For Clover

[Clover]

fix·ing

/disəˈɡrē/

mending or repairing something

“this is the type of fixing that i mean”

---

Earlier, I had pumpkin carving with Pera and Vic. It became a sort of birthday gift to Pera, more than anything else. I gave her cupcakes, even though I'm sure she can't eat them, and encouraged her to paint or carve pumpkins. Vic really didn't do much. He ate the cupcakes, which counts. At least someone can eat them.

I had fun. Even though it ended with Vic and I just talking. I avoided the subject of Jesse and Kenlie. It was like old times, times before any of this. He kept acting weird though. At one point, he told me if I didn't stop making jokes, he'd throw me out. I guess I have to filter more than names. Eventually, we'll run out of things to say. Eventually, that'll be it. And that's how our duo will end. No more team. No more Fforde outcasts against the world. Just two people passing by on the street.

I wanted to offer to stay a little longer and watch a movie. The plans for a get together had been a disappointment, and even though he swore he was having fun, I still wasn't sure. I guess I can't make him move on, to suddenly realize there's more than Kenny. He has no one. I hope that his “children” and Jesse understand.

Jersey. We'd had our own pumpkin carving get-together. I know she's not as whole as she likes to appear. Sometimes, she's the strong one. Sometimes, I'm the strong one. She's not alone. She admitted that she had her family, and I know she could always find some sort of comfort there, but I still feel that need to try and fix her. That's my problem. You don't fix people. You can't fix people.

I want her to move on from him, but I don't know how that'll work. I don't know if she's willing to let go. I don't think it helps that I encourage her to spy on him. I just want what's best for her. I don't want her to **** up. I never want her to be where I am. I don't want her riddled with holes created from uncertainty and self-doubt.

Athena. I think she might be in the best position. I think I'm most proud of her. She's hanging on. I feel like I'm neglecting her, like maybe I'm not there as much as I should be there. She's always there for me, but where am I? I'm off with Jesse. I'm off with Victor. I'm off with Jersey. She's my roommate, but we hardly cross paths. It's almost like we are long-distance friends. But isn't that still a friendship? Aren't we still as connected as I think we are?

She needs to cling to what she has, whether she knows it or not. She can be the strongest woman I know, but that doesn't matter. One mistake. One slip up. Anything little can send your whole world crashing down around you.

Jesse. I censor myself so much in this journal. I always have. I have so few words to say, even though I have so many words to say. I wish he would trust me. I can't emphasize that enough. I wish he would try for me, for us. We worry about him. I worry about him. As much as I shy away from the fact, I'm trying to fix him too.

I'm trying. I hate using that word, in all of its forms. Trying. I'm working hardest to help him along. I'm trying to keep him from hurting himself even more than he already has. Every little thing forces him away from me. I feel like every moment I spend trying to help Victor only irritates Jesse more, giving him another reason to withdraw. I feel like I just can't win. I don't want to make Jesse jealous, but who's there for Vic? Who's always had Vic's back? That shouldn't stop because of what happened or because of Jesse.

I want to help Jesse most of all. Why? Because I know what it's like to struggle and I know what it's like to want to give up, to want to opt out. I still consider death, even when things aren't that bad at all. I think the temptation will always be there. And maybe it's always there for him, maybe it's just magnified. I worry. I have a lot of scenarios running through my mind. What if he’s not there when I get back? What if he's simply run away for good, run away from me? What if he's committed suicide? What if he's been captured or killed or maimed? What if he's with Kae? What if he's with Grey? What if he's not there? What if he's simply gone?

I keep telling myself that we have nothing but time, yet I'm impatient. Vic needs a sign of hope or he needs to move on. Jersey needs to fight, really fight, for what she wants. Athena needs to express herself in ways beyond her snark. Jesse needs to hang on just a little bit longer. Just until he feels the ache subside. Just until he can stand on his own two feet again. I just need to hang on just a little bit longer and then. And then what? What happens after the storm?

