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Thread: this is my diary screaming out loud --

  1. #71
    HB Forum Owner pasogal2's Avatar
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    A thick, heady mixture trails through my body, melting my bones and coating my skin with a languid glamour that I have not felt in years. Exultant, my shoulders roll in a slow circle, further spreading this strange, wonderful feeling, like the second sweep of a brush further spreads a thick collection of paint on the canvas. My eyesight seems sharper now; a veil has been lifted and I feel as if I am using my eyes for the very first time.

    The mechanical buzz of Mesteno's voice in my ear distracts me briefly from this new emotion's slow, sinuous glide along the column of my throat, coating the muscles with a film far thicker than honey. Though it is difficult, I force myself to focus on the slender cell phone in my hand.

    "..He didn't even recognize Koyan...He wants to know why you haven't been to see him... What should I say when he asks why?"

    When he pauses, it becomes clear that a response is expected. It takes me a moment, for I have finally discovered what the unusual taste filling my mouth actually is. What it means.

    "Tell him that I would not be able to help him. Tell him that we were close once, but that was some time ago. I would not be of any help."

    Today I tasted freedom and I liked it.

  2. #72
    HB Forum Owner pasogal2's Avatar
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    Flick. Flick.

    I like the sound the latch on the lighter makes while I toy with it. I like the way the flame sputters to life for a few seconds before disappearing again, just like everything else. Aren't we all trying to disappear? Aden is -- Oh, Aden. How you must be starving. And sweet Persephone.. Do you miss me? I miss you. But I can't visit you right now. Maybe once this part of me is dead, maybe once I've disappeared, if that's even possible.

    I hate the way the cracked vinyl of the stool groans whenever I shift my weight. I hate that it causes Rex's attention to drift in my direction once more. I suppose I will have to give him his lighter back now; it's become quite obvious that I had no intention of actually smoking the cigarette that's dangling from my mouth. I wonder if he thinks I might be a pyromaniac now? I'm not, though I have to admit that the flame is quite charming. No, no, I merely want to keep my hand occupied.

    The pain is a dull throbbing sensation at the moment; it reminds me of the sound of Jacob's heartbeat during an ultrasound. It's started to interfere with other tasks now. I barely recognized my signature when I signed for the shoes I purchased for no reason at all this afternoon. And it made cooking an adventure this afternoon, which is another reason why I have not come "home," my dear Mr. Brande. God forbid, I might ruin a meal, fail as a 'wife.'

    Maybe I already have 'failed.' Isn't that why he's toying with a child? Fuck, I promised myself I wouldn't think about that tonight.

    I glance towards Rex and force my mouth to form a smile. I'm hoping that he will shock me with an entertaining comment, a dash of wit. But he merely returns the conversation to body shots -- oh thanks, Malana. You and your allergies! -- and I feel the skin bristle on the back of my neck.

    I resist the urge to try and claw at the brand. I know it won't do any good. Maybe I am cursed.

    Should I have agreed to let Aden try and 'fix me.' Let the alchemist do his Great Work?

    I don't know. What if he failed? Or worse, succeeded? Then I would no longer be able to pretend to be perfect, to be immune to all of the comments and jabs he tosses my way. I have to be stone, immovable, uncaring. It would be wrong to show him how broken I am.

    I'm not broken.

    Just have a few cracks here and there. Nothing to worry about.

    Right?

    I'll prove it tomorrow when I make breakfast.

    <font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ August 07, 2008 10:18 PM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

  3. #73
    HB Forum Owner pasogal2's Avatar
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    The low murmur of sophisticated conversation floated up through the ceiling, mixing in delicately with the clink of fine china and the swell of a perfectly orchestrated melody. Tulle and chiffon rustled gently as these proud few, the fortunate, orbited around the gilded sun in this universe of wealth and good taste.

    Samuel Maguire stood in the center of the room, the breadth and brawn of his shoulders ensuring that the tuxedo coating the raw sinew of his body did not appear to be a monkey suit, or threaten to swallow it whole, as it did with a few of the fluttering peacocks in attendance this evening. Encased in the architecture of his bones were the scrapes and echoes of a working man's tireless regime, while the crinkling skin about his eyes hinted at the dissolute rake he had been his youth, though when his mouth curled into a certain smile (and his eyes trailed after the fluttering hem of a young belle's skirt discretely) it was clear that this wolf had completely settled into his role of an obedient sheep.

    Carefree and boldly languid, the coarse harmony of his laughter was discernible to Shannon as she pressed her forehead against the rail, girlish fingers curled about the narrow posts of the banister while she peered through the gaps towards the glittering scene below. The sound of his smoke-roughened laughter buzzed like a homing beacon, allowing her to search through the thickening crowd of familiar faces (who were all in the midst of building a collection of sins that would be forgiven the next morning during the next stop on the social calendar: Sunday service) and she found him quickly.

    He was the gladiator in her girlish games, and the pompous king during all of her fairytale dreaming, so the other men clustered about him were nothing more than pawns and barely received a passing glance before her gaze landed solidly on her father. She watched as he appeared to eagerly chat with the men, chiming in with a few rough chuckles whenever the occasion called for it, he appeared to be focused on nothing more than the fine whiskey in his glass and idle conversation, but as soon as the other men excused themselves from his presence all of the pretense fled away as neatly as if a switch had been turned. Draining the glass swiftly, his posture straightened into the harsh, exacting position of a fiercely determined kingpin, and the angry flick of his wrist as he checked his watch hinted at some private displeasure.

    Recognizing a signal that was as familiar to Shannon as the chime of a school bell, she pushed to her feet with a whisper of tulle and lace and darted into the master bedroom.

    "Mama? Daddy's waitin' for you," she announced while dancing into the room at a brisk trot, her bright eyes eager as she approached, making eye contact via the large gilded mirror that rested above her mother's vanity.

    Virginia's laughter was delicate with a subtle edge that Shannon was far too young to be able to interpret correctly as derision. The bold red fabric of her dress caught Shannon's attention then (she was always fascinated by bright colors) so she missed the way Virginia's hazel eyes narrowed subtly as she returned her attention to her reflection, the lift of her chin that hinted at a smug sort of defiance.

    "He is, is he? Well, he can wait," Virginia informed the girl with another low, delicate chuckle, before leaning forward slightly to continue to outline her eye with thick black liner. "One must never waste their chance to make a grand entrance, Shannon. Don't forget that, darlin'."

    "Pretty mama," Shannon cooed while pressing closer to the seated woman, breathing in the intoxicating blend of floral scents that made up her perfume. She wanted to touch the beautiful crimson dress, but she had learned long ago that certain things must not be touched.

    "Thank you, darlin'," Virginia's voice softened with a hint of actual pleasure and she offered her daughter a small smile via the mirror. "One must always be perfect. The only time a woman ever loses a man is when she forgets that." Leaning back, she surveyed her painted features critically for a moment, before some hidden thought caused the papery elegance of her brow to crumple delicately.

    "Mama? What's wrong?" Teeth scraped along the pouting line of her lower lip while she watched her mother struggle to compose herself once more.

    "Hm? Oh nothing, sweetling. Mama's just a little tired." Virginia paused for a moment, studying her daughter's worried expression intently for a moment. "Men are silly creatures, Shannon. They can never be trusted."

    "Yes, Mama," Shannon murmured, though it was clear she did not truly understand.

    "Perfection, Shannon. You must always be perfect," Virginia reminded her one last time before giving her shoulder a light pat and drifting past her to join the collection of glittering madonnas downstairs.

    "I love you, Mama," she whispered in her wake.

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