#mcvickers

Fearghal: was slumped forwards onto the grungiest, stickiest bar table in the dank and dingiest corner of the worst pub in Hartford. He spun the bar mat between his index finger and thumb, eyes glazed over and entirely unmeetable. The fact the boy was able to lay hands to a free bar mat spoke volumes, as did the fact he had failed to notice or reciprocate to the new barmaid giving him the eye. He was stone cold sober and hadn't touched a drop all day. It was as much as he deserved. He always faced this day sober. He could drink the rest of his sorry life into oblivion but he owed her this much. Face this demon head on with no mind-altering substances. Not that anything could make him forget, he'd learnt that much from his two year long bender. Tabby had always hated the drink too...Not that she could like or dislike anything now and that was entirely his fault. He didn't allow himself to feel or focus his attentions on anything else all day. Not even Tess. His fixation on the first blonde girl in his life was why she wasn't here with him now, she may have gone but the love, the obsession taunted him daily. To add Tess to the mix was incomprehensible. The guilt wracked his body, consuming him and spitting him out nothing more than a wretched sack of shit. It wasn't like the films or books suggested, he wasn't seeing her face everywhere he went. She was a ghost but she wasn't following him around, her soul was lodged in his chest and more often than not she liked to make her presence known, squeezing, constricting and tearing, leaving him gasping for air. She poisoned his mind from the inside; darkening every part of his brain she touched. When she suffocated him, she liked to remind him how agonising her death was. How she would never take another breath, so why should he? He couldn't help agreeing with her. Tabby was always right. The empty vessel that was Fearghal McKenna sat motionless in the corner, she'd taken his soul for a day trip to hell, he wasn't there. It was only just that she rocketed him back to life, just as a gang of fearsome looking men aped into the room. The energy he felt was unreal, as if every cell of his body was on fire, his drooping eyes sprang open and the flames flickered against his eyelashes. He'd never felt so purely and disgustingly alive. Everything ached. It was as if he was suddenly hyper-aware and every nerve-end was being pressed with a hot poker. It was torture, agony. It was the most unfair thing in the world. Selfish to the end, he was wishing her alive and himself dead. Tabby was better at being human, always had been. He couldn't do it. There was no conscious thought as Fearghal pushed himself up, his limbs moved with surprising grace and speed; his brain knew what it was doing, even if he never had himself. The beast within had taken over and the boy's face smirked wildly, thrilled Tabby had allowed him to stop being human too, she always was too kind. This was pure animalistic instinct taking over, he may as well have had claws as he swiped out at the largest of the blokes, raining blow after blow on his face, wanting to mutilate it, hating everything that resembled humanity. The main disadvantage to being an animal, he soon found out, was the fact humans have a larger brain capacity and the icing on the cake, weapons. Even those comparatively soft punches hurt a lot more when coupled with a knuckle duster. Pack mentality had also kicked in and kicked out. Seven on one was never ideal. The boy didn't even try to fight back, which was unlike him, he took his beating with grace. Relishing every jab, kick, slap and smack. It doused the flames that had been burning him alive, this pain was bearable, the guilt and remorse was not. When they had finally had enough, they prowled off, to stalk some more prey at the watering hole. Fearghal lay in his bed of broken glass and waste for a while. He didn't know how long exactly, as long as it took for him to regain some concept of time and his present life

