For Clover

[Clover]

jeal·ous

/jeləs/

hostile toward or suspicious of a suspected a rival; fearful of losing one’s place; envious; possessive

“let me get rid of this jealousy”

---

I remember her. How could I forget her? Last night, I found her pictures in my phone. It's been months since we last spoke, and I still remember the sour note that overtook our relationship. I used her, or I feel as if I used her. I told her about my intentions; I told her I wasn't going to settle down with her. And yet she pushed the boundaries. Her jealousy made everything a little more complicated. I found myself wanting to please her, wanting to bridge the gap between us, and yet my decision came too late. I'll never really know what drove the two of us apart, whether she finally tired of my flirtatious attitude or my lack of commitment.

The unfinished business drives me mad. I can't handle a half-finished story. I can't handle not knowing what made her pull away from her friends. We were like family. All I have now are these photos and old text messages. I didn't even know I had them, until I went to free space on my phone.

I hate to say it, but I went by her apartment and her crypt. I didn't go inside. I didn't even see her. I must have missed her, or maybe she saw me and went in the opposite direction. I want to confront her. I want her to apologize to me. I want her to know that I'm happy now, and that I did finally master the idea of commitment. I want to delete the photos and the text messages. But I didn't, and I couldn't.

I know you'll read this, Jesse. I know you'll eventually scan this entry, and your jealousy will flare up. I don't want her. Did I? In the past, yes. That's exactly where she belongs. But I can't delete the pictures and messages until I know the truth, until she knows the truth. She fucked up. I fucked up. And I'm glad. I'm happy where I am. With you.

I wish you would stop reading now, but I know you won’t. That’s fine. We have honesty, and I keep my word. I’ve been struggling with jealousy again. I don’t need a valid and understandable reason. I want to blame the fact that I found her ring in your drawer, but that large part of the problem isn’t the only thing driving my unjustifiable jealousy. What if I said that I had no real reason at all? What if I said that I was jealous of the world and everyone else in it, jealous of them speaking to you, looking at you, and enjoying your company? What if I said I envied them for getting so much of your attention? I want it all for myself. Every second. You’re mine, so I should have you entirely. Even I recognize when I’ve stepped into the impossible range.

I know how much this project means to you. Despite the fact that I’m invested in its success, I don’t think I’ll ever match your level of enthusiasm, or rather, I don’t think I’ll ever have the type of ownership you have over the building. That’s fine. I support you. But did you have to hire a female? Couldn’t you have hired a slew of men? And what happens when you build on the success of Logan’s siring? What happens when you bring home another Marian or another Odette? I should support you, but the thought makes my blood boil. I swear that you do it on purpose. I swear that you do it to test me. You do it to test my patience, Jesse. And when we were in the club, I noticed. You may have parted crowds, you may have exuded your usual “don’t **** with me” aura, but women still appreciated the view. And they’ll always appreciate the view.

Mine. Everything you are, everything you own, belongs to me. Do you know that? Do people know that? I feel like explaining it over and over again. I feel like demanding you explain it over and over again. This is irrational. This is insane. This is what I’ve been reduced to. My jealousy, amplified by my blood and nurtured by outside circumstances, leads me down a road I’m sorry to acknowledge. I wonder if I’ll be the next to smother you, but what can I do? I don’t know how to stop being so damn possessive. I don’t know how to stop imagining the women approaching you, seducing you. And I trust you. I trust you. I just don’t trust them. They look too long. They speak to you for too long. They smile at you for too long. They laugh with you too long. They want hugs that last too long. All I want is for them to spontaneously combust.

If I could, I think I would keep you all to myself. How many times do I have to stress that you’re mine. I share you with this family. Our family. My family. They are exceptions. Do you understand? I allow for exceptions because you require a family, because you desire a family. But you’ll have new additions, and not every siring will be like the one with Logan. I won’t always be there. I won’t always have an opinion on him. I won’t have a positive opinion on her.

Did you know I’m jealous of the relationship you had, and have, with Every? I am. I grit my teeth and I bear it. I’m sure I’ll be jealous of every female. I’ll be jealous of some men. I was jealous of Mickey. Of Vic. Of Logan. My jealousy comes in waves. My envy surfaces when I see the way you interact with them. Your playful banter makes me want to find them and shoot them in their kneecaps. I’m that possessive of you. I despise sharing you. Even exceptions are hard to accept. You aren’t the only one either. My possessive nature centers on you and fixates on our relationship, but there’s more. Isn’t there always more, Jesse?

To some degree, I’m possessive of Jersey and Renee. I don’t really want either of them to get married. I try to be as support as possible with Jersey. I send her magazines with examples of wedding flowers. I send her invitations for a getaway in an Elmworth mansion. Renee? She and I have yet to really talk about her day. I pretend to forget, sometimes. I don’t have to acknowledge the fact that she’s getting married. Simon doesn’t deserve her. No one deserves her. She’s mine too. They’re both mine. Everyone that I’ve declared as friend or family? They belong to me. They have other friends and other family members, but they still belong to me. I can’t shake the jealousy and the envy.