[Clover]

prog·ress

/präɡres/

forward movement; advancement; headway

“i guess this is what progress looks like”

---

Kenlie is back. It hasn’t been that long since my last entry, but I needed to write again. I’m addicted to this journal more than anything else. I learned that Kenny was back when I tried dropping off Vic’s halloween costume. Now, I don’t think I’ll give him the costume. I don’t think we need to go trick-or-treating anymore. I don’t think we need to spend as much time together anymore. And I’m okay with that. On some level, I’m relieved. Because Kenlie is back. Because everything can just go back to normal. We can go back to what it was before.

At some point, he’ll have to tell her. At some point, I’ll probably end up shot. And I’m okay with that too. This all means that I have more time for other people and other things. I don’t have to worry about Vic running around the city, snapping pictures of landscapes and strippers. I can worry about something else on my list.

This entry really isn’t as long as I thought, or maybe it isn’t as long as I’d hoped. I just needed to say that Kenny was back. Well, Kenny came back. Let this be one step forward.

[Clover]

tep·id

/tepəd/

showing little enthusiasm; apathetic; subdued

“she came off tepid at best”

---

It's gotten worse. We're taking stabs at one another. We're leaving gaping wounds where flesh once existed. It's not Jesse’s fault. That's what keeps going through my mind. I get it. I've been there. I'm there right now. You feel like there's nothing to look forward to but the darkness. I've been to the shadow realm; I've seen what it offers and what it lacks. He's trying to pull himself together and it's difficult. It's even more difficult when you only have a couple of people trying to help, trying to do everything. Jesse needs the family, his family, and we're letting him down. I'm letting him down.

I know about what happened with Victor. I know about what he said. I know he's trying to use harsh words to force Jesse back into the world, to strike just the right cord to force a physical reaction. That doesn't work. That's not what Jesse needs. How do I know what Jesse needs? I'm just guessing. I'm just deducing. I'm just clawing at my own experiences and building some kind of design.

I'm afraid to leave Jesse now. I told Jersey as much. I left her text messages.

I don't know what to do. I'm trying to keep him together and I'm trying to be delicate with him when everyone else hurts him more and more. I've decided to just stay with him or take him everywhere with me. I just...I keep thinking he'll just...I'll wake up and he'll have been killed. He'll have committed suicide by cop. He'll have run away. He'll just be gone.

People just treat him like ****...being so disrespectful. Saying he needs a babysitter. He needs family. He needs family and they aren't there. I can't do this on my own. I'm trying…

I've expressed my desperation as much as possible, but I can't expect Vic to carry all the baggage. In fact, I can't expect him to help at all. I can't ask him to help me as much as I want to because I know it's unfair. I do my best not to bring Jesse up because I dislike discussing Jesse with other people. I talk about him to Jersey and Athena. I just.. what more can I do? I've already decided to remain by his side. But tonight. Tonight is mine.

When I get the chance, I'm going out. I need to. This is something I need. Kae will be there with him. I can go and release every frustration, every bit of my confusion. I'll work systematically. I'm not looking for a slaughter but more of a beautiful killing spree. I need this night because I feel myself slipping. I feel myself getting to the point where I'll be there beside him. I'll drag him down to the point where no one will find us again. I feel like this is all my fault anyway. I've expressed the opinion before. I just wanted him to stop siring simply to put off this reaction, to fill this void. Look what it's doing to him. Look at how far he's fallen.

I'm just not enough. It scares me that I'm thinking these things. I'm repeating words I've read before and words I've heard before. I just want to curl up and hide away from everyone and everything. I want to encourage him to do the same. I want to summon him to the edge of the city and wait there. I want to walk with the fae and talk with the sun. I want to drench myself in blood. I want to punch Vic for saying the things he said. I want to make everyone hurt for how I feel and how Jesse feels. We're losing. I didn't even know we were playing the game.

[Clover]

ar·son

/ärs(ə)n/

the act of intentionally setting fire to property

“he starts with arson”

---

First comes arson. Those are the words that echo in my mind. I don’t need to write about the place that he burned down. I don’t need to write about this at all. I’m relieved that he burnt down a building instead of something more serious. I’m ashamed to admit the fact. I’d rather have an arsonist than nothing. I’d rather have an arsonist than something worse. I keep telling myself, “At least he’s okay.” But he isn’t okay. He’s not even close to being all right. With each passing night, I forget that there was ever a time before this. I forget that he has something other than an overwhelming desire to destroy himself and everything he holds dear.