He knew there was only one place he could go. Only one person in the world who could help him and even she didn't want to. He'd just have to see if she would, even if there was no desire to. Caring could be involuntary, right? The answer would speak volumes. With the most utterly pathetic shard of hope piercing but keeping his heart together, Fearghal hobbled out of the alleyway, towards his car. His eyes were currently so swollen he couldn't see out of them but he would get back to Greenfield somehow and then he'd take it from there. The boy had absolutely no pride left to speak of, so this didn't get in the way. He dragged his body up the flight of stairs and was fit to drop at her door. With split knuckles, he rapped on her door and the ghost of his voice feebly croaked out, "T-Tess, I need ya." Tess: was in her room with the shades drawn almost as tightly as her knees were nestled against her chest. There was no sound unless it came from her. She’d even abandoned her typical ‘I’m not alone if the TV’s on’ philosophy. The portable set, like her tablet and phone stared up cold and blank. She didn’t deserve their distractions today. No sound or light should filter through. Tess approached the day as if she had a migraine because experience taught her, that by the end, she likely would. There had been little sleep for the days leading up to this date, there never was. Eyes opened or closed replayed a million things that she wished she could unsee, undo and unfeel. Above all, she was surrounded by endless roses. In the kinder moments, they were the ones that lined the gate and when she brought her hand up to her face in the gloom; she could feel gritty soil underneath her nails and the tickle of a borrowed sunhat against her neck. Those pictures were the first to fade, blown away before she could even blink them brighter. Asleep or awake, the garden multiplied and contorted, same end result. Thick vines and thorns bit into her exposed ankles and twisted up around her ribcage. They stopped at the neck, but it wasn’t like she was breathing. That was impossible. The flowers smelt like they were already dying, a cloying heavy scent that made her want to retch. It was dampness, like the smell of the ground after the rain, but there were no storm clouds either. With every failed wheeze, they pressed harder, forcing blackness but not letting the reprieve linger. The smell remained, and the voices that weren’t hers. Sweet dreams and even more pleasant daydreams. Just another Sunday, except not at all. Tess had foolishly thought she’d have a way to blast through these harsh echoes of what she’d lost with an unexpected gain. She’d been so sure that her daughter would bring new traditions planned to escape and remodel this accursed day, but remembering how she had clung to that fragile hope only elicited a dull ache in her empty womb now. As a kid, she thought she hated mother’s day for all the reminders of what she didn’t have, for the awkward hours spent doodling at her desk as her friends stuck glitter glue on card and chattered excitedly of their plans. They lowered their voices as she tried to overhear, giving her looks of total pity that adult eyes could never match. Children felt things more keenly, and she wondered what her girl was feeling now. She was too young for arts and crafts yet, small mercy but maybe someone had addressed a card from her anyway, smiling and laughing as they beamed down at her crib. Were there roses on her gate? Would she inherit her grandmother’s green thumb, or her mother’s heavy handed approach? Why did Tess even torture herself trying to put together pieces of the puzzle when she only had half in the first place? “I love the pain.” She whispered, grimacing. Without another word, she pushed off the blankets, letting her muscles pop in protest. Once she was up though, it occurred to her that she had no idea what to. Should she draw or light a cigarette? Maybe it would be better run the shower cold enough to stop her heart. Tess never got an answer. As if summoned by her prior words, she heard his voice and instantly knew that it was too faint and cracked to be imagined. She opened the door. No bullshit or ceremony. 

Fearghal: was brought back to his full senses by a flash of blonde hair. This blonde hair was alive though, not charred and dead and that was enough to make him inhabit the present. He lifted his heavy, swollen head to look her in the eyes. He attempted a smile but the blood gushed through the gaps in his teeth and his lip split further, vermillion stains covered his pallid face. He shut his mouth firmly, grimacing, instantly regretting the involuntary reaction to smile at her. The physical similarities between the two ghost girls had the potential to make him go about in great pity for himself, to set up permanent home in his past, but worst of all, it offered the potential of hope. Hope for something that could never be. Tess was not Tabby and for this he was truly thankful; she was not some delicate thing he could break. This wasn't to say she was any less deserving...Just, if Tabby was a china doll, Tess was a diamond. He didn't aim to nor would he ever be allowed to get so close to her but he felt safe in the knowledge he could never destroy her. She'd already been pushed and pressured and moulded by her past; he could bet whatever had happened to her was unpleasant but at least she got to be near indestructible now. Fearghal, however, was fragile and the way his knees trembled and muscles shook, proved this. For once, he was unable to act. He couldn't pretend he was strong, he didn't want to as he looked at her standing there. He swallowed a mouthful of blood, the metallic taste choking him. "Can I use your shower, please?" He mumbled, buckling beneath his own dead-weight. He leaned against the wall, making the hallway look like something out of The Shining. "I guess, I, you used mine once and-" He trailed off, not sure what to expect from the girl. That's why he liked her, unpredictable, but he couldn't fully appreciate this when in such dire need.

