#overestimation

Overestimation

Summary: In which Dark can’t let go, not yet.

There’s actually plot to this. It’s basically an entire fic. I got inspired, I guess. Still going to treat this as a prompt, but it is quite a big one.

Thank you for the request!!

—

Dark’s room is half empty. Half of his bed remains unmade, a mess of sheets and blanket and a soft imprint on a pillow, that side is cold, uninhabited but still carrying the ghost that it is. Half of his closet holds only empty air, not soft fabrics of clothes.

Half of Dark is gone.

You had left him, finally. Decided that enough was enough and that his honey words and silver tongue didn’t make up for his faults.

He’s sitting in his room. Refusing to move his things over in the closet or to fix your side of the bed. If it remains messy, then it kind of feels like you’re still here. If he leaves his room as you left it when you packed all of your things, then it feels like you’ll return. Like you just packed for a trip, not for forever.

You’re still in the Manor. You’d moved to a free guest room by the Googles, asking them to alert you if Dark tried to visit. Because you didn’t want him near you anymore.

Enough was enough.

He’s a fool, despite being one of the smarter egos. Despite all of his claims of not being one. He had overestimated you, what you were willing to accept, what you would let slide.

He had gone too far.

He’d seen the lines you’d placed, shaky and shallow in your unsureness because of who Dark was. You were already bending lines, being with him, and he was no normal human, not average in any sense of the word.

Dark was an enigma. You’d liked that, at the start, and you’d let his bloodlust for the man who ruined him slide because Mark had taken everything from him. Maybe you had let too much slide, just to justify your relationship.

You shouldn’t have had to justify anything.

It’s Dark’s fault that you felt like you had to. It’s Dark’s fault that you left and his fault that he’s alone.

He stands shakily, lacking his usual controlled grace. He needs to see you again. Just once, a proper goodbye before you’re truly gone. He’s heard that you’re looking to move out of the manor. There’s nothing keeping you here now.

There’s no reason for you to live here instead of visit. He knows you’ll visit, eventually, but it won’t be for him. In your relationship with him, you had bonded with the other egos. You’ll return to see them, will keep those friendships alive as you ignore the grave of your relationship with him.

He should have known better, in hindsight.

You were a human. Simple and untouched by Mark’s corruption. Of course you wouldn’t understand him, everything he was leads back to events that you can’t fully believe without seeing, without experiencing.

Rules and reality were different with him. Despite trying, you just couldn’t understand and accept it when he crossed a forbidden line for you that was an average walk in the park for him.

You were too different. Dark was foolish to ever think that something could work out, with anyone. With you. There isn’t a world where things work out with you.

He strides out of his room, determination steeling the shake in his bones. You owe him a proper goodbye.

One of the Googles steps out, as he turns into the corridor you’re staying in. His eyes are lit up, an indicator that he’s communicating with his brothers, probably.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Dark looks down on him, knowing that he should be kind since the Googles were more emotion and less robot after their split and that Yellow (he couldn’t care to remember which names they chose for themselves) was anxious.

He pulls in a deep breath. “Please,” he says, not asking because he will force his way through if he needs to. “I just want a moment with them.”

His eyelids stutter, shuddering between open and closed in a show of processing. Dark could push through now, sneak by while he’s lost in his technical side, but he doesn’t. You always told him that he needed to be kinder, that politeness wasn’t kindness.

Maybe it says something, that he’s still trying. Maybe it’s just become a habit that he’ll break soon enough.

“Alright,” the yellow google says, eyes and lens adjusting to focus on his face. “But you have to leave if they ask.”

Dark blinks, fighting the rising disgust that they think he’s capable of that. He might be cunning and manipulative and evil, but he’s always been polite. It stirs something uncomfortable that people, even the egos, his fellow brethren and comrades, always see that first.

“Of course,” he replies smoothly, posture and composure in place besides a tick of his jaw and a jump in his aura, red pulsing thicker for a moment before it settles. Dark’s not a fan of how his emotions are put on display so blatantly — he can never feign calmness he doesn’t feel, no matter how good an actor he may be.

Not that he’s planning to lie to you, but it is irritating that holding his composure in a moment of strain isn’t a possibility.

He steps past the google and makes stoic eye contact with the one standing outside your door. Red — the one still getting a grasp for emotions. He tips his head as a silent hello and the bot only narrows his eyes in response, displeased but allowing him through.

Meaning that you had been the one to allow him access. Not that the Googles wouldn’t ask you, but— you are letting him in.

He’s hesitant, as he steps in. Fighting his need for you to be close and his need for you to be happy. He had fallen too hard, crashing and crumbling at the bottom of the cliff. You had tamed him better than he would ever admit.

“Hello,” he greets, noting the harsh stance of your posture, the tension laying thick over your skin. You don’t want him here. It’s what he expected, but it stings still.

(He’s not foolish enough to hope that you would forgive him.)

“Hi.”

He winces at your flat tone, the lack of any interest or emotion. You’re treating this like a job or a homework assignment — something that you detest but need to get done. He hopes that you know that you had a choice, that you could have turned him away.

