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hopelessromanticspoonie · 5 years

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The Angel’s Share - Ch. 4

Chapter: 4 of ? (Find Chapter 3 here)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Kate and Thomas strike up a few deals.

Permanent Taglist for hopelessromanticspoonie (open): @nonsensicalobsessions @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader

Taglist for Angel’s Share (open): @rjohnson1280 @alexakeyloveloki @villainousshakespeare @Wolfsmom1 @arch-venus25

Co-written with the absolutely astounding @yespolkadotkitty!

He knew he probably looked a fright. The rain outside had been relentless, and he’d come out without an umbrella. His hair was plastered to his head and had started to curl, as it did when wet. And here was Katherine, looking delectable and totally at home behind the bar, her caramel hair sleek over her shoulders, the curve of her hips just visible in black jeans.

“I came to drop this by.” He offered the silky bag with a boxed, half-size bottle of Crimson Peak inside. “For Edward. Your boss,” he clarified.

She looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “I took one of the miniatures.”

“In case he - or you - would like a proper taste.”

If he’d expected her to make some sort of pun about tasting him, he was disappointed. She took the bag. “Thanks. That’s…. Kind of you.”

She said if as if he’d given her a bag of snakes. He had no idea what to make of her. And it was intriguing. Addictive.

“Eddie’s sick,” she said shortly, bending down to put the bottle beneath the bar before straightening up again. “So he might not get this for a few days. Then he’ll decide whether to ask you to stock it.”

Thomas folded his arms, surveying the bar. It was well appointed, he had to admit. Beautifully restored jukebox belting out solid tunes. Leather seats that were looked after, not a crack in them. Polished wooden stools, hardwood floors - no sticky carpet here. Quirky framed pictures of dogs playing poker and kooky Rubenesque nudes. No wonder it was busy tonight. He could see his whiskey going down well here.

“Can we talk?” he asked, drawing his attention back to her, his brows curving upwards hopefully. “When do you get your break?”

Kate looked around her in an exaggerated manner. “It’s only me here.”

“Are you serious?” She was handling this entire crowd by herself? Not that it was rowdy, mind you, but almost every seat was taken, and there wasn’t an empty glass in sight. It was impressive.

“Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course I am.” She gestured to the man who’d arrived at the bar, empty glass in hand. “Excuse me.”

Thomas stood back as she expertly pulled a pint of Bison from the tap, letting it settle for a scant second before topping it off. The customer paid and she flashed him a smile - making Thomas feel absurdly jealous - before turning back to him and scowling.

“Still here?”

“I’d like to have a conversation,” he said, keeping his tone mild.

She smiled, the barest hint of exhaustion keeping it from quite reaching her dark brown eyes. “And I’d like a hand behind the bar, and also a million pounds, but neither’s going to happen, are they? So, if you-”

She wanted to play, did she? “I’m afraid a million pounds is rather beyond me, but I can pull a pint.”

Her mouth opened and she shut it without any sound coming out. Then she blinked. “What did you say?”

Without an invitation, Thomas lifted up the hinged divider that separated the serving area of the bar from the patrons. He shrugged off his coat and threw it over an empty chair, then rolled up the sleeves of his black button-down shirt. Holding out his hand, he met her gaze steadily and said, “Pass me a glass.”

An eyebrow arched, she did as he bid silently, shifting her weight back onto one hip and crossing her arms over her dark gray button-down, the Dapper Tap’s logo embroidered over her left breast. He could see the wheels turning in her head.

Thomas settled a hand on the draft tap for Reverend James, and, hoping he could indeed put his money where his mouth was, slowly pulled a pint. He didn’t look at Kate once, concentrating on the task at hand.

When he was done, he handed it to her. “Care for a taste?”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth for a millisecond. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d have missed it. But he saw it. “Sure.” She raised the pint glass to her lips and he noticed that her small, neat nails were unpainted today. “You’re all right, Sharpe.”

The grin spread slowly across his face. He had her now. “Here’s the deal I propose. I pull pints for an hour, you give me five solid minutes of conversation. No less.”

A skeptical frown paraded across her face, but she knew a good deal when it was offered to her. “You’ve got yourself a deal, GQ.”

“You let me know if that whippersnapper gives you any trouble,” the man she’d called Dave said from his seat on one of the bar stools.

Kate chucked his cheek with a wink. “I know I can count on you, Dave.”

Thomas barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

The door of the pub jangled and a group of six came in, talking and laughing and smelling of the popular curry house a few doors down. Kate elbowed Thomas gently. “You’re up, Sharpe. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

*****

While Thomas pulled pints, she set about making the offhand cocktail and passing him clean glasses when he needed it. But, she had to admit, he could hold his own. As his hair dried it just seemed to curl more at the edges, combining with his rolled sleeves to make him look much more relaxed than she had ever seen him - the whole two times that she had. But he fit in. Mostly. His jeans that hugged his thighs and behind far too perfectly, his soft-looking button-down that flexed and stretched over his back as he worked, and his boots all spoke of more money than her typical customer. But, ignoring all of that, he did a fairly decent job at fitting in.

That is, until he opened his sinfully shaped mouth.

“I believe my labour is almost at an end,” he remarked, pulling her from her silent perusal as she leaned against the mirrored wall of alcohol behind her.

Nodding her head, she glanced at an ancient clock on the wall before grabbing the bottle of Crimson Peak she had stored away, quickly making up two Old Fashioned’s for them both. She slid one his way when another customer came up, asking for another pint, and she thought nothing of nudging him out of the way with her hip to pull the requested pint.

Turning around, she found him watching her with an expression she couldn’t place, holding his cocktail in front of him. He was far too close, she could faintly make out the smell of his cologne or aftershave - citrus and leather and spicy warmth that settled over her in a heady haze. Clearing her throat, she stepped backward, grabbing her own drink and gesturing for him to go back around the bar to an empty stool.

“Okay, you served your time, so you have five minutes.” She took a sip of the drink, humming lightly at the sweetness of the orange and sugar that just barely cut through the burn of the whiskey, still allowing for the smokey notes to linger on her tongue long after the alcohol had seared a path into her stomach.

His whiskey was good. Memorable. Unique. Like the man himself, but she’d rather eat her hat than say that out loud.

He took his own taste of the drink, and she couldn’t help but smile with pride when he nodded his appreciation. “You certainly can tend a bar, Katherine.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, her prideful smile turning into one of teasing. “Eddie doesn’t just keep me around for my good looks, you know.”

His eyes remained firmly on hers, but she caught a quick flicker of heat behind them before he glanced back down at his glass to take another drink. “So, the reason that I came here tonight wasn’t solely to bring about the larger sample of my whiskey. I have a proposition for you. For both of you, you and your manager.”

Intrigued, she toyed with the edge of the orange peel in her glass, narrowing her eyes at him lightly in thought. It was worth hearing him out. “Continue.”

