#WEBSPIN is an extremely private ( mutuals - only ) multi - muse blog. spun by spider. triggering themes ahead. plot - based, low activity, and strictly 21+.
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@webspin
#WEBSPIN is an extremely private ( mutuals - only ) multi - muse blog. spun by spider. triggering themes ahead. plot - based, low activity, and strictly 21+.
CARRD. MEMES.

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@veriforman : i can handle it. ( dieter + ellie )
SUN - SCORCHED / KISSED SKIN AND EARTH : here they find themselves alone in the wilderness of their love ( ? ), open sky wide above them like a promise. WILDFLOWERS AND BLISTERS [ … ] he reaches out a hand for her rucksack, is met with rejection and an unflinching resolution he’s grown to expect ; TIME - HARDENED VOLCANIC ROCK UNDER SILKEN SOIL AND ROSE - ROOTS. he smiles like a knife, all cold, sharp edges. ‘ you don’t like to make things easy. ’ a swallow of warm water, metallic as blood in his throat : he offers his hand again to her ——— WATER AS AN OLIVE BRANCH, AS A SHARED NEED / TONGUE ——— and so they walk side - by - side along the stony path, two lovers cast in equal parts sun and shadow.
@wantslife : i can’t understand a word you’re saying. * ( bill + adam )
‘ of course not. you don’t speak swedish. never mind. i was talking to myself. ’ months spent in solitude, at sea [ … ] SALT WATER LAPPING THE HULL, MERMAID - TONED ; wind and whalesong are the only voices you hear out there. isolation is a sword that cuts the hands that hold it ——— friendless and adrift ( willing or no ), it’s not long before you start to feel like you’re going a little loopy ! AH, BUT WHEN YOU’VE YOUR PICK OF PEOPLE, OFTENTIMES YOU’D RATHER NONE OF THEM SPOKE AT ALL. ‘ sometimes it’s the only way to get an intelligent conversation! ’ SILK - WOVEN EXUBERANCE LIES DRAPED UPON THE STEELY UNDERTONE OF HIS WORDS : friendly, but not a friend. the record of stories he’s won is tangled in his hand, smudged - ink history [ … ] saltwater eyes peering at the tales recorded in his mothertongue, he mouths the words again in silence.
let’s all fill ally’s dashboard up with posts
@delinqent : i’ve done nothing to feel guilty about. * ( nelson + jimbo )
Q : WHAT IS GUILT ? show your working [ … ] all the shit they’ve done, all the junk they stole and defaced, all the fear they ever inspired. if nelson ever felt an ounce of guilt for bloodied knuckles or ill - gotten quarters, he’s tamped it down ‘til it’s matching the hard ball of anger and resentment in his chest. WHAT IS GUILT ? he never felt guilty for the bruises or the passing - on of fear or the harsh laughter that always seemed to come too easily. what have kids got to be guilty for ? ——— the only choice out here is EAT OR BE EATEN and he’s not going down without a fight. ( how do you plead ? / NOT GUILTY [ … ] JUST SURVIVING. ) take a shrug, jimbo : ‘ no way, man. that jagoff had it coming. ’

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junksaw:
AMANDA IS A BODY OF HURT. shame collects itself in her shoulders and pulls them tight, contained into a fragile shape. that space under the stairs, the one that offered nothing except blackness and the tantalizing idea of family right outside of its locked door, there was only so much room ; the makings of a beast huddled into a corner for safety that never was, constraining her to a fixed spot, and she feels the claustrophobia behind her now. ‘ oh. ’ the voice of the meek : there you are again, girl. can’t keep your story straight, can’t you? victor, victim, pick a fucking side. ‘ he was given a chance. ’ she spells it out to john as if he didn’t write the gospel they preach ; from her mouth, it sounds like pages tearing. a chance as good as any, handed down by gods and monsters — when their teachings go unappreciated, where does the blame lie? not with amanda ; she’ll only bury it with the rest. failed test subjects collect themselves in the graveyard of her mind, and over their tombstones she finds comfort : those who do not fight for their lives do not deserve their lives. john rests his palm atop her shoulder, lays claim to what nobody else dared to ( i am your daughter, why aren’t you my father? ), and she finds it easier to look at the floor below than to seek out his eyes. ‘ the weak don’t survive, ’ comes careful reasoning, then a less restrained sermon of scorn. ‘ and we shouldn’t expect them to. ’
