nocturne-

his wife would’ve been the biggest copout of all copouts, right ? “ best friends are such a strange concept. ” how could one friend always be prioritized over the next ? “ who do i see the most ? coworkers – i could say the head of the english department is my best friend, i see them a lot and we get along well. who have i had some nice conversations with lately, those i’ve missed dearly ? kayla carter and hazel prescott. who do i think has a lovely personality that i just don’t talk to enough ? ... most people, really – but, as of late, i’d emphasize roman kekoa. who fits all of this ? ” as borat would say, “ my wife. ”

“ i’d be fucking shocked if he actually said something. ” however unspoken, they’d developed a deal. he was a politician – it was in every politician’s blood to have affairs ( although he did not have sexual relations - ) ; she still had the best of her years – and, if her mother was any indication, it was in her blood to have affairs. “ i’ve seen his ring left at home. he’s seen mine. ”

emre !

“ emre   ,  ”   he  offered  with  a  shake  of  his  hand  ,  eyes  immediately  falling  down  to  the  dainty  ring  placed  on  her  even  daintier  finger  .   she  was  married   .   oh   ,   goody   .   “  april   ,   if  i  were  a  smarter  man   ,   i’d  be  suspicious’a  you  asking  me  here  at  night           creepy  corner  of  town  ,   bringin’  a  weapon  along  with  you  .  ”  emre  didn’t  feel  like  rushing  off   ,   despite  the  plans  that  burned  a  hole  in  his  calendar  .   as  simple  as  the  conversation  was   ,   the  asshole  always  got  his  rocks  off  when  it  came  to  flirting  with  unavailable  women   .   “  so   …   what  time   ?   ”   it  was  a  joke   ,   of  course   ,   as  if  two  seemingly  sane  adults  would  make  plans  to  vandalize  a  practically  extinct  piece  of  machinery  .  although  give  emre  a  couple  drinks  and  a  bat  and  all  bets  were  off   .

. . . .

“ turkish ? ” carry the conversation along, ask questions about them. fortunately for that word of advice mental law, turkish was among the languages she spoke conversationally ! miray, 1993-1995 – she recalled her fondly ! “ come on, you weren’t even on my hit list until now. i mean, at least you’ll be immortalized by this... dead form of media, ” she replied, tapping the newspaper stand that mocked them with its insistence on accepting change and only change. “ well, if we’re going to commit a violent newspaper heist, it has to be at midnight. it’s just the principle of the thing. ” 

olivia ! 

yikes  !  so  this  was  going  to  be  one  of  those  interactions  .  in  her  lifetime  ,  olivia  had  experience  the  pleasure  of  conversing  with  her  fair  share  of  colorful  characters  and  though  she’d  become  fairly  good  at  slapping  on  a  polite  smile  and  nodding  along  while  they  abbrasively  shared  their  opinion  and  trampled  on  others  because  ‘  they  were  oh  so  important  ’  ,  it  didn’t  mean  she  had  to  enjoy  it  .    ❛  guess  i  skipped  that  class  entirely  ,  my  heart  should  give  in  any  day  now  .  ❜  the  brunette  retorted  ,  glancing  over  at  the  deli’s   LIMITED  menu  .  ❛  uh  .  .  .  WATER  ?  or  maybe  a  hearty  serving  of  iceberg  lettuce  ,  yummy  .  ❜

         he tosses the peach up in his hand and catches it. teddy’s half tempted to just bite into it but he has pissed the owner off way too many times with his antics that he might just get banned if he did. dark hues turn from the peach and raises a hand in mock surrender. “you said it not me.” he dusts the peach off on his shirt before tossing it in his basket. “guess i’m gunna have to stock up on some booty fruit then.”

you flip the post card to read “ you know all about love , don’t you , lionel ? or at least , how to lose it . - C “ . do you choose to share this information , or keep it to yourself ?

it had felt like an unusually long day – yes, mondays always did. there was nothing lionel wanted to do more than to return to his home, hang up his coat and hat, and have italian night with his wife. in spite of the stars, the sky seemed darker than usual. in spite of the moon, it seemed less lit up. all he wanted to do was enter the warmth of his home.