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward and propping his forearms up on the bar. “I would very much like to sell Crimson Peak in this establishment. You seemed hesitant about the venture from the beginning, so I would like to extend an offer to both you and Eddie to come to the estate. Come view how the whiskey is made, let us prove to you its worth. I can tell by the way you’re nursing that drink that you like how it tastes. Just one weekend is all I ask. The estate will bear the cost of your travel and your overnight stay.”

Sir Thomas was smooth, that was for sure. The entreating look he was shooting her over the bar was one she was sure had sent countless women swooning over the years. And while he was stunningly handsome, especially having lost some of the polish on him from the bit of hard work he’d put in for her, it wasn’t enough to have her following in his past conquests’ teetering heeled footsteps. “Buy a girl dinner first, would ya?” she joked, brushing him off, playing for time.

“Name the restaurant and the hour, Katherine, and you have a deal.”

Oh, the opportunity was just too good to pass up.

*******

She thought for sure she’d catch him out of his element, recommending the tiny basement Chinese restaurant off Leicester Square. The place barely had enough room to breathe, let alone for the four round tables taking up a majority of the space. The heavenly aroma of warm spices, sesame oil and fried meat filled the air, an enticing, unmistakably oriental scent that made her mouth water. She didn’t even glance at the menu placed before her, having come here often, instead keeping her eyes trained on the door for her dinner companion to arrive.

The sound of the pouring rain met her ears as the door opened, and in he strolled, looking far too confident and cool for what should have been a surprising venue to him. He was supposed to think himself above hole in the wall places like this, thrown off-kilter, awkward, not looking like sin personified.

Sir Thomas flashed a charming smile at the tiny waitress - especially in comparison to his towering frame - by the kitchen door who hurried over to greet him. She pointed him in Kate’s direction, who sat up straighter now that she was the subject of his attention. His leather jacket glistened with the summer rain rolling off of the slick, jet-black material, and his deft-fingered hands reached up to rake through his raven’s wing hair, attempting to tame the errant curls against the damp.

He unzipped and slipped off his leather jacket, revealing a white button-up shirt rolled up again to his elbows, the top two buttons undone to allow just a hint of dark chest hair to peek up through the gap. She should not be focusing on that. Pulling her eyes back up to his face, she caught his soulful stormy blue eyes watching her take him in, the barest hint of a smile visible on his poet’s mouth.

Was it even legal to be that hot?

“So, you, uh, found the place okay?” she asked, cursing herself inwardly for sounding like such a simpleton. She was still shell shocked to see him looking so at ease in the establishment, smiling pleasantly at the petite waitress who walked up to them.

“Your directions were perfect,” he confirmed.

“Hey, Kate.” The tiny woman who’d showed Thomas in, her dark hair piled high atop her head smiled curiously at him, but said nothing.

“Hiya Karen. Gok still giving you the runaround?”

Karen grinned, rolling her dark brown eyes. “He’s a rocket on little legs for sure. My toddler,” she explained to Thomas. “What can I get you?”

“How about… you okay for me to take the reins, Sharpe?”

Thomas gestured for her to go ahead. “I bow to your superior knowledge. I trust your judgment.”

Did he have to be so nice? Was he for real? “Cool. How about a couple of char siu bau, a plate of noh mai gai, a load of har gau, um, two beef noodle rolls, and a bowl of garlic pea sprouts. And two Tsing Tao beers?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at Thomas.

He nodded, leaning over the table propped up on his elbows, his hand cupping the other as he watched her. His long legs were stretched out to the side, encased in dark denim.

This close to him, it was impossible not to appreciate his beauty. It would be so easy to fall into the bottomless depth of his light eyes, give in to the urge to see whether his palms had calluses or not, but that was out of the question. He was too upper class, he came from too much “old” money, having known a life of silver spoons and privilege, a life that she had been cheated out of long ago - and now one that she decidedly did not want. She wouldn’t fall into his beautiful and deadly trap.

She’d made that mistake already. Life didn’t give you any free do-overs.

“I am buying you dinner, which fulfills my end of yet another bargain. Does that mean that you are willing to visit my estate - with Eddie, of course - to see for yourself the legitimacy of my whiskey?” he asked, his velvet-lined voice low and soft, intimate, with his request.

Kate was grateful to be bought time to reply when they were interrupted by their food being placed before them, the intricate dim sum delicate and fragrant on the plates embossed with dancing dragons. The aroma of the food soothed her in its familiarity. After a hearty bite of her favourite prawn dumplings, the morsel warming her from the inside out, she leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “We’ll see.”

#thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe au #thomas sharpe x ofc #imagine sir thomas sharpe #crimson peak #crimson peak au #crimson peak fic #modern au #romcom #the angel's share #hoplesswrites #yespolkadotkitty

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thelattayhottay-blog · 5 years

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The Girl who wanted to like Musicals

Welcome to my new fan fiction. It’s a Sequel to the guy who didn’t like Musicals.

Be warned! There will be aggressive, adult language, violence, also there might be Things triggering you so please only read if you are consent with all of this.

Also be Aware that this Story contains spoilers to “the guy who didn’t like Musicals” as this is a Sequel.

Now enjoy reading Chapter one.

