. burning house

[tara scott]

Spontaneity had never been one of the usually overly thoughtful brunettes strong suits, though you wouldn’t know that as she hailed a cab from LaGuardia to Manhattan at 5am. It was only a few hours ago she’d been stuck in bed in Tennessee, sulking and cursing Riley’s name any time the opportunity presented itself. But a bottle of wine on top of what she could only explain as a broken heart made anything that put her in the same place as him seem like a good idea. The early morning chill, two and a half hour flight, and six cups of coffee turned that buzz right into anxiety, her knee bouncing up and down in the back of the cab crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. With her head against the chilled window, bright blue eyes watched the city that never sleeps wake up before her. For a second it was so beautiful she didn’t blame Riley for not wanting to leave. The thought is interrupted as the cab driver pulls up to the Lower East Side bar. Finger tips flick through her wallet, and she takes her time counting the cash in her lap, a subtle attempt to buy some time ruined by the antsy cab driver. What felt like such a good idea at 1am felt like the most pathetic move in the world now, as she stood in his doorway at 6am. She couldn't even remember what she was there for. It wasn’t too late to turn around, she pondered, knowing well enough no one would know she was there. But her heart got the best of her, and any mature thought disappeared. The over caffeinated brunette trudged up the battered stairs to an even more battered half opened door, her stomach turning at the idea of Riley coming home to this every night. She offers a light knock before letting herself in all together, mentally scolding him for not bothering to shut or lock the door. Maybe he was too busy to shut it because there was someone with him, and he just couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. It’s a thought she’s never been happier to have thought wrong as she spots him across the room, face down in the bed by himself. Finally, a sense of relief. Tara tip toes around the mess of clothes and take out cartons scattered throughout the too small studio, placing her bag down on the only clean spot she can find on the table between empty cigarette cartons and bottles. Letting out a sigh, she begins picking up what’s in sight of the mess, folding his clothes and attempting to make the space even semi livable. As soon as the inevitable crash hits her, even the OCD can’t keep her going, and she’s making her way to his bed. Eyes fixate on him for a second too long, and she feels completely whole in his presence. The weight of her body rests on her knees as she crawls in next to him, finger tips tracing circles on his bare bare back as if to try to wake him, her lips forming a trail from his shoulders to the cheek that’s not smothered in the pillow. Hi baby, will you move over? she whispers against his cheek, that state of their relationship momentarily forgotten. .................... --- notes: the worst im sorry ily. --- music: j biebz.

[Deleted]

As predictably as day turns to night, Riley's elated affection for cocaine had turned to frustrated hatred. Tired from work and exhausted with yearning for Tara, the first couple lines had picked up his mood immeasurably, his heart bumping through his chest at a rate that could rival a hummingbird's. The beat of whatever shitty drum and bass the club was playing rang right through him, dragging him from the depths of his depression and letting him forget his troubles for the moment. It was a blessing to feel so alive, so pumped up despite it being late and his whole body previously yearning for bed... at least, it was a blessing until it wasn't. You can always tell the legally intoxicated from the illegally, Riley thought, by how long they managed to stay out-- by about three am the drunks will have moved on to food or sex or sleep, sluggishly lugging themselves outside and into Ubers. Left behind, of course, were the less legally wasted, those who couldn't tell 3am from 3pm, with dilated pupils and rapid speech and a tendency to grind their teeth. Like all those left behind, Riley's shock was matched only by his disappointment as sunlight started to slip through the clouds. So he'd staggered home, reluctant but glad he hadn't wound up doing anything that would particularly hurt Tara. At least, he didn't think he had. Mouth so dry he felt sure it was full of sand, the weary barman's first move upon entering his dilapidated apartment was to head straight for the faucet, ducking his head down to slurp at the too cold water. Sweet relief flooded through him as he straightened up and leaned back on the counter, faintly aware of having left the door ajar but too lazy to close it. If anything he'd admire any potential burglar's opportunism, as well as ridiculous optimism. If there was anything of value to be had from the tiny, rundown studio, Riley surely was not aware of it. Excitement waning to grogginess as the effects of the drug wore off, he lazily peeled off his shirt and jeans, collapsing into bed in Calvin Klein boxers that Tara had bought him the Christmas before. God, he missed her. Thankfully, it seemed as though sleep would come easily to the worn out Louisianan. Ignoring the fact it was mere minutes away from 5am, Riley settled down for what he hoped would be a long slumber, propping his arm under the pillow and sprawling out, enjoying the space of the double bed. This was not a habit he'd adopted since becoming single again, far from. Sprawling out and taking up about two thirds of the bed had always been his prerogative, and even as he drifted off now, he missed Tara telling him to move up so much that he could almost hear it. It was as if she was in the room, crouched over him, whispering with that beautiful Tennessee accent... budging over, he hooked an arm around her to pull her close, nuzzling into her neck and breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. It took a full thirty seconds for reality to catch up to him, and when it did he was so thrown by it that he couldn't figure out if he was delighted or dismayed to see her. "What the fuck? Tara... what the fuck?" Hazy, he rubbed his eyes, genuinely expecting her to be gone once his vision cleared. But no, there she was. Involuntarily a smile crossed his freckled face, and before he could let the current state of their relationship (or lack thereof) catch up with them, he pulled her in for a kiss. "Christ, it's good to see you." .................... --- notes: i've genuinely forgotten how to write??? so sorry!! --- music: interpol.