He would have listened, despite the itch to see you.

You blow out a breath and Dark gives you the courtesy of pretending he doesn’t see the nerves behind it, the fear. You’re scared, now, and the only monster in the room is him.

“What do you want?”

He pulls in his own breath, teeth clenched and bared. He moves his arms as he speaks, a nervous habit that everyone contributes to his manipulative nature. “We left things unpleasantly the last time we spoke,” he says, tone smooth and charismatic like it always is, like he likes it to be. “I thought that a proper, softer goodbye would be beneficial for us.”

You had been crying, the last time he saw you. Overcome with emotion and hurt. You were hurt, because of him. Crying, because of him. That’s something he never wanted.

Red still cuts through your eyes now, but softer, almost a pink. You’re still hurt, but already beginning the process of moving on, it seems.

That hurts.

“I’m not going to forgive you.” You’re blunt, squinting at him suspiciously, thinking that he has an ulterior motive behind his sweet words. To be fair, he usually does and maybe he does this time, but it’s not his priority.

You are. Too late, you are his priority. Twisted, he’s here for you to benefit himself. To ease his mind. To reassure himself later that the last time you spoke wasn’t when you left, when you were hurt and fuming.

He softens some, at your accusation. He’s never been able to decide if he liked that you could see through him. He drops the rigidness, anyway. Being blunt would be better, more direct. He could get out of your hair sooner.

“Alright,” he concedes. “I wanted to talk to you before you left. That’s all. I promise.”

It’s rare that Dark makes a promise outright. He’s usually more coy with his words and a promise is blunt and binding in a way he usually avoids. He drops that now, for you, so maybe you’ll trust him a little.

“Fine. What about?”

Nervous, he shifts his feet. He needs you, but he doesn’t want to seem weak. Those interests conflict now.

“Us. I’m not pleased with the way we left things.”

His aura crackles around him, red and blue fighting for dominance.

“Oh.” It’s your turn to soften now. Because Dark is showing weakness now, whether he likes it or not. And, together or not, it still warms you some that he’s doing so for you.

He sees the gentleness in your features, the soft edges you’re capping over your previous sharp ones. His jaw clenches briefly. He doesn’t need to be babied.

You sit, dropping all pretenses of being angry and foreboding, instead settling more into a friend role. Ready to listen and talk. He follows your lead, taking a seat near you on the bed, the only place to sit.

He stares at his hands, not wanting to see any pity or sympathy on your face. He doesn’t need it. He needs you. Swallowing thickly, he begins.

“I should say that I’m sorry. I had no intentions of pushing you away as I did.” He’s being honest, soul bearingly, openly so. It’s hard, being vulnerable, but he knows that being this honest is the only way he won’t completely lose you. “I’m aware that I had a tendency to take you for granted, to... overestimate how much of my foolishness you would take.”

Your hand brushes against his, him flinches away from your comfort. “You weren’t foolish.” You’re frowning, at this new Dark, at this vulnerable weakness he’s showing you.

He shakes his head. “I was. I’m sorry for that, if I could go back,” he remembers the start of your relationship, when you had been nothing but warm and happy and uncumbered by all of his darkness, “I’d go about things differently.”

He’d done things wrong. He’d known so at the time, that he should cherish you if he wanted to keep you, but he had overestimated you and underestimated himself. He had thought that he could handle losing you, that he could continue on unaffected, but he can’t.

He can’t.

You had been far more important than he realized. Your loss — your leaving — had cut him more deeply than he thought it could. You always surprised him.

You place your hand on his shoulder, now, refusing to leave when it slumps under you. Blue is heavy in his aura, overlining the red and you know that he’s being sincere.

Part of you wishes he wasn’t. It would be easier to move on without this memory of his apology and his soft vulnerability — something that is so rare for him to show, so hard for him to bring out. It ruins his image as the powerful leader of the egos, cunning, smart, cold and always in control. It’s so rare that he sheds that.

“Dark...”

“But what’s done is done.” He seems to have steeled himself, rising from his slumped position, face neutral and cold. Not soft and sad and warm as it just was.

There’s something else in his expression, something that you can’t recognize, that you can’t place. It’s dark, a shadow lurking behind the cold exterior.

He half closes his eyes before turning to face you, your hand falling to your lap. He seems to have come to a conclusion, that shadow now sitting still instead of flying across his face, aura now still and blue. He’s determined, but still sad.

You don’t expect it when he leans forwards and slots his mouth against yours. It’s harsh, a connection that neither of you expected but one that speaks volumes.

I miss you, it screams. I love you, please stay.

It’s heartbreaking, is what it is. A final, grand show that slips through careful control.

You can taste his desperation in the messiness of his kiss, in the quick pace and the way he’s trying to pull you into him, reel you back in with nothing but his mouth. It doesn’t work, it won’t, but it cracks at your heart all the same.

It’s enough for you to return it, at least. Or maybe it’s just so surprising that your body shut down into autopilot. You’re not sure.

Either way, he kisses you and you can feel the begging question in it, the fact that his reputation and pride are keeping him from actually dropping to his knees to ask.

