SICK N TWISTED!

there’s a moth crawling on the window. the sound and movement catch will’s attention and he stands, the empty space in his wake instantly becoming occupied by the pillow, which sits there slumped in a position that’s eerily similar to the way will was just hunched over at his laptop. he shuts the blinds in the moth’s face and pretends he’s doing it a great disservice. it’s a cia moth, it came here to spy on them. but it can’t very well spy on them now, can it? “fuck you, moth,” he tells it. on his way back, he grabs a sweater, and uses it to make a tiny bed out of the chair. he’s too big to curl up in it. he tries anyway, lying at an odd angle on the pillow. “nah. those taste fake to me. i think it’s the fuckin’ lack of chocolate.” he shuts his eyes. “you need a ratio, or else it’s so fuckin’ weird. it’s like taking a bite outta the uncanny valley.”

the moth is watched intently. it’s an unspoken suspicion, one juniper thinks she can decipher by the way the corner of his mouth might quirk, the rigidity in his shoulders. yellow light from the desk lamp glows weakly in the windowpane, an artificial sun in the gloom of the night sky and trail of cobwebs that reach out, veiny in the brightness. ‘ the moth says fuck you too, ’ she murmurs, thumbing the edge of her textbook for the newest dog ear to be added at the top of a page. she’s too lazy for bookmarks — or perhaps without one again, the last crumpled 7/11 receipt swept up by the hungry mouth of a vacuum. legs tucked under her, it’s a subconscious mirror of her friend. they’re alike, a matching set of statues she thinks, although it’s hard to deny the slight chill that rests on the bare skin at the ankle of her trackpants that forces her to huddle. her words are muffled around the candies. ‘ but it’s not about the chocolate. it’s about the peanut butter. ’ a pause, as if to contemplate a deep thought embedded. ‘ it isn’t meant to be real sweet. more savoury and sweet, y’know? ’ she makes to read a page of her textbook, words running over but not sinking in. with a huff she glances back up at him, laughing breathily at the swathe of blankets will buried himself under. ‘ c’mon. you can’t say all of it’s bad. it’s like, a guilty pleasure or whatever. wait. nostalgic. that’s the word. ’

she stood barefoot in the sand, squinting out at the water, smoke wafting gently from the cigarette in her left hand. she rarely smoked around other people outside of impersonal ballet circles. june was an exception, allowed the secret at least in part because delilah couldn’t imagine her sharing it with anyone else. it was a closed loop. this part of the beach was empty at the moment, perhaps because of the temperature. it was evening now, and a few shades colder than delilah had expected it to get. “would you rather be a lighthouse keeper, or…” she stepped onto a large rock, as if hopeful it might grant her a better vantage point, reveal something more on the horizon. it did not. “a sailor? or none of the above?” @juneroth​

though the cigarette smoke’s acrid in her nose, harsh on the throat, it’s a comfort welcomed. it’s less a nuisance and more of a reminder, a signal of company she wants more than plenty others. it’s delilah — wordless, almost, faint shadow looming across the ground and over the tops of juniper’s bare feet, soles buried in between the piercing seashells and damp sand. ‘ lighthouse keeper. for the solitude. ’ the answer’s uneasy as the raise of gooseflesh on her forearms. ‘ but it might be too much of a good thing. there’s stories of haunted lighthouses, isn’t there? potential for cabin fever too, i guess. ’ she shrugs. it’s a half-hearted answer, but it’d never been easy for her to find a choice to be perfect. ‘ what would you be? ’ her arms eventually curl around her torso, huddled for warmth. ‘ i think you’d be a sailor. or maybe something else. what d’you think of sea monsters? the leviathan, things like that. ’

Stretched out on her back, Rosa’s cheeks flushed from the heated sun glaring down on them and the amount of alcohol she’d consumed with June. She’d already been a few drinks deep before the bottle of absinthe found its way into her grasp, and now she was mostly focusing on staying on this planet. The other’s voice creeping through to her consciousness made her crack an eye open, hand raising automatically to shade herself from the sun beams, “Think so?” she asked, clearing her throat when her voice cracked - a combination of the compliment and dryness, alcohol parching her. The flower had been a gift from a boy she hadn’t bothered to remember the name of, though he’d introduced himself twice before placing the hibiscus behind her ear. A rose for Rosa! The best she could give him back was rudely pointing out it wasn’t a rose in the slightest, “Here,” Taking it carefully between her thumb and index, she reached forward, free fingers tucking June’s locks behind her ear, then letting the flower follow, “We can share,” Following suit, Rosa sat herself up - only slightly, still sluggish and wanting to lounge. She was on her side now at least, using her elbow to rest on while her hand helped to elevate her head, “I don’t see anything - thought maybe I saw two of you for a second, but I’m back on earth. I’m kinda disappointed. It’d be nice to see some fairies. Even some goblins. But Alf is traipsing around here somewhere, that’s enough goblins for a lifetime,” Grasping at the bottle, Rosa read through the writing on the back with only mild difficulty, “Unless we didn’t drink enough. Or it’s the fake stuff. It’s banned in Canada, for some reason. But so’s Four Loko. They don’t know how to party there, apparently. When I first started drinking, I had one too many Four Loko’s one night and puked blue on some stranger’s trampoline. Got any traumatizing drinking stories? I’m feeling a bit embarrassed over here now.”

