#thmyis

                  even in her late thirties this statement remains mostly true, with only one exception. her success brings her peace of mind, though that could also be a side effect of therapy. she gains friends, builds trust as thin as the bridges might be. it takes time, it takes work, and there are days the harsh cold of a past self surface, people who bring it out in her, she is still manipulative, she is still blunt, and harsh when the days are long, but there is always wendy, and there are always her inner circle, coaxing her back from who she was to who she has become. through those people she has learned  it takes time to thaw. 

          “Would it KILL you to use a modicum of strategy with this game?” He scowled as her fighter smacked his down to the ground once again. “You can’t just randomly button-smash the rest of your life. You’re an adult, aren’t you?” Of course he was only saying this to undermine her because she’d beat him in the last two matches, both within two rounds. Usually he was pretty good at Mortal Kombat and Sub-Zero was his guaranteed winner, but he didn’t have as nimble fingers as Katz had. And of course, anyone could win this game if they pressed buttons fast enough. “You could at least try learn a few combos, that would work in your favor. That way you can actually use them on purpose and not just stumble upon them.” Zeller bit his lip as his thumbs darted over the buttons, trying to make combos but kept getting interrupted with her random strikes. “Come on! You’re in my apartment, playing my video games, drinking my beer, you OWE me at least a fighting chance.”

Beverly’s offer, though kind, was a little surprising. Most people ran in the opposite direction, rather than have to deal with him. “I have a confession to make,” he said, taking hold of the ice cream cup. “I’m a touch lactose intolerant.” Attempting to mirror her smile, it came off as tired as he tossed the dessert into the trash. “Tequila, however, I have complete tolerance for.”

                   𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅𝐅       snared  in  his  teeth  ,  cutting  his  gums  ,  barbwire  caught  in  the  snarling  trap  of  his  mouth.  everything  about  him  ,  from  the  shape  of  his  mouth  to  the  taste  in  his  mouth  is  bitter.  when  life  gives  him  lemons  he  swallows  them  whole.  no  room  in  his  mind  for  barriers  ,  MIND  THE  GAP   ,  hard  to  lose  track  when  he’s  not  sure  if  he’s  ever  seen  them.  fingers  massage  the  bridge  of  his  nose  ,  glasses  tucked  into  his  shirt  pocket.  he  doesn’t  look  up.  he’s  stripped  himself  of  the  wall  he  built  ,  without  the  barrier  of  his  glasses  he  can  admit  ,  in  the  bear  trap  of  his  mind  that  he’s  afraid.  his hands  are  shaking  ,  the  one  clenched  on  the  desk  is  white  knuckled  ,  blushed  pink  ,  the  only  flush  on  pallid  skin.  his  breath  is  too  loud  in  his  ears  ,  cutting  through  the  white  noise  that  has  taken  up  residence  inside  of  him.  a  fog  caught  in  the  liminal  space  of  his  mind  ,  highway  noise  and  the  bay  of  a  stag.  HE  LOOKS  UP :   because  he  must  ,  because  the  red  lined  darkness behind  his  eyelids  are  rotting  into  a  bruised  night  and  he  sees  a  chest  carved  open  ,  he  sees  ribs  like  antlers  and  a  welling  up  of  blood.   he  does  not  gasp.  his  breath  is  inconstant :  a  candle  in  the  wind  and  he  feels  no  less stable.   her  shadow  stretches  ,  larger  than  her  form  ,  warped  in  a  way  he  can’t  place.  his  eyes  land  on  the  ever  present  tilt  of  her  mouth  ,  he  thinks  she  might  understand.  he  thinks  she  can  see  it  in  him  ,  that  if  he  opened  his  mouth  something.   ...    something  clawing  up  his  throat  ,  choking  him  would  come  flooding  out.  he  thinks  that  she  is  no  noah  ,  he  doesn’t  know  if  there’s  an  ark  this  time.  he  hears  the  flutter  of  feathers  and  thinks  for  one  dizzying  moment  that  it’s  a  dove  ,  the  closest  thing  to  an  apology.   he  feels  instead  the  brush  of  breath  on  the  back  of  his  neck  ,  knows  without  looking  there’s  a  forest  of  antlers  reaching  for  him.  HE  DOES  NOT  REACH  BACK.   he  tries  a  smile  ,  he  doesn’t  know  if  it  works.   “  i  think  we  have  different  definitions  of  important  ,  that’s  all.  “   there’s  more  ,  caught  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  ,  cut  in  the barbwire.  he  thinks  he’s  not  the  important  one.  

@thmyis​​​​​​          /           𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐃   !

Jokes. Sarcasm. Deflection. Will could never bring himself to be truthful these days, and something about Beverly’s sharp, earnest eyes always made him feel a bit too seen. In some ways, it was a comfort. Could someone finally see the ugly, insidious decay and not mind?

     With a sigh she leans back on her chair, feet propped over the railing. The effort of consciously relaxing her shoulders before looking back at Bev is pretty damn obvious, but when her eyes look at her she seems calm, even amused. “Only good things, I hope”