Flcksin

‘ i already told you, francois. ’ and she’d huff as though she were annoyed and fed up with all the attention he’s been paying her as of late. ‘ you don’t have to look after me all the time. go live your life. ’ and maybe she says it less because his presence is bothersome and more because they both have their own significant others to worry about. well, maybe it’s just her. but she doesn’t fail to notice the way francois has women clinging to his arm everywhere he goes. it’s unintentional most of the time. he’s the antithesis of most men in the city. men of small iqs and shallow lifestyles. they’d rate a woman based on her looks before asking her what she thinks about anything going on in the world. but then she supposes it’s hard for a typical man to ask that question when it seems they have no thoughts to conjure up themselves. francois isn’t like that and maybe it’s the reason why he’s got women longing to date him. maybe that was why willow had initially sought after him too. she’d been fed up with finding herself caught in the same routine and hurt by the same kinda of men. it was mere attraction at first and she’d be telling the truth by saying that she hadn’t expected to like him the way she does now. that an impulsive hook up wasn’t meant to bring out such feelings from within. it surely wasn’t meant to bring about the complications of pregnancy either. 

not when she’s got boring, basic ed hanging off her back. he’d just about flipped when she revealed that she was pregnant. ‘ but, babe! i’ve been bagging up little ed for a reason! ’ it made for a very awkward conversation about how it’d been someone else’s child. how she had wound up sleeping with francois as they filmed their movie together. she’d hoped that such news would mean a break up. they’d be done and over for good. willow would stop being the laughing stock of the media. ‘ ed cheats on willow for the third time this year. what could possibly be wrong with her? ’ because no one ever questions whether it may just be, that america’s walking bicep isn’t actually as sweet and charismatic as he may seem. she hates california. hates the people and the culture. she hates the way they all punish her and all others who come here for wanting to live out their biggest dreams. she hates that it doesn’t snow on the holidays and that she’s got no one to come home to even for christmas break.  it’s why she doesn’t hesitate to say yes when francois asks her to celebrate with him. 

pregnant. he recalls hearing her say such a thing to him. ‘ i’m pregnant ’ and he had heard the words, making his heart skip in such a way that was unfounded by him. they were not meant to be more than co-stars. co-workers who just act. who smile and laugh on cue. who argue on cue. who do what they’re paid to do on cue. but it seemed that one thing led to another and undoubtedly it appeared that things escalated until francois was in her presence. until francois’ lips were against hers unsuspectingly. and he’s a religious man. a well-regarded man in society and by his peers. he’s polite. self-aware. conscious of others outside of himself. selfless. and somehow he’d found himself with willow in a night of passion. his lips against her flesh and the two of them communicating in ways that only the two of them could comprehend. and he had not imagined his life to prevail in such a way. he hadn’t imagined it to unravel with a woman saying she was pregnant who was not his girlfriend, nor his wife. a child out of wedlock. something so traditional and yet so personal and important to francois.

he knows willow is with ed. manly ed. masculine and muscular ed. a man who flexes his arms in every single photograph that is taken of him and wears tight tops to show off his pectorals. a man who seems to pout and show off how long he can do a workout with a protein shake in his hand. he is surprised when willow agrees to come with him; when she agrees to stay at his home - a minimalist space that he’s made his home. it’s not as self-aware as other celebrities. francois is more minimalist. more homely. he’s bought a christmas tree - he thinks it’s the ugliest one in the lot but he bought it because he felt sorry for it. as though it had feelings. as though it would feel upset if it didn’t get picked. he looks towards willow as she dangles ornaments in his face making him blink, a soft smile coming across his face. she’s always been this invasive. he recalls how taken aback the crew had been at times by her invasive behaviour. “ red ” he responds, but as always, he isn’t opposed to her saying no to him. he’s quite gotten used to her asking something and then doing the opposite to his answer.

afraid. there are two basic motivating forces in life: fear and love. when we are afraid, we pull back from life. when we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. we need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. if we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or out potential to create. evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace. or at least this is what his father once thought. the world is a different place from when his father ruled. now commodus is emperor of the roman empire and people live in fear of him. they regard him with awe and fear - he is strong, agile, and intelligent. but violent, and he disregards life as though it can so easily be made. ‘ if i kill one ant, another shall appear and live on, ’ he’d said once. ‘ similar to if i kill one life, another will be spared ’ . the world will continue to turn regardless of this. he looks to life as if he is god. as if he can take what he needs, and disregard what he does not. this is how life has been since he has become emperor. a man of whom is regarded as a god. a demi-god who has been placed down by the likes of jupiter to wander the earth and cause turmoil with each heavy step he takes.

today is a day of reckoning. he stands outside of the palace among soldiers and their general. women and men lined up to face their deaths in front of the emperor. a private showing, as you will. people who are being murdered due to treason, because they are infidels, or for other reasons that commodus thinks is worthy of seeing their blood splatter upon the ground. ‘ attendentes! ’ the general always calls out as men rise their bows to fire arrows directly into the bodies of these people who, after a short amount of pain, fall limp and are dragged off to the side to be buried in unmarked graves or thrown upon the properties of their families - a way to shame them and remind them of how the emperor has disowned them so. commodus stands in red, black and gold. under the roman sun, he should look godly and as irresistable as the women think he does who fall to his feet. and perhaps he does. but his darkness is more blinding perhaps than any light that can come from jupiter.