He burnt Gresse’s to the ground. I haven’t seen the remnants yet; in fact, I don’t think I want to see what the fire left behind. I told him about the things that happened in the building, but he didn’t connect with my words. He didn’t get it. I didn’t leave and breathe for Gresse’s, but I don’t live and breathe for anything, do I? After all, Kaelyn made it seem that I’m incapable of loving. It makes sense that I wouldn’t have any sort of attachment.

Places matter to me. I build my life around places and add in the people. Now that Gresse’s is gone, I feel like there’s a piece of my memory missing. What was he thinking? What the hell was he thinking when he burnt the place to the ground? All those sirens that I heard were probably connected to the fire at Gresse’s. The firemen were likely trying to save the building; they were probably trying to tame the flames just enough to search for anyone they thought might have been trapped inside. Again, I think, “At least he’s okay.”

I met Mickey there. I had my first real conversation with Eirik there. I introduced Jersey to Jesse there. I won five-thousand dollars there. I had one of the best times of my life there. And he burnt it to the ground. I can’t say that I’m angry. I’m not angry. I’m tired. Again. Still. Maybe he tried cleansing the memories. Maybe he thought the fire would clean the slate and give him some peace of mind. Maybe he thought we wouldn’t care. Maybe he hoped we would care.

I asked Jesse to promise me that he’d call if he were ever that low again. I don’t know what else to do. It’s clear that only Kaelyn and I are really trying. To be honest, I admit I’m being selective. I’m being defensive. I’m being downright possessive. I just don’t trust many people. I don’t trust them. Sometimes, I don’t even trust myself. I keep telling myself that we’re so close to the end, to the point where Jesse will be able to breathe again, but it feels like we’re light years away. It feels like we’ve only just begun. What if this never ends? I told him that we’re tired. I admitted that we’re tired. But I also told him that doesn’t mean we’re going to give up. I meant that. I mean it.

Even though he promised to reach out to me, I’m doubting him. While he was burning Gresse’s down, I was probably holed up in the warehouse, arguing with Vic. If I hadn’t been there. If I had just gone home. If we had all gone home. If I had never pulled Kae away. I guess this is my fault. I feel like it’s my fault. I don’t know what I’m doing and I can’t afford to play it by ear, but that’s what I’m doing. That’s what we’re doing. I just can’t stay holed up in that bedroom. I just can’t stay holed up in the green room. I tried. I’m trying. I’m going crazy. I’ve resorted to sneaking out like some of teenager.

Does this make me a horrible person? Does this mean I care any less? I always go back. Kaelyn’s there. Hours ago, I invited Vic over. I was getting restless. All four of us, Vic, Kaelyn, Jesse, and I, talked a bit and I read their fortunes. I can’t read fortunes at all. I’ve never tried. When I read their fortunes, I did my best to judge their situations and offer them some light, some humor. I’m scraping at the bottom of the barrel; I’m giving and giving even after there’s nothing left to give. I think we had fun though. I had fun. In the end, Kaelyn fell asleep. Vic stayed a little longer, but he left too. I can’t really describe how it felt when he left; I can’t create the words necessary to convey how it felt watching him go. He was the end of our little gathering. That was it.

Jesse gets it. He understands. The silence was too much for me. If I had the choice, I’d never feel that way again. I don’t want to look around an empty room and remember the people and the noises that once filled it. I want to say it’s the first time I’ve felt that way, but that’s not true. I feel that way whenever I go to the bar. Sometimes I go there just to try and conjure those moments. It’s never the same though. It’ll never be the same. This is what my life will be like. Year after year. More and more memories. I feel like my head will eventually crack open and there will be nothing left. No more memories. No more feelings. Nothing.

Arson. Fire doesn’t have to involve actual flames. We don’t have to be reduced to ash. We’re all arsonists. We’re setting fires within people and places. We’re burning out at the same time that we’re burning brightest. How much time do we have left? We’re on fire.

