Your ex-lover is dead. (But if we could, would you?)

And I said I know it well
That secret that you knew but don't know how to tell
It fucks with your honor and it teases your head
But you know that it's good girl
'Cause its running you with red
 
Then the snow started falling
We were stuck out in your car
You were rubbing both of my hands
Chewing on a candy bar
 
-
 
My name is Lilith Evelyn Driscoll and I was born in Raleigh, North Carolina on an ashy November morning. My earliest memory was of a house fire on an early August morning, when I almost died but instead survived with only one eye to tell the tale, so to speak. I have chronic insomnia. And I eat the flesh of young children and drink the blood of young men.
 
-
 
Samael is sitting in the driver's seat, crushing ice from a styrofoam cup. He's huddled in his coat, which his small body is drowning in. I climb into the Jeep, the slipshod vehicle dipping underneath the addition of a second party's weight, and wish to God that his car, for once in its pitiful life, would work right, but to no avail the heater will not turn on and we are both stuck waiting in the parking lot on a freezing December night in a shitty red Jeep.
 
"Lilith," he says, acknowledging me with a severe nod. His eyes are still trained on the house that we are parked across.
 
"Jesus, Parker, can't you do something about your car," I complain.
 
"No," he says, his face briefly flickering with a melancholic expression. He sighs and tenderly pats the dashboard. "There's nothing to be done for my little old Huxley anymore. She's got a DNR."
 
I snort and then cup my hands and blow my breath into them, hoping to revive the sensation in my stiffening fingers. No dice. I look out the window and squint my eyes.
 
"Nobody's home, Parker," I say again, tightly parsing my words out. "Nobody. Is. Home. Parker."
 
"I. Know. That. Lilith." Parker monotonically responds. "Don't. You. Think. I. Know. That?"
 
I slump into my seat and close my eyes, rubbing my temples. If only I could tell Samael how pointless this was. That the killer he was looking for was right underneath his delicate small nose, waiting for him, waiting for him to recognize who I am, what I am. But he doesn't. Or he won't. He is too caught up in the nether regions of the normal world, where people with masks like me are nothing more than family members and friends. Neighbors with fleshy pecan pies and blood red Jell-O squares topped with ivory whipped cream. People who you pass by everyday of your life without ever realising that they are monsters until one, one who finally relinquishes his control, is caught. We never make mistakes, but sometimes we want too much, want to be found, to be seen. I want to be seen.
 
"Parker," I murmur at last, "Parker."
 
He hmms and after a while looks at me and asks, "What?"
 
"Come on," I say, "let's go. It's got to be ten degrees tonight. I can't even feel my face anymore."
 
His face softens and then, a turn of the ignition, the glowing dashboard, and we are turning out of the neighborhood, changing lanes on a busy freeway, making our way to somewhere, anywhere, where I will not feel the temptation to reveal myself. To give in to my desires to be seen. Samael has to find out himself. I won't, or I can't more aptly, show him my true nature. But, anyway, he must unconsciously sense it. He must, on some part, see that we are alike in ways which are profoundly and yet naturally unsurprising.
 
We are the dual sides of a coin.

Get yourself together
Take it all on chair
Get yourself together
Mothers in a lawn chair
Electric come to get in
Verbal litigation
Out of the races and into the track
Punishment in higher places
People they are weird
And people they act strange
Get yourself together

I am literally Paul Denton.
 
Rewatching The Rules of Attraction for the third time this month alone.

"See, Dr. Figure was a no-medication type of guy and all the hard core suicidals in his group - now including myself - had agreed not to kill or harm themselves before January 1st. I mean, can you imagine someone dead, hanging from the light fixture in their room, thinking, 'if my doctor finds out about this, I'm FUCKED'?"
 
~On the Edge (2001)
 
-
 
It's been a while since I've gone on Polyvore. I'm testing out a collection I've made. Going to try to make as many outfit combinations as possible using just that one college, which will most likely what I'll bring with me to college.

What'll you do when you get lonely
And nobody's waiting by your side?
You've been running and hiding much too long.
You know it's just your foolish pride.
 

Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling, won't you ease my worried mind?
 
-
 
Unconsciously made a Layla set, what does that tell you about me

Take a breath,
Take it deep.
'Calm yourself', He says to me
If you play, you play for keeps.
Take the gun and count to three.
I'm sweating now,
Moving slow,
No time to think. My turn to go
 
And you can see my heart beating
You can see it through my chest.
Said I'm terrified but I'm not leaving
I know that I must pass this test
So, just pull the trigger
 
Say a prayer to yourself
He says 'close your eyes, sometimes it helps'
And then I get a scary thought
That he's here - means he's never lost
 
-
 
Today, sat down and ordered a coffee (black, as usual). Too tired to write more. L. sick at home (flu), M. called. Told him could not come home. Too busy in Paris. Going to hell.
 