  Tess: was awakened, in every sense, by a flash of red. It wasn’t the crimson of rose petals, but a dirty rust shade that she recognised all too well. She exhaled, oddly grateful that the scent of blood smothered the rotten flowers. She almost thanked him, right there and then, just for appearing. Then those words came out. There was no laughter, only more parallels. They tore each other to pieces, stretched the distance between them to breaking, but outside forces, the things that really broke them, made them cling to each other. Tess swallowed her barbs, they were designed for the Fearghal she’d expected, a lout fuelled by liquor or cocaine (she'd figured out that the drug was behind his exuberance during the party she bailed on), she'd braced herself for that, a boy who takes and prods at exposed nerves one second only to give and skate over them the next minute. That wasn’t who stood before her though. Whoever this Fearghal was, he could barely stand at all. The decision was made in a second, despite claiming herself a ghost, a thing or no substance; she supported his weight adequately enough to get him through the door and onto her bed. As soon as she was sure that he wasn’t about to miss the softness and land on the floor, she turned away, heading straight to the bathroom. She’d kept the iodine from when he’d been tattooed; it seemed to smile mockingly at her as she gathered what else she would need. “Feel free to bleed as much as you like; the towels are Trinity’s not mine.” Tess smirked awkwardly, hoping that the boy would be comforted by the familiarity of the expression. It was the best she could do under the circumstances, unable to look at him on her bed. Why hadn’t she taken him to the couch? It was a rookie mistake that she’d hate herself for later, but there was too much else to be focused on now. “I...” The apology or any of the questions that were supposed to come after died in her mouth. Tess sighed, trying not to wince at the way her hand shook (he’d undoubtedly see it, even with his limited vision, he always did) as she began cleaning his face. 

  Fearghal: watched Tess react as intently as he could through exploding infernos of blood and charcoal coloured bruises the collateral from the flames that had engulfed him from inside earlier. He couldn't help but think of the amusingness of it all, he'd allowed himself to be beaten up so he didn't have to see Tabby and this act is exactly what led him to see Tess. Lurching from one blonde ghost to the next. He'd take this one over Tabby any day. Yet again, they may be similar but they weren't the same. Tess at least made her presence known; she made marks, lasting marks on him and the world around them. She was a poltergeist. Known for wreaking havoc but exciting to be around nonetheless. Fearghal was just quick enough to witness her, for once, swallow her pride before she was slumping him down on her bed. This was always how it had been, metaphorically up until now but they were finally acting out what had always been written between the lines. He depended on her far too much. Let her carry his dead-weight around, pick up the pieces as he continuously fucked up his life. Now he lay here bleeding on her bed. Enough was enough. She had enough problems to deal with without him adding more weight to her shoulders. He had tried to share that load but the fact was, he had failed. Had he ever helped her at all? Fearghal highly doubted it. The realisation that he should let her run from him hurt more than any hit or kick. His mind was racing with what to say as she busied herself in the other room. She came out with a trademark smirk and just this alone, this unconvincing but unashamed performance in the face of it all, was enough for him to want to slow her down again. He mirrored the smirk, maybe for the final time? "Right, maybe I'll even be able to vomit, just for her." It was not painful when she touched his face, it had been numb up until that point but the touch from her shaking hands, the ignition, and the sparks grew again and it was enough to make him flinch away. It was terrifying because these flames weren't burning, just warming. Her twitching fingers were another reason he wanted her again. He gently took her hands between his bloody palms and held them as tightly as possible, stopping her shaking. It was strange that he, with his split knuckles and punch drunk body, could manage to be more still and calm than her in this precise moment. It was how he knew they needed each other, in equal measures. It'd never be said but Fearghal finally knew. "I'm sorry." He said, finishing for her, the sentiment being applicable to both of them. He let go of her hands. "I'm sorry for it all. Even the things I didn't do, I just wish it was me that had done those things, so you could have someone to take it out on, someone who already has so much guilt a little more won't hurt. I'd know what to do if it was all my fault but it isn't and...It’s a little bit of a headfuck." He smiled and shrugged. "And thank you, Blondie."

Tess: didn’t freeze like she expected to as his rough palms folded against hers. Nothing dimmed. She looked up at him in the exact instant that he said the words that she couldn’t, and if that wasn’t prove of some external staging, then what was? They were always doing this, moving bizarrely in synch, leaving the blonde to wonder if she should start collecting parallels instead of vices. Resolute for the first time, she tilted her chin to remove the shade cast by unruly curls and properly hold his gaze. It wasn’t an untarnished spectacle, her breath still caught in her throat, leaving her only able to nod instead of voice ‘me too’ as she’d been intending, but it was a start. Similarly, watching him, she mused that his speech might be the longest piece of dialogue they’d exchanged. It struck Tess as funny how this first should occur just as she was getting used to drawing corresponding shapes between their encounters, and funnier still that she wasn’t even surprised. They were both walking contradictions, physical embodiments of what he called a headfuck. Is this how it happened then, connections found you like this and suddenly you reached a point when you ceased to be floored? Even the thanks didn’t rattle her core like it would have even a few days ago. She allowed herself a moment to wonder, looking at herself objectively right now, if she could, what she would see. She remembered a wooden jigsaw on her the floor of her old playroom, so worn by years of use and rubbed away by generations that by the time it got to her, she could almost make any piece fit anywhere. Tess could never say out loud, but that was how she’d started to feel around Fearghal, like no matter which Tess she presented to him, he saw and he understood. He welcomed it all. “Don’t expect me to say you’re welcome.” She replied softly, echoing dialogue she’d fired his way on countless other occasions. Parallels. Except, her tone was gently playful and the smile was as far from a mocking smirk as she’d ever get. Before, she’d have torn her eyes away after revealing even a tenth of what she’d just freely given, looked down for a script or an escape route, but not now. She took a breath to anchor them both in this moment before giving him a first of her own. “But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad, glad that you’re here, glad that you...just fucking glad, yeah?” She chuckled inelegantly for a second, smiling again as her fingers skimmed against the contours of his cheek bone. “Now, enough waxing lyrical, you can compose me another sonnet or whatever later. After I’ve checked there’s no glass.” 