I realize now how this entry has circled around, completing a cycle I didn’t know existed. I’m not done with Mabel. She hasn’t allowed me to release her. She’s still mine, and she’ll always be mine. I’m not done with her until I say I’m done with her. And while our relationship has ended, transformed and deteriorated into something so closed to nothing, she and I have a history that I need to end, that I want to end. I want to make sure Jesse knows to do the same. Do the same. You make sure that you sever any possibilities that ever existed. I’m the only possibility. I’m yours. You don’t get to have any other options. If another should present itself, destroy it. No one else gets to have you. No one else should ever entertain the idea of having you. I’ll go after them, and then I’ll slit your throat again for causing me so much trouble. Enjoy that. Relish that. Don’t play with me. Don’t let them play with me.

Look what they’ve done to me. Look what I’ve become.

[Clover]

shat·ter

/SHadər/

to break violently; to smash; to demolish; to crush

“we shatter in slow motion”

---

The email I sent to Jersey had such contradictory paragraphs and mismatched sentences that I doubt she’ll ever make sense of my words. I couldn’t even make sense of the words. I don’t really know if I’m unhappy or not, if I’m content or not, and maybe I deserve the uncertainty. Maybe karma deserves to make a nest out of my body. I can tell her all sorts of things, about the words I said to him, about the feelings I felt toward him, but I choose to remain silent. I choose to mull over his words and contemplate his actions. Maybe he’s right. Those three words joined together to form my worst nightmare. Maybe I’m expecting something I know I’ll never get from him. And I wonder if I should stay. I know he can read these words, but I’m not hiding. I’m done hiding. Maybe I expect that after three months, he’ll be able to say something associated with his feelings. I like you. I care for you. I enjoy you being around.

Where I want him to whisper those pretty words to me, he climbs on top of me. I can’t say that I don’t want what he has to offer, that I don’t enjoy it, but I want more. I want more than bloody knives. I want more than muffled screams. I want what I’ve never had. Sadly, I don’t think he’s capable of expressing such things. Not anymore. I should be just as distant, and then we would fit together perfectly. I should be just as easy to please. I’ve asked him to sweep the conversation under the rug, but I think it’s impossible for the words to fit underneath the throw rug I’ve associated with regret. How many more feelings should we sweep beneath the tattered rug? I have some left. I can take care of them. I can slaughter them. I don’t need assistance.

Jersey offered me the opportunity to hide this entry, but I declined. I declined because this is my safe place. This is the space where I can write anything, where I can express anything. I’m not hiding, and I’m not walking away. I’ll be the one left standing; I’ll be the one watching you walk away. Again. Over and over. I’ll be the one trying to find some sort of closure in the broken porcelain and the tattered remains of our couch. I’ll be the one reaching for something, something buried within the walls. I’ve always wanted to be emotionless, and yet here I am. Here I am, all that I am, and I’m entirely inadequate. Do you want me, Jesse? Tell me about how beautiful my mind is.

I’m so fucked up. I can’t even think straight. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I hate every single emotion. No, I don’t hate the anger. All I want is the anger. All I want is to feel like I was right, but I feel so ******* wrong. Jersey suggested I wait to write this entry; she wanted me to wait until I’d calmed down. I decided against her advice, and I’m already lost in regret. I’m angry, and I can say that my anger makes me do and think terrible things. I don’t want Jesse to see this apartment, so I get to attempt to clean up the mess I made. I don’t want him to think I’ve lost control again. I’m in control. I always want to be in control.

I think he wants distance. His walking away really drove the point home. I can’t blame him. If I were him, I would have walked away too. You have a crazy woman telling you that all she wants to do is make you happy. You have a crazy woman telling you that she loves you. And you can’t understand. You can’t understand why a crazy woman is dumping all of this on you when all you want to do is just take things slow, to take things so slow that it makes you both wonder why you’re even bothering at all. You want her to enjoy absolutely no commitment. You want her to enjoy what happens in the bedroom, what happens in the bath, etc. And when she wants more, you decide that’s far too much, and you walk away.

I promised that I had no expectations, so this really falls onto my shoulders. I said that I’m broken. Maybe he’s broken too. We’re broken in different ways, into different, jagged pieces. I can’t see the puzzle, but I see the cracks in his eyes. What do I say when everything I say pushes him further away? I say nothing. I wait until I’ve lost all hope, and then I leave him. Doesn’t he see that what I’m doing, I’m doing to preserve what we have? He doesn’t understand. He admitted he wasn’t very good with relationships. Well, neither am I. We’re both fumbling around in the dark.

He said something that I’ll never forget, and I don’t think he even noticed. He asked me if our discussion had to do with the fact that he wouldn’t say he loved me. It hurt. He could have stabbed me or shot me, and the wound wouldn’t have hurt as much as his words. He asked if it was because I wanted him to love me. I did just fine without his affection. I’m doing just fine. And after, I’ll continue doing just fine. I think I’ve lost all hope that he’ll ever return my feelings. Whenever the thoughts or feelings creep up, I’m sure to stamp them down. Vampires feel nothing. I repeat that. I try to remember that. Sometimes it works. Most of the time...well, most of the time I prove to myself how much of a failure I truly am. I can’t beg and pray to be emotionless. I can’t click a button and expect all of my emotions to wash down the proverbial drain.

I asked him to go to the Valentine’s Day party with me, but I don’t think I’m going now. I wanted to surprise him, and there are no more surprises. There are no more impromptu dates. There are no more late-night escapades. I have nothing left to offer him, nothing left that I want to offer him. It’s stupid to think that I still hear Victor’s voice. I keep saying that. I keep hoping that it’ll go away. I hear Kenlie offering assistance. I hear Kae asking if I’m okay. And I refuse. And I lie. Because I should feel nothing, and I should require no assistance. I should explore nothing but the blood frenzy that crawls within this corpse. I should be nothing more than a shadow.