[Clover]

re·prieve

/rəˈprēv/

a temporary escape; pardon; spare; amnesty

“i haven’t been given any sort of reprieve”

---

I can’t hear anything but the music slowly creeping through the cords of my earbuds. I don’t have to worry about anything but the beat and the way it vibrates more than speakers. I told Vic that no one needed to be in this room for too long, and I meant it. I’ve resorted to doodling along the margins of my pages. I started with trees and then moved on to faces. I tried drawing Jesse, whether he knew it or not. I scribbled it out because it looked like ****. I’m not that kind of artist. I’m some other kind of artist, if I even want to stretch the meaning of the word and all its possibilities.

The text messages stopped coming. I stopped replying; he stopped replying. I’d wanted to sneak out and join Vic at the Handlebar. I’d wanted a last chance to wear my Halloween costume and an opportunity to break out of this room. It’s not the people that bother me. It’s not the lack of space. It’s the same four walls looming over me. Hour after hour. Night after night.

During last night’s gathering, I’d decided that I would show Jesse my journal. I’d told Kaelyn what it meant to me, what my writing meant to me. In the end, I feigned sleep. I waited until I thought he was asleep and I started doodling. That was when I’d created my masterpiece, which turned into the giant scribbles to the left of this entry. I should have done what I’m doing right now. I should have turned my phone on, opened my music app, and lost myself in a mess of music notes.

My plans for tonight won’t work. It’s not about the location, and I’m sure I could convince Jersey and Athena to drop any of their responsibilities. I guess I’m apathetic. It could be because of the trouble Athena’s having. It could be any number of things. Am I overstepping my boundaries by encouraging Vic to be nicer to Jesse or to try giving Jesse a gift related to art? Was I wrong to help Athena ruin her lover’s apartment?

I think I’ll fadewalk. The music is starting to slip into the background again. I just need some time. I can’t even do that though. I can’t just go. I can’t go where I want. I can’t do what I want to do. I feel so ******* trapped. What if? What if? What if? If I go, this will happen. If I don’t go, this will happen. I’m so tired of planning everything into the future, looking fifteen steps ahead before I can make a decision. And at the same time, this is what I want to do. I’m making this decision. I’m making this choice. So what can I say? I don’t have a right to want to do anything. I don’t have a right to want to go anywhere. I’m too stubborn and selfish and suspicious.

I can’t take this ******* music, but I can’t just stop it. If I stop it, I’ll hear more thoughts. I can’t ******* stand it. The music. The thoughts. This ******* room is driving me insane. Nothing changes. People come and go. I can’t stand this. I can’t stand it.

It’s okay. I have to take my time. I can’t leave anything open ended. I can’t leave room for doubts. Keep it together, Clover. Keep it together. Listen to the music again. Listen to the lyrics. It’s okay. It’ll be fine. Just pull it together again.

[Clover]

shiv·er

/SHivər/

to quiver; to shake; to quake; to tremble due to being cold, excited, or afraid

“i think i’ve learned of new ways to shiver”

---

It’s cold. That’s the first thing I noticed when I went back outside. It’s easier when you’re focused on getting from one point to another. But when you’re just sitting on the cold ground, huddled up in blankets, you really start to feel the chill. You start to feel like you’re freezing, like a frost is slowly settling over your skin and hardening your insides. I shouldn’t have gone to the movie marathon. That’s my fault.

What makes the night feel colder is the fact that I’m sitting in an alleyway, my butt on the cold concrete, my journal propped up on my bent knees. I’m outside. I’m alone. I don’t have to be. I think, on some level, I’m choosing to be alone. As I’m sitting here, alternating between writing and smoking, I have to wonder if Kaelyn was right. Maybe I’m not capable of really caring about someone else. Here I am. Alone. I should have gone back to the movie marathon. I shouldn’t have screwed the night up in the first place. But what can I do now? Do I go back? It’s late for that.

I’ve received about four text messages. I can’t really count them all when I have to measure the length of vibrations. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to say anything at all. I want them to think I’ve gone somewhere I want to be, wherever that place happens to be, and that I’m either happy or miserable as ****. I have to pull my phone out of my pocket though. I can’t just let it continue to vibrate with reminders. I know I have messages. I don’t want your damn messages. Just leave me alone.

Of course it’s them. Of course it’s her. I have to squint through the cracks on my screen, cracks that wouldn’t have been there if she hadn’t pissed me off in the first place. Kae apologized for my phone. Phones are replaceable, even if it is irritating that I have to repeatedly replace them. Victor wanted to know if I was okay. His text message was harder to ignore, but I did. Jesse asked if I was coming back; he asked me to summon him. I lied and said I was going to look for Paige, but I left without even trying.