Fearghal: felt the carpet being pulled from beneath his feet by the theatrics of it all again. Floored, the air knocked from him, but in a nice way. Not in a restricting, unbearable pressure kind of way; more a caught unawares and pleasantly shocked breathlessness. Getting Tess to make and maintain eye contact was a great feat within itself but getting her to smile, properly, and even laugh; well that was something she could convince even him was near impossible. Fearghal appreciated every moment she allowed. He savoured her properly being here, trying to commit it all to memory but knowing it was all in vain. Memories did not do anyone justice. She claimed to be a ghostly apparition to begin with, the remnants of a life, commit those remnants to memory and all he'd be left with would be rubble. He instead tried to commit the emotions to memory. How he felt, that didn't have to fade so. The turning towards the light from the shadows spoke such volumes that it could have deafened him. It was frightening how organically his smile grew, like it was hiding beneath the dirt and blood all along and all they needed was a little bit of light to let it grow. It was so natural and pure and it felt out of control. Like any good house-proud knew, you had to keep up appearances and this is why Fearghal cut back the smile that shone through the grime of who he was. It was all too easy and it shouldn't be. He bit his lip nervously; a little more blood couldn't hurt him now. They shouldn't be able to understand so deeply or widely, shouldn't be able to have the most meaningful conversations they had without saying more than a few syllables. The fact he could see through all her masks, meant Tess could certainly do the same for him and that was a terrifying prospect. Not for himself, for her. There were some evils no-one needed to see. A soul so hideous, he knew what kind of scars it could inflict. No matter how many she already had, he shouldn't be adding to them, should he? Who was he to turn up on her doorstep like this? He wasn't just making a mess of her towels. Fearghal listened to her speech with bunched fists, knowing full well his beaming grin was back without his permission. "Any more glad and you'll be singing your hallelujahs, Blondie." He murmured. "Okay, I'm sorry and you're glad. I can deal with that, even if they sound an awful lot like virtues." He laughed at how unlike 'them' this entire conversation supposedly was but in fact he felt this was the truest Tess he'd ever seen. Her fingers tip-toed a path they were familiar with and Fearghal looked down, recalling the last time this had happened. It was his turn to freak out now, before she had the chance to. He let her fix his face up but before they had chance to do any more 'fixing' he was pushing himself off her bed, head reeling and dizzy, he took a few weak steps towards her door. He turned back and said. "As much as being around my muse helps, sonnets take time and all that..." He spun round to open the door and found himself clinging to the handle for dear life.

