. hopeless wanderer

[Deleted]

"AND NO, IT WASN'T SHAME I NOW FELT, OR GUILT, BUT SOMETHING RARER IN MY LIFE AND STRONGER THAN BOTH: REMORSE. A FEELING WHICH IS MORE COMPLICATED, CURDLED, AND PRIMEVAL. WHOSE CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT NOTHING CAN BE DONE ABUT IT: TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, TOO MUCH DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE, FOR AMENDS TO BE MADE." ................................................... Faintly, Cormac O'Connell is aware of his fiancee talking to him. With his phone in his hands, thumbs deftly gliding across the glossy surface of its screen, he's busy hurriedly messaging his best friend for reassurance. For he has just spent the past few hours talking to Ana, Ana Novak, the very Ana Novak he had assumed he would never speak to again. Whilst it had been in turns stilted and oddly familiar, the conversation had left his emotions reeling-- leaving him with a sense of confusion that was expounded by how easily, and unnecessarily he had lied to his wife to be just moments before. Why hadn't he told her the truth, that he was speaking to Ana? That he had struck up conversation on her behalf? The lie had come so easily, uncharacteristically easily, that he wasn't sure he'd have such an easy time trying to stifle it now. Running all this by his best friend in the world, Charlie, it took Ellie repeating his name in stern tones for him to realize he was expected to respond. "Mack? Mack? Have you even been listening to a word I've said?" She's looking at him, her full lips pulled into a tight little frown. What had she been saying? Something about lemonade? Did she mean the drink, or the Beyonce album? He took a punt. "Sure, sure, lemonade sounds great, I'll pick some up at the store," he mumbled, accustomed to being sent out on multiple grocery runs a day. However this was clearly not the correct answer, and the petite brunette huffed her response. "You never listen to me. Not lemonade, Lululemon. I was just saying how great their pants are, we need to pick up some more next time we're at the mall, remind me... though, now you mention it, lemonade might be nice."  And so it was that Cormac found himself at the Trader Joe's down the block from their apartment, the very Trader Joes he spent so much time in that he was confident in his abilities to navigate it blindfolded. There was a long list of foods that Ellie would not let pass her lips, and yet somehow that only led to more food shopping, so much food shopping that he wondered where she was putting it all, given that it was enough to feed a family of four. "Hi Si," he said, nodding to a gangly teen replenishing a display of perfectly green apples. "Nora," he added, nodding to an older lady not far off. "Ana," he added, offering a small wave to the statuesque brunette as he passed... only to stop dead. The blood draining from his face, he slowly turned to look at her properly, praying that he'd made a mistake. Nope, there was no mistaking her. "Ana," he repeated. The initial shock waring off, he was surprised to feel something of a thrill at seeing her, her skin a deep bronze and her features even more delicately beautiful than he remembered. "...I swear I'm not stalking you." ................................................... music: beethoven. notes: k i know we always say this but this was legitimately embarrassing, i might come back and delete it once you'e replied so i never have to see it again??

[Deleted]

Ana Novak stares into the hollow of a stainless steel refrigerator. The smell of salty olives waft from the emptiness, leftovers of week old Papa John pizza sits on old of the shelve – clearly the culprit of rotting olives. Her section of the fridge is pretty bare. There's a browning stalk of celery, expired sandwich meat, and an almost empty carton of almond milk. In her head the brunette tries to rationalize a meal, surely week old meat can't be that bad. Expiration dates are just a precaution. If I toast the bread, it'll mask the staleness. Sighing gently, she lifts the items from the fridge and tosses them in a near by garbage bag. It is a lonely night in Brooklyn from where Ana sits. Her stomach grumbles and her boring roommate is out of the apartment with her boyfriend. The only thing that keeps Ana entertained is the conversation she's having with an ex boyfriend she hasn't talked to in six years. And to be honest she's unusually fixated on it. Her body slouches over the kitchens marble counter top and the tip of her left hand thumb sits thoughtfully on her bottom lip. Her expressions seem to fluctuate between a smile and a frown; a great sense of nostalgia tugs at her heartstrings. Though as time slips away so does her phone's battery and suddenly as reality returns she feels her stomach eating away. Ana finds herself in the pre-made section of the Trader Joes two minutes from her apartment. Her tall body is dressed in a wool turtleneck, jeans and a camel jacket, she fits right in with the modeleque population of New York City. Fingers lift a spinach salad and plop it in her cart, it must be healthy. Satisfied with her small selection of pre-made meals, fruits and protein bars, she begins to make her way to check out. Though the lopes slowly, the heels of her boots clicking in the rhythm of a romantic song, her eyes get carried away looking at how American everything is. Everything in the USA does truly appear to be shouting at you excitedly, and the giant unnecessary wall of Frosted Flakes is no different, it seems to be yelling WE'RE GRRRRRREAT!. Someone whooshes past her and says her name, at least she thinks they do. She drags her attention from the circus to look behind her, and a pale familiar face comes into focus. Ana feels her cheeks get warm and her knuckles white as she clutches the cart. “Cormac,” his name feels unfamiliar as it rolls off her tongue. For the past six years she's been accustomed to calling him, 'whatshisname'. “No?” she answers stiffly. As easy as it was to talk over messenger, talking directly to him was much more horrifying. She shifts awkwardly from one hip to another, “what are you doing then?” She shakes her head, strings of chocolatey hair fall across her face. “I mean, you're obviously getting food. Me too,” she drifts her gaze from her cart and forces herself to look properly at him. “Spinach, bananas.. essentials,” she forces herself to smile a bit awkwardly at him. ................................................... music: bruce springsteen. notes: a very bad cringey post