commodus is regarded as the boldest, most aggressive, courageous, and most virile emperor. his was a nature that yielded to no obstacles, that could not be moved nor turned aside by the allurements of place or position, the menaces of power, the favors of the opulent, or the enticing influences of public opinion. for he has always been this way. entering upon his career in an age of obsequiousness and time-serving, he has been assailing his time with the strength and power of hercules and has grounded challenges to dust under his trip-hammer blows. throughout commodus’ life so-far, there has been no greater and more potential influence than the personality of his own sublime character. sublime in all ways dark and light at the same time. his appearance, something that can fool those who only look with their eyes. and yet, there is more darkness within his veins than there has ever been light. and perhaps this is why his on-earth father has been so sure to whisper over and over again when he was a boy that the gods have left him on earth because he was too powerful even as a child for the skies above. too dark. ‘ you made the heavens darken, commodus. the gods only know what terrors you will bring among the living’. he stands now in the luxury of idle power. “ i am thinking, ” he remarks quietly. “ whether i should add to the disorder of the room and have your brains scattered by the fire pit ” he speaks as though he is mars in human form. the god of war and the son of jupiter and juno.

willow. her name is not roman. she is clearly not a roman woman. smaller breasts and more petite. her skin, not golden and her hair, not dark. her name does not translate within his mind as something he recognises. as someone he may know. he looks upon her as though she is some strange creature, and to him, she is. she has managed to avoid death. the arrows had not hit her. “ if arrows cannot hit you, i do not think the teeth of a lion will either ” he imagines it now. the large beast approaching her, but it will recoil when it tries to close its distance - as though it is afraid of the power she holds. of the gods protecting her, preventing her from death - from even under the command as a god, alike he. he thinks of the willow tree. how supple the willow tree may survive in the tough pine of a snowstorm. whereas the unyielding branches of the pine accumulate the snow until they crack, the springy boughs of the willow bend under the weight, and jump back again. much alike she. he thinks of how her branches must have sheltered her from the arrows. how they kept her in the shadows, sheltered by their weeping branches. “ you’re not to be killed. but you are not to be free either ” he has no answer from the gods. they watch on silently at the command of commodus. he does not need more spirits - let alone gods - haunting him in the dark when he attempts to sleep, simply because he has acted wrong on their behalf.

afraid. there are two basic motivating forces in life: fear and love. when we are afraid, we pull back from life. when we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. we need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. if we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or out potential to create. evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace. or at least this is what his father once thought. the world is a different place from when his father ruled. now commodus is emperor of the roman empire and people live in fear of him. they regard him with awe and fear - he is strong, agile, and intelligent. but violent, and he disregards life as though it can so easily be made. ‘ if i kill one ant, another shall appear and live on, ’ he’d said once. ‘ similar to if i kill one life, another will be spared ’ . the world will continue to turn regardless of this. he looks to life as if he is god. as if he can take what he needs, and disregard what he does not. this is how life has been since he has become emperor. a man of whom is regarded as a god. a demi-god who has been placed down by the likes of jupiter to wander the earth and cause turmoil with each heavy step he takes.

today is a day of reckoning. he stands outside of the palace among soldiers and their general. women and men lined up to face their deaths in front of the emperor. a private showing, as you will. people who are being murdered due to treason, because they are infidels, or for other reasons that commodus thinks is worthy of seeing their blood splatter upon the ground. ‘ attendentes! ’ the general always calls out as men rise their bows to fire arrows directly into the bodies of these people who, after a short amount of pain, fall limp and are dragged off to the side to be buried in unmarked graves or thrown upon the properties of their families - a way to shame them and remind them of how the emperor has disowned them so. commodus stands in red, black and gold. under the roman sun, he should look godly and as irresistable as the women think he does who fall to his feet. and perhaps he does. but his darkness is more blinding perhaps than any light that can come from jupiter.

she should be dead. should. an important word as he stares towards her, seeing how she remains alive. there is no blood on the ground. no limp body that has fallen to the earth with a thud. no spirit that has left her body to be at the hands of the gods who will decide on which realm she will go to. no. instead the arrow has failed to hit her. it has failed to even get close enough to cut through her ivory flesh and cause a fatality. instead she remains on her knees, commanded by men who speak in latin as they all do within roma. soldiers seem confused and afraid. this is not a question of their skill. they have hit all other arrows accurately but upon her, arrows seem to avoid her presence - as though the gods speak through these actions to say, ‘ now is not the time for her death’ . commodus is taken aback by such a thing. he wishes to ask the question of why is she not dead? but his tongue does not permit it. it would show weakness. instead he looks to her upon the ground. on her knees that are grazed from how often she has been pushed around by the men of the roman empire who consider her but a slave. she is protected by the gods. something keeps her alive. whether commodus wishes it to or not.

