stfreds-a
PATRON SAINT OF LOST CAUSES.
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james —
no hell but the one we make
••• WHERE: St. Peter’s
••• CLOSED to @stfreds
said we’re both tied to our own trees,
cut me loose, cut me loose.
little beast, are you wild as me?
left some teeth in your enemies…
It’s getting harder now.
Not that it was ever easy, this razor’s edge existence he’s been livin’ for over a year. All this betrayal is the antithesis of him. Every traitorous act is a viper bite pumping venom to his very core. By now his soul is necrotic, rot-black and fang blistered. He reckons if ever it managed to limp its putrefied ass up to the pearly gates, God would smite him down like scraping a slug off his shoe, lip curled in repulsion.
Hell, at this rate, even the devil won’t have him when he’s through.
Yesterday it hit a point of no return for him. Up ‘till now everything they’ve asked him to do, rotten as it’s been, has only involved the active members of Valencia’s street crew. Folks who signed on for this life of wicked deeds, knowing full well that violent delights have violent ends. It doesn’t make it easy on him, but he can justify it.
This, what they’ve asked for now– there’s no justifying it, no matter how he tries.
‘Cause here’s what he knows: if his brothers were aware of what he’s been asked to do, they’d tell him not to fuckin’ do it. There’s not a man among ‘em who wouldn’t die to spare an innocent woman’s life, that’s certain. So if he goes through with this, he can’t say it’s for them anymore. If he really does this, it’ll be because he don’t wanna walk this world without his brothers at his back. That’s on him. It’ll be pure selfish, pure cowardice, pure hemotoxic rattlesnake venom rot to whatever’s left of his soul.
But what’s it worth to have a soul if it means his brothers gotta die for him to keep it?
He knew her soon as he saw the photo flashed on a phone screen at him. He played dumb, pretended he’d never seen her before, but he has. The blue light beams of her eyes, two shining rings with a soft halo glow, have met his across a bar as she poured him his glasses of whiskey. Is there anything sweeter than being handed a drink poured by a beautiful woman? It feels like love, he bets, but he don’t know what a woman’s love feels like for reference. There’s something extra sweet about the way she serves his whiskey to him. He could swear when he brings it to his lips, the Jack she poured him smells like frankincense and myrrh, tastes like orange peels and fields of strawberry blonde wheat.
There’s a reason why they want her. And it sure as fuck ain’t a good one.
He’s got no clue what he’s gonna do about this. He can buy some time pretending he ain’t found her yet, but it won’t last forever. Eventually he’ll have to tell them something. He considered just strolling on in here tonight, leaning over the bar and saying to her, “you gotta run, lil ember, and don’t ever look back.” But what if she don’t go? What if this whole thing isn’t what he thinks it is? He’s gotta get closer. He’s gotta get a clearer picture on it all.
The bar is a warm brown enclave, stained wood floor, orange neon glow through the black windows. A TV over the bar flashes a Ford commercial, a cherry red pickup carving through a mountain road. And there she is behind the lacquered black bar top, the double blue rings of her eyes gleaming in the dim. She’s backlit by the Ford commercial, casting a glow around her like a cherry red mandorla, bloody crimson on her bright amber hair. It’s not a good sign. He needs a fuckin’ drink.
He’s got a seat he prefers, the stool two in from the end of the bar closest to the door. He likes the window view. He likes to be close to the exit. He likes that when she comes down here, there’s usually no one around but him.
If he seems on edge, he reckons she won’t think much of it. No doubt there’s a lot of folks who come in here looking for something to dull them down. He takes his seat and reaches over the bar to help himself to a toothpick, shoving it in the corner of his mouth to gnaw out the constant craving for a cigarette. He waits for her to come to him, chomping down on the splintering wood between his molars.
Run, ember, run, he begs.
But she’s already makin’ her way over.
The smile he forces into the corner of his mouth likely ain’t what she’s used to seeing from him. So far he’s only come to this bar in his best moods, ‘cause he feels less guilty about having a bad attitude at Lewis’ and this blue-eyed clementine is hard not to smile at. But the half-hearted attempt don’t reach his eyes this time, and it’s gone almost as soon as it appears.
“Evenin’, darlin’,” he says to her. He doesn’t bother ordering– he never drinks anything but Jack, and lots of it. Seems like it’d be taking her for a fool to mention it at all. “Tell me, what’d’you reckon is your favorite thing that happened today? Gimme a good one.” He doesn’t specify. Could be something funny, something unusual, something happy or exciting. A favorite thing that happened today could be anything, really. He’s curious what that would mean for her.
some days are easier. today has been a million-pound weigh cracking the bones on her chest. no clear reason behind it, no justification for the ever constant pounding of her heart: this morning, waking up, she could swear she smelled burning in the air — she asked the patrons, too. any news of a fire? no fred, they all smiled. it’s all in your head, girl.
perhaps it is all in her head, after all. perhaps a million different variables have piled up, exotic ingredients mixed up to give off a sense of doom. there’s that article on the news, her uncle’s face plastered in the corner like some demonic figure leaking out of a screen. there’s the secrets she’s been keeping, personal hauntings that must not be voiced out loud. there’s the fact she hasn’t heard jay in a week, now, and whatever sense of safety she’d found in their relationship, the way it had turned to a shelter — it all feels a lot like quicksand now. shifting quickly beneath her feet, wondering: how steady, really, are you?
most of all, perhaps, it’s the hours she’s been putting in. whole days spent behind the counter, because st. peter’s, at least, still feels like home. the embodiment of the life she’s picked in red ridge: between blurred lines, a smudge between the clear-cut shapes that should represent good and evil. she’d rather stay there, a single dot on the line — where evil can’t reach and she can’t delude herself with good, either. but the hours are long, and her back has been feeling much older than thirty-three, lately — it takes her just a bit of time to focus her attention on the silhouette at the end of the counter (the only one: that, too, is odd for st. peter’s).
her smile is the lazy grimace of a close-to-lifeless body. she’d like to burn brighter, offer him, as well as any other customer, that freddie dawson brand of hospitality that made her so fucking good behind a counter. best she can do is smile, hook a towel over her right shoulder and lean over the counter, a hand lazily trying to hold her head up right. his question is more an enigma, and if she stops to really think about it, she will see the answer is dreaded and pitiful: her mind is clever in avoiding corners it doesn’t need to wander into, so she turns to irony instead: a light, ash-flavored laugh coming out of her in gentle ripples, she turns away and looks to the rest of the bar for a clue. well, she woke up today: that’s gotta count in the toll of favorite things, doesn’t it?