Chapter one

“It’s been two weeks since tragedy struck our sister city of Hatchetfield. Candlelight vigils line the streets as Clivesdale citizens try to make sense of this unspeakable loss. Every last man, woman and child in Hatchetfield, gone in a blink of an eye. A meteor and a ruptured gasline was all it took to wipe them off the map. But it will take much much more to wipe them from our hearts”. Lydia turned of the radio. “Ruptured gasline my ass”, she hissed and returned to making breakfast. Ever since the tragedy in Hatchetfield happened it became the number one talked about topic everywhere in Clivesdale. While most people were sharing their fake sympathy for the many losses of Hatchetfield, Lydia was one of the few who didn’t care about them. She didn’t care about much at all, which is why she wasn’t in a good mood most of the time. But one of the few things she cared about was her daughter Vanessa, who just in that moment entered the kitchen. “Morning mum”, Vanessa said. “Any new news on what happened in Hatchetfield?”, she asked and sat down at the small rickety table. “Nope, just the usual ‘blah blah we miss our beloved sister city’ talk”. Lydia put down two mugs with hot steaming coffee. Vanessa looked at the sparsely breakfast in front of her. She looked at her mother who was nervously tapping on the side of her mug. “Mum are you alright?”, Vanessa asked while putting some butter on her bread. Lydia didn’t answer, she just stared blankly at the wall. “Mum? Is something wrong?”. Vanessa was worried. Usually her mother wasn’t like this. “What? Oh, I’m fine… I’ve just been… thinking… That’s all”, she took a sip of her coffee. It tasted horrible. The same moment Vanessa spit out her coffee. “Ew mum what the fuck? This is disgusting”, Vanessa took both of their mugs and emptied them in the sink. “I’m sorry sweety”, Lydia said while rubbing her temple. Since they ran out of coffee Vanessa put down two glasses and filled them with orange juice. “What is wrong with you? Ever since Hatchetfield happened you’re acting strange. It’s the fifth time you ruined our morning coffee and look at the breakfast. That’s just sad!”. She wasn’t wrong. The scrambled eggs were burned and had too much salt, the bacon was swimming in grease and the bread just looked sadly. “That’s it, I’m going grocery shopping today”, Vanessa said annoyed. The last two weeks she had to eat burned or frozen food, too salty or too sweet or her mother added too many spices at once. She lost at least 6lb in that time. Lydia stared at her, her voice was panicky. “You’re not leaving the house! You stay here. We can… Order food… No no… not order… Let’s see what we have left”, she stood up and opened the fridge. Inside was a box of spoiled milk, some wrinkled veggies, some sad looking cheese and the left overs of a pizza Vanessa had ordered last night because she was starving. Lydia took out the box of pizza, opened the trash can and threw it away. “Mu, NO! That was the only edible thing in this house!”, Vanessa yelled. She saved the pizza knowing the breakfast would be a disappointment. It was her favourite pizza, ham, pineapple and cheese. “No more ordering food from the outside!”. Vanessa was pissed. Tolerating her mother’s “cooking skills” was one thing. But not being allowed to finish her favourite pizza which she bought with her own money, that’s just rude. “You’re crazy!”, Vanessa yelled. Without hesitation her mother grabbed one of the mugs on the sink and threw it against Vanessa’s head. It hit her full force on the forehead. “All I’m doing is trying to protect you and that’s how you’re thanking me you crazy b*tch?”, Lydia yelled. Her eyes were red, and she was furious. Never before Vanessa had seen her mother that furious. What was going on? Pain ran through her head, starting from where the mug had hit her. The mug had fallen to the ground and shattered into million pieces. Slowly, Vanessa touched her forehead, feeling blood slowly running from the wound. “I just can’t with you right now. You’re a monster”, Vanessa said and stormed upstairs.

Ever since she could remember her mother and her had been living in the same house, a small house at the edge of Clivesdale. Apparently, her mother lived in Hatchetfield and Vanessa was born there, but for some reasons they moved away when she was like one year old. Vanessa’s room wasn’t huge. The walls were covered in some old floral tapestry which was falling apart and since nobody cared to replace it, it looked really ugly. Vanessa would have cared to replace the walls but since she had no friends coming over, she didn’t have a reason to do so. Vanessa was a social awkward person. She never managed to find any friends or when she found nice people her mother told her to stop seeing those people. Vanessa never understood why her mother would refuse to let her find friends, but in the end, she just accepted it. She was a member of the school’s book club, but she never connected to the people there. Her clothes were spread across the floor. When was the last time she did laundry? It has been almost two years since she graduated from high school. Her mother wanted her to go to college but since they couldn’t afford it, Vanessa started working in the local book store. It was simple work. All she had to do was sort in new books, dust the shelves and tell customers where to find a certain book or show them the way to the toilet. “It’s not the ideal job, but money is money”, she had told herself on the first day of work. “Only until I find something better”, that’s what she told her mother when she started working. Now two years later she had to face reality. She would probably never find a different job again, not until she would go to college. There was a cheaper college in Hatchetfield. She would have been able to afford it while working at the book store. Also, she wouldn’t have to move there, she could’ve drove there every day by car. But as soon as she mentioned Hatchetfield to her mother, she freaked out, telling her that if she dared to enrol in Hatchetfield, she would lock her in the basement and never let her out again. Sometimes Lydia was really crazy, Vanessa thought and looked at her reflection inside her mirror. While she was running upstairs and staring through her room more blood had left the wound, covering her face with bloody streaks. “Bloody hell”, she hissed and slowly touched the wound. “Ouch”, she hissed again and walked into the bathroom across the corridor. One advantage of her bedroom was that the bathroom was on the other side of the corridor, so she wouldn’t have to run much when she had to pee or throw up after a long night of drinking with her co-workers. Touching the wound made it worse than before, she just realized. The sight on her right eye was blurry since blood kept streaming over it. How didn’t she notice all the blood before? It was just when she looked at herself in the mirror when she recognized all the blood. How long did she stare at her room to not notice? Vanessa looked at herself in the mirror. Her entire face was covered in blood and some blood had started to drip onto her yellow shirt she was wearing. Disinfect the wound was the first thing she could think about. She took a towel out of the shelf, drenched it with water and rubbed the towel over her face. That’s probably how you disinfect a face, she thought, but at least she got a better view at what was happening right now. The wound was burning and fresh blood kept running out of it. “Good job mum”, she mumbled and opened the medicine shelf. Unlike most people, Lydia and Vanessa owned a huge medicine shelf. Since Lydia worked as a doctor or nurse back in Hatchetfield, she knew what was important to have at home. And thanks to her over ambitious teacher at school Vanessa knew how to stitch a small wound. Vanessa took out some disinfection lotion, band-aids and the required tools to stitch the wound. She hesitated. She knew what she had to do, she practiced this so often. But she never thought she would actually have to do this. From downstairs she heard her angry mother, probably cleaning the kitchen and meanwhile destroying half of it. Nothing special, she thought since it happens all the time that her mother destroyed some furniture in the house. At some point they stopped caring about good replacements and just bought what was cheap and functional. Vanessa put down the tools on the sink. Blood started to drip from her chin, the blood was streaming down her face in big streams. Usually her mother wouldn’t hurt her, at least not that bad. Bruises were normal for her. Lydia always had an anger issue and Vanessa assumed it was the reason she was divorced. But she never understood why her father would have left her with her mother. All she knew was that her father was a crazy person, probably living in Hatchetfield, which meant… Vanessa shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to think about her sad family back story. Before she could start to stitch the wound, she would have to clean the face again, so she took the towel and rubbed it gently over her face. Tiny pieces of fluff got stuck on the edges of the wound. With shaky hands Vanessa took out some tweezers from the shelf and removed those pieces, trying not to poke the wound. But of course, she did, only to make everything worse. Angry she threw the tweezers against the wall. “Fucking piece of shit”, she cursed. How did Murphy’s law say? Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Vanessa hated those phrases. She took a deep breath, then took a cotton ball and put some disinfection lotion on it. “Here goes nothing”, she said and put it on the wound. What followed was an agonizing scream, it burned like hell. She had to hold back tears, this wasn’t the time to cry. But this, she knew, was only the beginning of the trip to hell. She still had to stitch the wound. Vanessa looked around. There must be something she could bite on to prevent more screaming. Since she found nothing better she decided to take a towel. Her hands were shaking heavily, making it harder to get the needle and the string together. She took one last deep breath, then put the towel in her mouth. Whether she wanted to or not, now she had to sharpen her mind an concentrate. That’s not how she wanted to start her morning, but she had no other choice.