“ stand upon your feet ” he instructs her. he can feel the disorder of their surroundings now that such a thing has not occurred. she is meant to be but another corpse dragged to the side, and buried in an unmarked grave or taken home to bring shame to her family. but this is not the case. commodus considers whether she is a witch. or whether the gods have somehow sheltered her as they have protected commodus for so many years. a man who is regarded as a god. a man of whom , they will write stories of, saying his father is not truly marcus aurelius, but that of jupiter. “ stand! ” his words are brash and cut through the hot roman air. there is silence. he does not know what to do with her. she brings no balance nor equilibrium to their current state. she has created a mess. havoc. disorder. chaos, even if she has not intended to do so. she seems as confused as the men who were meant to strike her down dead. he cannot hear the gods speak to his ear. but he does feel them guiding him. they place their hands upon his shoulders until they are commanding commodus in ways that are unearthly. “ if she will not die by an arrow, then put her back until the lions are ready to feast ” he grumbles this beneath his breath. to put her in her own separate cage for the meantime as he considers what to do with her. what this all means. why he has no direction.

she hasn’t told him about her — about all of the things she’d endured in their years apart. maybe it’s just one of those things that don’t require words to be spoken. ‘ i’ve been patrolling the streets a long time, willow. i know a prostitute when i see one. ’ he would never say words so blatant and harsh but she could almost hear them now. she could feel a similar weight impending within the center of her chest. fingers work to pluck at the thread on the decorative pillow she’s hugging close to her chest. they’re in her apartment, sat on her couches that are shaped like a woman’s lips. it makes her back curve uncomfortably but willow is convinced that an s - shaped back is worth it because of how aesthetically pleasing her apartment looks. “ you … you searched me up in your database thing, didn’t you? ” he read up on her files. willow didn’t have run - ins with the law but james did. there were always complaints filed by people who lived in their apartment complex. the cops had found their way into the apartment once, only to find willow bleeding with splotches of pink and purple forming around her neck. she’d been twenty then. it was a long time ago, but maybe it’s enough to piece together just why she hadn’t become a nurse — why college and all of her dreams had come to a halt.

“ it … ” she should be mad at him for looking into her past, for delving into something that she hadn’t first unveiled. she should turn away and ask him to leave. it’s a breach of privacy, the kind of thing that makes willow worry. she doesn’t wish to be pitied. but even now, he doesn’t look at her as though she’s got something wrong with her. he only says something that she thinks she’s always needed to hear. something that makes willow feel as though everything will be okay. and maybe it won’t be. maybe she’ll end up getting pushed into the tracks while waiting for a train. maybe she’ll trip over her heels just as a loaded truck is moving down the road at too fast a speed. he won’t be able to protect her then but it wouldn’t matter because she’ll buy into the illusion. “ it was a long time ago. ” she wants to tell him that it’s okay now. that she’s gotten over her fears and can easily rest knowing that she’ll never see james again. but he would know better than anyone that such a sentiment is the furthest from the truth. it’s much like grief. she’ll carry the weight of every moment of abuse on her back. she’ll relive those memories even when she doesn’t intend to, sparked by even the tiniest of things.

he should not have done it. looking her up on the database. he’d been bored at work. he’d been among his colleagues tossing paper airplanes across the room while their inspector was away from the office - called to the scene of what would have been a very serious crime. meanwhile dan had been laughing with colleagues and playing games among paperwork they were doing. he hates paperwork. most of the time he’s out on the streets looking for any suspicious activity or crime taking place. but not today. he’d been forced to finish off the paperwork he’d been trying to ignore and was no doubt piling up on his desk. he’d been messaging willow while doing so. texting her with memes he’d found and sending her selfies - one including him smiling and showing off the paper airplane he’d made like some kind of child showing a parent, proudly. ‘ look what i made ’ he’d sent alongside it, with a cat smiling emoji. ever since willow had said he looked like a kitten, he’d seemed to have started using it - not helping to stop her from calling him such a thing by way of comparison. he’d looked her up on the database as way of boredom. nothing came up directly about her. good news. but something had been flagged under the name of a man named james. someone who was involved in a series of crimes, and seemingly, had used willow as way of bait. on the database she’s classified as a victim. if she had any other involvement in crimes, they’d acknowledge this.

" did he stop you from becoming a nurse? ” questions that perhaps were already answered by what he’d seen. but he sees how willow stumbles on her words. how she seems taken aback if only because she’s having to repeat the scenarios again in her mind. dan feels as though he shouldn’t have brought it up. but he’s never been good at lying or keeping things a secret. ‘ are you cheating on me? ’ he remembers being asked once by his deceased wife, if only because he’d been acting unusual on the day he was due to propose. he’d ended up trying to make up a lie but in the end, had proposed a bit too early than what he had anticipated. luckily she’d said yes. she was always going to say yes. but that was years ago now and anne is gone. he’s somehow met with willow again - his high school sweetheart. they speak often. they hang out with each other. they’re rekindling something that maybe never needed to be rekindled because it was always there. it was always going to happen. there has always been a flame between them and it has never been unlit.

“do  i  have  to  listen  to  this  shit  all  morning?”

“this  is  a  place  of  business,  not  your  home.”

“not  supposed  to  sleep  in  the  bar  anymore,  bro.”

“yeah,  so,  maybe  i’m  not  such  a  bad  guy  for  passing  out  in  there  and  drinking  too  much  or  whatever.”

“well,  i  drank  too  much,  so  lay  off.”

“what  if  it’s  a  miracle?”

“these  people  are  pathetic.”

“well,  don’t  get  all  high-and-mighty  on  me.”

“don’t  be  selfish.”

“this  is  one  of  the  more  ridiculous  things  we  have  ever  done.”

“if  you  don’t  think  you’re  going  to  hell,  you  need  to  take  a  long  look  at  yourself.”

“miracle’s  a  strong  word.  we  don’t  just  throw  that  around  like  a  football.”