“found a dollar bill in my dirty laundry, does that count?” she turns to him now, an eyebrow quirked (excessive expressionism to make up for how half-alive she looks). “‘m’afraid you’re just gonna find sad, boring stories on this side of the counter, buddy”. a sharp sigh, an apologetic smile — she wishes she could offer more, really. she used to be good at this. all smiles and kind words, at the right time, offering the kind of perspective that turns someone’s day around. she’s turning herself around instead, going crazy in a trap of her own doing. pulling back, fred leaves a hand on the edge of the counter, as if she needed it to hold herself up — as if she could crumble without it. she’s only looking at him now: there’s something about him, like perhaps he shares that same nervousness. maybe there is, in fact, a fire. maybe their noses are just better. for a second she almost wants to ask him: that look on your face, is it because you feel it too? it’s real, isn’t it? something’s happening. something’s burning.
freddie sucks in a breath, pulls herself together as best as she can — then smile. “you want a drink while you play philosopher? the usual, yeah?”
#linewalksyou#ft. james hawkins.#i MADE IT#insert elmo gif#it's shorter than yours but then again i don't have#the gift for words you have#so it's better for everyone gfjdg
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jake —
Almost immediately he noticed the state of her – frail, sullen features, taut skin that seemed to have lost its natural blush, its color and life, darkness rimming her sockets as she stared at him like deer in headlights, clearly caught off guard. Jake frowned, confusion coming over him and an intense curiosity as to who she’d been speaking to and what they’d been speaking of. Sliding his hands into his jeans (after seeing that apparently something as simple and once commonplace as a hug was still off-limits), he watched her as she tried to level the situation, bring a boiling pot to simmer – but it was already too late, everything had spilled over.
He cleared his throat, letting a tension filled silence fill the space between them for a moment before he finally spoke: “Yeah —- I figured you were working and I wanted to just stop by and see how it was going,” – a lie, he wanted to see how they were going, he wanted to know where this all stood. His eyes trailed to the space by the alley that she had glanced to just a second ago, returning to her, his brows still cinched. “What were you doing back there?” He pointed with his chin, “I heard another voice.”
—
even in their earliest days, she’d barely ever had to hide anything from him. perhaps a part of her had been an accomplice in that: trusting him from the get go, before she could admit it to herself, allowing him to peer into her and get the truth out in his merciless, unflinching ways. this was different. whatever this meant, whatever consequences it might bring along, she was dead-set on keeping all of this to herself: because she’d brought enough chaos in his life. because she knew him, and he’d do anything at all to protect her — even if it meant getting himself hurt in the process. there wasn’t a version of reality in which she could be okay with that. not a parallel universe in which admitting to him that they weren’t as safe as they hoped — and that all of it was because of her, because she’d never be anything but harmful to him — wouldn’t shatter what little strength she had left.
and yet the look on his face — suspicion, clear as day — was a blade right through her insides. fuck, how she missed him. the way it used to be, carefree and light — she missed the teasing, the pillow talk, the relentless patience he’d use to teach her how to cook a basic fucking meal. and now this. if there was even one more sin her past life was guilty of, it was the way it kept seeping into her new one and corrupting it — ruining what bit of joy she could still call her own. silently, fred closed the distance between them with a step and leaned in just enough to leave a light, fleeting kiss over his lips — she missed him. the panic in her heart meant, however long it was gonna take them to grow closer again (if that was even gonna happen), this secret would cause a bigger rift, first. she could feel her heart sink, realizing she would be missing him for a while, still.
“what, were you spying on me?”. a fake laugh, nothing more than an attempt at deflecting. “i was just smoking with a friend”, freddie shrugged, crossing her arms against a particularly chilly gust of wind (or maybe it was her mind, projecting storms already when only clouds were on the horizon). instinct said it would be best if he left, let their self-imposed distance handle these difficult times. she, however, had barely seen him all week — and as hard as things were, as tense as she’d get around him now, like they were strangers again — letting her eyes lazily rest over his frame during her shift still felt more like home than any other ritual she’d ever performed in the bar. drawing in a sigh, fred nodded towards the entrance. “want a drink? i gotta get back in, my break’s been running long —”
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jake —
status: closed for @stfreds
location: outside of st. peter’s
It felt like everything had changed in just the span of a few weeks. Smiles were rare – I love you’s even rarer. And as each day went by where he’d see her only for a few minutes at a time, he wondered how long this would continue, his paranoia only growing with each passing hour: what had she been doing? Who had she been spending time with, if anyone at all? Was she just working – pouring pint after pint of beer to throw away the hours she’d originally spend at his place, with him, even if it were just for a few hours at night when he’d gotten out of work , spending what time they did have talking, drinking and laughing the night away before it’d been time to sleep.
Jake, usually relentless, stubborn and never taking no for an answer, would’ve confronted this days ago with guns blazing – but something had been different this time. Perhaps it was that the job changed him – cases being a good distraction so he wouldn’t have to face the overwhelming tension that had become Fred and Jay. Or maybe it had been the fact that he’d been so bloody paranoid – afraid that if he were to have confronted her, it would make things worse, it would end in a way he’d barely give himself time to even think about.
