this is my diary screaming out loud --

[pasogal2]

<center>Hey, Alice are you completely
Satisfied with Wonderland
And all it's wonder?
Cause if you're not, you know I've
Heard that they're handing out a
money-back guarantee at the door.


-- Kendall Payne </center>

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 06, 2008 10:37 AM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

[pasogal2]

<center> My hands are searching for you,
My arms are outstretched towards you.
I feel you on my fingertips;
My tongue dances behind my lips for you.

This fire rising through my being,
Burning; I'm not used to seeing you.

I'm alive, I'm alive.

I can feel you all around me.
Thickening the air I'm breathing;
Holding on to what I'm feeling.
Savoring this heart that's healing.

My hands float up above me,
And you whisper you love me.
And I begin to fade,
Into our secret place.

The music makes me sway;
The angels singing say, "we are alone with you."
I am alone, and they are too with you. </center>


"Come home, Shannon."

"I can't -- I'm sorry."

"He doesn't even love you."

"That's a lie! You don't know anything about hi--"

"--Where is he, Shannon?"

"What?"

"Where is Bjorn?"

"He had .. business out of town."

"Bullshit. He fuckin' left. He left you and you know it!"

"No, he did not. Go home, Sutton. Please -- let's not make a scene, okay?"

"No, not unless you come with me."

"I can't -- it would be wrong, Sutton. Nothing's cha--I'm no good for you, baby. I still can't give you what you want."

"Yes, you can. You can go to our goddamn house and be with me. You are my wife!"

"Not anymore, Sutton. Please --"

"Come home, come home. Please, Shannon. Please. You want me to fuckin' beg? Here, I'll beg."

She rocked back with a sharp hiss, recoiling from the imaginary touch of Sutton's head against her stomach, untangling her legs from his invisible embrace. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," she begged the silent phantoms in the room, mouth pressing together harshly while the heel of her hand lifted to cover her eyes. "Stop it!"

A gunshot echoed in her inner ear and she shrieked, releasing her half-full glass of wine to tumble artlessly to the tile floor. The shards of glass spread out in a ripple formation while the red wine seeped into the groves in a sinuous glide; a crimson trail that horrified and entranced.

"--Mommy?" Jacob called from the entrance to the kitchen, his golden eyes (his father's eyes) wide.

Her hand was shaking when she held it out to signal that he should stay on the carpet. "Stay there, baby. Mommy made a mess.. okay, honey? It's okay."

Jacob just nodded before glancing down towards the mess on the floor. "Mommy made a mess," he repeated, mouth stretching into an amused grin. His parents were doing some very peculiar things lately!

"Yes, Mommy made a mess." Such a big mess. "Mommy saw a .. a mouse and it scared her. Isn't that silly of Mommy?" She asked him while carefully picking her way to the pantry in order to get the broom.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," she hummed a soft sound of forced amusement. "It's bedtime though, Jacob. Why don't you go to bed and I'll be in a moment to read a story, okay?"

She took the swift departure and soft laughter that echoed down the hallway as his agreement.

"Maybe I am delusional," she murmured while studying the spray of glass and wine once more.


<center>
I can feel you all around me.
Thickening the air I'm breathing;
Holding on to what I'm feeling.
Savoring this heart that's healing --

And so I cry;
The light is white,
And I see you.

I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive.

I can feel you all around me.
Thickening the air I'm breathing;
Holding on to what I'm feeling.
Savoring this heart that's healing --

Take my hand,
I give it to you.
Now you own me,
All I am.
You said you would never leave me --
I believe you,
I believe.</center>


(lyrics by flyleaf.)