so how great it felt to finally see his front door ! how great it felt when his feet hit the porch step, when he finally stood beneath that welcoming light that sat directly above the doorbell. however, as he reached for his key, his eyes caught sight of something unexpected. tilting his head, he reached down and flipped the envelope over. just his name. no information on the sender. his address wasn’t on there. no stamp. someone had directly delivered this, although evidently had not rung the doorbell. any secrets he kept from his wife were beyond trivial ( usually anniversary gifts ), but as everything was beginning to resurface, there was a certain flutter. he would not describe it as ‘of the heart’ – that was too kind, implied happiness ; this flutter was simply behind the ribcage. 

he was not expecting to see a postcard of his own town, much less one so cheery. so cheery that it almost felt old – from the days that taunwick was a tourist trap and not a haunted attraction. that alone found him soaking in curiosity, soaking in nerves, soaking in wonder.

so imagine, i implore you, the nerves that piled onto him as he flipped the card over to see the message. you know all about love, don’t you, lionel ? or at least, how to lose it. - C. it didn’t take a mastermind to put the pieces together – what kind of sick joke could this have been ? as much as the sentiment stung, the fact that someone had the very courage to impersonate a dead woman, taken far too soon, stung far more. stung to the point that he could feel tears beginning to form – the nerve some children had !

but that was it. children. foolish children. scared teenagers. the rational thought process brought him back to a calm state as he pocketed the envelope, instead going for his keys again... but there was something cold in the envelope, something bulky, something he hadn’t noticed at first. with it not even halfway into his coat pocket, he pulled it back out and reached inside.

a wedding ring.

harley mason’s wedding ring.

there was no way to validate it, to be sure that it was hers and not some cheap copy, but it looked real. there was some wear within it, as well – it wasn’t new. to go this far for a practical joke... he was, unfortunately, smarter than to think teenagers would willingly go further than writing a postcard. 

this was no longer the handy work of scared local kids, dealing with the murders through their sense of humor. no, this was something beyond that. what it was, he wasn’t sure... but the nerves escaped him, quickly replaced with immense confusion and borderline fear. somebody had had access to harley mason’s ring. somebody possessed the knowledge of his unrelenting love for chastity. somebody had had the galls to bring all of this to his home while he was out, while only his wife was in.

he dusted the ring off with his sleeve, now simply dangling from his pinkie as he attempted to ensure his finger prints wouldn’t be on it. he could turn it in... he could keep it to himself... however, he was foolish enough to know he would not be handing in the postcard. nor would he be keeping it.

hearing the door creak, he put two-and-two together and realized he’d spent far too much time standing on the doorstep. hastily shoving the ring in his coat pocket, coming to the conclusion that he would figure out what to do with it when he had more time alone – perhaps consider it on his drive to work in the morning. he crumpled up the postcard and tossed it into his yard ( his original plan of placing it in the recycling bin had been discarded in those two seconds it took the door to open ). now, appearing the exact same way he felt he had in the morning, if not looking slightly more exhausted, he faced the door with a plastered smile. 

“ i forgot my keys, ” he said, a phony excuse, as his wife came into vision. she smiled in return, offering him that joking voice, the laughter he loved. 

stepping into the house and placing his coat and hat on the rack as gently as possible, hoping against hope that the metal of the ring wouldn’t clack against the metal of the keys that he hadn’t forgotten. the light of the house, the kiss from his wife, filled his being with the warmth he had lost only moments ago. it was a good life. he was living the good life. he was living a life he couldn’t afford to lose.

but, as they separated, that warmth left his being. most secrets he kept from his wife involved gifts. the secret of the postcard that lie in their front yard now, crumpled, to be blown away by the wind, to hopefully not land in the hands of anyone who knew him... it was not small. and it was one he would hold to himself as he attempted to subtly tighten the security of the home, locking both locks, setting the alarm...

and his wife just smiled at him. spoke to him with that joy he so adored. by keeping this from her, this critique that frightened him so, this acknowledgement of love...

he feared he did know to lose it. 

