well. hello there.

          soft   gaze   takes   note   of   his   name   tag   and   she   offers   another   laugh   like   wind   chimes,     ‘     if   we’re   being   HONEST,   mister   joe—   the   last   novel   of   VALUE   i   picked   up   was   CANTERBURY TALES.   i   couldn’t   put   it   down   as   a   kid.     ‘     which   was   semi-true.   she   had   received   it   as   a   GIFT   from   an   ADMIRER   when   she   resided   in   LONDON   for   a   year.   she   may   actually   still   harbor   it   on   a   shelf   within   the   confines   of   her   HOLE-IN-THE-WALL   apartment.   but   that   was   DECADES   ago   after   all.   harmonia   had   long   stopped   reading   for   PLEASURE.

          her   fingernails,   painted   a   sparkly   GOLD,   thrum   against   her   purse,   she   tries   to   THINK.   greek   mythology   would   be   PRETENTIOUS.   the   authors   he   mentioned   previously,    despite   being   COVETED   by   many,   died   tragically.   and   that   alone   was   enough   to   put   a   sour   taste   in   her   mouth.     ‘     what   about   that   one   ?     ‘     quick,   silent   footsteps   make   way   to   the   corner   containing   a   minty   colored   cover   with   a   STUNNING   girl   on   it.

          ‘     guinevere beck.      ‘     fingers   trace   the   title   gently.   she   can   FEEL   a   tension   now,   so   much   so   that   her   head   whips   to   his   direction,     ‘     is   this   any   good   ?     ‘     the   blonde   is   that   dead   girl   from   the   papers,   harmonia   realizes.   angelic   features   resort   to   a   frown,   her   eyes   feel   heavy.   she’ll   CRY   later.   most   likely   send   ms. beck   a   PRAYER.

          the   brunette   clears   her   throat,     ‘     i   hope   she   wasn’t   in   too   much   pain.     ‘

𝐨𝐡,   𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞  𝐦𝐞  𝐚  𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤?  there you are,  beck.  and here you are again  ---  stamp on my goddamn heart a little harder,  won’t you?  there’s still an inch of it that’s not completely shattered.  (i’m sorry.  i’m a little distracted  ---  i guess you don’t get that yet,  but one day you will.  one day,  i’ll tell you all about her.  you’ve got my focus now,  i promise.  i’m not like those other guys who go for more than one girl at the same time.)

           “well,  chaucer’s a good choice,  so.”   chaucer!  oh,  thank fucking god.  for a second,  you scared me there  ---  i thought you were into books that wouldn’t have any business in a sewer,  let alone a goddamn library.  maybe you are the one,  then.  maybe i need to start doing a bit of research.  (google’s a good place to start  ---  all i need is a name.  a name,  and we can go from there.  that’s straight - forward,  right? ) 

          but god - fucking - dammit,  beck.  how the fuck am i supposed to play this?  ---  mournful ex?  just a friend?  bookstore joe?  god,  you’re a pain in the ass even in death.  guinevere beck.  student.  writer.  corpse.  good riddance,  if you ask me  ---  okay,  i know i sound bitter.  but the girl’s left me with some baggage that i’m trying to sort through.  i’m hoping you can help me there  ---  distract me.  give me something else i can look to.  because i have a feeling we’d be great,  you and i.

              “oh.  yeah.  she was my ex.”   it’s never good to bring up your ex when you first meet someone.  (would you even call it an ex,  if you were still technically together when you brought the mallet down?  hey,  what can i say?  i’m not the writer here.  i’m not the wordsmith.)

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ,   𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐈𝐅  𝐈𝐓'𝐃  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 .   her  moment  of  escape ,   that  is .   cold  metal  still  presses  against  the  underside  of  her  bra ,   waiting  to  be  used   —   hoping  that  it  wouldn’t  get  her  in  trouble .   there  had  to  be  some  moment  where  he  wasn’t  here ,   restlessly  watching  over  her  as  if  she  had  any  means  to  escape .   at  least  she  can  outsmart  him  by  a  few  movements .   it  was  all  planned  out .   the  key ,   anything  sharp  within  her  reach ,   anything  that  could  get  her  free .   it’d  take  some  time ,   but  she  was  more  than  ready  to  get  out .   it  takes  only  a  second  of  thought  from  eyes  to  dash  to  the  old  hiding  place ,   then  wandering  behind  him .   all  of  it’s  a  quick  movement ,   hoping  there  was  no  way  he  could  know .   he  couldn’t  unless  he  came  in  himself  to  search  for  the  key .   knowing  it  was  in  her  possession  was  a  breath  of  fresh  air ,   waiting  until  the  moment  where  she  could  take  a  deep ,   staggering  breath  of  actual  fresh  air  as  she  got  the  hell  away  from  the  bookstore .   it  seemed  all  too  good  to  be  true .   now  eyes  flash  back  to  him ,   arms  crossing  as  she  stares   &   plays  along ,   still  wanting  answers  as  badly  as  she  didn’t  want  to  be  here   &   hear  him  out .