[tara scott]

Heart seams felt ready to burst as his eyes opened to meet hers. God, she loved him in the morning, with his bedhead and groggy voice. It was beyond her how one person could make her feel such high highs and such low lows, the proof in the pudding as she suddenly feels at such ease for the first time since their split. Her smile mirrors his, met by his lips, only fading as he pulls away. I couldn’t sleep, I was worried about you, she mumbles against his lips, going in for another kiss. Because that made hopping the 924 mile flight totally rational. It takes her all of minute to cocoon herself into the small space at his side, filling every empty inch between them. Her own mess of hair comfortable at his chest. I can’t not be with you, but I don’t know what to do.. A part of her is thinking out loud, the other part is desperate for him to tell her what to do, have all the answers, demand them, even. Exhaustedly, she drapes her leg over his, her hand resting between his skin and the waistband of his boxers. If the conversation had gotten old to her, she could only imagine how old it was for him. You know what? We don’t have to talk about it. Two weeks time was all it took for her to realize how redundant and annoying this conversation must be for him. Maybe that was to blame for the scent of stale booze that oozed from his pores, additional evidence of an obviously rough night. Too afraid of seeming self obsessed, she couldn’t apologize for it. The idea of Riley searching for any kind of escape being her fault rested in a far away place in the back of her mind, it’s not like he’d mind the excuse to party anyways, she justified it with. We don’t have to talk at all, she says as she pulls out of his grasp, already desperately missing the never-close-enough proximity in the single second it takes her to climb on top of him. Legs donned in black spandex perched themselves on either side of him, one cold hand met his warm cheek as she leaned down to kiss him, her tongue finding his as a stray hand roamed bare skin. There’s little thought about him being her ex-boyfriend, about how they’re going to make it work, about if they could at all; only about how good it felt to finally be able to touch him again, taste him. Her lips trailed from his neck, down his torso, to the waistband of her favorite Calvin Klein’s. Before she knows it she’s tugging them down and taking him in. Her phone rings distantly in the background, but she ignores it until someone calls for the third time in a row. Safely assuming it must be an emergency, she puts a pause to her desperate efforts to get him back. Fuck, she curses to herself as she wipes the edges of her lips and rushes to find the phone in her purse. Finally placing it, she ignores Annie’s missed calls and goes for the 6 missed text messages. Her stomach drops before she even clicks to open the images, knowing well enough what they are. How naive could she be to assume that Riley in bed by himself at 6am meant he’d managed to keep to himself all night? Before she’s even looked long enough to know anything about the girl other than her being blonde, she’s whipping the phone across the room at him. Are you fucking kidding me?! .................... --- notes: a rapist rly. --- music: j biebz.