So he did the only thing he could muster – visit her at work and hope she’d be in an okay mood at the very least and maybe, maybe he could read her, observe, investigate whether or not in the past few days their relationship had taken a turn for better or worse. A woman had bumped into him on her way out of St. Peter’s, everything happening in just seconds: his eyes caught sight of the bartender, not seeing Fred but instead a man, then he heard her voice beside the building (part of him thinking that perhaps he had made it up, but no, that was certainly her laugh – a desperate sounding one at that) and the words ‘gang’ and ‘thanks’. Weird. It all made him uncomfortable. And who was the man she’d been speaking to? He pressed his back against the wall, a relaxed posture – not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he’d been eavesdropping – hoping that he wouldn’t hear something he’d regret.
—
it had started with something as harmless as headline. a single column in the corner of the paper, way after the front page — something about mistrials, the necessity of a prison reform, sentences being commuted to community service — the bottom line: convicted criminals had been allowed to walk free. she didn’t see their names there, the ones she dreaded so terribly even just the sound they’d make would make her shiver — the article just mentioned “half a dozen gangsters involved in the 2016 el paso shootout”. that was enough to freeze the blood in her veins. that was enough to send the demons rushing back to the place they belonged to: herself, home of a million different types of hauntings. that had been four days ago — four days she’d barely slept, eaten close to anything, forced herself into a liquid diet of coffee and then whiskey to calm her nerves. the bright side — it had somehow put the mess that her love life was at the moment in perspective. in the face of all her terrible fears, whatever was going on with jay felt like it didn’t matter anymore. she’d take hundred years of tense silence and suffering: that was still a form of love. that was still just the downside of happiness, and she’d take it.
but even that was in danger. the second she’d learned the two men she dreaded most in the world (her dear old uncle, her own personal lucifer opening the gateway to hell: and her loving husband, who’d crumbled her to a half-living corpse by the time he’d gotten locked up) were now free, everything she had received in the past three years, every bit of freedom and happiness she had acquired started feeling like it was built on quicksand. she’d felt the instinct to call jay right away, that day: needing him not just to touch him, know he was real and those demons couldn’t harm him — but because he’d know what to do. she’d gotten close to it, too — her hand had already picked up the phone when she’d stopped. no, she’d told herself. keep this far away from him. keep him safe.
so she’d turned to valencia instead. to what few members, unbeknownst to jay, she could call friends. the sunset found her outside st. peter’s, in the back alley, asking axel to keep an eye on things, as if something was coming — for her, most likely. she’d tried to make light of it, not make it sound too dramatic, despite the chain-smoking betraying her, or the trembling in her voice that was anything but calm. she’d laughed, too: an empty kind of laugh trying to find the irony in the panic that had now taken permanent residence inside of her. that laughter was still ringing, ominous-sounding, as she excused herself to return to work, the cigarette dropping to the sidewalk and stumped upon — and then bumping into him, right when she was least expecting him.
“hey!”, surprise replacing anxiety for a second, quickly followed by edgy nervousness — a quick glance to her back, the alley she’d just left, wondering how much he’d heard, how long he’d been around. how much shit she was gonna get, too. fred forced herself to crack a smile, knowing full well he would read right through it and yet knowing it was her only chance. but the instinct was the usual: go to him, hug him, kiss him. she kept her distance instead — not just the width of her secrets preventing her from getting closer, but how hard things had gotten lately, as if they’d both forgotten the secret language they’d invented with each other. her smile faltering, heart skipping a beat: fear, again, seeping back into its place. she was gonna have to tell him — fred swallowed, then quickly let herself melt into a more convincing smile. “what are you doing here? i wasn’t sure i’d see you today”. she couldn’t tell him — she was gonna have to lie.
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jake —
–
He couldn’t say that he was surprised at her request; she spent so many hours in the walls of his home that it was practically hers – he could no longer enter and not see her in the furniture, against the wooden floors and tiled walls of the bathroom. She practically lived with him. And most days, he’d almost forgotten she had her own place. It felt better, having her here – someone to come home to after hours of crime scenes, evidence and news on yet another missing person. But still – he felt a bitterness stir in him when she asked him to take her home, almost not expecting it. He could understand why, of course, what with everything that had just happened…but he wished she could stay.
“Yeah, sure,” he sighed – putting hope aside as he made his way towards the living room, fetching his keys and wallet from the coffee table they sat against. Truth be told, he probably had enough to drink that he shouldn’t have been driving, and as much as he wanted her to stay, sleeping in the same bed with her that night would’ve been awkward, tense – and they were both far too in need of sleep (if they’d even sleep at all).
He’d driven her home that night, silence making a home between them as he drove, stopping at red lights, taking turns when he needed until he arrived outside of the building. And it was then, with his hands on the wheel of his car, that he breathed and turned to look at her, the desire to offer her words that would make things better stuck in his throat – unsure of what words he’d even use: “goodnight, maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow on my break.”
—
getting out of a car — a simple act. one a baby might perform without barely a thought. so how come it suddenly felt so hard — no, unbearable? like her very limbs refused to. like perhaps a part of her felt that the second the door opened, another fracture would divide them. despite their best intentions, the love she knew still bonded them — this drifting seemed to be stronger than both of them, and god, it pissed her off. enough to not know where her anger should go, and for lack of a better target, aimed at herself in order to spare him.
fred hesitated on her seat, her hand resting over the handle and yet not wanting, really, to pull it. months ago it was them in a car again, after seeing the ocean, after deciding they belonged to one another: now what? that certainty she’d held had turned to doubt, and it weighed inside like a pocket full of stones — maybe they were both drowning, and lacking the strength to save each other this time. this pissed her off, too. fred turned towards him, wanting to tell him that one way or another, she’d find the strength to fight this, whatever was happening, she’d find a way to save the both of them — keep holdin on to him, so the shadows wouldn’t eat him alive. she turned, but his words cut her off. yeah. it was time to go home.