THEY MOURN LIKE A MURDER : crows picking over carrion, no morsel or moral wasted. HERE LIES [ … ] HERE LIES [ … ] each death is a lesson / a sermon of suffering. now his own child, blood on her hands, speaks his own doctrine back to him, twisted and torn in the way it all is with amanda. and his mouth twists, too : barely - there, the slightest of frowns. ( this hallowed burden they carry out of duty, not love ; there can be no joy in death [ … ] HE INTERS HIS GUILT WITH HIS FEAR. ) let us make mankind in our own image : in the image of the trials he’s conceived of, he carves his legacy ——— tries to. a butcher with a beartrap, cutting right to the bone ; SHE’S A PATCHWORK PIG, SOME CREATURE GIVEN BREATH BY FRANKENSTEIN ——— a lesson in punishment here, a lesson in love there [ … ] self - flagellation, self - gratification. JIGSAW SPILLS BLOOD AND CALLS IT HOLY WATER, and denies absolution all the while proclaiming it. TRAP - CRAFTED WOMAN, bloody fingers worn to the bone : even this is a test, and she will not look him in the eye. ( [ … ] he sent not his child into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through her might be saved. ) the final test is this : can he trust her ? THE ANSWER IS THE SILENCE BETWEEN HEARTBEATS. in echoes of gentleness, rust - bitten and distant, john crooks a finger beneath her downturned chin. ( don’t you see ? i would never hurt you. ) the weak die, and the strong survive ——— and now he needs her to be stronger, because with each day he grows weaker. ‘ we should hope for it. ’
@wantslife : incoming 10 degrees south, possible hostile intruder located. * ( mitchell + adam )
‘ i don’t see anything. ’ WHISKEY - SMOOTH VOICE BELIES THE NERVOUSNESS WITHIN ; in time with the beating of his own dead heart, a door swings open and closed and open again. ( unblackened eyes widen : HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A MONSTER AFRAID ? [ … ] a terribly human thing. ) the truth seems to sit just out of reach, somewhere beyond a shroud ——— THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED ! ——— so mitchell opts instead for a lie. A THOUSAND LIES TO MATCH THE BLOODSTAINS ON HIS TONGUE ——— WHAT’S ONE MORE ? those wide / wild eyes bore determinedly into adam’s own, precluding any glance toward this POSSIBLE HOSTILE INTRUDER [ … ] better known as ANNIE to friends ; she stands by the door with a guilty look a mug of tea. ‘ must be the wind. ’
slashre:
… JONAS EXISTS IN LIMBO : remembrance becomes a painful needle jabbing itself into his wrist while ignorance remains a ball of anger lodged into his chest, replacing the heartbeat ( he supposes that only endurance is left … the listless survival that follows intense trauma, the wandering soul trapped inside a body that refused movement ). the nerve gas house hadn’t birthed a family from its numbing womb, but sons and daughters were still turned into splatter - marks against rotting tile. IT HAD MERELY TAKEN : birth was an act of creation, but the house had been dedicated only to eating them alive ( the jaws, the mouth, the choking swallow of gore trapped in its teeth ). he balances himself along the tightrope of the house’s mouth and tries not to fall into a throat eager to devour him whole. ‘ he’s just that, you know. he’s just a kid. but fine, we don’t gotta talk about him. ’
the flesh on the back of his neck aches sometimes, brimstone and fire tingling itself over the part of his body that had sacrificed itself to a blade : they’d taken skin from the back of his thighs to stitch his body back together ( he watches xavier touch at the back of his own neck and he wonders if they ache in the same ways ). ‘ there’s a bar a few places down. don’t think it’s smart to have that much alcohol this close to a church … to a support group … but i ain’t gonna get up on my high horse about it. ’ he slides his hands into his pockets, clicks his tongue against his cheek. CONSIDERATION : what exists between them when they’re not caught between heaving walls? ‘ we could go together. ’
JUST A KID. what’s a kid but a bloody imprint of its parents ? : hematic birth follows a bloodtrail all the way to hell. from the moment you fight your way out of the womb you’re fighting against a path that’s been paved in sin and ignorance. does anyone ever learn ? XAVIER RESISTS THE URGE TO SPIT.
