with people who want to be here, who think it’s something worthwhile. Something to come home to.

But I just… can’t, anymore.

Mandy is sitting on my shoulder. Maybe he feels at home out here, in the wilderness. Maybe the fae will eat me alive and all they’ll find is this journal and my phone. Or maybe I’ll lose my nerve and go back inside before they can finish the job. Maybe I should start a fire. That’s what Mandy wants me to do. He doesn’t talk to me, but it’s like a whispering in another language. Something that only my subconscious can hear. Like his psyche is brushing up against mine. He is literally the devil on my shoulder.

At least he’s company.

[Jesse Fforde]

I didn't die.

I'm not going to describe the experience. But I know I came home for a reason. I could have laid there, I could have died at the hands of the Fae. It was like a nightmare - one that I was enjoying, for a while. Until I knew I could die. And I knew, in that moment, that I'd be letting them down. I'd be letting her down, who's given up her time and her sanity to help me.

I should have called her. Instead of stepping into the fog, I should have called Clover. She told me to. Whenever I was -- it doesn't matter. I've made the promise now, to call her whenever I feel close to the edge. I called her last night. I had to. There are so many lengths that I feel myself going to, and I thought I should get rid of the phone.

I had a text from Velveteen. I'm not sure what her goal was. I've pissed her off. I've pissed her off because Micah has to clean up my mess. Because I'm a burden. If I'd have known that my request would have been a burden on Micah, then I wouldn't have asked him. I'd have thought of some other way. She wanted explanations, and I didn't want to give them. I didn't want to explain my situation - because I've done that before, and she tore me to shreds. I can't see myself ever wanting to speak to her again.

There are things that I have to tell myself, to remind myself. Yes, I've fucked up. Yes, I am a burden, regardless of who tries to say otherwise. But if I were weak, I wouldn't be writing this. If I were weak, I'd have sired months ago. I'd have sired several times in the past five months. Instead of a temporary fix, however, I'm going the distance. I am subjecting myself to my own self-loathing. My whole world is painted in depression and anxiety. They will all be better off without me. If I were weak, I wouldn't have come back. If I were weak, I'd have done as Velveteen suggested and I'd have found a way to kill myself. But I didn't. I called Clover. Like I promised. This is the one good thing I can find in myself right now - I am not weak. I am strong. I am strong to have lasted this long, despite the circumstances.

I talked to Rhett earlier tonight, too. I'm not sure what he expects of me - that I'm always going to be out in the open somewhere, for him to stumble across. But - it doesn't matter. I'll stay out in the open as much as I can. I'll be around.

So many people seem to think I'm trying to play some kind of game. That word, it keeps coming up. I don't know how to make them understand. I'm not sure I want them to.

[Jesse Fforde]

I’d almost forgotten.

I was cleaning up my fowl mess when I found this. My suicide note. Even that I couldn’t finish properly. Even though I succeeded, really. In a roundabout way. I died. I returned.

I’m sitting here and I can’t even summon the brevity of the experience to write about it. There is no doubt that it was meaningful, even if my death was nothing to tell a story about. Sleepwalking. I thought I was asleep. I thought I was dreaming. But so much in that last month… I didn’t know what was real and what was not, and there are still some conversations I remember, and I have to ask. Did I actually say that?

There was something Kaelyn said, not long ago. She thought I was serious when I told her someone else had possessed my body for the past few months, and I wish that is an excuse that I can use. But it’s not. It’s something I’d like to believe. Maybe I’ll try to convince myself. It’s not too hard a concept to grasp, is it?

Anyway. I thought this missive could do well with some kind of ending. I died. No one read this suicide note – as far as I am aware. Maybe no one ever will. If anyone, it’ll be Clover. I’ve read hers. It’s only fair. Mine’s hardly as long. Hardly as revealing.

I can say with confidence that I feel like myself again. It feels strange. Bereft, I think, is a good word to describe it. All those connections that had weighed me down are now gone. Not entirely – those frayed bonds that are created when a vampire sires another, they’re still there. But they don’t nag at me like they once used to. I’m not trying to pull at them anymore, to get those on the other end to come home. To listen. To give a ****. There’s a freedom in not caring whether they care. There’s freedom in having less cares of my own. I’m still trying to figure out whether it’s something I’ll miss. But I doubt it.

Things will be easier now. Clearer. Clover is ******* insane, but I have no urge to leave her. I was worried that I might. I was worried that I’d used her. Because she was there, and because she so willingly sacrificed so much. I knew that I was being selfish in my need, and I wondered whether I’d regret the things that have happened.

But I have no regret. I have learned things. All you need is a tragedy to learn the true colours of others. I’ve learned the true colours of myself.

I am not a person that people like. I am not a person who pleases others. I do not grovel. I do not beg. I have an ego – I am selfish. I know what I want, and I know what I need. Those are the things that I will keep.

For five minutes of my life I believed in love. Stupid ******* thing to do.

But I am happy. I am content. This time, it had better ******* last.

