i'm still intact.

how i feel logging back into this blog

                           a     spectator     sport     in     the     middle     of     summer’s     heat     ,     aligned     with     pews     and     crowded     bodies     .     sermons     become     a     chance     of     absorption     –     even     if     a     quaint     figure     stays     dormant     .     a     morbid     fascination     ,     however     spoken     aloud     to     only     select     few     –     eve’s     insight     to     runnings     perhaps     fall     upon     deaf     ears     .     “     you     know     ,     ”     spoken     below     breath     ,     mellowed     out     and     slightly     hollow     .     her     approach     holds     no     substance     while     she     thinks     ,     calculates     …     admires     .     “     i’ve     always     possessed     an     insatiable     need     to     see     what     happens     inside     the     room     .     ”     mildew     breath     and     spoken     from     confession     ,     however     still     somehow     sweet     .     “     i     want     to     know     what     they     do     .     ”

                             “     yep     …     still     as     creepy     down     here     as     it     was     last     year     .     ”    stating     the     obvious     ,     but     when     soles     hit     the     unruly     terrain     of     the     mountain’s     trail     ,     her     nose     is     upturned     .     doesn’t     want     to     be     a     prude     given     the     circumstance     ⎯⎯⎯     a     fight     leading     to     the     both     of     them     walking     in     stride     to     a     guest     cabin     ⎯⎯⎯     but     unable     to     shake     it     ,     fully     .     “     i     mean     ,     i     wouldn’t     say     it’s     my     fault     she     got     so     pissy     with     me     ,     ”     just     some     people     can’t     take     a     joke     .     complaining     nevertheless     ,     despite     aforementioned     friends     left     in     the     dust     while     her     boots     crunch     against     the     snow     .     never     the     one     at     fault     ,     kiera’s     diverting     responsibility     .     but     ,     still     wouldn’t     accept     the     nature     of     arrival     ,     the     cabin     itself     …     how     the     air     hit     her     skin     like     a     perfect     winter’s     night     .     (     it     helped     that’s     what     it     was     ,     sub     zero     temperatures     and     all     )     .     she’s     bunching     her     jacket     ,     torch     shining     in     every     direction     because     the     noises     she     hears     can’t     be     normal     ,     unless     she’d     track     it     down     to     paranoia     .     too     many     animals     ,     not     enough     light     .     while     trudging     ,     femme     takes     a     look     beyond     shoulder     ,     gazing     at     other     in     the     little     path     she     could     muster     .     “     you     really     should     be     thanking     me     ⎯⎯⎯     alone     time     in     our     friend’s     run     down     guest     cabin     ?     think     that’s     the     ultimate     night     out     here     .     ”     remaining     hopeful     ,     simmering     tensions     at     ease     for     a     moment     .     “     cute     date     ,     right     ?     ”

at the offer, he blinked — startled, it seemed, as if generosity were rarer than cruelty in his world. he looked up, not at the house or the sun but at vicente, like he was trying to read something between the lines of his face. "food’d be kind." he said, but didn’t step forward yet. "truth is, you could offer me sand and i’d be grateful, long as it came from a good man’s hand." his head tilted, just a little. curious. considering. "and you strike me as that kind. quiet, maybe. but kind." it was a compliment dressed in simplicity — easy to swallow, easy to doubt. eamon didn’t press it. didn’t even seem like he needed it to land. "what d’you figure?" he asked after a beat, casual. "does doing right still count if nobody’s watching?" and though the question hung light between them, almost like a joke, something older and sadder flickered behind eamon’s smile — like he already knew the answer.

“    oh    ,    i    think    that    depends    on    who    you    ask    ⎯⎯⎯    ”    speaks    truthfully    ,    because    if    vicente    was    an    honest    ,    good    ,    man    ,    he’d    answer    in    a    heartbeat    .    but    he’s    not    .    has    enough    skeletons    in    his    closet    to    fill    a    graveyard    ,    a    crossing    stranger    was    the    least    of    his    worries    .    sparing    food    and    water    also    weren’t    an    issue    ,    at    all    .    keeping    the    rogue    parts    of    himself    hidden    ,    however    ?    entirely    different    .    careful    the    way    he    treads    ,    metaphorically    and    literally    ,    knuckles    grasping    at    the    wood    of    the    door    ,    swinging    the    screen    open    .    a    silent    move    ,    invitation    ,    as    he    laughs    .    that    is    new    ,    the    sound    of    jovial    entertainment    ⎯⎯⎯    especially    in    this    part    of    town    ;    for    him    .    he    ponders    for    a    moment    ,    back    turned    as    he    walks    upward    ,    simply    expecting    the    other    male    to    follow    like    some    loyal    dog    .    however    he’s    learnt    that    nothing    ⎯⎯⎯    or    no    one    ⎯⎯⎯    is    ever    really    loyal    .    a    smile    hidden    ,    hand    spreading    the    skin    of    his    neck    while    he    cranes    ⎯⎯⎯    joints    clicking    ,    before    an    exhale    .    “    age    old    question    ,    isn’t    it    ,    ”    now    he    speaks    in    vagueness    ,    acutely    aware    of    presence    .    “    if    the    tree    fell    in    the    forest    but    no    one    was    around    to    hear    it    ⎯⎯⎯    did    it    really    make    a    sound    ?    ”    fears    no    way    of    sounding    stupid    now    :    it’s    already    left    his    mouth    .    “    either    way    ,    it    works    .    same    with    doing    right    .    ”    he    guesses    .