‘   you  did  it  for  me .   ’   she  nods ,   eyeline  no  longer  meeting  his ,   instead  gazing  at  the  ground ,   wondering  what  the  stains  were .   ‘   i  did  not  ask  you  to  kill  for  me .   who  the  fuck  would  do  that ?   i  don’t  give  a  shit  how  much  you  hated  them ,   at  least  have  some  decency  to  know  that  i  didn’t .   ’   peach  was  an  oddity   ;   someone  beck  took  care  of ,   looked  after ,   loved .  her  best  friend .   as  odd   &   horrible  as  peach  could  be ,   she  still  adored  her .   as  for  benji   .   .   .   she  loved  him  as  well .   he  constantly  hurt  her ,   always  jabbing   &   verbally  punching  right  where  it  hurt .   it  tore  her  up  inside ,   but  that  didn’t  stop  the  feelings  that  were  sadly  there .   head  shakes  once  again ,   this  time  keeping  a  slow  pace  as  she  tries  to  take  it  all  in .   joe  was  undeniably ,   certifiably  insane  .   none  of  what  he  was  saying  would  make  sense  to  any  sane  person .   it  didn’t  even  register  on  the  same  wavelength  of  normalcy .   ‘   why  were  you  there ?   on  the  tracks .   how  did  you  know ?   that  wasn’t  some  fluke  or  fate  or  whatever  bullshit  you  wanna  blame  it  on .   ’   every  idiotic  circumstance ,   every  time  she  wondered  if  he  was  following  her   .   .   .   well ,   surely  he  was .   she  saw  her  old  phone  hidden  away  with  all  of  his  sick  keepsakes ,   along  with  panties  that’d  gone  missing  long  before  she  even  knew  him .   ‘   it’s  murder .   no  matter  how  you  phrase  it .   i  don’t  care  how  badly  they  could’ve  hurt  me .   i  cared  for  them   &   you  ripped  them  away  for  me  for  your  own  selfish  needs ,   so  you  could  trap  me  before  i  even  knew  it .   ’

a  moment  of  quiet  contemplation .   temper  soothing  over  for  the  time  being ,   childlike  stance  getting  in  the  way  as  her  arms  remained  crossed ,   all  while  taking  a  breather .  against  all  instincts ,   she  listens .   she  takes  the  bait ,   hand  extending  for  the  fork  to  cut  off  a  piece  of  the  waffle ,   shoving  it  in  her  mouth  rapidly .   tastebuds  rejoiced .   her  mind  fighting  against  it ,   needing  her  to  spit  it  out ,   but  now  that  the  food  had  entered  her  system ,   there  was  no  way  she  wanted  to  stop .   but  she  does .   she  does  just  so  he  can  be  satisfied  by  one  little  bite .   puffy ,   dry  lips  press  against  the  lid  of  her  latte ,   washing  it  down  before  taking  a  good  look  at  him .   words  come  out  quickly ,   drier  than  ever .   no  longer  does  she  care  about  putting  any  kind  of  emotion  behind  it .  ‘   alright .   who  fucked  you  up  this  badly ,   joe ?   to  think  that  what  you’re  doing ,   keeping  me  trapped  in  a  glass  cage ,   is  some  delusional  version  of  love   &   caring .   ’

              𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝.   𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞  𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞.   at least that’s a start.  see,  i’ve spent weeks trying to understand you  ---  months trying to get to know you better.  you somehow believed that a guy like benji is all you deserved.  you somehow believed that someone like peach,  with all her drama and all her perversions,  was the only best friend that you had.  god,  you lived such a sad life  ---  and then you let me.  when you let go of those things in your life,  look what happened.  you’re a writer.  you write.  you don’t sit there,  drinking you caramel fucking macchiato and dipping your toe in the proverbial river and staring out the window like a goddamn over - hyped,  over - watched music video.  because that’s not life.  we get that,  though,  right,  beck?  you and i  ---  we understand that. 