Carnal pleasures should amount to nothing. Our joys ended when our human lives ended. And now, in this world, we’re damned. We’re cursed to kill or be killed. We’re encouraged to slaughter to feed our endless hunger. Where I might have thought I found someone who understood me, someone to share with me this mess of a place, I now realize I was mistaken. I’m the only one who can understand myself. I’m a lone wanderer. We’re all the same.

This entry went in so many directions, but I see the common thread. What am I doing with myself? What am I going to do now? Am I nothing but anger and the desire for murder? At the core, I think I’m nothing but a killer. All I know how to do is kill. I kill people in so many ways. I kill hopes and dreams. I sever arteries just as well as I sever relationships. What am I doing right now? Am I ending things? Is this really the end, Clover? Is this how you want to end things, sitting in a pile of garbage, your back to the wall and a mountain of utter disaster before you? I don’t know what I’m doing, but I don’t want to end things. This isn’t how I want to end things. I don’t want to end things at all.

But what do I do?

There are possibilities all around me, and yet I scorn them. What can be done? Truly, what option could fix all that we’ve broken? And he’s broken just as much as I’ve broken. We shattered everything in our sight, save for each other. No, we broke ourselves as well. I didn’t think it was possible to shatter the ashes of our former selves, but we’ve found a way. I would summon him back, in an attempt to fix things, but I don’t want to see him right now, and I’m sure he has no desire to see me. Or perhaps I do. Perhaps he does. I enjoy nothing more than contradicting myself, than confusing myself. When I know nothing, I’m at peace. Please sense the thick sarcasm that I’ve layered onto my words and beneath my words.

What does it mean to love someone? I can understand now, whereas before, I’d only hypothesized. I thought that I understood. I’ve decided to alter my former thoughts and make something of the previous mess. I’ve decided that to love someone, you must destroy yourself. You must find all the good that exists in yourself, rip it out, one piece at a time, and construct a mausoleum in the person’s honor. And whatever remains of yourself? You must burn. Enjoy the flames that lick at your bones. Enjoy the hiss and pop of flesh. Be the destruction you wish to spare your partner. That is love. Love is a mistake just waiting to happen. Love is silent, but deadly. And here we are, the remaining husk. And here we are, vampires. Love is life, and we’ve lost it all.

All I want is appreciation. All I asked for was one night. You give nothing. You take everything. Try taking from someone that isn’t there. Try giving to someone that isn’t here. There’s something wrong with these circumstances. Help me figure this out. Stop running away. Stand still. Listen to me. Really listen to me. You’re not listening. You’re not listening.

You win.

[Clover]

dis·ar·ray

/disəˈrā/

a state of disorder; untidiness; mess; jumble

“is it possible to exist in a state of constant disarray?”

---

Things have escalated, yet again, and I wonder if I have some sort of curse. Wherever I go, people get hurt. Physically. Emotionally. Sometimes, I care. Other times, I don’t care. Tonight, I think I want to talk about fadewalking, because the names and faces of regrets and mistakes don’t matter, not in the face of the calm of the shadow realm. Normally, fadewalking serves a bigger purpose, but what better purpose than to obtain some sort of clarity?

I’m following the same path, and no one needs to tell me differently. I see myself. I’m tracing lines along pathways I didn’t know existed. I’m torn between blaming myself and blaming the circumstances. More often than not, I’m shifting the blame. Am I reluctant to face the truth, or am I reluctant to face myself? Are they one in the same? I keep telling myself that things will get better, but I’m impatient. I’m always impatient. Things with my friends have fallen apart. I feel it. I know it. Something has driven a wedge between us; I want to blame outside forces, as if the very air around us decided to pry us apart, but I know I’m the one destroying the bonds.

I can’t forgive Athena for leaving. I resent Jersey for being happy. The reasonings remind me that I’m a selfish mess, and yet I enjoy the simmering of such negative emotions. I love the feeling. Sometimes, I forget that it’s possible to be happy. I forget that there’s something beyond anger and uncertainty. I wonder if this is the dark cloud descending on me, if I’m falling victim to yet another wave of depression. Depression cripples me in the way that Jesse crippled me, but the darkness cuts deeper than any blade.

I shouldn’t instigate. I shouldn’t fan the flames. But I can’t take perceived slights. And that’s exactly what it was. It was a cut at my actions and the following response to my actions. Nothing has changed. Nothing has mutated. I’m the same hot-headed vampire I was before, but I don’t think they understand. I don’t think anyone understands. I haven’t changed. Have I changed? Perhaps I’ve changed. I’ve gotten worse. I’m pushing the bar, testing the limits, and testing his patience. I’m seeing how far everyone will let me go, like a rubber band finally stretching to the point that it snaps. Can I handle the tension?

I can dance. The whole city has become a dance. One step left. Three steps right. I’m dizzy. I’m so ******* dizzy. Even though I’ve resolved my issues, I’ve resolved nothing. And is it possible to feel so much guilt that I’ve become nothing but guilt? Is it possible to feel so much uncertainty that I’ve become paralyzed with pure confusion? Two steps back. One step forward. I’m falling. I’m falling so fast that I’m not sure if I’m falling down or falling up. Is it possible? Can I move at such a speed that I have no idea whether I’m falling or flying, whether I’m living or dying? I can dance. I’m so graceful. Watch me. Become me. I’m anyone but myself. I’m someone new. I’m someone better. I’m someone so much worse.