[Deleted]

That he had only managed to steal about twenty-five minutes of sleep mattered little to Riley in that moment, who was so transfixed by the sudden appearance of his recent ex (in his actual bed, no less) that the apartment building could be on fire and he'd barely notice. On the one hand it was so unlike her to do something like this, the fine featured brunette usually cautious and strategic about her plans, never so spontaneous. But on the other it was just so like her that it made his chest ache with affection for her. Of course Tara would be laying in bed thinking about him, worrying herself into such a frenzy that she would literally get on a plane that very night. Of course she would. Threading his fingers between hers and giving her hand a squeeze, he couldn't help but grin at her, afraid to hug her again in case he squeezed her to death. As she piles herself on top of him he realizes this few seconds amount to the first time he's been happy since she left, his fingers idly tracing lines up and down her arm as she mumbles into his chest. He opens his mouth to reply but thinks better of it, enjoying the weight of her body against his too much to jeopardize it by saying something stupid, as anything he said would inevitably be just that. But it was unlike Tara to drop it so quickly. Surprised, he glances down at her, a big hand finding her comparably small forehead. "Are you feeling okay there, Alcott? Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?" he jokes, though the slip in his sentence stings to say. He doesn't correct himself. Suddenly he's cold, as she detangles herself from his embrace and sits up. Any protest he was about to offer dies on his lips as they clash with hers, that familiar lip balm taste making him ache for her all the more. It was amazing how you could still miss someone even when they were right in front of you, his whole body now bracing itself for her inevitable depart. His fingers slip under the fabric of her shirt, her skin warm and soft and begging to be exposed to the chill of his apartment, though he doesn't push his luck. Then she surprises him again, and as ready as he always is to make a mocking comment, it feels so good and the words escape him, a sharp intake of breath stealing them away as his hands find her head, fingers buried in her hair as he groans his encouragement. "Fuck, T..." his swearword is echoed by her mere seconds later, though for all the wrong reasons. "Ignore it," it comes out as a command, need for her to continue making the words catch in his throat and come out sounding almost like a growl. To his dismay she ignores that instead, getting up to answer her phone and leaving frustration woven into every knot in his body. Groaning again, he turns to bury his face in the pillow, one hand pulling his boxers back up. "You're such a--" he starts, but there's a thud as the phone hits his back, irritation and surprise welling up but realization following quickly behind it. He doesn't need to fish the phone out from his duvet to know what's on it. Laughing as an awkward coping mechanism, Riley sits up in bed, hands up in mock surrender. "Baby, Tara, calm down. What, am I not allowed to hang out with girls now?"  Calling his ex had been a low blow, and one he'd childishly enjoyed indulging himself in. But now that she'd made this grand gesture - well, multiple grand gestures really - he had no real desire to rub her face in it any more, and he wasn't going to point out that they had a history unless he really had to. He looked at her, head tilted to one side. Frustration still itched away in every muscle, but looking at her now he couldn't hold it against her... in fact, he felt a little guilty for the whole thing. "Tara. It was nothing. I didn't even kiss her. Now come back here and finish what you started, no one likes a quitter." .................... --- notes: l8 4 work but worth it. --- music: silence!

[tara scott]