there are some things you need to know.  one,  i’m not a killer.  passionate,  yes,  but i never set out to kill those people  ---  they were just obstacles that needed to get out the way. two,  i only took your panties as a keepsake  ---  a little memoir,  if you will.  the first time i met you.  then the first time i was in your apartment.  ode to beck.  i didn’t do anything creepy with them,  okay?  i just wanted them.  nice guys don’t get what they want,  unless they go and take it.  so i did what any other guy would do,  and took them.

         “but i didn’t set out to kill them,  beck  ---  i didn’t do it on purpose.  you have to understand that,  right?”  you have to,  beck,  because frankly  ---  i’m not sure how we’re supposed to get through this if you don’t.  i don’t know what i’m going to do.  at least we’re making progress  ---  opening a dialogue.  doctor nicky would be proud  ---  we’re finally processing our feelings in a healthy,  constructive way.  but i’m not sure if you ever listened to him,  when you were pressed up against his nice,  long,  hard  oak desk.  (but i don’t blame you for that.  he took advantage of you.  i’ll deal with him soon.)

and now you’re eating.  i knew you’d feel better once you got some food down you.  that’s why i got your favourite  ---  i told you i was a good boyfriend.  you eat,  and i’ll eat too.  that’s why i pull the chair up  ---  not because i particularly want this conversation to happen,  but at least we’re having breakfast together again.

          “candace broke my heart,  beck.  i had to make sure you were safe  ---  i had to make sure you wouldn’t do that to me too.”    candace.  god,  i thought we were over this. the whole get to know my ex and how she hurt me spiel is really getting fucking old right about now.  we’ve been through this.  we’ve had the i would never hurt you that way talk over eggs and coffee. 

𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐃𝐈𝐃  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄  𝐈𝐍  𝐌𝐄𝐍  𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐆𝐄𝐓  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇  𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏  𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓 .   there  were  a  million  things  she  could’ve  done  differently ,   starting  with  her  daddy  issues   &   ending  with  letting  joe  go .   she  should  have  never  taken  him  away  from  little  karen  minty .   if  she  could  just  leave  well  enough  alone  then  she’d  never  be  here   —   trapped ,   heartbroken ,   mourning ,   waiting  for  him  to  end  it  all .   as  tense  as  her  body  was  waiting  for  it ,   she  had  to  wonder  if  he  ever  would .

‘   i  don’t  want  you .   ’   well ,   not  anymore .   it  was  truly  fascinating  to  know  that  she  once  did .   that  months  of  mixed  feelings  ended  with  love   &   this  sickly  need  for  him .   he  took  care  of  her  in  the  way  she  needed ,   but  at  what  cost ?   ‘   why  would  i  want  you ?   a  killer ,   a  stalker ,   a  jealous  lunatic  who ,   for  some  reason ,   thinks  that  there’s  a  future  here ,   that  i  can  get  past  this .   &   you’re  looking  at  me  like  i’m  the  crazy  one .   ’   body  shudders ,   jaw  tenses .   there  were  a  million  different  terrible  words  to  be  spewed  in  his  direction .   a  couple  days  ago  she  vowed  to  stop ,   mainly  an  experiment  to  get  this  to  stop ,   for  him  to  dish  out  the  keys   &   let  it  be  over  with .   however ,   that  was  proving  to  be  completely   &   utterly  impossible   ;   a  daydream  or  a  wish  on  a  fallen  eyelash  that’d  never  come  true .   feet  that’d  previously  been  glued  to  the  ground  now  slowly  inch  towards  him ,   leaving  the  glass  as  the  only  space  between  the  two .   ‘   who  fucked  you  up  so  badly  that  you  think  loving  someone  means  trapping  them ?   is  this  where  candace  died ,   too ?   ’   though  she’d  seen  her  new  instagram ,   she’s  starting  to  doubt  everything .   why  would  she  up   &   leave ?   did  joe  let  her  escape ?   is  she  as  dead  as  peach ?