head lolled over, juniper’s knee met her cheek when she leaned forward, blush red and warmed. it’s difficult to focus. nothing moved fast and everything slowed, save for rosa’s voice, oddly clear in the din of the party. ‘ yeah. bald faced lyin’, ’ the last of the words are engulfed in a snort of laughter, amused by the words coming out of her mouth. they were foreign. spoken in another tongue, almost, distant and far away. ‘ oh. oh, yeah, ’ she laughs again, this time embarrassed, pink creeping up to the bridge of her nose and out to the ears. ‘ the hibiscus is really pretty. bright against your hair. suits you, i think. ’ it’s muscle memory to lift her head, give in to the instinctual nervousness as rosa’s hand extends. but she doesn’t swat it away or reel back. instead she’s motionless save for the eyes that follow the other’s hand towards her, blurred, in focus as it retreats before going out of her vision to tuck the flower stem in her ear. 

‘ oh, thanks. mine’s all dead, ’ shrugging at the curled petals of her own flower unmoved on the lawn, as she glances down there’s a coy smile playing at her mouth. ‘ swap soon. let me know when you want it back. ’ after what felt to be a lifetime of sitting up, exerting effort just to remain vertical, she has to lie flat again. ‘ two of me? that’s kinda cool. thought i saw two of the same person before but it was just twins. same outfits and everything. ‘least it wasn’t alf. you’re right, we gotta be grateful he hasn’t crossed our path yet. ’

at the thought of drinking horror stories she winces. nose crinkled in distaste, a laboured groan leaves her. ‘ ew. ’ a bout of girlish laughter ends short whatever else she was about to say, grasping at her stomach. ‘ man, that’s honestly impressive. uh, ’ voice breathy, it lets her catch air as she wracks her brain for a story. ‘ i remember. freshman party in gorham once, i skulled a bottle of moscato. liked it being sweet. tried to roll in a rose bush saying i was like, the red queen or something. from alice in wonderland, right? an RA stopped me before shit hit the fan. sure there’s others but, uh, can’t remember them. think the absinthe is really getting to me now. two plus two, or whatever? no idea what any of that means. ’

on the flat horizon is a blinding sunrise - in the wondrous space of ten minutes the sky’s changed from warm peach to a pale lemon, almost whitened, the sea becoming more shadowy. she’s lost time, plenty of it, though it’s let her have a moment with mimi alone. following her as a puppy at her heel through the traffic light party the night before, the red on her cheeks hardly brought on by face paint, it’s worth the dry mouth and a sharp growl in her stomach. it’s the furthest from nervous she’s felt in a while, strangely, no tremble to a hand that splashes droplets down her cheek when a hand reaches to push back fine hairs from her forehead. instead of the unruly flyaways that bothered her no matter how tightly she pulled her hair back, they’re starchy with ocean water and clung to the skin.

along with the elastic that’d held her hair back, most of the clothes that’d hung loosely off her during the night are gone. they’re crumpled in a pile back at the edge of the shore and dotted with loose sand. a faint ghost of bonfire smoke curls up in the distance. another hasty dunk beneath the water gives her time to gather a sentence, a meagre word or two, anything to break the precious quiet in a way that won’t make her regret it later. june surfaces, tiny gasps drawn in as a cool breeze hits the wet skin. ‘ ‘s much better than the campus pool here, ’ she murmurs, treaded water sloshing quietly around her. ‘ not like, dead. boring. just a box, nothin’ interesting. don’t really like the seaweed tickling my feet, though. makes me feel like i’m gonna be the next jaws victim. kinda stupid. feel like the kraken would get me before that happens. ’