Everything I’m writing, I’ve been unable to stress. I can’t vocalize the words, or maybe I don’t want to sound as crazy as I feel. The dance I described is real. It’s a delicate balance within people and among people. It’s the fact that we’re all engrossed in places and people, in thoughts and actions. We walk to our own beats, but I’m out of step. My movements lag and I fall behind. Bit by bit, I’m left behind. I’m not sure if I’m making an active choice, or if I’ve stumbled and missed a turn.

I could say that all I want is for everyone to get along. I could say that all I want is smooth sailing. I don’t want to cause problems for him, and I can say that with absolute certainty. While I enjoy the bickering and the fighting, I don’t want to cause a constant state of unrest, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. With him. With them. If I’m unhappy, I’m unhappy with my choices and repercussions. Sometimes people forget that they aren’t perfect. They forget that they throw just as many stones and bear the very same burdens. Judge and be judged.

This. I can point to these things and recognize them as the reasons for my desire to fadewalk. In the shadow realm, nothing really matters. When you aren’t on a mission to find the ones you care about, you can focus on the lack of problems. You can let the cold, unfeeling atmosphere swallow you and cleanse you and cradle you. I don’t think I’m afraid anymore. I can’t be uncomfortable in my own element. How could the realm be more unwelcoming than this city? Their joy, their sorrow, their irritation, and their disappointment weigh on me. They aren’t my responsibility and their views aren’t my concern, but I feel as if I’ve managed to draw everything they are into myself. It’s like I’ve tried taking their weaknesses and making them my own.

Does any of this even make sense? Lately, I’ve found myself rambling. Sentences don’t make sense. Words have been mistaken for other words. I don’t even know if I’m telling the truth.

[Clover]

sev·er

/sevər/

to cut; to break off; to separate; to detach

“this is the perfect time to sever ties”

---

I haven’t heard from my friends. It’s been over a week, and I haven’t heard a single word. From Athena. From Jersey. I have more time for family, but family doesn’t guarantee friendship. Essentially, I’m back to square one. And I’m not sure if I want to begin again. I’m not sure if I want to spend even more time on thoughts, things, and people that have slipped through my fingers. It would be easier if I made a list, if I categorized the problems that plague me, but am I really going to rely on the logic when this goes beyond logic? This is something raw. This is the embodiment of an open wound.

I think she’s gone again. I can feel it in my bones. She suffered through my harsh words just to disappear all over again. I’m done chasing her. I’m done making excuses for her. I don’t want her emailing me, texting me, calling me, or visiting me. She can stay wherever it is she finds so wondrous and intoxicating; she can piss away the days of the year. Athena, I don’t think I have anything left to say to you. Enjoy yourself.

Let’s count the number of times I started emails and text messages meant for you. I’ll stop the number at twenty-three, but we’ll settle on an even thirty. What happened? Where did you go? We were perfectly fine, and then you dropped off the face of the earth. Just like Athena. The comparison alone makes me want to slap you, but there’s more. After being there for you, encouraging you, and advising you, you cut me out. Don’t lie to me. You were vague about the date. The day came and went, Jersey. I haven’t heard a word. So you let me know when you want to start apologizing. I’m waiting.

As of midnight, I was counting down the minutes to the end of this day. Fifteen minutes in, I had a pleasant surprise. I had several surprises. Flowers, a knife, handcuffs, and an adorable card. I thought I made it clear that I hate this date, but he misunderstood or he ignored me. My guess is that he purposely ignored me. Normally, I’d be upset, but I’m glad that he ignored me. Kaelyn put the idea in my head that I had to get something for him, and I did. It would have been pathetic if I gave him his present and received nothing in return.

When I gave him his card and his giant teddy bear, I knew he wasn’t as pleased. My gift was meant to bother him, but it was also meant to make him laugh. He didn’t laugh. Perhaps it was the giant heart that exclaimed love; perhaps it was the sheer size of the thing. I didn’t ask. I regret giving him anything at all. I can’t blame Kaelyn. I can’t blame her for planting the idea in my brain, and I can’t blame her for the conversation that followed. She’s right, in a way. But not entirely.

There’s no reason for saying things we don’t mean and doing things we don’t want to do. Maybe I’ve been guilty of both. Normally, I would talk to someone about these thoughts, but I have you. I have this journal. I have this pen. I have right now. Saying something doesn’t make it true, so there’s no point in waiting for someone to utter lies, to say sweet words to coddle or reassure. There’s no point. There’s no truth. There’s no honesty.

She said something that made me uncomfortable, probably because she’s misinformed. I refused to continue on the subject, so she’ll remained misinformed. I never said he didn’t love me. There are other reasons for two people to be together. We’re more than good friends that have sex. And yet, is there really a difference? Sometimes, she can be incredibly bright. Maybe all relationships are exactly the same, at the root. Friendships with sex. Words won’t change the fact, so there’s no point in uttering them or not uttering them. Words are useless. She told me that I think further ahead, and she’s right, to a point. Only to a point.

I’m taking the bear back. I’ll get him something else. Valentine’s Day is nothing more than excuse to buy gifts that are entirely meaningless. I think I’ll inject some meaning and get him something more practical, something useful. This is why I gave dead rabbits for Christmas.