What’s left to taste of him lingers in her mouth, what she welcomed seconds ago suddenly so bitter and unwelcome. The combination of that and the four photos etched in her brain tied knots in her stomach. Breath after breath is caught in her throat as she stands opposite of him, feeling too far but too close at the same time. Her blood is boiling, only intensified as he lets out a laugh, reaching an all time high as he tells her to calm down. Restless hands run from her temples through her hair as feelings of not so distant past resurface, they sting as she remembers how they used to be, and crush at what they were now. When they were just friends, and she’d watch him with girlfriend after to girlfriend, to the final blow of fiancé - wanting them, kissing them, loving them. But by now she was greedy, content in the assumption he was hers forever - that his hands would only ever touch her, his lips only kiss hers, his eyes only being able to find her. Possessiveness was something she’d never known, and she was hesitant to admit the feeling, but it’s written all over her face, easily mistaken for disgust. So instead she tells him the opposite. No, you’re single now. Tears well in her tired blue eyes as she finally hears herself say it aloud. Keep hanging out with them, keep touching them, keep posting pictures of it. She doesn’t mean it, but she’s so angry she can’t think straight, her feet stomping dramatically through the space in no real direction. You really fucking showed me! She all but yells, laced with sarcasm. A laugh that’s more like a scoff escapes her lips as he has the audacity to tell her to finish him off. It’s still oddly tempting, but she ignores the animalistic urge to hear him screaming her name. Do you honestly think I want to touch you right now? Her head shakes from side to side at how dumb even he must know he sounds. Without much thought, she’s back at the bedside, hands rummaging through the duvet to find the phone she wished she threw harder at him. As soon as she unlocks it the screenshots are there, waiting to be further inspected. Fingertips press at the screen, actually opening them for the first time - reading the captions word for word, between the lines, zooming in to each photo. She didn’t know why she did this to herself, a severe lack of self control when it came to any idea where ignorance meant bliss. Another ex-girlfriend? Cute, she narrates as flicks through them. Oh, yea, didn’t even kiss her.. you just tried while she licked your lips? The uneasy feeling in her stomach returns, her mind wandering, wondering what happened after the picture was taken. She can’t handle it, feet tread toward the door and she’s grabbing her things from the table. I spent the whole night coming to be with you so we could make it work, and you did that, taking a necessary deep breath as if to hold back tears, feelings of defeat, stupidity and embarrassment fill her. I’m leaving. .................... --- notes: il them too much. --- music: sad country songs obvi.

[Deleted]

Suddenly exhaustion weighs at Riley's limbs, the urge to crawl back under the duvet to finally get some sleep seizing him so vehemently he could barely prop himself up. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach as that familiar old cocaine buzz died off, with it the threat of a comedown encroaching ever closer upon his psyche. He wanted desperately to sleep it off. Rubbing tired eyes, he tried to muster up the energy to continue the argument he was inevitably going to have to see through, though his enthusiasm was at an all time low. After all, she had broken up with him, and even now, even tired and grumpy and really just too lazy to fight his corner, a little bit of him was at least slightly thrilled that she cared this much. "Keep hanging out with them, keep touching them, keep posting pictures of it." Ah. Just like that, any deeply felt glee dissipated, replaced with a guilt he could barely comprehend. "Don't be like that," he starts, though her swearing cuts him off. Irritated now, Riley groans, falling back onto the bed. And so she continued. Tuning out the actual content of her words, Riley was focused only on the tone they were being said in, not wanting to listen in and get dragged into a confrontation he didn't want to have. It was odd, really-- usually argumentative in the extreme, it was exactly these sorts of fallings out that gave him the opportunity to show off, to outsmart his opponent, to relish the chance to win. He was the sort of person to get a rush out of an argument, any argument, and to never back down, to refuse to relent until his counterpart had given up. It was why he'd gone to law school in the first place. But he was weary now, physically and emotionally, and reluctant to run the risk of running his mouth. She's pouring over the images, torturing herself. If he had the energy he'd have gotten up and snatched the phone from her hands, but alas, he stays where he is, lying on his back and urging himself not to rise to it. "Ok then, leave." .................... --- notes: late and awful, you must hate me. --- music: the assassination of jesse james soundtrack.

[tara scott]

Despite the distance, the most perfect ex fiancé in the world, the possibility of a child that wasn’t her own and its almost mother, being with Riley was the easiest thing the saccharine brunette had ever done, except for loving him. It was all consuming, more than she knew she possibly could, more than she had ever loved anyone or thing that came before him. Considering how prone she was to loving even the littlest things and something about almost everyone, how strong she felt surprised even her. But it came naturally from the platonic start, only ever deepening, seemingly something she was born to do. Maybe it was because it was something she had so desperately wanted, or because she’d spent so much time doing so in her head before she could out loud, or maybe it was just her own inner romantic so sure they were meant to be. How secure and at ease she felt throughout the short-lived relationship was shocking, usually so prone to second guessing herself and whoever she was with, but never him. Until now. Eyes stray from the boy so obviously unfazed and around the room for where ever she kicked her shoes off. For the first time since she’s known him, Tara’s questioning whether or not he’s meant anything he’s said. Narrow mindedly, she considers herself and how she’d go about it, positive that she wouldn’t be so quick to disregard him and his feelings. Maybe that was one of many differences to add to the list that never seemed to end as of late. Eyebrows furrow as feelings of anger turn into feelings of utter disbelief, and she’s slipping back into her shoes and toward the door. There were a million things she wanted to do, even more she wanted to say, but if her usually tender-to-her ex boyfriend was trying to slap some sense in her, him letting her walk out the door did just that. At this point, she refused to sit around and fight for something when it was so obvious she was the only one doing the fighting anyway. Tears that had been threatening to fall met her flushed cheeks as she slammed the door behind her, feet racing down the staircase and out the door into the brisk New York breeze. A cab couldn’t come soon enough. .................... --- notes: this is rly a joke. --- music: sam hunt my boyfriend.