"the world bruised you and called it discipline. told you it was your fault the love never stayed." a breath. a smile. soft, slow, full of rot. "but i see you. i see through you, alden." he stepped close enough to brush their shadows together. "and i don’t want the polished version. i don’t need the repented sinner or the reformed man." he tilted his head, eyes dark and shining. "i want the truth of you. raw and ruined. i want everything the world spat out." he finally let the name fall again, reverent. "and yes, alden. i will save you." his voice dipped to something near a purr. "but you must understand — once you’ve been saved, you don’t belong to yourself anymore." another beat. something shifted in the trees. a whisper with no mouth. "you’ll belong to me." he waited, patient as prophecy. "say yes." and just under it, a glimmer of something colder. hungrier. "say it, and the world ends here."

but    he    is    not    a    man    of    wisdom    ,    let    alone    intuition    .    no    matter    how    much    his    head    tells    him    one    thing    ,    physically    ,    he    stays    .    embedded    into    the    floor    where    feet    trap    ,    his    limbs    frozen    and    a    gaze    that’s    situated    on    the    other    .    closes    in    ,    and    alden    doesn’t    stop    it    .    he    just    listens    ⎯⎯⎯    really    listens    ⎯⎯⎯    to    the    beg    ,    the    wait    ,    anything    that    could    make    him    stay    .    this    isn’t    like    a    church    ,    where    he    sits    to    confess    and    gets    bathed    clean    .    he    knows    that    .    he    knows    that    something    else    –    something    powerful    ⎯⎯⎯    resides    in    the    brace    ,    just    close    enough    for    him    to    taste    in    the    air    .    but    ,    with    all    the    good    ,    there    is    the    bad    .    doesn’t    wish    to    keep    his    hands    from    shaking    ,    a    predetermined    attribute    his    mother    once    scolded    him    for    ,    only    wishes    he    could’ve    grown    from    it    .    that’s    what    makes    him    him    ,    and    the    idea    of    that    disappearing    sounds    tense    .    makes    him    tense    .    at    what    point    does    that    become    less    of    a    promise    ,    and    more    of    a    threat    ?    he    isn’t    sure    .    “    ⎯⎯⎯    no    .    ”    singular    word    ,    short    and    abrupt    ,    as    if    he’s    been    mulling    it    over    in    his    mind    .    “    i    can’t    not    belong    to    myself    .    ”    a    pause    ,    then    eyes    upon    his    .    “    i    may    be    rotted    and    ruined    but    …    why    must    the    world    end    at    your    word    ?    ”

the air hangs thick as communion wine left to sour — heat curling in the rafters of the chapel like a waiting breath. naomi does not sit with the others. she leans against the doorway like she’s ready to leave. like she’s always ready to leave. her dress is old-lace and mud at the hem. her hands are ink-smudged from the last name she etched on a burial tag. "they don't do anything you ain’t seen before." she says, voice low and bitter like over-steeped tea. a half-look cast toward eve, toward that still little question curled up behind her words. "they sing. they sweat. they pretend it’s the spirit." she taps her temple. "but you know that already, don't you?" the dead have been talking all morning. and one of them mentioned her. the girl with the sugar-rot smile and the itch to know. "you wanna know what they do in the room? nah." her voice softens, just a little. almost tender. almost cruel. "you should ask what the room does to them." she holds the pause in the air, weighted, before a laugh overcomes her. "i'm just kiddin'. but, you should just sneak in one day, huh?"

                           “    what    ,    you’ve    seen    them    ?    ”    seems    silly    to    accuse    otherwise    ,    accent    heavy    through    curiosity    ,    but    can’t    keep    brow    from    raising    at    the    perked    statement    .    it’s    always    eve’s    questions    that    get    her    into    trouble    –    wrong    time    ,    definitely    wrong    person    .    or    ,    additionally    ,    right    person    but    the    wrong    crowd    .    spoken    in    hushed    whispers    through    her    own    mind    before    towards    anyone    else    ,    the    words    naomi    speak    would    be    taunting    from    anyone    else    .    no    one    gets    her    .    they’ve    always    mistaken    her    for    some    kind    of    outlandish    passer    .    but    from    other    femme    ,    feels    like    a    genuine    conversation    –    that    ,    or    she’s    bad    at    cues    .    “    i    mean    ,    i’ve    heard    things    before    ,    but    never    watched    .    my    sister    used    to    say    it    was    all    hogwash    .    ”    that’s    never    stopped    her    though    ,    a    fascination    to    the    unknown    .    what    shouldn’t    be    spoken    of    ,    or    to    for    that    matter    .    there’s    a    moment    of    consideration    ,    standing    like    it’s    some    kind    of    demand    .    just    instead    deciding    she’s    growing    tired    of    sitting    ,    wood    aches    her    bones    for    hours    on    end    now    –    not    as    soft    as    she    once    was    .    “    chews    them    up    and    spits    them    out    ,    i    bet    .    but    ⎯⎯⎯    come    on    ,    i    can’t    sneak    in    .    ”    she    would    ,    if    it    meant    her    suspicions    were    aided    .    tended    to    .    voice    dips    then    ,    her    tone    soft    as    if    someone    were    to    hear    in    passing    .    “    unless    you    think    i    could    ?    ”