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 07, 2008 01:19 PM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

[pasogal2]

<center>Starlight
I will be chasing the starlight
Until the end of my life
I don't know if it's worth it anymore

Hold you in my arms
I just wanted to hold
You in my arms

My life
You electrify my life
Let's conspire to re-ignite
All the souls that would die just to feel alive

But I'll never let you go
If you promised not to fade away
Never fade away

Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations
Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations

Hold you in my arms
I just wanted to hold
You in my arms

Far away
This ship is taking me far away
Far away from the memories
Of the people who care if I live or die

And I'll never let you go
If you promise not to fade away
Never fade away

Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations
Our hopes and expectations
Black holes and revelations

Hold you in my arms
I just wanted to hold
You in my arms
I just wanted to hold
You in my arms
</center>


(lyrics by muse.)

[pasogal2]

She did not walk, trot, race, or even run down the narrow set of stairs that led to the basement laboratory; she danced. The lithe, energetic motion would have looked graceful had she traded in her sandals for a pair of pointe shoes, but Shannon was not concerned about looking silly given that Mercedes was the only one nearby to witness the motion. She found herself humming the triumphant chant from the Wizard of Oz while spinning about in an impromptu dance of sheer, wicked jubilation.

"Ding, dong the wicked witch is de--"

Attempting a series of pirouettes that had been perfectly easy when she was thirteen, she lost her balance and stumbled forward while another round of raucous laughter spilled form her lips. Clutching her stomach when her muscles protested, she sucked in a deep breath and attempted to calm herself down; she was as giddy as a school girl and it was downright embarrassing.

Mercedes seemed to agree with her mental assessment, given that the fey woman's stare appeared to be even more petulant and disapproving this morning, but her smile was still subtly wicked. Hinting at secrets that Shannon had no desire to seek out; she had reached her quota for the year.

Gasping for air, Shannon drew her brows together in a bemused expression while tapping her tongue against the roof of her mouth in order to chide the painted woman.

"Oh hush, you know that you're pleased too."

There were certain benefits to being delusional. For example, one was always able to have the last word.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 09, 2008 07:36 PM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

[pasogal2]

I have never been a fan of routine. I used to go out of my way to avoid it. I would sleep until three, work all night, or avoid sleep entirely. It changed, of course, when Jacob appeared on the scene. He needed a routine. There were feedings to schedule, diaper changes, and now I have to focus on preschool and the custody arrangement with Bjorn. I can't decide which is worse: the way we used to fight or the fact that we can live without any contact. I have not seen or spoken with him in weeks -- and there are days when I don't think of him at all. In fact, when Mesteno mentioned him the other day I felt the same casual interest I feel with any of the other friendly ghosts I talk to from time to time. There were no claps of thunder, no panic, and the butterflies in my stomach barely flexed their wings before returning to their regularly scheduled programming.

He is usually absent whenever I pick up Jacob; his housekeeper is a lovely woman and I have come to really enjoy chatting with her. Jacob mentioned that he thinks his Daddy has been sick, and Mesteno did mention that Bjorn appeared to be much thinner than usual, but I know better than to ask the housekeeper about it when I pick up Jacob on Sunday.

I miss Bjorn -- but it is not the pulsating ache that it used to be. It's faint, manageable. I suppose I should be surprised, given that my life used to orbit around his much in the same way that the planets orbit around the sun. But it feels right, expected. Comfortable.

Perhaps it is because he is alive and so am I. I am not going to have to worry about visiting another tombstone. No matter what trouble he is involved in now, it will clear up eventually and he'll be fine. I know that about as well as I know my own name. He'll be fine.

I'll be fine.

Maybe.

I wish I could stop thinking about Sutton -- stop thinking that Aden might be right. That I might be delusional. Though how Aden Brande, of all people, could feel comfortable giving someone else relationship advice I'll never know.

I've found myself daydreaming about Naomi, and Mercedes, while cooking in his kitchen or while I'm messing around in his laboratory. His house will always echo with the sweltering presence of those Ten, with the impression of all of those <u>eyes</u>, all of those memories, but there is something ... comforting there as well. The walls seem to hum with the one emotion I never expected to find in my friendship with the brutal alchemist: trust. He trusts me. I can sense it in the way he allows me to needle him with questions -- Watson to my Holmes, the way I am allowed to restore the portrait of Mercedes. I know that one day I will push too hard, I will seem too comfortable in that kitchen that is so very familiar to me; I will be Naomi again. Or he will find a new adder to obsess over, a new creature who will spit fire whenever I am seen with him, and the anger and denials will have to start all over again. I'm so weary of that.