“hey,  remember  how  you  would  pass  out  at  parties?”

“you  were,  like,  famous  in  school.”

“how  do  you  know  the  priest?”

“you  know  what  i’m  gonna  do?  wash  my  hands  of  it.”

“i  was  hoping  you  could  do  me  a  favor.”

“i  kind  of  led  you  on  a  little  bit  back  then,  didn’t  i?”

“i  wasn’t  always  a  tease,  you  know?”

“not  sure  i  follow  your  logic.”

“i  know  you  really  liked  me  back  then,  and  i  know  i  wasn’t  very  nice  to  you.”

“i  think  that’s  just  because  i  was  too  stupid  to  realize  how  wonderful  you  are.”

“i  may  have  saved  that  poor,  wretched  old  person’s  life.”

“dress  a  little  nicer  though,  'cause  you  look  like  shit.”

“for  once,  i’m  gonna  do  the  right  thing.”

“goddamn  it.  why  do  i  speak  to  you,  ever?”

“cats  are  brown  now.”

“i  told  you  to  dress  nice.  we  look  like  salt  and  pepper  shakers.”

“you  are  completely  betraying  me.”

“i  am  familiar  with  carpentry  and  i  don’t  know  who  my  father  is…  so  am  i  the  messiah?”

“i  knew  you  were  gonna  ruin  this.”

“i’m  hoping  it’s  mostly  the  booze  talking.”

“you  found  the  four  people  on  the  planet  dumb  enough  to  listen  to  your  shit.”

“is  cereal  soup?”

“what  if  instead  of  policemen,  there  were  giant,  man-sized  police  spiders?”

“what  is  the  sexiest  name  you  can  imagine?”

“what  is  the  least  sexy  name  you  have  ever  heard?”

“what  secret  conspiracy  would  you  like  to  start?”

“what’s  the  weirdest  smell  you  have  ever  smelled?”

“is  a  hotdog  a  sandwich?”

“what’s  the  most  ridiculous  fact  you  know?”

“how  do  you  feel  about  putting  pineapple  on  pizza?”

“if  animals  could  talk,  which  would  be  the  rudest?”

“toilet  paper,  over  or  under?”

“what  if  we  can  breath  on  space  but  the  government  just  tells  us  we  can’t  so  we  don’t  try  to  escape?”

“what  if  there  are  actually  multiple  souls  in  your  body,  but  you’re  the  most  powerful  and  the  voices  you  hear  in  your  head  are  just  the  weaker  soulds  talking  to  you?”

“what’s  the  best  type  of  cheese?”

“how  many  chickens  would  it  take  to  kill  an  elephant?”

“which  body  part  do  you  wish  you  could  detach?”

“if  peanut  butter  wasn’t  called  peanut  butter,  what  would  it  be  called?”

“what  movie  do  you  think  would  be  greatly  improved  if  it  was  made  into  a  musical?”

“what  would  be  the  coolest  animal  to  scale  up  to  the  size  of  a  horse?”

“if  you  could  replace  all  of  the  grass  in  the  world  with  something  else,  what  would  it  be?”

“if  you  had  to  choose  one  animal  to  help  you  win  a  fight,  which  animal  would  you  choose?”

“if  you  could  morph  two  animals  to  make  one  super  animal,  what  two  animals  would  you  choose?”

“if  animals  could  talk  which  animal  do  you  think  would  be  the  most  polite?

"what  are  your  thoughts  on  me  liking  to  dance  naked  while  listening  to  one  direction?”

“if  you  could  say  one  sentence  that  the  whole  world  would  be  able  to  hear,  what  would  you  say?”

“what  conspiracy  theories  do  you  believe?”

“what’s  one  superpower  you  would  not  want?”

“what  if  the  only  reason  we  can’t  walk  through  mirrors  is  because  our  reflection  blocks  us?”

“would  you  have  sex  with  a  clone  of  yourself?”

“what  would  be  your  name  be  if  you  were  a  spice  girl?”

“if  you  were  a  hotdog  and  you  were  starving,  would  you  eat  yourself?”

“I’m invisible.”

“Were we in love?“

“Darkness. Been there.“

“Everyone’s afraid of you.“

“I say we cut his head off.“

“You’re too weak to take me.“

“We all get what we deserve.”

“You think I’d hurt you, again?”

“See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?“

“What happened to you, man?“

“Good, evil. They’re just words.“

“You haven’t changed. You can’t.“

“I’m fibbing. It’s lying, only classier.“

“If he ain’t dead, I’m gonna kill him!”

“Well, look, a bribe. How thoughtful.“

“I know. That’s why it had to be you.“

“I don’t need to hear your evil plans.“

“I love you. Now get out of my house.”

“As far as evil plans go, it doesn’t suck.“

“All that talking really takes it out of you.“

“I don’t know.  I don’t know! Please stop!”

“I did what I had to, because you couldn’t.”

“You really are far from home, aren’t you?“

“Sometimes a sacrifice needs to be made.“

“Maybe because it’s not about you, jackass.“

“You tried to love me. At least, I think you did.“

“No, it just turns you on, knowing I have them.“

“You remember when I ripped your car in half?“

“I don’t do errands. Unless they’re evil errands.“

“Working on it. Failing miserably, but working on it.“

“Oh, your ass better pray I don’t look that word up.“

“We could rule this world. Why do you oppose me?“

“Why’d you leave me? Did you hate me that much?“

“At least you thought you were doing the right thing.“

“You’re all right now. Everything’s going to be all right.“

“You’re not getting anything out of me this time either.“

“I had my throat slit and all my friends abandoned me.“

“So now the question becomes: what do you deserve?”