clearly  she’s  exhausted .   vacant  eyes  stare  down  at  the  food ,   her  stomach  screaming  to  be  fed .   against  her  will ,   her  mouth  begins  to  water  as  she  fantasizes  about  indulging  herself .   giving  in  would  make  them  both  mildly happy .   putting  her  hunger  strike  to  an  end  was  not  an  action  she  planned  on .   whether  she  wants  to  or  not ,   a  hand  extends  for  the  latte ,   her  tastebuds  overjoyed  the  second  the  liquid  reached  her  tongue   &   extended  onwards .   through  listening  to  the  emptiness  of  her  ravenous  stomach ,   she  glides  past  his  question ,   overlooking  the  part  about  this  not  being  a  prison .   it  was .   he  had  to  know  that .   it’s  something  she  lets  go ,   until   .   .   .

his  words  cause  a  clear   —   albeit  dry   —   laughter  that  escapes  from  her  chest .   eyes  well  up  with  tears  once  again ,   but  hell ,   at  least  she’s  laughing .   ‘   not  a  killer ?   fuck’s  sake .   ’   she  whispers ,   hand  reaching  up  for  her  forehead  to  push  her  hair  away  from  her  forehead  as  she  takes  it  all  in .   ‘   you  killed  peach   &   benji   & —   god  knows  who  else .   &   for  us ?   for  us ,   joe ?!   they  weren’t  the  greatest  people ,   but  they  didn’t  deserve  to  be  murdered .   ’   though  she’d  been  trying  to  prevent  it ,   her  palm  hits  the  wall  harder  than  before ,   wishing  it  was  him  than  a  panel of  glass .   a  stray  tear  falls  as  her  hand  begins  to  sting .   ‘   no  matter  how  you  want  to  look  at  it ,   you’re  a  killer .   if  anyone  deserves  to  be  locked  up ,   it’s  you .   ’

          𝐢'𝐯𝐞  𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞  𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞  𝐚𝐰𝐟𝐮𝐥  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.  i know.  i have.  i’m human though,  beck!  i make mistakes,  and i do things i shouldn’t,  but at least i have a noble reason behind it,  right?  i do it for love.  benji?  well,  benji did it because he was a fucking heroin addict.  that would’ve broken you,  beck  ---  to know that the guy you let inside your bed would hurt you the way your father did.  i protected you from that.  i knew  ---  he had to go.  does it not mean anything that i did these things for you?  for love?  i’m not a monster.  i’m not like the other guys who don’t even make you cum before packing up their shit and moving on to the next one.  i mean,  god,  beck.  you really are fucking naïve if you think i’m the worst of them.

          “no...  you don’t know  ---  you don’t understand...”     and maybe that’s it.  i keep trying to make you understand,  but all that’s left of benji is a few molars i couldn’t get rid of,  and peach’s phone is long tossed into the hudson.  they’re just mementos.  trophies.  evidence of the kind of thing i’d do for you,  beck. 

                          “i’m not a killer,  beck.  i did it for you.”    i did everything for you!  i did your laundry!  i helped you build a fucking bed with swedish instructions and a goddamn screwdriver!  i made sure you were safe,  and happy  ---  because you were happy,  beck!  you were happy with me!  and you still could be!

        “no...  you don’t mean that.  i’ll  ---  i’ll prove it to you,  okay?  that night.  on the tracks.  i saved your life,  right?  because i was there,  beck.  i was always there for you.”    you can’t say i wasn’t.  then again,  you don’t know what i did for you,  beck.  for us.  i’d move the goddamn ocean for you if you asked.

           “peach  ---  peach was obsessed with you,  beck  ---  she watched you in the bath.  she kept photos.  and benji  ---  benji wasn’t right for you.  he was a chipper.  and a fraud. ”     i mean,  god,  come on  ---  you’re smarter than that.  you had to know he was fucking this leanna girl behind your back. l-e-a-n-n-a  ---  even his fucking password made him sound like a douche.  you really don’t see that?

           “he would’ve hurt you,  beck.  over and over again.  look,  i know i’ve done some...  questionable things.  and you have every right to be mad.  but  ---  we can get through this.  we can get through anything.”    and i do believe that,  beck!  you just have to give this a chance!  you fight it,  and you thump against the glass,  but you know there’s no getting out without the key.  and i’m the only one who knows where that is,  so please,  for the love of god,  stop fighting this.  