“alright”. as she pulled the door open, a gentle breeze poured in, shivers crawling over her skin. the thought of her bed was suddenly cold — empty, pathetic. she almost asked him to come in, forget about this night, forget about everything but the home that began and ended with their bodies. she couldn’t. in a breath, fred leaned over and left a kiss over the side of his face — before she could stop herself she slid out of the car, faded off into her lonely night. only right before she stepped out of the car, her last words resonated behind her:
“goodnight. i love you”.
END.
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jake —
–
“Me neither,” Jake called out right away. Heaving a sigh, he lifted himself away from the counter he’d been leaning against and made his way across the kitchen, towards the dining room. He took residence by the sliding patio door, his hands in his pockets as he gazed out at one of the pine trees blowing in the quiet breeze that night – there was almost a sense of jealousy in him at the scene; what he would give to be that still, so full of peace and solace the way the tree was and the breeze that caressed it. All his life, he’d known chaos, and he wondered – what was it like to be still for once?
“I don’t know what else to say, Freddie. I don’t want to tell you something that’s going to hurt you, that’s the last thing I want,” he turned his head slightly, not fully looking at her (not able to, really), his eyes set on the counter she stood beside. “But I also want to be honest with you. And that means me telling you that I don’t know where everything is headed. I don’t know what my job will look like a day from now, two weeks from now, I don’t know how that’ll affect you, me, us. I just don’t know,” he paused, “I can’t tell you it’ll get better, because I don’t know that it will.”
—
it dawned on her then, that if she was anything better than a daughter of chaos, perhaps she’d be able to salvage this. if she had any strength in her bones, any courage to face whatever bleak, sharp-teethed future was ahead of them, she’d find a way to clear the clouds each time he’d be home, to rub the tiredness off his shoulder, to kiss the demons away. but that was just fairytale stuff, right? that was the kind of stuff that happened in the novels she so shamefully adored — and he’d saved her, yes, but she was still broken. evil sometime seeped out of her like black tar, filling in the cracks he hadn’t been able to mend. in the span of a second, as she held herself steady against the counter, freddie’s fear turned to a sad realization instead — she loved him, her heart belonged to him the way it could never belong to anyone: and yet that wasn’t enough. not enough to save him. not enough to make him happy. not good enough to balance the bad he was drowning in.
her gaze dropped, far more comfortable with staring at the lines in the pavement than to stare at the gray-faced reality gazing back into her. her tiredness was weighing now, gathering at the far ends of her limbs, calling for her to give up the fight. sighing, she let her gaze follow him for a second: wanting to say something, to make it better. all she had was sadness, and the illogical, irrational prayer for him to come back, knowing that he couldn’t, that she had no strength to keep him from the shadows beckoning him. he was a soldier in a way, wasn’t he? devoted to chasing the darkness away. she... well, she had always been far more comfortable in the chiaroscuro. “can you give me a ride home?”, her voice soft now, stripped of all forms of conflict: just a tired, emtpy prayer. maybe a night away would help. maybe it would just give her time to mull over all of this — figure out where they could go from here, if anywhere. with a tired sigh, freddie rubbed her eyes. “i don’t think i’m good to drive yet”.
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@ azul.
Azul: Even Caspian doesn't judge me as hard as you do, I mean DAMN
Fred: That's because I used to look up to you so hard and now you've let me down SO BAD.
Fred: You know what, fine. I'll be the bigger woman. I forgive you.
Fred: Even if you have the taste of a deranged millennial.
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ivan —
–
“As a friend, lose her as a friend,” he intervened, watching her lean in, words leaving her that he could hardly take seriously because of her drunkenness. A small laugh, like a breath, left him. “And no, you’re right, I mean I want to know. I mean, I would fucking love to know, y’know? But I just don wanna make shit weird between us in case she doesn’t like me. That would fucking suck….so bad.” Sighing, he took another shot of bourbon, the room spinning just slightly around him – well, not necessarily spinning but unsteady, like how someone’s parked in their car and the one next to theirs starts backing up but it feels like they’re the one moving. He wondered, then, if he should stop – nah.
He let out another small, breathy laugh at her latter words, “you only think I’mma badass cause I’m angry all the time. But I have feelings, y’know….sometimes.” He stood then, the legs of the chair scraping along the tarnished wooden floor. “You know wass’crazy?” He called out, bumping into one of the stools by the bar as he stumbled his way out after her. “In Norway, iss actually illegal to walk the streets with a bottle of alcohol. Even if iss covered up. You get a fine and e’erything. I remember the first time I saw a bunch of drunks holding vodka bottles on the streets here – it was pretty exciting.” Lowering his head a touch, he walked out of the bar, waiting for her to lock up. “Wait – yer gonna share that, right?”
—
“and that’s why we’re ca — that’s why they call us land of tha free —” giggling to herself, stumbling twice on the way to the lock, fred finally won a five-minute long battle with the key and managed to lock up the bar — then, taking a long sip out the bottle, paused a second in pensive hesitation. “i don’t know if it’s legal... eh. whatever. i’m shaggin’ the police, so. drink up, baby boy”. the bottle practically shoved against his chest, she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket and proceeded to stumble away, close enough to keep talking, far enough to find a new target over a stray soda can and start kicking it around the curb like a five year old.
“you’re a badass ‘cuz you’re like —” arms raised, trying to fill the lackings of her verbal language with excessive theatricality. “— kind of a good guy. a bastard! but a good guy”, and then, as if to underline the truth in her words, she reached back towards him, proceeded to tackle-hug him (as best as she could anyway, considering his height and her lack of one), then quickly stole the bottle and drank from him again. as if the bottle had some sort of magical brain juice, then, her face lit up in sudden epiphany, a child’s smile blooming over her. “hey — hey. can y’carry me piggyba — piggyback? no, wait. can i carry you piggyback? ”
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jake —
–
The truth hurt. It was bitter, unfortunate – exactly what he’d been so adept at ignoring: his emotions, the way he truly felt about things if it meant involving having to face anything he didn’t want to, such as never speaking about the death of his family or how ridiculously long it took him to confront his past with Amanda. Ignorance was bliss – until Fred came around. But he was grateful for her, grateful that she pulled out some of the best parts of him, even grateful she made him confront his past, but with that came a change in him, one he wasn’t so sure he liked. At one point, he was a flirt, extroverted, he laughed easier and now things had become a lot more serious, now, he cared again. Now he couldn’t be rash, impulsive and all the rest of it…cause then he’d lose her. Now, he was changed – careful, deliberate, paranoid, exhausted.