[Deleted]

"AND NO, IT WASN'T SHAME I NOW FELT, OR GUILT, BUT SOMETHING RARER IN MY LIFE AND STRONGER THAN BOTH: REMORSE. A FEELING WHICH IS MORE COMPLICATED, CURDLED, AND PRIMEVAL. WHOSE CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT NOTHING CAN BE DONE ABUT IT: TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, TOO MUCH DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE, FOR AMENDS TO BE MADE." ................................................... Cheerful packaging bombards him from all sides, though Cormac is mostly blind to it. Dependent on her mood, or perhaps what article she'd most recently been linked to on Facebook, Ellie would cut out whole segments of her diet, leaving her boyfriend to source alternatives when she decided she would go vegan, or give up sugar, or that gluten was the devil's work. As such Trader Joe's had been an absolute godsend for the the frantic man, who had befriended most members of staff at one point or another, the lot of them wandering the aisles wondering what the fuck the point was, or perhaps if Mack was actually delusional, given that they had never once seen the princess herself accompany him to this hallowed ground. It was very much a safe space for him, somewhere Ellie would never bother to go herself, and somewhere he seldom bumped into anyone he knew. It was perhaps the last place on earth he would ever have expected to see his globetrotting ex girlfriend, but he realized that was stupid-- after all, the girl had to eat, and of course she would be living in Brooklyn whilst she was here. He's still staring at her, his basket conspicuously empty. She looks very much like her old self and very much nothing like her old self at the same time, all the composite parts familiar but adding up to something new, improved. Her posture was better, her previously skinny frame now toned, healthy. She was positively glowing. How irritating, he thought, that someone could stand under strip lighting and still look so very photogenic. "Ana," he says it again, reaffirming that this was actually happening. In the weeks and months after she left he had thought of nothing but the possibility of a chance encounter, knowing as he did by then that she would never agree to one that was anything but accidental. He had fantasized so many times about the things he would say to her if he happened to stumble upon her at the grocery store, or the library, or the park near her house. He rehearsed his apology over and over, refining it so that it was concise enough to remember but elaborate enough to truly convey to her the sincerity of his regret. Of course it came to nothing in the end, but strangely, all these years later, his first inclination was to deliver the soliloquy he'd put so much time and thought into. More to stop himself from repeating her name yet again than for any other reason, Cormac forced a hollow, awkward laugh. Dragging his eyes from the glare of hers, he cast them to the ground, bending his elbow to scratch at the back of his neck in a nervous tic from childhood. "Actually, not food. Lemonade. Ellie would positively die of thirst if I didn't up and get her sugarfree lemonade right now, obviously." He looks back up at her, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know," he made a whipping motion with one hand, complete with sound effects, "I'm a hopeless case."  It felt strange to be making reference to their virtual conversation here in the real world, almost a betrayal of some clandestine tryst, though he knew it was stupid to feel that way. He hadn't done anything wrong. Clearing his throat, he looked at her cart, tilting an eyebrow at its remarkably virtuous contents. "Now that's not the Ana Novak I know. Where are the Twizzlers? The frozen pizza, the soda, the vats of ice cream in every flavor? Tell me you were just getting to the good stuff." ................................................... music: laura marling. notes: i lied when i said my next post would be better. I WAS UP AT 5AM THO, I'M TIRED, I'M SORRY.

[Deleted]

Unlike Mack, Ana had very much avoided the thought of ever bumping into her ex-boyfriend. During the months between the incident and her move, she actively avoided stepping out into their usual hangouts. She gave up walking Boomer, the family's overactive Goldendoodle, though she loved him so much. She sent Jonathan Jr. to the shop for her when a craving for sweets touched her tongue. She even avoided her family's balcony, afraid that one day Cormac would walk underneath it and call out for her. Ana became a recluse in her environment; no speech was prepared and she tried to give him barely any thought. Though of course, the last bit was more difficult. Standing in front of him, it was obvious that she hadn't intended on running into anyone. As nice and tailored as her outfit was, she was a self-described hot mess. Her hair had been air-dried into a fluffy brown nest and tucked into a low bun, her glasses were perched on top of her head. She had no make up on, her brows hadn't been brushed into place and the only thing saving her chapped lips was a thin layer of lip chap. As he stood before her, Ana couldn't help but think that if she had planned on bumping into him, this was the complete opposite of how it should go. She'd rather have blown him away in heels and a bodycon, with her hair blowdried to perfection and a mask applied so perfectly it looked like her actual skin. Instead she stands meekly, clinging onto her cart like some sort of bag lady. The tall girl fidgets; the ball of her foot settling on the bottle of the cart, she rocks it back and fourth. As she glances uncomfortably, she notices that he's different. His face has lost it's baby fat, it looks more grown-up and mature. Even his body has become broader, and he's definitely an inch or two taller. She doesn't stare long, and she shifts her eyes ever so nervously. “Sugarfree lemonade? That must be very sour,” she remarks, her eyes following his to her cart. “Well,” she leans down, her fingers sifting through the very lack-luster contents . “If I let myself buy what I want, then I'll eat it... out of sight, out of mind – that's it I'm afraid,” she gives a defeated smile, and turns her body away from his. “I better let you get that lemonade, wouldn't want Elle to die of thirst,” she rattles her fingers against the handle of the cart, “you look good, by the way. Twenty-five suits you well.” ................................................... music: elliot smith. notes: i give you, NOTHING