Whether Jesse knows it or not, he gave good advice. Going somewhere else, going somewhere with fresh air, helps me. Even though it’s cold, I do feel better. Removing myself from the situation does help. Sometimes. I’m texting with them now, going back and forth about what’s going on. Vic asked if I wanted company, but I’m not sure. I’m hesitating on saying yes or no.

I just told Vic no. I’d shied away from summoning Jesse. I just don’t need them right now. Not until I’m done with this new cigarette. Not until I’ve finished writing and drawing and stalling.

The text messages stopped. I can focus on drawing now.

[Clover]

pro·logue

/prō lôɡ/

an introductory piece; preface; prelude; foreword

“this may be the worst prologue i’ve ever read and the best prologue i’ve ever written”

---

Maybe we are blending together. Then again, maybe we were never really two people to begin with. We could have been half people, partial people. We could have been stumbling through our lives in search of some unknown, or unseen, purpose. Right now, I don’t think it matters. We’ve hit the pause button. We’re nothing more than blurs on the screen. I don’t know what we’re doing or where we’re going, and that’s perfectly fine. I’m okay with this. I’ve made peace with this.

I feel like an island; I finally know the true meaning behind that statement, behind feeling like an island. It means I feel like we’re in the midst of our own lives. It feels like we’re writing our own story that’s separate from any other story, a chapter that’s cut off from the rest of the novel. We’re a prologue. We’re an epilogue. No one really needs to pay attention to us to grasp the concept of the book. Our book. This book.

Everywhere we go, we cause problems. We manage to disappoint people. We manage to anger people. Victor isn’t talking to me. Kaelyn isn’t talking to me. They were my family. Who’s left? Jesse. Pera. I haven’t heard from Renee. I haven’t heard from Paige. I could count my extended family, Jersey and Athena. The point is that I lost two people I never intended to lose. I don’t even know where to begin, but I can try to explain. I can try to trace the path from the entry point to the exit wound.

After I left the movie marathon and I lost touch with the others, they fell apart. Kae had lost her temper, I believe. Vic had attempted to bring them together with his sense of humor. I can’t give details because I wasn’t there. I don’t know, for sure, what happened. When the texts stopped coming, Jesse disappeared. Kaelyn told me to look after him and check in on him, while Victor was the one to tell me that Jesse had “disappeared.” Neither of them knew where Jesse had gone, where he had decided to go. When I read that, I panicked. I know why I panicked. I know the horrors I saw.

I started searching in Bullwood. I ripped through the streets, looking through every nook and cranny. I should have summoned him, but my summoning skills are shaky at best. And to be honest, I didn’t want to summon him if he were perfectly fine; I didn’t want to summon him if he were engaged in conversation with someone else. Instead, I sent him multiple text messages. I warned him that I would summon him if he didn’t respond.

In between flooding Jesse with text messages, I went back and forth between Kaelyn and Victor. Kaelyn provided the most help. Kaelyn actually contributed something. Victor managed to simultaneously insult me and minimize my reaction. He told me I’d lost my mind. He told me that Jesse needed time. He implied I was suffocating Jesse. Victor was the one to say that Jesse and I were one and the same. He called me a Debbie and a Downer. And I snapped at him. I knew exactly what I was doing. Up until that point, I’d been sarcastic. But once he’d said all those things, once they’d settled on my chest and melded with my fears, I lashed out at him. I said, “Hey, how’s your wife?”

If I had the chance to do it all over again, I would have done things differently. I would have cursed him out from the start instead of trying to reign in my temper. But it’s done, isn’t it? It’s happened. It’s over. He said I could go **** myself. I let myself focus on what I deemed to be the most important matter at hand: Jesse. In the back of my mind, I congratulated myself on my zinger. I congratulated myself on knowing just where to thrust the knife. The fact is that hurting people makes me feel good. Hurting people I care about? At first, I might feel good, but there’s a reason why I care about them. There’s a reason why I care about him. A few hours ago, I sent him apology texts. I don’t know if he’ll read them. I don’t know if he’ll reply.