  Tess: mirrored his grin unconsciously as she hummed a few bars of Jeff Buckley just to spite him. “It’s a good thing that the modern usage doesn’t indicate religious belief or intentions, yeah. You already take the bible seriously enough, Irish Boy, in fact, you take everything too seriously. Stop being such a brooding catholic and just enjoy the lapse...” She raised her eyebrows, as though such thoughtful deliberations had never even occurred to her and willed him to play along. That last word meant a million unspoken things more, acknowledging their departure from all the normal barriers, all the bullshit temporarily suspended. It would crush them again soon enough which was precisely why she wanted to prolong the banter and strengthen the smiles that would have previously been considered treacherous gestures to be guarded against. She was going off script, giving an impromptu performance which should have been jarring against the carefully choreographed and deliberate movements of her fingertips, but somehow wasn’t. She ignored the fact that her head should ache and she should be bewildered, allowing the only prevailing thought to be that he’d made himself vulnerable and in so doing, had pulled at a loose and yet nevertheless stubborn thread. This time, it wasn’t that old Tess had woken up; she couldn’t even explain it, how it came to be that she was herself, but an idealised version, a dreamy element. She was the 16 old she should have been, the blonde she could have been if none of the shadows had settled over her. It was a re-emergence of what Jade had taught her, but more than that. She was a runner so she ran with it, punching him on the arm playfully without agonising over the significance or what might come after, only mindful of any actual injuries she might unintentionally hit. “Sunday is a day of rest, appreciate it. We can sin twice as hard tomorrow if that’ll make you feel better.” She shared his laugh, because hadn’t she thought it was infectious before? It definitely seemed so now. Joy wasn’t accurate and she wasn’t about to worship him, the metaphor could never stretch that far, but she definitely felt and witnessed something. There was a shift in their dynamic, and in that instant, she couldn’t even bring herself to feel anything but, yet again, glad. Any further expressions of uncharacteristic emotion caught in her throat though, optimism draining away, like fading light as he moved. How could he go, didn’t he feel it too? It was too late to close herself off now. They’d both gotten more than they’d bargained for as soon as Fearghal had set foot at the door. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out that he should stay, not just because he was too busted up to go anywhere, but because she wanted him to and because minutes were so fragile. Tess wasn’t sure if she’d find her way back to this version of herself if he dismissed it so she forced an exhale and bore his weight a second time. Her heart skipped as she carefully wrapped her arms around him and tried to lead him back to their previous places, practically engaging in a clumsy waltz without music, or any sound at all in fact.

Fearghal: bobbed his head along to the singing that caught his ears in just the right way, he turned so his bright eyes and far too telling grin could perhaps catch hers in the same way. Attempts may be futile but everything felt right in that instant, like it was all locking into place. He raised his eyebrows as if shocked, playing along with the banter. "Well excuse me for taking the word of our Almighty Father whom art in Heaven, seriously, you blasphemer." He smirked. "Come on Cathy, you know you love it when I look all dark and menacing in my tights." Fearghal made reference to their previous conversations and it was his turn to hum, some Kate Bush this time. "I can do that." He added seriously, his eyes dimming as if the stage light was changing as the mood of their piece was. "If it's a relapse, a lapse in judgment or a lapse in agreement..." Fearghal trailed off, leaving that sentence ambiguous was easier for both of them. He had told her all she needed to hear. That he recognised it could not and would not stay like this. That he had these stolen moments and that was good enough for him. He recognised this may be quite pathetic, just how content he was with however long he got. It made him oddly hopefully. This wasn't the first time they'd broken all the rules together and truthfully, no matter how many weeks of icy silence, he didn't feel it would be the last. Fearghal looked down, not being able to look at her. There wouldn't be a tomorrow. Or rather there would be but it wouldn't be the actual tomorrow by everyone else's definition. He wished he could believe it but he knew what was coming. Vulnerable felt good for a while. They both felt it. The whole world was a stage and life was the performance. Every day and every second. Even when they were alone, they were not themselves. Then, just like that out of nowhere a moment would come like this. Completely random and beautifully improbable and they'd be standing there bare. Entirely who they were. And they did not judge each other. It seemed like she sort of liked him too? He could never be sure but that made it all the more hideously exciting. His breathing quickened, the intensity of it all was too much and they were on the edge now. They only had a few seconds and he already had the hindsight to see that once it was gone, they'd be bare in the worst ways. There was no doubt in his mind; Tess would not like what she saw once this chance moment faded. He wanted to get out so maybe they could have a tomorrow. All attempts were in vain though. Just as the moment faded, so did the light, his world went horribly black. Shadows danced just as they did, as if they were in some dingy dance hall, surrounded by ghosts. For once, she could not claim to be one of them. They moved gracefully and without making a single mark, their feet didn't touch the floor and they swept just in front of his eyes, out of reach. Tess was real. It sounded stupid but he hadn't expected her to be as warm as she was. His already fast beating heart threatened to puncture a new hole in his chest. Barely thinking he put his arms round her too, tightly clinging to her as if his life depended on it, hands tangled in the blond hair that held so much meaning somehow. He'd never been so close to her and he wondered if he ever would be again, not physically, just mentally. They were on a level playing field right now, even if it was a game neither of them wanted. He let himself be led by her, the relevance of that not lost on him and he finally let go of the comforting softness of her body, it felt like they'd been holding on forever. He turned to her, not able to feel apologetic or awkward for their embrace yet. "You're wrong you know. Ghosts don't make marks. Humans do. Ghosts walk too lightly." Fearghal was thankful he was unable to cry over Tabby anymore, because if he were, he'd probably be in tears now. "I just miss someone." He finished ominously.