And Fred, of course, was expert at pointing that all out – expert at holding a mirror up in front of him: you don’t even trust me anymore; the words hurt him, hit him in a place and in a way he hadn’t known. And suddenly, he thought of Amanda. He thought of how paranoid he’d been after finding her with another man and how that made him shut off completely – similar to the way he’d been as of late. Clearly, this had all been an effect of that – his past heartbreak, creeping in, seeping into his relationship with Fred to sabotage that too, precisely why he’d been single for so long after.
“Because it matters now, Fred,” he sighed, propping an elbow against his forearm that had been folded across his chest. He rubbed the space between his brows, shutting his eyes for a moment before continuing. “Because what we have matters – that’s why it’s such a huge deal,” he looked at her, arms folded again. “Arguing then fucking to move on doesn’t cut it for me anymore,” a half shrug, “this means something to me and I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you. That’s why I get upset. And I’m being frank, that’s why I’m paranoid. It just…” he swallowed, his eyes finding a spot against the floor of his kitchen. “It honestly just feels like everything I have, everything that’s important to me just gets taken away,” or dies, he thought. “And I have to do everything in my power to hold onto that, meanwhile, there’s this stupid voice in the back of my head that says no matter how hard I try, I’ll lose it anyway cause that’s just how it all goes for me.”
she wanted to go to him. she could hear that note in his voice — sorrowful, far more vulnerable than he’d ever allowed her to see her. in a sense it was a victory, she believed: it had been months since he’d truly let her in, since he’d spoken anything true and honest, however gruesome and painful that could be. and yet — she couldn’t bring herself to bridge the distance between the two of them. not because she didn’t want him, quite the opposite — she knew if she took those two steps now, she’d want to kiss him, and hold him, keep his face close to hers and reassure him that he wouldn’t lose her, that everything would be okay. but nothing had been okay in the past month, and if this was the only chance they got to talk about it, to truly find a solution to this ever falling landslide that was pulling them down — then she had to allow this to hurt a little longer.
and fuck it, it hurt. it hurt enough that she had to hold herself against her own tears, the uncontrolled reaction each time emotions got the best of her. freddie kept herself leaning back against the kitchen, hands hooked to the edge of it, knuckles white with the effort not to go to him. her eyes, too, avoiding him: fixed on the edge of the table instead, lips shut tight in order to keep herself controlled a little longer. jake had been his salvation from the second she’d met him, far before they’d found the guts to admit it to each other — not just because he’d pulled her out of her old life, but because little by little he’d been erasing the cancer johnny had spread. where he’d left humiliation and grief, jake had given her new life: and losing him would mean lose that, too. as pathetic as it could sound, as stupid and hyperbolic — he was her strength, and she was afraid her knees would give out if she ever lost him.
“you’re not gonna lose me. i don’t wanna lose you, either”. eyes now meeting his, far more honest than before — clearer, the effect of the alcohol not vanished but subsiding in wake of the sobering talk they were having. but then laughter cut through her: bitter, echoing the first tears wetting her lashes — mournful. “you don’t think i’m not paranoid too? i didn’t want to make you angry, i didn’t mean to ruin this, i just — fuck”. freddie cursed in frustration, turning away from him to wipe a runaway tear with the talon of her wrist, trying so desperately to hold herself steady still. “i just don’t know what to do, jake. i feel like i’m losing you a little every day and i just...” once her gaze returned to him, hers was a sad smile: loaded with apologies, but honest grief, as well. fred shrugged, as if that could somehow make it easier to handle. “...i’m trying to hold on. i just don’t know how”.
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where: azul’s place, half past midnight.
to: @azulevangelista.
the hour surely was not the one for a courtesy call. it should’ve been nothing but one more working hour — but her distraction on the job had been blatant, and the night slow enough for peter to take pity on her and send her back home. on a regular day, fred would’ve apologized like a sorrowful child, bent her head, gotten back to work with twice as much will to self-sacrifice. tonight she couldn’t — the tiredness heavy in her brain far more than her bones. but she couldn’t go home either: not her own, a mess to remind her of all the ways her life was getting frayed. she couldn’t go to jake’s — not when all that would be waiting was another fight, another misunderstanding, another bitter night spent awake, dreading the future.
the only other place in red ridge she could call a home was azul’s — so she’d have to deal with the late night visit. in the unwritten code of conduct of azul and fred, ‘picking up a distress signal’ was the golden rule: when one was in need, the other had to respond. somehow. in their own edgy, clumsy ways. by the time the door opened, fred was leaning over the door frame like all energy had abandoned her. not all of it: still enough for her to raise the bottle she’d borrowed from st. peter’s, shaking it gently to captivate azul’s attention. “don’t kick me. i brought offerings. i need you to get me wasted”. cue the last ace in her sleeve: eyebrows raising, the best rendition of a puppy’s gaze on her features. “please?”
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ivan —
–
“What do you mean what do I have to lose? Her, obviously,” with his brow furrowed, Ivan leaned in again and wrapped his hand around his glass, raising it to take a few gulps before continuing – “our friendship is what I have to lose. I mean, imagine me telling her I have feelings for her, she doesn’t recip-recipri, what’s the fucking word,” and there went his English, “return the feelings or whatever, you know? She’d get weird, I’d definitely get fucking weird – he took a shot of bourbon – then we’ll avoid each other and it’ll be so uncomfortable that we’ll never want to see each other again. Too much to lose.”