“So, uh… yeah. That’s… That’s Helga, in pretty… beautiful cursive. I dunno… who Helga is, I’m assuming, uh… Assuming she was a dynamite character. Very tender,” Jude commentated as he gestured at his thigh, plopped on a sun lounger beneath a parasol in a pair of swimming shorts, towel over his shoulder. “And this, uh…” trailed off, barely tilting his head so he could indicate his upper arm, near to the shoulder, where a small baby had been tattooed. “That’s Caleb Montgomery, six months. He, uh… Left a photo lying around, so. Thought it might scare him. He was actually, uh… actually surprisingly moved, instead. Backfired a bit.” Squinting slightly, he studied June. “You got any? Go on, eye for an eye, and… shit.” @juneroth​

the novel, although well-thumbed, is left unread to wither under the midday sun at the end of her lounge chair. juniper may as well forget it’s there as she leans over to peer at the faded lettering on the top of jude’s thigh. ‘ give helga your own story, ’ she shrugs, a brief glance away in thought before settling back on the name. ‘ sounds european. fancy. uh, helga, daughter of a chicken farm mogul. got her own aspirations to go into... dunno. you pick that one. ’ it’s fascinating - not a stranger to odd huddles of people needling tattoos at a party in the upstairs bathroom, leafing through a magazine in the waiting room of a parlour as a friend yelps in pain from a design gotten on impulse, she’s got little to show herself. yet jude rings them off casually. nothing special, it sounds like. she can’t help but grin as a hand ghosts a line up towards his shoulder, urging her to circle the outline of a strangely young caleb. 

‘ huh. sounds like it didn’t work out like you wanted. coulda been seen as a nice gesture, y’know. ’ june’s hand retreats, goes to tap at a spot hidden under her shorts atop her own thigh, the leg now folded underneath her when she turned to face him better. ‘ had a friend in freshman year who wanted to do ‘em for a living. made me her own guinea pig for a six pack once, ’ a sheepish grin plays at the corner of her mouth. the skin’s much paler underneath the line of the shorts, reveals a greyed silhouette of disembodied, outstretched hands reminiscent of the creation of adam. juniper shrugged. ‘ fine art major. little wonky, though. ’

‘ so, have you spotted him yet? ’ there’s a diligence to the stakeout that’s reminiscent of a day-long study in the library, all stiff necks and tense jaws and fingertips numb from scribbling notes. except it’s warm, the last of evening sunlight on exposed limbs that makes her grow sleepy, stomachs pressed flat to the roof tiling. her phone’s nearly dead - a side-effect of frantic texts to will holding complaints about parties and conspiracies on fellow students alike. ‘ a fresher told me the guy was here. wears those drug dealer sunglasses and a singlet top. also walks backwards. everywhere. ’ no luck. although the rest of the backyard is a spatter of bright paint, stained clothes, raucous laughter, it couldn’t have been hard to pick out a guy like that. ‘ doesn’t matter how drunk he gets, either. he still walks funny. ’

‘ yeah, i know. i didn’t wear all white. ’ funny, how partygoers milling around the room hadn’t yet noticed the black running shorts peeking out from under a too-long cotton tee. it’d been borrowed from a senior on the track team whose name juniper forgot already. randy? no, maybe ricky. ultimately one that sounded boring when it rang off her tongue, loose from vodka and one too many cheap beers. juniper glanced down at the white tennis shoes, scuffed to hell. the haze of smudged eyeliner napped in earlier from the day. doesn’t fit in, even if she tries. ‘ listen, as if i- i’m gonna give in to whatever fantasy frat guys have about women in itty-bitty dresses, looking up skirts as a joke. can’t do that with shorts. it’s practical, right? ’ as a matter of show, one hand shakily balancing a lukewarm white claw, she outstretched into a haphazard lunge. ‘ can move around. no peeking. hey, jetta. you want the rest? kind of tastes like cherry. i can’t stand it. ’

laid flat on her back and barefoot, the soles of her feet grass-stained, it’s the closest juniper feels to being engulfed in girlish whims. eventually, she manages to sit up and peer at rosa, vision caught in a headspin. there’s little memory of where the slowly emptying bottle of absinthe appeared from. out of thin air - from the hands of a senior already wobbling round the cottage garden and into rosa’s hands, then to hers. there’s little memory, too, in remembering how the hibiscus flower ended up tucked behind rosa’s ear. ‘ it’s pretty. ’ the fuchsia stands out against her mousy hair. a flower tucked behind june’s ear had fallen out, already going limp on the ground. a pointer finger delicately turned it over, examining it as a scientist might a rare specimen. forever seems to crawl on in muted conversation around them before her gaze is dragged back to rosa. ‘ think they’re lying, y’know. about drinking this stuff to see faeries, or whatever. ’ voice caught in a hiccup, it’s difficult to gather back the thought after she’s stared at rosa for a little while. ‘ all i’ll end up doing is maybe, uh, wanting to hurl afterward. ’ languidly, she drew her legs up to her chest from the prickly lawn. ‘ you see any faeries yet? goblins, maybe? ’

will’s been staring at the same three words for what feels like an hour now. his eyes have been doing that variety of burning that comes from running a sleep deficit and the music in his ears is suddenly claustrophobic. he removes his headphones and turns to find june at the door. their routine is well known to him by now. he nods to the bed. come in, says the nod. make yourself at home. his chair swivels around and he shifts in place, sitting in a way that lets him wrap his arms around his legs and rest his chin on his knees. “hey, pass me that pillow.” @juneroth​