[To: Vic] Vic, I hated what you said and I was scared to death. I still shouldn't have said what I said to you.

[To: Vic] You've been there for me so much and I was shitty to you.

[To: Vic] You don't deserve it. You don't deserve to deal with my emotions because I can't.

[To: Vic] I'm sorry. I get if you don't want to see me or talk to me again, but I am sorry. I lashed out at you.

I did hate what he said, you know. I wanted to find him and cut off his legs. I’d made a conscious decision that if something had happened to Jesse, I would do everything in my power to make sure that Victor felt that level of pain and that level of panic. Vic was so blasé about it all and it made everything worse. As for the rest of my text messages, I meant the words. He has been there for me and I was shitty to him. He did deserve it though; he deserved the thrust of that knife into his gut. What he didn’t deserve was the blade I chose. I shouldn’t have stooped to that level. That’s what happened with us.

Kaelyn and I fell apart in a different way. I had been mad at her for her usual advances on Jesse, despite the fact that she swore it was just her way of showing she cared about someone. She apologized. I apologized. We had reached a familiar point in our back-and-forth relationship. But then she brought up the pumpkin-carving party I’d had with Vic and Pera. She was jealous. She didn’t say that she was jealous, but it was obvious. I know all about jealousy.

The party wasn’t supposed to be the only one thrown. I had encouraged Vic to throw another party where both girls would have been present. I’m guessing that never happened. Needless to say, Kaelyn stopped replying to my texts. Eventually, she’ll realize that it wasn’t that big of a deal. I’ll be patient.

In the end, Jesse replied to his text messages. He hadn’t disappeared. He’d walked out the front door. Can you believe that? Victor and Kaelyn had made it sound much worse than it was. They’d made it sound as if he’d slipped away when their backs were turned. Was it any better, knowing that he hadn’t slipped away? No. Because he admitted he’d been plotting to hurt or kill himself. He plucked up one of my nightmares, expanded it, and hit play.

Everything I went through, everything I’ve gone through, made me realize that I’ve lost touch with who I am. I’m constantly living for someone else. I’m listening to my friends. I’m listening to my family. I’m listening to cops, doctors, etc. I haven’t been listening to Clover. I’ve been too busy suffocating myself. That’s the truth. I’ve been drowning in two feet of water. Yes, I’m paranoid. Yes, I’m overprotective. I’m more than that; I’m more than those pitfalls. I’m bitchy. I’m sarcastic. I’m bloodthirsty. I’m stubborn. I’m selfish. At the same time, I’m composed of more than the negatives. I’m witty. I’m passionate. I’m determined. I’m beautiful. I’m worthy.

I’m more than a cheap thrill. My life is more than someone’s temporary fix or temporary fill. I’m not an endless resource. Somehow, I forgot that. I objectified myself. I tried fixing people with sex. I tried fixing myself with the same. Maybe I’m not a whole person. Maybe I’ll never be a whole person. I’ve never been a fully functioning person though. I’ve never been perfect. I’ve never been an exemplary member of society. I think I just need to find myself and hold on tight. This is where it’s okay to be selfish. This is where it’s okay to want. This is my prologue.

[Clover]

pos·i·tive

/päzədiv/

conclusive; certain; encouraging; a good quality or attribute

“this a rare moment of positivity, but it’s not”

---

It’s been three days and I haven’t heard from Victor or Kaelyn. I know I’m known for taking long trips, for leaving people waiting, but it’s different being on the other side. It’s different waiting. I can’t make them forgive me. I know that. I might be waiting for months or for years. The truth is, I might be waiting for an eternity. It’s possible that I may never hear from them again.

I met Rhett. I think I made it clear that he’s needed. Jesse and I have nothing left, and I think it’s my fault. I drove Vic and Kae away. Vic withdrew into himself, yet again, and Kae left for her trip on a bad note. I think I’m bad for him, for Jesse. I think I’m bad for this family. I’ve thought that for a while. I’ve never fit in here. I’m trying hard now, but it’s not enough. I suppose it’s only Rhett now. I suppose I have to try harder with him. Somewhere, other family members are lurking, but what’s lurking going to do right now?