Leaning back, Ivan swallowed, his eyes finding a small indentation in the wood of the table. He scraped at it with what little nail he had on his index, thinking about what would happen if he were to tell Ada. It was still very fresh to him, this whole situation. He didn’t even know he had feelings for her until what? A little under a month ago? A few weeks after he’d broken up with Lena? He didn’t even understand it himself. And how fucking quickly it happened was what baffled him and made him feel even more like a piece of shit – he’d just broken up with his ex-fiance of six years and here he was falling for someone else immediately after. Unbelievable.
“Well,” he sighed, “I’m not Jake. I mean I push and I push, I’m stubborn, you know? But just…I mean,” he leaned in again, “she’s engaged. And I’m sitting here like a jackass hoping she’ll leave him for me and what the hell do I even have to offer? I mean, I’m not saying I’m the rump of a pig – (it sounded better in Norwegian) – but I’m like…a good, crisp apple and he’s a ripe, juicy peach. Fucking weird analogy but you get what I mean.” He took another shot of bourbon, leaning back hard against the chair, a small laugh finding it’s way out through his slightly parted lips in a breath – “man, I’m fuckin’ drunk. I am drunk right now.”
—
she was drunk, too — and thank god she’d been sleeping at her own place the past week, or else it surely wouldn’t have helped the tension back at jake’s place. in fact she wasn’t truly looking forward to spending the night alone in this state, but for the sake of ivan she’d keep walking with him down this booze-induced rabbit hole: and this journey involved some half-slurred tough love, or else he just wouldn’t see anything clearly but instead keep wallowing in this self pity that was so absurdly odd around him. with a huff, fred let go of her glass (maybe she could look just slightly sober, give herself enough authority for him to listen to her). leaning over, fred stared him right in the eyes — she needed a second to collect her thoughts, her words coming slowly but firm, despite the stumbling:
“ivan, babe? you’re being a fffucking lame ass baby righ now. first of all, you don’t have her now, so you can’t lose her. what, do you wanna stay like this forever? not knowing? being her lame ass lap dog? it’s like... you’re supposed to be the cool one. there’s already a pathetic idiot in this duo”. downing what was left in her shot glass, it was slammed back down on the table and she leaned in even closer, a half conspiratory look about her. “you’re badass. now stop whining.” a grin, and then she was up, grabbing the bottle as she did. “come on. we’re going for a walk, it smells like piss in here”.
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August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.
Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath
(via adrasteiax)
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ivan —
–
“Talk to her? What – tell her how I feel, you mean?” He paused, taking another shot of bourbon (how it got there, he didn’t even know at that point – the alcohol had been taking its effect, it seemed). “No fucking way. I’d rather die.” He chased the words with a few sips of Stockholm, before standing (stumbling a bit on his way up) to make his way back to the bar tap. What he found interesting was what Fred said next; she’ll start asking herself questions. What if…in some fucked up way, Ada found herself in the same situation as he was in? Not calling off the engagement (though that could happen, considering it’s taken them years and they still weren’t married for some reason), but maybe…Ada found herself attracted to him? What if she, too, had feelings?
No, he thought, that’s fucking stupid. Sighing, he poured himself a new beer, waiting a few seconds before topping it off and heading back. “I doubt she’d ask herself questions. Highly doubt it. I mean look at me, compared to that…” asshole – “guy she’s engaged to. Grayson Cullen, stuffy, high class, charismatic. Walks like he’s got a stick up his ass. Always smiling like a fucking moron. And then you have me,” he pointed at himself with both hands as he sat, taking a few gulps of his beer – “I’m a fucking troll that drinks too much and has anger management issues.”
—
“jesus. you sound like me”. how much easier it was to see just how fucked up everything was when someone else was speaking the exact same way she did. and though she was in a much better place than she’d been three years before, though she was her own person now, and not just the shadow of someone else’s penchant for chaos, she still found it hard to not speak that way — consider herself something alike a pool of mud, shallow and dirty, undesirable, filthy. but hearing ivan speak like that almost made her angry — an exhausted huff leaving her lips, freddie straightened her back, then moved closer, staring right into his eyes after gently kicking the leg of his chair.
“cut the bullshit, iv. you got a fucking documentary produced about you. shut up. what the fuck do you have to lose anyway? just try it, and it is what it is. if she’s not interested then she’s an idiot, but at least you’ll be able to move on”. downing what was left of her shot, freddie leaned back and sighed: her gaze turning soft now — call it empathy, call it a genuine need for him, at least, to be happy. one of them at least deserved it. “listen, man, i can’t tell you it’s gonna be the time of your life or whatever, just — moping around won’t help. trust me, i’ve done plenty of it. it just makes you fucking miserable. you think i would’ve gotten with jake if he hadn’t been a goddamn bullheaded moron about it? you just gotta like —” a hand raised, wanting to offer some better, practical advice — in the end, a fist closed and rested over the wood. “— push a little”.
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jake —
–
It seemed that all life was in recent months was stress from homicide after homicide at work, missing person after missing person showing up dead and then coming home to an environment tenser than a bloody crime scene, where everywhere he looked, everywhere he turned – a new argument. Jake wasn’t even Jake anymore. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize himself in the mirror – not the way he used to, at least. There were so many times where he’d say a certain phrase or do something that was so out of character, even he’d turn out confused.
After wrapping the bread in a kitchen cloth, he turned away from her gaze (once again) and placed the jar of homemade vinaigrette in the fridge, slamming the door shut in reaction to her latter words. Save our relationship? So they were having an argument, why would she even mention saving it? He knew things had been tense but really? Did it really get this far? “Why save?” He asked suddenly, turning to face her again, his hands finding the edge of the island. “What makes you think we need saving? We’re having an argument. That’s what you do in relationships, isn’t it? – you argue. Doesn’t mean we’re breaking up for christ’s sake.”
