We, of course, moved on from the topic because neither of us never like to dwell on negativity or shit-talk others. Just kidding– we bitched about all of Kara’s personal failings for like three hours and we got drunk.
I was right on the border between blind drunk and blackout drunk when Kieran playfully grabbed my jabot and kissed me.
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“I– I don’t know–” Kieran choked. “That–… salve… Does– it happen to have coconut in it?”
Frowning, I fished out the tin. And then I saw it. “Oh, shit. Coconut oil. Is that related to–?” I was hesitant to reference it, as Kara was right there, but what I was thinking of was that the Methusilla vampires of ‘the other plane’ were allergic to chocolate. Nope, not garlic. Chocolate. Don’t ask, I don’t know why either.
It’s the same shit as Ash pretending they could channel Arannan, Rebecca, Elisabeth, and Isola just to force more bonds with me. They’ve been doing the same fucking thing. And as my tagline suggests, I fell for it!
T w i c e.
Visarden had been half vampire, half elf. Because of course he was. I remember when Arkady had first unveiled his appearance to me. He’d bought sclera lenses and a long black wig that he’d tinted with the slightest hint of violet. I’d opened Snapchat to see Visarden beaming at me, looking like Holly Black’s muse come to life. “Yeah, so… Here’s… Me.” The memory can still bring a flutter to this tired, mechanical heart.
Ash is a predator.
They go after systems and traumatized, mentally ill persons without a solid sense of self. They seek the under-aged or monster-like alters or “past-lives” for their own sexual gratification. They will synthesize a sense of belonging using religion and magic, and then turn the tides against you once you either learn to say ‘no’ or you start questioning too much.
It was probably in the middle of October when Ash, Arkady, and I went to visit Ithaca. (Was March even there on that trip? I don’t remember. My subconscious tends to automatically crop him out of happy memories and I’m honestly here for it.) I loved Ithaca– I still do. It was as if Rochester and Savannah had a love child.
“It’s an apology– kind of. Like the ones actors make when they realise there’s no way they’re not getting cancelled. You can read it now, if you want.”
I shook my head. “I can’t let her have the last word, Cotton. Otherwise, she’d win.” I’d meant that as a joke, but that was answered with another question about how much progress I’d made on finding a therapist.
he more I think of it, the more our system represents that classic Divine Dichotomy. The Apollonian and the Dionysiac. The Failures and the Abominations, the Readers and the Stories, the Silver and the Gold, the Heart and the Mind.
Champagne would always taste like freedom, like the Tuesdays I spent without April. I opened my eyes and saw Kaspar beside my bed at Ethniu’s, pouring me a glass in a flute. It motioned for me to raise my glass, then it clinked it with his own. “I’ve heard tell that you’ve been liberated from monogamy at last! This calls for a celebration!”
As I alluded to in my last blog, while I lay slumbering in Arkady’s bed, Ash and Arkady […]
Living Fiction 