[Clover]

use·less

/yo͞osləs/

pointless; fruitless; lacking a purpose; incapable; inept

“the word ‘useless’ is answer enough”

---

We become too dependent on other people. When one person lets us down, we fall. We go crashing through layer after layer of reassurances and tears. And when we land, we don’t even recognize ourselves anymore. We’re naked. We’re raw. We’re so vulnerable that anyone or anything could knock us down and restart the cycle. There are moments of clarity when we recognize the weakness, in ourselves and in others, but what does recognition do in the face of destiny? We’re destined to take the fall. That’s what we’re battling. We’re facing the inevitable. By relying on others, we’re destroying ourselves. And don’t think for a minute that anyone is immune. Any conversation, any frequent face, threatens the balance. The only way to salvation is loneliness, the absence of absolutely everyone. We can’t fall, if we can’t trip.

I have someone. We all think we have someone. We have her or him or them. As you’re falling, take a look around. Take one good look around. Is someone there to catch you? We have eternity and an endless supply of knives. Our backs are always turned. Why am I saying this? Why am I writing this? I can’t help but feel the sting of betrayal, even though it’s nothing close to betrayal. The more time I have to think about what happened, the more I recognize the signs. The variety of emotions slowly slip away, leaving a cross between anger and pain, and I know why. I know exactly why. Because I tripped. Because, for the first time in my life, I had absolutely no one there to catch me.

We all experience that moment. It’s inevitable. We slam into the ground, and we slam into the ground hard. We pick ourselves back up, we dust ourselves off, and we limp away. That’s how the story goes. No one tells us that we’ll never really recover. We’ve chipped a bone; we’ve torn some tendons. We remake ourselves to support our flaws, but we can’t hide the ever-present limp. We can’t deny the fact that we’re injured, that we’ll always be injured.

I’m asking myself whether this really matters enough to let everything go, but I’m so out-of-touch with my feelings that my mind has kicked into high gear. There are other people in this city, and there are other people in this world. What is one person? Then again, haven’t I already made a choice? I threw everything into her court and I walked away. Would it bother me if she decided to do the same? I’m limping. I’ve lost the ligaments as well as the tendons. Even blinded in one eye, I understand my predicament. What happens when I finally hit the ground? It’s not over yet.

He took my side, and I’m grateful. I explained to him why her actions had bothered me so much. I explained how important she was, how important they both were, but I don’t know if he understood. I told him they listened to me about my insecurities and fears, things that I didn’t want him to worry about. Somehow, the conversation turned elsewhere. I’m thankful. I’m thankful for my wound too. The soft throbbing soothes me, reminding me that I’m allowed to distract myself. I’m allowed to take all the time I need. It’s okay to sit still, even while all the world around moves.

Something I wrote to Athena weighs heavy on my mind. I didn’t think that I’d ever regret something so much, and I’ve said and done a lot of things. This goes beyond the rest. What I said hurts absolutely no one--well, it hurts me. It’s like needles jabbing at me from the inside. The words want to come out, but I’m back to square one, the square reserved for doubts and fears. I said I didn’t mean it, and that’s the truth. I’d write it down now, but I can’t. Not because of the fact that my journal is at access, but because writing it, typing it, or saying it seems like I’m resigning myself to death. Maybe I’m the root of every problem I’ve ever encountered, even now. I feel the anger slowly turning to sadness, to guilt, to depression, but I refuse to fall into the trap. I can be the root, but I refuse to be the beginning and end of all of my problems. I just want to tell him. I want to fix everything, but not right now. Later. Maybe later.

I have you. What else do I need? What are friends for?

[Clover]

com·plete

/kəmplēt/

finished; full; whole; having all parts

“i could just as easily complete myself, but that’s not quite as fun”

---

There are several thoughts suffocating me, each one just as important as the last. I should start from the beginning, the very point that I shared with my friends. Almost two weeks ago, I shared my doubts with Athena, the feelings in written form rather than spoken. I told her I required more attention and more reassurance than Jesse had to offer. And yet I told her I'd make the same choice all over again. I'd remain as I was, as I am. That's what matters.

Nights ago, I received the reassurance I craved, the words that stilled my doubts and silenced my jealousy and envy. He loves me. He showed me, yes, but he told me. I trust him, and I don't doubt him at all. But I did before. I really didn't think it would last. Of course I blamed him; I thought, deep down, he'd walk away, but I think, all along, I was the one with the thoughts. I was the one with terrible thoughts, the one left wanting. And now I know. I'm aware. I'm okay.

I thought about leaving, a lot more than I'd like to admit. My emails were riddled with the same uncertainty, just as they were filled with determination. I was a mess. On some level, I still am. I think we all have to be messes to even try to be with someone else.

But that's the truth. This is what I've wanted to stress from the beginning. I thought it wasn't a genuine relationship because it felt one-sided at best. It did. I thought so. I sought refuge in emails, just giving everything more time. I was waiting to see if my thoughts were wrong. I wanted Jesse to prove me wrong. He did. When he told me he loved me, he proved me wrong. There are no more emails. There are no more text messages. There are no more random summonings. If I never spoke to either of my friends again, I would be okay. I have him to nudge me in the right direction. I've always had that, even from the very beginning.

This entry is about more than those confessions. I want to mention that I spoke to Vic. Well, we had a conversation over texts, since I haven't had the courage to try another face-to-face meeting. The result would have been the same, I think. I finally admitted why I've been so angry, both to him and to myself. I'm angry because I miss him. I told him I was sorry. The apology covered the times I wasn't there, the bad things I said to him, and every single time I wanted to shoot him. I missed my friend and my family. I told him.