[Deleted]

"AND NO, IT WASN'T SHAME I NOW FELT, OR GUILT, BUT SOMETHING RARER IN MY LIFE AND STRONGER THAN BOTH: REMORSE. A FEELING WHICH IS MORE COMPLICATED, CURDLED, AND PRIMEVAL. WHOSE CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT NOTHING CAN BE DONE ABUT IT: TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, TOO MUCH DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE, FOR AMENDS TO BE MADE." ................................................... Stood across from Ana, it pained him to think of what she must think of him. Despite his grievous error in judgment, his feelings for the girl had barely changed over the years, but then that was hardly surprising. Of course it would be he who changed in her eyes, her who would have her opinion of him irrevocably soured. Oftentimes he had tried to imagine how he would feel if she had done something on the same scale at his expense, something that would have absolutely corrupted their relationship, an ultimate betrayal of trust. It stung deeply to know how much that would change her in his eyes, and to know that he must have transformed right before her. It was no schoolboy prank gone wrong, after all - no, he had gone from sweet natured, doting (and admittedly occasionally distracted) boyfriend, to the monster who laid her bare for the world to see. Quite literally. Even now, out from the cold of her absolute emotional exile, the thought of the damage he had done was enough to make him feel sick. And so the cycle went on. Plagued by guilt that was prone to vivid flare ups to this day, Mack had had to learn to forgive himself, at least enough to get on with his life. But he could never quite silence the voice in the back of his head that told him he was unworthy of any sort of forgiveness, and so his guilt was compounded... it was ironic that he would turn to the field of psychiatric medicine when he was so plagued by internal doubts. Actually, when he thought about it, he supposed it wasn't so ironic at all. "Not sweetness free, just sugar. Because apparently all kinds of artificial sweeteners are so much healthier for you than good ol' sugarcane." He didn't know why he had brought up Ellie except that it seemed like a decent alternative explanation to the stalker theory. Regret, once more. They were having the exact sort of conversation they once would have mocked others for, and this too depressed him. Just for a moment he wished it could feel like nothing had ever changed. But it had, and here she was, trying to extricate herself from the situation. As painful as he too was finding this exchange, the idea of her cutting it short somehow felt more painful even than that. "You sound like your mother," he says without thinking, and she does. He feels another pang of longing at the thought of her mother, a woman who had doubled as his second mother figure for so many years. It stung deeply to imagine how much her feelings had changed, too. "Fuck Ellie," he blurts, awkwardly avoiding her eye contact again. Clearing his throat, he goes for something a little less aggressive. "I mean, she'll survive. It's really good to see you, are you sure you can't spare a minute for a quick coffee? You know I can't go long without a caffeine fix." His eyes lock on hers and he hopes she can tell how sincerely he wants her to stay. Still, he can't sustain eye contact as she compliments him, his shoulders instinctively shrugging the compliment off. He wants to return it, to point out that she looks like a fucking supermodel, but can't find the words, doesn't want to upset the delicate balance at play. "Thanks. You're wrong, but thanks." ................................................... music: nada. notes: i can sense that the next one might be at least 3% better... bear with me.

[Deleted]

When it had first happened, when he had first crushed her heart, Ana had allowed the wound to fester. She had never lost before, she seemed to have sailed through high school without a broken heart, failed grade or a bully. Until this, the greatest act of betrayal. If she dug a little and peeled back the armour she'd so carefully applied, an inkling of pain would surely still lay. Within the first month post-incident, she took the time to grieve and wither away. She picked at the wound and gave herself reasons to feel sorry. She would live that point in her life with the intent to cry and make herself tear up. She'd draw her shades, watch sappy movies and flip through old photographs. She'd read passages and books about lost loves, listened to music while watching the tears drip down her cheeks in the mirror. Ana continued to make herself sad until she was all cried out, thinking that if she stopped crying then those memories would be gone and the situation would be a solid state of life. This is what happened. She acknowledged the wound and after she had picked away at it, she realized that she had to treat the wound. This is when she sent Cormac a farewell email and purged him. She deleted every picture they had together so she'd stop torturing herself, deleted all her social media accounts and let each day pass with grace. Eventually she set goals, read quotes about moving forward, listened to music that lifted her up. Through the embarrassment, heartbreak and teenage tragedy, she found a smidgen of hope and the wound healed. But standing across from him and recognizing everything familiar, she felt that wound pulse like an old fracture. Her rose petal lips tug upward as he compares him to her mother, she looks down at the dirty tiled floors of Trader Joes a bit bashfully. “I'm not cringing over that,” she admits to the comparison, an image of Gabrijela Novak comes to her head. Most young girls go through a period where they hate their parents, but Ana held nothing but genuine love and idolization for both her mother and father. She raises her eyebrows at the sudden sharpness of his voice, she looks at him bemused and rolls her cart a couple of feet. “I don't think I'd ever be able to sleep,” she finds an excuse quickly and steps forward toward the checkout. ”And that spinach might wilt,” she's continuing to slowly step toward the cash register. “That frozen fruit won't walk itself to the freezer either,” she pauses mid step and settles her hips squarely. “But maybe a drink? There's a bar across from my place, I could meet you there in ten.” She's hesitant and not fully confident in what she says, her teeth catch the inside of her lip, “does that even you enough time to walk the lemonade home?” ................................................... music: radiohead. notes: maybe one day one of us will write, "hey, that wasn't half bad. high five, me".