30 minutes later, Vanessa had finished cleaning the bathroom. She carefully had to replace the band-aid on her forehead about five times already because it was soaking with blood. To ease down the pain she took some pain killers which soon kicked in. It probably wasn’t a good idea to take pain killers on an (almost) empty stomach, but she didn’t care. Too much had happened that morning. When she checked the time, she realized she would definitely be too late for work again. Her boss, a man in his mid-fifties didn’t like when she arrived too late. Mr. Miller was a nice man usually, but when it comes to punctuality, he had no regrets. Originally, she had planned to leave home earlier, go get something to eat at the bakery and then go to work, but since she was already twenty minutes late on her schedule, she would have to skip food. Vanessa sighed. This definitely wasn’t how she had planned this week. She was actually kinda looking forward for this weekend. Her co-worker, Miles, asked her if she wants to tag along this weekend to go to the cinema to see a movie. She hadn’t told her mother of course because she would probably refuse to let her go. Besides having friends, enjoying culture such as music or theatre was a big red flag in the Reynolds household. Every music channel on Tv was blocked, the radio had to be turned off as soon as music started playing. Her mother even edited her audiobooks and CDs so whenever music would play there was a harsh cut. Vanessa never understood why her mother was like that. Apparently, music triggered something in her past which is why she wouldn’t let Vanessa listen to it. Lydia even managed to get Vanessa out of every music related class. And since music was a banned topic in her family, Vanessa never showed interest in music. Whenever people asked her who her favourite band was or what kind of music she listens to, she always answered “You know, those who are famous right now”. This answer always counted, no one asked more questions. But it also had a good side to all of this. Since she wasn’t allowed to listen to music, Vanessa became interested in scientific audiobooks and documentaries from a young age. While others went through their boy band phases, Vanessa dived into the world of science. Her love for science helped her get good grades. Sadly, she wasn’t good enough to get a sponsorship for college, but that was alright.

When she checked time again another 15 minutes had passed. “Fuck”, she cursed and ran into her room. She still didn’t have time to change into something new. Vanessa pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it into a corner, then opened her wardrobe, hoping to find something acceptable to wear. One of her biggest weaknesses was forgetting about doing laundry. If Lydia wouldn’t remember her every now and then, she wouldn’t have nothing left to wear. At the bottom of her wardrobe she found a black dress. She usually wouldn’t wear a dress to work, but since she had nothing else to wear, she quickly changed into that dress and added a pair of black tights. When she checked her appearance in the mirror, she noticed that her dark brown hair was a mess. Quickly, she took her brush and put her hair into a bun. It didn’t make the situation better, but at least her hair wouldn’t annoy her so much. She grabbed her concealer and started applying it, when her mother suddenly slammed open the door of her bedroom. Lydia was sweating and breathing heavily. “Mum, you scared me, what is-“, Vanessa asked but Lydia interrupted her. “Listen, I’m sorry for what happened, I didn’t want to hurt you”, her voice was shaking. Something definitely was wrong. “Mum, what is going on?”, Vanessa asked and put down her makeup. Her mother was holding three bags in her hands. Two were already packed, one was empty. Lydia put down the two packed ones and threw the empty one on Vanessa’s bed. “Listen sweetie, I know you are confused. But please, pleaasee, pack some clothes, functional clothes. And hurry, we need to leave!”, Lydia said and stormed into the bathroom. Vanessa was confused. What the hell was going on? When Lydia came back, she had another bag with her, filled with what has been in the medicine shelf before. “Mum, please tell me what is going on”. It was then when she heard them for the first time. There were voices, loud voices outside the house. She heard them through the window. “Are you sure this is where you delivered yesterday?”, she heard a woman say. “Shitshitshitshitshit”, Lydia said and started to throw random clothing into the bag on Vanessa’s bag. “Don’t just stand there, help me pack!”, she yelled. “I won’t until you tell me what is going on!”. Tears started to fill up Vanessa’s eyes. It’s one thing to hurt her or destroy the inventory of their house. But never before she has seen her mother so nervous before. Lydia walked over to Vanessa and put her hands on her shoulders. “Listen sweetie. What happened in Hatchetfield wasn’t just a ruptured gasline. What happened there is coming to Clivesdale and if we don’t hurry and leave soon enough, we’ll share the same fate as the citizens of Hatchetfield”. “What-“. “Don’t interrupt me but listen, Vanessa. Your father predicted this exact scenario 30 years ago. Back then I didn’t want to believe him, I thought he was crazy. But it all adds up. Everything that happened in Hatchetfield, everything that is happening right now, it all adds up. We have to leave-NOW!”, Lydia zipped the bag and walked over to the door. “I will explain everything once we’re gone, but now we need to hur-“. A window shattered. The noises came from downstairs. First there was the shattering of the window, then there were voices. “The car is still outside, they can’t have left yet”, a male voice said. Someone was downstairs. Vanessa started to panic. “No, not now”, Lydia hissed. She looked at Vanessa. It was this moment where Lydia realized that only one of them would make it out alive. She hesitated, then she went over to Vanessa and handed her the car keys as well as the bag with her clothes, the bag with the medicine and a briefcase. “Take the car. Try to leave Clivesdale as fast as possible. You know my friend Leighton, right? He lives few miles outside from Clivesdale. You need to go to him. His address is in the car”, Lydia hugged Vanessa. “Do not stop. Don’t stop until you get to him. I filled the car yesterday, so you shouldn’t have to stop for gas”. The noises downstairs got louder. It seems like more people had entered the house. “You need to leave over the steps at the back of the house. Don’t worry about me”, Lydia gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek, knowing that it would be the last kiss she would be giving her. “Mum, what is happening?! Why do I have to leave?”, Vanessa was crying. Lydia stroke her cheek. “Now is not the time to cry. You must be brave. It will make sense as soon as you get to Leighton. One last thing”, she pointed at the briefcase. “Open it when you are out of Clivesdale, only when you’re save. It will explain everything”. The people downstairs reached the stairs, they were currently debating who should go up first. “Open it before you reach Leighton’s place. If what is happening right now already happened at his place, you will then now what to do. Just promise me that you survive”, Lydia hugged her one more time. “I love you, Vanessa. Always did and always will. And now go!”, Lydia left the room. Vanessa didn’t know what to do. It all sounded like a movie. But it was reality. She knew that if her mother was acting like this, then it must be really bad. She wiped away her tears. “Be strong”, she whispered to herself, then took the bags and left her room, walking down the corridor in order to get to the back of the house. Vanessa turned around one last time, just to see a man walking up the stairs to her mother. He was the same age as her mother she assumed but taller. Something about him felt familiar. “Hello Henry”, she heard Lydia say. “Long time no see”. More people were joining Henry. “My sweet sweet Lydia”, he said and grinned at her. “Did you really think you could escape from us? That you could stop us?”, he laughed. He had a beautiful smile, a smile she recognized. It was her own smile in some way, she thought. Lydia looked back at her one more time, signalling her that she has to hurry. “I know I can’t stop all of you. But at least I can make sure you never get her”. The last thing she saw before she ran out of the house was her mother pushing herself and all the people in front of her down the stairs.

