For Clover
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Jesse Fforde
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- Joined: 30 Jun 2012, 09:32
- CrowNet Handle: Fox
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Clover
- Registered User
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- Joined: 17 Mar 2014, 21:24
- CrowNet Handle: Lucky
Re: For Clover
la·ment
/ləˈment/
an expression of sorrow; mourning; weeping
“there’s never a proper time for lamenting”
Watching her walk away was the single hardest thing I’ve ever endured. I regret not saying something. I regret not going after her. And yet, I know I did the right thing in letting her go. I can only hope she’ll come back to me; I can only hope she’ll come to her senses and realize that all I’ve ever wanted was for her to acknowledge and respect my sire and my boyfriend. More than that, I want a return on my feelings for her. I want her to care for me in the way that I care for her. I would have given her anything in the world, and she wanted none of it. I would have done absolutely anything to make her happy, and she wanted none of it. In the end, I had nothing at all to offer her, nothing at all that she couldn’t get elsewhere. In the end, she went to Dragomir.
I thanked Kaelyn and I apologized to her. We may not be friends, but I owed her the apology and I owed her the thanks. The teen warned me about Dragomir and I paid no heed. I had blind faith that Raven would always be loyal. And then I died. I had so much time to think about Kaelyn’s words and so much time to reevaluate my relationship with Raven. I questioned my childe’s loyalty and I finally heard the truth. Raven wanted nothing to do with Fforde; in fact, Raven only put up with them for my benefit. She had no respect for any of them, which extended far beyond Jesse. Whereas I started out with the same attitude, I formed one bond and expanded from there. Raven formed none.
I feel like someone just whisked Raven right from my arms. I feel like I have a huge hole in my chest. I feel like I can’t breathe. I want her back. I want my childe to come back to me. Right now, I’m sitting in Limbo, staring at the fadeportal where she disappeared. I never thought someone would just disappear out of my life. But she disappeared. Raven went right back to where she felt she belonged. I wasn’t enough for her, so she found ones that were. At first, I tried being happy for her, but now? Now I feel an overwhelming sadness that alternates with the numbness.
Jesse held me as I cried. I’m embarrassed and ashamed that I let any tears fall, but I lost a piece of myself. I know she can’t come back without her tome, but I keep hoping. I want her to magically appear and tell me that she wants me back, but she won’t. She doesn’t want me. Kaelyn was right. All of the things she said over time. The one warning about Raven being amongst the dragons. And here I am. I feel like I got what I deserved. When I came back from the realm, I knew I wanted to clear the air, but I never imagined Raven would want the same. She talked about how she ruined things, how she left nothing but destruction in her wake, and she was right. She destroyed me. I’m still trying to pick up all of the pieces.
I miss her so much that it physically hurts, and I’m reminded, yet again, that it’s possible. I’ve contemplated going to Doc and asking him to kill me again. I’ve contemplated finding guards to weaken me and sitting out in the sunlight. I keep thinking that the realm would be easier to handle than this pain. I told Jesse I didn’t want to go back, that I was contemplating staying in the realm, and I feel like I should have stayed. I had him. It seems I only have him. The relationships I tried to repair just can’t fill the void Raven created. I know I can’t beg her to come back, but God do I wish I could. I feel like falling on my knees and begging her to come back. I feel like the only way I can fix myself is to fix this relationship. And then I remind myself that she’s gone. It’s not even a possibility. It’s over.
I tell myself that there’s no chance, but there’s always hope. I keep waiting. I keep watching. I keep hurting myself over and over again. With the loss of a childe, there’s a loss of purpose. Yes, I have Okoro. Yes, I have Nona. To some extent, I have Crimson. But every childe is just as important as the next. None of them will be Raven. None of them will fill the space. I could call her. I could text her. Instead, I just sit here. I sit here and alternate between crying and prodding at the bulletholes. I pretend, for as long as the pain lasts, that I can erase the emotional pain with the physical pain. I take myself back to the months when I’d crawl into bed with Jesse and press my injured body against his. I pretend that I’m in a time before Raven existed. And I know I’ll eventually drag myself from this couch and burn everything that reminds me of her. I’ll burn the clothes I wore. I’ll destroy the weapons I held. I’ll probably go back to the club and burn it to the ground.
As much as I miss her, as much as I need her, I also want nothing to do with her. I never want to see her again. I never want to hear her name again. She’s dead to me, just as she’s more alive than ever. We’ll never speak again. We’ll never share the same room again. And I hope that her nights are filled with nothing but misery. But I promised myself that I’d let go of things. I promised myself that I’d learn to let go of the grudges and move on from every negative emotion that weighs me down. I’m finding it impossible. I’m finding myself praying. I’m finding myself reaching for some kind of constant that keeps me from disappearing between imaginary waves.
Where are you right now? Do you miss me as much as I miss you? Did you ever really care, or were you just using me as a stepping stone to your permanent home? You did use me, didn’t you? I let you in and you ripped me apart, and now you’ve moved onto better. You’ve moved onto dragons. You’ve moved onto them. What was it that we couldn’t give you? You said we failed at persistence, but I disagree. You only wanted your way. You wanted everything that we couldn’t give you, apparently. You wanted too much. You wanted the world I wanted to give you, but you didn’t want it presented in my hands. You wanted dragons. Here I am lamenting. Here I am blaming myself. Here I am wanting you more than you could ever imagine. And it’s over.
What can you do, Jesse? Hold me. Stay with me. Prove to me that it’s possible for someone to stay. Prove me wrong. Prove to me that love exists. Prove to me that I’m worth it. Whisper what I need to hear. Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m a good person. Tell me she’s not worth it. Hold me. Please just hold me. Remind me that things happen for a reason, even though it’s utter ********. I need to hear something, something other than the echo of her final words. I need her back, Jesse. Please just make her come back, yet make her never come back again. I’m so lost. I feel like I’ve been shredded into tiny pieces and I’ll never be whole again. This is what it feels like to lose someone. Please don’t let me feel this way again. As impossible as it is, promise me. Mean it. Make it happen. Hold me.
I will never let another person break me again. I promise myself that I will never let another person so close to me. She was the last. There will never be another opportunity and another glaring weakness. All that I have is all that I want, and when they go, for they will go, I will watch them and wave to them. There are no more pieces to break. They've been stolen. They've turned to dust. I've entrusted all that I am to one person. And should that fail, I'll become someone else. I'll be my imaginary persona and fall into the shadows that threatened to consume me. I'll lose myself in the realm. And I'll know that it was my choice. If I should come upon a dying person, I will show no mercy; if I should be caught feeding, I will play no games.
And yet all I see is her face. All I hear are her words. She’s gone. She just disappeared. It’s over. Move on.
/ləˈment/
an expression of sorrow; mourning; weeping
“there’s never a proper time for lamenting”
Watching her walk away was the single hardest thing I’ve ever endured. I regret not saying something. I regret not going after her. And yet, I know I did the right thing in letting her go. I can only hope she’ll come back to me; I can only hope she’ll come to her senses and realize that all I’ve ever wanted was for her to acknowledge and respect my sire and my boyfriend. More than that, I want a return on my feelings for her. I want her to care for me in the way that I care for her. I would have given her anything in the world, and she wanted none of it. I would have done absolutely anything to make her happy, and she wanted none of it. In the end, I had nothing at all to offer her, nothing at all that she couldn’t get elsewhere. In the end, she went to Dragomir.
I thanked Kaelyn and I apologized to her. We may not be friends, but I owed her the apology and I owed her the thanks. The teen warned me about Dragomir and I paid no heed. I had blind faith that Raven would always be loyal. And then I died. I had so much time to think about Kaelyn’s words and so much time to reevaluate my relationship with Raven. I questioned my childe’s loyalty and I finally heard the truth. Raven wanted nothing to do with Fforde; in fact, Raven only put up with them for my benefit. She had no respect for any of them, which extended far beyond Jesse. Whereas I started out with the same attitude, I formed one bond and expanded from there. Raven formed none.
I feel like someone just whisked Raven right from my arms. I feel like I have a huge hole in my chest. I feel like I can’t breathe. I want her back. I want my childe to come back to me. Right now, I’m sitting in Limbo, staring at the fadeportal where she disappeared. I never thought someone would just disappear out of my life. But she disappeared. Raven went right back to where she felt she belonged. I wasn’t enough for her, so she found ones that were. At first, I tried being happy for her, but now? Now I feel an overwhelming sadness that alternates with the numbness.
Jesse held me as I cried. I’m embarrassed and ashamed that I let any tears fall, but I lost a piece of myself. I know she can’t come back without her tome, but I keep hoping. I want her to magically appear and tell me that she wants me back, but she won’t. She doesn’t want me. Kaelyn was right. All of the things she said over time. The one warning about Raven being amongst the dragons. And here I am. I feel like I got what I deserved. When I came back from the realm, I knew I wanted to clear the air, but I never imagined Raven would want the same. She talked about how she ruined things, how she left nothing but destruction in her wake, and she was right. She destroyed me. I’m still trying to pick up all of the pieces.
I miss her so much that it physically hurts, and I’m reminded, yet again, that it’s possible. I’ve contemplated going to Doc and asking him to kill me again. I’ve contemplated finding guards to weaken me and sitting out in the sunlight. I keep thinking that the realm would be easier to handle than this pain. I told Jesse I didn’t want to go back, that I was contemplating staying in the realm, and I feel like I should have stayed. I had him. It seems I only have him. The relationships I tried to repair just can’t fill the void Raven created. I know I can’t beg her to come back, but God do I wish I could. I feel like falling on my knees and begging her to come back. I feel like the only way I can fix myself is to fix this relationship. And then I remind myself that she’s gone. It’s not even a possibility. It’s over.