and that he could lose the good life.

so he walked to his wife. and he placed his arms around her. and he said those words that he said often enough. but was often enough enough ? “ i love you, you know ? a lifetime with you is better than a hundred heavens. ”

he knew a lot about love.

emre !

his  expression  froze  in  place   ,   a  polite  smile  etched  into  his  face  as  she  mentioned  smashing  the  glass   .   dry   .   she  was  dry           and  fuck   ,   he  liked  it   .    “   ya  got  a  brick  in  that  pretty  lil’  purse  of  yours   ?   or  do  you  just  carry  ‘round  great  ideas  all  day   ?   ”   he  wasn’t  going  to  break  the  machine   (  despite  appearances    ,    emre  wasn’t  a  complete  burden  on  society    )   ,   but  that  didn’t  mean  he  couldn’t  entertain  the  thought  .   “   and  in  this  economy   .   total  fuckin’  ripoff  ,   yeah   ?   ”    a  devilish  grin  tugged  at  the  corners  of  his  lips  as  he  studied  the  brunette  before  him   .   “   sorry    ,   what’s  your  name   ?   ”

. . . .

damn ! if only she had her ring ! that ring that had to have been inspired by chad kroeger, whether her husband consciously knew it or not, could’ve come in quite handy for the very first time in... years ! “ you really caught me at the wrong time. if you meet me back here tonight, i’ll have the perfect thing to shatter this with. ” although talking in hypotheticals, would it not hypothetically just be easier to bring him the paper ? no – even hypothetically, she’d still prefer the cat chaos using the ring that made her feel akin to avril lavigne. “ oh, ten cents for a paper ? they’re begging for someone to steal it. ” if print was already a dead medium, then why not acknowledge the grain of truth in there ? “ april. yourself ? ” she asked, rehearsing common courtesy, as she held out her hand ( with the very disappointing lack of the chad kroeger diamond, something much subtler in its place ) to shake.

after what happened to chastity roman felt like the town was suffocating him, people were looking at him not with the friendly way he’s used to but with the lingering question did he do it ? packing his bags and leaving was the only option for him, roman felt like if he didn’t leave the town, he would’ve became a man he didn’t want to become, that decision hurt people, he knew it.

people he thought of as good friends, people who needed him, depending on the fact that he was always there. one of the people that took it the hardest was april, roman’s intentions were never to hurt her or break the friendship that they’ve had, he just wish she understood that it was all too much for him, that he didn’t leave because she did anything wrong, it was the town that did him wrong.

and now, after he was back, the woman changed to someone he hadn’t recognized anymore, someone that clearly didn’t want him in her life and so, he let her go. roman was surprised to find her standing there in front of him, at the bar it was no secret that he owned. “you too.” he tapped his fingers on the table, he knew what she has been shaped into, roman sometimes wonders if he’s the cause.

“didn’t think you’d want to step into this place but you’re always welcomed. want something to drink?”

. . . .

if april had truly matured within the past twenty years, effectively left the mindset of a teenager behind, then perhaps she would understand. perhaps the whispering rational side of her mind would overtake that loud illogical side, driven by emotion and a lingering fear. by the time roman left, she’d become just as regimented as she was taught to be – an unrecognized regiment to most, but one that continued into the present day, even when it no longer needed to. 

much of what had turned her into who she was had already done its damage by the time he left... but just three years – who knows! – three years could’ve made all the difference in the world ! after all, she needed more than just one person to blame her entire being on, didn’t she ? coming to the realization that her life and her path may have been guided, but were ultimately still all up to her, was far too difficult ! yes, it was much easier to unconsciously place some of that blame on roman. roman, who should’ve left town, so that logical part whispered.

a common nighttime decision was to leave her ring behind. a 14 carat diamond ( who did her husband think he was: chad kroeger ? ), it was difficult to miss among various people who had what some may call ‘moral qualms’ about ‘engaging in affairs.’ tonight was different, though. tonight, she’d adorned herself, had come to the decision to embrace her inner elizabeth taylor ( ...when it came to jewels, not personality... elizabeth taylor deserves better than that comparison ) – ‘she didn’t know why.’ yes, consciously, she just... decided to do it ! unconsciously... she knew she would be seeing roman. and she would pretend to be just as perfect as she was meant to be !