#the guy who didn't like musicals #the guy who didnt like musicals #tgwdlm #tgwdlm spoilers #tgwwtlm #fan fictions

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tumblunni · 6 years

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The half week milestone of the hospital house thingie time! I think the term they use for it is "a residential stay"? Cos like its not a hospital its a shared housing block thats just full of doctors. I get to sleep in a real bed and there's a nice community room and board game nights and stuff. But its still really scary how intense the supervision can be! Like they have a window to look into your room once per hour every hour constantly. And they have to go through your undies and catalog them as part of the possessions check. I was not warned about that and it was mega embarassing trying to explain a binder to a bunch of old lady doctors! Oh and i had yo do a urine test today which was possibly the most fuckin embarassing thing in the actual universe. And you're not even allowed to take your own pills! They keep them locked in a big ominous wall of lockers and you have to come into the office and swallow the pill while theyre watching. I guess maybe because some people might be faking their illness and selling their pills on the black market or whatever? But that literally doesnt happen with antidepressants, they have no 'high' or even any effect at all on non-sick people. So it just makes no sense to me and its real embarassing cos like i said i suck at taking pills with plain water and without a straw. The ones i take are real damn chunky things the size of my thumbnail! I think i'l get better at not (literally) choking under pressure over time, tho. Hopefully.

Anyway that's all the bad out of the way! Now the good and the neutral and the just miscellaneous!

Its still nervewracking having to shower in a shared house but they have a cool walk-in shower and ive never tried one of those so it was vaguely interesting. And im allowed to take my showers early at 6am to minimize the chance of anyone else trying to use the door, lol. My biggest fear is having some staff member walk in on me when im naked like back in that homeless hostel. Oh or that time in the homeless hostel where the teenage boys filled the entire bathroom with inflated condoms wall to wall. Like wow so much damn effort to prank the stupid nervous bunni who probably would have been embarassed by literally anything else. Man this place is bringing so many memories of that homeless hostel but at least this time its a place specifically for sick people and they know i'm anxious doing shared cooking and board games and whatever so they dont make fun of me for it. But in a lot of ways that hostel had more freedoms too.. *shrug*

Anyway! A good! I get to have cooking lesson!! I know literally nothing about cooking and now i get to know several thing!! This nice doctor called Josie taught me how to make an omelette and i tasted ham for the first time! That is just how limited my life experiences are, lol. Oh and they want me to say that she's a 'mental health worker' not a doctor, but its all real confusing?? Like they have the staff that look after you and then the only ones we're supposed to call doctors are the ones who actually have the authority to prescribe pills and diagnosies. But like if youre in a hospital you'd call them all doctors, not just the actual surgeon? Or i guess theyre kinda like nursing home staff?? But they cant be support workers cos support workers are specific government assigned inspector type guys like Richard who only meet with you once a week.and i have to remember to not call him a social worker either cos social workers only work with family and custody related stuff. I dunno?? Basically the medical industry has a lot of names that dont really describe what the actual thing is, lol. Anyway the ham omelette was great and now im gonna try and remember so i can try and make it myself next time! HAM ACCOMPLISHED

Also i played bingo with a few other patients and it was fun but funny that i lost 6 times in a row when there were only 3 of us. I got a consolation prize of a pack of neon highlighter pens so hell yeah!!

I'm getting booked in to try some additional classes starting next week on monday and tuesday morning. The computer programming one was sadly unavailable, but i managed tp snag a place in "confidence building group therapy" and "basic how to use power tools". I wasnt really all that interested in that one but i thought it would be a useful skill even if its less fun. And maybe you get to actyally make something to take home at the end? A lil shelf to help organize this awkward lil room better, maybe?

And an unexpected bonus of being semi-hospitalized is that i get a free bus pass! And cos im here cos of my social anxiety theyre gonna help me get outside more and actually use this thing to the fullest! The first thing we did was the trip to actually get the bus pass itself. It was like "bus, take my money to take me to the place where i can never give you money again!" XD Ive been really stupidly nervous about going on tne bus in my old neighbourhood cos MAN it was really isolated there and everything just amplified my mental illness. An almost two hour bus ride to get to ANY SHOPS AT ALL, with only one bus for the whole town so it was always crowded and full of screaming kids and gossipy everyones. Social anxiety: maximum level proud mode!

So yeah i feel BIG ACCONPLISHED! I was able to take this bus for the first time with a doctor coming with me. Power Grandpa The Strong. His actual name is Paul and he has awesome sleeve tattoos of like anchors and dragons and sports teams and stuff! And he likes thrift stores and wearing silly hats too! Its like he's powerful enough to wrestle away everyone's anxieties! I was able to be a bit reckless too and i went out wearing my fave shirt thats like trans pride coloured plaid. A POWERFUL SHIRT IS REQUIRED FOR THIS QUEST! so we went to the office to register this bus pass and i panicked a bit cos apparantky we brought the wrong form and i wrote my name in the wrong box and then my passport photo looked terrible and aaa! But it all worked out and i was kinda freaking out for nothing. And he took me for a lil tour of the place and showed me this cool shop that does spray paint tye dye t shirts with spiderman on them?? Why does this incredibly specific shop exist and how have i never heard of it before?? There was also a new harry potter shop next to the disney shop, and the old used book store i used to visit as a kid was still there, complete with rickety spiral staircase and ominous basement trap door. I'm still not brave enough to go down there, but apparantly its just the history books section so meh. Then we actually went to a fancy coffee shop and i had this brain freeze mango ice frappucchino thing! Im trying all the new foods!!

And i was TOO HIGH ON DECADENCE and made a RECKLESS CHOICE! i blame power gramp's amazing tattoos, they were totally whispering to me that i shoukd screw the rules and ride off into the sunset on a metaphorical harley davidsen of mental health

So i was like Hey Paul I Am Totally Fine Getting Home On My Own, and it was like i was floating off in the distance somewhere begging my body to not speaketh these words. But it ended up working out okay! The excitement of it all and the sense of accomplishmebt from getting there all okay allowed me to mostly not freak out as i spent the day in town and looked at some shops and stuff. Basic Living Skills: Completed! I chilled out in the library (tho i dont have a card yet, alas!) and visited like five comic and anime stores, and got lost but found a Pizza Hut and that was SO NOSTALGIC FOR MY CHILDHOOD and it didnt taste quite as good as i remembered but the waiter guy was super nice and had a similar shirt and it was All Good! Oh and i gave all my money to a homeless person and that's why i'm broke now. And i bought a plastic slug! I just saw it from across the room and was like OH NO I AM BEING MAGNETISED TOWARDS IT OH NO IT HAS ALREADY BEEN BOUGHT. I need to think of a name for this new friend!!