“This place was so much friendlier when the mob ran it.“

“Damn! This is so much harder than it looks on Batman.“

“Couldn’t you have at least tortured him a little bit more?“

“The more you piss me off, the longer I’ll keep you alive.“

“He may have information we need. When he wakes up—“

“Yeah, well, the exact translation was ‘fragrant tuber’, but…“

“You were always a slave. You just couldn’t see the chains.”

“You know, coming from you, idle threats are so, well… idle.”

“You’ve got no leverage. What are you going to do? Kill me?“

“You know what they say about payback? Well, I’m the bitch.“

“This isn’t the way, my sweet. We should be friends, you and I.”

“Tough. Did you practice that in front of the mirror a few times?“

“I know you’ve been out of the loop for a while, but I’m still evil.”

“Does seem like you’ve given in to the grumpy side of the force.“

“Yeah, causes uncontrollable impulses… like yanking out throats.“

“I avoided the main arteries. She’ll live, if that’s what you call this.“

“I know you like to think of me as the enemy. If this works, I will be.“

“Here’s a wacky thought: why don’t you swim down there yourself?“

“Perhaps you should have considered that before slitting my throat.”

“You’re just a rabid dog who should have been put down years ago!“

“Jeez. Where were you when they taught stealth in superpower school?“

“Whatever you’re hearing, whatever you think you’re seeing… it’s a trick.”

“When you decapitate a loved one, you don’t expect them to come visiting.“

“You’ve found a vulnerability, exploited it. Well done. Can we move on now?“

“They’re scared because of what you’ve done, not because of what you are.”

“I’d die every day for the rest of eternity for you. And this… is how you repay me?”

“Everything else is just a lie. You can’t be saved by a lie. You can’t be saved at all.“

“I’ve imagined this moment many times. I’ve read everything ever written about you.“

“You know me. Better than anyone. So, when you look at me, you know I’m not lying.“

“Yeah, that was a nice speech. Touching. I think it ended with you promising to kill me.“

“He distorts everything. He lies with the truth. It’s part of what makes him so dangerous.“

“Have you been caffeinating your blood again, or is there something you’re not telling us?“

“Nothing in the world is the way it ought to be. It’s harsh, and cruel. But that’s why there’s us.“

“Understand there is a difference between wishing vengeance on someone and taking it.”

“Life should be beautiful and bright, but no matter how hard I try, everything I touch turns to ashes.“

“You have a problem with a little torture, now? Seem to recall a time when you rather enjoyed it.“

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be attacked. I didn’t ask to be a freak. Hell, I didn’t even ask to be born.“

“You two have so much in common. Pain, loss, deep seated lack of anything approaching humor.“

“Well, I haven’t read the Book of Revelations lately, but, if I was searching for adjectives, I’d probably start there.“

“I’m going to become the one thing you were raised to believe I was. The thing I never, ever, wanted you to see.“

“So, how was your summer? Mine was fun. Saw some fish, went mad with hunger, hallucinated a whole bunch.“

“ did you want a trophy? ” willow mocks him in a really high pitched voice, looking towards him with narrowed eyes. she doesn’t expect to see him this way again. the both of them attempting to book the same exact motel room. the last vacancy. it feels oddly ironic the way they’ve found themselves here, much after max’s insistence that she is nothing to him. she believed him when he said it and she still does, still thinks that she was just this bothersome weight on his shoulders. she still feels as though she was nothing and somehow, he was everything. these last few months apart have taught her no different. she still feels, in her heart, that there must have been something wrong with her. that beyond the people who’d chased after them relentlessly, willow hadn’t been good enough to keep around. she supposes it makes sense. she used to be a whore, a good for nothing madwoman who would spew out nonsense whenever the chance presented itself. and yet now, she attempts to pretend that she’s anything but this. that she’s better without him, better than she could have ever hoped to be. 

she doesn’t think she does this convincingly enough. the moment she sees him again, she feels a pang go straight through her chest and tears welling up in her eyes. willow feels as though she’s transported back some months ago, listening to the way he’d outright rejected her and told her to go away. ‘ i don’t care about you. i don’t love you. ’ it was the kind of words that a woman like her couldn’t handle, for even if he’d never told her that he loved her, she liked to believe that he did. she liked giving in to the illusion that it wasn’t just her heart that thumped wildly for him or her body that would ignite whenever he was close enough. she’d let him hit her, let him do his very worst if it meant keeping him around. somehow, she doesn’t see the problem with this even now. she’s normalized this notion of her nothingness. “ i don’t want anything from you anymore. ” they had reluctantly agreed to spend a night in the same room together. it was storming outside and the nearest motel was sixty miles away. “ i just want to sleep. ” willow tried to act, tried to pursue that career that max has convinced her would be the perfect fit. it wasn’t. as it turns out, low - grade casting directors prefer an eager actress who is willing to give more than a few well spoken lines. 