            𝐢  𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰,  𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐤.  i’ve seen you when you’re not.  we’ve spent the day together,  you know  —  you walk blindly through the streets of the village and you don’t even look back at who might be following…  you really are too trusting sometimes.  but don’t worry  —  we’ll work on that.  when we’re closer.  when we’re closer,  i’ll buy you some blinds.  you shouldn’t be showcasing that stretch of skin under your shirt to just anyone,  i mean  —  jesus christ,  beck.  you think you’d learn.  any kind of pervert could be watching you through your window.

why are you so sad,  beck?  you’re so sad.  you’re syIvia goddamn pIath sad and i just want to know why.  because if i know why,  i can help you.  and if i can help you,  you won’t look so goddamn wounded all the time.  i want to help,  beck.  let me stroke your hair while you cry into my shoulder,  because you know i’m safe.  i’m good,  old,  safe joe.  i’m the one,  beck.  and i know we’re probably not there yet,  and it’s okay not to admit it,  because in time,  you will.  and it’ll be just that much sweeter when you do.

                 “hey.  it’s okay.”   you’re drunk.  and upset.  but you really should be more careful,  beck  —  you never know what kind of man’s skulking around at night.  because it’s definitely not the type you should be seeing.

                    “let’s get you some water,  alright?”   because your nose is running,  and your eyes are red and tired,  and your skin goes blotchy when you cry…  you still manage to look beautiful.  and one day i’ll tell you that.  one day,  when we grow old and grey and you buy orthopaedic shoes because they’re easier on your back,  and i’m on some goddamn heart medication,  i’ll do what i always do:  i’ll stroke your hair,  and hold you,  and you’ll laugh and cry and everything’ll be right.

                                        but first:  water.

              i make a great boyfriend.  sure,  i’ve got my baggage.  but who doesn’t?  you take it from me  —  you’re welcome,  by the way  —  and when you drink it, i shuffle closer.  i’m here for you,  beck.  let me in.  let me help.

     “luckily for you,  i am always like this.”     boyfriend of the fucking century.  you’ll understand,  when you see the other kinds of guys that are into you.  god,  beck.  you had such bad taste in men before me.  i’m glad you’ve changed.

                   “you wanna talk about it?”

            i’m leaving it up to you.  because if candace taught me one thing,  it’s that i can’t push it.  i can’t try and control our everythingship  —  cute,  right?  using it in a real sentence.  i’m leaving it open,  because even if you don’t tell me,  one day,  you will.

          new   york   was   such   a   SPLENDID   place.   bright   lights,   tight   streets   FLOODED   with   all   kinds   of   different   people.   it   made   the   goddess   feel   like   she   TRULY   belonged   somewhere.   though,   mortals   were   FICKLE.   most   unkind   and   uncaring.   the   litter   and   smells   of   the   state   made   her   heart   ache.   her   brothers   would   refer   to   it   as   a   CESSPOOL.   they’d   probably   LAUGH   at   her   for   seeking   a   life   here.   but   it   was   an   enamoring   area.   so   much   to   see   and   LEARN   at   that.

          the   long-ish   skirt   of   her   floral   dress   blows   hardily   against   the   winter   breeze.   she   wears   it   with   a   simple   cardigan   and   her   hair   flows   with   unruly   GRACE.   the   cold   of   the   city  does   not   bother   her   and   neither   did   the   hellish   heat   of   nevada.  could   she   pass   for   a   tourist   ?   maybe   a   foreign   exchange   student   ?   so   many   possibilities—   she   needed   to   get   her   story   straight   soon.   honey   brown   eyes   widen   at   the   bookshop.   wandering   around   for   hours,   she   can’t   help   but   stop   at   every   colorful   and   thoughtfully   designed   storefront.

          stepping   in,   her   lips   curl   into   a   smile.   childlike   wonder   guiding   her   over   to   the   POPULAR   table.   book   covers   consisting   of   pretty   people   embracing   but   it’s   the   one   with   the   GOLDEN RETRIEVER   that   snags   her   ATTENTION.   finger   tips   hover   atop   the   novel   as   her   eyes   crinkle   at   the   corners   while   she   reads   the   many   titles   that   surround   it.

