#heathcliffd

❛ hey, i’m looking for emily of new moon. ❜  though nadia somehow doubts she’ll find it in what looks to be a self-help section. one book is idly picked up, the back cover glossed over for less than three seconds before it’s placed back on the shelf.   ❛ i get that it’s probably not in your, uh... inventory -- but do you have any idea of any other bookshops round here? ❜

Oh  Joe  ,  my  dear  ,  my  sweet  ,  shouldn’t  you  learn  to  be  a  little  less  messy  ?  

My  hands  are  red  and  so  are  yours  ,  but  the  body  before  us  is  drowning.  Blood  pooling  from  her  stomach  and  heart  ,  and  where’s  that  knife  you  used  ?  Left  it  like  the  jar  you  left  at  the  Salinger’s  ?  But  I  can’t  bring  myself  to  scold  you  when  you  look  at  me  with  your  eyes  so  wide  and  face  pale  as  a  sheet.  Your  giveaway  was  always  the  way  colour  drained  from  your  skin  when  your  mind  was  going  a  mile  per  minute.  If  you  look  close  enough  ,  you  can  see  the  gears  turning  ,  smoke  streaming  out  from  behind  your  eyes.  “  Breathe  ,  ”  It’s  so  hard  not  to  grin  ,  but  I’m  not  laughing  at  you  ,  Joe.  I’m  reminding  you  ,  and  I’ll  remind  you  again  ,  that  we’re  one  of  the  same  kind.  

“  Bring  me  my  knife  ,  will  you  ?  ”  I  keep  my  voice  soft  as  to  not  startle  you  ,  to  not  send  you  into  another  frenzy  that  left  us  with  the  mess  on  the  table.  It’s  a  blessing  and  a  curse  that  the  average  palate  couldn’t  differentiate  between  veal  and  flesh.  So  we  continue  to  serve  them  a  mix  of  both  ,  dressed  pretty  in  its  pastry  form  ,  sold  as  a  meat  pie.  Not  normal  meat  of  course  ,  LA  wouldn’t  be  able  to  handle  the  riots  that  would  ignite  from  Anavrin  selling  real  meat.  Beyond  meat  ,  meat  but  not  meat  ,  impossible  meat  ,  whatever  name  was  trending  this  week.  Sometimes  they  ask  where  we  source  our  produce  ,  how  it  tastes  so  similar  and  yet  so  different.  A  little  bit  more  bitter  ,  a  little  more  stronger  ,  but  not  enough  to  raise  questions. People  are  so  gullible  ,  aren’t  they  ,  Joe ? 

      ‘   so.      your  new  girlfriends  detective  found  me.       and  you  could  kill  me,  finish  the  job,  sure.      but  what  doesn’t  kill  you  makes  you  smarter.      you  kill  me,  your  little  box  of  evidence  you  so  helpfully  left  by  the  grave  you  made  me  goes  straight  to  peach’s  family,  along  with  a  few  other  things  i’ve  dug  up  in  my  time  away.      the  quinns  might  be  powerful,  but  trust  me,  they’re  a  joke  next  to  the  salingers.   ‘

He  looked  at  her  differently  nowadays.  Everything  had  changed  since  she  had  come  clean  ,  wiped  herself  free  of  a  dirty  conscience  ,  placing  all  her  trust  in  the  man  who  mirrored  her  own  thoughts  and  actions  ,  only  to  see  her  reflection  trembling  in  his  fearful  eyes.  He  walked  on  eggshells  around  her  ,  reminding  her  of  his  loyalty  and  love  ,  but  something  simmered  underneath  the  surface  that  she  hadn’t  seen  before.

He  d o e s n ’ t  love  you  anymore.  

The  sizzle  of  batter  against  pan  extinguishes  the  passing  concern  ,  lips  pressed  together  as  she  focused  on  the  fresh  pancakes  she  had  promised  to  make  him  last  night.  Whispers  between  kisses  and  giggles  and  pauses  so  long  that  she’d  found  herself  staring  at  him  in  an  attempt  to  see  what  sat  behind  those  dark  eyes.  He’d  break  eye  contact  like  he  knew.  How  can  he  NOT  love  you  after  everything  you’d  done  for  him ?  Everything  he  would’ve  done  in  your  position  as  well.  You  need  to  teach  him  how  to  love  you  and  himself  in  the  process  ,  and  you  will.  No  matter  how  long  it  takes  ,  because  who  do  either  of  you  have  besides  each  other ?  

‘of course, i . . .’  i  trail off, kneeling still on the floor beside the result of the argument i had instigated, my fingers shaking ( i really could have been an actress, ) as i pick up little shards of glass and drop them into the largest fragment of the bowl, the little tinkle music to my ears even before you kneel down and gently move my hands to the side and take over. ‘i’m fine, honestly.’ i tell you, and i am, but my voice is on the verge of cracking, wobbling slightly at the end as i clip it, gazing off to one side as the curtains stir faintly in the breeze from the open window in the kitchen. you got here faster than i’d hoped, only moments after Nick had stormed out the front door, yanking his coat from the rack and sending mine to the floor with the action. bravo, nicholas ! i have to say -- he couldn’t have served me better if i’d asked him to, swiping the bowl from the island and staring dumbly as it shattered on the floor, fruit rolling idly in all directions. i hear myself laugh as i spot a lemon sitting demurely beneath the kitchen table, and i hope that it sounds distressed, to you. maybe even a little demented. he’s under so much pressure, joe. he didn’t mean it. i wonder which one of them you’ll judge me for most, deciding i cannot care for myself, and inviting yourself to do it for me.  

the haunting of hill house

“But we’re not at the end yet are we?” Running into people at the library? Not the strangest thing. Especially since she had taken over a table with a few books, a sketchbook, and one of her many trusty notebooks. Along with a binder. There was a newspaper off to the side. Obituaries up. No, she wasn’t particularly researching anything, but she did have a hard time focusing on anything. Even if the book that she’d been reading this whole time testified against that. 

         quick, he says. easy. like a chore he’s been meaning to get to. one - and - done. i can’t help but wonder if this is how Nick would kill me   ----    whack me over the head and roll me up in our rapidly decaying area rug. and maybe,  if i survived the first blow, i’d have the honor of smelling dorito crumbs & my husband’s sockless, unwashed feet as my life slowly trickled away and i finally succumbed to oblivion !  it wouldn’t surprise me. strangulation and drownings are saved for lovers, and at the moment, Nick can’t be bothered to be my lover  ;  he’s riding the renewed wave of purpose provided to him by his dying mother, finally able to summon the strength to pause call of duty, throw away his collection of ketchup stained paper plates, and start taping the bottoms of boxes for me to fill.   “we” are packing the house.  i’ve been asked to condense my closet and Nick has asked nothing, of himself .  .  . both gaming systems come, the gargantuan 60 inch television on which he watches pornos on mute at four in the morning, the mini fridge he never uses, but keeps cornered in the living room, empty  ---  these are necessities.    (  i have to remind myself that Nick’s Amy is not a nag.   )

          i tilt my head and look at Joe with real consideration, try to imagine him outside of this shop, what he does, where he goes. i have searched him on social media already and come away empty - handed   ---   something i find frustrating in spite of the fact that i’m not one to use social media myself. at least, not under my name. that’s Nick’s game. look at me, love me, find me both down - to - earth and compelling  ---  that’s Nicky. always after validation from a stranger, that intense, physical need to be liked .  .  .    joe, it seems, has no such preoccupation. no facebook, no twitter, no instagram .  .  . by his own words, he’s just a guy that likes books. i still don’t quite believe he’s that innocent, but he’s giving me what i want, and that’s really all i ask.