Victor said he missed the old me. I don't know if I agree. I told him he had to accept me as I am, and he pointed out that Jesse had influenced me. I couldn't disagree, not with that point. I'd spent months with no one but Jesse. No, I had no one but Jesse and Jersey. Almost all of my time went to him though. Even while I helped Vic and tried lifting Vic up, I spent most of my time with Jesse. So I can understand changing. Another reason is the time I spent floundering, drowning under the weight of a crippling depression. I doubt Vic even noticed. I doubt he realizes how much it changed me. He probably doesn't realize how it lingers, resurfacing when I least expect it, and when I don't want it. Then again, who wants and welcomes depression.

I've changed. I can flip through these pages and make a timeline. I can make a graph. I can plot out the moments where everything went wrong, but also where everything went right. I've changed. It's scary. It's refreshing. It's exhilarating. Victor has to accept that, if he ever wants to try to rebuild our friendship. Some part of me laughs at the idea of him trying again. Why would he try again? What do I have to offer him? Isn't that what relationships are built around? What I have to offer. What others have to take. I'd say not all, but I can only think of the one exception. I'll say that I apologized and leave things there.

Childer. I see Crimson, every now and then. I actually look forward to seeing him. I think of it as a game. Where's Crimson. That can be the name. Whenever I find him, I try to say hello or slip an item into his hand. I think I've accepted that he and I will never have the bond I expect to have with my other childer. He's not a mistake. He's not something to be ashamed of, or to hide away. He's just Crimson.

Okoro and Nona have been quiet, but I forget that they're adults. They've established their own lives. They've separated themselves. I miss them too. I'd never tell them. I'd pretend as if I demanded to know where they've been. I'd remind them that they belong to me. And I'd miss them. Maybe that's what my possessiveness is all about. Missing people. Fear that they'll do what others have always done. Leave me.

Raven. She's something else, a good something else. She's unlike my other childer. She's unique. She belongs in the family. When I turned her, I thought she'd fit nicely into my inner circle. I told Jesse I'd kill her, if I ever found out she flirted with him, or vice versa. I'm not so sure. I don't know what I would do. I like her. I genuinely enjoy her presence. I didn't think I'd ever find a childe quite like her. I don't think I'll ever find another one. She's my special one, and that's a good title.

I have my own little section of the family. It's safe to say I want the best for them. While in the caverns, the thought hit me. We live like rats. We've been confined to proverbial sewers. We cling to Harper Rock. Everything is invested in this city, and it's a mess, more of a mess than is required for relationships. We huddle together to maintain a level of secrecy, when we should be ruling this city and expanding beyond its borders. We only need the Veil if we're reckless, if we're irresponsible with our actions. Not all of our kind will fall into the categories. I want to live outside of the masquerade. I want us all to live outside of the masquerade. And I don't want the human world to push back. I want them to cling to ignorance.

This entry moved to so many different places in so little time, but I promise each part is connected to the last. Love. Friendship. Family. Masquerade. I could say more on the masquerade, but I’d rather not. I’d rather think of something else. I’d rather let my mind wander to better places. Like the fact that someone looked at me and found something of worth. I matter. Even when I doubt myself, I know someone else believes in me. I’d hope so. I think so. I’m more than my scars and every bit of my baggage. I’m more than anger. This is where my mind goes when I let it wander. While I should be worried about my friends or about my powers, or about any other thing in my messed up life, I’m stuck on the fact that he actually said he loved me. And I realize how fucked up he has to be to say something silly like that. That makes me love him more.

Now I’ve completely disgusted myself.

Please don’t tell me you read this.

[Clover]

hid·den

/hidn/

out of sight; unseen; concealed; difficult to find

“being hidden doesn’t mean being impossible to find”

---

My life has been relatively calm. When I say it's been relatively calm, I mean calm. No fights. No threats. Nothing but late nights spent wandering the streets or lying in the sheets. I miss the fiery altercations. I miss the yelling and screaming. I want to be so angry that it hurts. Instead, I have the silence. I lose myself in the calm nights.

I'm waiting for a change in seasons to mark the passing of time. It would be just as easy to go by a calendar, even easier, actually, but I'd rather sit and stare out into the night sky. Eventually, calendars won't really matter. Numbers on days and weeks won't make a difference. I'll remember everything by temperature, and I'll experience my most important memories through touch. Wouldn't that be incredible? This is what happens when I have so many calm nights. I get so thoughtful. I get philosophical.

Last night, I was texting Kaelyn, and I realized how my things were scattered in so many different places. I decided to gather everything and sort my belongings by level of attachment. I plan on visiting the storage unit, and I'll have more to deposit. I never thought I'd have such a hard time looking through clothing and belongings. I was nostalgic. I wanted to keep everything together, every little thing crammed into our apartment on Limbo, but I assumed Jesse might want to get in and out of the place.