I tell myself that there’s no chance, but there’s always hope. I keep waiting. I keep watching. I keep hurting myself over and over again. With the loss of a childe, there’s a loss of purpose. Yes, I have Okoro. Yes, I have Nona. To some extent, I have Crimson. But every childe is just as important as the next. None of them will be Raven. None of them will fill the space. I could call her. I could text her. Instead, I just sit here. I sit here and alternate between crying and prodding at the bulletholes. I pretend, for as long as the pain lasts, that I can erase the emotional pain with the physical pain. I take myself back to the months when I’d crawl into bed with Jesse and press my injured body against his. I pretend that I’m in a time before Raven existed. And I know I’ll eventually drag myself from this couch and burn everything that reminds me of her. I’ll burn the clothes I wore. I’ll destroy the weapons I held. I’ll probably go back to the club and burn it to the ground.
As much as I miss her, as much as I need her, I also want nothing to do with her. I never want to see her again. I never want to hear her name again. She’s dead to me, just as she’s more alive than ever. We’ll never speak again. We’ll never share the same room again. And I hope that her nights are filled with nothing but misery. But I promised myself that I’d let go of things. I promised myself that I’d learn to let go of the grudges and move on from every negative emotion that weighs me down. I’m finding it impossible. I’m finding myself praying. I’m finding myself reaching for some kind of constant that keeps me from disappearing between imaginary waves.
Where are you right now? Do you miss me as much as I miss you? Did you ever really care, or were you just using me as a stepping stone to your permanent home? You did use me, didn’t you? I let you in and you ripped me apart, and now you’ve moved onto better. You’ve moved onto dragons. You’ve moved onto them. What was it that we couldn’t give you? You said we failed at persistence, but I disagree. You only wanted your way. You wanted everything that we couldn’t give you, apparently. You wanted too much. You wanted the world I wanted to give you, but you didn’t want it presented in my hands. You wanted dragons. Here I am lamenting. Here I am blaming myself. Here I am wanting you more than you could ever imagine. And it’s over.
What can you do, Jesse? Hold me. Stay with me. Prove to me that it’s possible for someone to stay. Prove me wrong. Prove to me that love exists. Prove to me that I’m worth it. Whisper what I need to hear. Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m a good person. Tell me she’s not worth it. Hold me. Please just hold me. Remind me that things happen for a reason, even though it’s utter ********. I need to hear something, something other than the echo of her final words. I need her back, Jesse. Please just make her come back, yet make her never come back again. I’m so lost. I feel like I’ve been shredded into tiny pieces and I’ll never be whole again. This is what it feels like to lose someone. Please don’t let me feel this way again. As impossible as it is, promise me. Mean it. Make it happen. Hold me.
I will never let another person break me again. I promise myself that I will never let another person so close to me. She was the last. There will never be another opportunity and another glaring weakness. All that I have is all that I want, and when they go, for they will go, I will watch them and wave to them. There are no more pieces to break. They've been stolen. They've turned to dust. I've entrusted all that I am to one person. And should that fail, I'll become someone else. I'll be my imaginary persona and fall into the shadows that threatened to consume me. I'll lose myself in the realm. And I'll know that it was my choice. If I should come upon a dying person, I will show no mercy; if I should be caught feeding, I will play no games.
And yet all I see is her face. All I hear are her words. She’s gone. She just disappeared. It’s over. Move on.
Clover has Othello Syndrome: "Your enhanced vampiric emotions have turned your jealousy into paranoid, unreasonable morbid possessiveness."
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
004d29 / 9CBA7F / 7c2121
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Clover
- Registered User
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- Joined: 17 Mar 2014, 21:24
- CrowNet Handle: Lucky
Re: For Clover
dis·con·nect
/diskənekt/
to sever connections; to disengage; to detach; to part
“there’s a disconnect when it comes to my feelings and reality”
I’m hiding now, in more ways than one. I don’t want to be found. Consider this my retreat. I’ll stay here until I’ve had enough time to mull over Logan’s words. He’s right. I know he’s right. But knowing he’s right and actually accepting what he said are two very different things. He reassured me that I don’t need a family, that I don’t really need anyone. I can make my own family, basically. These are things that I already knew. These are things I was comfortable with accepting. And now I’m hiding. So where is the disconnect? If I had to guess, I would say the disconnect involves a young blonde and the bitterness and resentment I thought I left behind. Call me immature. Call me shallow. Call me whatever helps you sleep during the sun’s reign. She’s back, and I don’t think I want her back. I don’t think I can stand being around her.
Maybe it isn’t bitterness or resentment. Maybe it’s simply that I don’t want to see her again. She’s a chapter in a book that I’ve already read, one that I have no interest in rereading. I proved that she had relayed messages and yet she’s welcomed back to receive more of the same, to pass along more of the same. Logan told me to be supportive and let Jesse make his own decisions, even Doc said the same thing. I’m too pushy. I’m too independent. I should bow to the whims of my sire and let his word be law. But that’s not who I am. It’s not me. It’s why I’ve considered leaving again. It’s why I’ve considered asking Niklaus to take me in. Isn’t that an abstract choice. And yet he’s been there before; he’s been there enough times to ask him to be there on a constant basis.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m lost. We’re all making our way through these new lives without a map and without a compass. I sent an email to Jesse telling him that we needed to talk, but I ran. Isn’t that how it works? I took one step forward and six steps back. I’m watching everything unfold, and I’m finding all the similarities. I don’t want to be her, and I don’t want to be him, but look at where we are right now. Look at what’s happening. I’m happy. I’m so ******* happy. And I’m so ******* lost. I’m so lost. Help me. I want someone to tell me that I’m not wrong. I want someone to look at me and tell me that I can do this, that I should do whatever I need to do to make myself happy. I falter. I reconsider. I start all over. I’m lost.
I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to stay. I don’t want to be the one that ruins things for him. I don’t want to be her. I want to be Clover. I want to find someone that lets me be Clover. I want to know who she is. And I don’t. I don’t know. I want him to be Jesse. I want what’s best for him. I want him to have her, to prosper, to be happy. And ****, she makes him happy. I don’t need him as my sire or as my family for him to be my boyfriend. That’s why I consider letting go. I can be Campbell, just as I’ve always been Campbell.
He’s found me. He always finds me. And now I’m before him, unsure of what it is I want to say. I’m faltering. I’m speechless. I’m lost. Haven’t I found myself yet? Haven’t I emphasized my situation? He looks at me, and I’m speechless. What can I say but what I’ve written? What can I say but what I’ve sent to Athena? I’ll ruin him, and that’s the last thing I want to do. I feel unwanted and underappreciated. I’m nothing more than what it means to be attached to him. And I finally understand what it feels like to be her. I’m her. I’m the last thing I ever wanted to be. That’s Clover. We both ran. Let him find me. Please let him find me and reassure me that I’m more, that I’m different. I’m found.
/diskənekt/
to sever connections; to disengage; to detach; to part
“there’s a disconnect when it comes to my feelings and reality”
I’m hiding now, in more ways than one. I don’t want to be found. Consider this my retreat. I’ll stay here until I’ve had enough time to mull over Logan’s words. He’s right. I know he’s right. But knowing he’s right and actually accepting what he said are two very different things. He reassured me that I don’t need a family, that I don’t really need anyone. I can make my own family, basically. These are things that I already knew. These are things I was comfortable with accepting. And now I’m hiding. So where is the disconnect? If I had to guess, I would say the disconnect involves a young blonde and the bitterness and resentment I thought I left behind. Call me immature. Call me shallow. Call me whatever helps you sleep during the sun’s reign. She’s back, and I don’t think I want her back. I don’t think I can stand being around her.
Maybe it isn’t bitterness or resentment. Maybe it’s simply that I don’t want to see her again. She’s a chapter in a book that I’ve already read, one that I have no interest in rereading. I proved that she had relayed messages and yet she’s welcomed back to receive more of the same, to pass along more of the same. Logan told me to be supportive and let Jesse make his own decisions, even Doc said the same thing. I’m too pushy. I’m too independent. I should bow to the whims of my sire and let his word be law. But that’s not who I am. It’s not me. It’s why I’ve considered leaving again. It’s why I’ve considered asking Niklaus to take me in. Isn’t that an abstract choice. And yet he’s been there before; he’s been there enough times to ask him to be there on a constant basis.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m lost. We’re all making our way through these new lives without a map and without a compass. I sent an email to Jesse telling him that we needed to talk, but I ran. Isn’t that how it works? I took one step forward and six steps back. I’m watching everything unfold, and I’m finding all the similarities. I don’t want to be her, and I don’t want to be him, but look at where we are right now. Look at what’s happening. I’m happy. I’m so ******* happy. And I’m so ******* lost. I’m so lost. Help me. I want someone to tell me that I’m not wrong. I want someone to look at me and tell me that I can do this, that I should do whatever I need to do to make myself happy. I falter. I reconsider. I start all over. I’m lost.