[Jesse Fforde]

I think I’m being a copy-cat.

Clover so often sits here and writes in her journal – she’s doing it right now. And it was cathartic, in a way. I thought my last entry would be … well, the last entry. Guess not.

Between death and death – over Christmas and New Years – I spent a lot of time cleaning. In that last entry? I’d washed sheets. The sheets that I lay in, and covered in my filth. I’d tossed them in the washing machine, and as they were going through the dryer there was a constant ‘ting’ – of something metal in the barrel, when there was nothing metal attached to the sheets. When they were dry I took them out and went through them.

I found the engagement ring I’d given to Grey.

She left it behind, last time she was here. She’d left on the bed beside me. I think I hugged that piece of metal as if it were a hot coal. It hurt, to hold it so close but I held it anyway, because I thought I deserved the pain.

I put the ring back in its box and shoved in my drawer, somewhere. With the socks, probably. Maybe in another drawer– I really don’t remember. I don’t remember why I kept it, or why I didn’t sell it straight away. I don’t remember why I didn’t flush it down the toilet. But it cost a fuckload. Thousands of dollars. It would be stupid to flush something like that down the toilet, right? I’m not made of money. I could sell it. Not for the price I bought it for, but I could at least get a return.

I’m not sure if that’s what I was thinking at the time.

I could say now that I didn’t deserve the pain, but would I be lying? I try to reason it through, every now and again. Sometimes in those moments before sleep and I’m thinking about the past. It makes me angry, the way I reacted. The things that I said. I was a whining ****. I was pathetic, definitely. That one I can claim, now. But I wasn’t myself. I try to imagine our roles reversed. It if were Grey in my position; if she were angry and upset with me because I hadn’t come home. If she had given all the reasons why she needed me – I know, for a fact, I would not have walked away. No matter how much she screamed at me, I wouldn’t have walked away. A person you love, who loves you, tells you that they need you – and they have needed you so much in the past – you’d know, wouldn’t you? You’d know they still needed you, no matter what they might say to the contrary.

I know I told her not to come home because I was afraid of what I would do, but I didn’t think she wouldn’t come home. I didn’t think she’d send me a message so final. So seemingly absolute. It was almost the equivalent of have a good life, I won’t bother you anymore.

She was supposed to love me, but she left me when I needed her the most.

Maybe I shouldn’t have slept with someone two days later. Maybe that was a rash decision, on my part. And I called it cheating. I did that, so I must have, at the time, thought I’d done her wrong. But I can’t regret it. I won’t regret it. I’m sure I’ve said it before, but Clover was there for me so often when Grey was not. Clover was there when I needed her. I could have been using her at the time. I was afraid that I was, and had decided otherwise. But maybe I was, then. I’m not now. Now, I’m with her because I want to be.

I can’t lie - it still hurts. I never knew something like that could hurt so ******* much. Looking at it from a distance, I can admit to my flaws. I could have tried to fix it. I could have reached out. I might still be with her now, but would I be better for it? Or would I have died sooner?

No. Clover would have been there for me regardless. She’d have worked just as hard. I know this. She forced me to believe this, even if she didn’t ever say those specific words. That’s the kind of faith that I have in her.

She has her problems, too. I’m going to do whatever I ******* can to make sure she doesn’t fall apart. Not now.

___________________________________

In other news, though – I don’t like the shadow realm as much as I used to.

I sired again, and there have been no negative side effects. Logan’s a dick but he fits right in. He seems to be a loyal dick who gives a ****. Clover says I should get him something for being such a ******* trooper when we all died. I’ll probably laugh at him but the guy deserves some thanks. Best guinea pig I ever had, that one.

I have to thank Kaelyn, too - need to get those driving lessons started.

I’ll check back in with Rhett in a couple of days, too – he was pretty ******* out of it in the SR, when I could find him. I’ll make sure the visit hasn’t affected him negatively. I still want to meet Dhara. See how she’s doing, too.

Marian seems to be back around, too – she’s a little creep, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Yeah, we all died. Not all. Renee, Eirik, Bastion, Rhett, and myself. We tried to take on the Westwall Bricks – to gain some territory of our own. There are gaping holes in our communication skills. In the near future, we’ll work on that. Training exercises, maybe. We’ll try to become a coherent and cohesive group.

It was ******* chaos there in the end. I could feel that the next blow would kill me – others had already died. Clover was the closest to me and I shoved her out a window. I knew she’d survive the fall but at least one of us had to survive, to tell the rest of the family. To keep them informed and make sure they handled it okay. It wasn’t going to be me – I know what death tastes like and the others didn’t. I had to be there in the realm for them. I wish I’d had the time and the focus to push them all out of a window, but those gangsters were like white on rice. Like a ******* hydra. Kill one, three more show up. It was ******* insane.

Gresse’s is now Serpentine. There’s no more garage. I’ve started hiring more staff. Charlie seems keen, and has the kind of attitude needed in this city. We’ll see how she progresses.

For someone who doesn’t write much, I think I just wasted a few pages.