[Deleted]

Truthfully, the wordless slam of his apartment door had come rather unexpectedly. Having pulled his covers up to his neck, cocooning himself in the tatty sheets, he'd expected to have the phone thrown at him again, or insults screamed so loudly that his neighbours would hit their conjoining walls in protest. That was how these things usually went with his girlfriends and ex girlfriends... except she wasn't his usual ex-girlfriend. Guilt creeping up on him, Riley sat up to find himself quite alone. Had she really just left? Just like that? He sat still for a few moments, expecting her to come bounding back in with more to say, or under some pretence of having left something she needed behind. But nothing. Running a hand through already dishevelled hair, he heaved himself out of the bed, ignoring all his instincts to climb back in. He should have known that Tara would be genuinely wounded by his pretend apathy. After all, she will have been sincerely hurt by the photos themselves, though he felt a stab of irritation at that fact. She had broken up with him, after all. He kept reminding himself of the fact, as usually this would be enough to wipe away any guilt he felt at upsetting her... not today, though. Heading to a rickety old window by the front of the room, he heaved at the stiff frame to get it open, cold air flooding through and making his bare chest prickle. Leaning out, he folded his arms, grinning down at the brunette as she waited for a cab. "Come on, Romeo. Get yourself back up here." Looking at her face he could tell she'd been crying, and that stab of guilt worsened. He wasn't sure how to play this, knowing she wouldn't be willing to play along with his goofball act at a time like this, but reluctant to sit and pour his heart out to her from a second floor window, in front of all the commuters who were slowly starting to dot the street. He softened, straightening up a little to lean against the window frame. "Tara, of course I don't want you to leave. Come back upstairs and we can talk." .................... --- notes: SO BAD. --- music: the assassination of jesse james soundtrack.

[tara scott]

Leave it to the moment when all you need is a cab in a city of thousands of them for there not to be a single yellow car in sight. This felt like just her luck when all she wanted was to be on the next flight out, and back to her safe place. Or anywhere but here really, as the rush of morning commuters made their way into the city streets. A groan escapes her lips as she steps out into the street, eyes peering into the sunrise in hopes of spotting one headed her way. Still, no such luck, and she’s interrupted by a Louisianan accent saying something from the window, turning her frame to face him out of instinct rather than desire. Arms fold over her chest as she shoots him a glare a story up, you are seriously so annoying, I don’t like you. Out of the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of the construction workers a few doors down looking at her like she was talking to them, habitually offering a quick apology. As quick as she’d turned at the sound of his voice she’s facing the street again, still no cab in sight. She hears it again but this time she doesn’t turn to face it, finger tips wipe away at the left over tear stains, suddenly embarrassed by them. Of course he didn’t want her to leave, and of course she’d be so willing to listen. The pride she finally felt as though she had placed the second she walked out the door wavering again, and after a few more minutes of standing in the middle of the street looking so out of place, she relented. Back through the door, up the stairs, and at his disposal. Feelings of déjà vu settle in as she drops her things to the table again, and she regrets storming out in the first place. Returning to his bed she plops down, too physically, mentally, and emotionally drained to feel as pathetic as she probably should have. I don’t even know what to say to you right now, it’s not meant to sound as bitter as it comes out. But I didn’t come here to leave feeling worse about us. .................... --- notes: i gave you nada i'm sorry!! --- music: late night infomercials.