[Deleted]

"AND NO, IT WASN'T SHAME I NOW FELT, OR GUILT, BUT SOMETHING RARER IN MY LIFE AND STRONGER THAN BOTH: REMORSE. A FEELING WHICH IS MORE COMPLICATED, CURDLED, AND PRIMEVAL. WHOSE CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT NOTHING CAN BE DONE ABUT IT: TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, TOO MUCH DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE, FOR AMENDS TO BE MADE." ................................................... Perhaps as a consequence of not being the victim of his actions, Cormac's search for closure was one that he felt quite sure would last a lifetime. Though he had always given the deceptive impression of being an especially easy going individual, someone who never seemed too daunted by any of the usual hurdles life threw his way, Mack was really something of a contradiction. Chilled to the core about the things that bothered most of his classmates and colleagues, he never lost a wink of sleep over deadlines or exams or fear of the future. But he was deeply troubled by the things that did bother him, intent on introspection and correction and redemption, when really he should probably look to putting his past behind him. It was a cheap pseudo-psychological observation, he knew, but he couldn't help but wonder if his tendency to want to deconstruct and dispose of every negative emotion wasn't a coping mechanism natural to him as an adopted child. After all, that one question had plagued his childhood, happy as it was: why? Why him? Perhaps if he could work out his own mind, know every inch of it, he could work out his biological mother's. Or, at the very least, he could work out why it had been so important to him for all these years. This was as true with Ana as it was with his mother. Somehow it wasn't enough that she forgave him, that she seemed finally to be over it-- if she had managed closure, why couldn't he? It seemed farcical, an appropriation of emotions that were not rightfully his. But he couldn't help it. His actions plagued him, and no amount of forgiveness on her part was going to let him forgive himself. She is moving toward the cash register now, her long legs bound to make short work of the distance. Without realizing it he's nodding along to her excuses, knowing it would probably be a bad idea anyway, that he has nothing to say to her that he hasn't said a thousand times before. "Yeah, of course, I don't know what..." he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Glancing up from the tiled floor, he catches the eye of Simon as he stacks shelves behind Ana, barely pretending he's not eavesdropping. The lanky teenager widens his eyes at Cormac, tilting his head at Ana as if to say are you serious? She's talking to you? It's a reaction he's well accustomed to, but it's been such a long time that he's been in a scenario like this that he can't help but laugh. Even now he had no idea what she had ever seen in him, but he was glad she had. It takes a moment for him to realize she's suggesting a plan of action. Surprise etched all over his faintly scarred face, he laughs. "You know, I'd be happy to help you walk your groceries home. Though you're right, probably best not to give your stalker your address so easily, make me work for it." She mentions the lemonade and he realizes he had forgotten about it already, despite mentioning it himself a mere three seconds ago. She was right, it would probably be best that he keep Ellie sweet-- if he mysteriously disappeared on a grocery mission, she might finally be drawn to visit the store herself, where he had no doubt someone would be quick to tell her of the stunning brunette he'd been seen leaving with. No, she was right, he'd have to dash home. "You're right, I can't have my girlfriend dying of thirst on me. Wouldn't know what to do with the corpse. Promise you're not gonna stand me up?" ................................................... music: fleetwood mac. notes: today is not that day.

[Deleted]

A feeling of surrealism hovered over them as she placed her items on the conveyor belt in front of her. How was this happening when she was doing something as normal as grocery shopping. She blinked up at his face once again, but without her glasses a fuzzy haze clung to his shape. Ana avoided pulling her glasses to the bridge of her nose, because even though she couldn't read or focus on anything, the idea of this sense of surrealism becoming a total reality was daunting. A dreamer, or procrastinator, Ana was in many ways the opposite of Cormac. She'd sooner stick her head in the sand than face her problems. But like all things, problems have a way of showing up when you least expect it. This moment was proof of that; for no matter how many times she punched that delete button, she couldn't delete him from the world. She laughs at the idea of him coming into the space she's been living in this past month. Oddly the idea doesn't bother her, as the apartment that she's been subletting is the least personal part of her. “I think it's called something fishy,” she smiles at the cashier who tells her her total and begins to bag the items. “Catfish,” she frowns, unsure if that's what the bar is actually called. Her fingers dig into her wallet and she pulls out her VISA, which she taps against the machine. “I'll see you there in ten.” Before she walks across to the bar, she manages to shove the full bags of groceries into the fridge and spend the rest of her ten minutes pulling herself together. Quickly she pats down foundation, concealer, a bit of bronzer and a tinted lip chap. She pulls a dab of argan oil through her hair to smooth the fuzzy strays, pops contact lenses in her eyes, and pulls at her clothes so they sit properly on her tall form. “Better,” she says to her reflection, before grabbing her purse and taking the elevator down to the street. She finds it a relief that Cormac isn't at the bar yet, despite her being three minutes later than promised. It gives her time to order two shots of Kamikaze, and to grab a booth at the side of the bar. As expected on a Monday, the bar is quieter and it's easy to spot Cormac as he swings open the door. She gives a small wave with her long fingers and her rosy lips smile faintly as he closes the space between them. “I thought she caught you,” she jokes, her eyes tip downward to the foggy shots. “I'm a little nervous,” she slides a glass to him and pulls one closer to her, “I thought it might be easier with a little liquid courage.” She shrugs her bony shoulders and tips the bitter liquid down the hatch. ................................................... music: nick cave. notes: genuinely sorry for this rambling garbage.