So yeh i got home okay and i felt really acconplished and that was the furthest trip away that i've taken in ages! Man my mental illness makes me feel pathetic, but it also brings ridiculously big joys from the smallest of silly acconplishys!

Oh and thank you so much to the people who sent me emails! It really helped so much to keep me from giving up during the first few days before i made a bit of progress and felt like i could really do this, yknow? Especially big thanks tp the friend who sent me that mysterious super happy song that they found on a mystery disc in a german market?? Im still not sure whether its in greek or hasidic jewish but it sounds AMAZING and i hope someday i can figure out the band so i can hear their other singles!

Ok this is bunni out! BIG HUGS FOR THE EVERYONE AAAA

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sudsybear · 7 years

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Something happened at Wooster. These days I don’t remember exactly what that something was. Although, I do remember talking it through with Ross; one of those late night confessionals when we admitted our fears and insecurities, gaining trust in each other. Seems to me there was a story of an unsuccessful suicide attempt; scratching his wrists with razor blades, drawing enough blood to be scary, but not enough to be deadly. I picture him standing in the lobby of the Civic Center, I hadn’t seen him for months, and he had bandages on both wrists. No one else I’ve asked will corroborate that memory. Did I make it up? Is it a figment of my overactive imagination? I honestly don’t know. Later, Ross led some to believe he hacked into the school’s mainframe, and was expelled. With others he joked about eating too many Twinkies and watching too much television. He was good at evasion and kept his own counsel. I don’t remember enough to know what to believe anymore. Whatever the reason, it was a doozy of a sophomore slump and his parents made the three-hour drive on I-71 to the college and brought Ross and his stuff home in January. He needed to sort out what he wanted in life. He needed time to heal. Wooster was not a good experience. I’ll never know all that happened. I just know he came home.

Along with Liz, my friendship with Shari blossomed in the aftermath of David’s and my demise. We shared choir and Triple Trio rehearsals; and were thrown together for study groups and Teen Counseling sessions. Shari was strong then, She had ideas, plans, dreams. I enjoyed her confidence, a bit amazed by it. Proud of and loyal to her Jewish heritage, she refused to sing the sacred Christmas music our choir director chose for the winter concert. By February we were fully engaged in co-producing the Corral Show together. As producers, Shari and I made sure all the acts had parent sponsors and filled all the show committees (publicity, program, house manager, etc.) Later we followed up with the committees making sure the myriad tasks were taken care of. We had to be at every rehearsal to make sure all the would-be participants showed up. I spent Saturday afternoons with Shari at the Civic Center.

Since Ross was home from college, he was put in charge of shuttling Scott around. Scott was playing guitar with a re-hash of the band Ross had played with two years previous – some of the same faces, a couple of new ones. They would perform in the show. Ross stayed at the Civic Center and listened while Scott played. He had little else to do. And when Ross showed up, Shari’s and my friendship strained. You remember reader, Ross and Shari had dated a few years back. The three of us tried to joke and laugh together. They had been intimate. I never knew the extent of their attraction. And while I recognized the irrelevance of the relationship, my own insecurity fed my curiosity. I asked questions of both of them, and worried how I compared in Ross’ eyes.

Ross and I started slow. We really were just pals. Ross drove me home from Corral Show practice. Scott rode in the backseat with his guitar, and Ross dropped me off at the end of our driveway. As the weeks wore on, Ross and I took longer drives home from the Civic Center with detours to an eatery. We were comfortable, natural with each other. No pretense, we thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company.

I fell for Ross in a big way. Just seventeen, I was sure I could soothe his troubled soul. I knew his struggles. And was smitten with a stubborn case of puppy love that I’m still not completely over. I’m confident declaring that at the time the feeling was mutual.

* * *

I still had school, homework and rehearsals. So did he. Ross wasn’t home but a couple of weeks, and he was registered for computer classes at Cincinnati Technical College (Now Cincinnati State). That was his Dad’s doing, “If you’re home, you’re going to be in school.” While I never actually heard him say it, the message was clear. “No son of mine is going to be a college drop-out. I don’t care if it is a technical college, you’re going.” So, school it was. He started with just a couple of classes, not a full load. Enough to keep Ross busy, but not enough to overwhelm him. We made time to spend with each other.

My father was gone much of the time, traveling for work. Mom was busy working to finish up her nursing degree, taking the last class and getting her hands-on training at the local hospitals. Her mother, my grandmother, lived at one of the newer retirement/nursing home villages in town. Mom worked part-time as an aide. She checked in on my grandmother and took her to the grocery store, post office and such. Mom still ran life squad. Sunday dinners were a must-attend, but beyond that, we left messages for each other on the kitchen counter. We were very good at the message system. The back door was never locked; the dogs were let out any time someone was home. Mom fed them and changed their water dishes. We were an active and cooperative household.

Any time Dad was out of town, I had the Pinto to drive – which was most of the time. And even though we lived less than a half-mile from the high school, I drove half the time. That gave me freedom to ditch class and spend time with Ross. So I did. Not often enough to get in trouble…but often enough to make it worth our while.

I didn’t take seriously my role as Mark’s first girlfriend, and I dropped him – rather suddenly and inexplicably, I’m afraid. Poor guy, he never had a chance. It was very unfair to him, and I’m truly sorry for the way I treated him. There was nothing wrong – he didn’t do anything to upset me. He just wasn’t Ross. Ross and I had history, friendship, and a connection that Mark could never equal. Mark hated girls for a long time after that, and I should have been kinder.

* * *

“Boyish Enthusiasm.” That phrase was invented to describe Ross with a new album. Ross picked me up from some activity, either from school after a choir rehearsal or at the Civic Center after a Corral Show practice, and we HAD to get to his house. What was the deal? We pulled in the driveway, ran in through the garage, flew up the basement steps, his mom was in the kitchen. “Hi, Mrs. Jeynes!”

“Hi, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know…Ross just bought a new record. We’ll be upstairs.”

“Okay, have fun!”

Ross was in his room by the time I finished that quick greeting. “Soozin-X, come up here!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming! What’s the hurry?” as I ran up the stairs.

In his room, Ross took the pleasure of slicing through the cellophane wrapping. He inhaled the smell of new cardboard and vinyl, and the delight of a pristine album untouched by a needle. Bliss. The album was Phil Collins’ latest solo release, “No Jacket Required”

He pulled the album out of the sleeve, holding it carefully, thumb on the outer edge, index finger on the center hole. Placed the album gently on the turntable, put the needle in place (first checking it for dust), lowered it, and cranked the volume. I had no idea music could be played that loud. (The knob must have gone to 11 at least!) He stood in the middle of his bedroom where the speakers had been strategically aimed to maximize acoustic performance and listened – really listened to the first side. I sat on his bed; sheets and bedspread scattered under me, leaned against the wall and watched him. I was amazed at the intensity with which he concentrated on the music. He stood with his hands by his side, eyes closed, or occasionally glancing around the room, with periodic eye contact and a smile. Air drumming or air guitar…he concentrated on the sound…he absorbed it.