“ well, i haven’t discriminated on my tour de taunwick so far. breaking it at a bar would just be... ” what was a more dramatic word for ‘foolish’ ? was there one ? “ insanity. ” there ! good enough ! “ vodka on the rocks. ” it was a shame roman was stuck behind a bar. even if he owned the joint, he could’ve spent those years he’d left doing something far bigger and far better ! “ so is dive the official aesthetic ? ”

→ 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙶𝚂, 𝙰𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙻. / @optimiist

“welcome to al’s diner, what’ll it be?” gigi drawled with a snap of her gum. it was the afternoon lull shift — or according to her, a lesson in how to slowly die of boredom. there weren’t a lot of customers milling about, but enough she supposed to at least look busy. that was all that really mattered. “or if you’re looking to get takeway, the counter’s that way.” she pointed over her shoulder with her pencil.

there was a bright laugh that bubbled up from kayla’s lips, — her head shaking softly. “well, yeah, that’d be the hope. my number hasn’t changed since 1999 miller.” still, she didn’t really hold it against lionel — things were different now. no matter how solid and pure their friendship had been once upon a time, everything changed when chastity passed away. ( could she blame anyone for keeping their distance when the reunion came around? no — not really. ) “oh you know… same old, same old. life in taunwick has it’s routines. there’s simplicity in that.”

roman raised an eyebrow at lionel’s obliviousness “i do, don’t tell me you didn’t know? it would break my heart, man, especially since i own the place. “ he knew unfortunately that the lionel already forgot his request for a beer so he went to get his own, as he opened it he looked at the tv and shrugged. “i agree, i mean, i don’t really care for politics but i do have a brain on my shoulders.” he said and drank his beer. “can i get you something to drink, my man? refill on the vodka?” 

he was always a welcoming kind of person, you treat his place right and you got nothing to worry about. some people didn’t get that first impression by the way roman looks (or by the fact that he was a suspect twenty years ago) but he tries to never let it get to him.

. . . .

“ you own this ? ” he asked, gesturing towards the bar in its entirety. it was clear that lionel’s perception of roman had changed drastically. although the man was a giant, an estimated six inches taller and... god knows how much wider ( in muscle ! ), no longer did he quake in his boots at the sight of him, even when a mistake of lionel’s was pointed out. he supposed roman was like that one wrestler turned actor who was in that movie with kevin hart – yes, supposedly that one wrestler turned actor actually had quite the gentle soul ! and, in his state... “ hey... what’s that guy’s name ? the guy who – he was a wrestler, but i don’t think he is anymore. it’s... an object – the boulder ? ”

twirling the straw in his empty glass, he smiled when given the offer. “ actually, just more grenadine. i gotta... i mean, i gotta try to sober up a little before giving my gal a call. ” although there was no true logical reason for it, one thing lionel refused was to be absolutely drunk around his wife. that was a sign of toxicity, yes ?

━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ ┋  𝓗𝓪𝔃𝓮𝓵 𝓜𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓮 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓸𝓽𝓽.

he  was  right  ,  the  notion  of  longing  for  the  past  was  easy  to  fall  back  into  ,  glamourizing  events  that  she  wouldn’t  ever  want  to  relive  again  .  it  was  strange  to  know  that  after  running  away  from  taunwick  she  would  ever  find  a  redeeming  qualitiy  about  it  ,  even  if  it  was  as  miniscule  as  the  beverages  .   ❝  maybe  that’s  it  .  sweeter  .   ❞ she  conceeded  ,  nodding  along  before  pushing  the  cup  away  altogether  .    ❝   well  i  certainly  can’t  complain  ,  they’ve  been  alright  .  this  is  my  first  day  actually  venturing  out  of  my  house  in  a  while  .  getting  used  to  being  back  and  all  .  how  have  you  been  ?  catch  me  up  ,  it’s  been  ages  since  we  spoke  last  .  read  anything  good  lately  ?   ❞