I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want to stay. I don’t want to be the one that ruins things for him. I don’t want to be her. I want to be Clover. I want to find someone that lets me be Clover. I want to know who she is. And I don’t. I don’t know. I want him to be Jesse. I want what’s best for him. I want him to have her, to prosper, to be happy. And ****, she makes him happy. I don’t need him as my sire or as my family for him to be my boyfriend. That’s why I consider letting go. I can be Campbell, just as I’ve always been Campbell.
He’s found me. He always finds me. And now I’m before him, unsure of what it is I want to say. I’m faltering. I’m speechless. I’m lost. Haven’t I found myself yet? Haven’t I emphasized my situation? He looks at me, and I’m speechless. What can I say but what I’ve written? What can I say but what I’ve sent to Athena? I’ll ruin him, and that’s the last thing I want to do. I feel unwanted and underappreciated. I’m nothing more than what it means to be attached to him. And I finally understand what it feels like to be her. I’m her. I’m the last thing I ever wanted to be. That’s Clover. We both ran. Let him find me. Please let him find me and reassure me that I’m more, that I’m different. I’m found.
ooc: the strikethrough is scribbled over with great force
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
004d29 / 9CBA7F / 7c2121
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Clover
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- Joined: 17 Mar 2014, 21:24
- CrowNet Handle: Lucky
Re: For Clover
hope·less
/hōpləs/
irreparable; impossible; resigned; a feeling of despair
“it’s all feeling a little hopeless right now”
Scream.
Bang.
Sob.
I don’t know what to do. I know it’s him. I know it’s her. I know what happened. But where do I go from here? Kenny knew. She knew before she even checked the phone. And here I am, holed up in the back bedroom at Larch. I’m hiding in the home where he killed himself. This whole place feels disgusting, like a membrane clinging to my skin. I feel like I’ve walked through spiderwebs. And yet I don’t know how to feel. I’m caught between saying “good riddance,” and going into the realm to find him.
I think it’s hopeless. When a man kills himself, there’s a good chance he doesn’t want to come back. He killed himself right in front of her. He killed himself right in front of his wife. What am I supposed to say to her? What can I do for her? She won’t want to be here anymore. I don’t even want to be here anymore. And yet here I am. I’m stuck here. I can still hear the echoes. I can replay the whole scene just by sound. I didn’t see it, and I’m still out of sorts. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have witnessed it all firsthand. I can’t imagine the fresh blood splatters.
What am I supposed to do now? How do I tell Jesse what happened? The two were only reconnecting, and then Victor had to ruin it. He had to be a selfish ********, yet again. He had to be a big coward. He had to be the center of attention. He had to be the piece of **** people assumed. He had to take the easy way out. But he just had to drag everyone down with him. Some part of me reminds me that it was a suicide, that I should be more considerate and more focused on mourning, but that part of me is drowned out by the largest part. He took the easy way out. He’s a vampire, and he took the easy way out. He killed himself right in front of his wife. He ran away from all of his problems. And just like with the blood splatters, he spit on the entire family. **** his suicide. **** his goodbyes. **** him.
Good riddance. There. I said the words. I mean the words. I mean them just as much as I mean the “I miss you” and “please come back.” I mean them as much as the endless apologies and unspoken admissions. You were one of the best friends I ever had. Even when you blamed me. Even when you treated me like ****. Even when you walked away. Your apology wasn’t enough, but it has to do, doesn’t it? You won’t be speaking again, at least not anytime soon. We’re all left picking up the pieces, while you find some sort of peace in the shadow realm. Kenny is left trying to rebuild her whole world. Do you care? Somewhere, can you find it in yourself to care about anyone other than yourself?
As your friend, as your sibling, as Fforde, I do care about you. I’ve always cared about you. I guess we were both terrible at showing it. If you cared at all. Personally, I think you gave up a long time ago. Months ago. I think you stopped caring around Halloween. I think you stopped caring the moment things got hard. But isn’t that a running theme. I don’t even need the question mark. It’s a running theme. Things get tough and Vic runs away. Vic hides. Vic lets someone else finish the battle. Even now, you’re letting death solve all of your problems. You’re letting blood and bone pay your debts. You let them win.
I’ll never forgive you. I’ll never forgive you for hurting the people around you. If you ever return, pray we never see one another again. I’ll take pounds of flesh for every negative emotion I feel, every terrible reaction I’ve witnessed. I’ll break you into tiny pieces and rebuild you into something even you won’t recognize. “Good riddance” isn’t enough for you. What am I supposed to do now? How can I help the ones you left behind? Be there, I suppose. Say the words people utter at funerals? Pretend that I feel some sympathy for your plight? What were you thinking? What were you hoping to accomplish? It makes no sense. And I suppose it’s too late to try to make sense of your jumbled thoughts. If you were sorry, you would have shown it. You wouldn’t have sent me that text. Well, **** your apology.
Yes, I’m angry. Yes, I’m relying on that anger to drive these words. But what else can I do? Why are we always cleaning up your messes, Victor? For once, for once in your sorry, pathetic life, you couldn’t do it for yourself? Apparently not.
I'm sorry too.
/hōpləs/
irreparable; impossible; resigned; a feeling of despair
“it’s all feeling a little hopeless right now”
Scream.
Bang.
Sob.
I don’t know what to do. I know it’s him. I know it’s her. I know what happened. But where do I go from here? Kenny knew. She knew before she even checked the phone. And here I am, holed up in the back bedroom at Larch. I’m hiding in the home where he killed himself. This whole place feels disgusting, like a membrane clinging to my skin. I feel like I’ve walked through spiderwebs. And yet I don’t know how to feel. I’m caught between saying “good riddance,” and going into the realm to find him.
I think it’s hopeless. When a man kills himself, there’s a good chance he doesn’t want to come back. He killed himself right in front of her. He killed himself right in front of his wife. What am I supposed to say to her? What can I do for her? She won’t want to be here anymore. I don’t even want to be here anymore. And yet here I am. I’m stuck here. I can still hear the echoes. I can replay the whole scene just by sound. I didn’t see it, and I’m still out of sorts. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have witnessed it all firsthand. I can’t imagine the fresh blood splatters.
What am I supposed to do now? How do I tell Jesse what happened? The two were only reconnecting, and then Victor had to ruin it. He had to be a selfish ********, yet again. He had to be a big coward. He had to be the center of attention. He had to be the piece of **** people assumed. He had to take the easy way out. But he just had to drag everyone down with him. Some part of me reminds me that it was a suicide, that I should be more considerate and more focused on mourning, but that part of me is drowned out by the largest part. He took the easy way out. He’s a vampire, and he took the easy way out. He killed himself right in front of his wife. He ran away from all of his problems. And just like with the blood splatters, he spit on the entire family. **** his suicide. **** his goodbyes. **** him.
Good riddance. There. I said the words. I mean the words. I mean them just as much as I mean the “I miss you” and “please come back.” I mean them as much as the endless apologies and unspoken admissions. You were one of the best friends I ever had. Even when you blamed me. Even when you treated me like ****. Even when you walked away. Your apology wasn’t enough, but it has to do, doesn’t it? You won’t be speaking again, at least not anytime soon. We’re all left picking up the pieces, while you find some sort of peace in the shadow realm. Kenny is left trying to rebuild her whole world. Do you care? Somewhere, can you find it in yourself to care about anyone other than yourself?
As your friend, as your sibling, as Fforde, I do care about you. I’ve always cared about you. I guess we were both terrible at showing it. If you cared at all. Personally, I think you gave up a long time ago. Months ago. I think you stopped caring around Halloween. I think you stopped caring the moment things got hard. But isn’t that a running theme. I don’t even need the question mark. It’s a running theme. Things get tough and Vic runs away. Vic hides. Vic lets someone else finish the battle. Even now, you’re letting death solve all of your problems. You’re letting blood and bone pay your debts. You let them win.
I’ll never forgive you. I’ll never forgive you for hurting the people around you. If you ever return, pray we never see one another again. I’ll take pounds of flesh for every negative emotion I feel, every terrible reaction I’ve witnessed. I’ll break you into tiny pieces and rebuild you into something even you won’t recognize. “Good riddance” isn’t enough for you. What am I supposed to do now? How can I help the ones you left behind? Be there, I suppose. Say the words people utter at funerals? Pretend that I feel some sympathy for your plight? What were you thinking? What were you hoping to accomplish? It makes no sense. And I suppose it’s too late to try to make sense of your jumbled thoughts. If you were sorry, you would have shown it. You wouldn’t have sent me that text. Well, **** your apology.
Yes, I’m angry. Yes, I’m relying on that anger to drive these words. But what else can I do? Why are we always cleaning up your messes, Victor? For once, for once in your sorry, pathetic life, you couldn’t do it for yourself? Apparently not.
I'm sorry too.
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
004d29 / 9CBA7F / 7c2121
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Clover
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Re: For Clover
ob·li·ga·tion
/äbləˈɡāSH(ə)n/
being morally, or legally, committed; duty; responsibility
“i’m never obligated to do what it is i want to do”
Three nights ago, I saw her. We were together in the library, but neither one of us chose to speak; in fact, I'm not sure if she even noticed me. I only went into the library to use the computer, mostly just to check my email. I never thought I'd see her there. I never thought I'd see her again, actually. She stopped existing to me. She became another nameless, faceless person out to hurt him. He needed someone. I'm sure I told her how much it would have meant for her to reach out. I'm sure I emphasized. I stomped down my own jealousy and insecurities to try and bridge the distance between them. But it's an impossible distance, an impossible distance made even more impossible by one very unwilling woman.