I’ve thought about turning someone. I’ve thought about finding people and drawing them into this mess. I’ve considered every possibility to fill the holes the others left behind. I can’t be everything. I can’t satisfy all his needs. It’s impossible. I can only assume that Rhett helps. I can only hope that Rhett helps.

I have more to write, but I refuse to write anymore. I want to end on something relatively close to a positive note. Though I suppose admitting that I think I’ve ruined everything and drove away the two main people Jesse had left? Well, that isn’t positive at all.

[Clover]

es·tranged

/iˈstrānjd/

alienated; no longer close to someone; no longer friendly with someone

“i’ve come to the conclusion that we’re all estranged”

---

Last night, I went to the Handlebar. I know how it sounds. I know I shouldn’t have gone into the building. I know I shouldn’t have gone looking for Victor. He doesn’t deserve it, etc. The fact is that I miss him. It’s easy to miss him, and to forgive him, when he stops coming around. He said some shitty things. He’s pissed off plenty of people. But in the end, I bet he’s doing just fine. In the end, I’m the one left with enough guilt to fill an entire room. I went to the Handlebar thinking that I would confront him and set things straight. I had a simple plan, one without a complicated diagram, and yet my plan failed. He didn’t show up.

I spent three hours sitting at the bar, three miserable, pathetic hours. I had so many drink offers that I’m still trying to forget the names and faces of the sad sops that thought they had a chance to talk to me, let alone to spend five minutes with me. Because I sat alone, I made myself available. That was the consensus. Some part of me is glad that it wasn’t dead. I’m glad that all those pigs came and went, going in and out of the front doors as if they were pinballs. Waiting there alone would have been so much harder. In a way, I guess I’m thankful there were guys still attempting cheesy pick-up lines on a woman way out of their league.

I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?

Do you have a map? I’m lost in your eyes.

I don’t think we’ve met. I wouldn’t forget a pretty face like yours.

Are you lost, sweetheart? Heaven is a long way from here.

Are you a thief? Baby, you just stole my heart.

Those were the creative lines. There were the originals, the ones offering a drink and offering to talk a walk. After three hours of people approaching me, I couldn’t sit there any longer. I’d grown tired of the music pouring from the jukebox and the sound of billiard balls cracking against each other. Leaving was the hardest part. I couldn’t even get away from the place without feeling like I was giving up on more than sitting on a bar stool. Texting Jesse helped. I didn’t have to think so much about where I was going and what I was doing.

When I was in Lancaster’s, I had something more to look forward to. I tried not thinking about the fact that I’d failed to find Victor. I’d failed to apologize. I’d failed to corral him back into the fold. I ran into a familiar face. Some months ago, I had a little mishap in the catacombs. Someone had stabbed me. Whether it was an accident or not, I retaliated. I raged. I slaughtered. And then I’d let it go. My wound healed nicely, despite the scar still on my side, and I never really saw the man again. Until last night.

I was going to fight him in the middle of that pub. I revealed my shadow to him. In fact, I cast it over him as if I were trying to intimidate him. There’s something about the intimidation factor that’s absolutely thrilling. That’s what I felt like for the duration of my time in the pub. I like playing with my food. And when I met him, that’s how it felt. I felt like I was playing with my food.

I might have stayed longer, but something came up. Let’s just say that my addiction to my phone came with a fantastic reward. I got a nice photo. I’m smart enough to weigh the pros and cons of a situation. Pros? A lot of fun. Cons? Nothing. So I left. I cut the evening short. I’d failed to accomplish anything, unless I want to count running into a former ******** and having a relaxing bath. I think I will count those things. I did accomplish something. I didn’t accomplish what I set out to accomplish, but I did something. I had some sort of evening. I had a nice evening. I guess it just started off on the wrong foot.

Right now, I’m sitting just outside of Larch. I’ve been spending more time here than I ever have before. I want to say it’s because of someone, but I’ll admit it’s just as much about the privacy. It’s quiet. It’s like a ghost town. In some ways, Larch is a refuge. Isn’t it ironic that it’s a refuge now?

I remember when this place was full of people. I remember walking in on Grey and Jesse in the shower. I was mortified! Victor laughed at me. I think Renee teased me. Someone said that it would happen again and I claimed I would vomit if I ever walked in on them again.