—
“that’s the fucking problem. we don’t even argue anymore”. it came out of her suddenly, uncontrolled — a single breath slipping past her guard, as she stepped closer and let her hands wrap around the back of a chair for a need to hold onto something — vent the tension piling up inside of her and let it flow into her muscles, clenching around objects or else she’d clench around words, around meanings, around the assumption that this was just happening ‘cause they’d been doomed from the start. she ignored herself — ignored each sign that this was hurting her far more than she could see, that every time he spoke another word in that harsh tone of his it felt like blades cutting through vital organs — she ignored the stinging push against her nose to truly break down and melt away all this aggression.
“we don’t talk, we don’t understand each other, it’s like we’re two different people, don’t you see?” but then her voice lowered, not shouting anymore — as if approaching the delicate heart of the matter, knowing how its survival depended, partially, on her ability to control her emotions, not swallowing him up in yet another storm of hers. letting go of the chair, fred stepped closer: eyes burrowed into his, for fear he’d turn away again. “you don’t even trust me anymore, what the fuck was that? like all i do is flirt with other people, run around chasing other men? do you even know how that makes me feel?” her laugh was bitter, disbelieving: barely a dam holding the flood that would inevitably come. “why are you so fucking angry about that? i laughed at a couple jokes, sure, fine. it’s never been an issue before, we’d argue, we'd fuck and forget about it. why the hell is it such a huge deal now?”
#ft. jacob graham.#how to make an argument worse in 10 words or less#a self help book by freddie dawson
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ivan —
–
Ivan took the shot glass between his thumb and index, giving the bottom of it a slow spin against the old, tarnished wood of the table, listening to Fred as she rambled, his mind half listening, half preoccupied with the thought of Ada, balancing some place in what to do. Fred was right though – Ivan had a habit of falling in love in general, he was always half in love with everything, in different ways, different levels. That was just who he was. So what made Ada any different? Everything – he heard himself say – absolutely everything. “God, I’m a fucking idiot,” he threw back the shot, his free hand gesturing for her to pour more in.
Regardless of how much Ivan agreed, he was stubborn, ridiculously fucking stubborn. He didn’t know how to let go. His determination knew no bounds and neither did his stupid sense of hope – always hopeful, always…waiting. “How do I just…drink her out of my head?” His gaze found hers then, “I mean, we’re good friends. She’s just always gonna be there and what am I supposed to do? Ignore her? Avoid her texts and calls? I mean she’s always there.”
—
fred listened quietly, wanting to offer something to lighten his mood — a joke, some numb teasing perhaps. she couldn’t he looked like he was too far gone already, and suffering for it. her gaze lowered, a sudden sense of sadness coming over her: she remembered that. the struggle. the desire. the constant fight between wanting someone and denying herself to even admit that need. she remembered the tension — not meant to end in conflict, but pregnant with expectation, like water curving at the top of a glass right before it overflows. she remembered all of that — and missed it. how sour things had turned lately, how gladly she would’ve gone back to those fights instead.
“i don’t know, ivan”, fred let out a tired sigh, leaning back, rubbing her forehead as if it could allow more clarity into her thoughts. they couldn’t, so she dodged the sadness with a laugh instead. “i mean, you make it sound like she’s a poltergeist or something. come on.” she wasn’t being any helpful, she knew this: with a huff, fred straightened her back. if she couldn’t give any solution, she might as well just have offered some insight. “alright, listen. the only thing you can do, literally the only thing you can do — is talk to her. either she’ll tell you you’re an idiot or she’ll start asking herself questions, and if she’s anything like me, well —”, with a shrug, freddie smiled. “she’ll go insane and then haunt you forever, most likely”.
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jake —
–
“It’s nothing new, Fred, as in you’ve done it before. You drink until you lose control and then you go around and flirt with anything that has legs,” he half shrugged, bringing a board of half-eaten sourdough bread across the kitchen. He sighed at her heightened volume, the new height in tone her voice took every time she’d been upset – angry, more like it. Here she was, flirting with some bastard and she was angry at Jake for calling her out. It could’ve been worse, he thought – he could’ve been worse. He could’ve yelled, shouted, left and slammed the door, but his voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. Tired.
He felt his breath caught in his chest, barely reaching his throat, oxygen trapped in him, unable to let go – the way he was unable to, it seemed. — “What?” He had just finished placing the board against the counter, and he turned to face her. “We’re talking and I’m looking at you – what?”
—
freddie hated this. all of it — even through the haze of the wine (not nearly as intoxicating as he believed it should’ve been), she could feel the cutting grip of just how much she loathed this argument, and it made her skin itch with nervousness, with a need to step away, get her things and spend the night back at her apartment, away from his blame. and perhaps in another instance she would’ve been packing her things already, walking out in outraged anger — but even through the arguments, even through the incommunicability they were experiencing as of late, freddie knew she loved him. enough to face him with this anger in his eyes. enough not to shy away even if he was mirroring it right back into her.
“you’re ridiculous. you’re fucking unbelievable — ”. half in disbelief, her laughter was hollow, it sounded more like a wounded animal’s threat for retaliation — she held her feet firmly planted on her side of the kitchen, as if somehow all her body had forgotten what motion was supposed to look like, in the wake of such an off-putting argument. she could barely understand him. jealousy had always been a part of their dynamic, yes, but she’d never intentionally flirt with anyone other than him — let alone in front of him. and that was the part that hurt the most — not that he could get angry for something she thought harmless and irrelevant. but that he still thought she could wound him like this. at the end of the day, maybe he just didn’t trust her enough. maybe he did back then, but she’d underestimated the distance they’d put between each other.
right then, her anger focused in a single thick, heavy core of resentment. aimed at him: because he was looking for excuses to push her further away when it seemed they were already on different planets anyway. because he’d decided she was to be blamed for needing nothing but a fucking moment of honest cheer. because he didn’t realize that all the times he was slipping out of her hands — maybe she’d been slipping out of his, too. crossing her arms, freddie tensed. gaze avoiding him, and when she finally looked back at him, her tone was stone-cold. “if you need to make up reasons to fight me ‘cause that’ll make you feel better, alright, do your thing. but if you think this —”, an index moved, aimed right at him. “— is gonna save our relationship, jake, i can tell you it won’t”.