I just wanted to find him a friend. I just wanted to find him someone to talk to, someone to bond with, and she wasn't that person. I've come to the conclusion that she could never have been that person. There's some darkness about her, some stain on her world, and putting them together would have done more harm than good. I'll be happy never to hear from her again. And yet, I still hold out some hope that someday, at some point, she'll finally reach out and prove me wrong. I'm still waiting, Every.
Jesse has started something new, some new plot of his to keep me connected, to try and seem as transparent and uninhibited as possible. He wants me to read a journal he keeps. The first time I read it, I was overjoyed. The second time, I was left wanting. I'm always left wanting--and I love the feeling, I'm addicted to the feeling--but something was off. It wasn't the type of wanting that left me craving more and more, the type I'd come to know and love. I felt the type of wanting that squirmed its way right into my heart and cut me into four unequal parts, like a fucked up square.
He described, at length, what he went through during the time he was with his captors. I wanted to rip the page out and continue tearing it into the tiniest of pieces. I wanted to tear the whole thing apart and force him to start all over again. Reading the description of what he went through was like slow torture in itself. But what hurt the most is the fact that he didn’t want to ask for my help, and he thought my help, during another situation, was more out of obligation. Perhaps he’s right; perhaps he’s wrong. The point is that he considered my actions mere obligation rather than an actual desire to help. Am I so terrible?
This wasn’t supposed to be an entry about Every, or even about Jesse, but things have a way of changing. Nothing I do seems to be enough. And just writing those words takes me back to the last time I spoke to Kenny alone. She’d been feeling the same exact way, that nothing she did was ever enough. I just want to be there for him, and it’s been my desire for over a year now. But something always happens or someone always interferes or some doubts creep into the light. I want to scream that it’s never an obligation, that I’m never obligated to do something, but does it matter? In the end, I don’t think it does. His words are his words, and his views are his views.
Next time, I think I’ll write about April.
/äbləˈɡāSH(ə)n/
being morally, or legally, committed; duty; responsibility
“i’m never obligated to do what it is i want to do”
Three nights ago, I saw her. We were together in the library, but neither one of us chose to speak; in fact, I'm not sure if she even noticed me. I only went into the library to use the computer, mostly just to check my email. I never thought I'd see her there. I never thought I'd see her again, actually. She stopped existing to me. She became another nameless, faceless person out to hurt him. He needed someone. I'm sure I told her how much it would have meant for her to reach out. I'm sure I emphasized. I stomped down my own jealousy and insecurities to try and bridge the distance between them. But it's an impossible distance, an impossible distance made even more impossible by one very unwilling woman.
I just wanted to find him a friend. I just wanted to find him someone to talk to, someone to bond with, and she wasn't that person. I've come to the conclusion that she could never have been that person. There's some darkness about her, some stain on her world, and putting them together would have done more harm than good. I'll be happy never to hear from her again. And yet, I still hold out some hope that someday, at some point, she'll finally reach out and prove me wrong. I'm still waiting, Every.
Jesse has started something new, some new plot of his to keep me connected, to try and seem as transparent and uninhibited as possible. He wants me to read a journal he keeps. The first time I read it, I was overjoyed. The second time, I was left wanting. I'm always left wanting--and I love the feeling, I'm addicted to the feeling--but something was off. It wasn't the type of wanting that left me craving more and more, the type I'd come to know and love. I felt the type of wanting that squirmed its way right into my heart and cut me into four unequal parts, like a fucked up square.
He described, at length, what he went through during the time he was with his captors. I wanted to rip the page out and continue tearing it into the tiniest of pieces. I wanted to tear the whole thing apart and force him to start all over again. Reading the description of what he went through was like slow torture in itself. But what hurt the most is the fact that he didn’t want to ask for my help, and he thought my help, during another situation, was more out of obligation. Perhaps he’s right; perhaps he’s wrong. The point is that he considered my actions mere obligation rather than an actual desire to help. Am I so terrible?
This wasn’t supposed to be an entry about Every, or even about Jesse, but things have a way of changing. Nothing I do seems to be enough. And just writing those words takes me back to the last time I spoke to Kenny alone. She’d been feeling the same exact way, that nothing she did was ever enough. I just want to be there for him, and it’s been my desire for over a year now. But something always happens or someone always interferes or some doubts creep into the light. I want to scream that it’s never an obligation, that I’m never obligated to do something, but does it matter? In the end, I don’t think it does. His words are his words, and his views are his views.
Next time, I think I’ll write about April.
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
004d29 / 9CBA7F / 7c2121
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Clover
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Re: For Clover
sav·age·ry
/savijrē/
quality of being cruel or violent; being uncivilized or primitive
“there’s a time for a decent into savagery, and it is now”
Her name is April, and I want her to be my first. I want to introduce her to my world. I'll take good care of her, such good care of her. She'll be ours. We'll have shared custody of a terrified young woman and all of her worldly possessions. And doesn't that sound lovely? Just imagine the way she'll shiver; just imagine the way she'll cry. I can see her ugly tears, her black mascara cutting dark lines across her porcelain skin. She's so beautiful, so ******* beautiful, and I want to carve my name into her flesh. She'll be ours, but she'll be mine. Up until the point when I disembowel and dismember her, she'll be my world. She'll be everything I've always wanted, everything we've always wanted. You'll be right there, won't you? I should hope so.
I bet she's a screamer. I can hear her voice. I only heard her normal, everyday voice, but I can imagine. I can always imagine. She begs like a dog, in between bouts of heavy crying and high-pitched screams. I'm not sure which one I would prefer more, the begging or the screaming. If I had to pick one, right now, I'd choose the screaming. There's nothing more wonderful than terrified screams. Bargaining and begging can't compare, even if the two are intertwined and colorful as ****.
Let me give you this. Let me give you that. She could promise me her whole world. It circles around to her possessions. (It always goes back around to possessions.) And there's something about her that gives me pause. Maybe it's her beauty, that perfect ******* face of hers. Maybe it's her brains, her mind sharp as a whip. Everything about her angers me; everything about her irritates me. I need to know that I'm better. She should start her words there. She'd get so much farther if she offered me sweet words, if she willingly gave herself to me. Kneel before me, April. Worship me. Love me. Only me.
We'll get to know one another, she and I. And I want to know everything about her, from the mundane to the extraordinary. I can't tell if my curiosity will die with her or not, but it's there, as strong as ever.
I want her to know that I want her, but she's not worth the game. This is another shift in my usual routine. I'll follow her, but I have no intention of playing lioness, not with her. She's not into the game. She's into something more, something deeper. And yet she's so shallow that no one could ever drown. It's really a conundrum, to be so much more while being nothing at all. Does she know? I wonder. While her beauty is skin deep, is she just the same? While I'm skinning her, I'll find out. I'll ask her. She must know. She has to know. I won't settle for anything less.
Her name is April, but she seems like a May, at best. She'll never be a June. Never a June. Just her name infuriates me. How dare she have such a name. How dare she share a name with a month. Only June deserves such an honor. Only my sister. I feel that April spits on my sister's memory; April becomes like a festering wound. That's another reason why she has to meet my knife. Do you understand? Tell me you understand. There's a point where I just can't forgive her. This is that point. To some, this may seem petty, but not to me. This is a serious infraction.
Can you imagine how she tastes? I can. Do you know how she smells? I do. She puts my senses on high. She sets my whole body aflame. I have started what I intend to finish. I have to have her. She's marked, marked the moment I chose to speak to her. Where I might have disposed of her in the crematorium, I've decided to put my slaughterhouse to use instead. I'll hang her upside down and feast on the blood that falls like rain. I'll feel it. I'll smell it. I'll taste it. I'll become a part of it, and she'll become a part of me. For those minutes, I'll experience a particular type of bliss, one brought on by dominating her, by destroying her.
She's special to me. She's everything I want in my prey. And when I see her, I remember a part of myself I thought I'd lost. Only one other victim brings me the same feeling, but I have other plans for him. He's involved in the game, where she's fallen in line for a merciless death. There's too much of a difference between them. If she were more vicious. If she were just as bloodthirsty. Things might have been different.
Let's play a game now. What would you do to her? Whisper it to me. Drag your lips across my flesh and tell it to me. I like this game better already. Don't you? Let's go just a little further. Let's go just a little faster. Can you scream it for me? Is that too much? Well that's too bad. This is my game now. Come on. Let's play again.
I love the games we play more than anything. Cutting you open and putting you back together again. I can do it to anyone I want, except I never put them back together again. They're never whole. They're never you. You're different. You know that, don't you? You're not everyone else. I can say that to anyone and lie. But I won't lie to you. There's no one quite like you. I'll tell you that as I trail my kisses along your bare chest. I'll tell you that until I can't speak anymore.
April can listen to me talk about you. I love telling them all about you. They always cry. I think they know I open up to them because it's their last moments. I just want them to know. I want her to know. She'll understand. In the end, they always understand. In the end, they always love me. Be proud of me. I leave a legacy of undying affection and absolute perfection.
/savijrē/
quality of being cruel or violent; being uncivilized or primitive
“there’s a time for a decent into savagery, and it is now”
Her name is April, and I want her to be my first. I want to introduce her to my world. I'll take good care of her, such good care of her. She'll be ours. We'll have shared custody of a terrified young woman and all of her worldly possessions. And doesn't that sound lovely? Just imagine the way she'll shiver; just imagine the way she'll cry. I can see her ugly tears, her black mascara cutting dark lines across her porcelain skin. She's so beautiful, so ******* beautiful, and I want to carve my name into her flesh. She'll be ours, but she'll be mine. Up until the point when I disembowel and dismember her, she'll be my world. She'll be everything I've always wanted, everything we've always wanted. You'll be right there, won't you? I should hope so.