The first side ended, my ears were ringing by this time, and he turned the album over to play the second side. Entranced by his behavior, I just watched and listened…the album ended, and Ross wanted to play it again. This second time, I convinced him to turn the volume down, and we sat on his bed and listened …together. Then it was time to get home for dinner with my folks and do homework.

* * *

In April, I started receiving acceptance letters from colleges, and had to decide where to go the following fall. My choices were Ohio State, Augustana, Tufts (I was wait-listed) or UofR. Oh what a decision that was. Money was a huge issue. We didn’t qualify for financial aid at that point, and UofR was one of the most expensive schools in the country. Friends were going to Ohio State, and I thought that might be comforting. I never did take Augustana seriously. I applied on a lark. Basically I had to choose between OSU and UofR.

While we disagree about it now, at the time, I believed my father pushed for UofR. Dad liked the prestige of the school – he had applied and considered the school back in the fifties. He even pulled out thirty year old slides of the campus that he took when he visited. Dad ended up at MIT. He thought it was neat that his daughter might attend a school he had considered a lifetime previous. He was especially impressed that the dean of Students taught in the Religion Department and was the baseball coach. I had my misgivings, but chose Rochester, and decision made, forgot about it, sort of. More fun to live in the moment.

* * *

Ross acquired a project car. An old Pinto he bought from a friend for $1, it never actually went anywhere that I ever knew, although others tell of him driving it. Ross worked in the driveway in back of the house, wearing a Rush concert T-shirt overtop cutoff cargo pants, Converse Chuck T’s and no socks. His short bland hair was growing out from the color black he had dyed it. He welded new metal plates to the floor to cover the holes in the bottom, then put in new carpet. Remnants from a carpeting job his parents had done. He repaired the seats and upgraded the sound system (I must say the subwoofers he installed in the back of that thing were "kick-ass") for what’s a car if it doesn’t have decent sound? He tinkered with the engine, learning any and all that he could about cars. I passed tools to him like any smitten female does, but eventually I got bored and found something else to do. If Ross wasn’t working on his own Pinto, he helped his friend Greg with his Dodge Dart.

The Dodge Dart. Why is it that anyone in High school in the mid 1980s has a friend or acquaintance or drove himself, a Dodge Dart? That was Greg’s fancy. Ross had the Pinto, and Greg had the Dart. They were great friends, and Ross loved to rib Greg about all the time and effort he put into that car. Like the Pinto was such a great car either? They had dreams, and were learning, and it kept them out of too much other trouble.

* * *

Suffering a severe case of senior-itis, I purposefully gave myself a light academic load. Math was a relaxed affair, social studies required some attention, AP English was supposed to be a tough course, but with the teacher mix-up, I ducked the writing assignments as much as possible. Art and Choir required little effort outside of rehearsals. I had no first period class and standing permission to be off campus for Teen Counseling, I spent my free time with Ross.

One morning toward the end of the school year, I left for school late and instead of the short ride to park in the school lot, I drove around the corner and up to Jeynes’ house. Our parents were at work. Scott was at school. I parked my Pinto next to Ross’ in the driveway behind the house, walked in through the garage, up the basement steps to the breakfast nook, tiptoed around the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor. Turned right, and sneaked down the hall to Ross’ room. Ross was not quite awake, still in the blessed morning state halfway between, “Do I want to roll over and go back to sleep…or wake up and go take my shower?” Once in his room, I took off my shoes and socks and crawled into his bed. We curled around each other and both fell back asleep.

We woke up later, enjoying a morning snuggle. We still weren’t motivated to do anything productive. We talked about how much time we were spending together, and how comfortable we were. I asked something about Wooster, and Ross dug around in some boxes and found the letters I sent to him. He kept them in a shoebox. He also had letters from other friends and previous girlfriends. I was thrilled and flattered that he had kept my letters. We re-read them. Sitting on his bed, the covers strewn around us, we started laughing. Oh, how we laughed.

Ross described walking to his mailbox with his buddies. He checked his mailbox, sorted through the letters, and stuffed the one from me in his jacket pocket.

“Hey Man, you got mail. Aren’t you going to read it?”

“Nah, I’ll save it for later”

“Oh, it’s a good one, eh? From a girlfriend or something?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just this girl who writes to me. It’s bizarre stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“Alright, I’ll show you.”

It was one of the coloring book pictures I colored and sent.

“You get that stuff all the time?”

“Yep.”

“Weird. What do you do with it?”

“I don’t know, man. I just don’t know. She just keeps sending it.”

We laughed so hard that morning, looking through the mail I had sent him. Poor Ross, what I had put him through sending him mail. Yes, he was happy to get it, but what strange mail to receive.

After we laughed, I lay in bed while Ross showered and dressed. By this time we were ravenous, and it was almost noon, so we left the house and drove to Burger King for brunch. He had to go to afternoon classes, and so did I. I was distracted the rest of the day, in anticipation of seeing Ross again. Afternoon classes, and choir rehearsal…my heart wasn’t in it.

* * *

I had an Eddie Bauer backpack to carry my textbooks and spiral notebooks. Book packs have been all the rage since the mid-70s at least, and in the 80s having the right label on yours meant everything. I begged my parents to pay too much for an Eddie Bauer bag, and I used it and used it and used it. The thing was, the seams were unraveled and I had a terrible time getting my books and notebooks into and out of the bag. I complained about it to Ross one afternoon. He looked at it, said, “Oh, I can fix that. I need a lighter.”

“What?”

“It will be okay, I promise. Watch.”

On the back porch of our house, he sat for an hour melting the seam allowances along the entire interior of the backpack. Tedious and dangerous, burned fingers are no fun. I have a healthy fear of an open flame, despite (or maybe because of) my experiences with teenage male pyrotechnics. I was terrified he would burn himself, but fascinated to watch him work. I used that backpack for another couple of years, took it to college, then summer camp and out to California. A strap finally broke. Mom mailed the pack back to the company, and they replaced it with a new one. When it arrived, I sat on the back porch and melted the seam allowances myself.

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sizzlingballs · 7 years

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Just Another Bird in a House

The sound of the microwave beeping hit my ears as the food signaled it’s ready. I carried the leftover burrito down two rooms on the right to my beloved boyfriend with a broken humerus. A familiar song began to fill the air as I was approaching his door.

“Oh, I love this song!” I excitedly shouted as I was turning into his ten by seven-foot bedroom. Peter was laying on his back fidgeting with his enemy of a brace. We decided it looked like it should belong to a Storm Trooper outfit.

He kept his focus on the brace, trying to adjust it out of frustration. “Yay, burrito,” he said with a monotoned voice still looking down.

I want to sing my own song that’s all, started Bird in the House by Railroad Earth, cried the bird and flew into a wall.

“This song is about me,” he softly said. I took notice of the words of the song and instantly knew what he meant.