Christian is coming over for dinner tonight. I remember the intent way that he stared at me while we were sitting on the beach, feel the moist glide of wine along my wrist, and am reminded of the discussion we had about this evening. I feel like we have been traveling along the jagged edge of a knife and have finally run out of room: we will have to fall off in one direction or the other. I don't know to feel about that.

I haven't painted in over a week. Every morning, I sit in there for at least an hour and merely stare at the blank canvases lined up against the wall. I cannot bring myself to reach for the brush -- my hand trembles at the very thought.

It's happening again. I have no way to stop it now.

What have I done?

[pasogal2]

"I'm not doing it."

"Shannon... C'mon."

"No. I told you. I'm done."

"You're not done."

"I am. I'm fine with it. It was a good run -- I had a good run, Sutton. No one can paint foreve--"

"Yes, they can. Don't give me that shit. You're a painter, so fuckin' paint."

"It's not that simple."

"Yes it is. I know you think that you're broken, but you're not."

"Sutton, please. It's gone, baby. I .. It's okay."

"No, Shannon. It's not gone. You're just a coward."

"What? I am not!"

"Yes, you are. Here--"

"Ow! What are you doin-- Let go of my hand, Sutton!"

"No, you are going to paint again...even if it kills me!"

"That hurts! It hurts. Oh god, it hurts... Sutton, stop!"

"You can cry all you want, baby. But you're going to finish this."

And with tears creating track marks along the alabaster plane of her cheeks, she was forced to create one of the ugliest paintings of her career. Sutton's hand had become concrete and molded itself around hers, making it impossible for her to release the brush that had been roughly jammed in between her fingers like a chopstick. They sat like that for hours, in complete silence aside from the grinding motion of his teeth and the whimpered cries that slipped free from her throat. When it was finished, Sutton pressed a kiss to her temple and said it was beautiful before abandoning her to take Loki out. Shannon sat in numb silence for the rest of the evening, paintbrush in hand.


Had she been gifted with the clear vision of Narcissus over the past few months, she would have been able to see that dark smear that clung to the walls of her nerves, branching out along the length of her arms, and tainted the highway that led to her heart. She would have been able to watch the tar seep into that healthy muscle, suffocating and thick, watch it bleed upwards until it coated the creative center of her mind, caused a glossy film to spread over her eyes like Charlotte's fragile web.

She was not able to witness the infestation, but she was able to feel it's extermination.

Cruel, painful withdrawal was ricocheting through her body with all the force of a machine gun's blast; her fingers trembled with an unspoken need, bruise-black shadows clung to the hollows beneath her eyes, and she was one step away from returning to the loving embrace of her urban addictions. She was unable to avoid the ominous feeling of deja vu that crept along the ladder of her spine as sneakily as a spider when she found it impossible to grip a paintbrush for more than an hour before the painful tremors began to torment her; tiny pinpricks of ice jamming into the sensitive curl of her knuckles.

Gasping softly, the paintbrush tumbled to the floor of the studio before her body trailed after it, crumpling to the paint-splattered floor with a sorrowful cry vibrating against the walls of her throat. Burying her face in her hands, she waited them out, pleading silently with any deity who would listen to aid her in her quest.

Once the initial rush had faded, she forced herself to curl shaking fingers about the slender vessel of torture once more and begin again.


Shannon was reminded of Newton's third law that day: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 12, 2008 06:56 PM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

[pasogal2]

Cowboy --

I had Persephone sneak this into your bags, as I'm sure you have already guessed. Enjoy Germany! I always enjoyed visiting Berlin when I was sent to Germany for work. Please promise me that you will wear some lederhausen while you are there? You know you want to. And I'll try not to do anything stupid while you're gone.