I bet she's a screamer. I can hear her voice. I only heard her normal, everyday voice, but I can imagine. I can always imagine. She begs like a dog, in between bouts of heavy crying and high-pitched screams. I'm not sure which one I would prefer more, the begging or the screaming. If I had to pick one, right now, I'd choose the screaming. There's nothing more wonderful than terrified screams. Bargaining and begging can't compare, even if the two are intertwined and colorful as ****.
Let me give you this. Let me give you that. She could promise me her whole world. It circles around to her possessions. (It always goes back around to possessions.) And there's something about her that gives me pause. Maybe it's her beauty, that perfect ******* face of hers. Maybe it's her brains, her mind sharp as a whip. Everything about her angers me; everything about her irritates me. I need to know that I'm better. She should start her words there. She'd get so much farther if she offered me sweet words, if she willingly gave herself to me. Kneel before me, April. Worship me. Love me. Only me.
We'll get to know one another, she and I. And I want to know everything about her, from the mundane to the extraordinary. I can't tell if my curiosity will die with her or not, but it's there, as strong as ever.
I want her to know that I want her, but she's not worth the game. This is another shift in my usual routine. I'll follow her, but I have no intention of playing lioness, not with her. She's not into the game. She's into something more, something deeper. And yet she's so shallow that no one could ever drown. It's really a conundrum, to be so much more while being nothing at all. Does she know? I wonder. While her beauty is skin deep, is she just the same? While I'm skinning her, I'll find out. I'll ask her. She must know. She has to know. I won't settle for anything less.
Her name is April, but she seems like a May, at best. She'll never be a June. Never a June. Just her name infuriates me. How dare she have such a name. How dare she share a name with a month. Only June deserves such an honor. Only my sister. I feel that April spits on my sister's memory; April becomes like a festering wound. That's another reason why she has to meet my knife. Do you understand? Tell me you understand. There's a point where I just can't forgive her. This is that point. To some, this may seem petty, but not to me. This is a serious infraction.
Can you imagine how she tastes? I can. Do you know how she smells? I do. She puts my senses on high. She sets my whole body aflame. I have started what I intend to finish. I have to have her. She's marked, marked the moment I chose to speak to her. Where I might have disposed of her in the crematorium, I've decided to put my slaughterhouse to use instead. I'll hang her upside down and feast on the blood that falls like rain. I'll feel it. I'll smell it. I'll taste it. I'll become a part of it, and she'll become a part of me. For those minutes, I'll experience a particular type of bliss, one brought on by dominating her, by destroying her.
She's special to me. She's everything I want in my prey. And when I see her, I remember a part of myself I thought I'd lost. Only one other victim brings me the same feeling, but I have other plans for him. He's involved in the game, where she's fallen in line for a merciless death. There's too much of a difference between them. If she were more vicious. If she were just as bloodthirsty. Things might have been different.
Let's play a game now. What would you do to her? Whisper it to me. Drag your lips across my flesh and tell it to me. I like this game better already. Don't you? Let's go just a little further. Let's go just a little faster. Can you scream it for me? Is that too much? Well that's too bad. This is my game now. Come on. Let's play again.
I love the games we play more than anything. Cutting you open and putting you back together again. I can do it to anyone I want, except I never put them back together again. They're never whole. They're never you. You're different. You know that, don't you? You're not everyone else. I can say that to anyone and lie. But I won't lie to you. There's no one quite like you. I'll tell you that as I trail my kisses along your bare chest. I'll tell you that until I can't speak anymore.
April can listen to me talk about you. I love telling them all about you. They always cry. I think they know I open up to them because it's their last moments. I just want them to know. I want her to know. She'll understand. In the end, they always understand. In the end, they always love me. Be proud of me. I leave a legacy of undying affection and absolute perfection.
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
004d29 / 9CBA7F / 7c2121
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Clover
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Re: For Clover
hear·say
/hirˌsā/
words or information that can’t be backed up with facts; gossip; idle talk; rumors
"we all like to give in to the hearsay"
The whispers invade the spaces from leftover conversations. It’s hearsay, but I find myself trusting the words spread across the front pages of newspapers. There’s a cure. Finally, there’s a cure. And I want it. Just imagine. Imagine what would happen if I could cure myself. And if there’s a cure for vampirism, what else can these scientists do? Can they delve so deep into the shadow realm that they can resurrect my sister? Can they explore overturned rocks? Can they explore unturned pages? No more thirst. No more blood lust. No more hiding from the light of day. I’ve never realized how badly I want to go back, back to the time when Jesse took my life away from me. And he did. He took my life. Does it matter now that I’ve given it to him willingly?
What would a cure mean for all of us blessed, or cursed, with vampirism? Would we age? Would our bodies be so damaged beyond repair that we’d spend the rest of our short lives relying on modern medicine just to keep our fragile bodies going? Is the risk worth the possible reward? And why am I even considering a cure? Aren’t I perfectly content with where I am and what I am? I’m a ******* serial killer. I can’t just go back to living in the daylight. I can’t just pretend that I’m normal. I’ll be thrown in jail. I’ll be shot. I’ll be killed. And here I am, still thinking about all the possibilities. Jesse gave me the best artificial sunlight imaginable and I still long for the real thing. Am I just broken? Are we all just broken? Maybe we’ve all been drawn to vampirism because of the fact. We’re all missing some screws.
Would I even still have Jesse? I met him at a time when he firmly believed in the masquerade, at a time when humans shouldn’t have been aware of the immortals walking the streets of Harper Rock. It was a different time. And yet I find it hard to believe that he’d be able to stand being married to a human. One drop of blood is all it would take and everything would dissolve into chaos. I guess that’s my answer then, isn’t it?
There is no cure without sacrifice, and I’m not willing to make that sacrifice. So there’s no point in following the rumors. There’s no point in staking out the facility. Everything that made me human is gone, so there’s no point in trying. My family. My friends. What would I even go back to? A lonely sunrise? I doubt the others are so concerned with the idea behind the cure. We’re stronger. We’re faster. We’re masters of weaponry. Why would anyone want to go back to being a frail human?
/hirˌsā/
words or information that can’t be backed up with facts; gossip; idle talk; rumors
"we all like to give in to the hearsay"
The whispers invade the spaces from leftover conversations. It’s hearsay, but I find myself trusting the words spread across the front pages of newspapers. There’s a cure. Finally, there’s a cure. And I want it. Just imagine. Imagine what would happen if I could cure myself. And if there’s a cure for vampirism, what else can these scientists do? Can they delve so deep into the shadow realm that they can resurrect my sister? Can they explore overturned rocks? Can they explore unturned pages? No more thirst. No more blood lust. No more hiding from the light of day. I’ve never realized how badly I want to go back, back to the time when Jesse took my life away from me. And he did. He took my life. Does it matter now that I’ve given it to him willingly?
What would a cure mean for all of us blessed, or cursed, with vampirism? Would we age? Would our bodies be so damaged beyond repair that we’d spend the rest of our short lives relying on modern medicine just to keep our fragile bodies going? Is the risk worth the possible reward? And why am I even considering a cure? Aren’t I perfectly content with where I am and what I am? I’m a ******* serial killer. I can’t just go back to living in the daylight. I can’t just pretend that I’m normal. I’ll be thrown in jail. I’ll be shot. I’ll be killed. And here I am, still thinking about all the possibilities. Jesse gave me the best artificial sunlight imaginable and I still long for the real thing. Am I just broken? Are we all just broken? Maybe we’ve all been drawn to vampirism because of the fact. We’re all missing some screws.
Would I even still have Jesse? I met him at a time when he firmly believed in the masquerade, at a time when humans shouldn’t have been aware of the immortals walking the streets of Harper Rock. It was a different time. And yet I find it hard to believe that he’d be able to stand being married to a human. One drop of blood is all it would take and everything would dissolve into chaos. I guess that’s my answer then, isn’t it?
There is no cure without sacrifice, and I’m not willing to make that sacrifice. So there’s no point in following the rumors. There’s no point in staking out the facility. Everything that made me human is gone, so there’s no point in trying. My family. My friends. What would I even go back to? A lonely sunrise? I doubt the others are so concerned with the idea behind the cure. We’re stronger. We’re faster. We’re masters of weaponry. Why would anyone want to go back to being a frail human?
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
004d29 / 9CBA7F / 7c2121
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Clover
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Re: For Clover
jus·ti·fy
/jəstəˌfī/
to prove right; to give grounds for something; to account for
"i want to justify my actions, but there’s really no need"
Her name is Mona McGee, and I guess we want to kill her. Slicing her gut open made me feel pretty good, even if my next swing missed. I got a taste of how it felt to be the bully. And yet, I got a chance to know how it felt to be experience pure vengeance. She shot Jesse in the throat. Flesh for flesh. But do we really need to kill her? Is that really fair? Here I am questioning what is and isn’t fair. Here I am trying to defend the woman, as if she deserves defending. I heard the faint echoes of her yelling, even if I couldn’t make out the words. She’s likely some type of rebel, some type of leader, even if the other human scum refuse to follow.