[Deleted]

"AND NO, IT WASN'T SHAME I NOW FELT, OR GUILT, BUT SOMETHING RARER IN MY LIFE AND STRONGER THAN BOTH: REMORSE. A FEELING WHICH IS MORE COMPLICATED, CURDLED, AND PRIMEVAL. WHOSE CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT NOTHING CAN BE DONE ABUT IT: TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, TOO MUCH DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE, FOR AMENDS TO BE MADE." ................................................... By nature, Cormac had the rather unfortunate combination of an analytical mind and a somewhat puritanical nature. Despite his easygoing appearances, there was within him a niggling voice that never ceased to harass him when he was having a good time. It wasn't particularly overbearing or anything, but it was persistent, a little voice that never failed to ask him the same question: was he having a little bit too much fun? Was this a little too easy? As a teenager prone to bouts of pretension, he had meticulously copied out an ancient Greek phrase that had seemed poignant at the time, scrawling it across an old notebook: τὸ γὰρ ἡδύ, ἐὰν πολύ, οὐ τί γε ἡδύ. A sweet thing tasted too often is no longer sweet. A paradoxical obsession with moderation had plagued his teenage years, causing him to stray away from the copious underage drinking of his peers, and making him reluctant to spend his weekends in bed, sleeping in as so many others did. There was only one thing that had ever managed to appeal to his much repressed romantic, emotional side, and that was Ana. His secret obsession was with order and routine, but he was more obsessed with her than both of those combined. Stood beside her in a checkout line in Trader Joe's, it was all too easy to see that nothing much had changed. He had abandoned all thought of the lemonade by now, abandoned all thoughts of Eleanor at all, utterly transfixed by the image of Ana lifting a plastic container of salad from her cart to the conveyor belt. Everything she did mesmerised him. He remembered how he used to watch her cheer, long before they were together, on the rare occasions he was reluctantly dragged to high school football matches... the elegant slope of her arm, the dulcet tone of her voice, harmonized with the rest and yet distinct from them. It occurred to him that maybe he was a stalker after all. He raises his eyebrows at the name of the bar. "You know, that would be a really good name for a bar you're making up to lure me under false pretences. But I'll choose to trust you, and be there in ten, 'cause I'm a naively optimistic idealist." Stealing one last snippet of eye contact, he searches her hazel eyes for a show of sincerity. Realizing she was very unlikely to lie to him like this, especially when it would be so easy for her to say no, he offered her a small smile and turned to find that godforsaken lemonade. Given his intimate knowledge of the store and its close proximity to his apartment, he has found, purchased and delivered said lemonade in a little over ten minutes. Ignoring Ellie as she sulkily asks what took so long, he pauses to check his reflection in the large mirror that hangs over their mantelpiece, pointlessly trying to smooth down hair that has stubbornly upwards for as long as he'd had it. Having mumbled something about meeting friends, Mack is out of the door before his fiancee can ask for any sort of clarification. It's a short walk but he takes long strides anyway, a cursory glance at his watch revealing that he was in fact running late. Ever the puritan, this was very much not his norm, but he was in this instance pleased - if she was going to blow him off (his conviction that she would was a self-fulfilling prophecy-- he was so convinced that she would that he took the strength of his conviction as divine evidence that she definitely would, thereby reaffirming that yes, she was definitely going to blow him off because he was convinced she was going to, ad infinitum) at least it would be immediately apparent. As it turned out his psychic abilities had failed him, for there she was, sat like some wonderful apparition at the bar. Somehow she looks even better than before, though if you'd asked him ten minutes earlier he'd have insisted that wouldn't be possible. "Sorry I'm late. You look... you look nice. Sorry, I meant to say that earlier but, you know..." He drifts, embarrassed, his eyes falling to the shot in front of him. Sliding into the seat opposite her, he curses himself for not leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. Too late now. Knocking back the shot, he winces, recovering enough to offer her a small smile. "You're nervous? That's crazy. Remember the first time you acknowledged me you thought my name was Connor, and I was too shellshocked that you knew who I was at all to correct you for two weeks after? That's real nerves, you don't know the half of it." ................................................... music: the nocturnal animals OST (SO GOOD). notes: confession: i'm always scared i'll forget to write an apology here and you'll think i'm really bigheaded.