hair stiff and chlorine-starched, itchy on her skin, june reached up absentmindedly to scratch at the nape of her neck. it’s force of habit. a movement that hardly registers as she trudges down the dim corridors of moris, the wind of hallways and doors left ajar. the only announcement of her presence is a soft tap of knuckles on the wall as she peers into the room. she’s wordless, too, as she goes to settle beside his bed, mattress flat against her shoulders. ‘ uh-huh. ’ june grunts quietly as she reaches out for the pillow, tosses it back to him. she spies the textbook laid flat on the desk - unread, she supposes. ‘ good thing you don’t study on your bed. says it messes with your sleep, real bad. like, somethin’ awful. ’ a crumpled packet of reese’s pieces is unearthed from the pocket of her hoodie. it tears open uneasily, the slight tremor to her hand making it difficult. ‘ want any? ’

Jude emerged from a smoke filled room down the hall from the Paquin party like a wizard materialised from thin air, nonsensically pulling a drag on a Sherlock Holmes style pipe. “Alright?” came accompanied by a breath of smoke, end poked at a fleck of glitter on the person he’d bumped into’s cheek. “Look like a, uh… disco ball. Listen,” he interrupted himself, eyebrows furrowed slightly as if it was important. “You got a coin? Think I saw Dominic Ramsey lurking the halls, earlier. Want to, uh… be equipped. Gonna lob it at his forehead, on sight.” @radopens​

‘ sort of. ’ the acrid smoke that wafts past makes her face crumple in disgust. sweet-smelling, assaulting enough to turn her stomach in flips. good-naturedly, a hand reaches up to swat the pipe away. ‘ roommate didn’t get what not too much glitter meant. ’ the constellation of sequins underneath both eyes felt uncomfortable at best, tacky with lash glue she insisted on smearing across juniper’s skin earlier in the afternoon. a quizzical brow rose. ‘ where’d your matching tweed coat get to? thought you’d have a spare coin or two in the pockets. ’ only teasing, june paused to rummage through the bumbag slung low on her waist until she found one. ‘ here. i’ll follow you ‘round and film it when you do. ’

“ june. ”  isla jerked her head in the direction of the outdoors,  wanting desperately to be away from the chaos of the party for a moment.  “ i stole… ”  she frowned,  having come to the realization that she didn’t know what drinks she’d grabbed out of the fridge.  she held one up to the light and groaned.  “ cucumber and mint?  who the fuck bought this?  whatever.  this one’s peach cider.  do you like cider?  we can share it. ”  she’d formulated a plan  –  pour the cucumber and mint cooler out for whatever entities currently presided over the flock of revellers,  replace it with half the contents of the can of peach cider,  profit.  it was flawless.  @juneroth​

she’s staring down her nose, wordless as the end of a cigarette bummed off a nervous-looking junior in the hallway glowed orange. ‘ huh? oh. ’ dazed, the room spins just enough to render her off-kilter when she follows isla’s line of sight. along the hallways that thrum with bodies, sweat and glitter and smoke and cloying alcohol, june follows her, obedient as a puppy. ‘ nice steal, what’d you— hah! bet a freshman wanted to be real fancy drinking that. ’ her nose crinkles at the label, too elaborate and detailed among the crushed pabst cans littering the grass outside. ‘ cider’s fine, ’ her voice lowered when she reached out with languid hands to follow isla’s around the neck of the bottles she held. impatient, try as she might, the lid wasn’t budging under her clumsy fingers. frustrated, her hands retreat to wipe cold droplets of water off on her thighs. ‘ what d’you wanna do with the other stuff? ’

Maggie had been keeping to herself recently, having avoided the outside because she just didn’t have the same appreciation for it that she usually did. On the new Spring day, however, she felt the desire to head over the Darfu Gardens and insert herself into some work. Sat cross-legged in pale green overalls and a lemon-coloured cropped hoodie, hair pinned back away from the wind and dirt, she was packing mud down when she noticed a foot close to colliding with her newly covered seeds. “HALT! Watch… Watch your step, please! Fresh dirt!”

it was nearing two am, and jack had spent the better part of the last five or so hours getting as drunk as possible. the party had ended far too soon for his liking, someone  ( his best guess was alf )  having called the cops to shut down what was becoming something of a memorable night. he staggered as he stepped through the neighboring lawns amongst a small crowd of others fleeing the party, careful not to step in any gardens lest he disturb the flowers. leo would thank him for this act, he was sure of it. “the night doesn’t have to be over,” he announced to no one in particular, trying to boost his own morale more than anything. “did anyone snag any beers?”  @radopens​