kinship versus consternation : alliance does not come easily to a wounded animal [ … ] THE BITTEN, THE BITER. between the two of them gapes a needle - point pit, a chasm for the desperate to cross. ( hope [ … ] for a price. ) grey walls, rust - veined, are closing in on him ——— they’ve been closing in his whole life. HERE IS THE EMERGENCY EXIT : a writhing trauma - hole once offered by a disembodied voice, jonas standing at the other side. he worries old wounds and shoves would - be outstretched hands into his pockets ; xavier mirrors in reluctant acceptance of this something - less - than - antagonism. ( is it too late ? [ … ] YOU’RE ALIVE. MOST PEOPLE ARE SO UNGRATEFUL TO BE ALIVE. )
‘ what? it’s not the fuckin’ aa, man. ’ piety and poise a privilege of the protected, of those whose hands aren’t yet raw from clawing their way through [ … ] xavier thinks only of xavier, except to say : ‘ these guys could probably use a drink. ’ AND JONAS ? well ——— ‘ tch … whatever. come on. ’ THE EMERGENCY EXIT : a dropped gaze and a slamming of shoulder to shoulder as he moves to pass jonas ——— violence - free, this contact, but not unlaced with familiar desperation.
paidlove:
THEY SAY MONEY CAN’T BUY LOVE and yet here they are. spending pretty pennies on something that feels almost there, that burns the same way love does - … JUST WITHOUT ALL THE HURT. it’s all fun and games and no one ever has to get hurt because neither of them have heartbreak to give. she can’t afford to break his heart, and he can’t afford to lose the ONLY THING THAT FEELS REAL. she’s the closest thing to love he thinks he can get, and she’s too selfish to tell him otherwise. DEAR DIARY … money can’t buy love but he could afford something close. with his sparkling grin and his hesitant words, he is kind enough to spark something inside of her that resists the urge to be selfish. BUT NEED OVERRIDES WANT, and she will forever be clinging onto the bills he slides into her purse for what’s beneath her skirt. ( dear diary, that’s a lie. ) none of his money goes toward the prize held between her thighs, it’s all for something altruistic and sinfully beautiful. HE WANTS TO SEE THAT SPARKLE IN HER EYE & the rounding of her cheeks when she smiles. but it’s easier to believe she is simply a body, a vessel for pleasure instead of a placebo of love [ … ] it hurts her heart a little bit less, allows her to take whatever boy toy she wants under her wing whenever she wants. perhaps she is selfish for the amount of lying she does to both him and herself, but it’s easier to believe the lies rather than face the DESPERATE TRUTH that brings an ache to her chest and trembles her fingertips. so when she downs her shot, she pretends it doesn’t burn. opposites in the way that he embraces the ache and she pretends it doesn’t exist. A FAKE LIFE FOR A FAKE GIRL : she might as well be wrapped up and packaged for whoever consumes her in the moment. a wanna - be barbie for a wanna - be life. ‘ you really think so? ‘ innocence disguises the cheshire grin for only a minute before it morphs into the truthful smirk that graces features ever so often. ‘ I’LL SHOW YOU HOW INCREDIBLE I CAN BE … ‘ shameless hands slide beneath his suit jacket, manicured nails dragging themselves down his sides before returning her hands to her own body, running fingers through her hair and adjusting herself in her seat. her heart jumps at his declaration of possession : my girl … SHE’D BE LYING if she said it didn’t affect her the way it did him, that the burn in her stomach was just from the liquor. it licks flames up the sides of her neck, scratches initials into the small of her back and brings thighs over one another : faux composure straightening her spine as she collects herself. ‘ the next show i’m gonna go all out, honey. it’s going to be fuckin’ sick, and mara even said she’d help me do costume changes. well. ‘ a roll of her eyes. ‘ she said it when she was drunk, so WHO KNOWS how true that’ll be. but whatever. ‘ bitterness tinges at her features for only a flash of a second, before she moves on and forward the only way she knows how to. ‘ YOU’RE COMING TO THE AFTER PARTY, RIGHT? please tell me we’re finally getting wasted together. ‘
STRIP AWAY THE JEWELS, THE SUPERFICIAL FRUITS AND FLOWERS, AND TAKE A LOOK AT THE ROTTING ROOTS UNDERNEATH ! selfishness like a disease, like a parasite. it will devour them all in the end, but hey ——— THAT’S SHOWBIZ ! that’s business. he’s rubbed shoulders long enough with cutthroats and corporates that their greed’s rubbed off on him [ … ] he’s climbed the ladder and the view from the top’s not all it’s cracked up to be. so he turns his head away from the sprawling expanse of corruption and loneliness that stretches into the years ahead of him, turns to look into olivia’s smiling eyes : excitement bubbles from her, enticing as champagne and just as intoxicating.