I would sign XOXO, but I don't think "wives" are allowed to. So I'll suppose I'll have to settle for "Have a nice trip!"

-- Sunshine

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 12, 2008 06:59 PM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

[pasogal2]

<center>
I forgot when words were only words;
She knows the party makes me nervous.
In this stage we cant get hurt --
Dont try to understand me.

We're too cool to be alone,
But not too crazy to get busted.

I found out one life just ain't enough,
I need another soul to feed on.
Im the flame I cant get burnt;
Im wholly understated.

I found silence in this space;
An on and off again attraction.
I need such amazing grace,
Heaven sweep me away.

Love dont change, dont come around here.
Dont wear my heart on your sleeve,
Like a high school letter.
Dont strain, because nothing ever comes from it,
And the people we've become... well.

I strap on one horse and prayed for luck;
I dug another hole to bleed.
I know exactly how this works,
I need a new feel dirty.

I dont need you crowding up my space,
I just want to get inside you.
You cant believe the heart you save,
Giving something away.

I dream that the world was crumbling down;
We sat on my back porch and watched it.

I dream that the buildings all fell down;
We sat on my back porch and watched it.
In my head I heard this sound,
Like fifteen strangers dancing.

But oh how I want you to know me,
Oh how I want you to know me.
Oh how I wish I was somebody else, baby --
Oh how I wish you could own me.

</center>

(lyrics by matchbox 20.)

[pasogal2]

It's amazing. Even though Aden is in Germany for the week I can't avoid references to my ex-husband.

I saw Koyan yesterday for the first time in god knows how long. We talked about the infamous wager from four years ago (has it really been that long?) because that was the only memory I could conjure up that included him. Koyan and I were never really <u>friends</u> until four years ago, though I've been aware of him for much longer. He has such a larger-than-life reputation, I'm ashamed to say I used to be intimidated by him when I first came to this town. His relationship to Bjorn did not help that at all. I don't know how we finally came to be friends -- but it seems like one day we were orbiting on the fringes of each others circles and the next we were thick as thieves, causing mischief and drowning our respective sorrows in alcohol. I loved visiting his ranch in the spring to sketch the foals, listening to his grunts and rough laughter. I am the only woman he's ever gone down on one knee for (all in jest of course) -- and I will carry that distinction with pride.

While chatting with Koyan and Mesteno -- and how funny is it that Mesteno and Koyan are such good friends? -- somehow the issue of whether I have ever kissed a girl came up. I still don't know why or how this became a topic of conversation, but I did my best to avoid it as much as possible.

Because that conversation involves a memory of Sutton -- and I cannot drown myself in another memory of him. I feel like I'm headed for a breakdown already.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ July 15, 2008 08:03 PM: Message edited by: urban addictions ]</font>

[pasogal2]

"It's awful."

"No it's not."

"Don't lie, Samantha."

The two women could have been opposing pages of a catalogue standing side by side as they were: Shannon beautifully sloppy in a faded t-shirt that was coated with artful smudges and paint smears, while her jeans were torn along the knees, and Samantha was bohemian-chic in a loose cotton blouse of canary yellow and a pair of linen pants. Samantha's expression was cautiously optimistic, while Shannon's was brimming with obvious disgust as they stared at the canvas settled on the easel.

"It's horrible," the artist continued, her mouth curling upwards into a sneer.

"Shannon," Samantha sighed softly before treading warily; conversations with Shannon included many hidden land mines. "It's not horrible. It's just different, that's all."

"Different? It's a piece of shit. Get rid of it," snapped while she clenched her fingers together in response to another painful tremor. She felt the bitter taste of bile crawl upwards along her throat and turned away from the painting abruptly in order to stumble towards the door.

"What?" Samantha was shocked.

"I don't ever want to see it again. Get it out of here!" Shannon ordered before bursting out of the studio and rushing down the hallway, the heel of her palm covering her mouth.

She barely made it to the bathroom in time.