          the   voice   JOLTS   the   woman   from   her   moment.   harmonia   jumps,   only   slightly   and   STILL   smiles   up   at   the   other   before   her.   he’s   tall.   pretty   too.   makes   her   cheeks   heat   up   involuntarily.   a   nervous   hum   …   a   gentle   chuckle,     ‘     how   could   you   tell   ?     ‘     the   deity   steps   back   from   him,   head   turning   and   getting   another   wide   look   at   the   shop,   before   allowing   her   gaze   to   return   to   his     ‘     give   me   your   best   recommendations   ?     ‘

𝐢'𝐦  𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞,   𝐨𝐧𝐞  𝐝𝐚𝐲  𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥  𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡  𝐚𝐭  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.   you,  hanging around the books we put out to entice a crowd that only reads because the movie goes at too fast a pace for them to truly get it.  me,  trying to steer you in the right direction toward some real literature  ---  real,  aching,  and raw.  i hate to admit it,  but you should read beck’s last piece.  moving stuff,  really  ---  but she always was that kind of girl.  broken.  hurt.  unable to string two goddamn words together without a metaphor of a dead puppy.  don’t worry,  you  ---  i’m over her,  now.  or,  i would be,  if ethan stopped putting the fucking books out with her face plastered all over them.  i mean,  is that not gauche as shit?  while your boyfriend is in mourning?  i mean,  come on,  beck.  it’s like you’re goddamn haunting me.

right.  sorry.  i want to focus all my attention on you  ---  it’s what you deserve.  and,  well,  at least you’re brave enough to admit you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.  you’re in the wrong section of the store.

           “generally,  when people find themselves around this area,  they don’t know what they’re looking for.”      generally,  when people find themselves around this area,  they have fewer IQ points than teeth and think marley and me is the tragedy of the goddamn century.  maybe that’s the tragedy in itself.

𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃  𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄  𝐀  𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍  𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 ,   𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒  𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃  𝐔𝐏 ,   𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘  𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓  𝐇𝐀𝐃  𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄  𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 .   how  the  hell  did  she  fall  prey  to  this  shit ?   truly  she  was  ripping  apart  at  the  seams ,   mind  slowly  maddening  by  every  hour  that  passed  in  this  godforsaken  cage ,   wondering  about  benji’s  last  moments   —   peach’s  last  moments .   how  her  last  few  seconds  would  go  down .   all  because  she  fell  for  someone  truly  psychotic .   protecting  her ,   he  says .  this  wasn’t  protection .   not  from  others ,   not  from  the  world .   it  was  a  prison  she  was  slowly  suffocating  in ,   his  torment  of  her  loved  ones  dwelling  into  her  brain  becoming  painstakingly  hard  to  breathe   &   wrap  her  head  around  something  as  asinine   &   deranged  as  this .   lungs  begin  to  expand ,   wailing  the  moment  she  hears  the  door  open .   where  the  fuck  was  ethan   &   why  couldn’t  he  hear  her ?   it  was  false  hope  that  she  hung  onto .   instead  the  face  she  saw  was  joe’s ,   leaving  her  face  to  redden ,   her  body  wanting  to  revolt .   revolting  is  a  no - go ,   all  her  strength  had  left  by  the  time  she  turned  away  sleep   &   food ,   wondering  what  would  kill  her  sooner   :   her  actions  or  joe .   

for  a  moment  she  decides  to  stand  still ,   instead  of  pounding  on  the  glass  like  a  lunatic   (   again   ) .   this  cage  was  her  prison .   escaping  was  proving  to  be  impossible ,   shattering  her  heart  every  time  her  palms  slapped  against  the  unrelenting  glass ,   hoping  for  a  crack .   yet ,   it  never  worked .   thoughts  ease  up ,   her  stomach  groans   &   growls  at  the  smell .   waffles   &   a  latte ,   just  the  way  she  liked  them .   for  a  split  second  she  envisions  devouring  the  savory  breakfast ,   knowing  how  good  it’d  taste .   head  shakes  once ,   the  thought  pushing  out  of  her  brain .   ‘   you  keep  saying  that—   ’   beck  begins ,   lethargy  taking  its  hold  as  she  tries  to  put  a  grasp  on  words  that’d  come  easily  had  she  not  been  stuck  in  a  fucking  cage .   ‘   how  am  i  supposed  to  write  down  here ?   i  mean ,   i’m—   i’m  trapped   &   you  expect   .   .   .   what ,   a  novel  from  me ?   ’   this  isn’t  a  stephen  king  story ,   is  what  she  wants  to  scream .   but  learning  from  all  previous  attempts ,   screaming  at  him  doesn’t  make  a  difference ,   nor  do  threats  ,   nor  harsh  words  or  promises  to  be  good   &   promises  to  be  with  him ,   to  love  him  despite  all  of  this  insane  bullshit .   ‘   what  do  you  want  from  me ,   joe ?   ’   an  exasperated  sigh  falls ,   hands  reaching  up  to  run  over  puffy ,   red  cheeks .   the  brokenness  inside  her  stays  prominent ,   wondering  if  he  was  even  capable  of  things  such  as  guilt  for  the  sad ,   pathetic  creature  in  front  of  him .