there’s an urge, an almost instinctual urge, to keep her from seeing the ugliness he does ( although she’s battling, he knows, her own kind of ugliness ) and to keep her apart from mara. MARA BANKS : a bad influence if ever there was one ; he bites his tongue and grins, bland and banal as if he had not heard the name spoken at all. HE’S NOT HER FATHER, that’s for sure, and telling olivia what to do, even if daddy knows best, is unlikely to lead him down a path he wants to walk. ( mara and her own big dreams, stardom burning and dying in her eyes : A HYENA OF A WOMAN who’s learned ferocity among the picked - clean bones of her rivals. ) you should stay away from her [ … ] he doesn’t say it. olivia does not cling to him for his life advice ( and hey, who the fuck is he to be giving life advice ? ——— NOW TOURING : THE SÁNCHEZ SHITSHOW ! )
so he forces that wannabe - smile into something livelier, a warm hand on her warm thigh as the two nestle close [ … ] he tries not to shiver as her nails rake his skin, that tantalising promise of something to come. ‘ all out, huh ? what, like backup dancers and pyrotechnics ? ’ the grimace that follows springs not from the suggestion of extravagance ( MONEY MAKES MONEY ; it grows like a weed ) ——— it’s the promise of another party that’s got him uneasy, reminds him of something he’d rather not think about. ‘ come on, babe. it’s not like i’m in college anymore. i can’t drink like a fucking frat guy. ’
–––––– on your feet for the CAPTAIN ©

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@hellofit : i came looking for you. ( candy + cain )
VODKA - TEARS AS BLACK SPIDERLEGS WRIGGLE THEIR WAY ACROSS THE BLUSH OF HER CHEEKS. it’s one glass of vodka, the only one she’s had tonight [ … ] didn’t even finish it ; the sob - signature’s forged in burning spirit and the delicate dab of a fingertip. candy’s not been drunk, really drunk, since BEFORE ——— teenaged and deplorable, with her head down a toilet [ … ] she was somebody else then. SHE’S SOMEBODY ELSE NOW : a vulnerable fantasy crafted for men like this, a lost little girl stumbling in stiletto heels, A DANCE SHE’D DANCED A HUNDRED TIMES BEFORE. ‘ oh my god. i’m so sorry you’re seeing me like this. ’ her voice is trembling, girlish [ … ] THE VOICE OF A PORCELAIN DOLL. wine - red crocodile claws dab at crocodile tears ——— ‘ i’m fine. it’s fine. oh my god ——— how are you?! ’
‘ HEY. ’ introductions have always been her least favorite part : they weigh heavy on her tongue, right between where casual laughs and conversation should lie ( but trauma steals all, and she has plenty to owe her past. ). she allows for a smile, a sham of pleasantries, and darts her brows up. ‘ it’s nice to see a new face around here — amanda, ’ she announces. a nod of her head elsewhere, a jerk toward metal folding chairs and a bubbling coffee maker and all the best parts, by process of elimination alone, of coming home shrouded in war’s shadows. ‘ i think we can have a few minutes of normal conversation before we have to sit down and divulge all our deepest, darkest fears to total strangers ; what d’you say? ’
@webspin,
confession to him is no stranger, remorse a psalm mumbled in shame from the shadows. ( forgive me, father [ … ] take my yoke upon you ) FOLDING METAL CHAIRS, CHEAP COFFEE AND SORROW : they’re no strangers, either. his own form of communion is nestled quietly in his pocket, BLOOD - WARMED METAL AND AN UNHOLY SPIRIT. ( how can a shepherd lead a flock when he’s lost his own way ? ) doubt riddles him with holes like a wormy apple, but here he is NEITHER ABSOLVER NOR THE ABSOLVED : just another winner / loser, dry mouth filled with a thousand swarming flies ; he’s worried they’ll spill out of his mouth when he opens it to speak. ( whom shall i fear ? ) he smiles a smile that feels like a stranger’s, lurches forward and offers a clammy, sweat - pickled hand. ‘ i’m nate. what’s normal? ’
catholics be like “don’t be horny kids” and then bombard you with images of half naked men tied up to things
TAG DUMP.