[Deleted]

As one could guess, Ana was prone to running from problems. A clever girl, but one to leave everything to the last minute and then hide away when that doesn't work out. In high school she used to study for exams the night before and wing it, then hide the graded sheet of paper until she felt brave enough to deal with it. This is a reason why she ran to Thailand and became comfortable in the routine of bar work, because she lacked the courage to be able to deal with the little things like high education and eventually a profession. Cormac became a good excuse to do this, as his actions allowed her the choice to book a trip and fly away. She often wonders if she had stayed with him, took her scholarship and went to school in Washington, would she be as happy as she is now? Yes, she was fearful but overall her heart is happy and content. Her dark eyes watch as his built frame settle in the seat across from her and she asks herself that question again: where would they be if that hadn't happened? She's a firm believer in fate. That certain events are beyond a person's control and that all things are meant to happen for the better good. Maybe if they had stayed together they would have weighed each other down. She wouldn't have experienced a simple life and he wouldn't be in a field that he seems to enjoy. The events that had made her feel so heartbroken and that seemed to destroy her seventeen-year-old self, were predestined. As terrible as they were in that moment, they were probably necessary in order for them both to move forward. Maybe they needed to see the worst in each other to be able to become better. Still, Ana hurts as she watches him. Her eyes can see him more clearly now; the tilt of his eyes, soft freckles and thick hairline make her feel a pang of nostalgia. There's dark scars on his chin and cheeks that she's never seen before, and she stares at them a bit longer than she means do. Though his remark breaks her contact and she sits back in the leather booth. “Yes, I know,” she sort of smiles and she tilts the limey drink into her mouth. The acidic citrus and vodka hardly phase her, as she settles the glass back onto the marble surface. “Someone told me that was your name and you have to admit that you look like a Connor,” she flashes her teeth as she laughs. She spins the shot glass in her fingers, “I went home and put on a little make-up,” she bites her lip sheepishly, trying to find humour in the situation. “I also put my eyes in and now I can see you,” she makes a painful face and winces slightly, “you never told me you had a shark attack.” ................................................... music: elliot smith. notes: urs was very good

[Deleted]

"AND NO, IT WASN'T SHAME I NOW FELT, OR GUILT, BUT SOMETHING RARER IN MY LIFE AND STRONGER THAN BOTH: REMORSE. A FEELING WHICH IS MORE COMPLICATED, CURDLED, AND PRIMEVAL. WHOSE CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT NOTHING CAN BE DONE ABUT IT: TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, TOO MUCH DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE, FOR AMENDS TO BE MADE." ................................................... Awkward, Cormac turns his gaze to his surroundings to avoid having to look her in the eye. It's a nice bar in that very self-consciously Brooklyn way, a shabbiness so stylized that it wasn't really shabby at all. The exposed brickwork, the blackboard with all their elaborate cocktails spelled out in meticulous chalk lettering, the bare bulbs... very by the numbers, very New York. It was endearing in its obviousness. Having lived here for so many years now, Cormac was mostly numbed to the city, but now and again he would be hit by a surge of affection, or a pure rush of adrenaline at getting to live in such a vibrant, iconic place. Sat across from Ana, it seemed brighter than usual, its tired old cliches given a fresh breath of life. It was another nostalgic sensation for him to drown in, her ability to brighten up a room without really trying. He supposed that came down to how he felt about her. Recognising this about himself, he tried hard to get a grip, to detach from the flood of irrational emotions that had hit him since she had suddenly reappeared in his life. He focused on his breathing, tried not to look at the lovely way her skin caught the light, the way her hair poured over her shoulders like thick chocolate sauce. Inhale, exhale. She was just an ex, a high school ex, and there was really no need to be in such a state over seeing her again. Any good work he did calming himself down was immediately undone when he forced himself to look at her properly. "I totally look like a Connor," he admitted, though he knew she could suggest he looked like a Tarquin Tyrone T-Rex and he'd be inclined to agree with her. She admits that she put some make up on and he mulls this information over for a moment. Not ever being someone who particularly cared about his appearance, the ritualistic devotion women paid to their make up routine was a frequent source of confusion for him, though he faintly understood that they were under dramatically more pressure to live up to a beauty ideal. Even so, it seemed so strange to him that even someone who looked like Ana, or Ellie, would feel a need to tweak anything, as if any feature needed any more playing up than nature was already doing. Still, it sunk in that she had put make up on to see him, and this information cheered him immensely. More confident now, he pretended not to have made that particular assumption, instead shrugging at her comment. "The scars? I know, you should lend me some of that makeup so I can cover up. Worst part about it is that it's nowhere near as good a story as a shark attack... I imagine having these is like having a huge, shit tattoo in a prominent place. People always ask and you have to disappoint them by saying there's no real story, you were just young and dumb."  He glances at their empty glasses. Holding up a finger to gesture that he'd only be a minute, he collected the empties and brought them up to the bar in a habit that betrayed bartending experience. Once he'd ordered two Krakens and Cokes, he took the drinks back to the table, leaning back and holding the glass up in to toast. "To my fucked up face, and your face so perfect it's fucked up in its own way." Clinking his glass against hers, he took a hefty glug, putting it down on the table and absently turning it between the finger and thumb of one hand. "Drumroll please... I got in a bar fight. Remember Ty and Charlie, your old pals? They jumped me in the parking lot. It was a good few years ago now." He cleared his throat, relieved that had managed to keep the lingering bitterness he felt from creeping into his tone. He smiled. "Enough about that though, tell me about your trip. You must one hell of a backlog of good stories to share." ................................................... music: the revenant OST (also very good). notes: NOT AS GOOD AS YOURS.