[Deleted]

When Tara doesn't immediately make her way back inside the building, a small flash of panic hits Riley. For her to come all this way in the middle of the night, only to be told to leave five minutes later and without an apology? It would be the end and he knows it. In fact, for the first time he really feels as though this could be The End, a threatening air of finality settling over them. No. Not even the chill in the air is enough to draw him away from the window, his fear of her not being there by the time he got down the stairs the only thing stopping him from physically chasing after her. On the verge of abandoning coaxing and trying begging, relief floods through him as the girl gives in, and his eyes follow her until she disappears into the doorway. By the time he's closed the window and turned around she's back, and he'd be beaming if he weren't so overcome with guilt. Mascara is smudged around the corners of her eyes but it only makes them seem more vividly blue, and he silently curses her for even being able to make crying seem pretty. Wordlessly he sits down next to her, putting an arm around her small shoulders and pulling her into his chest. He nods at her words, mulling them over as he tries to think of something to say that won't make him sound like an asshole. It doesn't come naturally. "What did you come for?" It's a genuine question, and he suspects she doesn't actually have an answer. Ever the cliche, he gently pushes hair off her face, threading the dark strands behind her ear before letting his hand fall to her chin. Looking at her, so vulnerable and pretty and right there, he's overcome with neediness, pathetic in his desperation for her to stay. In those few seconds he can't believe he didn't just up and move, didn't go wherever the fuck she wanted, since she'd be there and that was all that mattered. Kissing her, he pulled her in close again. For once he didn't try to escalate things, didn't slip a hand under her shirt to unclasp her bra or catch her lip between his teeth. Enjoying just kissing her, he eventually pulled away. "I love you, only you. Relax." .................... --- notes: i love themmm. --- music: the assassination of jesse james soundtrack... still.

[tara scott]

Where Tara was sweet as candy Riley was sour as vinegar, where Riley was rough as nails Tara was soft as the sheets beneath her. Their differences may have been many and beyond that, but maybe their fears were exactly the same. A selfish sense of relief floods through her as she looks at him, the same look mirrored all over his perfect features at her back within arms reach. That in itself was partially what she was looking for, a childlike need for the reassurance she didn’t feel before, whether he tried to give it or not. Perfectly manicured fingertips absentmindedly toyed with the hem of the navy blue sweater, ‘Nashville’ embroidered so obnoxiously dead center. It’s only now that she realizes how sloppy she’d left the apartment in the middle of the night, leggings and a beat up crew neck, hair a mess and make up leftover. But all of those unnecessary self conscious worries subside as her eyes rise to meet his, practically begging him to come to her. A moment later and it’s like he read her mind (it wouldn't be the first time), situating himself at her side. Instinctively she’s already moved closer, all but in his lap, her body buried into his warm side. He nods and her teeth clamp at the fat of her bottom lip, worrying that she’s already said the wrong thing and bracing herself for him to regret telling her to come back up. Wrong. Thank God. The carefully chosen question leaves her at a loss for words, a rarity, especially when the question seemingly begged for an obvious answer. But if it was so obvious, why was he even asking? Another answer she didn’t know. That’s about as good of a question as ‘why did we breakup?’.. she mulls, one more answer she no longer knew. Maybe we should just call this a break. She’s thinking out loud, still trying to come up with a better response to his question. The thoughtful gaze falls to her lap as he pushes stray strands from her face. If it were anyone else, she wouldn’t be so willing to break down the walls she’d spent so long building, but she was ok being so vulnerable with Riley, no matter how terrifying it was. His hand at her chin draws her attention back to him, pale blue eyes meeting his honey browns for a second before his lips meet hers. Suddenly she’s transfixed, any leftover tension disappearing into thin air. For once she’s ok with being in this moment, not knowing how they were going to fix things or what the rest of the morning light would bring. One dainty hand met the back of his neck before fingertips looped through the curly strands at the nape of it, lips exploring his. A pout formed on her lips as he pulled away, only to be replaced with a stupid smile as she heard those three words she was sure she’d never get sick of hearing. I love you, she whispers against his lips, though those words felt like they didn’t do her feelings justice. Pulling back she’s finding his hand, threading her fingers with his. I lied, you can’t keep kissing other girls.. her shoulders rise only to fall an instant after, maybe you shouldn’t even be allowed to hang out with them. .................... --- notes: angels, really. --- music: taylor swift ih myself.