" don’t go outside you fucking drama queen ” this is not how arguments and problems are resolved. but how does max know that? max who commits the most heinous of crimes and behaves in such a despicable way. he’s earned money doing unspeakable things. things that he doesn’t even mention to willow sometimes. ‘ i just tortured him a bit. i then killed him ’ he doesn’t speak about the other things he does. or what that entails. she’d look at him differently. like a monster. because that’s what he is. and she thinks she loves him but max knows this is textbook stockholm syndrome. even when they’re apart she still feels it - and he has been hoping her mind might be cleared of her obvious brainwashing. she might actually realise her feelings are simply misdirected and realise that he’s no good just like the rest of society will see him as.

“ that’s it ” it clicks in his head. he imagines he’s a character on looney tunes who has a lightbulb above his head. kill someone else. another blonde that looks like willow. another blonde who he can record the murder of. they won’t know the difference. willow will remain alive. they could even try to get out of this dark web he’s found himself in. but what sort of life remains for a man like max? he’s only ever been a pornography store clerk and even then that doesn’t require any qualifications - just a vulgar tongue.

“ did you want a trophy? ” willow mocks him in a really high pitched voice, looking towards him with narrowed eyes. she doesn’t expect to see him this way again. the both of them attempting to book the same exact motel room. the last vacancy. it feels oddly ironic the way they’ve found themselves here, much after max’s insistence that she is nothing to him. she believed him when he said it and she still does, still thinks that she was just this bothersome weight on his shoulders. she still feels as though she was nothing and somehow, he was everything. these last few months apart have taught her no different. she still feels, in her heart, that there must have been something wrong with her. that beyond the people who’d chased after them relentlessly, willow hadn’t been good enough to keep around. she supposes it makes sense. she used to be a whore, a good for nothing madwoman who would spew out nonsense whenever the chance presented itself. and yet now, she attempts to pretend that she’s anything but this. that she’s better without him, better than she could have ever hoped to be. 

she doesn’t think she does this convincingly enough. the moment she sees him again, she feels a pang go straight through her chest and tears welling up in her eyes. willow feels as though she’s transported back some months ago, listening to the way he’d outright rejected her and told her to go away. ‘ i don’t care about you. i don’t love you. ’ it was the kind of words that a woman like her couldn’t handle, for even if he’d never told her that he loved her, she liked to believe that he did. she liked giving in to the illusion that it wasn’t just her heart that thumped wildly for him or her body that would ignite whenever he was close enough. she’d let him hit her, let him do his very worst if it meant keeping him around. somehow, she doesn’t see the problem with this even now. she’s normalized this notion of her nothingness. “ i don’t want anything from you anymore. ” they had reluctantly agreed to spend a night in the same room together. it was storming outside and the nearest motel was sixty miles away. “ i just want to sleep. ” willow tried to act, tried to pursue that career that max has convinced her would be the perfect fit. it wasn’t. as it turns out, low - grade casting directors prefer an eager actress who is willing to give more than a few well spoken lines. 

" you do. you may not want it, but you need it " he is insistent as he speaks to her. his grip on her wrist remains. he imagines that if he twisted her wrist in a certain way he’d be able to feel the bone moving, and if he were skillful enough, he might be able to move the bone so that it would point directly out of her skin. breaking the flesh and showing itself when in the light of day. he’s trying to speak to willow but words are not his forte. well, not so much words but a way to express how he feels. because he feels something for her but it can’t be placed. ‘ i want to fuck your corpse and hold your heart in my hand and keep it forever ’ but those aren’t the most romantic words she would have heard. but they’re how he feels. some sick, psychotic need to keep her. to love her in his own way even when she dies. a promise that he’d protect her heart and keep it beating even after he’s tugged it out of her rib-cage and broken it free from the arteries that would no doubt squirt her blood at him like some kind of over the top horror movie. her words frustrate him. if only because she should understand what he tries to say when he says...nothing. but that’s the very problem. he’s expecting her to read his mind.

“ life isn’t fucking fair. you think this is fair? where you are right now in your fucking life? it’s not. but you’re fucking safe. you’re safer on your own than you ever were with me. and that’s what fucking matters. if you’re safer without me, and i want to protect you, i’ll do that. and you can’t make me fucking sound like the bad guy for doing this bullshit ” this is the most he’s said to her since they’ve found each other again. his green hues are on her and although his grasp on her wrist is tight if only to keep her in his presence and focused upon him, it isn’t enough to bruise her flesh in its entirety now. he’s trying to speak to her to make her see his perspective. but it’s hard. he’s always had trouble communicating. maybe he is a textbook psychopath after all. no matter how hard he tries to distinguish himself from christian bale’s character in american psycho, it seems he becomes more attuned to it by the day.

a whole year passes since he’s come and gone and now, much as she hates the month of may and finds oddities in october, she hates november. she hates it because it is the month that he’d told her he was going again. she thinks of the words he’d spoken and they always bite harder than the cool breeze on her legs when she heads home from work each night. she’s still a worker, still trying to lead a newfound life of promise. ‘ you deserve more, ’ he’d told her and she tries to believe it even now. tries to subscribe to this notion for the sake of her own sanity. it proves difficult when she does what she does. willow, waltzing about a diner in a skimpy, dirty dress. single men don’t hesitate to talk her up, some go as far as touching her backside in appropriately when she passes. sometimes she has to remember that she isn’t the willow she used to be. the one who allows just about any man to part her legs and do what they will. sometimes she is that willow. she’d gaze in the luring eyes of a man. they’re always thin in stature, always tasting of alcohol when she kisses them in the back ally of the diner where she works. she likes it when they’re rough around the edges, when they don’t treat her like she’d made of fragile glass. she hopes that when they are rough, they’ll remind her of him. freddie. his name almost always lingers on the tip of her tongue but it’s never spoken. they aren’t him even if they taste of moonshine the way he does. they aren’t him because they don’t like her after it’s all said and done. they don’t tell her what a fool she is. 