Her name is Mona McGee, as if alliteration will somehow better her. Let’s say she’s earned her death. Let me argue that flesh for flesh means life for flesh. The hospital will revive her though. Somehow, that place saves more lives than it should. The hospital saves the worthless, the damned, and we’re sent to rot in the shadow realm. She’ll live on to repeat the same mistakes, and they are mistakes, and she’ll remember us, each and every one of us. It’s why I told Habren not to get involved. It’s why I really didn’t want Kaelyn involved. We all know, and understand, the taste of revenge. She’ll eventually come for us. She’ll eventually return the favors. And although we’ll be ready, will we truly be ready? Are they organized? Is it one or one of many?
Her name is Mona McGee, and I know she’s smart enough to strike back. It’s not difficult to navigate the hallways and rooms of a place once infiltrated. It’s never difficult to bypass the best of security. There’s no safety in public places. There’s no hiding in private abodes. We found her in the way she’ll find us. Call me paranoid, but it’s justifiable. Tonight, a familiar face once again broke into my home. If it weren’t for the security I put in place, who knows what would have happened. One level. Two levels. Three levels. At first, I thought it was Raegan, but the camera proved otherwise. The camera always proves otherwise. Jesse doesn’t seem to care, but I care. I no longer feel safe in my own home. I no longer want to walk the halls and share the rooms. It’s why I prefer to go elsewhere, a place lacking in security. It’s why I prefer to walk the halls of another place, a private place. It’s why I’m awake, why I’m aware. And even as I am those things, I know it’s what he wants.
Come and get me, I think. Find me, I think. And yet nothing. There are no attacks. There are no traps. I wake up and relive my death over and over again. I fought, and I earned some respect, but I still died, and I still went to that forsaken realm. I worry about more than myself. When you invite others into a place that’s been mapped out, that’s been infiltrated, you invite others into the possibility of a repeat of the same. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable in my own home, but I do. I beg for things to change, but it’s an impossibility. Where would we go? What could we do? And we’d be doing exactly what everyone wants. We’d be running. We’d be hiding. And the fact that I’m aware keeps me silent, keeps me going back home, even after I linger in a place lacking security.
I locked the doors and rebuilt the security. I trust myself to do things right, and yet I trust the feeling in my gut. There’s something there. There’s something coming. And we’re broken into again. And we’re broken into again. And nothing happens. Exist in a constant state of uncertainty. Remember what we did. That’s what the actions speak. Remember that we can do it all over again, whenever we want. And there’s no justification other than the fact that they dislike Jesse. They settled the score once. There’s no need to go again. But I linger on a topic that makes my skin crawl. I linger on a topic that reminds me that it could happen all over again.
Mona. I’d love for her to moan in pain. I want to get the final hit. But it’s not my place. The shadows rose up in the way my blade begged for, and they lashed out in the way that my anger lashed out. The shadows darted forward and bit into her flesh, and I watched, and I waited, as her blood spilled forth. It’s different when it’s justified. It’s different when it’s someone you’ve heard of, someone you’re aware of, like a fly buzzing around your ear. Will she walk through our doors and knock down our walls? Some part of me begs her to try. Another part of me wonders if she even has to try.
This paranoia keeps circling around and around. I feel it like blood bouncing from one side of my gut to the other. Black. Deep. And gone. Dispersing in the way that I wish the paranoia would disperse.
/jəstəˌfī/
to prove right; to give grounds for something; to account for
"i want to justify my actions, but there’s really no need"
Her name is Mona McGee, and I guess we want to kill her. Slicing her gut open made me feel pretty good, even if my next swing missed. I got a taste of how it felt to be the bully. And yet, I got a chance to know how it felt to be experience pure vengeance. She shot Jesse in the throat. Flesh for flesh. But do we really need to kill her? Is that really fair? Here I am questioning what is and isn’t fair. Here I am trying to defend the woman, as if she deserves defending. I heard the faint echoes of her yelling, even if I couldn’t make out the words. She’s likely some type of rebel, some type of leader, even if the other human scum refuse to follow.
Her name is Mona McGee, as if alliteration will somehow better her. Let’s say she’s earned her death. Let me argue that flesh for flesh means life for flesh. The hospital will revive her though. Somehow, that place saves more lives than it should. The hospital saves the worthless, the damned, and we’re sent to rot in the shadow realm. She’ll live on to repeat the same mistakes, and they are mistakes, and she’ll remember us, each and every one of us. It’s why I told Habren not to get involved. It’s why I really didn’t want Kaelyn involved. We all know, and understand, the taste of revenge. She’ll eventually come for us. She’ll eventually return the favors. And although we’ll be ready, will we truly be ready? Are they organized? Is it one or one of many?
Her name is Mona McGee, and I know she’s smart enough to strike back. It’s not difficult to navigate the hallways and rooms of a place once infiltrated. It’s never difficult to bypass the best of security. There’s no safety in public places. There’s no hiding in private abodes. We found her in the way she’ll find us. Call me paranoid, but it’s justifiable. Tonight, a familiar face once again broke into my home. If it weren’t for the security I put in place, who knows what would have happened. One level. Two levels. Three levels. At first, I thought it was Raegan, but the camera proved otherwise. The camera always proves otherwise. Jesse doesn’t seem to care, but I care. I no longer feel safe in my own home. I no longer want to walk the halls and share the rooms. It’s why I prefer to go elsewhere, a place lacking in security. It’s why I prefer to walk the halls of another place, a private place. It’s why I’m awake, why I’m aware. And even as I am those things, I know it’s what he wants.
Come and get me, I think. Find me, I think. And yet nothing. There are no attacks. There are no traps. I wake up and relive my death over and over again. I fought, and I earned some respect, but I still died, and I still went to that forsaken realm. I worry about more than myself. When you invite others into a place that’s been mapped out, that’s been infiltrated, you invite others into the possibility of a repeat of the same. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable in my own home, but I do. I beg for things to change, but it’s an impossibility. Where would we go? What could we do? And we’d be doing exactly what everyone wants. We’d be running. We’d be hiding. And the fact that I’m aware keeps me silent, keeps me going back home, even after I linger in a place lacking security.
I locked the doors and rebuilt the security. I trust myself to do things right, and yet I trust the feeling in my gut. There’s something there. There’s something coming. And we’re broken into again. And we’re broken into again. And nothing happens. Exist in a constant state of uncertainty. Remember what we did. That’s what the actions speak. Remember that we can do it all over again, whenever we want. And there’s no justification other than the fact that they dislike Jesse. They settled the score once. There’s no need to go again. But I linger on a topic that makes my skin crawl. I linger on a topic that reminds me that it could happen all over again.
Mona. I’d love for her to moan in pain. I want to get the final hit. But it’s not my place. The shadows rose up in the way my blade begged for, and they lashed out in the way that my anger lashed out. The shadows darted forward and bit into her flesh, and I watched, and I waited, as her blood spilled forth. It’s different when it’s justified. It’s different when it’s someone you’ve heard of, someone you’re aware of, like a fly buzzing around your ear. Will she walk through our doors and knock down our walls? Some part of me begs her to try. Another part of me wonders if she even has to try.
This paranoia keeps circling around and around. I feel it like blood bouncing from one side of my gut to the other. Black. Deep. And gone. Dispersing in the way that I wish the paranoia would disperse.
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
004d29 / 9CBA7F / 7c2121
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Clover
- Registered User
- Posts: 1019
- Joined: 17 Mar 2014, 21:24
- CrowNet Handle: Lucky
Re: For Clover
ar·gue
/ärɡyo͞o/
to express conflicting views, usually in a heated manner; bicker; fight; squabble
"does it make sense that i love arguing with you, and yet i hate to argue with you"
Does it even really count as an argument when one party shows hostility and the other party expresses indifference? And if that’s the case, what’s the point? I get this crazy idea in my head that one day, he’s going to realize how fucked up I am and he’s going to leave me. He’ll make a big show of leaving though, probably break a few things, yell a few words, and then vanish, better than a high-paid magician. Sometimes it’s for another woman. Sometimes not. It’s never in the heat of the moment, always in the afterglow. No, not after sex. In the afterglow of the argument, when things have settled and the bridges are being reinforced. It’s always when it’s quiet that the thoughts reign supreme.
I bet he thinks she’s pretty.
I bet he complains about me.
I bet he regrets marrying me.
I bet he doesn’t love me unconditionally.
I’m insecure. I’m jealous. I’m starting arguments without even trying. And I wonder if those reinforced bridges will eventually burn and fall like ash onto my world. Like I said, sometimes he leaves me for other women, but sometimes he just leaves me. Stop being so damn doubtful. Stop showering everything in negativity. A lot of people put too much faith in the idea of marriage though. I’m married; therefore, he can’t have a wandering eye. I’m married; therefore, he’d never divorce me. Why am I even writing about this? All these words do is drive these thoughts deeper and deeper, creating a deep chasm in my mind. But I can’t help it. I tell myself I can’t help it. I excuse my behavior. And yet what do I expect? Another argument. He’ll read this and we’ll have another argument. No, Clover, not an argument. We’ll have a disagreement. We’ll have another disagreement.
I could blame this on the recent disagreement, but I think it goes back to what Kaelyn said to me, honestly. She told me that Jesse would love me no matter what. And I realized then that she shouldn’t have had to tell me that. No one should ever have to reassure me of that. I realized that I needed it though. This family is growing and I feel like I’m shrinking. In times like these, I would go to Victor or Kenny and I would just unload all of my emotional baggage and I’d go back, ready for round two. I told Jesse that I’d lost myself to nostalgia, and I told the truth. When I saw Runi, I saw myself reclaiming a part of my life that I thought I’d never see again. In that bar. In that chair. In that light. I kept it to myself. I kept everything to myself. Because I’m shrinking.