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ivan —
–
What the hell did that even mean? Hot goss? “Americans have weird phrases,” he toyed with the rim of the shot glass, his thumb running along the glass edge, eyes set along the few drops of bourbon left. Throwing her a look, he smirked, sighed then leaned back, taking his glass of beer with him.
“It’s not so much about keeping it in my pants,” he peered at her, his tone suddenly a lot somber, his mood a lot less lively. God, was he tired of this shit – feeling. Fuck feeling. Feeling fucking sucked. “It’s…different. I don’t know. I didn’t mean for it to happen, I mean we were all friends – her, her fiance, me and Lena,” her name was still bitter on his tongue – rotting lemon; “we just suddenly hung out one day and that’s when I realized it. It’s fucking stupid. I’m fucking stupid. Typical me, wanting something I can’t have,” he poured himself another shot and threw it back, offering her a lazy, false smile.
—
when it came to matters of the heart, even something as harmless as an infatuation, freddie dawson surely was the least qualified person to talk about it. love had been nothing but a shapeless form of seasickness before she’d met jake, and even that had been less like falling, more like being thrown in the hands of some sort of hurricane — yet these were the stories she’d always loved. an out of character obsession with sweet, sugary stories of happy endings that would fix anything — but it was easy when the stories involved unrealistic characters whose fates she could get attached to for the span of a book and then forget. different, surely, if it involved her best friend, perhaps the closest thing to a family she’d ever be able to consider her own — what if he got his ass handed to him, again? she was barely able to hold herself up right, these days: the thought of ivan moping around like she was, that was just far too depressing to bear.
“alright, listen. you’re a little stupid”, she explained, coyly, as she poured them both new shots and didn’t look like she was gonna stop anytime now. by now her speech was mellowing down to a soft slur, but she could still somehow focus enough to get the point across: let out a sigh and shrug. “it’s not your fault you have the big ass heart of a dumbass — not all of us can be expert heartbreakers like yours truly”, one fonzie-like thumb aimed at herself, and she downed half of her glass. she wishes she had a solution to offer him — a good friend would perhaps have an escape route prepared, ready at hand for any possibility. she didn’t. all she could offer was a shrug, a sigh, and a sincerely apologetic look. “look, man — i wish i could give you some advice, but you know i’m the last person who should be giving anyone advice right now. i just… if i were you, i’d probably just drink her out of my head, you know? that sounds messy. messy is probably the last thing you need right now”.
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jake —
–
Almost instinctively, he laughed – it was sour, resentful, and it tasted like scorn, scorn at the term alpha male. What the hell did his masculinity have anything to do with the way he felt? He was a jealous man, sure, but so was she. God forbid he bloody smiled at another woman, Freddie would lose her mind and far quicker than Jake had that night. It only took several long, agonizing hours of she and Michael laughing, Freddie placing a hand on him in ways that stirred an anger in Jake so primal, all he knew to do was walk away, sit out on the patio, use the excuse of ‘I’m just cleaning up here,’ several times through-out the night. The bloody wine wasn’t even doing it for him.
Whatever. She was drunk, that was the excuse he’d tell himself as he finished putting things away from the dinner that night. He almost – almost – wanted to go; head down to Violet or even Lewis’ and have himself a drink, maybe even flirt with another as payback. Yeah, he thought, I bet she’d love that.
“Okay,” he crossed his arms, leaning back against the island, watching her drink that stupid, fucking wine that barely made an impression in his mood. “If I were to invite over a friend, a woman, and I laughed and joked with her all night, felt her up, touched her forearm at one of her stupid, fucking jokes – how would you feel? If I told you I was just being a good host, what then? You had a lot to drink and you were flirting, Fred.” He sighed, turning again to finish clearing the table. “I mean, I guess it’s nothing new, right? You always flirt when you’ve had too much to drink.”
—
what playful mockery had been coming over her, a sort of defense mechanism deployed to keep things from escalating — there it went, him stripping it off of her with each word that left him (too harsh to not catch her off guard, too tense to not get a mostly irrational, uncontrolled reaction out of her). freddie blinked once, twice, furrowed eyebrows and her mind fumbling over his words, not truly grasping why the fuck he was suddenly so riled up. this wasn’t even just jealousy — it just suddenly felt like all the steps they’d taken to know each other, all the battles they’d fought against one another’s demons in order to truly see one another: it just seemed like none of that mattered anymore, and they were back at square one, speaking different languages on opposing sides of a barricade.
“what the f— flirt? i was flirting with him?” mouth agape, half in shock, half in amusement: he just couldn’t be serious. michael was, at best, a fair weather friend — if she’d laughed at his jokes that was nothing but an innate attitude to smooth the edges of a rough, more often than not clumsy personality. she’d tried hard to make tonight pleasant. tried to fight the overwhelming gloom with maybe excessive cheer — but fuck it, she’d just wanted them to have a good time, for once.
her mind struggled to catch up with him. the wine sure didn’t help: she let the glass down by the sink, her gaze avoiding him at first, then rising again to find his back turned on her — fred swallowed, tried to hold herself steady against the anger she could feel piling up, white hot against her skin. “i don’t know what it is you think you saw, but i wasn’t flirting with him”. arms crossed, freddie spoke slowly, much too controlled to sound calm. “i didn’t flirt, i didn’t feel him up — what the fuck is this? ‘it’s nothing new’, what the fuck is that supposed to mean, jake?” there: right there her voice rose, anger trickling out of her. her mind forced itself to not dwell on the implications of what he’d said — the last bit, burrowing itself into her brain. it’s nothing new. biting her lip hard, freddie breathed out a long, steady breath. “will you look at me when we’re talking, please?”
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