I came across a lot of things from Jersey. I came across gifts and clothing. I remembered shopping trips. I remembered panic attacks. And she's gone. Just like Victor. Just like Kenlie. Maybe she's still there, but not for me, not to me. How easy it would be to call or text or email. I could do a lot of things to repair our relationship, but I'd be clinging to stray strands. At the heart of things, we're very different. She wants to play happy family. I can't. I'll never fit in. There's no point in trying. And so I threw it all into a big box, taped it shut, and placed it by the door.

backdated to early march

[Clover]

hon·or

/änər/

fulfill an obligation; adhere to; respect; heed; observe

“i really don’t want to honor the agreement”

---

I don't agree with what she's doing, but I have to respect her decision. She isn't a child, despite the fact that she is my childe, and this is what she wants. She's new to this life. While I don't really know what was said, I know what I saw, and I know what I've heard from Kaelyn and Jesse. She's new, but she's showing her independence, and she's showing the fire that attracted me, the very fire that gave her this new life.

I don't want her first death to be this way, but I know I need to let the chips fall. Whatever happens, I have to let her do her own thing. She's mine. She'll always be mine. But she isn't a puppet. She's not someone, or something, I can control. Do I blame Kaelyn for this? I think I do. Maybe I shouldn't, but it's too late to change my mind, especially when she defends him. Do I think Kaelyn is disloyal? At first, I said no; now, I'm not so sure. I told Jesse. I explained why I felt the way I felt. While he and I disagree, at least he listened.

It's taking a lot not to intervene, and I know it's the same for Jesse. I have to agree with Kaelyn that wounds will heal and the realm can be left behind. I'm so proud of Raven for following through with this. I have to remind myself that she needs this. She needs to feel in control. While it may seem like such a small thing, I know this is a milestone. And if I were her, and I'm sure I'll be where she is, given past circumstances, I'd want to go forth on my own too. There will always be someone after us. After Fforde. After others. There will always be egotistical creeps. There will always be megalomaniacs. There will always be loudmouths. And there will be those left signing checks that they can't, won't, or don't want to cash.

I'm doing everything I can to be prepared. Bandages. Blood. Encouragement. Anything and everything. And all while trying to get Raven to stay away from Kaelyn. I don't want my childe around a magnet for trouble. But again, Raven isn't a puppet. Again, I can't guarantee she'll listen. Again, I'm just upset, and maybe I'll realize how ridiculous I'm being. This must be how Victor feels. This must be how Jesse feels. We can't dictate and expect our childer to listen. I wish I could. I wish she'd let me do what a sire should do and just resolve this. But somehow, she got Jesse to promise something, and I think he'd never forgive me if I went within a foot of Mister Old-and-Creepy. I think Jesse worries that I'll end up dead, or that I'll end up wooed by the creepy ****’s charming personality.

Maybe I'm worried that Raven will be wooed. I'm worried that she'll be swept away by people I deem family. It's my fault for being so possessive of her. After Jesse, she is the most important person in my life. There were times when I said the same about others. This time, I want it to stay that way. I don't want her to disappoint me. I don't want to be disappointed again. Most importantly, I don't want to be left again.

When I write these things, I feel the sting of Jersey's words all over again. She said I wasn't alone; she emphasized that I have Jesse. If he knew what I said to Athena, do you think he'd still be around? I'm not hiding this entry. Let him ask. Honesty extends to hidden things, to exclusions. I didn't make an effort to hide the email that lingers in my outbox, always reminding me, always haunting me. I'll show him. Maybe, someday, I'll explain myself to Raven. Until then, I'll ponder.

I'll think about how I want to accept the current situation. I'll think about how I want to encourage Raven to give the family a try. I'll think about my rocky relationship with Kaelyn.

[Clover]

in·ad·e·quate

/inˈadikwət/

insufficient; pathetic; incapable; unfit

“she used the word ‘inadequate,’ and i knew”

---

We’re made of past conversations. We’re constructed with the finest of tools. And yet we melt in the rain and we bow to adversity. I’m inadequate. I’m flawed. I don’t regret what I said, and yet here I am. Six months. I should be in my apartment, setting up the gift I had planned, but I’m here. I’m sitting beneath the cover of the trees, the same ones that sheltered me all those months ago. I’m deciphering jumbled thoughts and replaying mixed messages. What does it mean? That’s the million-dollar question, Clover. What does it all mean?

I’m letting her down, just like I let them all down. I’m trying to teach her, when I haven’t mastered my own lessons. I never knew what desperation felt like until I found myself trying to explain my actions and my words. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I’ve been crazy all along. If not for recognizing monsters in the night, then trying to play pretend. Something’s missing in me. Something’s broken. But even though I asked for help, even though Jesse tried to fix me, I’m still lost. I’m still just as broken as before.

I tell her to do as I say, not as I do. I warn her. I tell her all the things I wish someone had told me, and yet I know she’ll make the same mistakes. She’ll close herself off until there’s no one left, until she doesn’t understand what it means to be a functioning member of our little society. Raven, don’t be like me. That’s all I wanted to tell her. I wanted to pull her to me and tell her to be better than me. Instead, I offered her a brief warning. I told her to be careful about the number of people she let into her life. I have to hope that it’s enough; I have to hope that she understands to be on guard, not to close herself off. And yet I feel like she’s already misunderstood.

This is about more than my abilities as a sire. I don’t understand what it means to be a decent person. I struggle to maintain some connection to my human self, and yet I struggle to bury it. I don’t remember what it’s like to have real friends, so I’m not sure what a friend would or wouldn’t say right now. I refuse to apologize, just as I refused to apologize to Jersey. And where did that get me? Apologies show weakness. Emotions show weakness. So what option shows strength? What option shows that I don’t know what I’m doing? What option shows that half of me doesn’t give a ****? I feel like I’m being torn in two.