There must be some way out, he cried. And his desperation echoed down the hall.

I looked up from the burrito and saw streams of tears sliding quickly down his face landing on his collar bone. I rushed to throw my arms around his neck and pulled his head into me. He started crying harder into my shoulder and I could feel the moisture sinking into the fabric onto my skin.

Just another bird in a house. Dying to get out.

He started panting into my shoulder and choked on the air he inhaled. I tried to think of something comforting or helpful to say, but all I could think of was “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Just another bird in a house. Dying to get out.

For the past twelve weeks, Peter has been healing from a fracture of the humerus from snowboarding. Going from living an active lifestyle to a nonexistent outside life has really affected Peter physically (obviously) and mentally.

Each doctor visit was bad news after bad news, stating how it’s taking longer to heal than expected, three more weeks, six more weeks, and we started PT too aggressive and too soon. At this point, his arm was starting to make a mal-union, bone not healing in a straight line, with a 15-degree angle. The PT helped him start to develop his triceps again which was pushing his unhealed bone forward when the muscle was firing.

For Peter, I think of his situation as if he’s a wild animal being stuck in a cage. An animal which should run free amongst the open fields. In this case, he’s a bird trapped in a house and can’t fly out into the endless blue skies.

I want to join my own kind that's all, cried the bird and flew into a wall.

He continued crying in my shoulder and grabbed me close with his good right arm. I took his hair into my hands and squeezed him closer, wanting to protect him from any pain. Tears began swelling up in my eyes knowing there was nothing I could do and not being able to bear watching a loved one go through such misery.

The man who conquered crashing white waters that many don’t dare ride. The man who climbed giant beasts of mountains to overlook the valleys and lakes below. The man who spent hours and hours on his feet, never stopping. Now, he is the man who stays in his small room out of depression. The man who is handicapped and can’t control his atrophied, broken arm. The man who has little hope left. The man who is trying to grasp the light that’s left.

There must be some way out he cried. And his desperation echoed down the hall.

“I just want it over with,” he struggled to say through his sobs. “There are good and bad days though, right?” he said jokingly, trying his best to be his witty, funny self but then continued to cry into my shoulder.

Just another bird in a house. Dying to get out.

I tried to keep my soft sobs to myself, not wanting him to hear in case of further upsetting him. “You’re going to get better,” I stated reassuringly, “It may seem like you won’t or that you can’t reach the end of the hallway, but you’ll be healed. You’ll come out of this stronger.”

Just another bird in a house. Dying to get out.

My alarm went off on my phone letting me know my lunch break had ended. I cursed softly to myself and brought his head into my neck and squeezed him firmly.

“They can wait. They’ll understand. This is more important,” I softly said into his ear.

After a long shuttle driving on an extremely bumpy twelve-mile dirt road, Peter’s arm was shaken up quite a bit and took a beating. There are those times where he starts to scare himself thinking that anything he does will end up damaging his arm and costing him surgery.

I’m going to smash my way out that’s all, cried the bird and smashed from wall to wall.

“I’m just afraid that my nightmare will come true,” he said after a deep inhale trying to calm himself down.

I tried convincing him that he’s doing everything he can to help heal his arm and push for a faster recovery. I tell him of his future and what he will achieve from this. The mountains he will climb. The rivers he will ride. The people he will hold in his arms. The strength he will regain.

I grab his face and tell him how I love him and I’m always there for him. That he’s never a burden to me. That it’s okay to feel like this. He hugs me and buries his face into my chest.

“I could never have done this without you. You honestly don’t know how much this means to me,” he muffled into my chest.

There must be some way out, he cried. And his desperation echoed down the hall.

I left for work and my feelings immediately set in. The feelings of desperation, helplessness, hatred, anger, and sadness all mixed in a boiling hot stew. My co-workers greeted me and asked how lunch was and I answered saying it was okay. I sat down on the stool and felt tears swell up in my eyes.

Just another bird in a house. Dying to get out.

I immediately jumped off the stool, walked calmly to the stairs leading down to the stock room, quickly hopped down the stairs and ran into the sleeping bag room. I sat on the only chair and buried my face into my hands and began weeping.

Just another bird in a house. Dying to get out.

There’s nothing like the feeling of helplessness when a loved one is struggling.

Time passes, could be weeks or months, it's getting harder to tell. I told Peter the password to my computer so he could watch movies when I wasn't around. One day in the hours following another round of soul crushing news from his doctors -torn bicep, might need surgery- He opens my computer, he's looking around for a movies folder and clicks downloads. A file catches his eye “Just another bird in a house”, he opens the file.

He began to read and quickly realized what it contained, he took each line slowly reliving each moment one at a time. This was an encounter he remembered well and the authenticity and accuracy of my account surprised him.

It was surreal for him to read my narrative of this moment, he thought it was lost forever and now here it was immortalized in type. He felt like he was peering through the looking glass of the soul of another and he knew I felt his pain, if not physically at least I was by his side all along and he knew I understood his endeavor. If you’ve ever suffered in your life, this understanding is worth more than the honeyed words of any quasi-stranger you meet who asks you, “what’d you do to your wing”, he would quickly recount the injury and give a brief summary of his “medical care” and whats brought him to where he is standing in front of them, he smiles with his mouth but his eyes are hollow. “Hope ya get better soon!” He drifts away. Thanks…

As he reads he's sitting in the same spot we were that day only this time he's alone, he begins crying the same salty tears, he is the bird. He hadn't heard the song in awhile, maybe since that very day. The tune rolls through him as he reads those lonely italicized words. He reads about the aftermath, I never told him how I wept for him that day alone in the sleeping bag room in the shop's basement, if fate struck differently, if he knew how to use an apple computer worth a damn he probably would have found those movies straight away. He might have never known.

He closed my computer and waited five minutes for the song to load on his phones youtube, he needed to hear it. It loads about a quarter of the song in this time and he hits play, the song reaches the end of the first verse and he pauses. The video has caught up to the buffering bar but he's heard enough, it is enough.

He reopened my computer to the document “Just another bird in the house” and began to type right underneath where I had finished, “There's nothing like the feeling of helplessness when a loved one is struggling.” He didn't have a clear picture of what he wanted to say but this was beautiful to him and he was eager to try and capture it the way I had. Rather than interrupt the flow of the piece he decided he would take on the voice of the narrator; me. He wrote about himself in the third person, which was an interesting proof read at the very least. He looked at the clock and saw he has an hour and a half before I got off work, it had to be done before I got off. He didn't care if it was confusing or convoluted, he didn't care you thought it was cheesy or cute or anything else because it wasn't for you. It was for us.

I'm gonna smash my way out, that's all. Cried the bird and smashed from wall to wall.

There must be some way out, he cried. And his desperation echoed down the hall.

#just another bird in a house #railroad earth #broken arm #broken spirit #broken heart #pain #hope #love #struggling #depression #Glacier National Park #hurts to see someone you love suffer #our true struggle #stand together

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