at some point, she goes from meaningless hook ups to self - defense classes. she thinks it’s been the perfect transition that her life has been needing lately. she’d read somewhere in a magazine that break ups are much like grieving someone who’s died. there are different stages. the sex after work was willow working through her denial. now she’s just angry, looking for some place to channel such an overwhelming feeling. she reckons she does well by attending these classes. they’re filled with single women just like her who do not yet find themselves intending to get married. ‘ i’m in college. i want to be a nurse. ’ one of the women had told her that. a sturdy blonde with big tits. willow’s never learned her name but she calls herself lemon around these parts. lemon is the strongest woman willow’s ever met after her mother. willow learns to kick and punch, although most of the time she looks to be simply flailing her limbs around like a bird who has broken a wing. self - defense classes are on saturday nights. some of the ladies have sweethearts or fathers that wouldn’t enjoy the the thought of their little girls learning to ‘ act like men. ’

letters. he could have written her letters of his own. letters telling her his feelings and how he’s yearned for her. but he doesn’t. he hadn’t. freddie has never been particularly good with his feelings nor expressing them, but when he’s with willow, things are a little easier. if only because they don’t necessarily need to use words to express themselves. there’s body language. gazes. certain touches. they don’t have to be explicit. just a language that the two of them only understand. and it should be obvious that they’re tactile with one another. two individuals. he, a war veteran. and she, a former prostitute. now self-asserted leader of women’s self defense. it’s funny to him. “ i’ll complain ‘bout it as much as i want. t’same way i’m gonna complain ‘bout you pouncin’ on me when i just wanted a fuckin’ drink ” maybe he is a complainer. maybe he’s many things including that. she’s called him toxic before. ugly. compared him to a hunch back. maybe a complainer is the nicer descriptive term she’s called him. he imagines what dodd would think of them now. he’d insist that they get married, but all freddie can imagine is that they’d write their own vows and it would consist of verses insulting each other at the end of the aisle.

she’s close to him and all feels better in the world. he remembers nights away from her. countless nights where he doesn’t have a warm body beside him or sprawled across him. instead he feels cold, and only has the presence of a blanket to cover him over. sometimes he’d hug a pillow to his chest, trying to pretend it was her body close to his own. but it doesn’t have her smell. her scent. her softness. nothing can replicate willow no matter how hard a man may try. all he had was photographs of her he had taken and placed by his bedside and in his wallet. a reminder that he’d want to make her proud. although all of these things, are things that he doesn’t voice when they’re together. when they’re together there’s only banter, crude remarks, and insults passed between them. the occasional argument and then laughing about things that are beyond ridiculous. he feels her bunch his shirt in her fists - feeling her tug the fabric ever-so-slightly.

“ no, ” she says quietly, trying her hardest to put on a brave face. willow’s never been good at that. she can bunch her face up and appear as angry as a little girl who can’t take ‘ no ’ for an answer, but she isn’t so good at the contrary. she attempts for her own sake to appear strong. she doesn’t know why she has to present herself that way. maybe it’s just one of those twenty - first century norms. a woman of these times is meant to be anything but what willow happens to be. a dancer who, on occasion, has to lower herself to doing more unsavory things in order to make ends meet. she wishes she could be something like the strong women she’d see in films and television. the kind who know how to fight or can compete with strong men in the workforce. women who have and will always persevere despite whatever hurdles stand before them. “ it’s okay. doesn’t hurt that much. ” that much. it hurts. willow can’t even count how many bruises and scuffs she’s endured over the course of her life. she’s always been clumsy, apt to knock into things and fall over even if nothing seemed to be in her path. she thinks it might be a reflection of the way she’s always been restricted in life. her father had made it so she couldn’t bask the world on her own. there’d always be someone or something there to catch her because without it, she is defenseless. such a thing doesn’t always have to be bad, but it seems willow naturally finds herself in the arms of men who seek to do nothing more than hurt her. she thinks of james. how he’d caught her because she’d tripped up in life. she’d been wanting to break free and had done so in the worst of ways. 

“ i don’t know what i was thinking. ” she gestures to the bruise on her leg. blotches of red are slowly becoming purple. there is some swelling where her leg had made impact with the ground, some small cuts too. “ i was late for the train, ” she tries to explain as though anyone would buy that lie. willow had seen the man before her with a camera in hand. he looked intriguing enough and willow had been adamant about making an appearance in whatever way she could. she’d been freezing, cold night air sweeping along her bare legs as she struggling to twist and turn and dance in her dangerously high heels. and now she’s dramatically kicking up the opposite leg if only to display the high heels that she wears. “ i guess it wasn’t a good idea to run around in these. ” she skids over the fact that he’d seen her dancing and trying to catch his attention. that she’d made faces at him because she figured he was some high class casting agent. willow is silly and very much in love with the idea of being something like one of those overnight sensations. she’s always wanted to be like marilyn monroe or sophia loren. it’s only when she blinks, however, that she notices small tears roll from the corner of her eyes. she’s crying because it hurts, because as strong as she wishes she could be, she isn’t. “ maybe some ice, ” she finally says in a calm, shuddered voice. “ where are you going to find ice? we’re in the middle of nowhere. ” she speaks dramatically as she always does. she can’t seem to keep away from theatrics. 