[Deleted]

Five years of mixing drinks and chatting up locals as well as tourist, and Ana finds it difficult fishing for conversation with Cormac. She's nervous, so much so that her fingers have a tremor and she has to hide them under the table. The pit of her stomach is a mess, it feels like a pot of water that is boiling viciously. Her face feels hot, but her bronze skin masks her from an obvious flush. It's sad to believe that Cormac was once a person that she felt so comfortable with. A person that she could go to for both tears and triumph and the only person, outside her immediate family, that she felt she could be herself around. To be shaking with nerves and second guessing every word that left her lips, that was a devastation. He seemed very much the same. The way he maneuvers his words with his tongue and tilts an eyebrow her direction, it's the exact same way he did when they were only fifteen and holding hands on the bleachers. The scars?, he says and she perches her chin in the round of her palm in attempt to appear more relaxed. It seems like a farce that this Cormac would ever have allowed private pictures of her be sticky taped around their high school of 3,000 students. So funny and kind, he seems to wear his heart right on his sleeve. She tells herself that she has forgiven, with her move back to the States it seems as events have lead them to this moment in the grocery store and now sharing a drink at the bar. As she watches his shape drift to the bar, she rudely reminds herself of what he had done. She thanks him as she takes the drink and smiles modestly as he showers her with another odd compliment. Ana's glass makes contact with his and she takes a long sip, the fuzziness of the coke leaves a trail from the tip of her tongue to the pit of her stomach. “I thought they were more your pals?” a manicured eyebrow lifts and she sips at her drink, her eyes well with concern when she examines the contours of his face further, “they look like they were pretty deep.. those boys were such assholes even then.” The combination of vodka and rum is making her feel a little more airy and relaxed now, her body settles naturally. “I think it was more adventurous at first, with the trips and the swimming with sea turtles. I met good people and had a lot of really good laughs,” she pauses, wrecking her brain for a good story but coming up with none. “Then I got comfortable, which wasn't bad. I felt like a therapist slash TMZ behind the bar hearing everyone's stories and drama,” she grins, looking down at her drink, “but I mean, it's a slower life than here. More time to think and less worrying, very drama free. I'll let you know when a good story hits me.” Gazing at her drink, she chews her lip thoughtfully and drums her bare nails against the table, “but you can tell me about Ellie, I'm curious about it.” ................................................... music: dinosaur jr. notes: i love threading.

[Deleted]

"AND NO, IT WASN'T SHAME I NOW FELT, OR GUILT, BUT SOMETHING RARER IN MY LIFE AND STRONGER THAN BOTH: REMORSE. A FEELING WHICH IS MORE COMPLICATED, CURDLED, AND PRIMEVAL. WHOSE CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT NOTHING CAN BE DONE ABUT IT: TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, TOO MUCH DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE, FOR AMENDS TO BE MADE." ................................................... The accusation that they were more his friends than hers gives him pause. On paper this was certainly true, from the moment Ana took an interest in him he suddenly became the most interesting man on the planet, with Tyler and Charlie and their whole gang inundating him with invites to parties and hang outs after school, encouraging him to try out for the football team and cracking jokes with him at practice. None of them acknowledged the fact that they had never once so much as glanced at him before, that mere days before Ana was seen with him he would have been just like anyone else, hoping his small group of close friends would all come to school that day so that he'd have someone to sit with at lunch. It had felt like a practical joke at his expense at first. All of it, from Ana wanting to spend one on one time with him, to Charlie, resplendent in his iconic letterman jacket, offering him a room temperature beer that he'd stolen from his father. Whilst Cormac had never been one to long for popularity, once it searched him out he could see the appeal. But they were not more his friends than hers, and he had the scars to prove it. Whilst he might have managed to maintain some semblance of his former glory post break up with Ana, that was dependent on two factors - one, his brutally humiliating her (and how sorry he was to be able to tick that one off the list), and two, sucking up to Charlie and Tyler for long enough that they were satisfied that he'd earned his keep. Whilst neither action was one that would come naturally to the headstrong teenager, even he had been manipulated into the first, and as soon as the deed was done he knew he had absolutely no interest in staying friendly with any of them. "Not really. Without you I'd have continued to be invisible right through to college." He said this neutrally, hoping she wouldn't think it an accusation. Of course it was far from her fault that things wound up this way, the only crime she was guilty of was wanting to go out with a slightly geeky guy. "Mhm," he murmured, confirming their depth but not wanting to go into it. Taking another drink, he inwardly curses himself for his higher than normal alcohol tolerance levels. He's got a buzz just from speaking to her, pumped that she would give him the time of day and find it within herself to talk to him like an old friend, that being a privilege he certainly did not deserve. He leans back in the leather seat, the corners of his mouth naturally pulling into a smile as she talks about her time away. "You know you can take life slow anywhere. You don't have to match everyone else's speed." The mention of Ellie wipes the smile off his face and he fidgets, leaning forward and avoiding looking her in the eye again. What to say? He wants to talk about this even less than the scars, but knows both subjects to be unavoidable eventually. After a deep inhale, he half shrugs again, a very Cormac gesture that he's over relied on since childhood. "She's fine. We've been dating for a few years, live just down the block..." What to say, what to say. "She's the same as she's always been. Bratty on the surface, really pretty other regarding under all the bravado. Works in marketing. She really, really hated me for a long time, you know." ................................................... music: gravity OST. notes: i rushed this before a barre class and i'm sorry i gave you nothing!! but me too, me too.