Sometimes, when it’s quiet, when it’s only me, I hear the worst things.
I bet he thinks you’re ugly.
I bet he enjoys spending time away from you.
I bet he’d be better off without you.
I bet he’d be happier with someone else.
I feel the thoughts puncturing different parts of my body, like nails being driven into a coffin. Just one more and I’m finished. Just one more and we’re through. I always wonder if he’d be better off without me, if someone else could make him happier. I try so hard not to be a mistake. I try to be so much more than that. But these voices. But these mistakes. But these disagreements. He said he wouldn’t have left me, but does that matter when the thought was already introduced, left to twirl and swirl around in my tornado of thoughts? If I made him unhappy once, what’s to say I won’t make him unhappy again? And is that really fair? Is that what I want for him? And I know if some other Clover came along, I’d -- I don’t know. My thoughts don’t complete the sentence. Abort. End. Radio silence.
I only get this bad because of two things, a pretty girl or my lingering depression. Take your pick. I’m not quite sure myself. I can’t explain to you why I’m more honest with this book than with you. I can say that I’m trying. I can repeat the words over and over. I’m so used to manipulating people. I’m so used to keeping secrets, trading secrets, learning secrets. Maybe this is how I'll always be, a spring ready to snap. Maybe I'll disappoint you in the way that I disappoint myself. Every single time. But this isn't all about you, is it? It's all about me. Me, with insecurities running deeper than underground channels. Me.
I hide the things that make me most vulnerable. Sometimes, I want to hide you too. Even when we argue. Even when the thoughts and voices are loudest. Sometimes, I want to bury you. Beneath all the doubts and fears. I just want this to be easier. I want everything to be easier. I don’t want to think these thoughts anymore. I don’t want you to think I’m weak. I hate that. I hate telling you things that open me up. I hate telling you things that leave me open to scrutiny. Just love the best parts of me.
I found some of the emails I sent to Athena. I told her these things a while ago, in November of last year:
“And I wonder if Jesse notices the struggle. I hope he doesn't. I want to be perfect for him. I want to be absolutely ******* perfect for him. I just want this to work. I don't want him to leave me. He's going to. I just know it. He's going to come home one night and tell me he's met someone else. Because I'm not supportive enough. I'm not outgoing enough. I'm not independent enough. I'm not beautiful enough. Because I've changed.
“I need to do something, Athena. I need to try and do something. I don't want our memories riddled with disagreements. I want to spend all of our time just tracing lines over our tattoos. I want to memorize every part of him. I don't want to feel this way anymore. I don't want to feel threatened. I don't want to feel so weak. I feel like a foreigner. I feel just like a shadow of my former self.
“When I die, I lose pieces of myself. I haven't told anyone this, but I've started seeing shadows. I see them when I look into mirrors. I see them climbing along the walls and crawling along the floors. They're humanoid. They're ancient. They're bits and pieces of the lost. I don't want Jesse to think I'm crazy. I don't want Kenny to think I'm crazy. But I trust you, Athena. I'm not crazy. None of what I've said is crazy. And yet I'm falling apart. There's no other reason but a tempered insanity.
“One childe has disenthralled. One childe has died and hasn't returned. I'm losing people. I don't do well with losing people, Athena. I can't lose anyone else. I can't. I just...I just can't. They leave me because I'm not good enough, because I'm just not important enough. I finally find someone willing to invest in me and I think I'm pushing him away.
“Just fix me. Tell me what's wrong with me. Tell me where to start. I can't tell him these things. I just can't. I don't want him to see me falling apart.”
I think I’m down again. I’m sorry.
/ärɡyo͞o/
to express conflicting views, usually in a heated manner; bicker; fight; squabble
"does it make sense that i love arguing with you, and yet i hate to argue with you"
Does it even really count as an argument when one party shows hostility and the other party expresses indifference? And if that’s the case, what’s the point? I get this crazy idea in my head that one day, he’s going to realize how fucked up I am and he’s going to leave me. He’ll make a big show of leaving though, probably break a few things, yell a few words, and then vanish, better than a high-paid magician. Sometimes it’s for another woman. Sometimes not. It’s never in the heat of the moment, always in the afterglow. No, not after sex. In the afterglow of the argument, when things have settled and the bridges are being reinforced. It’s always when it’s quiet that the thoughts reign supreme.
I bet he thinks she’s pretty.
I bet he complains about me.
I bet he regrets marrying me.
I bet he doesn’t love me unconditionally.
I’m insecure. I’m jealous. I’m starting arguments without even trying. And I wonder if those reinforced bridges will eventually burn and fall like ash onto my world. Like I said, sometimes he leaves me for other women, but sometimes he just leaves me. Stop being so damn doubtful. Stop showering everything in negativity. A lot of people put too much faith in the idea of marriage though. I’m married; therefore, he can’t have a wandering eye. I’m married; therefore, he’d never divorce me. Why am I even writing about this? All these words do is drive these thoughts deeper and deeper, creating a deep chasm in my mind. But I can’t help it. I tell myself I can’t help it. I excuse my behavior. And yet what do I expect? Another argument. He’ll read this and we’ll have another argument. No, Clover, not an argument. We’ll have a disagreement. We’ll have another disagreement.
I could blame this on the recent disagreement, but I think it goes back to what Kaelyn said to me, honestly. She told me that Jesse would love me no matter what. And I realized then that she shouldn’t have had to tell me that. No one should ever have to reassure me of that. I realized that I needed it though. This family is growing and I feel like I’m shrinking. In times like these, I would go to Victor or Kenny and I would just unload all of my emotional baggage and I’d go back, ready for round two. I told Jesse that I’d lost myself to nostalgia, and I told the truth. When I saw Runi, I saw myself reclaiming a part of my life that I thought I’d never see again. In that bar. In that chair. In that light. I kept it to myself. I kept everything to myself. Because I’m shrinking.
Sometimes, when it’s quiet, when it’s only me, I hear the worst things.
I bet he thinks you’re ugly.
I bet he enjoys spending time away from you.
I bet he’d be better off without you.
I bet he’d be happier with someone else.
I feel the thoughts puncturing different parts of my body, like nails being driven into a coffin. Just one more and I’m finished. Just one more and we’re through. I always wonder if he’d be better off without me, if someone else could make him happier. I try so hard not to be a mistake. I try to be so much more than that. But these voices. But these mistakes. But these disagreements. He said he wouldn’t have left me, but does that matter when the thought was already introduced, left to twirl and swirl around in my tornado of thoughts? If I made him unhappy once, what’s to say I won’t make him unhappy again? And is that really fair? Is that what I want for him? And I know if some other Clover came along, I’d -- I don’t know. My thoughts don’t complete the sentence. Abort. End. Radio silence.
I only get this bad because of two things, a pretty girl or my lingering depression. Take your pick. I’m not quite sure myself. I can’t explain to you why I’m more honest with this book than with you. I can say that I’m trying. I can repeat the words over and over. I’m so used to manipulating people. I’m so used to keeping secrets, trading secrets, learning secrets. Maybe this is how I'll always be, a spring ready to snap. Maybe I'll disappoint you in the way that I disappoint myself. Every single time. But this isn't all about you, is it? It's all about me. Me, with insecurities running deeper than underground channels. Me.
I hide the things that make me most vulnerable. Sometimes, I want to hide you too. Even when we argue. Even when the thoughts and voices are loudest. Sometimes, I want to bury you. Beneath all the doubts and fears. I just want this to be easier. I want everything to be easier. I don’t want to think these thoughts anymore. I don’t want you to think I’m weak. I hate that. I hate telling you things that open me up. I hate telling you things that leave me open to scrutiny. Just love the best parts of me.
I found some of the emails I sent to Athena. I told her these things a while ago, in November of last year:
“And I wonder if Jesse notices the struggle. I hope he doesn't. I want to be perfect for him. I want to be absolutely ******* perfect for him. I just want this to work. I don't want him to leave me. He's going to. I just know it. He's going to come home one night and tell me he's met someone else. Because I'm not supportive enough. I'm not outgoing enough. I'm not independent enough. I'm not beautiful enough. Because I've changed.
“I need to do something, Athena. I need to try and do something. I don't want our memories riddled with disagreements. I want to spend all of our time just tracing lines over our tattoos. I want to memorize every part of him. I don't want to feel this way anymore. I don't want to feel threatened. I don't want to feel so weak. I feel like a foreigner. I feel just like a shadow of my former self.
“When I die, I lose pieces of myself. I haven't told anyone this, but I've started seeing shadows. I see them when I look into mirrors. I see them climbing along the walls and crawling along the floors. They're humanoid. They're ancient. They're bits and pieces of the lost. I don't want Jesse to think I'm crazy. I don't want Kenny to think I'm crazy. But I trust you, Athena. I'm not crazy. None of what I've said is crazy. And yet I'm falling apart. There's no other reason but a tempered insanity.
“One childe has disenthralled. One childe has died and hasn't returned. I'm losing people. I don't do well with losing people, Athena. I can't lose anyone else. I can't. I just...I just can't. They leave me because I'm not good enough, because I'm just not important enough. I finally find someone willing to invest in me and I think I'm pushing him away.