" right ” nick stares at the bruises populating on her leg like little countries and continents that are appearing on her skin. green, purple, black and red. diverse in their size and colour. there’s a desire to just press his finger on the edge of one of them, to see how much pain he can make her feel with such an easy action from himself. but he doesn’t know her well enough. and he thinks that if he were to document this scenario, he might be doing himself a favour to look like a good guy rather than a man who is anything but. “ maybe you should have just...waited for the next train ” maybe. he thinks his words are stupid as soon as he says them. it’s like a parent telling their child things they should have done as opposed to what they actually did.

there’s no point in saying them because the fact is, the circumstances have been done and can’t change. he can almost feel his teenage self rolling his eyes at his own words. ‘ shut up, man’  he’d say and face palm himself as though the words are so ridiculous and cringe worthy he wants to die. don’t all teenagers want to die? it’s the stereotype he can feel his inner bro supporting. “ that was stupid. let me say it again ” a re-do. like they’re on some kind of movie set he’s configured in his mind. but in reality, he doesn’t want to be laid in bed later on rehashing this situation in his mind. he doesn’t want it to be one of those embarassing memories that will keep him up at night with thoughts including ‘ i wish i said this instead ’ or ‘ why the fuck did i do that for? ’ . he’s conscientious for a man who has previously killed people for kicks and money.

“ did you want a trophy? ” willow mocks him in a really high pitched voice, looking towards him with narrowed eyes. she doesn’t expect to see him this way again. the both of them attempting to book the same exact motel room. the last vacancy. it feels oddly ironic the way they’ve found themselves here, much after max’s insistence that she is nothing to him. she believed him when he said it and she still does, still thinks that she was just this bothersome weight on his shoulders. she still feels as though she was nothing and somehow, he was everything. these last few months apart have taught her no different. she still feels, in her heart, that there must have been something wrong with her. that beyond the people who’d chased after them relentlessly, willow hadn’t been good enough to keep around. she supposes it makes sense. she used to be a whore, a good for nothing madwoman who would spew out nonsense whenever the chance presented itself. and yet now, she attempts to pretend that she’s anything but this. that she’s better without him, better than she could have ever hoped to be. 

she doesn’t think she does this convincingly enough. the moment she sees him again, she feels a pang go straight through her chest and tears welling up in her eyes. willow feels as though she’s transported back some months ago, listening to the way he’d outright rejected her and told her to go away. ‘ i don’t care about you. i don’t love you. ’ it was the kind of words that a woman like her couldn’t handle, for even if he’d never told her that he loved her, she liked to believe that he did. she liked giving in to the illusion that it wasn’t just her heart that thumped wildly for him or her body that would ignite whenever he was close enough. she’d let him hit her, let him do his very worst if it meant keeping him around. somehow, she doesn’t see the problem with this even now. she’s normalized this notion of her nothingness. “ i don’t want anything from you anymore. ” they had reluctantly agreed to spend a night in the same room together. it was storming outside and the nearest motel was sixty miles away. “ i just want to sleep. ” willow tried to act, tried to pursue that career that max has convinced her would be the perfect fit. it wasn’t. as it turns out, low - grade casting directors prefer an eager actress who is willing to give more than a few well spoken lines. 

guy online. he thinks about the stereotypical dangers that come with that sentence. ‘ a guy online who is going to get me work ’. he imagines he’ll see willow on the next anal secretary movie. she’ll pretend to moan and have an over-the-top orgasm but her eyes will look so empty and sad that it’ll be heartbreaking if not for the fact that every single man watching it will have had a hard on at her expense. " i didn’t realise you were going into pornography ” he mutters this under his breath as though to only make her realise the weight of her words. he doesn’t imagine this guy will willingly pull her into a movie or a television soap opera. if he does, it won’t be for free. ‘ suck my dick ’ he’ll say and she’ll get the part. maybe he’s seen too much porn. but what man hasn’t? lately he’s been trying to branch out. to make it have more meaning when he’s trying to jerk off. horror porn. a category he can’t jerk off to but is fascinated by if only because the story lines are so gruesome. it’s not conversation for a reunion. maybe it isn’t conversation for anytime realistically.

he hears her words. celebrity. worthless. his eyes glance up from his deck at the realisation she’s put her cards down. revealed to him. she’s lost. she’s willingly surrendered. it’s like she’s the enemy waving a white flag on the battlefield. he should feel some sense of victory but alike the soldiers at war seeing such a sight, he doesn’t think relief comes into play. it’s all just a process. it makes him feel bad for what is to come. because soon he hears the tremor of her voice and the tears in her eyes. ‘ you can’t do porn willow ’ he wants to tell her in the softest of voices. he’s fixated on the idea that her marshmallow tits will be on show. the commenters on pornhub will make fun of them but they’ll still say they came all over their phones or their desktop keyboards. old style. “ you’re not going to sleep because we’re talking ” and his hand grabs her wrist now. firm. tight enough to bruise if he pressed any further on the joints of her wrist. his eyes have an intensity about them that could be killer. but they’re also intense because he’s wanting her to keep talking to him.