𝐢  𝐚𝐦  𝐚  𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭  𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.   i mean  ---  sure, we’ve had our ups and downs,  but we’re only human,  beck. hasn’t every relationship?  they were teh types of things we’d laugh about when we get old,  because you’d realise that i did all this for you.  just for you.  because we’re the real deal,  beck.  you want someone to take care of you,  and i empty the bucket of piss in the corner and prove i can do just that.  you ever doubt i’m the one?  try finding another guy who’s gonna clean your shit up for your like that,  because i can guarantee,  benji isn’t it.  (benji.  i wonder if you can tell he was in there   ---   he’d done enough damage to last a lifetime,  and after all that,  it was a splash of peanut oil that took him down?  i mean,  come on,  beck.  that’s natural selection at work.)

          “don’t you get it,  beck?  ---   i want to take care of you.”   i want you to be happy,  beck!  happy,  with me. and i know our situation isn’t ideal right now,  but you didn’t really give me a whole lot of choice.  how the hell you found my hideout,  i don’t know,  but maybe  ---  just maybe  ---  this will bring us closer together again. 

         “look at it this way.  you need somewhere to write, right?  no distractions.  you’ve got everything you could ever need,  and you’ve got me.”

you’ve got me,  beck. honestly,  it’s not that bad a situation.  couples have got through worse than this  ---  i mean,  honestly,  beck?  you kind of brought this on yourself.  who goes rooting around in someone’s ceiling for their box of murder trinkets?  that’s just impolite.  so take the damn waffles,  because i know how much you love them,  and drink your fucking coffee.  it’s not so difficult to be a functioning human being for once in your goddamn life.

             i mean,  look at me.  i’ll slide them through the window,  whether you eat them or not, and perch on the edge of the desk with my own stack.  see?  we’re having breakfast together,  beck.  whether today’s the day you finally decide to eat or not.

        “can i get you anything?  fresh clothes?  toothbrush?  i know,  the cage can be...  a lot.  but it’s not a prison.”      it’s only a prison if you let it be.  and if you don’t know where the spare key is hidden.  (don’t worry,  beck.  you won’t need the key.  i’m looking after everything.)

but this  ---  this is an opportunity for you,  beck.  you can write.  you can think.  you can talk it over with me,  and there’s no way you can freak out about it  ---  if you see the cage as a cage,  that’s all you’ll get out of it.  mooney’s locked me in there so many times,  i know exactly how you feel.  but you need to use it as an opportunity.  then it doesn’t feel so bad.  i promise you,  beck.  i would never hurt you.

         “i  ---  got waffles.”       not that you’re going to eat them anyway.  this hunger strike kick you’re on right now is really starting to piss me off,  beck.  how am i supposed to take care of you if you won’t let me?  take it.  i want you to.  i’ll be honest with you,  i don’t know how this ends  ---  i haven’t thought that far ahead.  but you need to write.  because you’re a writer.  because i fell in love with a writer,  and that’s who you are.  a genuine article.

        “extra whip.  and a latte  ---  thought you might need it.  for writing.”

      𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐚𝐫𝐞  𝐧𝐨𝐭  𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐭𝐨  𝐛𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧  𝐢  𝐠𝐨  𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧.   but this?  this is a major headache waiting to happen.  this is something i’m going to have to deal with.  sooner,  rather than later,  judging by the way you’re looking at me.  i’m not a bad guy.  you’ve got me all wrong,  detective   —   i’m an upstanding,  straight - edge guy.  you run my name,  and you won’t even find an unpaid parking ticket in my closet of skeletons. 

i guess that kind of thing takes precedent when there are quite real skeletons.  or,  in benji’s case,  a big,  come - to - jesus bonfire where all my problems went away with the scent of burning flesh.  gotta love the great woods in the city,  right?  now,  don’t get me wrong  —  i feel like you’ve got a preconceived version of the moody,  possessive boyfriend you think i was to beck.  i don’t like killing people.  who the fuck does?!   —   benji made me go vegetarian for a week,  until i stopped smelling putrid meat in the back of mooney’s buick.  and beck…  well,  you know i had to do it.