Later, spring showers. Got caught in the rain, thought about Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's, last scene, and asked him where's Cat but he didn't know what I was talking about so I said never mind. What am I doing? This is like high school. High school sucked. Going back to office soon, but stopped by bistro for quick lunch, bastard was not hungry, so he left just moments ago. I hate him.
 
~
 
Today, met him again. Had documents this time. Info. too classified to write about.
 
Later, had cigarettes for the first time in 2 years. It was tres magnifique. Post-coital. Got call afterwards. L. feeling better, wanted to talk to me. Asked Papa when he was coming home and had to tell her not for another week. Shame. Shame like fire against skin. Had another cigarette. Lost 2 kilos in the past week alone. Probably because have no time to eat between work and him and these damned cigarettes will surely...
 
~
 
Going home. Said good-bye. Cried at terminal. Miss him already. Miss him like you miss a body part or an organ. God, hate this, hate this so much, hate it every time more and more and more and more and more. When will it ever not hurt? Miss him. Miss him so much. Miss the way his 5 o'clock scratched me everywhere. Miss his Tom Ford noir cologne & Jack Black after-shave. Miss his stupid accent that always gets 10x worse when he's annoyed. Miss the taste of whiskey on his tongue. Miss the annoying way he always has in the morning during breakfast when he refuses to speak more than 2 words. Hate him, miss him, love him. Why, why, why? Counting the days before I can see him again...already... Why do we do this?
 
-
 
Jk, have an OO4 set.

Somewhere hiding underneath,
running around these empty streets.
Do you think you're better off dead,
better off dead than alive in here?
You've got all the friends you need,
bad tattoos and worse IDs. You feel alive,
do you feel alive?
 
You'll go off, you'll forget,
you'll grow out of hanging from the edges,
breaking off the past.
You'll know when to move on,
you'll know when to take all the right chances,
never looking back.
 
How could you think the time we spent
was all wasted
sleepwalking through every morning that
we took for granted?
Maybe the time we spent was not wasted...
Let it go, I'll let you go.
 
-
 
Now that I'm going to the East coast, I feel strangely clingy to the West.

“She had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very, dangerous to live even one day.”
 
-
 
It was a hot summer's evening, when the sun came to kiss the earth, when the night began to wake and the day began to sleep, drowsy in its heat. It was a hot summer's evening, when the champagne was tepid and no longer sweet, but instead left a faintly bitter aftertaste. His linen shirt stuck to his back and he used his silk scarf to mop the sweat which formed on his delicately consternated brow. His hair stuck to his temples.
 
"Dearest," he heard him murmur in his ear, "how are you holding up in this dreadful heat?"
 
He turned around and weakly smiled. "I'm managing," he said perfunctorily, punctuating his statement with a lukewarm sip of the champagne.
 
He placed a hand on his arm and kissed him on the forehead. "I know it's been tough," he said softly, for ears none other than his. "But you mustn't let it get you down."
 
"I know," he said, looking out to the ocean. In the distance, he saw the birds and their v-formations, like neat pen strokes across the red page of the sunset sky. The clouds broke apart. There bobbed in the ocean some boats, their white sails like miniature flags in the distance.
 
"Will you come inside now?" He asked, holding out an arm. "Our daughter is wondering where you've gone off to all this time."
 
"I'll be in," he said quietly. "Just give me a moment."
 
In the silence and emptiness of that summer's evening, with the air heavy with cut grass, smoke, and salt, he felt as if he were watching a film.
 
"Dad?" came from the distance, a watery voice, from far far away. "Come in! We're about to start dinner...!"
 
He turned around and went back inside.

August, the problem with Alaire is that he is, at the core, a simple person. He doesn't act like it, but the child of two musicians, well, I think that there must be something about his heart that perhaps may feel too much sometimes and yet has the coarse indelicacy to mock these feelings more than not. He doesn't understand the clash that happens within him, and this is the ultimate problem for him, the puzzle solver, but we must understand, and we must accommodate him for his shortcomings as a decent person. Let him hide when he needs to, run when he has to; he'll always come back, because he knows when you sail a boat, it has a port it needs to reach, or else the tempest swallows it whole.

"I pickpocket him when he's annoying."