He wants you to stay.

If he thought that a kiss, suddenly sprung on you when he said he was just here to apologize, could change that, then he was wrong.

You’re the one to pull away, wide-eyed and gaping.

He’s looking at you, red aura shifting, shell cracking, face soft.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, seeming to settle back into himself as he fixes his composure, brow knitting as he taps at his mouth, the pout of his lower lip. “I... I swear I didn’t come with the intention of kissing you.”

“I hope not,” you say, feeling the need to be harsh and blunt. “We’re not together anymore.” His face shifts at your words, expression turning rigid and eyes chilling. “You don’t get to kiss me like that anymore.”

Not that he ever did. He wasn’t spontaneous like that. He never kissed you out of the blue. He didn’t kiss you much at all, actually, preferring other ways of showing his affections. You had been fine with it. That wasn’t why you called it off.

“I know.” His jaw bites down at the words, some kind of anger rising up in him that you recognize as being self-directed. It really was a slip in his control, of his judgement.

You try to ignore the implications of that. If Dark kissed you while out of control, than that means that he needed it. You’ve never known Dark to need anything like that.

“It’s... nice of you, to come apologize and try to give us a better ending, but it’s best if we leave it here.” You see the hurt masked in his gaze, and you have to refrain yourself from touching him in a form of comfort. “Clean slate and everything. Goodbye. Don’t come here again.”

He stands, taking a few steps away from your harsh tone, your harsh eyes, your harsh self. He’s unsettled, feeling out of his skin and foreign, like a zoo animal behind glass getting judged by greasy-handed children.

“Alright.”

He leaves, words boiling within him, lapping against his organs, sending smoke up his throat. They’re pleading words, words of desperation and weakness and regret.

They’re true, but not words that Dark will say.

He’s not man enough to bare himself like that.

—

Whoops. Made it angsty. But it fits cause of the post break up thing? Yeah, I’ll roll with that. I also like this prompt too much. Like, it just fits well. I feel bad for Dark.

In Figure A.3a the Western score is always higher than the Eastern, making long-term lock-in theories seem very plausible and also invalidating my claim that social development changes the meaning of geography. Figure A.3b, by contrast, effectively reverses the conclusions of my actual index, having the East lead 90 percent of the time since the Ice Age.

PEER SUBSTANCE USE OVERESTIMATION AMONG UNIVERSITY STUDENTS: A CROSS-SECTIONAL SURVEY.

PEER SUBSTANCE USE OVERESTIMATION AMONG UNIVERSITY STUDENTS: A CROSS-SECTIONAL SURVEY.

Format:  Microsoft Word

Pages:  72

Price:  ₦3,000

Chapters:  1-5

Click to DOWNLOAD Materials

TABLE OF CONTENT

Title Page———i

Certification——–ii

Dedication———iii

Acknowledgement——-iv

Abstract ———vi

Table of Content——–vii

Chapter One

1.0 Introduction ——-1

1.1 Statement of Problem——4

1.2 Purpose of the Study——5

1.…

New Post has been published on http://citizensjournal.us/overestimation-of-ventura-riverfoster-park-wellfield-water-supply/

Overestimation of Ventura River/Foster Park Wellfield Water Supply

By Daniel Cormonde

Ventura Water admittedly continues to wrongly overestimate the 2020 and 2025 amount of water available from the Ventura River and Foster Park wellfield.   Water rights do not equate to water availability.  Plans and data are being based on 1993 information which has been overcome by events and has become outdated.

Foster Park Wellfield Restoration Project.

a. At 3:00 minutes into to discussion of the Water Commission 10/27/2015 Agenda Item 3, Slide 30 of Foster Park Improvements, the Assistant General Manager of Ventura Water, Joe McDermott states[1]:

“…..One of the main reasons why the Comp Plan, CM Master Plan and even the 2015 Comprehensive Water Resources Report, we do show the 4,200 and 6,700 acre-feet per year, we have to.  We start showing those numbers as zero we basically ….. we are in the middle of a lawsuit., people want us out of there, you can imagine you know not only going in front of a judge and he looks at the Comprehensive you don’t lose water you only show about…..water so, we really have to show what we believe is our water rights so, whatever its optimistic or what you want to call it we can’t show numbers what are less than what we believe we are trying to get, if that makes sense?  Umm, Back in time, can’t do it, at some time five years from now we give up and we’re to have to go to desal probably and its very expensive and if you’d rather not do it if we have the fight for what we believe are our water rights…..”

b. A summary of the elements of the $22.8M Proposed Foster Park Wellfield Production Restoration project is shown in Figure 1.  Details of the $22.8M proposed project appear to be inconsistent with the $28M Foster Park Wellfield Restoration CIP Project which describes only one well and does not describe any embankment protection.

Figure 1- Proposed Foster Park Wellfield Production Restoration

Additional details (Water Commission 2015 10 27 Agenda Item 3 Slide 30) and audio

http://citizensjournal.us/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/102715MeetingRecording30.wma

are attached.

R/

Daniel Cormode

_______________________________________________

Daniel Cormode is a Ventura resident

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