            — but i’ve seen enough rom - coms to know that this kind of thing happens to the protagonist all the time;  someone tries to get in the way of him and his love,  but that’s the thing about these stories.  love conquers all.  (but you…  you,  detective,  are going to be a pain in my fucking ass.  you’ve got to go.  before you find something that ties me to any of this.)

i’m sorry.  no,  really.  i am.  i’m sorry it’s going to come to this,  stella.  i am.  but i’m not going down for the things i did for love…  so i’m going to have to go back to it.  old school.  i’ll start with google,  as soon as i get the fuck out of this one.

                      “—  i’m sorry?”     the store’s too crowded to make any move right now.  the mallet’s downstairs  —  my head still throbs,  sometimes,  but i’ve wiped the rest of her blood from it and i’ve learned a whole bunch since beck;  you’d be amazed what bleach can do to biological evidence.

      “i wouldn’t hurt her.  i loved her.  how can i help?  —  dna,  evidence,  anything.  i want to help.”

go downstairs,  detective.  you’ll see what i mean   —   i’ve always been a sucker for love,  but there’s really nothing to see except a controlled environment and a few dozen rare books.  my apartment’s swept clean  —  benji’s teeth have long since been removed,  and beck’s underwear  —   well.  i’ll be honest with you.  those were the hardest to part with.

                      as the famous meatIoaf once said:  i’d do anything for love.  but i won’t do that.  but that just means you’re not trying enough.  see,  i’ve learned some things from my exes.  i’ve learned that i can’t push a relationship.  i have to let it work naturally.  there’s a grace period between texts  ---  did you know that?  that i’m supposed to wait before i reply?  honestly,  the rules around dating really are ridiculous.  but we won’t have to worry about that.

and i don’t blame you for wandering over to the popular garbage that mooney makes me string up like carcasses to try and entice people in,  because there are some people who’d prefer to read nichoIas sparks over orweII,  and there’s a huge fucking proportion of america that want their literature pressed down into easy, two-bite chunks that have the words now a major motion picture stamped at the bottom,  just for good measure.  that’s what’s wrong with america,  you know?  people have no patience these days.  that’s not me.  i wish i knew your name   ---   it feels rude,  just calling you you.

                 “hi. you look a little lost. can i help?”

               i don’t like coffee  ---  not really. it wakes me up,  and considering the months i’ve had...  you wouldn’t know,  but it’s been tough...  six am mornings to see beck in the morning...  three am nights to try and figure out how the fuck i’m supposed to get rid of a human body...  but you don’t need to worry about that.  that’s all in the past.  hopefully,  i can start thinking to the future.  and hopefully,  that means our future.

 i don’t like coffee,  but ethan’s taking more time off work to mourn,  and mooney’s in no state to talk,  let alone run his store.  so,  i guess you could say i’m running on fumes.  for you,  i’d do that.  i wanna show you that.  see  ---  we haven’t met yet.  but i’ve come here every day for the past week,  and you’re always there.  in my head,  i call you  black coffee,  one sugar  in my head when i’m alone,  but i’m just realising how weird that sounds.  i have to know your name.

mine’s a flat white  ---  simple.  easy.  you’re by the sugar.  now,  i don’t take sugar in mine  ---  this shit is overpriced and gross enough as it is,  without a hot,  syrupy mess at the bottom.  and what can i say?  maybe i need to get creative.

           this is going to hurt.

yup,  that’s scalding hot coffee all over my hand  ---  not yours,  i would never hurt you  --- and it burns,  but after a  less - than - unintentional  shoulder knock into you,  i’ve at least got your attention.

           “ah --- shit  ---  oh,  god,  i’m sorry  ---  did i get you?  oh,  god,  i’m sorry ---  here,  let me  ---”

              napkins.  play the good guy.  ignore the first degree burns.  don’t worry about me,  black - coffee - one - sugar.  i’ve gone through a lot worse for love.