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paidlove:
of course he came, he says as if there hasn’t been a million missed dinners and unfinished phone calls. LET IT GO. her heart doesn’t have the energy, nor the care to make it into an argument. all that matters is he’s here now, right? the truth is this : for all the shows she invites him to, this is the most important. the one where the crowd goes wild and the lights are on her as if she’s someone more than just a WANNA BE RAPPER, funded by a WANNA BE LOVER, crafted by WANNA BE AMERICANS. no. scratch that. they are what the dreams tell them they are : because regardless of how the world rejects them, they will always come out the other end. america is built on the blood, sweat and tears of immigrants just like her mother and father, and she won’t let ANYONE take that away from her. not even the ones who sneer at them in the street, all while they gobble down their bibimbap and call it a cultural experience. EAT IT UP, MOTHERFUCKERS. because when she’s on top, she’s going to take it all away until they see her for who she truly is. A CULTURAL SYMBOL for the culture stolen from her. she supposes part of the reason she loves - [ did she just say love? ] relates to leo is they come from places where their existence means nothing until they have the CASH TO BRING IT ALL HOME. the clink of the glasses pull her from her thoughts, gaze focusing in on the man in front of her. FOCUS UP, BABY. this is what you’re being paid for. ‘ you’re cute. ‘ a hand slides up his thigh, dangerously close to groping him in front of the world and god himself. ‘ but i think i’ll be the one doing the handling tonight. ‘ she’s riding a high that lets words curl effortlessly from her tongue, sinful delight making their kisses taste sweeter than either one of them truly is. she makes the chaste kiss into something dangerous, something that verges on a promise : THIS KISS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. she places unfinished business on a platter, shoving it aside as she pulls back from leo and fixes her hair. ALWAYS PICTURE PERFECT, right? she lifts her own glass, a wink sent his way as she smirks from around the rim. glossed lips smearing their perfect shine as she gulps down the liquor in a single go. one day, she’ll pretend that she needed it to fuck him. that the only way she could put her hands on him was with a blurred gaze. IT’S ALL A LIE, ISN’T IT? she won’t talk about the nights that they spend lying in bed, silk sheets covering their most delicate parts as her hands trace money symbols into his back as a way to say i love you. she won’t talk about the way she tells him the truth of it all, how he is the only one she can call in a pinch - SHE’LL TELL THEM ALL IT WAS FAKE. and she’ll tell him that it was an act, too. ‘ so. how’d i look up there? good enough to eat? ‘ a laugh shakes her shoulders, leaning in so her cleavage presses upward : A TEMPTATION FOR ANOTHER TIME. ‘ for real though, the crowd loved me. this is the best turnout i’ve had so far. fuckin’ rad. ‘
the kiss : a sticky signature [ … ] a silent echo on the rim of her glass as she casts it aside. THAT BURN IN HIS BELLY GROWS EVER STRONGER ; he casts his gaze about the club to see who’s watching. ( ROLL UP, ROLL UP : YOU, TOO, CAN HAVE IT ALL ! ) HERE IS THE MORAL OF THE STORY : spend your youth scrubbing dishes and you can spend your wealth on whatever your heart desires ——— spend enough time scrubbing and serving and you’ll make it to the office, to the boardroom ; sell enough of your time and you can buy it back. SELL ENOUGH OF YOUR YOUTH AND YOU CAN BUY IT BACK. a broken marriage doesn’t mean shit when you can trade a faulty wife in for a newer model : THIS IS A THROWAWAY CULTURE ; this is what dreams are made of. ( let’s pretend that shaking fingers never dial those old familiar numbers, that there’s no empty, aching space where ‘ i love you ’ used to live. ) SO, HE THROWS BACK HIS SHOT AND LETS IT BURN.
‘ of course they loved you, baby, you’re fucking incredible. ’ the afterparty is where it all begins, and he knows who he’s taking home tonight : THE STAR OF THE SHOW. money can’t buy love, they say, or happiness ——— but it seems to buy that sparkle in her eyes [ … ] he’s got a list of bills as long as his arm, and do does she ——— he knows the truth of them ; she whispers those secrets to him on quiet nights when the music dies and it’s just the two of them in his bed. on those nights, his house feels so much smaller than it is ( that ever - changing house feels big enough to swallow him whole when he is there alone ), AS THOUGH IT IS JUST THE BOTH OF THEM IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD.