[Deleted]

Despite them not meaning to, Cormac's words cut her. Ana's moving her eyes off him yet again and glancing around the predictable decor of Catfish. She's been here a couple of times with her roommate Sheila, but even if she hadn't she would find her surroundings common. There's a restaurant past the bar, where they actually do serve catfish, but tonight it seems quiet. As she searches for a distraction she catches the eyes of a gawking loner who sits at the bar, with this her eyes turn back to Cormac's. In high school she skimmed by most stereotypes. She became a cheerleader as a transition from a child gymnast, but she wasn't the captain of her squad. Her popularity came from the uniform of short skirts and pervy teenage boys. Her mature body played a massive role in her progression to popularity and it all felt very foreign to her up until Thailand. High school was torturous – a mundane game of hot or not, topped off with the ultimate haze. Her clique was shallow, rude and egotistical, things that she could hardly relate to at fifteen. Then there was Cormac, who was soft and caring, handsome in more of a Marlon Brando than a Tom Brady way. She didn't feel like she was going entirely against the current when she dated him, but now as he's deep with scars she can see that maybe she was. She's lost her confidence again and the pit of her stomach swishes with guilt, as if it's some how her fault that he'd been beat up. “Here's different. Everyone expects things, like rings and promotions,” her fingers press against the table and she feels her pinky loosen up with a crackle. Her heart becomes heavy immediately after she asks about Ellie, and it's true she's curious but it's more in a self-destructive sort of way. She fakes a listening smile, and half feels like dramatically tossing her drink back and leaving him with a bill. Instead she sips, “I'm sure.” She has a hard time believing that the so called hate Ellie felt was anything more than a game of chase, but she chooses not to say anything more. “I thought I hated you less than she did, I don't think I ever hated you,” she spins the drink with her fingers, “but after I got that save the date, I don't think I like you at all.” ................................................... music: freaks and geeks. notes: THIS IS G A R B A G E

[Deleted]

"AND NO, IT WASN'T SHAME I NOW FELT, OR GUILT, BUT SOMETHING RARER IN MY LIFE AND STRONGER THAN BOTH: REMORSE. A FEELING WHICH IS MORE COMPLICATED, CURDLED, AND PRIMEVAL. WHOSE CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT NOTHING CAN BE DONE ABUT IT: TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED, TOO MUCH DAMAGE HAS BEEN DONE, FOR AMENDS TO BE MADE." ................................................... Scratching at stubble that was threatening to stretch across his jawline, Cormac was forced to graze his fingers against the smooth surface of his scars. He didn't think about them often, since his daily routine involved spending most of his time either alone, with Ellie, or the occasional study group. After years together, Ellie paid the markings no mind, and having spent so little time with together, his study groups were usually too shy (or maybe just indifferent) to comment. So it was the first time in a while that he was thinking about them, the oddness of them being new to Ana enough to mildly bemuse him. He didn't know what he'd do if he saw her for the first time in six years only for her to be facially scarred... really, he'd assumed someone would have told her. It occurred to him now that maybe it was true that no one had been able to get hold of her, and he felt guilty for all the times he'd snapped at people, assuming they were lying to him when they said they didn't have her contact details to disclose.  She had dropped the subject though, and this too made him feel guilty. Surely she didn't think it a sore subject? Was it a sore subject? Waving a hand dismissively he managed to stifle yet another shrug. "I don't know what I'm saying, invisible 'til college. I was in college by the time this happened anyway. Home for Christmas, saw them at the bar, we were all pretty wasted... one thing led to another, they thought I was up myself, I thought they were meatheads who peaked in high school, I ended up with a glass bottle to the face." If he was truly honest with himself, he had been uncharacteristically bitter about it for quite some time. Being jumped by two guys who were easily as big as him was offensive enough, but that one of them wielded a bottle really was insult to injury.  Of course the financial settlement had taken the sting out of things, but numerous excruciating laser surgeries rather put the sting back in.  He finished his drink. Finally the edges are starting to soften, his muscles easing ever so slightly. A couple more shots and he might even be starting to get drunk. "That's where you're wrong. Those things, they're up here," he leaned over, giving her head a gentle tap. God, her hair was soft. "It's in your head. The truth is people are so preoccupied with their own pressures, their ring, their promotion, that they couldn't give a single fuck about yours. So it's you who puts those pressures on yourself, not anyone else. Once you accept that it's extremely easy to set yourself free." He said this and meant it, having never worried about much his whole life. Leaning back, he indulges himself by looking at her properly, watching her twirl the glass between her slender fingers. Her next words send a pang of pain through his chest, and he shows it, dramatically clutching at his heart. "You're wounding me, Novak! Don't say you don't like me, you know yours is the only approval I've ever wanted," he says, his tone half-joking, half-serious. Really it was true. Popularity had gone to his head for a while, sure, but ultimately, it was something that only meant anything in relation to her.  ................................................... music: braveheart OST. scottish pride. notes: i've gone back to being really terrible, i'm sorry! let's blame all that blood i just threw away.