sol's smile faltered, just enough to seem real. just enough to seem human. "no." he said, voice soft, almost indulgent. "only when i want to be understood." the distance between them narrowed, not fully by feet the other gave, but by the way solomon looked at him — as if he'd read every buried ache in alden's marrow. as if this meeting had been promised, long before either of them had language for it. "you say that like it disqualifies you." he said. "like being far from saving makes you less worth the effort." a beat. the murmur of cicadas. the distant splash of something unseen in the water. "but that’s not how we work here." he said we like it meant something holy. like there were arms open behind the trees, waiting to catch whatever pieces homme couldn’t hold together himself. "you’ve been carrying the weight of being unwanted for so long." he continued, stepping closer, low voice threading itself into the silence between breaths. "you ever consider that maybe the world’s been wrong?" sol didn’t press the hand again. it stayed there, steady, as if it could wait all night. "you’re not far from saving, alden." he spoke his name like he’d always known it. "you’re standing on the edge of it."

so     next     comes     an     inhale     ,     sharp     and     deep     .     deliberate     in     the     way     it     pangs     at     his     chest     while     he     narrows     a     gaze     .     a     blank     read     on     someone     ,     and     yet     ,     there’s     something     telling     him     that     he’s     right     ;     he’s     meant     to     be     here     .     led     astray     before     ,     he     takes     no     chances     in     the     repetition     .     he     can’t     ,     for     his     own     sake     .     “     do     you     think     i’m     worthy     of     saving     ?     ”     questions     ,     as     if     confessionals     still     existed     ⎯⎯⎯     doesn’t     know     of     their     manner     now     ,     in     fact     .     it     bleeds     from     his     tongue     within     a     second     ,     not     even     a     chance     to     allow     his     brain     to     catch     up     with     what     his     mind     thinks     .     “     ⎯⎯⎯     will     you     ,     i     mean     .     save     me     .     ”

                              ❝      right,      so      ―      this      the      part      where      you      turn      me      in,      or      what?      ❞      cadence      mirrors      that      of      worry,      feigning      the      timbre      just      as      well      as      his      expression.      brows      knit      together,      cheeks      flushed.      (      when      in      truth,      there      was      no      way      he'd      the      other      leave      here,      still      breathing,      if      they      had      any      intentions      of      selling      him      out.      )      nor      were      they      as      smart      as      they      thought      they      were,      catching      him      in      the      act,      per say.      this      was      all      intentional      ―      he      wanted      them      to      see,      to      question      him.      to      be      interested.      ❝      i'm      still      me,      you      know?      come      onnnn      ...      that      look      on      your      face      is      tellin'      me,      you're      not      gonna      say      shit.      in      fact,      what      else      is      there,      hm?      intrigue?      you      sicko.      ❞

                           “     what     …     the     fuck     .     ”     a     moment     of     silence     as     she     stays     stagnant     ,     observing     the     scene     on     par     .     stomach     churns     ,     expectedly     ,     and     air     feels     as     if     it’s     restricted     ,     laboured     ⎯⎯⎯     summoned     at     the     worst     of     times     .     can’t     decipher     ,     can’t     entirely     articulate     ⎯⎯⎯     seems     easier     said     than     done     ,     but     in     a     state     of     shock     nonetheless     ;     feels     as     if     the     world     spins     ,     and     she     can’t     hop     off     to     rid     herself     of     …     whatever     this     was     .     “     no     ⎯⎯⎯     you’re     ⎯⎯⎯     are     you     fucking     insane     ?     ”     casey     asks     as     if     she     needs     confirmation     now     ,     the     unwavering     sense     of     dread     coats     her     .     but     if     she     had     to     play     a     game     ,     she     didn’t     want     it     to     be     this     one     .     his     one     .     where     jude     made     the     rules     and     apparently     ,     she’d     have     to     abide     by     them     .     “     you’re     the     sick     one     here     .     i     mean     ⎯⎯⎯     they’re     fucking     dead     !     ”     and     he’s     at     the     hand     of     it     ,     by     what     she     can     assume     .     doesn’t     need     confirmation     ,     seen     more     than     enough     .     the     scene     of     the     crime     …     complicated     in     revelation     .     yet     ,     she     remains     .     “     you     gonna     kill     me     next     ?     is     that     your master     plan     here     ?     ”