leo promises her whatever she wants, knowing he can’t deliver fame, or legacy, or immortality [ … ] he can fix that leaky shower, and he can fund the afterparty, and he can buy her gifts that make her eyes light up, and he can buy her time. THE AMERICAN DREAM, right ? ——— trade in your youth for the hope of something better down the line [ … ] soon they’ll realise it’s all a lie, but for now, they have sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll : a shallow, self - serving betrayal of everything their parents ever stood for ( BUT IT SURE FEELS FUCKING TERRIFIC ! ) ( right ? ). ‘ my girl. ’ acting the gentleman is all an act : he keeps deliberate eye contact when eyes might be on him. ‘ the next show’s gonna be even bigger, i can feel it. ’ for now, let’s not mention the advertising budget.
paidlove:
a palm presses to the small of her back and instinct kicks in, THE CLAWS COME OUT. but as soon as his voice [ almost hesitant in the way it wavers ] graces her ears, shoulders relax - her body melting into his. he’s not smooth, nor is he as charismatic as some of the men that flock to her. but where he lacks in charisma, he gains in care [ … ] it’s rare to find a man who will take care of her the way he does. a blush settles onto flushed cheeks as he hands his black card to the bartender. DADDY’S HERE. plump lips settle into a pout, a hand sliding underneath her chin as she crooks her head towards him, manicured fingers pressing into her cheek as if to tell her blush to settle. NO NEED TO FAWN OVER SUCH A MAN. he’s just a means to an end, a walking bank account in the flesh. ( right? ) while some people would be ashamed to have leo on their arm, even dare to hide the details of their relationship : olivia sees it as a boost of status. as if to say, I’VE GOT WHAT YOU DON’T. the man, the car, the money, the career … but it’s all fake in the end. LOOK TOO CLOSE & THE ILLUSION SHATTERS. she figures that’s why she makes friends with those who are as shallow as her, who never look close enough simply because they don’t care. as long as they benefit, who needs to figure her out? leo is the only real one in her life, the only one who knows about the broken shower in her apartment and who paid for her parents rent when their shop couldn’t afford it. TRY AS YOU MIGHT TO BE HIGH CLASS, but the truth will come out eventually. so olivia hides it under gucci blankets and dior bags, and no one blinks twice. ‘ you came. ‘ breathless, almost in awe - THE MASK SLIPS. cold and heartless facade doesn’t hold up beside the excitement that vibrates off of her. a lick of her lips, as her posture straightens. she shrugs off the feeling that tingles at the bottom of her belly, and tries to mask the vulnerability that seeks to burst forth. ‘ SLOW DOWN? ‘ a scoff, hand sliding from beneath her chin to caress his cheek. her eyes round, lower lip jutting out ever so slightly. ‘ please - you need to lighten up, honey. I CAN HANDLE MYSELF. ‘ a pause. ‘ or rather, you can handle me. right? ‘ a flutter of her lashes and a light giggle, hand sliding down to tug him by his shirt - lips pressing against his in chaste kiss. just enough to ease any worries he’d had about her being ASHAMED. pfft. who’d be ashamed of having a man give her everything? if anything, he’s a trophy on her shelf just as much as she is his.
EARNESTNESS AND INSINCERITY MINGLE : ‘ of course. ’ he came because she wanted him to come, and what is he for but to give her everything she wants ? ——— ignore all the missed appointments and half - finished dates ; he’s here tonight, IMMEDIATE AND INTIMATE, and nothing matters but the now [ … ] not what brought them together, not where they’re going to end up when this all over. TONIGHT is the winding - down of a raucous rap show and the smell of sweat, TONIGHT’S the imminent burn of alcohol as two glasses are set promptly down on the bar in front of them.
her lips on his and that familiar soft, wanting warmth [ … ] he feels something stir within him, the echo of lost youth, maybe, a fire that flickers and burns as fierce as a shot of tequila ( but about twice as delightful ). NOW, A GROWL, a playful sort of fierceness he wouldn’t have thought he had left in him ——— it’s true that he’d not been like this with fiona in the slow - eking death of their marriage. something in him’s roused, and pounces with animal greed to steal another kiss. ( odd turn of phrase ——— is it stealing if you’ve paid for it ? he pays for lies, pays so much he’s convinced himself they’re truth, and maybe even she’s convinced herself of the same. )
‘ oh, i can handle you. i’ll handle you whatever way you want, baby. ’ a cringe and a wavering laugh underlines his own words, as though their being unrefined is ALL PART OF THE ACT. it’s lies on lies : he can’t keep up, neither here nor in private [ … ] when you’re buying fantasy you might as well buy into it ! both hands lift a glass ; he offers one in olivia’s direction with a mischievous smile, cousin to the playfulness he thought he’d forgotten. ‘ ¡salud! ’