“Just fix me. Tell me what's wrong with me. Tell me where to start. I can't tell him these things. I just can't. I don't want him to see me falling apart.”
I think I’m down again. I’m sorry.
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
004d29 / 9CBA7F / 7c2121
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Clover
- Registered User
- Posts: 1019
- Joined: 17 Mar 2014, 21:24
- CrowNet Handle: Lucky
Re: For Clover
suf·fer
/səfər/
to experience something bad; to hurt; to ache; to be miserable
"we’ll all know what it’s like to suffer, in one way or another"
The city has declared a state of emergency. Soldiers roam the streets. Eight cops stopped me and asked about my whereabouts on the night of the main assault on the government facility. Five didn’t even bother asking questions before they unloaded rounds. This city seems to be separating at the seams, and I’m sure the actions of my kind (myself included), both before, during, and after the assault, weigh heavily on the increased security and the unsettled atmosphere. We need to be careful. That’s what I’ve heard. We need to be careful, as if being aware of our actions will suddenly change our actions. The increased presence of the military, and the increased pressure from cops, makes me want to locate everyone I know and remind them to be careful. That’ll suddenly do the trick and these hunters will stop attacking, these paladins will retreat.
I’m sporting three bullet wounds today, all of them from soldiers. They’re more involved in city dynamics than the cops. They crossed intersections just to ask my whereabouts. I’ve been caught on cameras. I’ve been sloppy. One even asked if I’d been involved in an escape from the mental ward of a hospital. He looked older, like he’d been around during the earlier days when the mausoleum first went on lockdown. Maybe he remembers when I did escape the hospital. I said I didn’t recall and I proceeded to leave. He grabbed my arm and told me he wanted to escort me to a superior. When I failed to cooperate, he shot me. I’m not sure if he meant to shoot me or not. He looked stunned that his gun had even gone off. And when I started to bleed black blood, the shocked expression immediately vanished, replaced by nothing but disgust. He said, “I knew you were one of them.”
Them. We’re second-class citizens. We’re barely above farm animals. We only wanted to prevent the cure from being used for nefarious purposes. We only wanted the cure to free us from our shackles. We had numerous reasons for swarming the facility, some of them the same and some of them different. The second soldier had no compassion at all. He yelled at me to freeze, told me I had a warrant out, and then proceeded to empty his gun. One shot struck me in the gut and his companion, stationed just down the road, ran over to join in. That shot struck me in the shoulder. Months ago, there were no soldiers stationed in the streets. Months ago, I could have broken into whatever building I wanted. I’m out of practice. I’m messy. I’m wounded. They’re everywhere.
Maybe we are the invasive species. We’re the ones that don’t belong. But here we are, surviving. Not long ago, a woman killed Runi. Last night, a woman shot Jersey. Before that, possibly even before Runi’s death, a woman shot Jesse. I don’t need to remind Crimson to be aware of his surroundings. I don’t need to remind Raven to be aware of her surroundings. But I messaged Song. I’m sure there’s no discrimination based on age, but who can tell? If I were a hunter, I’d look for someone sloppy, someone inexperienced, or someone alone. I wanted a war with humans, but this feels more like the beginning of an extermination. And I wonder what that would look like. Are we really so disconnected from our own humanities? Are humans really so disconnected? For me, I find it easy to kill humans. I find it fun. There’s nothing more entertaining than torturing them. I shouldn’t expect anything more from humans. While they are the weaker species, even the weak can band together and form something strong.
I’m waiting for things to relax, for things to center themselves. I’m waiting for a sense of neutrality to fall back over the city. I think we need to slaughter the ones creating the chaos, but others might disagree. If we kill the ones causing the chaos, their disappearance would only stir the need for replacements, and more than the number that existed in the first place. Logic says that we need to wait this out, to fall back into the sewers like rats. They can’t kill us if they can’t find us. They can’t find us if we don’t let them. And then I remember that waiting is a lot like hiding, and I don’t like hiding. And beyond that, I’m impatient. I don’t want to wait things out when someone killed my childe. I don’t want to wait things out when someone shot Jesse. I don’t want to pretend that everything is okay. I want these soldiers off the streets. I want these cops to go back to eating their ******* donuts. I want the masquerade, the same one I never wanted in the first place. And it’s too late, far too late. We can’t put the rabbit back into the hat and pretend no one saw it.
I feel like the only way we’re going to make this work is if we manipulate people into thinking we’re just like them, in one way or another. We have to appeal to their desire for some sense of uniformity. We’re circus animals. We’re zoo animals. This city, this small section of the world, serves as our cage. As long as we perform, they won’t put us down. As long as we’re tame, they won’t turn to euthanasia. But this propaganda, lies told by psychotic witch hunters, will taint relations and ramp up the paranoia. Not all vampires are monsters. Not all vampires moonlight as serial killers. Some are relatively normal. Some lead rather ordinary lives. Some don’t have to struggle to fall into line. Those will suffer the most.
/səfər/
to experience something bad; to hurt; to ache; to be miserable
"we’ll all know what it’s like to suffer, in one way or another"
The city has declared a state of emergency. Soldiers roam the streets. Eight cops stopped me and asked about my whereabouts on the night of the main assault on the government facility. Five didn’t even bother asking questions before they unloaded rounds. This city seems to be separating at the seams, and I’m sure the actions of my kind (myself included), both before, during, and after the assault, weigh heavily on the increased security and the unsettled atmosphere. We need to be careful. That’s what I’ve heard. We need to be careful, as if being aware of our actions will suddenly change our actions. The increased presence of the military, and the increased pressure from cops, makes me want to locate everyone I know and remind them to be careful. That’ll suddenly do the trick and these hunters will stop attacking, these paladins will retreat.
I’m sporting three bullet wounds today, all of them from soldiers. They’re more involved in city dynamics than the cops. They crossed intersections just to ask my whereabouts. I’ve been caught on cameras. I’ve been sloppy. One even asked if I’d been involved in an escape from the mental ward of a hospital. He looked older, like he’d been around during the earlier days when the mausoleum first went on lockdown. Maybe he remembers when I did escape the hospital. I said I didn’t recall and I proceeded to leave. He grabbed my arm and told me he wanted to escort me to a superior. When I failed to cooperate, he shot me. I’m not sure if he meant to shoot me or not. He looked stunned that his gun had even gone off. And when I started to bleed black blood, the shocked expression immediately vanished, replaced by nothing but disgust. He said, “I knew you were one of them.”
Them. We’re second-class citizens. We’re barely above farm animals. We only wanted to prevent the cure from being used for nefarious purposes. We only wanted the cure to free us from our shackles. We had numerous reasons for swarming the facility, some of them the same and some of them different. The second soldier had no compassion at all. He yelled at me to freeze, told me I had a warrant out, and then proceeded to empty his gun. One shot struck me in the gut and his companion, stationed just down the road, ran over to join in. That shot struck me in the shoulder. Months ago, there were no soldiers stationed in the streets. Months ago, I could have broken into whatever building I wanted. I’m out of practice. I’m messy. I’m wounded. They’re everywhere.
Maybe we are the invasive species. We’re the ones that don’t belong. But here we are, surviving. Not long ago, a woman killed Runi. Last night, a woman shot Jersey. Before that, possibly even before Runi’s death, a woman shot Jesse. I don’t need to remind Crimson to be aware of his surroundings. I don’t need to remind Raven to be aware of her surroundings. But I messaged Song. I’m sure there’s no discrimination based on age, but who can tell? If I were a hunter, I’d look for someone sloppy, someone inexperienced, or someone alone. I wanted a war with humans, but this feels more like the beginning of an extermination. And I wonder what that would look like. Are we really so disconnected from our own humanities? Are humans really so disconnected? For me, I find it easy to kill humans. I find it fun. There’s nothing more entertaining than torturing them. I shouldn’t expect anything more from humans. While they are the weaker species, even the weak can band together and form something strong.
I’m waiting for things to relax, for things to center themselves. I’m waiting for a sense of neutrality to fall back over the city. I think we need to slaughter the ones creating the chaos, but others might disagree. If we kill the ones causing the chaos, their disappearance would only stir the need for replacements, and more than the number that existed in the first place. Logic says that we need to wait this out, to fall back into the sewers like rats. They can’t kill us if they can’t find us. They can’t find us if we don’t let them. And then I remember that waiting is a lot like hiding, and I don’t like hiding. And beyond that, I’m impatient. I don’t want to wait things out when someone killed my childe. I don’t want to wait things out when someone shot Jesse. I don’t want to pretend that everything is okay. I want these soldiers off the streets. I want these cops to go back to eating their ******* donuts. I want the masquerade, the same one I never wanted in the first place. And it’s too late, far too late. We can’t put the rabbit back into the hat and pretend no one saw it.
I feel like the only way we’re going to make this work is if we manipulate people into thinking we’re just like them, in one way or another. We have to appeal to their desire for some sense of uniformity. We’re circus animals. We’re zoo animals. This city, this small section of the world, serves as our cage. As long as we perform, they won’t put us down. As long as we’re tame, they won’t turn to euthanasia. But this propaganda, lies told by psychotic witch hunters, will taint relations and ramp up the paranoia. Not all vampires are monsters. Not all vampires moonlight as serial killers. Some are relatively normal. Some lead rather ordinary lives. Some don’t have to struggle to fall into line. Those will suffer the most.
cause when you look like that, i've never ever wanted to be so bad » it drives me w i l d
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