Later, I plan on hunting. I plan on fulfilling my unspoken promise. I plan on luring another person into my arms. I want to take him home and show him what it means to feel alive, because I know what it means to feel alive. I can start at his feet and work my way up. I can tell him how handsome he looks and how beautiful he sounds. I can be everything he’s ever wanted and nothing he’s ever imagined. And I want to be that. If I can be nothing else, I want to be that.

I have a feeling that even hunting won’t wipe the slate clean. I imagine the thoughts and feelings will spill up and over the cup, washing away any possibility of returning to normalcy. What if it’s over? No, not that. What if I’ve tipped the scale and begun to approach the crossroads? I’m broken. There’s no way to fix me. So why do I bother holding on? That’s the question. That’s the real question. Did they really stab me first, or did I stab them? Are we given opportunities to repent? Are we truly damned? No, the questions seem endless. The answers too few.

Tell me all of this is normal. Tell me there are no weaknesses. Tell me we aren’t monsters. Tell me whatever I want to hear. Let them come. Let me lie. Just a little.

[Clover]

blame·wor·thy

/blāmwərT͟Hē/

responsible for a wrong; in the wrong; reprehensible; at fault

“to put it in simple terms, i’m blameworthy”

---

One person doesn’t make a family. You know that already, don't you? I didn't need to waste the ink. I didn't have to broach the subject. And yet I did. I told you that I only needed you, and you wanted me to answer differently. You must have wanted me to share the same hopes and dreams. Even after I explained why, even after I cited disappointments and displeasure, you wanted me to answer that I wanted a family or that I loved our family. If one person doesn't make a family, then I'm not so sure.

I trust you. I trust Raven. I can't trust people I never see. I can't trust with paranoia at play. I really am incapable of maintaining almost all of my relationships, but I see no point in really trying. Everything comes to an end. There's no point in maintenance. There's no point in new beginnings. Perhaps it's because I'm selfish. It could be my jealousy. I could name any number of reasons, and they'd pair nicely with my numerous examples.

I care. I love. I feel. And sometimes, I don't. Sometimes, I try my best to draw on feelings that aren't there. If it's possible to be confused, then I'm completely lost. I care, but then I don't. I'm not sure if what I feel is what I feel. I said I felt like something is missing, and that's what's missing. Sometimes, I feel emotionally stunted, my feelings crushed and mutated until they become like layers of scar tissue. I feel nothing, where I should feel something.

I'm writing these things down because I'm trying to work through them. I'm trying to decipher myself. I'm failing. I'm losing. The simple solution seems to try harder, but how can I try harder to feel a certain way? I know I care about them, but how far does that feeling extend and descend? I don't know. I said I could walk away, I said I would walk away, and I meant it. Maybe I've been hurt so many times that there's nothing left. Is that possible?

You said I didn't single-handedly destroy the family, but I helped, didn't I? Grey. Kaelyn. Victor. I took the three big people in your life and carved them out. I shouldn't think or feel. I shouldn't speak. I shouldn't dare to experience all this eternity has to offer. It seems that way, doesn't it? If you really think about it, I've been at the root of a lot of your problems. Do I really need to explain? The more time I have to think about it, the more certain I become--I think I’m cursed. Ill-fated. Doomed for failure. We had this discussion, but the words keep circling around in my head. It’s a mantra now. There’s something wrong with me. That’s what I think. No, that’s what I know.

I don’t try to ruin things. And I always try to repair the things I’ve broken. It’s always so tricky, when it comes to relationships. I can never control how someone else feels. I can never force forgiveness or excavate some buried bits of understanding. For your sake, I apologize. For your sake, I put up with a lot of **** I wouldn’t normally put up with. But it’s for me too, isn’t it? Yes. I admit it. Whether it’s because I don’t want the bad blood, or whether it’s because I don’t want the weight associated with my own guilt and shame, I apologize, and I deal with the shitstorm.

As I stare out over the water, I think about my kills. I try to understand. I try to piece together the puzzle I didn’t really know existed. Why do I do it? Maybe it’s because of this confusion, this overwhelming lack of understanding. Maybe it’s the guilt. Maybe it’s the envy. The possibilities seem endless. I once thought that I killed simply because of envy, because I saw something I wanted for myself, something I’ve never had. But then I found it, so there has to be another reason, right? I will say that my focus has shifted. I still enjoy men, I still prefer men, but now I want women. I want pretty blondes and buxom brunettes. Oh I really like the blondes. Perhaps that’s envy, or maybe it’s the paranoia. I know they’d stare; I know they’d admire. So I have to get rid of them. It could be something as simple as the fact that they smile at me. I ruin their lives too. I take them. I destroy their families too. I deprive them.

Take comfort in knowing it’s not just you. That’s the point. It seems I ruin everything I touch. If you’d leave me, you’d see, but I’m too selfish to let you go. And so I stay. We stay. I get to watch the family wither away, in the same way that I get to watch my own little family wither away. We drift apart in the way that smoke disperses in the air. The ones that don’t drift, I’m sure to pry them apart. It’s what I do. And you let me. You let me, because you love me. I waited months for you to tell me that you loved me, but I should have waited longer. You should have withheld the words, the ones that really bound you to me. Those words really doomed you. In fact, our whole relationship doomed you. I know it’s not just Grey and Victor. I know it’s Ursa. I know it’s Kaelyn. Sometimes, it’s everyone.

One person can be a family. It’s just a start. It’s just the end. A one-person family is what’s leftover after everyone else has gone.