I remember wanting to glue myself to Renee’s side. I thought she was absolutely amazing. Smart. Funny. Confident. I looked up to her almost immediately. Victor was the first one to draw me in, but Renee was the first one that I drew in. I was so angry when I had to shove people aside to try and get her attention. I wanted her to be just as impressed by me. And all of that happened here. In Larch.

I remember Halloween. I remember Christmas. I remember gift exchanges. One by one, people are disappearing, and all I’m left with are these memories. I’m left with the silence clinging to the walls of rooms. It makes sense for me to try and salvage the people that are left. It makes perfect sense for me to linger in empty rooms, trying to hear the echos of laughter. This is something I'll write over and over again. These thoughts and these feelings ebb and flow.

I have Jesse. Renee just woke up again. Rhett is around. Kaelyn will eventually come back from her trip. It's all of this change that hurts the most. Change means that I’m out of control. I can’t control every aspect of my environment; I can’t control other people. I’m stuck watching them come and go. I feel like I’m at the bar all over again. Maybe we’re all just pinballs. Coming and going. One right after the other until there’s no one left at all.

[Clover]

mel·an·chol·y

/melənkälē/

sad; sorrowful; morose; dejected; pensive

“when she’s feeling melancholy, she’s feeling like the only person in the world”

---

He’s giving up. In subtle ways. In obvious ways. And even though I’ve established that I’m my own person, I think I’m giving up too. Rhett said it would be unfair to expect someone new to come into this family and carry the weight of the remaining members, and he’s right. We can’t expect Renee to wake up and support all of us. We can’t expect her to pick us up and dust us off. But I wish someone would. I really wish someone would.

Maybe we’re rolling in our self-pity, but in between our pity parties, we are trying. We’re going out. We’re talking. We aren’t just lying in bed. I swear we aren’t just lying in bed. But what difference is it making? We could be lying in bed. We could be running through this city. We could be doing any number of things. And in the end, we’re still just standing still. We’re going nowhere. I’m going nowhere.

Right now, I’m alone. Even when I’m sleeping beside him, I feel like I’m alone. Is this how he feels? Does he feel like I don’t make any difference at all? Does he feel like he’s so far from his former self that he’s not a person at all? Sometimes, I think I’m a filter. I think I’m trying to manage words and actions, to try and manipulate situations; I’m trying to do everything I can to make things a little better, and--if he’s feeling the way that I’m feeling--I’m doing a shitty job. I just want this to be over now. I just want to wake up and be okay. I just want everything to be okay.

Even though every day is different, every single day is exactly the same. Because we’re going nowhere. Because we’re alone. Because of so many different things that add up to be exactly the same. What happens when words and actions cease to be enough? What can we say? What can we do? If I jump, you jump. I’ve considered that. I’ve spent a lot of time mulling over the idea behind those words and beneath those words. What if I did just go? Or even, what if I walked away? I’m all in, aren’t I? I can’t fold.

What if there is no end? I’ve been operating on the idea that things will get better. What if we’re always like this? What if I always feel as awful as I do right now? Renee promised to make Christmas great, and I want to believe her. But why? What’s the point? I said I wanted to try and make it as great as my first Christmas with Fforde, but then I realized what that meant. It’s impossible. I’ve set myself up for yet another failure. Because I want coupons for tattoos. I want a book full of funny excuses for everyday things. I want to smoke. I want to feel angry and jealous and wonderful. I want to feel something other than the emotions crammed into lulls in conversation and squeezed into moments between moans.

I’m afraid that if I say something, he’ll only stress the words he’s said before. He’ll say that he has nothing to offer me. And then what? I keep looking for him to be there for me, but he can’t be there for me; he’s barely there for himself. He has nothing to offer me. Not right now. Maybe never. And then again, what do I have to offer? The same. Exactly the same. Maybe even less than that. Because while he’s wherever he happens to be right now, I’m sitting here, wanting him. I’m expecting something when he’s giving up on everything. I think that I’m giving up on him. Slowly, but surely, I feel the weight of it all just dragging me down. I’m not running away. I’m not hiding. And he’s not here. The worst part? If he were to call or text, I don’t think I’d tell him how much I wanted him or needed him. I think I’d lie. I’d lie to him.